A few weeks before Tyson's eleventh birthday, with the school year rapidly approaching its end, he found himself sitting in the courtyard during lunch as Harry demolished nearly half the lunch he'd packed.
This was a usual occurrence.
Tyson had long ago accepted that if Harry was nearby, any meal effectively became communal property. As a result, he packed enough food for three people rather than one.
It seemed to be working too.
The steady mix of decent food and relentless exercise had done wonders for the boy. The frail, malnourished child Tyson had first met was mostly gone.
He was still thin, and likely always would be, but now there was substance beneath the frame. Compact strength. The kind built through movement and effort rather than genetics.
Harry popped another grape into his mouth while Tyson sat beside him, scribbling notes into a workout journal.
"You know, kid," he said suddenly, sounding deeply resentful, "you've completely ruined my reputation around the school."
Harry nearly choked on a grape.
"That's my fault?"
"Absolutely. Nobody will let me join any sports team anymore."
Harry wiped his mouth and snorted. "Tyson, you did that to yourself. You keep cursing around despite the teachers repeatedly telling you not to. They just don't want a delinquent on their team."
Tyson leaned back against the bench dramatically, placing a hand over his chest like he'd been wounded. "Those are slanderous accusations."
"They really aren't."
"They are. I'm an angel."
Harry barked a laugh. "Tell people that after you stop terrifying half the students. Do you know some kids think you're part of a gang?"
Tyson sighed wistfully. "If only. Maybe then I could finally get my hands on a gun."
Harry gave him a deadpan look. "And there it is. That's why."
"What?"
"That's exactly why people think you're in a gang!"
'Kids.' Tyson sighed heavily at the ignorance of youth. What kind of American would he be if he didn't even curse?
"Speaking of delinquents..." He tapped the notebook shut. "Did you tell your oversized cousin to stop trying his luck?"
Harry's expression soured. "Dudley doesn't listen to anyone. Uncle Vernon keeps telling him to man up."
Tyson rolled his eyes so hard they almost left orbit. "At least he's stopped giving you trouble at home, right?"
Silence.
Harry looked away.
Tyson's fingers tightened against the notebook.
That silence was answer enough.
At school, Harry wasn't helpless anymore. If Tyson wasn't around, he could still hold his own. Two years of drills, sparring, and practical experience had sharpened his basics. His punches carried weight now. His footwork was solid. Even his grappling skills had stopped being an embarrassment.
But home was different.
Home was a war Tyson couldn't fight for him.
Vernon and Petunia didn't hit Harry, that much he knew, but cruelty didn't need bruises to leave scars.
The set of clothes he'd gifted him on Christmas had been thrown into the trash.
The first book he'd given him had been ripped apart.
These days, his bag carried half of Harry's life inside it. Extra food. Spare clothes for training. Books. Martial arts manuals Tyson kept rewriting whenever he learned something useful.
Even music.
He'd introduced Harry to hip-hop not long ago.
Wu-Tang Clan didn't exist yet, which Tyson considered a crime against the universe, but there was still enough good music to go around.
Everything had to stay hidden, though. Smuggled like contraband because Harry's relatives were miserable bastards. The Dursleys seemed determined to punish Harry for the crime of existing. They danced right along the edge of abuse and called it parenting.
Worse, they were trying to move him to another school, and Tyson knew exactly why.
Harry had something here.
A friend.
A place where he laughed.
A place that gave him the courage to fight back.
That was reason enough for them to tear it all away from him.
Tyson hated them for it.
'That damned blood ward.'
As much as Tyson wanted to drag him out of that house and be done with it, the bitter truth was that Harry still had to stay with them. Living with asshole relatives was still better than getting hunted down by a group of fanatic Death Eaters.
Didn't mean he liked it just because it was necessary, though.
The few times Vernon and Petunia had crossed paths with him, they both made it very clear they didn't like each other.
They thought he was some devilspawn.
Tyson thought they were brain-dead.
At least Harry ignored every order to stay away from him. For all his teasing about Tyson being a delinquent, Harry had a rebellious streak of his own.
"You're doing it again," Harry said suddenly.
Tyson blinked. "Doing what?"
"Thinking too much."
Tyson frowned. "I think a healthy amount."
Harry gave him a flat look, then glanced up. His face hardened.
"They're coming."
Tyson followed his gaze and saw five boys making their way across the courtyard. Two of them were very familiar.
A grin spread across his face.
"Well, if it isn't whale boy. What's the matter? Still recovering from the last beating?"
Dudley Dursley stomped forward, face red with anger. He hadn't changed much. Still a fat, spoiled, dimwitted asshole.
"Shut up, Yank," Dudley snapped. "I'm here to talk to my cousin."
Tyson waved lazily. "Aw, Akimichi, can't we talk like old friends? How about you, Piers? You doing alright?"
Piers gave an easy shrug. "Yeah, I'm fin—"
Dudley elbowed him hard.
Piers flinched. "I mean—shut up!"
Yeah, whale boy was pretty much the only one really invested in this.
Dudley puffed out his chest. "My mum said you're not allowed to hang around the Yank anymore!"
He looked absurdly proud of himself, like he'd delivered some crushing final verdict.
Harry, completely unimpressed, leaned over, dug into Tyson's bag, and casually pulled out a snack bar. He opened it, took his time, then said, "Good for Aunt Petunia."
Dudley blinked, thrown off. "That means you have to stay away from him!"
Harry bit into the bar. "No."
Dudley slammed his foot down hard enough that Tyson could swear he felt the ground tremble.
"YOU DO!"
Harry kept chewing, smirking.
"I'll tell her you didn't listen!" Dudley threatened.
Harry's smile widened. "Oh no. Maybe she'll stop loving me."
Tyson flinched.
That was a pretty dark one, even by his standards.
'Goddammit, Petunia. He's your nephew. Your sister was murdered. Why couldn't you do the bare minimum and take care of the boy she left behind?'
While Tyson was having another crisis over his homie's shitty home life, he noticed Dudley step closer, raising his fist threateningly.
Harry didn't even flinch.
"This is all your fault!" Dudley shouted at Tyson. "You ruined everything!"
Tyson sighed. Okay, he was done with this. Fortunately, he knew exactly how to keep Dudley on a leash without beating the shit out of him.
Without a word, he reached into his bag and pulled something out.
Dudley froze, his eyes locking onto it.
The effect was instant. Tyson could practically hear the machinery in Dudley's skull grinding to a halt. His mouth started watering.
Tyson held the packet up. "Walk away, and you get the cookies."
"Deal!" he agreed immediately.
Tyson tossed the packet over.
Dudley caught it like it was sacred treasure, then immediately turned around and waddled off with his gang, a grin plastered across his face. The five boys strutted away like victors returning from war.
Harry watched them leave and sighed. "That's basically the only reason he still comes over now."
Tyson shrugged. "I know. But at least we don't waste time this way."
Then he looked down at him. "I wish you could stay over at my place this summer, buddy."
That was the elephant in the room they'd been avoiding.
Harry sighed, rubbing at his lightning scar. "Me too. Uncle Vernon won't let me though. Says you're a bad influence."
"I am, but who gives a shit?"
That got a grin out of Harry, though it didn't last long. "I'll be fine. Maybe we can meet at the park."
Tyson narrowed his eyes. "Not maybe. We will meet up."
Harry blinked, then laughed. "Alright."
Tyson leaned back and stared at the sky through the window. "Keep up the exercises in the meantime."
Harry straightened, nodding with that familiar fire in his eyes. "I will."
Then he smiled, that wild, bright smile of his, and Tyson was reminded, once again, that Harry was still just a kid. A kid who, one day, would throw himself into hell itself if it meant protecting someone else.
Fuck you, Voldy. Fuck you!
...
A/N: Hey, Author here. I'm about to start writing the Sorting Ceremony's draft, but before I do, I'd like to hear your thoughts. Which House do you think Tyson should be sorted into?
I already have one house in mind, but I'm curious to see what everyone else thinks before I make the final decision.
Cast your vote and, if possible, explain your reasoning in the comments as well. Every single vote counts, so choose carefully.
At the end of the day, the final choice will come down to a mix of your feedback and the direction I want to take the story.
Also, I want to make one thing very clear before anyone starts to make any assumptions.
Tyson won't be Harry's shadow. He will have his own story. They will be very good friends yes, but beyond that, Tyson will have a completely different circle.
See ya!