Chapter 1

Pain.

That was all that he felt right now. He cringed as another surge of it ripped through his body. Clenching his teeth, he looked down at his arm. From his mid-bicep down the rest of the arm was scratched and ripped. He even knew there was at least one broken bone within the arm. He looked away, unable to bear the disgusting sight. Pushing off of the rock that he had rested against for what seemed like minutes, he continued onward. He knew there was someplace out here. Somewhere that he would at least be able to be treated.

A bolt of lightning lit up the nighttime sky as he trudged forward. Off in the distance, he could just barely make out the silhouette of a large castle. Knowing that was his destination, he pushed himself harder. The rain had been coming down steadily for the last hour, and it showed no signs of letting up. Soaked, bloody and filthy, the boy continued on.


The warmth of the fireplace radiated through the small chambers. Sitting in one of the rather ornate armchairs overlooking it, a lone figure sighed. Brushing a single strand of stark white hair out of his eyes, the man looked around the mantle piece. There were his many achievements; a quidditch cup from years ago, several medals for his valor during the war, and a few pictures that held special memories. Unlike many wizards of his time, he chose not to have the pictures move like so many others around the castle. These were simple ones that had accumulated over the years. In one was him receiving some medal or award of some kind, and then there were the more personal ones.

His icy blue eyes came across one in particular. In it were three individuals. One was a young man, his hair red as flame with a goofy grin on his face. Beside him with her arm wrapped around him, was a brunette. She had a gorgeous smile on her face and a pair of sharp eyes. Off on the other side of the two was a young boy, his black hair wild and unruly with a small smile plastered on his face.

The man, one Professor Mark McDougal, shook his head lightly at the picture, "The infamous Golden Trio. Whatever happened to the three of you?"

Pondering the fate of the "Golden Trio", he rose to his feet and slowly walked over to the window. The rain was falling rather badly now, and he hoped that poor Hagrid had gotten out of it before it had opened up on the grounds. He sipped idly at a cup of tea as he watched the weather outside.


The weather only seemed to worsen the closer he came to the large castle. His steps were slow and painful, his own blood and tears mixing in with the rain that fell on the ground. He bit his lower lip as he stumbled slightly, 'I can't…..can't stop…..now….So….close….'

He took a few more steps before he lost his footing on the slick path. Falling into the soft mud and rainwater, he laid there for a moment or two. His right arm throbbed painfully, causing him to groan in pain. Carefully and slowly, he began to ease himself back up to his feet. It took him a few moments to finally stand again, but he refused to give up.

He turned his eyes back towards the castle, now only a haze in the distance. Redoubling his efforts, the young boy continued to trudge on.


Professor McDougal felt it before he even saw it. A sharp spike in the energy around the castle was all he really needed to know before he began scanning the ground outside. Though dark as it was, he had picked up a knack for locating energy sources. It took him a minute to locate it, but he soon found the figure moving in the rain. It was small, but it was human. That much he was sure of. He watched for a minute to determine if it was friendly or unfriendly. Another bolt of lightning lit the sky as he watched, and what he saw made him take a step backwards.

Walking in the rain, wounded and possibly dying, was a young boy no more than eleven years old. Immediately, he turned and ran through the door on his way to the castle gates. The halls of the great school were often filled with students, but during the summer months it did have a tendency to feel deserted and lifeless. Turning down corridors and flying down staircases, Professor McDougal raced for the entry way. He turned another corner and had to side step fast before he ran into a familiar sight.

"What in blazes," Filch screamed in fright as he brought his lamp up to identify the source. Upon recognizing McDougal, he noticed the worried look on his face, "Professor? What's got you riled up now?"

"No time to explain Argus," Mark yelled as he grabbed Argus by the arm and began racing towards the gate with him in tow, "Right now there is someone out in that weather wounded and headed here! I need you to inform the Headmistress and Madame Pomfrey immediately!"

Argus nodded, knowing that if this particular professor was worried then there was cause to panic. As soon as Mark released his arm, he began to run for the Headmistresses office and would then head to the Infirmary. As he did so, Mark continued towards the front door of Hogwarts. Muttering a silent prayer under his breath, he only hoped he was not too late.


The castle was beginning to loom over him even more now. The front gates that, up until a few moments ago had been invisible to his vision were within sight. His feet faltered as he fell to his knees again for the countless times he had. His world around him was slowly beginning to lose its vividness.

He cursed under his breath, "Get…up….Nate. Get up…now!"

Somewhere he found the strength within himself to stand again. His legs were weak and weary from the journey, but he had enough left in them to carry him just that little distance left. Thunder clapped and lightning flashed around him as he worked his way through the mud and water towards the door.

The blurriness of his vision was beginning to become worse the closer he got. He slowly began to feel weaker and weaker. His thoughts were becoming more jumbled with each passing step. Soon he knew that he would not be getting back up.

Suddenly, the door was right before him. His knees then gave out, and he knew that he would not be able to stand again. Raising his good hand, he slammed it as hard as he could manage against the door. He pounded for what seemed like hours, before he slowly began to slow the pounding. With one last knock, Nate fell against the door as his world began to turn dark.

"I…made…it…," was the last things on his mind before everything went black.


He heard the pounding in the corridor even against the raging storm outside. Cursing under his breath, McDougal drew his wand from within his robe. As he rounded the next corner, he began casting the opening charm on the large castle door. He never broke stride as he came closer to the slowly opening door. Within moments the pounding ceased outside and McDougal picked up his pace even more. A few seconds later the door swung open, allowing the sounds of the storm outside to pour into the entryway.

Lying on the ground, even bloodier than he had expected, was in fact a young boy with earthen brown hair. His clothes and hair were matted against his body from the rain, sweat, and blood that covered him.

Pulling the boy quickly up into his arms, McDougal began to close the doors behind him as he pulled the boy inside. When the doors were fully secure, Mark turned to examine the boy. Thankfully, he was only unconscious, but that could change any second. He promptly applied a healing spell to hopefully stabilize the boy long enough for Madame Pomfrey to get there. Slowly, he began to mend what little he could while he waited for his colleagues to arrive to aid the boy better than he could.

He took the moment to examine the boy and his wounds a little closer, knowing he was at least out of danger for the time being. Mark had been right in his assumption that the boy was really only about eleven years of age, and with long dark brown hair. In the flickering light, it almost had green hints to it. His skin was slightly tanned, possibly from being in the sun for awhile.

Satisfied with the child's physical characteristics for now, he examined the wound more closely. His arm was torn to pieces, long gashes of skin missing completely while some lay in ragged, puckered strips along the length of it. There was a portion of one of his forearm bones sticking out of the skin at a sickening angle, and there were large amounts of blood pulsating out of the wounds.

McDougal ripped a portion of his robe away to make a bandage to stem some of the blood flow, but he wouldn't need to staunch it for long. After what seemed like an hour's time, the two he had sent Filch for rounded the corner. He looked up from attending to the boy long enough to recognize them.

The two elderly women were dressed in evening attire, both with their hair done up for sleep. The older of the two held a rather perplexed and worried look upon her face as she looked between himself and the boy at his feet. She looked at him worriedly as the other rushed to the boys' side, "Is he alright, Mark?"

He shrugged his shoulders as Pomfrey examined him, "I'm not sure, though he's still alive for the moment."

The old medi-witch quickly began casting charms and small healing and cleansing charms, "He's in bad shape, Minerva. We need to get him to the hospital wing quickly."

Minerva McGonagall nodded in agreement, "Yes, quickly. Come now!"

Between the three of them, they quickly levitated the young boy to the Infirmary. It was then that time seemed to slow as Pomfrey and her assistant, Gina Wellings, shooed them from the room while they worked on the boy. McGonagall began to look nervously towards Mark, "Do you think he'll be alright, Professor McDougal?"

Mark took a deep breath, weighing the odds. Unhappy with the possible outcome, he frowned, "It doesn't look good. He doesn't have the best odds, I'm afraid. Yet, something is different about this boy. Different than any other boy of his age that I've come into contact with."

The old headmistress looked at the younger man with a keen eye, "What do you mean? Is there something that doesn't seem right with him?"

"Not right or wrong, per se…" Mark said, slowly picking his words. He raised a hand to his chin in thought, pondering the possibilities that could cause such a power he had felt earlier to take shape in a young boy, "But it seems this boy is quite unique, in the magical sense. I think it prudent to keep an eye on this one."

McGonagall slowly nodded her head, still unsure of what the younger had deemed unique. After a moment or so, she found a seat and rested her aging body in it. Mark slowly, but anxiously paced a small circuit in the waiting room of the Infirmary wing while the two medi-witches worked their spells. It wasn't until long after midnight that Gina came out into the waiting room, "Professors?"

Immediately, McGonagall jumped to her feet to greet the young lady, "Yes, Ms. Wellings? Is he stabile?"

The girl shied away lightly at the suddenness of the questions, "Well, he's stabile, yes. Though for the moment he remains unconscious. There's no telling when he might wake up."

Mark drew her attention by clearing his throat, "The cuts on his arm. Do you possibly know what could have caused them?"

Gina gently shook her head, making her straight blonde hair bounce in the torchlight, "Not at this moment. Though, for all that we know, it was a magical source that caused them. Even with Madame Pomfrey's magic, their still will be scars from it."

He nodded his head, "I see. Minerva?"

The older woman looked at him with a little sadness in her eyes, "Yes, Mark?"

Straightening his back, he resumed the posture of an authority figure, "You'd best get some sleep. I'll keep an eye on the boy. I wasn't particularly tired tonight anyways. I'll report how he is in the morning. Everyone else get some rest."

The two women looked between themselves and then back at him. Though it was McGonagall who voiced the unsaid, "Are you sure, Professor McDougal? Perhaps we could rouse one of the other Professors…"

He raised a hand to cut her off, "No. I'll do it. Only fitting since I was the one to come across him. Now go on and get some rest."

The two women acquiesced, if not reluctantly to his demands. Madame Pomfrey refused outright, stating that no one would ever see her sleep with a patient in her care. The young professor conjured up a chair and sat down by the boys' bedside. With what light there was in the room, he continued to examine the boy. Something was different about him, and it wouldn't leave him be till he found out why this one felt that way.

He smiled lightly in the flickering light, "Perhaps we'll see just how strong you really are sooner than we think."

With that, he sat in silence on constant vigil for the as yet nameless boy.

End of Chapter I