The Boy Who Ran Away

Six year old Harry Potter was running away. And this time, no body was going to stop him.

Harry had tried to run away once before, back when he had lived in Little Whinging with his Aunt and Uncle. He hadn't gotten very far before one of the nosey neighbours had dragged him back by the scruff of his neck.

This time, the small boy decided as he slipped out into the courtyard of the large castle, things would be different. He was going to run away from Hogwarts and nobody was going to get in his way. Not even...

"Good evening, Harry!"

Professor Dumbledore.

Stopping in his tracks, Harry slowly turned on the spot to face the old man.

"Wherever could you be going at such a late hour?" Dumbledore asked, glancing at Harry's rucksack with a twinkle in his eye.

Harry didn't respond. He was fairly certain that the headmaster already knew exactly what had happened. And besides, it wasn't often that Albus Dumbledore asked a question to which he didn't already know the answer.

"Perhaps, if I might be so bold as to take up some of your time, we could go for a stroll?" the man suggested, stretching out an arm to guide Harry in the direction of the astronomy tower.

Not a word was spoken between them then, until they reached the top of the tower, at which point Dumbledore offered Harry a sherbet lemon.

Shaking his head, the small boy leant against the railings and looked out over the grounds of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardy, rapidly fading in the dark.

"This is my favourite part of the castle, you know?" Dumbledore told him, sitting on the wooden bench at the centre of the tower. "I find the peace and quiet is most useful when one needs to think, or perhaps talk about something that is troubling them. Where did you plan to go, if you don't mind me asking?"

Harry just shrugged, his back still turned.

"It's one thing to run away, Harry. It's another to have no destination in mind," the older wizard said, though there was no trace of anger in his words.

"It doesn't matter, does it? I can't stay here," the young boy said eventually, sounding just as miserable as he felt.

"On the contrary, it matters a great deal, to a great many people. One in particular," Dumbledore told him. "That very person is, as we speak, searching this whole castle frantically."

"He's not. He's angry."

"Quite. And with good reason, or so I have heard. Your father is a potions master who takes his craft very seriously, Harry. There are any number of dangerous ingredients in that laboratory, and what is the one rule he has always had?"

"Don't go in Daddy's potions lab unless he says I can," Harry muttered sheepishly, turning to face Dumbledore and averting his eyes to the ground.

"Ah. If I am not mistaken, child, your father was simply concerned for your safety. You and I both know that he is not the best at expressing his emotions. I am sure that he will calm down, once he sees that you have managed to recall this rule," Dumbeldore assured him.

"I didn't...forget the rule..." Harry began, wondering if he was wise to go on.

Dumbledore raised his eyebrows above his half-moon spectacles, yet his surprise appeared to be feigned.

"I see. Forgive an old man, I must be confused. There was another reason for you to venture inside without permission?"

"I wanted... to... to make the potion like Daddy showed me. So Daddy would... would..." Harry began, kicking at a loose stone on the floor absent-mindedly.