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Separation Anxiety: A Manual	By : gwendolynflight Category: Harry Potter > General > General Views: 11170 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, nor any of the characters from the books or movies. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
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Yeah, the Dursleys are well-off financially; however, you have to remember that Harry's perception of things isn't always correct. For instance, it's not *really* his fault that his mom died, but he believes that it is.
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Worksheet #4: Locating the Problem
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He should stay at school.
That's what he kept telling himself, anyway.
It's what Hagrid would say. It's what Dumbledore would say.
They were never much on *personal* quests. Of course his rule-breaking was fine when it was for the rest of the world, but as soon as *he* wanted something it was all "Wait, Harry' and "This isn't a good idea, Harry' and "Put *everything* else before yourself, Harry'.
"Hey, watch it!"
He was suddenly spun around by a solid shoulder, the bare warning of the shout just preventing him from going to his knees. He stared after the taller man, trying to burn a hole through the man's long, black, suitably impressive trench coat with flat jade eyes. Not that it would work without his wand, he supposed. Envying another man's outerwear was not sufficient reason for his magic to react on its own.
Harry sighed as the man disappeared into the crowd. He felt terribly conspicuous in Dudley's outgrown clothing, clothing that fit him rather like a circus tent or the clothes of some American rapper, which was, unfortunately, *not* the current style in muggle London. Even his back pack, full as it was, seemed lost among the folds and billows of cotton-spandex blend.
He stood in the middle of the side walk, eyeing the trendy boutiques and well-dressed people of the nicer end of Piccadilly; people, for the most part dressed in sober, well-tailored clothing, flowed around his still figure like a stream boulder-parted. He dismally flapped a wing-like sleeve, and continued on against the flow.
The note had said Surrey. He should probably be heading to Surrey.
"Are you lost?" A woman suddenly asked him. Her hand found his thin shoulder, halting his forward momentum. He stared up into her chocolate brown eyes, kind of like a Labrador, and wished that his growth-spurt had occurred last summer as had Ron. Five-six was a dismal height at which to linger.
"No, ma'am," he said softly, wishing for a Sweeny Todd revelation of "This is my mother! I'm not alone!' but she just smiled, and continued on towards a GAP import.
But he wasn't actually lost, anyway, in any sense other than the cosmic.
The Leaky Cauldron was around here somewhere, and he needed supplies.
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Worksheet #5: The First Signs of Disorder
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"Why wouldn't they tell me?"
If talking to oneself was any indications, then Harry Potter had officially checked out. Not that anyone else would know. The Dursleys had cleared the house for the day, Vernon to work, Petunia on errands, and Dudley out with his pack of friends.
"Why keep it a secret?"
Of course, the Dursleys would normally *never* leave Harry alone in the house. He might burn it down, or magic . . . something . . . somehow. Normally, if they were all planning to leave, Harry would be left with Mrs. Figg and her cats. He was beginning to hate cats.
"What possible difference would it make?"
But this summer hadn't exactly been normal. Vernon had installed locks on Harry's door, for one thing, so Harry was currently locked inside with no one *but* himself to talk to. Harry didn't quite understand the logic behind the shiny new hasp. If he could do magic, then wouldn't he be just as able to "magic' something from behind a closed (and locked and dead bolted) door?
"I could have lived with her. *She's* my family, not the Dursleys."
Not that logic had *ever* ruled the Dursleys. There had been the incident with the barred window his second year, and of course the 11 years in the cupboard hadn't been their most logical move. Harry certainly wouldn't have pissed off someone he was that afraid of that badly.
"How could Dumbledore allow it? How could Sirius have lied to me?"
He distracted himself for several moments by imagining Snape locked in a cupboard; unfortunately, the idea of what he would do in retaliation once he escaped kept intruding on the fantasy, causing it to rather quickly lose its appeal. He then spent some time watching dust motes dance along the single ray of light that had crept through the shutters. Well, they were cheaper and less conspicuous than actual bars. At least that's what Harry hoped was the reasoning behind the replacement, because he'd hate to think that they were depriving him of natural sunlight and fresh air deliberately.
"Why is everyone trying to keep me *here*?"
Another difference in this summer had been the lack of work; aside from weeding the garden once or twice and that time he washed the windows, Harry hadn't done anything to "help out around the house". Perhaps Petunia had become accustomed to cooking the family's dinner herself. Perhaps the Dursleys thought that Harry would poison them, if given the chance. Perhaps they had come to see the error of their ways . . . Nah.
"Is blood that much safer?"
It was more that the Dursleys were ignoring him. First with the locks and shutters, second the lack of chores. Dudley never tried to kill him anymore. Even Vernon's wrath was occasional and mild, the rare swipe of an aging paw. And they were feeding him; he ate with the family, and he ate the same as Dudley, though of course not as much(if that would even be possible). He just couldn't figure it out. Why change now?
"If mother *is* alive, then she didn't die for me when Voldemort came."
The only conclusion of which Harry could conceive involved the intervention of his godfather, or perhaps that of Dumbledore; only a full-out threat from a full-out wizard would have stopped the Dursleys' abuse. But it didn't make sense for someone to threaten the Dursleys but not remove him from their care. He just couldn't understand that part of it. Because if this someone knew enough to prevent the behavior, then they obviously knew about the behavior itself. So why leave him here? Why not rescue him?
"So if it wasn't her love that saved me, then what was it?"
That's how he knew it couldn't have been the Weasleys who gave the warning. Ron had proved in the past that he was both willing and able to affect an impromptu rescue mission, and Fred and George would always be willing to help. But no Weasley had contacted him this summer. Even Hermione had fallen to the owl-post blackout. So someone in authority -- Dumbledore -- must have told his friends that writing to him would put him in danger. Otherwise, he would have received at least *one* birthday gift, if not several.
"What saved me? Why am I alive?"
And why leave him here? Of course, where else would one breed a hero except in adversity? Not that he believed Dumbledore capable of such manipulations . . . Strike that, a life-long plot to drive him into a desperation deep enough that killing Voldie seemed a good alternative to suicide sounded exactly like something Dumbledore would and could plan.
"Why do they want *me*?"
So, there was nothing else for it but to escape. He didn't have his wand, or any outside help, but a hero in training should be able to work around such obstacles, correct? Please note the sarcasm. At least Fred and George were finally coming in use; a few practical jokes secreted in his outsized clothing, then under the loose floorboards beside his bed, would do the job nicely. When the cat's away, as the saying goes.
"Why am *I* so bloody special?"
But this mouse was ready for a bit more than 'play'. ***
Umm, the thought-chain was pretty much unconnected to the rest of that last section. Just . . . follow the thematic.
To be continued in SA Chapter 3: The Good Samaritan
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Separation Anxiety: A Manual