This chapter might contain trigger warnings. The warnings are located at the bottom of the chapter if you wish to look at them. However, I do not wish to spoil the story for those who do not need them.
February 9, 1934
The mistake was horribly elementary.
It had started out so well, too. Tom and Harry made sure that they were wearing their bulkiest coats and scarves. Wintertime was the most profitable stealing season, as their bulky clothing provided good cover for the stolen goods. Tom and Harry had scouted out the store they were planning to steal from a few days before and made their plans.
The store was new, located not too far from the orphanage. Mrs. Cole had made everyone visit there in an attempt to endear the orphanage children to the newest people in the neighborhood. It was no doubt an attempt to subdue the rumors of the 'nasty, rude orphanage kids' that was no doubt perpetuated by Billy and his gang. His gang which now included Dennis, a rather nasty character, as Tom and Harry both knew.
The store sold clothing. Tom and Harry had tried on their clothes from a few months before, but, to their shock and joy, they had grown considerably. But, this meant that they both needed newer clothes that fit their longer appendages. Harry could fit into a lot of Tom's old clothing, but Tom needed a lot more. Their allowance was still on hold by Mrs. Cole so if they wished to wear decent clothes, they had to raid that store.
It was so near and so close. It was too tempting; a pomegranate seed right within easy reach. They didn't expect the acquisition of a few new shirts each to have such terrible consequences.
It had begun fortuitously. Tom and Harry had been joking around, suggesting shirts to wear to each other. After Tom had poked Harry in the shoulder, signaling that the owner had left into a back room, Harry snatched one of the shirts. He slipped it into the inside pocket of his coat with a quick movement before closing it. Tom had checked too, grabbing the pale blue shirt that he had been eyeing. But, as Tom tried to stuff it into his inner coat pocket, the shirt had caught on the wooden rack. Tom, starting to panic, yanked at it instead of taking his time unhooking it from the wood.
The second that the shirt had jerked free from the rack and began heading to the inner pocket of Tom's coat, the owner had walked back inside. Tom remembered the moment that the man's eyes fell on the shirt peeking out of Tom's coat, eyes widening.
There had been a moment of stillness as if the world had stopped, the air disappeared, and flies everywhere dropped to the ground as their wings pushed against nothingness. It had seemed to last forever, but it was short. Before Tom could stutter an excuse, the owner had moved forward, eyebrows snapping together as if they were magnets that had just realized that they were opposite poles.
Tom had shoved Harry, yelling "Run!"
Harry, eyes wide, had leapt into action, dodging a few racks of pants and clothing with the grace of a deer. Tom had followed after him, trying to squeeze between the racks in the most direct path out of the store. Tom could hear the owner behind them, yelling "Thieves!"
That was probably their downfall. Harry had crashed into a woman who had paused in front of the doorway, most likely curious for a glimpse of the thieves. They had fallen to the ground in a tangle, Harry rolling away and scrambling to his feet. Tom hovered next to him, yanking Harry on his arm as he tried to get up, turning towards the street. He thought they could dash across the street between a few cars...but alas, it was not to be.
That had been enough time for the owner to traverse the small distance of the shop and place a large hand on Tom's shoulder.
"Now, where are you going, boy?" the owner had snarled. "Filthy thieves. Stealing our money in this economy?"
A hand shot out and grabbed onto Harry as well, who had squeaked. "You too, boy."
The man had maneuvered Tom and Harry to the side, apologizing to the fallen woman for the accident. Tom and Harry had exchanged terrified looks. They had never been caught before.
The woman picked herself off the ground and walked away after shooting Tom and Harry a glare. The owner rounded on them, spit spraying onto Tom's face in his fury.
"You're orphanage brats? I shoulda listened to Heziah and made my store elsewhere!"
Harry cowered, squeaking out a faint "Sorry."
"Sorry doesn't cover it. I'm going to drag you both right to that Cole woman and let her deal with you." The man shoved Harry into Tom, unbalancing them. He shoved his hand in Tom's coat and pulled out the blue shirt, giving it a once-over before throwing it onto a shelf in the store.
"Running away won't help ya," the man scoffed as he turned and locked up his store. "I know where you brats are from."
Harry looked down sheepishly, pressing closer to Tom, his magic smelling bitter. Tom wove some magic around Harry in a weak warming charm, slow and careful. Tom still wasn't good at them - Harry's explanations of weaving could only do so much - but he knew enough to try. Perhaps that would comfort Harry; warming charms did feel like hugs, after all.
Harry wove one back around Tom without delay, who relaxed the tiniest bit. It was a nice reminder that they'd be together in this situation, no matter how badly it might end up.
The man turned back without warning, hand reaching for Tom's shoulder. Tom felt the warming magic dissolve away, reluctantly releasing his own. The man grabbed onto both of their shoulders and marched them down the street, heading toward the orphanage. It was still rather early, so the amount of people outside wasn't too great. Tom thanked that circumstance. It wouldn't do for him and Harry to be recognized by face as thieves...they could at least hide behind the anonymity of being two of many orphans if the owner of the store talked around, assuming that the owner didn't realize that Harry was blind. That would be a rather distinctive detail; everyone knew Harry by now.
The walk felt like a marathon, although Tom knew that it was only five buildings down the street. The man shoved them through the open iron gates of the orphanage, sneering at the other orphans playing in the courtyard area. Before they walked into the orphanage, Tom caught a glimpse of Dennis's smug, smirking face. Tom sneered back with more confidence than he felt.
The owner stopped in the lobby. "You there," he said, pointing to Amy. "Where can I find Mrs. Cole?"
"She's on the second floor," Amy said with a trembling voice, stepping back a little. "You'll see her office right away."
"I better," the owner said, pulling Tom and Harry behind him.
Tom and Harry took their time up the stairs. The way the man had pinched their shoulders right along the neck muscles was rather painful if they didn't mirror his movements exactly. As they turned onto the landing, the owner cast his gaze from side to side before yanking them toward the office. The man knocked.
"Come in!" Tom heard Mrs. Cole call. She sounded a mite irritated.
The owner shoved them before him. "Open the door and walk in first," he commanded. Harry gave him a fearful look but opened the door, Tom following him without a sound. They trudged into the office, lining up in front of Mrs. Cole's desk. Tom saw Harry hang his head and copied him, letting his hair fall into his face. Their eyes hidden from view, they exchanged another look. Tom sighed a little, knowing that what was coming would not end up well for either of them.
"What is this?" Mrs. Cole asked, standing up. "Oh, Mr. Williams? Why are you here with these boys?"
"I caught them stealing," Mr. Williams said. "I got back one of my shirts from this one here," he said, jerking his thumb in Tom's direction, "but I haven't checked them for anything else. I expect compensation for this! You promised that your orphans were well behaved!"
"They are!" Mrs. Cole said hurriedly. "This is the first time that I've heard of this happening!" She shot Tom a particularly suspicious look. "I'll make sure it won't repeat again," she assured.
"Figure out a way to teach them that stealing is wrong. Or I'll do it myself," Mr. Williams said ominously. "I suggest mandatory church attendance. Maybe some proper Christian values would keep them from trying to ruin my business!"
"Of course!" Mrs. Cole said. "I'll make the whole orphanage attend. It won't happen again."
"It better not," Mr. Williams said.
"Go, boys," Mrs. Cole said. "I'll deal with you later."
Tom and Harry slowly backed away, avoiding getting too near Mr. Williams. When they reached the door, they slipped through at lightning speed. As they left, they heard Mrs. Cole offering a scotch, voice tense with suppressed worry.
Tom and Harry walked down the hall and up the stairs to their room. Once inside, Harry threw himself right onto the floor, collapsing in a heap. Tom shot a look towards their bed, but thought better of it. He dropped to the ground as well, folding himself neatly into a sitting position instead of sprawling like Harry had.
They sat there, silent, for a long time.
"We really messed up," Tom said.
"Yeah," Harry said. "Yes, we did."
"It was my fault," Tom bit out. "I panicked."
Harry turned his head to look at Tom. "It can happen to anyone," Harry said, voice even. "I don't blame you for it."
Tom looked at Harry as if he had gone mad. "Why not?" Tom asked. "It was my fault that we started stealing in the first place. It was my fault we someone caught us. I was stupid and reckless."
Tom breathed deeply for a few seconds, hanging his head. "I feel stupid for actually admitting this too."
"Tom," Harry said, voice admonishing. Tom looked at him, raising an eyebrow with a wry smile.
"Nothing you say will change the truth."
"I can try," Harry said. "If you didn't start stealing, we would have frozen this winter. Or we could have gotten really badly sick. I heard that if someone gets too sick they can actually die. But we didn't."
"It was still risky, though," Tom said.
"Yeah, but I got so much candy from it, especially in the beginning, that I don't mind," Harry said, closing his eyes and smiling. "It was fun too. Don't you think so?"
"Yeah," Tom said slowly. "It was. But it was still my fault we were caught."
Harry snorted. "I don't understand why you keep repeating that."
"Because it's true," Tom said, voice bitter. "It's true. And who knows what's going to happen now. We already don't have an allowance."
"Tom," Harry said. "Almost every time that Billy and Dennis and everyone else catches up to us, it's been my fault. Half the time you get hurt more because you shove me ahead. Now," Harry snickered wistfully, "we're finally even!"
"That's not how it works," Tom protested, but Harry poked him in the ribs, causing Tom to jerk.
"It works because I said so."
"You can't just change things just to suit you," Tom said.
Harry lifted an eyebrow, mirth showing in his glowing green eyes. "Can't I?"
Tom stared at him in confusion before jerking as his shirt grew longer. He sighed. Trust Harry to make a point that way. Now if only their magic could make them new clothes. That would be brilliant.
"Magic!" Harry sang. "So now stop being all mopey and think of a way to get out of this. Or something."
"You're ridiculous," Tom said, but inside he felt lighter.
"Of course," Harry. "That's why I'm so fun and why you keep me around of course."
"If you say so," Tom said, the corner of his mouth turning just a little bit up. "Now, if you could figure out a way to actually make new clothes..."
Needless to say, Mrs. Cole was not pleased with their thievery. She seemed to have come to the correct conclusion that it was not the first time that they had stolen something. Of course, she probably only thought that the stealing began when their allowance was retracted. Harry didn't bother to inform her that it actually started much earlier.
After a long speech, presenting with an oddly shaky voice and the overwhelming use of veiled invectives, Mrs. Cole declared that everyone in the orphanage was to attend church regularly. Something about learning morals and understanding God.
Before, church was optional. Of course, it had been encouraged by the orphanage, but in the end Mrs. Cole feared for the orphanage's reputation if someone was forced to go and caused trouble. Because of that, Harry and Tom had been left to stay at the orphanage with Martha and a few other orphans who didn't feel like communing with God.
Harry had been glad of the fact that it was not mandatory. He knew that he was probably overreacting, but he remembered enough stories from his childhood to remember that there was something dangerous about religion and and magic. He was a little bit fuzzy on the details, despite having a very good memory, but there was something there. Something about fire, perhaps. Harry was sure of that, although he couldn't imagine how exactly the church sermons he heard about connected to that.
However, now, being forced to go...Harry felt horribly nervous. He was sure that going to the church was a bad idea.
Two days later, it was time. It was time to go to church. Harry pressed in close to Tom, trying to take comfort from Tom's solid presence. Tom hummed a little under his breath, admonishing Harry for fidgeting. Harry couldn't help it though. He just felt...worried. Something was going to go wrong. Harry wasn't sure if it was the dampness of the air, the sharp crunch of a twig on the walk there, or the unnatural heat of the day that made him think so, but something was off.
Of course, Tom called him silly and superstitious and proceeded to drag Harry forward. "We'll just get it over with," Tom said, voice filled with obviously false cheer.
"I don't want to go," Harry said, clenching his fists when he heard the collective group of orphans stop around them. "Are we there yet?"
"Yes," Tom said. "We're here. The church isn't very large. Lots of sharp angles and lines. There are some oval windows that have colored glass in them. They're dark right now; no idea what picture is on them. It's a golden color brick and it has one really large spire that's shaped like the tip of a needle."
Harry tilted his head, imagining it in his head. Tom had given him a description before Harry thought to ask for one.
"Large wooden doors. A few steps to go up. And...oh," Tom said, shifting next to Harry. "It's time to go in."
Harry sighed, looking fearfully in the direction of the church. He could see no magic there. He wasn't sure if that was a consolation or something else.
"You have to admit, it'd be interesting to listen to what they have to say," Tom said. Harry huffed at him, ignoring Tom's attempts to change Harry's mind. Harry trusted his gut feeling. Tom could talk all he bloody liked.
Tom started moving forward, Harry jumping forward to fall into step beside him, shoulders brushing. When Tom moved slightly away, Harry followed, endeavoring to mimic Tom's movements. Following this system, Harry followed Tom to the pews. The small church was packed with people, Harry almost tripping on several peoples' legs and definitely crashing into at least two people. Harry distractedly muttered apologies, turning sideways as he saw Tom choose a place to sit. Harry sat down next to him, breathing in deeply.
The air tasted strange. There was some sort of aura to it; a feeling of otherworldliness. It felt ancient and new at the same time, a strange juxtaposition of old and cold, stone new. Harry leaned into Tom again, shivering slightly. Even though Harry was wearing his coat, something about this place seemed to chill him to his very bones; something quietly whispering that he was in danger here.
Tom seemed unaffected, which was rather strange. Tom normally despised the cold. Harry lifted his head as he heard people's voices die away. Then, mass began. Harry floated mentally, somewhat listening but mostly drifting. He felt too uncomfortable in there; his paranoia only worsened by the minute, for some unfathomable reason. The air felt dry on his skin. The voices echoed hollowly around the walls, giving the impression that they were in a vast space, although Harry knew it was not much bigger inside than the orphanage.
Harry felt Tom inhale sharply in irritation, Tom's hand falling on Harry's knee and squeezing a little strongly. Tom must have noticed that I wasn't paying attention, Harry thought. Harry tried to relax and pay attention, but he felt nothing but vague irritation and discomfort. When it ended, Harry burst to his feet, stumbling through the crowd to make it outside. When he slipped out the doors, he stood in front of the church, feeling the humid air that had been suspiciously absent in the chuch. He breathed it in, letting the cloying mugginess of London's street fall on his tongue and wash away the taste of places he must be forbidden to be in.
Tom walked up behind Harry, his step a little hesitant. "Harry?" Tom asked. "That wasn't so bad, was it?"
Harry didn't turn, still breathing as deeply as he could manage. "I don't know, Tom," Harry finally said. "I just feel...unwelcome. At first I thought it was the stories I remember from when I was little, but it felt different. It was almost as if the church was telling me to go away."
"It's a church," Tom said. "A building."
"I know!" Harry said, sighing sharply and pivoting on one foot to begin to follow Mrs. Cole's sharp voice back. "I still can't forget it."
March 11, 1934
Tom sighed, sprawling a little on the pew. It was a bit uncomfortable, being made of rougher-hewn wood than the others. The previous pew had cracked during a sudden freeze, so a hasty replacement had been made. Tom and Harry were one of the last to file in that day, so they were stuck sitting in it with Alyssa. Well, Tom thought, at least someone's rather pleased with the developments. Tom peeked at Harry, who was carrying on a furiously whispered conversation with Alyssa while trying to appear as if he was looking forward.
Harry still persisted in keeping up his friendship with Alyssa. Tom sighed quietly. She was just so dull. Tom tried to focus on the words of the sermon, but he found that it once again was some sort of drivel about always being good. Although the words sounded pretty, Tom found himself strongly disagreeing. It wasn't exactly possible for most people to be good. The world had no room for people who were good; everyone just always took what they needed. Someone good wouldn't survive.
Tom belonged firmly in the latter category, but he was still unsure of where Harry lay. Harry sometimes came up with the most devious ideas for implicating their classmates or stealing something, but he sometimes spoke up and stopped Tom for lesser matters. Tom had tried to explain to Harry that always trying to be good was never going to end well, but Harry had only looked pensive and didn't respond.
Tom wished very, very strongly that Harry stopped being good and focused on himself. He wasn't sure what he would do if Harry got hurt.
Oh, the sermon had changed tone. Now it was lecturing on demons or something silly like that. As if angels and demons actually existed! It sounded too fantastical; like a story meant to attract people's attention. Tom thought that perhaps people took it too literally. Tom mentally entertained himself with silly images of demons throwing people he disliked off of the third floor window of his and Harry's bedrooms for the rest of the service.
There was a quiet susurrus as people stood up, clothes rustling. It must be over, Tom thought. And good riddance, giving a particularly sharp look to Alyssa. She didn't notice it, however, which made Tom fight down the urge to sniff a little. He'd practiced the look in the mirror for purposes such as these...not that he would ever admit it.
"Let's go," Tom said, grabbing onto Harry's arm and determinedly pulling him away from Alyssa.
"Fine," Harry grumbled, manuevering until he was walking beside Tom, poking his side. "I thought you stopped hating Alyssa," Harry whined.
"I did," Tom said, making his voice sound as if he was hurt that Harry didn't believe him. "I just strongly dislike her."
"That's not very different," Harry sighed, smiling crookedly.
A familiar, sharp voice rang out behind them. "Tom! Harry! Over here, please."
Tom looked around, seeing Mrs. Cole standing suspiciously on the other side of the church. Next to her was the priest...Father Something. What did she want? Tom didn't trust her.
Harry looked at him, face nervous. The taste of magic in the air soured a little, making Tom wrinkle his nose slightly. Tom hated the smell of Harry feeling unconfident. Tom smiled reassuringly, seeing Harry relax slightly. Harry then took the initiative, stepping forward and pulling Tom half a step after him.
They walked across the whole of the church, feet echoing loudly off of the stone floor. The church was already empty, all attendees probably grouped outside and enjoying conversation. The length of the church seemed irrationally long, although Tom knew that was just because he was feeling a little nervous himself.
Tom and Harry stopped a few feet away from Mrs. Cole and the priest, who was looking at them curiously. Tom stared right back at the priest's pale eyes, barely visible among the wrinkles of his face which seemed determined to succumb to gravity and cover his eyes completely.
"Tom and Harry, correct?" the priest asked. Tom mentally scoffed at the question. Obviously they were; Mrs. Cole had called them by name earlier, after all. He stayed quiet, raising an eyebrow at the priest.
"You can call me Father Henry."
Tom stared at Father Henry in silence. Next to him, Harry was determinedly looking away from everyone, something that made Mrs. Cole, standing next to the priest, grit her teeth. The awkward silence continued for a fantastic thirty seconds before Mrs. Cole broke it.
"Have you forgotten your manners?" Mrs. Cole said, face tense as if it had been a Herculean effort to speak without expletives in front of the priest.
"I had nothing to say," Tom said. Next to him, Harry piped up, "Neither did I."
"Aren't you even a little bit curious why we have called you here?" Father Henry asked kindly, staring at them with a small smile on his face.
"No," Tom said, face sullen. He didn't feel like playing along with this farce of a conversation, whatever it may be.
"Well," Father Henry said, "I'll tell you. In confession, I heard a very strange story."
Tom stared at the priest, fighting the urge to allow his mouth to fall open in shock. The priest was blatantly talking about what had been told to him in secret? That was a low move. Harry seemed to agree, narrowing his eyes as if he could hurt someone with his stare.
"I thought that confession was private," Harry said, voice quiet from what Tom could tell was suppressed irritation, lacing the air with a sharp, astringent taste.
"I was worried about what I heard," Father Henry said, brushing their statements off. "I will not be mentioning names, but I heard a few stories about some strange incidents involving you too that I wanted to ask you about. Is there anything you would like to tell me?"
Tom raised an eyebrow, forcing a mask of nonchalance into his face. He could feel his heart beginning to pound loudly in his chest. It couldn't be that; that priest couldn't have found out about their magic, could he? Tom racked his brain for anything else that the priest could be alluding to, but nothing came up. The taste of ocean on a metal blade slipped over his senses, mixing with the acerbic ice already present. It wasn't a comforting feeling.
"There's nothing, sir," Harry said. "We have no idea what you're talking about. I do have one thing to say though; yesterday Billy tried to push me down the stairs. Are you going to confront Billy about that too?"
Father Henry's lips narrowed. "There must be something," he said.
"There is," Mrs. Cole said. "I told you."
"I don't know what you're looking for," Tom said. "So obviously, whatever you want to hear will not be coming from us." Tom looked directly at Mrs. Cole. "May we go now?"
Mrs. Cole raised her eyes to the vaulted ceiling, sighing. "Go."
Tom didn't need to hear her twice. He grabbed onto Harry's arm, which was already reaching for him, and turned on his heel, striding past the pews.
"Too fast," Harry whispered, slowing down. "We look suspicious."
"I don't think anything we do would change their ideas," Tom hissed but he complied, slowing down to a more leisurely pace that felt uncomfortable given the situation.
"We can try," Harry said, glowing green eyes examining Tom's face. "Let's hope that they'll forget."
"Unlikely," Tom said, "but hope isn't enough. No magic for the next few days, alright?"
"I know what you mean," Harry said. "I'm getting a bad feeling about this; worse than when I first walked into the church. Whatever it is...I think it's a warning."
March 14, 1934
It was a few days later that the worst happened.
It started out fairly innocent. Harry and Tom had been making their way home from school, lagging behind the crowd of other orphans that were clogging the sidewalks thicker than the porridge they'd been suffering the delights of for breakfast lately. The sky was cloudy, releasing a slight chill unto the air. Tom had been bantering with Harry about their self-imposed ban on magic before Harry froze.
"Tom," Harry said, staring straight ahead. Tom surveyed him; Harry's eyes were truly sightless right now, almost glazed.
"Harry?" Tom asked, moving himself until he could stand in front of Harry. Harry wavered from side to side before his knees weakened. Tom's hands shot out, grasping underneath Harry's arms to keep him up.
"Harry?" Tom repeated, awkwardly trying to manoevre Harry toward a bench he could see several meters away. "Are you okay? Answer me?"
Harry did not answer. Tom started cursing under his breath with the foulest swears that he had heard some of the older orphans employ when they were sharing a stolen bottle of gin in the first floor room that Tom and Harry practiced in. With a great heave, Tom managed to drop Harry onto the bench. A heavy weight released, Tom windmilled his arms but it proved inadequate, falling in a rather undignified way onto the ground. Tom looked up at Harry. Normally Harry got a kick out of Tom messing up, but Harry was still staring forward at something Tom could not see, eyes flicking wildly.
Just to be sure, Tom looked around in the direction of Harry's gaze. Perhaps there was someone magical about, although Tom could not think of a reason that Harry would grow practically comatose upon seeing anyone.
Tom stood up, brushing the dust off of his hands before grabbing at Harry's body and shoving it slightly to one side. Tom then plopped down next to him, rubbing at a sudden ache that appeared in his lower back.
"Harry?" Tom asked, waving his free hand in front of Harry's face. "Seriously, Harry. You're scaring me."
Even that admission did nothing.
Tom leaned into the curve of the bench, hissing a little when the cold metal began leeching the heat out from his skin even through the barrier of Tom's uniform. Tom wiggled around a little bit, eyes never leaving Harry. Something strange was going on, something that had started when Harry decreed the church feeling unsafe. That was when Harry started feeling things that Tom had not even a tiny whisper of.
Harry's face was expressionless, his slightly glowing green eyes glassy as they darted around like brilliant dragonflies. Tom leaned slightly in front of Harry's eyes. Would he perhaps see anything in them to tell him what was going on? No, the green eyes looked just as they always did, emitting a faint glow that Muggles simply passed off as extremely vibrant green eyes. Tom had mentioned it once to Harry, who had simply said that his eyes were where the spell had struck him. They were unfocused, staring blankly -
Harry's eyes widened and he shot forward in his seat, yelping.
Danger, danger.
Harry started. That vague feeling of nervousness and doom that was pervasive whenever Harry was in the church was back, stronger than ever before.
Danger, danger, young one.
What danger? Harry thought, slowing to a stop. Before his eyes, something pale blue materialized. It looked like the thinnest strands of magic that Harry had ever seen, woven in a complex pattern that Harry could not even begin to decipher. Harry started looking at it, tracing his eyes down the faint never-there coils and threads that seemed to create a complicated, three-dimensional work of art. Eyes following it to the very edges, Harry noticed thin strands of blue heading off into the distance. His eyes could not follow them very far before the blue threads became too thin with distance to see, but Harry could see that they were crisscrossing the London streets around them with a slight, magical net of sorts, broken up occasionally by a complex spiral shape that seemed to glow.
Danger, danger, young one, the feeling - the enchantment - seemed to say. They are looking for you.
Who was looking for him? Harry wondered. The only person who cared about him in any respects was Tom and he was always nearby.
Looking for both of you.
Oh, Harry thought. This is new. What had they done...was it the priest? Harry's memory flashed back to the silk, coaxing voice of the priest that had seemed to be layered with a thin layer, much like this blue magic, of venom.
Yes, the enchantment seemed to say. Danger, danger. Hide.
Where to hide? Harry thought, looking deep into the blue tangle right in front of him.
Nowhere, the voice said. Too late now. Sorry. I am old. Would have warned sooner if I could.
The blue tangle of magic seemed to shimmer before it began to fade out of Harry's vision, as if seeing it was a choice of the sentient enchantment. Harry jerked forward, eyes wide, as the blue shimmered out of sight.
"Harry!" Tom's voice said, layered with panic. Harry turned to look at him, mentally sighing with relief that he still saw Tom's magic with the familiar level of clarity. In fact, it seemed as if he could see just a little bit more of the details.
"Are you okay?" Tom asked, grabbing onto Harry's face and looking at him. "What happened?"
Harry opened his mouth, wondering how to explain. "It was...it was magic, really old magic, Tom! It was that feeling I had been getting earlier."
"Magic?" Tom asked. "How come you didn't see it before?"
"I don't know," Harry said, hands shaking. "It wasn't normal magic - it was alive, it talked to me - and it chose to hide itself and Tom, it said that we're in danger."
"What do you mean?" Tom asked, whipping his head so quickly to the side that Harry could hear his neck creak.
"It said that we're in danger and that it was sorry and that it's too late," Harry said, leaping to his feet, Tom's hands falling away.
"Maybe we can still run," Tom said, looking at Harry.
"We can try," Harry said, despite knowing that no matter how hard they tried, things were not going to turn out well for them at all, if that enchantment was to be believed.
Tom grabbed onto Harry's wrist and they were off, Tom darting from side to side as he wove through the foot traffic. Harry shadowed him as best as he could, leaping sideways where Tom had contorted his body to the side. It was a frantic attempt at an escape, not planned in the slightest, for how could they escape when they did not yet know their enemy or even their enemy's location? Just their goal.
Harry's breath came fast and hurried. In front of him, Tom was starting to flag, slowing down before hunching over. "My side," Tom croaked, moving backwards into an alley. Harry followed, standing nervously on the balls of his feet as Tom fought to catch his breath.
"The feeling's still there," Harry said conversationally.
"Is it, now?" Tom asked, punctuating each word with a deep inhale or exhale.
"Yes," Harry said, looking out of the alley into the everpresent darkness. "It's still there."
It was an hour later that they were stopped by Mrs. Cole out in the streets, who gave them strict orders to follow her. Harry had gasped when the feeling of doom intensified.
Both he and Tom knew that there was no getting out of whatever the situation was if Mrs. Cole was in on it; she was the matron of the orphanage, after all. Unless they decided to become vagrant, homeless youths, living in old deserted buildings and struggling to find a meal every day, they were stuck with whatever Mrs. Cole was planning.
At first, the few turns that Mrs. Cole was making didn't make sense. Harry had a pretty decent mental map of the area immediately around the orphanage, extended on one side to include their route to their school. The turns they were making were leading them away from the orphanage, though.
A few turns later, Harry understood. It had been obvious. The enchantment - the feeling of doom - was the one who had warned him. It would only be natural for them to be heading to the church where Harry first felt the strange magic unknowingly.
When they turned onto the street that the small church was on, Harry saw Tom stiffen with realization, his magic swirling momentarily in shock.
"Come along, now," Mrs. Cole said, gripping onto Tom's collar and yanking him forward.
"Coming," Tom said. Harry knew that Tom's look of fear was mirrored on his own face, much like their magic almost mirrored each other in appearance now.
They walked up to the church, Harry feeling the enchantment pulse.
I'm sorry.
It's okay, Harry thought. I didn't understand what you were trying to tell me earlier.
Sorry. Maybe in future you could help.
How? Harry wanted to ask, but something told him that the enchantment would not reply.
Harry felt Tom's hand grip his with terrible pressure, fingers digging into Harry's skin. Harry winced a little bit but gripped back just the same. They walked into the church after Mrs. Cole, who paused after taking a few steps forward. She turned to face them, face blank.
"Follow me," Mrs. Cole said in a voice that left no room for debate. With that, she turned and continued walking down the aisle between the pews, shoes clicking against the stone and ringing in hollow tones throughout the church.
Harry and Tom followed. The walk was taking too long, though, Harry thought. It wasn't making sense; they must have reached the altar by now. But yet, they were still walking. Harry made a soft sound of inquiry to which Tom responded, whispering into Harry's ear, "Back room."
Harry gave an imperceptible nod. Ahead of him, the click of Mrs. Cole's shoes changed, becoming sharper and ringing less. The stone in the back room must be different, Harry thought.
"Hello, boys!" Father Henry's voice rang out into the silence. "I'm so glad that you could join us today."
Harry didn't respond, knowing that Tom did not want to cater to societal niceties as well. Father Henry make a tsk-ing noise, sounding rather affronted.
"Well, that's not polite, boys!"
"It isn't," Mrs. Cole said. "I tried to teach them; teach them like all the other orphans to become good members of society...you know what I mean." Mrs. Cole's voice broke at the last statement. Harry heard the swish of a skirt and then Mrs. Cole walked out of the back room. To Harry's dismay, he heard something that sounded like the click of a lock.
Tom turned and lunged for the door. Harry watched, resigned, as Tom tried to open the door for a few seconds before whirling around with a hiss of anger. The enchantment - the voice - had warned them, after all.
"Why have you locked us in here?" Tom demanded, practically spitting in the direction of Father Henry.
"I know that it is not your fault," Father Henry said. "I will save you both."
"Save us?" Harry asked. "What do you mean by that?"
"To expel the demons corrupting your souls," Father Henry said, voice tremulous. He sounded way too bloody excited about that.
"No!" Harry yelled. "We don't have any demons in our souls! Are you mad?"
"Of course you do, children," Father Henry said. "They're taking over. Mrs. Cole told me all about how you too are too smart for your age and how you don't act like the others and the strange things that have occurred near you. Come over here and lie down; it'll be easier. I'll fix you."
"No!" Harry said, stumbling back until he hit the wall.
"We are not broken," Tom said, trembling. "Just because we're not like the others-"
"Not like the others?" Father Henry laughed. "Billy has told me all about the strange things that happen around you. Come, I know how to get rid of the demons."
Harry flinched as Tom lurched forward, his shirt yanked up by the collar. "Let go of him!" Harry cried, running in the direction he heard the priest's voice last. "Let go!"
"Calm down," Father Henry said. "It's not your fault; it won't hurt. It'll be painless."
Harry slammed into Father Henry, who staggered under Harry's weight before righting himself. The priest felt oddly soft to Harry, body crumpling part of the way before Harry's momentum was stopped. The priest jerked and Harry watched with wide eyes as Tom was flung down onto the ground.
"Stay down," Father Henry coaxed. Tom was struggling underneath hands that Harry could not see. To Harry's dismay, there was some sort of rope or some chains...
Harry jumped onto Father Henry's back, beating him on the shoulders and on the neck with alternating hands. "Stop!" Harry cried, putting every little droplet of fear and anger and despair into his hits.
Father Henry shifted underneath him and Harry lost his balance, falling sideways to the ground. He landed on his side, the breath knocked out of him instantly. Before Harry could wriggle to the side and stand up, something scratchy rubbed against his wrist and Harry lashed out with his other hand. To Harry's satisfaction, it seemed to hit Father Henry in the eye, although it ended up making his hand hurt. "Good one, Harry!" Tom said from somewhere to his left.
"Blasted demons," Father Henry swore, shoving at Harry. Harry flopped around and tried to get up but before he could make and significant movements, his other wrist was also trapped underneath rope and Harry found that it was hard to breathe through his panic.
Harry heard the telltale signs of Father Henry straightening. "Now that you both are subdued, I must enquire: what are your names?"
"My name is Harry!" Harry shouted, voice cracking. "And that's Tom. Why are you doing this?"
"Your names," Father Henry repeated. "Your real names."
"My name is Harry!"
"Real names."
"Harry and Tom!"
Father Henry sighed. "I guess we will have to go about this the long way."
Harry heard the priest's steps draw away to the side followed by a series of loud clinks. Harry tried to wriggle out from the ropes holding his wrists down but they only burned fiercer than ever.
"Tom, what does he want?" Harry whispered. If he turned his head to the side, he could see Tom. And Tom looked awful; his face was stricken and he was shaking terribly.
"He thinks we're demons," Tom said. "And he's going to try to get rid of them."
"We're not demons though," Harry said. "Would...would it do anything?"
"That's what I'm afraid of," Tom replied. "What if...our magic?"
Harry's blood ran cold. His magic, chaotic before, suddenly narrowed as if it had a purpose. Harry instantly felt a chill race through the air and through the stone at his back. Please do something, Harry begged his magic as if it could hear him. I don't want to lose you or Tom.
His magic did not reply.
"Finished," Father Henry said, limping over to them both. "How naughty of you to play with the temperature."
Harry didn't even have the heart to reply.
"Time for holy water," Father Henry said before Harry heard a pop and a clink. Then, something wet was on Harry and something heavy was placed on his chest and time seemed to have lost all meaning as an even voice droned on an on about demons and angels and saving people and asking them their name.
Harry kept his eyes open and trained on Tom, who was also watching him. How unfair this situation was. They were only seven; Tom was only seven, Harry amended. How could this priest think they were demons? Mrs. Cole too?
Was it really so hard to believe that he was his own person? He wasn't that different from other boys his age, Harry thought to himself, denying a little voice in his head that whispered, but you are different. Better, like Tom said.
And now he might lose his magic...Harry focused back on Tom and then froze in his endless struggling as Tom's magic, unfocused before, exploded outward in a storm of lines.
A few strands of magic, lance-straight and burning, hit Harry, who jerked as a warm feeling began to dance in his veins. Harry dimly heard the sound of cracking stone and breaking glass and a shout of pain before he became aware that his hands were suddenly free.
"Tom?" Harry whispered, looking at Tom. Tom was prone on the ground, unmoving.
"Tom!" Harry cried, skidding on the ground and shards of glass and stone as scrambled to stand up. Ignoring the sharp pain, Harry teetered to his feet, feeling weak and shaky. He walked over to Tom with hesitant steps, crouching down next to him and reaching out a burning hand.
"Tom?" Harry asked, eyes roving over Tom in search of damage. Tom looked like he was perfectly fine, albiet a tiny bit dimmer in color. Harry's hand touched Tom's shoulder before touching his face. "Tom?"
Harry heard a groan. "Tom?" he questioned before he heard a sliding sound behind him. Harry froze, staring straight ahead. Not Father Henry...no. Absolutely not. Tom was not responding, there was an explosion, something was wrong and the enchantment had warned them; it seemed as if something deep inside Harry had decided to open and Harry felt ice flow through him and jerk him out of his frozen state. Harry whirled around, swallowing heavily because Tom was not responding and everything was wrong and now Father Henry was going to get up and do something and that was not okay.
"Stop," Harry said.
"I was right," Father Henry breathed. "He was stronger than expected. I suspected you more, you know, no matter what Mrs. Cole said...it turns out it was Tom all along."
"Stop talking," Harry said.
"I'm not done, no," Father Henry said, taking a step forward with a large crunch. Harry bent his knees and glared in Father Henry's direction.
"I'm warning you," Harry said, hands forming into fists, no matter how much they ached. "Don't get near us."
The priest took another step, breathing loud, and Harry felt the thing that just opened snap. In a flash, Harry had taken several steps forward and moved his arm and something heavy crashed into the far wall. Harry stalked forward, noticing as if from a distance the hot burn of salt and water and blood on his face.
"I said, stop," Harry spat, noticing that his magic was swirling like knives in the air. "Never come near me and Tom again."
"But -"
"Never," Harry said. "I'll kill you if you do. If you tell anyone."
Harry was mildly surprised at the vehemence with which he said that. He did not question it too much though because the situation was horrible. The priest deserved the threat for trying to take their magic away and hurting Tom...Tom!
Harry grabbed onto one of the knives of his magic and flung it at the priest before running back to Tom. He carefully placed his hands on Tom's shoulders again and shook him. "Please wake up," Harry said. "I can't lose you."
Tom jerked and gave a few shaky inhales and something in Harry's chest eased. "You're okay," Harry said and lurched forward, wrapping his arms as tightly around Tom as they could go and burying his face in Tom's neck where his tears began to slip down Tom's neck.
"Yes, I am," Tom said and Harry's limbs turned to jelly as he clung on to Tom and willed his heart to slow down and for time to reverse and for time to take them back a little while so they could prevent getting caught and everything bad happening after that moment.
Tom's mind felt muddled. It was as if he had a fever or something which was impossible because Tom did not get sick with simple things like the common cold. It was something that had always set him apart from the other orphans, at least before Harry came. Not sick; not weak.
His body ached all over but Tom could not bring himself to ask Harry to let go. Harry's burning hot tears, such a contrast to his icy skin, rolled lazily down Tom's neck as he breathed deeply and tried to keep the trembling from his limbs.
Tom surveyed the back room where the priest had tried to exorcise them. It looked remarkably plain, filled with a table covered in vials, a few chairs, and the remains of the glass that had surely once been in the window. The final part of the image was Father Henry, who lay against the wall, still and bleeding from his mouth. The air also reeked of burning and charcoal and something that only brought to mind the thunderstorms that Harry spent sitting by the window and counting the time between each lightning strike.
Tom stilled. What happened? He racked his brains for anything that could serve as a clue but it all evaded him. He remembered... he remembered fear and despair and anger and Harry and then there was pain and then everything went dark... until he could hear Harry's voice filtering through the blackness of his unconscious and flooding everything with a warm, familiar light.
"Harry," Tom asked, "what happened?"
Harry's sniffles quieted. "I'm not sure," Harry said. "It was scary and I didn't know what to do and then you literally exploded with spears of magic and things started to break and then you fell and-and I tried to wake you up but you weren't waking up and then Father Henry stood up...and then I don't know what happened but I tried to wake you up again but you wouldn't! You wouldn't," Harry said, trailing off.
"I'm awake now," Tom said.
"Yes," Harry agreed. "You are."
They sat together for a few more minutes until Harry's breathing slowed down and Tom could remember how to move. Tom then took his hands and gently pushed Harry away a little so that he could stand up. His feet were shaky but Tom managed to stay up, perhaps using Harry's shoulders to push against.
"We need to do something," Tom said, scanning the room again. "What are we going to do about Mrs. Cole?"
"Mrs. Cole?" Harry asked, eyes flashing wide. "I think Father Henry's who we need to be worried about."
Tom gave the motionless, blood-covered form of Father Henry a look. "No," Tom said. "I don't think he's going to be a problem anymore."
"What do you mean?" Harry asked but Tom ignored the question, pulling Harry up and helping him stand.
"We need to fix this mess," Tom said. "There's stone and glass everywhere."
"Whose fault is that?" Harry snarked and Tom flicked him in the shoulder. "Shut up. We need to fix this."
"I'm not very good with fixing things," Harry said, staring at his hands.
"That's okay," Tom said. "You'll get it eventually."
Harry had a bad habit of destroying the things that he wanted to fix. He always said that the magic got a little bit too slippery and he lost the pattern he was trying to weave. The ways that it backfired were very interesting and occasionally rather beautiful. Tom was therefore delegated to the fine task of putting together things that ordinary Muggles would have simply trashed; they could not afford to be wasteful like that.
Tom examined a particularly large crack in the wall, feeling for his magic lurking underneath his skin. As he grabbed a mental hold of it, his senses bloomed with the sea and he calmed, not realizing how tense he was before. He willed it forward to fix the rock, to make it as it used to be, to put together the pieces and make everything right. Make everything right however it could, because if what Tom suspected was true, Father Henry would not be easily fixed.
The magic danced out of him, perhaps a little sluggish compared to its usual frolic, and before Tom's eyes the rock reassembled as tiny chunks whizzed around his form and pressed themselves into the space. Eventually, a thin cloud of dust flew by Tom's nose, making it itch, before shoving itself into the hairline cracks and the wall was whole once more...if only in that particular section.
Tom sighed. Whatever his magic had done, it had created the need for a ridiculous amount of cleanup. Tom moved forward to the next section of wall and the process repeated, slowing slightly as Tom began to feel strain from the mental gymnastics he was pushing himself through. At one point, Harry had leaned against his side and Tom relaxed onto him, his shaky feet never quite having gained their stability.
At last, Tom found himself standing right before Father Henry. It seemed as if gravity had won the battle against his skin, a sliver of his eyes peeking out from between the folds of skin on his face. He was ashen pale and covered in small cuts - probably from whatever I did, Tom thought - and a lot of blood, particularly in the center of his chest. Tom leaned in a little closer, trying to see what exactly happened there. As he drew closer, he got a whiff of ice so cold that the inside of his nose began to sting.
The sight was rather strange, Tom thought. It looked as if something spinning had just carved its way through his skin. It looked a bit like a sunburst, actually. However, this meant that Father Henry was indisposed permanently, so something had to be done so that the police and wouldn't take them away and so that Mrs. Cole would never have anything more than suspicions.
"Harry," Tom said, "Father Henry's dead."
"What?" Harry asked, burning eyes staring deep into Tom's. "Are you-you serious?"
"Yes," Tom said. There was no point in hiding the truth. It would always come out. "Harry...it was your magic."
"Oh?" Harry asked, swaying side to side. Tom grabbed onto him just in time as Harry's knees gave out.
"It's okay," Tom said. "Calm down."
"No it's not!" Harry said. "It's definitely not okay. I killed someone!"
"Because he was trying to hurt us," Tom reminded.
"But...but still!"
"I'm not saying that we should celebrate," Tom said, "but it makes sense why it happened. Just calm down. We need to figure out a way to fix this."
"Fix this?" Harry said. "He's dead. Dead. Gone. Away in Heaven or wherever people go when they die. He won't talk again or smile or laugh."
"He won't try to take our magic again!" Tom hissed. "It was an accident but we can mourn him later. What are we going to do?"
"It was an accident," Harry repeated with a far-off look in his eyes. "What...what does he look like?"
"You don't need to know," Tom said. That was a detail that Harry could not handle; not yet. "I'll tell you later. We have to act like it was an accident."
"An accident caused by what, Tom?" Harry asked. "Two wizards who were in the middle of being exorcised?"
Tom stroked his thumb against Harry's shirt as he thought. "I have an idea."
Mrs. Cole was getting worried. Father Henry assurred her that everything was going to go smoothly and that it wouldn't take more than an hour to exorcise the demons from those boys. Those nasty, blasted boys with their strange intelligence and unnatural incidents. He told her to ignore any sounds and crying, but something was nagging at Mrs. Cole.
When the first explosion happened, she had jerked in her pew, broken out of her half-hearted prayer, but kept sitting and ignoring the happenings from the back room.
The second, smaller explosion had been accompanied by a small, indistinct yell but before all too long silence echoed through the church like a tangible force. Mrs. Cole had stood up half a dozen times and paced in front of her pew, debating on whether it was worth it to interrupt something that must be a delicate procedure. The previous explosions had made her wary; perhaps the demons in the boys were stronger than Father Henry had thought.
The light had shifted in its dance through the church as sunset approached. The shadows creeped longer and longer across the stone floors. When Mrs. Cole heard frantic cries for help coming from the back room, she could not hold herself back any longer. She flew from her pew and skidded to a stop in front of the back room, her heels screeching.
"Father Henry?" she called.
"Something's wrong!" Harry's voice called through the door. "Please! You're an adult!"
"He's not moving!" Tom's shouted. His normally smooth voice sounded cracked and desperate.
Not giving herself time to think, Mrs. Cole forced the door open and locked her eyes on the two frantic boys, who looked alright. She then flashed her gaze toward Father Henry and her heart stopped cold.
"Father Henry?" she said, running over to him and kneeling down. "Oh my god! What happened?"
"It was this," Tom said with a whisper. Mrs. Cole looked back at him and the bloody dagger in his hand. "The demons...they didn't want to leave without revenge."
"They went into him," Harry said, eyes wide. "And then he grabbed the dagger and tried to kill Tom!"
Tom nodded and Mrs. Cole noticed how shaky Tom seemed on his feet. "But...but he stabbed himself instead. I think he was fighting for control."
Mrs. Cole's eyes glazed over with tears and she shuddered. "Oh, boys, come here."
They complied, running over to Mrs. Cole and burying themselves in her skirts. She stared straight ahead, uncomprehending.
Before Tom had run over, she had seen a satisfied glint in his eyes.
Warnings for this chapter include: slight anti-religious themes, attempted exorcism, slight gore, violence, death
Notes: This chapter required a ridiculous amount of research. I found that the Protestant church does not have a specific protocol for exorcisms like the Catholic one does. Often, victims are restrained and the names of their demons are guessed. There is holy water involved and crucifixes are placed on the victims. Interestingly enough, the victims are not blamed but treated more like patients suffering from a mind-altering disease, from what I have found. I most likely have a lot of inaccuracies, but I did my best. While researching modern exorcisms is not difficult, Protestant ones in 1930s England was a bit hard.
This chapter was a doozy. I wanted to get the whole situation, beginning to end, in one chapter. It ended up much longer than I expected. I'm rather proud of it; I researched a bit of writing advice so the latter half of the chapter might be in a slightly different style than the rest. Let me know if you guys like it, alright?
I know you guys know I have an Ao3 account, but I just recently got a Tumblr for my fanfiction, so come and check it out! It's under the same name as my penname.
