Surviving the Streets

A week later, Harry's POV

'This isn't as easy as I thought,' the miserable boy mused as he stuffed more newspaper in his boots, in hopes to prevent more blisters and ward off the chill. That and there was a small hole in the bottom of the right one that needed padding. It had been a week for him and living on the streets was harder than he had assumed.

A few weird things happened over the course of the week, like he didn't freeze to death in the night. As a matter of fact, he always woke warm and toasty. He looked for wires in his robe but didn't find any. He brushed it off as modern technology that he just didn't know.

There was another time when he saw a man with a lot of money. He remembered thinking that he could do with a bit of it, and seconds later there was a small pile of bills on the street. He snatched them up and reckoned the man dropped them. He hemmed and hawed over whether to return it, until he saw the man kick a stray dog.

'Fuck him,' he thought and bought something for him and the dog to eat. The dog ate his meal and ran off, which was too bad, he could use a companion. He did catch sight of a snowy owl, but the bird just sat and watched him at night. She even chased off a few unsavory men. However, he could never get her to come closer.

There were a few more incidences that he couldn't explain, but they were minor, so he just brushed them off.

As he huddled behind a bin, he recalled meeting an older boy two days into this adventure, who gave him a bit of advice. "Don't trust the adults, yeah. They just want to shove you in a home and forget about you. As long as they don't have to look at you, they're happy. It's that way in 'loving' homes too. You'll grow up one day and be the same way.

But right now, you're just a kid, so don't trust them." The boy had said all this very sincerely, right before he hit Harry in the stomach and searched his empty pockets. "Right, I'm eighteen, so that makes me an adult. Ta." And with that he sauntered away.

Harry learned pretty valuable lessons from that. Or at least he thought he did. One thing he did know, after asking a few adults for handouts and getting shoved away, was that the young man was right. As long as he was out of sight, they were happy.

When the wind blew through his hair, Harry shivered and came out of his trip down his short memory lane. He was forever thankful that he had his robes and boots. He had to fight many times just to keep them. He had already lost his new glasses and had the man in the gold store exchange his copper coins to get a new pair. But, like the last two pairs, they were gone when he woke. It was only the fact that these boots laced up mid-calf that they didn't get stolen in the night. He always woke when nimble fingers tried to unlace them.

His face and chest were still bruised from the last two scuffles. Thank God they were steel-toed; it made defending himself much easier. That and that snowy owl chased off a few. He would be forever thankful to her for that. Too bad she never came near. He just wondered what an owl was doing in downtown London. Whatever the reason he was happy she was there.

He was also thankful that there were public restrooms for bathing or he'd be a bigger mess than he was now. As it was his robe was torn and dirty and his uniform was not much better. But, he couldn't take the chance in washing them, or his hair, because he had no way to dry them in this freezing weather.

Now, he was hungry. He had a feeling that he had been in this type of situation before, dirty and starved, but he couldn't remember. That was very frustrating. He wanted to know, but his entire life was a complete blank. He could remember things he had heard, things he had read, seen on the telly, how to talk, how to walk, basically now to function as a human; but, everything else was a complete blank.

He didn't think he had felt so helpless in his life, but without his memory he couldn't be sure. It was all a feeling, and he didn't like it. As it was he had to hide from his aggressors and in the last week, he got very good at that. For not only were the local street rats mad that he was hanging about, but there were people in robes and funny clothes looking for him. He thought he saw the greasy-haired man once, but he never really got a good look at him, that night had been very blurry. Plus, without his glasses he wasn't sure.

The bin he was huddled against was outside a pub called the Leaky Cauldron, and for some reason the locals never raided it. It kept him pretty well fed, because most of the stuff that was thrown away was wrapped, like it was just waiting for someone to tip the bin and eat.

'Maybe, the guy thinks he's helping the poor or something,' Harry thought as he stood and started rummaging through the tossed-out food. He had just opened a bag of day old pastries and was bringing one to his mouth, when…

"Mr. Potter! Stop sorting through the rubbish at once," came the voice of a very stern older lady, dressed in a very strange combination of clothes. She was dressed in a smart woman's business suit that wouldn't be out of place in the 1940's, and a witch's traveling cloak. "What on earth are you doing, child? Do not eat that," the woman ordered, her voice laced with shock and demand.

Harry took one look at her attire, dropped the pastry and ran. He ducked by her and sprinted down the street, weaving his way through the adults that were shopping. He ran and ran but didn't hear anyone come after him.

McGonagall huffed, turned into a cat and followed. She dashed through the people milling the roads and tailed him into an alley about ten blocks down.

"Whew, she didn't give chase," Harry mumbled to himself as he wiped the sweat off his brow, disgusted that such a short sprint caused him to perspire. For some reason he felt he should be able to run much further and faster.

"That will be quite enough of that, young man," McGonagall said from behind him as she morphed back into herself.

Quick as a wink, the young teen twirled, picked up a discarded bottle and smashed it on the wall. He had seen someone do that once and had always wanted to try. "Who are you? And what do you want?" he demanded, brandishing his new weapon.

"This is not a time for jokes, Mr. Potter," she snapped, taking her wand out, and with a flick the jagged glass went flying into the wall. It smashed further on compact, rendering it useless. "Now I have no idea why you ran away; however, if it is the tournament then I am sure that something can be done to help you. Come along," she ordered as if he was just going to do what she said.

"I'm not going anywhere with you. You're one of those mad scientists," Harry stated, pointing an accusing finger at her. "Isn't it bad enough one of you caused me to lose my memory, now you can't leave me in peace!" he yelled, his face turning red with anger, as he looked at the stick and wondered if it was like the tricorder he had seen on the telly, only better since it could move things. 'Just how advanced are these guys?' he wondered, not taking his eyes off the stick. Cursing the fact that he threw his away.