Harry always loved the forests at this time of year. The leaves were the fresh green of new arrival, just unfurled from budded branches. The small boy scarcely made a sound as he walked through the now damp undergrowth. The sky had given life just last night to the quiet paradise, freely giving moisture to the drying and dying roots of ancient willow.
Harry peered through the foliage of swaying braches to see the winking sun. It gave the willows outlines of gold. He knew that he shouldn't wander so far into the woodlands because of the elf kind, but on a day such as this he could not help but linger over his search for elger root and adder bane. Master Dumbledore would be highly incensed with him if he did not return with adequate amounts of each. He used this as his reasoning to stay longer (even when he knew Master would be even more angered).He had barely found any of either plant. Even if he did travel further then most, he would still not be allowed dinner tonight.
He had been walking alone in the forests for as long as he could remember. Now at the age of 15 (or was it sixteen?) it felt like a soft down blanket to hide under after some of master's more cruel nights or an old friend found on accident when searching for master's ingredients. The sounds of leaves rustling or a falling branch didn't startle him as they once had. Instead it gave him the comfort of a safe place to hide away that only he could know.
It's a shame he thought as a light breeze ruffled his unkempt jet hair. Master was calling him through the "thing" it started out as tiny pinpricks, but soon the pain would amplify if he wasn't at the house. He would never call it a home. He picked up his pace.
As he approached the tree line he noticed the noise. The smells were not the ones of stews cooking over fires or bread rising in the oven, but of gun powder, smoke, and burning meat. The air was filled with crackling of a holocaust. Wood and Human.
The young boy peeked out from behind a tree then wished that he hadn't. Dark men scurried all throughout the village, like flies over a dead carcass. They dragged people by their hair, laughing as their victims screamed for mercy and sweet release.
One of the many dark men looked up and straight into his face. Harry ran deeper and deeper hearing the calls of a garbled language behind him. The "thing's" pounding ache steadily became larger as it swiftly beat out the pain in his legs and lungs. He could hear hooves begin to echo off of trunks of trees as they pounded mercilessly into the ground. They were going to get him, but he must try. Someone would surely help him, right? But at the same time he knew no one would care enough for "master's boy."
'No time to think on that,' he thought, 'just run.' And soon he was stumbling almost blindly as black appeared on the edge of his vision. It didn't take long for the pain to engulf him as he barely made a place for himself underneath a fallen log.