Disclaimer for Entire Story: I don't own Harry Potter. That honor belongs to J.K. Rowling, and I tip my hat to her, thanking her for letting us play in her sandbox.

Warnings for Entire Story: Child abuse, mentions of child abuse, blood, nudity, violence, and language. And oh yah, OC's!

This chapter was edited and updated on 12/14/14


He wasn't sure what time it was. It could have been early morning or very late at night for all he he did know was that when he woke up, he wasn't in his cupboard anymore.

A young boy named Harry Potter, who had just turned five not too long ago, parted his lips in a silent moan of pain and shifted on whatever he was laying on. It was rough, and itchy, and it smelled like it hadn't been washed in years. Not wanting to open his eyes just yet, the boy curled up slightly; shivering even though it wasn't cold at all.

He hurt. That was all he could think: was that it hurt so much. His Uncle Vernon had beaten him again, though Harry couldn't remember why at the moment. Maybe he broke a dish. Forgot to do a chore. Or more than likely, Dudley accused him of something again; maybe breaking a old toy so Dudley could get a brand new one.

Or maybe he was just being a freak again.

Either way, all he could tell was that he was still injured badly, and definitely hadn't been treated. There were multiple cuts on his face, but the large cut on his forehead was only one still bleeding - slowly trickling down his bruised cheek. He wondered idly if he'd have another scar to go with his lightning bolt. His whole torso felt like it was one entire bruise, his left ankle ached from being stomped on, and he was sure that his right arm was broken, or at the very least fractured, displaying multiple bruises from his uncle's large hands. It was the worst beating he'd ever received; to the point that he blacked out in the middle of it.

Something jostled underneath Harry, and the young child whimpered softly at being jostled. His opened his eyes carefully, revealing orbs of stunning bright green that were clouded with pain. He blinked a few times in the darkness as he finally recognized where he was; inside of his uncle's car. Harry was laying across the backseat, and when he glanced down, he saw that there was a very old, very used blanket underneath him, lightly stained with his blood.

Harry frowned. Why was he in the car? His uncle never let him in the car unless he was being forced to clean it. He wanted to ask, but the headlights from a crossing car lit up his Uncle's Vernon's face, and Harry instinctively flinched back. The look on his uncle's large face was terrible; a dark grin with calculating eyes as he watched the road. As another car passed them, Harry could see his guardian muttering inaudibly into his mustache.

Watching his uncle for a long moment, Harry closed his eyes again, though now he could see the occasional bright light through his eyelids when cars and lampposts passed by. He wasn't sure what was going on, but he felt quite sure that the best thing to do right now was to stay quiet. To stay out of more trouble.

After what felt like hours had passed, Harry was starting to get worried. There were no more lights, save for his uncle's cars headlights and the dim light of the moon, and when he chanced glancing up once, all he could see was trees. Why had Uncle Vernon taken him all the way out here? Paranoia finally starting to set in, and Harry's thoughts were racing; wondering what would happen to him and how he could escape it.

Suddenly, the car came to a sharp halt, and Harry was so surprised he fell forward onto the floor of the car, now firmly wedged between the front and back seats. He couldn't help but cry out in pain as his right arm hit the ground first, allowing his body crushing it. Harry whimpered as he tried to scramble up, so there would be no more pressure on his arm, but a huff of surprise made him snap his head up.

"Finally awake, are you?" Uncle Vernon sneered as he looked back at his nephew. The one he didn't even want.

"W-What -?"

"Shut up!" snapped the heavy man, his mustache twitching. Harry flinched again. Without another word, Uncle Vernon got out of the car, which gave a grateful groan once it was relieved of the man's large weight. Straining his hearing, Harry could just hear the crunch of gravel.

Sitting up slowly, Harry rested against the back of the passenger's seat, where Aunt Petunia usually sat, and cradled his injured arm in his lap. What was going on? What would Uncle Vernon do with him? Memories of old beatings flickered through his mind, and Harry wanted to cry, his eyes burning from the tears that had yet to be spilled.

The door farthest suddenly swung open, and in the dim moon light, the face of Uncle Vernon looked more frightening than ever. "Get over here!" snarled his uncle, he reaching out with a large, meaty hand. Harry tried to back away, but he was trapped; the other door blocked his escape. A hand larger than Harry's head wrapped around his uninjured arm. Ignoring the frightened look on his nephew's face, Uncle Vernon yanked the hapless child forward.

Dragged painfully out of the car, Harry hit the ground and landed on his hands and knee's. The sharp stones dug into his soft flesh and his broken arm filled with pain. Shaking, he glanced around. They were on the side of a gravel road; trees surrounded them on all sides. The full moon did nothing to help him see, only the glaringly bright headlights let him see anything at all. The forest looked dangerous, foreboding even, and again, Harry's paranoia kicked into overdrive: images - from stories his guardians told him to what he saw from Dudley's horror movies - filling his mind, until he wanted to start cry for a different reason.

A kick to the side caused to him snap out of his thoughts and he couldn't help but yelp as he fell over. "Move it!" snapped Uncle Vernon.

"W-Where are we going?" asked Harry, his voice barely audible in the silent night.

Growling instead of answering, Vernon grabbed Harry's arm again and started to pull him along, straight into the dark, ominous forest. Harry tried his hardest to yank his arm free, but the grip simply tightened; the fat fingers digging into Harry's thin arm. No! He didn't want to go into the forest! His instincts screamed at him for allowing himself be dragged along like this, into such an obviously dangerous place, but there was nothing he could do about it.

He was caught.

For the longest time, the only sounds Harry could hear were the snapping of twigs and the crunch of leaves as his uncle stomped through the forest, dragging his nephew like a suitcase. His arm was starting to painfully lose circulation from the tight grip, and he was having a hard time keeping up; his throbbing ankle getting worse each time he stepped down. He wondered how long much longer Uncle Vernon would force them to go on when the large man suddenly stopped, almost causing Harry to run into him.

Releasing his grip on Harry's arm, Uncle Vernon simply moved his hand to the tangled black hair, a cry of pain filling the air as he pulled his nephew's head back sharply. "I've had enough of you," Uncle Vernon hissed. "I've been forced to take care of you for four fucking years, and what do I get in return?" He shook Harry's head, and another cry of pain filled the air. "Nothing! Nothing but your freakish nature!"

"Uncle Vern-"

"Don't call me that!" snarled Uncle Vernon. "You are not my nephew! You aren't even related to me!" After another violent shake, he finally tossed Harry to the ground. "Go!"

"What?" Harry tried to get stand up. "Go where?"

"Anywhere!" sneered Uncle Vernon. "Don't you get it? I don't want you! Petunia doesn't want you! Not even your parents wanted you!" He kicked the earth, and Harry flinched as specks of dirt flew at his face. "No one wants you! Now go! Get!" Turning on his heel, Uncle Vernon started to leave.

Leave. He was leaving Harry here. All alone.

His eyes wide in realization, Harry scrambled forward. "No! Don't leave me here, Uncle Vernon! I swear, I'll work hard, just please!" No! Please! He didn't want to be left here, in the woods, where who knows what could find him, maybe even kill him?

"We don't want you anymore, you freak!" snapped out Uncle Vernon. "I can't beat the freakishness out of you like I thought!"

"Please, Uncle Vernon!" Harry reached out, grabbed whatever he could - which turned out to be the sleeve of his uncle's jacket, but with a swing of his arm, Uncle Vernon backhanded him away, watching with uncaring eyes as Harry tumbled to the ground.

"Don't touch me, you little bastard freak!"

Cradling his cheek, Harry looked at Uncle Vernon with watery eyes. "How will I live out here?" he cried. "How will I get food and water?"

"That's your own problem," Uncle Vernon said coldly. "Personally, I hope you don't find anything. I hope you die."

Suddenly, a long howl filled the air, and both of them stopped as they listened to the lone wolf call to his pack. A sinister smirk crossed Uncle Vernon's face. "Maybe the wolves will find you before you have that problem."

Tears ran down Harry's bruised and battered cheeks. "Uncle Vernon... please... Don't leave me-"

A loud 'bang' filled the air, and the inky haired boy froze in shock. Barely visible in the dim moonlight, he could something reflective in his Uncle Vernon's hand; something he had only seen on the telly when Dudley couldn't see him watching. A hand-held gun, he finally realized, glinting silver in the faint light. When had his uncle gotten a gun out?!

"Get going!" his uncle roared. "Or next time, I won't miss!"

Harry didn't even take a moment to think. Scrambling back, he turned and ran. He ran as hard and fast as he could, which wasn't very well. He had to get away, though. Get away from his uncle. From the gun. From the family that didn't want him. That abused him. From everything.

Running was painful, especially with his still throbbing ankle, and he fell more then once; but he would push himself back up and run again, if more slowly then before. When he finally did stop after what seemed like hours, but was probably only fifteen minutes, Harry collapsed against a large tree. Frantic pants came out in small, white clouds and sweat covering his pale skin. Harry tilted his head back, letting it rest against the rough bark, Harry searched for the dark sky. For the bright moon, and the twinkling stars. They were what he always looked for when he managed to get out of his cupboard; they comforted him when nothing else would.

Harry could see nothing now; the slowly changing leaves hiding everything from him.

His resolve breaking completely, tears poured down Harry's cheeks. Absentmindedly, he tried to wipe them away with his long sleeve, only to flinch when he touched his bruises. No one wanted him. He knew that his family didn't like him, they did make him do almost all the chores, but to not even want him? At all? It was like a punch to the gut, taking his breath utterly away.

No one would miss him. He didn't go to school yet; no one there would miss him. He didn't have any friends. The only person he knew besides the Dursleys was Mrs. Figg, the cat lady from down the street, and who knew how long it would take before she even noticed him missing. No one would come for him. He was all alone.

"Mom, Dad," Harry croaked out to the silence, "Why? Why did you have to die?" Tears burned his eyes. "WHY DID YOU HAVE TO DIE?!" he finally screamed. They left him alone the moment they died in that car crash. Sometimes, he wondered why he hadn't died with them. Then he wouldn't be so alone right now. He'd be with them, happy.

He wasn't going to survive this latest abuse, though. Harry knew he couldn't survive out in these woods with food and water for long, and he didn't know how to find either one. And even if he did, he would have more trouble later - with nothing more then Dudley's large clothes on his back, and with shoes that threatened to break apart any moment, he wouldn't make it to winter if he didn't find more clothes. He was going to die out here.

The faint sound of crunching leaves filled the air, and Harry stiffened. Something was coming his way, and whatever it was, it sounded big. Really big. Scrambling up, he hobbled in the opposite direction, ignoring his ankle once more. He had to hide! He had to try and survive. He couldn't die after not even being alone an hour. Where could he hide, though?

Something caught his eye, and Harry almost fell over when he came to a sharp halt. There. It was the answer. A hallowed out log, almost completely hidden by a brush and piles of twigs. He wasn't even sure how he noticed it. That didn't matter; it was a place to hide in.

Just a few yards away, Harry felt his bad ankle buckle underneath him, and hit the ground with a heavy thud. Not moving for a long moment from the sudden pain, Harry crawled on, dragging his leg behind him. Continuing on until he was deep inside the log, splinters digging into his skin, Harry gasped for breath. He had just enough room to curl up, and if he didn't move too much, he wouldn't be noticeable.

At least, Harry hoped so.

The crunching never came again, instead replaced by the sound of an animal sniffing the ground, snorting against the leaves. Harry heart raced out of control. He had forgotten about animals' senses of smell. It could sniff him out. He just hoped this log would be able to protect him from whatever was out there.

It only took a moment before all thoughts of being safe raced out the window as the large creature finally found him, standing at the entrance to his log. Sniffing the air one more time, the animal bowed its head, and Harry's eyes went wide before he pressed his back against the wall of the log, trying not to scream.

The large wolf staring at him with bright golden eyes seemed to whine in confusion.