Again

Chapter 1

A/N: This was a story inspired by Athey's Rebirth, which in turn was inspired by Harry Potter. So naturally, J.K.Rowling gets a whole lot of credit. Thanks a ton to the other inspirational authors on FanFiction.net! [Picked this up again after 2 years, changed things up a bit.]

Warnings: This story will contain slash, which means male/male content. If you don't like it, feel free to go on your merry way.

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October 29, 1922

London

It was raining when a nurse came rushing into the orphanage, dripping wet, with a stiff white bundle in her arms. She looked around the barren room before hastily dropping the bundle on a stray chair like a hot coal. She then dinged the rusty bell at the front desk and waited.

And waited.

Water dripped steadily onto linoleum tiles.

The nurse waited solemnly for about ten minutes before a stout, fat woman still dressed in night flannels bustled out from a darkened hallway. She straightened her night cap indignantly before embarking on a shrill and furious litany of : "By God, what now? And at this ungodly hour! Is it really necessary?!"

The nurse winced and hurriedly motioned for the other woman to calm down. "I do, in fact," she said in a low voice, "have something rather important to deliver." The other woman narrowed her eyes as the nurse gestured toward the stiff bundle. "A new ward for you and your girls."

The stout woman immediately shut up. She peered at the bundle and gave the nurse a questioning glance. "That child? Oh dear," she shuffled around to the babe and gave it a pitying look. "And what might be the ill fate of it's parents?"

"The mother's dead. Seems to be due to excessive bleeding- made me think twice about having brats m'self." The nurse shook her head and shuddered, "St. Jude has no record of either parent. And believe me when I say nothing. The lass just came up to our doors out of nowhere- she was filthy. Reminded me of a drowned rat. It was rather pitiful; she might have been quite beautiful had the situation been different."

The other woman hummed in sympathy.

"So the Head told me to deliver the boy here," the nurse said, coming back from her tangent. "Queer thing, he is. His mum put a nice necklace around his neck before she died. Laura tried to steal it, but something funny happened. I don't recall it clearly, but she ended up with boils on her face. She deserved it, that sow, but the occurrence itself was quite unnerving. The other strange thing that happened; the boy didn't bat an eyelash when he came out! I was there myself. He slid out wide-eyed and awake to his mother's screams. Something evil must be at work." The nurse shivered and promptly changed the topic, much to the relief of the stout caretaker.

The nurse stayed a for while longer, discussing the latest frock coat trends with her temporary companion and, after declining three offers of tea, left.

The stout woman sighed and eyed the baby warily. It seemed to be an ordinary boy, but she still approached it cautiously. She quickly scooped it up, dumped it into a lumpy--and undeniably foul-smelling--crib, and threw a thick blanket on top to cover the thing from view. She didn't take well to anomalies.

October 31, 1922

It was raining as it usually did in London. The same nurse who dropped off the baby two days ago came in, mumbling something about 'uncanny coincidents' and 'dirty work' under her breath. Once again she dinged the rusty bell and waited.

It was already noontime, so the stout woman came immediately, though she halted abruptly at the sight of a familiar stiff bundle. "Another delivery?" The strained smile on her face did nothing to mask her displeasure.

"Bullseye," the nurse replied dryly, "We found this one in his father's coat pocket. Of course, we're assuming that was the boy's father. Poor man had his face smashed in. Carriage accident, I think. But once again, no records. The only identification we could find was on his kerchief - fancy one at that - which had "KHAN" stitched on it. It's most likely his family surname."

The other woman nodded at the information, and then, after a brief moment of silence, added stupidly, "He doesn't look Turkish."

After shooting the caretaker a disbelieving look, the nurse said quietly, "Yes... well, I'd be wary of this one if I were you. He makes me antsy." She then shook her head and stood up to leave. Or try to leave.

After being masterfully manipulated into a rather lengthy conversation about laces and discounts by the stout woman, the nurse gave one last fleeting look at the strange child she left behind. The caretaker, however, quickly dumped the bundle in a crib and proceeded to wash her hands, lest she be contaminated by the child's abnormalness.

It was no accident that she left him to share his crib with the very boy who came two days ago.