A/N: Back from a long break off fan fiction, please refer to my profile for details

A ball of white fluff was clenched in a small hand, stolen from its owner. The rabbit jostled in its cave fiercely. Just as Tom was about to forcibly subdue it while he cooked its fate, the pesky creature slipped out of his fist and began to scurry away towards the rusty gate of the orphanage hoping to secure its freedom. A futile attempt. Tom growled in displeasure and stalked after it, still obsessed with revenge. His already narrowed eyes followed the bounding animal zealously and narrowed further at the sight of two tiny hands scooping it up before the rabbit could slip onto the street.

The owner of the hands was small and frail looking. If it wasn't for the bizarre clothes the mysterious boy wore, his white pallor and sharp bone structure would have him mistaken for one of the residents of the building he stood before. Tom slowly closed the space between them until they stood a foot apart. He appraised the shorter boy just as slowly, remarking upon his eyes. The particular, shocking shade of green that regarded him gave Tom an odd sense of deja vu. But it didn't rattle him.

"Give it back." His voice was calm and authoritative, not betraying the impatience he felt towards the crease in his plans.

"No."

Tom blinked.

"I would really appreciate my rabbit back, if you please," he requested politely. The smile tugging at his lips had the emotional capacity of a table. But that wasn't a problem. Not when his words were laced with coercion and demanded obedience.

"No," the boy repeated.

The air between the two became markedly oppressive and stiffer. Tom cocked his head to the side and mused. It had been a long time since he had received such foolish defiance. No matter. The boy would learn. Just as others did and just as others would continue to do so. With that, he took another step forward and dipped his neck so that his eyes were somewhat level with the shorter one's. His magic licked at his feet, almost purring for its master.

"I said. Give. It. Back," he hissed, making an attempt to grab the animal that was burrowed fearfully under thin arms. Tom's eyes widened a fraction as one of the same arms reacted by shoving him in the chest with a surprising amount of force.

"Bugger off," the small boy spat, turning on his heel, intent to put as much space between them in his retreat. In his haste, however, he would fail to register Tom bristling, handsome face contorted with a monstrous deal of ire.

A small gasp escaped the stranger's lips as Tom used perhaps a tad more force than was necessary to propel the boy onto the road. The rest of the scene moved in slow motion as the creature of his actions took shape before his eyes.

Tom didn't see the automobile skidding towards the squabbling pair. He didn't see the heavily inebriated man behind the wheel. He certainly did not see the smattering of people, who had previously paid the two boys no mind, dotted around the pavement.

What he did see was that small, frail body getting utterly bulldozed by the hulking metal before being flung into the air and landing in a broken pile a few feet away. The satisfaction that bloomed in Tom's heart was short lived when he finally noticed them. The witnesses. He blanched. Had they seen him? What would happen to him if they had? There were too many people to make forget. Would they take him away?

Silence resounded amongst the citizens, only split by the sound of an engine bolting away from liability. Then, one woman's gasp spurred the rest into action. Tom was the last to approach the crowd, his feet dragging the rest of him forward. His expression was stony, knowing that there was no way the boy would have survived. Although Tom had often plotted the demise of his enemies, none of his blueprints could parallel the debacle that lay mocking him.

He had made so many mistakes. The disappointment Tom felt weighed him down. As the rest of the adults flapped around calling help, Tom sank to his knees and crawled towards the mess he made. Absent minded, he gingerly took the boys arm in his hand, trying to feel for a pulse, though he couldn't help his lips quirking at the sight of the mauled rabbit. He then snapped his attention to the casualty, fumbling for a pulse. Although he only had a few seconds to search before Mrs Cole burst forth and commanded control of the situation, Tom had already diagnosed the boy with death. But he wasn't about to draw any attention to himself with that avowal.

Mrs Cole began to bark orders back and forth and Tom found himself following her back indoors. In her hands she cradled the boy whilst one man called for a doctor. Tom sneered at the vain effort, though his self preservation silenced him.

Nevertheless interested in the sequence of events that would unequivocally entail, Tom sat outside the room they had put the broken boy in. His thoughts swam around in his head, making him grit his teeth in an effort to keep the fear at bay.

Tom was officially a murderer.

But if know one knew he was responsible, would he still be a murderer? It was a silly question, he knew. But he desperately needed to be absolved. He was far too young and had far too much potential to be taken away. Although he had no idea how the law punished underage criminals, he knew enough to be aware it would be far from quaint. It would be worse than the orphanage, no doubt. Thin eyebrows knotted together in worry. There were few things worse than the orphanage and it wouldn't take much effort to be a better thing.

Time crept at an agonising pace and Tom, meandering within his newfound troubles, soon lost track of it. Slowly, the public were filtered out of the building, only to be replaced with a throng of orphans who gawked at the closed door behind which the dead boy was being inspected. The whispers spread through them like wildfire. Tom listened with half an ear as the news of the animal's passing finally reached Billy Stubbs. With a smirk, he straightened in his chair as the spotty boy marched towards him, tears glazing his eyes.

"I know it was you," he whispered, voice cracking.

"Whatever have I done now?" Tom sighed, quirking a single eyebrow. He was a picture of innocence. Naturally. This was his craft.

"Someone let wiggles out of his cage during breakfast. No one in here would want something to happen to him. No one besides you!" The accusatory tone fuelled Tom's performance, indignant offence radiating from him. Of course it was Tom. Everyone knew it. Tom knew everyone knew it. Although he hadn't managed to execute what he originally intended, the bloodied white fur and entrails that coated the gravel outside made for much grander and more arresting theatre.

"Has it ever occurred to you that the beast let itself out?" Tom drawled, provoking the older boy. They both knew lying around and getting fat was flattering the rabbit's, and Stubbs' come to think of it, full capacity.

Fat tears sprung to the older boy's eyes and the other children watched in fascination. Weakness was not tolerated here. It was certainly an occasion, as a result, when it was a bully such as Stubbs being made a spectacle of.

"When I'm finished with y-" Stubbs' malicious threat was abruptly cut off by the sound of a door clicking open. 12 heads swivelled in unison to level with the two figures shuffling out of the room. The duo gave up all attempts at being furtive when they realised they had an audience.

Turning to the children, the doctor gravely began, "by the grace of God, the child will live." Ferocious whispers arose once more and Tom nearly gaped.

"What the child does not need, however, is all of you fussing out here and making such noise when he is meant to be resting. Shoo!" Mrs Cole scolded, fanning her arms in a dismissive gesture. The crowd slowly trickled away into the next room, no less quiet.

Tom's head was reeling. How could the boy possibly be alive? He felt his pulse!The point being that there was no pulse. Even if it were only for few seconds, Tom was confident that he had been plenty thorough in his search. To even survive an accident of that magnitude was impossible, especially for such a ghost of a child. Billy Stubbs' rabbit, as tiny as it was as well as being cushioned by the bigger body, was split in two. Yet, somehow the other boy escaped unscathed? Tom refused to believe it. All semblance of logic denied it. The boy's life also posed another problem. As soon as he'd wake he'd be sure to tell them it was Tom.

If he wasn't a murderer already, he was about to be.

No one would suspect him anyway. Not when the blame could be scapegoated to 'natural causes' like internal bleeding. The boy already had a slim chance of recovery and if Tom had anything to do with it, it was just about to get even slimmer.

The doorknob twisted open and Tom entered the mouth of the room with no amount of uncertainty. He easily spotted a small mound in the corner of the room, blanketed by threadbare layers of insulation and bandaged up until bruised skin competed for exposure. Had the doctor not informed otherwise, Tom would have believed the boy was dead because the mound was still with a quality absent amongst the living. Even if it gave Tom slight goosebumps, he soldiered on until his legs were pressed up against the bed frame, drinking in the figure.

Tom frowned. All the punishments he'd ever administered were always given to the conscious; those whose reactions and ticks he could immortalise in his memory. He wondered if he would receive the same satisfaction from his next course of action. Then there was the fact that this would be his first murder. It wasn't for recreation, as he would have preferred, and so it was bound to be executed in a bland fashion. Very disappointing. But needs must, he acquiesced. His hand twitched from besides his side before it slowly rose to plant itself on the boy's forehead.

Tom gasped. It was as if he couldn't remove it. The sensation that coalesced down the slope of his arm and through the rest of his body felt like it was sowing icicles in its wake. It was only June and yet the blood swimming beneath his skin seemed to glaciate whilst blue frosted his lips. His magic clawed at him, trying to reverse what was happening before it had an irreversible effect but the force was unstoppable and the fear that gripped him was paralysing. Through heavily lidded eyes he registered a set of eyes clicking open and Tom fixated upon the green that drilled through his skull unseeingly. All too quickly, the biting cold was replaced with a magnificent warmth which shot through his veins like a tonic. His magic unwillingly flexed in pleasure but Tom's expression remained stoic.

The crescendo of footsteps approaching his turned back startled Tom into reacting and the hand that previously lay upon the injured's forehead retreated as if burned. As opposed to frozen, perhaps, he remarked wryly. Heavy breaths rattled his body as he noticed a curious lightning bolt scar. All the while, blank eyes never left his person.

"Tom!" Mrs Cole called sharply. "What are you doing in here?" she demanded. The suspicious undercurrents reminded Tom to gather himself.

"I heard the boy wake." He gestured towards their audience. Hopefully it would be enough to accost her attention away from his shiftiness. And it worked. Immediately, he was swept aside as his guardian rushed to the bed and began muttering. Tom was torn between taking his leave and staying to hear whether he'd be incriminated. The fact that he couldn't bring himself to move his feet solved his indecision and he watched the scene unravel with trepidation in his gut.

"What is your name, child?" came the cooing voice of Mrs Cole who had lowered herself to her knees.

There was a short pause.

"Harry." The voice sounded hoarse and fragile, so different to the impassioned fury Tom had first become acquainted with.

Harry's face morphed into one of pain as he attempted to sit up, only to be firmly pushed back down by Mrs Cole. She tucked the sheets back under his chin and levelled him with a seriousness that was more her character.

"Do you remember what happened to you, Harry?"

Tom watched with bated breath as Harry frowned. Realisation seemed to dawn and Tom felt a sinking feeling in his stomach. He was going to be taken away. Wool's Orphanage would no doubt rejoice. Being carried away in cuffs would be just as delightful as being wheeled away in a straight jacket and muzzle. His expression hardened as green eyes locked with steel as if considering him. Mrs Cole watched the interaction between the two like a hawk.

"No."

The relief that swept through Tom was staggering, so much so that his knees would have buckled had his mind not been so insistent on composure. It was certainly not the answer he'd expected and a quick sweep of Harry's memories told him that it wasn't the truth either. It was also the way Harry's eyes always watched him, never once flitting about to absorb his surroundings. Nevertheless, Tom reluctantly felt gratitude. Harry had protected him. Albeit it begged the question why. Tom would find out.

"You had an accident, Harry. An automobile crashed right into you. We were all very surprised but happy to hear that you'd survived it," Mrs Cole smiled. "I'm even more surprised that you're awake so soon. Perhaps we'd better start contacting your parents. Do you remember their address or telephone number?"

Harry closed his eyes and shook his head slowly, his face still blank. Mrs Cole pursed her lips.

"Harry," she hesitated. "Do you know what year it is?"

Again, the shock of black hair swayed in denial. But Tom wasn't all too convinced. The boy's closed eyes prevented him from perusing his memories but if Harry was lying about Tom's involvement what else was he lying about? And why would he have reason to? Tom wondered if the boy was running from something. Again, he promised himself that he'd find out.

"Well then. I'd better fetch the doctor again. Tom," she faltered for a second as if weighing the wisdom behind her next decision. "Would you stay with Harry until I'm back?"

Tom nodded once, already increasingly impatient with her presence. He wanted her to leave so that he could speak to Harry because he had never had so many questions to ask.

Once they were alone, Tom grabbed a chair from near the door and dragged it besides Harry's bed, the jagged sound effectively swallowing the silence.

"Do you mind?" the smaller of the two grumbled, eyebrows sloping in irritation. Tom smiled thinly.

"Hello."

"Hi."

"You were dead," Tom stated candidly. Harry's eyes slowly opened to blink owlishly at Tom before his head turned away to look at the ceiling.

"Maybe if you had it your way," he snorted.

"So you do remember." Grey eyes glinted in satisfaction. This, of course, opened the floodgates to more questions.

Tom cocked his head to the side. "Why did you lie?" he asked lightly.

"Lie about what?" came the innocent retort.

"You could've told Mrs Cole about the incident you caused."

"The incident I caused," Harry repeated, deadpanned. "You mean to say I could've told Mrs Cole about how you tried to kill me."

"I did not try to kill you," Tom drawled. He most certainly did. "I was just trying to get back my rabbit. The one you thieved." He stressed the last verb, crossing his arms.

"You could've got it back without having to kill me you know."

"Which brings us back to my question. Why didn't you tell Mrs Cole?" Tom pressed.

"What does it matter? You failed," Harry replied breezily.

Tom uncrossed his arms and stood, blocking the sunlight that enveloped the other boy with remedial warmth. Harry was certainly impertinent and despite being bed ridden, managed to assert a hot energy. If it wasn't for Tom's heavy intrigue, he would have hissed at the insult. With great lethargy, Tom's eyes swept the boy's length once over before coming to a halt at his face. A smirk nearly overbore his indifference when Harry shifted uncomfortably under his gaze, scowling in response to the other's ogling.

"How did you do it?" Tom murmured, half to himself. The cold he felt was inimitable and he would never forget it. In fact, he wanted to learn it. He wanted to yield it. He never wanted to feel it ever again. And that warmth. Suffice to say, that he wanted more of.

Harry's response was muffled by the blankets he'd pulled halfway up his head in an effort to shield himself from the Tom's staring. "I don't know what you're talking about. I just woke up."

Silence stretched between them. It appeared as though Harry was determined to play coy. Before he knew what he was doing, Tom's hand was rising and moving to touch Harry. The latter batted it away after he'd recovered from his shock. At this, irritation became plain on Tom's face.

"Tell the truth."

Harry felt magic creeping up on him, trying to render his mind slack. Inwardly, he marvelled. Tom's demands were enchanted with the same effects as an Imperio and a lesser wizard would have easily succumbed. The magic was so darkly sweet. Even Harry felt dazed, though no sound exited his mouth. For Tom to show such prowess at the age of what appeared to be 9 was unsettling thought is came as no surprise.

"Ah, the boy who lived wakes!"

Two heads snapped round to inspect where the jovial voice came from. Tom and Harry had been so immersed in the dynamics of their interaction that they had neglected the door and did not notice when Mrs Cole returned with the good doctor.

Harry flinched at the reminder of his sobriquet.

Tom felt his gut twist with an odd stab of deja vu.