Summary: The Dursleys' fear and hate of magic grows to a whole new level when four-year-old Harry arrives on the doorstep in a different state to which he left. Then the wards on Privet Drive alert Albus Dumbledore to an emergency … What will he find?

Disclaimer: My own take on the HP world. Deal with it.

Chapter Two

by Alexannah

Harry sat frozen in the car seat, his breathing restricted from panic. Who was this man, and what did he want with him? Harry could see he was going in completely the wrong direction to take him home. He was heading in a direction Harry had never been in before, towards the countryside.

Neither of them spoke. Harry sat trembling in the back of the car while the stranger drove in silence. Harry was afraid. He didn't like this man and he just wanted to go back to Privet Drive. At least there he knew what was what.

The man drove smoothly, almost gliding through the traffic. He made no noise at all. Harry could see his profile against the window; he had sharp features, and thick black hair smoothed back from his forehead, and he wore dark sunglasses. The windows were tinted so they let in little light. Harry fidgeted on the back seat, wondering what was going to happen to him, growing more afraid by the minute.

They seemed to drive in hours. Harry desperately needed the toilet and had to keep his legs firmly crossed. It was getting dark when the stranger finally appeared to be stopping.

Hoping he would be let out soon, Harry waited nervously as the man pulled up outside an old farmhouse. It looked deserted. He switched off the engine and turned round in his seat to face Harry for the first time.

"You're quiet," he commentated in a low, smooth voice. "Normally ones your age scream their heads off and I'm nearly deaf by the time the sun sets." Harry gulped and he smiled, barely opening his mouth. "Figuratively, of course. I have excellent hearing.

Now get out." The man opened the driver's door and slid out the seat, adjusting a button that made the locks on the back doors click. "And be quick about it. I'm hungry and I don't have all night."

Harry's hands shook as he opened the door. He'd barely left his seat when the man had him pressed against the side of the car, a cold hand round his throat, half-choking him.

"Don't struggle," his attacker instructed sharply. "It'll just wear me out more and make it hurt you more. Come."

The man dragged Harry over to the barn. The door was rotten and the walls were half-gone. He kicked the panel of wood off its hinges and pulled Harry inside.

It was dark and it smelt horrible. Harry winced as the man threw him down on the hard stone floor, breathing in deeply.

"Aah," he sighed, "relief." Then he looked down at Harry, who hadn't moved, just lay shaking.

He considered him for a moment. "You're not much fun. I prefer the ones that fight back. Aren't you going to try and escape, little boy?"

Harry didn't move.

"No. Well, I suppose it does make my life easier. Up."

The voice was commanding but Harry didn't obey. He didn't know what was going on but he had a feeling he was in Very Deep Trouble.

"I said, up," the man repeated, in a soft, dangerous voice. Harry shook with fear but otherwise didn't move. The man bent down and grabbed him by the neck, pulling him to his feet.

"Stop messing around, boy. I told you I don't have all night."

Harry froze. When the man had spoken sharply, he'd caught a glimpse of something – something he'd never seen on a human before …

Albus stared blankly at the bright blue sea and soft white sand wistfully, taking in the red letters "Wish You Were Here" printed in the corner, and sighed.

"Wish you were back here," he muttered. "No, scratch that, I wish I was there." He rubbed his eyes. "Minerva, I promise you a year's supply of Ginger Newts if you just Firecall now … please." Albus watched the fire but nothing happened. He propped the postcard up on the mantelpiece and grabbed a handful of Floo powder.

"Severus, I need a break. Can you change the staff meeting till tomorrow?"

Five minutes later Albus was back where he belonged: the Quidditch pitch. He'd played Beater back when he was a student (a long time ago!) and had never lost enthusiasm for the game. Minerva and Rolanda Hooch were the only ones who could rival him as a fan. As he rounded the goalposts on his fifth lap round the pitch, the wind rippling through his hair, he felt the remainder of his headache ebb away.

If he went back now it would just return the moment he saw the mountain of work he had to do. Maybe he should just stay where he was.

Harry was breathing very hard, staring in shock down at the limp body below, one hand clasped over his neck. Drips of blood were running down his fingers and falling onto the straw.

He had just killed a man.

Harry may have been young but he knew killing someone was the worst possible thing he could ever do. Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia had always said he was bad, and they were right.

An older person or someone who had been brought up differently would have argued that it was only self-defence. But Harry didn't think about the fact that the man – the vampire – had been trying to kill him for his blood. Neither did he think that if he hadn't scrambled up to the balcony, and the vampire hadn't slipped off the edge trying to get at him and ended up impaled on a sharp piece of rusty machinery, that he would most certainly be dead now instead.

Harry shook. He was scared out of his wits. He would go to Hell for this, Aunt Petunia always said he would.

Maybe if no-one found out? Harry could run away from here and hopefully no-one would know it was him. Decision made, Harry turned and fled the barn.

He ran until he had to stop for breath, bending over and clutching a stitch in his side. It was completely dark now. Harry had no idea where to go or how to get there. He sat down at the side of a road and cried.

It seemed like forever had passed before he heard a car approaching. Scrubbing his eyes with his sleeves, he clambered awkwardly to his feet in a hurry and jumped up and down, waving and shouting.

At first the car passed him, but then it braked and reversed. Harry was so relieved to have found another human being all logical thoughts against getting into a stranger's car were gone.

The door opened and a middle-aged woman looked out at him. "Are you lost, sweetheart?"

"Yes," he started, breaking down into sobs again.

"Oh dear. Get in the car, you're far too young to be on your own at this time of night."

Harry scrambled gratefully into the passenger seat and the woman fastened his seatbelt for him. "How did you get out here on your own?"

"I ran away from home," Harry said miserably.

The woman was sympathetic but insisted on taking him back to Privet Drive ("Your family will be frantic!"), rather than an orphanage, as Harry had half-hoped. But, he thought, after he told her the address, at least at the Dursleys he knew where he stood. Other adults didn't understand and just confused him.

Harry curled up on the seat and went quiet. He could feel a dull pain beginning to build up in his mouth, and his shoulders were starting to ache. The car heater was gradually feeling more and more unpleasant.

He could tell what was happening. He wasn't stupid: he'd heard all the scary stories the kids at school liked to tell each other when the teachers weren't around, about vampires and werewolves and monsters under the bed. He knew what the man was, and he knew now that he was one too, or at least becoming one. His young mind knew it, but couldn't comprehend it properly. He, Harry James Potter, was officially a freak of nature.

If the Dursleys loved him, he thought, this was their chance to show it. They had always accused him of being a freak: well, now he was. If they were his family, they'd accept him and help him.

The woman pulled up outside Number Four. She was surprised there were no police around, but said she would take him inside to his aunt and uncle. Harry nodded, taking his seatbelt off, but as the light in the car came on he flinched – it hurt!

She looked sideways at him in the light and shrieked.

The next thing Harry knew, he'd been pushed out of the car onto the pavement, more lights were flickering on in the Dursleys' house, the woman almost backed into Number Ten's fence in her hurry, Aunt Petunia was hurrying outside to see what the commotion was, and the car was disappearing fast.

Harry lay on the pleasantly cold tarmac, breathing hard and reeling from shock. Aunt Petunia started to speak but the words died on her lips. A look of fright and confusion appeared on her face as she took in Harry's appearance.

TBC …

A/N: Did Harry seem too old in this chapter? He's meant to be four. It's difficult to write him that young from his own POV. Plus, a couple of paragraphs I edited quite late, so if it seems to flow funny just ignore it or point out which ones and how in a review.

Oops, forgot review responses ...

Review Responses for Chapter One

Silver Dog Demon: Yeah, little Harry is really cute, isn't he? He's also unbelievably hard to write!

Thanks also to skichik, adge9631, Kemowitch92, the darker girl, rosiegirl and Baldur for reviewing!

Note about reviewing: Please, for the love of Merlin, do not review simply to tell me to update! I get it all the time and am sick of it. If you review, please say what it is you did or didn't like, and bulk out your review as much as possible. Make it worth the review alert, please! As always I love guesses where the story is headed and what I'm going to do next, and helpful suggestions are always welcomed. Don't flame.
Thanks.