Sister Mary
Harry sat on the back of his calves, kneeling on the floor as he listened intently to Tom’s instruction.
“Levitation is fairly simple. Think your magic a tree, and then branch out to what you are levitating, like this,” Tom reached out and gently lifted the book a few inches off of the ground.
Harry narrowed his eyes and breathed. Slowly but surely, he could feel his magic reaching out; magic that he usually kept contained within the bare fibers of his skin. It was an overeager, infant thing, excited to finally be doing something after being restrained for 8 years.
He could see it—opaque and shimmering as it was—flatlining towards the book, but then it began to spread. Harry shook with effort, trying to reign the magic back in, trying to keep it under control, but there was just so much. It breached through the small gateway he had opened and began draining out and filling the room with the same force that one might achieve if they poked a hole into a bottle of water. Or rather, into the side of an ocean.
Tom, suddenly overwhelmed with sheer magical energy humming and buzzing in the air, unleashed his own. Harry immediately felt the presence of Tom’s magic, an entity entirely different from his own. While Harry’s magic whirled and roared, intense as it tried to destroy the walls with its strength, Tom’s curled up in slender but strong tendrils, snaking around his magic and taming it with a cool touch. Harry shivered as Tom’s magic forced his own to retreat back, the book lying forgotten on the floor.
Once he had sealed the magic back up, Harry lay back against the floor, thoroughly overcome with lassitude. The magic tried to escape his skin one last time after he put a stopper to it, and the force of it as it collectively ramming up against his small body made flames suddenly erupt, licking the (thankfully) stone floor.
“Strange. My own magic was not nearly as chaotic as yours,” Tom pondered, waving his hand and extinguishing the fire. “Let’s try again,”
Harry groaned.
Throughout the days following, Tom and Harry practiced and practiced and practiced some more. When Harry was too exhausted to continue, Tom shoved a book into his hand and they read for hours on end. Over time, Harry was able to perform simple manipulations of objects and banishments—summoning books and clothing into his waiting hands and cleaning mud from his shoes—truly simple things. Shields and sound barriers came later.
Meanwhile, Tom practiced his magic on resolving Harry’s magical outbursts and studying how and when they occurred. What they realized was that, in order to minimize Harry’s issues of containment, they needed to allow him to dispel and free the magic once a week. Thus, every Sunday, Harry was sat in the center of the room, Tom leaning against the door to be sure that no one would intrude.
Under Tom’s careful watch, Harry expelled the magic that bit and tumbled under his skin, and for thirty minutes it filled the room and drained out. Tom, feeling the immense amount of pressure from the magic that drowned the room, erected a transparent skin-tight magic shield around himself to prevent from falling to his knees. After a few weeks, Tom suddenly realized that for every release Harry did, the sheer amount of his magic increased.
The magic that had initially healed his old wounds now fed his malnourished stature. As a result, Harry shot up in height, now shoulder-to-shoulder with Tom and, through picking up Tom's unconscious habits, equally as poised and regal. The other orphans noted this change with great surprise, the girls especially smitten when they saw the two gorgeous boys walk down the hall, never apart from the other.
On Sunday, there came a strong banging on the door, a day that would later be infamously known as “Doomsday.”
Everyone in the orphanage heard the banging, and, since knocks on the door usually indicated that some organization representative was there to give them charity goods, all the children shoved and pushed down the stairs to greet them.
Harry walked to the top of the stairs and looked down, Tom right behind him.
The door creaked as it opened, and the squeal of unoiled wheels filled the foyer. The wheelchair appeared first, inhabited by a senile old man slumped against the armrest. Pushing the man was a nun, so thin that the bones of her face gave her the appearance of a skeleton. She wore the traditional clothing of the convent, recognizable by the long black gown and towering headdress.
Mrs. Cole went to greet her then, bustling forward with the typical smile and cheerful demeanor she reserved only for guests. “Good morning,” She reached out in a handshake, “Wilhelmina Cole, head Matron,”
The nun smiled coldly, an expression which looked horrifying due to the copious amounts of teeth she showed. “Head matron no longer, I’m afraid,” She claimed, thrusting forward a stark white sheet of paper at the matron, smile widening with victory.
Harry watched expressionless as Mrs. Cole’s face visibly paled as she read. He began heading down the stairs.
“A War Order, from the Electorate himself,” The nun gloated. Mrs. Cole still hadn’t moved, clutching the letter with shaking hands. Harry gently took it from her and read:
Dear Mrs. Wilhelmina Cole,
In these times of great peril, we regret to inform you that you will hereby be terminated from your position as Head Matron of Wool’s Orphanage. Mr. Wool has since requested ownership back, and he, along with the accompanying overseer, Sister Mary of the Feltham Priory, will be hence appointed as the primary caretakers.
We thank you for your service,
Electorate of London
September 5, 1937
With the letter no longer in her grasp, Mrs. Cole straightened to full height and disappeared into her bedroom.
"Lovely to meet you children," The nun said, voice an unsettling croon. "You will call me Sister Mary, or just Sister." She clasped a vicelike grip onto the shoulder of the man in the wheelchair and spoke for him, "This is Mr. Wool, founder of this very orphanage. I'm sure we will all get along famously, as long as you follow my instructions. Do we all want to go around and introduce ourselves now?"
The children all mumbled their assent and went around the room voicing their names with lackluster enthusiasm. Last was Harry and Tom, who followed suit.
Her sharp eyes caught quickly onto the close proximity between the two of them, a familiar closeness only developed after months of being together. She noted the way Tom angled his shoulder over the side of Harry that was exposed to her, subtly but effectively conveying privacy. Tom, in question, unamusedly stared at her with a poised indifference. With the equally slender and dark-haired Harry at his side, they created an impenetrable air of cool disinterest.
Shelving this information for later use, Sister Mary didn’t linger for too long and invited herself into the dining hall.
In the bedroom designated for the head matron, Mrs. Cole was methodically cleaning the room. There was nothing she could do--the Electorate of London was law. She picked up her sparse belongings and was gone the next morning.
Sister Mary's first order of business was to move every child into the one room farthest from her own— “there’s not enough space for everyone to have their own room; this isn’t the Ritz,” she claimed. The reality behind the already flimsy excuse was that she had just wanted to separate Tom and Harry, and also that she hated children.
Apparently, she was convinced due to their frequent physical contact—whether it was Tom taking his wrists at every opportunity, or him grabbing one of Tom’s long limbs to use as a pillow—that they were lovers. When Tom had first openly stated this theory, Harry had laughed so hard he had vanished to the roof. It had taken a while for Tom to convince the other orphans—who listened fearfully as for the first time ever, the elusive and terrifying Tom spoke more than two words to them—that Harry had never been there to begin with.
Mr. Wool, or just simply, “Wool”, as the kids took to saying, was quite possibly just a husk of a person. Apparently, he had once started the orphanage, of which now carried his namesake, but now he was far from the man he had been. Harry theorized that he was a spy sent in by the Germans and was actually entirely capable, to which Tom had asked him why the Germans would care about one stupid orphanage out of many.
As a sort of protest to the poor treatment, Harry suggested that they push their beds together in the back of the room and “sleep entangled in each other’s arms”, waving his arms around in a mockery of romance as he said so. For reasons unknown, Tom refused.
The room, though, was cold at night, far from the main fireplace as it was, and as winter set in they all froze. When the eldest children, Billy Stubbs and Eric Whalley of 15 and 16, respectively, went to complain to Sister Mary about the cold, she recruited them as “orphan sentries.” They were given special rooms and privileges beside Sister Mary’s room, previously Mrs. Cole’s bedroom, in exchange for ratting out the rest of the orphans. With these new common enemies, Harry, Tom, and the remaining orphans developed a sort of comradery, their mutually suffering souls keeping them from nosing too deeply into each other's business.
Since then, their pock-marked faces appeared in every hall and every room, small, sharp eyes on the lookout for someone to punish, someone to expose. With their new privileges, their egos inflated to the size of balloons; in Harry’s opinion, just waiting for someone to pop them. The rest of the children called them Sister Mary’s Nazi’s behind their backs. Of course, that left Sister Mary to be named the resident Hitler, a nickname that quickly stopped once Amy Benson was caught uttering it just once. It hadn’t ended well, and Amy's usual humorous attitude all but disappeared after the punishment of which she wouldn’t divulge.
The most unfortunate circumstance of Sister Mary's reign was in that it directly coincided with the degrading conditions of the war at hand. For instance, she didn't even need to cut portions during mealtimes--the war rations had already done so. Tom and Harry kept to themselves as always, dutifully performing whatever extra duties Sister Mary assigned them with the ill intent of keeping them apart.
The worst days were on Sundays, when Sister Mary gathered them all into the dining room where the wooden tables were pushed to the back to make room to pray. They all knelt on their knees on the hard stone floor for hours on end, the length of prayer fluctuating as Sister Mary saw fit. Harry endured, glaring at the floor and thinking of the devil in silent retaliation. Tom outright refused to pray on the very first day she had begun it, and since then, Tom was punished with no dinner. Harry had tried to share with him what little pieces of rationed bread they received nightly, but Tom had rejected those offerings as well.
Once during prayer, Harry’s accidental magic had responded to his desires to leave and he had floated up and out the window, unnoticed by the other occupants of the room who kept their heads bowed to the floor. Sister Mary had only noticed once he had fallen face first into the garden bed with an audible crash, quickly coming to the false conclusion that he had attempted to escape through the window.
Harry, already hungry, experienced having no dinner for the first time since the Dursleys and had consequentially felt as though he were starving the entire day. How Tom stayed alive living that weekly, Harry had no idea.
Two days after her arrival, Sister Mary arrived at the orphanage with a large bag of soiled and torn clothing. Since then, from morning to night—except Sundays, of course—they mended and stitched and washed garments of clothing till their hands and fingers were raw.
With their newly crowded quarters and the constant work, Tom and Harry had neither the time nor the space to practice magic or to read; not that they had any books. Sister Mary had declined the library’s book offers. She said, “we must focus more on the war effort and on God’s grace,” to which Harry childishly said, “God can go eat my shoe.” The consequence. on that one was a week of extra mending.
The unfortunate circumstance was that, with a personal vendetta against Tom and Harry, specifically, Harry didn’t even need to open his mouth to receive punishment from Sister Mary. She seemed hell bent on working them to the bone, the assumption being that if they were too tired, they couldn't act on their homosexual impulses.
Tom was affected the most, which was impressive considering that Harry’s accidental magic had tripled in occurrence after being unable expel the excess. As Harry watched, cold anger seemed to consume Tom, his brow so creased with rage that even Harry was hesitant to approach him.
Another two air raids came and went with far less bravado than the first. They hurried down the road single file, huddled together in the Underground, and then hurried back. The orphanage was never rebuilt, and they didn’t see Mrs. Cole again.
After two weeks of hell, Tom grabbed Harry’s wrist in the middle of the night, no longer able to withstand it. Harry followed Tom out the window, floating each other down into the garden.
They walked down the usual garden path—the only raid-destroyed portion of the orphanage rebuilt—glancing around to be sure that neither Billy nor Eric was nearby. Tom had finally told him, to Harry’s utter amusement, of why exactly the other children feared him so much. Harry was certain that if Billy had an excuse to punish Tom, the confrontation would go far worse than a stupid rabbit strung up to a tree.
Tom had only verbally divulged where he had gone during those times—which now felt like so long ago—when he had disappeared. Now, finally, he slowly led Harry though the victory garden and crept to the small shed leaning against the main building. Harry had looked inside numerous times in the past, doing a quick cursory glance over the few outdoor-use appliances and broken machines.
Tom creaked the door open magically and then disappeared inside. Harry quickly followed and found Tom already levitating the large broken headboard away from the back wall. Behind it was a small crevice, barely enough space to fit a full grown adult, leading out into a small alleyway between the main building and the back one.
“You’re kidding,” Harry said. Tom just smiled half-heartedly in response.
The alleyway was not much bigger than the hallway and covered on the remaining three sides by the orphanage's stone walls. When Harry finally entered, he found around twenty snakes coiled inside and quickly realized that they huddled there for warmth—the indoor furnace must be right behind the right wall. Consequentially, the alleyway was also pleasantly warm, keeping away the November chill and occasional gust of wind. Aside from the snakes, numerous plants sprouted near the wall and a thick ivy flourished to his left. It was indeed a secret garden.
"Speakers!" The first snake chirped, and Harry recognized it as the small black snake that he had greeted during the air raid. Tom levitated the headboard back in place before sitting down among the lavender, motioning for Harry to do the same.
"Hello again," Harry greeted, and the snakes writhed towards him and Tom in mass. He was slightly perturbed by the sheer number of snakes present and backed up against the wall as they circled around his limbs.
"Here's the place I used to practice magic in, not that we can do this again anytime soon," Tom said bitterly, leaning against the wall. "You can release it now. I can feel it bothering you and it's putting me on edge,"
Harry hummed and closed his eyes, letting the magic seep out in copious amounts. Due to weeks of not letting it out, the magic was far more hostile than usual, lashing out with anger at the walls and rustling the plants. He smelled hints of smoke in the air as he continued, but he assumed Tom had put the fires out as it didn't bother him incessantly. The snakes were silent as he expelled the magic, oddly still on his limbs.
Finally, after he was thoroughly drained and the magic was tired out, it returned to him leisurely, dipping up and down into the flowers and plants before absorbing into his skin.
"Finished?" Tom asked, and Harry nodded exhaustedly.
"This one was worse than normal,"
"I know," Tom said. "You carry with you a small world war,"
Harry considered how to broach the subject that he was from the future. Since the first day at the orphanage, he had attempted to find a snake to solve the mystery of the time travel but had failed. Over the years, other things had taken priority and the search for snakes was overrun by a triage of other problems—air raids, magic, homophobic sisters. Now, surrounded by snakes, was a better time than any to finally ask…but Tom.
Harry glanced nervously at said boy and then back at the snakes, biting his lip.
"What is it," Tom asked sharply. Of course Tom would notice. Harry debated how much he should tell Tom, eyes downcast. Would Tom look at him differently? Would their friendship disappear?
"Tom," He began, hesitant. “Remember how I came to the orphanage?"
"No," Tom said. Of course he didn’t remember; that was a time when Tom didn’t care.
"I was picked up off the streets by Mrs. Cole, who brought me here,"
Tom nodded, catching his drift. "And before?"
Harry started slowly. "Well, apparently after being dropped off anonymously on their front porch as an infant, I lived with my terrible aunt, uncle, and cousin in a little house in Surry,"
"And?" Tom asked impatiently.
"In 1988"
Tom froze then, turning to face him completely with a clockwork sort of motion. "You're from the future,"
"Yes," Harry replied.
"You traveled back in time,"
"Yes,"
"How old are you really?" Tom asked tersely, eyes narrowed.
"I'm the same age! I promise!" Harry insisted, now knowing exactly why the reveal prompted such a rigid reaction.
Tom eased back to the floor and observed him. "How is the future?" He asked, surprisingly conversationally.
"Fine," Harry answered. "I don't know much of what was going on since I was working all day,"
"Mending clothes?"
"Gardening, cooking, washing, and more,"
"Do the Germans win?"
"No, with a strong maybe clause,"
"With a maybe clause," Tom repeated, huffing with amusement. "Useless is what you are,"
"I didn't have access to news!" Harry protested.
"How did you do it?" Tom changed topic.
"That's what we're about to find out," Harry said, and then told him of the incident with Louis. "If one of these snakes knows the legend, then I can figure out how I got here."
"And go back?" Tom asked with forced nonchalance that Harry quickly picked up on.
"No. I am not going back," Harry reassured before turning to the black snake that seemed eager to talk.
"I would like to ask you a few questions," Harry said.
"Anything for the speaker!" She replied, happily writhing around his leg.
"Do you know of...uh, how to I phrase this...something about a special night and wishing on a star?"
"Serpenscore! The last one was very soon ago!"
"Elaborate," Tom cut in. Harry glared at him and continued more gently.
"If you know anything more, please let us know,"
"I don't know that much, I'll call hatchfather," She moved to the back of the alleyway and returned with a larger snake in the midst of shedding.
"Greetings speaker. Serpentscore is the starset of snakes; where heart wishes are granted to the few," He informed.
"Heart wishes?"
"Wishes coming from the deepest hearts,"
Harry felt a calm understanding wash over him. "When does the night of snakes appear?" He asked.
"Only once every 53 summers, in the throes of heat, as the star is highest in the sky, one wish is granted only once for one very special snake. The star determines who she picks," The old snake recounted, clearly having spoken the legend numerous times.
"The summer solstice,” Tom interjected. “When the sun is highest in the sky…I suppose the sun is the star. I assume these wishes are applicable to humans as well? Or perhaps only magic-users?”
“Perhaps,” The snake replied.
“53 sum...53 years Tom! That must mean that the day I wished that I could go elsewhere was one of those days!"
And then, to the snake, he asked "When was the last one?"
"3 summers ago," Harry went to excitedly look up at Tom as this proved his theory—3 summers ago was 1935, exactly 53 years from 1988!—but was surprised to find that the boy's face had drained almost entirely of color.
"3 summers ago? Are you quite certain?"
“Quite certain, speaker,” The snake replied, making the same sniff-laugh that Harry remembered Louis had made.
“What’s the problem?” Harry asked, narrowing his eyes. Tom adjusted his sitting position before looking up at the night sky.
"I...made a wish on that day as well..." When Harry remained silent, he continued. "It was a trivial wish really, childish, purely wishful thin-"
"What did you wish Tom,"
After a pause, "For a companion," Tom near whispered.
Harry pondered this for all of two seconds before turning on him with disbelief.
"You fool!" He bit out under his breath, being sure not to raise a commotion. "You wished for a companion and I miraculously appeared and you ignored me?! For a whole year?! Because of your pride?!"
Tom gave Harry a calculated look and then turned away.
“Incredible. Only you, you stubborn prick,” Harry muttered. “50 years from now I’m going to wish you emotionally competent,"