Written while listening to Les amours dévouées - Cœur de Pirate.
March 30, 1933
After a few months, Harry had somewhat settled into life at the orphanage. He found that if he excused Alyssa for perhaps having too much interest in gossip, she was rather tolerable to talk to. He hesitantly labeled her under the category of 'friend,' something that he made sure Tom didn't hear about. Tom could be funny about some things.
Tom was a little upset that Harry was now included in the tormenting by a gang of mostly older kids, led by a rather large boy named Billy Stubbs, who always seemed to have a nasty cough. Tom often commented that it was a pity he had a chronic cold, because the coughs sounded much like Billy was choking. Harry thought that Tom was a little bit weird about that, but he had to agree.
The gang was positively brutal. So mean! Harry didn't understand it. He didn't really take the warning he had received from John and his friend (which he later found out was called Robert) seriously. But he honestly should have. He would have been better prepared.
Harry found out with dismay that it was possible to have bruises on top of bruises.
Tom was always really fierce when they were attacked. Despite being a lot smaller than everyone (except Harry), he did a lot of damage. Harry always came out of the fights feeling a little vindicated; they weren't the only ones sporting injuries of some sort. Of course, the injuries they managed to land on the older boys were minimal, but it gave a certain satisfaction anyway.
What really made it bearable was the knowledge that they were slowly, ever so slowly, mastering their magic.
With Harry's special sight (Harry seriously needed to think of a cool name for it) they had a very large advantage. Harry was a little jealous when Tom seemed to figure out how to control his magic faster. Of course, Tom's control wasn't perfect, and something only happened half the time, but that was still a lot more than Harry could manage. When Harry tried really hard, he could make something happen maybe one time out of five.
Tom reassured him that it was only natural that he get it faster. Harry always responded with a pillow to Tom's face.
But still, it was progress. Tom had a plan that when they could control their magic reliably, they would be able to win more fights (as long as they used it carefully, Harry reluctantly agreed). Tom spent a whole evening muttering under his breath as he figured out a plan of attack. Harry was really irritated because Tom's mutters weren't clear enough for him to hear properly, but eventually, with enough pestering, he managed to make Tom disclose the plan.
When the others tried to punch them, they would slowly and covertly slow their fists until they made less damage. Harry proposed that they could also try speeding themselves up somehow. Harry didn't really know everything that magic could do because most of the things that he remembered were cleaning charms that his mum had employed in the kitchen, but he hypothesized that if it was magic, surely anything was possible? Tom agreed with him, and that was that.
Despite their rather grandiose plans and devout training...there was still the issue of the magic not working properly.
Today, Tom was more frustrated than usual.
"This is ridiculous," Tom huffed, sitting with his back against the headboard of the bed that they still shared. One day, Harry's cot had been simply gone, but Tom had said that he couldn't find a replacement yet. Harry didn't mind sharing, though. It was really cold at night, and this way, they had twice as many blankets.
"It's not," Harry insisted. "Nobody I ever heard of does magic without wands except for kids like us, and it's called accidental magic for a reason." He was sitting on the floor by Tom, leaning with his head under the window. The chill coming from the top of the window was a little irritating, but the weak sunlight coming through the glass that Tom painstakingly cleaned every week was worth it.
They sat quietly together, taking a break from their attempts at magic. Harry enjoyed the warm feeling of the sun on his hair, reminded of happier times and a warm house and his family. Tom seemed to be drifting off in thought, though, and after an undefinable period of time, he shifted a little and spoke.
"I...I feel like I'm different, Harry," Tom said, staring at the ceiling. "You know?"
"No, I don't know. Why?" Harry asked, playing with an old thread of his shirt, knotting it and pulling it apart again and again.
"Just a feeling," Tom confessed. "I just...I always thought I was different from everyone."
Harry scrutinized Tom. He was looking so absently at the ceiling that Harry had a feeling that Tom was saying more truth than he normally would.
"You are different from everyone, though," Harry said. What exactly was Tom talking about? He was a wizard, everyone he knew before Harry was a Muggle. Of course he was different.
"I...meant more different."
Harry looked at Tom. "I haven't the foggiest idea of what you're talking about."
Tom sighed, shooting Harry a look. "Forget I said anything."
"No!" Harry said. "Tell me. I promise I'll listen."
Tom sat in silence for a few minutes as Harry endeavoured to turn his whole thread into an unbroken string of knots. It was almost a success! As Harry finished tying the last knot in a perfect row of knots, Tom cleared his throat. Then, finally, Tom spoke again.
"I always thought I was different. I just don't understand some things."
"What things?" Harry asked. Tom was being unusually reticent today.
"Emotions," Tom said. "They don't make sense."
Harry gave Tom a look. "What do you mean? Of course they make sense. You're happy, you're happy. You're sad, that means you're sad."
"That's a horrible explanation," Tom said, just a bit indignantly. He groaned and slid down his headboard, proper posture forgotten. Harry smiled a little. He couldn't figure out why Tom constantly insisted on being so proper. He would think Tom fancied himself an uppity pureblood if not for the fact that Tom had been like that from the first moment Harry met him.
"I know," Harry said cheerily. "I just don't understand why you're saying they don't make sense."
"I just…" Tom said, mumbling, "don't feel some of them."
"Nonsense!" Harry said. "Everyone feels emotions, right?"
"I don't," Tom said. "At least, I don't think so. Or maybe not as strong?"
Harry was silent for a few seconds. "Wait...what?"
"I'm serious." Tom was looking pointedly away from Harry.
Harry suddenly realized that it was one of the few times where Tom was actually telling him something very secret and true about himself. Tom was always reserved, but here he was coming right out and telling Harry something like this! Harry felt a little happy inside. That meant that Tom was trusting him! Friends tell each other secrets.
Harry suddenly flashed back to the playdates his parents had arranged for him. Nobody had ever really shared secrets like this before. Harry suddenly felt really determined to do something. He wasn't sure what, but he would do something friend-like.
"Then," Harry said, running his finger along his thread proudly, "I'll help you feel some. I'll show you what they're like! Super strong emotions!" Harry glanced at Tom, grinning.
Tom raised his eyebrows. "Really."
"Yeah!" Harry said. "It's not that hard, I think."
"If you say so," Tom said.
"Of course. You'll understand them in no time."
"Want to bet?"
"Of course! I'll win."
"Alright. If I win," Tom said, tapping his chin with a long finger, "you have to give me your monthly allowance."
"Aw, Tom, that's harsh!" Harry complained. "But fine. But if I win, then you have to give me yours!"
"Deal," Tom said, reaching out a hand. Harry took it, shaking it firmly. "Deal."
With that, the two boys returned to their thoughts and enjoying the weak sunlight.
April 11, 1933
"Can you feel the magic? It's right here," Harry said, pointing. Tom gave him an exasperated look.
"I don't know what I'm supposed to be feeling."
"Magic?" Harry said unconfidently. "It's magic. It has to feel like something, right?"
"Not true," Tom said. "Yes, magic is definitely a force of some kind, but that doesn't mean it's something you can touch and feel just like that!"
Harry scowled. "I just have a feeling you're supposed to feel something."
"Fine," Tom said, shooting Harry a glare without any of the malice that he usually bestowed on the other orphans. Tom huffed a little, sticking his hand out. Harry smiled encouragingly, grabbing it and slowly moving it toward a thick thread of Tom's magic that seemed to almost pulse as if alive. Tom's hand grew closer, closer, and closer...and nothing.
Tom sighed. Harry frowned. "I swear, you should feel something."
"I don't understand why you're so insistent on this, Harry," Tom complained. "Can't we just read?"
"No," Harry said firmly. "We'll read after we do this a few more times, okay?"
Tom sighed again, but kept his hand out. Harry had been annoying Tom about feeling magic for over a week now. Harry knew he was really pushing Tom's patience with this, but he had some strong, itchy feeling inside him that pushed him to try over and over again. It was a little nagging thought in the back of his mind that kept telling him to try and try, because something was supposed to happen. Harry wasn't sure what exactly, but he gave in to his suspicious suspicions (wasn't that an odd thought?).
Harry pulled Tom's hand back a little again, letting it hang in the air for a little while. Then, Harry slowly began drawing Tom's hand closer to that thick blue rope of magic that, for some strange reason, had a tendency to detach from Tom's body around his left hand and wave around to an invisible breeze, or perhaps some tune that nobody could hear. He had to feel something! Suddenly, Harry became highly irritated. Tom should feel something, damn it! As Harry brought Tom's hand as close as he could bring it to the magic one more time, he saw a thin tendril of his dark green magic snake out from his body toward Tom. Harry stared as that thin tendril slipped into Tom's body of magic, curling around. He couldn't think of a reason for it to do that, especially without his conscious consent or direction.
"Tom?" Harry asked, holding Tom's hand in place. "Tom? Are you feeling something?"
"I'm not sure," Tom said slowly before stiffly inclining his head up until he was staring at the ceiling, body tense. "What did you just do do?" His voice sounded a little more panicked now.
Harry chuckled uncertainly, staring wide-eyed at his magic. "Uh...I don't really know."
"Harry," Tom said, eyes wide. "I think I did feel something. What just happened?"
"Uh…" Harry started, "my magic went into you?" Harry dropped Tom's hand and poked Tom's chest right where the green tendril of his magic went into it. Tom jerked back. Harry watched curiously as his magic continued to unspool out of his body, reluctant to break the connection.
"What do you mean?" Tom asked, voice high-pitched. He looked down at himself before looking at Harry.
"A little bit of my magic just...decided to go into you?" Harry said. "I don't know what it's doing."
"Well," Tom said, "that's really weird."
"Yeah, tell me about it," Harry said. "Wait a second...it's moving!"
Tom grabbed onto Harry's arm. "How is it moving?" he demanded harshly. "Get it out!"
"I don't know how!" Harry cried, yanking his arm out of Tom's grip. "It's just coiling itself inside you?"
Harry and Tom stood for a few moments, staring at each other. Tom's face was horrified. Harry had to bite down the urge to let loose an inappropriate snicker.
"You know…" Tom said, expression turning slightly pensive, "it feels warm. Whatever you're doing."
"Really?" Harry asked. "I wonder what my magic is doing. I didn't try to make it do anything, I swear."
"I guess we wait?" Tom supplied, walking over to their bed and throwing himself on it.
"Yeah," Harry said, following him.
Tom wasn't sure how to describe this odd feeling in his chest. It felt warm, but at the same time, it felt a little cold. But that cold was receding, thankfully. He tried to feel irritated at Harry for somehow performing some weird magic on him, but he knew that Harry had been having trouble even getting his magic to do things voluntarily. The chances that Harry's magic would do something so suspicious without his knowledge were little.
But what could it be? Numerous ideas flitted through Tom's head. None of them seemed particularly likely. He sighed, folding his arms under his head, turning himself to watch Harry. Harry was staring at his chest, probably observing the magic.
Tom thought that Harry's talent was a little invasive, if useful. Just the thought that Harry could almost see inside someone (even if he could only see magic) seemed a bit formidable. But Tom was used to the idea now. He had to admit that Harry's definite answers on whether he had just performed magic or not were helpful. And anyway, he guessed that it would be terrible to be blind without any advantages.
Although Harry's little skill wasn't very helpful around the orphanage.
There simply wasn't enough magic around for him to see anything but Tom. A part of Tom felt immensely pleased that Harry could only see him, not everyone else. Harry was his best friend, after all. But then Tom tried to beat it down because he had a feeling that Harry wouldn't appreciate that thought too much.
His lack of normal sight made Harry such a target, though. Tom wasn't sure that Harry had realized exactly how many attacks Tom had had to deflect from him in their daily brawls with Billy's gang. Harry fought pretty well by sound alone, but he had a tendency to forget about things going on behind him. Tom always had to cover for him by standing back to back.
Harry's presence had increased the frequency of the attacks. Tom didn't want to just blame it on one reason, but that was the only thing he could think of. Before Harry arrived, he would get beat up maybe three times a week. Once Harry arrived, it was a daily occurrence.
Tom didn't see the logic in that. To attack more often when the amount of victims who fight back was doubled? Maybe they were seen as a challenge. Or maybe they just wanted to hurt the freaks.
Harry hadn't noticed, but he was already dubbed a fellow "freak." Tom was filled with irrational surges of fury when he heard the other children whispering it as they walked by. Harry had a tendency to focus on one thing to the exclusion of his surroundings. Although the deal was certainly sweetened a little bit when the focus of Harry's exclusive attention was Tom, as it was more often than not.
Ah, the daily struggles of two magical orphans, one with something of a disability.
Tom was snapped out of his thoughts when the faint warmth, which had been growing steadily stronger as he reminisced, suddenly flared to a burning heat. It felt like he was being burned suddenly from the inside out. The blazing heat began to spread from his chest, going to his neck, to his arms, to his legs...Tom felt himself going a little bit faint from the intense discomfort. Tom thought he felt Harry grab onto his arms. He noted absently that he was jerking violently.
As suddenly as it had began, the burning receded after it reached his fingertips. All that was left was a curious coolness, as if the inside of his body had been lightly brushed with ice before it could be properly felt. Harry was saying something. Tom brought himself out of his mind with force.
"What?" Tom slurred. A part of him felt a little horrified with how...not-together he sounded.
"Are you okay?" Harry asked, sounding terrified. "You were jerking around…"
"I think so," Tom said, lifting an arm to his forehead. "I just feel…wait."
"What is it?" Harry looked confused.
"Can you taste it? It smells like winter."
"What?" Harry gave Tom such a baffled look that Tom had to suppress the urge to make fun of him for it.
"Exactly what I said, dummy." Tom inhaled through his mouth, then his nose. It was true. It seemed like the room was laced with a faint perfume of a biting, yet refreshing scent that just smelled like winter to Tom.
Tom sat up carefully. As he did that, he tensed. The smell of winter was stronger. Or the taste. He wasn't sure. Somehow, the two senses seemed to blur together more than usual.
Cautiously, Tom leaned forward. And more forward. Until he was staring right into Harry's eyes.
"What are you doing?" Harry asked nervously.
Tom carefully inhaled through his mouth. Winter. Harry was the source, he was sure of it.
"It's you," Tom said, surprised. "You smell like winter. You taste like it too."
"What do you mean? Taste? Smell?"
"That's just what it feels like," Tom said. It was glorious. The smell was delightful and fresh and it evoked memories of days where he had sat contentedly under a tree plodding through a book definitely too difficult from him as an icy wind bit at his skin.
"Well," Harry said, "I think you need to know something."
"What is it?" Tom asked, eyes slipping shut as he continued enjoying the winter scent.
"My magic did something. It looked almost like there was a flower inside you? And then my magic was looping around it and then suddenly the flower-thingy burst open and then you started shaking and now you're talking about smelling winter. You do realize it's still kinda-winter right now?" Harry was staring at Tom suspiciously.
Tom stared back. Harry's magic had opened something in him? And now he could smell winter from Harry? Maybe it was a hidden talent?
"That's weird," Tom said. "Maybe I suddenly gained a cool talent too!"
Harry laughed a little bit. "That would be cool. So you say I smell like winter? Do you smell something weird from yourself?"
Tom raised his eyebrows. He hadn't thought of that. So, he pulled his arm to his nose and breathed in very deeply. After a few seconds contemplation, he thought he could sense something. There! Woven amongst the tendrils of winter, he could smell something salty. If he could give it a name, he would say it was the smell of the sea.
"I think I smell the sea," Tom said, deliberating.
"Oh, that's funny!" Harry suddenly exclaimed. "I always thought that your magic looked sorta like water with the blueness and the little bits of green in it."
"Do you think...that I can smell magic now?" Tom asked.
Harry looked at him with a blank face for a few seconds before doubling over, snickering. "That's so ridiculous!" Harry stuttered between laughs.
Tom frowned at Harry. "Thanks a lot. I thought I gained a cool skill and now you're laughing at me!"
"Sorry," Harry apologized, "but seriously. Smelling magic. Or tasting it. Can't you see how funny that is?"
Tom thought about it for a moment. When he thought about it, then yes, it might have been just a little funny. Only a little.
"Oh!" Harry said, straightening with a jump. "You can be my crup!"
"What?" Tom asked. It sounded like another one of those things that Harry knew from the wizarding world that he was woefully ignorant of.
"Crups are like dogs!" Harry said cheerfully. "We can pretend you're a crup and then I can pretend to be the owner!"
Tom looked at Harry with disdain. "Why would I want to pretend to be a dog?"
"Because it's fun!" Harry said. "Don't you ever pretend to be something you're not?"
"Not really," Tom said. "I'm fine being me."
"But Tom!" Harry said. "Come on! Play with me. Just for a little bit! Then you can read whatever book you want and I won't complain that it's boring and I won't ask you to slow down and I'll stop asking what those fancy long words mean-"
Tom covered Harry's mouth with his hand and sighed. "Okay. Just once, though."
Harry beamed under his hand, jumping away and spinning. "Yes!"
"Just once!" Tom reminded, mouth slipping into a smile almost without his notice.
Hello everyone! I'm terribly sorry for taking so long to get this one out. To be honest, it's been mostly complete for over a week and a half, but I found a really long 400k fic and then three days later I opened another fic that was 700k... At least I read extremely fast?
Hopefully the next one won't take as long to come out! I will try to post them on a weekly basis...
As always, reviews are welcome, especially if you notice grammatical errors!
