FINDING HOME Prologue

Forest seemed so big now. Thick black trunks with ugly branches… curvy, serpental… no, wrong – serpentine. And ground – rugged, uneven. It was so hard to run, and he'd been running for so long. Out of breath, so tired. But he had to escape, he had to reach Home. No, wrong again… What home? Hog… Hog…Hoglin… Hodsworth… he couldn't remember the right word again. Words seemed to be running away, as he was running from – don't think, don't think! Danger! Bad!

There were no words, no thoughts, just fear and desperate wish to reach the Right Place. Yes! He needs to get Home, to find his place, then the pain would stop and he would be safe. And everything will be normal, nobody stalking him Enough! nobody hurting him Stop! nobody deforming him… he fell to the ground, unable to breath, his lungs constricting with panic and refusing to let the air in, throat burning from the endless scream. Water, he needed water. He raised his head and sniffed. There was definitely water somewhere near. How do I know this? He vaguely wondered and immediately got the reply: Wet, it smells wet. The rational part of his brain was there still a rational part? asked how could anyone smell water. Humans couldn't. He… it… whatever he became could. What did he become? What was done to him?

All thoughts abandoned him as soon as he saw water. He began to approach it, almost running at first, then walking, then taking small cautious steps, then bending a little, lower and lower, until he was crawling, and finally reached it with his lips. And then he looked into the water. And saw. A house elf. Simply a house elf. He saw them before, nothing scary about it. One of them, Dobby, was his friend. Then why the panic, why the sudden urge to scream? They were kind and obliging, always eager to help, to serve. The only problem was that this time it was his own reflection. The realization paralyzed him and disabled completely, depriving his poor abused mind of the last remnants of thoughts.

Bald round head, yellowish skin, his eyes – what a laugh – still green, with a difference that now they were enormous, seeming disproportional on a small face. And then he noticed the last detail. No scar. All his life he hated it so much, really wanted to get rid of it. Looked as if his wish has come true. But what did he become in return? Would anyone recognize him now? Ron, Hermione? Sirius? What would Dumbledore say if he saw him again? Ask why wasn't he in the kitchen? Because that was the place for him, the kitchen, yes. Uncle Vernon was right, he was a freak. Oh, just imagine how angry his uncle would be if he looked like that since the beginning. A freak indeed. The idea almost made him giggle, but he silenced himself in time. It would be dangerous and stupid to make a sound in this place. Besides, he doubted if he would be able to stop this giggling before it turned into real hysterics. Alright, time to calm down. He came here to drink. No thoughts anymore, it was too dangerous. Thinking about his present condition would surely drive him mad, he was not ready to think. Yet.

Now water. Drinking. Tasty, so tasty, so good. He wanted to plunge into it, dark, glistening surface of the pool beckoning to him, calling, expecting. But some ancient instinct immediately told him that not the pool waited for him, but something inside. He could feel hungry eyes lingering on his skin, sticking and staining him. Danger! How stupid it was to get so distracted, to forget that the forest was full of them, hungry, greedy creatures waiting for careless victims. Very slowly, he began to retreat. He didn't dare to stand, to rise from the ground, he just crawled away, inch by inch. Escape to the closest bushes that provided at least some kind of safety took awhile, five minutes or half an hour, he couldn't tell.

As soon as the pool was hidden from his view he leapt to his feet and the mad race began again. Obviously, this might-have-been meeting with something helped him in a way, and this time he knew the right direction, knew where the Good Place was. There were no doubts, no fear, only a need to get there, urging him to speed up. He stopped noticing his surroundings; he would never find the road back even if he wanted to. He couldn't even say whether he was in a forest or in a field, was it night or day. There was a dim feeling that it was dark at first, then light, and then dark again, but he was not sure.

Suddenly it was over. He slammed into something, not exactly hard, but warm and solid nevertheless. He bounced back, managing by some miracle to keep his balance, and looked upward. There was the Man standing in front of him, tall and tow-head. The Man regarded him with a casual glance, apparently decided that the disastrous condition of his now soiled robe was far more important and began to brush off his clothes unhurriedly, confident that the creature would stay in place. On completion of the task, the Man returned attention to him and asked quirking his eyebrow: "Who is your master, elf?"

And before the question was finished, Harry already knew two things: that he had found a Home and that his Master was Lucius Malfoy.