Harry jogged down the streets of the quiet suburban neighborhood. He would have run, but he didn’t want to draw any more attention to himself than necessary.

There has to be some moving truck or other going to London…

Harry knew there would be no way he'd be able to catch a ride directly to Surrey from here, wherever he was, but it would be easy once he got to London.

 He jogged a little more quickly, his eyes darting from side to side until he spotted it. A large, white truck with the words ‘London Traveling’ splayed across its sides.

The back door was wide open, and the driver was nowhere in sight, though Harry could hear faint murmurings emerging from the half-opened door of the house it was parked beside.

Like he had done so many times before, Harry snuck his way through the back door and huddled beneath some large cartons. Before too long, the truck began to move

After what felt like an hour, Harry opened the door slightly to discover that he was back on the familiar streets of London. He waited until the truck stopped at a red light before hopping out the door and sprinting his way across the street before anyone could register what they had seen.

In the sunny midday heat of August, Harry did not feel particularly threatened as he weaved his way through the crowds, despite the various altercation and violence he had witnessed and occasionally been the victim of in this area. That had mostly happened during the night. He therefore wasn’t too bothered by the absence of his dagger, which he hadn’t dared attempt to sneak back from wherever Snape had stored it.

He made his way to the nearest subway station, his head down and hands shoved into his pockets. No one gave him a second glance.

Boarding the train wasn’t difficult; all he had to do was sneak on behind an older, obviously married couple, looking as young and innocent as possible.

Which isn’t all that difficult, Harry thought sourly as he slipped into an empty seat, considering that I’ll probably never hit five feet.

Harry shifted slightly, appreciative of his window seat as he peered out of the grimy glass, despite being squashed against it in the overcrowded train.

It would have been nice to fly… if not for the face that the law enforcement would have probably shot me down, thinking I was some sort of alien invasion…

Harry snorted inwardly, dragging the back of his hand across his forehead to wipe away the sweat that had accumulated during his walk through London in the August heat. It was certainly one of the hottest days of the summer so far.

The train continued on its way, rumbling slightly at some moments, which caused the woman seated beside him to inadvertently jab her elbow into Harry’s upper arm.

“Oh, I’m terribly sorry, dear,” the woman apologized.

“It’s fine.” He shrugged

The women looked at him for a moment through pale eyes surrounded by the soft wrinkles of age. Her hair was gray and curly, and she was clad in a flowered housedress, posing a distinctly unintimidating figure. Harry relaxed minutely.

“Are you traveling alone, dear?” the woman asked kindly.

Harry chewed his lip for a moment.

“Er, yeah, I’m visiting some… relatives.”

The woman smiled. “Well, that’s lovely. I’m on my way to see family as well.”

Harry nodded slightly, pressing his palms into his knees.

“You know,” the woman said thoughtfully, “people put too much stock in blood.”

Harry raised his eyebrows, eyes widening slightly.

The woman looked at him more closely. “It is often whom we choose to share our lives with that are the most important.”

Harry closed his eyes for a moment. “Yeah,” he said hoarsely.

They were silent for the remainder of the ride. When the train came to its first stop, the woman straightened up.

“Well, this is where I get off.” She rose, gathering her bags. As she walked towards the exit of the train, she turned her head back toward Harry.

“Keep your family close,” she whispered.

With that, she bustled off the train. Harry watched her go, and as the train began to pick up speed, he could see that she was headed towards the cemetery across the street.

Harry was unsure why his heart felt simultaneously warm and was pounding uncomfortably fast.

Keep your family close… the people we choose…

Why did she say that to me?

Harry didn’t have a family, and the only person he’d ever ‘chosen’ had left him without a goodbye. Abruptly, the image of a tall, dark-haired man who smelled of warmth and herbs invaded his mind.

Harry shoved it away.

He’s not my family, he didn’t even want me. He’s just been nice to me because he’s a decent person and he feels sorry for me. Maybe he doesn’t mind me living with him, but it’s not like he really wants me there.

It didn’t matter how badly Harry wanted differently.

Harry shook off those thoughts. This was no time to get sentimental. He had a mission to accomplish, and the train would be arriving at his stop at any moment.

As Harry disembarked from the train, his eyes darted in all directions. The familiarity of the area was disconcerting and a little frightening as well.

The subway had stopped roughly half-a-block away from the local shopping center in Surrey, so Harry arrived at his first destination within moments. The supermarket.

Trying to appear as inconspicuous as possible, Harry ruffled through the rack of newspapers positioned near the entrance.

I’d probably need to look through June’s edition, in the obituary section or something… or maybe May…

He scoured June’s edition with little luck; there were no articles about any deaths, and the only people mentioned in the obituary section were an eighty-three-year-old man who had died of congestive heart failure, and another man who apparently…

Why am I even reading this? Just check May’s edition.

He skimmed the paper carefully, blinking rapidly as the tiny, inked letters blurred intermittently. And then he spotted it.

The deaths of Vernon Dursley, 35, and Petunia Dursley, 33, were confirmed on May 30th. According to reports, a fire had broken out in their Little Whinging home between the hours of three and four AM. It was found that a lit cigarette had been discarded in a cupboard beneath the stairs, which had made contact with an ammonia-based cleaning fluid. The son of the victims, aged 10, who had not been in the home at the time, has been taken into the custody of a relative.

Harry blinked, and read it again. And again.

Wow. I never… A fire, from the cupboard… well, it wouldn’t have been the first time he’d thrown a cigarette in there… and Dudley’s alive…

Whatever Harry had been expecting to discover, that was certainly not it. The Dursleys hadn’t been attacked by an axe murderer, nor had they been accosted by dark wizards. They had simply died as a result of their own stupidity.

Well, that was certainly anticlimactic…But Dudley didn’t die. He’s alive, probably living with Aunt Marge.

As much as Dudley had bullied and tormented him, Harry felt sorry for him. And after that conversation he’d had with Dudley about Uncle Vernon’s expectations, Harry hadn’t been as bothered by the bullying. It had been so easy to see through Dudley’s exterior to the insecure child beneath.

And now his parents are dead, just like mine. Aunt Marge probably isn’t a very good guardian for him, anyway. I mean, she drowned one of her dogs when it was ill…

Harry replaced the newspaper carefully and exited the store, leaning against the window outside. He hadn’t anticipated that it would be this easy. But here he was in Surrey, mid-afternoon on one of the hottest days of the year, unsure of what to do next.

Harry straightened and began to walk, not quite sure where he was going. He simply strolled down the familiar roads that he’d frequented throughout his childhood. It felt strange to be there. It hadn’t been all that long, really, but the last time he’d walked down these streets he had been a different person.

He’d been nine years old, traumatized and fearful, still struggling with the loss of Jade’s companionship and not yet hardened by the streets he’d lived on for a year and a half.

Now, Harry didn’t feel as frightened or overcome by memories as he’d expected to. He felt stronger than he had back then, and he almost wished he could go back to his younger self and tell him that things would get better.

Harry blinked, and he realized that he’d reached Little Whinging, and he was just a few streets away from the house he’d grown up in.

There were very few people outdoors, undoubtedly due to the heatwave, and although that suited Harry just fine, it felt eerie.

I need to see the house.

He reached Privet Drive and walked slowly towards the other end of the road where number four was located. There wasn’t a single soul outside. It was almost completely silent; all Harry could hear was the faint rustle of leaves from the almost nonexistent breeze, a distant chirping of birds, and the tread of his own footsteps. He kept his head down, watching his feet move steadily.

Left. Right. Left. Right.

He idly kicked a stone that stood in his path, watching as it rolled away and eventually slipped through the bars of the gutter, vanishing into obscurity.

Harry stood still, and his head rose slowly to face the house that had never been his home. He stared.

There was yellow construction tape surrounding the properly, labeled ‘Caution’, and a sign with the words ‘Condemned Building’ had been stuck into the dirt.

What was left of the lawn was cracked and yellow, and the patch of grass drawing the perimeter of the house had been burned black.

What remained of the house itself was a skeleton of what it had once been. The bricks that had survived the fire were scorched and crumbled, and through what had once been windows yet were now just openings with the remains of the shattered glass still attached to the sides, Harry could see that the house has been emptied, scooped out like the inside of a clam. Although it seemed to be in the midst of rebuilding, not much progress had been made.

The workers obviously had the day off as nobody was around, so Harry took that as permission to step over the yellow tape.

He shivered. Though the immaculately kept garden was no longer, Harry could still see himself, clear as day, spending hours upon hours pruning it to perfection, the sun beating down on the back of his neck. Looking to his left, he noticed that he was standing just a few feet away from where Uncle Vernon had come up behind him once and shoved him face first into the fence. Harry could recall feeling dizzy for the next two days.

Suddenly, Harry remembered something.

Could it still be there…?

There was something he had left behind when he’d run away, something important that he hadn’t had the chance to grab as he ran from the house. But it had long since been forgotten, or, perhaps, pushed to the back of his mind where he would not have to think about what he had lost. It had most likely been burned away along with the rest of the contents of the house, but he still had to check.

He needed to go inside.

Harry wiped his forehead with the back of his hand and stepped forward, nearing the open entrance. The door had either been removed or burned away entirely, so Harry shut his eyes tightly and stepped through, opening them slowly when he passed the threshold.

The place was unrecognizable. Every last piece of evidence that the Dursleys had resided here had been eradicated, but Harry could still make out the faint remains of what had once existed.

The fireplace now consisted of crumbled brick and ash, but Harry could almost see the designs that had been carved into the wall beside it. He shuddered, turning away.

There was nothing left of the kitchen; like the rest of the house, the floor was grayish, scattered with pebbles and debris - pieces of what once had been tiny parts of what had made the house a home to those who lived in it. But not to him.

Harry walked towards the partially redone staircase, where the burned wood had been replaced with the shaky beginnings of fresh wood, and beneath it…

The cupboard. Or lack thereof.

Judging by the cracks in the surrounding patch of wall, there had clearly been an explosion inside, and the entire interior had been demolished.

Without realizing what he was doing, Harry stepped directly into the remains of his cupboard. To a stranger, it was just a crumbled mound of burned wood and concrete, but Harry could still see the outline of it. His breaths grew short and sporadic. He tried to even out his breathing by taking deeper breaths, but he ended up inhaling the thick dust that seemed to cover much of the surface of his surroundings. He choked and was soon caught in the throes of a coughing fit.

Okay, just calm down before you hack up a lung.

Harry’s coughing fit eventually eased, and he wiped his streaming eyes with his sleeve, forcing himself to breathe slowly.

Harry lowered himself onto his knees, ignoring sting of pebbles pressing into them as he did so. He then shifted some of the crumbled stone from a particular patch of the floor, feeling around for that one spot…

His hand eventually tripped into the edge of a slight incline in the floor, where the concrete had been somehow dug away long before the Dursleys had lived there. When the cupboard had been intact, there had been a loose floorboard concealing it that Harry had discovered when he’d been really young. Now the board was gone, but the opening was still there.

Heart beating rapidly against his ribcage, Harry tentatively dug his hand into it, fumbling around for…

His hand brushed a small, wooden box. He gave a small gasp and closed his fingers around it.

How is it still intact? It’s wood, it should have burned away.

Harry pulled it out and cupped the box into his hands. It was small and nondescript, and there was a small, metal latch that held it closed. Upon further look, Harry noticed a faint glow encasing it, and when he pressed his fingers more tightly into the wood, he could feel the slight vibration of magic.

So that’s why it didn’t burn.

Harry hugged the box closely to his chest, his hands trembling slightly. He hadn’t had the chance to take it with him when he’d left, and he had never expected to get it back. It was best that he had left it here, anyway, because it wouldn’t have lasted two days on the streets. But there it was, intact, as though it had been waiting for him all this time. His fingers twitched with the temptation to open it, but he didn’t want the contents tainted by the memories of the house. He rose to his feet, not bothering to brush the dust from his jeans. Directing his gaze straight ahead, he exited the house, kicking aside the debris that blocked his way.

Harry walked down the street away from number four, his box still pressed against his chest. The heat of the day had lessened slightly, but it did not prevent the sweat from gathering on his forehead and dripping into his eyes.

He didn’t bother to wipe it away.

Harry walked slowly, clutching his box so tightly that his hands were beginning to grow numb. Distracted, he failed to notice the tree stump obstructing his path until he tripped, landing painfully on his knees and forearms.

“Damn,” Harry muttered, his eyes watering in pain. At least his box hadn’t hit the ground. He sat up gingerly, shaking out his limbs to test for injury. Nothing seemed to badly damaged, so he pressed a palm to the floor to push himself to his feet.

Harry swayed alarmingly when he stood, so he sat down quickly on the offending tree stump to rest for a moment.

Tree stump… tree.

Harry sat up straight. He knew where he needed to go.

He rose carefully and walked for a while longer, distracted yet hyper-aware simultaneously, until he felt his breath catch in his chest. He had been right here, at this very corner, when he met Jade for the first time. He stood very still, seeing her in every movement and hearing her in every sound that brushed against his eardrums. But she wasn’t there. She was gone, she had left him, and she was never coming back.

You should be happy for her that she got away, stop acting like a kid.

Harry was happy for her. He wouldn’t wish the torture they had both gone through on anyone, and she deserved to be safe and happy.

I hope her mum is good to her…

Despite all that, Harry still felt the urge to cry. He missed her, was it asking too much to be able to see the only person that had ever provided him with the tiniest shred of happiness? He clutched his box more tightly. At least he hadn’t lost that, too.

Harry bit the inside of his mouth harshly and continued down the route that he and Jade had taken so many times before. This was the route to safety, or it had been once. It didn’t feel the same now, without her.

Or is it because it’s not the only safe place anymore?

Harry shrugged that thought away, and before he knew it, he was entering the familiar wooded area. He kept his eyes trained on the ground as he walked, his feet dragging slightly.

Why am I so tired?

Harry had to fight the urge to take a rest under one of the passing trees. He could rest to his heart’s content once he reached the treehouse.

And there it was, right before him.

Tucking his box under an arm, he made his way up the tree. The climb was more difficult than he remembered, most likely due to his exhaustion. But he reached the top and heaved himself through the entrance, and he was immediately assaulted by memories.

Curling up beside Jade after a particularly rough day, feeling her small warm hands atop his own…

Experiencing his first hug…

Laughing at one of her anecdotes…

Just being able to talk and know he was being heard…

The scent of the food she had always brought for him…

Letting Jade cling to him as she cried, relishing the experience of being able to give to someone…

Harry sat with his back pressed against the wooden wall with his legs folded. Then he finally opened the box. Exhaling upon finding that everything was intact and that nothing was missing, he pulled out a worn paper and unfolded it.

It was a picture Jade had drawn for him. She had always been artistically talented, and, unbeknownst to him, she had done a sketch of his face and later given it to him.

Harry remembered that he had been momentarily speechless, as he had never before received a gift.. She had flushed uncomfortably at his gratitude, but Harry could see a small smile coaxing the corners of her mouth.

What was most interesting about her sketch was the expression on his face. It was almost happy.

Harry re-folded the picture carefully and set it aside, pulling out a small, plastic toy soldier from the box. Not long before he had left the Dursleys for good, he had slipped into his cupboard one evening to find it on his bed. He had known right away that Dudley had put it there. After that conversation they had had in the yard, Dudley had been giving him, odd, furtive glances, and he only went out of his way to make Harry miserable when Vernon was watching. That wasn’t enough to make Harry like Dudley or forgive what he had done in the past, but Harry had been touched by the gesture. Though a toy soldier fixed nothing, it was still one positive thing he could cling to. Those little shreds of goodness, be it his times with Jade or Dudley slipping him extra food behind his father’s back, were what kept him sane during the worst times. So he had kept the toy soldier.

There was also a stone he had made glow when he first began to experiment with his magic, and there was an unopened bit of toffee that never seemed to grow stale, which he had received in school for getting a top mark on a test.

And there was another folded paper. It was a list he had written when he was really young, back when he'd still believed that if he tried hard enough, he could get what he wanted.

Head scrolled down the list. It read:

Be really, really good so Aunt Petunia will like me.

Taste every ice cream flavor in the world.

Make a friend.

Find a Dad.

At that, Harry couldn’t go on. He shoved everything back into the box and set it aside, hugging his knees to his chest and pressing his face into his arms. He dug his fingernails into his legs and squeezed his eyes shut tightly in attempt to suppress the tears.

He had gotten what he wanted, or at least some of it, and he had lost it all. He made a friend who had left him, and Snape…

Snape didn’t want him, and even if he did, Harry had certainly given it all up by running away like this.

Stupid, stupid, stupid… I lose everyone, and this time it’s my fault.

He sniffed, tasting the salty wetness of his tears as they dripped down to his lips. He forced them back before he broke into full-out sobs. Feelings incredibly drained, he curled up on the floor and rested his head in his arms.

Harry lay there for a while, drifting between sleep and wakefulness. He was not quite aware of time passing; all he knew was the familiar scent of the treehouse that had lulled him into a state of relaxation.

He was so tired…

A sudden rustling of the leaves outside jerked Harry out of his trance, rendering him wide-awake and alert.

Breathing carefully, he shifted over slightly to peek out of the entrance, and for one, heart-stopping moment, he was convinced that it was Jade.

But it wasn’t. He froze.

It was Snape, and the expression on his face was more irate than Harry had ever seen it.

And that was saying something.