Faith: Edited

"A/N: I don't Harry Potter nor Supernatural

Chapter 1

For the Lamb at the center of the throne will be their shepherd; 'he will lead them to springs of living water.' 'And God will wipe away every tear from their eyes.'

~Revelation 7:17~

Hogwarts October 31st, 1988

Headmaster's office

The office was silent save for the occasional snore from slumbering portraits.

Arches rose and fell around a circular platform, shelves lined the walls filled to the brim with books worn with age.

Trinkets whizzed and whirled in glass cabinets. A desk sat upon the platform, dark wood covered in paperwork stacked high, held together by an invisible force.

A perch inlaid with gold stood next to the desk.

Upon which a majestic bird slept. Its beak folded beneath its wing. Soft musical trills sounded through the room as the creature slept.

Soft fiery plumage waving with every movement.

Long golden-red feathers shifted and shook as the bird woke with a curious trill.

A head cocked, large eyes blinked as the legend gazed in fascination at the trinkets in the cabinets.

The being ruffled its feathers as a buildup of power filled the room.

The phoenix gave an alarmed squawk as a shockwave erupted from the whizzing and whirling items, glass shattering from the power, then they fell away in ash.

Fawkes blinked, trilling in fear for an innocent that his master was watching over. The majestic bird started to build up power inside of himself to go notify his master of what just occurred.

Then a wave of warmth settled over him and he relaxed. The child was safe, the warmth told him.

His power dissipating. Fawkes had nothing to fear for the young boy, the child was free from his master's clutches, the warmth seemed to say. He was safe.

The phoenix ruffled its feathers once more, glancing at the empty cabinets one last time before tucking his beak beneath his wing, falling back to the land of dreams.

Paris, France ICW Harry Potter's Triumph

French and British Ministry Gala

October 31st, 1988

Couples glided across the marble floor, black and white dress robes billowing behind them as they danced.

Gowns floating, as the ladies were twirled in intricate steps on the dance floor.

The high vaulted ceiling was alight with stars in a masterful illusion of the night sky.

Hundreds of torches lined the columns of walls, freezes of mystical beings dancing to the music of a beautiful orchestra. Tables lined the walls with piles of French delicacies on golden plates.

Trays of flutes of champagne floated in between clusters of people conversing in jovial tones.

Clusters of men and women laughing, gestures wide as someone told a joke. A man walked through a tall arched doorway that led out to a balcony that overlooked lush gardens.

The scent of flowers was heady in the air. The man paused, tapping his fingers against his portly belly in thought.

His brown thinning hair swayed in the breeze, dark eyes squinting to see the back of a man in bright blue robes with yellow stars.

Black and white robes strained over his wide girth as the Minister of Magic moved forward.

"Ah, Dumbledore! There you are! Why are you out here when you should be enjoying the wonderful festivities inside?"

The wizard turned, long white hair flowing in the wind, beard tucked into a hot pink belt. Glasses perched on a pointed nose as the wizard smiled jovially at the minister. Eyes twinkling in their blue depths.

"Cornelius my good man, I was just out enjoying the wonderful weather overlooking this marvelous garden. I wish Pomona were here, for she would have enjoyed its wonders. Perhaps she could enjoy it from the pensive."

Cornelius Fudge laughed.

"But of course Albus, however, you are avoiding the question."

Fudge said a little more sternly.

Dumbledore's eyes twinkled a little brighter.

"Ah I find myself a little downtrodden this evening, Cornelius, for on this night two of my most loving friends lost their lives. I grieve this night. The people inside are too busy celebrating Harry Potter's triumph that they forget what was lost."

Cornelius turned solemn at that.

"Yes, there is that. I guess I will leave you to your grieving then. When will you be returning to Hogwarts? There is a Wizigmont meeting in four days."

Dumbledore visibly brightened. Twinkle returning to his eyes.

"I will return to the castle after the meeting. For now, I shall enjoy my time of freedom from my duties as headmaster. I am sure Minerva can handle herself." Cornelius nodded.

"Very well, enjoy the rest of your night."

"You as well, my friend."

Fudge laughed.

"Of course, of course. The champagne is calling my name. Good evening."

With that, the minister bowed to the headmaster and disappeared into the ballroom.

Dumbledore gazed after him for a moment before turning and looking out into the distance.

His white hair flowing gently in the night breeze. He thought back to the small adorable child he had left on young Lily's sister's doorstep, all those years ago.

Thinking back on the words of caution his transfiguration professor told him.

"They're the worst sorts of muggles." She had said.

Dumbledore shut his eyes in regret. He thought back to the trinkets in his office that monitored the failing wards at Privet Drive.

He knew nothing good was happening to the child.

"For the greater good."

He whispered, once again locking away his emotions to the deepest recesses of his mind.

"Forgive me James, Lily, this is the only way."

Albus Dumbledore bowed his head in shame at what he was willingly allowing to happen to his most loyal's child. Then he turned and braved the gala once again.

Privet Drive November 3rd, 1988

The Lord is my Shepherd…He restores my soul; He guides me in the paths of righteousness For His name's sake.

~Psalm 23:3~

Freak was slow to return to consciousness. His body heavy, his head full of cotton. He could hear wind beat against the window, rain slapping against the glass as thunder crashed.

The house creaked as old houses do.

Something was wrong, Freak determined from where he lay. The last he could remember was a voice that shook his very soul. And a fury so hot it burned him.

Remembered warmth fading as if it had never been.

The whispers were a quiet buzz, it seemed a heavy silence had descended upon Privet drive. An ominous feeling crept up in Freak's chest.

He wiggled his toes, his feet, then he splayed his fingers against the cold floor.

He wondered why his "aunt" had yet to yell at him. Freak stilled, he could feel a sticky substance that felt slick on his hands. It slid down his fingers and dried.

Freak made a face, bringing his hand to his nose he took a curious sniff.

The tang of metal filled his nose. He cracked open his eyes. Blood. His hand was covered in blood. Fear shot down his spine, his tormentors will be angry.

He has to clean it up now!

Freak shoots up into a sitting position, then grips his head as a wave of dizziness washed over him. He breathes heavily through his nose. Then he lifts his head and screams.

Scrambling back, he slams into the cabinet with force causing pans to fall off the counter to land around him.

Freak throws his hands over his ears to block out the sound.

Closing his eyes to block out the scene in front of him. It's then that he notices the smell, rotten eggs, and decaying flesh.

Bile rises in the back of his throat. He turns and spills it onto the kitchen floor.

Bile mixing with tears and snot as sobs wrack his body.

The image of his tormentors' smoking faces, mouths open in silent screams frozen in death is seared into his mind.

Where their eyes were are empty chasms pooling blood onto the floor, mixing with broken eggs. The storm rages, wind picking up in his distress.

The whispers rise again filling his mind until the pounding on the door overtakes them. Freak stood quickly, skirting around the bodies of his "relatives" and races to his cupboard.

Bloody footprints left in his wake. He opens its door, jumps in, arms digging in his cot folds for his treasure.

Cross squeezed like a lifeline, he curls in on himself and rocks back and forth.

Tears spilling down his cheeks, hands sticky with blood. The pounding continued.

"Mr. and Mrs. Dursley! Are you in there?"

The pounding resumed. Muffled voices sounded from the other side.

"All right, if you are in trouble we will be there in just a moment." Shouted a muffled voice between pounds.

"Break down the door."

The door was thrown off its hinges and crashed into the foyer's walls.

Freak let out a soft cry as some wood flew into the cupboard and imbedded itself into the wall by his head.

Freak scooted further into the wall in an attempt to merge with it.

Violent shakes took hold of Freak as fear consumed him.

"Ugh! Bloody hell! What in the blazes is that smell?" Said the man who had been shouting before.

"Check upstairs."

Silence.

Steps sounded above him…then…

"Clear!"

Sounds of descending footsteps.

From where Freak was curled in his cupboard he could make out uniformed pants walking by his hiding place. The man crouched down to look at the smudges of blood on the floor.

He had on black pants and a dark vest with a belt of pouches. Some sort of clunky item was strapped to his side.

It looked like something Dudley used on the black box with pictures. His hair a dark blond, eyebrows scrunched in thought. He gave a low curse as his amber eyes looked toward the kitchen.

"Blood."

The man said then motioned toward the kitchen with his hand. The sound of a click and two more men entered Freak's line of vision.

They made their way into his tormentor's tomb on silent feet. Loud curses flew out of the room as the sound of one of the men calling for something called an ambulance sounded from the room.

"What is it?!" The man who was still crouched before Freak shouted.

The sound of echoing feet as the man came back into Freak's line of sight.

"We have a situation. Man, woman, and child. All three dead with their eyes missing…looks like they were fried right out of their skull. Bloody hell, I've never seen anything like it in all my years." Freak whimpered quietly at the reminder of what lay in the kitchen.

The officer's head snapped in Freak's direction. He stilled and sucked in a breath of disbelief.

"How many children did the Dursley's have?!"

"One on file sir, a Dudley Dursley. I assume he was the poor child that lays in the kitchen."

"Any other child in residence?"

"No sir, there are no records of any other child. Why?"

"Because I'm bloody well looking at one!"

Freak cringed as another man with black curly hair and blue eyes crouched down in front of the cupboard door.

He sucked in a breath as Freak tried to scramble further away from them.

"Dear God." The man whispered.

Staring at the small malnourished child covered in blood curled on a decaying mattress beneath the stairs. The Blonde man crawled forward on bended knees and reached inside.

Freak flinched. Clutching his cross to him tightly. He squeezed his eyes shut in anticipation. Tears of fear falling down his cheeks.

He trembled.

The whispers heightened then quieted. A warm hand landed softly on his head, carding through his blood matted hair.

"Shhh…" Said the man.

"It's alright now. You're safe, little one. You're safe." Cooed the man as he used his other arm to gently drag the little boy from the cupboard.