Silver Spoon Child Eating off a Paper Plate by MellarkandArt

Harry Potter was done.

Done with or done for, he wasn’t entirely sure, but he was most definitely done. If Uncle Vernon didn’t end up killing him before he could make a clean break for it, then he was gone. Because premeditated murder was almost certainly on his uncle’s mind. There was no coming back from what Harry had just done, what the Dursleys thought he had done, anyway. And thus, he was done.

“Don’t leave the house again,” the letter, if you could call it that, had said. It didn’t much matter what his godfather or Mr. Weasley had to say on the matter. He was being thrown out. He’d probably end up getting thrown out of Hogwarts, too, and he felt a little more concerned about that seeing as it was the only real home he’d ever known. He hated it here and had always wanted to leave, but still… he wasn’t supposed to leave the house. But he really didn’t have a choice. When Uncle Vernon got like this… Well, he’d be nothing less than an idiot to stay.

And what did it matter, really? What was keeping him here? A warm bed and three meals a day? Ha. He was better off on the streets. Maybe this was for the best. Maybe this was how it should have been all along, maybe Harry could find a way to get to Sirius’ place and stay with him like they both wanted. Who cared what Dumbledore wanted him to do? He never had cared too awful much about what Harry wanted.

Harry threw his crappy hand me down clothes from Dudley into his trunk along with the photo album of his parents from Hagrid and his dad’s old invisibility cloak. He grabbed his Firebolt racing broom and made sure to have his wand at the ready as he made his way down the stairs, back to the kitchen where his loving family was.

Dudley was back to puking, only now in a bucket rather than the floor, Uncle Vernon hadn’t ever stopped yelling for Harry to get going, and Aunt Petunia still looked pale and horrified. But she made no move to defend him, offered no attempt to keep him here. Showed no pretense of caring. Aunt and nephew stared at one another for a long moment before Harry broke the gaze and headed for the door.

By the time the howler arrived, Harry Potter and the faint belief of his home being with the Dursleys was long gone.

***

But for all of that, the pretense of freedom didn’t last very long.

Harry had hardly turned the corner off of Privet Drive and onto Wisteria Walk before he’d run into a dark and imposing figure. It stood to reason that such a terrible obstacle in his way would be none other than his most hated Hogwarts Professor, Severus Snape, but it really didn’t make sense why the man would be in Harry’s - no, the Dursleys’ - neighborhood. He didn’t have much of a chance to ask why, though, as the man grabbed him roughly by the arm and pulled him behind a house, nearly knocking the wind out of him in the process.

“Wha-”

“I believe you were told quite explicitly not to leave the house, Potter.” Snape’s tone was dangerous as it penetrated through his ears, and Harry knew that he should probably be afraid, this was supposedly a spy for the light but more likely a Death Eater holding him hostage after all, but as with most things lately, the only emotion he could find inside of himself was anger.

“Yeah, well, I believe I was also told I better get my arse out by my actual guardian, and I thought it’d be best to listen to him rather than some unsigned piece of parchment.”

Snape sneered. “You insolent, little-”

Harry started trying to wrench himself away from the man, feeling himself growing angrier with the situation by the second. “What’s it to you, anyway? We’re not in school, you have no authority over me!”

The grip on Harry only intensified, this time clearly intended to cause him pain rather than just to hold him still. “I have no authority, do I? Headmaster Dumbledore seems to think otherwise, seeing as he is the one who sent me here to keep watch over your ungrateful little hide.”

“Dumbledore? Why would he-?”

“That’s Professor Dumbledore to you, Potter. And perhaps because he had an idea that you would ignore direct orders and instead opt to flee, not an unreasonable assumption on his part.”

“I’m not fleeing,” Harry snapped. “I’m only doing what I was told.” A small stretch of the truth, perhaps. Uncle Vernon had most certainly made it clear that Harry was to leave the house immediately and never come back, but if Harry had actually wanted to stay he probably could have fought him on the matter. Oh well, what’s done is done.

“A first, and an unlikely one at that,” Snape scoffed. “You, Mr. Potter, are going right back to where you came from.” Snape turned, tugging forcefully on Harry’s arm to march him back down Privet Drive. Harry tried to fight it, but Snape seemed to possess a surprising amount of strength for such a pale and sickly looking man. In his struggle, Harry nearly fell over himself running into the back of the man who had abruptly stopped almost as soon as he had started.

“I thought we were going somewhere,” Harry said, not wanting to go back to the Dursleys at all, but knowing that he would most likely be made to and only growing more irritated by the indecisive delay. “Did you forget to take your Prozac today, Profes-?” he continued spitefully, but was quickly cut off.

“You foolish boy!” Snape hissed.

“What now?” Harry demanded indignantly, wondering if he might have crossed a line with the Prozac quip and still desperately trying to pull his arm away to no effect.

“The blood wards,” Snape said, tightening his grip on Harry’s arm even further. “You’ve broken them.”

“What?” Harry asked again, pausing in his struggle as he looked up at Snape, confused. The man wasn’t looking at him, though. His attention was focused off in the distance. Harry followed his gaze as he wrinkled his nose at the smell of smoke, soon discovering the cause of it.

#4 Privet Drive was on fire.