April 9, 1934

Harry sprawled out on the grass, spread-eagled, smiling as he enjoyed the heat of the sun. Next to him, Tom was also a mess of limbs, magic moving slow like molasses. It was a nice, warm day and school was over for the day and Dennis was sick and therefore not bothering them.

It was perfect, Harry mused as he slid his arms side to side in the grass. The grass provided a wonderful cool contrast to the heat. He could hear the sounds of other children playing in the distance and the low murmur of adult conversations out of his hearing range. They were all far away, though, so Harry let their noise fade away until he was just in a bubble of silence that enclosed both him and Tom.

There was a slight rustle next to Harry; Tom was moving. "Harry," Tom said. "We need to try again."

"No!" Harry whined. "I've tried to learn for hours!" Harry knew what Tom was going on about. Harry had promised himself not to give in to Tom's whinging; when Tom got fired up he would be pushy and irritating for hours.

Tom swung himself onto his side with a lazy, smooth motion, propping himself up on one elbow as he stared at Harry, smirking. "Come on, Harry! It would be very convenient if you could learn! It's just a language."

"It would be awesome, yeah," Harry said, "but I can't get it! It all sounds the same to me." Harry knew that Tom really did mean well, but it was impossible.

"Try again?" Tom offered. "I'll read anything you want to you later."

"Bribery," Harry muttered, throwing an arm over his eyes. It was a tempting offer. Harry had to suffer through Tom's reading choices all the time. It was hard to convince Tom to stop reading endless books about science just for the sake of a storybook. Harry knew that it was childish of him to prefer the storybooks but there was something about them...the way that it was all planned out so that the good guys always won in the end with supernatural luck that made Harry think magic...it would be nice.

"Of course," Tom said. "How about it?"

"No."

"Please?"

"No."

Harry hissed angrily as Tom poked him in the side. If Tom continued his pestering, Harry would cave, he knew it. "No means no, stupid."

"I don't like the word no," Tom said. "That means that I don't get what I want." Tom stopped before gaining a wicked look in his eye. "I'll...I'll bite you."

"You wouldn't," Harry said, hoping that Tom was only bluffing. To his dismay, he felt hands grab onto his arm and pull it away. Harry sat up and started scooting backwards in a hurry. "Oh, that's so gross, Tom!" Harry exclaimed, trying to yank his arm out of Tom's grasp as he brought it closer and closer to his mouth.

"Say yes."

"No!" Harry said and gave a great yank. Tom lost his grip on Harry's arm but he wasn't willing to give up yet. Harry watched in disbelief as Tom threw himself forward, caught Harry's arm, and bit it before drawing back and flopping onto his side again. Harry flung his arm over his eyes again.

"You're horrible," Harry said, peeking out from underneath his arm for a moment to shoot a weak glare in Tom's direction. Just as he thought. Tom had the most infuriating grin on his face. It was the one that said 'I will wait as long as it takes to change your mind.' More like irritate me out of my mind, Harry thought. He wouldn't let it get to that. He wasn't giving up...he was just bowing to the inevitable. "Okay. Okay. Just this time."

"Just this time," Tom said, smug grin spreading wider until Harry could imagine his face getting stuck that way. Harry sighed again. He always gave in too easily to Tom. He tried not to, but it became something of a habit. He was just so infuriating!

"Ssszzzz," Harry said without much effort. "Was that a word?"

"You didn't even try," Tom said, frowning. Tom poked Harry in the side. "Repeat after me." Harry flung his arm over his face again, resigned.

Tom hissed out something unintelligible, voice lilting in a seemingly random pattern of ups and downs and ups again. Harry pursed his lips as he tried to remember it. It sounded like it went up twice and then down again?

"Sssessaussaassa," Harry forced out, huffing for breath at the end of his attempt. He could never figure out exactly where the words were broken apart so he most often just tried to say it all in one breath. "How was that?"

"It sounded like you said 'hot trees,' although even that's pushing it," Tom said. "That was the closest to thing to actual words that I heard. Try again. That 'eess' sound? Make it go... down and up?"

"Sssessaussaassa," Harry said again. He wasn't sure that this attempt was much better.

"Down and up, Harry."

"Sssyeassaussassa?" Harry said, question lying implicit in his tone. He tried to make the sound fluctuate the way that Tom asked but he felt that he was exaggerating it too much. He probably said something embarrassing.

"No," Tom said, breathing through his nose. Harry peeked out from under his arm and raised his eyebrows at the laughter Tom was holding in. "How about this. I talk and you try to figure out what I'm saying. Remember the words I taught you?"

Harry gave a sheepish grin. "Of course I do." It went something like 'sssss' and 'ssssessaa' and 'sssuess.' Or maybe not. Perhaps they weren't the words that Tom taught him but it was highly likely that they actually were words, right?

"Good," Tom said, voice sounding relieved. Harry bit down the urge to laugh as Tom began talking slowly. It all sounded incomprehensible to Harry, despite his attempts to pick at least anything out of the melodic language. It was odd how it was so sing-songy, being a language comprised mostly out of different hisses. Whenever Harry tried to hiss it always sounded harsh. It was probably because he was always out of breath trying to say it all in one go.

"Did you understand anything?" Tom asked. His eyes fixed on Harry's face, face shining with anticipation.

Harry thought it over. One part sounded somewhat familiar? "Did you say park?"

"Yes!" Tom said, elbow sliding out from underneath him as he collapsed back onto the grass. "This is progress."

"Not much progress," Harry said, "but yes, I guess." This exact scenario had repeated countless times and this was the first time he had guessed right. It wasn't very promising, but it showed that perhaps Harry could learn more.

"Listen some more!" Tom said. "Okay, what can I say..." Tom trailed off and began talking again. Harry turned his head to the side to look directly at Tom. Tom's face was lit with excitement and his brow was furrowed as he concentrated on speaking with slow, cautious words. His magic also belayed his energy, languorously curling around his his body, small tendrils leaving the main network of magic that made up his body to wind in the air.

The dancing of Tom's magic looked rather snakelike, Harry thought. How fitting. Harry looked over Tom's neck, a flash of memory dancing in the front of his mind for a moment. He thought he could remember some magic around Tom's throat the first time he spoke to a snake...to Assa. Harry was hit with a pang of sadness before a thought flickered in his mind. Harry latched onto it quick.

"Hey, Tom?" Harry interrupted, sitting up. "I...I think I have an idea."

"Hm?" Tom said, cutting off his long string of hisses. "What idea?"

"Remember when you started smelling magic?" Harry asked, lowering himself backwards onto his elbows. "It looked like your magic was...opening up or something. I think I remember seeing something like that the first time you spoke to Assa. Maybe I can, I dunno, try to do the same? Somehow?"

Tom hummed, looking off to the side as he thought. "That sounds like a good idea. Do you know how?"

"No," Harry said, laughing. As if they ever really knew exactly what they were doing. "But it's worth a try? Maybe it'll work and you'll stop pestering me about it all the time."

"Yes, that's a good reason to try," Tom said, magic flicking in good humor. "Try saying something while you do it. Repeat after me."

Tom hissed out a short melody and Harry began trying to replicate it, feeling for his magic around his neck. He tried to think of things opening; the identical boxes they all recieved on Christmas being ripped open, the crinkle of the paper as Harry opened a candy. Doors swinging open with a creak, Tom opening his mouth to a low susurrus. Harry felt his magic twitch, as if the idea of opening was something that it could understand.

Harry willed it to open something inside of him, tensing as he thought about snakes and Tom and that feeling of delight Harry recieved when something confusing finally clicked in his mind and became clear. Harry hissed again and Tom hissed back a correction like he had so many times before.

But this time was different. A strand of magic shot from Tom and sliced through Harry's neck, latching onto something and pulling. Harry stilled in shock for a few seconds before gasping as a sharp pain radiated from his neck and throat. Harry hissed again, voice almost breaking.

Tom's eyes were wide as he hissed back again. The second the final hiss left Tom's lips, there was another yank in Harry's throat and pain lanced down again. It burned white hot for a few seconds before Harry felt something deep within him, something in his magic weaken and break free. Harry felt his eyes flutter closed as he jerked.

The pain disappeared as warmth and ice swirled around Harry's neck in soothing waves that heated up in a crescendo before fading away as if they had never been there. Harry slid to the ground, lifting shaky fingers to his neck and touching the sun-heated skin there with a feather-light touch. It didn't feel any different. But...did it work?

It better have worked, Harry thought, trying to calm the waves of hysteria that were tempted to rise up and flood his mind. Tom didn't hurt when he started speaking Parseltongue. Why was he? Did something go wrong? Harry thought back to when Tom started smelling magic. It hurt him then, right? "Tom?" Harry asked.

"Harry? Are you okay?" Tom's worried voice asked. Harry opened his eyes to see Tom's eyes, a chaotic mass of blue and green and gold magic within delicate confines hovering right in front of his face.

"I think so," Harry said, lifting his hand further to rub at his eyes. He felt the slight sting of tears ease.

"Harry...you did it!" Tom said as he plopped on top of Harry and wound his arms around his body, wiggling them underneath Harry's back and squeezing hard enough to make Harry's ribs creak. "You did it! I knew it!"

"L-let go, Tom!" Harry complained. "You hug like a leech."

Tom frowned and let go, disentangling his arms from Harry. "Leeches don't hug."

"I know that, silly," Harry said. "But you still hugged like a leech."

"That doesn't even make sense," Tom said with a hint of reprimand, although Harry could tell that he was too happy to nitpick at the moment. "Now all we have to do is make sure you can tell when you're speaking Parseltongue and so that you can hear the hisses as you say it; it's really rather helpful-"

Harry scrambled to his feet, brushing off the dirt and lurching sideways to grab his cane. "Tom! I thought figuring this out was enough!" Harry started backing away, shaking his head.

"Harry!" Tom said, voice stern. Harry gulped and ran in the other direction, brandishing his cane a little bit like a sword.

"Harry!"

Harry sighed as he realized it wasn't over yet. Not over until Tom finished messing around with everything. Somehow, this didn't feel as much a cheating shortcut as Harry would have expected.

Harry skidded past a stone wall and flung himself into an alleyway, hitting his foot upon a cardboard box. Behind him, there was an angry yell of "Harry!"

May 23, 1934

Tom looked over what Harry had written and winced. His letters were crooked and distorted as if someone had yanked the tops to the left. They also weren't level, instead arching up towards the right until they were in danger of falling off the paper.

"You're getting better," Tom said, "but you're leaning them to the left now."

"Ugh," Harry said, frowning at the scrap paper held in Tom's hands. "I don't like this. It's stupid." He flung himself with a frustrated huff back onto the bed.

"You know you have to," Tom said. "They're not going to let me write for you much longer."

"I know, but complaining about it makes me feel better," Harry muttered. "Let's go outside."

Tom gave Harry a look, arching an eyebrow. "Can we not?" Tom asked. He didn't like climbing onto the roof of the orphanage. He didn't like climbing the walls at all, period. Harry had asked him to extend the holes to the rooftop, which soon became Harry's favorite place to lie around. Tom, though content when actually on the roof with feet propped up against the edge, did not fancy the climb up. It required some awkward manoevering over the edge of the roof that always made Tom feel as if he was about to fall off. Harry, the bugger, always scrambled past that part with a distinct lack of fear that Tom found disturbing.

"Please?" Harry asked, looking at Tom with eyes wide. "The sun will set soon. You can watch it."

Tom sighed, glancing out the window. The sky was turning dusky and the top the roof of the building across from their window was starting to glow a dusky gold. Far below them, he noticed a few other orphans being herded inside by Martha. He sighed. He gave in to Harry's demands too easily.

"Martha will be gone in a minute."

"Awesome," Harry proclaimed, throwing his hands in the air and letting them flop back onto his chest.

"You've been getting better at Parsel'," Tom noted. "It doesn't take you more than half a second to make sure that you're in Parsel' mode."

Harry had finally acquiesced to train his newfound ability (although Harry insisted that it felt like it was always there, just painful to draw out) and now they spoke mostly in Parseltongue when they were alone. Tom wouldn't be averse to utilizing it when around the other orphans for added privacy but Harry refused to, saying that they weren't completely ostracized yet and that he would not encourage it. Tom sighed mentally. There was something about the sound of Parseltongue that Tom liked, much like he had a fondness for flowers and Harry's company. It flowed like water and it was surprisingly soft. Deceptively so. Tom knew that Harry, like him had fangs. Dennis and Father Henry were the (mostly) living proof. He'd like to hear it more.

Mrs. Cole had figured out that something was wrong following what Tom called "The Church Incident." Tom wasn't sure when she became suspicious, but something had changed a few days after The Incident. Most of the orphans that Harry had been on amiable terms with declined to speak with him more than was strictly necessary. Harry thought that Mrs. Cole was trying to keep everyone away. Tom wasn't too bothered by it - as if anyone other than Alyssa ever really tried to hang around them - but Harry was a little put down. This led to him refusing to speak Parseltongue within earshot of people.

Tom was sure that he would be able to convince Harry in time. Harry didn't need all those other orphans; they would go to Hogwarts eventually and would make magical friends. These muggles were unnecessary; Tom would be enough for now.

"Yeah, I don't need to think about snakes anymore," Harry said. He had confessed to Tom that he was having trouble pulling up the thought of snakes to trigger the language, so Tom had went out one early morning without giving Harry his customary wake-up call and brought back a snake so that Harry could have fresh tactile memories. They'd both been working on summoning the language until it came out as naturally as English did for a month now.

"Good," Tom said. He couldn't resist teasing ,"But I figured how to do that a week ago. You're slipping, Harry!" A tiny nagging voice in Tom's head said, 'you do remember that you found out about Parsel' months before Harry, right?' Tom glared at the mental voice and ignored it.

Harry scowled. "Who still can't cast warming magic on themselves, huh?"

Tom bit his lip, worrying it a little between his teeth. "I understand the lessons at school faster."

"You actually see what's on the board. All I hear is 'Look here!'"

Tom slipped the scrap of paper into their wardrobe and sat down next to Harry. It was time to get this conversation out of dangerous territory. "I'm better at tickle-fights."

"Lies," Harry said, sitting up with a grin suddenly plastered on his face. Before Tom could move away, Harry's fingers had found their way into the indents between Tom's ribs and Tom's thoughts lost clarity as he yelped and fell over onto the bed.

"Stop," Tom whined, swatting at Harry's hands. He was sure that he was making a marvelous impression of a dying worm with all the wriggling he was doing. "Martha's probably gone now."

Harry froze for half a second before leaping off the bed, grabbing at Tom's hands. "Check the window, come on!"

Tom sighed and stood up, trying to calm his uneven breathing. He walked over to the window and was cheered by the sight of an empty courtyard. That meant that there wasn't anyone who could see them. The building facing the orphanage was deserted as far as Tom could tell, so the chances of someone seeing them weren't very high.

"She's gone," Tom said. Harry raced over to the window and opened it, leaning on the windowsill on his stomach and wriggling through. Tom held his breath as he always did. Harry shuffled around and grinned at Tom, lifting his hands away from the windowsill. Tom's heart caught in its chest and he frowned at Harry. "Stop doing that. One day you'll actually fall doing that."

"I'm not worried," Harry said. "When I ran away I jumped out of a really high window and my magic carried me down."

"How do you know it'll do it twice?" Tom asked but by that time, all that was visible of Harry was a small portion of his shoe in the top right corner of the window. Tom closed his eyes and clenched his fists before moving to the window. He laid himself down on his stomach and threw one leg over, keeping his eyes away from the ground with fanatic concentration. He threw the other over and slowly lowered his body down the wall, his feet slipping into familiar uneven footholes. He looked up at the edge of the roof and began climbing. He could see Harry's feet poking over the edge.

The wall was gritty and rough on Tom's hands as he clutched the edges of his handholds. He took several small breaks along the way, pressing his whole body to the wall to take a short break. They'd been doing this for months but Tom's body still tended to be uncooperative when climbing. Tom was not sure how he managed to get up the first time.

A few minutes later or perhaps a few years, Tom slumped next to Harry on the west-facing side of the roof, sticking his feet against the edge of the roof and laying his head down on the roof tiles.

"What does the sunset look like?" Harry asked, voice so quiet that it seemed to fade into the everpresent rumble of city life.

It was a glorious sunset, Tom thought, admiring the sight before him. Better than usual; it was almost worth the nerve-wracking climb that Tom had had to take. The sun was a luminescent dark orange, ringed by a thin outline of something that could have been white. It looked oval, distorted so late in the day. The sky was a flurry of pinks and blues and clouds of grey edged in bright orange. A thin band of green ran over the sky between the clouds, almost as if the sky itself wanted to say hello to Harry's green eyes. "It looks like life," Tom said. "Like colorful life just as the day dies."

Harry hummed in acknowledgement. He didn't question Tom's odd statements. "Hey Tom," he began, voice the slightest bit too cheery. "What...what do I look like?"

"What do you mean?" Tom asked, tearing his gaze off of the sunset and looking at Harry. He was subdued, hugging his legs to his chest as his chin rested on his knees.

"I mean, what do I look like? It's been a while," Harry said. "I...just need to know."

"Did something happen?" Tom asked. This didn't sound like something Harry would ask out of the blue.

"No," Harry said but Tom could hear the untruth in his statement. Something must have happened.

"You look like you always do," Tom began. "A bit shorter than me, black messy hair that nothing can fix, green eyes that glow. Pale."

"Do I...do I look okay?" Harry asked, speaking mumbled English while tucking his chin in. His hair splayed over Harry's knees and Harry's face was hidden from sight.

"Of course you do," Tom said. "I don't know what you're expecting to hear. Did someone say something?"

Harry mumbled something under his breath.

"Can't hear you."

Slightly louder mumbling.

"Still can't hear you," Tom said, exasperated. He scooted over to Harry, pressing himself against his side and hugging him with one arm. "It's me, you know. I don't know why you don't want to say anything."

"Yesterday," Harry began with a quiet voice, "Amy said that I was ugly and when I said I wasn't, she said that I wouldn't know because I can't see myself."

"She did?" Tom said, slipping into Parseltongue. "Ignore her. She's lying. You don't look ugly at all." Tom gave an exaggerated sniff, trying to cheer Harry up. "As if I would let anyone but the prettiest of people be my best friends."

Harry snorted, peeking his head out from his knees. "Really?"

"Yes, really," Tom said. "You're so pretty that nobody ever expects you to steal things."

"Woo," Harry fake-cheered, flinging his fist into the air and letting it plop down in his lap. "I'm pretty enough to be a thief!"

"Well," Tom said, "to be honest, we both are. We've only been caught once, remember?"

"Yeah," Harry said, the golden light of the sunset making his smile glow. "The Incident...I'm still not okay with what happened."

"I wouldn't expect you to be," Tom said with an exasperated sigh. "It was us or him."

"I know, I know," Harry said. "I just wish that we could have done something else."

Tom hugged him tighter. "It won't happen again. We've been practicing our magic, right?" Tom lifted his hand and focused, unable to suppress a smile as a tiny flame appeared in the palm of his hand. "Next time, we won't let anyone hurt us and it won't come to that."

Harry leaned onto Tom and sighed. "Now it's your turn to share."

"What do you mean?" Tom asked, taken aback.

Harry gave him a look and repeated, "It's your turn to share."

The Parseltongue was a dirty move. Tom huffed but decided that it would be fair, after all. "Well...," Tom started off, watching as the last traces of gold slipped behind the horizon as if the sun was molten gold. "I don't think I like my name."

"Really?" Harry asked. "I like it. It's short and easy to say. Easier than mine."

"That's what I don't like," Tom said. "It's too common."

"Oh yeah, you don't like being like everyone else," Harry stated with a world-weary sigh. "I think it's perfectly fine."

"Still," Tom insisted, dropping his gaze to his hands. "I think...that if I get a chance, I may change it later."

"Change it?" Harry asked, eyes glowing wide in shock. "To what?"

"I'm not sure," Tom said. "But...I think I may change it someday." Tom looked at Harry, emotions running plain across his face like they always did when he was alone with Tom. There was a fair amount of dismay there, Tom noted. "It's okay, though," Tom reassured. "You can always call me Tom."

"Always?" Harry asked, tipping his head to the side like an animal.

"Always," Tom said, giving Harry a wry smile. "You'll be the only one when I do."

"So now it's 'when' instead of 'may,'" Harry said. Tom laughed in his head. Of course Harry would pick up on that.

"Yes," Tom said, unashamed. Harry gave him an appraising look and that was all Tom noticed before he was hunched over, yelping as small fingers jabbed into his still-sore sides again.

"You're cruel," Tom whined.

"You deserve it," Harry sniffed. "I think that it's unfair for you to decide to change your name without asking me. What if I want to change my name too?"

"Do you?" Tom asked, looking at Harry's face.

"Knowing you, your name will be ridiculous. Then we won't match!" Harry said with an expression of exaggerated horror, eyes wide and eyebrows raised.

"Merlin forbid we don't match," Tom said, testing out the wizarding phrase.

"Yup," Harry cheered. "Have an idea."

"No," Tom said. "Absolutely not."

"It's really good," Harry hissed like music.

"No."

"Tom," Harry said, put out. "How about...we give each others our names?"

Tom eyed Harry, who was looking rather serious. It looked like Harry was taken with his idea. Harry probably wouldn't come up with a too-horrible name, but Tom wasn't sure if it was worth risking Harry's sense of humor.

"I promise I won't choose something silly for you," Harry said. "Or, I'll give a good reason behind it. I think I'll choose it later, though. I can't think of anything right now."

Tom loosened his hold on Harry and looked him over. He thought that he had an idea for a name floating around in his mind. Harry...pale, strange, and seemingly innocent Harry. Tom cast his eyes out around him, hoping for something to catch his eye that could pin down that idea...no, impression that he had. "Wait," Tom said.

The sky was starting to darken, stars starting to emerge from their dark blanket of night. The horizon was still yellow, although it was beginning to fade to greenish blue. Around him there was a sea of buildings, some taller than others, some shorter, some made with stone or some with bricks and some with something that appeared to be wood from a distance. The chimneys stick out periodically along the landscape like strange fingers pointing up, like a reminder.

Tom looked up. Stars and small shapes that were mere silhouettes against the darkness. Birds? Tom watched a few of them. They were dancing in the sky, like it was their stage or perhaps they were the just the beginning of the act. Tom started as one shape detached from the birds and flew down, soon followed by another. They settled on the building to the right of the orphanage, in a neat line.

Tom squinted. They looked like doves. Tom looked at them and the vague feeling he was getting solidified. It was a little silly to only take inspiration from his surroundings, but he felt like he could really come up with something. What a great idea...doves. Harmless creatures. Harry looked harmless. He wasn't, but people didn't have to know that, did they? He was only harmless to Tom. The idea rather appealed to Tom; calling a tiger a kitten, calling a hawk a dove.

"I know what to call you," Tom declared triumphantly.

"So quick?" Harry asked. "I know it was my idea, but I still don't know what to call you."

"I can wait," Tom said, waving his hand in dismissal. "Do you want to hear it?"

"Okay," Harry said, leaning out of Tom's hold and stretching out on the roof. "Go ahead."

"Dove," Tom hissed, smugness permeating his voice until even the musicality of Parseltongue sounded off.

"Are you bloody serious?" Harry said, staring at Tom. "How is that a name? I'm not a bird."

"It can be a name," Tom said, "because I decided it can be."

"You're ridiculous," Harry said. "I don't even know what to say. Why?"

"Because I like the idea of calling a hawk a dove," Tom said. "Of course, unlike everyone else, I know better."

Harry stared, mute, at Tom, and Tom could almost see thoughts of the Incident and Dennis's accident flashing through his eyes.

A man who was in his prime was standing at the window in his office, a frown bringing together two eyebrows over flinty blue eyes. He was unsettled by the situation because no matter his efforts, he couldn't find that boy.

When St. Mungo's reported the disappearance of Harry Potter, it didn't take long for him to find out. The prime suspect was the one who had killed young Harry's parents in the first place.

Albus Dumbledore was the only one who knew the identity of the murdered of Harry's parents. How could he not know, with their shared past being the way it was? Dumbledore was sure that he could recognize Gellert's magic anywhere. In this case, Gellert's magic had been present in unforseen quanities at the scene of the crime, in the places that were recoverable. It was still detectable even under the layers of accidental magic that had ripped the house apart, probably as a response to whatever Gellert had done.

The large amount of accidental magic was interesting, but Albus could not fathom why Gellert would so viciously target an innocent family, especially a British one. Albus knew the reason that Gellert was keeping back from England was because of his presence, so there must have been some extraordinary reason for Gellert to risk things as much as he did.

Albus hated not knowing the reason. It was so much like Gellert, attacking out of nowhere. Albus hadn't even heard a whisper from some of his more unorthodox contacts about Gellert planning something in Britain.

Harry's parents were quite talented in their own right, but that did not merit such a vicious attack. Both of them had been made to explode from the inside, and Unspeakable experts still had not come up with the spell that did it.

And now Gellert had kidnapped Harry Potter. Albus sighed. He felt personally responsible for this tragedy. He should have known that Gellert was up to something. The Potters had been rather close friends of his. He owed it to their memory to get their son back; he might have been able to stop Gellert earlier, maybe. In another universe. Instead, there was a fight, an accident, and Albus's world had been torn apart.

Albus had intruded upon the crime scene with a little bit of throwing of his political clout and had managed to procure some of the late Potters' blood. Unfortunately, the boy had been taken from the hospital before the nurses had saved any of his blood. All of the samples they had taken for testing had already been vanished. Albus had used the Potters' blood to try to locate Harry, but it all was for naught. It could have been almost as if Harry had dropped off the face of the Earth were it not for an odd flash of green that appeared every time that Albus would try the spell. The flash of green always covered London and the surrounding areas on the map that Albus was using.

That was puzzling. Why would Harry be in London, of all places. The flash of green meant that somehow, the spells protecting his location weren't very effective. Probably a mistake in their casting, Albus had thought, somewhat cheered. Harry was still within reach, then. Albus couldn't fathom why Harry was being kept in the London area, but at least he was not in Germany.

Perhaps, if he tried very hard, he would be able to find him.

The newspapers had caught wind of the story of the attack and the disappearance and had speculated about the case for a few months. However, most of the furor had died off and Albus was left the only one who worried about Harry.

"I'll find you," Albus whispered to the fading sunset. "It's the least I could do."

November 2, 1934

Harry hummed a cheery tune as he walked beside Tom, munching on a candy bar. He and Tom had just returned from a little stealing spree to get Harry some candy. His sweet tooth was getting out of hand, according to Tom. Harry didn't think so. It wasn't as if he ate that much candy. It was just a different flavor than the bland food that they were served all the time. At least sweet meant that Harry was tasting something instead of nothingness.

"Is it any good?" Tom asked. Harry chewed a little bit before replying, "It's okay."

"You're getting picky," Tom said. Harry looked down at his hands and sighed, crumpling up the wrapper and throwing it onto the ground. He shoved his hands into his pockets and grabbed for the little bundle of threads he had in there. For his birthday, so many months ago, Tom had somehow acquired a vast amount of thread that Harry liked playing with.

"It's not that," Harry said. "It's just different flavors, you know? I like sweet things but they're getting old now. I want...different tastes."

"You're too picky," Tom said. "This is what happens when I indulge you."

"Exactly," Harry said with a sniff. "Indulge me. Steal me more food."

Tom punched Harry in the shoulder. Harry yelped, glaring at Tom. Tom just smirked.

"That was not nice," Harry said. "I could start crying right now and then Martha would get really mad at you."

"But you wouldn't do that," Tom said. "Because then I'd say that Dennis made you say that and Martha would believe me."

"I'll tell her I was telling the truth."

"I'll say the same thing."

"She likes me better."

"I'm more charming."

"I," Harry said with an imperious tone, "am blind, so therefore I get the pity factor."

"I can claim powerlessness and failure to defend you."

"You won't do that," Harry said, laughing. "As if you would ever admit weakness."

Tom gave Harry the evil eye and Harry stopped, bending over as he gasped for air. "I don't understand why we do this," Harry rasped after a few minutes. "There's absolutely no point."

"To pass the time," Tom said. "But I have a better idea. Let's go back to our room. I snatched this really interesting book about maths yesterday-"

"No!" Harry shouted, straightening and placing his hands on Tom's shoulders. "Tom, please. I don't think my brain can handle any more maths today."

"I think you can," Tom scolded. "You understand practically everything about maths. You're just too lazy to do extra work."

"Of course I am," Harry said. "You already make us do hours more work than anyone else in class."

"It's because we're better," Tom said. "We can be better, can get better, and learn more. If we're smarter than them, they can't hurt us."

"I've heard this speech before, Tom," Harry said, feeling the distance to the front door of the orphanage close. Harry reached out his hand and, true to his memory, the door was right there. He opened it and walked through, holding it open.

"Hey, it's the bat!" a voice jeered.

Harry tensed and felt his eyes narrow. Tom stalked through the door, stopping next to Harry and aiming a threatening glare in the voice's direction.

"How many?" Harry sang under his breath.

"Six," Tom said. "Unlikely to do more than insult. Martha near."

"I'm not a bat," Harry called out to the room, "but I'm sure glad I'm blind as one if that means I don't have to see your ugly face!"

There were a few distinct female laughs from the left. "Go Harry!" called Alyssa in the awkward silence.

"Or see your ugly mug in the mirror," Amy Benson crowed. Harry felt Tom tense even further next to him.

"Get out of here, freaks," Billy said. "Go run away to your little room and cry."

"No thank you," Tom said, voice quiet but carrying across the room. Harry sighed as Tom condemned them both to spending time in the playroom. Tom walked over to the right and Harry followed, settling down on the ground against the wall. Tom walked up to the shelf in the corner and picked out a book, sitting down next to Harry.

"What a softie," Dennis's voice said. "I bet Tom's secretly a girl."

Tom pursed his lips but began reading. The words sounded flat, though, and Harry couldn't focus on them as the whispered insults got louder and more vulgar.

"Maybe that's why his last name's Riddle. Because who knows?"

"I bet the reason his mum died when he was born was because she saw his face and it was so ugly she didn't want to live anymore."

Tom's fingers were gripping the book hard enough to warp the cover. Harry hummed a sympathetic sound under his breath and leaned on Tom's shoulder. "Ignore them, they're just trying to make you mad."

"I know," Tom said, but the tenseness in his voice made Harry worry.

"Blind waste of space."

"Wankers."

"You're so freakish you're not even allowed into the adoption room."

Harry could feel Tom's magic bucking under his control, straining to do something. All of a sudden, something rancid - like spoiled food - splattered onto the book that Tom was trying to read and all Harry could see was vicious green and blue and gold.

Long fingers of magic that wanted to hurt, to rend, to stop. Harry was familiar with that. Tom was not often affected like this. It must have been the damage to the book, Harry thought, panicking, that was the final straw.

The long ropes of magic shot forward and before Harry could do anything, he reached forward for them, somehow, and grabbed onto them.

The ropes ground to a halt, trembling. Harry felt Tom turn towards him, but Harry was just staring. He wasn't touching Tom's magic with his hands and their weird magic at all. He was just looking at it, but at the same time, he was holding it. Harry squinted. Maybe there was something that he was missing. Harry thought he saw a flash of pale green but when he focused on that spot, he saw nothing.

Harry sat there for a few minutes, simply holding onto Tom's furious magic. Harry tried to calm it, tried to send feelings of comfort down whatever force he was using to hold the magic, and after a while Harry could feel Tom relax next to him. Tom sagged, leaning onto Harry.

Harry just sat straight as he let go of Tom's magic. The jeers grew again -"pansies," "glaring but not doing anything?", "freaks - did you see that stare?" - but Harry didn't care in the slightest.

"Tom, are you okay?"

"I...I think so. What...was that?"

Harry giggled, lifing a weak hand to fiddle with his messy hair. "I don't really know. But hey, look. No disaster?"

Tom was quiet for a little while before his body straightened and he sat up, still silent. Harry watched Tom stand up and stare at the book in his hands.

"Come on, Harry," Tom said after looking at the book for a little while.

Harry stood as well, following Tom as he walked toward the stairs to their room. Something strange was going on...did Harry just control Tom's emotions?

I find it interesting to note that while the dove is a symbol of innocence, purity, and peace in many cultures, it is often connected with death and souls. A dove bearing a sword symbols the end of war.

Note: Not all bats have bad vision. Fruit bats in fact have excellent vision. Common misconception.

Another round of apologies for getting this out so late. This chapter proved...difficult. Still, I won't be abandoning this story! If you wish to stay updated on my progress or perhaps read short excepts from works in progress, check me out on tumblr under bleubirdsong. Once again, I want to express my desire for beta services if one of you readers would like to.

On clarity between Parseltongue or simply emphasized words... generally, whole phrases italicized mean Parseltongue, individual words are simple emphasis unless stated otherwise.