Chapter Text
Harry had been planning this for some time. He had managed over several weeks and months to build up quite a stash of food. It started off as instinct; he had done the same thing often enough at the Dursleys. He had learnt at a young age which foods could be easily hidden and which lasted longest. There had been plenty of days when Dudley had stolen his packed lunch and neither Uncle Vernon nor Aunt Petunia had shown any interest in feeding him dinner. A secret food stash was a sensible precaution. So all through first year he had done the same thing; any time the Hogwarts meals included dried food or anything self-contained, like the little packets of cereal they sometimes had at breakfast, or the tubs of dried fruit for sprinkling on porridge, he would swipe some into his bag and later store it carefully in his trunk.
He checked it fairly frequently. Several early Privet Drive disasters involving rotting meat or hungry mice still lingered in his mind. There was at least one patch of mould on the carpet at the very back of his cupboard under the stairs which had never come off, no matter how much he bleached and scrubbed it. Ants were relentless; he knew all about tight seals now. And worse than ants… the time he had left a box of seeds too long. He didn't pause too long on that memory - it still made him retch. He had been holding the box close to his face when he opened it, squinting in the low light. When he realised it was wriggling he had immediately flung it away, but releasing squirming, white larvae into his little, enclosed space was one of the stupidest things he had ever done.
But what started off as a habit became more and more urgent as the school year drew to a close. He told himself he was saving the food just in case, not thinking too hard about exactly why. Perhaps a few extra snacks would help during exam revision. He checked the expiry dates avidly - even some of the stuff he'd gotten off the trolley on the Hogwarts Express back in September was still ok, not to mention the toffees Mrs Weasley had sent him at Christmas. He was so rarely hungry here, he’d never had to open it. He had gone as far as looking up food preservation spells and even found a pretty cool stasis spell, although it looked way beyond his current skills. He thought he might have asked Hermione to help but decided it would probably lead to too many questions.
And that was when he knew. He finally admitted it to himself: there was no way he was going back to Privet Drive. Not if he could help it. Why would he? The mere thought of it made him sick. He had had a whole year out of his cupboard and he wasn't going to just let them put him back in there. Besides, it wasn't safe for Hedwig. What if they hurt her? He could very easily imagine Vernon locking her in her cage for weeks or Dudley breaking her wing. Dudley had once thrown his pet tortoise out of the window. No, it was simple. He would hide. He had the invisibility cloak after all. He'd find an empty classroom and sit there until everyone forgot about him. Or he could lie under his bed until everyone had gone. He'd cling on to the bannisters in the Entrance Hall, he'd lock himself in Hagrid's hut, he’d even consider jumping off the train… it didn't matter. He wasn't going back.
The main problem was Ron and Hermione. They'd notice. They’d ask questions. This was not something he knew how to explain. He’d already had a few awkward conversations. They had asked why he never got letters, why he hadn’t known anything about his parents, why he never talked about home. A couple of times Harry had tried to join in when Ron joked about his brothers or Hermione rolled her eyes about her parents. But the others had never laughed about anything he said about Dudley or Uncle Vernon or Aunt Petunia. They looked worried. They started asking odd things. He had managed to avoid those questions for months. He knew with absolute certainty that he would be so much happier staying at school over the holidays, even if he was on his own. But he didn’t want to explain why. It was much easier not to think about it.
He had to be casual. He didn’t want to make a big fuss. But he needed some excuse for not getting on the train. Could he pretend to be sick? Or say that the Dursleys were picking him up, that they were all holidaying together in Scotland? He snorted at the ridiculous thought. But he couldn't come up with anything better. As the remaining days dwindled down, his stress had him by the throat. It was the penultimate week and he still hadn't decided on anything. Exams were done, Quirrel and Voldemort had been stopped, but Harry was angstier than ever.
And then, finally, Harry thought of the perfect lie. They had all traipsed down to Hagrid’s for a last cup of tea. He had been chewing on a particularly rough rock cake, savouring every bite even though it made his jaw ache. He remembered the first time he ever met Hagrid. The boom on the door, the birthday cake, the pig’s tail. That was it. He could say Hagrid was going to take him home. He could say Dumbledore had asked Hagrid to explain to the Dursleys what had happened with Quirrel and everything. He could say the Dursleys had demanded someone spoke to them in person. Hagrid had met them before. Hagrid often disappeared from Hogwarts for small chunks of time on various jobs away from the castle. If Harry said his goodbyes and started hiding at the same time, hopefully no-one would question it.
He packed his trunk that night while the others were at dinner and hid it under his invisibility cloak alongside his broom and Hedwig's cage. He kept a few clean clothes and his toothbrush separate in a rucksack with a couple of books and other bits and pieces, which would keep him going until the end of term. He scouted out a good room; an empty classroom on the second floor, rarely used, with a broken lock. That would be his first hideout. His luggage was so heavy, it took him four days to move it out of Gryffindor Tower and down several staircases. He dragged the trunk in one hand, broom in the other, one arm poked awkwardly through the bars of the cage. He moved like a snail, stopping often to make sure the cloak was completely covering everything. He left it all out overnight several times, always taking care that it was fully invisible and tucked into some corner where it wouldn't be tripped over, then returning early the next morning to move it further on.
The trickiest part was timing when to come back out of the cloak so as not to surprise anyone. He misjudged it one time and heard a loud yelp from a group of third year girls as he suddenly appeared from nowhere. He hurried on with his head down and they didn't say anything or stop to investigate, so he figured he had gotten away with it. Hermione also paid a little bit more attention than he really wanted. After eyeing him with some concern several days in a row, she finally asked what he was up to. Harry guessed she meant why he kept coming back to the common room sweaty, scrunching his hands open and closed to release the tension in his sore fingers. The trunk handle was brutal, it had very little give and his palms were rubbed raw. His arms and shoulders were aching, not to mention the bruises where he had bashed the broom against his shins. He told her he had decided to try jogging and push-ups now the quidditch season was over. She stared at him a little while, before suggesting he change out of his jeans next time. "Oh yeah, good idea!" he agreed breezily. She nodded with a slight frown but didn't ask again.
Then, with his luggage finally in place, Harry waited. He peered through a window on the east side every morning and evening to check Hagrid's cabin for signs he was away. Nothing changed for the first few days; smoke still rose from the chimney, the curtains opened and closed, the lights went on and off. Harry was starting to feel anxious that Hagrid wouldn't have any offsite errands so close to term ending. But the day before they were due to leave, Harry saw it. No smoke. Dark windows. This was it.
He raced to the owlery and scribbled a letter as quickly and neatly as he could. It was a polite letter for the Dursleys, telling them not to bother picking him up at the station tomorrow. He wrote that he would be spending the first half of the holidays at Ron's and then the second at Hermione's. He didn't leave any details of how to contact him; he highly doubted they would care. He whispered to Hedwig to come find him back here at Hogwarts after the delivery and she had stared at him a little reproachfully. He wondered how much she understood sometimes. "Don't come back to the owlery," he clarified. "Come find me. I might be in Hagrid's hut if he leaves it empty or I might find a classroom or camp out or something. But I'll be around here."
She bit his finger, but not too hard, and set off, swooping low over the forest and then gaining height above the lake. He had filled the envelope with owl treats so she'd have something before the long journey back. He could only hope one of the Dursleys would let her have them. He rolled his wand absentmindedly between his fingers. This was it; the final jump after weeks of planning. He wondered if he would dare try using magic over the holidays. He would still be at school... technically. He decided he could manage without; it was probably best to save for emergencies only. The only time he thought he might really need magic was if he ran out of food, but nowhere in his research had he found any spells that created food or even just made more of it. It was weird. Something he'd have to keep researching.
He was ready as he would ever be. He practised what he was going to say as he trudged back to the tower. He collected his rucksack and gave his pillow one last pat goodbye. Then he headed back to the common room. He found Ron playing chess with Neville and Hermione reading nearby. "Er, bye guys," he said, stumbling over his words a little awkwardly. "I'll see you next term."
"Huh?" said Ron, not looking up. "Train's on Friday. Tomorrow."
"I know," Harry garbled. "But Hagrid's taking me early so he can explain what happened with Quirrel to my aunt and uncle. They've been complaining about Dumbledore's letters or something." Ron was frowning at him. Hermione had also looked up. "It's fine, don't worry," he smiled. "Hagrid will sort them out."
"You serious?" Ron looked gutted. "I wanted to buy chocolate frogs and set them free in Malfoy's compartment."
Harry laughed. "Save it for September," he said, before remembering suddenly that all being well he wouldn't be on that train either... but that was too far ahead to worry about now. Hermione gave him a tight hug and made him promise to write. Neville gave him a hug too, which was a little surprising and then he and Ron shoved into each other. Ron sent him flying and Hermione rolled her eyes but Harry giggled. He waved back at a few others who had overheard and then climbed back out of the fat lady's portrait.
He hurried straight to the great hall and wolfed down a second, enormous breakfast. He took a load of sausages and wrapped them in a napkin, then emptied several fruit bowls into his bag. Some seventh years watched him, smirking at his eccentricity but he grinned at them and they just laughed a little and looked away again. He went to a bathroom, waited until it was empty, then brushed his teeth and filled his water bottle. He was heading to his classroom when he saw the twins.
"Hey Fred! George!" He yelled and both twins turned.
"Alright, Harry?" said one of them. Harry squinted. He was pretty sure it was Fred; he had an extra freckle cluster over his left eye.
"Yeah, fine! I just wanted to ask... um... How do you sneak into the kitchens?"
The twins laughed. "So Ron's got you onto that too?"
Harry shrugged.
"Sorry, Harry," said George. "We can't just give away our secrets. Not to ickle first years anyway. Ask us in a couple of years."
"OK," Harry sighed and let it go. It was worth a try. Ron had been asking them all year. If worse came to the worst and he ran out of food, he'd just have to figure it out. "See you later," he added with a grin and left them. He had to do an extra loop round so nobody saw him, but finally he came to the second floor. Several groups were walking by so he waited, standing idly in front of a portrait of a white horse chewing some straw. He looked down at his watch a couple of times as though waiting for someone. Luckily this corridor only had two paintings and neither had people (the other one showed clouds and a lapping ocean) so there was no-one who might notice and tell on him. When the last person turned the corner out of sight, he slipped into the classroom, felt for his invisible trunk and gave one last look around. Then, he sat against the wall, pulled the cloak over his head and shuffled under it, holding close to his luggage.
It was a bit of an anti-climax when absolutely nothing happened. His heart was beating in his chest as though he had been doing stunts on his broom. He was sweating a lot and it felt stuffier than usual under the cloak. He was always a little claustrophobic, but he had to just focus and slow his breathing. This wasn't like the cupboard under the stairs; he wasn't locked in. There wasn't a ton of room to move but he could make sure every bit of luggage was covered by the cloak and still have just enough space to sit and read his book. Harry had plenty of experience being still and pretending he didn't exist. It was much better doing it here than at Privet Drive. No-one was going to grab or slap or scream if they found him. Probably.
After a few hours, he ate a couple of the sausages he'd taken earlier. It was tempting to go under the cloak back to the hall at lunch or dinner for more food but he couldn't risk him or the trunk being seen, so he stayed put. He knew how to be patient. Whenever his legs or back got achy he just took a break from reading and slowly stretched them out. He could hear people passing by the corridor but it wasn't a particularly busy area, especially now that most of the classes were done for the year. He had a stack of cold toast triangles for dinner and then, when it got to 11pm, he thought he had better risk sleep. He made sure the cloak was caught tight under his trunk on one side and his bag on the other. He hoped that he wouldn't snore or talk in his sleep too loudly. He thought the cloak might muffle noise a little - no-one ever seemed to hear his footsteps.
It took a while to get to sleep, which wasn't surprising, but he managed to drop off sometime before 1am. He woke confused a couple of times in the night, but it only took a minute or so to figure out that he wasn't in either his cupboard or his four poster bed and then he could snuggle back down into his bunched up jumper and his school cloak, which worked surprisingly well as a blanket. The floor was cold and hard but he didn't care, it was well worth it.
He woke sharply at 7am. Outside, there was a great deal of bustling about: shouts and clattering, yells of goodbye and some running - must be last minute high spirits before the long train journey or people hurrying back for things they'd forgotten. Nobody came into his classroom; he had chosen well. But nevertheless he sat frozen, too scared even to read his book in case someone heard the pages turning over. And then, around 10am Friday morning, it all went quiet.
.....
The sun was beating down. The students were fidgeting, itching to go. There were crowds of them everywhere in more or less orderly lines, a twitching sea of overheating black cloaks. Minerva knew the cloaks and jumpers would be discarded immediately on the train and in all likelihood left behind. The lost property mountain always surged up on the last day. She stabbed at her clipboard with her quill as she hurried to tick names off her list of first years. "Potter?" She called.
"Hagrid took him," Ron yawned.
She paused. Rubeus was down at the station already helping the older ones. He'd know to put Harry on the train. She still tutted, a little annoyed. He could have told her first. But it wasn't a big deal. She'd remind him about the signing off rules another time. And to be honest, it warmed her heart how the three young friends had taken to him. Albus had told her they had weekly visits with tea and desserts. Having tried Rubeus' rock cakes herself she knew they weren't friends with him for his cooking. She knew Harry would miss him over summer. She could let it slide this once. Let them have the last hour together.
She finished her list and waved them off. The first years trotted and skipped towards the carriages, following the prefects. They'd all be bigger and cheekier in September. There would be many a growth spurt, voices would drop. They'd come back a little more cocky now they knew the routines. Second years were not her favourite year group. But all that could wait. Another term complete. She smiled to herself as she strode back into the shade of the entrance hall. She was looking forward to clearing her classroom and getting the hell out of here. Tonight there would be the annual staff party in Hogsmeade, which she would give a look in and then… home. Finally. She had big plans. She was going to have a long lie in tomorrow morning and then do fuck all for the rest of the week, except maybe read, sleep and eat. It was going to be heavenly.
