Harry was building a snowman. There wasn't much snow on the ground, so it was a rather pathetic snowman, but it was still a work of art, he had to say. He'd been so careful to mold the body and head smoothly, and had put much thought into what sticks to use for its slender little arms.
Two pennies marked the eyes, and five tiny pebbles the mouth. Yes, it was a lovely snowman - it was just...delicate. Harry thought that his ability to create things from very little was one of his better qualities.
He glanced up at the sky, trying but failing to locate the sun behind the thick blanket of clouds stretching over the heavens. He sighed, retrieving his little mirror – Tom's mirror – from his back pocket.
"Do you think it's been an hour yet?"
"Just about," Tom replied, his face betraying nothing.
Harry nodded. "I suppose I should go back in now."
"Yes, you wouldn't want to keep them waiting."
Harry was silent, as he made his way back to Number 4 Privet Drive. He didn't really know how to act – he'd feel bad, acting as triumphant as he felt. After all, his victory and his prize...they were all at Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon's expense. Truth be told, he felt quite bad about the whole thing.
He knew it had to be done - Tom wouldn't have it any other way - but he couldn't help but feel like a bit of a bully, scaring his relatives into giving him what he wanted...even if it was something that, arguably, he deserved in the first place. Was it ok to bully a bully? Was it wrong to treat badly those who have treated you worse? Harry really didn't know.
The house was quiet when he returned. Dudley was probably still asleep. The boy slept like the dead, and when school was out, he rarely woke before 10.
After divesting himself of his coat and boats, Harry slowly made his way to Dudley's – now his – bedroom.
When he got to the door, Petunia was still inside, collecting some of Dudley's toys off the ground.
"Aunt Petunia?" he called quietly.
The woman jumped, and spun around to face him with a look of terror on her face.
"Harry."
She calmed her breathing and attempted to stand up straight, only partially succeeding as she rushed out of the room, careful to avoid touching Harry at all.
Once she reached the bottom of the stairs, Harry sighed a sigh of relief. That could have gone a lot worse.
Suddenly, his scar began to sting. Soon after their first meeting, Tom had smugly informed Harry that he could cause Harry massive amounts of pain with little to no effort. He was quite clear that he would remorselessly do so whenever he wanted Harry's attention. Harry supposed that was only fair...it must be terrible to ignored most of the time, he thought.
He pulled Tom's mirror out of his pocket.
A smile was tugging at the corners of his – rather Tom's mouth. "Did you see that?"
Harry frowned tiredly. "See what?"
"The fear in her eyes, the submission in her voice."
"It was kind of hard to miss."
The subtle smile morphed into a sharp smirk. "And that is how it should be, Harry."
"I don't want people to be afraid of me!"
"The powerless will always fear true power – the muggles will always be wary of you; they will always reject you."
Harry cast his eyes to the floor, and he winced at the dull ache in his chest. "Then I'll be alone forever?"
Tom's face transformed into something Harry believed he was supposed to interpret as sympathy. "No, Harry, one day you will meet others who know the greatness of magic, too."
Harry's eyes brightened. "Then there are others like me?"
Tom's smile returned. "There is no one like you, Harry. But there are those who have tasted power, and who will flock to you for more. Their fear of you will not fuel rejection – rather, it will kindle respect."
Harry stared at him, feeling rather befuddled by Tom's statement, but Tom didn't seem to notice.
"Never be afraid of power, Harry. For greatness is your birthright."
.....
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