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Lost in London

Summary:

The Dursleys decide to go on a trip to London for Dudley's birthday and are forced to take Harry with them. They are unhappy but resigned to having him trail after them as they experience a Family Trip™. However, fate seems to have other plans which somehow leads Harry to get lost in the unfamiliar city and meet a strange boy in a dark alleyway. Chaos ensues.

Notes:

I have been told by a friend after ranting their ears off about this AU that it had an Oliver and Company vibe. Do what you will with this information.

(See the end of the work for more notes.)

Work Text:

 

The putrid smell of garbage and sewer water permeated the alley’s stale air. It was nauseating, an insalubrious smoke forcibly entering the lungs and reposing there like a heavy lump. On both sides towered buildings of visibly unsound structure. Cheap paint was already peeling away from their surfaces in large sections while others were stained with what naive souls would believe to be mud. The alleyway itself was dark, shadows scurrying like rats, feasting upon the grime. The light had trouble reaching the narrow space, only a few feeble rays braving the near all encompassing darkness. The ground, or what could be seen of it, was wholly covered in unnamable filth and a barricade of garbage bins almost entirely blocked the entrance of the alley.

 

Muffled whimpers could be heard, if one were to listen carefully. Though almost imperceptible under the loudness of the city, they could still be made out as the alley offered an eerie protection against the outside noise. And no one outside could ever hope to hear anything that happened inside. The weeping came in an irregular pattern; a choked cry then a stifled silence that was inevitably broken by the next quiet, heart wrenching sob. Its source appeared to be hidden behind one of the larger garbage bins, the faint sound getting louder the closer one got to it.

 

With his back against the wall, a boy sat on the filthy ground, uncaring for anything but his much apparent despair. He couldn’t have been older than eight, curled up on himself, obviously trying to take as little space as was possible. His clothes were large- way too large for it to have been on purpose- so much that if he had been standing, only his belt would be holding his trousers up. They also served to make him seem smaller than he was, though the boy was scrawny enough not to need the additional help. The boy looked pitiful, strangely similar to a lost pet : alone, abandoned and starving. Too unaware of the world outside of his garden to survive long without his masters’ help.

 

More than the leaking waters flowing freely from the boy’s eyes, it was that look. Helpless and hopeless, shaking and despairing with weary resignation clearly written in the stiff line of his shaking shoulders. So much emotion, so foreign but so achingly familiar . That was what had tipped the scale. What had changed fate, there in that decrepit alleway, and made the lurking silhouette, until then content with the role of a spectator, come out of its shadowed hideaway and say :

 

"Ey kid, the 'ell yer doing 'ere ?"

 


 

 

With his eyes blurry with tears and his glasses stained, Harry startled from where he had been attempting to hide his face against his knobby knees. He looked up, his neck cracking at the abrupt movement, and found himself staring right into an inferno.

 

A boy his age stood before him, his form partially shrouded in darkness as his eyes blazed blood red in the alleyway’s dim light. The boy was looking down at him. His gaze, though fiery, was cold with indifference if not for a spark of interest hidden amongst its flames. It was the only thing Harry could discern from his face. Somehow, despite the gloomy setting, he exuded an air of regal condescension, as if content in the knowledge of the world’s innate inferiority to him. An unshakable thought entered Harry's mind. It was an unearthly sensation, something Harry knew deep in his bones. Something that wrapped around his mind, skimmed over his skin, rattled his marrow and electrified his spine. This boy was more .

 

His appearance stood in absolute contradiction to that impression however. 

 

Harry sniffled, lapped at a salty tear before wiping off the rest with a clenched fist. The boy cautiously stepped further out of the shadows, allowing Harry a better view of him. The boy’s clothes were shabbier than Harry's own though they actually seemed to fit his narrow frame. They were dirtier too, his once-white shirt held a yellowish tint and his pants were stained dark in various spots. They were mended with patches, badly sewn at that, and his socks peaked from the loose soles of his battered leather shoes. The boy was the very picture of a delinquent, of the ne'er-do-wells that Harry’s Aunt and Uncle loathed with a passion. He was a perfect personification of all the sins that were ever attributed to Harry.

 

With a jolt of fear, of morbid interest , and with that bone deep certainty that he still didn’t know the origin of, Harry realised that this boy was Not Normal. He was everything that the Dursley weren’t. This boy was nobody respectable, no one that could be picked apart, remade and boxed into one of Privet Drive’s very own cookie-cutter houses. He was not defined by normality, free of polite society’s overly restricting rules as Harry knew them.

 

He could be worse, Harry knew, much worse indeed than the Dursleys that, though they adhered- if only superficially- to polite society’s rules, managed to hurt Harry in ways more profound than the void in his stomach and the purple adorning his arms. He could be worse, but he could just as well be better . A freak, but not like Harry was. The creature before him was anything but pitiful, anything but helpless, anything but weak . It showed, despite his appearance, despite his everything. It showed in his stance, poised, dangerous and superior. It showed in the deliberately loose line of his shoulders, the way his fingers twitched in anticipation. And most importantly, it showed in his eyes. Two cold, deadly flames that were now turning away from him as the boy began to leave, taking offence in Harry’s prolonged silence.

 

Wait !”

 


 

 

Riddle stopped in his steps, irritated, and turned back around just in time for a waterfall of words to suddenly fall from the boy’s open mouth.

 

"No please, don’t leave !” the boy cried pleadingly. “Aunt Petunia said to wait on the bench but then she didn’t come back and there was a man who tried to get me to leave with him but I didn’t know him and then a lady knocked him over and he fell into a tray of cement and then there was a lot of screaming so I left but then I got lost and then I followed a really nice snake but then I also lost the snake and-"

 

Tears, which had subsided for the indescribable moment the boy had quietened to stare blankly at him- as if held above time- were back with a vengeance, following his words like rivers flowing down his face. Irritation rapidly gave way to alarm for a reason Riddle was unable to determine as it seamlessly took over his mind and body. The boy’s breathing grew quicker and more shallow as he fell into panic, babbling away in an attempt to let the words out as fast as they came to him. Riddle’s hands flailed uncharacteristically, far from the graceful body language he had beaten into himself from a young age and in which he usually prided himself. Unthinkingly, he brought down his hands on the boy's shoulders, shaking him and willing him to stop.

 

"Alright, 'aight, shush. Shut up !" That seemed to silence the boy at least. Riddle took a deep breath, then another one, more pointedly, that the boy tried to copy. He did so again, keeping a slow, regular pace. He had witnessed one of the ladies at Wools, Vanessa or something, use this exact same technique to pacify a boy after a distressing nightmare, a year or two ago. The racket had awoken most of the children and she had used the opportunity to explain what to do when someone was having a panic attack. She had been a nice one. She would answer their questions if they had any, shared the food equally instead of hogging the better part for herself and smiled sadly at them when she thought they couldn't see. She hadn't lasted and neither had the boy. Not even a year later, taken out by a common cold or something equally mundane. Pathetic.

 

It took a while, several minutes in fact, before the boy’s breathing calmed. By then, Riddle was already regretting leaving the familiar and secure hideout that the shadows had provided in the first place.

 

"Alright, okay, so yer lost. That's fine. We'll find yer Aunt." The words fancied themselves soothing but they fell flat, failing miserably in their purpose. Riddle was unused to comfort, directed towards himself or towards another, and he was still perplexed as to why he even felt the need to help the boy. He felt drawn to the other boy, an imperceptible current linking them from the moment he had stepped into the alley. That part of Riddle, the one that made him different, better , had latched onto the boy and refused to let go. Recognising him as kin. No, more. As an equal . Riddle did not know what to make of it, did not know why his power would recognise this weeping wretch as his own. He hated his ignorance but a look into the boy’s blanking gaze reduced his mounting fury to a low simmering flame. Riddle awkwardly patted him on the shoulder, hoping that that would be enough.

 

Seeing as the boy went back to his selective mutism and was unlikely to answer him, Riddle resigned himself to his fate. It was his own fault after all. Might as well make this fun.

 


 

 

Harry sniffled for a while longer, his head back between his knees. The vagrant boy stayed crouched next to him, emitting waves of weariness with a tint of deviousness that Harry could inexplicably feel as well as his own emotions. He chanced a glance towards him, gaze more focused than earlier through the tear-stained glass of his spectacles. The boy was staring ahead at a shadowed wall with a vaguely constipated expression. He seemed to be mentally scolding himself for getting involved in the situation he was now stuck in. Harry couldn't find it in himself to care if it meant he would be getting help. Not that he was particularly enthused at the idea of seeing his Aunt and Uncle again so soon, but he was wary of the many possible scenarios- each more unpleasant than the last- that could happen to him if he were to wander alone in an unknown city, lost and without any knowledge of how to get around.

 

Suddenly and without a word, the boy took him by the arm and hauled him up and out of the alley. Harry yelped, nearly stumbling on a cracked bottle as he was forced to follow after him. He was glad to leave the alley however as his nose had been protesting at the horrid smell of trash and grime for as long as he had stayed there. His eyes took a moment to adjust to the unexpectedly bright light as they regained the main streets. The alleyway’s eerie silence gave way to the loud hustle and bustle of London, the honking of cars and chatter of people filling his hearing. Harry was dragged along by the arm as the boy walked quickly through the londonian streets, moving with unquestionable familiarity as if he knew them like the back of his hands. Like a map had been burned into his brain and each movement into his procedural memory. It was all Harry could do to keep up and not end up with a facefull of sidewalk and a dislocated arm. Long-legged git.

 

"The name’s Riddle," the boy informed him, thoughtlessly pushing through the bustling crowd, uncaring of the outraged cries he caused. After several twists and turns, they pulled to a sharp stop- Harry nearly falling forward in the process- in front of an old-looking iron gate. It was twice Harry’s height and rusty enough that a tetanus warning should be displayed in bold letters so that no one would get the wonderful idea of touching it. Riddle let go of his arm and climbed the wall in one swift movement. Harry was left gaping as Riddle straddled it and carelessly jumped off to the other side. He heard a soft thud, indicating that the other boy had not met his end on the cold hard ground but that his fall had instead been cushioned by what Harry could only guess was grass. Riddle came back to the door and opened it from inside using a piece of cloth to let Harry in.

 

Uneasily and careful not to let his skin come into contact with the disease ridden gates, Harry walked into what appeared to be an abandoned park. As Riddle led him further inside, he could make out a broken sway and a roundabout, as well as half a slide remaining precariously upright. They were a faded, once-colourful monument to childhoods well spent generations ago. They stood at the centre of a green area lined with fractured benches. The lawn around was overgrown, weeds spilling all over the place in a way that made Harry's fingers twitch for a pair of gardening scissors. The air felt old and heavy, not in the way that the air in the alley had felt stale and stifling but more in the way that Harry imagined old manors and cemeteries would feel. Heavy with memories of times long gone. Abandoned places, once populated and loved.

 

"So 'ere's the deal," Riddle began, directing Harry’s attention back to him as he sat cross-legged in the grass. "I ain't got nothing to do all day, so I could just drop ya off at the police station,'' he paused. Harry grimaced at the idea of getting back to the Dursleys so soon, already seeing the puce shade that Uncle Vernon’s face would undoubtedly take at the sight of him. Apprehensive of his impending punishment. Riddle saw him hesitate. He smirked at Harry, sharp teeth showing. "Or, ya could hang out with me for the rest of the day. What d'ya say ?"

 

Harry slowly sat down next to him, sparring a mournful thought to Dudley's poor old scruffy jeans. If he were to ever see her again, Aunt Petunia would definitely reprimand him for the grass stains he was sure to get on them- they were already in a truly horrific state due to their meeting with the alleyway’s ground earlier. He futilely tried to console himself with the knowledge that she would be too busy screaming herself hoarse at him for getting lost to even care about the condition of his clothing. He twirled a weed between his fingertips as he considered Riddle’s proposition.

 

It might not be the best idea to spend the day in the company of a probably unlawful stranger. But Riddle was still a child and likely wouldn’t have offered to help him out in the first place if he wanted to hurt him. Probably. In any case, it would have been smarter of him to do so when they were still in the alley, cut off from the world outside, rather than elsewhere. Though an abandoned park was admittedly not a much better location for exclusively non-murderous activities. Yet, now that he had fought off the initial panic of being lost in a big city with no landmarks in sight, Harry knew he would do anything to put off the moment he would be reunited with his much loved family . Riddle seemed street savvy and familiar enough with the place that Harry trusted him to guide them through London, if only that.

 

He swiftly tore the grass strand he had been fiddling with out of the ground and looked back towards the other boy who had apparently come to terms with Harry’s long silences. The snake that had guided Harry to the alley hours ago- after he had run away from the earlier commotion- poked its head out of Riddle's collar. The other boy idly ran two thin fingers down its smooth scales. It hissed, pleased with the attention. Feeling the silence shift in nature, Riddle moved his eyes back to Harry, their gaze meeting. He raised an eyebrow, inferno increasing in temperature by a few degrees in anticipation.

 

Wordlessly, Harry nodded. Riddle's grin was that of a shark.

 


 

 

"What're ya 'n yer Aunt doing 'round 'ere anyway ? Ya don’t sound like yer from London."

 

The delinquent boy- Riddle- was picking the lock of an abandoned church's back door with a hairpin, a scowl etched into his face and a snake hissing around his shoulders. The other boy, Harry, was on the lookout. Not that there seemed to be anything alive in the graveyard behind the church to look out for. They made, as a duo, quite an interesting picture. One that could be used by parents and middle school teachers to show the children around them what exactly not to do if they hoped to live long respectable lives as their parents had done before them. Not that said parents were not hypocritical liars pretending to have never ever smoked a fag or set fire to a dumpster.

 

Back in the deserted graveyard, Harry was having trouble finding any evidence of it having been visited in the last five years. That is, other than the well-trodden path from a hole in the fence to the back door that Riddle had led him to, as well as a bunch of cigarettes and empty cans scattered around on the ground and on the graves. An orchard with overly ripe fruits and overgrown greenery stood on the left side of the graveyard, fallen apples littering the graves nearing it. There seemed to be a theme to the day, Harry mused, staring up to the early afternoon sky. Relating, if he was right, to abandoned places and detritus.

 

That aside, Harry was confident in saying that this must have been the most interesting day of his admittedly short life.

 


 

 

Harry was right in his assumption that Riddle was indeed a delinquent of the worst kind. But he was deeply wrong in the supposition that that was a bad thing. Riddle had begun their adventure tamely enough by dragging Harry to a sizable river- the Thames- where he had shown him how to aggressively throw peebles into the water to startle kissing couples and fought an angry goose- it had been quite unhappy to have its territory sullied by human children. 

 

Following that, Riddle had told him to distract random people on the street so he could pickpocket them. He didn’t say it in so many words, only instructing Harry to ask a well-dressed man about the address of the nearest barber where Harry was supposedly meeting his nonexistent older brother. They only got caught thrice, when Harry grew too nervous to speak or too tangled in the threads of his lies and kept glancing at Riddle for indications on what to do. They agreed it was a promising start to Harry's career and moved on to their next partially illegal activity. 

 

At some point, Riddle had begged off a pack of Digestives from a passing lady by charming her with deliberately accent-less flattery. With his back drawn straight, posture unthreatening, and his eyes nearly brown in the daylight, he had almost looked like the kind of proper young man Aunt Petunia would coo at. The lady had looked more exasperated than charmed by the display, the biscuits more a plea to leave her alone than anything else. She seemed to know Riddle and since- though masterfully hidden- there was a tinge of sarcasm to Riddle’s performance too, Harry was led to believe that the whole thing was a joke to which he didn’t know the punchline. All in all, it had been a disturbing experience but the biscuits were good.

 

Riddle also possessed some kind of snake spy network. In addition to the first one, no less than five snakes had found their way to them that morning, hissing something or other to Riddle before disappearing back into the metaphorical wilderness of the city. They came in all kinds, sizes and colours and Harry was happy to listen to Riddle as he went on about their different species and characteristics, obviously pleased with Harry's interest in the matter and ready to flaunt his knowledge of the subject. Harry hadn’t even been aware of the sheer number of snakes that one could find in a city like London though he took a moment to consider that maybe this was unusual. But Riddle didn’t seem like the type to respect or even acknowledge the rules of logic if they did not serve him or his agenda so Harry guessed it was fine to ignore them for a while.

 

Somehow Riddle appeared to understand whatever the snakes had to say to him. Case point was when a nervous adder had hurried up to Riddle only for the boy to grab Harry’s hand and run out of a music shop Riddle had been insistent on visiting, i.e. robbing. He had been about to show Harry his supposed prowess at the piano when the irate owner had come running back from his lunch break. Harry had unthinkingly grabbed a walkman off of one of the display sections as they barrelled out of the shop. Riddle couldn’t have looked prouder when he had shown it to him.

 


 

 

"Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon wanted to take Dudley- that's my cousin- out for his birthday, but Mrs Figg wasn't there so I had to come with," Harry answered after a moment. Really, if he ever was to decide to live with as many cats as Mrs Figgs did- which was unlikely but that was not the point- he would at least make sure to pay attention to where he put his feet when he moved around the house. It wasn’t the first time such an accident had occurred- Mrs Figgs miscalculating and breaking something after inadvertently stepping on one of her cats- so one would think that she had learned her lesson but apparently not. Maybe she needed a new prescription for her glasses ? Harry knew that he personally did, but he wasn’t about to ask Aunt Petunia for it. 

 

The circumstances had ended well for him, all things considered. Putting aside the whole “lost in an unknown city with no familiar faces and nowhere to go” situation, this day had gone way better than any he could remember since Mrs White’s short stay as their kindergarten teacher. He couldn’t remember ever having so much- dare he say it- fun . His stomach still pleaded for sustenance and his bruises still ached- he even had gotten an assortment of new ones during his more daring attempts at reproducing Riddle’s casual acrobatic moves- but he had felt his lips tremble with the need to smile more than once that day. That had most definitely never happened before.

 

Harry abandoned his lookout position to poke the snake so it would leave Riddle's shoulders and wrap itself around his wrist. It did so, the smooth movement of its dark coils producing an entrancing effect that Harry’s eyes couldn’t help but follow. Riddle's scowl lessened a fraction when its whiny hissing left the vicinity of his ears and he threw the hairpin away to simply glare hard at the lock. It clicked open.

 


 

 

That was another thing. His initial impression had been right; Riddle was a freak just as Harry was. 

 

When he had learned that Harry possessed the same strange abilities as he did, Riddle had emitted a spectrum of complex and contradictory emotions. It had been when Harry had teleported them away from their third failed pickpocket attempt which had been about to turn more violent than either had bargained for. He had looked deeply contemplative as Harry vaguely explained his other instances of “freakishness”, hoping despite the odds that Riddle was Not Normal enough to be apathetic to the news. The current between them had strained with a noticeable tension and Harry had tried with all his might to not let his trepidation show at the idea of Riddle leaving him right there and then. 

 

After a silence worthy of those Harry had subjected him to, Riddle's thoughts had seemed to come to a satisfactory conclusion. He had looked up, flames low and simmering, and the tension faded away as if it had never existed. His only acknowledgement of the conversation before he moved them along was a snap of his fingers, which had set a nearby trashcan on fire. They had left fast after that, Riddle unwilling to give Harry any time to reflect on the unanticipated revelation. Harry had realised then that he had become desensitised to Riddle manhandling him and dragging him around at some point during the day. The sweet smell of smug satisfaction followed them as they ran away, Harry never realising that it was as much his as it was Riddle’s.

 


 

 

"What 'bout yer parents ?" Riddle asked, striding in through the now opened back entrance. He let his presence spread around him as he penetrated the back area, more comfortable in doing so now that he was in a secure location. At the edges of his consciousness, he could feel rats and similar vermin scurry away from where they had been scattered around the building to hide into the church’s hollow walls. The boy- who he had yet to learn the name of but it felt too absurd to ask now- tentatively followed him inside the sparse room.

 

Something contorted in his chest as he watched him. It was very strange indeed, and for him in particular, to be so aware and feel so close to someone- anyone - he had met only hours ago. He had gotten an answer to his earlier question- and how shocking but bizarrely expected it had been- but he still felt that there was something more to their connection. Not that the power they shared was not enough - he hadn't even considered other people sharing his gift until that day and how wrong had he been- it was more than enough. But the emotions he felt in his chest next to his own, the jolts of electricity that shot up his spine and the soothing low buzz of statics that rang in his ears- all screamed at his mind that it was not all there was to it.

 

Just to try, he nudged the other boy with a tendril of potent power, pushing him towards a door that opened to the hallway that led to the main area of the church. The boy stiffened and imperceptibly turned his head toward him, daring a glance from underneath his mess of black hair. When he found Riddle’s eyes already staring at him, he sent him an inquiring look but opened the door obediently at the next nudge. Though some had cowered in fear at being brushed by his power, most of the orphans at Wools didn’t seem to feel more than a foreboding aura around him- which could easily be attributed to his reputation. To have someone react to it so well, to have someone feel this part of him- the one that made him more , that made him different from the masses of miserable orphans- perhaps just as well as he did. It was a lot. Too much maybe. 

 

When the other boy hid a shiver at the sheer intensity of Riddle’s emotion, he did his best to stifle them for the moment. He would have time to look over them later. For now, he led the boy- his equal- through the hallway and to the main chamber.

 


 

 

The chamber was huge. Harry had to twist his neck upward to see the high ceiling that arched above their heads. Awed, he felt incredibly small as he walked along the rows of wooden seats. Fissured sculptures of saints lined the walls, standing like stone protectors of the forsaken sanctuary. The narrow windows were wide open, broken stained glass littering the floor nearby, reflecting light in a hundred of small rainbows. Faded paintings of biblical scenes that Harry was only vaguely familiar with adorned the grey stone walls.

 

It was a lot fancier than the little church up Wisteria Walk that the Dursleys frequented on occasions, although it also was almost entirely covered in vegetation and in far worse condition. Harry wondered why such a beautiful place had been left to decay's merciless hands. There was a strange beauty however, he thought, to the way vines curled freely around the stone pillars. Behind him, Riddle's eyes trailed on the biblical illustrations with a look that translated a lifelong distaste before turning away and walking to the back side of the room behind a large raised stage. Harry could only wonder what experiences had made the other boy loath the paintings in such a way while feeling comfortable enough in the church to use it as a personal hideout.

 

Something in his peripheral vision caught Harry's attention. He hurried towards the oaken front doors, jumping over benches as the snake around his wrist hissed at him though he was unable to understand it. It seemed displeased with the agitation. Harry smiled down apologetically at it, drawing closer to the massive doors. There was a small nest hidden inside a hole in the wall. It seemed a family of owls had decided to make home in the desolate church.

 

"They died in a car crash when I was one," Harry replied absentmindedly at Riddle’s earlier question, staring with wide eyes at the sleeping birds. They were four, an owl and its three owlets. The older one’s feathers were speckled brown and a light caramel colour. The little ones were mostly white, three fluffy balls huddled together for warmth. Harry’s heart melted a little. A deep feeling of longing took over his chest as he watched them, unable to understand its origin. Sadly, he had to cut his observation short and quickly back off when the snake around his wrist got a bit too interested.

 

"My ma's brown bread. Passed 'way right after giving me birth," Riddle drawled from further away, messing around with what looked like the gigantic cousin of a piano. It was huge, as were most things in the church, made of rich maple wood that was tinted red in the sunlight. It had enormous metal tubes that loomed over the room, creating a shadow in which Riddle's form happily faded. "Called me Tom after my da and Marvolo after hers. The bint had no imagination or so I hear."

 

"My middle name’s James after my father, but I don’t know about Harry," he said. He did not like the way Riddle spoke about his parents- too similar to how the Dursleys spoke of Harry's. It had taken an unshakable will not to internalise their repeated insults and slander with no proof to the contrary. Maybe it was only wishful thinking, a voice kept whispering. Maybe they had been just as bad as the Dursleys told him they were. They were the ones to leave him there, after all. As he usually did when they came to him, Harry banished the thoughts. When living a life such as his, he could not afford to make himself more miserable than everyone else already did.

 

He walked back between the benches towards where Riddle was now seated in front of the giant piano- or whatever it was. He startled when Riddle pressed down a key, a loud note coming out of one of the towering pipes and echoing through the whole chamber. Riddle pressed another key, then another one and soon an eerie tune was filling his ears as well as the entirety of the abandoned church.

 


 

 

The atmosphere created by the haunting music echoing like a prayer inside the chamber, the cavernous church in all its forsaken glory and the vagrant grinning like a lunatic as he played the organ- squinting his unearthly eyes in ironic pleasure- would have brought shiver down any witness' spine. A foreboding aura had taken over the room, waves of unknown power rolling over the benches, crawling up the walls, distorting reality where it touched it. The sculptures of saints were missing their benevolent expressions, lining the walls like guards, overlooking the room like a jury about to proclaim its final judgement. The snake slithered off the other boy's wrist and back to vagrant's shoulders, coiling and slithering hypnotically, in sync with the reverberating notes, as if wanting to be part of the disquieting scene. 

 

A soft sibilant hiss escaped the vagrant's lips. At that moment, he didn't look human. His form- like hours ago in an isolated alleyway- was coated in darkness, warped by the shadows thrown over him by the towering pipes. The light coming from the chamber's windows seemed to have been sucked away by his sheer presence. Only his eyes, two infernos burning like the flames of hell, shone in this surreal perception of the moment.

 

Riddle's fingers stopped on the keyboard and suddenly silence reigned. Getting his feet off the pedals, he turned around on the stool and stood up in one swift movement. He reached a hand into his pocket. Snake still around his shoulders, he presented Harry with an apple he had likely taken from the orchard; it was red as a bleeding heart. Uncomprehending, Harry accepted it.

 

Riddle cackled with irony on the whole way out.

 


 

 

"Oy, Tommy, over 'ere !"

 

Riddle gritted his teeth but ignored the jeering round-faced boy as they passed in front of Wool's orphanage. Dennis and Amy were seated on the front garden lawn as they laughed along though Billy had yet to say anything funny. Riddle didn't feel the need to hide his pure contempt in such company- no one to trick or charm here- sneering their way in the same manner people often sneered at him and the other orphans. In the exact same manner that the passersby scorned the homeless codger under the bridge and that the well dressed men disdained the prostitutes they spent the night with. The way the rich despised the poor.

 

The orphanage's creaky front door banged open. Before Riddle could worry about its state, the world’s most atrocious woman by unanimous vote stumbled out, looking absolutely pissed on that lovely late afternoon. Mrs Cole sauntered out and- even though he stood ten feet away from her- Riddle could tell that she reeked of the cheapest wallop one could ever hope to acquire on the market. She leaned on the first thing she could find to hold her weight- a rake, a few inches to the left and she would topple over, come on - and immediately began screaming at the top of her lungs.

 

"Amy! Dennis! Come take care o' the mess ye’ve made this instant ! There's glue all over th' place! Ye’ve even managed to get some on the bleedin' ceiling ! I sure as ‘ell ain’t cleaning that up ! Billy ! Next time yer damned rabbit takes a nap in one o' my pans, I'll skin it alive and make ye eat it fo' dinner !"

 

She continued to scream as Riddle’s mind grew bored of her customary racket. Next to him, Harry seemed impressed by the sheer capacity of her lungs, staring at her with morbid interest. Some passersby stopped to gawk at the incandescent harpy but others were simply too used to this spectacle to waste their time. When Mrs Cole was done berating the others and finally turned to Riddle, her eyes halted on Harry.

 

"Who in tha name o' God 're ye ?! Hangin' out with the devil's bloody child, ye must be one 'em satanic folks! Or did Riddle trick ye into joinin' him? Wouldn't surprise me in the least, I tell ye! All barmy, folks these days-"

 

She paused in her rant to take a swing off the bottle she had carried out with her. Riddle wrinkled his nose as the liquid sloshed around and tugged on Harry’s wrist to signal their imminent departure. Harry’s head swivelled towards him and Riddle bared his teeth at him. A sharp look towards Mrs Cole then down the road sufficed for Harry to nod his understanding. He flexed his aura like a muscle, feeling a dozen consciousnesses in the shrubbery simultaneously focus on his own. Just as Mrs Cole opened her mouth again, Riddle let out a sharp hiss and no less than ten snakes of different sizes, colours and levels of venomousness pounced on her.

 

Harry and Riddle ran away as they had done many times that day, her renewed shrieks resounding behind them. Their individual emotions coursed through both their bodies, thus doubling the giddy haze of adrenaline taking over their systems. Pure undiluted excitement ran at breakneck speed through their veins, making them lightheaded in victory. Harry caught Riddle's eyes once they were out of earshot and as one, for the first time that day, they beamed at each other.

 


 

 

They avoided the- this time not abandoned- church nearby the orphanage on their way to the police station. They were walking at a slow pace through the surprisingly empty streets, listening to music play on their stolen walkman and sharing the last of their Digestives. Harry caught himself admiring the high buildings and shops along the streets, enjoying the relative silence underneath the reddening sky. The sun was setting, its dying rays bathing Riddle's uneasy expression in golden light, sharpening his edges and highlighting his frown. For Harry, that alone was reason enough to skirt around the church’s area, although the alternative path made the trip longer.

 

The lengthened trip wasn't a problem, in truth. Harry found himself increasingly reluctant to arrive at the station and officially end their day together. He was not eager to see the Dursleys and deal with their unavoidable fury, his stomach clenching as he slowly approached his punishment. But, more than that, he dreaded going back to cold, monotone Privet Drive after having had such a good time getting to know the streets of London in Riddle's company. Riddle must have sensed his reluctance as he deliberately took time to tell him about the places they passed by, pausing for whole minutes in front of usually overlooked spots. It contrasted the fast-paced way he had dragged him through the streets earlier that day. Harry was grateful for it as long as it lasted.

 

But inevitably, they arrived. The police station was a sad, ordinary, dull brown building, opposing the city’s colourful structures with its dreariness. Or maybe that was just Harry’s feelings bleeding into his perception. Riddle pulled him to a stop behind a fake plant not far from the entrance, hidden from the view of both the passersby and the station’s guards. He dug a hand inside of his trouser’s pocket, face scrunched in concentration before withdrawing something and handing it to Harry. 

 

Harry's eyes widened. It was an egg. The shell was white and lightly speckled with brown, just as the owl’s feathers had been. 

 

"There was ‘nother nest in the church by the organ," Riddle began airily, his eyebrow twitching slightly in what could be read as either annoyance or nervousness. He pulled out a second egg from the same pocket but kept it to himself. "Saw a dead owl next to it. They wouldn' 'ave been taken care of," he trailed off awkwardly. Riddle was looking away from him, the traits of his face impassible even as the aura around him clung to Harry. Night would be falling in very little time- they could feel it in the coldenning air, see it in the darkening sky. The day would soon be reaching its undeniable end and they both had places to be.

 

Harry cradled the egg carefully in his right hand. Gently pushing both his and Riddle's hands out of the way to prevent the delicate shells from being crushed, Harry lunged forward and enveloped the other boy into a hug. 

 

Riddle startled and it was quickly apparent that he didn’t know what to do in this situation. Just as they had done earlier in the alleyway, his arms flailed ungracefully, clearly unaware of how to position themselves. Taking pity on him, Harry sent a light nudge of potent power, pushing his arms down and around Harry’s waist. Riddle complied. For what could have easily been seconds or years, they basqued into each other’s warmth and presence, auras shifting and dancing in sync, blurring together as neither wished to let go. Finally and with great reluctance, Harry backed off. Their auras began distangling, loss echoing in both their chests once the process was done. Harry put his egg into his own pocket and offered the other boy a smile and a wave before walking away, willing himself not to turn back. Riddle waved back dazedly before disappearing into the crowd.

 

It didn’t take long to get in contact with the Dursleys. As he waited for them in trepidation, legs swaying back and forth from where he was seated, he listened to a young officer try to distract him with bad jokes. It helped him take his mind off the gaping hole in his chest a little. The officer was nice enough. She had dirty blond hair pulled into a messy ponytail, large pink ears and she gave him a watermelon-flavoured lollipop that Harry finished quickly before Dudley could come and take it away. 

 

When the Dursleys arrived- way too quickly for Harry’s taste- Uncle Vernon's face was an impressive shade of puce and Aunt Petunia's more pinched than that time Mrs Wesley had bad mouthed her daffodils- which were actually Harry’s, so he had taken offence. Uncle Vernon was remarkably silent as he directed Harry to the car, unwilling to tarnish his reputation by yelling even though Harry was sure that no one knew of the Dursleys in London, East End.

 


 

 

Later that night, after a strained car ride and many kicks in the shins from Dudley, after long high pitched admonishments from Petunia and threats of unending chores to come, after no dinner, a rough shove into his cupboard and the sound of the alcohol cabinet opening, Harry was finally alone in his small shadowed space. With great care and gratefulness for its continued survival, he tucked the tiny egg in a makeshift nest of shirts on one of his cupboard's shelves. In the welcoming darkness, he quietly recounted his day to the spiders as sleep crept into him.

 

Despite the promise of a cold tomorrow, the warm memory of running through the bustling streets of London dragged by a boy with burning eyes, a boy that was like him , still coursed through his mind. It shielded him from thoughts of chores and punishments, protected him from nightmares of unending grey monotonous streets, of identical houses that went on and on. Basking in that remembered warmth and for once in many years, Harry yielded to slumber with a smile on his face.

 

 

Notes:

Thank you for reading this ! Please feel free to leave a comment as that is an author's most important source of sustenance. Keysmashes and incoherent screeching are appreciated.

+ This fic's got memes now if you're interested