This chapter was strongly inspired by Renegades – X Ambassadors.
Tom and Harry constantly switch between Parseltongue and English; each switch is intentional.
Warnings located at the bottom of the chapter.
April 12, 1935
Harry sighed as Tom stood next to him with shaking hands. That never boded well for anyone. Harry shifted his weight onto his other foot and poked Tom in the side.
"Tom, what is it?" Harry demanded for what had to be the fiftieth time.
Tom remained as immovable as stone, blank eyes staring ahead. Harry frowned, poking Tom harder. "Tom, what happened? Tell me!"
Tom shook a little bit and turned his head slowly to look at Harry with an expressionless face. Harry watched it for a sign and was rewarded with a slight twitch of Tom's lip that showed that he was very upset and trying not to show it.
"What is it?" Harry asked again, speaking quieter.
Tom clenched his fists and replied, voice tight, "Our books are gone."
"What do you mean, gone?" Harry asked, swallowing thickly. "Gone like disappeared?"
"No," Tom said, anger flashing across his face. "Gone as in destroyed. Ripped apart and stuck to our walls kind of gone."
Harry felt a pang of sadness echo through him because while he never really touched those books and some of them he outright disliked, those books were special to him because of the hours spent in the bed by the window under the warmth of the fading sun and under the dance of Tom's voice. So many stories that Harry had loved and to imagine them simply gone was… difficult. They'd always been around. It seemed inconceivable to Harry and he knew that Tom felt the same, if not worse.
"Oh," Harry said, feeling very faint. He felt himself swaying a little bit as he alternated the foot he was putting his weight on.
"Yes," Tom said. "They've gone too far."
Tom broke himself out of his statue-like stance and walked into the room, looking around it with angry eyes. Harry sighed because this wasn't the first times that their things had been targeted, although this was the first time that the possessions destroyed were ones particularly dear to him and Tom. Before that it was their pillows, and before that it was their homework covered in immature scribbles. But now it was the books.
"We'll get more books?" Harry said. He wasn't sure what he could really say to the situation because he was feeling angry as well. He didn't want to resort to pulling on Tom's vicious magic again because Tom didn't like it and Harry had promised not to do it unless it was very necessary. Being forcibly calmed down rankled Tom something fierce, although really, it was more like Harry arranging Tom's magic into a form associated with calm emotions that made Tom feel like his anger was petty and childish. Tom didn't fancy feeling childish.
"Of course we'll get more books," Tom said, whirling around on one foot and stopping in front of Harry. "That's not the problem. They can't do that. They have to know that they can't do that before something worse happens."
"We'll be more careful next time?" Harry offered. "Or hide our things somewhere else… on the roof, maybe?"
"I don't want to be giving up," Tom said. "We're smarter and better. We shouldn't have to avoid them as if we're afraid!"
Harry raised his eyebrows at Tom. "I don't know about you, but I'm afraid."
Tom sighed dramatically, slumping his shoulders and hanging his head. "You shouldn't be. We talked about this."
"I still think it's reasonable," Harry insisted. "Billy and his friends are four years older and Dennis is a year older and there's so many of them."
Tom sniffed and turned around, staring at the room with crossed arms. "I'm going to do something."
Harry widened his eyes and walked to stand in front of Tom. Whenever Tom decided to do something, it was usually vicious in some way and designed to scare people off. The problem is, it never completely worked. Of course, all of the younger kids in the orphanage avoided Tom - and Harry - like the plague. The older ones, though, seemed unfazed. At most, Harry thought that they were somewhat unnerved and wary.
"Tom, please don't. It never works."
"It will."
"Tom-"
Tom hissed at Harry some wordless angry gibberish and turned around, heading for the door. Harry hissed angrily as well, following him out into the hall. Tom looked side to side, face once again blank, before walking in the direction of the stairs.
"What are you doing?" Harry demanded. "Tell me. Don't make me follow you blind." Harry paused for a moment and laughed quietly. "Seriously, Tom."
"That was a bad joke," Tom said, although the corners of his lips were upturned and the tone of his voice seemed somewhat less harsh. "I'm going to see if confronting Billy, the likely suspect," Tom said with a lilt much like the one he used when reading Harry detective books, "will do anything. Haven't tried that yet."
"Are you serious?" Harry asked. "This is not going to end well. At all. We'll be dead. They'll set fire to our room while we sleep."
"You're morbid," Tom said, turning down the stairs. "I'm doing this in a public area for a reason."
"That's not enough," Harry said, dropping the Parseltongue as he heard someone in the hallway of the second floor.
"It will be," Tom said confidently. Harry noticed Tom's hands shaking a little bit and didn't make a comment. If it helped Tom feel better…
Tom continued walking down the stairs but stopped as he reached the second floor. Harry sped up after him, jumping the last few steps and latching onto Tom's sleeve. A very familiar, wheezy voice said, "Did you like the present?"
Harry glared in the direction of Billy's voice, hoping that his glare was scary enough to maybe make Billy think twice for a second.
"I didn't care for it much," Tom said, voice like ice. "It's not even Christmas."
"I was just feeling generous," Billy said and Harry could hear the sarcasm practically dripping in Billy's voice.
"We all decided to pitch in," Edward said. "We wanted to show you how we feel about you."
"Yeah!" Sam said, voice exuberant. "Because we hate you! And we hate books! So we ripped them."
"Thank you for clarifying," Tom said, lifting his chin a little and sending a look of pure loathing in front of him. Harry inwardly cheered, knowing that Sam, the twit, was likely to be cringing. Harry heard an "oof" from Sam and fought the urge to snicker. He wondered who had elbowed Sam.
"Just don't do it again," Harry said, letting go of Tom's sleeve and stepping out from behind him. It wouldn't be polite to leave Tom to go through the whole confrontation by himself.
"We'd be very displeased," Tom said, leaning forward and smiling with malicious intent. "I'm sure you haven't forgotten what happened to Father Henry last year. I wonder where he disappeared to."
Harry fought the urge to wince because it was not okay to bring that up even though it might make Billy and his friends think twice. "He was rude," Harry contributed with clipped words. It made sense to bring up the rumors with verbal confirmation; it had been a year, after all, and Billy and his friends probably didn't know much about it except for the fact that Harry and Tom had done something and that Father Henry was gone next Sunday.
A sharp intake of breath made Harry fix his gaze in that direction, ears straining for the smallest hint of sound.
"So you did do something!" Billy said, sounding almost… muffled. Then Harry felt an arm on his shoulder and heard the sniff of a nose and then all that Harry heard was the whooshing of air in his ears as Tom's magic crackled before his eyes.
Harry wasn't too badly hurt but Tom was seething anyway. It could have easily turned out so much worse. What kind of daft nutter shoved someone when they were standing right in front of a staircase? In what universe was that ever a good idea? If not for the fact that the orphanage stairs had landings every half-story, Harry could be dead. He could have fallen wrong and broken his neck. Not even magic could save him from that.
He could have broken more than just his arm. Harry, when he had woken up, had reassured Tom that his magic was hovering around his arm and seemed to be doing something and that he was encouraging it, so everything would be okay if Tom just calmed down. Tom couldn't calm down, though. Once again, he had come very close to losing Harry and that was unforgivable.
Harry was sleeping now, the moonlight falling through the window in silver streamers that made Harry glow. The rest of the room was dark and filled with soft shadows draped around the areas the moonlight couldn't reach. The bruise on Harry's face which had been a vicious purple after he had fallen had now faded until it was just a shade of green. Tom knew it would be gone by morning. It wouldn't take weeks for Harry's arm to heal. Tom and Harry always healed very fast.
But Harry had come so close to getting hurt enough that even his quick healing could not save him. So close… and all because Tom had insisted on trying to confront Billy and his friends in the open. So what if other tactics hadn't worked? Tom could have refined them and made them better instead of undertaking such a foolish venture because his mind had been clouded with sadness and rage rather than the clarity that Tom prized.
The clarity was cold in Tom's mind, mirroring the ice of Harry's magic on Tom's tongue. How fitting, Tom thought. Your magic is ice, my mind is ice. If only we were stronger; nobody would be able to hurt us then. Tom needed to have revenge. He couldn't just keep this to himself because Billy had to know that shoving Harry was not okay. Tom could, in some twisted way, understand why Billy liked beating up on them and the younger orphans. He liked feeling powerful even though Billy was just a child like Tom and any power he had was insignificant. But Billy had crossed a line and now something had to happen; something had to die. Assa died last time, Tom thought, but this time, the death won't be on our side.
Tom had something in mind and the ice crystals in the recesses of his heart crackled as they expanded because he had an idea and he would put it into place, no matter the consequences.
It would be a revenge for Assa and Harry both, all in one package that should hit Billy right in the face.
Tom chuckled darkly and stood up from bed, casting one last glance at Harry before slipping out of the room.
Billy flung his arm over Edward's shoulder, wheezing in laughter. He hacked up a few rattling coughs before smiling at his friends. Sam flashed him a dopey grin and Julian's face was caught in some strange, in between moment as he struggled to keep a smirk away. Dennis was giggling cautiously, the twit. Billy thought it was funny how he tried to endear himself to Billy and his friends despite being three years younger. He probably thought he would be safer..
Billy was pleased with how the night had went. It had been perfect. They had snuck out after the last check that Martha managed to do before falling asleep, as usual, in the playroom on the first floor with her nose in one of those books. It had been so easy that Billy rather thought that they could repeat their venture; it had been lucrative, after all.
Billy knew that the orphanage did not have a lot of money. That explained why the allowance that they got – if it could even be called that – was so minimal that it could barely buy candy. However, the orphanage did not provide many things to them with the money that it did have. Billy was older now. He was eleven – almost twelve – and he knew what that smell from Mrs. Cole's office was. Instead of buying them new clothes and shoes, Mrs. Cole spent the money on alcohol and relied on Martha to do everything. Martha hemmed and washed all of the clothes that everyone grew out of, but it wasn't enough. Clothes showed wear and tear eventually and Billy was starting to get pretty big. It was hard for him to find clothes inside the storage room with all of the boxes of miscellaneous items that were all so old and worn.
Billy was not the only orphan with this problem. He talked about it with his friends and they decided that they would figure out something that they could do. Just a little bit of extra money would be enough to get something better if they didn't buy any candy. That wouldn't be a problem, Billy thought, recalling how easy it was to scare one of the younger orphans into giving up their toffee.
They decided to try out stealing. Julian tried it first with limited success. His first attempt at pickpocketing had ended up with him being marched home by his ear by one of the residents of the flats across the street. After they had all tried stealing for themselves, and when they showed no improvement, Billy declared that they would be trying something else.
That lead to where they had been earlier that night. They decided to try breaking into someone's flat. It had gone very well, actually. The flat that they had broken into had belonged to an old lady that slept like the dead and had been filled with sweet foods of all kinds. Additionally, there had been jewellery in a very fancy box in the living room. It had taken them no more than ten minutes to creep through the flat and pick out the things that looked most expensive. Now, all they had to do was save those items and then try to sell them or trade them for something in the morning.
The night air was humid and the sky was a peculiar shade of burgundy that looked as if blood had spilled across it and dried in the shape of clouds. The moon was low to the horizon, barely visible over the rooftops of the surrounding buildings, and was colored a dark, glowing orange. It almost seemed ominous, although Billy dismissed that thought. He was just being silly.
They crept over to the empty crates left out in the alley between the orphanage and the strange building that had been empty as long as Billy had known it. They then lined them up and began scrambling over them, leaping the orphanage wall.
Sam went first, hopping up the old crates with a heavy step that made Edward hiss, "Quiet!" into the silence. Sam shot back an apologetic grin and perched on top of the wall, holding out his hand. Julian took it and scrambled up the crates as well. After some moving around, Edward and Dennis had followed behind, Edward staying on top of it to help Billy up. Billy took in a few rattling breaths, cursing his chronic cold, and clambered up, falling across the top of the wall and breathing too hard.
"Are you okay?" Edward whispered in a voice so quiet that Billy almost thought that he had imagined it.
"Yeah," Billy breathed. "Give me a second."
After a short break, they all crouched against the orphanage wall and slinked around the shadows towards the back door of the orphanage. Billy carefully opened the door – Martha forgot to lock it again – and slipped inside, his friends (and Dennis) creeping after him. Billy strained his ears and he heard a soft snort coming from the doorway into the lobby. He turned around to look at everyone's shadowed faces and then tiptoed across the lobby, gaze fixed on Martha lounging in the ratty armchair by the fireplace.
It was all easy after that. They all knew the problem spots on the stairs and just a few minutes later Dennis peeled off from their group and headed toward his room. Billy and his friends exchanged smirks and crept into their room, blinking rapidly in the silence.
Billy headed towards his bed, taking one step and then –
There was cold fur and wet blood and his face was covered in it and Billy couldn't breathe because that was Annie and Annie had done nothing wrong and the air seemed thicker than molasses. He heard quiet exclamations of surprise which turned into gasps of horror but he didn't register them because Annie was dead and in his face and now he didn't have his rabbit anymore.
He probably had not been the best rabbit owner but he had tried. He had loved Annie. He fed her carrots and petted her every day and cleaned the corner of the room she lived in himself once a month when the smell got too bad. He gave her water from a bowl nicked from the kitchens and he poured her enough water for a week at a time just in case he forgot. She had been a present from a stranger, given for free, and he had cared for her and now she was gone.
Billy knew whose fault it was. It was Tom. It had to be. There was nobody else as strange, as scary, as monstrous as Tom in the room across from theirs. Tom, who made his hatred of everyone visible but protected Harry like a brother. Billy knew they weren't siblings; he remembered when Harry had arrived. But then again, Billy had been here longer than many and that wasn't common knowledge among the orphans. He knew that Tom was something different; there was something in Tom's eyes that Billy hated because those flat grey eyes were made of stone that said that Billy could chip away all he wanted at the cliff but if he wasn't careful, it would fall on him and crush him until it was as if he had never existed. Harry's eyes were an unnatural green that seemed to glow sometimes and whenever Harry would look at him – he was blind and he shouldn't be able to know – Billy thought that maybe Harry saw something more than everyone else because every time Billy saw them there always seemed to be a thin layer of regret hidden deep.
Billy knew that he shouldn't have pushed Harry earlier today but he had been upset and reminded of Father Henry who had always been so nice and had listened to Billy. Billy knew that it was his job to listen but sometimes, it had felt as if Father Henry had really cared and listened because he wanted to, not because it was his job. And then Tom had almost outright stated that Father Henry had died because of him… and Harry defended Tom and Billy couldn't allow that to happen.
He hadn't meant for Harry to go flying. He shoved his friends like that all the time but he had forgotten that they saw him move and adjusted accordingly. Harry hadn't seen it and he had gone falling down the stairs and when Tom started checking him over on the landing with hands that moved with strange purpose from his wrists to his jaw to his eyes, Billy had regretted it. He regretted it even more now because he had seen the vicious flash in Tom's eyes, where grey stone became the steel of a knife, and had not taken the warning. Now Annie was dead.
Tom's eyes flashed open when he heard a scream and he found himself chuckling softly in the dark shadows of his room. Maybe this time, things would change and they would be safe. Maybe they'd be scared off enough that they wouldn't dare to bother Harry or him anymore.
Tom looked over at Harry and froze as he saw Harry's green eyes looking at him sadly. Tom opened his mouth to say something, even if it was a meaningless platitude because Harry would no doubt not understand but closed his mouth in shock as Harry simply closed his eyes and moved closer to Tom, tucking his head under Tom's chin and whispering, "Just don't do that again."
The taste of ice on Tom's tongue matched the chill of the night air that Tom could feel through the thin blanket that had been salvaged a few weeks back. The ice was comforting, though, and in some cases, Tom thought, perhaps it could even be warm.
November 7, 1935
The air outside was cold and seemed to lance right into Harry's very bones. The wind kept stroking his face with freezing fingers and Harry thought that if it continued the very skin of his cheeks would slough off.
He didn't mind. Despite the wonder of warming magic that Harry and Tom had long since mastered, there was something different about just letting the cold seep in like icy water in his boots. Harry glanced at Tom and laughed. Tom always hated the cold; he had confessed, one freezing night, that the cold reminded him of the time before Harry was there. The time when Tom huddled alone in bed during the winter, missing a blanket and far too close to the window for comfort. Tom's distaste was plain on his face as he flicked his hand, weaving a golden net of warmth around himself.
"The park's too cold now," Tom complained. "We could just practice in our room."
"No, I want to go to the park," Harry said. "It's just…different."
The orphanage was filled with the rustle and clatter of dozens of orphans racing the halls, just out of reach of Martha's hands or the burn of Mrs. Cole's disapproval. The door to their room was closed but the sounds still filtered in anyway.
Outside, it was silent. If Harry strained his ears, he could hear the loud rumble of a car in the distance or the faintest snatch of a conversation. However, overall there was nothing but the sound of the wind in his ears.
"We could've just locked the door," Tom said but Harry knew that Tom was only making a show at that point. Tom was outside with him, after all, leading him on toward the park. The walk was quiet, Tom occasionally swerving to the side to avoid some obstacle that Harry couldn't see. A few times, Harry had almost lost his balance when his boots slid out from under his feet, but Tom's arms always pulled him up again.
The sky must be cloudy, Harry thought. He couldn't feel the weak glare of the sunlight on his face. Tom's magic danced in a wide circle, for once predominantly green instead of gold. It foretold their planned activities; whenever they practiced magic, they would use the green magic instead of the gold.
The gold threads were thin and many, dancing over the surface of their skin and spiraling off in clouds and swirls. They were the easiest to use for small things. They also were the ones that gave Harry the most detail when he looked at Tom's face. For more powerful magic, green threads of thicker size would slink out from below the sheet of gold. They never pulled out the blue magic, though. That magic lay deep in both Harry and Tom's bodies under layers of celadon and metallic brilliance and despite Harry's efforts, it was reluctant to come out.
Harry and Tom couldn't wait until they could manage pulling out the blue magic. Harry eventually noticed that despite their magic when they first met, they both had identical colors. Harry's deep emerald and Tom's blues had morphed into the strange rainbow they had now. Sometimes, Harry would swear that their magic would slip and exchange between them when he wasn't looking.
It was odd but Harry didn't care anymore. Whatever had happened, they were now in the park and it was time to practice. To learn, to get better. To learn to protect themselves and each other because the world was cruel and never pulled its punches.
Harry slid his arm out from Tom's and walked the last few meters to their tree, pulling in a deep breath that made his throat turn to ice. Harry turned back and gave Tom an appraising look. "You always say that I smell like ice," Harry said. "So like the air now?"
Tom bit his lip and looked away, magic flushing his cheeks. Harry snickered, knowing that Tom was always embarrassed when Harry brought up his ability. "Can you even tell my magic apart from the air?" Harry wondered.
"Kind of," Tom said, flicking his hand and letting green magic spiral out. "The air outside does smell like your magic but when I smell your magic it's almost as if it's not only the smell I'm getting, but the idea. You know? Like when you remember the taste of that toffee you like. I smell it and not only do I smell and taste it but I also get the idea of ice and winter."
"Your ability is weird," Harry said with a grin and flicked his hand, shooting out thin ropes of green and aiming them at the ground. To his delight, there was ice or snow coating the ground. Harry concentrated for a moment and his magic spun in a vortex, lifting whatever the substance was into the air, before throwing it towards Tom.
Tom lunged to the side and his magic sent something flying at Harry. Harry ducked out of the reach of the magic but to his dismay, whatever the magic was ferrying had dropped out of its reach and hit him right in the face. It wasn't ice or snow after all. It was something freezing and slushy.
Harry didn't know what he was expecting. Proper snow was rare in London. He had been hoping for a thin layer of frost, at the very least, though.
"Agh, you win," Harry moaned, scrubbing at his face with the sleeve of his coat. "I was expecting something drier."
"It's November, Harry," Tom said. "It's always soggy and icy. And I told you earlier that there was a lot of frost the past week."
"Meh," Harry said. "Anyway, what should we practice?"
Tom crossed his arms, his magic dancing above his shoulders as he thought. "Maybe we can try to make ourselves invisible," Tom offered.
"Do you think we can do that?" Harry asked. "That sounds so complicated that I don't even know where to start."
"Do you have any better ideas?"
"I don't know, maybe we could figure out how to protect our stuff so Billy or Dennis don't touch it."
Tom hummed, bending down and grabbing at something before walking closer and bringing his hand out. "What should we try to protect? I have a rock in my hand."
"That'll work," Harry said. "I'll go through all of the shapes and forms I have memorized and you just try to make it happen on your own."
"Agreed," Tom said before the small shadow on his palm was engulfed by a swarm of green magic. Harry watched the swirling of Tom's magic for a while. When Tom tried to make something happen, sometimes his magic would randomly twist into a specific form or shape that would cause it to glow. Harry knew that those shapes and forms were essential for spells.
Harry began experimenting with a few threads of gold, fingers lightly dancing between the threads and pulling them in one way, then another. As Tom's magic flashed into a swirl with two ends, Harry quickly manipulated the golden threads into that shape. He hummed in success as the gold threads began to glow, memorizing it like he did dozens of others before.
"Keep doing what you're doing. I want to see if it works," Harry said. Tom complied, his magic twitching in his grasp as he kept it stable. Harry bent down and let his hand wander around the icy grass, feeling for something they could use to test what arrangement their magic formed. Harry stepped to the side and kept sweeping over the ground before his hand chanced upon a rock.
"Got it," Harry said, standing up and walking back to Tom. He lifted his hand above the shape Tom's magic was holding and let go. He watched as a shadow impacted the shape and then bounced off. He was about to let out a cheer but then he flagged as the shape broke, realizing that the two broken halves had very familiar shapes.
"Let it go, Tom!" Harry yelled, diving at Tom and shoving the two shapes away with a shiver. As Harry and Tom fell to the wet ground, water slipping through the fabric of their coats, a small explosion sent a blast of warmth onto Harry's back.
"Again?" Tom said, disgruntled, lifting the arm from his face and looking at where he had just been standing. "Why is it that half of the shapes we discover break so easily into the explosion ones?"
"Bad luck," Harry said. "But it worked, even if once, right?"
Tom sent him an unimpressed look. "So useful. We protect our stuff only to have it blow up as someone comes near."
Harry laughed, poking Tom in the arm. "Hey, at least we might be able to burn Billy's eyebrows off?"
Tom gave a wicked smirk. "Oh, I have an idea…"
"Tom!" Harry sighed, giving Tom a fond look. "Only for enemies, alright?"
"Maybe," Tom said, giving Harry an innocent look.
December 31, 1936
The sunlight pouring through their bedroom window was making Harry's hair glitter and Tom didn't want to get up. It was his birthday and his limbs felt warm and relaxed in the early morning light. It was just after dawn and Harry wouldn't be up for half an hour, at the very earliest.
Tom sighed and looked at the cracks in the ceiling, wondering what coincidence or twist of fate led to Harry arriving those years ago. He was so very lucky, he knew. He had an ally against the world, he had company, and he had a friend. A true, real friend that would never leave him because they went through everything together.
Despite what Tom had used to tell himself all those years ago, perhaps being alone wasn't being strong. He knew this now and he shuddered to think of what might have been of him had Harry never appeared in the orphanage, exclaiming that he could see Tom. Before Harry, Tom had been invisible and ignored except for as a target. It was ironic how Harry was the first to truly see him.
He wouldn't even need any birthday presents. Harry was still here, his breath whistling softly against the pillow and always a source of warmth during the coldest nights. Tom would never admit it, but whenever he woke up he always had to detangle himself from the mess of limbs and blankets. He wouldn't have it any other way.
The time passed slowly as Tom's thoughts cavorted in a sluggish pace, the room growing brighter and brighter as the sun detached itself from the curve of the horizon and slipped into its never-ending ascent into the sky. Eventually, Harry's breathing stuttered and he woke, rubbing at his always-glowing eyes.
"Happy birthday, Tom," Harry said with a yawn. "Sorry for waking up so late."
"It's fine," Tom said, smiling. "It was nice without your chatter."
Harry rolled his eyes and slipped out of bed, padding over to their wardrobe and changing out of his long pajamas into pants and a sweater. "Don't move," Harry called back, heading for the door. Tom raised an eyebrow, curious. Harry was likely getting him his present. He was interested to see what Harry had come up with.
Their presents to each other over the years had always been rather strange, scavenged from wherever they could snatch something. Yarn, thread, candy, a battered thing called a 'dreamcatcher' Tom had seen someone trash in the market. Books, colored pencils, a sketchpad from Harry.
Tom got out of bed and dressed as well, shivering as the chill of the room leeched into his fingers as he left the bed. He pulled on his clothing with quick, sure movements, pulling on a coat despite being indoors. By the time that Tom was finished, Harry had reentered the room, holding his hands behind his back.
"Happy birthday!" Harry said, smiling so brightly that Tom felt as if the sun itself had materialized in their room. His hands moved in front of him and their contents were presented to Tom.
Tom's eyes roved over the mismatched stack of pots and the bundles of paper before fixing on Harry's face.
"Thank you," Tom said, reverently taking the gifts from Harry's hands. He set the pots down on the ground and unwrapped one packet of paper, smiling when he saw the seeds inside. He looked up at Harry and asked, "How?"
"It was kinda hard," Harry said, messing with the hair on the back of his head, "but I managed to steal some seeds. I bought those pots with some money I got from doing a small job for that lady who sells bread down the street."
"Thank you," Tom repeated, chest filled with a buzzing energy and warmth. Harry knew that he had a fondness for flowers and now he could grow his very own. Tom had always liked them, simple and yet strong. Small amongst the grass but still standing tall, petals spread toward the sky.
Tom folded back the packet and placed it with the other seed bundles before leaping at Harry, hugging him tightly and hiding his face in Harry's neck. Harry stiffened in shock before wrapping his arms around Tom and hugging back.
"Thank you," Tom said for the third time. Growing flowers would be creating something for once, instead of the destruction that so characterized Tom's actions. He thought it would be a nice change.
May 7, 1937
Harry's hands were trembling. He and Tom had separated just for a moment on the way home from school. It was just supposed to be a moment. But then Dennis had arrived and Harry had ran and now nothing made sense.
Harry was acutely conscious of the darkness now. He had always been familiar with it and its ever-looming presence. He had known that Tom was nearby and whenever it got too overwhelming, Harry could simply look for him and he would light up the world. The darkness would hide. But the darkness now was smothering, stifling. The sounds rushed into Harry's ears and he tried to sort out the data. The sound of cars and voices and footsteps and barking dogs and scuffles and miscellaneous movements all flooded in and Harry couldn't make any sense of it. He was running so fast and it would take the smallest thing to make Harry fall.
Harry didn't want to fall. He prayed that there was nothing underneath his feet. He could not trip, not now. His feet pounded against the ground, the only thing that Harry knew was truly definite. Everything else was a miasma of sound and the wind in his ears brushed it all away.
A curb. Harry stumbled and darted sideways, cane in front of him like a sagging lance, ready to impale anyone at knee-height. It crashed into something and it jarred Harry's arm in one long sensation. He yanked it to the side and continued using some sense he wasn't particularly aware of to dodge people, crashing into their arms and bags but never fully into anyone.
He heard voices from the left and spun on his feet, darting into what he hoped was an alley. His feet crashed into something metal and a loud clatter echoed. It was an alley after all, Harry noted from the echoes. He had to hide. Dennis must be close behind.
He felt around and found a trash can, crouching behind it and wedging himself as far into the wall as he could go. His lungs heaved for breath and he pushed his cane behind a second trash can. He heard Dennis's voice. He stopped breathing, lungs screaming for air that they did not have.
It was dark and the sense of not knowing Dennis's exact whereabouts, burned at Harry's consciousness. A sob tried to rip free of his throat but Harry held it back, knowing full well that he was already badly hidden as it was. Any sound would be enough to alert someone to his presence.
He waited. The smell of garbage was rancid and sweet in his nose and the wall behind him was uneven and jabbed into his back. The trash can was metal and was cool unlike the air that was starting to heat up with the beginnings of summer. Sounds kept passing by, getting closer and louder and then fading off into the distance again.
He wasn't sure how long he waited. Perhaps it was mere minutes, perhaps it was hours. Harry was broken from his dazed shaking by a quiet whisper on the air. He perked up, listening carefully, trying to filter through the sounds coming into the alleyway. The blissfully muted sounds.
"Harry? Are you here? Answer me!"
It was Tom. He sounded terrified and worried beyond words. Harry felt a flash of guilt for making Tom so scared. He hissed into the stillness of the alley, "I'm here. Behind a garbage can."
A flash of gold and green and Tom, familiar home friend Tom was there and holding Harry tight and all Harry could say was "It was so dark," over and over like a broken record.
Harry never wanted to feel alone again.
November 17, 1937
Tom raced ahead, grinning madly as he stayed just out of reach of Harry's stretching fingers.
"Tom, you bastard!" Harry yelled behind him, feet pounding a staccato against the packed sand. "Slow down!"
"Don't feel like it," Tom called over his shoulder, laugh piercing the cold air as he saw Harry's furious face.
"I'll get you," Harry said and Tom felt fingers skim the edge of his coat. Harry was faster than Tom but he always cut his speed for caution. Tom couldn't find himself feeling particularly cheated though as it allowed him to taunt Harry into a hilarious rage.
"You can try," Tom said, leaping onto a large boulder and scrambling to the top, breathing heavily, before leaping to the next. Behind him, he could hear Harry's winded breath as he flew to the top of the boulder, and a quiet whine escape his lips. Harry saw that he moved ahead, Tom thought, stopping his ascension of the next rock to turn around and shoot Harry a smirk. "Do you give up, little Dove?"
Harry stared at him with a mutinous expression, hair falling in his eyes and face red with either exertion or the chill of the air. "Fine," Harry muttered sullenly in English. "Let's just keep going."
"I am the victor!" Tom said, climbing up the rest of the rock and balancing on the top, punching the air. "Everyone, bow down before Tom the Magnificent!"
"Magnificent at being an arse," Harry said with a pinched expression.
"Oh, you wound me," Tom said, dramatically throwing an arm across his brow and slipping to his knees. "I have the most magnificent arse, that's true."
"That's not what I said!" Harry said, eyebrows seemingly affected by extremely strong gravity.
"Thank you for the compliments," Tom said, smiling widely as Harry rolled his eyes before carefully climbing onto the rock Tom was standing on.
"You didn't have to leave me behind, you know," Harry said.
Tom raised his eyebrows. "Now you're just trying to make me feel guilty."
"Is it working though?" Harry asked, a smile tugging at the corners of his lips as he pulled himself level to Tom.
"Hmm," Tom said, sitting down on the rock and placing a finger on his lips. "It's hard to tell."
"I guess it's hard to think when you've got nothing in there," Harry said, singing voice laced with false sympathy as he poked Tom's head. Tom shot him a glare but Harry only smiled innocently.
"You're terrible," Tom finally decided with a giggle that he couldn't be bothered to suppress.
"Look who's talking," Harry said, raising an eyebrow as he poked Tom in the head again.
"Fine, then we're both terrible. Terrible, terrible!" Tom said, twisting around and looking behind him. They were close to the cave, he knew. They had found it two years ago during one of the orphanage's annual trips to the beach. Since they always went in winter, when it was too cold outside to even think about swimming, Harry and Tom usually explored the rocks and the cliff sides around the little rocky beach. One time, they'd struck gold when they found an isolated cave with several chambers inside it that was both private but a brilliant place for practicing some of their flashier and more dangerous magic. Although Tom normally cursed Mrs. Cole and Martha for dragging them all out there during the winter, of all times, the discovery of the cave changed things.
Mrs. Cole's cheapness and Martha's favors had allowed them to find a place where they could do things... big things. More than they could risk doing in a shadowy nook in a park or in their room late at night.
They'd learned so much in the cave. Fireballs, cooling magic to complement their warming magic, how to heal themselves… although that was more of necessity following their experiments. How to push things back and move them around and how to change things. Also, on their most daring of days, Tom would practice what Harry called his "ordering voice."
They couldn't use most of it, of course, when in London, but it was still amazing to know that they could both do these things. That they were different and better than all of those ordinary Muggles, Tom thought. That word had stuck in his mind from the first time Harry had mentioned it. An ugly word for the ordinary. It fit.
"Let's go to the cave," Tom said, having located the small dark spot on the cliff that marked its location.
"You found it?" Harry asked, leaning around Tom to peer in that direction. "Aw, your experiment didn't work."
"You don't see anything?" Tom asked, feeling disheartened. Last time, they had left a lot of magic on the entrance. It had left them feeling suddenly tired. They had hoped that some of the magic would stay around the entrance for a year so that they could locate the cave quicker the next time they visited the beach.
"No," Harry said, leaning back. "Let's go. Maybe I'll see something as we get closer."
They both slid off the rock, feet splashing in a thin layer of water. Harry latched onto Tom's coat as Tom began to navigate his way over to the cliff side. The rocky landscape around them was shiny and grey from the reflected clouds. As Tom and Harry moved forward, Tom grabbed onto Harry's coat as well.
It helped steady him as they walked over broken rocks and mirrors of water. In the silence, memories of heavy dark water over his head asulted him.
Harry's hand let go of Tom's coat and slipped into Tom's hand, which was cold from the chilly air. Tom felt himself relax a little bit. Harry's hand was warm and reassuring, a sharp contrast to the overwhelming sense of unease Tom always got while he was anywhere near the sea.
"Thank you," Tom whispered as he jumped onto the thin ledge that jutted out from the side of the cliff, moving a little and helping Harry steady himself on the ledge as he jumped as well. Harry hummed but said nothing, moving forward along the ledge, linked hands pulling Tom forward.
The ledge was narrow, only about two feet wide at its widest part. Tom and Harry pressed their backs against the cliff and inched sideways for a few minutes, the rocky stretch of the beach with its distant figures playing among the rocks in glorious view.
"You're always so uncomfortable here when we're not being loud," Harry suddenly said. "Maybe we should steal some flower seeds and plant some here."
"That would be a great idea," Tom said, "if not for the fact that we're here during winter."
Harry stopped and turned toward him with an incredulous look on his face.
"What?" Tom asked. "Why are you looking at me like that?"
Harry sighed dramatically. "Magic, Tom. I can't believe you forgot. You've brought flowers back to life during winter before!"
"Oh," Tom said. "I forgot."
"Yeah," Harry said, patting Tom on the head. "It's okay. That's why I'm around."
It took only a few more steps before the ledge widened out and ended. On first glance, it seemed as if the cliff had shallowly cracked from the bottom up in a thin line. However, upon closer inspection the ledge curved around the edge of one of the cracks and, if one went in sideways being mindful of their knees, it widened out eventually.
Inside, it was dark and cool, filled with the scent of brine and stale air. The ledge grew until it was five feet wide and stretched in a half-circle around a pool of water where waves crashed at the ledge with violent force. The only light that entered the cave came from the thin vertical split, filtering in through the stone and filling the first cave with ghostly silver light.
"Do you want to work here?" Harry asked, looking at Tom. While the first cave was filled with silver light and was bright enough for Tom to easily sea in, the second cave "room" was further in and much darker.
"Sure," Tom said. "If we want to do something flashier we can just move back."
"Alright," Harry said, walking up to the cave wall and plopping on the floor, leaning against it. "What do you want to do today?"
"I'm not sure," Tom confessed, staring at the dark depths of the pool in the center of the cave before moving over to sit next to Harry.
"How about," Harry began slowly, "we try to do stuff with water."
Tom grimaced, giving a sullen look to the pool. The water glittered merrily in the weak lighting, as if mocking him.
"Come on!" Harry said. "We can make it fun. If we get wet, you just do your cleaning thing and I'll dry our clothes."
Tom allowed himself a smirk at the reminder that his cleaning magic was superior. Harry still caused his magic to explode sometimes. "Sure," he said, standing up and stripping off his coat. He folded it into a neat pile along the wall, giving a stern look at Harry, who was holding out his coat as if about to drop it to the floor.
Harry grumbled but folded it in acquiescence before disappearing. Tom turned around to look for him but was met with a face full of salt water.
"Argh," Tom sputtered, wiping at his eyes and plastering the bangs of his hair to the side. "That's not fair."
"All is fair in love and war," Harry teased before another handful of salt water gained intimate acquaintance with Tom's eyes.
"Hey," Tom said, hissing before focusing on the cool pool of magic in his body. He pulled some of it violently toward the water, willing it to scoop up a handful of water and lob it at Harry's blurry face.
To Tom's dismay, he missed. Another glob of water hit his face, his eyes watering.
"I'm winning," Harry said, smirking as he stood at the edge of the pool.
"Not for long," Tom said as he surged forward, hands moving forward as two thick streams of magic scooped up water and launched themselves at Harry from behind.
Harry ducked to the side and the water crashed into Tom.
Tom hissed wordlessly, his eyes stinging and his pride beaten down by five consecutive hits to the face. Before his mind could logically tick through his options, he found himself leaping for Harry, arms reaching out and magic alert. Before he crashed into Harry, he caught sight of a satisfied look in Harry's glowing green eyes.
The fall into the water was slow. Harry's eyes slowly slipped shut and Tom's magic panicked and the dark pool of water got closer and closer until everything became dark and cold.
Tom flailed in the water, his hold on his magic gone and water rushing into his mouth and nose. He struggled against the black water that was sucking him down, pulling him down to drown, until the air was far away and he couldn't breathe anymore and hands were holding him and keeping him from struggling-
Tom's eyes snapped open, Tom dazedly wondering when they'd managed to close. Harry's face was blurry and located right in front of his face and his ears registered a repeating sound of hissing and singing.
"Tom. Calm down. You're fine. You can stand here; I tested it. Just calm down. You're fine."
Tom gasped and stopped flailing, hands shooting to hold onto Harry's shoulders. He stood there in the freezing water, just breathing heavily as Harry sung soft words into the silvery shadows of the cave.
"There's nothing to be scared of," Harry said. "You're always so scared of the water now…"
"With good reason," Tom said, teeth beginning to chatter.
"Still. Just calm down. Remember, you're the ocean. You have nothing to fear."
"Ocean?"
"Or the sea. Remember? You once told me that's what your magic smelled like."
"And looked like…"
"Yeah," Harry said. "Except now it's all gold and green and the blue's hidden underneath, just like mine. It's still kind of like the ocean, though?"
"In the sun," Tom said and Harry gave a brilliant smile.
Once they got out of the pool – an effort that required much teamwork on their parts – Tom set to cleaning their clothes with magic while Harry wove careful warming charms over them. Both of them couldn't resist giggling a little bit at the feeling of magic around them, dancing over their skin.
Harry and Tom practiced trying to make water from the air. Tom believed that since they could make fire from thin air, although Harry was the only one who had success in holding it so far, they could easily make water too. Harry was doubtful but nevertheless tried it.
"It's the shapes," Harry said. "The ones for fire are really basic and a lot of shapes look like that when they break."
"Let's do the shape-finding thing, then," Tom said, scooping up a handful of water and making his magic hold it in a ball in one hand. Harry watched as Tom stuck out his second hand and his magic gathered in a gold riot, slowly becoming green as more powerful magic was pulled out into Tom's fingertips. The magic began roiling, seeming to pull somewhat into a shape before snapping back into its chaotic mess.
Harry played with the buzzing strands of gold across his fingertips, pulling here and looping there. Water, Harry thought, thinking of the icy cold of the pool as he fell in, the way the water sluiced against his skin when he stood up and the feeling of lightness that the water created. To Harry's delight, it seemed as if the golden magic was straining to form a shape. Harry let it loose from his preconceived notions and watched as the golden threads moved under his dancing fingertips until they settled in a series of shapes, arranged lightly in the air above his hands.
"Tom, is anything happening?" Harry asked, staring at the magic in his hands and examining it closely. The first shape looked sort of like a flower and the one beneath it looked like a sun. A strange, v shape was the final shape in the sequence.
"Yes," Tom said, voice high. "Water's appearing in your hands!"
Harry looked closer and within the magic he could see a slight dampening. He grinned. "We did it, Tom! And it took no time at all."
"How many shapes?" Tom asked.
"You won't believe it," Harry said, unable to look away from the lazily glowing gold threads in his hands. "Three."
Tom walked closer and grabbed onto Harry's hands. "Harry! Stop looking at the pretty colors! Show me how to do it."
"Okay, okay," Harry said, flicking one hand and watching the golden threads fall apart, pulling on their remains so that he didn't lose them. "Now just feel…"
Harry started pulling threads in Tom's hands, arranging them into the proper shapes and trying to make the right orientation. "How does that feel?" Harry asked, making a few finishing touches to the golden tangle with three glowing knots.
"Like…water," Tom said, smiling brightly as the golden light in his hands dimmed with the appearance of water. Harry's eyes widened when Tom's smile gained a dark edge. Before Harry could react, a bunch of water hit him straight in the face.
At least the water wasn't salty, Harry consoled himself as he found himself running around the ledge of the cave, out of reach of Tom's suddenly dripping hands.
After a few rounds of the cave, Harry was surprised when Tom began lobbing balls of water at his face. He increased his evasion but kept getting clipped by water anyway.
"I give up!" Harry called, running toward the entrance of the cave. "Have mercy!"
"Never," Tom called as his footsteps sounded behind Harry with a clatter and echo.
Harry sped up as he got closer to the entrance only to hit something solid and soft. He fell heavily, hearing twin gasps and shrieks underneath his body. Harry picked himself up on his elbows and gaped because the voices sounded terribly familiar.
"Get off me, you freak!" Dennis's voice called, punctuated by a punch to the stomach. Harry fell sideways, hands clutched over his stomach as it began aching. "Tom," Harry managed to gasp out.
"We knew you were strange!" Amy's voice shrieked. "Dennis, we need to tell Mrs. Cole!"
Harry heard the sounds of people scrambling to their feet next to him but before the sounds could transform into the pounding of running footsteps, a cold voice echoed throughout the cave, "You're not going anywhere."
Harry got to his feet, shakily stumbling over to Tom's familiar form and whispering, "I'm okay. Oh Merlin, Tom. What do we do?"
"Don't try to run away," Tom said, sticking out a hand and summoning a ball of fire, if what Harry could see of the shape was right. "Or you'll get this in your faces."
"You sick freak," Dennis spat. "Billy said not to touch you anymore but you're wrong."
"He said you killed his rabbit and Mrs. Cole told everyone to stay away from you," Amy said, voice trembling. "But we can't let you get away with it. Everyone ignores you now but that's wrong! You're evil!"
Harry inhaled sharply. "We're not evil! You're the evil ones!"
"Oh yeah?" Dennis asked. "Why'd you kill Billy's rabbit? And we know you steal. You always have nicer things."
"We're going to tell someone," Amy said. "We just saw you do your freakishness with our own eyes."
Tom's face was stony as he looked at Amy and Dennis before it twisted into a wicked smirk. "What are they going to do?" Tom asked softly, voice quiet but still carrying through the cave. "Who's going to believe you? They've already tried exorcism and that didn't work."
Harry winced, chewing his lips and looking away at the reminder. He heard a quick scuffle on the floor and instantly his eyes turned towards Amy and Dennis as he registered that they were moving – they were getting away.
Harry gave a cry of horror – they couldn't get away because then they would tell someone and maybe someone would try to do something after all – and threw his magic forward, gold and green mixing and, to Harry's shock, a touch of blue, in the mess. The magic formed great hands – claws – and suddenly two shadows were inside the magic and Harry found that it was hard to breathe.
"You can't go," Tom said, shooting Harry a quick look, eyes questioning.
"I'm okay," Harry whispered. "I… I couldn't let them get away. I'm sorry-"
"Everything's fine," Tom said and walked forward.
"You thought you could get away," Tom said, voice once again silky and lilting in a way that sounded like Parseltongue. A beautiful siren song of tones going up and down and smooth consonants transcribed into English.
Harry watched with wide eyes as thin strands of magic pulled out of Tom's hair, especially his eyes, and flew forward towards the two shadows that Harry knew to be Amy and Dennis in his magic. He recognized the strands; it was what Tom had done to him by accident so long ago.
"You saw horrible things," Tom said in a low voice that cracked slightly. "They will give you nightmares. You will never speak of them to anyone; you will not bother Harry anymore. You will be scared."
The thin strands of magic pulsed in time with Tom's words and wove themselves around the shadows like a vicious crown of thorns before shooting towards their targets.
There was a moment of silence in the air, inside the darkness, before Dennis and Amy screamed and went limp. Harry jerked, his grip on his magic failing and he heard the distinct sounds of Dennis and Amy hitting the ground. He could hear quiet sobbing start.
"Tom," Harry whispered. "What was that?"
Tom turned to stare at him with hollow eyes. Harry almost flinched before remembering that this was his Tom, not the scary Tom that just did something strange to Amy and Dennis.
"I'm sorry," Tom said. "I didn't want to – I promised I wouldn't do it-"
"It's okay," Harry said, walking over to Tom and hugging him tightly. The adrenaline and fear was fading from his body and now all Harry felt was tired and cold. Tired and cold and unable to deal with anything, anymore.
"Can we just go?" Harry asked. "They'll be alright… right?"
"Probably," Tom said, hugging Harry back so tightly that Harry's bones creaked. "But at least we're safe now," he whispered.
Warnings: mild gore, drowning (kinda), pretty intense fear
Note: I want to mention that I have made a slight historical error. School for British children has been mandatory since 5 years of age since 1880's Elementary Education Act. When I finish this story, I'll go back and fix this oversight as I polish and rewrite the other chapters. I made an assumption that I should have researched more thoroughly.
AN: I thought it would be ironic (and cute) if Tom liked flowers. I assure you it was only slightly inspired by A Very Potter Musical's Quirrelmort.
Apologies for taking so bloody long to get this chapter out. Not only did I go on a small vacation with limited internet access but I also wanted to pay homage to the rabbit and cave incident from Tom's canonical childhood and I was having trouble figuring out how to arrange and make the scenes occur without making everyone terribly out of character. After an hour's worth of debate with the lovely friend I am writing this for and a few helpful reviews, I hope the result was satisfactory. Love you, Scarfy!
Additionally, asurahozuki (Tumblr) or areli-p-rabbit (Deviantart) has created fanart for the Magicweaver! Thank you so much! It can also be viewed on my Tumblr.
