Chapter ten is dedicated to these amazing people Phoenixx Rising, Owlfur, Blue Luver 5000, Scarlett Woman, Tortus, Cauchy, Ciara, Serna J and guests :D

DISCLAIMER: I own nothing, as usual.

Chapter 10

They brought him to a shelter somewhere south to the nearest town. Many of the survivors were herded there, but most of them had been carted straight to the hospital. The authorities had yet to ascertain the number of casualties, but it was estimated that the majority of the village had perished in the fire.

To Harry's knowledge the orphanage had been burned down before anyone managed to escape. The building, like all others had been torn down and razed to ashes. The adults' faces were weary and fearful, and even though they tried to keep Harry out of it he heard discussions about terrorist attacks going on. Harry didn't say anything, but he knew none of them were able to recognize the truth. The attack hadn't been by non-magical people at all, it had been done by wizards.

Harry didn't speak the whole time he was brought there. Sometimes he stared out of a blurred window, sometimes he simply closed his eyes, but he never slept. His heart was a dug out chasm where it was hollow and empty and it hurt. He wanted to cry and rage but his body was too tired, too tired. No matter what he did he was sapped and drained of energy.

Over the last few hours, a nurse had taken care of most of his physical injuries, and they declared that he would be healing quickly. Under normal conditions Harry would have been hospitalized for a day or so to make sure he was recovering properly, but the nearest one was currently packed full with victims. They could barely afford to send out enough staff. As it was he was merely assigned to a caretaker, as was many others: and that was that.

Harry didn't mind, and he didn't care. Nothing mattered.

The police and investigators came the next day. Apparently they wanted to speak with the victims to get their account of the story. The victims were shuffled into a private room to get their interviews done. Only a handful of reporters were allowed in at any one time, and there was an air of muted dissent and frustrated mutterings as the rest were left crowding outside the room unable to take pictures other than a blank, shut wooden door.

As he was still considered a minor, Harry was excluded, so he was allowed to have his own 'privacy' upstairs. However, even if he was protected from the reporters, Harry could still hear everything that was going on. Some of the victims did not care to participate in the interview, but they were quite eager to share their opinions amongst themselves. More than once Harry heard descriptions of glowing skulls and serpentine tongues, and the coldness in his heart only clenched and solidified.

Unwilling to hear anymore of it, Harry got up and stalked away blindly. He went into the bathroom facing the back of the building and shut the door.

Frigid air from the outside world filtered in from the window and stung his cheek. Without thinking Harry grabbed the ledge with both of his hands and hoisted himself up. The ventilation window was large, and it allowed him ample room to slip through. At first he thought he could content himself with that, but below him he saw a tree stretching out its branches towards him, inviting him to slip down and join it on the ground below.

He barely gave it a second thought before he was already swinging through the open window for a small taste of freedom. He felt the sting of the rough bark against his palm, the familiar strain in his muscles. The dip in the branches as it bent slightly under his weight. And then he was leaping lightly onto the soft grass below, well cushioned under the shadow of the tree. Harry sat down on the ground and drew in his knees, where he rested his chin. Outside the warmth of the shelter the cold only grew, but far from biting him it only numbed him, just as he already was.

In the quietness under the tree's shadow, it was easier to seal himself in once more in his own world. A small yellow flower fluttered from its branches and landed softly on his shoulder. He thought of nothing, so he felt nothing. His heartbeat gradually faded back to its normal rhythm, and Harry stared blankly into the space as if he were wallowing in the realms of a dreamless sleep. But far from rejuvenating him he only grew worse, until even his hands grew tired from wrapping themselves around his legs.

Harry was eventually found around one hour later, staring blankly at the patch of grass tickling his shoes under the gentle breeze and oblivious to the blue crawling up the veins of his fingers and tinging his lips. A young woman which Harry recognized to be another volunteer worker exclaimed loudly when she saw him huddled at the foot of the tree, and she immediately rushed over, her voice shrill in the silence.

"There you are! Look at you, you're so cold! How long have you been outside?"

She said all kinds of things, concerned, feeling his temperature and rubbing his icy fingers between her palms in an effort to warm him. She pulled him to his feet and half-pushed half-guided him back indoors. Outwardly Harry didn't protest, but he simply let her.

"Most of the reporters have left already…" she told him in a reassuring tone as if it would make him feel better. "I understand if you're scared of them, they can be quite obnoxious sometimes… but it's too cold out here, you may fall ill. I'll get you a sweet, we'll get you more warmed up in no time, alright?"

Harry let the words wash over him in an unaffected manner. She ushered him quietly through the backdoor and immediately herded him up the stairs. They ascended together, her hand over his small back protectively as she chattered on in a concerned tone, him mechanically putting one foot before another. Harry didn't reply to anything she said, but she didn't seem to expect anything from him either. They all knew he was the 'traumatized kid'.

Was this how a traumatized person felt like? He had no idea. The psychiatrist who'd visited after the nurse had tended to him had briefly discussed possible symptoms with one of the caretakers, and he'd overheard them. General feelings of numbness, living in another world altogether. Having nightmares. In some cases, delusions and a stemming fear. But he didn't have nightmares, he simply never slept. He wasn't deluded. He wished he was. He didn't feel any fear, not even for fire. He was dug out, he was hollow, he was unfeeling. Could they heal him then?

"…if there is anything at all, you can tell one of us, okay?"

They came to a halt at the end of the room, and he was gently pushed to sit down. Warmth was working its way back into his system, but it hardly registered. Perhaps it was because part of his brain was frozen over, just like his heart. A hand patted him briefly on his head, tousling his hair. Harry blinked. He was back in one of the sleeping bags lined up in the corner. He'd watched dawn break through the window on his right hours before.

Something was pushed into his fingers, something smooth and small with slightly sharper edges. Warm brown eyes caught his, a flash of a smile, and then she was gone, bustling off to attend to her duties downstairs.

Slowly he looked down at his hands. His fingers unfolded to reveal a candy sitting in his palm, wrapped in brown and cream-coloured wrapping. The flavor was written in flashy stripes repeated across the wrapper: Caramel Macchiato.

A sharp pang pierced through his detached world. His eyes stung, and a single tear sploshed onto his hand holding the sweet.

He didn't see it fall, but the wetness tingled against his skin.

…

-X-

It took a long time for the older man who'd helped Harry out of the fire that night to give his full account of the story to the police. If Harry had been his usual self, he might have noticed that the man had been describing a green skull with a serpent's tongue hanging in the air to anyone who cared to listen before his turn came, but when he exited he looked strangely befuddled and annoyed.

"How many times must I repeat myself, I was sleeping!" he said agitatedly as someone stepped forwards to guide him back upstairs. "How am I supposed to know what happened before my house blew up?!"

After that it was Harry's turn to speak with the police officers. To prevent intimidating him no reporters were allowed, and only two policemen were going to be in the room, along with one of the caretakers if Harry so wished. He was told they were going to ask him about his home, perhaps any living relatives. Harry nodded mutely to show he understood, but he said nothing.

Just like how he'd initially grown up in the orphanage, he had no one. There was no one left. And it wasn't hard to guess what they would do with him when they realized that he was from an orphanage. He'd simply be shipped off to another. It was the simplest and most reasonable conclusion.

The thought might have scared him, but he didn't even know what to feel anymore. Too much had happened, too fast. It could still be a dream, couldn't it? Why wasn't he waking up then? How long would it take for that to happen?

"Are you sure you don't want me to come in with you?"

It was the same young woman who'd brought him upstairs and had given him the sweet. Harry shook his head slightly in a mute refusal. Present or not present, what difference could anyone make? Everything was still the same.

The blank wall stretched out in front of him for the past minutes remained grey. Then the door opened, and Harry was ushered in quietly. He kept his eyes locked on the floor, and when he entered he sat down hard on the chair drawn out for him and stared hard at the polished wooden table. He didn't want to look anywhere else. He wasn't sure if he could handle more pitying looks shot in his direction. He was too tired to afford to cry.

The door shut behind him. Harry saw a faint shadow settle over the table between them as an officer to his seat across him. Another stood in the corner near the door, as if trying to make himself as discrete as ever. There was a slight rustle of paper, and then a voice spoke. There was a strange abstract familiarity about it somehow.

"What is your name?"

A shuffling of papers, then an expectant silence, as the room waited for his answer. A slight uncomfortable shift of a foot to the next behind him.

Harry lifted his head slightly, dragging his gaze off the table to look at the officer.

But the man was no officer. It was Tom. Tom was so near, Tom was just sitting right across him. Harry looked at the other, his eyes studying familiar features, high cheekbones and dark green eyes, watching him like they'd been ever since they'd first met.

There was a faint smile about him somewhere, but Tom tilted his face slightly, warningly, as if indicating there were people listening by the door. As if in response, the officer standing by the door cleared his throat, and Harry's eyes followed the sound of the movement ever so slightly. A slight pause, then when he noticed that Tom was still waiting for his answer, he obliged.

"Harry," he replied in a monotonous voice.

How long did hallucinations remain, though? The psychiatrist had told his caretakers a few ways to help him snap out of his delusions. He told them to get him to talk, to treat him normally. But Harry didn't want to fight it. He wanted it to stay.

"Harry," Across the table, Tom continued to speak. His tone was calm as ever. "I understand you're still in shock over the recent events, but I have to ask you a few questions. You're not obligated to answer all of them, but we need your cooperation in order to help you find an existing or allocate a new guardian. Is that understood?"

The illusion remained. Harry nodded slightly, but he didn't tear his eyes away. If he did its edges would become blurry and a blank, unrecognizable face of the real police officer would take its place.

"I understand you're from Wool's Orphanage?" the officer – Tom, began.

Something squeezed his heart at the reminder. "Yes."

"It is true that you do not have a last name then?"

Tom's face flickered. In that single moment, like the protective circle he'd conjured by using the rune disappearing when he wasn't careful – and the face of a stranger looked up at him across the table. Harry shook his head slowly.

The officer frowned as he consulted the clipboard. He flipped a page. "Prospective guardians…" he mused to himself. Harry watched the other, fascinated like he was watching a dying candle flicker in the dark. Then the officer turned to face him, and his eyes were that familiar shade of green again, holding and comforting in their intensity.

"There's someone here on the list," the officer continued in a normal tone, completely unaware of Harry's illusion. "Address is house at the end of Middle Street. Goes by name of – "

"Tom," Harry said suddenly. "I know."

The other looked up to meet his eyes, but then the officer glanced down and nodded his head. Harry tried study the other's expression, but suddenly Tom was nowhere to be seen anymore. Harry's eyes raked each corner of the room, but the person sitting before him was a complete stranger. Tom wasn't there, and he had never been.

"Very good very good. It seems like it's all been settled then!" the officer exclaimed, sounding pleased. It was evident that he had been expecting many complications from Harry's case, and the convenience in which it could be settled relieved him. He gave Harry a smile, but Harry didn't return it. He was blinking rapidly, his pulse flitting irregularly and wondering if he'd finally succumbed to delusions after all. The officer didn't mind. He pulled off a sheet of paper and scribbled something on it.

"If you agree to the guardianship, do fill out this for me, we'll make the necessary arrangements for you as soon as possible alright?"

Harry said nothing. He didn't know what was real and what wasn't; everything felt abstract and unreachable. The officer passed him a pen, but he made no move to take it. He only watched, wide-eyed as the man pushed a piece of paper across the table to him.

The paper and pen were gently placed before him. Harry didn't see the words in bold printed as the title of the page, neither did he read through the paragraphs about consent and guardianship. Instead his eyes fell immediately on the faint words scrawled at the bottom of the paper, flashing gold and silver in a heartbeat before melting away.

Harry's heart gave a faint thump, alive for the first time since he'd been dragged out of the fire licking up the debris. The letters began to rearrange themselves a message only he could see, and even after they disappeared, he read and reread them over and over in his mind until he could memorize each word by heart.

Acre Park, midnight. I'll come for you.

…

-X-

A/N: I apologize for the sudden long pause without warning. I've been swamped with all sorts of assignments deadlines exams and activities. Frankly I'm worn out everyday and it's hard to find time for anything lately.

Hope this chapter was up to par, and that you can spare me a thought :)

Rating system:

:D for amazing

O for okay

X for terrible