Chapter 3

Tom led him into the living room of what Harry had assumed was a decrepit little house. There were two ornate armchairs that looked like something out of a 19th century house set in the middle. Both were high-backed and had cushions made of something remarkably like green velvet. A low coffee table occupied the space between them, and a simple yellow damp dangled from the plaster. Harry was vaguely surprised to note that despite the musty, dark interior there was a surprising comfort in its ambience.

Wordlessly Tom gestured for Harry to sit down, and he did so with a bump. He soon realized that the chair was mightily uncomfortable and prevented him from slouching as much as he liked. Harry eyed the wooden floorboard with a little regret. He couldn't help but think that it would be a more comfortable spot to lounge.

While Harry was left battling a losing battle against the stubbornly stiff back of the chair, Tom disappeared to the back to prepare their drinks. Not long after he emerged carrying a glass for himself and a mug for Harry. Harry accepted it rather eagerly with thanks; anything sweet were rare treats in the orphanage. Tom merely watched Harry impassively as the younger of the pair sipped the hot liquid, savouring its taste contentedly. It was thin and barely even sweet, but the drink was warm and filling which was a welcome change from the cold wind outside.

"Let us begin with you" Tom said when Harry had finished. He put down his own glass on the table. Harry saw that it contained a curious amber coloured liquid that burned under the tinkling light. "What were you doing in 12 Picket-Fence Street?"

Harry squirmed slightly at the question. The thought of magic was still buzzing at the forefront of his mind, and it occurred to him that Tom might have already known what exactly his nightly activities entailed. For all he knew Tom could simply fashion a crystal ball that showed him everything every single individual on earth was doing. He had a feeling Tom already knew the truth; it wasn't as if it were a difficult thing to guess, but for some reason he'd decided to play the trust game or something with Harry. Harry nibbled his lip as he weighed his options.

"They call me Arrow," he said at last, a little hesitantly. "I've been working for them for quite some time. They scour information, another works on the distraction and I break in. It's what I'm best at, I suppose."

Tom nodded slowly as if contemplating this piece of information. If he was disdainful that Harry was nothing more than a common street-thief he didn't show it. "How good are you at it?" Tom asked offhandedly. Harry couldn't tell if he was being serious or not.

"Um alright I suppose?" Harry replied uncertainly. "I'm the best out of them, I've never been caught, and I'm still alive. Except today was a close call, so thanks for that by the way," he added. Tom didn't reply but continued to swirl his drink in the glass absently. Harry chewed his lip in silence. Twice he looked up from beneath his bangs to read Tom's expression, but the other gave nothing away. Then Harry remembered something and looked up with a start.

"Just now – when the man didn't even see me there and walked back to his house, you did something didn't you? It was magic?" Harry clarified, his green eyes bright with excitement.

"It was," Tom answered distractedly. "It's one of the simpler spells wizards little better than Squibs can perform."

A slight shadow had fallen over Tom's eyes when he replied, but Harry didn't notice. He suddenly became excited; after seeing proof that magic existed Harry wanted to talk and learn more about the new world he had just discovered over the span of the last hour. It was as if he were seeking confirmation from every single detail to assure himself it wasn't all a phantasmagoric hallucination. "And just now in the garden," Harry persisted. "Was that a spell too? When you told the plant to 'rise'?"

At this, Tom looked up sharply. The light caught his dark green eyes, and when they glinted his eyes flashed a piercing red. Harry stopped short, slightly alarmed by this sudden change. The light hanging above them flickered slightly. Harry suddenly realized that all was extremely quiet – there was no dripping of water from leaking pipes one would expect from such a rundown house, no buzzing of electricity.

"It was no spell," Tom said haltingly, breaking the silence. His eyes, while back to their normal shade of green, were now transfixed on Harry with a fierce sort of intensity, as if he were seeing something new. "The command was merely spoken in another form of language, one only the most ancient and noble wizarding families ever recognize, let alone understand." Harry stared at him, his scar hidden beneath his bangs prickling to life once more. "Tell me something Harry" Tom said softly. "Are you able to speak to snakes?"

Shadowed green eyes bored into his almost hungrily, forceful and demanding. Harry found himself returning the gaze evenly although his heart was fluttering like a bird trapped in a cage in his chest. "I might have thought I heard a grass snake talk once," Harry said, feeling rather out of depth. "But I don't think it counts – "

"What about now?" Tom cut him off, switching flawlessly into the snake's language. He watched Harry closely, fascinated as Harry had been with the tree standing outside in the garden. Harry blinked, confused.

"What about now?" he repeated stupidly.

Tom laughed. It was a musical sound, cold yet not quite. But there was genuine mirth colouring his eyes when Tom looked up, and for some reason Harry felt the prickling feeling against his skin vanish to be replaced by an odd sense of relief. He didn't speak, but continued to stare at Harry as if he'd never seen him before.

"So… does that mean I have the… thing? Magic?" Harry asked, feeling silly but having to know the answer at the same time.

"You have much potential in you Harry," Tom said by way of reply, a slight smile playing on his lips. There was a small gleam of feverish excitement in his eyes, but it could once more be the effect of the light. "I've seen you do it – take how you vaulted over the wall for example. I'm sure you've experienced many more similar incidences, but as of yet you remain untrained." He leaned in closer, catching Harry's eyes with his own. "I could teach you to use and control your powers," he said. "But after that, I expect you to do something for me in return."

Harry's eyes lit up at the prospect of learning magic. The idea was so surreal; it felt like a bizarre dream come true. He felt a small uncertain smile tug at his lips, a thousand possibilities running through his head. He wasn't sure if he had fully wrapped his mind around the idea yet, but a larger part of him must have for he stuck out his hand to seal the deal.

"Anything I can," he promised, meaning every word.

X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X

…

The following morning was wet and cloudy. It had drizzled lightly over the last night, but though the rain had cleared wet fog still remained. It clung to the sleeves of their shirts and made pedestrians shiver slightly in the cold. As a result the streets were mostly empty; only the sweet shop was left open to tempt the children to part with their money. Most of the students continued to walk head-down back to the orphanage, ignoring the tantalizing candies that cluttered the shelf on display, but a handful of them parted from the bunch to peer excitedly through the grimy windows.

Harry dragged his feet tiredly as he trudged down the narrow path, lingering far behind the rest of the students. His shoulder, where he had been hit by the shovel last night felt as though it were crushed and hammered in place by a long nail. He could hardly raise it without wincing in pain, and writing anything decent enough to read was out of the question. To top it off, his eyelids were once more fighting the urge to slip shut as he walked down the seemingly endless road back to Wool's. He had lost track of how much time he'd spent with Tom the night before; there had been too much to discuss, too much to know. By the time he had reached the orphanage, he had only been left with a few hours of sleep before dawn was upon him, and he had to rush over to Higgins' to deliver milk.

His job had taken him to Tom's place again in the early morning, but daybreak had been mere minutes' away and Harry couldn't linger even if he wanted to. He'd left the milk by the doorstep, took one last glance at the empty clearing and left. He had hoped to see the plant rippling with silver under the morning light but once more he couldn't risk running late. The backyard would only remain clear for so long.

When Harry had finally arrived at school, disheveled and once more hiding under the pretense that he had overslept, Cane-And-Ruler had given him the cane on both of his palms. Harry found that he didn't mind it that much save that he was required to raise his hands to receive the blow, and the effort sent new waves of pain shooting up his injured arm.

For the rest of the day Harry had spent it dozing off at the back row of the classroom, and when he was caught and sent out of the class he performed the art of sleeping while standing in the corridor. Finally when he had handed in a single squiggly line as his essay homework, Mr. Fields his English teacher had promptly sent him to sweep the backyard as punishment. When Harry had arrived stumbling at the shed however, the gardener had taken pity on him and allowed him to collapse in a corner to sleep. Harry gathered he must have looked pretty terrible.

All in all it had been an exhausting day, and his throbbing shoulder made even the simplest activities difficult, which irked him immensely. His temper had been spiking dangerously close to fraying point in the times when he wasn't too busy falling asleep, and even the normal bout of teasing from the other boys had subsided. At least they were wise enough to steer clear of Harry when he was at his worst. The same however couldn't be said for Flint.

Harry didn't know the boy's real name, but he had seen Flint around Cliffton's before. He mostly kept to himself and was the dark brooding sort, but Harry supposed that had changed after the school gang took him up just as they had done Harry. Flint never had a reason to approach Harry so they steered clear of each other's paths, but today proved different. Even in his severely sleep-deprived state, Harry couldn't help but notice that the boy who was walking at the very edges of the general crowd was slowing down purposely so that Harry could catch up with him.

Harry didn't feel like talking to Flint so soon after last night's stunt, so Harry had avoided the other boy completely. Unfortunately Flint wasn't inclined to do the same. Twice already he had gestured to Harry when nobody was looking – after all however huge their influence was they weren't above the authorities and discretion had always been stressed. But Harry continued to treat the boy as he would a blank stretch of wall. Flint was already rapidly beginning to lose his patience, but it only spurred Harry to find even more excuses to slow down. He walked as stiffly as possible and limped occasionally as if he had hurt his leg last night instead of his shoulder.

It didn't take long for them to be left behind. Five minutes into their walk and the fringes of the group had thinned and disappeared from sight round the corner. When Harry turned into the grove, it was only him and Flint left struggling up the streets for different reasons altogether.

Finally Jack gave up all pretenses and stopped in his tracks. After making sure there was no one left present to overhear their conversation, he turned around and glared at Harry right in the eye.

"Did you get it last night," Flint hissed to Harry.

Harry stopped short and raised an eyebrow at him.

"How did your meeting with Jack go?" he said instead flippantly. "Providing you actually showed up as ordered, and you didn't run away?"

Flint gave a menacing growl, but Harry couldn't find it in himself to be intimidated. After all he'd just witnessed the very same boy being begging to be released the moment he was threatened the night before. Instead he rolled his eyes and continued walking, ignoring the other boy completely. Flint muttered a swear behind him and shuffled closer to keep up. It was then when it occurred to Harry that the leaders might have found out what happened when Flint returned without Arrow, and they had not taken Flint's failure lightly.

"The leaders are already waiting at the usual spot," Flint said again in a low, controlled voice. "We have to go."

We? Harry mused. His intuitions were more accurate than he thought. Still, Harry gave no indication of hearing him and continued walking. Jack eyed him suspiciously.

"Where are you going?"

Harry had turned off the path leading to their usual meeting place beyond the torn fence near a badly vandalized playground. He was heading straight back for Wool's. He didn't feel like facing the leaders just yet, not when he was already turning the idea of quitting in his head. In fact, he'd already made the decision in his heart. It was something that had been on his mind since last night. He didn't think they would take to it kindly though.

"Hey! It's this way idiot!" Flint hissed. "Keep this up and we're going to be late!"

Harry ignored him and turned the corner, hoping to shake the other boy off. Behind him he heard Flint swear loudly, and the next moment Flint had grabbed onto his arm and was trying to steer him forcefully in the right direction. In response Harry threw off the other boy's hand roughly and started walking faster.

Flint looked at him incredulously before trying to run after him, but someone else appeared making the boy stop short. Harry realized that they were no longer alone the moment Flint fell silent, but he didn't turn around. There was a bark of mirthless laughter behind him. "What's this? Feeling rebellious today, Harry?"

Harry gritted his teeth at the sound of the familiar voice. Harry felt a stir of anger bubbling up in his chest. Of course, a rest never came easy, not when he was caught up with them. He forced himself to spin around. Jack was leaning against the wall, head cocked to one side as he studied Harry. Harry set his jaw determinedly. Since things had spiraled this far, there was little point in putting off the inevitable.

"I'm not rebelling," Harry answered finally, emerald eyes meeting the other's gaze evenly. "I quit."

The atmosphere changed immediately. Jack stopped in his tracks, not bothering to follow Harry, and Harry suddenly knew with a sense of dread why. He was being surrounded. Had the rest of the leaders come because they were tired of waiting for him to show up? Harry hadn't reported back after last night, and Flint had faced the music of botching up the mission alone. They had probably tailed him the moment his classes had ended. Harry briefly wished that he had feigned being sick and had stayed at the orphanage this morning. He really didn't want to deal with them in this moment.

"Hand over the cash from last night and we'll talk," Jack said. There was a spark of anger in his eyes, but Harry knew he had the leverage while he still held on to the loot. But at the same time it would only paint himself as the target, especially if he refused to hand it over. Well, Harry thought – if he was going to quit he might as well take a bit of retirement compensation. He thought it was well earned.

"Last night?" Harry gave a mocking laugh. "Last night was a disaster. You should ask Flint. He sold out my position, and I was forced to hand over everything if I wanted my life." He paused, looking straight at the leader, and he could tell that Jack was caught between believing his lie or not. Clearly Jack had forced the story out of Flint, and had expected as much, but at the same time Harry was Arrow and Arrow simply never failed his missions, being sold out or not.

"Last night was my final mission, and I quit," Harry continued with a hint of finality, giving Jack no chance to question his lie. "There is nothing more to talk about."

"We can't accept that Harry," Jack's voice had turned very dangerous now. "Surely you know that."

"You know you can't force me either," Harry countered with a flash of a falsely sweet smile. He was the picture of forced calm, but his eyes already calculating routes as he scanned their surroundings.

Jack gave a menacing growl and his nostrils flared at Harry's words. "We'll see about that," he said angrily.

He raised his fingers to his lips to summon the other boys over, but even as a shrill whistle split the air Harry was already moving. He ran back in the original direction he had come from, pushing past Jack and breaking through Flint's flimsy attempt at defense. Behind him there were loud cries of "Stop him!" and footsteps came thundering down the street. Harry only ran harder, sprinting easily down the streets as he navigated turns and bends easily. He'd been here countless of times, and running away had always been his specialty. He already had his route planned out in his head.

Two right turns, cut through the newspaper man's garden, over the low-fence, a sharp left turn and then over the wall at the end of Fence Street.

Harry swerved and ducked as he took flight, his light footfalls negotiating each bend in a fluid motion. Behind him all his pursuers could see was a blur of black. Harry sprinted over gravel and grass, leapt lightly over the low-fence and turned a sharp corner.

He reached the dead end of the road in no time. A brick wall stood between him and the winding path leading to the backdoor of the orphanage. He ran over to it and jumped, grabbing hold of the edge of the wall with his fingers as he had done numerous times before. Only this time it didn't quite go according to plan. Harry gave a cry of pain he the moment he exerted pressure on his injured appendage. He fell back helplessly to the ground against the crumbling wall. Cursing under his breath clutched at his shoulder and surveyed the damage for the first time under the light. It was a horrid swell of greenish purple dotted with numerous blood clots. His right arm hung limply in its socket, useless.

He couldn't afford to change tracks now, not when his pursuers were closing their net on him fast. He didn't know how long it would take for them to find him, but given the number of people after his trail it wouldn't take them long. In his desperation Harry tried to vault over the wall again but the sharp pain shooting up his hand forced him to let go.

A hand clamped down on his left shoulder.

Automatically Harry swerved away, shaking free of the grip. He jumped backwards anticipating a blow, but when he looked up it was to a quite familiar face. An old man with wispy white hair wearing a ferocious scowl was glaring straight at him accusingly. Harry felt both relief and shame wash over him.

"Hi uncle Scrooge," he said sheepishly.

A/N: Hit the button below people! :D