5 years before present time.

A young, fidgety chap groaned with dissatisfaction, his half-blonde, half-brown hair dancing with the frigid breeze. The frigid 3:00am breeze. 

"3:00am!", he exclaims, "Who's awake at 3:00am!?" 

Closing his eyes and feeling a pulse around him, he creates a ring of icy blue, a radar, so to speak. Stretching its fingers, curling around every nook and cranny, the blue mist hunted for someone to prey on, and, eventually, predator found prey. A faint, calm heartbeat became louder, and louder, and louder still. Slipping silently into a slim alleyway, the boy was lead to a rather lavish block of flats. 

"Huh," he mused, "Someone's awake... at 3:00am."

                                                                   *

Books on the floor, a plethora of spreadsheets dumped lifelessly into the bin beside his desk; it really wasn't Abel's day. You see, the entirety of his company is in a bit of a pinch, an inconvenient issue regarding a budget. Obviously Abel was the lucky lad who had to fix it. The poor man hadn't slept since the whole thing started, and so consequently, he was tremendously tired, with sunken, bloodshot eyes enveloped by a wreath of black - which didn't help the stress at all. Just as he was about to collect himself and try again:

"Yahoo!" chirped the window from behind him. 

…

What?

Spinning around faster than the speed of light, Abel glared at his window in bewilderment. Did his window... just talk to him? Sighing and rubbing his eyes, he convinced himself that he simply needed sleep, so he got up from his bedraggled desk, turned around and... stared blankly at the stranger in his room?

"Pardon the intrusion, kind sir, but I have an exam to pass." sang the mysterious stranger. The boy's eyes were glowing in a blue mist, and at his feet came sparks - like a magic aura - of the same colour. He wore a bright yellow cardigan and fringed jeans, on which he had sewn a little star. In truth, he dressed rather similar to your average grandma. However, his peculiar fashion sense wasn't the worst of it. Upon his head of messy hair sat an elongated black hat that reached to a point (eventually). 

"Are you... a witch?" Abel croaked, leaning up against his bedpost to ensure he didn't faint. 

"Bingo!" 

"But, if you are, where's your wand? Your broomstick? You must have gotten up here somehow." 

The witch titled his head and smiled fondly at his new victim. "Aw. That's cute. But this isn't 'Garry Potter' land. We don't need paltry toys like wands or broomsticks." 

"It's Harry, not Garry."

"Who cares." 

The boy walked up to Abel and grinned widely. "No hard feelings."

"No hard feelings for wha-?" Before Abel could finish his sentence, a weird sensation filled his entire body, like a soft tingling, similar to that of pins and needles. His legs felt numb and he became overwhelmed by the sudden appearance of a painful headache. 

He wanted to ask the boy what he had done to him, but when he glanced up to face him, no one was there. 

Present Day. 

A treacherous storm pushed its way through the crowd of people with tremendous vigour, leaving a mass trail of limp bodies in the city square. It roared with rage like a rabid beast, and stormed right towards its target. The angry Abel grabbed a familiar-looking boy by his turtleneck jumper and glared at him with overwhelming malice. 

"It's you...!"