He was five when she'd first seen him walk through that street; the first street he'd ever seen in their world. His first time entering into the world which he'd been taken from so long ago.
He was a young replica of his mother, with his father's night-black hair. He looked quiet, but intelligent. There was a gleam in his eyes that betrayed the otherwise innocent features.
He wasn't innocent; she knew he wasn't. He'd grown up a liar, a thief and a master manipulator. He couldn't be blamed, though. And she knew, the second he reached his destination, he would make himself the best through any means.
She didn't know what his defintion of the 'best' was, though.
Maybe the most intelligent was the best to him. That seemed the most likely. Or perhaps the most social; the popular kid. It didn't matter. She'd watch it all unfold.
Yet, even as she looked at him, at that disguised intelligence and cunning, there was something else. He wasn't innocent, but he was pure. She didn't even know what that meant. But it was there; a sort of purity about him, that drew people in even if his looks didn't do that already.
He still had a long way.
He was six now. His first year hadn't gone by with much change. Apparently, he liked to keep his head down. At least until he was ready. He was an enigma.
There was a more aware edge to him. This time he wasn't looking for trouble. He was looking for trouble-makers. To avoid, to confront, or to befriend she had no idea.
He was still in the very beginning in the way set for him.
She wondered how long it would take.
He was seven, and he definitely hadn't changed that much.
There was one large difference, though.
He was aware of his looks. He smiled up at the passing ladies, at the shopkeepers, at everyone he met. It was an angelic smile. Only a little part of it was true.
She hoped that part grew bigger. She didn't want to see him turn into a tyrant. Too many failures had happened already, she thought as she looked down at the newspaper in her hand, the golden-eyed man an image of perfection on its front page. A perfect dictator.
He was eight now, and he was definitely more confident. He spoke with more random strangers. He made small talks with the shopkeepers. They remembered him, now. The boy with the angelic smile.
It was still there. This time, it was more enchanting. And she knew why. This time it was true. It seemed, his recent meetings had honestly had their effect.
He was shaping up perfectly. Kind, confident, intellignet, beautiful. All he needed was to grow a bit older and a bit more powerful and he would be a rallying point; a leader.
She looked forward to seeing him in a few years.
He was nine. And he wasn't alone.
The girl was black-haired, her eyes the most enchanting shade of blue. They made a perfect image; young, beautiful, happy. She had seen the girl slip when her older siblings weren't looking.
She'd known the girl. The girl wasn't like that. She was quiet and almost detached. But, then again, her young hero had also been the type to avoid friendships and keep his head down.
It seemed they'd both helped bring out the loud parts in each other.
They were running, their laughs echoing loudly. They'd just finished a prank, if she wasn't mistaken. Her eyes settled on the boy once again.
She was shocked. She'd thought that maybe he'd learn how to lead people a few years later. It seemed he'd proved her wrong.
His last year had been nothing short of a mircale. She would've never believed it if she hadn't been there to see it. It seemed she'd underestimated his charms.
From the first year, the whole school had flocked to him. She'd watched as he avoided them. And then he'd met them. And she couldn't decide whether that was the best or worst thing to happen to him.
The three of them used to be quiet, but ever since her young unofficial charge joined them, they'd created a reputation as the biggest trouble-makers in the school.
And even through that reputation, he'd won everyone over; younger and older students, students his age and teachers.
He'd come a long way from that quiet boy. He still had an even longer way, though.
He was still nine, and she couldn't believe it.
It was that time of the year where people bought trees and gifts and sang songs; a muggle tradition which she saw no reason to celebrate. Yet her young charge seemed to have a different view.
He walked down the street, alone, almost swaggering in his step. His mouth was currently somewhere between a smile and a smirk. The gleam in his eyes looking for danger was back. But there was danger this time, an alluring sort of danger that hugged his outer edges and showed itself in that almost manic smile.
People turned to look at him as he walked. Those who knew him wore adoring expressions. Those who didn't wished they did.
But that wasn't the unbelievable part. He'd taken them all by storm. Most of these bypassers who stared didn't know his other identity, but she did. He'd made himself into a legend, something never to be forgotten.
He'd apparently decided capturing the whole school's enamoration wasn't enough. He'd stepped out, fashioned a name for himself, and joined politics.
It was laughable; a nine-year-old joining politics. But he did it. And he was laughed at, in the beginning. And then he made everyone who laughed regret it.
He'd led the largest group of rebels to ever be recorded in the Wizarding World. He'd built them all a safeplace; a sanctuary. And all who served him were welcome to come to it whenever they pleased.
Each of Kronos and Rhea had been doing their best to send spies of their own into his ranks. Yet, somehow, all the spies seemed to die in unfortunate accidents before they had a chance to report. News had it they were all stunned though when they saw him.
She didn't blame them. The German and French were both neutral, meaning they most likely had never been involved with Titans and had never seen a Titan in real life.
Yet when the Dark Lord or the Head of the Order of the Phoenix sent someone, it was most likely that said someone was high enough in the ranks to have met Titans if he was to be trusted with such a mission.
And the boy was a walking replica of his mother.
She watched him as he walked by her, turning his head as if finally feeling her stare after all those years she'd spent spying on him. His eyes met hers; green to black.
Something twitched in his jaw. She wished she knew what he was thinking. His gaze lasted for a few seconds before he turned and kept walking.
She took her time to stare at him, for some reason feeling that this was a goodbye of sorts. She only hoped it was temporary.
He was ten and he was nowhere to be seen. Her instintics hadn't been wrong.
After all that happened the past year, she wasn't surprised. She wished she could still see him, to see if that place had had an effect on him or not. She hoped it didn't.
Last year had brought no fruit. This year, though, was a whole different matter.
He was back. He was there, but he wasn't.
He was under the guise of a new persona, and she was absolutely stunned none of the shopkeepers recognized him. He still wore the same face, just a different name.
The challenge, the danger and the need for trouble were all still there. Yet there was something missing. It seemed he didn't care about grandeur and greatness anymore. Rather if she had to judge, she'd say he was happy to live a normal life.
The purity was tainted. But it was still there. There were glimmers of it. She could still see it.
She knew why it was tainted. The boy had unlocked his full potential, and she wasn't sure whether she was satisfied or miserable. It was tragic, she decided.
And obvious; she could see it in the way he looked at the man behind the counter and easily got a free ice-cream by that look, the way he laughed, that smile that was a bit too flirtatious.
The kindness was nearly gone. His eyes were now mocking, making fun of everything in his head. His smile said it all; 'I'm better.'
He needed to remember his past. He couldn't forget everything that he once was; everything he was meant to be.
He was trying to reach a book that was too high for him. She entered Flourish and Blotts, seizing her chance. She took the book down and handed it to him.
He was looking sideways like he was trying to keep track of everything around him.
"Thank you," he said in his honey-sweet melody of a voice. His eyes finally met hers and the half-embarassed smile slipped of his face.
She smiled in turn. "Helping an old friend does not deserve thanks."
He turned, readying to bolt, before she placed her hand on his shoulder. He froze in place, unable to move, and she could feel him panicking under the spell.
"Just know that it was done in the hopes of a return of someone who'd abandoned us."
She lifted the spell, and he ran without once looking back.
That was the last time she ever visited him.
She'd delivered her message. Her part was done.
