Harry couldn't catch his breath. It was completely unfair that someone as large as his pursuer could be as fast as they were, but there you go. Life wasn't fair. Harry and Bolt were rampaging through the grass, zigging and zagging wildly as Harry tried to lose his hunter. He knew that much from years of running away from Dudley. He also kept low, below the tops of the grass, but it didn't seem to matter what he did—the person behind him would not be deterred.

"Hey! Wait up! You're not supposed to be here! How old are you?" It—he—screamed. Harry tried to pick up his pace, but he couldn't go any faster. The man was closing in.

"Run, Bolt! Run!" Harry screamed as the man's giant arms closed around him. Bolt shook his head, growling and running headfirst into the man's legs.

"Whoa, there, little buddy! I'm not trying to hurt your owner!"

"Not—" Harry kicked the man's shin, but the grip didn't loosen. "His—" Harry kicked again, but it missed entirely. "Owner!" He kicked back with both feet, hitting the man's knees and trying to propel himself forward.

"Stop that!" The man shouted. "You'll hurt yourself! Here," The man readjusted his grip, now carrying Harry over his shoulder as one would a rolled up rug, "Let's just sit you down and see if we can't get this misunderstanding cleared up." With the hand that wasn't holding Harry in place he scooped up Bolt, before trudging back to the clearing, apparently oblivious to the two's desperate attempts to escape.

When he got back to the clearing he sat Harry back down and it only took three escape attempts until the boy abandoned the effort and sat still, holding Bolt protectively against his stomach. He glared distrustfully at the giant man, at least a head taller than anyone he'd met before, and dared to ask a question.

"You gonna make me go back to Little Whinging?" Harry didn't dare think about what might happen to Bolt in that instance.

"Blimey, you're from Little Whinging? Well, where'd you get this Shinx then?" The man asked, genuinely confused.

"My backyard." Harry said. The man laughed. Harry didn't.

"Oh! Oh, you were… well, I wonder how it got there. Still don't explain how you got out here though." The man said.

"Ran away."

"Why would you do that?" The man asked, apparently stunned. Harry raised an eyebrow and didn't answer. Given the Shinx in his lap, he didn't think he had to. After a few seconds the man didn't either.

"I don't really know what to do…" The man said in answer to Harry's earlier question. "By all rights I should pack you up and ship you home, but that's what I'd do if you were an Okoku resident. But I don't think anyone's run away from Little Whinging before. But then, no one's found a Pokemon in there either, and all of the residents like it that way. What's your name, anyway?" He asked.

"You tell me yours and I'll tell you mine." Harry snapped. The man laughed.

"Fair enough. My name's Hagrid. Rubeus Hagrid, fully."

"Harry."

"Harry what?"

"Harry Potter."

"Harry what?!"

"I just told you!"

"Blimey!"

"Blimey what?!" Harry asked, increasingly agitated with the man's—Hagrid's—behavior.

"What—you don't know? Your aunt and uncle were supposed to tell you." Hagrid said.

"You know my aunt and uncle?" Harry said, any modicum of trust for the man in front of him fleeing fast.

"Well, not personal-like, no, but I know that Dumbledore sent you there—wanted you to be raised by family, and all that. But the deal was you'd come back when you were eleven." Harry stared at Hagrid blankly. "…You didn't know any of that did you?"

"No. Who were my parents?" Harry asked.

"Well, they were Pokemon trainers in their youth—and darn good ones too. But when the war came, well, they fought. They're war heroes, Harry. What they did… what you did, the entire region will never be able to repay."

That was a lot to unpack. "Okay… look, this is all very interesting and new information, but that doesn't explain why I've never heard of you or why my aunt and uncle told me my parents died in a car crash while drunk. It's how I got my scar."

"What? No! That's not true! You got your scar after You-Know-Who attacked you!"

"Who?"

"Huh?"

"You said you know who, but I don't know who."

"Didn't your aunt and uncle tell you anything?" Hagrid asked plaintively, before sighing. "He was… he was a very bad man Harry. And he was the one that… that… you, know. Made you an orphan. Bad news him. But he's gone now." Hagrid sighed again before looking at his watch. "It's too late for me to get into touch with Dumbledore, so I guess I'll do that in the morning. Don't run away in your sleep, okay?"

Harry shrugged, which did not seem to reassure the man. He eyed Harry suspiciously, before pulling a ball—a pokeball!—out of his coat and pressing the button jutting from the side. The pokeball opened and a beam of light flashed outwards before coalescing into… into… well, it was definitely a Pokemon. It was blue and red and large and actually pretty ugly.

"Alright, Fang. We'll be camping here tonight. You're in charge of watching over us and making sure this little tike doesn't take off. Got it?"

The Pokemon whimpered but nodded, before bounding over to Hagrid and slobbering all over his face.

"Alright! Alright! I love you too! Now get to work!" Hagrid bellowed, laughing at his Pokemon's antics.

As the unknown Pokemon began its vigil the man, boy, and Shinx with it settled down for some rest. Just as Harry was beginning to nod off he turned to the large man beside him.

"You said no one runs away from Little Whinging. Why don't they?"

"Well, I suppose they're too scared." Hagrid mumbled back, obviously more asleep than Harry. " 'Cause, you know, Pokemon can be…" Hagrid broke off into a yawn. "Pokemon can be dangerous… especially if they're in the wrong hands." Hagrid stopped speaking, apparently finished, and a few seconds after let off what promised to be the first of many deep rumbling snores.

Harry stared at the sky, wondering if and when he'd meet a dangerous Pokemon, before he too fell asleep. Far above him the sunlight reflecting off of a reddish planet millions of miles away seemed to brighten unnaturally, almost winking at the little boy who had just closed his eyes.