Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter or X-Men.

Note: Written for Seraphinus (although it's been over 2 years, I'm so sorry it took so long to write).

Let Them Burn

The dirt felt cold under his fingertips despite it being a warm spring day, and the temperamental April sun chose not to cast its rays in the damp alley of New York and so drowning the place in chilling shadows. There were a few garbage cans lining the graffitied brick walls, trash overflowing and some crumbled papers and crushed cans laying on the ground, tossed and missed, not quite making its course.

It was dark, Harry mused, distantly aware that there was a bright light at the end, where people passed by the alley, seemingly unaware of the body hunched on the ground, a group of kids towering over him menacingly and pelting him with a never-ending onslaught of punches and kicks, littering his precious jacket with their dirty footprints. A numbness crept into his heart as Harry mechanically raised his arms to shield his head, curling protectively in a ball, prompting the boys to kick even harder. His green eyes stared blankly out the opening between his arms, staring out into the bright, overwhelming light that only looked to be growing farther and farther away.

His lips parted in a soft sigh before one arm hesitantly reached out, yearning to feel the warmth of the light, for someone to reach out and take his hand but was only met by a faint wind catching against it. He was becoming used to the misery that constantly plagued his life, as sad as that sounded. He lived like a shadow, cast aside in the dark, an insignificant waste of breath.

A harsh blow to the face had his head rearing back as the boy took advantage of the opening. Harry grunted when he was pulled roughly up by the collar of his shirt and received a punch across the cheek, knocking him backward. There was a sharp thump as his head collided against the wall. A metallic taste thick against his teeth, Harry vaguely hoped that the blood wouldn't stain his jacket.

He stared at the ground, noticing when a shadow crossed, blocking out the light, but instead of moving on like the others, it stopped, leading him to slowly lift his head and look over the shoulder of his captor holding him by the throat. His distraction quickly became evident to the group, causing them to stop their activities and turn to look at their new guest.

"Hey," the figure, obviously bigger and stronger them all, took a threatening step forward, "get away from him."

Even though they couldn't see his face from their position, one thing was positive: his eyes were positively burning with the flames of rage.

They were on an outing, a normal trip to the city to unload. Bobby, Anna, and a few other students from school were with him, walking toward a diner they often frequented on similar day-outs. Just as they got to the door, Bobby holding it open for the rest, John was about to step through the threshold when a small boy darted past the diner, running as fast as his legs could carry him. He stared after him, but when a group of three bigger kids ran after the little one, his eyebrow rose in curiosity. Normally John would have ignored it. Things like this happened every day. Besides, why should he use his powers to help the useless mundanes of the world?

But what happened was extraordinary, though easily missed by many. Everything seemed to shift in order to slow down the pursuers. Flower pots, mail boxes, even rocks subtly moved to stand between them and their victim. Loud exclamations filled the street as clay pots shattered and people cried out in alarm and frustration as they were collided against.

John's eyes narrowed before he jumped over the railing separating the busy sidewalk and the diner, opting to skip the stairs to decrease time. Behind him, he could hear Bobby's surprised shout.

Disgusting. John glared down at the scene before him, a dark scowl stretching across his lips. How dare they torture a mutant. Those vile, brainless creatures. They should be crawling, whimpering, not even fit to lick the sole of his shoes yet they had the audacity to strut around, believing themselves superior to mutants. He'll teach them a lesson to respect their betters.

Hands clenched into fists by his side, John barely even cast a second thought before whipping out a lighter.

"Hey, get away from him."

Harry's eyes saw nothing but the figure in front of him, someone so bright that it almost hurt to look at him. He barely registered the fact that his bullies were long gone, hightailing it out of there as soon as the stranger started attacking them with flames. So caught up in his gawking and awe that he jerked in surprise when the teen stopped in front of him, offering a hand. When all Harry did was continue to stare at him, he scoffed before reaching down and yanking the boy up himself.

As he was dragged into the warm encompassing light of the spring day, Harry felt something inside him click into place.

He had finally found him: his light.

After he had been bandaged up, Harry had been free to wander around, or at least that's what he told himself. Although they confirmed his status as a mutant, he was considered a bit too young to attend the school, though that did nothing to stop Harry from following his idol around much to the chagrin of said idol.

"Your little fanboy is following you again," Bobby said in-between snickers, ignoring the half-hearted glare sent his way.

"Well, I think it's adorable," Anna said, smiling when the little boy ducked behind a tree when the three looked back at him.

"Of course you would think that. You didn't wake up to a plate of pancakes, eggs, and bacon by your bedside table along with a bouquet of flowers," John grumbled, hiking his backpack up higher.

"Dude! He brings you breakfast in bed? How come I don't get that same worship? I'm way cooler than you!"

When John growled at his words, Bobby put his hands up as he shrugged cheekily.

"I mean, I am literally the coolest person on Earth. Don't hate me for doing me, bro."

Rolling her eyes at their exchange, she turned around fully to face the dark-haired boy who froze mid-step.

"Hey there sweetie, we don't mean you no harm," she said softly, beckoning him closer.

Harry hesitated before obediently stepping closer, shuffling awkwardly under the weight of their gazes. He lifted his eyes to sneak a peek at his savior only to quickly avert them.

"We were just curious as to why you've been following John around," the girl explained. Anna, if Harry remembered her name correctly.

He pulled the black jacket tighter around him habitually, trying to hide in the dark folds. Toying with the small lighter in his pocket, Harry took comfort in the familiar weight.

John might have not remembered him, but there was absolutely no way Harry could ever forget their exchange, however brief it was.

It had been an overcast day, the clouds hanging heavily in the sky and blocking out the sun, concealing it from sight. Huddled against the steps that led up to the apartment complex building, Harry shivered at the winter chill, wrapping his arms tighter around his knees.

His eyes stared out blankly, watching the mass of people weave past one another, too absorbed in their own lives to care about anyone other than themselves. And here he thought that things would change.

New York was so very much like Surrey. How disappointing. How grey.

His arms had grown numb from the long exposure to the cold yet he was constantly aware of the perpetual chill. Sometimes he wondered in childish curiosity and maybe a tinge of hope that the cold air he breathed in would consume the very essence of his being and freeze his heart, snuffing out the delicate, struggling flame of life. It was a morbid thought, especially for such a small child. And yet he was sure that the monsters masquerading as his family wished for his death every waking moment of the day and even dream about his demise in the coils of their slumber.

They were such a pretty shade of purple, his fingers. For a moment, Harry was shocked that he could even produce something so beautiful. They were hurting and his flesh was painted a raw red. He felt a brief sense of alarm that soon faded into the background as he stared at his hands in awe. He wondered if his hands would fall off like in that movie Dudley watched a few days before, and then he wouldn't be able to do the long list of chores Aunt Petunia always threw at him. What use would he be then? The Dursleys certainly wouldn't hesitate to be rid of him. Harry wondered what would happen to him. Maybe he'd end up in an orphanage, like Uncle Vernon constantly threatened him with.

"Hey!" A voice said, sounding annoyed.

Harry looked up in surprise, meeting narrowed eyes. How long had he been standing there? It must have been a while, judging by the irritated huff the teen gave him. Harry shifted nervously. He didn't think he had anything valuable on him, and he wouldn't be able to fight off the bigger boy.

His worries were for nought as his world was covered in black for a second before delicious warmth cloaked his shivering body. Harry pulled the dark cloth off his head curiously, digging his numb fingers into the soft material. He stared at the grumbling teen, a question on his chapped lips.

"You know how to make a fire?"

Harry hesitantly shook his head.

A sigh.

The teen crouched down, a lighter between his fingers.

"I'll show you how."

A small flickering flame danced between Harry's cupped hands. And Harry smiled for the first time in months, warmth filling his chest and chasing away the lingering ice in his heart.

Well it's been forever since I updated. I'm not finished with this though; the second part of this story is still in progress.