"The blood on my teeth begins to taste like a poem, like religion, like the way you look at me."
Sunday: the Holy Lord's day. That simple thought reminded Harry of the awful preaches the Dursleys gave him when he was a young child with bursts of accidental magic. Christians and witchcraft have never been able to stand on good terms… The name "freak" still crawled under his skin.
Harry cringed. In less than one hour he would be seated in a church. How could he pray for another entity when Death itself was his friend and constantly whispering in his head?
In the canteen in the morning, Harry found hot tea and coffee—apparently letting children drink it didn't bother anyone… Well, at that time people even believed that cigarettes were good for one's health. It was all a matter of context. Harry didn't care if it was good for his child's body or not; he helped himself to a strong splash of caffeine. He needed it after his sleepless night and to survive at the next hour of prayer.
"If I were you, I wouldn't drink that." Even if it had been barely more than a whisper, the other kids around him shivered.
Harry suspended his movement, the coffee pot hanging in the air. "Why not?" he asked in the same secretive hiss.
Tom said nothing, but his eyes lined with dark circles gave a pointed look to Harry's shaky hands.
"I'm … fine. Just a little tired," Harry explained.
Tom raised an eyebrow, but returned to his tea after a faint shrug. "Maybe it's for the better. You can't fall asleep there. The other kids will run wild near the end. Taking advantage of the general chaos would be the sensible way to escape."
Harry nodded faintly, already exhausted by all what awaited them.
For the church, the staff of the orphanage forced the children to wear a much more formal uniform. The caretakers of the orphanage hurried everyone outside. In a short procession, they rapidly crossed the only two streets which separated Wools from the church.
Harry winced at every step; the leather shoes they gave him for his new outfit were new, but two sizes too small. With so many people around him, he didn't even try to transfigure them. He would wait to be seated for that. He needed good shoes to run.
The old building appeared mountainous; crushing the children with the weight of their own mortality and sins. Wonderful: Harry had neither... Well, only if he assumed that he hadn't yet had the time to commit any sin. After all, he had only been alive just one day.
At the entrance stood the priest, where he occasionally greeted the regulars. Mrs. Cole was chatting with him. As the crowd of orphans approached, they stopped talking, both of their gazes found Tom and Harry, a dark scowl on their faces.
"Do you think they're gonna try to drown us?" Harry asked Tom.
One of Tom's eyelids twitched. "And if they don't succeed, one day this place will burn to the ground," he hissed with a cold anger as he stepped inside.
Harry added: 'arsonist' to his list of Tom's delicious qualities. He wanted to wait for some stronger evidence before adding 'blasphemous.' Even if he was sure it wouldn't take long.
Harry didn't miss Mrs. Cole's deepening grimace, like she was expecting that both of them spontaneously combusted after they crossed the sacred threshold.
A tiny immortal and a soon-to-be pyromaniac excluded themselves from the other orphans by staying at the end of their group. After all the children were seated, Tom gripped Harry's sleeve and dragged him to the last row of benches. The first words of greeting from the priest as he walked up the aisle were enough to make Harry yawn. Tom nudged him in the ribs, a sharp smile on his lips. One of those that screamed 'trouble'.
With a jerk of his chin directed at the priest, he murmured, "watch."
Around them, the air grew with this particular taste of heavy darkness. Except this time they felt … excited? Almost joyful. Shadows played with Harry's hair; brush his nose with the fresh perfume of December dusk.
When Harry looked at the aisle, he needed to bite his lips. One by one, the candelabras all along the benches row extinguished themselves as the priest passed by—pretty dramatic. Children and church members gasped faintly; some adults looked around to find where the breeze was coming from.
Harry turned his head to Tom to—... His words died on his lips, stunned. Dark eyes met his, sparkling alive with power. A nightfall burning with unholy stars. Harry realized then. He shared something with Tom: an unconditional love for magic. This. This wasn't planned. Harry didn't expect to find common ground with the one who would become his enemy. It certainly wasn't, either, part of his grand plan of reshaping fate.
"You know… We're not supposed to use our magic in front of non-magical people," Harry whispered to ease his conscience.
Tom lifted a defiant brow. "Like they're not supposed to lead another Salem trial?"
"Well…"Harry licked his lips. "My turn?"
Harry turned his gaze away from the dangerous smirk Tom gave him in reply. His mouth was suddenly dry.
The priest was now behind his wooden podium; just about to open his large ceremonial Bible. Harry decided to spare him the effort : the hardcover of the holy scriptures threw open. Its pages moved on their own volition and spun as if blown by the gust of a tempest. Nothing suspicious, the adults were still looking for the draft sent by Satan himself.
Harry muffled his laugh. His hands were shaking and he felt light-headed, but the show was too good. After a bit, he settled his power down. The priest was finally able to tame his enraged book.
Dishevelled and wheezy breathing, the priest finds the correct page. He dusted his cassock to get everything back in order and cleared his throat. When the attention was focused on him, he announced in a loud voice, "In 1 Samuel 15:23, we get a revelation of the basis of witchcraft. Samuel said to Saul the king: 'Rebellion is as the sin of witchcraft—'"
Mrs. Cole turned in her seat and pinned her eyes on Tom and Harry. Even the priest was looking at them now. They had totally screwed up.
"Listen, never mind. They skipped the drowning part … tying us to the stake seems more fun."
"For that, they will've to catch me first."
The priest's booming voice resounded inside the monstrous belly of the church. Each word armed against the boys; already guilty of many sins. Harry's body quivered, his thoughts running too fast and full of wide flames from imposing stakes.
Magic dripped from the boys—fearful and feral like a cornered wild animal. Candles blazed high, benches crackled, walls of old stones rumbled… Each wave of power became more intense as the minutes flew away and brought them closer to the moment where they could run away… And, then, a thundering silence. Just a second where everything stayed still.
The church bells rang to announce the end of the mass—Hell broke loose.
A human tide of overexcited children, overdriven by their instincts to get free from their boredom, passed by the church doors. Without much thinking, Harry caught Tom's hand and started to sprint too. Savage screams of kids and winds echoed inside the court of their sins.
They ran, hard and fast: enough that Harry felt his muscles tear with the exertion. They were only a few meters away from the exit. The mouth—the doors of the church, wide open to spit out the two demons.
And, then a hand.
Two, four… Adults clutched them.
They struggled and hissed, as if possessed. Harry was trying to throw his legs and fists around, hoping to hit someone. There was no rational thinking. He acted only with his instinct and the blazing desire to get free. Magic pulsed against Harry's temples, blood drumming in his ears. With a scream, one of his fists connected with a face. A blast of pure wild magic sprung and finally repulsed the priest. Harry was on his own feet again; ready to—
"Back off!" Tom hissed, before he sank his teeth viciously in Mrs. Cole's arm, which were restraining him.
Another outbreak of wild magic: swirling darkness as sharp as glass shards. The matron let out a cry of pain; her exposed skin suddenly full of bleeding cuts. She let Tom free and Harry got an idea… He gripped Tom's shirt. He focused on the Leaky Cauldron to Apparate there, but when he felt the particular hook behind his navel… Harry's magic snapped. A rubber band of tension that slapped him full force in his face.
At this exact moment, he clearly imagined Hermione yelling at him, complaining about his carelessness. Curse his child's body. What Harry feared happened. He couldn't handle another display of magic.
Harry saw stars, a white noise around him. They didn't change places. Around them, the chaos in the church continued. Harry fell face first against the floor.