I didn't announce anything.
I didn't explain.
I simply let it unfold like an ordinary trip.
Early the next morning, I loaded the car. Not everything—only what was necessary. Documents. Cash. A change of clothes. Each item selected carefully, as if I were preparing for a negotiation I never intended to win.
Petunia asked where we were going.
I said, just a few days away.
She didn't press further.
She had learned that some questions, once spoken, only made things worse.
Dudley was still asleep.
I looked at him but didn't wake him.
Not because I didn't want to say goodbye—
but because if he were awake, I might not leave at all.
Harry stood by the door.
He didn't ask questions.
He didn't look excited.
He simply stood there, as if checking whether he was included.
"Get in the car," I said.
My tone was the same as always.
The moment the words left my mouth, a thought crossed my mind:
I'm really doing this.
When the car pulled away from the street, I didn't look back.
Not deliberately.
There was just no reason to.
The first stretch of road was steady.
No speeding.
No detours.
Everything looked like a reasonable short trip.
Until the first petrol station.
As I paid at the counter, I noticed a letter tucked beside the newspaper rack.
No name.
No address.
But I knew.
I stood there for a few seconds, said nothing, placed the money down, and left.
When I returned to the car, there was another one on the passenger seat.
Harry was looking at it.
"It's not for you," I said.
He said "okay" and pushed it aside.
The car fell silent again.
We changed routes.
Not to escape—
to adjust.
I began avoiding fixed stops.
Avoiding familiar roads.
Not because I believed it would work,
but because it was the only control I had left.
The letters kept appearing.
At hotel receptions.
Under room doors.
Even outside a car window I had just closed.
They arrived with unsettling precision.
Precise enough to make me realize—
this wasn't pursuit.
It was permission.
As long as we remained within their calculations,
this "escape" was nothing more than delay.
We checked into a cheap motel.
The room was small, the lighting dim.
I told Harry to take the bed closer to the wall.
Not out of care.
Out of habit.
That night, I lay awake, staring at the ceiling.
The same question repeated in my mind:
What am I doing?
I wasn't a hero.
I wasn't a savior.
I wasn't even sure this was helping him.
Maybe I just couldn't bear to watch things happen in front of me.
The next morning, the letters were still there.
They didn't rush us.
They didn't threaten.
They simply existed.
As if reminding me—
You can keep moving.
But you won't get far.
We stayed on the road.
The paths grew less familiar.
Eventually, even I wasn't sure where we were headed.
That evening, I parked the car in an open stretch of land.
The wind was strong.
There was nothing around us.
I stayed in the driver's seat for a moment before getting out.
"How long are we going to keep going?" Harry asked.
It was the first time he had spoken voluntarily in days.
I looked ahead.
"I don't know," I said.
It was the truth.
He didn't ask anything else.
That was when I understood—
He wasn't waiting for an answer.
He was checking whether
I was still there.
I opened the door and stepped out.
The sky was already darkening.
The letters wouldn't stop.
I knew that.
This road wouldn't lead to freedom.
But at least—
for now—
in this moment—
I was still standing in front of him.
Not because I had the power to protect him.
But because—
I hadn't stepped aside yet.
And that,
was everything I had left to give.