Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter.
Note: Written for the Game of Life Challenge (award) and the ABC Fast or Slow Challenge (Frank Bryce/ The Fat Lady/ Flitterby/ France/ Flowers).
Light the Way
A young man stopped just short of the Riddle Manor, staring up at the handsome building, the curtains all drawn shut tightly with not a single flame peeking through. It looked dark and intimidating though he suspected it was even more so in the day.
A cloud passed by, shadowing the crescent moon and submerging the entire town of Little Hangleton in darkness. Well, more so than it already was; he had never seen a place so utterly gloomy and depressing in his life.
A little aways, a tiny source of light could be seen floating, making its way to a nearby cottage. So that was the gardener. The young man felt a twinge of pity in his heart, foreseeing his unfortunate fate. But not if he could change it.
With that thought, he watched the light enter the cottage before disappearing as quietly as he came.
"Good day," he said, covering a smile at the startling of the gardener.
Frank Bryce stared at him with a slight frown before returning his attentions to tending to the flowers.
"What can I do for you? You don't look like one of their acquaintances," he muttered lowly, grunting at a particularly stubborn weed, letting out a satisfied sound when he tugged it free.
"Hmm? And why is that?" he asked, and Frank glanced up, seeing only curiosity instead of offense.
"Well," Frank sat back on his haunches, head swiveling around for any sign of the master or mistress before relaxing.
"You're a bit too young to be associating with them," he started.
But then again, that never stopped the mistress from trying anything, Frank thought, scowling. He stared thoughtfully at the young man in front of him. The stranger had pale skin, but in a healthy way unlike the gaunt, chalky complexion of a good portion of the residents here. He possessed inky dark hair that was messed up every which way. The sparkling emerald eyes, the mischievous lift of his smile. Yes, Frank could definitely see the mistress setting her vulture-like eyes on him.
"I get that a lot," he shrugged before hopping over the white picket fence.
Frank gaped when he rolled up his sleeves and started weeding along with him. There was a moment of silence, Frank staring at the teen in wonder, shaking his head with a slight smile and returning to his task.
"So," the stranger started once more, "the name's Harry, by the way."
Harry waved off Frank's offer, turning down the outstretched gloves.
"I've weeded before. Some evil plants won't take me down. Besides you look like you need some help," he said, looking pointedly at Frank's injured leg.
Frank hesitated but slipped the gloves back on.
"Are you into art? I'm not artistic myself, can't draw anything to save my life, but I do know some works of art. By the entrance of my dorm's common room, there was a painting called the Fat Lady. You don't strike me as a very artistic person, but then again, some people just surprise you."
Frank huffed lightly. "Now I know you're definitely not a resident here. Have you seen this town? The only colors you see are gray and black, and if you're lucky, some green," he pointed at the grass behind them.
"Yeah, this place is rather dreary. Okay, a lot dreary," Harry corrected at Frank's look.
"This place needs some color," he mused, jerking up with an idea, "we should plant some flowers! That'll brighten the place up."
Frank thoughtfully tilted his head. "I'll have to run it by the Riddles, but I'm sure they won't object."
Harry grinned, satisfied with his idea.
"What about traveling? Ever been anywhere out there in this vast, beautiful world?"
"I'd like to go to France one day."
"I have a friend from France. Beautiful girl, but when she's angry," Harry let out a breath, "you don't want to mess with her."
The day carried on like that, with the two simply chatting as they worked. Soon dusk fell and, instead of fireflies coming out as Harry had expected, some flitterby moths emerged, slowly dancing around them, leaving an orange glow in their wake.
"Beautiful," he murmured.
"They come by a lot," Frank said, holding out a finger for one to land on. "Most of the villagers mistake them for will-o'-the-wisps though."
After a moment, too brief for the two, the flitterby moths fluttered away, and it was just Harry and Frank once more.
There was a light feeling in his chest though, like he had just witnessed something incredibly wonderful. With a sigh, Harry started weeding once more. Harry tugged viciously on one, falling on his back when it suddenly gave. He held the green plant victoriously in his hands as if it was the greatest award he had ever received, earning a small laugh from Frank.
Harry laid on his back, staring up at the darkening sky that was a multitude of colors, a swirling mix of purples, blues, and pinks. His hand came up and fiddled with the tiny hourglass necklace around his neck, feeling an odd sense of calm in this moment. His emerald eyes dragged themselves to the back of Frank Bryce, a young man that would be convicted of the murder of the Riddles in the next few weeks, his life and reputation dragged through the slums as the townspeople glared suspiciously at him and whispered behind their hands. Harry knew the true murderer would escape scotch-free. But Harry had the chance to fix it all.
And Tom Riddle would never know what hit him.