harry.exe has stopped working ━ hp x tmr | lv

2.

Chapter Two: 

Harry goes through the mail, looking for the one letter that’s addressed to him. Once he finds it, he stares at it for almost a full minute, tracing his eyes over the loopy letters and the red stamp with the Hogwarts emblem. It makes him feel nostalgic. For a second he thinks of Hermione and Ron and tears up. A lump forms in the back of his throat and he has to force himself to swallow through it dryly. 

“Hurry it up!” Uncle Vernon yells from the kitchen. It snaps Harry from out of his daze. With a sigh, Harry blinks always his tears. He shoves his Hogwarts acceptance letter underneath the door of his cupboard and brings the rest of the mail towards a waiting Vernon. 

“Oh,” Vernon voices, turning to look at Petunia who’s noisily peering through the kitchen window at their neighbors. “Marge is ill,” he says. 

“What a pity,” Aunt Petunia mutters. She moves away from the window and sits at the table beside Dudley. Harry does quick work of settling bacon and sausages across their plates, hungrily eyeing the pieces of food. The last time had eaten was about a week ago and that had been a pathetic slice of bread with some cheese. His Aunt seems to notice the hunger in his expression because she shoo’s him away like one would shoo a stray dog from their doorstep.

Later, under the guise of gardening, Harry pens an answer back to Hogwarts on a piece of ripped paper. He sends it along with an owl, the one that had been circling their house since this morning and it hoots at him before it takes off in flight. This time there are no letters flowing through the fireplace like a river, there are no long trips across the country or even Hagrid kicking down the door to take him away on his flying motorcycle. 

The sun is high up in the sky, not a cloud to be seen and it makes Harry sweat in his oversized clothes. He pulls out the weeds between colourful flowers and mulls over his thoughts internally.

He can’t stay with the Dursleys. He needs to leave, as soon as possible. He also needs a wand. Trying to do magic without it was proving to be a hassle. He had managed to float a book in front of his face for a solid five seconds before he had sagged against his sorry excuse of a mattress and passed out. Ah, but where would he go? Harry supposes he could stay at the Leaky Cauldron. He’ll need a disguise though. 

Groaning, Harry resigns to his fate of forever having the worst luck. 

Weeks pass by all the same, the days blurring together into one. Harry practices using his magic late at night. He floats books, manages to spell a crayon to write across his little wall and even fixes his glasses when Dudley breaks them the day prior. The priceless look on Aunt Petunia’s face is all worth it, even when she tries to beat the ‘freakishness’ out of him.

When the sun starts setting earlier and the air starts getting colder, Harry packs whatever little belongings he has into a ratty, old backpack and waits for the night to come. When the clock in the hallway chimes twelve o’clock midnight, Harry focuses his magic onto the latch pinned to the outside of his cupboard door. It takes a few seconds to work, but after Harry wishes, wishes really hard, the latch opens with a quiet ‘click'.

The use of his magic makes him feel drowsy and he blinks several times to keep his eyes open. Harry shakes his head and pinches the skin on the back of his hand. It startles him enough to keep him awake. Slowly shuffling out, Harry closes the door behind him and clicks the latch back into place. He winces at the sound it makes, it seems much louder at night than day. Luckily enough, it doesn’t wake his uncle or aunt or cousin. 

Harry swipes a few pounds from Petunia’s coat, enough to get him some food and transport to London. There’s a split second where he thinks of staying, thinks of waiting for a teacher to come pick him up and take him shopping down diagon alley; like Hagrid had once done. And then the second thoughts disappear and Harry escapes into the night. 

It’s exhilarating to make his way down the street in the dark of the night, sort of… familiar. He stops once he’s near the park that he had hid in so many times as a kid. Whenever Dudley and his uh, friends, decided to play Harry Hunting, hiding in the park was the easiest. It had the most hiding places. 

Sighing, Harry sits down on the side of the curb and waits for the bus to arrive. There’s only one bus that arrives this late. It’s this old, rickety one that’s been around far longer than both Harry and the Dursley’s. Harry had used it once before — on the night that he had taken his own life. 

When the bus arrives, Harry pays his fair and sits in the back, away from prying eyes. There are a couple of others sat on the bus, rowdy teenagers and late night workers mostly. Harry eyes then wearily, afraid that he might get caught right off the bat.

After a half hour ride, Harry steps off and gets onto another bus. He stays on that one for a total of twenty minutes because a woman dressed in nurse attire had started asking him questions. Harry had avoided answering her questions and spewed our a few well formed lies like, “I’m actually on my way home. I have night school, you see.” 

She hadn’t looked convinced and Harry had to escort himself onto another bus. He stayed on that one until it reached London, huddled in the back with his knees drawn up to his chest and face twisted in concentration as he tried to cast a Notice Me Not spell. 

It worked, for the most part.

1025 words//unedited.