Very much inspired by "Among the Trees" by seventhSINwrath. 10/10 recommend (HP/OMC werewolf) it's great go check it out.
I wanted to have a go at OMC/Harry bc I've never written ocs before (I don't really like reading about them – I actually thought they were kinda stupid but shhhh, I'm a changed person now. So I wanted to try it.)
Rating could be raised in the future and probably will be.
We're starting off at the start of the second novel, this is a re-write of the series but it's going to hopefully become more AU as we move book to book. Though this fic's weirdly according to canon timeline.
(Not beta'd or Brit-picked and probably never will be)
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-Q- Prologue -Q-
(Pre-HP Canon)
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His book is on fire. Flames eat away at the flimsy paper cover like a starved lion devouring a deer. He watched, hypnotized as the cover curls into ashes and the paper follows. The embers still lit as the paper crumbles from the edges in.
The world is falling apart.
He struggling to breathe as evil, black smoke, chokes his airways. He takes short breathes, his hands shakes and his vision darkens.
The world is ending in fire.
A fire that's literal animal devours the trees around him, the cabins and tents, and his people. It's a fire like he's never seen before, nothing like the fearful fire of the red darkens, the only fire he thought he had to fear. The only fire that could harm his people.
Or so they thought. This fire is greedy and has a will of its own and all it wants is to eat, eat, eat.
He watches in muted horror as the animal fire consumes his home and anything in it.
The pungent smell of sometime distinctive and disgusting enters his nose and he throws up when he realizes it's the scent of charring flesh. He can do nothing but stand in the center of chaos as hell is occurring everywhere around him. He's too scared to move.
Someone forcefully grabs his shoulders, and in his panic he struggles against them, pushing himself away and clawing at his attacker.
He's forcible turned around and shook. He looks up to his father's face which is red and caked with dirt. Sweat drips from his skin. There's no blood on him, but splatters of ashes.
His father tries to yell at him and pushes him forward. But he finds he can't move or hear. Everything is terrifying and his body won't move. All he wants is his book and his mommy so she can finish reading him the bedtime story. She'd protect him from the fire and make everything go away.
All the sudden, his daddy shoves him to the ground and throws his weight over top. Bright, fluorescent lights shoot overhead and he can only see burst of light under his eyelids.
His daddy doesn't hesitate from one moment to the next, his body thrown into survival mode. He throws his son over his back like a sack of potatoes and runs. As he hangs upside down, he catches a glimpse of the clouds overhead, the menacing skull and snake that slithers out, a warning the clouds have been shaped into; an omen for destruction.
He hates it almost instantly.
He can't exactly remember what happens next, all he knows is he catches sight of a bundle of cloths in his Daddy's arms, cradled protectively by strong arms and then he's wakes up alone in the forest, no hair or trace of where his daddy is or the rest of his village, or even the closest mundane establishment.
All the five year old knows is that he's lost and alone and suddenly the world is a much bigger and eviler place than he remembers. He whips his head from side to side and can't seem to see anything familiar. Only trees in every diction.
He doesn't bother moving from his place on the forest floor, the animal fire and wizards excluded, he knows he's the most likely the most dangerous thing out here.
He sobs loudly, almost screaming like, the tears are so heavy and thick they feel like they weigh down his face. He coughs every couples of minutes, the after effects of the dark smoke he breathed in.
He cries until his throat is raw and his eyes are unable to water any longer, even though his heart still hurts.
During his fit he'd missed the bundle of cloths, settled a few feet away.
Curious, though cautious, he approaches the thing. He releases a gasp when he pulls back the material and sees pink skin. The bundle was a baby, swaddled in soft cloth.
"I'll protect you." He promises, his voice a harsh whisper, used up from his sobbing fit. "I won't let anything hurt you."
After all the baby could possibly be the last of of his family.
And he remembers what his father had been yelling.
Pollux.
His name.
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-Q- Chapter I: What The Hell is a Malfoy? -Q-
(A Day Before HP & The CoS)
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"That doesn't look like much fun."
Instinctively Harry Potter scowls, he doesn't bother to turn around. "Do you think I want to do this?"
It wasn't the politest thing to say to a stranger, especially a stranger on Privet Drive. Harry winces, however, to his defense, he's been pulling weeds and dead leaves for the last two hours in a long sleeved shirt and thick trousers. Harry's tired, he's sweating everywhere, and his glasses are smudged with dark dirt. He's not exactly at his best right now.
"I hope not," The stranger says, though not unkindly. "Looks exhausting. You are doing a good job though."
Harry bashfully flushes, and convinces himself it's because of the heat. It's nice to hear someone recognize his hard work.
"Thanks." He curtly replies.
The white lilies are doing especially well this year, Harry thinks. His hands pat down the disrupted dirt flat. The pesky weed he'd just pulled added to the pile beside him.
Lilies. Harry pauses, thinking of the beautiful photo album Hagrid gave to him. He suddenly wishes these lilies were red.
Harry turns around and he's surprised to find a boy about his age. Ripped blue jeans with old sneakers that look a size too small and destroyed, and brown hair that definitely hadn't even been introduced to a hair brush (not that Harry could talk, his own hair untamable on the best days) and dark, warm eyes.
"Why are you standing so far away?" Harry asks, measuring the distance from where the other boy is standing (almost on the road) and where Harry himself sits.
"Whatever," the boy waves his hand dismissively. "Wanna get out of here?"
"What?"
"There's a corner store like five blocks from here with awesome snow cones, wanna get some?"
He rolls his eyes and pulls out a random crumbled piece of paper. A crudely drawn line connects the points "here" to "corner store."
Put out, Harry blinks. "No thanks." Harry squints at the paper, "is that a stack of boxes?"
"What?" The boy sounds surprised, and Harry looks at him bewildered, what was he expecting a 'yes'?
"No! That's the corner store." The boy protests, looking more than a little offended, pointing at what's supposed to be the "corner store." To Harry it looked like three boxes on top of each other.
"That map's drawn horribly…" Harry thinks rudely, which is exactly why he doesn't say it aloud.
"Look," Harry says pointedly, "We've had a two minute conversation, and I don't even know your name." I also don't want to get in trouble. But that part obviously remained unsaid.
"It's Castor." The boy, Castor says bluntly, "and for the record, I don't know yours either."
Harry doesn't respond, not really knowing what to say to that.
They descend into an awkward bypass. Here, Harry waits for Castor to walk away. And, Castor, well, doesn't.
"Do you really want to spend the rest of your afternoon with flowers?" He criticizes, looking doubtful at the, abet nice, but time consuming garden.
"No." Harry says shortly. Because honestly, he didn't. That doesn't mean he can just take off though.
"Then what are we waiting for?" Castor edges on, pushing his hands into the pockets of his bomber jacket.
Absentmindedly, Harry wonders how he can stand wearing something that thick in this type of heat.
Spending the rest of his afternoon in the heat doesn't sound exciting, nor does coming back to his angry relatives. However, Uncle Vernon - or at least Dudley always find an excuse to get mad at him anyways and they always want him to leave...
Harry shrugs. "Fine, let me bag these weeds and then we can go."
He doesn't know why he agrees, maybe it was the fact all Harry's been doing for the last couple of weeks is chores. Maybe it's because he's sick of being trapped with his relatives. Or most likely because he hasn't heard from his friends all summer break and he sick of being, well, lonely.
At Hogwarts he finally felt like he'd found friends. The real ones; who wouldn't care if Dudley called him a freak, and who wouldn't (didn't) abandon him when a crazy madman tried to kill him. The kind you only hear about in books, the loyal kind. It felt magical, like everything else at Hogwarts. Until he was sent back into the muggle world and magic seemed to disappear as well as his friends (he hasn't received a single letter yet and that hurt).
Harry shoves all the picked dead leaves and weeds into a plastic trash bag and ties it up. He double checks he has everything and throws into the trashcan.
"There." Harry says.
"Come on," Castor replies, making a point to refer back his (badly) hand-drawn map. "It's down here."
Harry quickly stands up and lets Castor take the lead.
Despite only going a few blocks away, Harry doesn't recognize any of it. After all, he's spent most of his time doing chores or hiding from Dudley (the neighbourhood definitely not being the ideal place – thoroughly "claimed" by Dudley's gang, it's the first place they'd "patrol"). He only really knows as far as the park and Castor was leading him right past it.
Castor rolls his eyes, "Don't worry," he teases lightly. "I'll make sure you get home." He does an awfully good job at making getting back to his relatives' house (not home, that's Hogwarts) something Harry's stupid to worry about.
But it's not, Harry thinks, if I don't get back, I won't be able to go to Hogwarts.
"I guess so." He says instead, shrugging his shoulders and looking back towards the Dursleys' house.
"You know, you didn't have to come." Castor frowns, his eyes downcast, "If it's really stressing you out we can go back."
"No." Harry protests sharply and at Castor curious look, says, "I'd rather never go back." Harry grins a little. Not to the Dursleys' at least. Harry wouldn't leave Hogwarts if he didn't have to.
Castor doesn't say anything, looking at loss for words. He finally settles for a shrug and a half smile. "As long as you sure."
The corner store is on the (pun fully intended) corner of the street and as nice as one can expect it to be. Which is, not really nice at all. But presentable enough, when you can get past the sun-faded bricks, broken neon 'open' sign, and harsh, noisy ceiling lights.
It's nothing like Hogwarts, not one bit enchanting either. However, with the way Castor's face lits up as they approach it, Harry thought it might as well be.
It's at this point in time, Harry stops walking and a guilty sparks builds in his stomach.
Castor, a few steps ahead, looks back at Harry with bewilderment, "What is it, now?" Castor asks, sounding exasperated. "You know, I want to be friends, but your really high maintenance."
"And you're being a bigger dunderhead than Malfoy." Harry snaps, frowning, the guilt decreased for a moment. Castor is a little too impatient and a little too honest, and it says something about the strength of Castor's personality that Harry knows this already.
Castor furrows his brow, befuddled, "What's a Malfoy?"
"I don't have any money." Harry says instead, ignoring Castor's question and the guilt multiples a tenfold. He doesn't want to guilt trip Castor into buying him something. For all his candor, Castor still seems nice enough.
Castor rolls his eyes and shakes his head, "If I wanted you to pay for it, I would told you."
"Are you paying for it?" Harry asks, jogging to catch up with the brown haired male.
Castor snorts, and he winks one cinnamon eye cheekily, "Not with money."
He pulls on the corner store door, covered in posters of all sizes and bright colours for new rentable movies, volunteer opportunities and community events. The door opens with a jiggle of bells.
"If you aren't paying with money, what are you paying with?" Harry mutters, following the wayward boy into the store.
The inside of the store is glaring average, aside from the snow cone machine, there's everything you'd find in a normal store. A freezer section with ice cream, frozen foods and beverages. A whole set up of chocolate bars and candy right in front of the check out. Shelves dedicated to different foods. All wrapped up with with a dirty off-white tile floor and a weird circular security camera like a birthday present with a ribbon.
"Want one?" Castor gestures to the chocolate bar stand with a nod of his head. "I know we came for the snow cones but Mindy won't mind if we have something else too."
"Mindy?"
"Yeah, Mindy – she's like my second cousin or some shit." Castor informs, plucking up a kit-kat bar and flicking it over his shoulder at Harry.
Harry's face blanks at the swear. Did he really just…?
"Castor, dumbass!" A shrill female voice shouts, and loud, thundering footsteps echo throughout the store and the "employee only" door (chipped dark gray paint and all) bangs open. "I told you to stop stealing chocolate bars! I'm not running a charity service, especially not for criminal boys!"
Harry blanks again; criminal?
Mindy's movements are very explosive, her ears are pierced in three different places (two black studs on the lope and a gold ring on the side), and shares the same cinnamon eyes as Castor.
Although, her hair is blonde, it's just as messy as her cousin's.
"It not for me, dummy," Caster denies, gesturing with his hand in a presenting motion to a white faced, kit-Kat holding Harry. "He's literally this thin," Castor makes an impossibility small space with his hands.
Mindy immediately argues, "If he was that thin he wouldn't be able to survive, let alone but able to stand up!"
"You missed the entire point – "
"I think I didn't! You're exploiting your friends again to get free food!"
("Again?" Harry thinks, and pales).
"Am not! The chocolate bar's for him –"
"Which you're going to ask for half of!"
"No!"
"yes!"
"Money doesn't grow on trees! You can't keep giving out free food."
"The point I'm trying to make is that he obviously needs it!"
"So do we!" Mindy screams, louder than any of their previous yells. Awkward, heavy silence descents on the store. Mindy huffing, trying to regain her breath and Castor taking a second to catch his own.
Harry stands as still as stone.
Finally, Mindy's eyes drift to Harry. He flushes in embarrassment because he really doesn't look his best at all. Harry can feel her eyes intensely run over him.
There's more silence and then she sighs, but it's full of stress and what ifs and uncertainties.
"Fine." She finally says waving them off, "Do whatever you want. Just don't take too much."
Castor beams at her, grateful.
Harry has so many questions.
"Criminal…?" Harry looks at Castor, disturbed.
Castor rolls his brown eyes, and shrugs. "She only calls me that because I take food from the store."
"Oh." Harry sighs, relieved.
Castor laughs, "Oh yeah, Harry I'm definitely a bad guy. I forget to refill the toilet paper roll all the time."
"The horror." Harry says, deadpan. Before he starts laughing.
Castor grins cheekily.
"Snow cones?" Castor offers politely.
Harry nods, "Only if it's okay." He says, thinking of the still uneaten chocolate bar in his pocket and Mindy's (who's currently stocking the front corner) outburst.
"Pstt, it's fine. She said 'whatever we want.'" Castor points out deviously. Already making his way to the machine.
"Red or blue?"
"Red, please." Red is one of Harry favourite colour (right after the light green of his mother's eyes). The Gryffindor shade has his stomach fluttering, and a bout of homesickness works it way up to his chest.
The machine whirs loudly and Castor hands him the completed snow cone.
Harry grabs the cup and the coldness of it sends a shiver sparking up his arms and down his spine. Homesickness was soon forgotten as Harry takes his first bite of sugary goodness.
Castor smiles at Harry, "I still don't know your name." Castor says, starting on his own frosty blue snow cone.
"Oh." Harry says blankly. "I'm Harry Potter." It felt fresh, introducing himself, without the awed expression and slack jaws; a clean slate.
"Nice to meet you, Harry Potter." Castor jests, smirking. His lips turned an inky blue from the blueberry syrup.
"You as well, Castor." Harry replies, scooping up another bite of his snow cone.
"But seriously," Castor says, "What the bloody hell is a Malfoy?"
-Q-
Next chapter will be the start of CoS! Thanks for reading, any reviews and support would be appreciated.
Criticism is welcome (thou try to be nice about it pls).