Author's Important Note:

Look, if you go to my profile, you can see my various reasons for inactivity, and this is my way of trying to "get back into things,". This is my 2nd collab with The-Living-Shadow and operates under the same lines as most of my fanfic. Yaoi, M for Future Content, Crossover, Dont Like - Dont Read. Simple.

Forgive me, I'm trying to get back to normal. I'd lose patience with myself too - starting and stopping on everything. But Escapism is likely to come next, so just..bare with me..us, please?

R&R

Chapter One

The Dursleys had stopped inviting him down for dinner and instead brought it to the freak's room, where it was barely touched.

None of them were at all, eased by the blank stare that was perpetually affixed to Harry Potter.

Something had happened at that freak school of his, and his freak godfather, - something was always happening.

Frankly none of them cared about the details of whatever had transpired, all they knew was that it had a devastating effect.

They did their best to distance themselves, that's what the boy needed - distance.

He was even less normal then before and none of them wanted to deal with it or even approach it. Even Dudley had refrained from approaching Harry after lapsing into abnormal shivers when he'd approached the door of the smallest bedroom.

Nothing had felt right since he'd returned to Privet Drive; he had put that down to Sirius Black dying in the Department of Mysteries, and the cut correspondence to his friends.

Returning to a semblance of normalcy in the muggle world away from witches and wizards, surely that and the combination of mourning and his failed occlumency had something to do with it. That was another thing that as bugging Harry (a lot of things were now that he had an unbearable amount of time to contemplate it), his nightmares.

They hadn't increased or decreased in both violence or frequency, but rather, his emotional response to them had decreased dramatically.

He felt so detached from everything and it couldn't be rationed down to his attempts at occlumency because he failed amazingly at it.

Harry found that even when the Dursleys had left him be, and started leaving the heater on at night, as per Harry's only demand, he'd awoken abruptly in sweats and shivers. He did not feel the regular hot intensity of awaking out of Voldemort's mind, but rather a sweeping coldness that was burrowing into his core, like a worm into an apple.

Waking up in his bed, curling himself repeatedly into his thin sheets and clothes, shocking himself when he could see his own silvery breathe in the night.

Everyday he felt himself getting colder and paler, and he was sure he was ill, when Aunt Petunia had finally gotten the nerve to open his door fully and check in, she dropped the dinner she was bringing up.

Yelling something about being accused of not looking after him, and "freaks thinking we're neglecting you," Harry was forcibly dragged to a muggle doctor , this was when it got stranger for Harry Potter (since when was it ever normal?)

The muggle doctor had to check several times after spending a solid amount of time digging out his medical record, making calls, and even referring Harry into ER.

The average body temperature of your standard person was around 37 Degrees Celsius, and to have it be different was highly irregular and indicate to a range of medical issues.

Other then this, Harry proved to be in perfect health - if a bit on the thin side, but could be cured easily with a regulated diet.

The problem with Harry was his body temperature was far lower then something statistically possible and it was raising serious issues for the muggle was no issue with his hypothalamus, except that it didn't seem to be making any effort in regulating him back to a healthy temperature, and seemed perfectly content with Harry's state.

The question begged - how are you still alive and functioning? The boy couldn't be any colder if he had Jack Frost sitting on his shoulder.

Eventually Harry had to tell the Order, who did a swift job in obliviating the doctor's and trying to get a healer over while guarding, but Harry seemed healthy enough.

Funnily enough, the only person aware of Harry's state who wasn't worried was Albus Dumbledore himself, who was reclined back in his chair at his office with a hand going through his beard.

An eye looked over his half-moon glasses to Fawkes, who seemed to know what was going on, and was rather ruffled at the lack of attention.

Finally he let out a content little chuckle while contemplating writing to Harry to clear things up, or let the boy self discover.

"Old Jack's at it again I see, didn't think that would happen," he popped a lemon drop into his mouth and then shifted to a slightly more serious expression as he looked at Fawkes.

"Love? The Power the Dark Lord Knows Not...how could I have miscalculated so grievously?" he mumbled, to which Fawkes responded with the avian equivalent of a shrug.

The old man DID seem more prone to errors in his old age.

Harry tried putting on several pairs of oversized clothes but nothing seemed to work, to warm him up after his nightmare.

So he ran out into the corridor and into the bathroom, barely controlling the temperature of the showers as he put them on so hot that'd leave white skin, pink and seared.

He discarded his clothes and threw himself into it, bracing himself for a terrible burn.

Instead he felt a tickle of lukewarm water being rained down upon him, and putting blots of water into his glasses that he'd forgotten to remove.

He looked around the bathroom in surprise but found everything so incredibly foggy that he removed his glasses, only to find the entire room had instantly smoked up even thicker then what had stained his lenses.

Steam radiated off his naked back and Harry leaned back into the bathtub in complete defeat, though no longer shivering, accepting his weird medical condition - at least until he could see Madame Pomfrey at Hogwarts - hell even Snape might have an answer.

Searing hot water tickled his skin as merely lukewarm as he leaned into the tub, and as he felt defeat and forced acceptance, he felt the intensity of the coldness dissipate.

He felt a little more of the water's heat, slowly, and before it'd return to the searing heat that he'd set it as, Harry turned it off.

Everything was easier to control if you accepted it, and it seemed the same appeared for his...rather bizarre, cold state of affairs.

This was how it went for many nights at a time, he stopped bothering to go out and opted to sleep in to catch up on his rest, and stare mournfully out of his steamed up windows.

He resolved it was a magical issue, but had no idea of the cause.

There were days when it fell to the wayside though, and his worries turned to his social struggles. Harry did his best to act the way he always did, even with depression and his condition hanging over him like a cloud. He eventually started going out and accepting chores again, that the Dursleys hesitantly gave – having the Order's threat in mind.

Harry nodded to his Aunt who ordered him into the gardens to take out the freshly grown-in weeds, with Mad-Eye's advice in mind, he reached for his wand to slide into his front pocket – just incase. He was mindful not to put it in the back, lest he sit on it, or in Mad-Eye's words "blast off a buttock,".

It was the first time he'd reached for his wand all summer, and he was surprised by how…off it had felt. He furrowed his brow and looked at his wand, he was sure it wasn't depleting since he was sure there was methods to prevent wood rot. Harry could have sworn that the deep brown of the wood was getting lighter everytime he looked at it, so he made a mental note to see Ollivander before the start of term. Even as he firmly grasped it and ran his hand over it, it felt cold on the inside, which was bizarre. Sighing to himself, he guessed it was his condition again – everything was starting to seem cold these days, freezing even.

And even though Albus Dumbledore wasn't Harry's favourite person at the moment, he'd even wrote to him in desperation, and hadn't received a response in days…

Even Hedwig could tell something had changed, but made an effort not to fly back when Harry stroked her out of loneliness, though shivering in a ruffle of feathers, feeling the tender cold.

After tucking his wand away and shaking out of his thoughts, he went into the garden and began to weed. The menial task did little to take Harry's mind off his thoughts as he heard passing children whisper just loud enough under their breath about him. They used to rehash the things the Dursleys put out about him, but the whole neighbourhood had heard of his freakishness, now the kids were saying something else.

They made mock-shivering sounds, which turned real when they entered his radius, and when Harry looked up to meet their eyes, they'd say something along the lines of "Erugh, ew, freak,"

Too young to really start swearing, the children left with howls of "Jack Frost! Jack Frost! Jack Frost!" in their wake.

Closing his eyes and muttering sourly, Harry went back to his weeding. In reality he knew there were worse things to be called, so perhaps he should suck it up and get used to this. It was probably preferable to the myriad of names he'd been called before. A reminder to get used to his newfound status came in the form of Dudley, as he adapted to calling Harry the same things the children had. It was pathetic really, especially considering that Harry had saved his cousin's life the year before, and Dudley wasn't treating him any better.

An epiphany hit him as he pulled out a stubborn weed that was lodged so hard into the soil, that he fell back unflatteringly onto his behind.

He had seen fear in the eyes of his cousin when they last spoke, which was a few days ago when Harry started coming out of his room more. Harry knew that Dudley had always feared his magic – all the Dursley's did, but this fear was more upfront, like a fresh trauma wound – like when he was actively scared of Hagrid in first year after gaining a pig's tail.

He had confronted his cousin head-on about it, who surprisingly didn't deny it and answered quickly to end the dialogue with his freakish cousin.

"You- you feel like those dement-y thingies," hissed Dudley venomously.

"I saved you from those, Dud," reasoned Harry, refusing to be hurt by the callousness of being compared to a dementor by his cousin.

Blinking owlishly, he went over the statement and pressed his cousin for more.

"Wait, I 'feel like' one? What do you mean?" he asked, honestly befuddled.

Dudley backed into the kitchen as he heard Aunt Petunia calling him for dinner and gave his cousin a last harsh look.

"You feel cold. Not…sad and… miserable… like those things, but you feel cold like them, and it's not normal," with that, he quickly waddled his way into the kitchen, not wanting to see if he made his freakish cousin angry or not.

Harry turned back and made his way upstairs to run himself a bath, they caused less steam then his blasting hot showers, opting to skip dinner.

Over the days he'd gotten used to the rather tame, though irritating names he had, as a colourful change from "Boy" or "Freak".

Even "Scarhead" and "Foureyes" had gone out of use, it was "Jack Frost," "Frosty the Snowman," and "Blizzard Boy," though it was rarer, they had stuck to humming the tunes of ice-related songs, spitefully, whenever Harry was near. At first he hadn't found it hurtful at all, but malicious intent had leaked from the silliness of it all, leading him to feel a twinge hurt everytime his ears picked up on it.

At first they even thought he was dying, until the medics had dispelled them of the notion.

It made him angry to think of all the crap he was putting up with, but he forced it down as it made his glasses fog up and feel cold on his face.

Harry quickly got an Order member to spell them for him to prevent them from doing it, and without his permission, Tonks had also discreetly made them into rectangular, better fitting specs.

He decided to finally brave looking in the bathroom mirror, to see just how pale he looked. It didn't look as sickly as he was used to, in fact he was as white as a sheet, and his eyes looked…as they always had, though almost seemed bigger as they shone against the light like sunlight to a pond. The glasses seemed to mature his face and soothe the femininity of his high cheekbones and refined features that were being toned down as he began to reach a healthy weight. He could thank the Order for threatening the Dursleys to feed him, and Oliver Wood's Quidditch regime for his body physique –leaner, stronger, and no longer malnourished.

Grabbing a wet comb, he combed out his hair which had grown out to what Petunia would call "a hobo look", as it grew to hit his shoulders.

Finishing up, Harry decided he'd probably crack open a book he'd gotten from Hermione before his owl mail stopped.

His thoughts were halted abruptly as he heard Vernon ranting loudly to Petunia.

It was something along the lines of "Bloody immigrants moving in," and with that in mind, a slow smile trickled to Harry's lips.

I looks like he had something to do after all.

Walking over to the bathroom window, he opened it slightly to peer out; there were no moving vans, and no moving signs, but being so much a gossip like his wife, Vernon was probably right about the new comers and they would probably arrive in less than a week.

Harry wondered what they would be like.

Don't get him wrong; Asian, African, skin colour. Harry didn't care about any of that nonsense, people were people at the end of the day and were all living creatures in his eyes, to discriminate someone would make him a hypocrite like Voldemort and his blood relatives; Vernon, Petunia and Dudley.

Shaking his head against the unwanted thoughts, Harry sighed and headed for his bedroom, ignoring his still ranting uncle about 'immigrants', he wondered if he should just read the books Hermione sent him.

Then again...what else could he do OTHER than read books? There was no way his so called family would include him in any of their 'get togethers' downstairs. Sighing once more, he ignored the feeling of his wet hair freezing itself dry. Harry calmly walked back to his room, smirking when he saw the broken locks; frozen, broken and completely unusable.

Petunia was terrified when it happened, Dudley was...well cowardly and Vernon was a mix of being furious and experiencing pure terror as ice slowly covered each lock and parts of the door. In Harry's own defence, he did warn them beforehand that locking him in when he was craving a shower was a very bad thing.

For some reason, he had to have showers regularly...maybe it was because the water would sometimes freeze and sooth him; warm water no longer seemed to have that effect as much.

"Hermione might know what's wrong with me," Harry mumbled, smiling when Hedwig chirped a 'hello' as he opened his door.

"Hey girl, you miss me?" he asked softly, though he couldn't help wince when she moved slightly away to the far end on his windowsill, before forcing her body to move back in his direction; she hated the cold.

"Your one...loyal and brave girl," she chirped once more as if in agreement.

"-The most beautiful too," this time, she nodded sharply as if she knew that fact all along.

Harry laughed, grinning even more as she flew onto his bed and pecked a package before trying to untie it herself with her beak; it was not a book, but what he guessed was a letter.

"When did this come?" he asked Hedwig, who merely hooted as Harry fingered the letter and then hastily opened it.

His eyes lit up as he saw it was from the headmaster, Albus Dumbledore.

The loopy cursive read:

"Dear Harry,

My apologies for not responding sooner, there has been so much going on that it's been stealing away time. I know this isn't acceptable, with what you're going through, and I can't put too much detail into this incase of interception. I have included a textbook from my personal libraries that may clear some things up. I have added my own notes to certain parts, good luck Harry, stay strong.

-Regards,

Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore,"

Scowling at the shortness and curtness of the letter, Harry put it aside and picked up the shrunken book that had been included with the envelope, which began to open to full side.

He almost snorted at the book when he read the title: 'The True Tale of Jack Frost, by Raveneau Blanc,'

Well, the muggle story had to start from somewhere.

The story itself bore no resemblance to the tale of a heartbroken sprite who was granted temporary humanity by Father Winter, but instead was autobiography, of the first and only ice elemental. As he read further into it, he found himself enraptured with the detail in which the elemental's feelings were written.

Ice was the main state of water which Frost was recorded to control, but still retained ability over the element of water in it's entirety.

He saw Dumbledore's coloured ink weaved into the pages of the book, underlining emphasis and use of power to save Harry the time of reading between lines.

The more he read into it the more fearful he became as more and more things began to come to light.

The more learned of it the more palpable his power seemed to be, he at first became contented with it which deepened into a fear as he read the degree of power that the original Frost had.

He wondered if he possessed that power too, and an inkling spread to surety as Harry realized he was in the exact position Frost was in.

The tale told of a human, birthed from a snow sprite and a mortal, who became Frost, the only recorded water-ice elemental to date. His power was so large and encompassing that many feared him as winter rolled around and his magic peaked. Wizards refused him, and as a half-ling, the sprites refused him, as both his natural magical cores of elements and natural magic merged, into a being that ruled an entire element to a degree that bordered god-like. The most powerful fire sprite teamed up with one of the world's only forest-creature capable of wizardry – the early vampire knights, Frost became bitter with rage and used his powers to wreak havoc upon those who had wronged him, and as Grindelwald began to rise, they had to take him out.

So they did, it was a battle that raged for hours as beings representatives of both opposing elements, fire and ice waged a war that nearly faded to obscurity and fairy-tale legend.

The book told of the legendary things Frost had done, he pulled water from the air, froze it within a glance, and wrapped an icy hold around the hearts of his foes as they died at his feet. Harry dropped the book in shaking hands.

He could do all that, in theory – no… no he was sure, he could do that, those terrifying things – he was sure….

The power of the Frost had been sworn to never be reborn again as sprites banned themselves from loving and mating with humankind.

But Frost had a child, and the child was normal, a full wizard they said, but the last remaining vampire knight had known better. The fire sprites would hear none of it, it was over, they were never to band together or speak of it again, but the Knight, who was a Seer before he was recognized as a turned vampire, spoke of the power of Frost one day returning.

Then, ending as a fairytale would, Harry saw the looping text: The End.

Harry shook his head, half of that didn't seem reliable, the chance of Frost running through the veins of a half-blood Potter, who had the thin streams of Godric Gryffindor within him was associated with reds and fire, it was…it was….

Poetic irony, really.

Then it clicked.

The Power the Dark Lord Knows Not.

Could it be? It had to be, it was the only thing that made any inch of sense. Love was well and good and Voldemort was definitely a sociopath incapable of it, but how could that have been the weapon? How could he have used that offensively? It was a one-off defence mechanism that had saved him from the killing curse by means of a blood and life sacrifice, meaning it only worked once.

The blood wards were trickling remnants, a weak defence, but no way would it mean he would survive a killing curse again, if he did, it'd be for reasons beyond his mother's sacrifice, which has been paid for.

Harry groaned in despair and leaned back into the bed, with only Hedwig's sympathetic hoot to soothe him.

"Would they to turn against me? Like what happened to Frost in the story?" he mumbled bitterly; half-breeds though excepted, were still scorned upon in the wizard world. Harry didn't doubt for one second that he would be an 'exception', just look at Hagrid; kind to everyone, causing all the school children at Hogwarts to love him, but as soon as they graduated, they never looked his way again, or even lifted a finger to make his life more comfortable.

They thought Harry was a freak before he became Frost just because he could speak to snakes, told them the truth about Voldemort...and yet they still treated him like a monster, even Ron who was supposed to be his best friend looked at him like he was some kind of freak of nature.

As soon as he killed Voldemort...his life...the wizard world would make it a living hell. Those classed as non-human (wizard) were not allowed into their family vaults, were not allowed slandered jobs unless approved by the ministry and were checked on whenever they had children, encase they did anything inhumane.

And yet Purebloods like Neville's family got away with throwing him out a window, and no one saw this as inhumane? He was a bloody child!

Harry only hoped that he would still be classed as a wizard...for he knew for a fact that non-wizards were not allowed a wand.

"No point thinking about these things yet," he mumbled, turning to Hedwig as she flew to the window "What is it girl?"

A moving van was slowly parking into the driveway of the house Vernon had said was being sold to 'immigrants' and from what Harry could see, another three vans were trying to find parking space a few houses down.

None owned a car, but Harry could see them complaining about it anyway.

He watched with fascination as both men and women helped carry furniture inside half an hour later. The person who was instructing where things should be placed was a tall dark skinned (and rather good looking) woman with long black hair, and if he had to say what was her most attractive feature, he would choose her eyes; sea blue.

A strange, yet beautiful combination.

She looked up as if somehow knowing he was staring at her, smiled and waved happily causing Harry to do the same but with less vigour. If he could, he would blush.

Now, the next two to walk out (more like the elder pushed out) the younger man from the back of one of the moving vans (who then made a dramatic response to the sudden sunlight) walked towards the young woman. One was bald and had a tattoo covering part of his face, the other...

Was blond….

That was the first thought that hit Harry 'blond?'

Shaking his head, he watched as the youngest seemed to argue about something, shaking his head and almost snarling the word 'school' it was obvious what they were talking about after that.

It was when he turned towards Harry's direction that Harry thought time had stopped; Purple eyes 'Now that is something I have never seen before' he thought in astonishment, not knowing the other was having similar thoughts to his green ones. Smiling nervously, Harry waved and mouthed a small 'hello', trying to be polite and hoping that he was as nice as the woman.

He seemed to stare for a few seconds before quickly turning around, completely ignoring Harry's greeting.

The elder male just nodded at and raised his hand once in greeting. Harry was promptly greeted by…an albino boy? Gosh, the Dursleys were NOT going to shut up about this, he could sense it.

Harry then felt his social awkwardness spiking up as he gave into urge and backed out of his window, which in response, fogged up unnaturally.

With a withering sigh he turned to his bed, feeling tired from all of his previous reading, and uncomfortable sleep pattern, he began to rest.