Chapter Text
Harry was always in Number 4 Privet Drive.
It seemed perfectly normal to Harry, as he always had something to do. Aunt Petunia made sure that Harry never missed out on what the outside world would do. If Harry had to cook for three, take care of the garden, clean the house, grab the mail, and do whatever odd jobs Petunia could find, all while only ever needing to stay in one place, he surely couldn’t imagine the work needed if he ever went somewhere else.
Surely Dudley must have it rough, as he needed so much extra care. So much extra food, and, if he was anything like his father, what he did every day must be excruciating. When Harry wasn’t cooking or doing the dishes, Vernon Dursley made sure that he knew he was lucky. Selling drills seemed to be a hard job, as Petunia let her husband complain constantly about it, while Harry would be smacked on the head should he even let out an annoyed breath. He never had the opportunity to ask Dudley what school must be like, but if it was anything like Grunnings, Harry didn’t want to ask.
That’s why Harry had it easy. If he went and worked a real job, somewhere he had it as rough as Dudley and Vernon, he would fail. So, the Dursley’s were kind and didn't make him go anywhere else.
That must be hard for them, with the letters he kept seeing addressed to the parents of Harry Potter. He heard Aunt Petunia read one, which often resulted in a lot of yelling and a few busier days for Harry. It seems this might be another one of those days.
“These people don’t understand why he can’t go to school!” Petunia whispered sharply to Vernon. “They can’t seriously expect a freak to not hurt the other kids.” At the word freak, she turned towards Harry, who was preparing the dinner for the night. Harry didn’t dare to look up, not wanting to make the situation worse.
Vernon Dursley was reading the paper, not too engrossed in whatever Petunia was rambling about this time. Not until Petunia read the next part of the letter. “They want us to send him to some special school! Where his-” Petunia took a deep breath. “-differences could be accommodated.” She tossed the letter on the floor. “They want us to bring him in for testing. So they can see what's really wrong with him.” Petunia huffs, frustrated.
Vernon looks up from the paper, his expression already annoyed. “What more do they need? He clearly can’t learn, who are they to ask us to prove his freakishness!” He gets up from the couch, a movement that took a great amount of effort. He stumbles to the kitchen, each step getting louder than the last. Harry doesn’t know if he should try to run. If he makes it out of the kitchen, he could hide somewhere, but when would it be safe to come out? If he doesn’t finish his work for the day, Vernon’s anger could only get worse. Harry turns around, getting ready to run.
Vernon hits him quicker than that, punching him hard across the face. He tries not to fall, grabbing onto the counter to stay up. “You think they need to see that he can’t even survive in his own house?” He hits him hard, again. Harry’s glasses fall off onto the counter from the hit. “He can’t even cook a simple dinner without messing something up!” Harry’s head is reeling, he can’t see, and Vernon is grabbing him by the shirt. The shirt tearing from the sheer force. He tries to reach for his glasses, his hand wrapping around them as Vernon throws him to the ground.
His fall causes a loud thump, the air in him being pushed out as it happens. He whines from the pain, a crack from his ankle accompanying the sound. Harry turns around so he can try to get up, his hands pushing weakly against the floor. He falls to the side, a large foot hitting where his head was. Harry turns back around, shuffling until he hits a wall. The foot doesn’t go for his head again, but it makes contact with his stomach repeatedly. Vernon’s hands reach down for Harry, which he tries to block by raising both of his arms. Instead, Vernon grabs onto them, pushing him back up to his feet. “Do they need to see you with real brain damage to understand you’re not going?” He throws him to the counter, Harry almost completely falling over it, unable to stand on both of his feet.
The scrimmage is interrupted by the door opening. Harry turns his head, trying not to look at who's entering the house. He hears the voice of Dudley and his friends yelling as they enter the house. Vernon stays silent for a moment, not daring to move. As the boys enter the house, one turns towards the kitchen, laughing from a joke Dudley made. His laughter stops, his eyes widening.
The other boys take notice of the boy stopping, all looking over to what his eyes are focusing on. Harry hadn’t noticed it before, but his nose is bleeding, and his glasses are mostly shattered. He doesn’t know where some of the glass from his frames went, but he can feel the blood trailing down his face. He knows the picture isn’t pretty, with his shirt, glasses, ankle, and face destroyed.
Vernon huffs, annoyed, and stomps out of the room, avoiding the boys that had just entered. Petunia huffs as well, although it was more of a sigh if anything, and speaks. “Make dinner for a few more.” She walks out of the room as well. The boys haven’t stopped looking at Harry, as his blood continues to creep out. He stumbles back to the food he was making, knowing the food he was already making would be ruined from the extra time on the stove if he didn’t get to work quickly.
Dudley hadn’t been stopped like the rest of the boys. He had seen this scene before, usually as he was playing a game in the living room. He knew it might take a second for his friends to get their bearings, but he hurried them to his second bedroom to get them away from the scene.
Harry got to work quickly, knowing that he couldn’t spend time cleaning himself up. While he was working, he felt more blood drip from his face onto his clothes. It dried while he was cooking, forcing one of his eyes to remain shut. It was, unfortunately, opposite to the side of his face that was swelling from the punch earlier.
He was eventually able to prepare enough food for everyone, but the amount of food in the house was nearly out. He began to set up the table, placing the dishes and silverware for each person. As the food was brought out, he took awhile to bring it, trying to keep each plate stable while he hobbled to the table and back. His ankle appeared more purple than not, its size larger than his actual leg. His uncle smells the food, walking quickly to where his chair is at the table. Aunt Petunia hears him move, and goes to her seat as well. Her shrilly voice yells to the boys. “Dinner is ready!”
Harry makes sure to move quicker, bringing the drinks out before everyone runs down the stairs. He places the last glass, and turns to make his way back to the kitchen to clean. As he turns, Dudley falls into him, pushing him onto the ground. Harry accidentally grabs the table, pushing the glass of water onto himself. His aunt gasps loudly at the water going all over the floor, but Vernon has yet to look at him. Harry moves quickly, grabbing towels before anyone else sees the mess. Harry is already on the floor cleaning as he feels something pulling his hair.
He raises his head, trying to relieve the pressure. He opens his one eye, facing Vernon’s angry expression. He closes it again, waiting for a hit to his face. He waits, but all he receives is that same hand pushing his face back down, then letting go. “Get out.”
Harry doesn’t have to hear it twice. He jumps up as quickly as he can, which is, admittedly, rather slow, and runs to his cupboard. As he enters, he hears one of the boys ask a question. “Who is that?”
Dudley quickly whispers back. “Shut up!”
Harry sits in his cupboard for the rest of dinner, with the awkward atmosphere permeating through the door. Harry, while he didn’t get to eat any of the food, didn’t make a single sound. His stomach has long since learned to make no sounds, or it might get even less than before.
The silence was deafening. There was nothing to do where Harry was, nor could he move without aggravating his injuries further. His eye remains shut; the other he can barely see out of. His bruises radiate pain, and he feels the flakes of blood drying and coming off of his skin. He dares not to move too much, as he knows the blood will never be cleaned from out of the cupboard, and he would rather not be reminded of the incident for years to come.
Harry often does the same thing, time after time he’s locked in his cupboard. He has no books, not that he could read them anyways, he has no toys, and playing with a baby blanket does little to actually calm the mind.
Harry, instead, tries to create light. The one in the cupboard is broken, so, instead, he snaps with his own fingers. He focuses on the movements, and tries to create a small fire in his hands. It’s not very successful, but the moments happen. He tried to show Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon once, but Vernon quickly stomped on his hand to put an end to the game.
That ended it for a couple of weeks, but Harry found himself trying it once more. Tonight, in particular, he was trying to create that flame. It worked, sometimes, but it flickered out within seconds.
The moments of solitude to himself are broken with Aunt Petunia’s voice. “And, as an early surprise! Here’s some cake for my little Dudders!” He hears them start to sing Happy Birthday, with Dudley’s friends giving him a few presents. Harry doesn’t really understand it. His birthday is the next day, so why would he be getting his celebration now? Maybe it’s normal, it’s just that Harry hasn’t ever gotten a celebration, much less two. He knows that it would be hard for him to have a celebration with his friends, as he isn’t normal enough to be able to go out and meet people.
It’s probably easier for the Dursley’s to pretend he doesn’t have a birthday. Otherwise, he would be reminded at his celebration that he could only have one. That’s probably why.
Just as quickly as the celebrations start, they end. Dudley’s friends walk out the door, Vernon slamming it shut as they leave.
Harry can hear him moving to the cupboard. He tries not to breathe too heavily or too loudly for that matter. He tries to calm himself down, but his process is interrupted by the door opening, and his arm being grabbed. He stumbles out of his cupboard, but is unable to gain his footing before he is pushed onto the floor. He turns around, pushing himself up with one hand, with his body trembling from the effort.
Vernon punches his face, breaking his glasses once again, the glass in the frames shattering and entering his eyes. Harry tried to cry out, but it came out more like a groan of pain. He shut both of his eyes as tightly as he could, wincing as hit after hit came. He felt the assault stop, hearing his aunt call out at the same time. “Vernon, stop it!”
Petunia yelled and dragged Harry to the side. She looked at his face, gasping at the bloodied figure she saw. “Get out of my way.” Vernon yelled back, pushing Petunia. She fell over, Vernon pushing passed and grabbing onto Harry’s hair. He pushed his face down, beating into his stomach legs. Harry can’t keep himself up, his strength now completely gone.
He feels his consciousness slipping, his senses failing one at a time. He can barely feel his body, his being now separate. The attack doesn’t stop, his head now bleeding in multiple places. He’s heard that head wounds bleed a lot, but this feels to be more than even he would expect.
He lets himself slip, no longer focusing on any of the hands hitting him. He passes out completely.
Now, he feels another hand on him, this one not as aggressive as the last. “Mrs. Cole, come help!” Harry opens his eyes, but can’t seem to find anything to focus on. He feels his eyes moving, but still, nothing. He tries to move, but he winces from the attempt. His ankle no longer entirely bent the wrong way, but he can feel the residual pain and the dried blood on his face. He reaches out, trying to feel where he is.
He makes contact with another’s shoulders, which Harry grabs lightly to pull himself up. He keeps one hand on the person to keep him upright, and he moves the other to try and get him to remain more stable. He can’t see where he puts his hand, but he ends up resting it on the leg of the person helping him.
He hears a yell from behind him. “Billy, get away from him; He can’t be well!” The boy backs away, leaving Harry slumped on the floor.
Harry reaches out towards where the woman’s voice came from. “Hello?” He weakly speaks, his voice groggy and unable to speak clearly. The woman walks closer to him, putting her hands on his shoulders. While he can’t make out what she said, he hears the woman whisper to Billy.
“I’m Mrs. Cole. Can you walk?” Mrs. Cole speaks harshly, but she is gentle as she tries to help Harry move. He nods slowly, rising to his feet. He stumbles slightly, unable to fully support his own weight. The boy from before goes to his side, grabbing onto his waist. While Harry still stumbles, he’s mostly able to catch himself with the boy’s help. Billy leads Harry to wherever Mrs. Cole is guiding them, trying to move Harry to his destination.
“What’s your name, and where are your parents?” Mrs. Cole asks. Harry doesn’t speak immediately, taking a second to gather his breath.
“I am Harry Potter, and I live with my Aunt and Uncle in Surry, ma’am.” He attempts to pat down his clothes, appearing as posh as he can. It doesn’t work very well, as his clothes are completely torn, stained, and he hasn’t been able to walk properly for the entirety of knowing them.
She seems to consider her words carefully as well, not trying to make the boy more upset than he should be. “Why were you left in the orphanage?” Harry stopped to consider what she was saying. He knew what an orphanage was, Uncle Vernon talked about sending him to one so as to not have to deal with him. He knew they were dirty, and it would likely be Harry’s job to fix it. Harry couldn’t be sure that was wrong, he can’t look around and see for himself.
“I don’t know.” He can barely force the sentence out, his words coming out choked. He doesn’t know why, but it hurts to say.
Mrs. Cole pauses, breathing in sharply. “Let’s get you settled in.” She turns towards Billy. “Can you help him get settled in with Tom?” Billy jolts, but doesn’t present an argument.
“Yes, ma’am.” He takes Harry’s arm, guiding him through a hallway. He doesn’t speak again, but his breath gets quicker the further they walk. As they reach a door, Billy stops Harry. “I stay here with some of the other boys. If Tom does anything, I’ll tell Mrs. Cole to move you with us.” He brings Harry to the next door, opening it and walking inside.
“What are you doing? Get out–” Harry assumes this is Tom, and he can hear exactly when his eyes fall on him. Billy walks him further into the room, letting Harry feel a bed.
“You can sit down here. I’m going to go.” Billy speaks slowly, staring at Tom as he leaves. Harry starts feeling his surroundings with his hands, trying to understand where everything on his side of the room is. He doesn’t move from where he’s sat, but his hands feel the bed frame around him. As Harry finishes feeling a lot of what's immediately next to him, he finds himself at a loss of what to do.
“Hi, I’m Harry Potter. You must be Tom” He places his hand out in front of him, trying to sound cheerful. Tom doesn’t bring his hand to his, but he makes a noise of acknowledgement. Harry puts his hand back down. “How old are you?”
Tom grabs Harry’s hands. “Are you blind? Why were you feeling everything?” Harry is startled by the movement, almost falling forwards.
“I–guess it helps? I don’t think it’s permanent, it's only been today so far. I know what things should look like if I feel them.” Harry lets Tom hold his hands for a moment. “Can I feel your face?” Harry blurts it out, then almost immediately regrets it. Billy was scared of Tom, and Harry thought maybe he should be as well. It would be stupid to try and feel Tom’s face.
Tom’s face goes blank, before he blurts out “Yes?” His voice is higher pitched than normal, it seems he was caught by surprise. He takes Harry’s hands and moves them to touch his face. Tom closes his eyes, and his breathing seems to stop. His face gets redder by the second and Harry’s fingers trace over the hills and valleys of his face.
Harry’s face is scrunched in concentration, his hands continuously moving over Tom’s face. As his fingers pass over the shape of Tom’s eyes and cheekbones, Harry pauses. They feel the same area a few times, tracing over the same prominent features. If you had asked Tom, that was probably the part he liked most about himself. It made him feel self-important, as an orphan worth nothing would certainly have a less gaudy look on his face.
Harry might have thought the same. He seemed to focus on it a lot, more so than you would think he would. Perhaps it was because the only face he had really felt before was his own, and the others that he had seen were either old ladies or fat men. To be seen as exceptional in those standards wasn’t a very hard task at all.
“Your face is really pretty.” The fingers move upwards to Tom’s hair, playing with the loose strands. Tom grabs Harry’s hands, removing them from his face quickly. He keeps holding on to them, but he doesn’t let him keep moving. He puts down Harry’s hands, turning away from him.
Harry starts to stand and move further, standing up and feeling around the rest of the room. He moves over to the side of Tom’s bed, feeling a dresser. As he goes to open the doors, a pair of hands yank him away. Harry moves his hands away to cover his face. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry.” Harry mumbles, continuing to stay against the wall.
“Don’t go into the wardrobe.” Harry calms down at last, however his breathing is still heavier now than it was before. “Calm down.” Tom speaks more aggressively, moving Harry back to the bed. Harry’s breath becomes more labored.
“Stop!” Tom yelled, and, with it, Harry’s mouth shut, and his breathing returned to normal. His movements looked mechanical, his eyes focused wholly on Tom. It was unnatural. Harry couldn’t focus his eyes normally, but, as soon as Tom wanted it to stop, it did. Harry’s eyes went back to normal, unable to stop moving, and Tom’s mind pushed the situation to the back of his mind. “I’ll show you around here tomorrow.”
“Really? What do you normally do?” Harry perked back up, asking his questions quickly again, and placing his hands back in Tom’s.
Tom takes a second to adjust to the change, but he answers calmly. “Usually it’s chores, although I’m sure it will be less work if I’m to show you around.” He drops Harry’s hands again, and goes to take a book out of the wardrobe. He looks at Harry, and then turns back to the wardrobe to grab a pair of pants and a nice shirt.
“What is it?” Harry asks, as soon as Tom puts his hands down.
“You can wear these, if you don’t want to keep wearing that.” Tom hands his clothes to Harry, waiting for him to take it from him. Harry stares forward, his eyes shining, beginning to water slightly. He whispers a thank you and goes to start changing. Tom looks as he changes, trying to see where the blood came from. He sees scars across his whole body, but there isn’t anything that is actively open, even though he’s in a roughed up shape. As Harry gets closer to being done, Tom looks away, picking his book back up.
When Harry actually finishes, he moves to sit next to Tom on his bed. “What are you doing?” He puts his hands on the book that Tom had picked back up, feeling the cover. “Are you reading something good?” He leans into Tom, letting himself rest on his shoulder.
“It’s the Hobbit. A teacher had given it to me.” The explanation seems true enough, although it was given much too quickly for it not to seem suspicious. Harry gets excited again anyways.
“Can you read it?” Harry seems excited at the prospect of reading in general, although he keeps cuddling up next to Tom.
“Yes?” Tom isn’t sure why Harry is getting so excited at the prospect, it’s only a book, it isn’t even a hard one at that. Tom is worried about Harry being so interested, although Harry couldn’t understand why.
“I’ve never learned to read. Is it fun?” Harry asks, seemingly embarrassed. He asks his question quickly and quietly, hoping to get an answer from Tom without having him think much. Tom pauses. He knows Harry and him are similar in age, and he hasn’t met any child that hasn’t learned to read.
“I suppose.” Tom seems to be second guessing himself. Before he can say much more, Harry leans over, feeling this book in Tom’s hands. His hands trace the cover, trying to find something on each page. Nothing stands out, the book being nothing but printed on paper, the differences between words not noticeable enough to feel underneath fingertips. Tom leans away once the hands are done touching the book.
Harry takes the hint and goes to lay in his own bed.
Harry wakes up first in the morning, with no sunlight yet falling over the orphanage. Harry does his best to sit and wait for Tom to wake up, but he has no way of knowing the time, and, even if he did, he has no way of knowing when Tom would wake up anyways. Harry thinks about that for a long time–which, if he were really honest with himself, is not that long–and decides he must do something.
Normally, Harry would be cooking breakfast, waiting for the Dursley’s to get up and eat. If he woke up earlier, he could make more and, if his cousin wasn’t feeling as hungry that day, some would be left for him. Now, he doesn’t think it's his job to make breakfast, but he can’t be sure. He probably should’ve asked Tom last night, but it’s too late for that now.
Harry tries to make the fire again, to find something to concentrate on. Although, not being able to see what he’s doing puts a damper on the activity. It’s difficult to tell if Harry is or isn’t actually making the fire. Harry thinks he’ll probably become bored with it soon, his imagination can only carry him so far.
Then, he sees the fire in front of him.
He wouldn’t really call it seeing. It’s not that same, and he isn’t using his eyes, but he can feel its presence in front of him. He feels it continue to burn, which is longer than normal, and focuses on that feeling in front of him. It's new. He hadn’t experienced it before, and focusing on it helped him to actually perform his tricks.
Harry snuffed the flame out. Not purposefully, but to even keep the flame alight took a lot out of him. His fingers felt warm, the palm hurt to touch, but it didn’t matter to Harry. He continued to stare at where the flame had once been, his face looking at the area in awe, even though it was now empty, nothing to be seen.
The calm moment didn’t last long, with Harry being pushed into the bed, and two hands pinning him there by the shoulders. “What was that?” Tom hissed and then repeated. “What was that?” Harry wasn’t sure why he felt the need to repeat himself when he could be heard perfectly clear the first time.
“What?” Harry whispered back, scared at the contact. His arms push Tom away, but he isn’t strong enough to push him further than he already is.
“You made something with your hands. Do it again.” He commands, and a pull within Harry’s mind tries to get him to do it, but Harry quickly snaps out of it.
“What? Why?” Harry says, less panicked than before.
Tom makes an annoyed sound at the questioning. He seems frustrated, but Harry doesn’t understand why. “I can do things with magic, but I can’t-” He pauses, frustrated again. “-make things. How did you make that?” He spits out, trying to get through the question as quickly as he could.
“Magic? I don’t think it’s magic, it’s just making things.” Tom gets annoyed at Harry’s answer again.
“Tell me.” He says, much more forcefully. Harry feels the pull once more. He feels the need to share exactly what he did, even if he didn’t know. His words start to spill out.
“I wanted to make light one day, so I kept concentrating and it happened. I didn’t expect it, but then when my aunt and uncle found out I–” Harry cut himself off. He slapped a hand over his face, trying not to reveal too much. The words kept coming from underneath his hand, but Harry tried to focus on stopping it. Eventually, he stopped his rambling, but Tom didn’t feel satisfied.
“That can’t be fair. Why do you get to make things?” Tom said, hissing again. It sounded weird, and Harry didn’t understand why Tom kept acting like that. It wasn’t purposeful, it was just how it was.
“I’m sorry.” Harry said, which resulted in Tom’s attention being completely turned back on him.
“What?” He said, speaking that same weird way. “Are you kidding me? You’re pitiful, blind, thin, I could break you with a single look, and you can do magic? The same thing I can? You can speak to snakes?” He said, growing louder each second. The actual sound was relatively quiet, but it seemed like yelling to Harry’s ears.
“Calm down.” Harry said, trying to keep Tom from blowing up. Harry doesn’t understand the problem. Tom was being kind yesterday. He had given him clothes, talked to him, why is it such a problem now that they supposedly have something in common?
“I’m not calming down. It’s not fair you can do what I can. Only I can do what I can.” To demonstrate, Tom tried to bring a diary up from his wardrobe. In his attempt to show off, Harry stared forward. It wasn’t a purposeful misunderstanding, he wasn’t trying to seem unimpressed, he couldn’t see what Tom was trying to show. He felt the same feeling from earlier, where he could feel the fire. He felt a line through the air, reaching to where the diary used to have been. Harry reached out towards that line.
“I think it’s beautiful.” Harry says. At the moment, Tom sees him reaching out to nothing. “Your magic, if that's what you want to call it, is pretty. I think I can see it. It’s the same color as mine.” He traces the line to where Tom’s diary is. Reaching until he feels the diary in his hands. “Having the same thing is pretty cool.” He holds Tom’s hands in his.
Tom doesn’t agree. He would much rather have it all to himself. However, as he stares at Harry, he can’t help but feel his anger lessen. “OK, that’s” He looks at Harry’s eyes, which are focused solely on the book in Tom’s hands, “fine.”
“What do we eat for breakfast?” Harry switches the conversation, letting the argument end on a lighter note than before. Not that there are no alternative motives for the question. Harry would love to have food, his last meal being the scrapes that he could manage for lunch with the Dursley’s.
“Follow me.” He puts Harry’s arm in his, getting ready to guide him through to the kitchen area. As he steps out of the room, Harry places himself at Tom’s side, ready to follow him as he walks. They don’t make it very far before Tom stops. Harry is about to ask why, before Tom calls out. “Excuse us.”
Billy and his roommates are in front, with one of the boys calling out as they all drag each other forward. “Sorry, Riddle!” The boy says it while laughing, snickering as they continue to walk away. They don’t turn to look at Tom having an addition, but they know not to mess with Tom anyways.
The two boys continue to walk forwards in silence, maneuvering around tables positioned on the sides of the walkway. “Harry, did you meet the rest of the orphanage yesterday?” Tom asks while continuing to walk.
“No, I had only met Billy. He was the one who found me outside.” At the name, Tom sneered. He didn’t quite mean for it to happen, but he and the boy had some history. He no longer messed with Tom, but that didn’t stop the other boy from hating him.
“Oh.” Tom didn’t give a response other than that. He continued to lead Harry, only letting go of his arm once he found him a spot at a table. “I’ll get us breakfast, sit here for now.” With that, Tom left Harry by himself.
Harry sat and twiddled his thumbs, not attempting to call attention to himself. He only sat and thought about how he hoped Tom would get back quickly. In that same breath, he felt a pair of hands land on his shoulders. “Hey, it’s Harry, right?” An unfamiliar voice said from behind.
“It is, who are you?” He said, turning his face towards where the person was.
“I’m Dennis. Can you really not see?” Dennis then waved his hands in front of Harry’s eyes, trying to see if there was any reaction. “Sweet.” He sat down next to Harry. “Billy’s with me too, you know him, right?” Harry nods slowly. “He was saying you’re a dish-”
“Shut up, fat head!” Billy jabbed at Dennis, trying to get him to stop talking. Harry giggled quietly at the arguing. “It’s nice to actually meet you, Harry.” Billy sticks out his hand. He then realizes Harry probably can’t see it, so he takes Harry’s hand and shakes it himself.
“Can I see what you look like?” Harry asks, quietly. Billy looks confused, turning to Dennis then back at Harry.
“What? Sure, I guess, but you have to explain what that means.” Harry giggles again, then brings his hands up to Billy’s face. His own face scrunches up, focusing on the information he gets while feeling the other boy’s face. While he doesn’t have any features that he lingers on nearly as long, Billy’s hair is much longer than Tom’s, often getting in the way while Harry is trying to feel. He pushes it continuously, something which isn’t noticed by Billy.
After a few more seconds, Harry huffs as he has to hold the hair out of Billy’s face with one hand, and then he quickly finishes feeling the face with the other. Billy doesn’t notice what’s frustrating Harry, but he turns red at the feeling of Harry’s hands on his face. Billy speaks up before Harry does. “I like your hair.”
He blurts it out rather quickly, the urgency to say it making Dennis laugh. Billy jabs at Dennis again to get him to stop. “Thank you?” Harry isn’t quite sure if he is being made fun of, but the hesitance makes Billy deflate a little.
“It’s just a really nice red, I think.” Harry gets confused again.
“It’s red?” Billy is seemingly not paying attention, his eyes now fixated on Harry’s, apparently, red hair.
“A pretty red, too.” Harry smiles at the compliment, although he doesn’t know what to say in response. The boys become silent really quickly, causing Harry to get somewhat confused.
Harry is about to ask, but then he hears a crash to the ground. “What’s going on?” Harry stands up, unsure of where he’s trying to go, but where he was sitting didn’t seem safe.
“It’s OK, Harry.” Tom said, putting his food on the table and grabbing Harry’s waist, pulling Harry closer to him. Harry got distracted at the movement. Pushing Tom away slightly with his hands, he spoke up.
“Who fell?” There was a line connecting Tom and the boy on the ground, the one that he now realized was Billy. Harry reached across the line, extending his arm out to where Billy was. He helped the boy rise to his feet, while Tom stood silently behind Harry. “Sorry about that, I’m not sure what happened.”
Tom huffed from behind him. “I’m sure he’s alright, you can let go now.” Harry smiled at Billy and let go of his hand once he fully got to his feet. “I think it’s time to get going.” Tom glared at Billy, pulling Harry away.
“Tom, we didn’t even get to eat. Can we sit back down?” Harry whispered softly to Tom, letting him calm down as he continued to speak.
Tom grumbled, but he eventually sat down. He grabbed the porridge he had thrown on the table, placing one in front of him and the other in front of Harry. “You’ve got to realize that it’s weird for him to do that.” Tom said quietly.
Harry had already begun to eat, so when he responded he already had food in his mouth. “I think it was nice.” Tom just stared at him as he ate.
The rest of the meal was in silence, with Billy and his friends eating loudly. Harry wished he was able to do something like that, to eat with his friends and talk the whole time. But Tom was who he was eating his food with, and he liked Tom well enough. It would’ve been nice if he had friends that he could talk with, that’s all.
As the meal drags on in silence, the other boys get up from their table to leave. Soon after, Tom speaks. “It’s time for us to start working in the garden. Are you done?”
Harry nods, and goes to throw out the rest of his unfinished food. He knows what working in a garden feels like, and it mustn’t be that hard with his inability to see. As Tom brings him through the orphanage to the garden, he’s led to a small spot in the back, where the decorative flowers are being grown. “I can work on caring for the food, if you would like to care for the flowers.” Harry reaches out towards one of the closer plants, feeling the petals in his hands.
Harry tries to feel all around, but his movements are too aggressive, accidentally making some of the leaves fall off. That doesn’t scare Harry off completely, but he does take the time to just sit and pet at the bottom of the plants. He tries to put some of his power into them, which lights up the plants in his vision, letting him feel what they’re actually like. “Harry, what are you doing?” Tom asks, staring at the plants Harry is still touching.
“I think I’m just helping them grow.” With the vision of his magic, he can see the flowers get larger and bloom in other places. The effect is moving to plants further away, with those he was closest to having the largest effect. He picks one of the bloomed flowers off of the plant and hands it to Tom. “I think it's a lily, do you want one?”
Tom turns away quickly, his face red. “I’ll take it.” He puts the lily in his shirt pocket, letting the stem sit nicely inside, with the flower blooming above the pocket. Harry smiles at the display and turns back to his part of the garden. He sits and meditates with the plants, letting more and more flowers bloom across the garden.
By the end of their time working, Harry’s side of the garden is filled with life and colors. Meanwhile, on Tom’s side, it’s only helped by the magic residue it received from Harry. While it’s not as much as the flowering plants, the food appears to be much more plentiful than when they started. Harry seemed happy for more than the increase in food, and he said as much to Tom. “I can see the whole garden, it’s so nice.” His words slowly went down in volume as he continued, his words turning into more of amazement than just observations.
“I’ll see if Mrs. Cole will let us work in the gardens often.” Harry smiled at that, and followed as Tom led him to another part of the garden.
“Where are we going now?” Harry asked, trying to figure out Tom’s goal. Tom didn’t respond yet, only dragging Harry further into the corner of the garden. They stopped when they reached a fence. Then, Tom began to speak to something beyond it.
“You can come out now, I brought a friend.” Tom hissed. Harry was confused, he didn’t know what Tom was calling out to, and he was scared it would be something bad. Before he worried for too long, something hissed back.
“Young one, I can see him. Can he speak?” The voice spoke weirdly formal, the nickname another noticeable attribute.
“Hello? I’m Harry.” The voice yelped, surprised at the new voice joining.
“You can speak! I am a snake, you must be friends with this young one.” Harry turned towards Tom, waiting for him to explain the situation to him. He didn’t think he was talking to a snake, but there was no way for him to confirm that he was or wasn’t. He could only sit there and hope no one was playing a prank on him.
“I think I am, do you have a name?” Harry said, hesitantly.
“I’ve never had a need for one.” Harry gets confused at that. He doesn’t think you have to have a need for a name to be called one. He didn’t need the name Harry when the Dursley’s called him freak, but it was nice to know that he had one.
“Can I name you Adder? I think that’s a type of snake.” Harry asks, not trying to seem forceful.
“I like the name. I am Adder.” The snake hissed in delight. Tom looked at the sight with a strange expression, unsure why the snake liked having a name even though it had never asked for one. He didn’t understand why he would want one.
“Harry, I think it’s time we go back to Wool’s. We can talk to Adder again later.” Tom said quickly. He didn’t know why he wanted to leave, but he didn’t like the way that Harry was becoming friends with the snake.
Harry looked at the snake and held out his arm. “I’m sure we can hide Adder, he’s really tiny.” He pointed his face up at Tom’s. “Please, Tom?” Tom sighed before nodding. The snake climbed up Harry’s arm and hid underneath the shirt that Tom gave him. Tom smiled at that fact, but he didn’t completely know the motivations behind why.
“Let’s head back to the orphanage.” Tom put Harry’s arm back in his, leading him back to do more mundane work in the house.