A/N: Well, this is my first fanfiction (or at least the first I've finished a chapter on!) and I really don't have a clue what the quality's like. I've done my own beta-ing, if that's the right word, and I think there are no mistakes; if there are, just say so and I'll fix it. This came to mind a couple of weeks ago, and I figured this fandom hasn't got enough crossovers, and I only turned 13 yesterday, so please review and tell me how to improve my writing - but no flames. Constructive criticism, however, yes please, and tell me anything I'm doing right. Encouragement is important, you know ;)
Enjoy! (I hope...)
First Meetings
For once in his life, Olivier d'Athos de la Fère could honestly say he had never been in stranger circumstances, considering he was currently looking up at a castle much bigger than his family home from a boat on a lake. Especially considering the boat was controlled by magic.
Olivier had been looking forward to this moment in his life for a long time. He came from a family of well-known and powerful witches and wizards, and for that reason was never short of money - in fact being far from it. The la Fere's family estate was grand and expensive, flaunting the family's wealth with pride. They were respected amongst the rich and the poor, although not everybody liked them, their displaying of their riches being seen by some as a sense of superiority. Olivier couldn't say he blamed them, although he didn't take his fortune for granted, unlike some members of his family. Servants made him feel uncomfortable. The way they seemed so subdued - Dieu, some even grovelled - unsettled him. He didn't feel entirely at ease when the people around him seemed to respect him more than themselves; everyone was their own person and, generally, everyone was equal. He just didn't understand it. Of course, his family accepted it - no, enjoyed it, that feeling of superiority, but that was their personality, and he wasn't going to stop them.
However, the magic wasn't the thing that made the situation strange - despite the la Fères not using much magic (mainly because they had servants to do everything for them) they did use it on a regular basis. No, the thing different about this was the boy next to him; the boy next to him who was grinning at him ever so slightly crazily, and looking at awe at the sight before him. Clearly, he was muggle-born.
The boy elbowed him, and when Olivier forced himself reluctantly to see what the boy wanted, he was met with that annoyingly excited grin that was so wide that Olivier was convinced it could split his face in half. In La Fère, nobody bothered him unless it be for 'important' issues, like his education for becoming the Comte de la Fère. Olivier sighed inwardly. He had never wanted to be the Comte; sure, it brought honour and money, but those were things he could get on his own. Olivier wanted to be free to do what he wanted - being a firstborn his future had been decided ever since he came into the world. He didn't want to be sat in an office day in day out, he wanted to be doing something. Coming to Hogwarts was his freedom from that life, and he wanted it more than anything right now. However, this boy was fast making him reconsider his thoughts.
'Yes?' he asked, hoping the matter would be quick and simple. The boy only grinned wider, if that was physically possible, and said, 'Isn't it amazing? The magic and all, and the castle, Pigwarts -'
'Hogwarts.' Olivier found himself correcting the boy immediately, slightly irked by the mistake.
'Yes, Hogwarts, and the magic, and the boats, and did I mention the magic?' The boy's eyes were wide with glee and he seemed to be almost bouncing up and down in excitement, and Olivier actually found himself smiling genuinely for the first time in what seemed like years. This was what he could have been like, he contemplated wistfully, had things turned out differently. If life had not taken the twisted path it had, maybe he himself could have been as light-hearted as this boy, maybe he could have been just as excited, just as carefree, and in that moment Olivier realised that that was how it should have been. He should have been able to live a normal life, or at least as normal as possible, being a la Fere; resentment flowed through him in raging rivers at the cruelty of the hell they called life, eroding at the mental fortress he had built around his memories of That Day, memories full of torment that he could not bear to feel each day, memories that he had blocked to save him from drowning in the freezing waters of his past. For if those waters caught up with him, he would be overwhelmed and dragged below, the arctic temperatures freezing him in place, unable to escape the cruel fate that life had planned for him. No, those memories were to be locked away in titanium boxes and have the key thrown away, if only to prolong his wait. As for the boxes themselves, they were to be held at arm's length, as far away as possible without letting go, for if you let go, you were letting go of yourself, and you were going to a place none could return from. It was with desperation that Olivier realised that he needed those memories held close, he could not let them go, and he could never let them go, because they had become him. Or, perhaps, he had become them; a pit of self-loathing and tragedy and hatred and fear and above all, a void. A void of nothingness, made from the bad feelings that numbed them all, until you could feel no more, and you became a walking corpse that felt nothing and had no desire to feel anything. If he let go of those feelings, he would be all but dead, and for a moment, Olivier realised that he didn't care, and that should have scared him. What scared him was that he really didn't care; anything could happen to him and he wouldn't care. But that feeling was almost comforting, that he couldn't be affected by turmoil any longer, so Olivier embraced it tightly and refused to let go. Yet he was affected by turmoil, and it felt like he always had been, he knew that he always would. But he ignored it - the truth was too hard to accept right now - and he held onto the hope that he would be okay.
Olivier was thrown out of his dark thoughts as he was literally thrown about in the boat. It seemed that his companion's excited bouncing had gotten to the point where the boat had finally had enough and had decided to throw them overboard. Panicking ever so slightly - he didn't want to fall into the water on his first day - he attempted to steady the boat, but was not successful. Worry knocked at the gates of his feelings, and he looked over to his companion for help. Unfortunately, on the other side of their transport, the boy was having no better luck at calming the boat, and his eyes were wide with fear. Reluctantly he realised that there was no way he and his companion were going to save themselves from an unwanted swim in the lake, and resigned himself to the fact that he was going to fall in, and there was nothing he could do about it. Unless...
Quickly, Olivier tried to remember the incantation that he had heard his mother speak before when her papers went flying, and desperately wracked his brain for the wand action that went with it, as the rocking increased. For a moment, he was horrified to find that the spell had erased itself from his memory, and he scoured it for the words, but to his intense relief found what he was looking for in the depths of his mind. Fumbling for his wand (thirteen and a half inch, pine wood, dragon heartstring) in his robes, Olivier pointed it at the boat, and shouted, 'Immobulus!', hoping to whatever greater being was out there that he had pronounced it right.
Suddenly, as if nothing had happened, the boat calmed down, and began floating smoothly like the other boats. As the adrenaline from the moment died, Olivier felt his energy leave his body, and he collapsed against the side of the boat, muscles like jelly. He could see the boy across the boat, shaking like a leaf with a face as pale as snow, but his eyes were staring into nowhere. Olivier realized, with worry, that this was not just because of the accident that had just occurred, but something bigger. Cautiously, he slowly edged towards the other boy and, unsure of how he would react, tentatively reached out and touched the boy on the shoulder.
As he made contact the boy flinched, turning to face Olivier; upon seeing who it was, his face showed recognition, and calmed, but Olivier had been shocked at the look on the other boy's face - it had for a split second been filled with abject terror, and immense sadness, a look one would never expect to see on the face of an 11-year-old. But it affected him so deeply because he had worn that look before on his own face not too long ago.
But now that look was gone, replaced with a look of relief, yet now he had seen it Olivier could not help noticing the immense sadness hidden behind what he now knew to be a facade, and instead of returning the relief, he gave the boy a look of concern.
'What's wrong? You don't have to tell me, but I know how it feels to keep something dark from your past in the shadows. It will kill you inside.'
Grimly, Olivier noticed the look of surprise on the boy's face, although he felt dismayed when the surprise turned to a guarded look - he had hoped that his companion would open up, as he really did know what he was talking about. Even if he couldn't take his own advice.
Olivier could feel himself being studied, could feel the boy's eyes burning into his own, reading his emotions. For the first time in years, Olivier complied, pouring his emotions into his eyes and expression; he showed the boy his understanding, his troubles, his normally concealed despair, letting the boy see him, not the empty shell of his body that everyone else saw. He was actually opening up to someone, and while that scared him, he also knew that this was exactly what he had needed to do for a long time, although he was careful not to show too much, as that would be letting go, and letting go was bad. This boy was like him, in more ways than one, and Olivier realised that, if the boy opened up to him as he was doing now, he might have found a friend.
Eventually Olivier noticed a change in the boy's eyes, as he slowly nodded. Relief flooded through him as the boy looked down at the bottom of the boat, then opened his mouth; in dull tones, he said, 'It happened back when I was in a rowing club last year; we'd won a competition that month and the prize money had been large. As a treat, the coaches took us to a famous rowing lake. It was forecast to storm, but the company assured us that it would not affect us. It turned out that the storm did affect us - the waves on the lake became huge and too powerful, and we lost control of our boats; everyone capsized. We hadn't been wearing life jackets as all of us were competent swimmers, and my friends all drowned.'
A shudder, and a tear ran down the boy's face. He took a deep breath before continuing.
'Everyone drowned except me and my friend Marsac - he'd shared my boat and we'd been near the side of the lake when it happened. We were washed up with our boat on land at the opposite side of the lake, but Marsac ran off, despite my pleads for him not to leave me alone. I was frozen in place, and I could only sit and watch as bodies washed up beside me, until the coaches found me. We never saw Marsac again, and I think he-he-'
Finally, the boy's voice died and he broke down, sobbing heartbrokenly. Olivier was shocked into silence. He had known that the boy had had a bad past, but this? This was far beyond anything he had imagined. The boy had been witness to what could only be described as a drowning massacre, and the victims had been his friends, no less. To be subjected to that... Unsure of what to do - he had never been particularly good with these situations, a fact that he was now regretting - Olivier reached out and put an arm around his companion, and the boy leaned into the embrace.
After a few minutes, the boy grew silent, and drew away from Olivier, wiping his eyes and apologising profusely for his reaction, an apology that Olivier did not accept; the boy had every right to react the way he did. He couldn't imagine such a situation, and for that he was glad.
Olivier wondered what he was supposed to say; apologising for the tragedy would likely do more harm than good, he of all people would know, but he could hardly say nothing. He decided to go with purely, 'I don't know what to say.'
The boy smiled sadly, 'There's not much to say, is there? It happened, I just need to get past it and carry on with my life.' A shrug.
As much as Olivier hated to admit it, the other boy was right, although it was clear that he hadn't got past it yet, but he was trying, and that was more than Olivier was doing. Maybe he just needed help, and Olivier found himself hoping that he could be the one to do that. Besides, maybe he himself needed some help too to get over his past.
'I guess not.'
The boy's face was vacant for a second, before that huge grin spread across his face again. 'The name's René.'
'Olivier.'
'Pleasure meet you, Olivier.' A cheeky wink.
'And you, René.' An exasperated smile accompanied by a rather dramatic roll of the eyes.
As their boat reached the castle, the two boys sat in a companiable silence, and just before they left the boat, Olivier remembered something that the boy, René, had said earlier. Smiling mischievously, he added, 'And I believe you did mention magic.'
René grinned.
A/N. Well, I hope you liked it! I don't know how often updates will come, as I'm currently doing my Year 8 exams, and I do a lot of extra-curricular activities, so I write when I can. I'll try to update as often as possible, though. I'm not mean enough to neglect this story. So please review...please?
Thanks for reading!
- SindarDragonRider