It was mid-August when one day he appeared in there house. He greeted them, introduced himself as Harry, and went to sit down at the table with them. They stared at him, shocked for a moment. Only moments later he was being reprimanding for trespassing. After all, he was told, he had not place there. His lips parted slightly in distress and alarm, eyes opened wide, and without a word he fled. He never returned to their home. It wasn't hard to avoid, after all, being a ways out from Little Hangleton. To think he had almost thought of them as family- but he knew better now. The only one he could trust, he had learned, was himself.

As the temperatures around Little Hangleton dropped, despite the transition of autumn into winter, Harry was still managing reasonably on his own. He slept in the small closet now, curled up in his pile of old blankets and draperies. It was warmer than the rest of the room when he kept it closed, being smaller. People spent less time outside, but there were still enough hours where they were out at work and school on weekdays for Harry to get some food, and there was always the supermarket, which was easy to rob. The main problem, currently was that it was cold, and he had no particular desire to go wandering about in it.

Besides the cold, however, life was rather repetitive. Most of the shops were small, not big enough for him to remain invisible in without getting bumped into. It didn't have, either, the sort of large bookshop the last town had, where he could sit reading for hours. It wasn't all that long before Harry found himself hanging out at the edge of town, observing the people as they hustled and bustled through their daily lives.

Around midwinter, Harry finally ventured as far as to make an appearance in a public place- a small pub in the town below his home. He was more cautious this time than he had been in the past, however, and made sure to change into one of the less ragged sets of clothes he'd brought from the orphanage in hopes of drawing less attention, and to think up a good back up story incase he was questioned.

Walking up to the counter, he ordered a small bowl of soup. Despite that he had enough food to get by, it was always non-cooked, and easily storable. It wouldn't cost all of his money, and with the cold all around, he wanted something warm.

"Would you like anything to drink with that? Hot chocolate, milk..."

"No thank you, madam. My family doesn't have much money to spare."

"Come to think of it, shouldn't you be in school?"

"Mum and Dad home school me, each evening after work. I usually just study during the day, but it's so cold..."

"I see. Well, you're welcome to hang out here, if you'd like. It's a bit loud in here, but it's warm. What's your name?"

"Harry." He hesitated for a moment, then asked, "Do you think, maybe, I could help out here during the day sometimes, in exchange for warm food? Mum and Dad work long hours to support us, but we're still always a little short on things."

She gave him a calculating glance, then questioned, "What kind of jobs are you proposing to help out with?"

"Cooking and cleaning. I've been doing my best to help out around the house since I was five."

"Eat your soup. You can come back to the kitchens afterwards if you would like, and see what you can cook."

Harry smiled, then sat down, huddled in the corner, and enjoyed the first warm meal he'd had for a long time.

All the staff at the pub had found Harry rather surprising. No one was really sure what they aught to do about him, after all, this was a child, and children aren't supposed to work, but, from the shabby clothes and genuine interest he showed in the idea of helping out here, it was obvious the kid and his family weren't well off. It was hard to tell his age, as well. His slightly longish hair and mature manner gave an impression of an age several years older than the age indicated by his size, though this was probably partly due to malnutrition.

The determining factor was that none of them had any idea of how to turn him away, so they simply settled on seeing what would happen, and keeping an eye on the child. Harry's first cooking experiment turned out to be a success. The lady from the counter allowed him to cook whatever he wanted from what they had around the kitchen, and, surprisingly, he proved quite adept at adding various ingredients and spices together. It was agreed that he would invent something for the special of each meal, and would get a portion of each himself.

Oddly enough, it was soon rather difficult to imagine what it had been like without the child. Both workers and regulars had grown fond of Harry. He was sent home, of course, before evening, when more of the shadier customers would arrive. Some visitors would even spend hours furthering his learning, or reading to him, usually the ones who were having a hard time, and needed some routine to hold their lives together.

Harry enjoyed the job a good deal. The meals he made were well liked, and brought in a variety of friendly customers, and though he didn't ever truly trust anyone there, he got warm food, entertainment, education, and company. He found it easy enough to lie convincingly, as all he had to do was recount the details of what he'd dreamt of most, back when he was truly the innocent child they saw in his place now, though that part of him had long ago faded. He did his best to act hopeful, and as if he truly had a loving family waiting for him at home. It gave everyone else hope, and he got food, and tips, and sometimes even presents, usually books. It was, truly, the most content he could remember being, and though, in truth, he was as alone as ever, in his own way, he had become a part of Little Hangleton.

There are times in life when it feels like your world is falling apart. Some things can, in very little time, change everything. It's a phenomenon Harry had experienced many times before, for someone so young. His parents deaths when he was one, the attack on Privet Drive, being dragged to the orphanage, getting tricked, ridiculed, and beaten up, running away… so many different incidents, all which were very similar in that each tore his world apart. It's a feeling that Harry would feel many times in the future, a future in which nothing ever seemed normal and it would often be a struggle just to survive. It was a feeling that he got now, as he realized that he wasn't alone in the house.

Harry had, of course, by now heard the tales of the Riddle House, where he lived, the story of how the Riddles had been found dead, with no detectable cause of death. It was a topic of discussion every now and then in the village, but Harry had continued to live there, all the same. It was, after all, home. Besides, he had always though that, if something odd or dangerous was going on, it was best that he knew, and odd things were more likely to begin here than anywhere else in Little Hangleton. Despite his knowledge of the manor's strange history, when he heard voices down stairs, he was still surprised. Focusing on not being detected, he crept downstairs. He could hear them more clearly now.

"...apply for the defense position my Lord?"

"Of course, Quirrel. We must find the location of the stone, and besides, if the Potter boy still lives, he will be attending Hogwarts this year. He was my downfall once, did you really think I'd allow him to get away with it for good, with just a pathetic scar?"

"Are you sure the boy won't prove trouble my Lord?"

"How dare you! Are you really so bothered by an eleven-year-old child, who probably doesn't even know he's a wizard? Insolent wretch." A faint whimpering was audible.

"Please, my Lord, mercy."

"If you fail me again..."

"I won't, master!"

"I'll be forced to supervise you more closely. Come now, Quirrel. We've found enough information here. My old books had all the information we'll need."

"Yes master."

The man got up and walked from the room, for indeed, there was only one person there. Harry followed, undetected. He had several reasons for doing so. To start with, he was curious. He wanted to learn more, especially about magic, or whatever it was he'd been using for the past few years. He didn't trust this person, these people, as far as he could throw them, which was not at all, and didn't think it was a good idea to let him, them, get out of his sight before he'd learned more. But first and foremost, he, or they, whichever it was, had mentioned his name, and obviously was up to something. Harry, for one, wanted to find out what.