Trouble Comes In Twos

by cupcakekiller12

History is always rewritten in a better and newer fashion. The history of Hogwarts is no different, stories always being retold from different mouths and different lives. However one stands out from the crowd, one life that no one seems to remember. That story teller finds Albus and his friends, and begins to tell them the history that nobody can to recall as their own.

Hello, new story. I hope you like it. Oh and half of this takes place after the series ends and during the series. I also assumed that Albus got sorted in Slytherin so there's that. Anyway-DISCLAIMER-I do not own anything related to the Harry Potter series. So I'll see you at the end-sit back, relax, and enjoy the read-cupcakekiller12

First years…they're always so curious. The ones that have normal parents are always so eager to join the magic world. A few question whether or not what they are told is true; but they require no convincing to go exploring. And these first years are no exception to that rule; many were told to go to their house common room; but a couple of Slytherins, a Hufflepuff, a newly befriended Ravenclaw, and a slightly reluctant Gryffindor decided to go on a trip around the school.

"Come on," urged the Slytherin to the other new students in a hushed voice as they all tiptoed around the hallways, "keep up!"

"We shouldn't be here." Pointed out the Gryffindor clearly annoyed to be there; the only reason the person chose to come along was because the Hufflepuff managed to pull on their heart strings.

"Don't be such a spoil sport," said the Slytherin, "come on-I think we're almost there!" Their feet clicked together quickly on the floor-almost in sync. Another muffled complaint came from the Gryffindor however the child refused to leave the others alone with the leader that was bound for trouble one way or another, "Who knows maybe if we're quick we'll see him walkin' around somewhere."

"Who," questioned the young Ravenclaw.

"A ghost of a former student!" Exclaimed the Slytherin as he looked around the corner.

"I've heard there are plenty of ghosts around here." Said the Hufflepuff, "Which one are you talking about?"

"Indeed," said a voice, "which of the ghosts would you like to speak to?" All of the children squeaked as they jumped. Each one of them assumed a different position in looking for the owner of the voice. One was close to ground-almost hiding behind the other students. Another was turned quickly behind to avoid the voice's face; while the others were ready to run for their lives and Hogwarts school careers.

The voice belonged to a young man; a few years older than them. He wore Slytherin robes; he had bright green eyes and short jet black hair. A tiny smirk was drawn on his face as he looked at the new students. All of them were frightened of his sudden appearance which only made the smile grow more. "Which ghost do you want to see?"

"I-I-I…we-" stammered the students as they avoided eye contact.

"Don't be scared," assured the young man, "I'm not going to turn you in. In fact I'm here to help you."

"H-help us?" The Hufflepuff questioned, "How do we know we can trust you?"

"I left my wand in my room." The man informed as he showed moved the sides of the robes. "And my potions teacher hated me-so no potions either." The thought of it almost made him sad. It looked like all of those depressing moments seemed to hit him all at once, "I know a room that only a handful of people know exists."

"What," the Gryffindor asked, still not quite on board as everyone else was.

"Come on," he ushered as he started to walk past them, "I'm going to show you history that isn't in your textbook."

After a few turns, a couple of stairs cases, and one or two close encounters with a Perfect, they finally made it to whatever room the man was talking about. It was a fairly large room; dark, barely illuminated by the dull candles on the chandeliers. The room was fairly messy; papers were thrown on the floor, books untidy on their shelves and strewn across the dark floor. In the middle of the room was a bowl filled with a clear liquid. Around bowl were shelves filled with vials; they were all labeled with numbers, events, years-even some had dates and a few even had people's names.

"Sorry for the mess," he apologized, "would've cleaned up if I could-watch your step." He advised, "And don't touch any of the diaries." The older boy knew all to well the affects of touching and writing in those diaries; that shadow hung hover him like noose and guilt still affected him to this day. There was no excuse for what he did; but he never meant it and even though in the end he was forgiven-he never forgave himself.

"Why," the Ravenclaw wondered, "what's in them?"

"Just don't touch the books," the man insisted but did not tell them why. Those books were the reason why he was seen and as thankful as he was to be able to talk to someone-that stain on his hands will never go away. He walked around the room once more and examined the students, "What are your names?"

"Depends," says the Gryffindor, "what is yours?"

The young man chuckled as he looked around, "You'll find out shortly…that is if you want to."

"What," questioned all of the first years.

"If you want to leave, you may." Said the man, "forget this ever happened, forget me, this room; or you can stay and learn a few things. A forgotten history of a forgotten person."

"We should go James-" said the Slytherin but was shortly cut off by his brother.

"No, Al," replied the older brother bravely.

"I'll stay, I guess." Shrugged the blonde Slytherin.

The Hufflepuff and the Ravenclaw look at each other contemplating what to do, both agreed to remain friends but these events never happened. Both didn't have the courage to stay and see what lay beyond the glass vials and the dusty books. As they hurried back to their dorms, the two Slytherins and the single Gryffindor remained. They all looked at the man who almost seemed to be almost illuminating the room.

"That's a shame; I haven't seen a Hufflepuff in a while," he muttered to himself but he was still thankful they stayed. The man, civilized and mannered, looked as if he hadn't seen a person in decades. If the Gryffindor didn't know any better; he would have said he almost pleaded them to stay, "so where were we-right-names…"

"I'm James Potter." Stated the Gryffindor,

"You're not a first year…" the man said while there was a mix of terror, amazement, hope, and sadness in his eyes. Not many other students come here, only First years are curious enough and-well…stupid enough to end up here.

"No-but my brother is." He said as he turned a similarly looking boy next to him, "say your name," Ah, that explains it, dragged here by his brother. But that name, he knows that name all to well.

"A-Albus Potter," he stammered nervously. The kind man smiled sympathetically as he waited for him to finish.

"I'm Owen," he informed not giving a last name as he went around to find a vial. There were many of them lining the shelves. Each one unopened-was this the first time he has ever had someone visit? He hummed to himself a random tune he had heard other students sing around the halls. His fingers danced as they went to go pick the first vial. It was clear but covered in dust and as he twirled it in his hands he looked at the kids and smiled, "here we are; step up to the bowl." Magically the bowl expanded enough to fit all three of the children, "the benefits of being a wizard, huh" smiled the man as he poured in the memory, "go ahead, and take it for a spin."

They all gave each other skeptical looks before taking a deep breath before dunking their heads into the water below them.

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

The scene that formed before them was the interior of a cupboard-but not just any cupboard-this cupboard belonged to a very special someone sleeping in the sheets below. "Harry," groaned a voice from the floor, stiff from sleeping there all night, "Harry, we've got to get up." The owner of the voice sat up drowsily as he repeated his last statement once more. The boy obviously had bed head or floor head if one wants to be picky. Sleep still haunted his eyes as he pushed up on the twin bed; his cloths swallowed him, they were wrinkled, old, and faded. Harry had similar cloths on except his were slightly cleaner. They looked alight physically-they were twins after all-same jet black hair, bright green eyes, but different in how they dealt with their aunt, uncle, and son.

Harry was less than thrilled to be in their custody and hated Dudley whom used Harry as his personal punching bag. However even though Harry constantly got in trouble with his relatives he never truly tried to aggravate them. It was mostly accidents, slip of the tongue, or the situation of 'I have no idea what just happen'. But of course he was punished along with his brother.

"Has Aunt Petunia called for us yet, Owen?" Harry wondered.

Owen on the other hand…he spoke his mind no matter the consequences. If Dudley punched him; he would definitely regret it. If Uncle Vernon insulted him there was no telling what words would fly out of his mouth. If Aunt Petunia called her son 'a little angel' he'd surely correct her by calling him 'a little devil'. Harry could not control his slightly older twin even though he surely thought about locking him in the cupboard plenty of times so that he can't do any harm to himself or Harry.

"No, the Wicked Witch of the West is still making breakfast for that little Flying Monkey of hers." Muttered Owen as he searched for other cloths to wear, "where is a bucket of water when you need one?" Harry looked at him with an exasperated look on his face. How they were even related; a lot of people wonder. The only person Owen never obviously lied to or purposely annoyed was Harry. In fact Owen was rather protective of his younger twin brother and would do anything to keep him safe.

"Can you please try not upsetting anyone today?" Begged Harry as he put on his round glasses, "punishments are always worse on his birthday," Dudley's birthday; it was always celebrated, bigger and better each year as their whale of a son became thicker and thicker mentally and physically.

Owen chuckled, "Because you asked so politely, sure, I'll tone it done." I meant don't do it at all, thought Harry to himself as he failed at hiding his scowl; but toning it down will have to do.

In kitchen there were three people, a man who resembled a walrus, a blonde woman, and a ball of human flesh that they liked to call their son. He was complaining about how he had less presents then last year. Petunia was assuring him that he would get more as the day went on-how pathetic. Harry and Owen never got any good presents for anything. It was Dudley-all about Dudley.

The picture suddenly changed but they in the same home however it was dark outside and the front door just began to open. "To the cupboard-both of you!" Yelled their uncle; Harry looked at his brother as they were shoved into their room. Neither of them ment to do it-it was an accident-but Owen had trouble hiding his smirk.

"What did you do?" Demanded Harry as his twin fell on the bed chuckling.

"Nothing," Owen assured, "I was just talking to the snake. You're the one who made the glass disappear." Technically it was both of them; Harry just got the glass before Owen could, "But you've got to admit, Dudley falling into that snake pit was hilarious." Harry could agree with that but it was not worth getting in trouble for it.

But he so deserved it, in Owen's mind he never gave anything to anyone unless they truly deserved what was coming to them.

Once more the scene changed; they were in a small house and a storm was raging outside. Lightning thundered and raging winds shook the shabby hut which awoke Owen from his already unsuccessful try at sleep. He couldn't fathom why his uncle dragged them there; a stupid letter, a letter that he refused to let them read. But thanks to his cunning and quickness, Owen was able to take one of the many letters delivered and hide it in the baggy cloths handed down to him by his cousin.

His hands went to break the seal on the back of the letter before a loud crash boomed at the door. Without even thinking about it he shoved the letter underneath anything that could cover it. His eyes searched for his brother whom was sleeping next to him. "Who's there?" He wondered in a quite whisper.

"Arry'," assumed the large man.

"No," Owen replied as the man put the door back on its hinges. The man was large, but his height made up for his weight which Owen did not judge him for it though-Uncle Vernon was way worse.

"Owen," murmured Harry as he stirred in his sleep, "who are you talking to?"

"WHO ON EARTH IS MAKING ALL THAT RACKET?" Screamed his uncle; the boy silently groaned as he heard the feet of his relatives coming down the stairs after a few choice words; plenty of yelling, a bit magic and some cake, some vital news was deliever.

"What do you mean?" Asked the twins in harmony,

"You didn't know?" Questioned the giant, "you two ar' wizards."

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

The three children gasped for air as they stumbled backwards. The young blond boy was slightly confused but no as taken back as the two brothers. Both of them looked at each other, their eyes as wide as saucers, and then at Owen who looked slightly concerned but didn't go to help them up. "Are you three alright?" He wondered.

The brothers could see it now; they could finally see how much he resembled their father. Expect he looked much younger; why was that? Why did he look like Harry Potter? Their father never mentioned a brother; he wasn't in any photographs or wedding photos. No one knew about this man…or boy…he looked so young-time had not gotten wrinkled his skin or cold. It was as if he never grew up; he never lived. He was a ghost…a ghost. Why didn't their father ever tell them about Owen? Was he their uncle, were they his nephews?

However the other Slytherin was just confused as he looked up at the man, "Who are you-I mean…who are you really?" The older boy sighed as he looked away and at his vials. There was no sane answer for the younger Slytherin; and if there was…it was a selfish reason. Owen hadn't meant to do it in his last moments; but his brother had been through so much, he had seen so much death and experienced it himself mentally, physically, emotionally-there was no way he could make him go through another.

"I already told you," the messy black haired Slytherin pointed out, "I'm Owen."

"Owen, what," the bleach blond haired boy asked.

"I believe you already know that answer." Owen stated as he looked at him. "I already showed you the beginning…so the question is-would you like to see some more?" All three of the new boys had already stuck their toes in the water and something below the surface had begun to stir and pretty soon-they were going to be pulled underneath the murky liquid with or without their permission. None of them replied with a definitive yes or no; so Owen continued on with the second vile labeled TSH. There was no date or even a year; however-Owen seemed to know his way around though. How long had he been there…in his room…collecting memories, organizing them one way and then another and once he got bored he redid them again and again. "Ok then," he sighed as he poured the ink looking substance into the clear liquid, "I hope you can hold your breath."

OOOOOOOOOO

The ink colored substance did not stay black; it swirled in the children's field of vision and painted a new scene. Like the previous memory they had just seen, the same twins were there. They were in Diagon Alley with Hagrid, the groundskeeper of Hogwarts. Both of the boys were picking out their wands, buying their cauldrons, robes, and all their textbooks. However only one of the boys was attracting attention, "Harry Potter," whispered a lot of bystanders, "the boy who lived," others were murmur; however Owen couldn't decide whether they were scared or mystified. Of course Harry had lived-but why was he so special?

"Why are you such an attraction?" Owen wondered. What was so special about his brother? He was oblivious, clueless in some ways-how could he possibly be a legend in the wizarding world. But even Own could admit…he was a little jealous. It seemed that the whole world seemed to revolve around his brother now. That man, Hagrid, he didn't rescue him from his horrible adopted home. He saved Harry and then figured that he'd save the other.

"I don't know." Harry said quickly as Ollivander came back with another wand. He said the length, the type of wood, and what the wand contained. Apparently it had a phoenix feather…and the reason why the shop owner looked so terrified handing over to Harry was because that wand had a terrible sister. Its sister was the one that had killed their mother. Of course he gets that one, thought Owen to himself. Knowing Owen's luck, he'd get the worst one around that was always how it was. However that was Owen's personal choice; since they had no true mother or father he took over both roles. Every time Harry got sick, hurt, or bullied, he was there and never a moment too soon and afterwards he'd get a nice long term in, In School Suspension or detention…which ever one his teacher was feeling that day.

"Ah…and now time for you Mister Owen," said the shop owner, at first he chose a 10 inched , Dragon Heartstring, Holly wand that instantly flew out of his hands and back to Mr. Ollivander. Again, again, he tried but none of the wands wanted to choose the young boy. The boy never got vexed-a little impatient and embarrassed perhaps-but never angry. "Oh dear, let's see how about-"

"How about that one," asked Owen pointing at a very specific box on the wall, he had seen it when he first walked into the store. The boy wasn't sure why he was so attracted to it though; he hadn't even seen the wand that was stored that box yet. Guess he just had a good feeling or something. The shopkeeper was slightly hesitant to give Owen the wand but did so anyway-what's the worst that could possibly happen?
The wand itself wasn't a spectacle to see. It was 9 inches long, made of Cypress, and contained Unicorn tail hair. When Owen's hand grasped the end of the wand, a warm feeling spread up through his arm and created a sense of euphoria. Long shots of color sprouted from the top like fireworks in the air, happy and excited to finally meet its match.

Ollivander smiled as he looked at sight, "Ah, a match for a Cypress wand. It's always an honor to meet one of those." For once in their short trip Owen finally felt like he was apart of something; not just the brother of the Boy Who Lived. But what did Cypress wood have to do with it? Since Owen wasn't raised in the world of wizards, he didn't know what to think of it; so he just shrugged it off like it always did in math class. If he didn't' get it, he wasn't going to listen. Not that he was dumb or anything; he just hated math class.

In the end both boys came out with a wand, robes, textbooks, and other required things. Harry got a Snowy Owl and named her Hedwig; while Owen opted for an elegant Siamese cat and named him Clio. The two animals got along in their own special way; Clio would swing the occasional paw at the owl's cage; but never to injury or hurt his now sister in anyway. Hedwig would nip his paws but in a caring way; they were both just fooling around like any normal siblings would. When it became more of rough housing Owen would gingerly grab his pet and place him in his arms and say, "Enough Clio, anymore and you'll hurt the poor bird."

"Anymore and the owl will hurt your poor cat," retorted Owen's brother. The two brothers laughed together…but unfortunately the laughter would only last so long. It would be the escape that tore them apart. That school, that year and more years to come, and all would lead to his end, their end, and everyone else's new beginning. Both could say it was neither of their faults but both contributed to their soon crumbling relationship. What started it all though? It wasn't the trip on the train and meeting the two other children who also knew who his brother infamous name. It was that stupid singing hat.

All of the children stood together, Ron, Harry, Hermione, and of course lastly Owen who remained silent during most of the headmaster's speech and introduction. The Great Hall was surely an amazing sight; easily better than all of the simple sights he had seen in his short life.

As they started to call the students the pit in Owen's stomach grew; was he going to placed in the same house as his brother? From what he had heard there were four Houses, Gryffindor, Ravenclaw, Hufflepuff, and Slytherin. The brave, the smart, the kind, and the cunning, honestly he knew he'd never make it in Hufflepuff, he was no where near as kind or selfless as anyone else in this room, he could be smart when he wanted to be-but he never seeked it out though. There was a difference between being brave and stupid, and he wasn't quite sure which side he was on. Cunning? Only when he sassed off his teachers or those monsters people liked to call his family.

Hermione was first, then after a few names came Ron, and then another and finally it was Harry's turn. Owen could hear him whisper, begging the hat to put him anything- anything but Slytherin. He understood why; from what conversations he was able to eavesdrop in, there wasn't a witch or wizard that didn't go bad in Slytherin. But from what Owen has done so far just to keep Harry out of harms way; he probably deserves that title. However it did fate did not land in Slytherins hand, it landed in Gryffindor's.

"Owen Potter," called out the witch, he looked behind him casually before sitting on the stool. The hat was placed on his head and for the most part-whether it was for show or for real; the hat seemed rather interested.

"Hmmm," it said, "brave bravado for your brother, eh?" Well…he wasn't wrong. "I see it now…I know just where to put you." The hat paused for dramatic effect while Owen muttered a colorful remark under his breath just for himself and the hat to hear, "SLYTHERIN!"

The look of betrayal was evident on Harry's face as well as Hermione and Ron's. They never looked at him the same way since that day. It was us that day and then us and them afterwards. Eleven years of bad luck, trials, and torture, and this is what it had brought him? So much more for the saying, 'blood is thicker than water'…unless the blood is stale, sick and poisoned.

Once again the scene changed, Owen was chasing after Harry and his friends. He didn't look angry; in fact he looked rather ecstatic. It had been awhile since he had a look of pure joy on his face. Last time Harry had seen that smile was when Owen had eaten half of Dudley's birthday cake. His excuse? He was simply hungry after not having a satisfactory breakfast.

"Harry," called Owen, but his brother clearly ignored him, "Harry-wait up!" The twin sighed as he stopped and looked at his brother, "What's wrong?" He wondered as he analyzed his brother's unhappy face, "I swear whatever that blond prat said, I didn't do it." Hermione gritted her teeth as she looked away from the unkempt haired boy, "What's with you Granger?"

"Nothing," Hermione stated, "we have to get to class."

"Yeah," Ron said, "what she said."

"Can you at least told me what I did, Harry?" Shouted Owen as they sped away from him.

"You're a Slytherin." Hermione pointed out as if it were a disease.

"So what," Owen wondered, "and you're a book nerd, Harry's a brick wall, and Ron…" he tried to figure out an insult but he hadn't spent much time with the red head and with the time he did-he wasn't that bad, "He…is actually pretty decent," he admitted.

"Thanks," Ron smiled at first but then straightened his face.

"Just because I'm in a different house than you guys doesn't mean we are enemies." Owen said. He had just made friends in this place and that never comes easy to him. No one ever look at him long enough to be kind to him. Even Harry got sick of his antics every once in while and would refuse to even look him in the eye, let alone talk to him.

"It's not just the house." Hermione stated, "You're in Slytherin; the most evil of them all." All three of them turned away and left him behind; he wasn't sure what he was feeling at that moment. Sadness, loneliness, abandonment, he had felt all three of those emotions before-but it was with people he barely knew-he never cared for those people. He never loved those people; they weren't his family, he hadn't grown up with them; but this time it hurt. It hurt and he didn't know why. Why had they left him?

"You're no better than us, right now." Whispered Owen as he turned away and slowly walked to his class. He knew why everyone did not trust his House. Many of the children he was staying with now were nothing less than evil or despicable-but they had some redeemable qualities if you spend enough time with them. All you have to do is tame them, break them like a horse, and they'll be human to you like you are to them.

OOOOOOOOOOO

At first the two sons' of Harry Potter did not want to believe what they just saw. Their father would never do that to his own brother…would he? Their father would never just abandon his family like that. "He had no choice in it." Stated the man, his gaze was sad as he remembered the memory. "Or at least that is what I choose to believe," he wasn't sure what was worse, knowing that his brother left him and only because he had no other choice, or because he did it and knew was doing it. One was the lie another, the truth, and whichever one he wanted to believe still made him regret not asking to be put in Gryffindor or another house. "Don't question your father on this matter," ordered Owen, "He doesn't remember," none of them do, again, it was a selfish decision and it was one of his last ones too. There is nothing more he wants to hear than his brother to say his name again; there is nothing he wouldn't give to see his brother's aged face and his wife, and Ron and Hermione. Heck, he'd settle for seeing Malfoy, that blonde little prick.

"Why," James wondered. He didn't seem to grasp the history of this place. Had no one told him of the war? Had no one told him of the lives lost or the sacrifices made to make sure that Hogwarts would still stand tall? Because Owen knew, Owen knew very well-he had been apart of that committee that saved Hogwarts-not that anyone remembered him anyway.

"For greater good," assured Owen, "some things must never be remembered."

"Then why are you showing this to us?" Albus questioned, "If we're just going to tell our father anyway." The man chuckled as he knelt down to their level, they look a lot like their parents; each had a trait from Harry and Ginny. Hopefully they're just as brave as they were when they were attending Hogwarts.

"Albus, James," said Owen as he looked them in the eyes, "if you love your father, if you love your family in anyway. You will never tell them about what you see." Because if they try to find him he won't be able to answer any of their questions, he had not reason to make them forget. It was not to protect from an unseen force or to save them. It was an effort to prevent their hearts from being broken more than they already were. Owen couldn't bear to see his twin cry and mourn over his bloodied corpse. He'd rather fade away from everyone's memory than to be another fatal accident in a war.

"But, why," Albus wondered again, "don't you love your brother?"

"More than he allowed himself to love me," not in that way, Owen loved his brother in a way a brother should. He cleaned up his scrapes, tended to his issues, and listened to his brother's problems when he was allowed-and of course annoyed the every living life out of him. "Which is why I let him forget," which is why he probably still here in the first place. "There is a reason people forget things and trust me, there are reasons." He didn't grab another vial out of the rack behind him; he just stood there for a few moment as he contemplated…who knows what at this point? But after a minute or so, he looked the boys, "You three should get back to your Houses," Owen said, "It's been almost two hours since you left. They'll be concerned."

"How will we find you again?" James asked.

"You won't find me." Owen chuckled as the metal door opened behind the three boys, "I'll find you."

OOOOOOOOO

Owen didn't plan on finding those three boys again; even if he was technically related to them. That was the way he worked every year; he met four or five students, two or more chickened out. Every year when they left, they anticipated his arrival again. They would wait and wait for him to come back and show them more of his adventures-but he never did. He stayed in that dark and dusty chamber of his and waited for the next group of unfortunate souls to stumble upon his hideout.

However this time he got curious; it had been awhile since he had been out in the sunlight. But he couldn't feel its radiating warmth or the bitter cold of the winter. He missed the numbing feeling of the snow on his skin and the way the cloth of his uniform would rub against his body. The clothing that he wore now was much like his skin; it wasn't real. No part of his body was; but it looked real-to everyone it looked real…everyone but him. This was why he never came out here…into the garden…he didn't want to miss it. He didn't want to miss the world he had come to hate and love while he was alive. But this was the world he was stuck in and he had to find a way to cope.

The teenager sat on bench, but he had to concentrate though-otherwise he'd just float right through it. He remembered eating lunch here with Ginny. He remembered drinking hot chocolate here with Luna and listening her infinite strange wisdom. He remembered just sitting here with Draco in companionable silence. He couldn't cry though, ghosts don't cry. All he could do was breath in and out as he felt his face twitch with emotion. It was these moments he had to question why. Why did he have to be the one who died? Why did he have to be the one forgotten? But as he remembered, it was his fate, his destiny much like his brother's which sent him on a road in which he could not follow easily. It all started with that wand. Why did pick that wand? Any wand he could have chosen and he chose that one.

"I'm sorry," he choked. "I'm so sorry." For himself…or for the ones he had affected? There was no way to tell which.

The sky seemed to echo his emotions. He looked up at the grey skies; he had spent a lot of time memorizing their patterns. So often he'd skip class (mostly potions and on occasion D.A.D.A) and on occasion he'd not even go back to his House. But the rain that fell was not like those times. It wasn't cold; it didn't cascade off his skin and on to his uniform. It didn't slowly soak his hair or put droplets on his eye glasses. All the tiny millions of droplets fell right through him and on to the bench right below him. That's right…he wasn't a real corporal being. He's a bunch memories bound together forced to walk the plain of the living forever and alone.

So he made his final decision, maybe he should try and make some friends…or at least call back the ones who thought they knew him. As he got up he looked up at sky, "Am I doing the right thing?" That was the very last thought he had before dying. It was strange…the feeling death. The sensation of having your heart stop is strange. You want to live, you want it to beat again-but the mind is not more powerful than the body. You begin to feel tired, your mind starts to drift and everything becomes foggy. There is no bright light or flash of memories. It's just…weightlessness. The pain doesn't even bother you in the end, it's the inability to move or say anything. It's the way you forget everything, your family, your accomplishments, your mistakes-even you! You forget yourself, your name, everyone you loved and hated. And at that moment either you make peace or you hold a grudge…Owen wasn't sure he had much of anything anymore. He didn't know if at that moment he chose to make peace or have revenge. His death was his own fault…not Voldemort's or Harry's or George's or Percy's. Well actually if Voldemort hadn't even existed none of this would have ever happened. Harry and Owen would have been spoiled by their parents. They would have gone to Diagon Alley as a family, picked out their wands and had been sent off on the Hogwarts Express. They would have been happy…but what is a good story with a happy beginning?

"Um, hello, young man," said a women's voice, "Why aren't you in class?"

He knew that voice. It had been a long while since it had spoken to him…but the owner of that voice doesn't recognize him. But that voice was still here? He worked in this place…this old school full of memories-good and bad-he decided to stay?

"Neville," Owen questioned as he turned around. "Neville Longbottom," he smiled as he said that name. The timid Gryffindor; or at least he was that title before now. But look at him now, much taller, handsome, and no trace of being cautious…a true Gryffindor. Brave, noble, and daring; and now a professor by the looks of it,

"Professor Longbottom," correct Neville.

Owen chuckled. He couldn't take this man seriously. He remembered his long debate with the Sorting Hat to be put in Hufflepuff. Of course he lost the debate-but in the end the Sorting Hat was right. Neville was a Gryffindor, it just took a few years for him to see it himself. This was the man who melted through his friend's cauldron, accidentally took off on his broomstick on the very first day of flying lessons, the poor boy got cursed by Draco, and soon after that he'd stand up to those bickering fools of Slytherin.

"Of course," Owen said, the chuckling tone still prevalent, "Professor Longbottom," the name still amused him. Neville a teacher, the boy who could barely pass potions class, "what do you teach?"

"Potions," Neville replied simply.

Owen could not suppress his laughter. Him-a potions teacher? It's not an impossible fact…but it's pretty impressive. Snape could not stand any of his classes. Mostly Neville and the Harry Potter trio, Owen he could stand…well most of the time anyway. Owen did have a flair for potion making-it was the majority of what he did with his time at Hogwarts, along with charms, care of magical creatures, and a bit of spell casting. Just enough of each to get him in and out of trouble (mostly in trouble). "You're better than Snape, I bet."

He managed to get a chuckle out of the professor before the man looked up in confusion. "How do you know about Professor Snape?" Owen couldn't have looked older than a seventh year. And it had been awhile since Neville had seen the younger version of Harry Potter-but he still knew those eyes. But Harry Potter wasn't a Slytherin and he doesn't look like any of his sons'. "Who are you?"

"Uh…" said Owen as his changed the conversation, "I'm late for class right? I should go." His communication skills with adult were needless to say rusty. He didn't know any of the current staff at Hogwarts. None of the First years he had met ever spoke of their professors or of what they had learned. Had they changed the lay out of the school? Half of the castle had been destroyed in the war, if the school ever needed a remodeling-that was the time to do it.

The professor attempted to reach for the boy but when he placed his hand Owen's shoulder (or at least tried to) it fell right through. Now, he shouldn't be shocked to see a ghost on the campus of a Wizarding School, but he was fairly surprised. He thought he knew almost every ghost in this school. He had been here long enough-how did he manage to avoid ever seeing this one. There weren't many ghosts of former students or event students that died during their time at Hogwarts. For a moment he was baffled; what ghost could look this…human?

"Why don't you take a picture?" Commented Owen, "It'll last longer,"

"How long have you been here?" The professor wondered. He must be new…but he hadn't heard of any fatal accidents involving any of the students lately. And the way he looked…he looked rather human.

"Longer than I've want to be here," the boy informed. For a while no one could see him at all, the students would just walk right past him as though he didn't even exist. They'd shoot spells right through his chest. He couldn't say it was painful…it was a strange sensation having your soul-or whatever physical form he took on being pushed through by pure energy. It's even stranger to walk through a living person. For a single moment you can feel their heart pumping, their emotions and on rare occasion their thoughts. Just imagine going on a roller coater ride and hearing the person to you scream for the whole thing-except without the safety precautions.

"Why haven't I seen you before?" Questioned Neville, he was only looking after his students. He couldn't a malevolent spirit haunting the grounds and hurting the staff or students.

You have, you idiot, Owen thought to himself, but the thought was more towards both of them. He was an idiot for erasing himself and Neville was one for keeping him here as if he held any authority over him. "You weren't looking hard enough." Over a year of screaming at faces, saying, 'I'm right here-I'm right here!', 'Can't you see me? Can't you hear me?'? It took one mistake, one more rash decision and regret, and one poor unfortunate soul to set him free from his curse of being invisible and mute.

"But you still haven't answered my question," Neville pointed out, "who are you?"

"Owen," the young Slytherin stated after a few minutes of silence, "…now if you can excuse me-I have somewhere to be."

OOOOOOOO

Not much had changed in the Slytherin's common room. Same green curtains, shiny dark oak floors, and equally dark furniture. Owen never spent much time in this room mainly because he could never stand the people who were in it. However as time wore on, he found this common room to become more homey than at the Dursely's. He couldn't feel the temperature difference now though; usually it was in between bearably cold and freezing. However none of the other students could ever feel it though; they always said it was just him. But it was strange trying to sleep alone; he had been so well adjusted to sleeping on the same bed with Harry or on the uncomfortable floor with a blanket and a makeshift pillow. Then being transferred into different bed, cold, alone, and comfortable-it took a while to get used to it.

Owen made no noise as he walked around and examined his former common room. He wouldn't say he had many fond memories of his place; but there were a few that outshined the others. For example, the first time Draco put an end to placing live rodents in his bed. Or when Crabbe agreed not to hide Owen's textbooks after he was finally able to fall asleep, and when one of the girls cleaned up some of the scrapes on his face after getting in a fight with one of the other boys. The people of the Slytherin house weren't evil; they just have a rough exterior and on occasion inside too. Think of it like the two trouble makers inside your class; because of them recess or lunch or even worse-you get more homework. Those two trouble makers get everyone else in the same vote. So not all Slytherin's are evil…but sometimes the House does end up that way.

"Owen," questioned a voice. It was Scorpius. A boy who physically took after his father, slicked back, bleach blond hair, and grey eyes. However he wasn't nearly as rude or annoying as his father and Owen should knew-he was forced to live with him. "What are you doing here?"

"Oh, just popping in to say hi," Owen said absent mindedly as he looked around, "nothing much has changed." Scorpius at first was slightly confused. What did he mean nothing much had changed? However his memory corrected him as he saw the Slytherin robes Owen was wearing. If he did go to school-why wasn't there any record of him? "Is it still as cold as it was before?"

"What," Scorpius asked. Why would he ask him about the temperature?

"I haven't been able to feel any kind of whether since I died." Informed Owen, his gaze saddened, he remembered vividly how much he enjoyed just laying in the field next to Hagrid's house and soaking in the dull sun through the thick cloud layer. He'd make snow angels during the winter months no matter how freezing or wet his cloths may have gotten, and ice skated on the lake when it got cold enough. When it would rain he'd just sit there, cold and soaking wet. Owen always loved the rain; he would dance and play in it for hours, tempting fate in getting a cold or pneumonia, but he never cared even if he did. It was all in good fun to him. "From what I remember this Slytherin common room was always the coldest out of the four. Ravenclaw came in second, they said it was for the safety of their books, Gryffindor was third, but they also have a few fireplaces, and Hufflepuff was always a comfortable temperature, they'd roast marshmallows in the fire and make smores."

"It's alright, I guess." Scorpius said as he sat down on one of the black leather couches. He couldn't really describe the common room for the older boy. It wasn't freezing but it wasn't a nice summer day either. However he had gotten used to the temperature within the first two weeks of school; everyone did-or at least if they didn't-they wouldn't complain about it. "Where the hell have you been though? It's been almost a month since we last saw you!"

"Contemplating," informed Owen as he sat down next to Scorpius, "I'm not much of a Hide and Go Seek player." What-he's a Slytherin-they're allowed to lie every once in a while. "How are classes?"

"We haven't even really learned anything yet." The blond haired boy stated, quite annoyed at the fact the teachers weren't letting their teachers shoot their wands willy nilly around the school, "My father could've taught me faster."

Owen chuckled as he looked at the boy, "This school isn't about learning every new spell. It's about learning control, the basics-not showing off which charms you learned. Trust me-there is plenty of that in later years." Besides, they aren't even allowed to use magic outside of school while they are still considered minors in the magic community. Harry could attest to that-and Owen could admit that he was guilty for underage magic too. "Be thankful you didn't have to learn as fast as my brother, he was apart of the war, and even had a whole group dedicated to fighting. He had to teach and fast."

"What about my dad?" The grey eyed boy wondered.

Owen chuckled as he thought back to how…energetic his father was. He still had some scars from his well known…pranks you could say. Having a Potter in the Slytherin house was a bit unusual to say the least. So everyone took the proper time to get used to him…or shall we say him get used to them. "He…he's a long story…you ask him yourself." That conversation is like the birds and the bees, only parents should give their children that talk. "Where's Albus?"

"Oh, he's with his brother, I think they're at Hagrid's." Ah, jolly old Hagrid. Owen had spent plenty of time with that man. He was good company and could keep a secret or two. He also allowed him to venture in the forest to get ingredients for his potions. "They'll probably be back before dinner, they never skip a meal." Not much could be said for Owen; he rarely if ever attending meals in the Great Hall. Instead he'd sneak into the kitchens and eat the leftovers that house elves would leave out-knowing his lack of attendance at meals. He even came to learn their names and got used to that fact that they referred to themselves in third person constantly. He'd let them wear his old socks, or on occasion his holey gloves he no longer could wear. In return they'd hide food under his bed for when he would visit his shared room. It was a nice exchange.

"Well," began Owen, "once you're done with dinner, come back to place I brought you three." The twin of Harry Potter stood up and started to head for the door before being stopped by the words of the First year.

"What if we get caught?" Wondered Scorpius, "we'll get in trouble."

"You're a Slytherin." Owen pointed out with a grin on his face, "James and Albus are Potters'-I'm sure you'll find a way." After all, they all were related to him. Odds are they've inherited his knack for escaping any kind of situation easily. "I'm sure I'll see you soon."

Hello again, did you like it? I hope I didn't get anything wrong. So comment, review, favorite, and/or follow if you want. It lets me know how fast to get the next one up. Anyway, I hope you enjoyed the story. So I'll see you later-and remember-stay awesome my friends-cupcakekiller12