I need to stop publishing new fics, but this one wouldn't leave my mine. Another Natasha takes in Harry story, but this time...she's bringing him to the dark side :3

Hope you enjoy this ^^

Prologue

Harry fell back, or more accurately, slumped against the wall behind him. His legs were shaking and couldn't hold him up anymore. He swallowed heavily and stared down at his hands; his small, seemingly innocent hands. He had always been thinner and smaller than kids his age, just as Dudley was fatter. A whale, he called him in his head. Not in front of him, or aunt Petunia or uncle Vernon. And he, Harry Potter, so small and thin, could be mistaken for a five year old instead of the seven years old he was.

And much to his surprise, those frail, tiny hands weren't shaking, as if they hadn't regretted what they had just done. As if they hadn't released the…whatever it was, a sort of a strong wind, a blast, like those superheroes in the cartoons Dudley liked to watch on TV. But unlike heroes on TV, Harry hadn't used the blast to help someone.

He warily raised his head and glanced over the large body leaning all too still against the opposite wall. Lifeless eyes were open and staring at him accusingly. Harry swallowed hard again. He hadn't meant it. He hadn't meant to release the…blast, hadn't meant to harm the man. He just wanted to protect himself, to stop the pain, to stop the series of fists dropping over his body. He hadn't wanted anyone to be hurt, hadn't wanted to. And yet…

And yet a small part of him couldn't help but think; he had it coming.

After a deep, heavy breath, Harry stood up carefully. His legs had stopped shaking, so he took a few steps towards the body. He foolishly hoped the man was still breathing, that he was still alive. If so, he could call the ambulance, get him to a hospital. The punishment that would follow would be terrible, but he couldn't stand and do nothing when there was still a chance. So he brushed his face, ignoring the hard empty glare and called out gently:

"Sir? Uncle Vernon?" No answer. He hesitantly slapped the man's face. No reaction. "Uncle Vernon?" he tried again.

"He won't answer. I'm pretty sure you broke his neck."

The voice made him jump back and when he turned around, his eyes fell on someone. It was a woman with bright red hair, bright green eyes and prettier than most of those he saw on TV. She was standing in the entrance of the narrow passage, arms crossed, an impassible expression on her face. And then he remembered where they were, in a back alley behind an abandoned restaurant, where uncle Vernon and decided to take him to 'teach him a thing or two' after Dudley's PlayStation had mysteriously vanished. (Dudley had buried it in the garden after breaking it, but he had just complained about his missing favorite game and had just grinned when Harry took the blame.)

Harry took two steps back. His instincts were screaming at him to run away but his feet were frozen on spot. He couldn't move, didn't want to move actually. Someone had died by his hand, someone who had hurt him his whole life, but that wasn't an excuse. Killing was bad, killing made you end in jail. And –his heartbeat accelerated for a moment –what would aunt Petunia say? There was no way she would welcome him under her roof anymore.

His shoulders slumped in resignation. Perhaps jail would be better, in the end. There he would be at least safe from his aunt and cousin.

"Are you with the police?" he asked quietly.

The beautiful woman tilted her head sideways and frowned.

"The man was beating you, and you reacted in self-defense." Her voice was low and husky and detached. "What I would like to know is how you did it."

Harry's hands automatically clenched into fists and he brought them tightly against his chest.

"I –I didn't do anything! He just…he just tripped!" he protested, suddenly fearing this strange woman. What if she was part of a secret agency? What if she was a mad scientist that would take him away and make him take tests over and over again, like in that movie Dudley watched once? "I don't know what you're talking about!"

She took a few steps forwards and crouched to be at his eye level. Her green eyes stared straight at him.

"I'm sure it was an accident," she said on a compassionate tone. "I'm sure you didn't mean to do it, that you don't even know what 'it' is and until a few minutes ago, didn't realize you had 'it'." Harry felt himself tense but her eyes were soft and gentle. No-one had ever looked at him like this. "Now tell me one thing, do you regret killing him?"

The boy shivered and glanced at the unmoving body. Vernon had always scared him, with that loud voice and angry eyes. But now, he was just a big unmoving thing that couldn't hurt him anymore, and the fear was slowly being replaced by quiet anger.

"No." he replied, and was intrigued by the sincerity in his own voice. "He kept hurting me without a reason, he called me a freak." Pause. "I hated him."

The redhead nodded and reached out to take his hand. Her fingers were warm as they wrapped around his wrist and unfolded his tight fist. Not at all like the way aunt Petunia would grab him with her thin fingers so he wouldn't pull away.

"I don't think you are a freak," she said, and her voice was gentle and a little bit more genuine. Her lips stretched in a small, soft smile. "I think you are special, but that man couldn't see it."

Harry stood quiet, still not quite trusting the woman, but not wanting her to leave either. The teachers at school always said, beware of strangers, don't talk to them, don't take anything from them. But this stranger, this woman had done nothing bad to him yet. Even after she's seen what he'd done, she hadn't hurt him, she hadn't called him a freak. She had just taken his hand and smiled at him.

"Do you have a home to return to?" she asked then. Harry thought of aunt Petunia and Dudley, and shook his head. "Would you like to come with me?"

"Who are you?" he asked nonetheless, even though a big part of him wanted to say 'yes'.

The smile of the woman became a little wider and she whispered, like a secret:

"I am a little bit of a freak too."

She stood up and released his wrist, but her hand remained open, as an invitation.

"So?"

Harry stared at her eyes, big and green like his. Anything would be better than returning with the Dursleys, he believed it firmly.

So he slipped this small hand into hers and held onto it tightly.

TWATW

Mrs. Figg was returning from the market when she saw the muggle police car stationed in front of the Dursley's household. Many of the neighbors had gathered around and were speaking in low tones, exchanging inquisitive glances. She pulled her chart behind as she walked closer, all thoughts of the threat of salad and ice cream melting forgotten. Worry invaded her as she thought of the one little boy nobody ever cared of. Harry. Her 'charge', under Dumbledore's orders.

She hoped nothing had happened to him.

Once she had arrived on the site, she recognized Mrs. Carter, one of the rare muggle woman she took afternoon tea with on Thursdays. Figg hesitated, then figured Carter would be her best bet at finding out what was going on. Although the woman was a kind soul, she was an incorrigible gossip.

"Allison," she called out, catching her neighbor's attention. "Allison, what on earth is happening?"

Mrs. Carter saw her and headed by her side right away.

"Oh Arabella," she said on a condescending, like the older woman was a little senile and incapable of handling a lot of things. "You should return home, my dear. I'm afraid the Dursley's are going through terrible misfortune." She lowered her voice. "Mr. Dursley was found dead this morning, in a back alley on Nelson Boulevard, barely three miles away from here. They believe…they believe it was a…a murder."

Figg's eyes widened in fake concern, even though she couldn't care less about the fat man. Vernon Dursley was a lazy idiot, his wife a nasty gossip and his son a rude bully. Why Dumbledore had insisted putting Harry with those people, she couldn't understand. But if the man had deemed it necessary, then there must have been a reason.

"Oh my, and how is the rest of the family?"

Carter shrugged.

"That is not the worst, Arabella. Their nephew has vanished too, and Petunia believes he is the one behind Mr. Dursley's death." Her eyes widened in horror at what she had just said and Figg felt a cold sweat dripping down her face. "Oh I am sorry Arabella, I shouldn't have said this. You look so pale…"

"Harry has disappeared?" she asked again in confirmation. Carter's lips tightened in a thin line.

"Petunia always said that boy was trouble, and I always thought she was a little too strict on him. But who knew she might have been right?"

Mrs. Figg was tempted to take Harry's defense, to ask if he hadn't been kidnapped or killed or even worst (the things that muggles were capable of sometimes frightened her). But Carter was already losing interest and returning her attention on the house, from which a policeman walked out and asked people to go home. The old woman gritted her teeth and returned to her house in a hurry. A certain headmaster needed to be warned about the turn of events, and a seven year old was lost and alone somewhere. She just prayed that the Boy-Who-Lived was still actually alive when they found them.