Hello, dear reader!

I hope you will enjoy discovering the first chapter of my first fan-fiction ever! I will try to post weekly (maybe even twice a week if I manage). As you will perhaps notice while reading, English is not my first language. I will be trying to write as well as I can, but if I let mistakes slip, I am already apologizing for it!

Enjoy your reading!

The Author

Chapter 1

It was eleven in the evening, rain was pouring and the movie she had gone seeing was the worst she had seen in ages. She only wished for dry, comfy pajamas and a hot cup of tea. And then, straight to bed! she thought with a smile.

At nineteen, Helen was a very homely person. She had had her fair share of adventures and misfortunes when she was still very young and was now very intent on living a quiet life. The book inspired form her past had met some success when it was first released three years prior and still made enough money to allow her to live without any worry. Consequently, she indulged herself in staying at home reading or writing most of the day. Once or twice a week she went to the movies. Every two weeks she took the train to London and visited the museum or went to see a play or an opera. This routine kept her satisfied. She did not have much friend, but the bunch of girls she regularly had tea or dinner with were enough in her eyes.

However, on this fateful day of November 1987, Helen was about to make an encounter that would change her life irrevocably. As she arrived at last in front of the little building her apartment was in, she saw something move behind the bins. Her first instinct was to rush inside the building. It was probably a neighbor's cat. But she then thought it might be mice. And as repulsive the idea was, she ought to check. Because if there were mice I around the building, then she ought to tell it at the next co-owners reunion. She braced herself and peered behind the bins.

She froze. A little protected from the wind and the rain by the bins was a young raven- haired boy staring at her with wide, frightened green eyes. She took it all in in one look, the worn, baggy t-shirt and jeans, the large hand-shaped bruise on his left cheek and the tension seizing the little boy under her gaze.

"Hi, little one" she said as softly as possible. "What are you doing here, and this late?" As he stayed silent, she continued: "you can't be comfortable there. Shouldn't you be home?" She was beginning to feel slightly unnerved under the child's gaze, which was now a bit less frightened and a bit inquisitive, as if trying to determine whether he could speak to her or not. "My name is Helen" she added. "I only want to help you, little one."

"I'm Harry" the boy whispered. "I, I… I can't go home."

"Why not, dearest?"

"Uncle Vernon said: I don't want to see you freak in my house ever again!"

Helen couldn't help but wonder at what kind of man would tell such a thing to a young child but then her eyes fell on the bruise on the boy's face and she thought it was indeed quite consistent.

"Well, it doesn't sound very nice" she conceded. "I'm sure it can be sorted out but you can't stay here all night, that is for sure. Would you like to come to my flat? It's just up there, on the fifth floor. You could have something to eat, a nice hot bath and sleep in the guest room. What do you say?"

She extended her hand for the boy to take. He stared at it for a few seconds. "You won't hurt me?"

"No, dearest, I promise."

Harry seemed satisfied with her earnest answer because he got on his feet and grabbed her hand quickly and whispered a soft "ok". Helen led the way to the building's entrance. While they silently went up the staircase, she studied the boy discreetly. He seemed very small and skinny under his baggy clothes and had a slight limp in his left leg. She hoped, though it seemed quite obvious, that the uncle Harry spoke of was not the reason behind the boy's thinness, limp and shyness.

When they got to the flat, Helen directed the boy to the kitchen. "Would you like something to eat? I have some soup leftover in the fridge, do you want me to heat it?" Harry seemed to ponder on the question. "You're really welcome to have it if you're hungry, dearest."

"I don't want to be a burden, Miss Helen."

"Nonsense, you sweet boy! You're not a burden! Soup it is then, and maybe some bread and cheese to, eh? And you don't have to call me Miss, Harry, just Helen is fine!"

While the soup was heating in a pot over the stove, Helen had to convince her wayward guest that she was totally fine with him sitting in a chair by the table, that he did not have to help her prepare the meal nor to avoid touching the table for fear of dirtying it by shear contact with his hand. At last, she got him settled in front of a steaming bowl of soup with a slice of bread, a slice of cheese and a big glass of milk on the side. Harry seemed amazed at the meal he was served and finally found the courage to dig in. After that, there was no stopping him. He ate ravenously, as someone who had not eaten in days, and so quickly that Helen felt obliged to warn him that he would be sick if he continued in that way. Once she had assured him she wasn't going to take the food back, Harry slowed down a bit.

While he ate, Helen couldn't help but have a very worrying feeling that this meal was perhaps his actual first meal in days. She did not dare ask though, for the boy was so shy she was afraid of frightening him with too many questions. When he assured her he was full, Helen offered him a bath. He agreed very reluctantly. Once in the bathroom, while she drew the bath, the boy stood silent, becoming obviously more anxious by the second.

"What are you afraid of, Harry?" Helen asked kindly.

"Water hurts" he mumbled.

Helen could not help but feel a bit triumphant at how quick the boy had responded. Half an hour ago, she practically had to pull every word out of his mouth! "Well, it shouldn't. It won't be too warm nor to cold. Want to test it?" And saying so she pulled her hand in the bath, then softly put her wet hand on Harry's one.

The boy's face lightened: "it's not freezing!"

"See, I told you so. Now, we 're going to get you undressed and in the bath."

Was it his now full stomach or the late hour? Or the fact that Helen had been kinder and more patient to him in the last hour than anyone he could remember? Whatever it was, Harry let Helen undress him without the frightfulness he exhibited earlier. The young woman was internally celebrating this new surge of confidence when she froze. Under the old t-shirt, Harry was all skin and bones. His ribs pointed sharply under his pale skin. But the worst were the bruises, some new, some fading, littering his torso and back. There were also some scars that seemed to have been made by a whip or a belt and three angry gashes on the boy's back. Helen felt suddenly sick and tears came flooding in her eyes. She pinched her lips and slowly undid the boy's trousers. He did not even wear underpants. His bottom and legs were in the same sorry state as his upper-body.

"Who hurt you, Harry?" she asked in a trembling voice. The child looked at her with alarm in his eyes. "You can tell me, dearest, I swear. Whoever they are, I will make sure they'll not be allowed to touch you ever. I promise. I promise, little one…"

"I… I'm not allowed to tell. They will be so mad, if I tell." He was worrying his hands fretfully and tears were swelling in his eyes.

"It's alright, I understand. You don't have to tell me if you're afraid but… You really can tell me. I am going to protect you, Harry, it is a promise."

Seeing she was going nowhere but frightening the boy, she gathered him in her arms and put him in the bath. Harry had tensed at the physical contact but relaxed quickly in the lukewarm water. She softly began washing the poor, abused body, then the boy's greasy hair. While at it, she sang in a soft old nursery rimes she remembered from her own childhood. The warmth of the bath, of Helen's touch and voice made Harry sleepy and he remained relaxed when she took him out of the bath, cleaned the gashes and put some cream on his bruises. Finally, she dressed him in one of her t-shirts and tugged him tightly in the guestroom's bed. As she lightly kissed him goodnight, the little boy whispered: "it was Uncle Vernon, Mummy…"