Chapter Text
Dark Angel
Part 1
It's only in the dark he comes to me, my dark angel.
It's only in the dark, he can touch me, he can make me his.
I yearn for him, for his touches, his caresses, his darkness.
It's only in the darkness of my dreams that he touches me.
From poem Dark Angel
Harry swore as his finger slipped through his hand again. The soap was hopeless, no matter what he tried he just couldn't get this bloody ring off; Dumbledore's spells were too strong. Harry choked on a couple of sobs as he remembered that day in the headmaster's office; the day that Sirius had died and Harry had lost it completely. He'd smashed up all those irritating instruments as he begged and begged Dumbledore not to send him back to Privet Drive.
That was when Dumbledore had put the charmed ring on him, saying that it was entirely for his own good, that it would enable Order members to keep track of him while he was at home. Home! Privet Drive had never been Harry's home, it had been his prison, and he made a vow to himself that he was not going back there even for one second. Not another second in that horrible house with the vile people who inhabited it. He'd begged and pleaded some more, but Dumbledore refused to budge on the issue: Harry was to go back to Privet Drive, back to the place where his mother's blood dwelled.
Now that Voldemort had finally been defeated – a joint Avada Kedavra cast by Harry and Snape had worked where it hadn't before – Harry thought his life would be his own, that he would finally be free. Free of Privet Drive and free of the Dursleys and what they made him do. He couldn't bear it; he couldn't bear to return to that.
The carriages would be arriving at any minute to take them to the station, Harry yanked on the ring one last time but it was as if Dumbledore had cast a permanent sticking charm on it: the ring refused to move. This could not be happening. Dumbledore could not really mean for him to go back to the Dursleys, not after everything. Harry suspected that Dumbledore already knew of some of the abuse that had taken place there, hadn't his first Hogwarts letter been addressed to his cupboard? Dumbledore knew some of it – he must – yet still he insisted that due to the danger to Harry from those Death Eaters still at large after the battle at the Ministry, Harry still needed his mother's blood protection.
Harry wanted to kick, to scream, to punch something. Monitoring spells or not, there was no way Harry was going back to that house. He'd catch the train with his friends, but once at Kings Cross, he'd make his way to Diagon Alley and Gringotts. Perhaps he’d get a room in the Leaky Cauldron for a few days while he decided what to do, for he knew he couldn't live at the inn permanently. Fred and George might put him up for a time, but he hoped he wouldn't have to ask. He should be capable of looking after himself. Soon Privet Drive and what had happened there would be a distant memory.
Harry was planning on running away.
***
"You're awfully quiet today, Harry," mused Hermione. "Is anything wrong?" The three of them were in a compartment on their own and Harry wished they were still on their prefect rounds so that he could have had a little time to himself. Ever since that awful day at the Ministry when he'd watched Sirius fall, no one had seemed keen to let him be. Harry thought they were worried that he might try and do something to harm himself. Sometimes he did think about it. He couldn't deny those thoughts: there would be no more pain; no more Dursleys and he would get to see his parents and Sirius again. It was tempting, but he wasn't sure he'd ever be able to do it.
For a second, a brief glorious second, Harry thought that he might be able to tell her, to tell both of them what was so wrong, but the words just wouldn't come. How could he tell them? How could he tell them that? They would be disgusted with him, just like the way he was disgusted with himself. They were both so normal. No, he couldn't tell them. This was a private horror and not something he could share with anyone.
"Nothing's wrong, Hermione," said Harry with a sigh. "I'm fine." The lies came so easily to him now, he'd been using them for so long they were like old friends. Sometimes if he said it often enough, he could almost believe it was true. Deep down he knew it wasn't, though. He wasn't fine. He'd never been fine, but he'd been using the persona of the happy Harry for so long that nearly everyone else believed it. Believed that he was just as fine, just as normal as the rest of them.
"We're almost there, Harry, you'd better get changed out of your robes. You know we're not supposed to wear them outside school."
"I have to go to Diagon Alley first, Hermione. I didn't want to wear Muggle clothes there."
"Oh. Right," said Hermione and Harry hoped she would leave it at that. Except for his school robes and uniform, all of Harry's other clothes were his cousin's hand-me-downs. Everything dwarfed him and the clothes were so ragged and tatty that Harry felt ashamed every time he put them on. It would have been impossible for a hotel to take him seriously if he was wearing those. Despite being a runaway, he didn't want to look like one. His uniform was the smartest set of clothes he owned and it would have to do until he got some money out and bought some more.
"You're still coming to the Burrow later, aren't you, Harry?"
"I don't know, Ron. Dumbledore might not allow it; he thinks it's still too dangerous."
"Dangerous? But Harry, you defeated You-Know-Who at the Ministry! It can't still be dangerous!"
"There are still Death Eaters at large, Ron," said Hermione. "Lucius Malfoy and Bellatrix Lestrange for starters. They're still after Harry."
Harry felt like a stone had lodged in his chest when he heard Hermione speak so casually of Sirius' murderer. Yes, he and Snape had defeated Voldemort, but too late to save Sirius. Too late to save the one person Harry thought might have been able to save him from the Dursleys. It still hurt too much to think of Sirius, so Harry tried his best not to. But if Bellatrix Lestrange did indeed come after him; he had a feeling that this time his Crucios would work brilliantly.
"We're here," said Hermione as the train shuddered to a stop.
***
The queue behind him was getting restless but the goblin seated behind the wooden desk was adamant. "You cannot make a personal withdrawal until you are of age, Mr. Potter. Where is the adult wizard accompanying you today?"
"There isn't one. I came on my own," sighed Harry. It had never even occurred to him that he wouldn't be able to take his own money out of the vault. There had always been an adult with him before, so he should have realised they weren't in the habit of allowing minors to take out funds.
"Can't you make an exception? I'll be seventeen in a few weeks."
"Mr. Potter, you will be sixteen in a few weeks’ time. Every underage wizard's age is a matter of public record and even if you were nearly seventeen, there would still be no exception. You cannot take out any money until you are seventeen and not a second before. Next!" the goblin called, dismissing him, and Harry was pushed aside by a tall, angular witch who seemed to be all elbows.
Harry made his way outside and stood on the marble steps of the bank just staring into space. What was he going to do? Running away meant he needed money. He had a few galleons left from last term, so there might be enough for a night in the Leaky Cauldron and maybe tomorrow Fred or George would go to the bank with him. It wasn't a brilliant plan but it was the only thing he could think of at the moment.
Dusk was falling rapidly as Harry wandered over to the courtyard of the Leaky Cauldron. The door opened, a rectangle of orange light spilled out onto the cobbles. Two drunken revellers banged into the dustbins and Harry's heart sped up in his chest. He pressed himself up against the wall, hoping they wouldn't see him. Drunken men were not something Harry felt like dealing with right now.
They giggled and wandered off in the opposite direction, away from Harry. He took one step over the threshold of the Wizarding inn and was suddenly yanked away, as if he'd suddenly been given a Portkey. The world whizzed past him in a blur of colours and all he could hear was a loud rushing in his ears. Harry fumbled for his wand, he was getting dizzy but he did manage to get it out of his robe pocket.
Harry thought that Lucius Malfoy or Bellatrix Lestrange might have been at the other end of this awful journey. When the world stopped spinning, Harry's wand dropped from his hand in shock. He was in the living room of number four, Privet Drive and his aunt and uncle did not look at all surprised to see him appear out of thin air like that.
"So," said Vernon. "So. You’re here at last, boy. About time."
The last thing Harry heard before he lost consciousness was the swish of his uncle's leather belt.