A Change of Feeling

A Brush with Death

"Wake Up! Wake up, you lazy boy!" Petunia screeched. "Start breakfast now!"

Harry startled awake. He swings his legs to the side of his bed. 'Another day, please let it be a really hot day.' Harry thinks. A hot day means a lazy day for the Dursleys. They seek the coolness of the house, with a lot of spring water, ice cubicles, and fans. And that is a very good thing for many reasons. For one: Harry is to stay outside. Now one might think this is a bad thing, right? A hot day, being outside... But for Harry, it means not many chores and peace. No Harry Hunting, no beatings, well.. no Dursleys. The perfect day.

Harry hurries into the bathroom. After washing, brushing his teeth, he tried to tame that Potter hairdo, alas no luck in the hair department. As quick as his legs can carry him he travels off the stairs into the kitchen and starts breakfast. He saves one burned pancake because every first pancake is bound to burn a bit, right? One streak of bacon falls on the ground (what a pity) and a couple of blueberries are somewhat on the soft side. After finishing breakfast, and washing the dishes Harry collects his chores for the day. He can't believe his luck: he only had to weed the front garden and had to get some groceries from a local store. This is done within two hours! Harry tries to strain his upcoming smile: Petunia must not get any ideas about other chores.

At noon the heath is cutting in Harry's skin. Drops of sweat glide along his neck and back down. Harry knows there is a water connection outside for the gardening hose. On his hands and knees, he crawls to the water tap. He opens the ambrosia of Walhalla and drinks like a withered Nicolas Flamel who tries to hydrate his wrinkles.

'Oh Sweet Merlin, this is the life! Let me just lay here and cool, and drink, and cool some more. '

"Hey Big D! What does your house rat outside your house! Man, look at it drinking on that hose. The next step would be rummaging trash cans!" Piers laughs hard. Next to him appears Mr. Big D, or Duddikins, Harry likes to call him.

"Yes rat, what are you doing there? Thinking about your mama? Or about your poof boyfriend Cedric?" Dudley sneers at Harry.

Harry jumps on his feet and winched a little. His legs are still sore and his ribs still ache terribly. He starts to walk backward, to the side of the house. His exit plan is to take a sprint into the street, to the playground. He is quick, and maybe this Harry Hunting Party will end before it's beginning.

"Big D, why is the rat walking back? Is it scared?" Piers taunts.

"Why Yes, I think it is. Let's get him."

Harry jumps over the fence and sprints across the street. He follows the pavement and turns in a clearing, into the playground. He jumps over a swing, hoping Dudley and Piers would crumble to the earth. Of course, the Potter-luck charm is still on vacation. Harry dares to look across his right shoulder. Dudley and Piers are closing in.

Harry jumps over another fence, into a large field. Harry's mind wandered. 'What would Granger do?'

'Oh Harry, you must remember the essay we had to write for professor Lockhart. It was directly from 'Magical Me', about his encounter with the ghastly vampire who almost got a sip from the gorgeous neck of Gilderoy. You must remember this particular scene, it is so similar to your situation: he was running across a large field, and in his chaos, he fell down....'

Harry felt his feet caught on an overgrown root, and in a split of a second, his mind snapped from the imaginary lecture of his best friend and fell, quite ugly, to the ground.

"Fuck, that hurts!" Harry snarls.

He turned around and could see two triumphant faces above him. One was quite round with puffy cheeks and the other more pointy looking, but both faces had something malicious about them. Harry knew those looks: they meant pain.