Summary: And when he found Sephiroth Angeal decided that he would be to him the friend he should have been the first time.
"Speech written like this is in another language, in case you didn't know."
I don't have a beta or Brit-picker. (Admittedly gave up on the slang.)
[Working Title: Thursday's Child.]
Anam Cara:
(We Happy Few)
Anam Cara, as it was first explained to me, describes our souls and those souls we are bound to, around whom our lives will revolve. They may be friends in one life, but less than acquaintances or even enemies in another. But whether the role they fill is for good or ill, by meeting us they open our souls to the possibilities and mysteries of the universe, and we are irrevocably changed.
0_0_0_0
It is an old story, really.
Two boys met in an orchard. As the numbness began to fade awed smiles spread. It had been too long, and not long in the reckoning of boys: for they know only hours and days. Weeks are eons. Years: unfathomed. But this parting had been lifetimes.
And they were, perhaps, not the boys expected.
"... Zack?"
0_0_0_0
It was a Monday some months before the Hogwarts letter he'd not known to expect was due, the day that Angeal woke up. He wasn't entirely surprised: he had been dreaming of it for some time, the memories telling him of what had come before, so he was neither completely adrift nor as traumatised by the affair as he might have been.
He had heard his mother answer the door to their new home, fully expecting yet another house-warming fruitcake (they would have preferred air freshener: cats and cabbage, yrch) when he had the half formed thought that he knew that voice, too young though it was. He fairly flew down the stairs.
"I'm sorry lad, but we were told the last owner passed on."
"But... Missus Figg? She can't have died. No one's said..."
"Oh," his mother clucked, "you poor dear..."
And Angeal thought that the boy's face, though lacking the blue backlight of mako glow and the Calamity's silver head, could well be that of Sephiroth, but his friend had only ever been so visibly discomfited when Genesis defected. The thought made him uncomfortable.
"I'm so sorry child, but we need to see if we can't catch you relatives." Jillian fished for her keys, hissing: "The nerve to not even check with the sitter ... !" She caught his eye. "You'll be alright for a few minutes, dear? This shouldn't take long."
"Yes, mum."
The child noticed him, then, and for an instant something seemed to catch in his almost-familiar but just as bewitching eyes, before swiftly fading, leaving only the troubled boy once more. And then not even that as his mother raced out with him, off to Privet Drive.
0_0_0_0
As it happened Angeal would have plenty of time to puzzle over the question of his rebirth and his long ago friend, as the Dursley's had already departed and upon their return a week later would briefly find themselves in the care of the Surrey Police Service, a soon-to-be cherished memory of both himself and Hadrian, who preferred his proper name just as he had as Sephiroth. The Dursley's got off on the charges (Planet only knew how) but after a brief stay with child services Hadrian had found the Fair residence to be his second home, even after he was returned to his aunt. Petunia did not challenge this, as this promoted the reasonable treatment of her nephew, a state whose continuation would see to it that a repeat performance did not occur at the Yard.
Consequently, and with somewhat less drama than would have been the case previously, Hadrian would learn of the magical world some two years early.
0_0_0_0
"Fair, Zaniel!"
He was momentarily distracted from the falling hat (and what the Hel kind of society segregated itself according to the verdicts of verbose headwear?) by a pair of familiar slate blue eyes: eyes at least as surprised as his own.
Gen?
'If he is, you'll know shortly, mister Fair. Or would you prefer Hewley? Or Commander?'
Correction: cognisant verbose headwear. But still. And no offense meant. And not Fair, that had been his father. Or the puppy. And Ifrit but this was strange.
'None taken. And where should you like for me to put you, mister Hewley?'
And here he had thought he'd be without options.
'You are more man than child, old warrior. You have earned your choicest poison.'
Indeed. Well, as he would be stuck with his choice, and the houses divided by traits as they were... He had always been a planner, and every person needed some dream, some ambition, but neither needed the so stigmatised house to thrive. Instant suspicion born of rooming arrangements should only occur when Reno and Zack were involved, really. ('You'll have to tell me about that sometime.') He appreciated learning, but not to the exclusion of so much else, as many Ravenclaws seemed to hold. And while the leonid courage and honour fit in with his credo as well, anyone who truly knew him knew he would likely be happiest in Hufflepuff, from what he had seen so far. Then the political implications of a choice made at eleven (why was stupidity so endemic?) and the fact that Seph-Hadrian would like as not follow him. And then there was Genesis to consider, if it was him at all. His scholarly friend, fox-crazy and full of bravado... but loyal too. The git just got carried away. But Hat, where would the Hat have placed him?
'You have dreams, though driven by loyalty: your plans are foremost. But you are quite right, house matters little in the end, so as you wish, mister Hewley. As you wish.'
0_0_0_0
The first years' first meeting with Madame Sprout dissolved into tired yawns as students began grabbing likely roommates: two to a dorm. A fair haired child (Eric? Derick? Diggory, anyway) had just begun to glance at him hopefully when a slight red blur careened into him, tossing out a name in an Irish lilt as he dragged Zaniel into the now-claimed room.
"It's Braoin Luthais, now, and goddess, 'Geal, I've missed you!"
0_0_0_0
The common room was silent with shock. The red-headed twins had wandered into the Badger's sett sometime around noon on the first weekend, causing Zaniel and Braoin to bite back near identical moans: they had really, truly hoped that they'd imagined this.
One boy – which, it did not really matter – was bouncing a beater's bat against his shoulder in an overly familiar manner, and that was a far more important detail. The other boy flipped an especially violent pack of exploding snap cards from hand to hand. Angeal supposed even a Hogwarts teacher would confiscate a bomb. That and the stench of dung-bombs would cramp his style. But Legend only grinned and said:
"It's Fred and George."
"Or Gred and Forge."
"As you like it, really."
"There must be somethin' going down – "
"– if we're all here. You boys know anything about that?"
"Or anyone else at this party?"
Twin Turks. Fucking fabulous.
0_0_0_0
Stewart Creevey could in fact remember the exact moment he once more became Reeve Tuesti. It had been anticlimactic, actually. He had been researching a piece in Tibet, following old pilgrimage ways. He had always been more ambitious than his brother, who could have done so much more with his life, but neither brother had ever been able to hold still very well: Stewart had hated that one brief stint in an office, a nine to five sort of job, which was all it had taken to feel as though he had already spent a lifetime in one.
And as it happened he had.
A monk had appeared as though from nothing on the mountain trail he had been following and invited him to view the temple. He had somehow never gotten to taking his pictures, but the elder had taken him by the hand and simply... told him. And that was that.
That particular trip had also launched him into environmental journalism and activism, but that was almost a footnote, all things considered.
When he was next back in England he had been rather amused to note that his little nephews, the elder of whom was fascinated by his uncle's work, were now familiar for a new reason.
The brothers Shin-Ra: the sons of a milkman. Something about that was simply glorious.
0_0_0_0
"Seph!"
Huh?
When Hadrian went to greet Zaniel-Angeal-whatever at Christmas break he was mobbed by red.
The cinnamon-haired Dubliner brought feelings of warmth, a sting, dark wings and apples and nothing shall forestall, but the thought was derailed before clarity could come: plucked from the boy's arms and held out like a doll.
"Well fuck me! It's a mini General!"
The flame-haired ones inspired mild amusement and a deep-seated wariness. Deep, deep, deep wariness. The one not holding him over a foot above the ground looked at him critically.
"You know, a nutrient potion might do him some good. There's a good apothecary on Vertic –"
"He's right here and you will. Put. Me. Down!"
"..."
"I know you said he doesn't remember much yet 'Geal, but that right there was the Boss Man."
0_0_0_0
"And is it wrong of me, to hope he stops remembering?"
It was later that evening, and the nuisances were already asleep. (At their age, plotting was best accomplished in the light of day when and where everyone knew they were plotting, and plans of enchanting the school's crockery to tango – while only a cover – might actually prove to be fun.) Hadrian had left not long after he had arrived, muttering something that might have been 'hams ensign over due,' 'have English homework to do,' or 'have Tseng hang them from their thumbs' in pretty decent Wutaian for a child who had only spoken English previously.
"That depends on why you don't want him to."
"It's – He's... Well, he is not happy, exactly, but..."
Zaniel took in Braoin's huddled form. He gave a thin smile: "Yeah, Gen. I know."
For as he left Hadrian had smiled, a small glittering thing, even as he uttered dire imprecations for the twin's futures. He had snarked, he had been sarcastic. The others had not been around him long enough to hear him crack jokes, but he did and could and there tended to be a lot of animal comparisons and Angeal could no longer bring himself to call Mister Dursley anything but 'Walrus' but Sephiroth had been almost twenty before he had even begun to grasp the concept of humour. And for all that the Dursleys treated him abysmally, Hadrian went to school with other children, (had in fact skipped ahead a few grades – this was Sephiroth, after all,) played, had friends, and still harboured an innocence that Sephiroth had simply never had a chance to have.
For all that Angeal missed his friend – though Sephiroth was waking, if slowly – he remembered the long hours he had spent explaining anything and everything he could to a confused youth, thrust without warning or preparation from lab to battle field and beyond. Sephiroth had learned early in Wutai just who from his troop he could rely on to guide him, and Angeal, then only sixteen himself, had proven himself to be trustworthy. They would sit when they had a moment or chat on patrol, as Seph shot question after question. Some had been ridiculous, and he'd seemed a child new to the world (far, far too close to true, Angeal had understood more with each and every quiet question) and he saved nearly all his curiosity for those moments alone. Sometimes when Angeal was unavailable Sephiroth would seek out Genesis instead, but more often than not sensed the other man's impatience with his naivety or the jealousy for his skill and waited. But he had trusted them, Angeal especially. And where it had gotten him...
He had been uncertain, in Modeoheim, in his own overdue and fleeting moment of clarity before death, if Sephiroth's failure to appear had been benediction or damnation, for certainly it was one of these.
He hoped the answer could be found in the familiar way Hadrian trailed at his side, a question ever on his lips.
0_0_0_0
The new year slipped in and by, until it was no longer new: was, in fact, starting once more into fall. The Welcoming Feast had been the previous night, and breakfast was now punctuated by a small blond boy dropping into the seat across from Braoin.
"I'd like a small funeral, please."
"Do we know you?" Angeal was baffled.
"You do not, he does. Genesis? Funeral? Please?"
"Strife, you're eleven and no one is out for your blood this go around. You don't need a funeral planned."
"Says a man who doesn't have Reno in the next dorm, and a puppy in his! They're already plotting: the school will be gone by dinner!"
0_0_0_0
The school was not gone by dinner, but the hole in the south wall was considerable.
0_0_0_0
"Angeeeal – "
Sigh. "Yes Puppy?"
Luke waved his first transfiguration assignment at arm's length: "In what universe is this useful to me?"
It was true that needles were nothing Luke or Zack should ever need or handle. He could explain this with the word cactuar, but he also remembered one occasion when Zack had attempted to repair his uniform – among other things – after a prank gone wrong, and the results had been less than stellar, if good blackmail material, and never mind the bleeding. Fynn Brody – Stife's current moniker – had informed him that similar attempts had been made by Luke, to similar results. Copies of photo evidence had been promised.
"At this point it's more about starting small than doing anything useful."
"And the fifth years' dancing pineapples are useful how?"
"Ah- huh. Hmmm.."
"Exactly."
"... Fine control, maybe?"
"And the spell that exists specifically for hedgehog-to-pincushion transformations? Which you guys have to do? Which is gross misuse of hedgehogs, if nothing else."
"'Gross misuse of hedgehogs'?"
"Well it is! Who would want to do that to a hedgehog, anyway? They're cute! What could a hedgehog have done to a person to make them want to turn them into bits of fabric and stuffing and put pins into them? Did someone just think that 'oh, I really need a pincushion right now! Hey, let's use this hedgehog!' And where are hedgehogs so common that you can do that, 'cause I – "
"Zack."
"Yeah?"
"That's enough."
0_0_0_0
They had been unsure about telling Zack and Cloud about Sephiroth: or rather, Genesis had been. Angeal had not fully understood, or believed, but he had also died the earliest and agreed when his friend explained. They should be told, as courtesy and a warning, for Zack had been a friend but the man or his likeness had been Cloud's nightmare for years. If asked they would tell, but otherwise they thought it wisest to ease them into the knowledge.
So naturally they walked into the middle of a conversation on speaker phone with Hadrian. (It had been after Hadrian's dry observation that if magic and modern technology could not mix, Diagon could not be in the heart of London that Jillian had rather embarrassedly bought the cell phone for her son. Braoin would acquire a mobile come Christmas. The twins would thankfully go without.)
Zack was delighted, or had been until he realised that Fynn was most definitively not.
That Cloud knew that although it had been Sephiroth in body he had not been in control at the burning of Nibelheim when he nearly killed Zack and himself along with the rest of the village: that then Sephiroth's body had followed his mind at Cloud's own hand did not figure into panic. Nor did the fact the Sephiroths to wreak such havoc afterwards had been aught but copies, Jenova and Remnants. Nor that there should be no Jenova any longer. Or even the fact that Sephiroth was currently ten years old in an especially boring neighbourhood outside of London. Panic was not logical.
He left briefly, and returned far calmer, hair dripping wet on his face and sticking up at odd angles: "Can we be sure?"
"What do you mean?"
"Jenova is gone – we saw to that and this may not even be Gaia anyway, if OMEGA came – but there's been a sort of order to our rebirths, hasn't there? Some roles are exchanged but... A man with too much power has plans for a hero – don't look at me like that, you've heard the rumours, and we've all heard of the General this time too – in a cold war of ideals rather than one for profits, but two boys still met in an orchard – "
"And Reeve is back on crusade." Hadrian spoke for the first time since they had been interrupted. "What? The Walrus is trying to hire him."
"Seriously?"
0_0_0_0
'Can I just say that this amuses me?'
What had happened was this:
Grunning's Drills had a Problem.
Grunning's Drills' Problem was in fact Grunning's drills, which it appeared were of increasingly poor quality, a consequence of a pyramid scheme too long unchecked. There had been Incidents: in mines, on oil platforms, at construction sites. As the VP of Sales Vernon Dursley needed to disappear this Problem, and a quick shakeup of the plants mixed with some solidly spun PR would do that nicely. It would also direct attention away from the areas involved in the scheme, which benefit Vernon the Pyramid Scheme Member quite nicely indeed.
Win-win, right?
Enter rising photo-journalist Stewart Creevey, who was to be wined and dined in true Dursley fashion: which was to say scripted and rehearsed, rehearsed, rehearsed.
The VP's nephew, however, had a very familiar face.
The boy rolled his eyes and made a little gesture which was Turk Talk for 'He's worse than Heidegger.'
Stewart lifted an eyebrow almost imperceptibly. 'I'm sure that's not possible.'
'Just look at them: any more plastic and their faces will crack.'
As Missus Dursley complimented his outdated if well cared for dinner wear for its stylishness he was force to agree.
The conversation continued in this vein for some time, and included mention of a number of Incidents Reeve had not known were Grunning's related, as well as a few departments that could stand to be audited.
'Vindictive much?'
He smiled then, a small flinty thing: the lesser sibling to what once many a Wutaian had seen just prior to dying.
'Maybe.'
He smiled the greater one when, after Creevey had gone and Vernon had commented suspiciously on how quiet and well behaved his nephew had been, he uttered something previously unthinkable.
"To be honest, uncle, I quite enjoyed that."
0_0_0_0
"I knew I liked that man." Zaniel was grinning widely. Genesis gave him a cautious look.
"... 'Geal?"
"What? You know what that fat ass is like. And I do like Reeve. Always good in a pinch."
"Still, a bit vicious for you."
Angeal shrugged. He truly disliked the Walrus, and any bad news for him was good news, so long as it did not come back to bite Hadrian. "What I want to know is how you could fall into plotting with him so easily. You didn't even know who he was before he arrived, and suddenly you're an informant trying to drag down his company."
"Yah know... that sounds like something I've heard."
"Done this before, Seph?"
"... Maybe." His voice smiled.
"Oh! Ow!" Genesis shot upright, catching Reno on the chin with the back of his head. ("Damnit!") "I knew the WRO plans felt familiar!"
"So he did use them? Good."
"As fascinating as this is, can we get back to the subject?"
"... Thanks. My point was that there are parallels. What's to say that one or more of our minds isn't our own once more? Last time, four of the seven of us were compromised, all from the same source but now there are potions and compulsions and that Unforgivable and actual possession by spirits. And somehow I don't think standing over someone with holy water and chanting 'the power of Christ compels you' is going to have any effect."
"Despite what the town vicar and 'The Exorcist' might claim."
"Zack, not the time."
"I would feel better if we had some protection."
"It... would merit research. I cannot say I enjoyed my possession any more than anyone else did."
0_0_0_0
"Um, yo. Fair?"
"Yes?" "Yeah?"
Zaniel and Zack glanced at each other over their respective charms assignments. One sighed, the other snorted pumpkin juice out his nose. No guesses for who.
"Could you imagine if we were in the same classes?"
Snerk. "The professors would be getting someone's head checked and it wouldn't be mine! Vengeance! Er, wait, no –"
"I only ever brought you in to the doctor because I was concerned –"
"Alright. Fine. Mutt! And no one use Sinclair either – that used to be me –"
"For-real vengeance!"
"Yeah, whatever." Reno groaned. Why was he friends with this guy again, again? "Any idea why your girlfriend's a blond?"
There was a brief moment of silence before: "Reno, I'm eleven. I don't have a girlfriend."
"But you did, yo."
Zack blinked violet eyes vacantly, first in confusion, then sliding directly into shock, unmoving. Cloud, however, rose slowly, looking so much like the bright, bright eyed hopeful young cadet they had once seen following Zack around that Braoin nearly choked on his tongue. 'So different from the man he became,' he thought, although Fynn's mischievous streak was rather similar to a young Cloud, if Tifa's stories (told while Strife quietly banged his head on the corner table of the bar) had been to be believed. He wondered, not for the first time, how they would have been had they lived more normal lives.
"Aeris," Cloud breathed, flushed, "Really? Never mind. Of course she'd come back. If this whole thing isn't her idea she'd have certainly gotten into it anyway." He smiled, eyes fond and distant. "Where is she? And who?"
It was Legend who responded: "The flower girl goes by Hannah Abbot. Her family lives out in Anglesay, not far from Holyhead. They have one foot in the mundane world, one in the wyrd. Which is probably appropriate, what with the whole Cetra thing. Our family was invited to the Longbottom's Christmas party, where we saw her."
"And she remembers everything, yo. But I'm not sure if she knows why we're here. When I asked she just got that smile on her face. Yah know, Blondie?"
Fynn grinned, and then grimaced. Then blushed rather impressively.
"Yeah! That one! Could never be sure if it's the I-know-things-you-don't-because-I'm-the-Cetra smile or the I've-got-you-on-my-little-finger-so-just-give-up one or the I'm-just-doing-this-to-fuck-with-you smile."
"That," Fynn said, still quite red, "is because it means all of the above."
0_0_0_0
The year trod on.
Luke took to writing Hannah almost the instant he snapped out of his daze: almost because his first action was to squeal his joy and tackle Angeal, as per tradition, before running off in search of paper, forgetting that he had left his bag and thus paper behind, again as per tradition. The letters back and forth came at such a rate that the owlery nearly revolted and the entirety of Gryffindor famously forewent breakfast for the first time ever as the owls deposited their discontent on the Lion's table. At which point someone asked why they had never just exchanged phone numbers.
It was also learned that Susan Bones, the niece of the Chief of Aurors, was most likely Cissnei – a revelation which delighted the twins, who felt the Turks were quite outnumbered by the SOLDIER-types. Aeris, however, seemed certain that Cissnei would probably not remember much more than she already had, which was only enough for her to say 'I knew you once' but little else.
The potions lab was demolished on one fine April day when Genesis reverted to his first instinct when angry and impressed everyone by wandlessly summoning a great deal of fire in a room full of volatile ingredients. Miraculously only the Professor was injured, and he even came out of the experience with a little more respect for the 'Puffs in the face of a powerful young Badger who was very much not a duffer, thank you so very much for noticing.
Not too long after that a certain map was discovered in the bowels of the Caretaker's office, an event which may or may not have led directly to the resignation of Master Junjie, a little man from rural China who had been the DADA professor that year. In truth, there was no member of the group less enthused by the map's find than any other, and it was noted that incidents of pranks were no fewer when the Marauder's Map was in the hands of Angeal, the certified group mother, than in those of one of the less responsible members.
May was mostly quiet, in relative terms, if one ignored Hannah's Knight Bus trip to Privet Drive ("Angeal! It's the Cetra, what do I do?!") an incident which by and large sorted itself, although in time some might wish it had not. Despite what most thought, Fynn knew quite well that a phrase including the term 'diabolical duo' could and often did in fact include Aeris without the Apocalypse setting in. That it was properly describing 'Aeris and Sephiroth' made his head hurt, but he figured why the Hel not? At this point he had seen stranger things.
0_0_0_0
The last of Cloud's mistrust for Sephiroth, desperately clinging to life after being beaten down by spending the better part of a year speaking with his reincarnated form over the phone or hearing stories of both the previous three years and a lifetime before that, was speared upon the cobbles of Diagon and had its last wet gasps smothered out of it. It was clear that the-boy-who-never-died-properly was in fact a boy, and no one would get hurt this time so long as no one got between him and his treacle.
"You know," Fynn took his seat in their booth at Fortescue's, and smiled at Aeris, "I'm surprised you can move around here without getting mobbed, wizards being how they are about you."
Adjusting his cap, Hadrian told him to shut up. "I've been coming here for over two years, ever since Angeal's second trip. Anyone who has seen me has assumed I'm his younger brother since I'm not a clone of my father... or of anyone else for that matter." He shrugged. "It suits me fine."
Angeal explained: "Mum and I realized just who everyone was talking about, picked up the least trashy book we could find on the subject, and a robe and hat. No one should walk into a whole new world blind, but especially not with something like that Halloween hanging over them. Besides," Zaniel smiled wryly, air quotes at the ready, "'everyone knows' the Harry Potter is coming back –"
"'Alone, the poor thing, straight from the Muggle world – '"
"And looks 'just like James but with Lily's eyes.'" He snorted. "Grew out his hair, got his eyes checked and fixed – here on the Alley, even – and surrounded him with a family of similarly dark haired and fair skinned people, and you know what?"
"They haven't got a damned clue. It's wonderful." Hadrian smiled wistfully. "Now if only they could get my name right. They have so little sense that in ten years no one seems to have realised that 'Harry' isn't even my name. I have never answered to it, and I never will."
"No one's noticed at all?" Aeris took on a disappointed expression. Secret evil or not, she did hope for the best in people.
"Well, there is Fortescue, and maybe Tom over at the Cauldron. But they are very much the exception: observant and discreet. You won't see much of that around here. Too much uncommon sense."
"True," Fynn reflected, "But it's sad that the best book you could find is described as 'least trashy.'"
"I looked as well, but it is still the best we can do." Braoin landed in a sprawl and a tawny kitten which looked to have lost a fight with a wall disengaged from his jacket.
"Oh Planet, you bought the little bastard?"
"He's a gnarly little bastard. I like him."
"He tried to eviscerate the Turks' little brother!"
"He went for my eyes!" Luke squeezed in next to the flower girl.
"Well, you are a mutt."
"He likes me."
"That's because you let him play with your hair, Seph."
"And because I'm getting him milk." He slid out of his seat towards the bar. It was a testament to how long they had been visiting the parlor that Florean had a saucer waiting for him. Resuming his place Hadrian glared at their amused looks. "It keeps him from our food."
"Whatever you say."
0_0_0_0
"Did you see their faces?!" Genesis bounced on the bed of a rather confused Gabriel Tate. "I think Dumbledore may have gone into apoplectic shock. Puts a wrench in his grandfather persona, does it not? Wonderful!"He stifled his laughs on the quilt.
"Should we really be doing speaking like this in front of him?" Hadrian eyed his roommate skeptically.
"Psh. Open secret. Sprout will go over it tomorrow in the house meeting."
"Excuse me."
Angeal fidgeted under the General's judgemental eyes. "We weren't as subtle as we thought we were. Or maybe we were and they were just better." He smiled sheepishly. "The whole house knows. Remember when I told you about a person's anam cara? Well, it was one of the upper years who suggested it to us. Apparently what seems to be happening with us isn't really all that uncommon, although we might be setting a record for the number of people involved."
Genesis hummed. "We are up to twelve now. The most anyone has ever seen in the sources is three or four."
Sephiroth considered this dubiously. "And who else knows?"
"No one. The Lions aren't inquisitive enough so long as the Turks and the children don't go pulling pranks on them. They just prank back and bite off more than they can chew. Unfortunately, though fortunately for us, the Ravens rarely look past their house boundaries: seem to consider us all to be unintelligent riffraff."
"The pricks."
"As if you're one to talk?" Angeal scoffed, "You used to be just as bad. At any rate the Snakes have to a one written us off as unimportant, being Hufflepuffs. It's one of those cases where the stereotypes are actually true."
"Except for the 'Puffs."
Here both warriors-turned-wizard snickered.
"Hufflepuff: house with the stupidest name. The loyal, the hardworking – "
"The ones who were too tricky to be caught being tricky –"
"Smart enough to want a life outside the ivory tower –"
"And just enough temperance on that foolhardy daring."
"Did you rehearse that?"
They both smiled.
"No. House motto: not to be spoken outside the Sett."
"Naturally. We can't have everyone trying to get in on our awesome."
0_0_0_0
Classes had just ended on the first Wednesday of the school year, and they had begun to gather in the abandoned room they had co-opted for private use when the first years burst in.
"Where does the research on mind protection stand?"
Hannah and Susan wore alarmed looks on their faces, but Hadrian just looked pinched. They had just come from their first Defense Against the Dark Arts class and were not at all pleased with the state of the universe.
"What happened?"
"Have any of you had defense yet?" Aeris worried her lip.
"No, since Monday was a half day we all go tomorrow morning."
"I thought so." Sephiroth leaned his head into Genesis hands, accepting the offered rub. Mind-fuckery related migraines were the bane of two lives now. "Quirrell is a fraud."
"We think he's doing that legilimency thing, and he is not unskilled. I may not have all the powers of a Cetra in this life but I'm still more protected than most, and he certainly dinted my shields."
"He did not touch me," Susan began, "but he should also know that I would at least detect a legilimens' probe, since as the chief auror's ward I've had occlumency training. He would certainly get reported then, but most students never hear of the mind arts in their lives. They probably think they've just gotten headache from the smell of the room."
"Short version: don't look him in the eyes."
Hadrian sighed: "Try to avoid Snape too. He's more subtly than brute force, but I'm fairly certain he reads minds too."
"Might explain how he knew the thing with the canaries was our fault." Legend was thoughtful, feigning ignorance of the eyebrows raised at him.
"Did you really have to fill them with glitter?"
"That was Reno, not me."
"Of course." Sephiroth pulled back with a muttered thank you. Thank Gaia he'd only had to deal with Zack. Reno had been bad enough for Tseng, but many of the Turks had turned into nuisances in their down time: Legend, Elena (sure, she looked cute and was quite serious on the job, but off...) and Nunchaku had been the worst, but hardly alone. "Counter measures?"
Legend nodded. "There is very little, to be honest. Avoiding eye contact, reflective lenses and sunglasses can help, but a truly skilled legilimens does not need to see your eyes. We've started training for occlumency which is the standard, but it has pitfalls as well. A powerful wizard can overcome and a clever one can get around defenses."
"S'all we have access to. In theory there are enchantments that can do the job, but that's way past anything we'll even hope to do for years, and items already all magicked up are super rare."
"There is a chance my aunt might have access, being in her position," Susan added, "but I would have to explain why we want them. Otherwise the old families tend to have a few, usually kept to protect their children, so when Hadrian comes of age in four years –"
"Four, not six?"
"End of line clause, we looked it up."
"At that time, he may find them in his family vault, but that is a longer wait than anyone wants, I think. In theory, you could get them if you go with your magical guardian, but that comes back to needing an explanation for why you want one, or more than one."
"So order sunglasses, but otherwise nothing's changed. But you did bring up item two, Suzy."
"What?"
"Somewhere in the ministry there's a book listing binding Oaths taken in the country for legal purposes. We need someone to look up any Oaths in nineteen seventy-five though ninety made by Sirius Black."
0_0_0_0
In their fourth year of schooling the Marauders did A Very Stupid Thing: they made a brotherhood pact.
This pact was, in and of itself, not A Very Stupid Thing. Generally speaking, agreeing whole heartedly to help each other in times of strife, to share the good and the bad, and to never turn their backs on each other even should they drift apart in time is never Very Stupid, but in fact Rather Heartwarming. However, as with everything the Marauders did, they had to do the Pact with Flair. So in with The Sort of Magic That Really Ought To Be Treated More Cautiously.
You know, like that exceedingly difficult bit of magic that lets people turn into their inner animal. That magic?
Oaths and vows are of two different categories, distinguished by the punishment for breaking them.
Vows are typically the sort of thing done for personal reasons, often in the heat of the moment and consequently magic ascribes them less weight. Breaking a magical vow tends to lead to temporary discomfort. Vows are for minding people's pets, proving that no you did not break Aunt Muriel's antique china plate lest your hair turn green this instant, or to show general intent: I'll finish this book by Tuesday or it will stick to my hands until I do finish it. If you neglected to state the terms of vow that was fine, the vow's magic would ascribe a punishment of equal value to the crime. Breaking a vow might cause something annoying, like an extended case of the hiccups or spending the week getting static shocks. But broken or not, you get over vows.
Oaths, not so much.
Oaths hearken back to the days of Kings and Dukes and Lords, of quests and great designs. A knight would take an oath of fealty to his lord, and punishment for betrayal was severe. Death, loss of magic, eternal ill fortune, a pox upon one's House or Clan, all these and more were possible. The most recent known curse upon a House in the British Isles was upon the Weasleys who had only found the light when their treacherous ancestor earned them their family name and brought down the curse of no daughters until some poor woman bore six sons. The Malfoy's acquired their name similarly, before leaving France: their punishment is unknown. The most famous oath is mistakenly called a vow, the Unbreakable Vow, but it is only a variation on a theme: the Unbreakable ends in death, always. Modern Oaths are rare, however, due to the danger. There had been Oaths of Office, early in the Ministry, before it became a Vow, and then lost the magic altogether. Besides this, healers take confidentiality oaths, and judicial workers and military take oaths and vows for fair and just practise. The old families use oaths to guard their children, and to reaffirm those who still owe fealty, an ever rarer thing.
Regardless, Oaths were meant to have the wording and terms and punishments for violation belaboured over to prevent accidents and misunderstandings, for Oaths are Serious Business, and should be taken as such.
And so, naturally, the Marauders did A Very Stupid Thing and did not.
The Marauders, ages fourteen and fifteen, swore to never turn their backs on each other and signed in blood. They did not set their terms, what it is to break faith and what was the penalty, and therein lay their folly.
Sirius, after he fled his family, would swear again to James, his cousin as good as his brother, and once more to become Godfather of his friend's son. To betray James or his family would cost Sirius his magic if not his life. He was ill-guided, it is true, but never a traitor, not guilty of this crime.
Peter Pettigrew, however, would ever more wear the face of Wormtail.
Remus Lupin, who had been suspect, was intelligent, well liked, a top of the class Hogwarts graduate, not known to be a werewolf, but never had a job, never sought the truth from Sirius, never checked on the child of his friends, never did much of anything. One might wonder if he was not being punished for something too.
0_0_0_0
Vincent Valentine had lived in nightmares for a long time, longer than any person should have been able, but he supposed his sins were just too great.
He had done a great many things as a Turk in which he took no pride, and had thought he had paid for those, many times over. He had found a great love and in defending her lost his head, costing him not only his life, but hers, and the freedom of one whom he only learned much, much later, far, far too late was their son, and would in time cost the world far more.
Returned to life, he continued to pay. A cruel home, lashing out with stupid angry pranks, a war for blood paid in blood, and in his grief driven defense of his friend, his brother, lost his life again, and any hope of seeing his godson. He could only pray Merlin Goddess Ifrit Minerva God Morgana Gaia and Odin don't let my boy fall (again)!
All of this he remembered and could think quite clearly. In the presence of dementors and absence of happy thoughts or the knowledge that his torment would soon end, Sirius Black remembered Vincent Valentine, for Vincent was not a happy man.
0_0_0_0
It was not the first time in memory that Hadrian had ridden a broom, but he was no less amused by the notion. Because really? Flying broomsticks? And this was preferred to any number of other things one might enchant to fly, like carpets (soft, comfy, no splinters in uncomfortable places!) or snowboards or bikes or even effing wing'd boots? Actually, was there a historical precedent to that? Hermes or Mercury or whoever the myths were based on?
In any case, brooms. Pfft.
But flying, on a sliver of wood, with little protection and at ridiculous speeds, fresh air in their faces and the wind in their hair? To Hel with the game: this was all they needed.
Angeal could only groan. He much preferred the ground, but with them both here he would never get Genesis or Sephiroth down.
0_0_0_0
The media frenzy surrounding the capture of Peter Pettigrew (nabbed in the halls by the Twins immediately following the year's first consultation of the Map and withheld from Ronald on the grounds that if he wouldn't take care of his pet, he couldn't have a pet: an event labelled by outsiders as a baffling bit of maturity) and the somewhat quieter release of Sirius Black for treatment at Saint Mungo's had finally begun to abate by Halloween, when 'someone' released a mountain troll into the school and proceeded to forget that trolls were his specialty. The group hardly cared – the girl who earlier had been crying in the bathroom it ruined had long since been coaxed out by Aeris and had been eating with them down in the kitchens at the time of the destruction. They could guess whodunit anyway, having thoroughly researched means and signs of possession. (They, at least, were clean, thank the Goddess.)
That and Hagrid leaked information like a sieve. The Philosopher's Stone, real or not, in a school full of children, used as bait for a very dangerous and immoral creature was a supremely retarded plan. Dumbledore was senile, as was the rest of the staff with the possible exception of Snape. And wasn't that alarming? The only professor who is aware and concerned that students might get hurt is the only one they'll never go to.
The twins set about arranging an accident for the resident imposter in between the group's efforts to booby-trap the third floor corridor against students, as any lock defeated by alohomora was an insufficient barrier between them and a Cerberus. However, any adult who was had by the as of yet unfinished and empty obstacle course (Zack and Reno and ergo Cloud checked, citing boredom) deserved what they got.
Sirius began writing Hadrian some two weeks into his stay at the hospital, and had anyone taken to reading his letters they might have taken to questioning his sanity a little harder. Hadrian, in his second reply, included a standard Shinra cipher asking simply 'anyone we know?' This led to increasingly scattered looking letters as various people tried to get in on the secondary conversations, although some of the wandering thoughts may have been genuine, not in the least aided by Vincent's extended trauma.
He was released in November, and consequently Hadrian was not present at Hogwarts to stumble across the Mirror of Erised before it moved. Not that he would have been anyway. Jillian made a wonderful Christmas dinner.
0_0_0_0
On the equinox they began to run through the purification rituals, starting with the easiest: beeswax candles, sea salt and a bottle of nettle wine suspiciously similar to one spotted on their joy ride through that ridiculous gauntlet – now complete – back in January. There was a lovely rock waiting for a reply from the Flamels in one of the Walrus's socks at the bottom of Aeris's trunk.
They started with the flower girl, reasoning that, having been cleansed of any potential ills, she would be best to run the thing. As each person stepped through the salt circle a litany of snaps and pops and whistles emerged – mostly from the wands, but the distinct sound of charms breaking on the magically raised also arose.
Hopefully they wouldn't have their parents bursting down doors if those abruptly silenced charms were meant to track their welfare. Oops?
After Hadrian's scar bled black and something screamed during his turn (they made him go twice) nothing anymore remarkable occurred, but everyone felt a great deal lighter.
"That was more effective than I expected. Where did it come from, again?"
Zack and Aeris looked embarrassed: "Well, I might have seen it in a movie."
"And I remember something similar from Gaia."
"And it did check out in the Library."
"And really, sometimes the simplest things work best. Why cover a room in runes and chant for hours if this will do?" She looked sheepish. "Modern mages tend to overcomplicate things. After all, they say wandless magic is really difficult, takes years of hard work and only the strongest can do it, but we've all managed it. Everyone else just lacks willpower, really."
"Well, all the better for us. My head feels much clearer." Hadrian smiled then, a truly bright thing. "Do you think this might help Vincent?"
Cloud leaned over him: "It might at that, we should give him a ring. Did you know your scar is fading?"
He sat up and accepted a hand mirror from Susan's bag. "Excellent."
0_0_0_0
Miles away from the Scottish highlands, on a shelf in a dark room deep under London a small glass orb turned dark.
0_0_0_0
In June, Professor Quirinus Quirrell tripped the traps for the third floor corridor. The Turks and the former SOLDIER Firsts snuck up to see if anyone emerged, expecting someone within the hour. When he did not appear, they sent word to the others and cautiously made their way down.
The professor and his passenger stood before the Mirror of Desire which, being alleviated of its burden, was free to ensnare as was its wont. They left him there.
Later that night they sat together in the empty common room and wondered why they too had not been ensnared: they had all looked.
"Well, what could we want?" Angeal smiled. "We're alive again. A second chance, we all have friends and family of a sort. We have hope. We want for nothing, have no wounds that aren't healing. What could we want that isn't already in reach?"
Braoin sighed lightly: "Hmm... 'We few, we happy few, we band of brothers'."
"Just so." Sephiroth murmured, and dozed off again between them.
0_0_0_0
0_0_0_0
End.
0_0_0_0
0_0_0_0
MY USUAL TWO PAGES OF NOTES.
In mostly non-specified years: I've bumped up the timeline from 1980-97 to 1990-2002. Honestly, the mundane world plays so little into Potter-verse it might as well not be there, but I wanted cell-phones.
Gillian Hewley IS NOT Jillian Fair. She is a skewed reflection.
Twin Turks. Fucking fabulous. Both sarcasm and glee. :D
Harry skipping grades: Canon Harry is not stupid. The General pre-crazy is supposed to be a genius or something. With the Fairs looking out for him I think he would start moving ahead.
Cloud and Genesis. They met eventually, and I imagine they might have been decent friends, given time.
Gross misuse of hedgehogs. Seriously, hedgehogs are adorable: who would do that to them?
Turk Talk. Sign language, all very slight gestures. I read the term somewhere, but can't recall where.
"I knew the WRO plans felt familiar!" It was rumoured, in game, that Sephiroth was considered at risk of defection... but maybe that wasn't quite it.
Generally childish behavior: they are kids, starting into hormones, and should act accordingly. They'll oft be unusually mature, but life sucked last time, have some fun.
"It's the Cetra, what do I do?!" I consider Sephiroth's involvement in anything after Nibelheim to be ambiguous, but I imagine he would at least be aware that someone wearing his face killed Aeris even if he was not doing the deed. That said, meeting her is probably hard for him.
Treacle: Canon Harry is a fan, and there's a growing trend to make Sephiroth a (chocoholic/coffee addict/guzzler of energy drinks/sugar junkie/other) stemming from Snow Day by Lord Shinta. The notion of Sephiroth having such a common vice is appealing, so here we have sugar junkie!Seph. For non-Brits or people who can't be bothered to Wiki: treacle refers to a group of sugar syrups, ranging from the sweet golden syrup to the more sharp and bitter dark treacle. (I at least had to Google it.)
Crookshanks. Reading the books I always felt that this was a cat with personality, who got in people's faces and demanded attention: rather like Genesis. So he shows up early and does not go to the Gryffindor bookworm. And not having tried to eat another friend's pet, Harry might've liked him.
Gabriel Tate: a Puff from the video game.
Hufflepuff's secret awesome: The Badger's Sett is where the people with (un)common sense get sorted. It's also probably the most apolitical house in Hogwarts.
Magical Guardians are fannon, I think, but a fairly reasonable thing to exist. Children in the magical world have guardians, and children who enter need a reliable adult they can seek for guidance.
Remus the leak: the guy is a flake. A guy with the potential to not be a flake, but still a flake.
Vincent, unlucky thirteen.
Peter on the Map. Could the twins notice in canon? Maybe Peter obliviated them.
The darkened prophecy sphere. The horcrux-scar is gone: Harry is no longer marked or bound to the neither living-dying while the other survives clause. Ergo, no more prophecy.
We few, we happy few, we band of brothers. Henry V, Act IV, Scene III. It's not LOVELESS, but Shakespeare is no doubt in Genesis updated repertoire.
Had I continued, before returning to school the twins would notice the diary their sister had and Seph would freak out over it, since it feels like his scar and they know it was already affecting Ginny. They do the purification rite or have Vincent fry it, and keep an eye out for any info on it or any more objects. Hadrian lives with Sirius, Vernon gets arrested, Voldemort may or may not come back, but inevitably carks it. Happily ever after-ish.
However from the first concept to the finished product, this story changed greatly.
-The Names Guide-
I have for the most part chosen nameless students to replace with reincarnates. And if you've read me before, you know I like to name people with purpose. The first six are for the poem "Monday's Child" which had a larger influence on the first draft of this story.
Angeal Hewleyor Zaniel Fair, Zaniel is the angel of Monday, so Angeal's name is a nod to himself, to Zack's name, and to the poem.
Aeris Gainsborough or Hannah Abbott, 'Hannah' means grace, appropriate for Tuesday and Aeris. Hannah isn't much developed by JKR so I felt more free to use her.
Genesis Rhapsodos or Braoin Luthais, his name means 'sadness' and 'famous in battle,' for the grief he precipitated and his lost goal.
Sephiroth or Hadrian 'Harry' James Potter. I've always liked 'Hadrian', and the emperor was very talented: an architect, a commander, a politician and a scholar, and pretty successful. He is Thursday for the lightning-bolt scar (Thor) and the journey he must undertake.
Zack Fair or Luke Sinclair, Luke (light)-Lucifer-Venus-Vendredi-Friday! In Roman times Lucifer and Venus were roving heavenly bodies seen in morning and evening respectively, but were later found to be the same planet, Venus. Sinclair is a form of Saint Clair, which is roughly 'make holy bright' and Zack's original name in FFVII. "The light that makes bright," for a hero and role model.
That and I couldn't figure someone for Freya.
Cloud Strife or Fynn Brody, 'the fair-haired hero' and 'brother'. Brody is sometimes 'second brother': Cloud dislikes his new name, and I for one don't blame him.
Originally, only the above (plus Elena) were to be reincarnated, and the working title was Thursdays Child, but then I thought "Redheads!" And it expanded.
Legend and Reno of the Turks or Fred and George Weasley. One pair of menaces for another.
Lazard Deusericus and Rufus Shinra or Colin and Dennis Creevey, because the notion amuses me. Also: the call of the milk man: different mothers?
Reeve Teusti or Mr Stewart Creevey, the cool reporter uncle to the Creevey brothers. As head of the WRO he was a steward of sorts, and 'Reeve' actually means steward, so Stewart.
Cissnei of the Turks or Susan Bones, Cissnei never completely returns, but she is there.
Vincent Valentine or Sirius Black: Vincent had a dry sense of humour, a vicious streak, and may have been Sephiroth's father (I take it as was. Who would let Hojo touch them?); Sirius was a prankster with a vicious streak, Hadrian's godfather. Both suffered an unjust imprisonment of sorts.
Had I gone on you'd have also seen:
Tseng. Tseng would have appeared over the summer. He does not explain his origins in this life: he just gets shit done. And possibly runs a high end coffee/tea shop in London. (Gossip from government workers. Maybe Reeve and Mr. Lovegood could meet there.)
Luna Lovegood is Luna is Luna, but also Elena ('daughter of the sun'). For the poem... technically should be another Monday (Moon's day) but whatever. Elena awoke when her mother died, and the added trauma of her old memories rattled her. She's intelligent and highly observant but we all know Luna has her own way of communicating.
Paraaha Teplov or Tifa Lockheart. Paraaha means 'born on Good Friday.' She would have arrived with Durmstrang.