"I'm going to get a refill." Charles declared, though he hadn't made a move to do so. He was looking across the small table to his friend.

"Be quiet, Charles." Came Tom's dismissive response as he turned a page in the large book before him, never once looking up. Charles wasn't deterred though, and huffed in annoyance. He stood, planning to make Tom hand over a few of those strange wizard coins so he could get his drink. "Sit down." Tom dashed his plans in the same bored manner before Charles could say anything more.

Glowering, Charles slammed Tom's book closed spitefully before retaking his seat, leaving the other boy to try to find his page – literally, as many leaves flew from the spine that was barely holding itself together. It was petty, but well worth it to see that annoyed look on Tom's face.

The boys were sitting outside Fortescue's Ice Cream Parlour for the third day in a row. Day after day they had made their way to Diagon Alley, bought the cheapest thing they could from the store, and spent several hours reading through their newly acquired books. The first day had been brilliant: both children were awed by the incredible things that appeared to be so common place here. It was like a dream, a world apart from the dreary monotonous life at the orphanage. Tom had been right in saying they were different, better, than the other residents, but Charles could never have imagined to what extent! As soon as they stepped foot in the alley Charles had first looked to Tom. He was excited, but also a little afraid of this new unknown, and wanted Tom to reassure that everything would be ok. Tom's eyes however had ignited with such desire and greed when they fell upon the people, the stores, the… the magic that filled the air, that the younger boy had to turn away. Best not to get in Tom's way when he had that look.

They spent hours that first day just exploring the alley, or at least Charles did. Tom was taking a decidedly studious approach, analysing everything his eyes fell upon, but all the while he was insistent they couldn't buy anything but the small handful of books he decided were necessary for background reading. The books they bought were the cheapest they could find from a second hand store, and were in such disrepair that many were missing entire chapters. Many of the books were actually so degraded that the shopkeeper had simply given them to the boys for free. Maybe it was an act of pity, or maybe it was another example of the effect Tom's charming demeanour had on people, much like the way the owner of Fortescue's had given the adorable but obviously indigent boys a free ice-cream that first day, and had never tried to move them on from the much prized outdoor seating, even though they had only ordered a cheap drink these last two days. None of the books they currently had were on the required reading list, but Tom thought it prudent to have a good understanding of their new world, which was also the reason they were here yet again, sweating under the fire of the summer sun. Charles shifted subtly, lifting his foot to stealthily push down one of his socks, before trying to do likewise with the other.

"Pull yourself together, Charles." Tom sighed, having again not even looked up from his book. "We don't want to give the impression we're street urchins now do we?" Charles rolled his eyes and wanted to argue that they basically were, but the sun was tiring, and he thought better of it, instead simply leaning down to pull up his sock and then rereading the same paragraph he must have read a dozen times now, but still wasn't going in. How could Tom sit there and look so unaffected while speed reading through his second tome of the day in this torturous heat, all the while carefully watching the people go by?

Tom was ready to learn all he could, and take full advantage of everything this world of magic had to offer, but Charles was apprehensive about leaving London. His little friend was content with the way things were – he was more comfortable with them being the powerful ones in a sea of muggles (Tom loved that word – it somehow well encapsulated their abhorrent inferiority), and didn't like the idea that he and Tom would now just be two more magical children in a sea of magical children, and in a world filled with stronger adults. Charles felt like they'd lost their power, and were vulnerable again. Tom didn't see it that way. He saw a world of opportunities, a world where he could become stronger still. In the short term they would be weak, but they could learn to do everything those older wizards could do and then they would be more powerful than anyone, in both the muggle and magical worlds. They would be where they were always meant to be: At the top, looking down on all the weak and lesser beings around them.

In the meantime though, Tom wouldn't have them going to Hogwarts blind. He watched and listened to how these people acted and spoke. They would have to know what they were dealing with when it came to their fellow students and wizarding culture. From what he'd read so far, their birth and upbringing would place them at a severe disadvantage in befriending the right sort of children, but he could overcome that. He'd also read that it wasn't normal for anyone, child or adult, to do the things he could do. Hopefully he could use that to his advantage. Regardless, there was no doubt in his mind he could surpass them all.

"Woah! Tom, did you know we're at this school until we're eighteen?!"

"You haven't even made it past the first chapter, have you?" Tom replied, unimpressed with the information Charles should have read an hour ago. "Did you know there's a spell that can make it feel like a person's blood in boiling in their veins? Sounds painful." The seemingly random statement was all the threat Charles needed to get back to reading, but he did notice, much to his annoyance, that again Tom wasn't looking at him as he spoke. He was carefully observing a group of three boys making their way towards the bank. Even from this short distance, Tom could tell they came from wealth. They didn't mind those around them, or care as they laughed with each other. One dark haired boy shoved who must surely have been his younger brother so hard he stumbled several steps ahead. Their clothing was impeccable. The eldest couldn't have been more than fifteen, so they must have had money of their own, a trust fund or something, if they were going to the bank.

Tom's lip pulled into a slight sneer as he watched such well-bred children acting with such a lack of decorum, but still, these were the type of people he could use.

When the last week of summer finally came around, Tom was confident he knew what to expect at Hogwarts, and finally allowed the two of them to purchase their school things. Given the condition of the items they could afford, even the greatest oaf would be able to see they had no money, but having something was better than nothing. Their uniforms looked worn, but the boys had re-dyed their outer robes black, so the wear and tear wouldn't be so obvious. Charles wouldn't have bothered if left to his own devices, because the state of their other belongings easy gave them away, but he knew it was important to Tom to always present himself well – that he believed them to be and deserve better than the meagre rags they owned. Charles had offered to acquire even poorer items in order to save money for Tom to get clothes of a better quality – Tom shut down that ridiculous idea quickly. The thought of having decent clothes to wear to school appealed to his vanity, but that same vanity wouldn't allow him to be so close to someone who looked like a beggar.

After the depressing experience of trying to make their money go as far as possible in purchasing their school things, they entered the wand makers, and both boys could taste the magic and anticipation in the air. Without even thinking about it, Charles naturally stepped back in order for Tom to be served first, and as soon as the long stick of yew was placed in Tom's hand, he knew something incredible was happening, or would happen. Tom dragged in a breath as he tried to keep his reaction in check. It wasn't just the physical sensation he experienced as he held the deceptively fragile piece of wood, it was the knowledge that he held power in his grasp, that this wood would give him access to all he wondrous things he'd read about. This wand would enable him to become the most powerful man in the world.

Charles' own wand was more difficult to find. Having assessed the two boys, Ollivander was convinced Charles would be receiving the brother wand of Tom's, and his shock when this was not the case was clearly displayed on his aged face. Tom also thought this would have been fitting, and Charles didn't like the way he frowned when the holly wand gave no reaction at all to being held. He hoped Tom never found out who that wand did go to! Still, undeterred the old man continued bringing out box after box, until Tom finally broke the silence:

"Sir, is it possible for a wizard to never find a suitable wand?" He asked, ignoring his friend's frightened gasp. His left hand was absently playing with his own wand. He was somewhat reluctant to put it away.

"No, no, not at all. A wizard can wield many wands, but his first is usually most befitting his…" Suddenly Ollivander's mouth snapped shut, and he turned to give Charles the most uncomfortably penetrating look. Charles shifted as he waited for the wand maker to continue with either his sentence or his work, though when he did he wished he hadn't. "There's something… young man, there are…" The man seemed to be having trouble finding the right words: "There are pieces, I think, of you missing. Yes."

"And what exactly do you mean by that?" Tom bit out in a hard tone that unnerved Charles more than Ollivander's accusation. After all, scary words were just words, but that tone meant Tom was displeased, and that was something to really be afraid of.

The question managed to snap Ollivander out of his trance, and he turned back to his wands: "Forgive the ramblings of an old man. Worry not, we'll find your friend a wand." He reassured, but kept to himself that he believed whatever Charles found would not be his true wand. He'd never come across anyone like this boy – there was something wrong with him.

At length, he finally handed over an acceptable wand. "Spruce, thirteen inches, dragon heartstring core. Surprisingly swishy, flexible. Yes, that wand will serve you well." Well enough, anyway.

Charles only half listened as he enjoyed the surge, the rush he felt holding this flimsy piece of wood. Tom had tried to describe the feeling of magic he experienced over the last few years, but this was the first time Charles felt it, and it reinforced his understanding of just how much better he was from the muggles he'd known all his life. They would never know this feeling, this power. However, there was something else too: as he thoughtlessly followed Tom back out into the street, he stared down at the wood with the strangest sense of déjà vu he'd ever felt.

Charles was more than ready to head home, and so was relieved when they finally made their way out of the alley for the last time before school started. Tom had yet to put his wand away, and was making various flicks and swishes as he practiced the movements necessary for the spells he'd be learning this year.

"What do you think that man meant?" Charles asked with a frown, finally thinking back to what the wand maker had told him, as they entered the Leaky Cauldron's beer garden. He certainly didn't feel like there was anything missing in him.

"Nothing. He's obviously feeble minded – don't give it any thought." His friend dismissed easily. Charles definitely had his faults, but no one in their right mind could say there was anything wrong with him – Tom wouldn't have kept him around all these years if there was. Perhaps the man was simply making excuses for his own incompetence.

Tom opened the door to the Leaky Cauldron, but before he could enter the pub he was shoved aside by an older boy with mousy brown hair and deep blue robes, who walked past them, uncaring, with his blonde haired girlfriend. When the boy started muttering disparagingly about getting too close to the 'filth', Tom's arm shot up before Charles could even think to stop him, or rather, to try to.

"Wingardium Leviosa." Tom whispered harshly, his eyes reflecting an excited and expectant curiosity. Instantly, the blue robes that had been shot at lifted into the air, dragging up the shocked and confused boy up with them. As Tom lifted him higher and a little back, over the heads of a few laughing patrons, Charles' panicked eyes were wide with worry. The boy's face was growing red – whether it was from anger or embarrassment, he couldn't tell. Charles' eyes darted about; trying to assess which adult would be the first to see Tom. Thankfully, the pub was busy enough in itself, and was futher filled by the heavy foot traffic that used the pub to enter or exit Diagon Alley. Hidden within such a crowd, nobody saw the small boys standing at the back.

Tom knew this, and so wasn't too concerned. He was well aware that most people only laughed at others' misfortune, and besides it was harmless: the adults would assume the disturbance was merely some childish prank. Charles liked to tell him his foul temper would get him into trouble one day, but Tom liked to think he was smart enough to consider his actions, even in the heat of the moment.

The pleasure he felt from successfully casting his first spell (on his first try, he thought to himself smugly), eased the anger the offending boy had invoked. However it only completely faded after seeing the boy swinging about in mid-air, flinging his wand around as he tried to find the cause of his humiliation, before dropping it in his haste, and then falling loose from his robes to land with a hard thud. There was a quiet crunching sound which preceded cries of concern and offers of assistance from those nearby. Tom couldn't see what had happened from where he stood, but he hoped the boy had broken something. Unfortunately, he knew broken bones could be easily mended with magic. Perhaps there was a way of stunting the effects of healing magic…

"Tom!" Charles interrupted his thoughts with a harsh whisper. "We need to go!"

With a dark smile, he released his hold on the robes and turned to his friend, scoffing at the wide eyed worry he found staring back at him.

"Don't be dense, Charles." He said. He didn't need to explain what he meant by that, for Charles could read it all in his face. The derision for Charles' concern, the scorn for Charles assuming Tom was being impulsive, and the mild annoyance for Charles thinking he knew better than him. "Come on."

And so the two unassuming boys made a casual exit, leaving the young noble to the attention of those left behind.


"You're dropping your wrist again." Tom snapped, marching over to correct Charles' grip. He held his friend's hand in his to manipulate the correct movements – a reminder of the demonstration he'd already given twice.

"I'm dropping my wrist because it hurts!" Charles snapped back in an equally foul mood. Tom was making him practise the wand movements from Standard Book of Spells, Grade One. He made him do the same stupid motions hundreds of times in a row.

"Good. Rather you hurt now than when you really need it. It only hurts because you're not used to using those muscles in this way." Tom told him callously, while be went back to sit on his bed and resume mending a small tear in Charles' trousers. He might have made Charles do it, if not for the knowledge it would look ten times worse if his friend went anywhere near it with a needle and thread. "It's called muscle memory. If you make the effort now, you won't even have to think about it when you use the spell in the future." Even Tom, to whom magic came so effortlessly, had spent a few hours practicing. It must have worked too, because his hand trembled ever so slightly as he worked to make his patch-up as seamless as possible.

With a string of hateful comments spewing quietly from his mouth, Charles continued swinging his wand around in the same stupid patterns that, though he hated to admit it, were becoming easier with each repetition. He didn't really have to think about the specific mechanics of what his hand was doing anymore.

He hoped his aching muscles recovered before school started in a few days, otherwise he'd struggle to hold his pen, never mind his wand!


Thank you so much for reading. Hopefully it won't take me quite so long to update next time!

xx