Wammy's Boy

By: Super NEET

Chapter 2

The children at Wammy's House were quite different from the children at Harry's former schools. They were either extremely eccentric or extremely reserved and refined—rarely was there someone who seemed at all in-between. Indeed, even their names were strange and, sometimes, reflective of their personality, a concept which Harry did not understand. Would they change his name to Scarhead? Or Freak? He certainly hoped not.

Children such as Sister—a boy who sported a bowl cut and was a few years older than Harry—and Victory—a girl with short hair and blue eyes lit with determination—startled Harry with their unfamiliarity. Never before had he felt so frightened of children his own age; even Dudley or the bullies at his old schools couldn't compare. Despite his anxiety he did not desire to return to Number Four, Privet Drive, mostly because he wanted to forget that the place existed, and forget the people that had once lived there with him and made him sleep in the spider-ridden cupboard under the stairs. Forget that they were dead, leaving him with a strange feeling of bitterness. A small part of him would always long to have a grand escape in which he showed them what for, he supposed. But instead they had died—all three of them.

Their sudden and accidental death—a la car crash, which made him wonder if it ran in the family—was why he was at Wammy's House in the first place. It was a stately and beautiful orphanage that doubled as a school, a school for so-called special children (which Harry knew was another way to say 'smart children'). The old man, Mr. Ruvie, had told him of a test he would have to take, a test which would determine whether or not he stayed at Wammy's. Harry was unsure as to whether or not he wanted to stay. Apprehension he was familiar with, even accustomed to, but this alien combination of hope, fear, and anxiety nearly had him shaking in his sneakers.

A test, Mr. Ruvie had said. What sort of test? A maths test? He was good at maths; perhaps it wouldn't be so bad. Then again, it could just as easily be a Social Studies test, a subject which he had never really excelled in. The first inklings of panic began to stab at his insides with the frequency of a drum roll.

Harry attempted to stem these troublesome feelings as he fidgeted in front of Mr. Ruvie's desk. The man was looking over some paper work, or something. He hadn't spoken for what seemed like hours to Harry's seven-year-old perception of time.

Finally the man cleared his throat and looked up at Harry, no-nonsense like. Harry had never been looked at in such a way.

"Now, Harry," the man said strictly, "I understand that you have been through quite the ordeal," the man sounded so perfunctory that Harry didn't think he considered it an 'ordeal' at all. Harry relaxed minutely, as he didn't consider it one either. "But we cannot waste time on this matter."

Harry stared at him with wide, curious eyes. He barely blinked, and the man stared back firmly before continuing.

"You will take the entrance test tomorrow morning at seven A.M., and if you pass you will be given further directions. If you fail, I will unfortunately have to escort you back into the care of the government." Mr. Ruvie folded his hands on his desk and leaned forward, "Do you understand?"

"Yes." Harry said immediately. And he did. If he passed, he stayed…but if he failed, he was kicked out. Couldn't the man have put it more simply?

"Good." Mr. Ruvie said shortly. He picked up a rather old-fashioned phone and twirled the strange dial—Harry had only seen such a device in movies, but he reckoned it fit in well with Wammy's old-fashioned feel.

After a moment, Mr. Ruvie spoke again, this time to someone on the other line: "Ah, Matt. Good evening." A small pause. "I have the child I mentioned to you earlier here with me. He needs to be escorted to his temporary room." Another tiny pause—'Matt' must have been a man of few words. "Thank you." Mr. Ruvie hung up.

Harry stared down at the hands folded in his lap—hands that were rough from chores and burns he had acquired during his trial-and-error runs with the Dursley's stove. Would he be forced to cook and clean if he was allowed to stay at Wammy's House? Or perhaps he would be sent to live with another family just like the Dursleys? A part of Harry roared in anger at the thought of being tossed aside because he was deemed not smart enough to stay, while another part of Harry worked frantically to keep these rampant emotions in check.

Not two minutes later the door to Mr. Ruvie's office opened. Mr. Ruvie didn't so much as twitch, but Harry twisted in his seat and was surprised to see that Matt was not a man, but a boy not much older than himself. He had dark red hair and a lanky, relaxed build. Strange goggles were settled on his forehead as if they were an afterthought, but other than that Matt seemed to be…completely average. He appeared to be a normal kid—carefree and casual.

"Harry, if you would please follow Matt to your room for the night. You will be retrieved in the morning." Mr. Ruvie stacked some papers on his desk and now seemed to only be speaking as an addendum. "I suggest you rest well."

"Okay." Harry said quietly, and he hopped from the chair and turned to Matt, who looked him over briefly before letting a tiny smile. Harry returned it gratefully.

"C'mon." Matt said—his voice was pleasant, Harry thought.

After a few moments of silence, in which Harry took in the walls that may or may not make up his new home, Matt spoke.

"The test is difficult." He said carelessly. "It's diverse, though, so you have a lot of chances to prove yourself in one or two areas. I reckon they'll also gauge your I.Q."

Harry didn't want to mention that he didn't know what 'I.Q.' meant.

"I…" Harry bit his lip and wrung his hands together. Matt glanced at him, and smiled in the carefree matter that seemed to represent his entire being. "I don't think I'll do well."

Matt dug in his pocket and pulled out a handheld video game console—one even nicer than the model that Dudley use to wave tauntingly in Harry's face.

"I think you will." Matt said simply, before switching on his game and becoming immersed in the cartoon violence it held.

Harry couldn't bring himself to be annoyed, and as he was shown his rather plain (and, he told himself, most likely temporary) room, he felt his stomach churn in a familiar feeling of anxiety. He didn't want to go back into the care of those cold, serious people—the ones who gazed at him with sympathy so fake even his rather underdeveloped perception of emotions could sense the falsity in their expressions and tone. He wasn't sad, exactly, and he definitely wasn't in mourning. Hadn't he hated his family? Was he supposed to feel depressed? Everyone seemed to think so, and the fact that Harry was perfectly stable and more or less the same as always worried him a little. Perhaps he was broken?

"You think too much." Matt commented, having made himself at home on Harry's temporary bed. He lay on his stomach, staring down into the screen of the game console in his hands.

Harry wondered why the redhead was still there, but humored him: "Do I?"

Matt hummed in affirmation. "Yeah. You're gonna hurt yourself. I suggest you save all the thinkin' until after the test is over."

His accent wasn't what Harry was used to—a bit rougher, perhaps more sharp. Then again, on his way into and through Wammy's he had heard more languages being spoken than he knew existed. He had always wanted to learn another language…maybe two, or three other languages…

Harry was very good at evading things.

"How old are you?" He ejaculated a few moments later without really meaning to. He smiled sheepishly when Matt glanced at him with a raised eyebrow.

"Eight." He said.

"Oh. I'm nearly seven."

"Mr. Ruvie told me."

Harry assumed the silence that came after this exchange was only awkward for him, as Matt was so immersed in his game Harry reckoned not even a tornado could—

"MATT!" A bellow sounded from the hallway, making Harry jump rather comically and turn to face the door in apprehension.

"In here!" Matt called vaguely, shifting into a more comfortable position but not getting up.

The door was thrown open violently, and in the doorway stood another young boy who was scowling darkly, as if someone had just nearly knocked his door off its hinges. His hair was blond, his skin pale, his clothing black and his eyes wild and filled with a certain spark—a certain angry something that Harry couldn't place. He stormed into the room and crossed his arms, glaring between Matt and Harry speculatively.

"Who're you?" The boy demanded of Harry. He had a very slight accent that Harry could not place.

"I'm—"

"He's new, Mello." Matt said quickly, interrupting the younger boy. Harry bit his lip, wondering if he'd almost just made a mistake. Although not answering this 'Mello' didn't seem like a good idea.

Mello sneered at Matt, "That's what he is, not who he is."

Mello reminded Harry of the bullies at his old school, although his eyes were different. Sharper. For Mello, childish belligerence was not synonymous with unintelligence, but that did not make Harry dislike him any less. Something about Mello pushed his buttons…

Matt didn't seem at all phased by the hostility rolling off of Mello.

"He'll be taking the test tomorrow morning. I reckon they'll give him a name once he's passed it."

Harry felt something twist in his gut at the way Matt so carelessly assumed he was smart enough to pass tomorrow's test.

"Yeah, but—"

"Mello," Matt said softly, his whole demeanor shifting as he shut off his game and sat up, "You know how this works. Just call him whatever you want until tomorrow."

"Within reason!" Harry said hurriedly.

Matt appeared slightly amused, but other than that Harry was completely ignored. Matt seemed to be rather close to Mello—God knows why—and he held stern eye contact with the blond for several moments. Mello on the other hand didn't seem amused in the slightest, yet stayed quiet and returned the look with an air of frustrated petulance.

After a short time Mello turned and looked Harry over with narrowed eyes; Harry slouched a little in response and fiddled with his too-long sleeves.

He wasn't much to look at—he had always been small but fast, and clumsy but flexible. Large glasses sat precariously on his round nose and his hair hung in his face and around his neck in incredibly messy waves. His skin—which had been pale as snow once upon a time—was now tanned from all of the time he had spent outside doing chores in his Aunt Petunia's garden. His words were soft but his message blunt, and he had never considered his mind to be anything amazing. Someone seemed to disagree, though, seeing as he was currently under the scrutiny of a 'special child' within the walls of a school for 'special children'…

"What's that on your head?"

Harry's eyes snapped up from where they had been fixed on the ground. "What?"

Mello rolled his eyes and placed his hands on his hips in a queenly manner. "What's that thing on your forehead?"

Harry glared at someone for the first time in months. It felt rather good to be able to get angry without real consequence…besides, of course, the consequence-ridden scenario in which Mello got him in a headlock. But something told him that Matt—who was once again on Harry's temporary bed, playing a video game—wouldn't allow that, no matter how indifferent he seemed.

"None of your business." Harry snapped defensively, and with relish.

Mello rolled his eyes again—Harry found the action very irritating. "I just wanna see it. Chill out."

He needed to chill out? Harry felt his blood start to boil in his veins.

"No." He said flatly. Matt suddenly turned his face to Mello, his eyes sharp. "It's none of your business."

Harry suddenly realized that Mello was use to always getting what he wanted. It was with no small amount of satisfaction that Harry was denying this one little thing, at least for now…

Mello clenched his fists at his sides and scowled darkly. "Let. Me. See it!"

"Stop asking me that!" Harry practically shouted, his own hands curling into fists that he had never used in anger.

Mello's chest seemed to be heaving slightly with rage, and his eyes flashed sapphire with resentment. Matt was alert now and sitting up, the game still on in his hands but not holding his attention. Harry and Mello's eyes were locked in a fierce battle of wills.

Never before had Harry been able or felt compelled to deny another person something so simple. If a child had asked to see his scar before, he would have immediately complied with their wishes. Mello, though…Mello was different. He was 'special', and annoying, and a complete asshole. Harry wasn't even ashamed of the scar—not anymore, at least. It was just a mark he'd always had to bear. It meant nothing to him.

Mello's face had been turning pink over the course of the staring contest, and he seemed ready to beat the living daylights out of Harry before making the bespectacled boy show him the scar.

Harry glared for a moment longer, unimpressed (he'd seen worse, really) before he felt the anger leave him, gradually and without a fight. He'd had to calm himself a lot when he'd lived with the Dursley's—it seemed to be an aspect of his personality that would stay with him forever.

Sighing in annoyance and defeat, he lifted up his fringe and showed a somewhat surprised Mello his scar. Mello stared at it for a while, at a loss for words, before his mouth twisted into a feral grin of victory and intrigue.

"I knew you'd give in," he said, seemingly unable to stop the words, before he blurted: "That is one badass scar!"

Matt's lips twitched, and Harry scowled.

"Whatever." He muttered, annoyed with himself for giving in and at Mello for being so damn smug about it. The blond boy continued to give him a look that would not seem strange on the face of a satisfied jungle cat.

Harry hoped he passed tomorrow's test, if only so he would have an opportunity to knock that irritating look off of Mello's face.

A/N: I think Harry seemed a bit too mature…I mean, he's only six here. Then again, he's not a normal kid by any means, so I suppose that's okay.

And let it be known that I adore Mello with every fiber of my being. :D

Important: The actual Death Note timeline will probably not be incorporated into this story. I will probably make it completely AU, and—although I love Light and Matsuda and, yes, even Misa—I will disregard all things Kira. I wish I could incorporate it, but I don't feel I could do it Justice. Yes, with a capital 'J'. ;)

Next Chapter: You'll meet more of the children at Wammy's, and follow Harry throughout the next year of his rather hectic life. Oh, and more of Mello being an asshat, and also 100% more Near. Yeyz!