Back into the Cold
Chapter 19: Back into the Cold
The car ride with the Dursleys was silent.
Not because they cared—
But because they ignored him.
As always.
Harry stared out the window as the streets passed by.
The sky was gray, the weather cold and bleak.
That was exactly how he felt inside.
He had left his pack behind.
Knowing he’d see them again in three weeks was a weak consolation.
Three weeks felt like an eternity.
His plush wolf was safely tucked into his backpack—the only sign of home he had brought with him.
He knew he would need it at night.
Not because he was a child—
But because he knew he wouldn’t be able to hold himself together without it.
When the car finally pulled into the Dursleys’ driveway, Harry got out before Vernon could say a word.
He grabbed his suitcase, kept his eyes down, and headed straight to the front door.
“About time,” Vernon grumbled behind him. “Get it together, boy. No whining. You’ll survive three weeks.”
Harry didn’t answer.
He knew it was pointless.
The door clicked shut behind him. That was it.
Welcome back.
Back to a house that had never felt like a home.
Petunia cast a wary glance his way before returning to her tea.
Dudley ignored him completely.
Perfect.
Harry dragged his suitcase upstairs, closed the door behind him, and let himself fall onto the bed with a sigh.
The silence was unbearable.
No voices of his friends.
No Nott flipping through a book.
No Zabini tossing sarcastic remarks.
No Draco giving him annoyed looks but always keeping an eye on him.
Just him.
And the soft ticking of the old wall clock.
Harry opened his backpack and reached for the small plush wolf.
He held it in his hands for a while, staring at it.
A small piece of his pack.
Slowly, he pulled his knees up and hugged the plush wolf to his chest.
It was childish.
But it was the only thing that let him sleep that night.
The days that followed were monotonous.
Harry avoided the Dursleys—they avoided him.
He ate alone, spent most of his time in his room.
The nights were the worst.
No soft breathing from his friends.
No comforting presence nearby.
More than once he woke up because his wolf instinctively searched for his pack—
Only to remember they weren’t there.
The only thing that kept him going were the letters.
Draco had meant it.
Every single day, one of them sent a message.
Sometimes it was just a quick note from Zabini (“Hope you’re not dying of boredom.”),
Sometimes a longer letter from Nott about something he’d read.
And Draco?
Draco always included something.
A photo from Hogwarts.
A comment about how miserable the food tasted without him.
A sarcastic remark hoping he wasn’t going completely feral.
Harry wrote back.
Not much, but enough.
He had to.
Because it was the only thing reminding him that he wasn’t alone.
That he would return.
And that his pack was waiting for him.
________________________________________
The icy cold bit into Harry’s skin as he shoveled snow with numb fingers.
The shovel was old and rusty, and the snow was falling faster than he could clear it.
But Petunia’s order had been clear:
“Clear the walkway before Vernon gets home.”
Harry hadn’t argued.
He knew it was pointless.
So he kept working.
Hour after hour, as snow covered him like a second layer.
He was frozen to the bone.
His fingers numb.
But finally, just before dinner, the snow stopped falling. And he was done.
His limbs aching, Harry stumbled into the house.
All he wanted was to warm up, shower, and crawl into bed.
He had looked forward to this moment.
But as he stepped into his room—
He froze.
Something was wrong.
He looked around, his stomach twisting.
Something was missing.
His plush wolf.
His heart skipped a beat.
Panic surged through him.
He tore through his bed, his bag, yanked up the blanket—
Nothing.
His breath quickened.
He stormed back into the hallway—
And there they stood.
Dudley and his two brainless sidekicks, grinning smugly.
And in Dudley’s hand…
His wolf.
His wolf, still wearing the red ribbon.
His wolf, the only thing that still smelled like his pack.
The only thing that had helped him through these damn weeks.
His throat tightened.
“Give it back, Dudley.”
Harry’s voice was quiet—but dangerous.
Dudley laughed.
“What, Potter? Still sleepin’ with your teddy?”
The other boys laughed along.
Harry’s fists clenched.
“Dudley,” he repeated slowly. “Give. It. Back.”
But Dudley just grinned—and threw it to one of his friends.
Harry lunged—
But missed.
They were playing with him.
Tossing it over his head, just out of reach each time.
Harry’s wolf growled inside him.
He wanted to stop them.
Rip the grins off their faces.
But then—
Dudley ran.
Outside.
Harry’s heart raced.
He bolted after him, tripping over the doorframe as cold air slammed into his face.
He saw Dudley at the curb.
Saw him lift the wolf high.
And then—
Laughter.
A throw.
The plush wolf sailed through the air.
Harry ran.
But before he could reach it—
A loud crunch.
A car.
Screeching brakes.
A dull, heavy thud.
The little white wolf disappeared under the tires.
Harry’s stomach twisted.
The boys let go of him.
He stumbled forward, heart pounding in his ears.
He fell to his knees, reached for the plush wolf, picked it up gently.
But it wasn’t his wolf anymore.
The head hung by a few thin threads.
One paw was missing.
The once soft, clean fur was now muddy gray, wet and reeking of oil.
The only thing that still smelled like his pack…
Was gone.
Something inside him broke.
A desperate whine escaped his throat.
His hands trembled as tears hit the wet asphalt.
He felt—
Lost.
Alone.
Ripped away from everything that gave him safety.
And for the first time in a long, long while—
He was truly alone again.