Chapter 1
Prologue
St. Marlin’s Orphanage was a small dirty building that stood, point deep in the shadiest part of London. No one dared to go inside as it was too riddled with rumors to allow a gentleman to shake his sanity enough to enter, regardless of the fact that it wasn't the building itself that made people want to stay out. Rather it was the children who were admitted there, who made crossing the threshold unbearable.
It wasn't as if the children were overly terrible, oh no, no, you misunderstand. The children, all of them, big and small, were little darlings. It was the circumstances in which the children were placed that made it so odious.
Each individual child had a distinctive backstory, something that made them utterly unique in each and every way.
A boy snatched from his loving family for a reason that teemed with bad intentions. A girl, sound asleep in a nearby room while her parents were murdered in cold blood. And, lastly, a fallen angel who desperately wanted love, yet received nothing but a cold shoulder in return.
Anthony Edward Stark was going to find that soon enough.
Chapter 1
Three small children sat curled up in a row in the furthest corner of St. Marlin’s Orphanage. Two little boys and one little girl.
The child to the left of the trio had a full head of flaming red hair, highlighting his pale complexion with freckles too boot. He was a bit tall for his age, he was quite lanky actually. He had sky blue eyes, glittering with nearly broken hope. And definitely with broken innocence.
The girl in the middle was quite the little beauty. She had brown hair that fell across her shoulders in ringlets, and her peach skin held a light blush, bringing a sweet glow to her pleasing face. Her big eyes, brown and warm, were lowered demurely as she read a heavy book cradled in the crook of her crossed legs.
The boy on the far right was anything but ordinary. Compared to the other two children he was simply stunning. He had aristocratic features, such as high cheekbones, befitting that of the elite, decorous prince charming that graced the girl's storybooks. His wild mess of inky black curls stood out untamed against his pale skin. What was truly mesmerizing about this child, however, were his large viridescent eyes. They were the purest, brightest green that shimmered and glistened in even the darkest of places. It was as if his irises had been replaced with emerald gems when he was born. It was almost unnatural, one would think if they did not know his mother.
All three children were beautiful, immensely so, and all three were surrounded by inexplicably perplexing auras.
Each child clutched, with vice grips, the nearest one's hand, a small reassurance that, if nothing else, they at least have each other.
“Hey look, there are the freaks!” A boy, Arnold Spirit crowed at them with his lackeys laughing, goading him on.
“Go pick on someone your own size for once!” The child's voice was small, weary.
“Why should I, Weasel?” Arnold scrunched his face up into an ugly sneer. “You and your little friends need to be set straight.”
Blood rushed to his face, fueled by his growing anger, at the malicious nickname, causing the once pale skin to turn a deep shade of maroon. If he could see his face at that moment he would have recoiled at the horrid shade of red that graced it. Merlin knew how much he hates that color.
“We haven’t done anything to you!” His voice nearly croaked as he pulled his best friends close to him. The girl tucked her book behind her for safekeeping before hugging the red-headed boy's torso, shooting her most scathing glaring at the bullies. Those horrible boys! The raven haired child watched nervously, accepting the comfort offered almost greedily.
“Yeah? What about last night when that piece of rubbish-” A chubby finger pointed to the smaller raven-haired boy. “-woke us up with all the screaming!”
The little boy whimpered, hiding his face in the larger one’s side. “That wasn't his fault! He had a nightmare! Who doesn't have nightmares?” The only thing that was keeping the redhead from becoming violent, was his friends. He didn't want to set a bad example for them.
“I don't bloody well care!” Before Arnold and his lackeys could charge at the group, an unfamiliar voice boomed through the nearly empty room.
“Hey! You three!” The four boys scampered out of the room, throwing murderous glares at the trio before running off.
A man, most likely in his later thirties, walked up cautiously to the trio, eyeing them with a gentle curiosity. He wore a suit so expensive that it looked to be dripping with luxury, a stark contrast to the veritable schmattes the children were carelessly dressed in. He was fit and really quite tall. Rationally, the children knew they were small in comparison to an adult, of course, but this man was considered tall even in juxtaposition to Monsieur Georges Pierre Méliès, the caretaker's husband, or even to Madame Charlotte Marie Adèle d'Alcy, the cook. This man, he had dark brown eyes - a shade darker than those belonging to the little girl who now clutched her book protectively to her chest - that crinkled merrily under a covering of messy brown hair that almost seemed black. Olive toned skin peeked out from behind a distinctive goatee. His eyes held deep within them a glimmer of intellect and genius.
“You kids alright?” This kind-faced man, it was revealed, was the owner of the unfamiliar voice that had saved them only moments ago. An American accent was prominent against his strong tenor.
The boy with the emerald eyes buried his face deep in the taller redheads wool sweater, disregarding the itchy material, he screwed his eyes tight, his fear of strangers taking over his actions. “We're fine.” The redhead wrapped a comforting arm around the shivering child holding onto him for dear life. “Mostly,” he muttered while rubbing his back soothingly. The girl huffed, thoroughly unimpressed. “They’re just rude.”
The man chuckled and crouched down in front of them. “I would have to agree, Sis.” The little boy with the big green eyes had come out of hiding, as the redhead spoke again, though he still clutched the sweater nervously in his small hands. “They were rude, aren't they?”
The little girl laughed in a nervous manner, fingers plucking anxiously at the frayed edges of her little yellow cardigan. She traced the faded daisies with a furrowed brow, watching as the tallest of their small triumvirate smiled. “Now, might I presume that you three amazing kids have equally amazing names.” The man spoke in calm measured tones, a kind smile lighting up his face.
The man watched in mild confusion as each child twisted their face in thought, trying to remember their names. He didn’t understand why it took them so long to answer. If his name were asked of him, “Anthony Edward Stark; boy genius,” would be his immediate answer. “Tony,” if he decided he liked you. He would learn in time that the trio had memorized their identification numbers- nine, eleven, and eight, as that is what they were mainly called by caretaker Méliès and the rest of the staff. Even the children, so used to it, referred to one another by their assigned numbers. That's all they were at St. Marlin's: a number to be paraded and showcased to passing prospects the way a puppy is showed off at a pet store. Usually, the puppy stood a better chance at adoption.
As soon as she remembered, the girl spoke. “My name is Hermione.” She spoke slowly, almost unsure of herself. “Grainger,” she added as an afterthought. “The redhead is Ronald Weasley. The other kids like to call him Weasel.” She pointed to him then Ronald,coloredd red yet again, pointed to the other boy, finishing for her. “That’s Harry.”
The boy in question, Harry, looked up at the man with wide emerald eyes. Brown eyes met green and the man was shocked to see that they were filled with so much hurt- enough to break the strongest man's heart in a millisecond. The man smiled, covering up his anger at the trio’s obvious discomfort. “Hey there, Buddy, I’m Tony.”
Harry spoke for the first time, “My name is Harry. Harry Potter.”