Chapter One The Prisoner
I'm slipping off the edges.
I'm hanging by a thread.
I wanna start this over again.
Simple Plan: Untitled
A young man wandered the wet streets of Little Whinging. His emerald eyes sought out others his age having fun with their friends. The young man noticed everyone on the street, but he only stared at other teens, and only when they were in groups. As for those that noticed him, they saw a loner. But few actually did; he wasn't the type of person you noticed. If anything, he was the sort of person you look at once, and then look away, embarrassed for him. He was almost always muttering to himself. His clothes were old and worn, hand-me-downs by the look of them. He was pallid looking and extremely thin, under-weight even.
The man had shown up on the streets just two days ago. He was most often seen on the streets around Privet Drive, and mothers there told their children to stay away from him. He looked dangerous. He looked insane. He looked to be haunted by something, if not several something's. They weren't far off, though this young man would never hurt their children. He didn't hurt kids. He was only dangerous to his enemies. Harry smiled ruefully. He had many enemies, every last one of them out for his blood.
Voldemort.
That one name made Harry's blood run cold. His destiny was tied to that monster's life or, rather, his death. Only one of them would survive, and Harry had a hard time believing he would be the one to do so. Just last month he had been a 'guest' of His, and He had made sure Harry knew who was in charge. How could Harry possible win a fight against that monster?
Harry turned into the play park where he and his friends had arrived in Little Whining almost three days ago. The park was filled with parents and children. It had been a rainy summer here in little Whinging, and the kids were taking advantage of the brief pause between rain showers. Parents steered their children away from him, but Harry didn't care anymore. Many of the adults knew he was the Potter boy, the boy that had spent the past six years at St. Brutus's Secure Center for Incurably Criminal Boys. Now, he finally looked the part. Dark bags surrounded his eyes, giving him a haunted look. Which made sense, seeing that Harry was haunted. After that one night of sleep on Sunday night, Harry's nightmares had returned. There were no visions, for this Harry was thankful. He didn't know what he would do if he saw a Revelry. It wouldn't be good, whatever the reaction.
Harry took a seat on one of the now empty swings and started to swing. He pumped his legs, trying to reach the sky. That was one thing Harry needed. He needed to fly, but that wasn't feasible. Not while he was in Little Whinging. He needed to get somewhere where the Muggles wouldn’t see him. Harry stopped pumping, feeling too depressed to expend the energy. The swing lost momentum, until, finally, it stilled, and Harry watched the kids climbing on the jungle gym at a safe distance from him. A little girl was picking flowers, well, more honestly, weeds. Harry smiled, the girl had such innocence.
The thought reminded Harry of Fawkes. Why hadn't he felt the peace that normally accompanied that song? What had changed in him? Harry didn't think he had crossed any lines toward being an evil and power-hungry wizard. He had read a disturbing quote in Fantastical Beasts and Where to Find Them. The phoenix song seemed to "increase the courage of the pure of heart and strike fear into the hearts of the impure." Well, the song had caused only a deep sadness in Harry; he felt neither fear nor courage.
The little girl ran to her mother and gave the woman the weeds. The mother smiled and the girl laughed with happiness. She ran back to pick more weeds. Harry smiled once again, before his thoughts returned to his problems once again. This caused his face to fall into a tortured and depressed look.
