Tiny feet pounded the meticulously clean streets of Little Whinging. Small lungs heaved, trying to force as much air into their overworked, deflated selves as possible. Rain bulleted against bare skin icy cold, and puddles splashed as feet moved through them, soaking the owner.

Not caring that it was pouring rain outside, or that it was getting close to suppertime and he should really be getting home, the small boy ran, fearing what might happen if he stopped. He risked a glance behind him, only to push his small legs to move faster. His cousin Dudley and his gang of hooligans were still chasing after him.

"Oi!, Harry Imma tell Mum that you have been doing bad things again!" Harry closed his eyes and just kept pushing himself to move faster, determined to get as far away from them and their malicious taunts as possible.

Harry groaned, his body had hit something solid and the impact had thrown him to the floor.

Maybe it was fate. Maybe it was the fact that nothing could be seen in the sheets of pounding rain, whatever it was, what happened next was definitely something Harry was grateful for.

Harry looked around in a daze, his brain not quite comprehending what had just happened. At five years old, he stood just a little over three feet tall, with a frail body and the somber look of someone older. His skin was an undernourished pale, his hair short, messy and dark as coal. He wore a short-sleeved red-print shirt that reached just above his knees, blue jeans rolled up several times with holes at the knees, and white canvas sneakers filthier than the streets of Manhattan.

"Hey, are you all right?" Harry squinted up, a large blurry figure stood before him, a hand reaching out towards where he laid sprawled across the floor. "Are you Okay?"

Harry touched a hand to his face, and was shocked when his finger accidentally poked him in the eye. "M-my glasses?"

"You lost your glasses?" The man asked kindly, and all Harry could do was sit on his bum on the wet pavement and nod. Tears of frustration and worry whirled in his eyes as a sudden panic of what his Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon would say entered his mind.

"Accio," there was a whooshing sound accompanied by a tut of disappointment. "Shoot it looks like these are broken."

Harry's eyes widened, tears began to fall like rivers from his eyes. The man frantically waved his hands in front of Harry, "Oh, no. Please don't cry, look , look! Oculus Reparo! See, they are all fixed now, there is no need to cry." Harry sniffled, allowing the man to replace his glasses on his face.

"T-thank you. My Aunt and Uncle would have beaten me had I come home with them broken again." Harry smiled shyly at the man before him, studying his features now that he was able to see him clearer.

The man stood tall, around six feet. His hair was black and extremely curly, his eyes a hypnotizing color of gray. He was dressed well, of what you would expect the richest people of England to wear, and had an aura of trust, and loyalty surrounding him. "It was no problem, what might your name be?"

"Harry Potter, Sir."

The mans eyes widened, "Harry?"

Harry nodded, his small body shivering in the cold. "Yes, Sir."

The man studied him closely, not speaking at first. Not quite being able to believe his eyes. "My name is Sirius. Sirius Black."

AN: Just trying this out to see if anyone is interested in it, if you are review and let me know!