Grim Grinning Ghosts

Chapter 1: The Boy Who Died

In Surrey, England, there lived a lonely old man. He lived in a street full of developing families, of scampering rascals, and of childish laughter. This man was named Mr. Wesley, and all the local delinquents stayed clear from his house, for fear of the man's hunting rifle. Mr. Wesley, however, loved children, though he never married and never had any children of his own. His neighbors would say only good things about him, at least when he was within earshot, and always offered to take care of him in his old, frail state. He would always decline, since he knew the people of Privet Drive far too well to see through their greedy agendas.

It was a well known fact on Privet Drive that Mr. Wesley was a rich man, albeit a very old rich man. Because of this, most of his neighbors tried to get in his good graces, so that they might inherit his money when he died. This notion that he was only seen as a probable lottery ticket made Mr. Wesley a very lonely man indeed. There seemed to be no one he could trust in the entire neighborhood, he only wanted to pass the time with idle chatter and pass down advice to the younger children, but even that seemed improbable. Not one person from Privet Drive was kind hearted enough.

That is, until he met the boy on the other side of the fence.

The boy in question was a very young and scrawny thing. He wore threadbare clothes that were far too large for him, and large, sticky taped glasses seemed to swallow his face. Messy black hair grew upon his head, and he had the most expressive green eyes Mr. Wesley had ever seen. The fence dividing Mr. Wesley's house from the Dursley Abode was not very tall, and the old man decided to peer over the rickety thing when he was trimming his hedges one day. When he saw what the child was doing, the lonely old man could not help but crack a smile.

In the boy's pale, thin hands was a white lily, and the child was turning it around with his fingers, examining it with a strange fascination. A small smile formed on his face as he traced the closed petals with a finger, handling the flower as if it were made of glass or precious gems. Mr. Wesley found himself oddly drawn to the boy, and cleared his throat. The reaction was immediate, as the child leapt up in fear, eyes wildly looking around for the source of the noise.

"And what might you be doing, young man?"

Said boy in question slowly turned to face his neighbor, of whom he's watched from the windows when he cleaned the living room of Number 4 Privet Drive. Emerald eyes glanced wearily at the man, trying to figure out if he was in trouble.

"Gardening." Was the child's careful reply.

Mr. Wesley smiled at the boy's answer, and inclined his head to the boy. That would be the start of a close friendship between one Eric Robert Wesley and one Harry James Potter. Harry quickly became the grandson Eric never had, and Mr. Wesley became the father figure Harry yearned for all those years. They found out each other's habit and ticks, like the way Mr. Wesley would thump his cane on the ground when he tried to hold in laughter, or Harry's obsession with white lilies.

Ah yes, the white lilies. How could one forget the way that Harry held the small flowers in his hands? When asked about it one day, the child stared off into space, murmuring two syllables that Mr. Wesley could not understand. Harry would then just give a small smile, before continuing his examination of the blossom until he was called upon by the screeching voice of DEAREST Aunt Petunia. The child would then softly kiss the petals, before carefully lying the flower in between the hedges, out of sight. There was one time he didn't, and Mr. Wesley did not see little Harry for the next week.

Alas, it was to happen, when on a cold night in early December, Mr. Wesley found out one of Number Four Privet Drive's most kept secret. It started with the small things that changed about Harry. The way the child carried himself, limping, sore in many places. Sometimes when they met for their cherished chat times, Mr. Wesley would notice the bruises along the green eyed child's face. When the old man asked what happened, Harry would merely cover it up and mumble that he fell down the stairs, something that Mr. Wesley did not believe one bit.