A/N: Yo, long time no see! So I realize I have a million other things I could be writing, but this came out in a two week binge session instead. And by 'this' I mean the entire story, so for those of you who are familiar with my old writing and wondering when this will be abandoned... don't. It's done. All that's left is cleaning up typos and posting, which I will be doing twice a week.

That said, this will not have the most involved plot; it's more like one of those simple "Character A interacts with World B" kind of stories I said I'd never write. I'm still fond of it though, and I hope you enjoy it too.

This is child timeline for BOTW, by the way, for reasons that are actually important plot-wise. I'm not going to argue over this - I don't care which timeline BOTW actually belongs to, and won't until an official statement comes out.

EDIT 3/13 - typo fixes

It all happened so fast. One second Harry had been arguing with Dudley, furious enough to just about forget the underage restrictions on casting magic. The next the streets had gone black, stars blotted out by an unnatural darkness. The air chilled, and every breath puffed out in clouds of mist he couldn't see. Harry had felt a surge of fear then, a rising dread at the sensations that were as familiar as they were horrifying.

Dementors could not be in Little Whinging.

Dudley had succumbed to terror, and in his panicked flailing had knocked Harry to the ground. Holly and phoenix feather tumbled into the dark grass, and Harry had the brief, frantic thought that this was it. Voldemort wouldn't need to kill him, because his idiot cousin would have done the job for him.

A flash of warm light burst through the darkness. Harry gasped, hand reflexively rising to shield his eyes from the powerful glow. Another flash, a pale silver-blue streak, cut through the black, and just like that it was over.

The rattling breaths ceased. Starlight blazed back to life with the electric pop of streetlamps turning back on. Harry gaped at the abrupt loss of danger, hands trembling with adrenaline as he snagged his wand out of the grass.

What was going on?

Shadows stirred. Green eyes snapped to the movement on the ground, catching sight of tattered black fabric stirring in a warm breeze. The dementors' cloaks, he realized dimly, even as they dissolved into the summer wind. And then they were gone, nothing left of the monsters but a bad memory.

A low moan caught his attention and Harry's focus shifted to the third person he hadn't known was there. The slender figure clad in blue panted harshly, held upright only by his grip on a pulsing light in the shape of a sword.

"A-are you alright?" he choked out, only for the figure to sway alarmingly. The sword fell with a clang as its owner collapsed limply on the street. Harry didn't hesitate. He ran forward, giving the stranger a gentle shake when he saw no injuries. There was no response.

"Right," Harry breathed shakily, distantly aware that his cousin was shaking uselessly a few meters away. They weren't far from the Dursley's, but Harry was alone with two more-or-less comatose people and a glowing sword. He hadn't a mobile - the Dursley's would never have allowed it - and Hedwig was wasn't here. Who knows what would happen if he were to use a spell to send for help? Not that he was sure what good it would do...

Wait. Harry's gaze drifted back to the sword. It was obviously magic. Okay. First order of business was to hide the glowing sword from muggle eyes. After that... well, he wasn't sure.

He reached for the hilt. And promptly spit out a curse, withdrawing stinging fingers. The sword pulsed once, faintly, as though in warning.

Harry frowned, the frustrations of the night returning all at once, building on the leftover confusion and fear. "Well I can't just leave you there!" he snapped.

As though in response, the light pulsed once more.

He blinked. Well, it wasn't unheard of for magical items to have a form of sentience. Feeling a little stupid, and still quite cross, Harry tried again. "Can I at least put you away?" It was hard to miss the large violet and gold sheath strapped to the stranger's back. When no response seemed forthcoming, he added, "You let that guy hold you, I'm assuming you want to stay with him."

Finally, the sword dimmed, glow gentling as though in agreement. Hesitantly, Harry reached out again. This time there was no sharp sting, though Harry felt abruptly tired, as though the sword was more of a burden than its slight weight.

The hilt pulsed hotly, just shy of burning, and Harry hastily slid it into its sheath.

"Harry!"

He started, standing and whirling to face - "Mrs. Figg?"

Harry stared down at the stranger curled up in his bed. Mrs. Figg hadn't protested his being here, though she'd not seemed to know what to do with him either. She had seen what had happened at least, and the boy - for that's what he was; he looked startlingly young - had without a doubt saved Harry's life.

By killing two dementors. A feat which was by all accounts unheard of. Eventually the squib had decided to leave the situation in Dumbledore's hands, helping Harry drag both the stranger and his cousin to the Dursley's doorstep.

She'd angrily muttered something about the boy apparently being more trustworthy than some bloke named Mundungus, for all that was worth, before swanning off. Harry hadn't been able to get a word in edgewise, and had been left to deal with his relatives alone.

That had been last night. Harry had little to do but wait, as he'd sent Hedwig off with a trio of letters and the stranger remained frustratingly unconscious. Aside from his presence, the only sign that anything at all had even happened was an unusually stern letter from Sirius telling him not to leave the Dursley's house.

The stranger shifted in his sleep, wheat colored locks spilling over delicate features and framing long, pointed ears. Like Tolkein's elves, Harry thought idly, rather than anything he'd seen in the wizarding world. The bright blue tunic and leather gear didn't help that impression, looking more like clothes worn hundreds of years ago than anything worn today, by muggles or wizards.

Needless to say, Harry was practically burning with curiosity. But the stranger was still asleep, and Harry hadn't been able to either wake him or examine him particularly closely. (After settling him on his bed, Harry had thought about removing his gear - It looked uncomfortable, in particular the circlet of gold laurel leaves camouflaged by stranger's hair - but the sword had pulsed in a distinctly threatening manner every time he got close. He'd given it up as a bad job and settled in to wait.)

The stranger shifted again, and blinked. Harry straightened from his place slouched at his desk, hyper-focused in a way he hadn't been in days. Finally he'd get some answers.

Blue eyes opened, hazily meeting Harry's gaze. The stranger sat up, shook his head once to clear it, and let his hand rise to the hilt of his sword, as though seeking comfort.

Foreign syllables tumbled out of his mouth in a sharp, incomprehensible question.

Or not.

The next two days were weird. Harry had alternated between bemusement and outright frustration as the stranger seemed to take his situation in stride. Despite the absence of common language, they quickly managed to understand that neither meant the other harm, and that the stranger was welcome (by Harry, at least) to stay while they figured things out.

After establishing that he'd get nothing further from Harry, he'd settled his hand on the hilt of his sword once, meditated for about an hour, a distressed expression flashing across his face for the span of a heartbeat. Following that, a steady calm had settled on his features like a cloak, and the wizard had yet to see another emotion so much as cross the stranger's mind. Harry could only envy such composure.

The boy simply flitted in and out of the house that first day, returning with no visible gains each time. Harry suspected he was returning to the area the dementors had appeared in hopes of finding something, but the wizard had ultimately decided against following. Not only had Sirius advised against it, but the stranger was far too good at appearing and disappearing at random. One second he'd be there, the next he'd be gone. Harry was certain he heard footsteps coming from the roof at least once, and was reasonably sure keeping up with the blond would be impossible without a good tracking spell and a broom.

The next day - and probably the entire night; Harry wasn't sure the stranger had slept - the blond had spent his time vexing his relatives by examining the house with the same amount of curiosity Arthur Weasley might have had. Perhaps more, as it was clear he didn't know what much, if any, of the technology was for, and wizards at least had things like radios and stoves. Although after he'd figured that device out, Harry was quite sure he'd never eaten so well - or so much - in his life. Where, exactly, the elfin boy had gotten his hands on things like venison and acorns around the Dursleys was a complete mystery, but Harry didn't really care as he got far too much enjoyment reaping the benefits of those particular acquisitions. Even better, the Dursley's hadn't dared touch any of it, despite being offered by the way too nice stranger more than once.

It was amusing and baffling in turns, but it couldn't quite distract from situation he'd appeared in. No reply to his missives had been forthcoming, and Harry could feel his frustrations mounting at the fact that he was still being kept in the dark, despite being attacked by dementors, of all things, from the supposed safety of Little Whinging.

All of that meant that Harry might have felt happy about the group of wizards and witches appearing in the Dursley's house that night, but his irritation at their lack of warning and dubious entrance far outweighed any good cheer.

"So what's this we've heard about a strange wizard helping you out, Harry?" Lupin asked. Moody glowered suspiciously. Harry glowered right back. They weren't bothering to answer any of his questions just yet and it's not as though Harry had anything concrete to tell them anyway.

As though on cue, the boy slunk out of the shadows to stand at Harry's side, hand resting warily at the hilt of his sword. The only one who didn't startle was Moody, whose wand was notably out and ready. The electric blue of his false eye was fixed firmly on the stranger.

"Ah," Lupin blinked. He stepped forward, hands raised non-threateningly as he maneuvered between the volatile wizard and wary youth. "Arabella said you'd been having trouble understanding each other," he said, tone soothing. Harry wondered how on earth they could have known that, then felt an immediate a jolt of anger at the thought they'd been spying on him still, these last few days.

Lupin carefully raised his wand. "May I?" Harry could practically feel the tension radiating from the boy and forcefully relaxed his expression. "It's alright," he said lamely, hoping his reassurance would be enough to defuse the boy's wariness enough for whatever it was Lupin was about to do. "You can trust him."

Blue eyes cast a long look at Harry's open expression before the stranger nodded, minutely relaxing his stance. Lupin smiled, the tired lines of his face softening slightly. "Eadem linguae," he enunciated carefully, wand flicking in a complicated motion before stopping just in front of the boy, a soft flare of violet light startling him into tightening his grip on his blade.

Lupin immediately backed away, hands once more up in a calming gesture. "There we are," he said easily. "Can you understand us now?"

The blond blinked in surprise. "...Yes," he replied hesitantly, right hand finally settling at his side, though he kept a wary eye on the surrounding witches and wizards. Harry wasn't surprised when he said nothing further. Aside from that first, demanding question when he'd woken up, he hadn't actually said anything else. If he didn't know better Harry would have said it was like living with a ghost.

The assembled witches and wizards traded glances before Moody rolled his eyes and barked, "What's your name, boy?"

Blue eyes watched them all carefully, as though weighing their worth with his gaze alone. When he spoke, his voice was soft, but carried easily in the silent house.

"Link."