The Fae have Harry Potter. The Fae are not happy. Quake, lying wizards, fear to the betrayers.
3 Fae Harry Potter
Harry crashed through the treeline, nearly collided with a fallen trunk, and ducked underneath it, ignoring the pull of moss at bark at his messy hair.
In the distance, Dudley and his gang’s furious yelling echoed. His heart clenched, and he made his tired muscles go just a bit faster.
He had thought the library would be safe.
(In another world, it would have been.)
Clumsy feet smashed through a collected pile of crisp leaves, all but announcing his location, and he scrambled over a small hill from the trip, just barely not on his hands and knees.
Dirt gathered uncomfortably underneath his fingernails, a leaf hanging from a cowlick directly into his vision, and echoes of his misery traveling ever closer, he stumbled on a small creek.
Literally. His feet squarely halfway through the stream, the cold water on his perpetually near-numb feet making his whole body give a single shudder. Tears gathered in his eyes, hot and prickly. He moved quickly to wipe them away, to restore his vision to keep moving.
He stumbled out of the water, crashing into a sitting position of the muddy bank.
“No, no, no. Please! I don’t, I don’t…” He sucked in a deep breath, trying and failing to calm himself. He wrapped his spindly arms around his knees, tucked his face into the space between his chest and legs. “I just want the pain to stop. And I’m so tired…” A sob wracked him. Any minute now a hit would land, a yell would tell his pitiful state, an insult aimed at his fragile mind.
“I can see that little one. Would you like a moment before we talk?” Abruptly, the sound of Dudley and his gang stumbling through the woods ceased. A bird trilled, and it seemed louder than normal. Like the noise was echoing off a barrier or some kind…
He sniffed as he looked up, full of fear and curiosity warring in his gut.
The creek seemed very much the same; a dip between two leaf-covered hills, proud oaks and elms on each side, a willow just a little way’s down, on a more sandy spot. Little cliffs of clay and loam gave way to the brooke, merrilly cutting its way through the land and leaving prosperity in its wake.
But now a man stood in the stream. He was dressed very strangely; rather how he imagined medieval characters to look like in some of the books he had read. A billowy undershirt, a vest, looser pants. The usual bright whites from illustrations were not present; instead his base layers were a deep brownish yellow, like gold in fabric form. The vest, though seemingly leather, seemed to naturally be a navy-blue color. The colors went well with the deep shade of his skin, a rich, dark brown. Not like the milk-chocolate color of another girl from school, this was what a documentary might show for an African man. Minus the strange clothes, of course.
He was crouched in the water, seemingly unbothered by the freezing water. In fact, where the tops of leather boots were, led down not to pointed fey-olden shoes, but a smooth transition from man to water. A golden-blue sheen marked the space where the man ended and began, a shimmery outline like fireworks underwater.
Harry stared. What…?
A slow blink in his direction, like how a strange girl showed him how to approach a stray cat. “I’ve taken care of your pursuers. They won’t be bothering us.”
He’s almost scared at what that could mean. Almost. As kind as he is, he doesn’t care much for Dudley. He’s probably not dead, anyway. He’d scream bloody murder, so Harry’s fairly confident he’d know if something happened.
“Who- who are you?”
The man smiled. “My name is Samuel. What may I call you?”
That was a bit of a weird way to ask for someone’s name. He blinked, unsure. “I’m… I’m Harry.” Not Dursley. “Harry Potter.”
The man titled his head to the side. “Are you? Well, I’m no expert on human anatomy, but I know you young ones are supposed to be bigger. Do you eat enough?”
Humans? As in, he was not one?
“I- no. But not on purpose.” He nodded sagely, considering this. Harry's skin felt weird, all tingly. But he couldn’t feel the scratches or bruises anymore, or his possible concussion from Aunt Petunia’s cast iron pan the other day.
“Hm. Do you say your treated well, out there?” He bit his lip, considering. Lots of people didn’t have roofs over their heads- he should be grateful- a spoiled orphan-
But… it was so unfair…
“I- I don’t know.”
“Well.” The barrier around the creek was visible now, shining like a rainbow with all the colors there at once. “How about we do something about that?” A door opened at each direction, north east south west, and the man drew himself up.
“The way you came, east, is back to your life as you knew it. South is to pure freedom- middle of a field, miles away, no one to bother you. West is to a joint place, where the human world and mine both could touch you. And north is to my land, the land of the Fae. You know of the faerie, yes?”
Harry nodded. He’d read a book of Irish legend, and Fae were featured every other story or so. They hadn’t sounded nice, but then again, neither did Uncle Vernon and he was supposed to be grateful to them.
Launching himself into a new world sounded scary- that knocked off the field and the Fae option. He wasn’t going back, no matter how much his bruises didn’t smart here. So that left.
He swallowed, and held out his hand for a shake. “West please.”
Then something occurred to him. “What would I owe you.”
The man, a fae, an actual fae, smiled. “I am not here to harm you, young one. However, my partner is the local healer, and she very much would like to take a look at you.”
A gentle hand, faintly wet, at his elbow.
And then they were somewhere else entirely.