Chapter Text
Harry Potter was gone.
Albus had no idea where he was. The house on Privet Drive was destroyed, a smouldering ruin, rubble lying as far as three blocks over, the blood wards ceasing with the Dursley's lives. They said it was an explosion, a gas leak, or something. In truth, they had no idea, coming back puzzled after the check. The pipes were indeed completely ruined, but it appeared the explosion originated under the stairs.
An explosion. A magical one, at that. When Albus had shown up to the scene, pretending to be a morbidly intrigued Muggle, he recognised the magical residue scattered over the whole block.
His memory flashed back. Gellert, and all his horrible experiments on those poor children, who had been suppressed, forbidden of doing magic, and if they did, punished for it. Obscurials.
Albus lay his head in his hands. He hoped, he prayed he was wrong.
Somewhere in London, a little boy was running away, soot all over his body. His skin was cracked, blood seeping from the wounds, and his spectacles were broken, his unruly hair peeking through the holes in the lenses. Despite this, nobody seemed to notice him, slipping past crowds and policemen and ticket stands for the Tube.
He didn't stop running, dodging through the thick crowd inside until he'd arrived at the last line- Terminal Three, or something or other. He dashed up the stairs, looking behind him, sincerely Wishing nobody would see him, notice him, talk to him.
His small bare feet left tiny cracks in the tiled floor as he raced through the large halls, dodging past so many people, why were there so many people? His breath came harshly but he didn't stop, taking no notice of flickering screens and the stuttering of the speaker system, nor the shuttering of cameras. He took no notice of people frowning at each other and at the equipment, didn't listen to people muttering 'power outage? ', kept pumping his too-skinny legs though the pain until he ducked into a tunnel leading off a large hall.
He bounded down the tunnel, unaware of how the metal floor vibrated with energy below his feet, catching the raw power flowing out of him and into the surroundings.
He arrived in a small, round space with seats on either side and a narrow path in the middle. The boy moved through it, anxious at it being so open for having so many hiding places. One wrong movement and anyone could see him if he hid in this space. When he looked further into the space he saw a door standing open and nobody near it, the silver-coloured lock glinting at him. A noise behind him, laughing kindly at something another said, made him jump and run to the door, a panicked noise escaping his throat. He dashed inside and turned the lock with shaking fingers, distressed at its heaviness but relieved when it fell into place with a soft thunk. He listened for a minute, maybe more, and when no footsteps could be heard, he sank to his knees, closing his eyes to stop the tears escaping.
He dashed inside and turned the lock with shaking fingers, distressed at its heaviness but relieved when it fell into place with a soft thunk. He listened for a minute, maybe more, and when no footsteps could be heard, he sank to his knees, closing his eyes to stop the tears escaping.
His breathing was still harsh, coming and going far too fast, so the boy turned around and rested his head back against the door, vivid emerald eyes searching the small space for something, anything to focus on. The room was a lavatory, bigger than the boy's living space but sterile in a way that felt constricting. There was no small window at the top to let air in, just a steel vent that clattered gently every few seconds, not enough to make the boy flinch, but enough to make his eyes dart in its direction every time it made a noise.
The toilet seat was pushed up against the lid and a button in the wall displayed a sign in red the boy couldn't read, but assumed it was the lever for flushing. The counter his toes touched was high, probably up to the boy's shoulders, but he wasn't strong or willing enough to test it, his knees shaking even while his legs rested on the floor. He could glimpse the faucet and the upper side of a mirror from his position, eyes tracing the details he could see in its reflection. Then at once the cabin shook and came into motion.
The boy started breathing rather heavily again, but tried his best to count the things he could see- two counters, one toilet roll, one button, four screws in the toilet seat -to regulate it. He hadn't known the room would start moving! What if he was being kidnapped by the strange men and women that stared at him in the street? Aunt had told him-
The boy stopped short. Aunt wasn't there anymore. He had seen her, had recognised her dress, lying half under a collapsed rock. He had seen the phantoms of flames licking at the wooden beams and the smouldering wallpaper. He knew, inside him, instinctively, that she was dead, and he knew, too, that he would get in a lot of trouble because of it. So he ran.
Now he was here, locked into a lavatory on a moving thing- the boy squeaked as the sensation of it speeding up washed over him -and unable to do anything about it. If he was lucky, they would take him far, far away; away from the house, away from his cupboard, away from his Family. And as the tears started rolling down his face, he felt like he had been lifted off the ground, like those air-plane things Cousin always played with.
His ears started hurting shortly after, but the boy was used to pain and didn't mind it, instead letting the tears fall free down his face like he would in the dead of night, in his cupboard, when there was nobody to hear him over Uncle's loud snoring. Exhausted, he let his eyes fall shut, and slowly slipped into a quiet slumber, neglecting the spit and snot on his lips and the salt on his cheeks. It was the most peaceful sleep he'd had since he could remember.