A/N: So yet another fanfic I came up with while drinking cola and eating Oreos while watching the Harry Potter and The Goblet of Fire trailer. Not sure exactly how or why I decided to go with this, but I've read a lot of APH/HP crossover fics to see a general plot patterning in them. APH characters as students/teachers, Harry being raised by the nations (which is awesome to read, I'm not saying any of them are bad), etc. I wanted to try something different, so I came up with this. No idea how it is going to turn out, but that's the fun of storytelling.

Keep in mind that this has not been edited much, so expect grammar mistakes and the like in some areas. I will re-post each chapter as they are edited. I also accept critism, but please not that flames will be used as a substitute for the Incendio spell (this is what happens when you grow up with the Harry Potter PC games alongside the books and movies (somewhat for the movies) - the first three games were the best, the fourth awesome for multi-player, and the last three I never played). I think that now would be a good time to mention that this story will also incorporate parts of the game as well.

As a side note, I am still working on my other stories (Lupin Italian Bella, Forbidden Castle, and HetaKingdom). However, my laptop for school has been out of use for a while now, the battery dead and no longer working. :( So I have to wait to get a new one before I update Lupin Italian Bella and Forbidden Castle.

Please note that because of school being my top priority, I will take time to update as I have with other stories. They are not dead, unless I have otherwise stated.

Now, in exchange for my unfairly long author`s note, I hope you enjoy!

R&R Please! :3

Harry snorted angrily as he pulled at yet another stubborn weed, this one keen on intending staying in the garden. With another swear word and a hard yank, he wrenched the little plant from the earth. Panting in triumph, he threw it onto the steadily growing pile, searching for another imperfection amongst the flowers. They were a special kind given to Aunt Petunia from Aunt Marge during her trip to the Far East. Peonies, they were called; she got them while travel about in China.

Pale pink and already full in bloom, they sat row upon row neatly and organized. He groaned; so much like his aunt and uncle to be perfectionists. If anything was out of place, or didn't fit in, all hell broke loose. Naturally, his life with the two of them on a daily basis; his cousin made things no easier.

Pulling up three more weeds, he sighed and wiped his brow.

His relatives were out for a week and a half, visiting Aunt Marge during her visit to London. Obviously not wanting to bring him along, but not keen on trusting him on his own, they had left Mrs. Figg, the cat obsessed neighbour, in charge of monitoring his presence while they were away. She didn`t stay in the house, too worried for her "precious kitties", but check up on him every two to four hours. Honestly, it was a bit annoying, but better than having to stay with her and listen to the woman drone on and on about her felines. Not to mention, having the house to himself meant the most amount of freedom he'd had for any summer. Well, were it not for the fact that the Dursleys had him set about with a list of chores he was went to do before they got back (thank, and they regularly kept in with Mrs. Figg to make SURE he was doing it and not slacking off).

Sighing, he wiped his hands on his trousers, rising to his feet. Blinking away the sweat from his eyes, he trekked over the shed, fumbling slightly with the highly polished lock. After weeding, he was supposed to spread fertilizer over the garden, but to his dismay, upon entering the shed he found that they were completely out of said item.

Exiting and locking the door, he realized he would have to go out and buy the stuff himself. Walking back to the house, he stopped when he felt something flick past his cheek. Looking to the side, he saw a pale pink petal float innocently to the ground. Shrugging his shoulders, he went into the house and searched around for the small amount of money his Aunt and Uncle had left for food and other supplies. Quite frankly, he was surprised they hadn't let him starve, but he guessed they didn't want anyone getting suspicious if he got desperate enough to beg (which he hoped he wouldn't).

Grabbing a bit of change, he took a moment to wash off his hands and face before heading out. The sun was bright and hot on this mid-July afternoon, warming him from head to toe. His skin was already tanned from earlier, baked from being in the heat all morning. He was sure he was sunburnt somewhere on his body.

The town had been busy with bustling people going about on their business. The garden shop had been moderately filled with customers, but not as much as it was during Monday or Friday. Paying for his things, Harry left the store and continued back up the street.

The smell of tea wafted through the air, an exotic scent lingering in his nostrils. Curious, he turned to glance at the little tea shop across the street. His stomach growled, reminded him that he had not eaten yet. Figuring he could get a scone or two, he crossed the road to the small shop.

The woman greeted him at the counter with a cheery smile.

"Good afternoon, my dear! Is there anything you would like?" she said.

"Ummm…" he glanced at the board sitting by the counter. "What's today's special?"

"Oh, its two tea biscuits, scones, or any of the baked good on the shelf over there" –she pointed to the display left – "with the purchase of any green, herbal, or speciality tea".

He thought for a moment.

"What is the speciality tea?" he asked, feeling a little curious.

"Today's is called "Ying De Yong". It's a black tea originating from China. Cocoa-like in scent, it has a sweet after taste. Very nice, if I do say so myself" she said.

"Huh. I'll try that, then" Harry nodded in consideration.

Smiling, they woman went to go prepare the beverage, leaving Harry alone to choose the other two items from the display. Deciding on a biscuit and a scone, he waited for her to return before paying her.

"You know…It's funny," she said to him, "This morning I had the strangest desire to make that particular tea, and I can't figure out why! Something just perked me to do it… strange. But it's very lovely, so I'm not complaining".

Smiling at him again, she waved at him as he left the store. Walking down the street, he sipped a bit at the hot tea, wondering what exactly he had been thinking when he decided to get a HOT beverage on a sweltering summer's day. Oh well, it was rumoured that hot stuff was better for you when you were boiling anyways. Why though, he would never know.

Sitting on a bench for a moment, he let his legs rest briefly. Staring up at the sky, he could see the sun moving more and more to the east. Right now, it should be about four o'clock. Sighing, he shook the bangs from his eyes, returning to his drink. Resting his eyes for a moment, he let himself feel drowsy for a few when something nudged his elbow.

Blinking open an eye, he glanced down lazily before nearly jumping away, startled. At his feet sat a large dog, its gaze hungry and begging for food. He took a good look at the animal; its fur was filthy, covered in mud and grime, hindering him from properly identifying the exact breed it was. It was probably a mutt, but its body and appearance seemed slightly wolf-like. But it was the canine's eyes that struck him; deep pools of pure gold, swirling with great age and wisdom, far more than he had ever seen on any animal or human for that matter.

He felt himself shiver slightly; he got a strange feeling when he made contact with them, like they were staring straight into his heart.

Shaking the thought away, he noticed the animal edging its snout closer to his tea. Nervously, he moved his arm out of the way; the dog whined in protest, standing on its hind legs and placing its filthy paws on the bench. Harry tried to get away again, yet the canine still moved closer to him by the inch. The banter continued until Harry was at the edge of the bench and the dog was now standing upon it, nose inches from his own.

Worried as to what he should do in this situation, he tried to shoo the stray (he assumed it was anyways) but the animal was persistent. Giving in, he sighed in defeat and took out the scone from his bag. Holding it cautiously in front of its face, he waited for the animal to take it, but it suddenly whined and turned away. He blinked in confusion; it was almost like the dog was trying to avoid the food.

Returning the scone back into the paper bag, he pulled out the cookie and tried that instead. This time, the dog sniffed it eagerly, taking it a second later. Harry stared in astonishment and amazement at the way the animal devoured it so quickly. Licking its jowls, the dog wagged its tail happily seeming pleased at finally having something to eat.

Harry felt a twinge of pity towards the animal; it looked worse for wear, slightly skinny, and filthy as anything. The way it way it was now gave the impression of neglect; he could relate in his life. Unsure as to why he was doing this, he opened the top of his cup and handed the tea to the canine. The dog yipped happily, plopping down on the bench and putting its paws around the cup. Harry watched interestedly; it was like the animal was trying to hold the drink the way a human would with a pair of hands. Snickering, he amusedly observed as it lapped at the liquid gratefully.

Checking his watch, he noticed the time was closing in on evening. Rising to his feet, he stretched and retained a firmer hold on his goods. Giving one last look at the dog, still having at the tea, he started once more down the street, not noticing the canine's head shoot up the moment he left.

The walk home took him about half an hour, the sun already sinking low in the evening sky by the time he reached Privet Drive. Wiping the sweat from his brow, Harry made for the house when something nudged against his leg. Glancing down, he realized in astonishment and dismay that he had been followed. The dog from earlier wagged its tail contently, staring up at him with a golden gaze.

Frowning and mentally slapping himself, Harry tried to dismiss the animal.

"Shoo, go on! I don't have anything else" he said, "I can't have you following me anymore, you need to go home".

The moment he said the last two words, the dog whined and barked loudly. Panicking, the boy tried to calm the upset canine, but it continue to protest against his actions. Unsure as to what he should do, he – reluctantly – gave in. His Aunt and Uncle would kill him for this, that much was certain.

The dog looked at him hopefully, tail wagging as he turned and headed to the house. He half-hoped the animal wouldn't follow his lead, but his hopes were drained when it trotted behind him in his wake. Fumbling with the keys, he mumbled to himself about being stupid, the dog sitting obediently at his feet.

Unlocking the door, he barely had time to register what to do when the dog rushed past him and charged headlong into the house. Panic hitting him like a ton of bricks, he ran in after it, hoping to catch it before it made a mess. It didn't wander far; within seconds he found it standing in the centre of the kitchen, gazing oddly at the clock.

Thinking fast, Harry went over to the back door, sliding it open and calling out for the dog.

If he was going to have it in the house, it might as well be clean. The canine looked up at him, coming to his call a second later.

Heaving the large tub into the middle of the lawn, Harry huffed and puffed in exhaustion. That thing had been heavy, and even more of a trouble just to find it. Nearby, the dog watched him contently, not what he expected it to do. To be honest, it was rather well-behaved and calm for a dog. He'd half expected it to be running about, hyper and out of control, much like how some of his neighbours dogs acted.

Grabbing the hose, he motioned for the canine to come.

"Hey, come on. Let's get you cleaned off, eh? Can't have you walking around covered in mud, right?" he dully asked himself who he was trying to convince; the dog, or himself.

The dog gave him a look, almost as if to say, "You're going to wash me with and in that?" Regardless, it rose and went over to the basin. Stepping inside, it sat down and glanced at him in a bored and reluctant fashion.

"Let's get this over and done with, right?" Harry muttered, switching on the water.

Soaking the dog – by accident – he watched as it snorted in disproval, yet remained root in the tub obediently. Grabbing a bar of soap, he grimaced and braced himself before starting to scrub away at the muck and filth coating the dog's fur. He hated the feel of it under his fingers, but to his immense satisfaction, the dirt was washing off. Clearing away on spot, he saw the actual colour of the pelt – a dark chestnut brown. Moving up to the head, he noticed something else; the fur leading down the head and neck was rather long in strands and very fine – like hair almost. It fell about the dog's back and shoulders, now clean and silky-feeling.

As Harry continued washing, he noticed that the spine and bones of the animal were rather worn; strange, because it looked rather young and healthy, not old. Rinsing the last of the soap away, he stood back as the dog shook itself out, now clean and refreshed. From what he could see now, it sort of looked like a German Shepherd, but not quite.

Grabbing a towel lying on the grass, he started to dry the dog's fur. Yet as he moved onto the back, he noticed something underneath the fur, like a marking or patch. Brushing back a section, he took a better look at it. It was a scar; a long, deep, jagged scar running across the animal's back. It could have been easy to say it was from a fight, but the shape of the wound was clean and sharp; almost as though someone had sliced into the skin with a blade of some sort. Harry felt himself shudder; he couldn't help but be disturbed by the gash.

The dog caught wind of his actions and growled in displeasure. Immediately letting go of the fur, Harry shook himself from the thought while resuming his task. Once the canine had been dried off (or as close to it), Harry threw away the water into the bushes and switched off the hose. Heading back to the house, the now clean dog in tow, he slide open the door in time to hear the phone ring.

Pausing in the door frame, he wondered if he should bother to answer it. If it was another telemarketer, his aunt and uncle would have a row. But then again, how was he to know if it wasn't?

Crossing the kitchen, he picked the receiver off the hook, answering it after a second.

"Boy, it had better be you and not someone else. I swear if I find that any of your kind are in the house-"

"No one's here beside, Uncle Vernon. Just me" Harry said, repressing a sigh.

"Better be!" his uncle snarled, "Anyways, your aunt and I are calling to inform you that we will be home later than expected. Marge has gotten us tickets for a stay in Scotland, so we won't be back for another week or so. So you'd better not do anything funny, or we'll-"

"I won't, Uncle, I swear" Harry said dully.

Vernon muttered a few more threats, before hanging up the phone, leaving Harry with a dead line. Hanging up the receiver with a sigh, he turned to glance at the dog. It sat at his feet upon the floor, looking up at him with a look that read "Not very pleasant people, are they?"

Reaching down, he hesitantly patted the animal on the head. The dog made a noise between a yip and a whine, of sympathy towards the boy. Harry paused for a moment, fear suddenly coursing through his veins. What was he going to do, when his relatives finally came home? He certainly couldn't keep the animal, not with his aunt's disliking for strays in the first place. Not to mention, they would kill him if they even found out he'd allowed it within two feet of the house in the first place.

He frowned in worry, trying to come up with a conclusion before mentally smacking himself. What was he thinking? He couldn't keep the animal; it probably had rabies or something else he'd rather not know about. Plus, it just followed him home, it wasn't like it suddenly belonged to him. Yet looking at the animal, into the unusual golden eyes, he found himself being drawn into the gaze like a magnet. It was weird; no matter how hard he tried, he couldn't shake himself of the chills that went up his spine when he stared into the animal's eyes.

Something told him it would be good to keep this dog around. He wasn't sure why, but it just felt like it was the right thing to do. Taking caution, he knelt down in front of the animal, looking it over. It was fruitless though; he still had no idea what it was, or if it was sick or injured. He sighed, shaking his head; he would have to take it in to get it checked out.

But the veterinarian clinic in town had closed down for renovations; the next best bet was the animal hospital, but that was in downtown London. He'd half to take the subway and then the bus… the idea of it made him nervous already. The dog, clearly bored, stood and started snooping around the kitchen, sniffing every odd thing in sight. Twice, the hair fell into its face, earning a disgruntled snort from the animal in disproval. Harry frowned, going into one of the kitchen drawers. Rummaging, he pulled out a long piece of ribbon, probably the kind Aunt Petunia used for decoration during parties.

Approaching the dog, he knelt down and tied the long strands back into a low ponytail. It seemed odd, but it appeared to suit the animal well. The canine grunted, in a way of saying thanks, before padding off to explore the rest of the house. Harry followed it, keeping an eye on the animal in case the curiosity got the better of it.

It wandered aimlessly around the house, taking everything in with an inquisitive attitude. Yet, it was as though the animal was displeased with the décor of its surrounding – three times Harry caught it giving an unimpressed glance to a vase or piece of furniture.

The sun had set by the time it settled down, lying contently on the living room floor, tail wagging slowly. Harry had decided to prepare himself dinner, before it hit him that he had no idea what to give the dog. Searching the fridge, he found a few cubes of raw beef that Aunt Petunia used in soups and such. Taking one out, he set it aside and waited for it to thaw while continuing with his own food. His aunt and uncle had left little for him to eat, mostly cheese and some bread, but he had managed to find a way to get into the bottom drawers of the refrigerator – which were locked – and get other ingredients as he so desired. But he made sure not to over load or take too much, in case his relatives noticed the sudden drop in food supplies. He had also been given money for supplies – food and chore related – as well as some extra change for take-out from Mrs. Figg.

Deciding that he was to have just some cooked pork, he took out another bit of meat and started preparing it when the sound of claws clicking against tile reached his ears. Turning, he saw the dog come into the kitchen, walked over, and plop down right at his feet with an expectant look. Taking the bit of beef, he knelt down in front of it and held out the food in offering. But instead of accepting the meat like a normal dog would, it merely sniffed it before edging away in disgust.

Puzzled, Harry retracted his hand and watched as the canine snorted in disproval. He had never seen an animal so finicky, especially a dog. Upon the stove, the pork cooked slowly, a juicy smell spreading out across the room. The dog whined, turning its snout up to the skillet, nose twitching hungrily. Frowning, Harry stood and stared at the food cooking in the pan with confusion.

Did the dog rather a cooked bit of meat as opposed to raw? Was that even healthy, considering animals generally did not eat human foods? Glancing once more at the animal, he made a split second decision and returned to his cooking. Seperating the pork into two separate portions, he set one plate down in front of the dog, taking the other for himself. Watching the canine gobble the food up within seconds, he swore it was like the animal had never eaten before.

Chewing contently at his own meal, his heart sank as a sudden thought occurred to him; what was he going to do when the Durselys came home? What was he going to say; how in the world was he going to explain he'd let a stray dog into the house, never mind let it follow him home? As he pondered over the problem, the dog swallowed the last of its meal with a sigh of contentment, stretching and wandering off down the hall.

Harry glanced up, panicking when the only the sight of the abandon plate greeted him. Finishing up his own food, he scrambled from his seat and began a hefty search of the house. Running upstairs, he paused on the middle step as the sound of snuffling reached his ears. Climbing up the rest of the stairs, he mentally sighed in relief at the sight of the dog sniffing curiously about the second floor hallway. A sudden idea came to him, as he strode past to his bedroom.

Opening the door, he whistled for the dog's attention. Watching it come to his beck, he urged it into the room, shutting the door behind him. Turning around, he stared guilty at the mess before him; clothes, books, quills, and parchment bits lay scattered about upon the floor. His bed sat unmade against the wall, to which the dog was now curling up upon the jumble of sheets. Making haste to his closet, he pulled open the door, peering inside. Boxes stacked upon one another, hangers, spare clothes, and a large amount of dust were occupying the small space. Thinking for a moment, the boy began moving and rearranging everything. Creating a small area in the back, he huffed in a pleased manner; it wasn't much but big enough for an animal to stand and move around a bit; not to mention, it was virtually invisible, hidden behind the boxes – yet, when needed, they could be moved about without much effort or noise.

Grabbing a spar blanket, he laid it down in the hide-away as a makeshift bed. Huffing, he straightened himself, ready to take on the bigger challenge; getting the dog to go in and stay. He frowned, mentally slapping himself; what was he thinking? An animal such as a dog would never be able to remain still and quiet in the cramped area – he was too humanized with his plan. Plus, if anyone found out, he'd probably be charged with animal cruelty.

He paused when fur brushed against his leg; looking down, he stared in surprised as the dog moved past him, crawling into the closet. Settling down, it peered at him with golden eyes, understanding written in its gaze. Harry matched it with his own green stare of astonishment; never before had he seen an animal behave like this. Well, aside from the select few of the magical world, but this dog appeared to be as any ordinary one – and yet the more he thought of it, the lesser he grew sure.

Shaking his head, he stretched upright, arms raised above his head. Glancing out the window, he watched the dying light of the sun dance across Privet Drive with a golden glow. He sighed, running a hand through his messy jet black hair. His thumb brushed over the familiar lightning bolt scar, a reminder of his past and present. He thought of his friends, and wondered if they were enjoying their summer – more so than he was at least. But the Dursley's wouldn't be home for another week or so, that alone being enough to ask for.

At least it gave him time to figure out what he was to do next.

The moon shone brightly in the midnight sky, pouring a silver light upon the boy's sleeping figure. Sitting by the window, he stared transfixed at it. A sigh echoed contently upon the desk, yet silenced in a moment when he pulled from his trance. Glancing over, he gazed intently at the boy's sleeping face. Something was different about this child, that much was for certain – the air he held foretold of a hard past and semi-present. Perhaps too many expectations being given; for someone so young, too! The child was hardly an adolescent, nevermind the fact that he was left on his own at all!

He snorted, shaking his head in displeasure. A bad vibe – the elders of said child were not the desirable kind, that was definitely obvious. It was rather disgusting how they had left the boy all alone, to care for himself without any guidance… they very much sounded unpleasant enough.

Watching the boy turn over in his sleep, he sighed and stood from his spot upon the floor. Striding over, he peered down at the child in concern.

"If you are alone… who is to watch over you?"

It was hard to ignore the stares being directed at him.

Standing in the fast moving subway, Harry mentally slapped himself for thinking that any of this was a good idea. The dog lay sulkily upon the floor like a ragdoll, blocking the path for everyone within two feet of the front, growling like a motor. While a closet did not seem to provide any issues for the animal, trying to drag it down to the vet was a living hell. It had taken exactly twenty minutes to coax the suspicious animal, which had caught wind of something put off in his behaviour that morning, outside. By the time they'd reached the station, the dog had become quite agitated and stubborn.

Feeling the train screech to a halt, Harry exhaled in frustration, the cool monotone voice echoing out through the speakers. Pulling the dog upright, he half-dragged, half-pulled it out of the train just before the doors closed on them. Now trying desperately to lead the grumpy animal up the stairs, he gave a nervous grin to the many passer-byers giving him odd looks.

"Come on! I don't have time for this!" he hissed, receiving a growl in response.

The outside streets of London were crowded as ever, people hurrying back and forth in haste. Cars honked and flew by, the heat of rush hour stifling the air. Somewhere in the distance, Big Ben chimed twice, announcing the new hour of the afternoon. The dog seemed to calm slightly, now vaguely interested in its surroundings. Sniffing the air, its eyes darted about in curiosity, taking in everything around it.

Harry, however, kept his sights peeled for one building in particular; the veterinarian animal hospital. HE spotted the sign about a block away, turning direction towards the tall office-like building. Yet in his haste, he failed to keep track of anything else in front of him. Within a moment, he collided with the backside of a tall gentleman.

"HEY! WATCH IT!" a loud voice yelled out, marred with a foreign accent he could not place.

"Sorry" he mumbled quickly, turning to cross the street.

The man stared after him, a dark copper haired youth with a rather odd looking curl of hair. He glanced at the dog, narrowing his eyes.

"Is that…? No, it can't be…Chigi…"

"Sir? He will see you now" the receptionist called out.

Harry, who had been immersed in a magazine (not really), glanced up. Nodding, he set the article down upon the side table, nudging the dog gently with his foot. It had long since given up struggling, yet the growling had yet to cease. Following the assistant into a small examination room, he sat down upon the small plastic chair in wait for the vet's arrival. Voices could be heard down the hall, the soft whines and cries of animals echoing from the kennel, owners fussing over their pets, and the receptionist making calls at the front. The dog snuffed, pacing restlessly about the room. Harry glanced at it briefly, watching it sniff the table with a bored expression.

The door open, startling the two, a tall dark haired man entering the room.

"You are Mr. Potter, am I correct?" he asked, glancing at Harry in question.

"Yes sir" the boy nodded, feeling uneasy about the look the man was giving him.

"Alright…Are your parents here with you?"

"No sir" he said, not liking the direction the conversation was headed.

The vet raised an eyebrow, but questioned no further.

"I see… Now, your dog is here for examination, correct?"

"Yes, sir" he said, glancing over at the canine.

"Okay. In that case, bring it up on the table and I will look it over" the vet explained.

Harry tried in vain, but the dog was too much from him to lift on his own. The vet assisted him, but even then, the animal decided to accurately resume its resistance. Situating it upon the steel surface, the vet huffed in exasperation, giving the dog a stern look.

"Very relisliant, eh?" he said jokingly, taking out a small torchlight.

"Y-Yeah…" Harry panted, out of breath. "Do you…know what gender it is?"

"Give me a minute, and I will check" the man said, standing the dog upright. "Male."

"Ah" Harry replied, feeling rather foolish for lack of a better response.

The vet mumbled to himself throughout the examination, ignoring the growling and snarling being directed at him. He voiced out a few questions once in a while, most of which Harry answered feeling more and more like an idiot.

"So… this dog, you said found him as a stray, right?"

"Yes" Harry said dully, convinced the man did consider him a moron by now.

"I've seen strays brought in before, but this one is something new indeed…"

"Hm?" Harry perked up, glancing over interestedly. "What do you mean?"

"Well… Aside from being slightly undernourished, he is rather healthy and well indeed. No illness, no parasites or injuries as far I can collect. Yet, my one concern is the bones – rather worn and some of the joints seem to be more strained – something more common in older dogs, but this one looks rather young to be of such an age… very hard to determine how old it is…even an estimate…" the vet said, frowning thoughtfully. "However, sometimes appearance betrays the age, but it is also not a bad guess that perhaps it was from a prior incident as well… which troubles me, considering how it is otherwise…"

"H-How so?"

"As I have said, he is very good in health, but the wearing of the bones could mean that someone had been working this dog beforehand. I believe, perhaps, before it was a stray, it belonged to someone else, in which they may have used it for other purposes than a pet. Hunting, racing, even working in some case can lead to early weak joints if the owner is careless with how much strain they put the animal under. Happens a lot to greyhounds, sadly, most of which are abandoned once they can no longer race."

"You think that's what happened to this one?"

"It's an assumption… most probable that it was being used for working or hunting, to the point where it could no longer keep up. The owner may have abandoned it, because I see no collar or any means of identifying a previous master… I would otherwise say genetics, but I doubt it…" he trailed off, mumbling to himself.

Harry fidgeted in his seat, frowning at the man's words. Was this dog abandoned in the streets by someone? The feeling left a sinking sensation in his heart; he knew what that felt like, to be alone and unwanted by someone. The Dursleys were key evidence of that.

"You alright over there?" the man called out, glancing at him.

Harry's head snapped up, a look of surprise written on his face. He nodded hesitantly, breaking out of his thoughts and pulling himself together.

"Sir… You said you don't believe that genetics are the reason for the bone fraility… What do mean by that?"

"I mean because of the breed… this type is not known for having genetic problems such as that, but what amazes me more is how you managed to come across one like this… they are not common in Europe, not at all…"

"Breed?"

"Correct... this dog of yours is a Kunming Wolfdog – a pure-bred one, to be exact."

"A what? I've never heard of those before…"

"I suspect you wouldn't, they are not a European standard nor are they common. The breed is from China, and more so found there than here. From what I know, they are loyal to their masters, but wary of strangers – a guard dog, to be more precise. They are an intelligent breed, well-built and strong. However, they can easily be confused with a German Shepard due to similar appearances, yet the Wolfdog poses a different spinal structure than the Shepard. This one though… it appears to be more of a solid and darker colour than the normal; the fur also seems to be more oddly textured, like hair. Very odd for this kind of dog, but the eyes are most unusual… such a beautiful colour, but not common in dogs or cats… A rare shade of gold… Very curious…" he hummed to himself, pondering over his unveiling. "Oh? What is this now?"

Moving the fur back along the spine, the vet made a noise of astonishment at the sight of the long scar trailing down upon the animal's back.

"What in the world-? Where did this come from? Oh my, that looks rather nasty… how did you end up with that, eh?" he asked the dog, examining the old wound.

"Oh yeah… that scar… I found it on him last night" Harry added in, flinching when the vet's head snapped up at him.

"Did you? I see, then. Not very pleasant, now, is it? Not a scratch or a tear in the skin either… this is troubling…" he pulled a face of concern. "This here… By the looks of it, it is almost as if it were inflicted manually… by a blade of some sort. It is rather old and faded, but was deep and painful by the looks of it… but why and how this poor creature got it is beyond me… Who would have the nerve to do such a thing to an animal; unless I am mistaken and it was through an accident… Still, I highly doubt it; too clean of a cut to be so."

He tutted, trying to touch the old scar; the Wolfdog snarled aggressively, and he removed his hand quickly. Finishing up the examination, the vet marked down the information on a clipboard, muttering quietly to himself. Harry half wondered what the man was going on about, but decided it was not in his best interest to pry. He glanced at the dog, the Wolfdog lying contently on the table now that the stranger's hands were off of him.

"Well… As far as I can see, nothing exceptionally wrong with this animal; I will say, though, a very fine specimen – interesting too. Tell me, where did you find him again?"

"Wandering the streets… he sort of came up to me" Harry admitted.

"I see. Well, my best wishes to you. Take good care of him" the vet said, nodding in his direction.

The dog only answered with a yawn.

The ride back was silent, if not uneventful. Harry brooded on his situation, now have at least a bit more information on the animal. A new thought occurred to him; what was he to do when he had to go back to Hogwarts? Looking down at the canine, he watched as it sat respectfully on the subway seats – contrast to earlier that morning.

For a moment, their eyes met; Harry shivered slightly from the golden stare. He felt like he was being searched, his heart and soul under inspection. Yet a second later, the animal turned away, and the feeling was good. Harry let a hand rise to his forehead – sweat trickled down his skin, cold and dampening.

The Wolfdog yawned sleepily, stretching out over the seats without regard.

Harry dreamt of strange oddities that night; his mind tossed back and forth between fiction and reality, creating ideas of the craziest notion. Dragons not like any he'd come across – even as a wizard – but had heard and seen images of at one point, flying through the air gracefully. Temples and buildings of different architecture, different décor rose up here and there, the dragons gliding past without worry. Symbols of another language floated past him, drawings of unique design spilling across the sky.

He tossed and turned, confusion settling in. He knew what all of this was, but he could not remember anything at all. A clattering noise slowly stirred up, the sound overriding all other thought. Eventually, he shot up straight in bed, panting and wheezing breathlessly. Closing his eyes momentarily, he struggled to calm his beating heart, his mind racing.

The clattering started up again, drawing the boy's attention to the window. Fluttering agitatedly outside, Hedwig clicked her beak furiously at him, displeased for some reason. Half convinced she was returning from an unsuccessful hunt, he sighed and heaved himself from bed. Trudging over to the window, he opened it to admit the irritated owl into the room. She flew above, hooting and shrieking in an almost scolding fashion.

Sitting back down on his bed, Harry watched her with half-interest, still too asleep to function. Yet when he felt her nipping at his finger, he knew something was off. The snowy owl repeatly flew from his knee to the door, looking back at the boy in anticipation. Harry stared at her in bewilderment, trying to uncover the bird's reasoning, when his heart almost stopped.

Open just a crack, the door let moonlight filter in from the hallway, casting a silver glow into the room. The boy's blood turned to ice; scrambling, he ran over to the closet, heart pounding in his chest. Horror swallowed him as the empty space of a makeshift dog bed greeted his eyes. He swore, loud and panicky, racing out of the room. His feet made loud thumps down the hall, something Aunt Petunia would displease of were she home. Then again, he would have been in more trouble if she was anyways.

Hedwig flew out behind him, soaring like a ghost over his head as he descended the stairs. He prayed that the animal had not wandered far, or had made a mess of anything. He was already pushing his luck as it was, bringing it in the house in the first place. Yet, to his surprise and suspicion, nothing seemed out of the ordinary. He frowned, brow furrowing in confusion.

Hedwig swooped overhead to the kitchen, where the sight of an open back door greeted him. He groaned, dismaying that the dog had somehow managed to escape outside. Yet his owl hooted for him to follow, flying out into the backyard. He sighed, walking out into the night begrudgingly. Moonlight shone upon the yard, silver and bright. He relished the cool feel of the wood under his feet, before a sight up ahead caught his eye.

He narrowed his eyes, trying to make out what it was. A cold chill ran down his spine; a lone figure was sitting in the grass, back turned away from him. Stark naked, their hair was about mid-back in length – a dark chestnut colour against pale honey skin. Yet the flesh was not flawless; scars of different kinds covered the body like Dalmatian spots. The most noticeable, a long wound down the stranger's back – something seemed too familiar here. Harry felt like he knew this man or woman – it was hard to tell- but where had he seen them before.

Hedwig swooped overhead, landing on the stranger's outstretched arm. They brought her close, stroking her contently as an accented voice spoke to him.

"You have a very fine owl, aru…"

The figure, a man, turned and Harry felt his blood freeze as two golden eyes stared back at him.