A/N: First off, a thousand apologies to people who are waiting for me to update other things. I went to see Rise of the Guardians at the cinema and utterly adored it, and then I was thinking guiltily that I ought to update my Harry Potter/Criminal Minds crossover before I even considered writing any ROTG fanfiction, when this smacked me in the face. I'm sorry. :( In my defence, it's only two small chapters.

As for the story, my brain picked up on the quote in the summary and basically went 'lightbulb!' And then this happened. Enjoy. :D

Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter or Rise of the Guardians. (Itwassobeautifulwantogoseeit againnownownownow – !

Ahem.)

Catching the Wind

Chapter One: To Hide

The day that Harry first heard the name Jack Frost was Not A Good Day. In fact, it was probably a contender for a downright Awful Day.

It was snowing outside. Harry could hear of the yells and squeals of the other children in the playground and the occasional thud of a snowball hitting against the classroom window. However, the small, raven-haired boy was not participating in the fun and games. Instead, he was wedged in the small gap between the massive radiator and the book trolley, right at the back of the Primary 5 classroom. The lights were switched off, meaning that the dim grey light of the snowstorm was all he had to see by. It was difficult, but that was good, because it meant it was difficult for anyone else to see too.

Harry had just been looking for a place to hide from Dudley's gang. They had finally uncovered his favourite hiding-spot – more due to luck than any actual application of brainpower on their part – and, to his regret, it had been a cupboard situated directly over the kitchens. This position meant that it had been warm and comfortable to curl up in, despite the fact that it was mid-December. Harry had been privately hoping that they wouldn't find out about that particular hiding place until after Christmas (that would have been a nice present) but it seemed that luck was not on his side this month.

He had fled through the corridors, pursued by the group of lumbering idiots, and ducked inside a darkened classroom to catch his breath. His thin body shook from the exertion but he made himself cross the room and sink down behind the book trolley, which was less exposed and therefore safer, if any of Dudley's gang happened to look through the door.

Harry took deep breaths, feeling his racing heart gradually slow. He was fast on his feet – it was his one advantage – but he lacked the stamina to keep it up for long. That was especially true in the winter months, where the cold sapped his strength even quicker than normal. He fished a crumpled handful of silvery tinfoil out of his pocket. Peeling it away carefully, he uncovered a single square of milk chocolate and lifted it out as reverently as if it were a holy object. Moments later, the rich, creamy goodness was melting on his tongue and the sugar was sweeping through his body, leaving energy in its wake.

Harry leaned against the radiator, tugging his woollen hat further down over his ears, and trying to absorb as much heat as possible. He listened as the thunderous footsteps of Dudley and his friends went past the door and an unconscious smile tugged at his lips. He contemplated moving, but decided to remain a little while longer. It was only ten minutes until the end of lunchtime and he could slip out into the playground just before the bell.

It was then that his eyes snagged on the spine of a book. It was jutting out of the trolley, almost directly in front of him, and it was coloured the deep blue of a winter sky. However, the thing that had truly caught his attention was the title. It was made of some iridescent silvery paper and somehow managed to catch the dim, grey light of the classroom at exactly the right angle, reflecting it back and transforming the words into beautiful, shining silver.

He reached out and tentatively traced the jagged lettering with his fingertips.

"Ja-ck- Fr-o-st," Harry carefully sounded out.

The six year old tugged the book out of its place, opened it in his lap and was instantly whisked away. For the next ten minutes, he forgot the world around him and only when the bell rang for the end of lunch did he emerge from the story. Jumping hastily to his feet, Harry quickly stowed the book away and fled out of the room and down the corridor to his own classroom.

On the way home, Dudley and his gang caught up to him and took their revenge for his evasion at lunchtime. The small boy trudged home, late and soaking wet, to a loud scolding from Aunt Petunia. But not the beating, or the scolding, or the sound of the bolts on his cupboard door sliding home, or his glasses, cradled against his chest, broken for the fifth time that year, could erase the bright figure of the winter spirit from his mind's eye, shining and swooping through the snowy air.

The day that Harry Potter first heard the name Jack Frost was Not A Good Day. But, thanks to Jack, wasn't an Awful Day either.

A/N: Tada. It was originally going to be one big chapter, but this seemed like such a good place to end I decided to split it. :D Part two will be up no later than tomorrow.