He was jolted awake by a low growl sounding just behind him. It sounded much deeper than a dog's growl. Frozen with fear, Harry did not move but hesitantly opened his eyes. Trying to stay as still and silent as possible, he watched with horror as large shadows swarmed around the camp, sweeping around the flames and snuffing them out. The shadows were pure black, not reflecting any light, thick like oil, and shaped like animals- dogs with limbs that stretched as tall as trees and birds with talons and claws pointed like knives. Besides the cacophony of whistling wind and growling, he didn't hear anything that would share where the animals actually were. No footsteps or leaves crunching gave away their position. It was as though they were being haunted by a menagerie of demented woodland creatures. The trees, which had looked innocent enough before, edged taller than the atmosphere, surrounded them in an impenetrable wall of furled, twisted bark.
The full moon was no longer a comforting glow, painted red as blood and shining bright enough to hurt.
The child did not dare move his head for a more thorough look when the screaming began.
The shadows swarmed towards their tent, and large rips tore through the fabric like the claws of a large beast had attacked, although again, Harry could not see any physical creatures. From inside, Dudley screamed. Harry jolted out of his pile of jackets and got to his shaking feet. There was a great deal of thumping and rustling of the fabric as whatever had gone after Dudley threw him from the tent. Deep bite marks had torn through his neck. The boys made eye contact for one moment, panicked eyes pleading at each other for some sort of explanation when Dudley's head was suddenly at the wrong angle.
His eyes glazed over but Harry could not look away.
The camper door banged open and Vernon stomped out in his underwear. He opened his mouth, staring down at the body of his son. Neither he nor Harry moved. Harry's limbs were shaking and weak like gelatin. The thought to flee did not register as he stared, stunned, at his cousin's corpse.
Then, the outline of the vicious shadow-wolf left Dudley with a final bite and barrelled into Vernon, sending the man crashing a few feet away from Harry. Scratches and bite marks appeared all over his body as the wolf lunged at him. Harry watched as the swarms attacked all the other tents - screams of agony echoing into the night.
Adrenaline kicked in, his heart pounding so fast he wondered if he was having a heart attack. Numbness spread down his legs and Harry remembered their existence. He started to back away very quickly. It was definitely time to leave!
He made it no more than a dozen steps, crunches of leaves beneath his feet, eyes unwilling to leave the supernatural beast feasting on his uncle, when he was stopped by a firm grip on his shoulder. Spinning around, he faced a woman.
The first thing he noticed was her eyes - shining a vibrant, electric green that glowed against the near pitch-blackness of the forest. She was quite tall and slim, although the strength with which she held him implied she was stronger than she appeared. She was dressed in a simple black shirt and pants. Tattoos peeked out from under her clothes, odd symbols lining her knuckles, a geometric pattern crawling up her neck, and a small star sketched underneath one of her luminous eyes. She regarded Harry with a blank look which made her look rather mean; both of them silently sizing the other up.
She did not seem concerned about the frantic screaming in the background.
"A little wizard," the woman said calmly, her voice low and hoarse like Aunt Marge's after she smoked cigars. "And one touched by Death too. Magic blesses me."
"A wizard? What? We need to leave," he begged. Maybe this lady had a car they could escape in. He had the urge to run, but there was the shadow behind him still tearing into the flesh of his uncle, and the strange woman blocking his path in front. The woman produced a stick from her pocket and waved it around, silence immediately falling over the area. She bent down to his eye level. Harry was struck with the feeling that he was very unsafe, that this woman was behind all of this, somehow.
"What's your name?"
"H-harry Potter, ma'am." He stammered, praying that politeness would keep him safe.
"Potter? Potter - hmmm. The Potters trace back to the Peverells." She muttered, still studying his face. A finger reached over and prodded at his scar - it burned with pain. He gasped, grabbing at his forehead. "Oh dear. That's a bit much, even by my standards."