When the Devil is sick he a saint would be, when the Devil is well, Devil a saint was he. Often I wonder, but I should never agree, to any family ties between the Devil and me.

He had never been attacked by a dog before. People sure, the other children at the orphanage had always felt the need to occasionally kick him bloody. Of course, he accepted it, knowing deep within that one day, he would be the one kicking. And he wouldn't stop when they were just bloody.

However today was seemingly different.

The mutt had pounced on him as he had walked past an opening into an alley. It dug into his arm with its yellowing stinking teeth, its eyes furious. Tom pulled viciously, attempting to break the dogs hold on his arm. This only caused the dogs teeth to rip through his scraggily jacket as if it were paper. The dog lowered its ears against its head suddenly as Tom's eyes blazed.

"You will not." Tom hissed through tight lips as he took a step closer to the cowering animal. Tom stopped however as a low whistle was heard directly behind him. He turned and saw a girl, approximately his age, with hair that fringed just beneath her earlobes, a boyish cut. She moved her bangs out of her face, revealing sharp green eyes that studied Tom with a dethatched knowingness. Suddenly she smiled, her red lips pulling at the edges.

"How'd you do that?" She asked Tom stepping closer. In turn he stepped back.
"I'm afraid I don't know what you're talking about. Now I really must be going-" He was cut off by the girls face suddenly being inches away from him. His first impression was that she was going to bite him, like some animal infected with rabies. But no, she merely watched him. And Tom came to the startling realization that she was studying him.

She stepped back and eyed him appraisingly.
"Name's Theresa. I'm turning 11 in a week."

Tom looked at her coolly. Interestingly enough, the dog that had formally been a problem was nowhere to be seen. As if the mutt had been whisked out of existence as suddenly as it had been brought forth.

"My name is Tom." He answered finally, as he felt the growing need to leave. Particularly under the girl's harsh stare.

"How old are you?" She asked abruptly. Clearly wanting to know more than average curiosity would lead her to ask. Tom hesitated.
"I turned 11 a few months ago." It was true, he had turned 11 one month ago, and on his birthday a middle aged man with a beard had come to visit him. Telling him things he could have figured out on his own. He also brought a letter.

Tom didn't expect the toothy grin that Theresa displayed as she seemed pleased.

"Did you get a letter too?"

Tom said nothing, but instead nodded hesitantly. The girl threw her arms up in happiness. "Oh good! I thought I'd never meet anyone. So what house do you think you'll get into?" She asked suddenly stepping closer to him, new found energy in her green eyes. "Have you gotten all your supplies?"

Tom breathed through his nose.

"I've no idea what house I'll be placed in, and quite frankly I don't care. And no, I've not gotten any supplies." Tom said slightly annoyed. The girl also looked annoyed.

"You haven't got a wand?"

"No."

The girl shut her eyes briefly as if praying. Then she brightened and flashed him a smile.

"If you'll be my friend I'll help you get your things."

Tom lost interest almost immediately. "Sorry, I don't have friends." He said sardonically as he pivoted and began walking back to the orphanage. Surprisingly the girl matched his pace as she walked beside him. She looked at him.

"Is it because of the rabbit?"

Tom stopped, causing Theresa to over compensate for the sudden change in pace. She steadied herself as Tom's eyes glared at her accusingly.

"How do you know about that?"

She grinned. "An orphans pet rabbit is found hanging by his tail in city hall, and you expect no one to find out? You really are naive."

Tom's cheeks puffed out as he evaluated the girl in front of him. If she knew about the letter of acceptance into Hogwarts, if she knew about the supplies he would need, if she knew about him, then maybe it wasn't a terrible idea to keep an eye on her.

Taking his silence as some form of consent Theresa ran ahead of him, leading the way.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxx

It's uncomfortable being a child. This was what Theresa had decided when she had finished degeneration.

It was a painful experience, becoming small, becoming younger, becoming different.

When she finished, she had stretched her body by touching her toes. She sighed and ruffled her hair. She stopped in surprise. Her hand rubbed through her hair and she nearly bit her tongue off.

Her hair was short. It had never been short before. She'd always kept it at a healthy length, going past her shoulders (the shortest) and going to her lower back (the longest).

She sighed and stuffed her hand into her coat pocket, her fingers rubbing against a ten inch cherry wood wand. The inner core was made of a long since forgotten substance: ghost breath. She smirked as she pulled her wand out and pointed it forward, the dark red of the wood contrasting to her skin. With a gentle twist of her wrist and a small incline of her head the shadows around her congealed.

They met and twisted, forming a solid shape. The shape evolved into a dog, the dog looking ready to bite off goliath's head.

With one final flick of her fingers, the dog was off, after its target.

Theresa clicked her tongue.

"And so, the show begins."