Emerald Flame

Chapter 1

"You're just so quiet."

He frowned as if understanding.

"I'm fine." He answered in a musical voice.

Mrs. Engle decided he had the voice to sing when he got older. She just smiled softly.

"Okay then. Can I see what you're drawing?"

He frowned a moment then nodded. She stepped around the easel expecting to see a finger paining or some splats of color. What she saw made her freeze, mouth open in absolute shock. She stared for a few good minutes and she noticed the child beside her didn't even blink at her, just returned to painting. The painting was beautiful. It was a large rose blossom with dew on the ends of the petals that seemed red on the pink petals. It had all the dimensions almost perfect and even had the petals weighing down with the dew, even the almost red trails the dew left behind. Even the color blend was perfect. It looked like something an artist would paint. Not a seven year old child. She barely noted Harry gently setting his brush down to look it over.

"T-that's amazing Harry." She stuttered unfreezing finally.

"Thank you." He answered before taking the picture and moving to hang it from the drying line.

She noted with surprise that he nimbly clipped the painting up. Usually children couldn't use the clip properly and the pictures hung wonky or scrunched. He had hung it like you would a shirt from a laundry line. She stared at the picture a few more minutes. Absolutely amazing. She sat still stunned and absently answered the children's questions as she stared at the beautiful picture. She never noticed the dew wasn't dew, but blood.

.-.

The whip hit his back with a sharp crack. Harry barely flinched, eyes a dulled green as he lay on the ground almost motionless, the belt tying his hands and tied to the bed post didn't jerk once. The whip hit again and Harry felt drops of blood run down his back. So he was bleeding again. It had taken two hits. He felt hit after hit fall until he no longer could tell pain from reality and the bed from blood. His back was burning and splatters of blood flew back with the whip. Finally it stopped and he was still silent. He hadn't opened his mouth once.

"That'll teach you to pass the grade with better marks then Dudley, cheating freak." Vernon hissed above him.

Then he grabbed violently, the belt untied from the bed post but still keeping his wrists tied together. He was dragged across the floor leaving a trail of smeared blood behind. Then he was picked up by the belt, dangling from his wrists as Vernon roughly carried him down the stairs. He was thrown into his cupboard with force, feeling his back light with even more pain as he hit the wood, arching away with the force. He fell limp to the floor as he heard the door slam shut. His green eyes stayed open, staring at nothing. If this was what was considered a family, what would his enemies be like?

.-.

Harry stared at all the instruments on the wall his hands itching to run over them. His second grade teacher was also the music teacher and she had quite a large collection of instruments. She had told each kid to pick on to practice on in today's lessons. She had steered the other kids to a cabinet with non-expensive, easy, and durable instruments like the recorder. Harry and drifted to her wall of other ones though. She hadn't said they couldn't pick one from this wall. He gently unhooked the violin in front of him and explored the cherry colored wood with his long graceful fingers. He gently grabbed the bow also and brought the violin to his chin. He ran the bow along it finding which notes were where.