Harry Potter was a lonely boy. Growing up under the stairs didn’t leave him with much of a chance to make friends and even if some unlucky soul did take it upon themselves to be his friend, well Dudley took care of that. So Harry Potter grew up and learned that freaks didn’t deserve friends.
On Harry’s 8th birthday he decided to run away. It’s not like his family would miss him. They would be glad to be rid of the freak Harry thought himself to be.
He grabbed an extra pair of clothes and stuffed them into his bag with his toy soldier that he had stolen out of the trash after Dudley managed to rip off an arm and blamed Harry. He was sick of Dudley always blaming him and Harry getting punished for it.
Harry sighed as he pushed back his hair from his eyes and showed a glimpse of his strange lightning bolt scar that was on his forehead. His Aunt Petunia couldn’t stand to look at it and always made Harry keep it covered. Harry liked it; it was a cool scar even though it was a reminder of how his parents died in a car crash.
Harry grabbed the last item he needed, his baby blanket. It was blue and faded with the name, Harry Potter, sewn into a corner. Harry liked his blanket it made him feel safe. He liked to think his mum made it for him.
Harry quickly checked the hall to make sure Uncle Vernon was still upstairs and quietly slipped out of his cupboard and down the hall to the front door dragging his bag over his shoulder. The door creaked as he opened it and he froze. Listening for Uncle Vernon’s snores he managed to open the door all the way. Harry let out the breath he had been holding and slipped out the front door and into the chilly morning.
Harry was trembling as he stepped out the door. The sun had barely even begun to rise and the neighborhood was still. It was perfect for what Harry planned. He pulled his ratty, too large sweater closer to him and carefully hiked his bag up onto his shoulder.
Harry started down the driveway careful to not look back lest all his courage desert him and he goes running straight back to the Dursley's tender loving care. As he neared the end of the driveway, Harry took off running. Past old Mrs. Figg's house with her creepy cats, past the park where Dudley and his gang liked to play "Harry hunting". Past all the houses until he came to a large road.
Harry stopped. His breathing was coming in great gasps and his whole body was shaking. He couldn't stand and fell abruptly on the ground. Harry didn't know how long or how far he ran, he just knew he had to get away before Uncle Vernon woke up for work and discovered he was missing.
As Harry lay there catching his breath he thought back to his first memory. He was 2 or 3 and was in the living room with Dudley. Harry was watching as Dudley, who was the same age, tried to stand, pulling himself up by the end table. It toppled over knocking Dudley down with the lamp that was on it. As Dudley started screaming Harry quickly made his way over just as Aunt Petunia came running in. She snatched Dudley up and started cooing at him until he quieted, then she grabbed Harry by the arm, her nails digging into his skin, and dragged him to the cupboard under the stairs and threw him in. All the while yelling that he had hurt her Dudders and “wait 'til Vernon gets home you freak!” then she locked the door.
When Uncle Vernon got home he opened the cupboard and yanked Harry out by the arm and pulled off his belt. "You think you can hurt Dudley, do you boy," bellowed Uncle Vernon, his face turning a purplish color. He swung Harry around with one arm and with the other started bringing the belt down on Harry's body.
"I didn't do it, I didn't do it!" Harry was screaming but Uncle Vernon wouldn't listen. He just kept beating Harry. Eventually Harry became quiet, silently crying as Uncle Vernon whipped him. It was the first of many beatings. Harry eventually realized that it was better to stay silent from the beginning or Uncle Vernon would only get madder.
The sound of a car horn pulled him from his reverie. The road was starting to fill with cars and Harry needed to hurry and cross it before it was too late. He waited until there were no cars in sight, looked both ways like he was taught in school, and then quickly darted across.