Listen closely, ya buggers. There are only three rules.
Harry threw back his head and laughed, a carefree and young sound.
The sun shone down on Harry and his companions. They were in a group, settled under a bridge; they were celebrating their winnings of the day.
"Oy, Henny, what'd yeh git?" Clarence, better known as Bovvy (on account of his huge stature- it reminded the children of cows, or in this case, bovines. No one was sure who remembered what the word bovine meant, but it stuck) called to Harry.
Bovvy was in charge; almost 16 years of age, he was the oldest in the gang. His shoulders were broad, and despite being a street urchin, he sported a big belly. His nose was crooked from being broken too many times, and his teeth were yellow and uneven.
Follow these rules and ol' Bovvy'll take care of yeh.
"Uhm, lemme see. Seven pennies, it looks like." Harry, called also by the name Henny, was the only one in the group who could count. It came from his earlier days, before he was left on the street. His parents had been rich, he remembered, but had died. He was too young to remember much of anything else.
He did, however, remember being taken in by his cousins; he also remembered the consequent abuse and pain. His cousins didn't take well to his intrusion.
It may have been pain, but they saw use in his math skills. He didn't like to recall it, anyways.
"An' you, Alby?" Bovvy looked to the next child, a small girl of maybe 6 years. She was like a flower, delicate, small, and deadly when eaten by the wrong thing. She was their distraction, a cute face for a rich man to look at while he was being robbed blind.
She held up eight pennies, her angelic smile shining through her gapped front teeth.
"Ah, fuck me over why don't yeh. You've gone and upped me." Harry pouted, handing Alby's and his money to Bovvy. "She's gotten eight."
You're one of us now.
Bovvy laughed, and clapped the two of them on the shoulder. There were more of them in the gang, proudly called the Land Pirates, but it was Alby and Harry's turn to pay up.
Alby and Harry were partners, but only because Harry had nimble fingers and Alby had a cute face. Usually an older kid would be paired with a younger one.
Bovvy, however dumb and brutish he might be, did have a streak of slyness in him after all.
"An' here's yeh share," Bovvy said, giving Alby one penny, and two to Harry.
Harry scampered away, followed closely by Alby. It never crossed their minds to take all the money they earned; it was against the Rules, and Bad Things happened to those who crossed Bovvy.
Rule #1: Any money earned before sundown belongs to Bovvy. If he feels like it, you might get a portion.
Harry spent his days in the city, peddling and stealing. He and Alby made a great team, and soon they became one of Bovvy's best thief-teams.
Rule #2: Any money earned after sundown is yours, but give Bovvy a lil bit of love, eh?
Harry grew up on the streets, stealing and bamboozling and sometimes starving.
He lived in a port-town, so he was fed a steady diet of fish and sailor stories; he dreamed of one day joining a crew, maybe moving up and becoming a captain himself.
He dreamed of freedom, of the sea, and of girls.
Rule #3: Never, ever snitch.
Harry snitched. Bovvy had been doing some seedier than usual shit, and Harry couldn't take it. Alby had disappeared. Every so often Harry would hear rumors of girls disappearing, gone into the night.
He knew it was Bovvy; he knew the man had become too greedy for his britches.
And so, against every single bone in his body, Harry told the authorities. He told them where their base was, he told them how he used to work for Bovvy, he told them of all the crimes he had been made to do.
And in return, they threw him in jail. Shackled him up, and left him to rot. Lady Luck really did hate him.
If you snitch, Bovvy'll make sure you regret it.
"Serves me right," Harry rasped, his lips dry and throat sore from lack of water. "Shoulda listened to common sense, and not the goodness o' my heart."
He spoke to an empty cell, devoid of anything except for moldy hay and a half-full bucket in the corner. The shackles on his wrists were chafing him. He was thoroughly miserable.
He didn't know how long he'd been there, only that he was ready to leave.
'If any saints are watching,' he thought to himself, 'send help maybe?'
And maybe a saint was watching, because there was, quite suddenly, a commotion above Harry's cell. He heard yelling, a gunshot, and then a high pitched scream.
Glass broken, chairs smashed, and laughter. Someone was breaking the jail apart, bit by bit.
And Harry sat, and waited. They would get to him eventually, and maybe he'd see freedom again.
hey guys! i've been on hiatus for... probably three years now? by hiatus i mean i've been lurking, but not publishing. i made the executive decision to delete most all my stories. sorry!!! they were, Bad. anyways. this is a tom riddle / harry potter eventual pairing. love y'all!