Forests and Fear
The fear was suffocating, like an oppressive rain coming down through the trees.
No light could make it through the cavernous forest around him, not even Harry’s gift. Not even if he tried. This was a shadowed place, home to creatures of the black and voices of the night. There were whispers in these trees, they spoke to him. They told him to come closer, just a little bit. We won’t hurt you.
Harry was getting sick of voices whispering to him.
Gripping the strap of his rucksack tighter he looked around for any idea of where he had landed. There was no clues, no identifying bits of information. Harry was completely lost. The forest around him, with its snaps and creaks and calls, was putting him on edge. It felt like at any moment Vernon or Dudley or even Petunia would jump out of a darkened tree and attack him.
Yet at the same time, Harry felt more alive than he had in weeks. I’m free, he reminded himself, I never have to see them again. He could run forever now and the forest would welcome him. There was something in the air, there was-
Crunch.
Harry whirled around, eyes darting around to find the source of the sound. There was nothing and then there was a man. He looked haggard, dirty and feral. Long, stringy hair fell into the man’s face, obscuring everything but a sharp smile and wild eyes. He was dressed in rags, yet carried himself with the kind of bravado Dudley could only try to imitate.
Was this his property? Harry wondered, Am I trespassing?
Taking a step back, Harry placed a hand on the pocket of Dudley’s oversized jeans - where he had stowed the Wand. It sung to him, I can protect you. Harry thought back, I don’t understand how, yet moved to pull the Wand out anyways.
This drew a short biting laugh from the Stranger.
“Going to fight me, Potter?” he snarled mockingly, “All grown up now, getting ready for your first duel against a big bad wolf like myself.”
Harry gripped the Wand tighter.
“Who are you? How do you know my name?” he asked, eying the Stranger warily.
The Stranger’s smile grew sharper and Harry could feel a shiver of fear run down his spine.
“I am your greatest fear, boy,” the Stranger drawled, “But you… You are my greatest prize.”
Harry tensed at his words. The man sounded like Piers and Dudley when they would gloat over his wounded body - Harry hated it. He needed to go, now. The man was bad news, horrible even. If Harry wanted to live, he needed to run.
Before he could even move a muscle, the Stranger cackled his sharp, high-pitched laugh and stalked towards Harry.
“You think you can run, boy?” the Stranger taunted, “How cute. Pathetic, how you think you can escape me.”
He stopped mere inches from Harry’s body, leaning in with a menacing smile and those wild, wild eyes before whispering, “I do so enjoy a good chase.”
Harry was moving before he could even think about it. Running was second nature to him, at this point. Like flying, except his feet were the motor and the only pilot was his adrenaline-fueled brain. There was scuffling somewhere behind him, like paws on the forest ground - perhaps an animal running from the Stranger as well?
He didn’t have time to wonder, he didn’t even have time to think. There was only dirt and trees and the panting of his own breath. His heart was beating out of his skin and Harry wondered if this was how he’d die. Made it out of the Dursleys only to be murdered by a crazy man with a hyena laugh.
The animal was getting closer. It sounded large, like a wolf, and the thought crossed Harry’s mind, Maybe the animal isn’t running from the man.
Maybe the animal is chasing me too.
It was a terrifying thought - that he was not any more safe from the natural world as he was from his own species. Lost in his thoughts, Harry almost missed the fallen tree a few meters in front of him. He leaped, attempting to cross over it, but his oversized jeans caught on a branch and Harry came tumbling down.
The forest floor was cold and miserable. Being sprawled across it was more miserable than standing up on it, Harry decided. His back was aching and he was sure he twisted his leg in the fall. Pain shot up into his hip and Harry had to stop himself from crying out in pain. As his senses came back into focus, the reality of his situation kicked in.
He was injured in an unknown forest with a homicidal man who inexplicably knew who he is. There was no way Harry can escape. He was trapped. God damn it. Tears welled up in his eyes. He blinked them away, trying to focus on his surroundings.
The man could be anywhere.
A howl in the distance broke him out of his thoughts. The wolf must be close. Another howl followed it and Harry could only wonder just how many wolves there were. By the third howl he was already mentally signing his nonexistent will. Petunia can get poison so her flowers will die, Vernon will get sacked and Dudley will lose all his friends. Harry smiled in pained satisfaction, not noticing the crunching of paws right next to him.
Another howl sounded out, this time right by his ear. Jerking his head to see where it came from, Harry’s heart stopped as he came face to face with a large, growling, grey wolf. It stalked closer, a manic look in its eye that could rivals the Strangers. The wolf stopped for a second, seeming to sense Harry’s fear and reveling in it. Oh, hell no.
Despite his injured leg, Harry tried to shuffle away from the murderous animal in front of him. But he could barely make it to the log before the wolf lunged and Harry’s world exploded into pain.
There was a fiery ache in his shoulder and he was screaming. The moon was so bright, almost blinding. How could he see it through the trees? Was the moon even out before? The wolf was nowhere to be seen, yet it had not gone far. Harry could smell it. Why could he smell it? It smelled like soot and ash and destruction. It smelled like malice.
Harry’s head was swimming. The forest was alive, yet it was even more barren then before. Where was everyone going? The scents were shifting, moving. The pack was on the move and Harry could not help but want to join. They were running, why were they running? Why was he not running?
His leg was breaking, he was sure of it. A howl escaped his mouth as he clawed at his pants, face, neck. It hurt, so much. He was screaming, he was whimpering, he was changed. Harry’s legs didn’t bend like that, but it felt so familiar. It was part of who he is now.
Harry’s glasses were gone and so was his bag. Why was it not on his back? His back was so long now, he could easily fit three whole backpacks on there. Shaking off the dirt and leaves, Harry went to stand up and whimpered in pain. His leg was still broken and was protesting even the slightest amount of movement.
Mind hazy with pain, Harry fell back down and curled up around what felt like his rucksack. It would be better in the morning, everything would be better in the morning. He would be able to run and the urge to hunt would not be so strong. Mournfully, Harry howled once more into the empty forest.
The moon is so bright tonight.