BEWARE: My first language it's Spanish, I am learning English by my own volition, without help of a teacher.

This mean that the story had a lot of mistakes, if you can't deal with that, then find another story to read because you will not enjoy this.

IF you are still here and you are going to give me a chance, good, if you want to put your opinion on a review about a grammar mistake or other kind's of horrors in my writings, please feel free to do so, it's welcomed.

Many thanks to Paladeus who encouraged me to write this, to the Sage of Seals, who was my first BETA, to Slicerness and A. Blackwell for helping me with the outcome of the story, without them this would be a unreadable disaster.

It was four in the afternoon and the sky was covered in gray clouds, almost darkened to a deep purple. An occasional flash within the layers of the sky revealed what everyone in the community dreaded.

The children were running to the safety of their homes in a desperate attempt to escape the inevitable; to flee the terrible explosions and power in the vaulted clouds. With each new blast, the screams of a woman were easily audible, irrationally afraid despite a near-guaranteed protection.

Families were clustered, parents trying to calm children. Some simply took comfort in the innocence of the youth. Others were left trying to convince themselves that there was no danger, that their homes would protect them from the worst.

The first sign of the inevitable came with a terrible gale, pursued closely by the sound of water rushing by and about the land. It was the beginning of the biggest storm ever seen in the town of Little Whinging. Families watched in morbid fascination, feeling safe within their walls, even from nature's own wrath. Some almost enjoyed looking at the event, fully convinced that there was nothing to worry about, that man had long overcome these natural hazards.

Others simply remained silent, watching the spectacle.

The heavens were divided into a flowing spectrum of colors, continuous flashes adorned with splendor. Lightning, followed closely by thunder, decorated the sky for a few brief seconds, striking with a crack of blue ozone and plasma.

In Privet Drive, a community of households residing in the far side of Little Whinging, the situation was the same, except for the presence of a young man, fourteen years old.

He was miserable and wet, shivering and distraught with his situation. His hair black as night once rebellious and uncontrollable was now glued to his head completely wet by the rain. His pale skin, thanks to the cold air, was highlighted more than usual, giving him a spectral appearance.

His clothes, too big for him, clung to his body, bringing the intense cold close to his chest. His pants, even held by a belt, threatened to fall off, weighing him down. The young man was flecked with mud and silt, which were gradually washed away by the relentless rain.

The neighbors were unaware of the scene. It was not their business after all, to become involved with such circumstances. Nobody would feel even slightly sorry for the offender, obviously suffering a well-deserved punishment. Ignorant of this, the boy went on, now cleaning the gutters. He was resigned to his situation. A denial or mere thought of the passing time would only make things worse, so he accepted his fate. He apparently was used to such, believing that he deserved what he was suffering

Harry James Potter shakily brushed a stray bit of hair out of his eyes, and reached back up to continue his work.

His hands shook profusely. 'I must be crazy.' He thought dryly. 'Crazy not to be afraid of this storm…but then again, I've seen worse' .Explosions and flashing lights lit up the sky, but part of him felt guilty for being alive, to retain the very ability to fear, when Cedric would never do it again. He rebuked himself, finding the constant complaining pathetic. He deserved this and much more, he had failed all of them. He had failed the second that monster had come back from his place beyond the grave.

The moment of reflection only caused the boy to work with more fervor than before. Harry's weight shifted, and the gutter gave way, falling violently to the ground below. He followed closely, hitting his head against twisted metal, only just before he reached the ground.

His glasses did not survive the impact. His face bled profusely, the sharp edges of the gutter carving into his cheek and forehead, missing his eyes by a hairs width. Dust and other waste plastered his face, further increasing his humiliation. For a moment his vision blurred as a wave of dizziness washed over him. He quietly stifled a sob; it would do no good here.

In the background he could hear the angry voice of his uncle, taunts, and outraged screams blending together, though never concerning his welfare. Soon Petunia had joined her husband's side, shouting because he had dared to fall on her precious flowers. Dudley, his cousin, was laughing in full swing, making fun and shouting insults, malice and glee glittering in his beady eyes.

Harry couldn't even hear them; his chest was tight, his head would not stop hurting, and his eyes burned with the dirt and blood that went into them. He tried to appease his conscience, shouting angrily to accept such words without contest, as he considered himself unworthy of mercy. Not when Cedric's death still hung over his head, or when the evidence of his defeat against Voldemort was still fresh and strong.

Then a great light flashed around them, completely blinding him. It was followed closely by a huge explosion that deafened him, obscuring the screams of his 'family'.

For a moment, Harry believed himself dead. He could no longer feel the pain of his wounds or the impact of raindrops on his skin, much less the cold or the gutters torn beneath his body. Not even the hard ground could be felt.

'Great!' Harry thought angrily to himself, ignoring the fury in his mind. 'Who would imagine? I survive Voldemort, only to die from a fall when cleaning a gutter.'

There was a hint of madness, even desperation in his thoughts. He wished it was all over, not having to face the pressure of returning to a world where everyone was disappointed in him, disappointed in his failures and inability.

A world where all would observe him as a reminder of the death of Cedric; why return, after all, when he was only an outcast, and a half-blood? He couldn't live up to their expectations. He was exhausted from seeing the faces of those waiting to be saved, yet would do nothing to even try and help themselves! He had to do itfor them. That was his job, to resolve the situation. After all, he was Harry bloody Potter.

It was then that he heard a rumble, a sound he knew very well thanks to the many cats of the batty Ms. Figg. He tried to ignore it, believing it to be one of her pesky beasts. But the animal insisted; in fact, every second, the purring increased in power, up until the point where ignoring it was no longer a possibility. For more than a moment, Harry was confused. What cat could cause such uproar? In fact, the sound had changed, and now reminded Harry of when certain machines would hum with electrical power.

He opened his eyes, finding himself in a world full of white, infinite in all directions. There were no directions, no up or down without sky or earth, only a perennial horizon.

The sound came from everywhere and from nowhere. Solidifying his belief that he really was dead. His wounds were gone, he could see perfectly even though he was not wearing his glasses, the pain in his chest and his head where gone, and his body, was warm, no longer cold from rain on his clothes. At least it felt painless to Harry; he could not truly feel anything. In fact, he was naked, just as he had come into the world, free from physical possession, only clothed within his skin, stripped and free of his protective barriers. He was frightened, despite his thoughts of the death and punishment he believed he deserved. No living being would truly wish to die. The body, even when the mind is broken, would fight to the last breath to maintain his life.

Harry's heart raced to a breaking point in his chest, threatening to explode. He felt fear now that he was only spirit in Limbo, but that fear only seemed to increase the intensity of the sound to the point where it no longer sounded like a purr, but rather a low and dangerous roar.

So he ran.

For hours, without any sense of direction, Harry ran, now desperate to find his way back, back to the world of the living, but to no avail. The sound of thunder resounded throughout every fiber of his being, and Harry fell to the ground, twitching in shock and confusion.

It was then that he knew he was not dead; after all, there was no pain in the afterlife…or was there? He smiled, closely followed by a laugh, though that soon died in his throat when a new question flashed through his mind, overpowering his thought centers and infusing him with a sense of panic and hopelessness.

'Where am I? What's happening?'

The answer, or something close enough to it, came quickly in the form of a lightning strike not five feet from where he had fallen. For a full second, the light blinded him, but when his vision cleared, Harry took an unconscious step back in fear.

Right where the impact had occurred, was a huge lion, which growled deep inside of its throat.

Harry yelped in surprise and fear, trying desperately to move, only to discover to his horror, that he could not move his feet, and was trapped here at the animal's mercy. The beast roared thunderously, the sound of it crashing down upon his ears like the strike of lightning itself.

It was then that Harry noticed something odd about this particular lion.

Its skin glowed a deep blue with a mauve aura surrounding it, clear grey eyes staring straight and without pupils. The lion's tail was spiked in the end, rocking back and forth, almost as if in interest, perhaps in interest of prey. Its legs were heavily built, lengthy and strong. The creature's fur, strangely enough, seemed soft, and Harry did not need to see to know that under each pad on the lion's feet were lethal claws, just waiting to be used.

The young wizard was absorbed, consumed entirely, by the appearance of this majestic animal. This being that commandedrespect and fear, exuding waves of power and strength. Harry couldn't help but focus his eyes on the giant feline, unable to tear his vision away, yet noticing idly with a kind of surprise that the thing gave off a kind of smoke, dispersing into the air and adding a true sense of mystery and grandeur to this King of the Animals.

The huge cat closed its eyes and a presence, huge and alien, touched Harry's mind.

Harry shuddered. 'What…what are you?'

I am.

He shook his head. 'No…really, what are you?' Harry felt a sense of wariness from the animal, but it soon gave way to a feeling of need, and of urgency.

And it told him.

The magic of and in the world had, in short, created a new species, one that needed a host body in which it could exist as a symbiote. Eventually both could live apart, not for long, but it gave an air of freedom, strength, and eternal company that the boy was under pressure not to reject. Like many such creatures created by the wild flow of magic, there was only a small chance for it to prosper and spread, creating others of its kind, following which it would disappear, never to step into the realm of reality again. Harry would be the first, if only for a while.

Harry shook his head.

He couldn't refuse. He understood in many ways the sense of survival that the creature gave off. He too did not wish to die, forgetting his previous problems that now seemed so small. Harry, used to the sensation, therefore resigned himself to be even more unusual.

Harry agreed to be the only guest in the world of a Thundercat, the first of many to come.

The beast let out a roar that Harry could only interpret as euphoria, before flowing towards him and merging in a single flash.

Harry woke up in the position where he had fallen. His bloodstained face was slowly being washed clean by rain, even as his wounds closed, his pain disappeared, and his sight was restored, even without his glasses. He was disoriented for a few moments, before the Vernon's hand yanked him up by the collar of his soaked shirt, the man's usual way of picking Harry up from the ground. Harry was nearly suffocated for a few seconds, struggling for air, before the cat inside him decided that enough was enough, releasing a heavy surge of electrical power.

The overweight Dursley shouted in both surprise and pain, flinging himself, twitching, to the ground. The cries of Dudley and Petunia rose above the thunder of the storm; now Vernon was on the floor, motionless, breathless and completely pale. Harry was terrified.

He hated the Dursleys, but he didn't want them dead, let alone to be the cause of that death! Harry ran toward his uncle, finding that the body was still warm. The beast within his mind refused to revive the fat man, but Harry, finding courage and aggressiveness he did not know he have, ordered the lion to obey his command, and to his total surprise, the animal did as it was told. A current of electrical energy poured from Harry's hands into the man's chest, restarting his heart. Vernon sucked air furiously, filling his lungs as much as he could to ensure himself that he was still alive.

He slowly raised his arms, sitting on his large rear as he looked from one place to another, trying to place himself. Petunia finally shot out of the house with an umbrella in hand, frantic to protect her husband's body from the torrential downpour. Dudley hid behind the door, watching Harry with something that could only be identified as simple and pure terror. Petunia stopped a few feet away, not even approaching him, only just enough to talk to her husband without the need to yell.

Vernon rose, seeming insecure and confused. He looked at Harry for a few seconds.

"Go to your room."

He didn't spit, and stranger still, he didn't even make it sound like an order. Vernon simply asked Harry to leave, and Harry fled to the room. Petunia's breath hitched, and she dashed into the house, cradling Vernon in her bony arms. (Or at least trying.)

Dudley moved away from the door. He grunted and shook, almost as if it had burned him. Harry ignored him, and dashed up the stairs to his bedroom. He tried, futilely, to ignore the heavy beating of his heart.

The cat did not mind. While it could not, would not, relax after that experience, it and the young wizard all but begged for rest, and nothing would stand in their way.

Harry collapsed onto his bed, and closed his eyes.

TBC