A Heroes Tale
Prologue
My father died a hero that day . . .
"Run!" he cried out as he struggled to hold up the barrier that was keeping an avalanche from falling upon their home, upon them. "Leave, now!"
"Dad!" the teen screamed as his mother and older brother tried to pull him away. His mother was crying, tears pouring from her eyes. The other villagers around their home didn't hesitate to run. "No, let me go!"
"Al, leave! Now!"
I didn't want to leave him . . .
He saw the tears leave his father's eyes. The man didn't want to die. He was doing this to save them, to save everyone. The shield was buckling and Al cried out as his brother managed to lift him up with some difficulty, running. He watched him over his brother's shoulder, trying to break free of the male that was obviously stronger than he was. The man he resembled so much fell to his knees, still holding the barrier. "Move!" he yelled, crying, screaming at his father.
I hated James for pulling me out when I could have stayed with him . . .
They moved to higher ground just as the shield fell, tons of snow falling in on his father. Al screamed but was soon shielding by his brother and his mother as the snow flooded their small village, wiping out houses and banging up against the solid rock wall they stood upon. Many of the villagers screamed but knew it was a danger to move.
He saved everyone in our small village . . . Such power . . .
Al sobbed as everything around him seemed to stop and even though he currently hated James more than anything, he clung to him like a lifeline. Al loved his father more than anything and it was devastating to lose him.
My father was honored at his funeral once they managed to retrieve his body . . .
James clutched his trembling little brother to his chest while also managing to hug their mother, doing whatever he could to comfort them as much as possible.
He received an Order of Merlin, First Class for bravery, quick thinking, and selflessness.
Al knew James was upset too, but he wouldn't cry. He knew James felt that he had to be strong for them.
They all dressed in the traditional black robes for the funeral, watching as everyone gathered around the casket that held his father's lifeless body and the medals he received. Even James' girlfriend showed up, hugging James' arm. Al was relieved she was there because James needed the comfort too. It was obvious, but Al did cry, crouching down next to James' legs with his arms wrapped around his knees, his eyes wide and haunted while tears slid down his flushed, yet pale, cheeks. Their mother's sobs were loudest.
I lost my idol that day . . .
Al stared at the casket, hearing no words spoken, no sound. The only thing he felt was the wind sweeping gently passed his hair, sweeping it up and seeming to caress his cheek. He ignored anyone and everyone that came to mutter their condolences to Al, James, and their mother. Some people kneeled before him and bowed, but this was vaguely noticed. Others gently placed a hand on his head and attempted to say something soothing, but it went unheard.
They didn't understand. How could they? Al didn't believe they would ever know what he was feeling.
My brother slowly and gracefully accepted his position as lord of the family and head of the household, sliding in to take over where my father left off . . . He never tried to replace him though, which I was grateful for . . .
Al never spoke much since that day and after withdrawing into himself, he never spoke again. Instead, he seemed to go on with life in a daze. No one could help him and no one could get passed the heavy wall he erected. James tried to adjust to make him happy, not urging him to speak and letting him go about things on his own. This wasn't sitting well with their mother though. The woman once cried as she shook him, yelling at him to speak to her.
James managed to get her to back off and took Al away from her so he wasn't hurt. He comforted him, telling him their mother was just upset. Al knew this, but he wished things could be different. He wished his father had not died.
James became the person I was closest to . . .
Al eventually went to live in his own home, some distance away. He became a potions analyst, wishing to help as many people as possible just as his father once did. It was the only meaning he had to his life. He did nothing except work.
Then, when I just turned twenty-years-old . . . James died . . .
Al stared blankly at a certain headmaster he had tried to forget about since his graduation three years before. In his arms, he held a baby that was asleep. He said this baby was Al's nephew, that Al's mother and brother along with his brother's wife were all killed. They died to protect this little baby.
"Mr. Potter . . ." the headmaster spoke gently. "I need you to accept custody of this child. He needs you . . ."
Al stared at the baby, wishing he could use his voice and refuse. It was a cold and heartless thought, but Al had trouble allowing anyone into his life. The only one ever able to speak to him was James and he was gone. At the same time, he didn't want anything to happen to James' son. He had no idea where he would have ended up or how he would grow up. Reluctantly and maybe a little unwillingly, Al's heart melted ever so slightly as he was unable to take his eyes away from the child.
He looked so much like James.
Al hesitated before holding his arms out. The headmaster smiled annoyingly and slowly handed the baby over to him. He couldn't help but stare at the child, the small, fragile warm being within his grasp. He would never have to witness his father's heroic death, never have to scream for him to move, to come back to them. Yet, Al felt that the tiny baby's loss was much worse than his. Even if he wouldn't remember what happened, it was still devastating at the same time.
I couldn't let go of him . . . So tiny . . .
So, the headmaster ended up talking to a very silent Al Potter, who just listened as he gazed down at the child he never met before. Perhaps he should have accepted the invitations that James sent him to Christmas parties and such. He would have had the chance to meet the little boy.
Knowing he would not be getting a reply, the headmaster only spoke softly about a few more things before he stood up, leaving a file of information on the child laying on the table. This file would contain his birth certificate, medical records, and anything else of importance. It was a necessity that Al planned to put away for safe keeping. The little boy in his arms was oblivious to his new home in Romania, oblivious to his new guardian. He just lay there, sleeping peacefully.
That is how I, Allen Barnabas Potter, became the new guardian of one Harry James Potter, son of James Ethan Potter and Lily Jane Evans . . .
-- AN:// do you like? Please comment! I'll have chapter one up as soon as I finish. Suggestions are welcome.