Chapter 1
The garden was quiet, save for the soft rustling of leaves in the summer breeze. Six-year-old Harry Potter knelt in the dirt, his small hands grimy from pulling weeds, his oversized shirt sticking to his back with sweat. Aunt Petunia had made it clear before locking him out for the night: the garden beds better be perfect by morning, or there’d be no dinner for him. It wasn’t the first time she’d set him to work late, and it certainly wouldn’t be the last. The dim light of the streetlamps stretched long over the yard, casting shadows that seemed to twitch and sway with every passing breeze. Harry paused for a moment, wiping his brow, the sound of crickets chirping filling the air.
He hated this—hated how Aunt Petunia always found a way to keep him busy, far away from the house, out of sight and out of mind. But something about tonight felt different. The air was thick with an unspoken tension, as if the very world was holding its breath. A movement caught his eye.
He froze, instinctively crouching down lower behind a large bush that bordered the garden. From his hiding spot, he could see the dark shape moving across the neighbor’s yard. It wasn’t a cat or a dog—Harry knew that much. This thing was bigger, with a kind of grace that made his heart race in his chest.
It moved silently, like it was hunting. Or stalking. Harry’s breath caught in his throat. The figure, or whatever it was, slinked closer to the fence that divided the neighbors' garden from the Dursleys' home.
It seemed to pause, sniffing the air, as if it was aware of something—or someone—lurking nearby. Harry held still, afraid to move, afraid to make a sound. His eyes were wide, fixed on the shadow in the darkness. The creature lingered at the fence for a long moment before it darted into the shadow of the house next door, vanishing from sight.
Harry stayed hidden for what felt like an eternity, heart hammering in his chest, every nerve on edge. He didn’t dare move until he was sure it was gone, his body stiff with fear. When he finally dared to peek out from behind the bush, the creature was nowhere to be seen. Harry’s pulse slowed, though unease still crept up his spine. It wasn’t normal. Nothing about it felt normal. He had no idea what he had just seen, but something told him it wasn’t good.
The next morning, Harry woke to the sound of hushed voices in the kitchen. Aunt Petunia’s sharp tone carried through the walls. "...they found him last night, just... just torn apart. The neighbor! Can you believe it, Vernon? Something—some kind of animal must have—"
Harry’s ears perked up. Animal? The hairs on the back of his neck stood up as his mind raced. It couldn’t be a coincidence. The thing he had seen prowling around last night—it had to be connected to the gruesome discovery in the neighbor’s yard. "—cannibalized him," Aunt Petunia was saying in a voice that trembled slightly. "His body’s barely recognizable. They’re saying it’s some wild animal, but I don’t think so. It doesn’t add up."
Harry’s stomach churned, a strange sense of dread settling over him. He hadn’t imagined it, then. What had he seen last night was no figment of his imagination. Something had been out there. Something... dangerous. The last thing Harry wanted was to get involved. But the images from the night before—dark shapes, shadows, the way it moved with such a predatory grace—haunted him.
Whatever had prowled the garden wasn’t just some animal. It was something else. Something far worse. As he walked into the kitchen, Aunt Petunia’s voice faltered as she saw him standing there. "Harry!" she snapped, her face hardening. "What are you doing up so early? Go to your cupboard."
But Harry couldn’t shake the feeling that something was calling him—some strange connection to what had happened the night before. He didn’t want to be a part of it. But the mystery, the danger of it all, seemed to be tugging at him, pulling him in.