Lacerate, laconic, leader, latent, legato, legendary, last judgement...
He was originally Harry Potter... before he was defeated by the Dark Lord and took the Magic out of his life. By the next morning he found himself wandering the streets of the muggle world.
"Where you from, boy?"
The winter in Winchester was harsh, biting at bare skin like an animal. Harry faintly realized he was numb of all senses as he warily glanced up at a tall, gentle looking man. Harry licked his dry, bloody lips... the man looked like Dumbledore...
"... N-nowhere..." Harry rasped, hardly shocked at how hoarse his voice was... he had not talked for the past two weeks after all.
"Would you like to belong somewhere?"
Green eyes stared up almost bored at the stranger... with an unmistakable glint of hope in those depths, "Please... I can't live with this by myself..." he choked, heat coming back to his face as his blood rushed.
A hand that stretched out towards the forsaken savior like a gift from whatever holy deity might be residing in the clouds... if only Harry Potter believed in God.
He took the hand and allowed the man to pull him up to his feet, catching him when he wobbled, "Come now, what is your name?"
Harry opened his mouth to answer, but stopped himself short and shook his head, "Will you choose a name for me to go by?"
The man looked skeptical, blinking at Harry with half-opened eyes. His elderly face finally broke into a small smile, "I always believed that humans should make their own paths. Come along, it's nippy outside, we shall find shelter for now."
The only thing that pacified Harry about this Dumbledore-like man... was that he was not magical. An old muggle with a strong grip and kind face.
Harry Potter was cast away that day.