Shifting of the Plate


Chapter Three –Quiet


Warning: Non-graphic but disturbing Child Abuse.


The walls at 's Halfway House were too thin.

It was the same place he'd stayed as a baby, but he would remember everything that occurred here this time, for the rest of his life. The other boys were fine, though he noticed that they seemed to follow a pattern. There were plenty of nice ones, a few smart ones, a few stupid ones, a couple bullies here and there…just like there was at school, just like there had been at Mr. Damon's house. Harry had lost too much weight during fasting at that house, and he was already shorter than most of the other boys his age, so he was subject to being oppressed more than most. He was used to that, Mr. Damon had made sure that such taunting slid right off of him, and even the older boys' punches were never as hard as the farmer's had been.

Harry could handle that.

He could even handle the fact that it had been marked down on his file that he was a troublemaker that had chosen to leave a 'perfectly good' home and therefore the most of the supervisors didn't think too much of him. He could except that there were no locks on the bathroom doors and that there were ten bunk beds to every room. Harry had gotten one in the back corner, once more against the wall, and he had gotten stuck with the bottom bunk. He didn't care too much about that, he wasn't one to complain and it wasn't like he was going to be here long, but…

What he could not handle was that the walls were too thin.

He hadn't thought much of it the first two nights he was there, because he'd slept rather peacefully even though he was away from his first real friend. There was no waking up at six O'clock in the morning on the weekends here, though they still expected you to be up at a reasonable hour to eat some breakfast in the cafeteria.

However, on the fourth night, a nightmare had him gasping awake in the earliest hours of the morning. He had trouble getting back to sleep, and in the silence of the room, only disrupted by a few of the older boys snoring. Harry's bed was pressed right up against the wall, and on the other side of that wall lay the girl's room.

He had only caught a glimpse of it when he'd been shown around on his first day, but as far as Harry could tell it was completely symmetrical to the boy's room, from the location of the single window on the north wall to the placement of all ten bunk beds. The only difference was that there were about eight less girls than boys in the halfway house currently, so there were unoccupied beds, while every bed in the boy's room was taken.

Which meant that there was a bed just beside Harry's with only a wall to separate them.

He hadn't known what he'd been hearing that night when he'd awoken from his nightmare. He couldn't hear any words, just muffled noises that sounded like voices and the slight tap, tap, tap a series of light collisions. Shoving his glasses onto his face, Harry had touched the wall, and sure enough there were slight vibrations that meant that meant the bed frame on the other side washitting the wall between them, over and over again.

"What…?" He had whispered to himself, frowning. Was there a pillow fight? Girls did that, right? Was that giggling he was hearing, then?

He'd awoken the next night to the sound of it again, supposing he'd become sensitive now that he knew it was there. He couldn't get back to sleep with whatever it was going on, and he could see by the light of the glow-in-the-dark clock that it was occurring after two in the morning, just about the same time it had occurred the night before.

Tap, tap, tap…

The sound that he had not been able to identified made itself clear in the form of a whimper.

She, whoever she was, she was….She was crying.

The more he listened the more it took shape in his mind. She wasn't just crying, she was sobbing, for at least ten minutes straight at the same time. He supposed it wasn't so strange, except why would she the bed like that? Was it a cry for attention? Wouldn't it be louder if she wanted someone to hear her just so that they would come comfort her?

Tap, tap, tap…

It stopped, finally, and the bead creaked. Harry managed to get back to sleep after she had finally quieted. Something cold curled in his stomach as he shook the thought out of his mind and hoped he could sleep through it the next night. Each night he hoped he could sleep through it, but his mind, anticipating it, no longer let him.

Harry didn't know what she was going through, but his chest ached every night as he listened.


A week into staying at St. Peter's and still every night it continued. Harry asked the other boys around if they had heard it and all of them claimed that they didn't know what he was talking about. But of course they didn't, because they were all fast asleep at that time of night, especially on school nights. He had looked every time he saw the girls to find some sort of hint of who it -whatever it was, if it was an 'it' at all- was happening to, but he learned quickly that it was very hard to find a girl alone. Ever. They stayed in groups, giggling and chattering on about one thing or the other, making it incredibly difficult for Harry to imagine any of them to be the crying girl.

After school on a Thursday he got off the bus and easily deposited his book bag onto the bed before debating on what to do next. He wanted to tell someone, he had to tell someone, someone that could do something about it.

The first person that popped into his head was the only adult that had been nice to him during his stay at the house, the evening supervisor, a young man that went by Jay.

Harry nodded to himself, thinking that telling him was a good decision. Everyone liked Jay; he was a charismatic, handsome, kind bloke fresh out of university, who was nice to all the kids no matter who they were. Heading out of his room and down the hall, he began his search for the man, finally finding him shooting hoops by himself on the cracked and unpainted basketball court outside. There were no nets on either of hooks, and one of them was too crooked to get a good shot in half the time.

Straightening out his school shirt, still slightly damp from recess at his elementary, Harry approached the boy before anyone else could. Most of the boys wanted to have a snack and go to the game room right after school, so at least he had that to his advantage. They wouldn't be bugging Jay for at least an hour.

Pale blue eyes flickered to Harry as he walked over, a large, crooked grin spreading across Jay's square jaw.

"Oi, if it isn't Harry Owen—whatcha up to? You wanna play some one on one?"

Harry really couldn't help but enjoy the fact that Jay talked to him like he was an adult. The brunette before him was an incredibly cool guy, everyone at the halfway house thought so, which made Harry feel both comfortable and awkward bringing up something so private.

"Um, actually I wanna talk to you."

Jay's thick eyebrows shot up.

Harry flushed and quickly added, "If—that's alright."

"Huh? What? Yeah, sure, it's more than alright!" He grinned brightly and moved to plop himself down on the bench, patting the spot next to him for Harry to sit down on, "C'mon and tell uncle Jay what ails you."

"Huh?"

"Er, tell me what's on your mind. What's wrong, that is."

"Oh," Harry felt his cheeks burn even more and let his fingers comb through his messy hair, "Well, I …I've been hearing something at night."

"Nightmares?" Jay guessed, looking intensely interested in Harry's plight.

"No," the younger boy disagreed quickly, before shaking his head, "Well, yes, sometimes, but that's not what I'm talking about really. It's something else. In the next room…um, the girls room, I mean."

Those ice blue eyes widened for a moment, before calming back to their usual narrowness. "I see. Er, well, what…kind of noise?"

"Well," Harry started off slowly, trying to find the words to describe it. He stumbled over his words quite a bit as he started, "Well, it's…like the bed is being pushed into the wall."

Through his dark bangs as he kept his head ducked slightly, Harry saw Jay's large hands clench a little tighter on the ball.

"How do you mean?" Jay asked nonchalantly, though the seven-year-old had to wonder if the man was angry with him, with how the vein in his neck seemed to pulse.

"It…sorta goes bump bump bump bump.... Not loudly, though. When I wake up in the middle of the night it's there. For like ten minutes or …maybe eleven, you know? Same time every night, too, and I can't sleep real well because of it," Harry started to explain again, tugging at his damp shirt so that it didn't stick to his skin so much. "One of the girls is crying too…"

"Is that so? You're sure it's not in your imagination?"

"Positive," Harry replied, nodding rather solemnly.

"Big word there, Harry," Jay praised him, ruffling the dark tresses that were piled thick and unruly on Harry's head. His glasses got knocked rather crooked on his nose and Harry smiled gently as he fixed them straight.

The second grader admitted coyly, "Learned it at school."

"Did you? You're a smart guy." Harry couldn't help but beam at that, because he certainly wasn't the best in his class when it came to grades, so it was nice to hear such a thing. "I never noticed before, Harry, but you've got a real neat scar on your forehead."

Touching the place where he knew his own scar was, he couldn't help but blush once more. He'd never thought it was cool before—just sort of part of him. He didn't know how it got there, but he'd never really seen the point in knowing. Miss Charlotte had never said much about it, if she knew anything, even when she told him about magic and why she knew about it. He grandfather had been a wizard, the only one in his family, who had attended a wizarding school, but after he graduated he'd married a normal person, and none of his children or grandchildren had been wizards after him. Vaguely, Harry wondered if his parents had been wizards, or if they'd been normal.

He realized suddenly that he'd gotten off track.

Shaking his black head of hair, he continued, "So I was wondering if you could… ask the girls about it? I don't know what to say, but she sounds so scared and sad…"

Frowning deeply, Jay sighed and shook his head, "I wouldn't worry about it. Girls cry, Harry, it's not a big deal, especially the girls here. They had scary and sad lives before they came here. Didn't you?"

Harry felt his stomach drop. He hadn't expected this. He'd wanted the other to help him—why would someone as nice as Jay be so dismissive? "Y—Yeah, I guess…but—"

"No buts, Harry, this is silly," Jay stood up and tossed the basketball from where he sat toward the hoop, and it entered the circle of metal with a neat sound, passing through it cleanly and bouncing a few times before rolling somewhere near the center of the court. "I don't want you bothering anyone else with this. I'm a good guy, so I'll stand for it this once, but if you try to bring it up to the other supervisors, they'll think you're stupid."

The word hit Harry like a slap to the face. He knew, because he'd felt those before, but this hurt even more. It echoed somewhere in his ribcage and made his stomach twist within him.

Hadn't Jay just called him smart a moment ago?

What was with this sudden change of personality? Harry was just trying to help, what was Jay acting like this?

Jay met him with a steady stare for a long moment, all humor and amiability gone from his face. Suddenly he didn't look so handsome anymore, and his blue eyes were no larger charming, but cold and pinning Harry into place where he sat.

"Understand me?"

Swallowing thickly, the child nodded, "Y-yes."

"Good." Jay muttered just as severely, before his face abruptly twisted into that same old disarming grin that he gave to every person that walked through St. Peter's halls. "Try to get to sleep before two in the morning, yeah, kiddo?"

He walked away without another word, leaving Harry in the blistering heat, feeling colder than he'd ever felt before even in the middle of winter. He felt like throwing up for some reason, but he couldn't quite figure out why. He still didn't know why a girl was crying, or what the thudding of the bed meant, or –

How Jay had known that it happened at two in the morning when Harry had never specified the time.

All he knew was that something was wrong and that he could not remember feeling more sick to his stomach than he did right now. He wanted to scream, or vomit, or punch something, but all he could do was sit there and stare at the retreating back of the young man that he had thought would help. Instead, he had made Harry feel impossibly worse about the entire situation. Something was happening to a girl, he didn't know who she was and he didn't know what was occurring, just that it was …horrible, whatever it was. And that Jay was somehow a part of it.

That night when it began again, Harry cried with her.


After two months in St. Peter's, Harry found himself in the home of a new family. The home was in a suburb, the houses all neatly kept and similar in shape and color, nicer than anything Harry had ever seen before in his life. Except for, perhaps, on the telly, but it was much nicer in person. The grass was crisp under his feet and he felt bad for walking on it, noting that there was a neat section of the yard devoted to flowers and rows of pulled soil that Harry recognized from his days on the farm.

Would he be expected to work in the sun here as well? At least it was much smaller than the acres that Mr. Damon had them work on.

A man that Harry had never met before had driven him here, and when the door opened he lead him inside and introduced him to a very tall couple. Harry took them in hesitantly, eyes first on the striking figure of the woman, slim and tall with rich brown hair falling in waves just passed her shoulders. Her eyes were brown and appeared to be tender, her tiny hands clenching slightly as the door shut behind him. According to the man who had accompanied him from St. Peters, her name was Talia Lincoln, and the man standing beside her was her husband, Richard Lincoln. The man was older than the woman, with smile lines wrinkling around his eyes and mouth, with hair a few shades lighter than his wife's, with specks of grey shimmering in his neat tresses. He was smiling too at Harry, and all of the friendliness was…nice, even if it might only be a show for the case worker behind him.

He shifted, wondering if he should introduce himself to them, since the man hadn't told them his name. The lady beat him to it, however, stepping forward and speaking in a voice so soft and warm that he couldn't help but want her to read bedtime stories to him.

"You must be Harry! I've been so excited ever since they told me you were coming in," The woman bent at the knee, kneeling down in order to meet Harry's eyes. He blinked, not sure how to respond to it.

"I—yes, I'm Harry." He replied, his hand shifting on the handle of his suitcase. "It's…nice to meet you."

"Oh, Richard, look at how polite he is. Isn't he the sweetest?" Talia spoke as she looked at Harry, her eyes reminding him of honey. He felt himself blushing at the compliment and lowering his eyes to avoid the persistent eye contact.

Something gold caught his eye, the shimmer of the necklace around the woman's neck. A delicate golden chain hung around her long, slender throat and at the end of it was a simple little shape that Harry recognized.

"Hey," He said suddenly, resisting the urge to reach out and touch it. "I know what that is. It's a cross, right? I have a book with that on it."

From a few feet behind his wife, Richard's watery green eyes lit up. "Do you?"

"That's wonderful, Harry," Talia murmured, running a hand over Harry's shoulder and up to touch his cheek. "You're a smart boy. Have you read any of it?"

"Erm," Harry hesitated, feeling bashful as he admitted, "Only a little, because it's hard."

The smile on Richard's scruffy face widened as he chuckled.

"That's quite alright, you know. Perhaps after you get settled into your room tonight, I'll read some of it to you," Talia offered, brushing some of his hair out of his eyes. Her eyes moved up to his forehead, and he knew what she much be looking at. His scar was usually hidden behind his thick fringe of dark hair, but every once in a while he was questioned about it.

Talia's eyes simply moved back down to hold his gaze as she asked, "What do you say?"

"Yeah," Harry paused another moment, gaze flickering up to the quiet man behind him who had done little else other than stand there and tell the young boy their names.

"Great, I'd be honored," Talia declared, standing back up rather fluidly after bending in her position. She didn't move anything like Miss Charlotte did, but she also didn't really have any wrinkles either, save some very slight lines at the corners of her eyes, but Harry rather liked those.

"I…get my own room?" Harry asked after a moment, remembering what she had told him. 'Get you settled in your room'. He hadn't had his own room since he'd been with Miss Charlotte almost six months ago, and that seemed…so far away.

Talia took in his question as though surprised by it, before nodding, "Yes, of course. We have it all set up for you. They told us about you yesterday morning and I spent all day shopping."

Shopping? For him? That was…a far cry from anything that had ever happened at the farm. Miss Charlotte had always made sure he had what he needed, but she lived in a small apartment, worked a steady but underpaid part time job and couldn't afford too much of the extra stuff…though she had been promising him a trip to an amusement park for his seventh birthday, before she'd passed.

"You're their first child," the caseworker offered informatively.

"Oh," Harry replied, shifting his feet and feeling…he didn't know what exactly. He liked that he was their first child but it was also a little intimidating. They seemed so…perfect. What if they decided they didn't like him? "So I'm the only kid here?"

"Oh no, not at all!" Talia giggled, patting him on the shoulder.

"We have two girls of our own," Richard explained to him easily, his deep voice just as pleasant as his spouse's, though in a fashion that reminded Harry instead of a cat, a low purr that was soothing on his ears. "Their rooms are just down the hall from yours, but they're in bed already. You'll be able to meet them in the morning."

Harry suddenly scrutinized the man before him, nodding vaguely in response even as his eyes narrowed.

Was this man like Jay? Would Harry have to listen to the girls cry in the next bedroom every night? He didn't know if he would be able to sleep alone anyway, after two months of his sleep being interrupted by those horrible sounds. But if he had to go through that here as well, he didn't know what he would do. The thought made him sick to his stomach, but before he could linger on the morbid thought any longer, the lady was speaking once more.

"It's late," Talia said suddenly, interrupting Harry's worries as she easily took Harry's suitcase from him. He didn't want to part from his things and it took him a moment to realize she was just carrying it for him, not taking it away. "Come, I'll show you to your room."

"…Yeah, okay." Harry muttered gently, lowering his eyes to the hardwood floors. He cast a glance at the man behind him, who nodded at Harry and straightened his coat as though he was readying himself to leave.

He turned away, heart clenching as he turned away from the man that was his only escape. The young boy didn't know yet if this would be another place where he would have listen to someone's pain with no way to stop it, but if he did, this time he would find a way to stop it. Jay had terrified him with threats but he never wanted to feel that helpless again…If those girls cried in the middle of the night, he swore to himself he would bust through the door to find out what horrors were being committed and save her from them.

"Do you like your room?"

The voice seemed to come out of nowhere, though he had known consciously the woman was still beside him. Somehow he had arrived at the top of the stairs and continued down the hall without realizing it, coming to stand in an open doorway.

He blinked away the blurriness from his eyes and took in the room that he'd been staring at but not really seeing for several seconds.

"This is mine?" Harry asked rather breathlessly, rooted to the spot, afraid to back away from the room before him and hesitant to step any closer.

Before him was a room the same size as the one he had shared with three other boys on the farm, there was a television on one end and a large cozy armchair facing it several feet away. Not far from the chair was an oak bookshelf with only a few books on mostly bare shelves, beside it a matching bureau and a large colorful toy box in the shape of a castle. There was a rug then, black with the solar system on it as well as flecks of stars, all of which seemed to be glow in the dark, leading to the coolest bed Harry had ever seen. It was a loft bed, bright red in color and built off the ground, attached to the wall high enough for the even the woman herself to walk under it comfortably. There was a ladder on the side that Harry would have to climb to get into it and beneath the bed there sat a wooden desk and a red plastic desk chair, half hidden like a bat cave beneath a curtain hanging from the bed.

It was the coolest room Harry had ever seen.

Even as he thought that, he felt guilty for it. Miss Charlotte had given everything she could, and though it was nothing compared to all of these fancy items it had been perfect at the time. Remorse twisted in his gut, because even now with the awareness that this room shouldn't have put Miss Charlotte's to shame, he was captivated by it all. He'd never seen such nice things—and this was supposed to be his?

"It's sort of empty, I know," Talia offered quietly, placing a thin hand on Harry's back to lead him further into the room, "We weren't sure what kind of things you liked to do…if you like sports, or drawing, or music…So over the next week or so while we get to know you, we'll add more."

"More?" He swallowed thickly, watching as she brought his suitcase over to the dresser and carefully started unpacking his things into the dresser drawers.

"Yes, of course." She smiled, frowning at his clothes and stating, "We'll have to get you more of these…you have an entire dresser and closet, and only a few things to wear…"

She made a sound of disapproval with her tongue against her teeth.

Ducking his head, the child mumbled in response. "Er, sorry."

"Oh, it isn't your fault, Harry," Talia replied quickly, setting the bible on top of the dresser when she was done and tucking the suitcase into the closet. Harry wondered briefly if that meant he wouldn't need it again anytime soon…but he dared not get his hopes up. "You don't have any pajamas?"

"Er, no, not really…I usually just sleep in what I where that day." Harry shifted, feeling his ears burn in embarrassment at the question. Should he have pajamas? He'd always had them as a child, but he couldn't take all his things with him from place to place, and sleep clothes had never seemed very important.

"That won't do," Talia shook her head once more as she took his small hand, leading him to the latter. "We'll worry about that tomorrow. For now, let's get you in bed."

Harry nodded gently, climbing up the rungs and sitting on the edge. He was surprised when without notice Talia began to unfasten his shoe ties and then proceed to peel off his socks as well for him.

"There you go."

"…Thanks." He whispered, pulling the covers over himself as she seemed to start away. However, she didn't turn to the door like he'd expected. Instead, she returned to the dresser, where she plucked the bible off the table and came over to him with a wide, toothy grin.

"Did you think I'd forgotten?"

Rubbing at his eyes, he nodded truthfully.

Her eyes softened and she replied gently, "We take religion very seriously in this house, Harry. I'm so happy that you already have an interest. I think you'll get along just fine here. I'd love to read a little of this holy book to you each night, if you let me."

Slowly, taking in the response, Harry nodded yet again.

"Wonderful," She smiled, pulling the desk chair out a few feet so that Harry could still see her when he nuzzled his face into the soft, fluffy pillow. "Shall I start anywhere in particular?"

Pausing with thought, the raven haired boy just mumbled, "The…beginning would be okay."

Talia smiled and found her way to the page, pages that were so thin and delicate Harry often had trouble flipping them on his own. This woman, however, seemed to be practiced at it, thin manicured fingers moving deftly before settling at the very front.

"In the beginning God created the heaven and the earth…"

Her voice was even more pleasant than he thought it would be.


Religion will be a very small part of my story, spanning pretty much only this chapter and the next. Please do not let anything the characters do (or believe in) upset you. I'm not a religious person, but I am fond of many people that are and I find religion fascinating. I am portraying characters, one who happens to be fanatical, while the other is merely devout. That doesn't mean that I think all Christian people believe in the same thing, and I hope I manage to get that across in how I write this family. I just don't want to offend anyone.

With that out of the way, I would like to know what you thought about this chapter. It was obviously quite heart-wrenching—and I'm sorry for that. This story will be sad for quite a while…Harry isn't Harry without being tragic, I don't think. Eventually things will get better for him, but expect it to get worse before it gets better. Feedback is what I see in the mirror of Erised -so give a girl a break, yeah? ;) Thanks!

-Toes