Notes: Before anything else, I'm going to say here and now that I'm not aware of the exact locations or layout of the places I'm going to mention here so please turn a blind eye to any mistakes in accordance to locations although the orphanage and little whinging being quite near each other is intentional.
Also this is a fusing of two timelines: Tom's and Harry's, so this is not time travel. But I'm going to use Harry's timeline which is in the '80's. Tom's birthday would still be the same day except, obviously, the year. So Dec. 31 1979.
If you have the time, please read the long author's note at the end. Thank you!
They were eight years old the first time they met.
Harry was running away from Dudley and his gang as they played their favorite game: Harry Hunting. The sun was still high up in the sky, it's heat beating at his back making sweat roll down his whole body and his clothes drenched in sweat.
If harry hadn't been so busy running for his life, he would have felt disgusted with it. He thought mildly if the sun was his ally this time.
Harry turned his neck to see his pursuers a good distance away from him similarly drenched with sweat with ragged breaths and appeared to be much slower than before.
They had been at it for almost half an hour—perhaps shorter, perhaps longer, Harry couldn't be bothered with time when his life was on the line but he thought about it anyway—with very close calls on three occasions when they had seen where he had been hiding.
He had taken a kick in the stomach, courtesy of Piers, when he had been too slow to get out of the row of thick bushes he had squashed himself into.
Harry retaliated by kicking Piers on the shin when he made to grab him. It was only pure luck that the others were much slower than Piers was.
Although, Harry was a bit surprised and amazed to see that they were still on his trail, running after him with Dudley at the very back of his goons, chest heaving, body bathed with sweat, and a hand cradling a stitch on his side from running so much (and the fact that he was a Vernon-in-the-making).
It was only in times like this that Harry was thankful for their difference in body mass.
After all, Harry, small and thin as he was, made him much lighter on his feet and being able to wiggle his way through tight alleys or hiding himself under small bushes or behind trashcans with widths larger than he was (not that it was any challenge to find things thinner as he was except poles, of course, but who would hide behind poles?), though it didn't change the fact that he grew weaker just as fast.
Dudley had more on the energy reserves department unlike him that was all skin and bones and the fact that he hadn't eaten this afternoon when he had burnt the chicken that his Aunt Petunia had told him to fry.
Not that it was Harry's fault, Vernon kept on calling for him from upstairs to bring this and bring that. That he had to run each time just to make sure that the fire was just the right strength and when it was time to flip it.
In the end, one of it burned because he had tripped on one of the stair landing on his way down because he didn't saw Dudley's toy car lying on the floor and so he had stepped on it and then there was a loud crack and a yelp from Harry as he rolled down the remaining steps.
He was just inspecting his body for any serious injuries when all hell broke loose.
There was Dudley throwing one of his tantrums because apparently, he heard Harry's cry and went to see and tease him about it (or most probably, make him scream some more) when he saw his broken car.
And there was his Aunt Petunia screaming her lungs off when she smelt the burnt smell of their frying food and there was his Uncle thudding down the stairs to see what all the ruckus was about.
And then they were all yelling at him at the same time evidently unconcerned and turning a blind eye on his injured and slightly bloody foot, and was that a bump on his head already forming?
"No lunch for you, you lazy freak!" His Aunt Petunia had raged, hurrying over and fishing the chicken out of the sizzling oil. Harry saw that it wasn't even so burnt as to make it inedible, just a bit darker than usual.
"Just you wait; I'll get you for this!" Dudley's promise of pain.
"What in the bloody hell did the freak do again?!" And his Uncle's contribution to it all.
Looking back on it now, this all happened because of that stupid little toy car.
And thus Dudley.
No surprise there.
Freak…
Ah, yes. That… word. Harry was familiar with that and had a very close relation with it. He almost thought it was his name. Most of his first five years he was called Boy and most commonly, Freak by his family. He rarely went out then because he wasn't allowed.
It was only because of school that he knew his name, Harry Potter... He was also sure there was a James in the middle. The teachers even gave him strange looks when he wouldn't respond to his name during roll calls.
Harry only knew of the real meaning of the word when he heard Dudley tell to others how much of a freak he was and the things he does that no one understands and saw the other children give him disdainful looks and started calling him as such as well, coupled with flying spitballs or crumpled papers or stones or sometimes a painful combination of both.
The word didn't hold meaning in itself, he heard it a lot of times that it was like any normal word, and rather it was the way they looked at him when they mutter those words. He knew then that it was something appalling, something that made people cringe and stay away.
Not one listened to his pleas or explanations. Not that he could explain something even he didn't understand.
Harry shook himself from his thoughts when he noticed that he was somewhere he knew was quite far from his current residence. Now that he thought of it, they had already passed by the park.
He made a mental note to himself to refrain from using unknown alleys often unless he was about to be caught. He turned on another alley and stopped for a breather. He was starting to feel the weight, or lack thereof, of him not eating lunch.
This just wouldn't do, just a few more minutes and he'll be on the mercy of those brainless bullies.
Harry jerked his head when he heard laughter and saw some kids running ahead on the road and felt hope bloom on his chest. If he remembered correctly, he saw an orphanage when they passed by here when he and Aunt Petunia went out for groceries.
More people meant more chances of escaping.
He peaked from where he was hiding and saw the idiots pausing for breath just as he was, though they were twisting and turning their heads in search of him while Dudley was, once again, sitting on the pavement, red faced and panting.
Quite the sight, really. Harry cringed.
Harry still wondered what was so fun with hurting others or chasing after someone. It was clear that they were hurting themselves just as they were hurting others.
He mentally berated himself once again and turned his mind on the matter at hand and started moving. As he had expected, the others were on his back once again.
It was hot.
He could feel the drops of sweat making a wet trail at the back of his damned dark shirt and making it stick to his skin. Didn't the people on the orphanage know that dark clothes aren't fit for summer? And haven't they thought that it was much better for them to be indoors in this heat?
Why the matron suddenly had the urge to go outside in this time of the day or why she had to bring them along was beyond him. What if they got heatstroke or a nosebleed?
Most probably chastise them for being so careless and punish them for it.
The other caretakers didn't even care. Add to that his pale complexion, he was bound to have nasty sunburns like last year. He frowned once more and glared at their matron's back.
'Idiots, the lot of them.' He thought irately as he felt another roll down the side of his face and another on his brow. He swiped it away angrily with his hand and continued using his book as a cover from the heat of the sun. 'And here I thought the older you get, the wiser you become. Though with these people I'm sure it's the other way around. If they even have any in the first place.'
"Tom! Stop lagging behind and hurry up." Mrs. Cole had shouted ahead of him and he scowled back at her, making no move to hasten his steps and instead made a beeline for the shadows of the walls or buildings he could find. She merely sighed angrily and ushered the other children along. Good, times like this did Tom think that they had brains after all.
They were going to the park. As was what they did once or twice every week, depends on whether there would be enough people to accompany them there. This time there were four of them, including Mrs. Cole. Each of them carrying a large umbrella that covered the caretakers more than it covered the children.
It was a quite a long way from where the orphanage was and he didn't care much since he, according to the book, needed the exercise for a good physical health. But with heat this strong and clothes this dark, it might result to some other unfavorable outcomes.
Definitely not good for the health.
But he couldn't say no because when the caretakers asked the other children whether they wanted to go to the park or not, majority of them yelled yes.
The older ones, with Tom silently agreeing, protested though they were ignored in favor of the others and since it was standard that they all went out during these times, they could do nothing but trudge along with them in the heat of the day, grabbing anything they could to protect themselves from the heat.
But no matter, he could just break away from them inconspicuously on the way and go to the library, God knows it was much cooler there, and drown himself in more knowledge.
Yes, he would do that. Besides it wasn't like these recreant people were going to search for him.
"Hey hurry! He's over there!" Someone yelled from behind him and he paused, just as some of the other people around him, and turned to look curiously just in time to see a boy with hair as dark as his, though very much opposite to his own groomed hair, fall to the ground face first.
Tom grimaced inwardly when he imagined how much that would have had hurt but the boy merely pushed himself up once again as if the fall never happened, the bridge of his nose bleeding from where his large broken round glasses had broke his skin due to his fall.
The boy turned, frightfully, to look at the other kid who had shouted a while ago and Tom understood what this was all about.
It had happened to him after all when he was much younger. Back then he would run just as this boy was doing or take the brunt of it all, grit his teeth and wait for it to stop, all the while cursing them on his mind and holding back the furious tears that threatened to fall because he refused to let them.
As if Tom would give those arrogant idiots the satisfaction of seeing him beg and cry.
Back then he was just as weak, just as shameful.
And then he knew of his special abilities, trained to control it and trained some more, and since then instead of just lying there and suffering their kicks and punches, he made them hurt instead. He still ran away from them though.
His power, as peeved he was to admit it, was yet to be fully under his control. It took a whole lot of concentration and energy. Energy that he did not have much for food in that kind of place was as limited as it could get.
Tom wasn't still quite in control, but soon…
Yes, he endeavored to do just that.
Tom learned to stand for himself because there was only so much the caretakers on the orphanage could see and do. And even if they did, some of them did not care, others merely gave the offenders a slap on the wrist when they put the blame on him and pulled off their carefully rehearsed repenting faces. The caretakers just proved that there was a whole different level to idiocy.
Tom would have given them credit for their great acting skills if he hadn't been so busy sending them to their early grave with his eyes alone.
The resulting outcome afterwards was no meal for a day or up to the dark creaky attic he goes. It was always him in the end, but who cares? When he got to see them bloodied and crying with some even pissing themselves with fright of the unknown, it made enduring those punishments worth it.
Tom would never associate himself with those fools. He was way ahead… above them. He was special and he knew it. He could do things none of these stupid and weak people could do.
Yet, they called him a Freak. The freakish boy with the freakish abilities. And then the caretakers knew and they all steered clear of him in fear of him retaliating with his freakish nature. On occasions, anyway.
There were still those foolish times when they would dare straighten him out. Like when Rick, the handyman of their orphanage, tried to beat the abnormality out of him.
Tom made the belt beat him instead, though it took quite some time, what with pain taking his concentration away, and he himself didn't get away unscathed.
After that Mrs. Cole ordered him to be locked away in the cold, dark attic for a week with no meals for three days with his back an angry red. The next day, he woke up to feel his back healed.
He frowned when he remembered those times and shook himself clear of those memories and instead watched as the boy continued to run, getting closer and closer to where he stood.
The boy was fast on his feet, Tom observed idly, with faded clothes too big for his body. He was on the thin side, if his exposed arms and legs were anything to go by.
It would also appear that he had been running for quite some time now, since he was short on breath and his face and shirt was drenched with sweat.
At least it was white, Tom noted enviously.
Their eyes met when the boy got near enough to see him and Tom sneered at him inside his mind, though physically, he merely stared at him blankly.
The boy looked pale and ready to fall anytime soon but he continued to run anyway, because that or risk his thin bones being broken with those meaty bodies.
Tom didn't know whether to applaud the kid for his perseverance and stamina or not because he wasn't doing anything to stop them. Like go to the older people perhaps, or to the police station just to keep them at bay and wait until they grew tired waiting for him to move away, he was already outside for heavens' sake.
Not that Tom would do any of those things but weak people had no right to be picky or prideful. That boy definitely looked weak. Idiotic and weak, though there was this sort of feeling from him that Tom couldn't put his finger on.
Tom could help him… That boy was already far ahead of Tom and the bullies were still after him, with one, the fattest of them all, limping and wheezing near him.
He could make them trip out of thin air and give more time for the other to run. If this had been going on for quite some time then it wouldn't be ending anytime soon…
He scoffed and resumed walking. He didn't have any kind of obligation to that kid, anyway. Random acts of kindness were not his thing. Rather, kindness wasn't his thing.
He went ahead to the library.
The second time they met was a few months after that.
It all happened so fast. Tom was on his way back from the library, one second he was looking at the green light that said it was fine to cross the road, the second he was looking at the car that was running towards the onslaught of people crossing the road with no signs of stopping.
The driver was a woman and Tom didn't know much about cars but from the way she kept moving her head she seemed to have lost her breaks and then she was beeping her horn when the crowd didn't disperse.
Tom stayed rooted on the spot just as the others on his side of the road, safely away from the accident about to happen. He had no desires to die anytime soon.
All around him, people were talking and murmuring to each other as they stayed far away from the road and close to the building walls, in fear that the car might swerve to them in an effort to avoid the people in front of it.
There were shouts and screams as the people from the other side scrambled to get to safety. The others backtracked their steps; the others went along their path but one wasn't fast enough. It appears that he had fallen over which wasn't surprising, Tom thought as he eyed the multiple plastic bags the kid was holding on his bony arms.
"Hey, kid! Get out of there!" One shouted at his back.
"Oh God! Help him!" Another said from his side.
"Hurry! Call an ambulance! The police!" A woman said, her voice quivering, expecting the worse.
"Someone help him!"
No one moved.
Tom frowned with everything he heard in that little span of time and thought how foolish this people were and to think that they were all adults unable to help a small child as they feared for their own safety.
As if he was one to talk, but what can he do? Run and help him up then end up dead with him? Make the car stop? He wasn't even sure he could do it with such little time…
All of a sudden, the car stopped.
Tom watched a little transfixed with how it just suddenly happened and from the way the woman on the driver seat almost had her eyes bulging out of their sockets as she looked down on her feet and back upfront, proved that she, herself, was just as surprised as all of them.
Did he, by some accident or instinct perhaps, made the car stop? But that could not be, after all, he wasn't feeling particularly threatened or anything for that matter.
Merely a detached sort of feeling as he watched the crowd disperse and holler out their fake concerns as they stayed safe on the sidelines.
Or did his power get stronger? Tom shook his head, he did feel powerful especially now that the other children from the orphanage wouldn't dare cross him face to face (but that was of miniscule concern after that one display that affected everyone, Tom knew they wouldn't dare harm him in any way) but he didn't feel much more powerful power-wise, that was for sure.
And then a thought crossed his mind.
'It couldn't be…' He thought as his eyes shifted to the small body shivering on the road.
The kid had his hand up, exactly positioned against the bumper, his eyes shut tight which opened suddenly and stared transfixed at the car then on his hands—was that relief on his eyes?—then he stood up and hastily gathered his groceries before running awkwardly towards where Tom was standing looking just as shocked.
The silver-eyed boy felt a sense of déjà vu when he came nearer. Same dark messy hair, thin trembling frame, and the same determination set on his eyes. His face just as flushed as back then with exhaustion.
Their eyes locked again and he saw the recognition in those thickly covered eyes before they looked down in what Tom saw as an act of weakness and shame.
Tom gritted his teeth and scoffed. 'As if a boy as weak and shameful as he is would hold the same powers as I do.'
He felt shudder of disgust inside of him from just thinking that. He was able to control his powers albeit with much patience, effort, and time, still he did it and if he could why no…
'No. Stop this thought, right now. He and I would never be the same.'
Tom took one last repugnant glance at the limping boy before he erased every thought of the stranger inside his head and grudgingly made his way back to the blasted orphanage.
Christmas passed; his birthday passed, seasons came and went, uneventful.
It was the middle of October now, and the cold crisp air blew outside with dried leaves littering the grounds giving Tom and the other children in the orphanage a hard time cleaning them up due to their thin clothes and lack of proper equipments.
Tom resolutely ignored the bespectacled boy whenever he came wondering on their area.
Sometimes he'd see him during his outings to or from the library with the same grocery bags on the boy's thin hands; sometimes while on their way to the park or in the park itself; sometimes while he was up on his room, he'd see him running as the first time they met with the same tormentors.
Just as he was doing now—and was it just him or did the group got bigger? He scoffed loudly.
He immediately tore his eyes away and back to the book he was reading. Tom thought why he was seeing the boy frequently now (not as frequently though, once every other week perhaps, more or less. Tom didn't count nor did he care) as he felt the same irritation that came every time he saw that thin weary face hit him once again.
And the thought that perhaps he's got the same power as you do. Tom pursed his lips and banished the thought.
"With recognition comes awareness." He muttered under his breath as an answer as to his own question.
He glanced one last time outside his window to see the same limping whale of a child before he stood up and made his way to the back of the orphanage.
Seeing that boy had set him off once again and he needed to let off some steam. He only hoped there wouldn't be anyone on his way less they 'mysteriously' find themselves on the ground in pain and him being the prime suspect even if they had no evidence then off to the attic he goes.
It happened again when he was cringing from the pain and all he wanted was for it to stop, stop, stop!
Dudley along with his gang was pelting him with rocks that were abundant on their feet as they chanted with jeering voices "Freak! Freak! Stay away from us, Freak! You should just die!" Harry lay curled up on the ground, his small thin hands cradling his head to avoid head injuries.
Those tend to bleed heavily than any other parts of his body as he knew by experience and he had no desire to go back to that house where he knew he wouldn't have any kind of care or be pulled aside by the authorities or concerned people when he knew quite well that they wouldn't be able to help much.
He could feel the wounds that sharp rocks had sliced open on his arms and feet, the hard jagged bodies of the rock as they landed on various parts of his body. He squeezed his eyes shut and gritted his teeth and as the pain grew unbearable, he shouted for them to stop which they did, miraculously.
Thankful but curious, he slowly lifted his head up to see the rocks floating around him. Wide-eyed, he looked at his bullies and saw them gaping at him in shock, cold sweat falling down their pale face as they watched the slowly rising rocks around them.
Harry's first thought was 'Yes, let's see how you would handle these rocks you so love.'
He clenched his fists and glared at them, that feeling of power running through his veins made him feel invincible despite the fact that he was still lying there in the thick mud with bloodied cuts littering his body.
Just as they took a step back, the rocks suddenly came flying towards them with speed unseen by human eyes.
Harry felt his lips twitch upwards as he watched them scramble away from the almost invisible rocks only to fail and fall to the ground and make a great imitation of his position as it assaulted their bodies.
It was only when he saw Dudley glaring at him through bloodied hands, snot running down his cheek and tear-filled eyes, did he realize the full extent of what he had done. Consciously or not.
Nevermind the others parents, nevermind Dudley and his minions, what was he going to do when his aunt and uncle heard of this?
The rocks suddenly stop and fell with hard thumps on the ground just as his thoughts broke with an uncontrollable flow of situations waiting for him at home. And just as his thoughts veered to dangerous outcomes, his cousin just had to drop the bomb.
Dudley grinned evilly, "My father's gonna hear about this, you freak." He stood up and left with the others who looked at him with wide frightful eyes even as they cursed him with words too colorful for even teenagers to utter.
It was the first time they had seen him do something unexplainable and he knew that after this, either they would leave him be or would put more effort to tormenting him. With Dudley on the lead they're sure to tread the route of the latter.
Shakily, he stood up and turned to see someone standing beside a tree not too far off from him, only to flinch back as he saw that same expression his uncle Vernon always held when Dudley mislead him with his false misdoings.
A look of pure fury.
He wondered whether the cat woman across the Dursleys would be able to help him out.
It was real.
Tom felt the same anger inside of him bubble up the surface and he clenched his fists and teeth as he watched the scene before him.
The other kids had already gone back to the orphanage and it was only pure chance that he had seen the boy running on the other side of the street as he ran towards the park he was currently in and, in a moment of strange curiosity, he stayed behind only to get the biggest surprise of his life.
He knew how those rocks suddenly rose from the ground. He knew when they rushed towards the others, and, disconcertingly, he knew those eyes.
That same feeling of power rush and incredible feeling of being in control, of knowing that never again would they touch him with the same ruthless fists and pounding feet.
That he would never again suffer.
It should have continued just like that. They should be flying with the same impossible speed towards those stupid, useless children. Making them dirty with blood and giving them pain that Tom knew very well of.
It didn't have to stop and yet it did.
He didn't have to be the one terrified and shaking on the ground as they left and yet he was.
Tom didn't understand.
He certainly did not.
Harry did not understand.
He was not clumsy.
He prided himself with his great coordinated movements even if he was tired. His past achievements of outrunning Dudley and his gang was enough proof of that and it was only in times when he was feeling sick or too weak to go on that he shamefully falls on his face.
That day was not one of those days, as a matter of fact, his day had started out normally (as normal as his life goes). He did his chores perfectly and as a reward, got to eat a full lunch of soup and rice. Even the sun took pity for him and didn't show up when he was tending the garden.
When he was done, he was given permission to go out; Dudley and his friends showing up was pretty normal and since he was confident that he could outrun them, he merely sighed and started their game of cat and mouse or as Dudley fondly called 'Harry hunting'.
He went to the park, as was wise since there were a lot of people there that day with the sky packed with clouds and birds chirping in the trees. He ran between them hoping to pass the time as he hid behind their thick trunks, only to feel a force push his back with strength that made him fall and skid ways away on the ground he'd just been on.
He groaned and gingerly stood on his knees, feeling his body throb painfully as he did so. He inspected his bloodied arm, there were tiny pebbles still stuck on his arm from where he'd slid on the rocky ground.
The sting of pain on his face told him that even his face was not unharmed, luckily he wore long pants that day so his knees were safe from scratches and wounds though they did throb in pain. He always hated these kinds of wounds. They always left a scar and took a lot of time to heal, not to mention, they hurt when moved.
A shout on his back, made thoughts rush inside his head and he immediately stood up only to fall back down as a leg painfully greeted his stomach.
"You're so pathetic." Piers jeered down at him as he deposited another bony kick on his head. There was a round of laugh and all Harry wanted to do was to crawl under a rock and never get out. "How clumsy can ya get, freak? Trippin' on your own feet now are ya?"
"Is your freakishness affecting you now, too?" Someone jibed in and he couldn't help but feel a knot curl tightly on his stomach.
Perhaps they were right. That this… this freakishness was the cause of every painful trips and falls because there was no other reason for it, right? How can he feel someone push his back when there was no one there to begin with? How could he trip when there was nothing there to stumble into?
This was not the first time it happened. It's been happening for months, whenever he was on the park or when he was on his grocery trip with or without Dudley on his back.
Quite frankly, he didn't know when it started.
Harry endured a few more kicks and mocking words from them before they finally decided that such a beautiful day shouldn't be wasted with him so they left him on the ground, bloodied and bruised once again.
Harry stayed for a couple of minutes in the same familiar curled position as he reeled his breathing in before finally standing up on shaking legs.
He turned and a sense of déjà vu washed over him as he caught a pair of familiar dark eyes watching him from beside a tree, face blank. He'd been seeing that face for a long time now; on the park, on his groceries, on the street. But they never did talk, just the occasional glances—more like glares—and eyes catching each other. With the way the boy was dressed, Harry was certain that he was one of those kids from the orphanage.
'How long has he been here?' Harry thought angrily as he limped his way towards the other boy, there were still a lot of people there as he could see between the trees. 'He'd been watching the whole time and he didn't even think about helping me or calling out for help?'
The boy was still watching him, he didn't look like he'd be helping Harry anytime soon, not that Harry was expecting him to but some people would, right? With the way the other sneered at him and turned, it would seem that he was not one of those people.
"Hey, wait!" Harry didn't know why he called out but he already did anyway, he also didn't expect the other to actually heed his call but the other did. "…How long have you been here?" Harry asked since there was nothing else he could say could he?
"Why do you care?" The other shot back in a tone as if Harry had done him wrong. Harry felt his own temper flare up, happenings of a while ago slipping from his mind.
"Why do I care?" Harry repeated incredulously as he stood his full height. He just realized how tall the other kid was. "I was just beaten on the ground with an inch of my life and you happened to be there watching as if this was some live movie."
The kid's face darkened visibly, "And that is my fault, how? You're alive and kicking aren't you? You don't look like you'd need the hospital anytime soon although you'd need the bath…" He paused and eyed Harry from head to toe before sneering, "Or not. It does match your appearance quite well."
Harry gritted his teeth, face reddening from anger. "What did you just say?!"
"I've got no time to waste for people like you." His tone was final as he turned and quickly walked away from a still angry Harry.
"But you've sure got time to watch people like me—Wait!" This time the other didn't even look back. "I said wait! Stop! What's your name?!"
The other still didn't respond. Harry was not so desperate that he'd run after him just to know the rude kid's name so he stayed rooted on the spot, angry and confused although there was no harm done, right? He'd heard worse, he'd been neglected in more than one occasion.
This was just one of them.
He was just one of them.
'I hope I never meet you again.' Harry thought angrily as he made his own way back to the Dursleys.
Why did it feel that he'll be meeting that kid more now?
It took Harry a day to realize that that kid saw what happened yet didn't say anything nor did he look particularly afraid of him.
Quite the opposite really.
After their little confrontation.
Tom made sure that the other—Harry—as he heard them call him on one occasion, didn't see him anymore. Tom stayed far away as possible but still managing to torment him from the shadows.
He was more in tune with his powers now so it was not really something to sweat about and people were more terrified of him, even Martha stayed clear of Tom and only berated him when he gets out of line in his own accord.
It had gone on like that for months and sometimes Tom would see the weak midget move his head this way and that, looking for him whenever he was on the park or near the orphanage but Tom was great at hiding his presence so his search was in vain.
It gave Tom a different rush of power knowing that he could hurt them without them knowing; watch over someone, make them squirm even though he was invisible; knowing that he held some sort of power over them.
Like some predator watching its helpless prey.
Tom realized that he loved this feeling.
Their last meeting as mere children, and perhaps the most memorable, was on a cold winter morning.
Harry sat on a swing by the park, gently swinging himself back and forth. His toes never left the ground just as his verdant eyes never left the blue-gray sky.
He was free from the suffocating presence of the Dursleys for the whole day since they went out somewhere Harry didn't even take notice of because knowing that he would be alone—albeit with a list of chores—was very much distracting.
His thin body was covered with warm but too big clothes that he'd borrowed from Dudley without permission, he didn't want to freeze to death after all and besides they wouldn't be back until later that evening so as long as he took care of it, he'll be fine.
The sound of running footsteps took hold of Harry's attention. Turning around he saw the children from the orphanage flood into the park and cheerfully run about the playground, others went to the covers of the trees while others went to sit on benches that littered the sides.
It was then that Harry remembered of the other dark-haired child he'd been seeing lately. He thought he'd forget but one couldn't really forget such cold eyes and similarly cold personality did they? And besides the boy held himself unlike any other child from the orphanage and there was a different feeling about him that Harry could not, for the life of him, tell. If it weren't for his clothes, Harry would have thought that he was one of the boys living in grandiose mansions and reared up to be princes or something.
Either way, that kid definitely took on the air of one. He even got the personality right on point although ruder.
Just as another child took the unoccupied swing on his side, Harry saw the pale boy he'd been thinking of, trudge into the park with a heartfelt scowl on his face.
Without thinking about it, Harry immediately vacated his seat—not even noticing as another child took hold of it—and approached the other.
"Hey!" Harry called out once he was near enough. He saw the other stiffen before squaring his shoulders and continuing on as if he never heard. Making a sound of irritation, Harry called out to him again only to be ignored once again.
It continued on like that until the other finally turned to him with a face carefully void of emotion. Harry felt the way his lips almost twitched upwards in a grin but then he noticed that they were now hidden in the trees. Suddenly, Harry felt a sense of foreboding as he eyed the other child with suspicion.
"What are we doing here?" Harry asked, voice tight with nerves.
Tom didn't answer for a long moment and Harry was sure that he wouldn't say or do anything other than stare at him with those eyes.
"Didn't you want to talk to me, Harry? I merely took you to an appropriate place."
And that was what Harry meant about acting like a prince. Why did he feel like talking so extravagantly when it was only Harry he was talking to? Where did he even learn?
"Why do you talk like that?" And of course, Harry just had to ask.
Tilting his head, Tom replied, "Like what exactly, Harry?"
Shivering from the breeze that touched his nape, Harry answered, "Too polite. Like a prince or something." Then remembering something, he immediately added, "Why do you say my name like that? And just so we're fair, tell me your name."
"Why is my name so important to you? It's not like we're… friends or anything, are we? We merely see each other out in the streets by chance like common strangers do."
The boy was moving now, circling him like a wolf and looking up and down his body. Harry immediately tensed. There was something heavy in the air, giving him goosebumps.
Harry didn't answer instead he warned in a sharp tone, "Stop walking around me. You're making me uncomfortable."
The other did. Right behind him. Harry didn't even look, feeling that when he did something bad would happen.
"Why won't you look at me when you're talking to me, Harry? I did what you told me obediently, right? The least you could do would be to look me in the eye and face me as we talk."
The way the other said it was like a challenge. Harry didn't know how, but he knew that the other held an evil grin in his lips.
Slowly turning around, Harry shoved his shivering hands on his pants, and faced the other dead on. There were mere inches between their faces—there was no evil grin on the other's pale but beautiful face, it was just as blank as earlier—and Harry realized that not only were the other's eyes cold and sharp, they held the color of dark shadows, foreboding and dangerous.
"Tell me your name." Harry persisted.
"Why is my name so important to you?" Tom shot back just as stubborn.
"Why won't you just tell me!" Harry's temper was getting the better of him now but who wouldn't? The other was just so irritating. Just staring at him like that and evading his questions.
"Tell me, Harry. Have you ever made something move without touching them?" The dark-eyed boy whispered, eyes never wavering as he stared at him.
"Where are you going with this?" Harry shivered. He told himself that it was because of the cold.
"Have you ever done something unexplainable without meaning to?"
Harry's mind went back to the way he'd change his teacher's hair color accidentally, the way he'd appeared on the top of a roof when he was running on the ground, the way his hair had grown too fast after a nasty haircut from his auntie.
"Made people hurt because they hurt you?" The other whispered as his dark eyes glinted knowingly.
Harry jerked away from him, suddenly remembering what he really wanted to ask the other, "You! You saw what happened and yet you didn't say anything! Other people would have said something but you just watched and didn't even comment about… about me! Tell me then. Are you the same as me?"
"About how you're a freak?" The other spat.
Harry bristled and shot back, "Oh? I'm a Freak? Then you're just the same as me, aren't you?"
The other jerked back and said venomously, "I am not like you. You're weak and shameful. No wonder other people treat you like a slave and hunt you down like a pig."
Harry was gaping at him in shock, eyes wide and cloudy with furious tears. In his hurt and anger, his mouth spouted the very words he never wished to any other. "How dare you!? At least I have a family unlike you! Living in a filthy orphanage and thrown by your own parents! If anythi—"
Harry was cut short when something hit his head in such force he'd flew in the air and landed a couple of meters away from the other child. The pain was so unbearable and there was blood trickling down his cheeks, staining his hands blood red. He even had to close his left eye from how heavy the red liquid flowed down.
"You dare, you filthy pig." The other bellowed in righteous anger as he advanced towards him in quick strides. "And here I thought I'd give you another chance to redeem yourself but it would seem that cowards would always stay cowards."
The other sneered at him before adding, "You look good down there, covered in your own filthy blood. At least you're on your rightful place."
Harry never saw him again after that and when he went back and cleaned his wound and Dudley's jacket. He found out that he now had a scar shaped like a lightning bolt to visibly remind him of the other dark-haired child.
Hello, first of all, thank you for taking the time to read this crappy fic of mine.
I'm new to writing, so please do give me helpful critics so I could make this story worthwhile for all of us. Just no rude comments please. I have a weak heart hahaha.
I've been away from this fandom for a long time so I might have gotten their characterizations wrong. Please forgive me.
I got this idea a long time ago of 'What if they grew up together but hated each other's guts?'
I liked it, so this fic was born. I hope i'll be able to deliver through. I've got another Tomarry fic coming up and it's a crossdressing!Harry, still magic of course, so if you like that sort of fics, please look out for mine :)