DISCLAIMER: Anything you recognize does not belong to me but in fact J.K. Rowling.

Little Harry trudged through the rainy streets of London cold and alone. His clothes were drenched and shivers wracked his bones, his frail body not being able to cope with the fierce winds that threatened to blow him away. He hadn't thought to bring his coat. It seemed like such an unimportant belonging but now he was regretting it. He was a stubborn child and in his four year old mind he didn't think that staying at home unwanted was such a good thing. But now he might have wanted to go home.

The noise of cars and bicycles were alien to Harry and he only recognized them because his mother had deigned to teach him about his Muggle side. But it perplexed him, why would the Muggles use such machines if they were ruining the planet? It wasn't all about their needs after all, animals were losing their habitats and plants were being chopped down to satisfy their needs. Harry thought this was quite selfish of the Muggles.

Sniffling and wiping the tiredness out of his eyes, Harry walked on, not paying attention to the stares thrown his way. For a long time he was ignored then, suddenly all eyes were on him. He preferred it in the shadows. He chewed his lip, he didn't know where to go now. He hadn't really thought this through...

Tears began to well in his eyes as he remembered the things his father had told him about why it was unsafe to wander the streets alone. People got killed in the streets, attacked for their belongings and little children could get stolen by the bad men that loitered in the alleys. A policeman walking by noticed the sobbing child and decided to approach the poor soul.

"Hello son."

Wet eyes slowly met his and P.C. Richardson was nearly startled at the odd colours whilst Harry was shocked that he was referred to as 'son.' No one had ever called him that as far as he could recall.

"Where's your mummy, lad?" The Officer continued when the boy didn't say anything.

Harry struggled a minute before he replied, "She's dead."

"Oh," Richardson said awkwardly, wishing that he didn't have to deal with something like this in his first week on the job, "What about your daddy?"

"He's dead too."

"Then who looks after you?" The Officer replied, nonplussed at how the boy displayed no emotion at his parents' death.

"Myself."

Reality dawned on the older man as he came to the conclusion that the child must be living on the streets (though his clothes looked new despite being wet but they could have easily been stolen). He took off his hat and scratched his head a minute before coming to a decision.

"What did you say your name was lad?" he asked.

"I didn't."

"Oh. Right. Well er... what is it then?"

"Harrison, but you can call me Harry." He said after a moment of contemplation.

"Harrison what?"

"Harrison Hayes."

"Well Harrison Hayes, you'll be coming with me."

"But I have somewhere to be!" He protested.

"Nonsense, if you haven't got parents expecting you home then your carers will surely be ringing me looking for you." But the policeman highly doubted that anyone would.

'Harrison' had no response for that and so ducked his head in defeat as a larger hand grasped his. Surprisingly the Officer's hand was quite warm so he didn't mind all that much anymore. He was brought to a yellow and blue car parked around the corner and was ushered into the front seat. In all honesty, Harry was terrified of the Muggle vehicle but at the same time he was elated at the fact that not many wizards had driven in a car before. It was much better than Apparating he'd decided.

A tall, brown building loomed before him. Its walls were dirty and dusty and graffiti-ed with vulgar pictures and writing he'd only understand when he grew older. The windows were murky and looked to be so thin that they'd break if he were to poke a finger at them. The grass was choppy and yellow, and the tree that hung near the building was as bare as the the grass was full. The roof looked as if it were going to fall down on the occupants at any given time and the front door looked like it had been previously kicked in. The house- if you could call it that- looked to be the epitome of gloom and misery and Harry felt a pang of sympathy for the occupants within. Yet, he was confused. Why had the nice Policeman bought him here?

"Well lad, this will be your new home." P.C. Richardson smiled weakly, aware that to a child the building would look more like a haunted house. He also felt a touch guilty as wide green and grey orbs pierced him with a look of horror and panic.

"No! You can't leave me here!" Harry cried out desperate and aghast but to his dismay he was shushed and dragged to the decaying red door and could only watch helplessly as the wooden knocker was banged thrice.

An old lady came to answer the door, her hair was knotted tightly up into a bun and she had a pinched expression to her face. She was short and wore a long grey skirt and blouse and Harry thought she looked very old fashioned. She peered down at the small boy over a long pointy nose and the raven haired boy felt like tugging at it. After assessing the child briefly, Ms Hookberry met eyes with the policeman but didn't bother asking why there was a child on her doorstep.

"What is his name?" She asked bluntly.

"Harrison Hayes apparently, also referred to as Harry." he answered back robotically, slightly intimidated by the scowl set on the Matron's face.

"Apparently?" she repeated sharply, her eyes boring into Harry's.

"I think he's been living on the streets ma'am."

"Is that so? Age?"

Richardson looked sheepish and glanced at Harry. He hadn't remembered to ask him that.

"Four." The four year old attempted to summon up courage but the end result was him squeaking like a frightened mouse. Though he had a right to be. He was a wizard alone in a Muggle world, left to waste away in a worn and crumbling building with a vulture like woman. Who knew how long he'd last.

"Very well. You, come with me. You'll be residing in Barker's Orphanage from now on."

Harry nodded obediently and ignored the farewell he recieved from the man, he was on his own now.

"This is the entrance hall, through there is the kitchen, to the left the play room and over there is the dining room. Near the play area is my Office and private chambers. If you need me you shall knock thrice and wait. There are three floors- on the first, there are four rooms and a bathroom and toilet. On the second, there are three more rooms and again, a bathroom and toilet. On the very last floor there are three bedrooms and an attic. There are no bathrooms so occupants are expected to share either the first or second floor bathroom.

"You will receive toiletries that consist of a toothbrush, flannel, bar of soap, a comb, toothpaste, towel and moisturizer. If you run out, come to me or one of my attendants with your empty or worn item and we'll replace it. Clothes are scarce enough as it is so you should feel privileged that we are willing to provide some for you. Your room is at the top: number 7. Breakfast is at eight sharp, lunch at twelve and dinner is at seven. Be sure to be prompt lest your food is consumed by the other children and you won't be receiving any food until the next meal.

"That is all for now. If I've forgotten anything, I'll be sure to inform you at the soonest time and if you have any more questions, ask one of the attendants."

Ms Hookberry deftly turned away, her skirt swishing around her as she headed towards her office. Harry's face was a picture of resignation as he looked up the creaky, wooden stairs and began to make his way up.

"Oi! Freak!" Ernie Wallish, a stocky and spotty eleven year old hollered. Shrewd, pigmented eyes rose from the pages of an advanced science textbook to meet the murky brown of the Orphanage's bully. With a passive face Harry watched as Ernie swaggered forward, backed by other acne faced, pubescent boys.

"What are you reading freak?" The pasty faced boy sneered, snatching the textbook out of Harry's hands, "Look boys, he thinks he's so smart, reading an 'advanced' book. What d'you need to now about a plant's bits for, Hayes?" Ernie waggled his eyebrows suggestively as his gang guffawed loudly at his joke.

"Whilst you hold no regard for education Wallish, there are some of us aspiring to not be permanently residing at the bottom of the status tier." Harry replied coolly, trying to withhold a scowl. Albeit it only made the bullies laugh harder.

"Oooh, so the kitten has claws. You think your so smart Hayes but you ain't, you're just as stupid as your whore of a mum." Ernie sneered, anticipating a hot headed retaliation. Harry wasn't affected by the slur towards his mother however. He'd cut all ties with her a long time ago, unaware that his magic did the same and therefore cut off all connections with the Potter family. Subconsciously, he had also pushed all his memories about his family and the wizarding world to a secret, locked corner in his mind. Only a sharp reminder would unlock those memories.

"And yet here I am with a more vast collection of knowledge than you, despite us being in the same living location and being restricted by the limitations of our resources." he murmured aloofly.

"Listen Hayes, enough of this smart talk. We'll give you ten seconds since I'm feeling nice." Ernie smiled, a familiar malicious gleam in his eyes and Harry took it for what it was. A warning.

He sprang up immediately, abandoning his book and pushed pass the snickering group of boys; his spindly legs were now trained to be quick and agile and his small frame allowed him to manoeuvre without worrying about bumping into things. This game of 'Harry Hunting' was a regular occurrence and so after they finally managed to capture Harry, they'd beat him. So far the bullies were only ten and so they weren't very imaginative with their techniques but it hurt profoundly nonetheless. What bothered him most however, was that the attendants always turned the other cheek and that hurt more than the physical abuse. He'd ran away from home to escape the neglect but he'd only escaped one hell and entered another.

Looking over his shoulder, Harry saw that the boys were hot on his heels and they'd catch up seconds after he opened the front door. Sure enough, just after he'd sprinted into the back yard, he felt a sharp tug on his collar and was thrown back onto the dry, yellow grass. Dizzying over his head's collision with the ground, Harry was slow to avoid the punch thrown his way and collapsed.

Here we go again...

Ernie Wallish was one of those boys that were neither pretty on the inside nor the outside. His body was unevenly proportioned and he tended to have bouts of itchy rash that left scars and bumpy skin that got worse in the summer. Wallish was very bitter that he was ugly and also stupid and the little effort he put into class led to the teachers thinking he wasn't at all a bright boy, but another hopeless case. It made him jealous when boys like Harry came along.

People always treated pretty people better than the ugly ones, Ernie noticed. The cute ones got the most attention. However, if you weren't cute or pretty, you could make up for it by being intelligent or having a particular talent. Kindness also got you very far. But Ernie wasn't cute or pretty or smart or talented. And it made him very sour. But it also made him think. If he couldn't be nice to people, he'd be mean to them. It had the same effect. But instead of people listening to him out of love, they'd listen out of fear. Being the eldest in the Orphanage meant he had more power and because he'd stayed here the longest (not a fact he was proud of but was willing to use to his advantage), it was easy to assert his authority.

He also packed quite a punch.

Still, there were people like Harry who had all those nice qualities and didn't need to force people to like or accept him. People flocked to him because he was a cute child and stayed because he delighted them with his intelligence and silver tongue. Harry didn't even have to try. Grace and wit came naturally to him and the older boy did not think this was fair in the slightest.

Whenever couples stopped by the Orphanage, the ten year old always managed to make sure Harry was 'Otherwise Occupied' and didn't get the chance to meet what could have been his future family. None of the children at school associated with the small boy either, lest Ernie's wrath be beaten down on them too. It wasn't difficult to see that any couple would be enamored by him and Ernie knew how they felt. Because deep down, the pasty faced boy too had a slight obsession with Harrison Hayes.

But it could never be known.

He let his frustrations out by bullying Harry relentlessly but he had never let it go too far. It wouldn't do to taint his infatuation. And if punching him was the only way Ernie could touch Harry's soft, creamy skin then so be it. Because inside he knew he'd never get more. And regular beating were the only way to sate his desire for Harry.

There were other bullies of course, that would harass Harry with him but he'd never let them do too much damage. And he made sure Harry was always isolated in the Orphanage by making up stories about him. Though they weren't really stories but assumptions with a grain of truth in them, drawn up by his active imagination. Like the time when Stan Radley was cussing at Harry, saying all sorts of foul things about his lack of a family and the reasons for it, and suddenly, found himself falling down the creaky second floor stairs. He was lucky he hadn't broken his neck the Doctors said but Ernie had seen Harry standing at the top of the stairs with a malign sparkle in his eyes, leaning against the banister for a fleeting second before he vanished. That must have been the day that triggered Ernie's fascination and so far it hadn't faded.

Another time was when Harry had discovered a metallic bauble outside, sometime in the winter. They were all forced to go outside in the cold with their pathetic ragged coats but whilst the children were playing with snowballs to keep warm, Harry was walking at an even pace. You would be blind to not see the grace Harry walked with, despite his age, Ernie observed jealously. It seemed as though the malnourished boy was gliding beside angels and on smooth marble rather than slushy snow.

At one point, Harry had bent down to pick something up and the bully took note of the spark of interest glinting in his oddly coloured eyes. Ernie remained seated, watching avidly as, whilst Harry was tracing patterns on the bauble with long fingers, one of his cronies approached him. Yelling and angry growls were made distinct soon and the group of kids began to circle the pair but somehow were distracted before anything really happened, Harry had dropped the orb at his feet with a contemptuous sneer pulling at his blue lips. Dylan -for that was the boy's name- smirked triumphantly and it seemed only Ernie was able to discern the malevolent set to Harry's jaw. The young boy looked disturbingly happy with seeing another person bend at his feet, the spotty boy noted warily. The cold sunshine reflecting off Harry's normally inky tresses now made his hair look red and as if on fire. Wallish thought he looked absolutely beautiful.

A scream then ripped holes through the icy wind and multiple eyes widened in shock and fear. They looked towards the pair and witnessed only Dylan Moore clutching a red, charred hand and Harry's blank face before he picked up the bauble again and walked away. Drawing closer to his friend, Ernie became aware of the burn in the shape of a globe that decorated the hand and led the way back inside the Orphanage to seek help as he contemplated what had just happened.

This scene had only ceased to make his infatuation even more interesting and Ernie was determined to dominate Harry in the future, when he wasn't so young. But first he'd have to break him otherwise Harrison Hayes would never subject to his... desires.

Snapping back from his memories to the present, he watched as the other misfits of his gang beat Harry whilst he was unconscious. He watched as purples and blues began to blossom on Harry's ivory skin and velvety blood trickled down his chin. Sometimes Ernie scared himself. He knew that thoughts like these weren't normal, after all he'd hate to be queer but he felt safe in the knowledge that he didn't think of anyone else like this. It was only ever Harry. And it would remain only Harry, for years to come.

"Okay class, today we'll be doing an experiment. We'll be testing to see how quickly water can evaporate at a high temperature. But I must warn you, this experiment requires the use of fire so stand well behind me, children."

Harry watched obediently, silently as Miss Poppy recited instructions. Class 5B were huddled around a table at the front of the classroom for science where their teacher said the'd be experimenting.

Miss Poppy looked and smelt like a peppermint. She seemed to always try her best to wear red and white striped dresses and her fingernails were always painted the same shade of red. Her hair was auburn and twisted into a high bun and she wore wedged shoes. Looking at her was like looking at a poster ad for a love film in the 60's. Not only was her sense of fashion unique but she seemed to harbor special pity for Harry that bordered on disdain.

Whenever he completed a test, she always assumed he cheated because of his prodigious scores. She frowned when his homework was impeccable and the fact that he could fluently read advanced books. Miss Poppy didn't like the fact that he went off to the library to study by himself because it didn't coincide with the 'school curriculum'. In her opinion, Harry was trying to prove himself and fit in despite the fact that he'd never learn to socialize with the unlearned, ill-mannered ten year old from his class. He abhorred every single one of them. The only reason he came to school was for the library; Miss Poppy didn't ever teach him anything of worth.

A flare of red and orange appeared between Miss Poppy's fingers as she lit a match and Harry's eyes sparkled in awe. He'd never seen a proper fire before, in the orphanage they only ever used a gas cooker and only rarely so bills wouldn't get too high. Most of their meals were either cold or cooked all at once in order to use as little heat as possible.

Green and Grey eyes watched as the flame danced in the air enticingly. It was a beauty to watch but a danger to touch.

Harry looked down at his fingers, he tilted his head and closed his eyes then imagined he was the one with a lit match in his hands. He clicked his fingers. Suddenly there was a warm heat emanating from his forefinger and thumb growing more and more hot. His eyes grew wide and he panicked. If not for the small red burn that adorned his fingertips, Harry would have said he was imagining things. But things just got more interesting.

Ignoring the small burning sensation, Harry focused again and willed flame to delight him once more. It didn't work. He frowned and pushed his will harder. And there it was. "Awesome!" He whispered excitedly to himself.

"Harry are you listening?!" Miss Poppy's high pitched voice startled him, "For Pete's sake Harry, pay attention for once will you?" She snapped and the small raven haired boy felt a slither of mortification swell in the pit of the stomach as twenty five pairs of eyes glared at him before turning away. He heard mutterings of, "Freak" and "Attention seeker" and the vitriolic "Wish he'd just die already" laced with disdain. The fact that he'd only retained his classmate's attention for mere seconds stood testimony to his worth. They were so used to their hatred for him it became second nature to them to assess him scathingly, then carry on with whatever they were doing.

An angry blush coloured his cheeks and he felt an unforeseen spark of anger rage in his head. Where the fury was coming from he did not know. Just that Miss Poppy should be punished for constantly singling him out and picking at him mercilessly. The wooden match currently being lit by the woman caught his attention and his eyes zeroed in on the writhing flame. It was provoking him. His eyes drifted closed and his senses became more alert to the rhythmic pounding in his skull, the rush of blood in his ears and the swelling in his chest. Sweat adorned his forehead as his eyes snapped open revealing swirls of turbulent emotions.

It was a grim day for Ashton Comprehensive. The whole school erupted in flames that day and firefighters, policemen and staff alike were at a loss as to how it started. It hadn't been proven to be a case of arson, neither was it shown to be an accident (Miss Poppy vehemently denied any questions about the safety of her experiment, claiming they only used a yellow flame which wasn't enough to set the building ablaze. The adults eventually agreed.) Whatever had happened, it had made the schoolchildren even more wary of Harrison Hayes- if that were possible. They didn't have any reason to blame him but it didn't stop rumors claiming he was a child of Satan and a pyromaniac.

The bullying also got worse. With no school to attend, all the children in Barker's Orphanage had no where to go and were house ridden with nothing to do and so became more restless. Harry on the other hand, was more upset at the fact that he couldn't go to the Library anymore and town was three buses away. He kept to himself even more often, only venturing out to the garden when the other kids came in for meals.

It was during one of theses evenings that Harry discovered another trait he owned which alienated him from society yet again. The sun was set low in the sky, and a calm breeze flitted through Harry's patched clothes as he was reading. He sat in the middle of a cul-de-sac of bushes he found through a hole in the fence and decided it was the perfect getaway. A glass of orange juice sat alongside him as he read leisurely, relishing his rare moment of peace. The leaves near his foot began to rustle but he paid no attention to it, dismissing it as a result of the wind.

Then something cold and metallic rubbed against his skin and he yelped once he caught sight of the cause. An olive green garden snake was slithering over his limbs.

"Stupid human taking my spot. Why if I my venom was as strong as my cousin's I'd bite you." The snake muttered irritably. Without realizing, Harry cringed and responded, "Sorry..."

The snake paused and focused its beady eyes on him.

"You are a Speaker?" it asked, tone dripping with astonishment.

"Am I?" he replied, equally as shocked.

"Apparently so, Sire. You had no idea I'm assuming but this is quite shocking news indeed." The snake said musingly, a layer of excitement fusing into his voice, meanwhile Harry's head was reeling with this new information. He could talk to snakes? Did this make him freakier than before? Why was it he was able to and not others? What other hidden talents did he posses? Questions raced through his mind and the lack of answers his mind supplied him with left him extremely unsatisfied. It bothered him also because he considered the idea that he was going crazy and imagining things. He'd heard of Schizophrenia and read up on it closely because when he was young, he'd often have weird dreams about a flashing green light and a woman's screams. He was still at a loss as to why he'd had these nightmares and what they meant but he had no leads.

"Of course I had no idea!" He replied hoarsely, still managing to keep an indignant tone to his voice, "But why me?"

"You must be a descendant of the great and noble Salazar Slytherin. Only those of his blood can communicate with our kind."

"I'm afraid I'm not very familiar with any Salazar Slytherins. If you wouldn't mind expanding...?"He said dryly.

"Why, he was one of the greatest Wizards to have ever have lived! He was one of the four people to have created the esteemed magical school that is Hogwarts and his bloodline is the only one left that is able to communicate with an animal; Not to mention he's written some highly sought out scriptures and is one of the richest, deceased Wizards in Britain." The snake hissed proudly.

Harry was even more confused.

"Wizard? Magic? What are you saying, snake?" he demanded and Harry was sure that if snakes were able to sneer the one before him would have.

"Have you ever noticed, Sir, that you are able to do inexplicable thing that the others around you can't?" Harry nodded slowly, "Have you noticed that when you're feeling particularly angry or happy or even when you apply yourself you achieve results which you could never have foreseen?" By now Harry's eyes were wide and shining eagerly, ecstatic at the thought that he'd finally find out why he was so... abnormal.

"It is because you are magical, child. You are a young Wizard." The snake hissed gently, slit eyes assessing the raven haired boy's reaction speculatively.

"Magic..." He echoed dreamily. It all made sense now. Why he was able to do weird things even though he couldn't help it but sometimes if he really tried he could achieve it. And suddenly it all came rushing back to him, his life before the Orphanage, being surrounded by magic folk. Magical creatures, broomsticks and real life fairy tales of the brothers that encountered death used to be a regular occurrence. But then came the memories of being neglected and ignored in favour of his brother.

The memories that came hurtling through his mind at such a time bending speed had him dizzy and also confused about his feelings on returning to the wizarding world that forgot he existed and the society he ran away from to seek refuge from but was desperate to gain acceptance in. He was informed bu the snake that he'd also be getting his Hogwarts letter too. In the end he pushed those thoughts to the back of his mind, opting instead to focus on the new bits of knowledge he was receiving, thinking it best to dwell on it when he was alone so as not to seem rude and sulky. His past dreams of a green flash and red hair seemed to make more sense and Harry suddenly realized that he hadn't forgotten everything no, his mind had protected him from those painful memories.

For the rest of the evening, the snake entertained him with tales of magic and moving candy and the special school for children just like him - witches and wizards his own age he could mingle with. He was also notified on different blood status' and how muggleborns and half bloods and purebloods were treated differently, all things his 'parents' never deigned to teach him. Harry's eyes began to glaze over at the thought that he'd finally be able to leave this dreadful muggle world and re-enter the wizarding world stronger and more powerful than they would expect. The notion that he would find his own league of people and abandon those who abandoned him was imprinted firmly in his mind.

The past few couple of days, Had been exerting his magic especially hard with the aid of the garden snake who had no name. He'd sweat daily and his muscles would ache in protest but he kept at it, determined not to lag behind his already magically nurtured classmates when he entered the wizarding world. Here in the muggle world, he had always been above average and more often than not, at the top of his class and called 'prodigious' by the Head Master of his school. Being ignorant was not an option.

So far, he was able to channel strands of magic from his inner core- which was a bluish colour with silver hues- and use it to perform menial activities like folding clothes. Recently, he had also discovered how to heal his injuries however it seemed to him that his quick recovery spurred on his tormentors even more. It was because of the more frequent visits from Wallish an his gang that led to Harry being forced to harness an ability he had nearly forgotten how to do, it was the same ability that allowed him to blend in away from the crowd during gatherings with his past family. Harry liked to call it 'shadowing.' It served to be particularly useful nowadays but the inkling that Wallish and his gang was getting impatient and more and more angry with Harry, prodded at his mental safety barriers. He knew the older boy was getting fed up with the lack of abusive, physical contact and didn't find it surprising when he discovered that Wallish finally found a way to hurt him without touching him.

It was the morning of his birthday, not that anyone celebrated it but he liked to wish himself on the day. But the knowledge that he was the only one acknowledging the day of his birth only served to deepen the well of loneliness he harbored somewhere in his gut. He completed his morning ablutions and ate a rushed breakfast of soggy, stale cereal as usual before he headed towards his room to retrieve a book. Previously, Harry had decided that the whole day would be spent dedicated to him and it would be a day resting in the sun in his usual spot since the last days of July were beating down as heavily as ever but the breeze was enough to bring short relief.

Opening the door to his room, Harry recieved quite the shock. There, sitting atop his once white pillow was a plainly wrapped brown parcel tied up with string. His breath caught in his throat. It couldn't be... Could it? For once someone else other than him had remembered his special day, had seen the miserable things he was put through and decided to offer their condolences through a gift. At the moment, Harry didn't even care what the gift was, it could be a hand crafted paper airplane for all that mattered to him. What was more important was what it represented- acknowledgement.

And so, with a lump in his throat, Harry approached the parcel and picked it up carefully. The wrapping was haggard and bits of tape were randomly sticking everything together; to Harry, it made the moment even more special, knowing that it was another child in the Orphanage that had given him the present. A white box peeped out innocently and a tentative smile played on Harry's lips as he lifted the lid.

His face froze.

It was a snake's head.

The exact snake that had kept his company and had conversed with him. The only one he could retreat to and not have to worry about revealing his freakishness. That snake was his first friend and he'd only known him for two weeks but still the reptile was his most trusted confidant.

Harry's eyes brimmed with unshed tears but he couldn't bring himself to let them pour down his ivory skinned cheeks because he felt numb inside. And also because this emotional pain was worse than any physical torture he had ever felt before so crying wouldn't be enough. Green and silver eyes hardened into thin slits; it was evident who was the culprit. Ernie Wallish had left him alone for so long that this situation had been inevitable. Harry could've hit himself as he came to foresee how far Wallish could go. But the deed was done. One thing he had learnt however, was to never grow attached to anyone or heed your feelings because they'd only bring you pain. The ones you love disappear and turn on you and your feeling betray you and make you weak. And it also made him think...

He had to retaliate. This couldn't go on for any longer and the raven haired boy would have to exact revenge in a way that was discrete yet a glaring warning for all those that had made his life miserable. Pale pink lips curled into a diabolical smirk. They would pay.

That day a figment of his heart broke away because to shatter a child's happiness was to splinter the child's soul.