The Roof
Harry slipped his invisibility cloak on as soon as the last of his tears dried. He walked for hours, avoiding people and cars, needing to get away from New York. Away from where his father was and away from everything. Eventually, he snuck onto a ferry that took past the Statue of Liberty and away from a lot of the skyscrapers. It didn’t feel far enough, but the suffocating feeling had gone away, and the horrid stench of the city had started to wane, if only minutely.
Soon, however, he was exhausted enough to collapse. Harry had passed dozens of people living on the sides of the streets, and every single one of them had very little in terms of material items - many didn’t even have a bag, and the ones that did guarded them viciously. Harry knew that he looked weak as shit - Quidditch may have helped his endurance and strength, but he was still malnourished and thin as a stick.
So he needed to find somewhere safe. Somewhere no one else could get to. Harry’s eyes strayed to the roof of a smaller building he had just passed, and he darted into the alleyway. The building wasn't as tall as most - only five stories, but it would be absolute hell to get up there with a broken rib. The fire escape would be his only option, but the ladder to reach the ground wasn't extended fully, which Harry presumed was a preventative measure to keep people like him from sleeping on the roof.
However, Harry had been practising his wandless magic since the Triwizard Tournament - he had known that he would end up without a wand again, and decided to try to learn this shit himself. He hadn't made a lot of progress, but he could manage most first year spells without a wand now. It took a few tries to levitate the pin holding the ladder in place, but he managed. The bottom of the ladder made a horrendous crash as it hit the ground, but the sound was (mostly) absorbed into the business of the city.
Harry made the trek up the fire escape, making sure to pull the ladder extension back up - he didn't want any unwelcome company. Harry wrapped the invisibility cloak around himself tighter, and gutted his teeth in preparation for the searing pain in his ribs as he made the ascent to the top. His joints were screaming, and his broken rib was on fire, but he made it. He was safe. He was alone.
It would have to do.
Harry tucked himself into a corner, using his backpack as a pillow and draped his cloak around him, ensuring he couldn’t be seen from above. The rough concrete on the roof was cold and unwelcoming, and the wind wracked his body with shivers. As soon as he closed his eyes, however, he was asleep.
Harry used to welcome sleep. Darkness, nothingness. An escape from the Dursleys. But now he dreaded it. His dreams were plagued with nightmares - Sirius, Voldemort, Quirrel, the Basilisk, Dementors, Cedric. His friends.
The last five years at Hogwarts seemed to have only fueled his nightmares. Each year adding its own horror for his mind to torture him with, and each year the nightmares compounded and twisted to merge into this…nightmare. This horrifying, mind-breaking nightmare that only got worse every time he closed his eyes.
Harry couldn’t handle it. He woke up screaming every night, wracked with shivers and coated with sweat. Every single morning, he wanted to be done with it all. Every single night, he searched for another option. Something to get rid of this.
Because this? This wasn’t living. Not anymore. Harry was barely surviving.
That night, it only took three hours before he woke up with a silent scream. Several minutes passed before he remembered where he was, and Harry tried to calm himself down. He couldn't handle this anymore.
This time it was Sirius. Sirius dying, over and over, yelling, screaming, begging. Harry’s mind played him through every single moment of that night. There were so many chances if he had just reached for Sirius’ bloody handhe would have fucking-
“No,” Harry whispered. “I can’t keep doing this, Sirius told me I can’t keep doing this. Sirius-”
God, Sirius. How could he have been so stupid to let himself be tricked like that? Hermione told him, she told him it was a trick and he was too self absorbed to listen to her for once in his life, and his godfather was killed because of his stupidity. His friends were hurt - Hermione was still on a strict potion regime from the curse the Dolohov threw at her, Ron would have scars on his arms for life, Neville needed a new wand, Ginny had a broken ankle, and Luna had a concussion. And they were all likely having nightmares. Because of him. They all nearly died that night. And it was all his fault. God, he was such a bloody idiot.
Why was he even doing this? Trying to get away, trying to do anything? What did he deserve? Certainly not happiness, or anything other than the hell that was the Dursleys. They were the foulest people on the planet, and wanted nothing to do with him, so it was without a doubt that this ‘Tony Stark’ would despise him as soon as he got to know Harry. Not that Harry wanted to get to know Stark anyway.
Nor did he deserve to be wanted. All he ever did was fuck up, again and again. Sorcerer’s Stone? If he had never shown up, Quirrel would never have been able to get the stone out of the mirror, and his friends wouldn’t be hurt. Chamber of Secrets? Any other teacher would have been so much more efficient at getting Ginny help sooner with all the information, and yet he chose to run to Lockhart, even though he knew Lockhart was a useless piece of shit that was about as sharp as a bloody marble. Third year? He was the reason Pettigrew was able to get away, and caused his godfather to be on the run for the rest of his life. Remus had to quit over what happened and barely spoke to him afterward. He convinced Cedric to take the cup with him. He didn’t bring up his suspicions of Moody to Dumbledore. He couldn’t have just fucking waited for Snape to alert him that everything was alright, or have just fucking opened Sirius’ Christmas present even a week earlier. Then Sirius would still be here. With him.
Sirius probably sat alone in Grimmauld for months, wondering why his godson didn’t want to talk with him. Just because Harry was too damn scared of what was in that fucking present. The mirror Harry never opened, the mirror he could have used for reliable contact with Sirius, and the entire battle of the Department of Mysteries could have been avoided altogether. And it was all Harry’s fault.
God, he wished he could just disappear. Fade away, so no one else would have to deal with him. Harry glanced at the edge of the roof, thinking.
What would happen if he just. Stepped off? Not many people would miss him, if any. But god, what if there was someone down there? They would watch, as he fell down, down, down, and hit the pavement. He didn’t want to have to force anyone to clean up his own mess, or force someone to go through something as horrific as witnessing death. Merlin, how he knew how painful that was.
Harry scoffed at the sheer ridiculousness of the idea. Like he could ever get away that easily. Like he could ever escape. Dumbledore would probably manage to bring him back with some fucked up ritual and force him to kill Voldemort. Far-fetched, sure, but more likely the more he thought about it.
With his invisibility cloak safely covering his backpack, Harry walked over to the edge of the building and took a seat. He would never be free. Not even in death.
The city wasn't quiet; even at the most ridiculous hour. Cars were still honking, lights still glared from office buildings in every direction, and the sidewalks still had light foot traffic. At two in the bloody morning. New Yorkers were fucking insane.
Harry wasn't sure if he liked it or not.
He couldn't see the stars.
Sirius wasn't staring at him.
Harry didn't mind that part.
Perhaps New York wouldn't be that bad.