Hiraeth: A homesickness for a home you can't return to, or that never was.

...

Part I

DISCLAIMER: I own nothing at all.

Chapter 1

"Delivery service!" Harry called, his voice ringing small in the still air.

The roads ahead were wintry and dark, winding into a maze of sorts stretched across the village. Despite the fact that winter was only due a full month away, the dawn was chilly and bit deep into his skin, numbing his bones. Harry wrapped his jacket tighter around himself to ward off the freezing coldness but the thin layer of fabric provided little warmth. Blowing on his fingers as he rubbed them to ease their numbness, Harry grabbed another bottle of milk from his bicycle and stuffed it into the recycle bag hanging from the gate rafters.

He waited a moment, his feet stuck together as he crouched in the cold wind. Still no one came out, and with a sigh Harry mounted his bicycle once more. It was a slim glimmer of hope, but sometimes a few of the houses would be awake and they would give Harry a penny or two on top of the shillings he earned from the milkman. Technically he was still four years short to be of age for a job, but here far in the outskirts of town no one particularly cared.

It had been that way ever since he could remember. The sponsors of his orphanage were drawing out fast due to some economic crisis or other, and there was hardly enough food to go around much less extra blankets or boots for winter. As a result some of the older yet still underage children often snuck out to secretly earn some keepings and fend for themselves. When the old delivery boy had fell and sprained his ankle last winter, Harry had quickly leapt for the opportunity. He was paid much less than what the other got, but Harry didn't complain – at least Higgins kept quiet about Harry. Between delivering milk to all the nearby houses in the district and some of his …nightly activities, Harry got on pretty well.

Harry rode on the dirt path swiftly, only pausing to consult the milkman's list. There was one additional address scrawled at the bottom of the list, causing Harry to pause. He squinted under the dim light of the streetlamp to read the crabbed handwriting. It was hardly a proper address; written below 11 White-fence Street; Mr. Jackson was House at the end of Middle Street; Tom. Harry supposed it was pretty straightforward, but Middle Street ran half the length of their little village and it would take Harry longer than the usual half hour to get all the deliveries done.

Bearing in his mind to haggle a few more pennies from Higgins later, Harry rode down the empty streets quickly. Behind him the sky remained dark and Polaris burned brightly in the night. There was still an hour or so before the sun rose, but Harry moved as briskly as he could. He couldn't risk being discovered if he returned to the orphanage late.

Middle Street was a long, bumpy ride. Harry took the backstreets instead of the main ones. He felt more comfortable riding under the cover of the shadows, and besides the back alleys had always felt more welcoming. It probably had a lot to do with his less recent unofficial 'job' that involved numerous infiltrations and escapades. It had started ever since he'd agreed to come under their wing. Often something chewed at the end of his conscience, but Harry couldn't deny the fact that his life had been much better ever since he'd started out being their thief. He was no longer picked out by bullies because of his 'unnaturalness' or 'freaky gifts'; he was now valued because of them.

The leaders had decided to use his unnatural talents to suit their purposes, and as far as Harry was concerned it was a mutualistic agreement. Harry worked for them and in return they kept the bullies away. Sometimes Harry bit off a bit of loot but he was never caught out for that. After all Harry had quickly become the best of their lot. When he was in action, he was practically uncatchable. If he stayed hidden, nobody found him. He always found a way in, and no matter the circumstance he would always make a way out.

Some five minutes later found Harry turning down into an unknown part of Middle Street. He had never been into this area before not even when he cut through the back alleys, mostly because they were completely uninhabited. The streetlamps on the main streets had long since flickered into non-existence but nobody minded. There was nothing but a stretch of flatlands manifested with wild undergrowth and the random house sprouting out of the grounds that had fallen into disrepair. Years ago there had been talk of a new project but it had been abandoned just as quickly.

Harry got off his bicycle and began to lead it through the darkness. Walking down the empty Middle Street though Harry found that he did mind that there was hardly any light left for him to see properly. A sharp sting of wind whipped across his cheek and Harry pressed his hands to his face. With each step Harry was beginning to feel increasingly doubtful. Suppose it was a prank of some sort played by the older kids on himself?

But there was one more bottle of milk left in the carton he'd set out with, which meant Higgins had indeed sent the order. Harry walked more carefully now, there were fallen bits of twigs and branches strewn all over the road where no-one had bothered to sweep. He had almost decided to head back and tell Higgins the house simply didn't exist when Harry finally arrived at the very end of Middle Street. And there, hidden cunningly in the corner was a small shack of sorts. The light was not on, neither did the garden look remotely kempt, but there was a 'HIGGINS FRESH MILK' bag lying forlornly on the doorstep. The rickety gates were left hanging slightly open. The sight however was not in the least welcoming.

Harry walked over the fence with practiced ease and came to a halt right before the door. Ivies hung off the doorframe and the part of window that wasn't smashed in had a thick coating of dust. Unease churned in Harry's gut. The place didn't look habitable at all.

"Hello" he called uncertainly. His voice bounced off the wall inside and echoed back to him in a creepier version. "Delivery service!" Harry said again, but the only reply he got was a cool gust of wind.

Well, at least Higgins couldn't say he didn't do his job, Harry thought. With one last look at the derelict structure, Harry began to walk back towards the entrance, but at the motion something flickered at the corner of his vision like the wink of a candle's flame. Surprised, Harry stopped and turned around slowly. The garden was overgrown with shrubs and wildgrowths, but there was a small clearing at the edge near the dirty white fence. Harry retracted his steps until he came upon it. Right in the middle of it was a small, curious plant barely the height of Harry's thigh. It seemed perfectly normal to the eye, but Harry could have sworn that the leaves rippled with silver when he looked away.

A blast of icy wind rustled through the thickets, snapping Harry out of his daze. When he looked up however Harry noticed that faint streaks of pink were beginning to outline the clouds in the horizon. With a start Harry realized that dawn and the morning sun that would soon follow was fast coming down on him and he still had some ways to go before he could reach the orphanage. Forgetting completely about the little plant in the clearing nor the bottle of milk left untouched on the doorstep, Harry raced back to his bicycle, and very soon he was on his way once more, the frigid autumn air stinging his face as he pedaled as fast as he could.

Even if he had bothered to look back, he wouldn't have seen the stranger dressed in dark flowing robes watch his figure grow smaller and smaller as he sped down the lane until Harry was finally out of sight.

X-X-X-X-X-X

Hours later; Cliffton's School for Boys and Girls

"Today we will be learning about the motions of plants."

The class stared blankly at the teacher standing in the front, who was wearing a fixed smile on her face. She paused as if to gauge their reactions before continuing with an air of forced calm.

"Yes, a most intriguing topic. After all, how could plants possibly move?"

It was evident that nobody was particularly thrilled about the subject. Some didn't bother to disguise their boredom and rolled their eyes, but most kept quiet and faced the blackboard with half-open eyelids. Being used to receiving unwelcome reactions, the teacher ignored them determinedly and resumed her pretense that she was speaking to eager bright-eyed children instead of the equivalent of a solid wall.

"Thigmonasty," she continued. There was a faint murmur as the class gave a collective sigh. "It is the motion of a plant in response to a certain stimuli, namely touch."

At the very last row, Harry's head dipped visibly out of sight before he hastily erected his posture. It was, however, proving to be a vain battle against sleep. It fought to claim him for its own, dragging down his limbs and tugging shut his eyelids persuasively. How he wished he could topple down on his desk where he sat… perhaps nobody would notice…

At the front of the class, the teacher was beginning to raise her voice. "When this happens, the plant will respond immediately by folding its leaves to protect itself against – are you paying attention or not boy-at-the-last-row?!"

Harry gave a slight start before realizing that teacher's cane was pointed straight at his desk. As one the class turned to look at him, most of the boys wearing expressions of ill-disguised glee while some of the prim-and-proper girls gave him a disdained sniff for interrupting the lesson. Harry tried to disguise another yawn by holding up his textbook but it was clear that Miss Cane-And-Ruler was not fooled. In a few strides she had crossed the distance between them and her thin stick-like shadow loomed over his book – in which Harry belatedly realized was upside-down.

"I hope for your sake you're on the correct page Harry," she said through gritted teeth.

Harry hastily flipped the textbook so that it was facing him and rifled through a few pages. He was totally clueless as to what the correct page was, but he quickly realized that the page number had been written clearly on the blackboard. Obediently Harry turned to page fifty-two and gave Cane-And-Ruler an innocent grin, hoping it would suffice.

It didn't. It was one of her bad days, and her mood was sourer than before which was saying something.

"Hold out your hand," Cane-And-Ruler instructed. Harry did so warily, eyeing the cane in her right and the ruler in her left hand. Even if it were up to him to choose, he could never decide which one hurt more. Cane-And-Ruler was experienced in handling both.

It was the ruler this time. Harry bit back a wince as solid wood rapped hard against his knuckles which were still mildly bruised from the day before. Tears watered his eyes slightly but Harry only allowed himself a grimace. Complaining or giving any sort of reaction would only add to Cane-And-Ruler's ire, and frankly it was the last thing he wanted to do.

"Stand in the corner. Face the wall." Harry moved to do as he was told, but at the last minute Cane-And-Ruler changed her mind. Perhaps the memory of Harry making an interesting mural magically appear on the last wall he'd stared at for an hour was still fresh. It had been an accurate depiction of herself, drawn all the more hideous when the ruler and cane in her hands were clearly too long for her appendages. The art itself had been astoundingly well-done, definitely speaking of a level of talent well beyond his years. The painter that was hired the very next day privately thought it a waste to erase the 'work of art'.

"Go out into the shed," Cane-And-Ruler barked at him. "The gardener should have something for you to do. And maybe next time you'll consider paying attention when you sit in my class!" The last line, however, was fast getting stale. Clearly Harry had yet to consider that an option.

Instead of going to the shed as he was ordered, Harry made a detour round to the school backyard. Maple leaves littered the ground in a brilliant display of red and gold. Harry could guess that he would be expected to sweep them up, but he was too tired to care at the moment. He crawled behind the huge tree trunk, curled into a ball against the chill and fell into an exhausted sleep.

…

It was approaching dusk when Harry finally headed towards the abandoned shelter that stood right across the backdoor of Cliffton School for Boys and Girls.

He had once more gotten into major trouble with Cane-And-Ruler after he had been discovered to be sleeping when he was supposed to be serving his punishment. As a result he was forced to skip lunch and stay back after school to finish his schoolwork before he was allowed to leave. Above all his palms were still raw and stinging from all the whipping he'd received for his trouble.

Harry had then dragged himself back to the orphanage and slept through dinner. When he finally woke up, he'd nicked some stale bread from the kitchen and stole out of the broken fence near the garden shed. He then put it back in place, draped a strand of ivy over it to disguise the crack and went off to meet the leaders once more. He had only just managed to finish chewing when he arrived at their usual meeting spot, but by then Harry could tell that he was already late. Jack, the leader of the night's operation scowled at him darkly, but otherwise kept silent.

"Tonight we'll be starting off from Picket-Fence Street" Jack began as soon as they were all present. "There's a rich man that just moved in from town two months ago. Flint and Arrow will be on this mission."

Harry nodded. Arrow was the codename they had picked for him, and quite fittingly too.

"Flint will create the distraction, Arrow will infiltrate" Jack continued. Harry wasn't surprised; it was the same routine all the time. "Report back in fifteen minutes. All clear?" Jack said.

Harry and the other boy nodded in silent agreement. Jack handed them both walkie-talkies and Harry a neat little pouch. Harry knew it contained everything he would need to pick any locks in the house. The other boy was given a lighter and a few small brightly coloured packets. When that was done Jack ushered them to move out quickly, and Harry obeyed without hesitation. His eyes were still blurry from sleep, but his body was well-rested and healed once more. At least he didn't feel like collapsing at every step he took. He'd barely gotten any sleep last night from breaking into five consecutive houses and rushing to deliver milk after that.

They arrived soon before a two-storeyed bungalow standing proudly over the rest of the houses in Picket-Fence Street. It was easily the largest and most visible of all of them. When Harry approached the building he noted that unlike the rest of the houses, the one they would be infiltrating had a small balcony as well as front and back gardens. Should he need to escape quickly, there was a small door that led to the backstreets of Middle Street itself.

"Are we starting?" the boy beside him, Flint asked. Harry had never worked with him before; he supposed he was a new recruit. Harry gave him a short nod.

"Lure him out to the front" Harry told him. "I'll get in through the balcony."

X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X

…

Soon, it was all too evident that not only Flint was a new recruit, he was a very jumpy one. Harry rolled his eyes when his walkie-talkie buzzed to life for the third consecutive time that night, and a voice bordering on both short-temperedness and anxiety crackled through the speakers.

"Where on earth are you now?" Flint demanded. "I said on the count of three!"

Harry gritted his teeth as he resumed his climb on the rough stone wall, ignoring the sharp edges digging into his fingertips. He didn't deign to reply the speaker just in case the effort would cost his concentration. Instead he increased his speed, dragging his foot against stone to maximize the friction before springing upwards lightly. His fingers wrapped neatly around steel, and a familiar strain spread through his arms to his shoulders as Harry swung himself nimbly onto the balcony.

The walkie-talkie in his pocket buzzed angrily with noise at being ignored, and Harry glared at it irritably.

"Hurry up will you!" Flint hissed. "He's coming back in a few minutes! The fireworks only last that long."

"I'm already in alright! If you don't want us to get caught just stay quiet!" Harry snapped back in hushed tones.

Flint fell into a sullen silence, leaving Harry to stuff the walkie-talkie back into his pocket. He couldn't be bothered about offending the boy. Even if he looked bigger than he was, Arrow was the best of the pack, not Flint. And if he kept it up, the leaders would always choose his side over the other's.

Harry listened for a full moment outside the window just in case, but he could hardly make out anything with the fireworks crackling off in the front porch. Somewhere downstairs the front door slammed. Taking it as a good sign Harry quickly produced a small pocket-knife and metal pin. He immediately set to work on the window ledge. The tools felt familiar and light in his hands; he anticipated every single click and obstacles he encountered by vibrations alone. Within half a minute, Harry had already slid it open and had leapt into the room.

The voice in his pocket buzzed to life again. "There should be a shelf to your right. They say there's a loose floorboard there."

Harry crossed the room as instructed. It was very dark despite the streetlights filtering in through the open window. Harry scrabbled around the pouch Jack had given him but it was as good as empty. "I told you guys I need a torch but no," Harry groused to himself. "All you can think of his lowering the budget!"

With no option left he moved towards the corner of the room and strained his eyes in the darkness. There was a table lamp atop a shelf of sorts. Harry bent down and groped blindly around but his fingers only met polished wood. Then his fingers caught the edge of something peeking out from the flat surface and quickly pulled away the loose floorboard as he was told.

There was a box hidden inside with a flimsy lock holding it shut. It didn't take him long to yank the lid open. They were right; there were two conveniently stacked wads of cash hidden beneath a few dog-eared letters. Without hesitation Harry moved to grab one of the two stacks and stood up, ready to leave.

It was then when things began to spiral out of control. It started off with a cry somewhere far below, followed by a loud shout of surprise. Harry startled and reached for his walkie-talkie voluntarily for the first time that night.

"What happened? Are you discovered?" he hissed urgently to Flint.

He strained his ears for a reply, but all he got was static. Harry glanced around the room, tensed as he waited for any sort of response but there was none. Feeling decidedly uncertain, Harry stuffed the cash deep into his pocket. He took time to pinch off some of the notes and hid them beneath his own shoe soles; those would be his to keep. Then he stood by and waited for the signal. And waited.

Something was wrong. He could feel the tension in the night air; everything was silent, far too silent. The fireworks at the front garden had already sputtered out, but there was no sign of anyone returning to the house. Harry reached for his transmitter again. "Come on answer me" he whispered as loud as dared. Nobody answered. "I'm leaving without you," Harry said again. Still there was no response. Harry decided not to wait around for a reply and quickly threw open the window ledge to climb out. He had already put one leg over the balcony in preparation for descent when he heard voices being exchanged below.

"I swear, he's upstairs, he's upstairs!" a boy's voice whimpered.

Startled at the unexpected source of noise, Harry quickly shrank back into the shadows. Below a man's voice cursed loud and ugly. Harry's heart gave a solid thud against his ribcage. His instincts were buzzing on high alert, as if waiting for an assaulter to charge out of the room straight for him.

There was a noise of pain, and then Flint's squeaky voice piped up again. "He'll be coming through the window, I'll call for him I promise – "

The man began to speak again, but Harry didn't wait to hear more. He already knew enough. With a muttered swear he withdrew back into the room quickly, and slid the window shut. If the man was expecting him to escape through the backdoor, the only option he had left was the front. But escaping using the main street was as good as suicide; there wasn't a corner that wasn't brilliantly illuminated by streetlamps, providing him less of a chance of shaking off his pursuer.

Unless he could somehow escape through the front door and race to the back quick enough before the man could stop him, and vault over the high wall, then he could continue his escape into the backstreets. Harry was fairly confident that he would lose the man there; he couldn't afford to pursuit Harry too far leaving his house completely unguarded. But there still left the problem of his own speed.

It was all a matter of time, and if Harry's ran out before he got out, he was in for big trouble indeed.

Harry looked out the window one last time, and far below he could make out a man locking the gate leading to the backstreets, effectively cutting off his best route of escape. In his other hand he dragged a boy by his collar; the boy was groveling pitifully beside him. Harry gritted his teeth in frustration.

If he ever got back, he was going to kill Flint.

.

A/N: There you go, chapter 1. Hope you enjoyed it! :)

Rating system for those who are lazy/has limited time/unable to express themselves in words (:P)

:D for amazing

O for okay

X for terrible