Lightning crackles overhead, its violent bright lights touching against the ground with the gentle caress of a lover. Thunder booms above, rattling bones buried six feet deep, but its never quite deep enough. The ground roars back against the sky with tapered screams, the trees shaking in protest as their roots are ripped up by an abusive breeze. The sky flashes in warning, a sign, a calling of what comes next, and lightning flashes. It starts over again.

And in the middle of the world was him.

He feels the sinking sand beneath his hands but the world is made of mud. He feels the rain pit patter against his skull, thrumming against his mind and jumbling his thoughts. Every time he tries to think, tries to open his mouth, rain drops fall into his stinging eyes, blinding him and filling his mouth up with its acidic flavour. He sputters and spits, wanting to scream, to cry out, but the drums of brutal thunder overpower any of the meagre words he wants to shout.

Trees spin and the air screams around him, vines coming out of leaf bundles and wrapping around his hands and his feet, yanking and pulling him across the vast world. He feels like he's floating high up in the sky, and then his back collides with a hard stone, his mouth open in a silent scream. He can barely gasp for air before the vines are sneaking up and up and wrapping around his throat, squeezing hard. He pulls at them, but it's no use. His mouth fills with astringent liquid, eyes burning as he forces himself to keep them open, even as they blister in their sockets.

He woke up with a gasp, his hand reaching up to grasp his neck. There's nothing there. He convulses with another breath, body shaking and cold. The blankets around him did nothing to stop the shivers and chill he felt sinking into his bones. It was so cold. Why was it always so cold?

"Hadrian?" A voice beside him said. Harry instantly looks at his bedside table, eyes glancing over the open book lying there. Arven. Had he left him open last night? Harry didn't remember.

"Hi, Arven. Sorry. I didn't- do you even sleep?" Harry quickly asks, trying to avoid whatever it was that had just happened to him.

"In a sense," Arven said, the outlines of his paper face peaking through the low light of Harry's bedroom. "What happened?"

"I don't really know," Harry shrugged, looking away. It was still dark outside, but he could see the faint phantom traces of sunlight beginning to peek out against the bottom of the tree line. "Bad dream, I guess."

"Ah, I'm sorry, Hadrian," Arven says simply. "Would you like to talk about it?"

"I guess, yeah. I mean, no, but Bleak says it's good to talk about dreams."

"Have you had a nightmare before?" Arven asks, his tone indicating the rising of an eyebrow Harry couldn't see.

"Yeah, sometimes. Usually about Dad being mad or leaving me. Sometimes I dream of a cupboard. I don't know why, though."

"Ah," Arven said simply. Harry didn't know what to say either. They sat in silence for a little while, Harry playing with the soft sheet that had pooled at his legs. It was cool to the touch, just like everything else in this room. Harry shivered slightly.

"Do you ever dream?" He decides to ask, trying to focus on anything except the cold air that made his chest tight. The window was closed and it looked like the fire had only recently gone out. Why was it so cold?

"I did, once."

"What about?"

"Ah, the normal stuff. Going to school, being with friends." Harry nodded. That was pretty normal, Harry guessed. "What do you usually dream about, Harry?"

"Ah, the same, I guess. Sometimes I dream of being outside on a broom."

"Do you like to fly?" Harry shrugged in response.

"Never been flying. It seems like fun though. Theo said he's been once, but only with his big brother."

"Ah, I see. I hope you're able to soar bright blue skies soon, Hadrian."

Before Harry could respond, he heard a squeak.

Clapping his hands to quickly turn on the lights, Harry noticed an old ugly rat by his fireplace, standing still. Harry moved off of his bed, his feet feeling hot against the freezing floor. He moved towards it quickly, even as the rat tried to run. It squeaked and chattered as Harry grabbed it, holding it tight in his small hands.

"Look Arven! A rat!"

"A rat indeed, Harry."

"Why's it look like this?" Harry asked. "It's missing a toe!"

"You should kill vermin like that, Harry. Start the fire and throw it on in there."

"That's so dark," Harry muttered, holding the rat up to look at it. "Hey, it's got blue eyes!"

"That is definitely uncommon," Arven agreed. "You should kill him, Harry."

"How do you know it's a boy?"

"Intuition, I suppose."

"It's so weird…" The rat squirmed in Harry's grip. "I should bring it to Dad, maybe it's a magical rat!"

"You won't kill it?" Arven sounds genuinely put out.

"No, of course not! It's just an animal." Harry holds the rat tight as he slips on his shoes, not wanting it to get away. He holds his fingers low so that the creature doesn't bite or nip at him. He didn't want the rat disease that Mr Pettigrew had.

"You never kill that rat, do you?" Arven asks suddenly.

"What? You never make any sense, Arven." Harry laughs, heading out the door, rat firmly in his grip. It's late, but if he waits till the morning, there's no way that the rat will still be there. So, Harry checks his office first.

The lights are on, but the door is shut, so Harry knocks on it softly, hoping the man is actually in there and hadn't just left the light on before bed. He waits, the rat squirming in his grip, the pest even biting him. Harry let out a quiet yelp, squeezing tighter. Finally, the rat went still.

"Hadrian?" His fathers voice reached his ears. Harry looked up, holding the rat, a bright grin on his face.

"Dad! I found a rat!"

Marvolo opened the door with a sigh. Harry walked in, the rat squirming all over again, making Harry drop it. With a red spell, his father made the rat freeze and fall to the floor, no longer moving. Harry gasped. Did the man kill it?!

"Dad!"

Another jet of light hit the rat, this time blue. Harry gasped in horror as a man's head began to grow where the rats was, limbs were sprouting out everywhere, and suddenly a man stood where the rat had been. Harry went green with disgust.

"The rat disease!" Harry gasped, looking at his hand where a small bite mark was, two indent teeth there. He began to shake. "I don't want to be a rat!"

"Hadrian?" His father said, sounding unamused and unconcerned.

"It bit me! The rat man- he bit me! I'm gonna turn into a rat!"

"No, Hadrian, you-" Marvolo sighs and takes a deep breath, gripping his nose as he tries to steady himself. "You are not going to turn into a rat."

"I'm not?"

"No, you are not." He sighs again. Harry looks away, ashamed. Oh. "That was just an insult to Wormtail here, since he's a rat animagus."

"Animagus?"

"We'll discuss it later." His father steps past him, moving to the man still stunned on the floor. He's a meaty man with straw blonde hair sticking to his round head. It's thinning and slightly curled at the very ends, but with his sweaty body Harry can't tell how long it is. Marvolo waves his wand and the man wakes up.

"Wormtail."

"Mr lord! I-"

"Silence! What were you doing in Hadrian's room while he was sleeping." Harry smartly kept his mouth shut about that.

"He has a talking book, my lord! He- he was talking to a book!"

Harry's body goes entirely still. No, not Arven. Harry wasn't going to lose his most magical friend because some rat was listening in on him! Harry wouldn't have it!

"You're crazy," Harry scoffs, hoping it sounds as believable as he makes it seem. "I was talking to myself!"

"Why were you doing that?" Marvolo asks, his gaze flickering to the child. Harry shrugs, looking away.

"I had a really bad nightmare. Like I was left outside in a storm. So I was just talking to make myself feel better."

"Cease that." His father commands. Harry looks down with a nod.

"That still doesn't explain why you were in Hadrian's room, Rat."

The way his father says the word sounds like a curse. Harry flinches slightly, but so does the rat man, and Harry can't help but admire the power his fathers voice has. He noticed it in the meeting a few weeks ago; how everyone had listened and revered his father, hanging on the mans every word. It made something in Harry's stomach flip. Would people look at him like that when he was grown up? Would they take to his words like fish in water?

"My Lord, I-"

"Crucio!"

Harry's train of thought was instantly halted. Peter Pettigrew screamed in pain as a blood-red spell hit him square in the chest. Harry couldn't help but gasp in shock, watching as the man shook, his hands coming up to his thin hair and yanking on it, his legs kicking the ground as he let out horrific sobs.

"See, Hadrian?" Marvolo said, looking down at the boy. "This is what happens when people do bad things. When people disobey me. You'd never disobey me, would you?"

"N-no…" Harry whispers the word, unable to tear his gaze away from the unconsolable man. "No…"

Harry didn't know if Harry was responding to his father or to the man's screams with that one.

"It is good that you are here, Hadrian. I was going to give this to you in the morning, but now I will do. Come." Harry moved over to Marvolo's desk, watching as the man pulled out a small velvet box.

"What is it?" Harry couldn't help but ask right away, always an impatient boy. Marvolo slid it over to him. Harry picked up the box, inspecting the navy blue plush on it before he opened it.

Inside was a silver chain with a small green gem on it, encased in delicate silver. Harry gasped, unable to tear his gaze away. It was stunning, and the green colour was so very beautiful.

"Dad…"

"You have been very well-behaved the past months, Hadrian. Even coming to three meetings with me. Although, I understand you don't enjoy them. Nevertheless, you show up and do not complain. That deserves a reward."

"Woah…"

"Stay here while I deal with this pest." Harry nodded. "And Hadrian?"

"Yes, Dad?"

"Do not touch anything. I will know if you do." Harry swallowed and nodded again, looking back down the pretty necklace he had gotten. It was the first time getting such a gift. It was a little odd, though. Necklaces were usually for girls! But Harry didn't care; he enjoyed everything that Father would give him.

He looked around the office, taking in the room. It was as well organised as ever, and his gaze slid over familiar artefacts and belongings of the man.

Until his gaze landed on an unfamiliar door, Harry couldn't help but stare at it, enthralled. It was like something was calling out to him, beckoning him closer and closer. Harry didn't move a muscle, but oh, how he wanted to.

The door seemed to be calling out to him, whispering promises of secrets and untold knowledge just beyond its surface. He tried to pull his gaze away, to look back down at his pretty gift, but he couldn't. He took in every detail of the plain wooden door. It wasn't something Father would usually show off if it wasn't ornate, so why was it there? Had it always been there?

He could feel the tendrils of the door's thrall wrapping around his mind, trying to pull him closer and draw him into its dark embrace. He gripped his seat, trying to ignore it. He remembered what had happened to the man. Harry didn't want that to happen to him if he didn't listen. Harry didn't want Father to stare at him with such angry eyes, with such disdain. He stayed where he was, not moving an inch. The ticking in his brain grew louder.

He heard the office door open, and suddenly Harry was able to pull his gaze away, his head pounding but the ticking in his brain silenced. He looked up at his father, his eyes refocusing. The man seemed…happy. Harry couldn't grasp why. He didn't mind, though, nor did he ask. Harry preferred it when Father was happy.

"Ignore the events of tonight, Hadrian." Harry tried to interrupt, but the man continued. "Now, come with me. Show me this book he was talking about."

Harry could have cried. He wanted to ask a million questions: ask why his dad had punished Peter like that, or ask why he had been given a gift, or ask about the strange door. Instead, he led the man upstairs and to his bedroom, pointing to his bedside table where Arven lay. He fiddled with his ring, ignoring the almost deafening ticking in his ear. It always got louder when he was upset.

"It is indeed a normal book," Marvolo muttered, inspecting it. "How odd…"

"What?"

"Nothing. Now, back in bed." Harry nodded, watching carefully as his father sat Arven back down, pulling the covers up to his chin. They were ice cold.

"Uhm, Dad?"

"Yes?"

"Can you cast a warming charm? It's really cold in here." Marvolo paused for a moment, then nodded, spelling the fireplace and Harry's bed before leaving, closing the door with a soft 'click'.

As Harry snuggled into his now much warmer bed, he wondered if this was what a hug from his dad would feel like.