Lorcan&Lysander. Two parts of one whole. Twins.
It's ironic that the one thing that always bonded you together is what eventually breaks you apart.
You can't say that you've ever liked the way you're always confused to be Lysander.
When people see you, they just make a lucky guess. They call you Lorcan, like they should, half the time, and Lysander for the other half. They can never keep track of who's who, just because both of you have blonde hair and stormy eyes that distract them from concentrating.
It's simple. Really. Obviously, the one who isn't him is you, and the one that is you isn't him.
You grew up without a mirror. Your mother always said you would never need one.
You used to laugh, but now, looking into Lysander's eyes, you only see a hollow copy.
You two are nothing alike.
You remember when you first got your Hogwarts letter, at age eleven. Lysander opened it next to you at the same time, your squeals of happiness synchronized.
Maybe shopping at Diagon Alley was the beginning of it all.
You were excited to be measured for robes. Walking into Madam Malkin's, the prospect of being a student at Hogwarts suddenly seemed so much more real.
Lysander steps up to be measured first, and you watch with an excited gleam in your eyes as the magical measuring tape swirls its self all over his body.
The woman hands your father a set of robes, and he leads you out. Your eyes widen and you tug on his sleeve.
"What about me? Why didn't I get measured? I need robes too!"
He looks down at you, bemused. "Have you forgotten, Lorcan? You and Lysander have the same sizes. Only one of you has to be measured."
It is the first time that having a twin has been so disappointing to you.
You each get your own books and the rest, and you slowly forget about the feeling you had when you didn't get measured.
But it comes back in full strength later on.
Walking into Eeylops Owl Emporium, you can't believe what you're seeing. Owls, cats, and toads of all kinds surround you, chirping and croaking in all sorts of different ways that sound into a pleasant hum in your ear.
There are so many to choose from.
A soft hoot comes from beside you. You turn to see a pure white owl, gently ruffling its feathers.
You can't breathe. It is absolutely beautiful.
"Father-" you begin, but before you can finish, Lysander shouts about what seems to be a very average barn owl.
Lysander has always been the more impulsive one out of you two.
Your father is asking for the price of that owl. You run up to him, and grab him by the arm.
"But Father, I want that one." You point to that breathtakingly gorgeous owl that continues to stare at you with its intelligent eyes.
Your father's eyes widen in shock - you didn't know then, but it was probably because you never wanted something different from Lysander. "But, son, you only need one owl."
The room crashes down in front of you. All you can hear is his words, oneoneoneoneoneone, and that snow white owl's eyes begging for you.
The sleeve of his robes flies out of your hand and you take a step back. Glaring ferociously at the floor, you don't say a word.
Sighing, your father bends down to your level. "Lorcan. Lorcan, look at me."
You sadly look at him, trying to hide the brimming tears that no eleven year old boy should shed.
"I know you really want that owl," he begins gently, "but you only need one. And I'm sure Lysander would be very disappointed if we didn't get this one, so let's be nice to him and get the one he wants this time, okay?"
All you can hear is nonononono, biting through you like knives.
It is the first time you have truly hated your twin.
"RAVENCLAW!" the Sorting Hat cries about two seconds after it hits Lysander's head. Lysander grins, before bounding down to the table to sit and save a seat for you.
Your heart pounds in your ears as you take those few fateful steps up to the stool, where that single hat may very well decide the rest of your life.
The chatter of the hall fades away as the worn fabric settles around your head.
Aaahhh...you are smart, but quiet...it whispers into your head. You try to speak, but the words will not come. You yearn to break away from him.
You pretend that you don't understand what it's saying, because right now, you're tied together far too tight.
You have confidence, and a bit of courage, deep down...but it will come out on it's own in time. Now, you are a-
You know where this is going. Courage that will come in time. Not Gryffindor. No confidence or ambition. Not Slytherin. And well, breaking away is hardly a Hufflepuff thing to do-
No! You cry in your head, but it is drowned out by the hat screaming, "RAVENCLAW!" to the Great Hall.
You smile, but your insides are in turmoil. You had just subconsciously entertained the thought of what it would be like to be in a different House from your brother, to be anything but the Ravenclaw your mother and father always said you would be.
Your heart pounds for anything but the disheartening sapphire blues that welcome you.
"We're together again, Lor!" Lysander gleefully says, but you just nod absentmindedly, staring at the boisterous Gryffindor table.
Now that they've reached the W's, everyone settles back for a long string of redhead sorting.
Albus, who had come before everyone because of his last name, had been Sorted into Slytherin, providing the shock of the night. Rose went into Gryffindor as expected, along with Louis, but Roxanne became a Hufflepuff.
There was one Weasley left for the night, and as she daintily sat straight on the stool, you couldn't help but gaze at her in wonder.
Lucy Weasley. She had always been the one to talk to you at the reunions, when no one else would.
"RAVENCLAW!" the Hat cries, and she smiles so gently you don't think it's possible and makes her way down to sit next to Lysander.
"It's nice to have friends, isn't it?" she says, and you lose yourself in her blue orbs, wondering whether you have to share her or not.
The year goes on, and flows into the second and the third. They blur together, in shades of black and white and grays, with a few bursts of color from Lucy.
Fourth year comes, and you see how different everything has become.
Lysander is more...open. He has friends and he laughs and jokes and has fun.
He hardly talks to you anymore. You can see why.
You have sunken into yourself. You've always had trouble making friends - always the quiet one - but now that Lysander is no longer yours and yours alone, you have no one.
The old and crinkled pages rustle as you gently turn them. Books, worn by age, and the silent library; these are your new friends and home.
"Lorcan? Can I sit with you?"
Except her. She will always be there. "Sure, Lucy."
The seat next to you squeaks as she sits in it, pulling out her diary to write in it.
This is your friendship. It is more made up of the silence between you than the words.
The mask chips away one evening in the library.
You're in the far back. No one else if here. Even the librarian is too far to hear you, and well, you were reading a story about twins and you just-
You sniffle, quickly wiping away the brimming tears with your sleeve. Why were you always so damn emotional?
"Lorcan?" A soft, breathy voice sounds next to him, and he turns to see a girl staring with deep, understanding eyes.
"Why?" you ask. "Why don't I have anybody?"
You are answered by a pair of thin arms wrapping around your torso.
"You'll always have me," she whispers into your shirt.
You feel warm, and a little light-headed as you smell the lemon from her hair.
You will always have her.
For however smart you are, you've never understood romance all too much.
You're not sure what to make the hug. You suppose it's in friendship, but you don't know why every time you think about it you just want to pour ice on your face to stop it from getting so hot.
You don't know why every time you see her, you stutter.
You don't stutter. Ever.
"How've you been, Lorcan?" Lysander asks one day in the dorm when no one else is there. You glance up at him, surprised.
"Why are you taking to me?" you ask.
A look of hurt briefly strikes his face before he's back to smiling his worries away. "Is it wrong for me to talk to you? I'm your twin brother!"
Not really, you can't help but think. The last time you've talked to me is at home during Christmas break.
"What's wrong, Lor?"he asks, pity lacing his voice.
It hits you and you wonder why you haven't realized it before.
He doesn't care.
"You don't care, so why should I tell you?" you blurt bluntly. You also have this feeling of not talking to him about Lucy.
She's yours. He shouldn't get any piece of her heart.
"What do you mean? I love you," he says but his words are lost against the roaring in your ears.
"If you did, you would talk to me, right? You would spend time with me, and wouldn't leave me all alone for four years!" You're yelling now. The words that have stayed pent up for far too long are now flowing out like water out of a broken dam. "It's your fault that we're like this now, not mine!"
Anger flashes on his face. ""What do you mean not your fault? What do you mean, I don't care? You're the one who just drifted away from me. You didn't even bother to talk to me since first year and I got so damn lonely-"
He cuts himself off, looking the other way and running his hand through his hair.
He has always been impulsive.
"I think it's better if we don't talk to each other for a little more," you tentatively begin, seeing what must be done. "We can take some time, and figure things out."
"I think that is a good idea," Lysander harshly says, glaring at you. He then stomps away, leaving you choking on the empty air of loneliness.
You shut your book close with a tone of finality as you stare up at the ceiling.
Twins.
A/N: Image Credit goes to Heldrad (Flor) on devianART.
I've always wanted to write a multi-chapter about these two, so here we go! However the first chapter, which could possibly stand alone as a one-shot, is entered in:
Quidditch Competition Round 11 (Prompts: "What do you mean, not your fault?"; choke; Don't Go, Rae Morris.)