Title: Masquerade

Disclaimer & Summary: See first chapter.

Author: ShaeLynn Teelle

Polite constructive criticism is welcome; FLAMES WILL BE FED TO THE DRAGON IN MY BED.

Chapter 2

- 9 years old -

Harry clutched his right arm to his chest, hissing slightly at the pain. He stepped forward slowly, carefully, not wanting to fall again from his throbbing ankle. Vernon had been forced to bring Harry with him into London that morning and an older man in strange clothing had stopped them on the street despite Vernon's glares. He had clutched Harry's hand, shaking it profusely as he spouted what an honor it was to meet him.

When the man had left, Vernon had given Harry a harsh glare and pulled him down several streets away from the direction they were originally heading. Each of the streets grew darker and dirtier until Vernon finally pulled him into a nearly black alley and released his anger.

Harry had learned years before that no sound should be made, even if it meant biting a hand until it bled to keep the noises in. He didn't need to worry that morning. Vernon had never broken a bone before and Harry was unprepared for the pain as the crack from his arm seemed to echo in the alley.

Vernon had stopped the beating sharply, as though surprised at his own actions for a moment. Then, he laughed. And, as Harry was still in shock on the ground, his arm going numb where the pain should have been, Vernon sneered.

"Hope that I come back for you, freak. Perhaps I'll just leave you here for the rats to eat."

The overly large man had turned away and walked out of the alley, purposefully trodding upon a foot in his path. Now, after more than an hour sitting there in pain, his ankle was swollen. Harry could feel it pulsing with his heartbeat. He had already fallen once from putting his weight on the weak ankle too harshly.

He met the brick wall of a building with his arm when he'd stumbled and had fallen to his knees, stars winking behind his closed eyelids. Harry didn't know where he was in London, nor how to return to Privet Drive from anywhere in London. He also had no doubt that unless Vernon was forced to acknowledge him, he would never be allowed in his relatives home even if he did find it on his own.

His thoughts were dark, angry, and bitter as he nearly stumbled again. Harry caught himself with his good arm and stopped, resting against a building as he caught his breath and pushed the pain away. He took in his surroundings and saw that he had caught himself against the window of a store front.

The glass was dirty and grimy, but he could vaguely see through a spot where his sleeve had wiped at the grime. He saw many bins with colored things in them and a man around his uncle's age, but nowhere near his size, behind a high counter with a strange pointed hat on his head.

Harry shuddered slightly at the thought of his uncle, but steeled himself. Hiding his limp and clutching his arm tightly to his chest, he pushed the door open and stepped inside. The shop was small, barely large enough for a handful of people to stand comfortably within. The bins, he discovered, were filled with colored stones of various shapes and sizes, some smooth and shiny, some rough. His attention was diverted by the man behind the counter as he quietly coughed. Harry nearly ran from the shop at the pointed look sent his way, but pulled his courage together and approached the counter.

"Can I help you?" the man asked quietly, his voice betraying none of his thoughts.

Unknown to Harry, the man had a clear view of the street outside his shop and had seen the boy stumble and the pain that raced across his face. As he had entered the shop the man had also seen a strange scar in the middle of the boy's forehead, a scar that he knew the reputation of very well. When the boy approached, the man also noticed the nearly hidden limp, the stiff arm, and the fierce growling coming from the child's stomach.

"I know your shop doesn't sell food, but would you have some that you'd be willing to spare? I can pay for it," Harry said and began to dig into his pocket with his good arm, but the man stopped him.

"Keep your money, child."

Harry, thinking the man was unwilling or unable to share some food, quietly apologized and turned away from the counter. The man quickly and silently stopped him with a hand on his shoulder, causing Harry to flinch away violently. Once the boy had composed himself again and the man's hand was removed, he spoke reassuringly.

"I am not turning you away, child, but I will not take money for something so simple to share as food. Come back behind the counter and I will see what food I can find for you."

Harry cautiously followed the man through a curtained doorway. He'd had such little experience with kindness from adults that he was beyond wary. Though he was grateful as he'd only had a few coins that he'd found and hidden from Vernon and Dudley. The man directed him to a small table near a corner and turned to several high cupboards.

From within them he pulled out a glass and small bowl. A frosty pitcher was retrieved next and an earthenware covered bowl followed. When they were placed on the table before Harry, he realized that the orange-tan liquid inside was cold, very cold, but the bowl, which had been within the same cupboard, was still steaming when the cover was removed.

"But, how… that wasn't," Harry blurted and then snapped his mouth shut. He shrank slightly in the chair, preparing for a punishment of some kind for not only the outburst, but also for the half-asked question.

The man didn't react negatively though. Completely serious, the man simply replied, "Magic."

"It doesn't exist."

Dark gray eyes looked hard at Harry. "Perhaps. My daughter brought this out for my lunch. She left just before you arrived. I have more than enough to spare," the man's voice was quiet and throughout his words, he watched Harry's reaction.

"Oh. Thank you for sharing with me," Harry replied, quite willing to allow the matter of magic to drop. He had learned that the subject was not one to be discussed and always had consequences.

As Harry ate, the man stayed in the room, watching him. The attention made Harry uncomfortable as normally attention had painful consequences. The man watched the boy carefully eat in silence. Just the fact that the child already knew to eat slowly and not rush, showed the man it was not the first time Harry had been forced to go hungry.

When the small bowl of soup and a single glass of the liquid was gone, the boy sat back from the table a bit. The man went to a different cupboard and pulled out three small glass vials. He set these on the table in front of Harry, whom shrank back slightly from him.

"It's gotten cool outside, hasn't it?" the man asked congenially, trying to put Harry at ease. The boy merely nodded, not denying the chill in the air. "It's damp out, like usual, and I noticed you don't have a coat."

Harry ducked his head, his cheeks pinking just barely. He had often been looked down at on the streets because of that very fact, but he didn't own a coat. At the coldest days, they gave him one of Vernon's old coats, but otherwise forbid him one.

The man recognized the action as shame rather than anger, knowing nearly the same posture and look from his daughter, though she had blushed much brighter. "Don't worry, child. I often forget my coat when I need it. These don't taste very well, but they will help to keep you from getting a chill."

The three vials were nudged closer to Harry as the man lied about what they were. The doses were potions; one for nutrition, knowing the child should not be so small, one for the pain it had been obvious he was in, and the third was a healing potion, perhaps not enough for the damaged arm, but strong enough to help the limp.

Harry took them, grimacing at the taste, but showing no other sign that they were distasteful. Shortly after he found his foot and arm aching less. The bruises, old and new, didn't hurt nearly as much and Harry found himself feeling better than he had in a long time. He looked up at the man in awe and the shopkeeper just smiled slightly at the child.

"My name is William, child. If you are ever again in the neighborhood, you are welcome to come in. If I have any, I will share my food with you. I own this shop. Come, let me show you what I have here."

The man, William, gestured for Harry to precede him back out to the front of the store. He went quietly, still cautious of the man, but more at ease after his kindness. There were still no other customers there and Harry stopped to one side, looking at a bin that had black stones in it. Each one was different and some had small slices of white across them.

"That is called black tourmaline. It is a protective stone if you carry it with you. And this…" William moved over to a bin a little further down where white tanish stones were held. "These are called pink smithsonite. They have many healing properties and can help recovery from an injury."

William looked sideways at Harry, judging his reactions. As he had thought, the boy's hand twitched as though he wanted to take one and hide it away, the longing evident even in the dulled eyes.

The store owner took a guess, noting how Harry's eyes seemed glued to a specific spot, as though on one specific stone, rather than glancing at all the different ones in the bin.

"Pick one out. We'll see if there's anything special to it."

After a brief hesitation, where Harry looked to the owner, unsure of the invitation, he reached out and plucked a stone from the bin exactly where his eyes had been looking. The stone was only partially exposed, one rounded end poking out between two others the exact same hue, but vastly different shapes. The others were rounded or rectangular in general shape. The one Harry had chosen was oblong, nearly even in diameter the full inch and a half in length.

William looked at the boy slightly in wonder until Harry offered the stone up to him. "Keep it in your other hand and choose one of the black tourmaline. I'm curious what you'll find."

Harry nodded and went back to the bin he had stopped at first. He looked at the stones on top, then gently, almost afraid they'd break, he pushed some aside from one of the corners. Then his fingers found, buried nearly beneath the next layer, a stone the size of a pound coin.

It was flat, almost like a piece of shale stone, but it was pure black, blacker than any of the rest either William or Harry could see. The edges were jagged, but it fit almost perfectly into Harry's palm. He held it out to William, but the man didn't touch it. The shop owner often looked through the stones he got, sometimes finding a mis-sorted stone or a rare find, something highly unusual, but he did not remember having seen a stone that barely reflected light.

It was the correct stone, but unlike the others in the bin, the facets did not reflect the light shining upon it. Instead, he had the feeling that it was almost absorbing it, hoarding the light it found on its surface away from the rest of the stones. William held his hand above Harry's, blocking the light from the stone. When he removed his hand, the stone stayed pitch black for a moment before light began to barely reflect from its surface once more.

"True black. I have never seen one like it. Does the stone feel strange to you?"

"No," Harry answered quietly, a frown on his face. "It barely feels like it's there."

William nodded to himself, coming to a decision. "You may take those stones with you. I won't take your coins for them this time," he said quietly as Harry was beginning to reach into his pocket. "Vrai Noir. You are welcome here at any time. Come to the counter and choose a bag to keep them in."

Cautious once again, Harry approached the counter where an assortment of small bags were lined up along the edge. William waited patiently and finally Harry pointed to a small, deep emerald bag on the far end. The bag was held out to him, but Harry didn't take it. He looked suspiciously between the bag and the man.

"Why?"

William smiled sadly at the boy, "Because there are still good people out there. You have been unfortunate to know those that are not good people. Don't let their hate change you. You have a lot of life left to live, Noir. Live it."

Harry took the bag and placed the two stones into it, then left the store, not saying anything, though his eyes spoke more than he could have when they shone with a spark of life for the first time that day. And that day Harry learned that there was kindness in people and those in authority could be gentle.

Reviews are appreciated.