Full circle

Just a little drabble because I have massive writer's block right now and twenty-four, now twenty-three works in progress and I'm getting nowhere with any of them. I blame my attempts to write a multichaptered fic.

A boy, dark haired. He's too small, small like he's never had enough to eat, small like he fought for every scrap. Too pale, pale like he hasn't seen the sun, pale like he hasn't played outside as most children do. A fading bruise on his face, painted in yellow and green on the outskirts, a ugly purple towards the middle.

He moves stiffly as though hiding any damage because to show it is a sign of weakness. His face is carefully blank but the slight widening of his eyes upon entering the great hall for the first time betrays the awe he feels to those closely observing. An awe that the other first year students are displaying openly. A justified awe because Hogwarts is a wonderful place. You've been telling yourself that for so long you can make others believe that it's true through force of will. (You never saw the lie and now, now it's too late.)

Another student jostles him in the press and he flinches clearly before recovering himself. Someone watching less closely would missed these things but you, you were always observant when you felt it necessary, weren't you Albus?

This boy.

He is Tom Riddle and you are afraid. He is Slytherin's son and he spoke of snakes and stealing, petty cruelty because he could, because he always knew he was special. He's handsome and charismatic and he can twist your fellow teachers to his needs with just a few words. (You are used to being the only one with that skill.) Three children in a cave and only one came out.

This boy.

He is Harry Potter and you are excited. The Gryffindor golden boy returned to the flock. When Hagrid returned you sat in your office and over tea he told you everything. Ten dark and dangerous years to mold yourself a champion, and this is his debut. You can't help but be proud, and apprehensive. You don't know him after all.

Fifty years between them and the inconsistency of time shows itself, one image overlaying another.

A boy, dark haired, small, and pale, a fading bruise on their cheeks (Harry's right, Tom's left), masked faces, biting their lips to keep from crying out as their more thoughtless classmates jockey for position.

Tom overlaid with Harry, what you see a composite of both.

A boy dark haired, small and pale. A fading bruise on both his cheeks, his right eye green, his left eye black.

You betrayed both of them.

Wincing. Comments pretty please?