Okay. This is very, very late. I am terribly sorry about that, as once again, I have no real excuse other than the fact that I could not seem to motivate myself to write after missing that first Sunday I missed. Well, it is written now, so you don't have to wait any longer.

In other business, I am sure you have noticed that the rewrite is going to be VERY different from the original, starting this chapter. (Or, rather, the end of the last one, lol.) I am sorry if anything is familiar, I am trying to not use any big ideas from other fanfictions, but I may unintentionally use some, as I have read a lot that give me inspiration to keep writing.

Something I have forgotten until now: I do not own any recognizable characters or places, anything you recognize belongs to J.K. Rowling. I am just playing around with her world for a bit. ^_^

In any case, Happy Reading!

Okay. This officially sucked. Here I was, in the middle of London, one of the worst parts of London, I had nowhere to stay, and it was pouring rain. Could this get any worse?

'Scratch that, it can.' Was my thought, as I heard the laughter and footsteps of a gang, as they walked towards me. I decided to put my skills I learned at the Dursley's to good use, and slipped in to a shadow so that I was invisible to the untrained eye. I saw them coming around the corner, and couldn't keep the sneer of disgust from my face. They were obviously drunk, they were smoking, and one of them was brandishing a bloodied knife. Luckily, (Or unluckily) it was dried blood, obviously not fresh. I waited until they were past where I was hiding, and kept moving. I needed somewhere better than under some wooden planks to sleep for a bit. I walked along some alleys and back streets for a bit, before I saw an old apartment building that looked like it's construction had never been finished. It seemed perfect, as it was all closed in, but I knew better than to think of things simply by their first impression. As some say; Don't judge a book by it's cover.

I crept closer to the building, keeping my senses completely aware for any sort of threat. As I approached, I realized that there was already a group of people in the building. I snuck even closer to the building, wary of who might be in there. As I got close enough to hear what they were saying, I was shocked to find that it was children. The oldest voices I heard were those of 16 or 17 – year – olds. I listened, thinking that it was a gang, but as their conversation progressed, I found that it was a group of orphans, abandoned children, runaways and otherwise homeless children trying their best to survive. As I thought about it, I came to the conclusion that the only way for me to survive on my own for an indeterminate amount of time was for me to join these children. Faced with my only choice, I found an entrance, and walked in.

As soon as I entered, it was absolutely silent, until one of the teenagers, who looked to be the oldest, stood up and asked me,

"Who are you? What do you want here?" He looked furious, but also scared. I wondered why he would be scared of me, until I realized that he was probably worried I was part of a gang, or a lure for policemen who would take them to foster homes or orphanages.

"My name is Harry. I am looking for a place to stay, my uncle just left me here yesterday. I had to sleep behind some cardboard boxes last night, and barely escaped from a gang." I said with a sniffle. I knew I couldn't show them how different I really was from other 7 – year olds, but I also know I couldn't lay it on to thick.

"How old are you Harry? Did they abuse you?" He asked now in a kinder and softer tone of voice, now that he knew I would most likely not be a threat.

"I am 7, and they did. They – They beat me every day, a – and they tried to r – rape me once." I said in the barest of whispers, not having to fake the tear that rolled down my cheek. What they had done was hard to talk about, and to admit it to a stranger was hard. What they did to me, I will never forget. Though I do act mature, it is all I can do to hide the scars on my soul. What I did know though, was that scars make you stronger. They show you that despite all the trials you have gone through, you were the victor, and only got stronger from it.

"I am afraid we are at a bit of a disadvantage." I said, regaining my composure easily, after the number of times I have had to do so in seconds. The boy looked at me, first surprised by my vocabulary, then confused at what I meant by that.

"What do you mean?" He asked, confused. I chuckled mentally at the look on his face. He looked a bit like a lost puppy in my opinion, though I couldn't blame him. He had gone from in complete control of the situation, to curious and angry of this new child, to having said child utterly baffle him with a comment that came seemingly out of nowhere. Oh, I do so love confusing and surprising people.

"I mean that you know my name, you know how old I am, you know what I want here, and you know why I am on the streets in the first place, yet I don't know a single thing about you!" I said, amusement colouring my voice.

"Oh," He said, understanding what I meant now. "My name is Damien, I am 16 years old." He gave me an amused smile. "Though I look it, I'm not the oldest. That belongs to Amy over there." He said, pointing towards a girl surrounded by young children, mostly younger than me. "I'm the second oldest," Continued Damien. "Amy's my sister, she takes care of the youngest ones. The next oldest after me is Sam, over in the left corner, then John next to him, and John's siblings, Jason and Jane. The three of them are triplets. Sam takes care of teaching the kids English, French, reading, writing and grammar. John teaches art, music, and speech. He's the master of inspirational speeches, yet also is able to convince pretty much anyone to do what he wants. Jason teaches hand – to – hand fighting, daggers, archery, and tactics, which is basically when to fight and when to run. Jane teaches healing, dance, gymnastics, pickpocketing, sneaking around, and manipulation. For those old enough, she also teaches health – things like puberty, and parenting." He softened his tone slightly, and said, "She was raped too, she had twins." He pointed over to where Amy was, and Harry saw two identical children who looked quite a bit like Jane, and could only be a maximum of 3 years old. "Now, me? I take care of the older kids, and decide who does what at what time so we can make the most of this life as we can." He said proudly, and protectively. Harry could tell that he cared for each and every one of these children, even the ones he didn't spend much time with.

"So," Said Damien. "What can you do? It's clear that you have a great vocabulary, and you seem smart, but what can you do out there?" He said, waving his hand towards the way out. Harry bit back a chuckle as Damien repeated himself.

"I can melt in the shadows so that I am practically invisible. I can move so that nobody, not even animals, can hear me. I can run very fast. I am fairly good at manipulation, and I know a lot about healing. I can also steal things without people noticing that what I took is gone for a long time, and I know how to divert suspicion from myself and other people, to the person who I want to be blamed. I can also do some other things that I would rather not talk about here." I said. I normally wouldn't say this much, but I knew that Damien could be trusted with my secrets.

"Alright." He said. "Follow me, I know where we can talk where we will not be overheard." Damien led me to a door that we walked through. He made sure to close it behind me, before we went down some stairs in to what seemed to be a basement. Inside the basement was what seemed to be a makeshift infirmary. It definitely could not be considered a hospital, but seemed to be fairly well equipped for all that it was run by homeless orphans. He led me to yet another door, but this one went into a room that looked like an office crossed with a storage room. He pulled out some chairs, and sat them down facing each other.

"Alright, spill. What don't you want the others knowing that you can do? What can you possibly do that makes it such a big secret?" He asked. I only hesitated for a split second before talking.

"I can control dreams, and to a limited extent, the mind, as it is in a half – state of dreaming most of the time, especially in the unconscious mind. I can also tell what people have dreamed about, and what they will dream about. I can also control memories, make them more vivid, or even help you, or make you, remember things you forgot. He stared at me for a moment, and then he exploded.

"That is impossible! There is no way to control memories, it just can't be done!" He yelled. I could understand his anger, if our positions were switched I would be rather angry too, if a seven year old had made me bring him somewhere private only to tell him that he can do something that is supposedly impossible.

"I can show you if you want me too. I can give you proof, if it would make you feel better." I said gently, tilting my head to the side in a way I knew made me look innocent and trustworthy, as I let my concern shine in my eyes. I knew it worked as he relaxed a bit.

"Alright. What are you going to do?" He said after a moment to think. I thought about it for a moment. Judging by his reaction to what I had said about my abilities, it probably made him falsely hopeful that I could do something, but what?

'Memories!' It hit me like a ton of bricks. Why would he have specified memories, out of everything I said, without mentioning anything else? There is either something he doesn't want to remember, or something that he forgot, or barely remembers. Thinking about it, he is more likely to want to remember something.

"I could help you remember something you forgot, or don't remember much." I said gently, keeping the carefully concerned look on my face. He looked at me for a moment.

"My – My mother. I was only about a year old when she died or was killed, I never found out which. My father used to have my job, in this same building. When he was 18 my mom saw him trying to find some food for the kids, and asked him what he was doing. He was careful not to mention the kids so he wouldn't get them taken away to foster homes and orphanages, and told her he was homeless and needed some food. She took him to her house and cared for him and fed him every day, until one night he didn't come back here. They had slowly fallen in love as she cared for him, and he decided that love was more important than the kids who all depended on him to keep their lives stable. He – He made a big mistake that day, one that I swore I will never make if I can help it. After he abandoned the others, what lives they had managed to live fell apart, some were taken, others were killed, beaten, or raped, and left for dead. That is how many of the kids here got in to this situation. I – I want to remember my mother, what she was like. I don't know much, barely anything. All I can remember is a warm, sweet smile, and a soothing voice telling me not to worry, that everything will be alright." He whispered the last part, trying to hold back tears, but I could still see them.

"Alright." I said quietly, after he had had some time to gather himself. I knew from experience that the calmer the person was, the better for me.

"I need you to think of her, what you remember. This is going to feel a bit strange, but I need you to stay as calm as possible." I said firmly. He nodded, and I slipped in to his mind. I saw flashes of a beautiful woman, with warm dark green eyes, and brown hair that tumbled down her back in loose waves. I saw her holding a baby, telling him that he was her baby, that she would always love him, "My sweet, sweet child, you are beautiful. I love you so much! I will always love you, my darling, my sweet Damien.", teaching him his first words, "Mama!", and later, when he was a bit older, talking to him about his father. "He's changed so much, you know, from that sweet man I saw on the streets, looking for food. I miss him, I miss him so much! I just wish -" I pushed the memories forwards, willing them to awaken, not wanting to see memories that he might not want shared. I pulled out of his mind as he gasped, falling to the floor. I knelt next to him, a bit worried, though I had expected that.

"Are you alright?" I asked him. He just nodded, struggling to his feet, stumbling a bit once he was up. He still looked a bit dazed, so I led him to the seat he was on earlier, and took my own.

"I – I don't believe it!" Damien said, still looking a bit dazed. It was obvious he had not expected anything to happen.

"I remember her. I remember everything! She used to sing me the same lullaby every night, and she would tell me all sorts of stories and legends, and – and..." He trailed off, not quite sure what to say. I smiled a bit at him, and he stood up, stepped around the desk and hugged me. I went as rigid as a plank, hating the touch, and also mad at myself for flinching and briefly panicking mentally when he first touched me. He quickly released me once he felt my discomfort.

"Sorry." He said a bit sheepishly.

"It's just, I always wanted to know more about her, and now that I do, it's a bit surreal. I suppose, we were in the middle of something when you offered to show me?" He said, sitting back down and collecting himself a bit.

"Yeah." I said, chuckling.

"You were debating on whether to let me join you guys for a bit, because I have nowhere else to go." I said, rather amused.

"Right! Well, I think that this will work out perfectly. The kids here all have schedules that they have to follow. Just give me a few minutes and I'll have one made up for you. I think that you will do well with art first..." I let myself zone out a bit. 'You know?' I thought to myself. 'I think I am going to really enjoy myself here.'

Word Count: 2550

A.N. I was going to make this chapter a lot longer to make up for not updating in so long, but this seemed like the perfect end to it and I just could not continue the chapter after it. I will do my best to make the next one longer, not to mention on time! It should be easier now that I have a daily reminder to work on my writing.