A/N: Hello, folks, I'm back! I've been off the site for a while now, doing a multitude of things, among them working on some original pieces and doing my first ever NaNoWriMo. But this story wouldn't quit. I've been working on it on and off for about three years, it was my go to 'de-stressing' activity during my last years at uni, when I'd get so fed up with medieval history I'd open a new document and start writing this in protest. I hadn't looked at it since I graduated last year until a few weeks ago when I thought I'd finally get around to finishing it. Hope you enjoy!

Note: If whiny, complainy Harry in the Order of the Phoenix annoyed you, steer clear! I'd always been interested in pursuing more of Harry's state of mind after the Triward Tournament and wondering how things could have gone differently, as well as wishing more could have been made of Hary's Parseltongue abilities, and this is my take on it. So be warned, Harry is an emotional mess!

Kill the spare.

"No, not Cedric …"

Avada Kedavra!

"No! Please, don't kill him!"

Bow to death, Harry.

"No … please … NO!"

Harry yelled and jerked upright in bed, trembling. He was drenched in sweat, and his bed clothes and pyjamas were clinging to him like a second skin. He breathed deeply for a few moments, trying to steady the rapid hammering of his heart. His body was rushing with adrenaline, ready to run from the enemies in his mind.

Taking another deep breath, he swung his legs out of bed and crossed over to the window. He peered out into the silent street, half expecting to see Voldemort and his Death Eaters coming up the driveway. He pulled at the lock and opened the window a little, letting the cool night air soothe his burning skin. Hedwig sat in her cage next to him on his desk. She peered at him, looking almost concerned, and hooted softly in reassurance. He looked at her sadly. What did she know of what he was going through?

He closed his eyes, and immediately, that face, his face was in front of him once more, leering, smiling, red eyes aglow, laughing as Harry writhed around on the graveyard soil, screaming as his muscles were set on fire.

He saw Cedric's face once more, pale in death, a surprised look still on his face. He vividly remembered the feel of his body as he carried it back to Hogwarts, the looks on his parents' faces when they had visited him in the Hospital Wing. They hadn't said it, but Harry was certain they had wished he had died instead.

Sometimes he wished that as well.

He felt physically sick as he remembered the pain of the Cruciatus Curse, and his limbs twitched in remembrance.

He sat down on the edge of his bed as his breathing calmed somewhat and his body began to relax. He buried his head in his hands and tried not to succumb to the despair that had plagued him ever since he had returned to Privet Drive.

Almost a month had passed since that fateful day of the Triwizard Tournament, and not a moment had passed that Harry had not vividly relived it. It was in his dreams, in his thoughts, day and night, until he could no longer escape it. It was with him always.

It didn't help that he'd been stuck in this room almost that entire time. He lay on his bed all day, lethargic, not moving, not even for meals sometimes, just letting the numbness take over. What was the point? No one cared what he was up to. The Dursleys were happy to ignore him as always, and so it seemed were his wizarding friends.

They'd written, but their letters were short, rushed, and devoid of the information Harry desperately craved. What was happening with Voldemort? What was going on? From the looks of things, Ron and Hermione were together somewhere, and deliberately not revealing any information to him, although they said they could not. Even Sirius was sketchy on details.

At first he had been angry. Didn't he deserve to know the truth? After everything, did they think he'd be content just to go back to the Muggle world and live like a good little boy until they came to get him? But that anger had long since passed, and now all he felt was resentment, abandonment and hurt.

He'd desperately listened to the Muggle news every day for some sign of what was going on in the Muggle world, but nothing was forthcoming. Even the Daily Prophet told him nothing. After finding nothing whatsoever on the front pages, he'd soon delved deeper and discovered subtle hints throughout questioning his both his own sanity and that of Dumbledore's. It looked like Fudge's denial was still going strong.

Dumbledore had angered him as well. Not even so much as a letter in all the time he had been here. He'd tried to distract himself by long walks around Little Whinging, hoping to escape the tortures of his memory, but had had little success. If he had hoped surrounding himself by banal normality of Muggle life would help him, he had been wrong. All it did was remind him how helpless he was here to fight against this new evil, how helpless he had been that night.

He couldn't escape the guilt, the shame. He had lain there on the ground defenceless as Cedric was killed just inches away, after he, Harry, had been the one to bring him to Little Hangleton in the first place. He hadn't fought back as Wormtail had tied him to the gravestone, he had stood and watched as Voldemort was resurrected, stood there as he was tortured, and the Death Eaters laughed. He had been so helpless, so weak …

It was his fault … Voldemort had needed his blood to return. If Harry had only fought back … could he have prevented it? If he hadn't fought so hard to win the Third Task, Cedric would have gotten there first to the Cup … he would still have died, but Voldemort would not have returned.

Why had he insisted Cedric take the Cup with him? If he hadn't …

The memory of Cedric's spirit, ghost, whatever he was coming from Voldemort's wand lingered in his thoughts. Those other victims … his parents …

He closed his eyes as he felt his breathing quicken and his heart rate increase, hoping to escape those images, but the blackness only increased their vibrancy. He began shaking again, and felt tears prick at his eyes. Would he never escape this?

He'd sneaked into the medicine cupboard one night when the Dursleys were sleeping, and rummaged around for some sleeping tablets, hoping to escape the nightmares that plagued his evenings. But the nightmares had come anyway, despite the pills. He'd even looked through his school books for a way to make a Dreamless Sleep potion, but despaired when he looked at the extensive list of ingredients. There was just no way to escape this misery.

He lay back on his bed, and stared at the ceiling, feeling the usual melancholy and depression sink in. Here he was alive, when Cedric was dead and Voldemort was at large. What use could he be to anybody? It was no wonder no one had bothered to write to him properly.

Never in his life had he felt so alone, even before he had found out he was a wizard. Back then, he didn't know what it was like to have friends. Now he did know, and now he knew what it was like to be abandoned by them.

Why didn't anybody realise how much he had badly needed them? How desperately he had needed their comfort, their guidance this last month? He felt like he was going insane. Why couldn't they see that? Why didn't they want to help him?

They must blame him for what had happened. They must hate him for it. And no wonder. He should have done more.

His scar prickled uncomfortably, but Harry paid it no heed. It was constantly hurting these days, but no pain could match that which he felt inside.

A few hours later, sunlight began to stream in through the window, and he heard movement in the rest of the house, meaning that morning had finally come in the time he'd spent staring at the ceiling.

He slowly sat up, vaguely thinking of going to get some breakfast. He couldn't remember the last time he had eaten. He preferred to avoid his aunt and uncle as much as possible. He shoved on some clothes and headed downstairs.

His aunt looked up as he walked into the kitchen, and a brief frown crossed her face. He paid no attention to this, and took his place at the table, pouring himself some orange juice. Dudley had yet to emerge from his bedroom, which meant there was still some food left. His aunt wordlessly passed him the most burnt piece of toast that she could, and Harry bit into it, not even noticing the taste. Everything tasted like cardboard to him these days anyway.

He fixed his eyes on the television screen in the corner, where a news reporter was speaking to the camera.

"-beautiful Wednesday morning today, and it looks like this heatwave is set to continue for the next few weeks. Although farmers and green-fingered viewers may be despairing at the lack of rain these days, hundreds of you have been flocking to the nation's beaches for some long-awaited sun, sea and relaxation. Local tourism bodies have been reporting on huge rises in demands for-"

The report continued, showing beaches filled to bursting of excited family holiday-makers, lounging under multi-coloured umbrellas on the sand, clutching melting ice-creams, topless middle-aged men with salmon pink sunburn, children building sand castles or sitting astride fat donkey and families splashing around in the clear blue sea.

Harry watched the pictures and the numb feeling inside of him grew. Not once in his life had he been to the seaside, the closest he'd ever been to the sea was the time Uncle Vernon had dragged them all out to that hut on the rock to escape the Hogwarts letters. The Dursleys had been many times, after dropping off Harry at Mrs Figg's that is, of course. They'd return late at night, Dudley pink from the sun, boasting of the crabs he'd caught in the rock pools, recounting the many ice-cream cones he'd eaten and flashing the stick of rock he was chewing on and laughing at the fact Harry had nothing.

The news reporter changed subject and began to drone on about a local by-election, but Harry didn't look away from the screen. Was this all the Muggles could find to talk about? The sun and some wannabee parliamentarians? Was Voldemort doing anything? Had he imagined it all? Or did no one see fit to let him know?

Finally he looked away, more disturbed by the continuing silence of the Death Eaters than reports of mass murders. He heard Dudley thumping down the stairs, and was up out of his seat like a shot. He did not want to run into him.

Seeing that getting back to his room without meeting Dudley would be impossible, Harry instead chose to slip out the back door and into the garden. He strolled past the dry flowerbeds and withered lawn until he found the furthest corner of the garden, where he crouched down, hoping to be concealed from the sight of the house by the large rosebush next to him.

How long he sat there in the garden, he didn't know but it must have been hours. He just stared straight ahead, deaf to the buzzing of bees, murmur of radios from people in their gardens enjoying the sunshine and mowing of lawns. He vaguely remembered another time he had sat here, and saw a pair of green eyes peering at him from inside the hedge. He'd felt abandoned by his friends back then as well, but at least he had found out the truth in the end. These letters deliberately devoid of any useful information were worse than not hearing at all.

The anger still boiled away inside of him, no longer directed at the people who were supposed to be his friends. He was unsure who exactly he was angry at, himself, Voldemort, Ron, even Cedric … all he knew was that it was a struggle to keep down, a struggle not to give in and rage, pack his trunk and tie it to his broom and fly off somewhere. He was restless, and he felt strained, like he could snap at any moment.

As he was once again trying to reign in this anger, a low hiss caught his attention. It came from somewhere near his feet, and he lifted them aside, searching the grass for what had made the sound. A glint in the sun caught his eye, and he immediately drew back when he saw a snake in the grass at his feet, slowly emerging from underneath the nearby bench. About a half a metre long it was slender and a greyish colour with a double row of small black spots on its back. It coiled itself up, and raised its dark head to stare directly at him.

Harry stared back, his heart ceasing to hammer so hard when he saw that the snake was smaller and of a different colour to Nagini, who had also been filling his dreams as of late from her position coiled around her master's shoulders. This was simply a normal wild snake. He didn't lower his guard however; Voldemort was a Parselmouth after all, and wild thoughts sprang to Harry's mind as he tried to think of ways he could use this to his advantage to come after him.

But the snake just stared at him, head tilted on one side as if confused. Harry slowly moved back to his original position. It didn't seem hostile. Yet.

"What do you want?" Harry said, hearing the subtle hiss behind his words he never used to notice. The snake was surprised, though Harry wasn't quite sure how he knew this, considering the snake's expression (if snakes had expressions) hadn't changed in the slightest.

"A human with a serpent's tongue?" the snake hissed, a high voice that almost sounded female, though again, Harry had no idea how he knew this. "Interesting."

The snake inched closer, and this time, Harry did not draw back, but eyed the snake the entire time.

"I'm simply lost, human," she said. "Do you think I like to be stuck in this place with the stench of humans all around me?"

"We're not that bad," said Harry, eyeing with discomfort the writhing, shining body as it came closer. "The fields are that way." He pointed vaguely over the rows of houses, hoping the snake would just slither off, but she made no attempt to move.

"I have never met a serpent-tongue before," she said. "You are a dying breed."

"So are you," said Harry. He wasn't a great expert on British snakes, but remembering what he could from studying local wildlife at primary school and seeing that she didn't have the distinctive marks of an Adder, he guessed she had to be from another species, and therefore pretty rare. It also, he reminded himself, meant she probably wasn't venomous. "What kind of snake are you? And what's your name?"

She hissed in annoyance. "I pay no attention to the names of humans," she said, indignantly. "I am a snake, I need no other name."

"Okay," said Harry, not liking the hissing vehemence. "I was just wondering. You're the first wild snake I've ever met."

She almost looked pleased at this. "We seldom choose to approach humans," she said. "They are beneath us."

"I see where the Slytherin superiority mentality comes from then," said Harry, rolling his eyes.

"You are a wizard?" she hissed, seeming to recoil.

"Yeah, don't you like wizards?"

She shook her head. "It is a wizard that enslaves my kind. An evil man who possesses snakes and kills them. He is no friend to us. He kills us. Hurts us. His serpent-tongue is used for evil purposes. We have no choice but to obey."

Harry's heart clenched as he heard this mention of Voldemort, once again intruding himself into every part of Harry's life. Even the snakes were against him.

"I'm not like him," Harry said, a little louder than he needed to, as if to reassure himself. "He's evil. He killed my family. We're at war with him, or, at least, I think we are, if the Ministry ever gets its head out of its-"

"What are you doing?"

Harry jumped, and saw Dudley standing there watching him, a mix of amusement and uncertainty on his face. Apparently he had not seen the snake. He came closer, clutching a huge bag of crisps in one hand, crumbs around his mouth. When Harry said nothing, he began to laugh.

"What was that noise you were making, eh?" he chuckled. "Sounded like you were choking or something! Is that what you weirdoes do at that school? Sit around making silly noises to yourselves?"

Harry felt his anger grow, but reigned it back in. Despite all his less than tranquil feelings at the present, he knew saying something to Dudley would be a bad idea. He bit his tongue, and hoped Dudley would get bored by his lack of response and leave. Unfortunately, he did not.

"You're such a freak," Dudley said, still laughing. "A lonely little freak with nobody to talk to except himself."

Ignore him, ignore him, Harry said to himself, but Dudley was hitting too close to home.

"Talking to thin air in the day and your pillow at night, don't you have any friends?"

Harry's stomach dropped, and he forgot his resolution to stay quiet.

"What do you mean?"

"Cedric, oh Cedric, don't kill Cedric!" Dudley said, imitating him in a high, fearful voice. "Don't kill me! Mum, don't let him kill me. He killed Cedric!' Who's Cedric then, your boyfriend?"

Harry immediately leapt to his feet, withdrew the wand from his belt and pointed it straight at Dudley, not caring that he was in full view of the kitchen and several neighbour's houses. He was shaking in anger.

"Don't say that again," he said, voice trembling in emotion. Dudley looked at the wand.

"Point that thing away from me!"

"Take it back!"

"Point that thing away from me!"

"Take it back!"

The back door opened with a crash, and distracted, Harry looked away, only for one of Dudley's massive hands to whirl round and clock him on the side of the head, knocking him back against the bench, making him somewhat dazed, ears ringing. Dudley, seeing Harry's wand fly from his hand took this opportunity to go in for another blow.

But before Dudley's fist had made contact, he pulled back, screaming in pain. Harry looked closer and saw his fist covered in blood.

"Something bit me!" he was yelling. He staggered around for a moment, before spotting something on the ground. "It's a snake!"

Harry turned his head sharply to the side to see the snake slithering away quickly through the grass, tail disappearing into the hedge. He didn't have long to look however. Something grabbed him roughly by the scruff of the neck and dragged him into the house. Choking, and trying to regain his feet, he was thrown into the kitchen. He turned to see Uncle Vernon's face pressed up against his own, red and livid with anger.

"What did you do to him?" he bellowed, moustache quivering.

"Nothing!" Harry protested, but Dudley and Aunt Petunia had entered the kitchen, Dudley's hand wrapped in Aunt Petunia's apron, soaked with blood. She carefully unwrapped it and started trying to clean it in the sink, gushing over her 'poor ickle Diddykins'.

Uncle Vernon took one look at the blood and went white, not with disgust, but pure fury.

"It was a snake!" wailed Dudley, sobbing hysterically. "I heard him hissing to it. He was controlling it. He made it bite me!"

"I didn't!" Harry protested, but he knew before he started it would be fruitless. Aunt Petunia shrieked and clutched at Dudley even tighter, making him yell in pain.

"A snake? Vernon, what'll we do? What if it was poisonous? We need to get him to a hospital! Don't worry, Diddykins, we'll get you an antidote."

"It wasn't a venomous snake!" said Harry, but he realized this had only made things worse. Uncle Vernon rounded on him.

"Not venomous, eh? And how else would you know that unless you're the one the set it on him? What if it's deadly?"

"When's the last time you heard of someone dying from a snakebite in Britain?" Harry asked. "It was probably just a grass snake or something."

Uncle Vernon did not calm down. "You've done this before, boy!" he roared, eyes popping. "You set that boa constrictor on him at the zoo. You did this on purpose!"

"No, I didn't!" Harry yelled back, just as loud, anger finally bursting to the surface with the injustice of it all. He was sick of being treated as the enemy all the time. "That precious son of yours was trying to beat me up and the snake bit him trying to defend me. It's his fault."

"Don't you try to blame Dudley for this, you freak," Uncle Vernon shouted. "You're the unnatural one. You and your pet snake! I've had enough of it. I knew we should have sent you to an orphanage!"

"I wish you had!" Harry shouted back, feeling so angry he was surprised sparks weren't flying from his palms. "Then I wouldn't have to put up with bullies like all of you!"

"Where are you going?" said Uncle Vernon, as Harry ducked around him trying to get to the safety of his bedroom before he did something he regretted.

"Leave me alone."

"Oh, no, boy," said Uncle Vernon, grabbing the back of Harry's shirt. "I haven't finished with you yet!"

He pulled at Harry, and Harry pulled in the opposite direction, but Uncle Vernon was stronger. As he was pulled towards him, a fist collided with the side of his jaw and Harry was thrown backwards with great force. He hit the worktop, bruising what felt like all of his ribs, and rebounded before falling back against the glass partition to the garden. It shattered under the force, and Harry felt shards of glass cutting at the flesh all up his back. He lay on the ground, temporarily winded, and aching all over, feeling a trickle of blood seeping through his clothes. Uncle Vernon approached him with his hands outstretched, whether to drag him to his feet or to hurt him some more, Harry wasn't sure. All he knew was that every piece of anger he had been feeling the last several weeks came flooding to the surface and out through his flesh with an intensity that surprised even him.

Suddenly, Uncle Vernon was backing away, screaming in pain as his hands were suddenly set alight, burning brightly in the small kitchen. He leapt about like a maniac, high-pitched noises coming from his throat as his skin and edges of his shirt sleeves went up in flames. Harry lay there in shock, unable to do anything but stare at what he had done. Despite her and Dudley's own terrified screams, Aunt Petunia managed to get Uncle Vernon over to the sink where she had been washing Dudley's wound and plunged his hands into the slightly bloody water. The fire was immediately quenched with another scream of pain from Uncle Vernon.

What happened next was over in a flash, as Aunt Petunia bundled her husband and son into the car outside, and climbed into the driver's seat making for the hospital with her foot down, crying hysterically, and barely even sparing a glance at Harry other than one which clearly said he was in for it when they got home.

Harry had lain on the floor unmoving while they left, shaking with combined anger and fear. Not the least bit sorry for Uncle Vernon, all he cared about was what was going to happen to him. Magic like that, even accidental, was not easily forgiven by the Ministry. He already had a warning, and after what had happened to Aunt Marge …

Rage was still running through him. It serves the two of them right, he thought, despite knowing what the consequences would be for himself. It was almost worth it, even if he was expelled. But what to do now? Would the Ministry be after him? Should he leave?

As he was lying there, he noticed a quiet hissing sound at his ear.

"Sorry."

Harry turned to see the snake beside him on the kitchen floor. He smiled at her despite his pain.

"Don't be, that was brilliant."

"You were in trouble."

"Believe me, it's worth it," said Harry, making his way to his feet, shaking slightly. "They deserved it."

"They are your family?"

"In a way," said Harry. He winced as he moved, feeling the cuts on his back sting. Being thrown about and punched like that by Uncle Vernon had shocked him. They'd neglected him for years, ignored him, treated him like scum, but aside from a few minor beatings over the years, the physical violence had been minimal. Probably just worried the neighbours would see the bruises, he thought to himself. Still, he wasn't surprised that he had it in him.

"You are hurt. I can smell blood."

"It's not too bad," said Harry, gingering prodding at the cuts on his arm, wondering what he was going to do about the ones on his back. "I've had worse. One of your big cousins bit me once."

The snake looked confused, and so Harry elaborated. "A basilisk."

"Not many survive such an ordeal."

"I'm not your normal wizard," said Harry. He went to the sink which was still filled with water that was now mixed with Dudley's blood and floating bits of Uncle Vernon's skin that had peeled away when he'd plunged his hands into the water. Feeling sick, he emptied the basin and filled himself a glass of water from the tap, hoping to calm himself down. He was still shaking all over.

As he was on his third glass, there was a screech from outside, and in swooped an owl through the open window. It was unfamiliar, but somehow didn't look official. It deposited a letter on the table before leaving again. Harry's heart sank. Was is it the Ministry expelling him?

Slowly, he reached for the letter, and, seeing no official seal on it, opened it cautiously. It was from Arthur Weasley, and his handwriting was scrawled and hurried.

Harry,

Dumbledore's just been and told us there's been some major use of under-age magic at your house. He's gone to try and sort it all out. Stay where you are and wait for someone to come and get you. DO NOT LEAVE YOUR AUNT AND UNCLE'S HOUSE. Wait for us and don't do anything rash.

Arthur Weasley

If anything, this only made Harry angrier. All summer without a scrap of news and the first thing he gets is a telling-off after he just defended himself from his uncle, the man he had been forced to live with all his life despite the abuse and torment he had suffered. After everything that had happened to him recently, after everything he had done, here he was being told off as if he was some naughty school-boy!

He threw aside the letter in disgust. He was angry with the Weasleys, with Hermione, with Sirius and Dumbledore. Didn't anyone actually care about him? If he'd known this was all it took to get noticed he'd have set fire to his uncle the first week back. They would have been happy for him to stay here all summer until this happened. The only reason they were bothered now was because he had messed up.

"Bad news?"

Harry turned back to the snake, who had now slithered up onto the kitchen bunker. "You could say that," he said. "My friends … they just …" He sighed. "They're treating me like some sort of child. I needed them and … they can barely stand to write to me."

"This is exactly why snakes have no friends," said the snake. "We can only count on ourselves."

"I'm beginning to think that way too," said Harry, heart sinking, picking up the letter and reading it through once more. "'Stay where you are … don't do anything rash' … they just don't get it! They think they can just dump me here and pick me up again whenever they feel like it. They have no idea what I've been going through-" He stopped all of a sudden, realizing with a jolt he was about to pour his heart out to a snake. She seemed to be listening however. He sighed. "I just … I don't want to see them. I don't want their lectures, and them telling me crap like 'it was for your own good.' Just sitting here waiting for them like some helpless …"

He sighed and turned away, still angry, but more quietly so. Of all the people he thought he could count on, he'd thought it'd be Ron and Hermione. And Sirius, surely he of all people should understand what it felt like to be trapped? Why was he so happy to have Harry living here in misery? He'd been there for Harry after the Triwizard Tournament when Harry had needed him, but barely a word since. Did he think Harry would have gotten over it so easily? Didn't he understand just how badly Harry had needed his guidance?

The snake inched closer, weaving her way through the dishes on the bunker. "So don't."

Harry stared. "Don't what?"

"Stay here waiting for them. Leave."

Harry blinked. "Leave?" he repeated. "I don't …"

Slowly, as he thought it over, the idea didn't seem so crazy. Why not leave? What was the alternative? Sitting at the Burrow with people who obviously hadn't cared enough to write to him? Or worse, facing up to the Ministry after his obviously seriously illegal use of under-age magic. He didn't want to see them, not now. He needed to get out, go somewhere on his own and get some space away from the Dursleys and the wizarding world. They'd be worried about him probably, wondering where he had gone, but a part of Harry didn't care. Perhaps then they'd see how horrible it was to be kept in the dark.

He made up his mind to leave, and quickly, before Mr Weasley or anybody else got here to collect him. But where? The only other times he had run away had been a disaster. Eight year old him had tried, but run into immediate difficulties when he hadn't had enough money for a train fare and his food supplies of crisps and Mars bars ran out after the first day. After being brought back by a policemen after being caught trying to leave a supermarket without paying, he hadn't tried again, too scared of his uncle's full anger being directed at him once more. Then there was Aunt Marge, in which instance he had been found almost effortlessly by the Ministry. He'd have to stay away from wizarding areas. Live entirely as a Muggle. Wizards were remarkably ignorant about the Muggle world, surely they wouldn't be able to find him there?

He thought all this through in a matter of seconds. He'd hide in Muggle London, find somewhere to lay low until he had sorted his head out, away from relatives and wizards, all reminders of Voldemort. It wouldn't be permanent, he reminded himself. Just until he had gotten over these nightmares and the overwhelming despair he felt day in and day out. B

But what if you don't, a voice whispered to him, what if you never do? Does that mean you'll never return to Hogwarts? The idea pierced his heart like a knife, but he tried to reassure himself. It's only temporary. He needed this. He'd face the consequences later. That is, if he wasn't expelled already.

The snake was still watching him, and flicked her tongue out impatiently. "Well?"

He grinned. "I'm going."

"Good, then you can take me with you."

"Come with me? Why?"

"You're not the only one who wants to get away," she answered, moving closer. "I am tired of this area, and sad that so few of my kin survive. Perhaps far away from here, I will find something better."

Harry hesitated for a brief moment. Traveling with a snake? It was almost a reminder of Voldemort in itself. Surely she'd be a distraction, and unwelcome reminder of the life he was leaving. But then again, he did owe her for biting Dudley the way she did. Taking her to London was no great inconvenience.

"Okay," said Harry, still somewhat reluctant. "Wait here while I go pack."

She hissed her assent, as Harry raced upstairs to pack as quickly as he could, worried that Dumbledore or the Ministry would walk in at any moment. He burst into his bedroom and seized one of Dudley's old sport bags (unused of course) knowing he couldn't possibly take his trunk; magically shrinking and unshrinking it would probably draw attention. He shoved some clothes and other essentials into the bag, his Invisibility Cloak, the only magical thing he was planning on taking other than his wand and some books from the shelves that Dudley had never touched. He went through to his aunt and uncle's room warily, even though he knew they were both out, and rummaged through his uncle's sock drawer, knowing this was where Uncle Vernon kept the 'emergency money', though more often than not Dudley was raiding it to buy new accessories for his racing bike. Finding a wad of rolled up notes in the bottom, he withdrew them, and ran back to his room to pack them. It was probably a lot of money, but he didn't feel guilty in the slightest; the Dursleys probably owed him a fortune after years of skimping on clothes and food for him.

He shouldered the bag and was about to leave the room when an indignant screech met his ears. Hedwig was flapping her wings inside her cage, eying him with large angry eyes.

He crossed the room and unlatched her cage, stroking her softly. "I'm sorry, Hedwig," he said sadly. "You'll attract too much attention."

She seemed to understand and didn't look happy about it, nipping his finger as if to reprimand him for leaving without her.

Struck with an idea, he seized some parchment and a quill and scribbled down a quick message. "Here, deliver this for me, will you? And stay with Ron the rest of the summer. He'll look after you."

He passed her the message and she clamped it in her beak, casting him one last reproachful look before gliding off through the open window. He watched her for a moment before the slamming of a car door on the street brought him back to his senses. He had no idea how long he had before the others showed up.

He thumped down the stairs and went back to the kitchen where the snake was still waiting on him.

"You coming?" he said to the snake.

"You expect me to crawl all the way and keep up with you?"

"Fine," said Harry, and, despite wanting to do anything else, he moved forwards and stretched out his hand. The snake slithered across the surface of the kitchen top and onto his hand, coiling herself around his wrist underneath his sleeve and out of sight. He tied not to shudder as her cold smooth skin met his. The sensation of her clinging there on his wrist was one he wasn't looking forward to getting used to.

"Right," said Harry, moving into the hall and opening the front door. "It's off to London."

A/N: Hope you liked it :)