"When did you decide to ignore the Marrok's orders about the witch?" Charles asked as he stood in the shade next to Tag and Asil, watching the pack and its children playing in the water of Lake Yellowstone. Charles could not see the witch, but the feeling of the witch was strong. If he walked among the people on the beach, he was sure he would identify the witch the moment he got within five feet of them.

"When I saw an abused five-year-old with as much power as your family," Tag replied.

Charles raised an eyebrow, silently demanding more information. Asil left the tree's shade and said, "Harry, child, you need more sunscreen before you burn." A silent Tag pointed to the child Asil was talking to.

As soon as Tag pointed him out, Charles almost felt overwhelmed by the witch's power; he did not understand how it was hidden before. Charles should have been able to pinpoint the witch the moment he stepped out of his truck. 'Are you well, my son?' His father sent a telepathic message while, at the same time, his satellite phone rang.

Charles looked at his phone and snorted, "If it isn't my long-lost big brother."

"Are you well, little brother?" Samuel asked.

"Funny, Da, just said the same thing," Charles replied, "I'm fine; why the concern from Timbuktu?"

"I am not in Africa," Samuel replied, and Charles snorted to himself; he loved his big brother, but sometimes he was clueless.

"I am fine; the pack is in Yellowstone, and there is a witch in Yellowstone. Tag and the others were told not to approach the witch; what happens when I find Tag? He's within five feet of the witch. Five feet and I could not pinpoint the witch until Tag pointed him out. He's a five-year-old child, Samuel. He's as powerful as you or Da."

"Are you sure it is the child and not the parent?" Samuel asked, concerned.

"Wrth gwrs, dwi'n gwybod pan mae gwrach o gwmpas," Tag responded out loud, knowing that Samuel could hear him even with the phone up to Charles's ear and Tag nowhere near the phone.

"I apologize, Colin; of course, you would be able to tell who a witch was or not," Samuel responded.

"pen pidlan gawsog," Tag muttered, and Charles and Asil through him a dirty look for swearing.

"He did not just call me…" Samuel started, only to be cut off by Charles, "Beat him up when you come home."

"Mr. Taggart, sir?" Harry came up and asked, "What does pen dylan gas hog mean?"

"A child did not just walk up to Colin and ask that, did he?" Samuel asked Charles over the phone.

"Yes, yes he did," Charles said, horrified. "Da is going to kill him."

"I'm sorry, Harry, laddie, I was swearing. It is not something you should repeat, okay?" Tag said, getting on his knees to look at Harry closer.

"Okay, Mr. Taggart, I just…I think I remember someone saying that to…I think my dad…and a ginger lady slapping him over the head," Harry said shyly.

Tag laughed and said, "Rightly so. Where is your Aunt?"

"She and Dudley went into the restaurant for lunch," Harry said quietly.

"And she forgot to grab you?" Tag asked Harry and watched as Harry dug his toes into the sand, not looking at anyone. "How often do your parents leave you with your Aunt?"

"My parents are dead, sir; they were no good drunks and a whore who died in a car crash," Harry repeated what he had heard his Aunt and Uncle tell him and others.

Charles's eyes climbed up to his forehead, and he sort of forgot that he had a phone in his hand, "are you hungry, Harry?" Charles asked as he heard his brother swearing on the other end of the phone.

"No sir, no good Freaks don't deserve to eat lunch," Harry replied before he wandered off and sat in the shade of the restaurant, it would be just like his Aunt to try to 'forget' him at the lake while in a foreign country.

"We have got to get that child away from his Aunt," Asil said quietly. "He is being horribly abused; even the Marrok would allow a witch within his territory if the alternative was child abuse."

"Why do you think he is being abused," Samuel asked, still able to hear the conversation even though Charles had the phone hanging down by his sides as he forgot he was on the phone with this brother.

"Number one, he is not five years old, but eight years old, so malnutrition. Another indicator is that he just said he is prohibited from eating lunch. Number two, he called himself a Freak. Number three, when I was putting sunscreen on his neck, I could see down the back of his shirt, and there were whip marks. Some scars, some so fresh I could smell the stale blood."

The three werewolves looked at Harry sitting in the shade, drawing in the sand while periodically watching the restaurant doors.

"Charles, keep me informed," Samuel said, "oh, British male witches are called wizards, by the way." Then the missing older brother hung up.

The satellite phone immediately rang again, "Da," Charles said, not looking to see who was calling.

"I don't like repeating myself, Charles," the Marrok said crossly.

"I am well; Tag and Asil found the witch…I mean Wizard. A certain abused child we will be speaking to Mr. Grunning about after dinner if I am not mistaken," Charles replied.

"Can you bring the child back to camp?" the Marrok asked.

"We can try," Tag responded, and the Marrok hung up.

"Octavius," Charles said, looking around for a werewolf with a child close to Harry's age. When the Were looked over at Charles, proving he had heard him, Charles continued, "Can you have your son go up and talk to the black-haired boy, Harry? When Harry's Aunt comes out of the restaurant, have Michael ask for Harry to stay the night."

"Will do, boss," Octavius replied in a Southern accent.

The three Weres, really all the Weres at the lake, watched and listened to the two boys talk about school and books. Harry didn't watch many movies or TV shows but spent much time in the school library. About half an hour after Michael had made a lifelong friend going as far as exchanging addresses so the two boys could write each other, Harry's Aunt came out of the restaurant with Dudley throwing a temper tantrum. "Mrs! Mrs!" Michael yelled, running up to the woman, startling Dudley so much he forgot what he was throwing a fit over. "Mrs., are you Harry's Aunt? Can Harry stay the night with me tonight?"

"Oh, that's a fine idea," Tag said as he approached the small group. "Harry can share Michael's tent; he's small enough to fit."

"Tent?" Petunia asked, still a little shocked at the abrupt meeting.

"Yes, our small school is here over the week studying; the kids are all staying in little camper tents," Tag said, trying to make the description as boring and terrible as possible so the fat cousin wouldn't want to come. Also, hoping the Aunt would be sadistic enough to allow her nephew to go to sleep in a tent while, at the same time, the rest of the family stayed at the lovely Lodge.

"Well…" Petunia said, looking at Harry, who had his eye on the ground, not wanting to show his Aunt the hope in his eyes.

"I promise he won't be eaten by a grizzly bear; the last bear attack wasn't even in Yellowstone; it was up north in Glacier; two men were killed last year. They were both by themselves. Harry will be fine in the group."

"Yes, yes, the boy can stay with you," Petunia said, dreaming of getting rid of the boy, not thinking of what Mr. Grunning would think. "Can you take us back to the Lodge? Dudley needs a nap."

"I need another ice cream!" Dudley yelled at his mother.

"Yes, we will get you another ice cream when we get to the lodge's restaurant Popkin," Petunia replied.

"Sure, Lassie, Harry will stay here with Michael and the school group while Charles and I take you and your son to the Lodge. We'll take Charles' truck; it has a back seat you can ride in…and air conditioning." Tag replied.

"Oh, thank god, I feel like I'm melting," Petunia replied, and all Charles and Tag could think of was when they went to the movies in 1939 and saw The Wizard of Oz in Missoula.

As Tag and Charles took the Dursleys to the Lodge, Asil, Octavius, and the rest of the Aspen Creek adults, were herding the children back into the flatbed Harry along with Michael. Asil got into Tags' truck and drove all the happy children back to the campsite. Surprisingly Charles and Tag beat Asil and the kids back. Charles, Tag and the Marrok were all waiting and watching when he pulled up. Tag went up to the flatbed and let down the gate, helping the kids and mortals down off the bed; the Weres in the truck jumped down effortlessly with a bit of ribbing from Tag, asking if "Princess" Octavius needed help down too. When Tag got to Harry, he picked him up but carried him over to two men; one was very tall with long black hair braided in two plaits on either side of his head; Aunt Petunia had pointed out to Dudley some that looked like this man and called him an Indigenous. The other was shorter than the Indigenous man and had sandy blonde hair with hazel eyes. The sandy-haired man gasped when he saw Harry and the whole camp froze and looked at him, "Salazar," the man said, looking at the little boy.

"Ello, my name's Harry," the little boy said shyly, looking at the two men. His eyes kept drifting to Charles as the most unique looking.

"Hello Harry, you look so much like my late son, Salazar," Bran said, looking at the boy, "my name is Bran Cornick; what is your last name?"

"Potter, Harry Potter, sir," Harry replied.

"Why don't you go have some lunch with Michael, Harry," the Marrok said, dismissing the boy. Tag put Harry down, and Michael waved at Harry, dragging him towards the dining tent.

"I take it you recognized the boy, and that is why you disobeyed me and approached him?" the Marrok asked Tag.

"Well, since Sal was an old bald man when I first met him, I didn't recognize him, but his magic screams Marrok family magic," Tag said, taking a sip of some cold soda that Sage brought all the men. "Thank you, Lassie," Tag called out to Sage as she left.

"You're welcome, darlin'," Sage replied.

"It feels like your magic, like Samuel's magic, like Charles, plus I hated seeing how the woman acted towards the child," Tag said unapologetically.

"Charles, can you call and ask the Goblins to send someone to do an in-depth inheritance test? I would like to know if this boy is related to us before I try to find someone to care for the child," the Marrok ordered.

"Marrok, if you find the boy is not related to you, I would like to send the boy to my son in Spain to be raised by him. Like my late wife, my son is magical and able to handle a magical child," Asil interrupted.

"Don't forget, Mr. Grunning thinks the witches are keeping an eye on the boy and keep interfering in abuse investigations," Charles inputted as he waited on hold to speak to his Gringots account manager.

"By the way," Asil cut in as he started to walk away, "Tag taught Harry how to say cheesy-head of a penis in Welsh."

Tag looked at the Marrok in horror. Seeing the angry look the Marrok sported, so he took off running after a running Asil. Both to catch the asshole who ratted him out and to get away from the bollocking the Marrok would give him. The only thing that kept the Marrok from running after the two men was his son's hand on his arm.

"Ah, Petunia and Dudley, you beat me and your father to dinner," Mr. Grunning said as he sat down across from where Vernon would be sitting next to his wife, "where is little Harry?"

Petunia froze; she never even thought about what Mr. Grunning would think about her letting the Freak go off with strangers.

"Hetayinthenightwhapansybhemetathlak," Dudley said, stuffing his mouth full of chips and breaded chicken strips.

Vernon and Petunia blanched at seeing their son talking with his mouth full to Mr. Grunning. They regretted not teaching Dudley better manners.

"I'm sorry, what?" Mr. Grunning said, looking at Petunia with both disgust and horror.

"Harry met a little boy at the Lake, and they asked if Harry could stay the night with them," Petunia explained weakly.

"You let your nephew leave with strangers in a foreign country?" Mr. Grunning asked, aghast.

"Yes, well, they were very nice, and the boy is here with a school group; they are staying in tents; it's a school group," Petunia explained feebly.

"Which school? What are the parent's names? Where in Yellowstone are they staying? How do you know they weren't pedophiles gathering children to sell? Or Using one of their own children as bait?" Mr. Grunning asked. Petunia just opened her mouth and silently gasped.

"Vernon, between your son's disgusting behavior, both his eating habits and his tantrum, and your wife's gormless behavior towards your nephew, I am rethinking a great many things," Mr. Grunning said, upset as a waitress silently set Vernons, and Mr. Grunnings plates down. Embarrassed, she had walked into an argument at the table.

"Can I get you anything else?" She said meekly at the same time, Petunia said, "Gormless?"

"No, my dear," Mr. Grunning said firmly before Vernon or Dudley could respond to the waitress demanding more items as they had at breakfast, "Gormless, dimwitted, knuckleheaded, lamebrain, feebleminded, imbecilic, freakish behavior." Mr. Grunning stood up with his plate in his hand, and the waitress standing at the wait station with others giggled as they watched Mr. Grunning run didactic-intellectual circles around the woman, ran over, "Please, my dear, sit me at another table. You can make sure this family gets a check for their meal, please. They will pay for themselves." Vernon flinched and gave Petunia a dark look as Mr. Grunning sat at another table. After finishing his meal, Vernon watched as Mr. Grunning left the Lodge entirely. The Dursleys finished their meal in silence except for Dudley, who continued to speak with his mouth full, telling his father all about his dreadful day and how terrible Yellowstone was.

Mr. Grunning left after paying for his meal and leaving a hefty tip; he didn't believe for a moment that Vernon would tip the waitress. He had a werewolf to speak to and a little boy to hopefully find before something terrible happened to him.