What Lurks in the Cold.
The train rattled along its tracks, the rhythm usually a mindless hum in the background of Harry’s thoughts. But then, the warmth of the lanterns dimmed. A chill seeped into the air, unnatural and clawing. The students in the neighboring compartments fell eerily silent, laughter snuffed out like a candle in the wind.
Harry’s fingers twitched where they rested on his knee.
His breath fogged in the air.
A presence was approaching.
Then—
The light flickered and died.
The compartment door slid open with a slow, grating creak, revealing a hooded figure. It loomed in the entrance, tattered robes billowing as if caught in an unseen current. The air thickened, pressing against Harry’s skin like something suffocating, something *wrong.*
A sound. Low, rasping, as if the creature was drinking in the very air around it.
Then the world tilted.
Pain.
Not the pain of now, but the pain of *before.*
A sickening lurch in his stomach, not from the cold, but from something much deeper—something buried, something clawing its way free.
*"Freaks like you don’t get food."*
His uncle’s voice, thick with loathing. A bony elbow digging into his ribs as he was shoved into the cupboard. The door slamming shut. The scent of dust and stale air. Hunger gnawing at his insides until it felt like his stomach was eating itself.
*"Why do you have to be so unnatural, boy?"*
A hand gripping his arm too tightly, fingers digging into his skin hard enough to bruise. The sharp crack of a belt against his back, the world blurring as he clenched his teeth and refused to make a sound.
And his aunt—Petunia—never hitting, never raising her voice. Just silence. Turning away. Looking through him, past him, like he didn’t exist.
Except once.
Once, when he had knocked over a pan by accident.
A flash of metal. A burst of pain. The dull ringing in his ears as he curled in on himself, blinking against the sting of unshed tears.
"Stop it."
The words weren’t his. They came from somewhere distant, somewhere outside the memories, outside the cold. A hand on his shoulder, shaking him gently. The warmth of it cut through the ice numbing his skin.
"Harry."
His name.
Spoken softly, like it mattered.
The world rushed back in a snap.
The hooded creature was gone. The compartment was dim, but no longer dark.
The Man from before knelt beside him, his brow furrowed, concern clear in his tired eyes.
Harry forced in a breath. Then another.
His hands were trembling.
How pathetic.
With effort, he stilled them, curling his fingers into fists before releasing them again. The mask slid back into place.
"I'm fine," he said, voice steady despite the lingering chill in his bones.
"Lupin" studied him for a moment longer, as if deciding whether to press the issue.
He didn’t.
Instead, he turned away, moving toward his battered suitcase and pulling out a large slab of chocolate.
"Eat," he instructed, breaking off a piece and offering it.
Harry hesitated, then took it. The warmth of it melted against his tongue, but it did little to drive away the ice still lingering in his veins.
Lupin was watching him.
Harry met his gaze, tilting his head slightly.
Not quite prey.
Not quite predator.
Something in between.
The beast beneath the skin.