Two shadows unfurl on a road
In a town named Taarkol.
The bastard sons, bequeathed,
By the darkness, perhaps.
The ground flees their footsteps
The sky, wrenched from above.
Their life, crushed underheel,
Is all remained of their legacy.
- Gulzar (translated)
Prologue
In the very beginning, there was only Tom.
(there was a flash of green and screaming and cold, cold laughter but Tom hated it something fierce and Harry tried not to think about it)
Only Tom.
Tom's hand rubbing circles on his back when Aunt Petunia yelled at him;
Tom's thin fingers clutching Harry's trembling, sweaty hands as hard as Harry needed when Uncle Vernon raised a fat, meaty fist;
Tom whispering in Harry's ears to 'Run, Harry! Run!' when Dudley's gang approached, and twisting Harry's head around to yell a retort at the lumbering idiot of his cousin, who'd would never recognise it for the insult it was;
Tom stretching a triumphant smirk across Harry's face;
And running with Harry,
running, running, thundering blood in his veins,
a joyous mirth etched in Harry's bright, bright eyes.
a/n:
Chapters will be brutally short because I have a job now and I don't know what to do with that. *sigh*
Read, review, favorite, you know the drill.
Edit after Chapter9:
so the chapters get longer the more emotionally invested i get in this damn thing.