As always, Harry Potter is owned by J. . I own nothing! The title of the story is taken from the series, The Song of the Lioness, by Tamora Pierce.

This work has not been beta-ed, so may have various mistakes etc.

The maiden stared down at the figure of the small, slight young boy before her. He was kneeling on the ground, tending to the plants, the sleeve of his oversized shirt rolled up to his sleeves. His head was bent in concentration, cold autumnal air fluffing his dark, unruly hair as he continued his task. So intent was the boy on what he was doing, he had not even heard the maiden approach.

She put a gentle head on the boy's skinny -too skinny- shoulder.

"Oh!" exclaimed the boy, his emerald green eyes snapping up in surprise. He quickly wiped his bare hands on his too thin, grubby shirt, and began to rise as he politely inquired: "Are you here to see my Aunt, Miss? I can take you to her, if you want."

"No," replied the maiden kindly, stopping the boy as he began to make his way from the side of the house to the main door. "I am here for you, Mr. Potter."

The boy looked at her, the maiden in a sharp grey suit, and gave her a smile that did not reach his luminous green eyes. "Yes miss."

The boy did not seem surprised at the maiden's sudden appearance, seemingly relaxed as the maiden prepared to question him. Yet very so often, his eyes would flash to the nearby window of the house, as if someone inside was closely watching and listening to this interaction.

"Do you like gardening?" asked the maiden.

"Yes, miss," softly replied the boy. "My Aunt doesn't like mess much though, so she makes me wear stuff I can get messy in."

The boy gestured with a still slightly grubby hand towards his shirt and scruffy trousers. It sounded like a perfectly valid excuse, were it not for the rehearsed manner in which it was said.

The maiden smiled reassuringly at the boy. It would only serve to panic the boy is she did not play along with his excuses.

"Are you not cold, Harry?"

The boy shook his head a fraction too quickly. "I did have a sweater on, but I got too sweaty, so I decided to take it off."

"Do you have any other hobbies, Harry?"

"Of course, miss," replied the boy, in a way that was meant to imply the stupidity of her question. It was a tone that was meant to make her think the boy 'normal' despite his skinny frame and ragged clothes.

"Tell me about some of your hobbies," the maiden said in an encouraging tone.

"My aunt is teaching me how to cook, miss. I like to try out new recipes," the boy replied, not a hint of a lie in his young voice.

"That's good, Harry. Your Aunt- and Uncle- seem to be taking good care of you," the maiden said as the boy's eyes flickered to the nearby window in relief.

"Yes miss," replied the boy. He wiped his hands uncertainly on his shirt. "Is that all miss?"

"Not yet, Harry," replied the maiden, bending down towards him. She made sure that every motion was clear, that her manner was unthreatening as her golden curls hid them from the window's prying eyes.

Making sure her blue eyes were fixed firmly on Harry's own, the maiden said: "I am but a stranger now, but if you would like, we could be friends."

The boy gawked at the maiden, suspicion alighting in his green eyes, as if to ask: "Me?"

The maiden continued: "If you have need of me, simply speak my name three times: Carlyn."

"Caroline?" repeated the boy softly. "Like a spell?"

"Yes," answered the maiden Carlyn, and rose back to their full height.

"Thank you, Mr. Potter," she said formally, but made sure the too tiny boy could see the kind expression in her eyes.

The boy nodded uncertainly, the suspicion from earlier not quite leaving his emerald eyes as the maiden lifted her hands in blessing.

It was shorter time than Carolyn expected that the boy first called upon her.

The boy was curled in around himself, his scrawny arms clutching tightly around his legs. Silent tears streaked across his face as he sought to control the soft sobs that tremored through his frame.

He had spoken the name because he knew no other name to call.

"Harry?" appealed the maiden, attempting to get the emotional boy to look at her, and at least recognise her presence.

The boy did not reply, quietly rocking himself as he supressed his emotions. He sat, hidden in a quiet corner of the local primary school, his back against the damp brick wall. The boy's black shoes looked tired and torn, but were slightly hidden by his somewhat too long grey school trousers.

The maiden sat down beside the boy as she began to distinguish words from his incoherent cries.

"Freak," cried the boy, "No one wants a freak like me."

"That is not true, Harry," replied the maiden, gently taking the boy's hand. Even his fingers felt bony and undersized. "My husband and I have wanted to adopt you for a long, long time. You are very much wanted, Harry."

"Not me," sobbed the boy, dragging his free hand roughly across his face, wiping away most of the snot and tears. "Not a freak like me."

"We- I- want you to be, if you wish it, our son one day," the maiden declared.

"You're lying," stated the boy simply, looking at her accusingly with his sharp green eyes. "If you had wanted me at all, you'd come for me before I was a freak."

"I'm sorry, Harry," apologized the maiden, the sorrow in her voice clear and sincere. "I'm so sorry we could not speak to you until recently- we were not allowed to."

"Because I'm a freak."

"No," replied the maiden. "The protections around you are fierce and required that you be able to choose what you wanted."

"To choose?" asked the boy doubtfully. The look on his face told her that he was already calculating the price of this choice, what Carlyn would demand in return.

"A choice that is not to be made lightly, Harry. We wish to be your parents and guardians – but only if you want."

"Course I want it- anyone would be better than the Dursleys!" exclaimed the boy, unshed tears glimmering in his expressive eyes.

Carlyn did not reply, her hand simply resting on the boy's in a reassuring manner.

The boy seemed to understand, as he already did so much of the adult world for a boy of nine. "You want to figure out how much a freak I am before you adopt me?" the boy asked harshly.

"No," responded the maiden, "We want you to get to know us, and choose whether you would like strange folk like Arawn and I to be your parents."

"Well," said the boy, standing up and away for her, "even 'strange folk' like you miss don't need me."

Before the maiden could say a word, the boy darted off, around the corner and back towards his classroom where lessons had resumed.

"What did you mean by 'strange folk'?" asked the boy a few weeks later. He was yet again outside in his gardening clothes, shirt more torn and grubby than ever as he washed the Dursley's car with a soapy sponge.

"You can't be as freaky as me," the boy proclaimed, and gave the maiden a challenging look.

She simply smiled enigmatically in response.

"Would you like some help?" she asked, gesturing towards the car.

"I don't think my Aunt would like that, miss."

"Carlyn," corrected the maiden.

"I don't think my Aunt would like that, Miss Caroline," replied the boy cheekily.

Carlyn chuckled. "I'm not here to give your Aunt what she wants," she waggled her fine eyebrows in a mischievous manner as she rolled up the sleeves of her pristine white shirt. With a spare cloth, she began wiping off the slight dirt and debris from the relatively clean car. It was quick, yet tiring work.

The boy stepped back to admire their progress. Although not a professional clean, the car faintly gleamed in the light. With Carlyn's help, Harry had been able to manoeuvre the heavy hoover to vacuum the interior of the car.

Just as the maiden was about to congratulate the boy on a job well done, the front door of the house, and out appeared a whale of a man.

"Boy!" he barked imperiously, his many chins wobbling in anger. "I told you to clean that car until-" and seeing the maiden standing at the other side of the said anger and through clenched teeth continued: "Until you managed to wipe the muck from the dashboard."

The large man waddled up to the maiden, and leaning towards her in a conspiratorial manner, said in a loud whisper: "Our boy Dursley is as good as gold. But my wife's nephew here sometimes likes to make trouble. Discipline, I told her."

"Unlike our Dudders, Harry needs to be taught that breaking the rules have consequences." The ugly man did not even bother to hide the blatant threat in his tone.

"I have to disagree, Mr. Dursley," countered the maiden, her tone polite. In her smart white shirt and long black skirt, she looked like one of the many business people who lived in the middle-class area around Privet Drive. Yet the maiden had defended the boy more than any of the interfering, judgemental busy-bodies in the neighbourhood.

The boy gave her a quiet, lopsided smile in gratitude.

"Well," harrumphed the boy's Uncle, drawing his massive girth up in anger. "I came to fetch Harry for dinner." Here he glared meaningfully with his small piggy eyes at the boy, as he made his way back to the house.

"I'm just saying goodbye to Miss Caroline," called the boy as his Uncle slammed the front door behind him.

In the silence that followed, Harry began to neatly pack away the cleaning tools. In the blue plastic bucket went the sponges and cloths.

"Thanks for helping me with the car and my Uncle," said the boy politely.

"It was my pleasure, Harry."

The boy looked down at the blue plastic bucket he was holding. "Sometimes I dream that it will work," he admitted, in a small shameful voice.

"Family's supposed to help each other. Do you think that's what my Aunt and Uncle are doing, to help me be less me?" asked the boy, but the sad, adult way he asked the question said he already knew the answer but hoped for another.

"They are not helping you by making you anything other than 'Harry'".

The boy nodded, and looked up at her. "I thought so," he said, sounding older than ever. His green eyes pierced hers. "I had hoped that maybe, maybe if I could become normal, this could be home. But this place will never be home, will it?"

The maiden did not answer, and waited for the boy to continue.

"I think I'd like to go home now," he said, putting the blue plastic bucket down.

"Of course, Harry," and the maiden took his small hand in her one. Hand in hand, the boy and the maiden walked down the street away from the house.