Chapter Text
Chapter 1
It was dark and it was quiet.
Above the sleeping childs head, a full moon shone in a velvet-black sky full of stars. All around him, tall trees towered like monoliths dark and silent and still. Movement from the undergrowth, a rustling of a body over dried pine needles. The boy woke with a start, fear thrilling through him, and green eyes stared into the golden gaze of a slinking fox, needle sharp teeth bared in silent threat as the much smaller creature realised it had been spotted by something far larger than it.
Harry Potter pushed himself to his knees and the fox startled with a bark of fear and a flash of the white tip of its tail, it disappeared once more into the undergrowth. A cool wind brushed over Harry’s exposed arms and he shivered, wondering what had happened to him, if this was a trap. The last thing he remembered… was Aunt Petunia locking him out of the house and Harry recalled how he had walked down Privet Drive, and across Magnolia Crescent to the empty park where he had… Harry frowned, staring around him, he’d been curled up in the tunnel of the play gym, not in a forest.
Standing to his full height, Harry rubbed at his empty belly and took stock of his surroundings. Trees for the most part, some lower lying shrubs and bushes. It was dark and Harry’s left lens had a deep crack in it. Harry had no idea where he was, but…. he reached into his pocket and drew out eleven inches of holly wood, the warmth and comfort that holding his wand gave him settled the majority of his nerves.
Harry tugged off his glasses and taped them with his wand; “occulis repairo,” Harry incanted, remembering the charm that Hermione had taught him in his first year. A flash of white light emanated from the wands tip and the glasses were repaired.
Harry stood still, eyes to the sky as he waited for the ministry’s owl. Surely the Ministry of Magic would have picked up on the use of underage magic. Even where ever he was now. Ages seemed to pass and Harry sank into a curled up ball in the roots of a giant tree. The wind had grown cooler and Harry’s skin was prickling with cold. Tiredness tugged at him and his eyes began to close, wand in hand, Harry slipped into slumber, waiting for the owl from the Ministry of Magic that would never come.
***
“Over here!” A masculine voice cried out and Harry startled awake at the sound, hands shoving him upright and at the last minute, realising that the man running towards him wasn’t wearing robes, hurriedly pocketed his wand.
The man had dark brown hair and pale eyes, a thick rugged beard sprouting from his chin, and he wore clothes that Harry didn’t recognise outside of the period dramas that Aunt Petunia watched on the telly: baggy pants tucked into tall leather boots, a billowy shirt that was tight about his wrists and laced at the neck under a quilted, sleeveless vest that didn’t button, but instead had toggles and loops that fastened at the front. From the man’s broad leather belt hung a sharpened axe that looked like the sort used to cut down trees rather than the axes used by medieval knights in Dudley’s books.
“Boy, are you alright?” The man asked Harry, his arms outstretched as if to reassure Harry he wasn’t a threat.
Harry stared at him mutely and shook his head, looking around him in confusion. In the light of day the forest seemed so much larger; greener, browner, and nearly covering up every inch of sky that could be barely seen through the crowns of the tallest trees. Harry had never felt so very small or so very lost since his first year. His tee shirt and jeans weren’t doing much against the chill of the morning either, and Harry rubbed at his upper arms, hunched over for warmth.
The man huffed and tugged his jacket off, “here,” he beckoned, “come here, boy; what’s your name? Where are your parents? How did you get here?” The man rattled off questions even as he pulled Harry into his arms and wrapped him into the jacket. It smelt strongly of horse and sweat, but Harry felt his shivers begin to taper off and couldn’t feel anything but grateful to the strange man. “My name is Hans,” the man told Harry, exaggerating his smile and ducking his head down to meet Harry’s eyes, “what’s your name, boy?”
“Harry,” Harry told the man, Hans, and pressed into Hans’ body as the sound of crashing feet in the undergrowth grew steadily louder. “My name is Harry.”
“A good name,” Hans told him, chaffing his hands up and down Harry’s upper arms, sending jolts of warmth shimmering through Harry’s body. “A strong name.”
“Hans,” hailed the lead runner, a man of equal height and breadth to Hans, though he wore a grey jacket instead of an orange one. Behind the first of the newcomers followed three others, one in black and green, the other in brown and green, and the third in red and tan. “Why did you call for us?”
“Jacob,” Hans greeted, “I called because I found Harry here,” Hans told the other man, gesturing first to Harry who shivered in fear in his arms, and then to the roots of the tree where he’d spotted Harry.
“Harry?” Jacob asked, surprise making his brows climb into his hairline. “Where are your parents?”
“Dead,” Harry said shortly, ducking his head, unhappy to have the topic brought up again. It was still a sore subject, even after meeting Mrs. Weasley and being all but adopted into the Weasley Clan. There were days when Harry would sometimes stare into the mirror of the bathroom at Privet Drive and try and see his father in his face and his mother in his eyes; but he rarely saw anyone but Harry. Just Harry.
Jacob’s face fell and a moment of silence stretched out before he spoke once more, “I’m sorry for your loss, Harry.” Jacob and Hans looked at each other and seemed to reach a decision, “do you live nearby?”
Harry looked around him, the forest, the mens dress, even the climate which was colder and wetter then he was used to; it all seemed unfamiliar. “I don’t know where I am,” he admitted eventually, hanging his head in shame and defeat.
“Just outside Ausberg,” the third man told him, smiling gently at him.
Harry shrugged, eyes wide and his face pale, “I don’t know where that is,” he told the third man, who frowned and made to speak, but for Hans’ raised hand.
“Enough Karl,” Hans chided, before turning to Harry, rubbing his arms soothingly. “Ausberg is in Bavaria, the south of Germany,” he explained and Harry felt his eyes well up with tears.
“Germany?” He whispered and shook his head, “no, no, that’s not possible!”
“He’s not from Germany?” The second man queried in confusion.
Karl shook his head, clearly stumped, “he speaks perfect German though.”
“Perhaps he comes from Switzerland?”
“The Swiss have a different accent, Samuel,” refuted another man, “it is more likely he comes from Austria.”
Samuel huffed his clear disagreement only for Jacob to step in, “enough, it doesn’t matter where he comes from; he’s a lost child. We need to help him.”
Karl was nodding along as Jacob spoke, injecting: “we should take him to the Mayor,” to clear consensus of the other men.
Hans clapped Harry on his shoulder, “can you walk? It is a long way from here to Ausberg.”
Harry nodded silently and watched as Jacob ordered Hans to take him back to the town while the others would start work chopping down trees. Hans paused long enough to shout after the other men: “remember to avoid the witches house!” receiving a lazily waved hand in acknowledgement for his troubles.
As Jacob and the other lumberjacks disappeared into the forest, Hans tugged Harry down a barely marked game trail, ignoring how Harry tripped and stumbled over the slightest obstacle, making for the thinning of the tree-line just ahead. AS they traversed, more and more sunlight poured through the broad branches of the trees and the light changed, morphing from a gloomy blue to a bright gleaming green to shining yellow as they burst out onto a wide, hard packed dirt road.
Hans paused long enough to straighten his shirt and readjust his belt and axe, before gesturing to Harry to follow him and starting down the long muddy road. The mud crunched more than squelched beneath Harry’s tennis shoes and more often than not Harry would stumble and stagger like a drunk over the hard-packed ground. He could feel rocks and gravel beneath the thin soles of his shoes and before long his legs were aching and sore. The forest around them remained unchanged, dappled with early red and yellow leaves of the soon-to-be-changing season as autumn snuck up on them. Above his head, the sky stretched an endless blue like a bowl overturned atop the land and not a single cloud scudded across its surface.
Slowly, Harry became aware of the scent of smoke and something burning on the wind and as Hans rounded them about a bend in the road, a cluster of dark houses appeared in view. The muddy road cut through what appeared to be a set of towers or perhaps thinner narrow houses between copses of trees and ahead Harry could see a wider space where people gathered. Even from a distance, Harry could hear the chatter and hub of many people talking, hawking, and the sounds of children shouting and playing.
Hans grabbed the back of Harry’s shirt, recognising the look of a distracted child in the boy’s face and all but hauled Harry around and through the bustling market place. Ausberg appeared to be a midsized township with several inns and places to trade and buy goods. Most people seemed to be in good health with ruddy cheeks and bright eyes, more than one woman could be heard singing from the kitchens of their homes that Hans led Harry past. Towards the top end of town across from a church with a tall steeple and a thin, haggard man in a black cassock at the top of the steps, was another stately appearing building made of stone and with a bell tower of its own. Set below the tower was a clock that showed that the day way nearly a quarter done, still early yet but late enough that Hans was clearly concerned for his work load.
Stepping into the shadow of the town hall, Hans all but shoved Harry up the steps and inside. It was cool and dark inside, with polished stone floors and sconces set with candles that illuminated the stone walls and the decorative and heavy tapestries that hung from bronze brackets. A short thin man dressed in green met them just inside and Hans ducked his head in respect of him.
“Good day, Mister Jackson,” Hans greeted the shorter man almost shyly, “I found this boy in the forest and he does not remember who or where he is; Jacob and I thought it best to bring him to you and Mayor Engelmann.”
Mister Jackson smiled thinly at Hans, his sharp eyes darting across Harry’s undoubtably ragged appearance, muddy shoes, and dirty face without expressing his true feelings. “Quite right,” Mist Jackson agreed finally, stepping aside and gesturing to a room of to the side, “this way please.”
Harry quickly found himself hauled down a corridor with dramatic scenery of the surroundings of Ausberg done in oil and framed in heavy wood or brass. The Mayors office was tucked towards the back of the building and up four flights of stairs; it had narrow windows overlooking the forest behind the building, and directly below sprawled the second half of the town and what appeared to be an orchard of fruit trees.
The Mayor was a man with a broad nose and a slightly red complexion; his eyes were a watery blue and wisely compassionate as he welcomed Mister Jackson, Hans, and Harry into his office. Dressed in a finer suit of clothes than Hans or Mister Jackson, his jacket, waistcoat, and pants were all a dark brown in colour and he wore brown shoes with a brass buckle on the top. There were all manner of papers piled upon his desk in messy stacks with thin spidery writing covering the most of every inch of all that Harry could see. A single candle sat lit in a taper on the corner of his desk, the open flame guttering in the slight breeze that drifted through the windows. Harry shivered and huddled into Hans’ jacket, wishing he was warmer.
“Here, boy,” Mister Jackson directed, pulling a large armchair over by the fire and settling Harry onto the seat. “I’ll be back directly, I’ll just go get some food from Maria, the child looks half starved.”
Harry’s eyes quickly began to droop as the wash of warmth from the fire created a sort of torpor over him. The chair was not particularly comfortable and there was a slightly rancid scent to the room of a man unbathed or even of something rendered and greasy. Overlaying that was the scent of dried flowers and potpourri; and Harry sagged even further into the chair as fatigue threatened to drag him under.
Mister Jackson appeared once more in a rattle of leather shoes upon creaky wood, barely interrupting the report that Hans was giving to the Mayor about finding Harry in the woods. Harry was urged to sit upright and eat the best of the meal that Mister Jackson had brought him: fresh baked black bread, hard yellow cheese, pickles, and a hard boiled egg. At Harry’s elbow a clay mug of fresh milk was set upon a side table, waiting for his attention. Despite the bread and cheese and pickles being hard and dry for the most part, Harry wolfed the meal down as though nothing had touched his lips for the past week. Pausing to take a breather and a draught of the milk, Harry felt more and more like himself as the good meal settled in his stomach.
“Hungry then, were you?” The Mayor asked Harry good-naturedly, “understandable; after all, Hans tells me he found you in the forest, is that true?”
Harry paused before taking another bite of his sandwich and swallowed heavily before answering, “it is, sir,” he agreed, placing the food back on his plate and staring up wide eyed at the much taller larger man in front of him.
“Relax, Harry, is it?” At Harry’s nod, Mayor Englemann continued, “you’re not in trouble, we just need to work out what happened.”
“I don’t know what happened,” Harry admitted, feeling queasy now with a full stomach of bread, cheese, pickles, and snakes of nervous fear.
Mayor Englemann nodded at that, “and that’s okay; but,” he said looking down at Harry with deep seriousness, “I would ask that you try to remember.”
“My parents are dead,” Harry told the Mayor as he’d told Hans, Jacob, and the other men in the forest. “I live with my Aunt and Uncle, but they don’t like me much and last night I was told to get out of the house for breaking my cousins toy,” at the raised brows of Mayor Englemann, Harry rushed to explain, “I didn’t really, but Dudley likes to blame me for everything! I would never break something I didn’t own, it wouldn’t be right!”
The Mayor smiled and raised a hand, hushing Harry’s rush of words, “it’s okay, you don’t look like the sort of boy that would do much of anything wrong without cause,” and the Mayor’s smile widened as Harry sagged in his seat with relief; “but this doesn’t explain how you came to be in the forest?”
Harry frowned at that in confusion, “that’s the thing, sir, where we live, there’s no forest at all. There’s one next to my school, but that’s ages away.”
“School?” Mayor Engelmann murmured, eyeing the boy in front of him curiously.
Mister Jackson hummed in agreement, the silent realisation that the boy before them might be the son of a nobleman or of someone high born stilling their tongues. For all that Harry didn’t look like he’d been noble-born, there was a fineness to his features and glasses like the ones he wore didn’t come cheap. Most could barely afford a third of the glass he wore in one lease of his eyeglasses. With tacit agreement, neither the Mayor nor Mister Jackson would speak of Harry’s school or their quiet beliefs about his parentage again.
Harry had fallen quiet in he intervening silence of Mayor Engelmann and Mister Jackson’s silent conversation and now drank slowly from his mug of milk.
“You have no parents and no way of knowing where your family is, correct?” Mayor Engelmann stated as he stood upright and moved to his desk.
Harry nodded and bit his lip, his food sitting like a lead weight in his belly now the decision with what to do with him was being made.
“Hmmm, well,” Mayor Engelmann stared at Harry in consideration, “the best decision would be to place you within the orphanage while I make inquiries with the other nearby towns to see if I can’t locate your Aunt and Uncle. If you give me their names, I’ll ask around and in the meantime, you will follow Mister Jackson to the orphanage and they will house you, feed you, and you will make yourself useful; agreed?”
Harry, who knew he wasn’t being given a choice at all, nodded quickly, saying, “yes, sir,” before following Mister Jackson out the office once more. It was only then that Harry realised that Hans had long since left, presumably without saying goodbye and something twisted in his gut at that thought.
No one wanted him; it was like the Dursley’s all over again, only this time, nothing was familiar nor made any sense.