His lips, stained crimson from the blood coating his mouth, twisted into a parody of a smile, looking entirely unnatural on his otherwise angelic face. Curly raven black hair framed his face, reaching his shoulders, contrasting strikingly with his porcelain pale skin.
His green eyes glowed unnaturally in the dark space under the stairs, casting an ethereal, gruesome glow over his face. His eyes were chilling, utterly devoid of any semblance of sanity. They were ruthless. They were cold.
He laid, curled up in a ball, clutching his throbbing arm to his chest, feeling the ache of bruises fanning out across his delicate skin, and the sharp piercing pain rattling his every breath.
And he smiled.
An utterly twisted smile. A smile of no regrets. A smile of sick satisfaction as he remembered his uncle screaming in agony as he tore into the hand that was touching him, trying to take what wasn't his. He revelled in how the warm slick blood filled his mouth, trickling down his throat, the coppery scent consuming him.
He smiled a smile of greed.
He laid, broken, curled up in a ball and decided that he wanted more.
When the gate creaked open, heads swivelled to see who had entered. Eyes widened. Smiles of giddiness froze in place and quickly dropped. A hush gradually descended over the playground.
The boy shuffled through the gate, his head bowed, face shadowed by the too large tattered hoodie engulfing his small frame. The tips of his fingers poked out from the sleeves, nails encrusted, dark and dirty.
The silence was suffocating as the young boy shuffled his way over to the swing set. This boy wasn't one of them. This boy wasn't normal like them.
He reached the swing set and turned around, having to jump to reach the seat. He sat, legs dangling. He didn't look up. He didn't swing. He was too short to swing himself, but the idea of someone pushing him was downright laughable. His hands gripped the chains lightly.
The other children were still frozen. This boy hadn't been seen in weeks. Neither had Chuck Jones. Neither of them had been seen since they left the park, hands entangled, Chuck reluctantly walking the younger boy home. They didn't know if he got home, in the end. However, they did know that Chuck didn't. There was no body, no trace. He had disappeared.
Just like Bridget. And just like Darrel.
There was no proof, yet every child knew that it was him. And they knew that if they tattled, it would be them next. This wasn't a child. This was a mons-
A resounding snap echoed through the park. A boy looked up, eyes wide, his foot frozen on the broken branch. The air thickened. Each breath becoming more difficult than the last.
The slight boys head rose, and his hair fell back to reveal a face, porcelain pale, all sharp angles, disjointed and unnerving and unforgiving. Sickly green eyes, too wide and too sharp and too dead. It was the sort of face you couldn't help staring at, perhaps in envy, perhaps in awe, and perhaps in fear. It was the sort of face that didn't have a sort, because it was entirely unique and entirely wrong.
His eyes narrowed on the boy, the boy was older than him, larger than him, and could easily hurt him. The boy also shook in fear. His cherry red lips pursued.
"What are you doing? Are you leaving?" He asked, head tilting, green eyes staring into into the others, unblinking. His voice lilted, almost sounding concerned. The other boy went to speak, perhaps to defend himself, perhaps to scream, but was cut off by the green-eyed boy who sighed. "No, its fine." He looked down, eyebrows furrowing in though. The other boys jaw clicked shut. "I understand if you don't like me." He looked up again, eyes gathering wetness in the corners, "Not many people like me."
The boys eyes widened in horror. He grasped desperately for words. "N-no, that's not it, I-I just have to go h-home now," he stuttered desperately, "m-my mum wants me home b-before dark."
The green-eyed boy stared, the intensity unnerving for a mere six-year-old. But then he blinked and took a deep breath. "Okay." He shrugged. He looked down and shook his head, chuckling lightly, almost warmly, before looking up again. "It was silly of me to think that anyway, I'm sorry." The taller boy just managed to hold in a sigh of relief, heart pounding but beginning to calm. However, he flinched visibly when the younger boy continued. "Did you know that the monsters come out in the dark?"
"A-ahh, what?" He stuttered, scared and confused.
"It's getting dark." The green-eyed boy said, worrying his bottom lip. "Won't your mum be upset that you walked home in the dark, alone?"
"I, ughh, I guess?"
The frail boy looked at him, hope suddenly encompassing his features. "I want, I mean, I could come with you, if you'd like?" He asked, slightly desperate. The older boy wanted to refuse, not daring to think what would happen if he accepted, but the look on the boy's face made him hesitate.
He knew as well as every other child there that if he accepted, he would be just another child on a milk carton by the next morning. Yet the innocent hope and longing made the older boy second guess himself.
"Okay?"
The small child jumped up from the swing, "Thank You!" His face lit up, bright and feral. The frail child made his way to the frightened teenager and the other children hastily stepped back, out of his path, watching, wishing they could help the boy they knew wouldn't survive the night, but relieved it wasn't them walking to their death tonight.
He reached the older boy and smiled softly up at him. Eyes bright and shining. He entwined their arms together, blood encrusted fingers tangling with clammy, shaking hands. He lent his head on the taller boy's shoulder and looked up at him inquiringly, "Let's go?" He asked softly. The boy nodded jerkily.
"Don't worry, I'll protect you from the monsters."
The frail boy sat in the Hogwarts Express carriage inspecting his new wand. As he held it, he could feel the power flowing from him, encompassing him. Encouraging him.
His wand chose him after all. It was the same as him. Needed the same things as him.
He guessed it made sense for a wand brother to the Dark Lord's wand.
He wanted blood, and so it wanted blood.
And he would have blood.