Chapter 1

Eyeing the baskets of fruit in front of the shop, a scrawny teen picked up few pieces and smelled them as he'd watched others do. He hated what he was about to do but he had to if he wanted to eat. Other patrons gave him nasty looks but there wasn't anything he could do about it. He didn't have money to pay for clothes so he wore whatever he could find, whether it be tossed away or just left hanging out on a line. At the moment, he was quite dirty and smelled of sweat. He couldn't help that, either. He lived outside, wherever he could find shelter. He was going to be dirty.

Feeling his stomach rumble, he looked around. When no one was looking, he palmed an apple into his pocket. Another went into his pocket before he felt the pounding footsteps of the shopkeeper. Grabbing a few oranges, he ran. A few swift changes of direction and he found himself in an alley. Giving in to his hunger, he found a stoop upon which to sit. Lying the oranges on the ground, he took out the deep red apples, all the while watching for anyone coming after him.

Devouring the apples in a short amount of time, he then turned to the oranges. Using his teeth to create marks in the peel, he began tearing the outside layer away. Juice ran between his fingers as he pulled the flesh apart, making his mouth water. He made quick work of the first one and started on a second, eating it just as quickly. Tempted though he was to eat the third orange, he decided to keep it in his pocket, for later.

From another shop, he managed to nick a bottle of water, using his hated abilities to conceal the water. He loathed using those abilities. They're what made him unlovable, them and not being able to hear. Promising himself he wouldn't use them again for awhile, he downed half the water and walked along the street, looking into the myriad shop windows and daydreamed.

He watched as families shopped together, laughed together, fussed at each other. Their touches were gentle, loving. The kind Harry had never known. He found himself wishing for a family like that but knew wishes never came true. It's why he'd run from his last one. He couldn't take the beatings any longer, so he ran and never looked back. That was a year ago. He survived by nicking food and clothing, glasses, too, when he needed them but Harry felt he was infinitely better off.

Stomach still rumbling, he came upon a bakery. Someone stood by the door handing out samples to anyone walking by. Harry, looking as he did, didn't even dare hope the person would give any to him so he never lifted his head. A hand on his arm made Harry flinch away. A grandfatherly man belonged to the hand and in his other hand he held a piece of bread. Harry's gaze darted between the bread and the man, trying to discern a trap. Not finding one, his hand snatched the bread away quicker than a blink of an eye and he downed it nearly whole.

About to move on, the man surprised Harry by offering another piece. Confused as to why he would do so, Harry stared at him. Then he looked around as if expecting to be attacked any second. Again, Harry snatched the bread and ate it. When a third piece appeared, Harry felt even more confused. He narrowed his eyes and studied the man. Why is he giving me food? What is he getting out of it? Is he just stalling me so one of those people can take me away for taking the food? The man offered the piece again and Harry took it, eating it a tad slower. He watched as the man leaned into the store and spoke with someone. That someone turned out to be a woman about the same age as the man. She took one look at Harry and dropped the pottery bowl she was carrying, a look of utter shock on her face. Fearing the worst, he did the only thing he knew, he ran and didn't look back.

"Paul, could it be, do you think?" the lady of the bakery, Tammy, asked, astonishment in her voice.

"He's the spitting image of that Mr. Potter, except for those green eyes. If I remember right, the Missus had eyes that color. It has to be the boy," the man, Paul, answered.

"Do you remember the two strangers who came looking for the Potters? What were their names? McGongall and Dumble...Dumbledrawer?"

"McGonagall and Dumbledore. Yeah, I remember them. They seemed interested in the boy. The man passed out cards with his name, address and phone number. Do we still have it?"

"Are you thinking of contacting him? What do we really know about them?" worried Tammy.

"You didn't see the boy but for a second. The clothes he wore hung from him and were practically rags, like he'd worn the same things for weeks. He looked like he hadn't seen a proper bath in a long time. The kid was nearly skin and bones, Tam. He was starving. Most of all, he had that hard look in his eyes that people get when they've seen Hell. We have to call that man."

"I suppose you're right. Let me see if I can find that card."

An hour of searching finally turned up the card in an envelope they'd set aside for important documents. Paul took the card and the phone into his office for some privacy. Praying he was doing the right thing, he dialed the number with shaking fingers. It rang three times before it was answered.

Albus was in his office, contemplating the newly ended school year. At first he didn't know what was making the sound. It had been so long ago that he'd set the charm, he'd practically forgotten about it. Realizing what it meant, he tapped it with his wand.

"Yes, how can I help you?"

"Is this Mr. Al Dumbledore?" a hesitant voice asked on the other end.

"It is."

"Mr. Dumbledore, 13 years ago you came to a little town called Godric's Hollow looking for a certain family. Do you remember that?"

"I was looking for the Potters but they'd been killed. Their son survived but hasn't been seen. I could never track him down."

"Well," the man hesitated before plunging into his story. "I'm pretty sure I just saw him." Silence. "Hello? You still there?"

"Uh, yeah, sorry. You took me by surprise. Did you say you'd just seen him?"

"I'm pretty sure it was him. He had black hair like Mr. Potter's hair and bright green eyes like Mrs. Potter. He had on a pair of glasses. It was like looking at Mr. Potter again."

"Where are you? Still in Godric's Hollow?"

"Oh no, we live in Exeter now. It's on the southern coast, along the Otter River."

"Yes, I'm familiar with the area. I have some friends who live in nearby Ottery St. Catchpole."

"Oh, well, then you know exactly where we are. This boy, he was heading in that general direction, last I saw him. He got spooked and took off."

"You make it sound as if he's alone."

"Oh, I'm quite sure he was."

Alarm bells began to clang inside Dumbledore's head. "What makes you so certain?"

"The boy's appearance. He wore rags for clothes, he was dirty and he was half-starved."

"Did he say anything to you?"

"No. Not a word. He kept looking around as if expecting to be attacked. He was real jumpy yet didn't react in a way you'd think a nervous person would when I shouted for my wife or when she dropped a bowl she was carrying. Come to think of it, he didn't react at all when I called out. It was almost like he didn't hear me. When my wife saw him, she dropped a bowl and he got spooked, took off running."

"May I come visit in an hour?"

"Um, sure, if you can be here that quickly. My wife and I run a bakery on Cheshire Road. Look for Nead's Kneads. I'm Paul Nead. My wife is Tammy Nead."

"Thank you, Mr. Nead. I'll be there in an hour."

Dumbledore tapped the spiky ball again. Motionless, he thought over the conversation he'd just had. Could it be? Could Harry have finally been found? What did Mr. Nead mean by jumpy? Well, there's only one way to find out.

The Headmaster made a couple Floo calls before transfiguring his clothing. One of those calls went to the family who lived near Ottery St. Catchpole. The other call went to Minerva McGonagall. Even though school had just let out for the summer, the staff still remained to finalize test scores. Moments later, the Transfiguration professor was knocking on the Headmaster's office door.

"Is it true? Has Harry been found?"

"It sounds like him. He was described as looking exactly like James but with Lily's eyes. The rest of what I heard disturbs me greatly."

Albus went on to explain the remainder of the story. "I called Molly Weasley and asked her to be on the lookout in case he goes that way. I'm meeting with the man and wife in an hour."

Forty-five minutes later, Dumbledore couldn't wait any longer. He took out a stash of Muggle money and slipped it into his pocket. Turning to McGonagall he spoke.

"Why don't you go to Molly's and wander the area. I don't think he'll have made it that far but you never know. Send me a message if you find him. It may take the both of us to convince him we're friendly."

"Of course."

She stepped into the green flames and was gone. Dumbledore left his office intending to Apparate to Exeter. He appeared on the outskirts of town, walked a few blocks and hailed a cab to the bakery. After spending some time with the Neads, he thanked them for notifying him and headed in the direction of Ottery St. Catchpole.

Harry had just finished a dunk in the river to cool off when the hairs on the back of his neck stood on end. Looking around, he saw an old man in a suit standing not too far away. The man had long white hair and a long white beard. Half-moon glasses were perched upon the end of his nose. When the man came a little closer, Harry jumped up and prepared to run, only to find an invisible hand seemed to have a hold on him.

"It's okay, Harry. I'm not going to hurt you," Albus said in his best soothing voice. "I'm glad I finally found you. I've never stopped looking for you since that night."

Seeing the teen's rising panic, Albus tested a theory. Levitating a stick behind the boy, he brought it closer to Harry's ear, keeping it well out of sight, and snapped it. Nothing. Next, he tried a thicker branch and snapped it, making a very loud crack, behind the boy's ear. No reaction at all. Conjuring a piece of parchment and inked quill, causing the boy's eyes to widen, Dumbledore wrote something. Stepping closer, he held it up for Harry to read. Met only with confusion, Dumbledore sighed. It's just as I feared. He can't hear. He can't even read. What happened to this poor boy? Merlin, this is going to be difficult.

McGonagall popped into existence a short distance from them in time to experience a massive magical wave, making her stumble. A blur of a young teen zoomed by but her attention was more on Dumbledore.

"Are you okay, Albus?"

"I'm fine, Minerva," he said, picking himself up from the ground and brushing himself off. "Harry broke my Petrificus Totalus. He completely panicked and managed to break it."

"That was Harry?" Minerva turned back and could see the rapidly retreating form. "But why did he run? Surely you told him about our world and his place in it."

Dumbledore let out a heavy sigh. "I'm afraid it's not going to be so easy."

"Why ever not?"

"The boy can't hear, Minerva. He can't even read."

"What?" she gasped. "Can't hear? Can't read? How does he communicate? How does he get by?"

"From the look of him, he doesn't do the one and barely is accomplishing the other."

Albus pulled a map out of a pocket and tapped it with his wand. A flashing dot appeared marking the route Harry was taking.

"If we Apparate along this route, we should be able to shepherd him straight towards Molly's."

"Are you sure that's wise? We could be doing more damage than necessary."

"If he's found by a Death Eater, Harry won't stand a chance. He needs to come back to our world and learn how to defend himself. From the looks of him, he's had it hard. Who better than Molly to show him the world isn't all bad?"

"How do you propose to get our point across to him if he can't read?"

"I can place the knowledge straight into his mind. He'll need to be bound and it'll likely spook him again but it's the only way. We'll then be able to tell him what we need to."

Not seeing another way, the Transfiguration professor agreed.

Harry ran until his legs were too weak to run anymore. He didn't see the strange man anywhere. Sitting on a boulder, he closed his eyes. The man had used a stick and suddenly he, Harry, couldn't move. Another wave of the stick and paper and a feather appeared out of nowhere. What was written on the paper meant nothing to him. The use of that stick dredged a very fuzzy memory, something he'd seen in his nightmares often enough, only that stick was white and a green light emanated from it. Were they related in some way?

He felt his stomach rumble again and reached for his last orange. Harry brought it to his nose and breathed its scent deeply, mouth watering at the remembered tangy taste. Fingers ran over the dimpled skin almost lovingly. He had no idea how long he sat there in the hot sun, the need for food warring with the logic of saving it for later. Hunger and thirst won out, somewhere he'd lost his water. Quickly peeling the orange, he first squeezed as much juice into his mouth as he could. After that, he ate the quartered pieces. It wasn't enough but it was all he had.

Sucking the juice from his hands, he suddenly stopped. With a sharp twist, he turned to look behind him. The man was back! Before the man could stop him, Harry began running again. After a bit, he slowed. That was when another person suddenly materialized. This time it was an older woman wearing a dark flowing dress. Giving a grunt of surprise, he turned away from her and ran some more.

Further down, the man reappeared. Then the woman. Back and forth until Harry finally couldn't run anymore and he collapsed, exhausted and dehydrated. The heat of the sun was the last thing he was aware of before passing out.

Molly had been watching out the window ever since being notified by Minerva that she and Albus were bringing someone, possibly Harry Potter, by. When the professor told her they may have found Harry, Molly didn't know what to think. She certainly wasn't expecting what she received.

As soon as the Hogwarts staff arrived, she knew something was wrong. They seemed to be holding a kid of about 13 years of age between them. This kid is too young. How could they possibly think he's Harry Potter?

Opening the door, she ushered them inside and directed them to place the boy on the couch. Gasping at the near-emaciated form, her motherly instincts kicked in full force. Rounding on the two adults, she let them have it.

"WHAT HAVE YOU DONE TO THIS POOR CHILD?! Have you no shame?! The poor boy looks as if he's run for hours!"

The guilty looks upon the two faces fueled her anger. "He has, hasn't he? You literally ran him here! From where?"

Even Dumbledore was half-afraid to answer the raging redhead, but he did so, quietly. "Just this side of Exeter."

"WHAT?! How dare you! I thought you had more sense than that, either of you! No wonder he's collapsed."

At that moment, the back door opened and a set of redheaded twins, a redheaded boy, and a redheaded girl entered the ramshackle home.

"Mum? What's all the screaming about?" asked one of the twins.

"Professor McGonagall, Professor Dumbledore, what are you doing here?" asked the red haired boy.

"Not now. Fred, get me a basin, some water and a cloth. Ron, get me a pair of your shorts and a t-shirt."

The two went off to do their mother's bidding while the other two approached the couch.

"Who's this?" the girl asked.

"I don't see how it is who it's supposed to be. This kid is too young."

"Believe me, Molly, it's him. You'll see when he's awake."

Retrieving the water from her son, Molly began bathing everywhere she could reach. Just before removing the boy's clothes, she turned to her daughter.

"Ginny, go into the kitchen and fix us all some tea. Cut up some fruit, lots of it. This poor thing looks as if he's missed a few meals."

Turning back to the child on her couch, not realizing Ginny had yet to leave, she removed the tattered shirt, lifting his still form to remove the shirt completely. What was revealed had them all sick to their stomachs.

His back was covered in scars, criss crossing like railroad tracks. Jagged white lines went every which direction with no rhyme or reason. A few wrapped around to the front of his torso or dipped beneath his waistband but it appeared his back had borne the brunt of each lashing. Hurriedly washing the teen's back, Molly lay him back on the couch, tears in her eyes.

"Who could do something like that to a child?" she whispered.

"I don't know, Molly," Dumbledore spoke, deceptively quiet. "But I intend to find out."

Nodding and wiping her eyes, Molly continued bathing the boy on her couch. Ginny left just as her Mum was undoing his pants. They found a few scars on his legs but not to the extent of his back. Taking the clothes from her son, and with a little help, she dressed the boy. The last thing she tackled was his hair to give it a good wash. Pulling his hair backward, everyone gasped at the lightning bolt scar on his forehead, though Molly continued washing it.

"What is that? It's not white like the others. This looks more recent."

"Actually, Molly, it isn't. That, I believe is a curse scar. I visited the Potter home soon after things occurred that night. I could detect the Killing Curse being cast three times and yet only James and Lily died. Harry was given a kind of protection against it. I believe we are looking at the reason Voldemort disappeared that night."

All eyes turned in shock to the boy who was just beginning to stir.

Harry slowly opened his eyes. He felt cooler, cleaner, than he'd felt in quite a while. He startled at the grouping of blurry shapes surrounding him. Sitting up quickly, he made himself as small as he could in the corner of the couch, while still groping around for his glasses. Someone handed them over and he replaced them onto his nose. Dismayed at seeing the man and woman again, he was downright fearful of the others.

One of the newcomers, the oldest, bent down and reached out, lips moving, but Harry flinched away from her touch, causing her to frown. Oh, now, you've done it. Covering his head with his arms, eyes squeezed shut, he tensed, turning his back to them, waiting for the blow that never came.

"What's the matter with him?" Ron, the non-twin, asked.

"As you saw, Harry has had it rough. He doesn't react well to being touched. Again, you saw that. The most important thing, though, and the most difficult thing to deal with is that he can't hear us."

Every set of Weasley eyes bounced between Dumbledore and Harry. It was Molly who spoke.

"Can't hear us? You mean, he can't hear anything? At all?"

"That's right. He ran from me when I first found him. I realized he couldn't hear me so I wrote him a note to try to explain who I was. It turns out he can't read, either. Every time I got close, he ran so Professor McGonagall and I decided to lead him this way and hope for the best."

Minerva harrumphed, and Albus amended his statement. "Okay, I decided it."

Molly frowned at the Headmaster and turned to Ginny, who had just brought in a tray laden with drinks and fruit. The Weasley matriarch picked up the bowl of sliced apples and offered some to Harry, who had finally turned back around in confusion. At his hesitation, she smiled.

Confused as to why he was being offered food, he studied the red-haired ones closely. Slowly his hand reached out for the bowl. Grabbing a single slice, he ate it in two bites. He watched as a yellow-orange liquid was poured into a cup and held out to him. Thirst won and he reached out for the cup. Sniffing it, he thought it smelled vaguely familiar and yet he couldn't remember ever having any. Bringing the cup to his lips, he sipped. A pleasant taste met his tongue and he drank it down.

He suddenly wished he hadn't as another pressing need made itself known. Why did I drink so much? How do I tell them what I need now without completely humiliating myself? When the refilled cup was offered again, Harry shook his head with a pained expression. Lying his arms across his lap, he looked at each of them, hoping one of them would understand, and quickly.

George, Fred's twin, caught on. "I think he needs the loo."

Waving his hand to get Harry's attention, he made 'follow me' motion. When Harry understood, George led him to the loo, gave him a quick demonstration on how to use it, since theirs was a bit different than most, and then left.

"How are we going to communicate our intentions?"

"I'm hoping he'll be relaxed enough while he's eating that I'll be able to implant the knowledge of the alphabet, their sounds, and how to read, into his mind."

"That's even possible?" asked Ginny

Dumbledore chuckled. "Yes, if one is strong enough, magically."

"After that, then what? We can't go around constantly writing and it would be rude to carry on conversations around him when he couldn't participate."

"In the Muggle world, there is a way to talk with your hands, a type of language using signs. Perhaps we have someone in our world who knows this language and can teach us. After all, there's bound to be someone magical who's lost their hearing, for whatever reason."

A few minutes later, Harry returned, staring warily at the group of people watching him. For the first time, he really looked at the redheaded group. The short, plump woman was clearly the mother. Her hair, though faded a bit, still carried a red tint. She had many lines upon her face but she didn't seem to care. She smiled a lot but that didn't mean anything in Harry's experience.

The oldest boys looked exactly the same. They were tall, lanky, but muscular. Their red hair hung down to their shoulders. They were quick with a smile but their eyes had a light in them that Harry had seen before and his experience wasn't pleasant. Then again, the one did show me where the loo was.

The other boy looked to be about his own size, but he was stockier. His wavy hair was cut on the longish side but it wasn't as long as the twins. The clothes likely came from him. The twins' would have been too long. Grabbing a handful of his shirt, he pointed at the boy, a question on his face. Harry watched the confusion on the boy's face melt away at something the girl said to him and he nodded, answering Harry's silent question.

Lastly, Harry's gaze landed on the girl. Where the boys had one shade of red in their hair, the girl seemed to have many shades, from light to deep red. Her hair hung down just past her shoulders. When she smiled, it seemed different, more sincere. She had dark eyes but from where he was standing, he couldn't tell anything else about them. Something about her drew him and he didn't know why. Just looking at her caused an unfamiliar tickle in his belly.

Slowly, Ginny held out her hand and took a few steps in Harry's direction. His scrutiny of her didn't bother her in the least. When he didn't move, she took a few more steps. Continuing in this manner, she stopped when she stood in front of him. Watching his eyes for any discomfort, she reached out and took his hand in hers.

Flinching slightly at the touch, he looked down at their hands, perplexed. He'd never been touched gently before and he wasn't at all sure what to make of it.

"It appears your daughter has made some kind of connection with Harry," Albus whispered. "For whatever reason, he seems to trust her."

They looked on as Ginny brought Harry back to the couch and motioned for him to sit. He did so but continued to watch them warily. Hearing a loud rumble emanate from the vicinity of Harry's stomach, Ginny picked up a small plate and filled it with apple slices and orange quarters. Holding it out to him, she watched, saddened, as two dominant needs warred with each other, the need for food and the need for caution. As before, hunger won out and Harry accepted the plate and the cup that followed.

Everyone sat, Ginny next to Harry on the couch and Dumbledore across from Harry, and took snacks and drinks themselves. As soon as Harry glanced up at the him, Dumbledore took the opportunity. Looking deep into Harry's eyes, he forged a mental link between them. Gathering all the knowledge he wanted to pass on, he broke it into small chunks and sent them individually through the link into Harry's mind.

Harry didn't know what was happening but he couldn't seem to break the old man's gaze. Suddenly, he knew things he didn't know before and it scared him. What's happening? What is he doing to me?

I'm just giving you some basic knowledge you should have already learned, a calm voice said inside Harry's head.

Letters were formed in certain ways and made sounds. Sounds formed words. Words had meanings and created sentences. Numbers flew through his head. They could be added together to make more or taken away to make less. So many things made sense now. A feeling he hadn't experienced in years, swelled inside. Excitement. He wanted to try out this new knowledge.

Slowly, the link faded out and Harry was almost sorry to see it go. Blinking, he stared at the man, curious. The man wrote on a piece of paper and turned it to Harry.

My name is Albus Dumbledore. The lady with me is Minerva McGonagall. You are in the Weasley's home. We are witches and wizards, magical people. You, too, are a wizard, Harry.

Harry took the feather, paused to inspect it a moment before putting it to paper, and methodically began to write. It looked like a 6 year old's writing but it was legible.

Is that what it's called? Those things I can do that no one else can? It's called magic?

Molly summoned a whole roll of parchment, another quill and ink. She dipped the quill into the ink and handed it to Harry. He stared at her, still wary about who these people were but his curiosity and excitement got the better of him.

Dumbledore turned the parchment back to Harry, answering the questions Harry had written and added a few of his own.

Yes, it's magic and you're a very powerful wizard. Harry, why were you alone? Where is your family?

The light left Harry's eyes and the smile slipped from his face. He'd known. He'd known he should have been wary of these strangers. Hadn't it been proven time and again that he couldn't trust anyone? Bloody hell, they give you a little food and drink and you completely toss out the window everything you've learned? Rule number one: Don't trust anyone. They all want something from you.

Harry stood, crumbled the parchment into a ball and threw it across the room. Tears of anger and sadness threatened to fall so he ran out the door he'd spotted on his way to the loo.

Accusing glares turned to the Headmaster and the aged wizard sighed. "Perhaps I pushed too quickly. I'll see if I can find him."

"Of course you did," Molly angrily ranted. "He's been thrown for a loop. From the looks of things, he's never had a reason to trust anyone since that night and here you are asking about something painful. If you want a chance of him coming back, I suggest you leave. If the kids don't find him, I'll send for you."

Weighing his options, he came to the decision that Molly could be right. Albus glanced at Ginny, hoping whatever connection she had made with Harry hadn't been severed by those thoughtless questions. He turned to his companion.

"You've been quiet."

"What's left to say? I think Molly covered it quite nicely. I'm just hoping the boy gives them another chance. If they can get through to him, perhaps it'll open the door again for us."

Dumbledore stared in the direction Harry had gone. "Let's hope for, whether he knows it or not, he's returned to a very dangerous world."