Disclaimer: Harry Potter and Co doesn't belong to us, they are JK Rowling property.
Chapter 1:
A man walked down on a lone London street, in a part of the city that's unusually passed by common people. The area was like a slump with people who prefer to drunk or gamble as their life style, one condition that did not fit his figure and well-tailored clothes. His steps were not those of hurry, but under the superior, hard glint in his eyes there was the guarded senses and alertness. Anything could be happen in that part of city, any act of violence could be dawned upon him because, simply to say the truth his appearance was screaming wealthiness.
His silent walk however was put to a stop when his sensitive ears caught a sound. He turned around and tried to learn where the sound might have come from. His eyes laid on a dark alleyway. Slowly he approached it and went further in when he saw nothing alive.
Soon he found a lump, a small lump covered with dirty rags. Thanks to the moon, he could trace a few blotches of, what he could assume as, blood on it. Obeying the urge, he knelt down and confirmed that, yes, the sound came from it.
He shed the rags away and wide eyed he saw a body, a merely covered one or if called a torn fabric as a decent clothes, of a child with cuts and bruises. He knew that the small child had noticed his approach, noting that his sobs had changed into small whimpers. He sighed.
The kid hid his face under the small hand of his. He flinched when the man reached out to pat his shoulder. But two pained, curious green eyes peeked from the close gap of his safe haven.
The man realized he was not usually a gentle person, not even with his own child. But seeing the small shaking body in front of him brought out a warm feeling he thought he never had.
"Hello Child," he said in low voice, a tone that usually creeped his underlings now held a gentleness in it. "Are you okay?"
A nod. "'m fine," a soft, high, sweet voice answered.
"Are you really?" he raised an eyebrow. "You know, I don't believe you. You can't be okay if you're crying."
Silent for a moment. "…'urts."
"Let me have a look, okay child?" the man pried the child's hands gently.
The face of the small child should be what people called as angelic and adorable, if not for the purpled bruises, cuts, and bumps marred on it. The same wounds appeared on the small body of his. The man noticed the wound from whips, punches, and kicks. And that had released an angry growl from his throat. He saw the child flinched again and the green eyes held fear, so he masked his anger and willed it away. He knew the abused signs, it reminded him of himself years ago.
"Hush, dear," he said comfortingly. "I'm not angry with you. You have a very nasty wounds, baby. Who did this to you?" he asked gently.
Silence met his question.
"You don't want to say, eh?" then he noticed something, quite a furry thing, slightly hidden under the child's body. "What is that?"
The child followed his gaze. Slowly the child tried to sit, with the man's help of course, and scooped the small furry bundle.
"Kitty," the child said. "Unky kick Kitty and 'Arry. It 'urt. And unky push 'Arry from car to 'ere. Unky angry, 'Arry bad…." Then the child sobbed. "Unky go with car, 'Arry and Kitty 'ave to sleep 'ere."
The man took the kitten and realized that it was dead. He sighed and inwardly cursed the child's good-for-nothing uncle. "Harry? Is it your name?" a nod. "See, Kitty had fallen asleep. Now, would you come with me? We can go to my house. I have a son and you can sleep with him in his room."
The child scrunched his nose. "'Arry go? No…" he shook his head. "No…Unky know, Unky will angry, 'Arry bad…'Arry sleep 'ere."
"You can live with me, Harry. You don't have to go back to you're uncle. And he doesn't have to know, how about that?" he said silkily.
"No Unky?" Harry asked with hope. "And Kitty?"
"Of course Kitty will come with us. Will you come with me, Harry?"
The child smiled and with wobbly feet he stood. Surprisingly, Harry hug the man. "'Arry come…'Arry come anywhere…not 'ere…'Arry not sleep 'ere." The smile was so angelic to the man.
"Very good," he opened his coat and wrapped it around his young charge. "I will pick you up, Harry. Tell me if it hurts." A nod.
He gently picked the small boy, the dead kitten safely tucked with him. The man promised to take care of the kitten later on, after he gently informed the small child of its death, but not now.
"Can you tell me your age, Harry?"
"…three," he said with a yawn.
The man chuckled, "You can sleep if you want. I'll wake you up after we arrive."
"You're nice…Mr. …uh…what's your name?"
The man smiled sincerely, "Tom, Harry, my name is Tom Riddle."