A/N - WOW - over 100 reviews! You guys are the best - thanks so much! I'm completely blown away...

Due to a few questions regarding Abaddon's sexuality...THERE IS NO YAOI/SLASH IN THIS STORY.

Anyways...onto the story - I hope you enjoy.

The Track of a Storm

By Lady Taliesin

James Potter died on October 31, 1981. But when, nearly six years later, Lord Voldemort invokes an ancient magic to restore himself to a body, James is drawn back into a world where everything he knows is gone, and everyone he cares about believes him dead…

Disclaimer – Y'all know the drill…it's all Jo Rowling's, not mine. Sue and you'll get nothing, nada, zippo, zilch…in other words, don't bother trying.

The Track of a Storm

Chapter 9 – The Boy-Who-Lived

July 31, 1987

Harry squinted against the late afternoon sun, swinging his legs idly as he watched a large bird circle lazily overhead, then swoop down onto Wisteria Walk. A soft breeze was blowing past him, brushing against his bare feet and rustling his mussy, jet black hair.

"Oi! Potter!"

Distracted, Harry glanced down from his perch at the top of the slide in the nearly abandoned playground. His cousin, Dudley Dursley, was standing at the foot of the slide, surrounded by his group of friends and leering up at him. "I said he'd be here." said Dudley triumphantly, looking back down to trade knowing looks with his friends. "Didn't I say he'd be here?"

"Uh-huh."

"Yeah, you did."

"He's always here, isn't he? He's got no friends."

Harry cleared his throat, and they all – Dudley, Piers, Gordon and Dennis – looked up at him. "Aunt Petunia said I could come." said Harry bravely, adjusting his glasses slightly and trying his best to glare down at them. "I asked her."

"Oh, yeah?" sneered Dudley. "You didn't ask me." His friends guffawed, as though he'd said something particularly clever. Harry frowned, his emerald green eyes narrowing slightly.

"I'm not leaving." he said loudly. The laughter from Dudley's gang slowly died off.

His piggy eyes glaring furiously up at Harry, Dudley scowled and pointed one fat finger up at his cousin. "We want to use the slide." he said threateningly, pushing Piers Polkiss, a scrawny boy no taller than Harry who had a face like a rat's, towards the ladder leading up to the steep, rusted metal slide. "Get him off, Piers."

Harry watched unconcernedly as Piers grinned toothily and began to scramble up the metal ladder. The slide was old and nearly broken down – it was swaying slightly even in the gentle breeze blowing over the tops of the houses and through the trees, and Harry, his bare feet sticking out under the low railing on the slide platform, doubted that any of Dudley's friends would be able to climb all the way up, much less slide down.

"Hey, Potter! It's your birthday, isn't it? Didn't you get any presents, or anything?"

Harry turned slowly to look back down at the group standing at the base of the slide – Gordon Jenkins was leering up at him, his pudgy arms crossed in front of his chest. "I got all sorts of presents for my birthday. I got a remote-control truck, and a bike, and a bulldog, even. My parents got 'em for me, but you couldn't get any presents from your parents 'cause your parents are dead." He laughed. "Bet they died 'cause they didn't want you, Potter. Probably wanted to get rid of you 'cause they hated you, so they died."

Now all of Dudley's gang was laughing, even Piers, who had by now managed to climb halfway up the ladder. His eyes stinging with tears, Harry pulled his legs back and sat huddled up on the platform, glaring at Gordon and Dudley and all the rest of them.

"They did not." he whispered, his voice trembling as he shook his head furiously. "You're lying."

"I don't blame 'em, 'cause, see, everybody hates you, Potter…"

"They didn't hate me!" said Harry loudly, wiping his eyes quickly so that Dudley and his friends wouldn't know he was crying. "And, and Mrs. Figg likes me, and other people do too…"

"Yeah? Then why don't they come and visit you, then? My aunt says she loves me too, and she comes and sees me, but nobody wants to come and see you. Not even any uncles or anything."

"He doesn't have any, any…relatives. They're all dead, that's why he had to come and stay with us. That's what Mum says." Dudley glowered up at Harry. "She says it was 'a very, very…chartible act, taking someone like him in.'"

Gordon looked over at Dudley, his brow furrowed. "What's chartible mean?"

"Means helpful." piped up Dennis. The rest of the group nodded and looked back up at Harry.

"I wouldn't of been chartible." said Gordon, voicing the general opinion of the gang.

"Hey, Potter!" Piers had finally managed to reach the top of the ladder – wiping his eyes hurriedly again and swiveling around, Harry glared at him.

"I'm not getting down." he said stubbornly, his emerald green eyes flashing. "You can't make me."

Piers grinned toothily. "Oh, yeah?"

Harry grabbed onto the low railing circling the platform, bracing himself as Piers shot forward and tried to shoulder him off. Unable to make Harry so much as budge, Piers instead grabbed Harry's arm, wrenching him away from the railing and managing to shove him onto the slide before Harry could react.

"I'm not – getting – down!" hissed Harry, twisting himself and bracing himself against the slide before Piers could push him down. Piers' grin widened.

"You're just Potter, Potter. You do what we say, 'member?" Backing up to the far edge of the platform, Piers ran towards Harry, slamming into him and sending both of them hurtling down the slide.

With a loud thump Harry shot off the slide and hit the ground – a moment later Piers shot out too, landing right on top of him. In an instant Dudley, Gordon, and Dennis helped Piers back to his feet and were standing in a rough circle around Harry, who sat up and was shaking his head dazedly.

"Should we chase him, Dudley?" asked Piers eagerly, scooting forward slightly and nudging Harry with his foot.

"It's his birthday." said Dennis hesitantly, his arms crossed over his chest as he looked down at Harry, who had pushed himself up to a crouch and was glaring up at them. "Might not be nice, chasing him on his birthday."

Dudley, Gordon, and Piers turned to stare at him incredulously. "He's Harry." said Gordon, as though this explained everything. Dennis wilted.

"Yeah, right." he mumbled, shuffling his feet and trying to avoid the rest of the gang's eyes. "Just Harry."

Dudley turned back to Harry, a malicious grin on his face as he grabbed Harry's arm and yanked him to his feet.

"Should we give him a, a…start?"

"Nah."

"He's not running, Dudley! Make him run!"

Harry wrapped his arms around himself and shivered as Dudley and his gang closed around him, blinking back tears and trying not to sniffle. He hated it when Dudley and his gang picked on him, hated it when they made a special point of seeking him out to torment him.

"Leave me alone." he whispered.

Dudley's gang stood in shocked silence for a moment. Then Dudley, his piggy eyes narrowing furiously, grabbed Harry's arm and yanked him out of the circle. "Run, Potter!" he yelled, shoving Harry forward. Harry stumbled and nearly fell forward again. "Run!"

Not seeing any other choice, Harry ran.

Sprinting past Gordon and Piers, Harry didn't bother to pick up his shoes, which were lying at the foot of a faded old park bench, and ran as fast as he could away from Dudley and away from Dudley's friends and away from everything. Tears were trickling from his eyes and his throat was tightening, but he only ran faster, out of the park and across the deserted street.

By the time he stopped running he was gasping for breath, his feet were torn up and his face was streaked with dirt and tears. Wiping his face hurriedly on the sleeve of his too-large shirt, he looked around him for the first time.

He was in a back alley he had never seen before. Rusted old garbage cans and graffitied brick walls enclosed either side of him, along with broken-down old bikes, an ancient sofa which looked as though a large dog had ripped it to shreds, and a lingering smell which spoke of mounds of trash and neglect. There was an odd mist rising from the cracked pavement and idly drifting and spiraling up to the cracked and broken windows, and Harry, stumbling backwards, could feel it slowly seeping into his skin and numbing him.

Harry staggered back further, nearly stepping onto a pile of broken glass as he pressed himself back against the wall. "H-hello?" he whispered, his voice quavering slightly. Nobody answered. "Hello?" he called again, louder this time.

"Hello, Harry."

Harry whirled around, gasping and pressing himself as tightly back against the wall as he could. A man was strolling leisurely towards him out of the mist on the far end of the alleyway, and Harry could see, almost completely concealed by the haze, two figures standing behind him.

"W-who are you?" whispered Harry tremulously. The man, now close enough to reach out and touch Harry, laughed.

He had long, light brownish-red hair, which hung down nearly to his waist and was tied back into a loose ponytail. His face was pale and handsome, but he was smiling at Harry with an odd mixture of pleasantness and cruel amusement. His eyes were hooded in shadow, and he was wearing… – Harry frowned confusedly. He looked like he was wearing a loose black dress

He squatted down in front of Harry so that they were eye to eye. "My name is Abaddon." he said softly, reaching out with the sleeve of his dress – no, not a dress… Harry realized with a jolt. He was wearing robes – and gently wiping Harry's face. "Do you remember me?"

Harry shook his head slowly, and the man sighed. "No, my dear, I didn't think you would. I'm one of your dad's friends."

Harry froze. "You, you knew my d-dad?"

Abaddon nodded and smiled brightly at Harry. "Yes, I did. You look very much like him, you know. Except for your eyes, hmm."

Harry's mind was whirling so fast he didn't know what to say. At last he stammered, "W-why are you here?"

Abaddon laughed and clapped Harry gently on the shoulder. "My darling, we've come to take you away."

Before he could stop himself Harry was backing hurriedly away from Abaddon, panting slightly as he stumbled backwards and gazed at Abaddon with wide, frightened emerald-green eyes. "You, you're going to k-kidnap me?" he whispered, horrorstruck.

Abaddon looked astonished and slightly hurt that Harry would suggest any such thing. "Oh, Harry my dear, of course not. Why would we do that, hmm? I just want to take you away from your horrid aunt and uncle. James Potter's son deserves much more than that."

Harry stopped backing away, but was still staring at Abaddon with frightened eyes. "This, this is my home." he whispered. "And, and I d-don't think I want to l-leave, thanks."

One of the men behind Abaddon began to step threateningly forward, but Abaddon gestured him back with a wave of his hand. "Of course you don't have to leave." he said soothingly, squatting down in front of Harry again and cupping Harry's face in his hand. "I just hoped you might want to live with me, instead. I think your father would want you to come with me, my dear. He would want you to live with people who care about you."

"But, the Dursleys –"

"Oh, we've already told them." lied Abaddon, smiling slightly as Harry's eyes began to flicker with hope. "They don't mind, Harry. Would you like to see something?" He reached into the pocket of his robes and pulled something out. Squinting through the semi-darkness and the mist, Harry saw that it was a pair of silver, oval-shaped glasses. "These were your father's. Would you like to try them on?"

Before he could stop himself Harry nodded eagerly. Still smiling, Abaddon slipped off Harry's glasses and put James' on. Harry blinked – the glasses were several sizes too large, and were threatening to slip off the bridge of his nose. Abaddon's smile widened.

"You really do look just like him, darling."

One of the men behind Abaddon coughed. "Abaddon, someone's coming…"

Abaddon's smile grew fixed, and his eyes – still in shadow – locked onto Harry's. "Do you want to come with us, my dear? You need to decide now, I'm afraid."

Harry wavered for a moment, taking his dad's glasses off and turning them over and over in his hands. At last he looked up, squinting as he tried to focus on Abaddon. "Al-alright." he whispered hesitantly. Abaddon beamed.

"Marvelous, darling. Take my hand, then, and we can go."

Still hesitating, Harry grabbed Abaddon's hand. It was cold to the touch, but Harry held on tightly and closed his eyes. And then, all of a sudden, there was a loud crack.

It felt as though he was being squeezed through a long, narrow tube. His eyes felt like they would pop out of his head, or squeeze back into his skull, and his insides were being squeezed and tightened inside of him – he couldn't breath, he didn't dare open his eyes to see, and just when he thought he couldn't take any more it was all over.

A cool, crisp night breeze was blowing past him, the muted sounds of traffic carrying to him on the night air. Opening his eyes, Harry saw that they were standing beneath a tall, lit streetlight, which was casting an aura of comfortable orange light on the pavement around them.

Harry tightened his grip on Abaddon's hand. "Wh-what?" he stammered, stuffing his own glasses back on and gazing around with terrified eyes. "H-how –"

"Don't worry, Harry darling." murmured Abaddon delicately, stepping forward and half-dragging Harry after him. "We just apparated. We won't have to do it again, though."

"What –"

"Quiet!" snapped Abaddon sternly, the pleasant look on his face fading as he scowled. "Something's –"

Abaddon broke off as, for the second time that night, a loud crack split the air. Abaddon whirled around, pushing Harry behind him as he drew a thin stick of wood out of his pocket. There was absolute silence for a moment.

"Come out, come out, wherever you are…" murmured Abaddon, his eyes darting back and forth in front of him. The silence continued, and finally Abaddon sighed. "I have the boy, you know…" he said loudly. "And, if you don't come out right now, I'll kill the darling."

Harry, horrified, gasped and tried to turn, to wrench himself free of Abaddon – but now he was frozen in place, unable to move or utter a sound.

There was still no reply, so Abaddon sighed again and drew something else out of the pocket of his robes. It was a knife. "Very well, then." He turned to Harry, and for the first time Harry could see his eyes. They were the same color as his hair, a deep, reddish-brown, but in the orange light trickling down from the streetlamp they looked as though they were glinting with madness. "I'm sorry to have to do this, my darling." murmured Abaddon, pressing the knife up to Harry's throat. "Poor James will be so upset, won't he?" Abaddon laughed, and pressed the tip of the knife against Harry's neck so that a small trickle of blood ran slowly down onto the knife. He leaned closer to Harry so that he was whispering in Harry's ear. "Happy Birthday, Harry."

"NO!"

Abaddon whirled around, his knife still pressed tightly against Harry's throat as his face broke into a smile. A man was stepping out of the shadows in front of them, his face chalk white and his hands visibly trembling. "Remus Lupin!" said Abaddon, sounding surprised. "Hmm…I wasn't expecting you, my dear…"

"Let Harry go." whispered Remus hoarsely, his golden-brown eyes darting between Abaddon and Harry. Abaddon clucked his tongue impatiently.

"My darling, I can't let the boy go just because you're here. That would be silly." Abaddon cocked his head, a wistful smile coming onto his face. "Do you remember me, Remus? We met seven years ago, I think. In London." Abaddon's wistful smile grew wider. "I nearly killed you. I would have, too, if it weren't for dear little Sirius and James. What a pity."

"Let Harry go." repeated Remus roughly, taking another step forward. He too was holding a narrow stick of wood, though he was dressed more normally in a shabby but well cared for overcoat, trousers, and an old shirt.

"Didn't I just tell you I can't?" said Abaddon exasperatedly, pressing the knife a bit tighter against Harry's throat. "Remus, Remus…put your wand down; I don't want to have to kill you too, my dear…" Remus glared at him, his amber-colored eyes narrowing dangerously.

"You so much as touch Harry…," he growled warningly.

Abaddon smiled pleasantly. "It's a little late for that, darling, don't you think?" Wrapping his arm around Harry's neck, Abaddon raised his wand and said silkily, "Accio portkey!"

"Isn't it funny, Remus?" continued Abaddon amiably, tucking his wand back into his pocket while his other arm maintained his chokehold on Harry. "Our lovely little Harry here came with me because I said I was one of James' friends, and here you are! A little too late to save him though, I think." Abaddon turned as a bouquet of scarlet roses shot towards him – Remus paused for a fraction of a second, then lunged forward, his hand brushing Harry's arm just as Abaddon caught the bouquet.

Remus' hand tightened on Harry's arm as he felt a familiar jerk around his navel. The world disappeared in a howl of sound and swirling color, and they were gone.


A/N - Duhduhduhn...

Sorry the reviews are out of order, but I was trying to get this posted as quickly as possible. Anyways - thanks all for reviewing, you are the BEST, please keep it up!

Next Update - Into the Dungeons. In which Remus recieves a rather unfair choice, major problems ensue, and the Harry-Remus bonding begins. Coming soon.