Clouds Gathering

The baby was crying, again. Anakin rolled over, exhausted. It had only been three months and Anakin didn't feel like a person anymore. His mind barely functioned and his eyes were burning and he just wanted a little sleep! He'd feed the boy only an hour before! There was no way he was hungry again!

The baby was still wailing.

Anakin snarled. He reached for the not-force-power and tugged it into himself. Then, in one swift movement, he rolled over to face the child and threw his arm towards the baby, channeling his intentions in an instinctive move. Muscle memory with different muscles.

"Shut UP!"

The crib set up in his room moved a few inches from the impact of the not-force-power. And the cries of the baby cut off immediately.

There was a single moment of silence-silence-silence that seemed to echo around the world. And then Anakin's breath caught.

The spike of adrenaline that shot through him had him tripping out of his bed in a second. His feet tangled in the sheet as he fell out of his bed and left him slipping, again, as he tried to get to the cradle.

Padme as his fingers crushed her throat and his power told her to die. Her body falling. Skywalker's, Luke's body falling from the clouds as he flung himself, wounded and in pain, away from his father. Not again. No, please, no, no, no, please, no-no-no . . .

The small body was naturally pale- that didn't mean anything. Anakin's eyes looked for bruising, bleeding, anything- as he ran his fingers gently and urgently over the tiny form.

Tom was breathing. In fact he was still trying to scream, his little bread loaf body tensed up and pushing air out of his little lungs. But no sound was coming out.

The slight relief that he hadn't killed the child faded when he realized he didn't know what he had done.

Finishing his inspection, and finding no broken skin or bones, Anakin lifted the child up. What had he done? The child reacted to the lifting, breaking into softer sobs that were as inaudible as the screams. Had he broken the child's vocal cords? The image of his fingers curling and a throat crushing made something inside him ache terribly.

He'd hurt Tom. He'd hurt his child. (Luke, tucked around a missing hand, agony clear on his young face. Leia's face as she struggled to reach man she loved as he sold him.) Why had he ever- ? He felt a scream inside him force it's way out of his throat. But what came out was a pained sob.

He took a deep breath. He tried to remember what Obi Wan would have said. He had vague memories of his master taking deep breaths to settle into a soft meditative state when Anakin had done something stupid. He held onto that memory and matched his breathing to that of his master's.

In, out, in, out. In. Out. In. . . Out. . .

He pulled the no-force-power into himself. Then he gently ran it into the baby. He would be okay. This would help. The power filled the child and-

-freed him.

The baby's sobs filled the room again.

Anakin's silent tears joined them.

Anakin rolled out of bed. The memory of his first damaging use of magic was twisting his stomach. Becoming a good man was a process. He'd known as he died, that there was still good in him. He'd also known there was great evil in him. He'd hoped the good counted for something.

Being with his mother, in those early days, had been enough to keep the darkness at bay. All his immediate needs had been met. His second chance to be a son and spend time with her made him happy. And his temper tantrums had been age appropriate; smashing things and yelling. And his mourning had been a quiet, personal thing.

Parenting was different.

He'd made mistakes. That night he'd silenced the child had been the first major one, but not the last. There had been one month where Anakin had dropped the child a total of five times. (In his defense he'd been sleep deprived and Tom had just become more wild and wiggly and he'd hated himself for days after each incident.)

Professor Dumbledore was going to come today. And Anakin was already rethinking his decision to not go to Hogwarts. In the moment it had seemed like just one more moment where someone thought they knew best and tried to separate Anakin and Tom. But looking back on it- this could be an opportunity to learn control. This wasn't the Jedi order who spoke about denying attachments. This was a school that offered understanding of, and control over, your power in a safe learning environment.

The separation was still an issue. Tom was his. By virtue of no one else wanting him and Anakin suffering worry and fear and guilt over the child, Tom was his. And no one was going to take him away from Anikin.

But learning about their powers would only help he and Tom. Tom wasn't a reborn soul. He didn't understand when Anakin told him to keep his powers to himself. Anakin needed to help him. And he could learn about that in a community of people like them. Maybe some of them had families like them, parents who had the same problem he did in hiding their child's unnatural, strange powers.

Anakin pulled on his shirt and tucked it in. He would get Tom up, dressed and brush their hair. When they survived breakfast without incident, he would worry about the meeting with the professor.

Dumbledore wore a lemon yellow suit he'd transfigured out of his favorite lemon yellow robes as he walked through town towards the Orphanage. (No, not his favorite robes- his favorite Lemon yellow robes. Yes, he did have five sets of lemon yellow, thank you for asking. And this set was best for it's level of comfort and the lovely gold belt that it came with when it wasn't turned into a suit.)

How was it possible for one child to be so much trouble? Dumbledore wondered, as he approached the front gate. He had a plan of action. It had been simple enough to convince the Headmaster to accept the plan. But it required a lot of effort on the part of Dumbledore. And he wasn't certain that the Walker boy would accept it.

He could only hope (thought he wasn't certain if he hoped the boy accepted or rejected the plan).

"Amos, my boy!" Dumbledore called. "How are you?"

Walker sat on the front stoop in a jacket with the baby dressed neatly by his side.

"Mr. Dumbledore. I'm fine, sir," the boy said politely. "How are you?"

"Wonderful, my boy, wonderful. How do you feel about going on a visit? Do I need to speak to the Lady of this establishment?"

"No, I told them all that Tom and I would be going out today."

"Ahh," Dumbledore rather felt he should have seen this coming. He lowered his voice and asked. "About that, Wouldn't it be best to leave the child behind? It's a place for our sort and he isn't quite . . ." He trailed off meaningfully.

"He makes his toys float, sir." There went that argument. "He'll be fine. I have a bag packed for him and I think that it might be good for him to know that we aren't alone in the world. It's been hard hiding what he's been doing."

"Strange, that you would be prompted to take care of a baby that is a wizard as well," Dumbledore mussed.

"Sometimes, sir, good things are supposed to happen. So they do."

Dumbledore watched as the boy stood up, swung the too big baby up on his hip, and grabbed his bag all in one smooth motion. That took practice.

"I have lots of questions, sir." Dumbledore wasn't surprised at that. But he did feel some trepidation over the hard look the young man gave him.

"Ask away, my boy," Dumbledore said, nerves never enough to stop him from facing a challenge. He'd once be sorted into the house of the brave after all.

Anakin listened to the Professor explain Hogwarts in more detail. The classes were . . . interesting, to say the least. Potions made some sense. Divination seemed complicated but real enough. But Runes seemed senseless. Words were definitely important but they couldn't, shouldn't be able to do things when left written around in odd places. Wand classes were only strange in the sense that a wand was needed. A piece of wood . . . Really? And words?

"Highly skilled wizards do not need to use a wand for spells that they are very familiar with. And by the time they graduate Hogwarts, most students are able to cast spells silently," Professor Dumbledore explained, "They can think the spell and it will happen."

"But they still need the . . . the words of the spell," Anakin checked.

"The incantation," Dumbledore defined. "Yes."

"Oh," Anakin had to think about it. He'd known for a while that what he was doing wasn't the Force. But to think it was so different . . .

"Are we almost there?" He asked, shifting Tom to his other arm. They had been traveling for quite a while and Tom was beginning to want down.

"Nearly," Dumbledore seemed just as relieved at the prospect as Anakin was. "Just a block or two."

Anakin was . . . annoyed at the relief. Dumbledore was an adult used to working with children. He should be able to at least pretend to be patient."Do you mind if we let Tom walk with us the rest of the way?" He asked sweetly. "Only he's getting fussy and my arms are getting tired."

The professors' sigh of frustration brought sweet victory to Anakin's sadistic soul.

So, suddenly the story is going in a different direction than I'd planned. Which means a lot of new work and reworking of old work. Oh well . . . this is more fun to write anyway.