A/N: I'd like to note quickly that I can be slightly bi-polar in my writing, so feelings may switch randomly in between sections. Also, I am quite aware that this is completely unrealistic, but this story is for my own fun. Thank you.

Disclaimer because I forgot last time: I do not own Harry Potter.

It was a hot, sweaty sort of day the next time Harry saw Freak. He had decided to call the monster Freak, as the creature had, indeed, called himself Freak.

There was no doubt in little Harry's mind that Freak was his friend. Sure, it had been three years since he had even seen him (for, of course, Freak must be a 'he'. The 'she' kind was ever so odd, after all.) however the boy had consoled himself that Freak was probably off doing something adventurous and heroic, no doubt. And Harry didn't want to get in the way of anyone.

So he could wait.

Still, a lagging hope of seeing his friend again was always present at the front of Harry's simple mind – a far off wish that Freak would come to play. Maybe he would play pirates or knights with him!

Harry could see it now: as Imaginary Freak stopped by to play with Imaginary Harry, they would both be up to their elbows in dirt and fun, like Dudley and his friends had always done. Imaginary Freak would do his screamy-shreiky thing and Harry would bravely defend to Mud-Princess, who was the fairest in the land. (Never mind that Mud-Princess resembled nothing other than a clump of dirt slowly oozing into the ground below, but that is why imagination is gifted to children, no?)

Of course, Harry had never thought much of Freak's appearance. Sure, Freak looked alarmingly like the Grim Reaper in those horror films that the youngest Dursley hoarded secretly in his room (Dudley had threatened to punch Harry if he ever told, but that didn't mean that Harry didn't know.) Sure, Freak was funny looking. But Harry was funny, too. He had a weird scar on his forehead that Aunty Petunia screamed at and Dudley teased about. Maybe it wasn't quite as drastic as the smoky black robs that adorned Freak, but really, he wasn't so bad. Harry was quite sure that Freak hadn't wanted to be born looking like a ghost, no more than Harry had wanted a scar. But that was the way it was, so they would stick together.

All of Harry's hopes and dreams focused on the creature, fervent wishes that Freak would return to play. Harry had even spent all of his birthday wishes on him! (After getting a real family, that is. Two wasn't that different from one, so it should be okay to ask for two things instead of one, right?)

So when the same rugged Stranger (his name was now and forever "Stranger" to Harry) stumbled down the Dursley's lane just as he had three years prior, Harry was nearly overcome with joy.

Stranger, just like years ago, yelled again. "Harry! I've come back for you!"

Harry ignored Stranger quite adamantly, and instead favored whipping his head back in forth, in hopes to see Freak.

Stranger stumbled and fell onto the pavement. He looked up and whispered in a worn voice, "I made it out… Oh, it's going to be so much better, Harry! Just you see!"

Harry, not to lose focus, still looked around, his eyes wide in hope.

"Um, Harry? Harry?" Stranger asked, trying to capture the boy's attention.

"Where's Freak?" Harry said, turning to Stranger. "Where's my Freak?"

A blink and a stuttered escaped the escapee. "Uh," he muttered dumbly.

Then, the air grew dense. Again, the birds abruptly stopped their singing and the sun seemed to fade slightly. Stranger, just like before, fainted onto the ground. Freak appeared suddenly, mist surrounding his arrival.

"Freak!" Harry cried joyously, his arms wide as he ran to the Dementor.

The Dementor, if he had a face, would have looked incredibly confused, if not downright dumbfounded. The boy leaped triumphantly at the monster and tackled it.

A frozen sliver of time was kept just then, as a priceless memory in history to any who would see it. A boy hugging a Dementor (nevermind that escaped convict Sirius Black lay fainted on the garden floor.)

"Did you come to play with me?" Harry bubbled excitedly. His friend was back, his friend was here!

If Dementors could sight, then this one would have. He clutched the little boy's collar and slowly lifted him off of Freak's body and deposited the rascal onto the ground. What is it you seek, like-human?

"Aren't you going to play with me? You're my friend, and that's what friends do!"

Shocked silence enter the air as the Dementor, a monster called by so many, tried to comprehend the situation. Little like-human, what is a friend?

"Um," Harry stared nervously down at his feet, the toes inward. "I don't really know yet. I think that it's having someone that you like and them liking you too. But I'm not very good at this," Harry suddenly dropped down to a whisper. "You're my first friend."

Warmth, it seemed, was something that Dementors were never meant to feel. And yet, somehow, a deep, comforting sensation made itself known in Freak's (chest?) where, had he been a human, the heart would have been.

This human was interesting, Freak decided. He would stick around to observe the little fellow.

Of course, Freak communicated.

But first, the Dementor tilted its head, How does one "play?"

A/N: Soul-sucking monster. Harry Potter. Fluffs and cuddles. Right.

MDollis