The Christmas Runaway

Harry Potter fanfiction story started by dreamydaydreamer and then later adopted by R. L. Ravenclaw

Chapter 1: Trouble with a Capital T

Harry Potter was in trouble.

Not that this was an unusual development. Far from it, in fact. In the eight years since Harry had been orphaned and sent to live with the Dursleys, Harry had spent far more time in trouble than out. He always imagined the word 'trouble' to have a capital T whenever it was used in relation to him, as it often was. He wouldn't have minded as much, if only he wasn't so clueless about what he was being punished for.

The day had gone on like any other with Harry rising at six a.m., dusting and polishing the house as he went, doing his morning chores until eight, when he would start breakfast for his aunt, uncle and cousin. A Dursley breakfast consisted of two packets of bacon, a pound of sausages, plus a few fried eggs. They had woken up, scoffed down the food, and then Dudley had gone to watch T.V, while Aunt Petunia went to spy on the neighbors and his Uncle Vernon to a business meeting at work. Harry had gone outside to shovel the snow, sweep the snow off of the second car, and do the rest of his chores. If he had finished by twelve, he would have been given lunch, but it had taken an extra twenty minutes, so he went hungry. He made lunch for Dudley and Petunia, watching them eat enviously. Dudley went out to play, but came running back in not long after, stamping snow all over the previously spotless floor. Aunt Petunia was horrified, though obviously not for the same reasons as Harry was.

"Duddy! Why aren't you wearing a coat? You'll catch your death of cold! You! Boy! Get my Dinky Diddydums some hot chocolate and biscuits, and mop this floor! I thought I told you to do it this morning!" Mutinously, Harry complied, wishing he was the one being offered refreshments. A fleeting thought of escape danced through his head, but was banished before he could even blink. He couldn't escape. He was stuck here for the next seven years, and that was it.

Then Uncle Vernon came home.

His business meeting had not gone well, and he was looking for a way to vent. As he always did, he took it out on Harry. First with his huge, meaty fists and then with his belt. An especially hard blow landed on Harry's nose, but he took it in silence, as always. This made his uncle even madder.

"You are a stupid, filthy, disgusting freak! You are only alive today because your aunt and I were kind enough to take you in when your useless, bloody drunken parents got themselves killed. We feed you, clothe you, put a roof over your miserable head and this is how you repay us! With your freakishness!"

He opened the door to the cupboard under the stairs where Harry lived and threw him in forcibly. He slammed and locked the door, then swaggered off to the kitchen to tell his family of his victory.

An hour later he came to the cupboard.

"We have been invited to a Christmas dinner party," he smirked, glaring at Harry through the grill of the cupboard. "Freaks aren't invited, so I'm afraid that you will be staying right where you are. Don't wait up for us!"

That had been hours ago. Harry was miserable. He was cold, tired, hungry, beaten and emotionally hurt. A little, persistent voice kept telling him that he didn't need to be here, he should just wait for an ideal moment then leg it. It wouldn't shut up no matter how creative Harry was with distractions. He glared at the door, willingit to open with an intensity that surprised himself. He nearly fell backwards when, to his shock, it opened.

Astonished, but not one to pass up an opportunity, he scrambled out of the cupboard, and ran to the kitchen, desperately seeking nourishment. He needed something that would not be missed by the Dursleys. Inspired, he opened a packet of raisins and scarffed them down. He had not eaten for the past two days, owing to one fault of his or another. He closed his eyes in bliss as his stomach stopped complaining. He would have to be careful about where he stashed the package, but it was a risk worth taking.

That small voice in the back of his head had one last try.

I know... why don't you run away? No more cooking, no more cleaning, no more beatings...

Shocked by the boldness of the voice, he almost dropped the raisins.

I can't do that! I'd get caught, and then killed! Then raised from the dead and killed again!

So don't get caught, idiot!

Like that would work!

HOW COULD YOUR LIFE BE WORSE!

I...I...

Right. It couldn't.

But what if...

He continued like this for a while and then he reached a decision. He would go, and go now. If he knew one thing, it was that the Dursleys would not be happy at losing their odd-job boy.

He emptied his schoolbag, dumping the books in his cupboard, and packed it with a pillow, blanket and food. It would not last long, but Harry was used to going hungry. He felt a twinge of guilt as he stole the food and Dudley's smallest coat, which would fit three Harrys quite comfortably, but he quashed it. Guilt would get him nowhere. The voice cheered its approval. Grabbing the bag, he unlocked the front door, hesitated for just a moment, then stepped into the snowy night air.