Young and Helpless.
Summary: Five Years in the making, as a little six-year-old stares down at his scared and bruised arms, whimpering softly. How he longed to find a home. One day, he does just that…I've found a home.
"AND DON'T YOU EVER SPEAK BACK AGAIN, YOU UNGRATEFUL BOY!" Uncle Vernon's voice boomed out from the hallway, as the cupboard door was slammed shut, leaving the small, helpless figure, where he lay, shaking and whimpering softly.
He lifted one of his small hands, wiping away his tears, but to no avail, as they continued to fall from his eyes. Carefully, he shifted to his side, studying his arm, which was now sprouting a large painful bruise. Using his small fingers, he brushed back his unruly black hair, which was clinging to his forehead, and sniffled softly, before letting his hand drop to his side.
He stared at his wrist. There was a deep cut, where blood was slowly seeping out, oozing down his arm, and dripping onto the dusty dark floor. He winced, Why? He thought.
He laid his head on his ragged pillow, and cried himself to sleep.
" Your drawings are due Monday, please finish them, and have a nice day." Ms. Farro spoke gently from the front of the class, underlining the word 'Monday' with her chalk.
The bell sounded loudly, echoing through the school, and Harry carefully got up, momentarily glancing at his wrist to make sure nothing was visible, before picking up his small book bag, and stacking his chair. He filed out of the room slowly, trying to avoid being pushed and shoved by the other kids, as they tried to scramble out of the room.
"Harry? Don't forget your picture of your family." He heard Ms. Farro say softly from behind him.
"I won't." He mumbled softly, before walking up to his hook, and grabbing his small, old jacket, and wrapping it around his shoulder.
He slipped silently out of the school building, trying desperately to avoid his cousin, and the others, and slowly made his way away from the crowd of screaming children at the park.
The wind blew softly in his ear, as the leaves on the trees rustled, and a few came fluttering down. He shivered, zipping his jacket, and shifting his bookbag under his arm. Slowly, he made his way to a small park a few blocks down from the school.
When he arrived, he frowned as he saw there was a lady with children occupying one bench, and a young man with hazelnut eyes, and soft brown hair, holding a paintbrush and a few bottles of paint, was occupying the only other bench.
He made his way to the bench, and silently placed his book bag on it, before sitting at the bench, and beginning to study his hands.
After a while, he became bored, and watched the man, as he painted a large oak tree, rustling to his right.
"What're you doing, sir?" Harry asked softly, afraid of being rude.
The man looked away from his work, and smiled, taking off a pair of brown spectacles and eyeing the small boy. He smiled.
"I am painting nature." He replied, in a gentle voice.
"Can you paint other things?" Harry asked, biting his lip.
"Yes, as a matter of fact, I can." The man replied.
Harry nodded, and went back to looking at his hands, nervously tugging at his sleeve to hide his cut.
"C-could you paint me? Please? If you wanted to?" Harry asked, once again chewing at his lower lip.
"My aren't you a gentlemen? How old are you? Five? Four and a half?" The man said, smiling.
"I'm six." Harry replied, showing the man with his fingers.
"You're pretty small for that age. Well tell you what. If you continue being so nice to me, I'll paint you." The man said, as he set down the paint beside him.
Harry nodded, smiling.
"Alright then. Let's get started." The man said, and began to paint Harry.
"There you go. All done." The man said, as he placed all of his paint and brushes into a bag, before pulling the paper off of his board, and holding it up for Harry to see.
Harry gasped, before smiling brightly.
"Cool." He said, as he took the picture, studying the fine detail.
"Well, I have to go. It's getting late, even for you. Your parents will get worried." The man said once more, as he folded his board, and placed it into his duffle bag.
"Thank You." Harry replied, as he gripped onto the picture with gleaming eyes.
"I didn't catch your name." The man suddenly said, crouching next to Harry, smiling gently at him.
"Harry. Harry Potter." Harry said brightly. The man gasped, as his jaw dropped.
"Shit." He mumbled, as he got up again, running a hand through his hair.
"What's yours?" Harry asked, his voice faltering as he watched the man's reaction.
"You can call me Moony." The man replied, and with that, he picked up his duffle bag, and began to walk the opposite direction.
"Moony." Harry mumbled under his breath, holding his picture with admiration.
A/N: This is the edited version!