Within You

Chapter One: Fight or Flight

Harry stood in the living room at Number Four, Privet Drive, in a small corner of suburbia in the town of Surrey. All the houses around this one looked the same; each boasted a car garage, a small garden in the back, and, inside, a lounge, a kitchen, cupboard under the stairs, and three bedrooms upstairs. Harry himself had slept in the cupboard upon the occasion of his eleventh birthday, when his deceased parents' will had come to light, letting him and everyone else know that he was to attend Wartsmoth Academy for Gifted Students in Scotland. Upon realizing that rather important tidbit of information, and his aunt and uncle convinced that people would begin knocking at their door at all-hours, checking up on Harry when he was still at home, they moved him upstairs to the smallest bedroom the house had to offer, something which his cousin, Dudley, at five weeks older than Harry, much disputed, as the location had been used to stash his multitude of toys and games he'd collected—and broken, when they either lost interest to him or he'd merely grown frustrated that he'd been unable to understand them—over the years.

"Harry? Are you all right?"

Harry turned to face the kind face of the woman who had spoken to him; her name was Dora; at least, she'd told him to call her that, as she felt the title of 'police detective' to be a bit too much, considering that they were only a few years apart. He gave her a tight smile and a nod in answer to her question; of course, he wasn't all right, far from it.

"Look," she went on, her voice gentle, "we don't have to talk about what happened, not now, at the very least. My main task was to get you out of here tonight. We're going to stay in a hotel for the evening, and then get some breakfast. Then, I've got to take you on a train."

Harry felt his brows going together. A train? He took a train to school, but school itself wasn't due to begin until the first of September, and they were only into the second week of August at that time. Surely, he couldn't be expected to go to school that early...

Dora softened her expression, clearly catching on to her young charges' confusion. "Don't worry, Harry—I'm not taking you to school. Someone close to you has finally won their suit for custody, and you'll be living with them from now on."

Harry blinked, obviously shocked that someone had wanted him in the first place, after having it drilled into his head, time and time again, over the years that he was very much unwanted. "Who has agreed to take me?" he asked, his tone a whisper.

"Your godfather, Remus Lupin," Dora explained patiently to him, and lowered her eyes to the worn trunk that Harry stood next to, in the drab-looking living room.

Harry sighed, remembering the kind face of the physical education professor at his school, who had begun there three years previously, when he was thirteen. Harry was shocked that such a kind man was best friends with his father, and had initially been given custody of him, but, because of financial difficulties, he was handed over to his mother's sister, her husband, and their son, who had systematically tormented and abused Harry from babyhood until the final straw had broken just one evening previously. Now, it seemed, with the steady income provided by Harry's school, that Remus Lupin was finally in a position to hire a solicitor, who, in turn, had managed to match up proper evidence, and accuse Vernon and Petunia Dursley of unspeakable abuse, thus gaining his suit for custody.

"Do you like him? Remus," Dora asked Harry.

Harry nodded at her. "Yeah. He's great. I... I mean, I've got my friends at school, of course, but I always had to come back here during Christmas and the summer, because of what the courts said. I hated..." He cut himself off then, knowing full well that he wouldn't be able to control his unbridled emotions, not now.

Dora nodded; she'd seen as much in the report as to the lengths that the Dursleys had gone in order to discipline young Harry, although Dora believed that the line had been crossed one too many times, clearly. "Like I said, we don't have to discuss it now, if you don't want to," Dora told him, knowing that she would have to treat the entire situation delicately; it was her first solo case as a Detective for Scotland Yard, and she would not mess it up.