And so, Harry found himself long past Privet Drive. He made it to the wooded park a number of streets down from Number 4. He slowed down and found a vacant park bench. The large park was empty, so he lay down, careful of his left arm and huddled for warmth on the bench. The autumn wind didn't help, but at least he'd kept his day clothes on instead of the pitiful excuse for pajamas the Dursleys gave him. The jeans were warm enough to keep him from getting hypothermia.
The 7-year-old thought about where he'd be going from here. What would he do? Where would he go? How would he eat? Sleep? Live?
He sniffled and allowed a few tears to drip down.
All he wanted was to go back to his cupboard at this point. He didn't want the attention or the cold or the fear, even if he was hurt by them, sometimes they'd let him be in the blissful state of "ignoring him as if he didn't exist". Those days, Uncle Vernon, Aunt Petunia, and even Dudley wouldn't cast a second glance at him. He'd be so grateful on those days as it signaled he'd go to bed without a couple of bruises and cuts and maybe even a small meal.
He silently cursed himself for ever turning the teacher's hair blue. It was his fault. He didn't know why, he didn't know how, but he was sure it had something to do with him. With "it" as his Aunt had said.
What's more, he cursed the figure. He had no clue what the suited man wanted, why it let him out , or why he got Harry in this situation, but if he had never interfered, maybe he'd be able to just live in his relative obscurity.
He shifted to get comfortable on the park bench. He was glad he'd thought to put a protective layer between the lead pipe and his skin; he could feel the cold metal leeching his body heat even through the bandage, but he imagined it'd be worse if the bandage wasn't there at all.
He'd just started giving in to the numbness of sleep, when he… felt a presence.
He slowly sat up. It was like this one time Dudley was feeling less physical and more annoying during a car ride. He spent the entire time with his fat finger a centimeter from the side of Harry's head chanting "I'm not touching you. I'm not touching you." He knew the finger was there, he just didn't see it and it nagged at the back of his head and he could "feel" something there insisting he look.
He slowly turned around and allowed his eyes to adjust to the park.
…
There.
About ten feet away was the same figure in a suit standing next to a short lamp post. He could confirm the figure must have been almost nine feet tall, it was almost as tall as the post itself. Again, the figure's face was shrouded in the shadows cast by the light and Harry couldn't make out any features other than the fact that its neck showed he had pale skin, if not white altogether and matched the same color as his white dress shirt. If it wasn't for the collar, Harry would have almost guessed the figure wasn't wearing a shirt at all.
He could "feel" the eyes on him, so he feigned bravery and angrily stared right back at the area he supposed his eyes would be.
Hahahaha.
He jolted. It was another chuckle, similar to what he heard in the bathroom, but much clearer than before.
He shivered as the figure stood still as if waiting for him to do something. His initial fear of the man gradually receded to wary curiosity. He didn't feel like the figure meant to do him any harm. If anything, the figure was almost benign.
He slowly walked towards the figure until he was within the cone of yellow light from the dim street light.
"Who are you?" He asked quietly.
The figure didn't respond, instead simply standing there facing Harry. Harry was undeterred.
"What do you want?"
The figure crouched down. Its long legs bent awkwardly and its arm came down to stabilize itself. Harry's breath caught in his throat as he finally saw the figure's face-
Or, rather, lack thereof.
The figure's face was blank and as white as an empty canvas. There were slight indentations, emphasized by the shadows, that were similar an old statue where the face was weathered away, but you could make out the faded curves that may have been a nose and eye sockets.
There was no mouth nor any indication of any ever being there. The "nose" indentation had no orifices for breathing. His completely hairless head showed he had no ears either.
There were no eyes in the "eye" indentations, but Harry got the feeling it could still "see" him.
For a few seconds, they both silently regarded each other before the tall man slowly extended a long arm towards Harry. The pale, white hand faced palm upwards as if offering something. The message came clear to his head. It felt as though the figure "talked" in a deep bass with a vague American accent, and the voice came from his direction, but it was not sound-based at all. It was confusing to "hear" someone without his ears.
"I want to offer a choice, child. If you wish, I want to help you leave this place."
Harry looked down at the hand being offered. He didn't know who this figure was… or even what this figure was, but whatever it was, it offered an alternative. It offered him a choice.
He glanced back at the direction of Privet Drive. Memories flooded him of Vernon's temper, Petunia's neurosis, Dudley's spoilt behavior, Aunt Marge's cruelty, the uncaring teachers, the mean children. His jaw clenched and his back straightened.
He reached out his cut, bruised, and burnt, but not broken, arm to the figure and grasped the hand.
The figure straightened, but its arm was long enough that Harry could hold on comfortably despite its incredible height.
The lights all around the park flickered off suddenly, leaving the entire lot moonlit. The tall figure and the young boy walked soundlessly in the darkness. The intricate shadows cast by the branches criss-crossed and soon grew denser and denser.
And with a faint rustle of wind through the autumn trees, the pair disappeared into the shadows of the forest.
Leaving the park as though they were never there.