Cold as Snow (A Harry Potter Fanfic)

Snowflakes

It was a cold morning in mid-December. 

A blinding white had blanketed the entirety of Great Britain for many weeks and the Londoners in particular despised the frozen landscape with an unreasonable animosity. Unreasonable, because the whispers of a likely war across mainland Europe garnered mere tuts in comparison to the scornful distaste of the harmless yet brisk weather. Apparently, there would never be anything worse than a harsh winter to disrupt their monotonous daily lives; a sentiment seemingly shared by all the adults.

However, there was one young boy, dressed in nothing more than a short sleeved shirt, a worn slipover and cotton trousers, sitting on the doorstep of a rundown orphanage who stared at the white scenery with wonder.

His wonder was not for the people trudging through the snow turned sludge, or the cars hurtling past on skidding tyres. It was for the delicate flakes of snow drifting gently from the sky. His steel blue eyes sparkled with a simplistic joy only found in children as his gaze flickered from one to another with an endearing amount of fascination. 
He was a beautiful child, wavy locks of dark hair framed a cherubic rosy cheeked face. The occasional snowflake would drift into the small wooden shelter above the steps to brush his pale skin and cling to his dark lashes. He’d occasionally hold out a cherry red hand and beckon one of the larger frozen crystals away from its brethren to hover before his eager eyes as if by magic.

A man stood across the street from the orphanage watching the boy — his features masked by the bustling crowd and constant traffic. The cloaked figure stood rigidly, grasping a stick in a shaking white-knuckled grip. Slowly, he lifted the stick to point at the child outside Wool’s Orphanage with a determined set of his shoulders. The action was paused however when he saw other children appear from behind the building and whisper to each other in delight as they found the boy on the wooden steps. 
The child, too absorbed in the world around him, was unaware of the approaching danger and shouted in surprise when he was pushed from the top step to land face first in the freezing snow, jolting his elbow painfully on the wet concrete. The other boys laughed and taunted the shivering child who lay in the snow whimpering quietly and clutching his elbow as if he were trying to wish away the pain.

Green eyes stared in disbelief at the children, the semi outstretched arm faltered and dropped as the boys made a game of spitting on the younger boy. A slow, simmering anger prickled beneath his skin as he continued to watch the young teenagers torment the dark-haired child. A red mist seemed to focus his sight into a tunnel vision because in his mind’s eye he only saw a frail boy, much like the one in the snow, beaten and bruised by a family that was supposed to love him.

Breathing harshly, the figure instead levelled the shaking stick at the bullies; overwhelmed by righteous anger, he couldn’t stop the foreign words tumbling from his lips. A second later, brief yelps on pain replaced their cruel words. Unsure, they stood there, wearily eyeing the boy covered in snow and saliva who only stared back with a fury colder than ice. A few more inaudible phrases and the older boys where clambering over each other to make it to the front door in an attempt to outrun the painful stings, hurling insults after them until they’d disappeared behind the main entrance.

Feeling numb, the boy remained motionless for many moments before slowly uncurling from his defensive position to spread himself across the thin snow. He suddenly felt the absurd temptation to make a snow angel, but that was an activity for children and he’d long outgrown that protected mindset. Small hands flexed and gripped the frozen water, relishing the icy burn as he stubbornly ignored the frustrated tears trickling from the corner of his eyes. Snowflakes continued to fall on the silently crying child. 

Across the street the robed man slumped against a building, staring dazedly into 1930’s London that was both familiar and strange as he contemplated all that he knew.