Chapter Text
Harry was pushed into the mantlepiece, knocking over his aunt’s vase to shatter on the ground. “Boy! What have you broken now!” his uncle bellowed from upstairs while his Aunt Petunia stormed through from the kitchen, stopping at the sight of the broken vase.
“The Freak did it mummy, he broke your vase. Didn’t grandmother give you that before she died?” the fat boy pointed. Harry didn’t bother telling her it was Dudley, she would never believe him over her ‘sweet perfect little angel’.
Aunt Petunia grabbed him by the ear and began dragging him to the door. “Get out! Get out of my house and don’t ever come back you ungrateful brat!”
She slammed the door behind him. Sniffling, he wrapped his arms around himself to protect himself against the winter chill and walked to the local park, knowing of the hollow tree that he could shelter himself in. There were stories among the other children, that anyone who dwelt inside, would never come out again. Hogwash, Uncle Vernon had insisted. Magic like that just didn’t exist.
As he entered the park, he spied a young woman crawling out of the stump, a stump that seemed much too small for her tall frame and as she noticed him, she approached, confident and seemingly unphased by the winter chill despite wearing only a dress. A dress that seemed suspiciously untouched by the dirt on the ground. As she neared him he noted her eyes, gold, and her hair streaked with orange and red. She smelled like fire.
“And what are you doing out, on a cold night as this, little one?” Her voice carried an undeniable authority, the crackling of flames behind it.
“My aunt threw me out.” He whispered, unable to tear his eyes from the odd woman. The woman blinked at that, a near offended expression within her eyes.
“And you have no-where else to go? No-one left to look after you?” he meekly shook his head, the woman reached out, extending a hand with sharp nails. He could almost swear those were claws. “Would you like to be nice and warm, little one?”
“…Yes miss.” He ignored the racing of his heart, the thought in his head that perhaps, he should have simply run. Run, and be caught by the strange woman but his feet remained rooted to the spot. He could not cry, for fear that she would pounce.
“Then take my hand, little dragon. And we will leave this ghastly place for my tower. Your name?”
He hesitated for a moment, the woman eyeing him expectantly as his heart pounded against his ribcage and every instinct told him to flee. Not wanting to face her wrath, he grasped her clawed hands. “Harry Potter.” And she smiled, a light at the back of her throat and her dark skin turned to obsidian, her eyes leaked blood and blazed with fires that licked at her hair and as he screamed, she dragged him into the hollowed-out stump, a forest of thorns was all he could see.