Harry walked through the garden, clutching a small bundle of sticks. No one spared a glance his way, they didn't dare. He had made it very clear that he was not an easy target. After two years in this nightmarish hellhole, there were only a few children that remained at the orphanage from when he had first arrived, but despite this, the new children knew to leave him alone.
He had made his position in the hierarchy very obvious about six months into his stay here.
He had been laying in his room speaking with the voice he had just learned was named Tom.
"What exactly are my 'gifts'? I don't really know much about it. You said I can control it?" Harry questioned, suspiciously.
"Yes, I know all about it, Harry, I've been here all this time… watching you grow. I can see your greatness… I would like to help you achieve it."
"You've been inside my head all this time? What are you? Why haven't you said something sooner?" Harry only felt more confused with every answer.
"I am a part of you, I have been since you were a baby. I am… Stronger now, you have been…feeding me. I'm sorry… It is hard, I am not…Whole, but I can offer you power beyond your wildest dreams, Harry." The voice whispered, seeming to consider everything carefully, or maybe it was more like catching its breath.
"You keep saying that. Can you explain what you actually mean?" He was getting fed up with 'Tom' and his cryptic answers. Just like all adults, the voice wasn't telling Harry everything, and he hated it.
"I apologise, Harry, of course I will explain… you have magic. This, you already know… But there is a whole community of wizards, Harry, people like you and your parents." At this, Harry gasped.
"My parents? You know about my parents?" Desperate for any knowledge the voice might have to offer.
"I'm sorry… I don't know much, as I said… many things are lost to me… I know their names were Lily and James… You look like them… Just like your father, but you have your mother's eyes… they both had magic." The voice seemed truly apologetic, but it didn't quell the disappointment Harry felt.
"James and Lily… I didn't even know their names. Aunt Petunia would never tell me." He shook off the feelings of disappointment to continue the interrogation, when the voice spoke up.
"If you want to know about your gifts, go to the garden… look for sticks…I'll tell you which on is best for you." For a second, Harry considered going to sleep early, skipping dinner, and pretending this never happened. He was six, he knew you shouldn't hear voices in your head, uncle Vernon always raved about 'Nutjobs hearing voices' on the news. But, the voice knew things, things he didn't know. Things he desperately wanted to know. He wanted to use his power. He wants to feel the same ingle he did when he turned Mrs. Ambling's wig blue, like when ugly jumpers shrunk in front of him.
Like when that shelf fell on Scott.
And Tom was his friend, he said so. His only friend. The only friend he'd ever need. Supposedly. Besides, he had agreed. So with this thought in mind, he pulled on the least damaged jumper he owned over his school uniform, and left the room for the garden.
Only he was interrupted. He was walking down the hall, when Elliana Danvers and her small group of sidekicks stopped him.
"Nice jumper! How about you give it to me, since it's pink and all. You wouldn't want people to think you're gay, would you?" She was trying her best to be intimidating, using her slight height and age difference to tower over Harry.
He looked down at the offending garment. It was pink, a pale salmon sort of colour, like the curtains at Privet Drive. It had a violet trim, and very clearly was meant for a girl, but it had been donated to the orphanage, and at that point, it was just a case of who got to the box the quickest. Harry liked this jumper, even though it was pink; it was incredibly warm and definitely made up for not owning a coat.
"No, it's mine." Harry defended, not at all daunted by her.
"Well, it isn't really, is it? It belongs to the orphanage. Like you, because your parents didn't want you." She seemed to think she had delivered the biggest insult in the history of rudeness. Harry didn't agree.
"But that's why you're here too, isn't it?" Harry asked innocently. She spluttered slightly.
"MY parents are coming back for me! They said so. Yours aren't though, because they hate you." She was clearly losing some of her confidence, her facial expression stuttering briefly.
"My parents are dead." He said blankly. She looked quite shocked for a second, clearly not expecting that. Most of the kids were at the orphanage for social welfare reasons, or having been seized by the government. There were, as far as Harry could tell, only several kids that had come after their parents had died. Most kids go to relatives when their parents die, just like Harry.
"Just give it to me!" She had clearly tired of talking to him, and made to snatch the jumper of his frame, but too slow, as he was already running in the other direction.
They chased after him immediately, not sparing a second, children in the corridors were shoved aside carelessly as they ran through the halls. Harry flung open the door to the garden, running right over the field, towards the wall, maybe he could jump it? No! It was far too high!
"You have to want it, Harry, you have to need it." Tom chimed in at last.
And Harry did, he really, really did, desperately, because he was going so fast he didn't think he could stop now. He was getting closer, and closer, and he did, he needed to make the jump!
He jumped.
His hands crashed onto the brick wall, and he scrambled up quickly, sitting down, looking at the girls that had just reached the back door. They hadn't seen him yet, but that could change any second. He weighed his options carefully.
He could get down, be immediately beaten up, have his jumper stolen, and get told off by Madam Nelson for starting trouble, or he could jump off the other side. He couldn't just stay up there. Maybe he should just give her the jumper; it wasn't worth the trouble for something so stupid. But then again, it was his jumper. He was so sick of people walking all over him.
The wall was fairly wide, Harry could probably walk on it if he was careful. Looking over, he could see that it stretched all the way around the orphanage grounds, joining with the very back of the orphanage.
So Harry jumped over the edge. His body hit the floor with a surprising lightness, as he felt the small tingle once again. Running along the wall, he felt a sense of glee. He was out. Other than school, he hadn't left the orphanage for months. Coming to a slow, he realised that he could relax.
There was no one chasing him. No one watching. No one had seen him go, so there was no one waiting for him. He was truly alone for the first time in his life.
It was glorious.
Even Tom was silent. This was a peace Harry had never felt before. How could anyone have a problem with this? How could something like loneliness even exist if this is what it felt like?
He sat there; back against the cement wall, for almost twenty minutes, just enjoying the peace of the forest that sat before him.
"Harry, do you remember what you came here for?" Tom finally broke the silence.
With a sigh and a sense of calm Harry pulled himself up from the soft grass, dusting himself off slightly.
"Yes, somehow I managed to forget the one instruction you gave me half an hour ago, I really am that stupid, how did you know?" Sarcasm dripping from every syllable.
To prove his point he began picking up random discarded sticks.
"It can't be just any stick… find one that stands out to you…"
Harry spent the good part of an hour looking through random sticks, not venturing too far into the woods, but covering a large surface area none the less.
Eventually he found a decently sized branch, about as long as his forearm, and just as thick as a grown man's thumb. It was dark in colour, and small black thorns were spotted over the curved stick. Picking off the thorns towards the thicker end, he confirmed that this was an okay choice with Tom.
"Black Thorn…Interesting… That will certainly do."
"What was the point of this again?" Harry thought this had better be worth it, since he'd just spent a good hour of his time on it.
"Magic… bursts from wizards and witches… a force that is difficult to control… Long ago they found that staffs and walking sticks acted as a funnel…concentrating the magic…not long after, wands replaced staffs, concentrating the magic to the point that it could be perfectly controlled…the art of wandless magic is difficult because it is like trying to manually contain an aura you give off…"
"What, so this is a wand then?" It couldn't possibly be that easy, could it?
"No… a wand needs a magical conductor… this should work for you… you can learn to control your magic without a wand… It will be easier to learn before you learn to use a real wand… like learning to ride a bike without ever using stablisers…"
"So I'm not reliant on it, okay, I see, but what purpose does this serve?" He gestured to the stick.
"You must picture the magic, flowing from the wand. If you can manually concentrate it to the point of a stick… you can do it without the aid of anything."
Harry pointed the wand at a rock, thinking rather hard at it.
"No… You must need it to happen… Want it as though your life depends on it… It will become easier, magic is like a muscle…"
Harry relaxed his pose, looking at the rock. He needed it to grow. He needed it so badly.
He felt a very faint tingle, much less obvious than previous times, and before his very eyes, the rock grew to the size of a small boulder.
With a vicious grin, Harry strode around the forest, practising this again, and again, and again, until the sky had turned from a light grey to a deep blue. Checking his watch, he realised it was dinner time.
He scurried along the wall to the section that almost connects to the back wall of the orphanage, with an abnormally high jump, he was on the wall, checking his watch again, he found that dinner was very nearly over, but looking over to the closest window, he got an idea.
Jumping to the ground, he sneaked back into the building, creeping up the stairs, to Elliana's room.
Working quickly, he gathered all of her clothes, and threw them out the window. He ran back to his room along the hall, opening his window and waiting.
He didn't have to wait long.
He heard the scream from several windows along, Elliana swearing and cursing through the open window. The screams were quickly followed by the thudding of dozens of feet down the stairs, excited to see what was going on.
After a moment, he saw her emerge from the back door, followed by most of the kids at the orphanage, but before she could get close to them, Harry acted.
Pointing his wand at the pile, he had just one desire.
The clothes burst into flame, throwing back the girl only a few feet away from the plumes of heat!
She screamed again, this time out of fear, looking around frantically for whoever could have done it, her eyes caught Harry's, looking at her from the window.
The glint of fear in her eyes said enough.
No one could prove he had done it, but Elliana had insisted to everyone that would listen that Harry had burnt her clothes. Even Madam Nelson had told her to see reason; there was no way it could had been Harry, no matter how much it must have been him, no one could set clothes on fire from a story up.
Not even him.
It was soon after that people had started leaving him alone. Except for Nathan and Peter of course, but he could deal with that. He had. He had dealt with that for almost two years now.
Despite the fact that only a few kids remained from the time that incident took place, Nathan and Peter were the only children to still look down on Harry. Things had gotten mildly better though; their bullying no longer got the joyful ovation it used to, the kids were too afraid of Harry's temper to laugh.
Peter had lost interest, but Nathan seemed to take it as a challenge.
It was a rainy day after school, and Harry was walking along in his suspiciously warm clothes, when Nathan decided to act.
"Hey Harry!" Nathan ran up to him, "Look, hey, I just wanted to say sorry. Sorry for all the things we're done to you." As he spoke, Peter nodded alongside him. "We know you don't have any reason to forgive us, but I have something that can make it up to you, I promise!" Harry gave him a suspicious look.
"Oh yeah?" He asked, not fooled for a second.
"Just meet us in the forest over the wall at 5, okay? You're in there all the time; you know that old trunk that's fallen over? Go there." Yes, Harry had been in the forest almost every day since the incident with Elliana. Nathan really looked quite genuine. He was certainly an impressive liar.
"Oh, and don't tell anyone, it's got to be our little secret!"
"Alright then." Harry nodded, doing his best to humour them. With a friendly smile, they both ran off to find cover. He had spent the next two hours planning for the obvious trap. Tucking his 'wand' into the trouser pocket he'd specifically lengthened for this purpose. He was much less reliant on his wand, it worked as more of a placebo these days, but he wanted it for this.
This was going to be special.
He sneaked behind the building and jumped over the wall like usual, falling to the floor lightly, and took off towards the small side gate. Sure enough, Nathan and Peter's footprints were already deep in the mud. Harry stamped the footprints, making them much harder to ignore, and followed along all the footprints in that fashion, splashing mud all the way up to his knees.
Finally he found the clearing with the trunk, where Nathan and Peter were sitting, looking excited.
"Harry, you made it!" Nathan seemed very pleased, giving a friendly wave. Peter snickered at the state of Harry, who looked a mess. His legs were covered up to his knees in mud, trousers long ruined, his hair the usual chaotic nightmare, only accentuated by its dampness, and small streams of dirty rainwater dripped down his cheeks, leaving mud trails in their wake.
"You asked me to." Harry responded, apathetic to the state of his clothes and hair.
"And you actually came!" Peter giggled, as the both jumped down from the log, walking over to him.
"You said you have something to show me?" Harry grasped the wand in his pocket.
"Yeah, look, isn't this cool?" Nathan said, pulling out a small, sliver knife. Harry took a small intake of breath, he didn't expect this. This would be a bit more problematic.
"It's so cool, isn't it Harry?" Peter cackled, advancing towards him slowly.
"Are you going to kill me?" He asked calmly.
"Haven't decided yet, are you going to tell on us?" Nathan seemed to consider this for a second.
"What will you do if I say no?" Harry asked him calmly once again.
"Probably just cut you up a bit, maybe on your forehead, no one will notice, they'll just think it's part of that freaky scar you've got." Nathan seemed rather gleeful.
"I see." Harry responded emotionlessly. He pulled out his wand, which was met with laughter.
"Oh no, he he's got a thorny stick, what'll we do?" Peter laughed hysterically. Then he fell to the floor, mid-cackle, the green flash of light disappearing as quickly as it came.
Nathan didn't even seem to realise what had happened, staring blankly at the cooling child's corpse.
Then he looked up. He ran at Harry, and was hit with a red light. He immediately crumpled to the ground screaming, but was quickly silenced, mouth stretched open as his screams seemed to disappear. For the first time in years, Harry smiled.
It was a hideous smile, wrong somehow, as though it should have never happened. He let out a small laugh, but quickly stopped; hating the strangled cry that had come from his own throat.
He was relishing the moment, the joy of revenge, the first real thing he'd felt in years, pure thrill drilling its way into his bones. This was payback for everything Nathan had ever done to him, he was only disappointed he had acted so rashly with Peter, he was always the infuriating one.
After a decent enough period of torturing Nathan, he finally released him from the spell. He stepped over the now gasping and crying boy, and straddled his chest, picking up the discarded knife from the forest floor.
"Don't worry, Nathan, I won't tell."
He slammed the knife into Nathan's throat, watching the blood spurt out, before slowing into a waterfall of red cascading down his neck. It seeped onto the mud below, immediately disappearing into the brown sludge. Any blood left on his skin lashed away by the furious rain, still pounding into his flesh.
Harry finally stepped up from the body, taking the knife with him, pocketing it alongside his wand. Looking around, he knew there was nothing that could link him to this evidence-wise. He had only touched the knife, but as long as no one found it, it couldn't be linked to him.
"If you leave the other boy like that… the wizarding authorities will get involved… they could trace it back to you…" Tom helpfully joined the moment.
So, Harry walked over the Peter's corpse and slit his throat, much more artfully than he had with Nathan. Wiping the blood off on Peter's clothes he once again pocketed the knife and strode off, back towards the orphanage, careful not to leave any footprints. He washed his hands and wrists of in the rain, but there was no saving his tatty clothes by any normal means.
In a moment his clothes were dried, cleaned, and warm. Even when he ventured into the downpour once again, he remained dry and toasty. Convenient thing; magic.
He jumped over the wall and managed to climb in through a window unseen, and creep down to the dinner hall. He was only five minutes late. He was unbothered throughout his meal, as usual, but made a point of tripping over some boy, just to make sure they remembered where he was.
Harry had lay in bed that night, in the pitch dark, and for the last time in years, he smiled.