It had been four years since Aria's first encounter with the lonely boy across the street. She had grown into a confident, striking girl, who learned at an early age that there was darkness in the world. Her innocent belief in all things magical and good in this life had ended as soon as she locked eyes with the green-eyed boy. He was alone, he was afraid, and the scars that were seen across his back and in his eyes gave witness that it had been like this for a long while.

To Aria, Harry was perfect. He was kind and soft hands that waved wildly in the air when he was talking about something really exciting. So it did not make sense that her new small, wonderful playmate would have large, discolored bruises along his arms or that when they had midnight picnics and Aria brought over nearly everything in her pantry, Harry would stare at the lumpy tomatoes and stale pumpernickel bread as if it were a feast. After eating and eating, he always looked green and dashed over to the sink to throw up everything he had just consumed. At first, Aria thought he was sick, but after the third or fourth time it happened, she realized that poor Harry was just not used to eating much at all, and his stomach could not handle it.

It was hard to reveal her new secret to her papa, but thinking about how sad and hurt Harry looked during their nightly meetings, brought out her fierce, protective side. How come she could be happy with her lilac colored comforter when her new friend slept with ratty blankets? How could she bear it that there was no prickly-faced papa for Harry to hug, and no fun older brother who preformed magic tricks?

So she did confess to her leaving the house that night and running across the street without holding hands with anybody. But papa's angry eyes were not directed at her as she continued talking about the Lonely Boy across the street. He instead began pacing, back and forth across the worn, striped rug and finally threw up his hands at the mentioning of Harry's sleeping place underneath the stairs.

Four years had passed, four long years of attempting to try to get someone out there to see young Harry. No higher up official or child care services even blinked in the direction of Number four Pivet Drive. Nobody seemed to care, almost as if a spell had been cast over little Harry to make everyone ignore his plight.

That did not stop Aria and her papa from trying. Things did not look so good legally, but Aria had given herself a job of helping Harry smile. His smile was very small and sweet, and the way he crinkled his nose made Aria want to take his calloused hands and spin him around.

Years passed, and while Harry only seemed to grow slighter and his glasses frame broken in even more pieces; something did change in the young boy. His eyes, still as green as ever, now had a fierce vitality in them when before they had only shown defeat. His hair was still tangled and angry, yet Harry stood taller and he held his head so that instead of glancing at the ground at the first sign of confrontation, he stared the world in the face.

This may have resulted in more harsh bruises that marred his almost ethereal beauty, and it certainly caused Harry to be punished in the forms of chores and harsh verbal scoldings, but it is in this author's humble opinion that without this renewal of spirit that came to pass because of a young girl, Harry would have been lost for good. Because how could a child survive without permanent scars, such a life of pain without a reason to live? Without someone who loved him. Without someone that showed him that his treatment was not deserved and normal, but truly terrible.

So Harry had been saved, maybe not by the beatings or poisonous environment he was forced to endure, but he was saved from the dark, lonely magic that almost consumed him that night four years ago.

He had his angel, and it was going to be all right.