Harry Potter, Ghost Prince

Prologue: The Boy Who Lived and The Man Who Died

It was a cold night in Little Whinging, England. So cold that you could actually see your breath, despite it being only October.

People rested peacefully in their beds, enjoying sweet dreams. Besides one, maybe. A little boy was sitting on a bench. His black hair were hiding his tear strained face. His clothes didn't fit it's name. They were too big for the boy, and looked more like rags, and, speaking truthfully, they were.

Young child never noticed the man, who wasn't far away. The man, however, looked at him with curiosity, wondering what the boy was doing in the park at such time.

The man looked better than him. He was dressed in black and white clothes, which shimmered under moonlight. It wasn't proper attire for cold climate, but he hadn't seemed to bother. The man had striking white hair, with a few small black streaks, tied in a ponytail. It didn't seem right with the mess, which was the rest of his haircut. He had mismatched eyes, one of them having the coldest shade of blue, another was neon green, which seemed to glow in the dead of night. In his hand the man twirled black cane.

He finally decided to walk to this interesting boy.

The boy looked up, hearing steady stomping of the feet nearby. He saw the man, who smiled at him kindly. This action confused the boy. No one looked at him like that before. Sure, there was this old lady Mrs. Figg, but that was more a look of pity, than genuine kindness and care. The man was different, and that confused the child.

The man then sat on another bench, deciding against rapid approach, not wanting to scare him off. This confused the boy even more. He was wary of the stranger, but, as it often happens, curiosity won. The boy walked quietly to the man, looking at his hair, white as snow. No, even snow will pale to compete with it. He touched it.

The man's left eye snapped open, making the boy jump slightly in surprise. He smiled at the child near him, who looked like a kid, who was caught with his hand in the cookie jar. The man chuckled.

"Soo," he said, his voice soft and playful, "do you like my hair?" The man had an amused smirk on his face, making the boy flush in embarassment. The smirk later turned into gentle smile again.

He slowly stood up, the boy looked at him, silently. He did like his uncle always said, stay silent unless you are spoken to. The man went away. And the boy followed close behind.

The man heard the footsteps behind him and chuckled inwardly. The boy was curious and reckless, just like him when he was a child. But then a grim thought came to his mind. The boy didn't look like he had what you call 'healthy childhood'. The boy was thin, that much was obvious. There were a different ways how he would grow up, and almost all of them didn't have happy ending.

Then the man stopped on a little hill and sat on the grass. The boy was still following him. So, he got attention of the agitated little guy, huh. The man dug in his pockets and took out a chocolate bar.

"Do you want some?" He offered.

The boy was surprised, so he didn't take it right after offering. He saw many times how his cousin ate hundreds of them, but he never shared with him, shooing him away. Finally, the boy took a few little squares and ate them. Now he understood why Dudley ate so much. Chocolate was delicious.

He looked at the man, who was smiling at the boy's joyful expression. And the boy understood something. He liked this kind man. The boy then looked at his scarred and burned hands. He realized that he wanted to feel this kindness every day.

"Do you know why I'm here?" The man asked. The boy shook his head, before the man pointed at the sky.

"I always liked space, all this stars, comets, constellations. So, I'm just coming here from time to time to stargaze"

The man then told his small companion about space. He told about basical things, but did it so interesting, that the boy couldn't help but listen with huge attention, lying on the man's chest.

It was morning already, and the sun was rising above surrounding buildings. The man got up slowly. The boy looked at him and felt strange fluttering in his chest. He remembered what he had been thinking this night. How cold, but at the same time warm he felt near the man. He looked at his red hands then back at the man. His small scarred fist clenched painfully. He nodded determiningly.

The boy went to the man and tugged his shirt slightly. The man looked at him.

"My..." he said slowly.

He tried to speak again, losing his confidence. But he regained it when the man lowered himself down on the boy's eye level.

"...my name is Harry"

The child said it in soft voice, the voice meant for poetry. The man knew what the child wanted, he saw it in the boy's green eyes.

"I'm Danny. Danny Phantom"

Harry looked confused at his last name. Danny smiled in understanding.

"Phantom is a name I made for myself. Since I look like a ghost, bewaare," he wriggled his fingers, making Harry giggle.

The boy then looked thoughtful, rubbing his foot about grass. Phantom raised his eyebrow, waiting for Harry to speak.

"I want...to come with you...to have a home...with you...as my family...as my Home"

Harry looked at the stunned man that he wanted to stay with. He didn't want to return to that cold place, back to Dursleys. Danny couldn't find any proper words. The boy knew him only for a few hours and trusted him so much already. More than that, he wants him to be...his father.

"I...well," Danny looked at Harry. His sad and pleading, but still full of conviction, look. Harry wanted a parent so badly.

"Alright, I'll be your family. I will be your home"

At this words Harry Potter smiled.

A.N. New story. Yaay!