Chapter Text
The instant Harry was certain the Dursleys were asleep and wouldn’t be waking, he got up. He eased the loose floorboard off from under his bed and swung Dudley’s old satchel onto his shoulder. Holding his breath, Harry carefully crept out of the tiny prison that had been his room for the past eight years and down the stairs, keeping the bag close to his torso so it wouldn’t bang into anything. Harry tried listening for any sign of the Dursleys waking over the pounding of his heart. If any of them found him in the dead of the night, stealing food and preparing to run away, there would be hell to pay.
He walked past the cupboard under the stairs, the other space his relatives had kept their nephew in. Out of sight, out of mind, except when doing all the housework. He bitterly recalled the neglect and abuse they'd inflicted on him for years while he stepped into the kitchen. There, he took a tough loaf of rye bread and slices of cold meat with grim satisfaction, and wrapped them in a scrap of rough cotton. It was a good chunk of the Dursley’s food storage, and with winter on their doorstep they’d feel the loss keenly. Harry would take his petty revenge and leave for good, without regret or apologies.
He put the food in the satchel and quickly checked he had everything. It was depressingly light despite being packed with most of his belongings. Of course, his belongings were just Dudley’s threadbare, oversized hand-me-downs and bits and bobs Harry had squirrelled away throughout the years. He had only bothered to pack a few tunics and undergarments, two pants, and the only jacket and pair of shoes he had were the ones he was wearing. There wasn't much other than that. A scrap of parchment and quill he managed to nick from Uncle Vernon, and a few coins he’d managed to sneak past his relative’s greedy fingers.
And, of course, his letters from Ron and Hermione.
His two friends had come down from Lord Riddle’s estate where they worked, to the market in their free time, when the trio had first met. Harry had been trading chicken eggs for flour when they’d bumped into each other, literally. Only quick reflexes on both their parts had prevented a mess of flour, eggs, and people tumbling to the floor, but in that small moment of chaos, a pickpocket had taken advantage.