A/N: Hey my devoted readers! We're taking a step in a new direction. I worked on this fic during the time I'd hit a snag on my Interferes series. I don't own Harry or Wolfman 2010, but I loved both. If you haven't seen Wolfman, then this'll explain quite a bit, so I say there are Spoilers, in a chapter or so.

And if you HAVE seen the movie, then you'll notice the differences immediately.

I hope y'all enjoy it!
R&R

1

The Letter

Sixteen-year-old Harry Potter sat staring out the compartment window, glad his obese and cruel relatives, the Dursley's, had decided that he didn't deserve the first class seats they'd been given. Instead, he was riding in the poorer section of the train. He didn't mind. He actually preferred this section. People were nicer.

Silently, he glanced down at the crumbled and slightly smudged letter in his hands. He'd read it at least a million times since it had arrived four days ago. It had been sent to his mother, Lilly, but since she was dead; it had been forwarded to him. His relatives hadn't been home when the mail had come, so he'd already read it by the time they arrived. Smiling sadly, he read it again.

Dearest Lilly,

It grieves me to write to you with such sorrowful news, my beloved daughter, after so many years without saying a word to one another, but I fear I must. Your youngest brother, Ben, has died. Lawrence is here, as is Ben's wife. The funeral is set for the twentieth. I have taken the liberty of inviting your sister, though she is no relative of Ben's, nor mine.

Oh, Lilly. I miss you so, and though it makes me grimace with self-disgust, if my youngest son's death will bring you home to Blackmoor, then I am most sorry to say that I am glad. When your mother, Rose, passed away, I was stricken, as I was when my wife later in life, Lawrence and Ben's mother, killed herself. Now I have only you and Lawrence left, and I fear that I shall loose you as well.

Please, come home, if only for the funeral. It would do this old mans heart some good.

With love,

Your Father,

Sir John Talbot

Harry closed his eyes and sighed, wondering what his grandfather was like. He'd asked Aunt Petunia about it, angry that he had never been told that he had other relatives. She'd sniffed and sneered.

"He's not my father," She'd said primly. "He's Lilly's father. He has no reason to know about my Diddums. Still," she'd murmured, greed gleaming in her blue eyes. "He is a rich Lord, or some such nonsense. And, once he learns that Lilly's dead, he might just off himself, and leave everything to us!" Vernon was so eager about that prospect that he hadn't even bothered trying to shove Harry off on someone, and had let him come.

The old woman sitting beside him began to cough, a horrible, wet sound, pulling Harry from his thoughts. She kept coughing, her bright shawls lending her frail body some form that it didn't have. Harry looked at her, concerned. He quickly dug his small flask of water out of his bag and unscrewed the lid. Reaching out, he gently touched her shoulder and, gasping and trembling for breath, she turned her wide, dark brown eyes on his. He gently offered her the bottle, and held it to her lips when her hands shook too much.

"Are you okay?" He asked softly after she'd sipped the water; she nodded and offered him a smile, showing yellowed, oddly sharp teeth as well as laughter lines around her eyes.

"Thank ye, child," she whispered, and Harry was enthralled by the Romanian accent she possessed. Harry smiled at her, shyly.

"No problem at all, ma'am," he told her, setting the flask on the seat between them. "If you need more, it's there for you and you're welcome to drink as much as you like." He smiled at her as he said it, worrying slightly when she stared at the flask. Nervous, he glanced down at it. It was a ratty old leather wrapped bottle, usually worn by its fraying leather throng. Harry had gotten bored one day and carved a picture of a wolf howling on the center, with the cycles of the moon surrounding it in a circle, the full moon at the top. He thought he'd done a rather magnificent job, but knew that, even with the work he'd done on it, the old flask still looked horribly ratty.

The old Gypsy woman, as Harry knew her to be, lifted her dark eyes and examined Harry's face and attire. Harry fidgeted, ducking his head so that his black bangs hid his eyes. He hadn't worn glasses for three years, his eyes having somehow fixed themselves. He thought, though, with his black hair a little ways past his ears and slightly curly, with his thin, heart-shaped face, petite body, and large green eyes… Well, it was safe to say that he was often mistaken as a girl. His clothes did nothing to help, hanging off of him and exposing thin, elegant shoulders and moonbeam pale skin. He also knew that what they covered counted, though, because the bruises and scars were as vivid as the nose on his face.

"Ma'am?" He finally asked, nervous; she blinked then slowly smiled, eyes twinkling. She lifted the flask carefully in both hands; her bony fingers holding many beautiful rings. Silently, she turned it over and over again, then looked up and met his eyes.

"Young one," She whispered. "If this old woman could ask a favor of ye, it would be gratefully remembered and rewarded." Harry blinked and stared into those dark eyes, mesmerized.

"What do you ask of me?" He whispered softly; she lifted the flask.

"May I perhaps have this, little one?" Harry blinked, startled. That was all? Feeling a bit dazed and confused, he nodded. She beamed at him and patted his cheek. "Many thanks, child." she said, and pulled off one of the rings on her left hand. It was thin and old, and looked like it was made of steel. There was a small, green rock on top and, smiling, the old woman took his right hand and slipped the surprisingly small ring onto his long, narrow index finger. She held his hand and covered it with her own.

"I can't take your ring," he said, shocked and uncertain. She smiled and patted his hand.

"A gift given in kindness receives a gift in kind." She stated, then slipped a hand under one of her shawls and pulled a thin gold chain off over her head, pulling it away. A flat metal disk with a snarling wolf on one-side, and the image of a sorrowful man on the other, hung from it. She took both of her hands, and slipped it over his head, shushing him when he tried to protest. "The ring was for the flask, a small gift to give. Yer concern and help, though, and yer offering of water, deserves a reward far greater. 'Dis talisman has been with me for many years, gifted to me once as I gift it to ye. May it help ye on the path yer fate takes ye down, young one." She murmured something in Romanian and kissed his forehead before tucking the flask into a pocket, picking up her walking stick, and leaving the stunned teen alone in the compartment.

Harry stared at the door long after it had been closed, then plucked the talisman up from its resting place on his sternum and peered at it. Taking the chain on either side in his hands, he carefully spun it, watching in fascination as it spun, faster and faster. Watching as the sad man morphed into the snarling wolf and back again. Stopping, he let it drop on his chest again. The wolf's head stared out at the world from his chest, and the sad man it would become hid his face in Harry's baggy clothes. Harry stared out the window once more, and gently touched the ring on his index finger, rubbing it absently as the town of Blackmoor came into view in the distance.

It was a strange ride. A strange ride, indeed.

A/N: How was it? PLEASE REVIEW!