It was so normal, so…not enough. He looked around the small room he called his.
The walls, a fading blue, a pale comparison to the noon sky it was painted after. Drifting his eyes around, he took the sight before him in, noticing all the imperfections in the little room. Marks littered the walls like scars across a harden soldier's body. Instruments laid out in corners, books stacked next to the small desk that was swimming in journals and sketchbooks. He spent So much time in this room just looking at the walls. So much in fact that he could name and reproduce every scar, every wall on a piece of paper. How many pages in those sketchbooks were filled with just that?
Stepping into the room, he let the door shut with a creak. Turning around he could see the long heart that was carved into the oak door, proclaiming love between TR and LM for, apparently, forever. He stood still, not liking the noise the room made whenever someone took a step. He couldn't help it, his eyes strayed to the army cot laying on the ground, where the nail imprints of a boy who was a little touched in the head, dug his nails into the plaster violently, the clean half moon imprints right above his bed. Getting over his annoyance, he walked across the room swiftly only to kneel in front of the only window in the whole room.
The dust motes floated around in the last rays of the sun. Caked in dirt and dust, chips and cracks at the edges of the window only showcased the missing piece in the top right corner.
It might have not been enough but he loved the imperfections of the room. But his favorite in the whole room was the missing piece in the window. He may have despised the stupid piece of glass, but he adored the small bit of freedom he got from the hole.
Placing his arms on the windowsill, careful about the good size chip at the end, he pressed his face up against the glass, looking out.
He loved this time of day; the sun was dipping low, a golden ball compared to its normal bright yellow that was easily reproduced with two crayons. The sky, no longer blue was painted like a master artist himself had the sky as a canvas. Wide strokes of deep magenta laid near the sun, rust, then tangerine orange, and most would call it blue, but to him it was a dark periwinkle colored the sky. To him, the sky was art. At this time of day the little things seemed to become saturated with color, the hue of the evergreen trees became richer and fuller, the red of the berries seemed less like a factory version of the color but more natural, more alive. A breeze filtered through the cracks, making his nose twitch with the thought of sneezing. Another more forceful breath of air came, carrying smells into his small room. Looking out and down at the deck, he found the source of the irritating smell. One of the helper's at the orphanage left a glass of wine out and the strong smell of the dark maroon liquid finally made him sneeze. He never could stand alcohol of any kind.
He stayed in that position for hours, fighting off yawns with fingers digging into his eyes, trying to keep away the inevitable need for sleep. Standing up, he cracked his back, rotated his shoulder blades and made quick work of his brown hoodie and orange fading tee and army green cargo pants. He threw the clothes across the room, hitting the opposite wall sliding off into the hamper. Taking a step forward he almost slipped on the visor he was wearing earlier that day. Kicking it away, he fell asleep in socks and boxers, too tired to brush his teeth.
Mornings were beautiful on canvas and in writing but not in real life. Well they probably would be if he were a morning person. Opening his mouth, he let it drop down only to regret it. His teeth felt like someone painted them in itching powder, a thin layer of plaque on his teeth making them feel very dirty and the top of his teeth itch. His breath was horrible, that weird mixture of what you had to eat for dinner and breakfast, but never lunch.
By this time he was already down the hall and a few feet away from the bathroom. He just opened the bathroom door when he heard a very boy like squeal.
"L! What are you doing? You should have been awake hours ago! It's another potential!" through the morning fog that shrouded his brain, L finally worked through the mystery of who was yelling at him.
"Donnie, how many times have I told you to get me an alarm clock? I told you something like this would happen, you nitwit." L told his only friend, not paying any great notice to his friend, knowing his blue eyes would be stormy and his sandy hair wild from giving a sharp tug in frustration.
"Oh no, you are not blaming this on me, Lawit Ryuske Megraw! You were the one who refuses to go into town to buy one! You know what I don't understand, is that every time we have a potential you wake up late! Admit it, you do this on purpose!" Lawit sighed, already used to his friend's behavior.
"Donnie. Just shut up. I need my toothpaste. NOW. Preferably. And no I don't do it on purpose. How am I supposed to know when they decide to take an 'adventure' to an orphanage?" sarcasm dripped from his voice, without real malice, he was already used to his friends odd mother hen behavior.
Donnie just gave him a weird look and sighed like the drama queen that he was. "You need to appreciate my concern for you and your well being my little friend." Walking up to L he mused up L's black mop of hair.
Grumbling under his breath about Donnie and his mother hen tendencies, L got ready, showering, washing his face, the works. After he finished with his daily routine, he finally looked into the mirror.
He looked okay for an 8 year-old, his black hair went to his neck and he had bangs that could easily hide his eyes if he wanted to, not to mention the scar above his left eye. His eyes were a green he never seen before, alive and nature at it's most basic form. His eyes were not normal. He liked that thought very much. His skin was pale, but not unhealthily so, like it was only a couple of years ago.
Sighing, he got dressed in the clothes he brought with him. Padding down the hallway and downstairs, he arrived at the kitchen for his daily chore.
L was the only kid who knew how to cook. He learned how to fairly quickly from his relatives the Dursley's who treated him like a maid when he lived with them.
Sighing once again, L got the eggs whipped and the onions chopped, ignoring the stinging behind his eyes. It wasn't like he didn't like to cook; he loved it just as much as the arts, but he saw no need to when the people eating his hard work didn't appreciate it. Sprinkling the American and feta cheese in one helper's omelet, he couldn't help but add some mushrooms, which she absolutely hated. He was only eight; it wasn't his fault if he made mistakes.
Donnie sat there watching him, his eyes burning into L's back, feeling heavy, not trying to fake happiness like Donnie usually did with fake twinkling eyes and stretched out smiles that seemed oh so fake.
Knowing he had to be positive, Donnie attempted a joke, "You say you love to cook but the way you act doesn't say much about your words Ly Ry." Blue eyes had that fake twinkle again. A pang was felt in his chest, knowing that Donnie only acted this way for L. But all L could think was 'Donnie and his stupid nicknames'. And 'How many times had he and Donnie had this exact same conversation?' closing his eyes briefly, he replied to the horrible attempt at a lighter mood.
"Dante Louise Megraw. It may have been you and your father that found me and renamed me, but for god's sake man, don't ruin my name with those…things."
He gave the barely 16 year old a piercing glare to get his point across. Throwing his head to the side to look innocent, Donnie fluttered his eyelashes. Rolling his eyes at the back of his leaving friend, L continued to cook omelets for the helpers and pancakes for the kids.
After breakfast, a teenager by the name of George was sent to clean off the table. Slipping into his room, L quickly grabbed his violin and raced off into the near by woods.
He couldn't think, wouldn't think. So he played. He played his insecurities away, the hope, the self-loathing for the hope, and the doubt. He washed everything away and just played, getting lost in the pull of the bow against the strings, his fingers becoming imprinted with the pieces of wire, the violin resting against his neck, the sound of music right next to his ear.
The sounds of the birds faded as the sun got higher in the sky, being replaced with cicadas, seeming to join in with his violin along with the other noises in the forest. A wind passed, making the trees swing a brush against each other, sounding like applause if he kept his eyes closed and his imagination running. Giving a mock bow, he started once again, becoming lost with the pull of his bow on the fickle strings.
He lost himself in his world not caring about anything else but that perfect tune he wished to create.
Suddenly a hand landed on his shoulder, spooking him. Giving a little startled jump he wildly turned around and came face to face with a man in his late twenties. He was just about to snap at the man for startling him when the mystery man opened his mouth and launched into an excited whispered one-way conversation.
"Wow, you are …just wow. What were you playing? Wait don't answer that yet. More importantly, how old are you? I have never heard that piece before, it was rough but very good and full of emotion." Soon the odd man was mumbling to himself, worlds away with his hand still on L's shoulder.
" Subtle emotion, the violin draws you in, making you listen to the music but you don't hear the emotions with the music itself, no. The music draws you in and paints a scene, a feeling of a story and there is where the emotion lies, guiding you through the music…genius." Eyes focusing again he took his hand off of L's shoulder, focusing on him once more.
"Hey kid, who plays that piece?" L just kept a blank face. It was so interesting to have this odd man come out of no where and comment on his playing, and what is actually shocking is that he was some what intelligent. He was impressed and wanted to know more.
"…I do not know your name. A trade perhaps?" it was the best the man was getting so if he wanted answers he would have to give an eye for an eye. L watched detached as the man struggled to come to a decision. He could see the wheels turning, L was a strange boy who the man just met and L asked for his name but gave no promises about giving his own. But it seemed that curiosity won out and soon the man was answering.
"My name is Cesan O'Conner. May I inquire what yours is?" The man now identified as Cesan asked L, giving L a quick once over, really looking at the strange boy that gained his interest.
Knowing it was only fair he gave his name, "Lawit Megraw. Pleased to meet you Cesan." Cesan just gave a bemused smile at the impolite little imp in front of him.
"Will you answer my questions little Lawit?" L's eye twitched at the stupid nickname. He had a sinking feeling that this man and Donnie would hit it off. Dang. And it almost seemed to good to be true.
"I will if you call me L and swear not to utter those things anymore." He growled out. Lower he muttered, "I already have one, I do not need another person who wishes to mess up my name with pointless words." A chuckle was his answer to his horrified state.
"Very well L, then shall you answer my questions? Please? I will call you cutie pie if you don't answer." The threat had L's face paling with a terrified look that crumbled his blank mask.
"You wouldn't dare." He tried to growl out but his voice quivered.
"Oh I would. So, my answers?" the grin could have swallowed Cesan's whole face. Giving up, L answered the questions.
" The piece I was playing doesn't have a name, and yes that does mean I created it. My age is roughly 8. Don't know exactly….Any more questions?" he cocked an eyebrow at the growing smile on Cesan's face.
" Plenty. You caught my eye, not an easy feat I assure you. Wish for a chat?" he motioned for L to sit down.
"Now?" a nod was his answer.
Beyond curious, L sat down and started to chat with the decidingly interesting man.
They spent hours talking about anything and nothing, breaching music, art, science and surprisingly politics. L had been smiling so much and so broadly that he was surprised that it was Cesan in front of him and not Donnie who was cracking bad jokes that even still amused them both. After one bout of laughter, they had to take a break and catch their breath.
At this point, L really saw Cesan. His eyes were a warm brown, light and earthy. He looked as if he spent the summer in some tropical place for he was not pale like most Englishmen would be, yet not as dark as a native would be, not having been growing up with the hot weather that was needed for the tanned body of his. His hair was black and lighting up with the threat of gray in perhaps 20 years, and had a few brown strands mixed with his black hair. He swore it was gray coming in from is hard job; L had a snort at Cesan's more vain side and after a few cracks just pointed out that the sun from where ever he came from was lightening it to brown and that he should stop whining like a little brat.
They sat in comfortable silence, not minding the cramps on the sides of their stomachs or the loon like grins on their faces. They were sitting there peacefully when suddenly the resting birds flew away and curses could be heard from a voice.
"L! Get your ass over here! The old bag will have your hide if your not here! The hag wants all brats there so maybe one will be taken. Ow! Damn stick! Damn it L! Get over here! You better answer me, Marco!" his smile brightened and he yelled out a quick polo and waited for Donnie to arrive.
When Donnie did arrive, he got quite the shock, his anti-social friend was laughing and smiling at some strange man. His eyes narrowed and he moved in a way that he could easily attack the strange man if he tried a move against L.
"L who is this?" Donnie said, wanting to keep his eyes on the stranger but flicked his eyes over to L to show that he was listening.
L could see something was wrong with his friend and it had something to do with Cesan. Deciding, he made quick introductions and recap of events. He could see most of Donnie's tension drain out of his body, but the mistrust didn't completely leave his eyes. He saw Donnie flash him a sad look, and knew what it was. Going up to Donnie he grabbed his friend's hand and nudged him with his body. " M'kay?" green eyes looked into blue, "Yeah." His hand stayed in the bigger one but he reached over to Cesan and grabbed one of his fingers and wrapped his hand around it, holding it like it was the whole hand.
Cesan looked down surprised at the little friend he made today. Even through he just met the little one today, he couldn't help but feel left out and jealous of the older boy who came looking for the little one. But then he felt one of he fingers in a tight hold and saw his little one holding on to him and pulling him forward to walk.
"Will you come with us to Sunshine orphanage?" L asked quietly, not having the courage to hope much. A small smile and a nod were his answer. Walking back, the three bonded. Cesan and Donnie would never be very close, but it was okay, they had L to bridge that rift.
Soon they were out of the forest and nearing the edge of the orphanages lawn. A little blabbermouth of a girl named Susana spotted them. Who quickly yelled out their return and the added company of an unknown man. Soon the helper's and the director of the orphanage were crowding around.
While the helpers swooned over Cesan, the director, Miss Watterson yelled at L and glared at Donnie.
"I am so disappointed in you, Harry! You should know better and even if you don't want to be adopted it doesn't mean you can run off when we have a potential! You could stay around, maybe you would like one and then be out of my hair! But who would want you, but no matter, because of your appalling behavior, you will meet the potential, say hello and when they leave, I will be locking you in the closet you damn brat!" he was so pissed, he wanted to shout and scream, but he couldn't. he done it before but it only ended with him having extended time in the closet.
Cesan was appalled at the director, the ugly bint that she was. What was outside, reflected her personality inside apparently. In this case, you could judge this book by the cover. Making a quick decision, Cesan spoke up.
"Sorry, Mrs.…." A quick "Miss, Watterson." And he continued. "Excuse me, Miss Watterson, but I was lost and Lawit showed me the way here, and I was thinking of adopting him." He made sure to call L Lawit and pay no attention to the disapproving glare the women sent L.
"Really, Harry, why do you continue to refuse to be called by your name?" removing her glare from the 8 year old she sent what was supposed to be a charming smile to Cesan. "oh, so you are Mr. Riddle? Or are you Mr. Malfoy or Mr. Snape?" a bored smooth voice came from behind her shoulder.
"I am afraid that he is neither one of those men, and so, would you be so kind as to tell me your name or will you keep impersonating me or my companions?" looking at the source of the voice, they say a handsome pale blond man with steal gray eyes and hair that fell slightly past his shoulders, dressed in silk. Every girl in the proximity of the handsome man just fell in love.
The man just looked past them without so much as a glance.
"I am Cesan O'Conner. And you are?"
"Lucius Malfoy. Pleased to meet your acquaintance, Mr. O'Conner."
A strong handshake was exchanged and Lucius finally turned to look at the two boys only to be captured by brilliant green eyes.