November 5, 1933

It was a horribly cold day.

Tom found himself amazingly displeased with it. Mrs. Cole had had the bright idea of dragging the whole orphanage on a trip to the sea. Normally, the idea of visiting the beach would at least intrigue Tom. He had not spent a lot of time out of London. Visiting anywhere else would be an adventure. But, dragging a whole orphanage's worth of children to the sea in November, of all months?

The water was too cold to swim. It was icy; leeching out the heat from one's skin instantly. The spray of the water was like hail; cold and heavy. It splattered over everyone's clothes, even Tom's, even though he had made an effort to stay away. The beach wasn't even a good one; it was too rocky to reach the water comfortably and the sand underfoot was treacherously filled with sharp stones and broken glass. Tom suspected that the beach was a popular area during the night for parties, although he could not fathom why.

Harry, the git, was absolutely ecstatic. Tom knew that Harry rather enjoyed colder temperatures, but this was going too far. The second that Mrs. Cole settled down on several blankets piled on top of each other onto the ground, the children had been free to do whatever they wished, be it climbing over the rocks or going out into the freezing water. Harry had instantly started pulling Tom toward the sea.

Martha had settled down next to Mrs. Cole, absorbed in her disgusting book. She wasn't going to be any help. Tom couldn't understand how the books she read even became published. He was of the mind that perhaps those books killed people's brains. That would certainly explain Martha's appalling incompetence.

"Come on, Tom!" Harry shouted, voice taken away by the wind. "It's so...fresh outside!"

"It's not fresh," Tom said distastefully. "It's absolutely horrid."

"You just don't know how to have fun," Harry said with a sniff. "Come on, let's go and explore a little bit! We can read later."

"No," Tom said. "It's too cold to go anywhere. And even if I weren't cold, I wouldn't go because it's dangerous. Those rocks are slippery!"

"You worry too much," Harry said. "We're wizards. We're probably safer than anyone else here, and they're all climbing the rocks."

"Of course you want to imitate the Muggles," Tom sighed. "Okay. We'll be quick, though."

Tom never understood exactly why he kept losing all of his arguments. How bothersome. He was going to have to get better are arguing to get his way. It was very upsetting that Tom was so easily swayed. Or...perhaps Harry just had an unnatural skill with forcing Tom to acquiesce?

Tom grabbed onto Harry's hand, walking across the beach. As he stepped around a scraggly patch of dying grass, Tom felt something sharp even through the soles of his new, stolen boots. He paled at the thought of what might have happened if he had thinner shoes, or perhaps went without shoes at all. Tom was suddenly glad about finding such good boots to steal a week before; not only did they look much like the ones the orphanage supplied, but they were also very comfortable and actually fit his feet. He had a good eye for sizes, Tom supposed.

Tom walked up to the closest rock. It was rather large and mostly flat, tilted at a slight angle. The rock was to his knees.

"Up we go, I guess," Tom said, placing his foot on the edge and heaving himself up. Behind him, Harry, still holding his hand, slowly fumbled for the edge with his boots before following Tom up.

"Are you still sure that you want to do this?" Tom asked. Harry's eyes instantly shot up to his to give him a vicious glare.

"Okay, I won't bother you about it anymore," Tom hurriedly assured. "I just wish you didn't keep pulling us into dangerous situations."

As Harry's eyebrows inched even closer together, Tom decided that it was probably best to continue traversing the rocks. For all he knew, Harry had figured out how to blow up someone's head just by glaring hard enough.

Tom smiled back at Harry placatingly before turning around and walking to the edge of the rock. He carefully judged the distance before tensing his knees and saying, "Get ready to jump. It's about three feet. Three, two, one!"

Tom leapt across the gap, Harry sailing after him half a second after, their hands still connected. Harry stumbled a bit on landing so Tom nudged him fully upright again. Harry shot him a grateful smile before letting go of Tom's hand and crouching down.

"Tom, what's in between the rocks?" Harry asked, sticking his head over the gap. "I smell salt but also something really weird."

Tom stepped to the edge and looked down. Lodged in between the two rocks was a large fish, barely heaving for breath. It looked like the tide was receding, leaving it stranded.

"It's a fish," Tom said. "It's silver and it's really large. It's almost a foot long. It's stuck in between the two rocks, and there's not enough water for it."

"Oh, really?" Harry asked, horrified. "We have to rescue it, then."

"Harry, no-." Tom said, sighing. It was too late. Harry had reached in tentatively with his hands and grabbed onto the struggling fish. The fish started thrashing even more violently, spraying Tom with the water that he had been trying so hard to avoid.

"It needs water," Harry said suddenly. "Where's the nearest water?"

"Here," Tom said, grabbing onto Harry's shirt and dragging him to a rock right next to the one they were on. Tom dragged Harry in front of him, positioning him right where the rocks were closest before pushing him forward.

"You first," Tom said, watching as Harry carefully made his way across the slight gap. Tom immediately leapt over to the other rock, pulling Harry to the edge.

"Here," Tom said, crouching down. Harry crouched down next to him, fish held under his ribcage. "Throw it into the water. The water's just a foot down."

"Are you sure?" Harry asked, giving Tom the evil eye before releasing the fish from his grasp. With a loud plop, the fish vanished in the dark water, depths unfathomable under the grey reflection of the sky.

"There you go," Tom said. "We've saved a fish. What an accomplishment. Can we go read now?"

"No," Harry said. "Just a little bit more. Then you can even read me that dictionary."

"Really?" Tom asked, eyes lighting up. Harry hated it when Tom wanted to read the dictionary. Even though Harry agreed that it was useful, he had little patience for Tom's recitations. Sometimes, all that would convince him to listen was if Tom read out the words in a particular order that made a story of sorts. Tom knew that it was important to have a large vocabulary; he didn't want to sound common when he finally made it to Hogwarts. Harry had told him about what purebloods were like, even though Harry himself was uncertain what he was.

Tom knew that he at most could only be a halfblood; his mother was obviously a muggle. His father, then, could be a pureblood. Harry had mentioned something early on about people caring about blood status. If Tom sounded refined, perhaps he may be given a chance.

"Yes, I'll read it," Harry said, knees giving a little as he gave an exaggerated sigh. "You have the weirdest idea of fun I know. Stealing, insulting people, blaming things on people, trying to scare everyone else...it's a good thing I'm awesome enough to put up with you."

"I'm awesome enough to put up with your weirdness," Tom said. "That takes a lot of effort."

"Nonsense," Harry said, straightening. Harry put his hands on his hips and gave Tom a superior look that was supremely reminiscient of Mrs. Cole. "My weird is awesome."

"So you say," Tom said, looking around. "Alright. If you'll listen to the dictionary, then we can go on...five more rocks."

"More than that!" Harry whined. "The dictionary deserves at least fifteen rocks."

"Six rocks," Tom said.

"No! Fifteen!"

"Seven rocks."

"Fifteen!"

Tom stared at Harry, sighing. "Harry, that's not how you're supposed to compromise."

Harry looked at him mulishly. "I wasn't trying to compromise," Harry sniffed. "Fifteen rocks. Please! I would go on them by myself if you weren't-"

"No!" Tom said. "We can go on twelve. But don't go by yourself! You know it's dangerous!"

"I don't think anyone is going to push me in," Harry said. "They're all further down the beach. And I'm careful."

"Still," Tom insisted. "Don't go without me."

"Alright, fine," Harry said. "If you don't want me to go alone, then follow me!"

Tom lunged for Harry's shirt, but to Tom's dismay the fabric was already out of reach. Harry had leapt to another rock, teetering on the edge of it as he tried to rebalance. Tom hissed under his breath, leaping forward and shoving Harry's back. Harry quickly rebalanced, looking down at Tom sheepishly.

"I thought I would make it," Harry said, fiddling with the back of his horribly messy hair.

"Of course you did," Tom muttered. "Let's go and play on the stupid rocks."

Harry gave him a look but didn't say anything. They traversed a few rocks, Tom skinning his knees a little at one point and Harry earning a few bruises. The rocks were slick with freezing water in some places, the spray of the breaking waves washing their path with slipperiness. Tom, after climbing seven rocks, decided to take a break, stopping on the apex of one rather mountain-like boulder to admire the scenery. Harry perched on a ledge right below him, swinging his legs as they dangled a few feet above the path they had taken.

The sky was a pale, pale blue, looking remarkably like a shirt that Tom had once had that faded tremendously within a few months. The few clouds were wispy, looking as thin and wild as Harry's hair. They streaked the sky in feathery lines that curled with breezes too high in the atmosphere for Tom to detect. Was that feathery look similar to what Harry saw whenever he looked at Tom? The beach was a uniform grey color from a distance, dotted with a few colorful specks that Tom knew were the other children.

Mrs. Cole and Martha were visible as two small blips of dark color lying in the distance. The other children were little more than small smudges of brown and grey and white dotting the rocks in the distance like specks of dust. The ocean was a deep green and blue color, masked slightly by the pale blue reflection of the sky.

Suddenly, a shove to his back. The reflection of the sky grew nearer, and, with a freezing cold impact, Tom could properly admire the color of the ocean as it grabbed hold of his body and leeched the heat from it.

"Tom!" Tom heard Harry scream before his ears were submerged under the water and all Tom could hear was the roar of the ocean.

Tom flailed wildly, kicking out with his feet as hard as he could to get himself out of the water. His head was tilted up, gasping for air as he kept getting pulled down into the icy water. He moved his arms wildly, pushing at the water, but, to his dismay, it wasn't working. He couldn't even muster the breath to scream for help.

He could vaguely see Harry on the rock, and, behind him, a boy with blond hair who was laughing.

Harry's heart had frozen in shock, fear, and horror.

One moment, everything had been going perfectly. Tom had stopped his complaining and had been starting to enjoy the rocks. Harry had found a perfect ledge to perch on that allowed him to swing his legs as crazily as he wanted without impacting anything. It had been nice. He had enjoyed the chilly breeze, the pale warmth of the winter sun.

But suddenly, Tom fell from the sky above him. Harry had heard a loud splash, slightly relieved that Tom fell into water instead of onto the rocks. But then Harry had remembered that the water was very, very cold, and he was very sure that Tom did not know how to swim.

"Tom!" Harry remembered screaming as Tom's form grew fuzzily distorted. Was that the water? Tom flailed and struggled, some stray drops of icy water hitting Harry right in the face.

Harry heard laughing from above.

He saw red. Someone was laughing. Someone was laughing that Tom was in the water, that Tom might die. In a burst of speed that Harry was shocked that he possessed, he scrambled up the side of the rock toward the sound of that despicable, unknown being that had tried to kill Tom. For what other reason could they have pushed him in so?

The rock had sliced at Harry's hands in his mad scramble. Harry ignored it, however, pushing it out of his mind. His injuries weren't important. He had to stop that laughter first before it decided to push him in too. He had to take revenge.

The laughter cut off right before Harry's face as he pulled himself over the edge of the rock. "Awww, is the itty bitty baby mad that his itty bitty baby friend fell in the water?"

"Why did you do that?" Harry asked, voice high-pitched. "He can't swim!"

"Too bad," the voice said nonchalantly. "He sure looks funny like that."

"Who are you?" Harry asked. The voice was unfamiliar.

"Dennis Bishop," the voice said lazily. "New to this nasty orphanage."

Ah, that explained why Harry did not recognize his voice. Since when did they have a new person at the orphanage, though? Maybe that was why the bell had been ringing the night before they left for the beach. Harry and Tom had ignored it in favor of retrying their new theory on how to do magic.

"Just because you don't like the orphanage doesn't mean that you can be horrible!" Harry said, glaring furiously in Dennis's direction. He suddenly wished that he could see where Dennis was just to make sure that he was experiencing the hatred Harry could feel himself showing.

"His face just ticked me off," Dennis said.

That had been the last straw. Harry yelled hoarsely as he leapt at Dennis, shoving him. To Harry's dismay, when Dennis folded back, there was no rock to stop him. Harry froze, listening to the whoosh of air and the sickening smack that happened a second after. Then, Harry remembered Tom.

"Tom!" Harry yelled again, turning around and climbing down the rock to his ledge. He then jumped down to another rock and slowly inched his way closer to the water, wary of falling in himself. "Are you okay?"

Harry saw Tom still struggling in the water, noticing that Tom's head barely showed clear and unfuzzy. Could Tom even breathe?

What should he do? Harry stared, feeling his eyes prick with coming tears of frustration. Maybe...maybe he could somehow use his magic for it? Harry set his jaw and resolutely focused on Tom, ignoring all else. He had to focus now.

Slowly, the faint sound of the other children playing in the distance faded away. The sound of the waves breaking on the rocks slowly dissipated until all Harry could hear was the faint thrum of his heart beating like a hummingbird's wings. The view of Tom was all he could see, and Harry could feel his magic responding to the call.

He pushed it towards Tom, furiously forcing it into submission because this was important and he could not afford to fail now. Nobody was close enough to help. Even if someone was close enough, Harry highly doubted that Mrs. Cole or Martha would be very effective. It was all up to him.

Thin tendrils of gold slipped forward, seeking Tom and curling around his magic. Following them were thick ropes of dark green, occasionally threaded with a dark blue that matched Tom's. They curled around Tom, slipping through the magic-fuzzying water and pulling. Slowly, Tom moved. Harry could feel his concentration failing, fighting the urge to cry as he saw a few ropes detach and dance around in confusion. He refocused, reinforcing what he wanted in his mind like Tom had suggested. Bring Tom to me, bring Tom to me, Harry chanted mentally.

It took much longer than it should, but Tom was eventually in the water in front of Harry. Harry wasn't sure that he could convince his magic to fully float Tom out of the water, so he leaned over and grasped onto Tom's arms and heaved. Tom's hands scrabbled on the edge of the rock, assisting Harry's efforts. After a few seconds of teetering on the edge, Tom fell onto the rock and sprawled, shaking.

"Tom?" Harry asked. "Are you okay?" He looked down sheepishly. He should have saved Tom sooner instead of confronting Dennis.

"No," Tom breathed, peeling off his soaked clothes. "H-help me get this off. It's too cold."

"Okay," Harry said, grabbing onto Tom's boots and and pulling them off of his wet socks. After a moment of deliberation, Harry pulled those off too.

"C-can you get a towel?" Tom asked, arms wrapped around his chest and knees pulled tight to his body. He looked absolutely miserable.

"Of course," Harry said, shrugging off his coat and carefully wrapping it around Tom. "I'll be back."

Harry jogged off in Martha's direction, remembering that she had brought out several towels "in case someone wants to swim!" He stumbled a few times on the rocks, slightly spraining his ankle in his hurry. Harry made it out onto the rough beach, walking in the general direction that he remembered Martha being.

"Harry?" Martha asked. "Where's Tom?"

Harry reoriented himself to walk in her direction. "Oh, he's uh, back by the rocks," Harry said. "Could I have a towel?"

"Ya wanna go swimming?" Martha asked. Harry could hear a smile in her voice. "Mrs. Cole, see! It's not too cold to swim."

"It is," Mrs. Cole snapped. "Boy, don't freeze to death."

Harry bit his lip, twitching when two towels were dumped into his arms. "There's one for ya and one for Tom," Martha said. "Next time have Tom help ya over those rocks! I'll be having words with him."

"No, I offered," Harry said weakly, turning around and hurrying back. After traversing the rocks another time, Harry found Tom still shaking.

"I'm back," Harry said. "Here, towels."

Tom looked up and grabbed both towels, slipping them underneath Harry's coat. "Thanks."

"No problem," Harry said, sitting down right next to Tom.

"Did you hear who did it?" Tom asked, wrapping one towel around his legs and another around his body. He then lifted the coat and carefully arranged it around the towels. "I saw a blond boy laughing."

"Yeah," Harry said. "His name was Dennis. He's new and thought it would be funny to push you in. He doesn't like the orphanage."

"Neither do we," Tom pointed out. "At least I don't do things like this to people for no reason."

"Yeah, you do things to people so that Mr. Anderson yells at them instead of us. Such a good reason," Harry pointed out without much of a bite.

"It works," Tom said.

"I know," Harry sighed. "Are you feeling warmer?"

"Not really," Tom said. "It's better now but I still feel cold."

Harry leaned over and touched Tom's hand. It was horribly icy despite being buried in towels. "Tom!" Harry said. "You're freezing! You're going to get sick."

"I hope not," Tom muttered. Harry grimaced slightly. The last time Tom got sick, Harry had twisted himself into knots to make him stop whining.

"Maybe I can try to warm you with magic?" Harry offered. "I'm getting better at concentrating."

"Yeah, I noticed," Tom said. "Hey, what exactly did you do to Dennis?"

Harry's eyes widened involuntarily. He looked at his feet sheepishly.

"Harry..."

"It was an accident, I swear!" Harry said, squeezing his eyes shut.

"What accident?" Tom asked, voice curious.

"I...IthinkIpushedDennisofftherock."

"What?" Tom said. "Say that again. Ten times slower."

"I think I pushed Dennis off the rock," Harry repeated, hugging his knees to his chest as well.

"You did?" Tom asked. Harry peeked between his eyelashes curiously. Tom sounded almost proud of that.

"Yes. So what if I did?" Harry asked belligerently.

"What happened to him?" Tom asked. "Is he still alive?"

Harry froze. Was Dennis alive? Did he die when he fell off the rock? What if he fell and hit his head until it broke? What if he was dead? Was Harry a murderer? Harry felt his breaths start to speed up in panic.

"You didn't even check," Tom breathed, voice still sounding proud.

"I'm a horrible person!" Harry cried, leaping to his feet and swinging wildly around, trying to gauge the shortest and fastest route to where...Dennis's bod - no, Dennis - was lying.

"You went to save me instead," Tom mused. "Calm down, I'm sure he's fine."

"How do you know?" Harry said. "I'll be back."

Harry picked his way around the rocks, sighing a little when he heard Tom's light footsteps behind him. "I said I'll be back," Harry said, sighing.

"I wanted to see," Tom said.

"Of course you did," Harry said. He rounded around the big rock that they had climbed earlier, foot hitting Dennis's prone body.

"Merlin!" Harry breathed. "Is he dead?"

Tom leaned over, putting his hand out. "No, I can feel his breath on my hand. He's alive."

"Is there blood?" Harry asked sheepishly.

"Yeah," Tom said, sounding almost surprised. "There is."

"Where?" Harry asked. "Is there a lot?"

"I think his nose is broken. Oh, and it looks like the rock almost tore its way through his cheek!" Tom said, poking.

"Don't poke him there!" Harry said halfheartedly.

"Fine," Tom said, poking once a lot harder before withdrawing his hand. "He's alive. That cheek injury is going to be a scar, though. I think we made a new enemy."

"He made the first move?" Harry offered. "I don't think he should be able to blame us."

"He's not going to see it that way," Tom said, voice filled with a sense of absoluteness. "Can you try to warm me with magic? The wind just got stronger. I don't think I can focus while cold like this."

"Oh!" Harry said. "Of course. Let's go back before he wakes up though."

"Sure," Tom said, kicking at Dennis as he walked past Harry. He offered his hand to Harry. Harry took it, smiling fondly. Tom was vengeful.

Harry pulled Tom to the ledge where he was sitting earlier. "It's a nice ledge," Harry said when Tom questioned him.

"Okay," Tom said, staring off into the distance. "Do your magic."

"Okay," Harry said. "Do you think I should use the thin gold or the dark green?"

"Probably the gold," Tom said, opening the coat and unwinding the towel. "It'll probably work better if I'm not dressed as much?"

"I don't know," Harry said. "If this works, then we'll try it with clothes. Just don't move."

Harry snapped his mind back into focus, staring intently at the dark blue pattern of magic that was purely Tom's. He blocked out everything, even the sound of his heart after a moment's deliberation. He was in silence, he was in focus...he was in the magic.

He could feel it coiling deep within him, dancing around and spinning and curling to the tune of his emotions. Slowly, the extra movements disappeared as Harry's emotions seemed to disappear. Warm, Harry thought. Make Tom warm. The magic, his fingers...no, him, all spun out of his body and began investigating Tom. The dark blue magic that was Tom flickered a little out of curiosity but kept itself held back. Harry breathed in deeply and imagined a blanket.

A blanket like the kind he felt once in a store. It was thick and cozy, slightly fuzzy. The threads that made up the blanket were smooth, but Tom had described it for him when Harry asked. The threads had gone up and down, up and down, over and under other threads coming from the opposite direction. It was almost like a net but far closer packed until there was no space between each thread. No space for heat to escape.

Harry watched, almost in a daze, as his magic followed the pattern he had imagined in his mind, weaving a thin, golden blanket of magic that settled down against Tom's skin and wove itself down Tom's body until Tom was a dark blue covered in a fine golden sheet of magic that slowly faded into a darker, muted gold.

Harry snapped back into himself, stumbling a little bit as he regained his balance. "How is it?" Harry asked, looking at Tom's face properly.

Tom's face was...strange. He looked amazingly happy, eyes closed and mouth slightly open. "It's wonderful," Tom sighed. "For a second it was terribly hot, but now it's the perfect temperature. I don't feel cold anymore. It's...it's amazing. That's it. Next time I feel cold, you're doing this for me. I don't care what you say. I want this again."

"Sure?" Harry said, awkwardly running his hand through his hair. "You could just do it to yourself though."

Tom shot him a look. "No, you don't understand. This feels like a hug."

Harry raised an eyebrow but ceded the argument.

December 12, 1933

Tom lay lazily on the ground, struggling to arrange his suddenly boneless arms behind his head. Harry's warming magic was too potent. It was amazing, but Tom always felt so...horrifyingly relaxed. But today, he had no choice. He had begged Harry to go to the park, knowing that otherwise they would have stayed in the orphanage where Alyssa was sure to ambush them.

Harry would be happy with that, but Tom was a completely different person. Alyssa was so...annoying! A gossip who giggled way too much and only gave Harry ideas.

Tom had had to resort to begging Harry to go to the park. When they had arrived, it was too cold to enjoy themselves properly, so they went to their special hiding spot and Harry had warmed the whole area with a particularly large bit of warming magic. Which had led to Tom lying on the floor in such an unelegant, floppy way.

"You don't look that stupid," Harry laughed. "I know what you're thinking." Harry flopped down next to Tom, sighing happily. "Magic is great."

"Yes it is," Tom agreed, arching his back slightly. "So. What should we do today?"

"I thought you had a plan?" Harry asked. "That's why you wanted to go to the park so bad."

"Badly," Tom corrected absently. "I just wanted to get out."

"Of course you did," Harry said. "Were you afraid of Alyssa finding us?"

Tom fumbled around for something to say, but his silence was telling.

Harry sighed. "You could've just said something, you know," Harry said, chuckling.

"Well, I didn't," Tom said. "Can we talk about something else? Or do magic?"

"Sure," Harry said. "You know, it's almost unfair that you can do so many things with magic and yet all I can do is warming magic."

"At least your warming magic is high quality," Tom said. "If you go to Hogwarts and it turns out that you absolutely suck at any other kind of magic, you could become someone's personal magic-blanket. Or set up warming magic in houses. I'm sure there will be some people who don't know or don't want to do it themselves."

"You suggest such goals for my future!" Harry cried dramatically.

"Harry No-Name, the world's best Master of Warming Magic!" Tom said, flourishing an arm at the sky.

"Royalty will be begging for my work!" Harry said, turning over onto his stomach and propping himself on his elbows. "I'll be so rich I'll have three castles and a thousand house elves."

"Money and girls and whatever you may fancy," Tom agreed solemnly before bursting out in giggles.

"Tom, you're laughing!" Harry cheered, punching the air. "Yes, I win!"

"Oh, shut up," Tom said, waving a hand. "Don't blow your wig."

"Okay, okay," Harry said. "But let's practice. I really don't want to only know warming magic. Imagine how horrible it would be to suck at everything but a few spells!"

"Fine. What should we try first?" Tom asked. "I want to try warming magic."

"Okay," Harry said. "Remember what I said about imagining a blanket?"

"Yeah, of course," Tom said, closing his eyes.

Harry smiled at the little furrow that appeared between Tom's eyebrows as Tom began concentrating on pulling his magic together.

Harry thought about what he wanted to do. Well, warming was making heat, right? What if he could make even more heat? Make a fire?

Harry snapped his mind into what he had started calling his magic-mode, eliminating distractions almost instantly and focusing on his magic. What was fire like? This was the hard part. His memories of what fire looked like were rather fuzzy, so imagining it was going to be a little awkward.

Harry vaguely remembered it being orange and moving constantly. He tried to force his magic into a shape he slightly remembered, but it seemed to be reluctant to follow his direction. He hissed in frustration as the magic slipped out his mental grasp, looking to slip back into his body where it could play as it wanted. Then, before understanding what he was doing, Harry grabbed at it.

He jerked at the odd feeling. It wasn't uncomfortable, per-se, but it was decidedly peculiar. His fingers didn't feel anything solid, but there seemed to be a buzzing energy there that was so tightly packed that it gained some substantialness just from its strength. He also had a strange sensation from his magic, feeling something that almost felt like small, intoxicating and strange strands magic holding it in place. Harry let go, bringing his hands closer to his face. There was a different kind of magic in his hands? He strained his vision, trying to see something amidst the normal dark green swirling. There was too many strands of magic to find anything though. Harry eyed his hands suspiciously.

Harry grabbed at a strand of magic that was retreating slightly slower than the rest, flinching a little at the odd, double feeling. Aside from the odd feelings, it was almost like he was holding a strand of thread.

A strand of thread! Harry thought back to his little habit of fiddling with the stray threads that appeared to be constantly breaking free of the constraints of his clothing. Perhaps the magic was amenable to his fiddling?

Almost trembling with excitement, Harry wrapped his fingers around the thread of magic, and, almost without conscious control, he was holding a flame-shaped bit of magic in his cupped palm. It was still dark green like his magic, but Harry thought that he felt some heat coming from it, almost like a real fire.

"Tom!" Harry called excitedly. "Look at my hands! What does it look like?"

Tom's eyes opened, his calmed magic starting to put out tentative feelers again. Harry laughed a little apologetically at making Tom lose his concentration. Tom then looked down at Harry's hands and then yelped.

"Harry! Are you okay?" Tom asked, voice oddly strained.

"Yeah, I'm fine," Harry asked, raising an eyebrow at Tom's tense demeanor. "What is it?"

"Pardon me for saying so," Tom said, "but you have a bloody ball of fire in your hands."

"Do I?" Harry asked excitedly. "It worked! Merlin, it worked!"

"What worked?" Tom asked. "Did you want a big ball of fire to be in your hands? How is it not cooking you?"

"I don't think it's really fire yet," Harry said. "It still has my magic in it, sustaining it I think. But if I pull my magic out and just let it support the fire with fuel and energy, then it could probably burn me."

"Don't pull your magic out, then!" Tom said. "How did you even get that to work?"

"Tom," Harry said, pinching the thread of magic in his hands and pulling it apart, "I can touch magic."

"What is that supposed to mean?" Tom said. "This is another level of weird now."

"Yeah," Harry said. "I see magic and touch magic, you taste and smell magic. Now what are we missing?"

"Hearing magic," Tom supplied. "This is ridiculous. Are you sure you haven't heard of anything like this?"

"Nope, my parents never mentioned it. Maybe some people can do it, but I wouldn't think it was common."

"Brilliant," Tom sighed. "So you can touch it now?"

"Yup," Harry said. "It feels funny too. Wanna feel what it feels like to have your magic touched?"

"Sure," Tom said, movnig closer. "What do I do?"

"Just stay still," Harry said, looking over Tom for a suitable bit of magic to grab. He noticed one that seemed to be similar in size to the one that Harry had manipulated earlier. Harry reached for it, grabbing it. Tom jerked, staring at Harry with wide eyes.

"That feels really weird," Tom said, drawing out the words.

"I know," Harry said. "Imagine feeling that and feeling buzzing against your fingers. That's what happened when I tried to touch mine. How didn't we notice this before?"

"I don't know," Tom said. "Maybe it's a spontaneously appearing thing. Everything else did happen suddenly."

"Hey...," Harry said. "What if I can use this to show you how to move your magic?"

"Like, teaching?" Tom asked. "Go ahead. Make it into warming magic."

Harry beamed. "You'll get this in no time!"

"I better," Tom said. "Now go ahead and start, this feels really strange."

"Okay," Harry said, letting his hands loop the magic around his fingers and pushing the magic into place. After a minute of guiding the magic into the blanket formation, as Harry called it, it started weakly moving itself into the pattern.

"Like that," Harry said. "Just a lot faster. And pull this part tighter," Harry said, yanking on a thin, hair-like thread that looped out from the main pattern. At his words, the thread was pulled into the pattern.

"There you go!" Harry said. "That looks good. Now you actually have to put it on something. Try me."

"Okay," Tom said, biting his lip and concentrating. Harry watched as the blanket of magic, a little messier than his own, practiced blankets, moved toward him. Harry let it settle against his skin, sighing a little at the warmth the blanket radiated into his skin.

"It worked," Harry said, laying back against the ground. "It does feel really good."

"Told you," Tom said. "It's different when someone else does it to you, I guess."

"Mhm," Harry hummed. "Imagine all the possibilities, Tom!"

"I am," Tom said. "But I have to ask. How do you know how you're supposed to move it?"

"I just know," Harry said, looking away. "It's like the magic knows what has to be done and it somehow tells me and my fingers just know what to do."

"I wish mine would tell me what to do," Tom said. "Remember how we would just fling out magic out and hope that it would do what we wanted?"

"Yeah," Harry said. "But now that we know how magic likes to be arranged, we can be neater about it."

Tom stood up, brushing all of the dirt off of his coat with a flick of his magic. "I feel like I could just run now," Tom confessed. "That thing you did was awesome."

"Really?" Harry said, popping up. "Do me?"

"Okay," Tom said, turning to Harry and flicking his magic to clean the dirt off. "You're clean now."

"Let's run then," Harry said. "I wouldn't mind running. Give me a moment to stop the warming magic."

Tom waited patiently as Harry called the magic creating the warming blanket back into him. He shivered a little bit as the warming magic disintegrated into small threads and funneled back into him, compressing itself until it all mostly fit within the confines of his body. Harry shook himself a little bit before walking forward.

"To the duck pond?" Harry asked.

"Yeah," Tom said before suddenly taking off. Harry yelped and raced after him.

"Tom! You didn't count down!"

"Pfft, I never do!"

Blow your wig - a phrase from this era which meant to become very excited.

If anyone can find some more lists of common British slang from the 1930's, I'd love to see them. It's fun to learn about language trends.

Did anyone get my little crack at Lockhart earlier? Sucking at anything but a few spells? Well, Lockhart definitely became a Master of Obliviation...

Additionally...How many people once again got the wrong idea from the phrase, "do me?" They're kids, people. ;D Last time, I had a few people confess that they thought the wrong thing at first.

Lots of magic this chapter. I'm trying to space it out, but certain things must be accomplished before I can go all time-skip on y'all. If you're worried they'll be kids forever, never fear. I am probably about 2/3 done with their childhood.