Harry stood outside the church, watching as his relatives disappeared through the doors. Of course, he would not be allowed into a holy house. He was a freak. A devil child. And he had no place in the domain of God, whether it be on Earth or in Heaven. That was what the Dursleys told him, anyway. He could not see what made him so different from any other eight year old child. It wasn't his fault that accidents happened around him, and he doubted that a kind, loving God would really bar him from his house on Easter. "No," Harry thought bitterly, "It's all the Dursleys." They had hated him from the moment he had shown up on their doorstep and had tried to make his life as miserable for him as possible.
Sometimes, Harry wondered why he listened to his relatives at all, or stayed with them. Sure, they fed him, and clothed him, but he couldn't really find it in himself to be grateful for what every person he had ever met had in excess. Harry glanced over his shoulder, looking at the worn down building across the street, surrounded by a rusty chain-link fence. The yard was smothered by weeds and the place looked like it hadn't been used for years. Slowly, hardly realizing what he was doing, Harry moved towards the fence. His hand brushed over the cool metal before he was suddenly jolted out of his strange trance.
What was he doing? He glanced back over at the church, and fear clouded his eyes. The Dursleys had told him not to move from the spot outside the church and would no doubt punish him if they caught him. Why did he want to enter the abandoned building, anyways? Harry's gaze drifted back to the run-down property, and he made his decision. The gate creaked open for the first time in decades.
Fifty-four years and two days ago, a thin, pale boy sat on a swing, his hand clutched around the chain. He stared past the fence, out at the street running in front of the Orphanage, not noticing as a much bigger boy pushed the gate open, stepping onto the grounds. "Hey, Tommy!" The newcomer called out, his voice mocking, "How does it feel, being alone out here? I betcha feel real sorry for yourself, Tommy." The boy on the swing narrowed his eyes. No, he did not feel sorry for himself, and he did not care to spend time with the other children at the orphanage. All he wanted was for his father to come, to take him away from this hellhole. His father would be like him; he would be special. The other children did not matter. They were not special, and they would never understand. They were beneath him.
"Don't call me that," Tom said. His lips hardly moved. The other boy stepped forward, an expression of glee on his face.
"Why not, Tommy boy?" he taunted. Tom felt a flutter of fear inside him, but his dark green eyes remained cold. Impassive.
"Haven't you heard about what I can do?" Tom whispered. He drew up his power, his magic. Nobody was going to beat him up, and especially not here. This was where he waited for his father, and everybody knew it. Before Tom could do anything, a fist slammed into his face, knocking him off the swing. A foot followed soon after, again and again, kicking him in the stomach.
"I don't care what you can do, Tommy," the other boy said, triumph clear in his voice. "This place is mine."
A hand brushed over the degraded sign, choked in vegetation. "St. Wool's Orphanage," Harry muttered musingly, reading the faded letters. The name felt as if it should mean something to him, but he could not say that he remembered anyone ever mentioning it before. There was just… this feeling. It was hard to place. Harry glanced around the property, his eyes moving from a scraggly tree to a broken swing set. One swing dangled by a single rusted chain, and the other had fallen off entirely. It was coated in dried mud. For a moment, Harry thought he could see a pale wisp on the swing, out of the corner of his eye, but it was gone when he looked more closely. What was wrong with him? There was nothing there. Nothing at all.
Harry told himself that he had only imagined the faint yell of pain- and how could it be real, anyway?- but moved forward more quickly, nonetheless. The front doors to the orphanage hung slightly open, which was a good thing, since they were permanently rusted in their current positions. The gap between the doors was small, but Harry had always been a skinny boy. Between running from his cousin, Dudley, and being sent to his cupboard without meals, he was much smaller than most boys his age. Harry slipped through, and peered into the abandoned building. He didn't know what it was that he was looking for, but he did know that he was drawn to the old orphanage. What harm could it do to poke around a bit?
He moved past rows of cracked windows, looking around. There really was nothing of interest here, that he could see. There was a crumbling wooden staircase, leading up to a second floor, but he doubted it would be much different from the first: empty and bland. Harry continued forward anyway, still not knowing what it was that he wanted to see. "Something interesting maybe," he thought dryly. Suddenly, he stopped as a chilling feeling shot up his spine. His scar, a thin, lightning-bolt-shaped disfigurement across his forehead, began to prickle, and he felt his eyes drawn upwards, towards the rafters. There was a dark stain that looked frighteningly like blood across one beam, and a small nub of a dirty, rotten rope hung from the beam, motionless in the still air.
Harry stared upwards, transfixed, as if nothing existed but that one bloody beam and the piece of rope that dangled from it. Then, his mouth went dry as a terrifying question came to mind. Had something been hung here?
The rabbit struggled in Tom's arms as he directed a vicious smile at it. The rope slowly coiled around the creature's midsection, and another subtly softer smile crossed the boy's face. He had never had so much control over his power before! Tom levitated the rope upwards, pulling the frantic rabbit up with it. His eyes flicked towards the high beam supporting the ceiling, and he smirked. "Yes," he thought, tying the rope to the beam. "This will do quite nicely…" The rabbit stared down at him fearfully, clawing at the rope in a futile effort to free itself. Its terror would end soon, anyway. The animal's eyes were huge, as if begging him to let it down, to spare it. As if it was wondering what it had done to deserve such treatment.
"Oh no, you haven't done anything at all," Tom whispered, knowing that his words fell on uncomprehending ears. "It's your master who's being punished, you see." Billy Stubbs. A big, bullying idiot. Tom knew quite well that the older boy was used to getting what he wanted, but he was soon going to… lose that habit. And what better way to take his revenge on him than by letting him see his dead rabbit when he came back from the Easter church service? The swing set was Tom's, for him to sit on and wait. He didn't need his father, of course; he needed nobody. But he wanted him. He wasn't so foolish as he was when he was younger to "know" that his father would save him and make them all pay. But he hoped for it. Fiercely.
Tom shook his head, clearing his thoughts. He knew what came next, even though he had never done it before, and he slowly floated a huge, rusty nail upwards until it was pointing at the rabbit's throat. Even if his father never came, his swings were not for Stubbs to take. His power put him far above the pathetic boy, and this would remind everyone of that. He would never be just a manual laborer, like the matron regularly told him. His power would allow him to rise far, far above the other children, and, one day, he would come and repay them for every single thing they had ever said or did to him. But for now, this was a start.
The nail slammed forward with all the force of his anger.
Harry's scar burned, and he dropped to his knees in pain. He didn't know if he screamed. Maybe he did, and maybe he didn't. The moment seemed to stretch on, and on, until-
There was a blinding flash of green, searing Harry's eyes, like the terrible flash from his dreams. The pain in his scar increased, and now Harry knew that he did scream. The light intensified until all he could see was a wash of brilliant green, and high, cold laughter seemed to echo in his ears. Then it all vanished.
A pain shot through Tom's chest, as if he had been struck through the heart by an invisible spear. It was gone in an instant, but Tom was left feeling somewhat… hollow. As if he had lost something forever. He snorted, glancing up at the blood-splattered rafters, but he couldn't shake off the feeling. This was ridiculous! Tom had never murdered before, but he had never believed that once you killed you lost something you could never regain. He had always scoffed at the idea that you would always be haunted by those whose lives you took.
It was just a stupid, spoiled rabbit. It was just an animal. Killing it was no worse than what he had done to Amy Benson and Dennis Bishop in the cave, so why was he feeling so strange? Besides, that rabbit deserved to die, for belonging to Billy Stubbs. It deserved to die, for being called cute when his snakes were mercilessly stomped on and beat to death with sticks. It deserved to die, for being the pet of the orphanage's older bullies, for making them look like the little angels he knew they were not. He felt no remorse for what he had done. No remorse at all.
The instant the blinding light was gone, a boy materialized on top of him. The boy did not fall on him, or jump on him- he just appeared all of a sudden, standing on Harry's splayed out legs. The next second, the boy lost balance and fell forward, landing flat on his face. He made a soft sound as he hit the floor, and Harry's mind raced. Where had the boy come from? Had he just somehow appeared, in the same way that, two months ago, Harry himself had appeared on the roof to escape Dudley and his friends?
Harry's thoughts were interrupted by the other boy. He had whirled around to glare at Harry, his dark green eyes cold. "Where did you come from?" the boy demanded. "Are you new here? I don't recognize you." The boy spoke in a way that made it sound like he was used to his questions being answered immediately. Probably with lots of trembling and stuttering, too. And yet, despite somehow knowing this, Harry couldn't seem to make words come out of his mouth.
"I asked you a question". It was a simple statement, but the boy seemed to fill it with menace and anger. Harry swallowed and opened his mouth. No words came out. "If you're new here," the boy all but growled, "let the first thing you learn be that if I ask you something, you answer." Pain flared up Harry's arm, and Harry looked up at the boy, who was coldly staring at the spot where the pain was greatest, a cruel smile twisting on his lips.
"Are you afraid of me now?" the boy whispered. "This is why they call me the devil child." Rage filled Harry as he suddenly realized that this boy was the one who was hurting him. How dare he? Harry shoved back at the pain, and it vanished as soon as it had come. The other boy stumbled back, shock filling his eyes before it was replaced by an emotionless mask. In front of Harry was a hazy blue wall, and Harry let out a gasp as he realized that he had made it.
Finding his words again, Harry drew himself up and said, "No. I'm not afraid of you. Why would I be scared when you can't hurt me?". Harry stood and waited for the rage that would come with such obvious defiance, as it always did with his Uncle Vernon, but the boy simply… smiled.
"Of course," the boy said smoothly. "I shouldn't have gotten so angry with you. I was simply confused, and people normally answer my questions quickly. Let's start over. What's your name?".
"Harry," Harry replied, feeling flustered. He did not trust the boy or his obviously fake smile, and the boy had tried to hurt him, but still… The boy had appeared suddenly. He hurt Harry without touching him, which, along with the shield made to stop the pain, Harry had thought impossible. He had called himself a "devil child", something that Harry had only ever heard directed at him. Harry knew he shouldn't get his hopes up, but could this boy be… different? Like him?
"My name is Tom," the other boy said, holding out his hand. It passed right through the shield. Harry hesitated, but, slowly, he took Tom's hand and accepted the handshake.
From the moment the rabbit died, Tom felt himself getting ripped out of his body, sucked straight through the chest. He stared down in shock as his own body continued to move even as he was rising upwards. He heard and saw himself, and, as he watched himself continue to function perfectly fine, Tom had to wonder, "Who am I?".
An instant later, Tom found himself in his body once more, standing on top of someone else. Before he could even process his shock, he toppled forward, smacking his face on the floor. What had happened? What had the strange feeling been? How had the other person just appeared under him? Tom gritted his teeth and considered different people who could might have taken a dare to "stand up to the scary freak". Dina Hobson, perhaps, or maybe Nicky Brown. He pushed himself up and whirled around to punish whomever it was, a cold glare on his face. Maybe that alone would scare the child enough to make sure they never messed with him again.
The child he saw, however, was not one he recognized, and, with a jolt, Tom realized the boy was a new arrival. That was even worse! Some new kid, whom he had never even met, had taken up the sport of freak baiting? Tom just barely stopped his shoulders from shaking in anger. "Where did you come from?" Tom demanded. "Are you new here? I don't recognize you." He looked up and down at the boy with messy black hair and emerald green eyes behind wire framed glasses. He had a lightning-bolt-shaped scar across his forehead, and, at that, Tom had to stop himself from raising an eyebrow. It was probably the result of a fight. The boy seemed like the kind of worthless snot who would get into fights, especially since he was stupid enough to go "freak baiting" on his first day.
Tom waited for an answer, but all he saw was the slight widening of the boy's eyes. "I asked you a question," Tom said, putting an edge of menace and anger into his voice. When the boy still continued to be silent, Tom felt another surge of anger. Nobody could possibly be this ridiculously defiant if they had heard the stories of his "freakishness", so Tom could only draw one conclusion. Somebody, Billy Stubbs, maybe, had told this boy to play a prank on him without mentioning any of the stories. It made sense, really; the other children saw him as some kind of vicious dog that was simultaneously dangerous, frightening, and entertaining. Of course they would send a new kid, who had no idea of who he was, to be torn to shreds for his mockery. "Maybe if I break this boy even more than anybody could even imagine," Tom thought angrily, "nobody will treat me like this again!".
Gathering up his power, Tom narrowed his eyes slightly and growled, "If you're new here, let the first thing you learn be that, if I ask you something, you answer." Tom jabbed down at the boy's arm, sending out pain in waves from the epicenter. He was filled with a sense of vindictive satisfaction as the other boy bent over, clenching his teeth. "Are you afraid of me now?" Tom whispered, leaning in ever so slightly closer. "This is why they call me the devil child." And it would do the boy well to remember that, so that he never decided to provoke him again. A fist tightened, and, suddenly, Tom's power was shoved back. Tom took a few steadying steps, watching a blue shield blossom outwards from the boy incredulously. How…?
Emotions flitted through Tom's mind, hitting him with an intensity that he hadn't felt in a long, long time. Shock. That anybody could throw off his power. Doubt. Wondering if this was all a dream, or a prank. Hope. That maybe, just maybe, this other boy really was like him. He clamped down on all of his feelings, refusing to let his face show any emotions. If this boy was anything like him, he would turn away at the first sign of weakness, and Tom would not let the first person who shared his power scorn and reject him.
The other boy jutted his chin out defiantly and said, "No. I'm not afraid of you. Why should I be scared when you can't hurt me?". The boy's eyes darted down, then back up to their previous challenging stare, as if the boy wasn't used to making such bold declarations. What if… What if the boy was just discovering his powers, like Tom had, years ago? Tom felt a rush of happiness at the thought of teaching the other boy, of… spending time with him. What if the other boy actually chose to be with him, to stay with him because they were alike? Tom refused to let wild hopes run away with him, but he let a small smile slip onto his face nonetheless. Now was his chance to get the other boy to like him!
Tom plastered a larger smile onto his face and applied all of his charm as he said, "Of course. I shouldn't have gotten so angry with you. I was simply confused, and people normally answer my questions quickly. Let's start over. What's your name?".
"Harry," the other boy said, flushing slightly. Harry smiled in a shy, tentative manner, and his green eyes seemed to be brimming with unbridled hope. Tom knew it now. He knew the other boy was special, like him.
"My name is Tom." Tom extended his hand to the other boy, hoping upon hope that the other boy would take it. Hoping that the boy, Harry, would become his companion. That maybe they could share a room, and eat breakfast together, and use magic together. Harry's small, slender fingers entwined themselves with Tom's, and the two boys shook.