Chapter 2: I Hate Cos-players

"Lily, take Harry and go! It's him! GO! Run! I'll hold him off!", cried a voice in desperation.

Harry Potter, opened his eyes groggily. He was but a baby. He didn't understand what was going on. But he was very aware for a baby, for a 1 year old. Since he could remember, he had always lived with 2 people. His parents. They called each other Lily, the woman, and James, the man.

He had concluded that they were his parents. Though he didn't know what that meant. He just knew words, 'ma' and 'da' after all. But still, he liked those 2 very very much. He also liked the others who sometimes came around. The funny man with dark hair and face full of laugh lines, always tickling him and launching him in the air.

Or the man who always came in shabby clothes. He looked very old and always tired, but his smiling always hid that. He also played with him, but talked very often with his father. But he wasn't coming around much these days. James, always looked downcast when his letters came though.

There was another timid man, who never came at night, just appeared out of nowhere in their kitchen and often stayed for days, which Harry never liked. He let his displeasure know through crying loudly.

And….and one another old man. He wore weird clothes and glasses. He had come a few days ago and took a cloth from his dad. He had smiled at Harry and given him a milk toffee, which oddly tasted like chocolate inside. He didn't know why the old man liked cos-playing.

Harry didn't know why he could remember so much, understand so much. But he definitely knew his mother's frantic muttering and hand waving wasn't good.

"Salvio hexi--", her mutterings were cut short as loud shout was heard.

"Avada Kedavra!", a ghastly voice heard and a loud thud sounded.

"No--", Lily moaned in despair.

But Harry was experiencing something else. A head splitting headache which caused him to cry. All the noise inside the house ceased apart from his crying. Lily hurried to him and consoled him.

"Shh…Harry, mama is here. C-Come on, baby, keep quiet plea-se. D-Dada will be back in a bit. We just have to--", as she was saying it over and over, picking him from the cradle, she abruptly put him down and turned around.

There was a hooded man standing in front of her. He was tall, the hood obscuring his features. But Harry could make out his eyes. Eyes, that were trained on him. Eyes, that made him feel fear, that made him cry.

"NO!", Lily cried as she stood in front of him, raising her hand.

"Stand aside, foolish girl.", the man said in a low but harsh voice. "I have no reason to take your life. Let me put an end to this." He said, as with a wave of his hand, Lily crashed on the wall to the left.

As the man raised his hand, the stick in his hand glowing, Harry felt his heart grow cold. He could feel that this man meant to hurt him. He didn't know why. He didn't know why his mother got hurt with just wave of his hand. He never understood till now why all the people around could do some inexplicable things.

He didn't know why this strangely dressed man, this cos-player, this lunatic, meant to hurt him. The goddamn cos-player.

"Avada Kedavra!", the man chanted as the stick in his hand glowed green.

"Harry NO!", his mother cried as she jumped in front of him and all went green. Harry's forehead burnt, his eyes stung, he couldn't hear, see… he was helpless and all alone.

Sometime time later, what he could hear was sobbing. Heart-wrenching sobbing. And someone chanting his mother's name, over and over. But Harry couldn't care less. He was confused for himself and his family. His forehead also throbbed so hard, that he fell unconscious.

**After some time**

As Harry came to, the pain in his forehead had lessened. But he couldn't understand why was their ceiling so black or why was it shining time-to-time. Then it hit him. His family was possibly dead because of some cos-playing lunatic. Death? How did-- no how can he know that what was happening?

"--no! Hagrid I have to go! Take my motorcycle. Go to Dumbledore.", said a familiar voice.

"But Sirius, we need ta go together! Dumbledore's instructions! It's too dangerous, Sirius! Couldn't forgive meself if somethin' 'appened to ya.", said another gruff voice, which came above him. As the voice talked, Harry was shifted from his position. It seemed whoever it was, was carrying harry.

"Go Hagrid….take Harry and just….go.", said the other voice and a snapping sound was heard.

"'Ope he's alright…Now--", but Harry had already stopped listening as he fell asleep this time.

Years later, Harry would remember flying in the air on a motorcycle, or seeing 2 very tall people talking in front of a house, which he would come to hate, and a sniffling sound from a giant… but he was too sleepy then, to remember further.

--After 7 years--

Harry Potter opened his eyes and stared at the dark, angled and wooden ceiling of his closet--room, in 4, Privet Drive, Little Whinging, Surrey. It was a familiar sight as far as he could remember. But nonetheless, this was a place where he could retreat to. Well, he didn't have any other place after all.

He sat up straight and the book on his chest fell down. He blinked and noticed which book he was reading last night. It was a English textbook he had acquired with his 'special abilities', called as 'Annoying the hell out of Vernon Dursley'. He grinned. Now that was a extreme sport he played time to time, aside from 'How much can Petunia clean?' or 'Poke the wild Dudley in the ass'.

He rubbed his eyes and put on his glasses. The glasses made his sight clearer. He took a breath and immediately coughed. Yeah. His 'place of retreat' wasn't void of constant dust. He closed his eyes hand listened for horse neighing and felt for tremors. Nothing, that was good.

Because, once those voices started sounding, he concluded that his aunt, uncle and the mini-Godzilla had woken up. But he had luckily woken up early and he could slip out of this hell hole faster.

He slowly opened the door of the closet and got out. He first hid the book under the loose planks in the closet, so Dudley couldn't find it. That fatty aside from his big mouth didn't have a lick of intelligence in him. So he wouldn't think of finding the book there.

After that, he freshened up quickly. He took the bread and some butter from the fridge and took off. While going out he caught his reflection in a mirror. A small but somewhat healthy boy with bright green eyes, jet black hair that were styled into a military cut(which he had seen on a brochure at Mrs. Figg's), healthy but a little pale skin with round glasses rested on his nose and piece of bread in his mouth, stared back at him.

He grinned at himself and went out of the house. It had been an unspoken agreement between him and the Dursleys, that if he had to wander outside, do it early, when no one sees him and return before it got too dark.

He then started running towards a certain house. It was nearby and he was sure, she was expecting him. He smiled to himself when he thought of Mrs. Figg. He had met her 2 years ago when Dursleys went to a vacation and had been more than happy to dump him with the old lady for days.

At first, he had hated the whole thing. He hated the Dursleys. He hated the boredom, because he had nothing to do apart from the worksheets he had gotten from school, which were all too easy. Dudley had tried to force his on him, but he had just left it at home, cause he 'forgot'.

Mrs. Figg had come off as a mean lady who possibly grew cabbages in her closet had a ton of cats which were hella weird. The little demons stared at him all day, as though judging his lanky body, overgrown hair and half broken glasses.

But he had fallen for the chocolate cake she had given him. He didn't know why she flinched when he literally inhaled the cake and had asked for more. Afterwards, she had even awkwardly asked him he was alright. He wasn't blind. He could glean that she was a tad shy around outsiders, so she talked like that.

After that time, his visits to her had increased. Dursleys didn't know where he went and it had confirmed that Mrs. Figg wasn't as mean as she tried to be. She had tried to tell him not to come, but he had worn her down, by helping around the house.

One other reason he went there was the story books she had. Around a year ago, when he was helping her clean, his curiosity had gotten better of him and he had opened her closet to see if there were really any cabbages there.

What he found though, was a bag full of cat hair, some book called, 'Kneazle- rearing and caring for Beginners, by Knozus Kimperley'. There were also a book that caught his eye called 'History of Magic, by Bathilda Bagshot'. He had heard Mrs. Figg squeak. She had stutteringly explained the books as some silly books she got from an antique shop.

She hadn't permitted him to take the books with him, despite his constant nagging. She alas had relented to let him read those, but on one condition, not to repeat any of this outside. From that day, he had read all about goblins and medieval witches pretending to burn. It was all exciting, even though not real. But Harry wished it was. It strangely reminded him of the dreams of flying and the people doing strange things.

As he knocked her house's door he called out, "Oi, Mrs. Figg! Open up please!"

Footsteps and sounds of scrambling was heard from inside as the heaving Mrs. Figg opened the door.

"Harry! Boy, you're such a troublemaker! Come inside, hurry!", she said. She sounded a little nervous and tense, but he didn't notice.

As Harry ventured inside, there was no longer the musty, 'cabbage'-y smell inside. It smell of fresh air. He noticed the cats too, as they came to greet him.

"Hello Tibbles, Snowy, Mr. Paws and Tufty! How ya doing?", asked Harry as he scratched them on their favourite spots.

"Look at you! Still bread in hand and half eaten! Come, sit and eat properly!", Mrs. Figg scolded as she pointed at the dining table.

"Aw, come on Mrs. Figg. I didn't get the chance to finish it!", he complained as he stood up and walked towards the table. But he stopped when he saw a tabby cat with strange markings around its eyes. The cat was intently staring at him without blinking.

"Hey Mrs. Figg, Is this little demon a new addition?", he asked cheekily as he picked the tabby cat up. He then started stretching its cheeks and fur. "Youre such a cutie! What's your name, little demon?"

Mrs. Figg froze when she saw the cat in Harry's hands. Moreover, the cat was staring Mrs. Figg dead in the eye. She nervously smiled and cleared her throat.

"H-Harry! Drop the cat, now!", she cried at Harry. And Harry startled, dropped the cat.

"Her name..name is McNogalls! She's very sick you see, the poor girl. That's why I told you to put her down.", she replied, now more tense.

"Oh.", was all Harry could say. He looked at the cat and then sighed. He went into kitchen, eating his bread.

The cat gave her an intense look and followed Harry into the kitchen. Mrs. Figg only could sigh and follow.