Chapter 1- The Wolf
Harry covered his ears with a whimper. Everything was so loud right then; Vernon's fists on the door, his shouting. Harry couldn't even make out the words, something about freakishness and… the door had locked itself, he realized dazedly. He had flown inside and the door had locked itself. No wonder Uncle Vernon was so angry, he'd done something freakish again, and freakish was bad. His aunt and uncle had made that abundantly clear over the years, anytime he did something… Freakish.
When he'd talked to the old man down the road, just last week, Uncle Vernon had thrown a fit. He'd learned later that the man had died a few days earlier, and that no one else could see him. Just another "freakish" thing he could do. He was so tired of hearing that word.
Just when he thought Uncle Vernon would break down the door to his cupboard, he heard Dudley. He couldn’t make out what he said, of course, but the pounding on his door stopped and the huge man thundered away. He trembled, hands still over his ears, and waited for Dudley to make a sound, a very specific sound. When the two stomps shook the stairs, the door flew open and he bolted, out of the cupboard and out of the house.
He ran and ran and ran, feeling the hot asphalt blister his bare feet. Dudley had started doing that recently, that and other things, like slipping him food. He had no clue how he survived on the pittance of food the Dursley's fed him, but he had managed, and he was alive, at least. He stopped only when he reached the cool grass of the park and then he froze, looking up to survey… Wait, was there an adult on the swings?
There was, and he was swinging ever so slightly, but he was there, and Harry's first thought when he saw the man was that he was beautiful. He had long purple hair, and skin like porcelain. His eyes, when he turned to look at Harry, were golden. Not brown, but golden like the sun, and he felt a blush rise in his cheeks as the man stood and walked towards him.
He was dressed in fancy clothes; a grey dress shirt with a vest, slacks, and insanely shiny shoes that looked out of place in the small, run down park. Why was he here…? Harry's thoughts were interrupted when the man spoke, a simple hello.
Harry twisted around to find who the man was talking to, but he was the only person… Was the man talking to him? He looked back up at him and attempted a shy smile. "H-hello, sir." God, he sounded like a moron… Wait, the adult was speaking again.
"What are you doing out here with no shoes?" He tensed a little, but the adult was expecting an answer…
"Just… Nothing. Are you a ghost? I can't talk to ghosts anymore…" He whispered the words softly, looking back at Number 4 Privet Drive to see if anyone was watching. This man was too strange to be real. Purple hair? And those indistinct shadowy shapes on top of his head… Was Harry dreaming? Or was he doing something… Freakish again?
"A ghost? You speak to ghosts, Mr. Potter?" Harry tensed further. Apparently he was real, and now Harry was in big trouble. He shook his head and stumbled back, tripping over his own feet and falling flat… Or he would have, if the man hadn't caught him. His hands were gentle but strong, holding Harry's weight easily. Harry felt his eyes fill with tears that he fought back as hard as he could, but it was all too much and he started sobbing.
The man cursed under his breath and gathered him up like a rag doll. He couldn't help but sob harder as he was held, gently but firmly. After a few long minutes, the tears wore him out and they went from full body sobbing to quiet, shivery sniffles, leaving him exhausted. The man simply held him, stroking his back gently and letting him wear himself out before pulling back slowly.
"What was all that about, hmm, Little One?" Harry tensed up at the gentleness of the man's tone. Why was this adult being so nice? Adults weren't nice, not any of them, but this one seemed to be. Where were the fangs? And… How had this man known who he was?
"How do you know my name?" He snapped the words, then immediately tensed up. Shit. He'd just snapped at an adult.
"I knew your parents. You have your mother's eyes, Harry." Harry blinked and looked up, peering owlishly through his round and battered glasses, and saw a smile on the man's face.
"You knew my mum before the accident, sir? What was she like? Do you have any pictures of her?" He clamped his hand over his mouth and blushed slightly, studying the man as his eyes narrowed.
"Accident?"
"Yessir, the car accident?" He watched as the older man closed his eyes and took a deep breath.
"Harry, your parents were murdered."