1. Sebastian glared down at the hunched over youth from his weightless perch on the rooftop. His eyes narrowed, watching the boys pale white hands softly stroke Her soft, ebony pelt as if the shivering, mewling pet was a fragile treasure. His shoulders, thin and wrapped delicately in a tattered grey shawl loomed protectively over his mewling feline, head also bowed over it's wet figure, taking the brunt of the force of the rain as sheets of thunderous sleet and icy water slammed into his quivering neck. He would not last long like that, staggering through the shadowed alleys in nothing but a pair of sodden grey rags and too large boots, and what Sebastian presumed to have been his cloak bundled around some stray. Already, the demon could pinpoint a quaking in the shoulders, and the distant, muffled hack of a violent cough, drowned out by the roar of rain slamming into cobblestones. The child, only a teenager, his fragile body thready and long with malnutrition and hunger made an admirable effort for several long, pointless seconds, his legs dredging into puddle after puddle, before toppling over into a sodden, heaving mound of grey, curled protectively the bundle that was the cat and the cloak.

Sebastian smirked his approval inwardly, cold gaze sliding over to what little of the cat was not obscured by the childs shuddering frame, before locking on the boys face. Slack, peasant-like features, numbed and white, with quivering blue lips and slitted green eyes. The eyes slid shut, and Sebastian hummed along with the weak, stuttering rhythm of the boys faltering breath. At the very least he mused, stepping lightly from his perch on the roof, toes skimming drenched tiles as he glided across it's length, the boy had used his own body to protect the precious feline from the growing puddle of rainwater, and was still sheltering it from the cold torrent. The world fazed out of focus for a mount as he leaped over several other obstructing buildings, before slipping into the alley, dark, heeled boots clicking sharply against the stones.

Sebastian stopped slightly over the boys quivering frame, watched it shift unconsciously away, before stoopng over. One clean, gloved hand wrapped gently around the kittens fluttering ribcage, the other smartly untangled the boys cold hands from the precious cats matted fur, and with a delicate tug the cat was wrenched free and upwards, where, straightened against the force of the rain, Sebastian tucked it into his inner vest.

" Thank you, sir." Sebastian said cordially, with a slight bow towards the quivering mass in front of his, " You have been most helpful, I'm sure that this little one is grateful." And with a cold, thankless smile, he shot off towards the mansion for teatime.

Far behind, haunted jade eyes shot open as still, lifeless ribs jerked wildly into motion, small tortured gasps rising like the muffled cries of a newborn through the gloom.

Harry sat up slowly, shivering hands cradling his thin, bruised ribs as his spine slowly cracked into place. The feeling of having just died weighed irrepressibly on him, a lingering shroud of terror and soreness that blotted out the rest of the world an almost friendly feeling- he had woken up like this many times before. Pushing himself up from some hard, unforgiving floor, his broken, whining bones still knitting themselves back to their original template; his first, seventeen year old body, tanned and covered in a corded wirework of slim muscles that he always lost, no matter how long he wandered. He would see the ground first, always, soil and blood and his own vomit pressed against the skin of his cheek. Then he would feel the heat, the cloak coiled against his regenerated belly, the scorching caress of the ring on his finger, the length of the Elder Wand from it's cradle in his palm.

Everything else would come afterwards, groaning and moaning and popping in the oddest of places as he tried- half asleep, darkness still dripping from his bleary vision- to shake of the cold numbness inside of him. The slight euphoria he always always RELUCTANTLY felt grip his heart when the first rush of color and light flooded his vision.

It was always worse when he woke up in the dark. He was always alone, in the light or the dark, but the night just made him think of the Other Side; as if he had never work up, had confined himself to that solitary blackness for the ternary he seemed to be cursed with.

He was alone this time too, be noted, somewhat absently as he raked his clawed fingers through soggy, matted locks, and felt a vague stirring of disturbance. It hadn't been that way before… before he had died. He had felt eyes on him, burning through some distance and watching amusedly as he had lurched forward with as much effort as he could have, starved as he had been for months and lighter than a pillow case of breadcrumbs, that small little stray, so like him, with gleaming green eyes and that annoyingly fluffy hair… Cat?

Harry's eyes shot open, as , with a yelp, he jumped to his feet, frantically casting his gaze around him to see if he had accidentally rolled over and crushed the poor thing. He could have smothered it with that ridiculous cloak he had wrapped it in- overkill much, Harry?- or pinned it in some pool of water, his light frame keeping it's struggling body under the surface until, until…!

There wasn't any small, bobbing corpse of flea-bitten feline though- just a fine cloud of mist and drizzle, swirling in the air like some sort of wet caress, and large, gleaming puddles of brown rainwater, and high, high above him… Oh how he loved the sky, Harry thought, eyes sliding shut blissfully as a soft ray of muted sunlight slid across his face, the quiet burn of a kiss. Oh gods he had missed this, the fresh feeling of having woken up from a long, inexistent sleep, the memory of the past few months just a drugged-up haze of pain and sleep and roaring, rain-conquered streets, and cats and those fancy leathery shoes that he seemed to see a lot in this World. Vaguely he realized that he should be moving from his hunched, blissful stillness, that he had been running for a while now- not just the usual I'm-immortal-and-lonely-and-everything-hurts-and-I-can't-stand-it running, but the nostalgic, bad-guys-chasing-you kind of running.

There. That did it; his eyes snapped open and a shuddering gasp was ripped from his lips.

" The manor!" he shrieked, and then winced at the sound of his voice, harsh and shredded as if his trace was still… re-building. His mind turned back to his previous quest, images of something cute and precious and vaguely painful flashing up, a bright childish smile and a mop of blonde hair, a towering vision of a dark, glittering mansion, cast softly in the light of a thousand lantern…an ancient crest…a faded, coffee-stained map marked with delicate, spiraling script…Phantomhive…

"Aw, FUCK it!" moaned Harry, pushing himself off the comfortably stony wall, his thin arms whipping out to whisk up the folded cloak and the Elder Wand (which would have followed him, but habit dies hard), and then set off, bolting quickly through the winding London alleyways, with only a barely muttered whisper of, "I'm late, I'm late. I'm late for a very important date!"

"…Do you have a name?" asked the lanky, shadow-shrouded figure, He sat, hunched over , in the corner of the room, a single, gleaming green eye bulging from the ebony curves of the dark there, vision trained on a smaller, shaking child, a bald-headed child of twelve. The intruder lay on his back, tears and snot cascading down the sides of his face, eyes large and blank and bright blue irises dulled and quiet, the same medical color as his tattered shift.

"Hey…" said the sitting boy, " Hey. Answer me."

The child flinched from his position, sprawled across the unforgiving cement, and large, horrified eyes spun over to pierce the shadows, head lolling over to one shoulder in obedience. He didn't answer.

" I told you to answer me. " the green eye said softly, voice cold and disinterested, " I won't ask again. I don't have to listen to weaklings like you."

He laughed mirthlessly, chillingly, " I don't have to listen AT ALL."

The laughter petered off into silence, the shadows menace slowly growing as the other child did nothing but shake and whimper and stare into that one green eye, as if trying desperately to communicate something without words. A thin, pointed jaw worked uselessly against the cement, and a thin squeaking voice whooshed out in a reedy whistle, before wilting in the stifling quiet. It took several, timeless minutes, but then the boys tongue seemed to start flapping again.

"…N-nah..Na name…" he grit out hoarsely, and suddenly, suddenly, there was a soft, white hand cupping his cheek, caressing bruised hollow cheeks and the slick, fat tracks of tears. A face, hovering above him, framed by spiky locks of black and set with glowing, emerald eyes twisted softly into a secretive and the boy, shocked into silence, body heaving and throat burning, could do nothing but blink as a chapped, cold pair of lips brushed against the sweaty skin of his forehead.

" It's nice to meet you, then, no-name." whispered the older boy, with a blinding smile, so at odds with his previous frigidity, " My name is Harry. You're my new roommate, I believe."

Then Harry was back in the shadows, his green eyes shut and body obscured completely.

" I'm going to call you Twig, it means 'thin and made of wood'. Try to last a while."

Finny woke up with his features frozen in an agonizing stillness, his dream still burning behind his eyes. Washed out images of his elder brother, Harry echoes in the darkness. Harry hunched up in the corners like a lurking, malicious ghost, Harry, watching over his silent weeping with tender eyes and gentle, comforting hands, Harry hissing out grumpy insults and cocky remarks early in the morning, Harry being dragged, laughing and hysterical, tears streaming down his face as the scientist hooked their arms under his and wrenched him away from Finny's desperate, grasping hands. That mad, bitter laugh, free and breathless and wild….Harry's last words, obscured by madness and fever and ferocity, words which Finny could hear every night in his not-so-often nightmares.

Finny sniffled quietly, face crumpling into a mask of sadness as tears built in his tired eyes.

Harry who was his brother, who had rescued him by being there at the end of each day, who had been so MEAN as to steal his extra glass of milk, who had had a very charming nose that Finny had been envious of because it had been broken so many times, but had always healed straight, unlike Finny himself, Harry who had sometimes been unknowingly brutal in picking on him, but wa secretly a big softy…. Harry who had been dragged away, laughing hysterically in the face of death.

Harry who laid still and quiet and cold in the hard, unforgiving light of the operation table. Dead for two seconds in view, before the door had slammed shut and Finny had been taken away, silent and shocked, and buzzing with . Harry. Had.

Died.

Finny closed his eyes and went back to uneasy dreams which refused to feature the cute things in life, like food, and Mey Rin's funny glasses, and Master Ciel's many different canes, and the garden and…

Because nothing was alright when Harry was dead.

Harry bundled the useless cotton cloak tighter around his shoulders, shoving his feet forward once more into the bast of wild, country wind, struggling against it's overwhelming push. Green eyes narrowed against the onsetting cold, flickering up to notice the dim shapes of emerging stars before training once again on the distant horizon.

Just wait Twig. I'll be there in a moment…

"Goddamn, fuchsia eyed….smarmy bastard….thinks he can lock me out…MESSY HAIR.." muttered Harry, slumping against yet another wall, one hand rising to run, aggravated, through the tangled knots detailing his scalp. His back cracked for the tenth time since his last re-awakening, the muscles of his shoulders shuddering in pleasure as the knotted joints ground against each other. Merlin, he was sore, and tired- everything was swimming, the last couple of days spent trekking up through a winding, desolate road just a muddy blur of his own chaotic thoughts and the last snatches of violent weather. And then he got there.

To the place where Twig had been taken. To Phantomhive Manor, to where those two, childish, nostalgic blue eyes had been sheltered, and then that DAMN BUTLER wouldn't let him the fuck in! As if that stinking, repugnant demon, that blood-soaked hell spawn, had any say in what Harry could or could not do- as if slamming the door in Harry's grey, tired, scum-covered face was permissible, which it WASN'T. Harry growled softly under his breath, slapping the noisy, ranting voice in his head that stormed around his psych, fuming and breaking imagined china vases.

He hated himself like this, tired and desperate and weak, and so utterly affected by the mundane, repetitive world of humans. Hated when he got so tired of being tired that he managed to fool himself…that was all it really was, fooling himself, Harry realized. Carrying on this bitter farce of caring, and loving and hurting, and Morgana! How long would he continue to do this?

Forever?

Calloused hands turned, palms glaring up at his weary, blinking eyes, the lines so different and so familiar, scarred and rough and slightly long, the tapered digits bony and emancipated. A clunky ring of glossy wood, inset with a single, cracked black stone, wound around his ring finger, where his wedding ring could have been, no, HAD, been. many years ago. Forever. He thought drearily, clenching his fist around the burning artifact. And he would never forget that, as long as that silvery, gossamer cloak wound in ropes across his chest, and that long, knotted stave stuck in his back pocket-they wouldn't let him.

"Goddamn it! Let ME. IN!" roared Harry, body suddenly hurtling back around the corner he had turned, leather-clad feet splicing through the air as his vision narrowed reflexively to the point of impact. His feet brushed the door, then slammed into the smooth, engraved panels. The hinges screamed, and with a screeching whistle, the two doors were flung across the antechamber, clattering thunderously to the floor as Harry spun around onto the balls of his feet, landing lightly in a crouch.

Silence. A slight tingling buzz of adrenaline. His spine cracked once more, and this time the sensation was one of finality, entire body aligning in the way it was meant to, hovering over the floor in a predators crouch, hungry, and hunting. Footsteps exploded inward.

"Who, pray tell, do you think you are…" was the quiet, furious hiss, " Not only have you been pestering my butler and threatening my gardener, but you broke into private property , my MANOR, the PHANTOMHIVE manor-"

"I told!" interrupted the criminal, " I'm only here to see Finny! I know him, we were friends before he came here-"

Silence. Stillness. The blade pressed nonchalantly against his throat.