Author's Note: This story was basically written to combine my love of Tom/Harry with my love of the Fantastic Beasts characters lol

Harry winced and covered his ears, trying to shut out his uncle's screaming.

His hands were wrenched painfully away from the side of his face, and when Harry opened his eyes again it was to meet the crouched figure of his uncle, face red and large and eyes bulging.

"You listen to me when I'm talking to you, boy!" Uncle Vernon spat. "I hope you have a good explanation for yourself!"

"Dudley threw Action Man into the bin," Harry cried, rubbing his sore wrist when Uncle Vernon had grabbed him. "He didn't want him!"

"So you thought you could steal it?" Uncle Vernon roared. "Look how upset Dudley is."

Harry glanced over to where his cousin Dudley was being coddled by his mother on the sofa. Aunt Petunia had never hugged Harry like that; whenever Harry tried she would push him away with a sneer.

"But he's broke-" Harry tried to protest, but his uncle was having none of it.

"I'm tired of your attitude, boy!" Uncle Vernon hissed. "You're plain disrespectful and ungrateful."

Harry didn't understand what those words meant, but he did when Aunt Petunia added, "a nasty little boy."

"I'm, I'm sorry," Harry muttered, dropping his gaze and shuffling his foot on the carpet. All he ever did was make his aunt and uncle unhappy, no matter what he did. All Harry wanted was for them to smile at him or make him laugh like they did with Dudley, but nothing he did was ever good enough.

"Sorry?" Uncle Vernon repeated with a sneer. "Sorry doesn't mean anything, boy. You can prove to Dudley you're sorry by letting him have one of your toys. That plastic soldier of yours."

"But that's my only toy!" Harry protested, looking back up at his uncle in horror before reverting his gaze back to the floor under his uncle's furious glare. "Please, uncle Vernon, it's mine!"

"Maybe you should have thought about that before you tried stealing from poor Duddy," Petunia snapped. "Now do as you're told, or can't you even do that right?"

Harry's eyes felt wet, and he wiped the back of his hand over them but it gained no sympathy from his aunt and uncle.

"Now, boy!" Uncle Vernon shouted.

His uncle stepped behind him as Harry left the living room to get to his cupboard. He opened the door to the tiny space under the stairs, where the toy soldier in question was tucked neatly under the sheets.

Harry loved the toy that Mrs Figg had given him once. Dudley had torn one of its arms off and scribbled over it with permanent marker, but Harry liked that it looked a little bit different. He could play with the soldier for hours, talking to it and pretending it was his father come home from war.

Harry picked the soldier up gingerly, and held it out towards his uncle sullenly.

"Please, Uncle Vernon," Harry tried again, but his uncle snatched the toy from Harry's grasp before he could even finish his sentence.

"I hope you learn a valuable lesson from this," Uncle Vernon said, moustache flaring as Harry huffed. "You're not good enough for anything of Dudley's; the sooner you learn your place the better."

Harry made a move to step out of the cupboard but his uncle's large hands stopped him.

"Don't even think about it, boy; you're still being punished," Uncle Vernon stated coldly. "Two days in your cupboard, I think."

"No!" Harry cried, rushing forwards but being pushed back harshly before he was bathed in darkness.

He slammed his hands on the door as the outside lock clicked into place, and even as Harry slammed on the door louder and louder he could hear his uncle walking down the hallway and the volume of the TV being turned up full blast.

Harry let out a sob, flopping back onto his bed and drawing his thin pillow to his chest. He didn't even have his toy soldier with him now to keep him company; he was completely alone. Harry was beginning to think that maybe he was just unlovable; that's what his aunt and uncle always said. Harry thought he could change their minds, but maybe he was wrong.

If his aunt and uncle heard him crying as they went about their day, they didn't come to him. As usual, Harry was left alone.

"Hungry, so hungry."

Harry froze in his position sat on the ground where he was pulling up grass, confused about where the voice had come from.

There was nobody in the garden except for him, and the voice certainly hadn't sounded like anyone in his family; it was far too quiet and calm for that.

"What to eat? What to eat?"

The voice seemed to be coming from the hedge at the end of the garden, so Harry crawled nearer to it, trying to see if he could spot shoes sticking up from behind the hedge.

There was still nobody to be seen, however, and it was only when Harry put his hand down and head the words, "silly human!" that Harry realised where the voice was coming from.

A long brown snake with black markings was looking up at Harry with beady eyes, tongue flicking out of its mouth as it studied him.

"Sorry for nearly squishing you, snake," Harry said, smiling down at the snake; it was quite cute, really. Harry had never seen a snake before in real life.

The snake lifted its head, almost appearing surprised. "A snake speaker? What an interesting small human you are."

"Do you know what I'm saying?" Harry asked the snake. "That's so rad! I've never spoken to an animal before. What's your name?"

"I don't have a name," the snake answered. "I am simply snake. Do you have a name, small human?."

"I'm Harry," Harry answered. "But my family usually calls me boy. I don't like that name very much."

"Why do they call you that if you don't like it?," the snake enquired, flicking its tongue out thoughtfully.

Harry shrugged. "They don't like me."

"Well I like you, small human," the snake hissed. "I'll be your friend."

Harry opened his mouth to respond, excited at the thought of having a friend all of his own, when a booming voice broke through the silence.

"Boy?!" Uncle Vernon roared. "What the hell are you doing?"

The snake slithered away into the bushes but not fast enough for Uncle Vernon to see him.

"S-snakes?" Uncle Vernon spluttered. "What are you bringing to our garden, boy?"

"I just found-" Harry tried to protest, breaking off with a cry of pain as Uncle Vernon grabbed hold of Harry's hair to haul him to his feet.

"I'm tired of your lies!" Uncle Vernon spat, grabbing Harry's arm roughly to pull him into the house.

"Let go! You're hurting me!" Harry cried, trying to yank his arm free but only causing his uncle to hold on tighter.

Tears sprang to Harry's eyes as he was dragged into the house, and he used his free arm to try and batter Uncle Vernon's hand away but it was to no avail; his uncle was just too strong for him.

"I'm not going to stand for freakish nonsense in or around my house!" Uncle Vernon shouted as he pushed Harry into his cupboard forcefully. "A week in your cupboard, boy, and if I catch you with any more snakes I'm going to make you regret it."

Uncle Vernon raised his first threateningly before slamming the door shut in Harry's face.

Harry kicked the door, sending a jolt of pain through his toes but he kicked it again, desperate to get out of the small space.

"I'm sorry, Uncle!" Harry cried, banging his fists on the door. "Please let me out! Uncle!"

But nobody came, not even when Harry screamed himself hoarse.

Nobody ever came.

A crack of thunder rumbled loudly around him, and Harry huddle deeper under the thin sheet of his bed to try and drown out the sound.

It got pitch black in his cupboard at night. Harry didn't mind the dark usually—he was more than used to it by now—but when the only sound he could hear was thunder echoing in the middle of the night, it got his heart racing and his palms sweaty, and all he could focus on was how small the walls around him were and what would happen if the thunder caused them to be come crashing down on him.

Another crack of thunder sounded and Harry buried himself further under his covers. He knew there was no point shouting for his aunt; the first time he'd done that she'd screamed at him for disturbing her and told him not to be a baby, and everytime after that she'd ignored him, And even if Harry knew Uncle Vernon would come—which he certainly wouldn't—Harry wouldn't want him there anyway.

Harry had seen the other children at nursery with their parents, and Dudley with his, and he wondered why he didn't have that. He knew his mum and dad weren't around but nobody had told him why, only that they were dead, but Harry often wondered if they'd have loved him or if they'd have hated him like Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon did.

He wanted to be good, and he wanted to be lovable, but all Harry got was locked away and ignored, and when they did give him attention it was only to tell him off and punish him.

Harry dreamt sometimes of a lady singing to him, an old man cradling him in his arms, a motorbike flying him across the sky, and Harry always felt peaceful when he woke up from those dreams. All Harry wanted was for a family who loved him, who talked to him and treated him nicely, and looked after him when he was scared.

He closed his eyes, trying to imagine somebody opening his cupboard door, a man or a woman with black hair, green eyes, and a kind smile. They'd look down at Harry and scoop him up in their arms, keeping him warm and close and loved. They'd be a long lost aunt or uncle, perhaps, or a distant cousin, come back from a wild jungle across the seas or home after a long trek across the deserts, And now they were back they were going to take Harry away, far away, where he was going to be loved and wanted. Everything would become brighter for Harry; he'd have his own room and his own toys, and nobody would ever shout at him again or lock him away in a cupboard, forgotten.

Harry finally drifted into sleep with a smile on his face.

Rumbling laughter sounded from the house, but Harry ignored it, trying to focus on the nest he was making with the grass he was pulling up.

A door barked inside and Harry really hoped they didn't let it out into the garden. Aunt Marge was round, and Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon had made Harry go outside until Aunt Marge left because they said she hated the sight of him.

Harry had never done anything bad to Aunt Marge, but she seemed to hate him even more than his aunt and uncle. She wasn't afraid to hit him if he got to close to her, and Harry hated that, so he was quite happy to be outside away from her.

The snake that Harry had spoken to just over a week ago hadn't been back so far, and Harry was a little bit disappointed. The snake had been friendly, plus Harry had never spoken to any kind of animal before and as far as Harry knew nobody else knew how to do it. It made Harry feel good that he could so something that nobody else could.

Unless it had been a dream, but it had certainly hurt when Uncle Vernon had grabbed Harry to drag him inside, and dreams weren't supposed to feel real.

A loud crack echoed through the garden, followed by a strong gust of wind which blew Harry's hard-made nest away, green whipping past his fast in a blur. He shivered at the sudden, unexpected chill, and reached out with grabbing hands to try and save his nest but only managed to catch a few blades.

Harry sighed and turned back to his work patch, where so many tufts of grass had been pulled out that squares of mud overtook the green. He started to make an attempt to fix his grass nest when he felt eyes on him, and Harry was surprised to see a woman silently watching him as he glanced up.

The woman was tall and slim, with dark hair and sharp grey eyes. She appeared to be old, older than Aunt Petunia and Aunt Marge at least, and was wearing a strange black dress that trailed all the way to the floor. She didn't have friendly eyes, but she smiled down at Harry.

Harry couldn't remember anybody smiling at him before.

"Hello," the woman said, reaching her hand out in invitation towards Harry.

Harry just stared back at her, watching her cautiously. He didn't want to call for his aunt and uncle—not that they'd come and help him anyway—but also the woman seemed nice, if not a little bit unusual looking.

"At nursery they told us not to talk to strangers," Harry said, tilting his head as he looked up at the woman.

"We're not strangers," the woman answered, walking towards Harry and crouching down in front of him. "I know you, Harry; I'm a friend of a friend. My name is Walburga."

Harry crinkled his nose. "I'm sorry, lady, I don't have any friends."

Walburga tutted. "Not that you remember, Harry. You have friends and your aunt and uncle won't let you see them. I'm here to help you. Don't you want to see your friends again?"

Harry considered Walburga carefully. She was still smiling, and Harry supposed that anyone who could smile at him that long must actually like him, and besides, how long had Harry dreamed of someone coming to take him away to a home where he was wanted?

The woman's smile faltered as she began to cough, hacking loudly, and when she pulled her hand away from her mouth it was stained red.

"Are you hurt?" Harry asked, but Walburga simply shook her head and wiped her hand on her dress.

"You're a sweet boy, Harry, that's why I'm going to help you," Walburga murmured softly, reaching into her pocket and pulling out a golden necklace. "This is for you."

The necklace was a long, heavy chain, and dangling from it was an intricate design of gold, metal bands that twisted all around a tiny hourglass filled with glittering silver sand. It was nothing like any of Aunt Petunia's jewellery, and as Harry closed his hand around the chain it felt like it was almost pulsing.

"Thank you," Harry muttered, uncertainly. Nobody had ever really given him a present before, only old pairs of socks or a ten-pence coin. "Is this really for me?"

"Yes, and only for you," Walburga nodded. "Don't let any of your family see it, okay? They are filth, and only special boys like you get to have a present like this."

Harry nodded slowly. Walburga's eyes had darkened, almost making her look scary, but she was still smiling at Harry and she'd given him a present, plus she said they were friends. Harry couldn't remember having friends, so he didn't want to lose her by throwing the present back at her.

"Now, that is a very clever present," Walburga continued. "Next time you're all alone and scared, all you have to do is spin the hourglass around, as many times as you can, can it will take you somewhere safe, to an old friend; somebody who cares about you. No, don't do it yet," she added quickly, reaching out to stop Harry's fingers as he made an attempt to spin it. "You have to wait until you're on your own."

"How does it do that?" Harry asked, eyes wide.

"Magic," Walburga answered simply. "It's as magic as you or I."

"Magic isn't real," Harry murmured, shaking his head. He'd heard as much from Uncle Vernon every time Dudley's cartoons had witches in. Uncle Vernon was very adamant about that. "My uncle said so."

"Your aunt and uncle are liars," Walburga replied. "They're not your friends, but I am, and friends tell one another the truth. Don't you trust me, Harry? Am I not your friend?"

"You are!" Harry protested as the smile began to fall from Walburga's face. He didn't want her to hate him too. "I believe you."

"Good," Walburga said, smiling again. "So next time you're alone and scared, you'll do as I told you, yes?" Harry nodded. "Good boy. This is going to help you, Harry; I promise."

Harry laid his hands flat over his stomach as it rumbled loudly.

Aunt Petunia had sent Harry to bed without any dinner for upsetting Dudley—Dudley had been prodding and punching Harry and his aunt and uncle hadn't cared until Harry tried to slap Dudley's hand away.

Harry could hear Dudley laughing now, along with the booming chortle of Uncle Vernon and the quiet titter of Aunt Petunia. They were always happy when Harry wasn't there, acting like the other families that Harry saw on the street.

Harry reached a hand under his pillow, pulling out the golden necklace that Walburga had given him just a few days prior. Even though he'd promised Walburga he was going to use it like she wanted him to, Harry hadn't been able to try it yet,

He was worried that it wouldn't work, or that he'd try but his aunt and uncle would catch him and punish him for trying to escape. Harry knew that Uncle Vernon was adamant that magic didn't exist, but Harry thought things could be a lot more exciting in a world of magic.

Walburga had been nice to Harry, too, nicer than anyone Harry could remember being to him. That surely made Walburga his friend—she said she was his friend—and in that case she wouldn't lie to him. Walburga just wanted to help Harry, and he wondered if she'd be disappointed if Harry didn't do as she'd asked of him; could he really afford to lose the one friend he had?

He tapped the hourglass, watching the tiny grains of silver sand shimmering behind the glass under the slight movement. Walburga had told Harry so spin the hourglass as many times as he could, and it would take him to somebody who cared about him. By magic.

All Harry had ever wanted was to be with somebody who loved him.

He put the golden chain around his neck where it weighed heavy, and lifted the hourglass design in his hands. He could hear his family laughing still, but even if they weren't Harry knew that they wouldn't come for him anyway; they weren't going to interrupt.

Harry knew he'd be upset if it turned out not to work, and that Walburga had been tricking him, or maybe even just a dream that had seemed very real, but she had offered Harry a chance to get what he wanted, and Harry couldn't resist the opportunity.

With a flick of his finger, Harry sent the hourglass spinning, tapping it over and over again as it span in a golden blur, faster and faster.

Harry's fingers began to tingle, then so did his hands, and the faster the hourglass span the further the strange sensation spread through Harry's entire body. His eyes widened in alarm and he tried to grab the hourglass to stop it spinning but it refused to cease.

The cupboard under the stairs began to shift, the room become blurred and fuzzy as a golden light began to envelop Harry. His stomach lurched as silver beams of light raced past him, and suddenly Harry felt like he was falling down a never-ending tunnel, the necklace round his neck throbbing all the while.

The sensations stopped all at once, and Harry landed on his feet with a thud in a bright room that didn't look like anything at his house on Privet Drive.

The floor was polished wood and the carpet was a rich, deep red. Bookshelves lined all of the walls, from floor to ceiling, and in the middle of the room sat a desk with a single chair behind it; a chair that was currently occupied.

The man was tall and slender, with silky blond hair that fell to his shoulders, and eyes that were vibrant blue. His head was tilted curiously at Harry, and as he stood he revealed himself to be wearing some kind of long, navy blue gown.

Harry continued to stare silently as the man crossed the room and crouched down in front of him, running gentle fingers across the lightning bolt scar on Harry's forehead.

"Hello, child," the man said with an amused smile. "My name is Gellert Grindelwald; what's yours?"