She Is Gone

:Cici! Cici! Stop hiding! I want to talk to you!:

Again, there was no reply.

He had done this every night for the last week – wandering in circles around the yard, calling Cici's name in soft hisses only she could hear. Seven nights she had eluded him; seven nights Tom had failed to locate his only friend. He would find her - that's what he told himself, at first, but deep down in in his recently thawed heart, he knew the truth. She was gone.

The boy sunk to his knees in the cold grass, heart pounding audibly in his chest. Either she was hiding from him, or she had left. Either way, Cici was no longer his friend. Tears welled up in his eyes, and he gasped - but the moment passed quickly and his face grew cold and hard like stone; he refused to cry. That's what the other children would do – that's what stupid Billy Stubbs would do – and he was better than them. So much better.

But if he was better, why couldn't he hold onto his only friend? Cici had left, no doubt to become someone else's friend, leaving him behind - how dare she toss him aside like that? If he was so much better, what reason could she possibly have to leave him?

He refused to believe that there was something wrong with him. He refused to believe that he had been deprived of something he needed due to his own deficiencies. He refused to believe that he had failed in any way - but then why did Cici leave?

He closed his eyes, allowing the midnight cold to wash over him and hold him tightly; he took a deep breath and then he felt. It was the way the cold nipped at his skin, the whispering of the autumn breeze; the taste of gathering dew and the smell of a rainstorm approaching – this was his world. Like the natural phenomena surrounding him, he was a force unimpeded by human frailty, untroubled by the cares of the miserable little people crawling about and corrupting. He was above all that – he was free.

And even as a frigid smile formed upon his face, a single tear fell from his eyes – the last tear that would ever escape his cold, dark eyes.

Harry woke up crying.

.....

Sam Stewart was Harry's best friend. Well, actually, he was his only friend.

If he was being completely honest with himself, Harry thought the boy was a little annoying – he talked so much. Seriously, he never stopped talking. Harry hadn't known people talked that much. He didn't think they were capable of it, until he met Sam. It was probably for the best though, Harry supposed, because in the end he could just let Sam do all the talking, and bask in the welcoming warmth that was friendship.

Despite his faults - which, Harry always reminded himself, were quite minor - Sam really was a good person. It hadn't taken Dudley long to figure out that Harry had made a new friend, and had made it his mission to warn Sam of the truth; that he was being deceived by a freak, and if he was smart, he would run as far away from the aberration that was Harry Potter as possible.

But Sam didn't run. He defended Harry with a smile. Sam never looked on idly when Dudley and his friends picked on Harry; indeed, he seemed to find considerable satisfaction in standing up to Dudley and his gang of distasteful bullies. The bold magician-in-training always called them out on it, and when necessary, took Harry's hand and they ran. Together.

For the first time in his life, Harry felt like a real boy, living a real life, with a real friend - with a real future in front of him. He was more than 'boy' or 'freak' - he was Harry Potter, Sam Stewart's best friend.

That's what Sam called him. His best friend.

Sam told Harry everything. He told him about every trick he worked on, about how much he hated his homework and how one day he'd drop out of school and become a travelling magician. He told Harry about his annoying older sister who thought she was so important because she was in their church choir, and his funny baby brother; he even told Harry about when his parents yelled at each other and talked about something called 'divorce'.

Harry was deeply flattered and encouraged by the trust Sam placed in him, but the confidence Sam's trust gave him was always overshadowed by the fact that he felt terrible about how little he trusted Sam. It wasn't as though he distrusted the blonde boy...he just didn't know what to say. He didn't know how to tell Sam that he lived in a cupboard under the stairs, or that for a long time, he thought his name was freak. He didn't know how to explain to Sam that every night, he dreamed of another orphan boy named Tom Riddle. He certainly didn't know how to tell Sam that he could talk to snakes, or that he could do magic. But that wasn't going to stop him from trying.

"Sam! Sam! I have something to show you!"

Sam turned around and grinned at him. He, like everyone else, was imbued with energy wrought from the fact that this was the last day they had to spend locked in a classroom, until the new year; it was the last day of school before Christmas holidays. Harry and Sam had already made many plans for the holidays - they were going to make snowmen together, go to the library together, and practice magic tricks together.

Sam's parent's had even invited Harry to church with them. Harry wasn't sure what one does at church - he'd been to the building a few times, but he'd never been to an actual church service - but Sam seemed to think it was important, which was enough for him. Yes, this holiday would be filled with exciting new discoveries, and, for the first time in his life, presents.

He wasn't sure what he was going to give Sam, what with his limited funds, but today would be a good start - he was going to give Sam the truth.

"Do you have an idea for a new trick?"

Harry shook his head excitedly, trying not to fidget too much. Sam didn't need to know how nervous he was. "I can't tell you here - it's a secret! You wanna see?"

As Harry expected, Sam nodded avidly. "Well then! Let's see it."

Harry grabbed his hand and sprinted forward, leading his friend toward a small grove of secluded trees not far from the playground, where they often ate their lunches together. A few months ago, Harry would have never thought to take someone by the hand and lead them anywhere (he'd be much to afraid to get smacked for it), but he knew Sam didn't mind; the blonde boy just continued chattering happily behind him.

Once they reached the trees, Harry tugged off his mittens and pulled a small ten pence coin out of his pocket, placing it in the palm of his right hand.

Sam had stopped talking, and was staring at him curiously. "Are you going to make it disappear, Harry? Because I already taught you that one, remember? Child's play!"

Harry smiled. "Just wait, this is different...watch carefully."

Seeing Sam nod, Harry closed his eyes, recalling the dream he'd had five times before now. He could do this – he just needed to remember – remember the focus and determination, remember the joy, remember the power. Remember, Harry, remember.

And then it happened – that familiar warmth overcame him, dancing across his skin in the most tantalizing of ways.

Magic...

There was really nothing more beautiful.

When the subsequent pleasured shiver went down his spine, he knew he had succeeded, and sure enough, when Harry opened his eyes, the coin was gone.

"...Harry...?"

Harry looked up at his friend, expecting to see the same wonder and thrill he was reveling in - he expected to see marvel in his friend's eyes. Instead, he saw that familiar expression. Fear.

"H-how did you do that?"

Harry smiled weakly. Maybe Sam just needed a moment to process. After all, the first time he'd seen Tom do magic, he had been nothing less than floored. It had taken him a while to convince himself Tom hadn't just been hallucinating (after all, he was kind of crazy like that). "It's magic, Sam. Real magic."

Sam sucked in a sharp breath. "You can do...real magic?"

Harry nodded hopefully.

"You mean, what the other kids say...about you breaking the windows when you were mad..."

"Well, yes, but-"

"And throwing your cousin across the playground just by glaring at him -"

"Well, he was being a-"

"The things they tried to warn me about...the things you said weren't true...they all really happened?"

Harry froze, not sure what to say. He could lie, yes, but it wouldn't be very convincing, not after what he'd just shown Sam. A simple "yes" was all that slipped out.

Sam took a step back. "You can break thing without touching them? You can hurt people without even moving? You can make things disappear!?"

"Yes!" Harry cried. He did his very best to stifle the anxiety growing steadily inside of him. This was not going to plan at all...he was quickly losing control of the situation. He needed to make Sam understand...he needed to make his friend understand that he didn't mean any harm. "Yes, I can, but I don't mean it, any of it! It just happens! I don't mean it!"

"You meant to make that coin disappear – you could make any of us disappear!"

Harry gasped. "I wouldn't do that!"

"And how do I know that! How do I know you won't hurt me, like you hurt those other kids!?"

Harry bit back a sob, as he reeled in shock. How could Sam even think that? Harry had never done anything to him - how could he think he would hurt him? Had Harry done something to make Sam think he was a bad person? Suddenly very ashamed, he stared at his feet. "Because I'm your friend." He said the words earnestly, imbuing them with raw sorrow and guilt. Surely Sam would understand how sorry he was.

But much to Harry's surprise, Sam scoffed at that. It was a weak, unsteady scoff, but a sound of mocking nonetheless. "No you're not. You're a liar, Harry Potter, and they're right."

Dread bubbled up inside him, and Harry let out a small whimper, unable to remain entirely silent.

"They're right. You really are a freak."

At that moment, something inside Harry died, and all semblance of thought died with it. He couldn't think, he couldn't process, all he could do was feel.

And he felt horrible.

Unbidden, a cold wind swirled around him, stirring the snow from the ground like a tiny blizzard. Sam let out a screech before being tossed backward, blinded by the torrent of wind and snow between him and Harry.

Harry could hear Sam's shouts - "Stop! Stop! Please stop!" - but all he could do was sob into his hands. Why? Why? Why did this always happen to him?

A moment later, everything fell silent. The wind died, and the snow slowly drifted to the ground, strangely serene.

Sam didn't say anything. Neither did Harry. And as the blonde boy scrambled to his feet and ran, Harry knew they'd never speak again.

.....

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