Chapter One - Alone In A Crowd
'That's all I need,' thought the young ten-year-old sourly, 'For Harry to blame me for making us late to the party.' He was sitting on the sofa in the Watsons' warm and cozy living room, listening to his brother tell his parents that he, John H. Watson, had been irresponsible. On purpose, no less. Sure, he hadn't really wanted to go to great-grandmother Hertha's hundred and sixth birthday party slash family reunion, but he hadn't let Toby escape the yard on purpose. At least, he was pretty sure he didn't. That was the first odd thing that happened today. He had just come back into the yard from getting the paper, shut the lock (or least he thought he did), and proceeded to the door grumbling about the impending social event. The next thing he knew Toby had pushed open the gate when...
"...not only did he leave it open on purpose, but by the time I got out there, the driver was apologizing profusely, and said he was sure he had hit something!"
His brother was detailing the moment when he had heard a commotion outside and completely misread the situation. His hair, a darker mousy brown than John's, practically stood on end as he blamed his baby brother for "another reckless bothersome stunt". John could practically mouth the words as they left Harry's lips. He didn't even start to defend himself. Odd things did happen to him, just not the normal odd things that usually happen to his family.
'Does that even make sense?' he thought lazily as his father told him he was grounded for the weekend for whatever he had done to that man's car. Apparently, they assumed he had thrown something at it and covered himself in dirt just for a laugh. Wonderful.
"Well," his mother sighed with a brief glance at the clock, "at least we'll only be fifteen minutes late at the rate we travel."
John felt impressed that his family had gotten to the point where he could get in trouble, change clothes, and be reprimanded in just under a quarter of an hour. It must be a new record. His mother stepped up to the mantel and picked up the small clay pot either him or Harry had made as a child. Offering it around, they each took some of the emerald-green powder and took turns throwing it into the fire, yelling, "6058 Cherry Hill", and disappearing into a green flame. John took a deep breath before being the last one to step onto the brick.
Usually, the Watsons were absolutely normal. They went to work, drove cars, and did completely average things. However, if one starts to dig deeper into the Watson family, particularly their extended family, strange things begin to appear. Such as the fact the great-grandmother Hertha is turning one hundred and six, but doesn't look a day over seventy. Or, when Uncle Victor traveled around the world instantaneously to appear at his wife's bedside just in time for his daughter's birth. Not to mention Aunt Dextra's habit of literally stealing her nieces and nephews' noses. The truth was that, for John Watson, the wizarding parts of the family were as normal as the muggle side. Non-magic folk, that is.
Despite the usual rules about keeping magic from muggles, the Watson family tree was so sporadic in the appearance of magic in its members that it was just easier to accept each other's differences in such a close, albeit large, family. Granted, the magical members teased the non-magic and the non-magic blatantly flashed their muggle technology at any point, but for the most part they all got along and helped each other out.
'I wish Harry had inherited that quality,' mused John as he stumbled out of his Great-Aunt Hollis' gigantic stone fireplace and into a large copper-laden kitchen and dining room. A variety of Watson family members rambled in and out of the room, which was filled with a variety of muggle cookware and magically cooking food. He relaxed a bit as the familiar smells drifted in the room through which multiple small cousins were being shooed by one of his aunts. His parents and brother had already left the cavernous room in the center of the oft-expanded castle.
If John was completely honest, he wasn't sure how old his Great-Aunt's home was, although he had heard from one of the ghosts that it had been around since at least 1636 when he had plummeted off the tower of the newest addition. One of his great-uncles had described the original base of the house as Baronial style, but each generation had made so many expansions and towers that it had developed into a mish-mash of muggle and magic architecture. As far as John knew, there weren't any muggle deflection spells on the place, out of respect to the non-magic relatives, although there were plenty of safety wards just in case.
"Johnny!" Multiple loud voices preceded the thud of multiple bodies knocking John to the ground and the shuffling as he was plopped onto a chair at the table. Reorienting himself, John focused on the six happy faces of his cousins and second-cousins, before landing on the eldest, eighteen-year-old Carver.
"How has your summer been, John? All Harry's said is that you're nothing but trouble!"
John grimaced slightly, before giving the young wizard and his minions a slight smirk as he crossed his arms and sat back comfortably.
"What prompted that?"
Some of the smaller children giggled at his non-answer before a smaller girl piped up that his brother had been telling some of the more stuck-up family members why they were late. John chuckled before leaning into the group conspiratorially. They all mimicked his movement curiously.
"Do you want to know the real story?" The little kids smiled and nodded, because John always had a good story to tell and a flair for telling it.
"I had just closed the gate from getting the paper before we left, when Toby darted out from under the porch and through the gate. I could have sworn I closed it and I moved to hold it shut, but he's faster than a Firebolt! Then, I watched as he ran..." but John got no further when the magicked timer in the kitchen began to chime that dinner was ready. In a flash, his small crowd disappeared into the mob pouring into the kitchen and dining room.
"Sorry you lost your audience," grinned his older cousin, "but you know how Watsons like to eat."
"Believe me, I know," smiled the younger boy as they joined the line for food. "Although, you've no clue how badly I want to finish that story. Nobody has wanted to hear my side of it all day"
Carver gave him a curious look before they were separated by the food-laden island in the middle of the kitchen. The sturdily-built redhead had just finished his stay at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry and had yet to decide on a career path. He had gotten decent marks in school and even scraped together an impressive array of O.W.L.s. John smiled at the fact that his cousin still wore his yellow Hufflepuff scarf since his graduation.
'Not that the family lacks in Hufflepuff pride,' John thought as he helped himself to a full plate. Despite the randomness of magic in the family, every Watson since anyone could remember had been a Hufflepuff. 'Which is absolutely fine.' His internal monologue mused as his boisterous family helped each other to the tables appearing from thin air around the room. 'I'd rather be in Hufflepuff than Slytherin.' He made his way through the room looking for a seat. He saw Harry sitting with some of the other teenage relatives visiting from the United States, but kept moving when Harry shot him a look.
Harry had been the only person in his immediate family to go to Hogwarts. Despite the fact that their parents treated them no differently and loved them both, magic or not, Harry seemed to think he was more "gifted" than his little brother. John sat at a vacant table near the back of the room and his heart hurt a bit to see the brotherly interactions of some of his cousins. The truth was that John and Harry had gotten along famously until Harry had gotten his letter to Hogwarts. When he came home for Christmas in his first year, he had adopted an air of superiority towards his brother that had only gotten worse over time.
"Penny for your thoughts?" said Carver as he pulled up a seat to John's right.
"Just Harry being uppity again." said John with a small sad smile.
"I see," he paused briefly, changing the subject, "How has your writing been going?"
None of the family thought that John had inherited the magical genes (which was fine) since no two brothers had ever been magic in the recent history.
'Probably a curse put on an ancestor, sometime in the olden days,' John thought before replying, "It's been going well, although I have plenty of room for improvement. My teacher said that my stories have a "tangible warmth", whatever that means."
John was very proud of his stories and loved to turn everyday occurrences into exciting narratives. The fact that his family and teachers enjoyed them made it all the better.
"That's great!" exclaimed his exuberant dinner companion, "I always said the family could use a cultured writer," he added cheekily.
They ate together while bringing each other up-to-date on their families, with the ambiance of the joyful dinner sounds echoing around the hall. Carver's and John's fathers were cousins, making the two boys second cousins in reality, but with such a large family practically everyone was some sort of cousin. Carver was an only child and had always treated John as a younger brother. He had looked out for him ever since John was a baby, even learning he had magical abilities in the process.
During one of the family get-togethers, ten-year-old Carver had been out watching the older family members play a round of Quidditch in the yard. It was a warm day and most of the family had come out to enjoy the fresh air and good weather. Two-year-old John had fallen asleep and was left indoors under the charge of either his aunt or his great-uncle. (There had been a vehement argument about blame, but nothing was really clear.) Somehow, John had woken up and crawled onto an upper balcony, only to be noticed by young Carver. The redhead, failing to get anyone's attention as John crawled closer to the edge, seized a stray broomstick without thinking and caught his cousin in mid-air. After landing and reuniting the wailing baby and tearful mother, his proud father clapped him on his back and pointed out that only a wizard could handle a broom like that. Needless to say, Carver had gone to Hogwarts later the following year and had become the most successful chaser that had played for Hufflepuff house in a couple of centuries.
As they ate, several family members stopped and joined the conversation for a bit before moving on to the next table. The room slowly emptied as people finished their meals and left to the various rooms in the rest of the house. A few of the sports-inclined relatives were headed out to the makeshift pitch for a hybrid game of football and Quidditch. Once the room was mostly empty, except for a friendly game of exploding snap at the main table, Carver magicked their plates to the sink and the two left the room.
They traveled down the main hallway, passing a variety of doors and stairways leading further into the building. The windows showed that it was completely dark out, besides the makeshift lamps the athletes had created around the pitch. John was quite sure that the muggle-looking lamps gave off more light than they should. The house was set well-beyond the outskirts of the nearest town, however the family tried to be as low-key as possible. "You know, flying on broomsticks is rather inconspicuous," speculated John to Carver, "why do they bother disguising the magical lights?"
"Probably because it is easier to explain away brooms if there aren't disembodied glowing orbs covering the field." John nodded and cast another quick glance outside just in time to see the ball kicked through the hoop by one of the landlocked players. The whole team burst into audible cheers and many pats on the back. John continued after Carver until they happened into the main ballroom which was filled with a variety of ages and, to John's dismay, Harry was recounting his view of John's earlier escapade. Worse yet, it was to Aunt Eda, who thought that John's parents didn't punish him enough and was always quick to scold him. John tried to hide behind Carver as they crossed the room.
"John Hamish Watson!"
He stopped in his tracks. Carver tossed him an apologetic smile and continued across the room, not wanting to incur some of Aunt Eda's wrath. He sent his cousin a glare before politely stepping over to face where his aunt sat across from his traitorous sibling. Aunt Eda was his father's eldest brother's wife and John had experienced firsthand that her words could hurt as much as her hexes.
"Your brother has filled me in on our latest issue." She always referred to an incident as have involving herself as well. "I understand that you let your dog escape, muddied your clothes, frightened a muggle traveler, and delayed your entire family's arrival," she said, sharply recounting the worst of his offenses as if they were formal court charges.
"We were only fifteen minutes late." John replied in as calm a tone as he could manage.
"I did not ask for your opinion of the matter."
"Well, you should, considering that Harry doesn't know the whole story."
"Enough! Why should I expect you to tell the truth when the fault is yours?"
John snapped at her gross misjudgment, attracting the attention of the rest of the room.
"Because maybe I am certain I locked the gate and I don't know how it got open again!" he shouted. His aunt went to speak but he cut her off, raising his voice as he went, "And if I hadn't gone after Toby, he would have been hit by that car that all of you think I 'damaged'! You want the truth of what happened? I pushed Toby out of the way and I got hit by the car!"
The lamp beside his aunt flickered dangerously.
"That's right, I was dirty because a car traveling at 30 miles an hour knocked me over! And does anyone want to hear my side of the story? Of course not, 'cause who cares if John has magic or not! Because goodness knows what would have happened without it!"
The flickering lamp burst in a shower of sparks. John jumped and gulped as he realized that the entire house had gathered in the doorways. He felt a hand on his shoulder and looked over to see great-grandmother Hertha all dressed for her birthday in pale blue dress robes. John gulped, uncertain what the usually quiet matriarch would have to say to him.
"Johnny," she began, with a surprisingly strong voice for living over a century, "Nothing has made me as happy for my birthday than hearing your side of the story." She continued with a twinkle in her learned eye, "I congratulate you on your discovery, your health, and, more importantly, putting that shrew in her place. Finally, someone in this family with a sense of righteous anger and a backbone!"
She pulled him into a tight hug before turning to the still silent family.
"Well, come on, all of you, either wish him some luck or get back to your business!" She said briskly before setting off to her chair near the fire, after giving John another affectionate pat. Aunt Eda apparated away in a huff, but John had already forgotten her as Carver pulled him into a big bear hug and his parents waited to do the same. All the feelings of animosity and frustration had evaporated with his oldest relative's praise, leaving him with a sense of validation and sheepish embarrassment. As his mother pulled him into a cheerful embrace, his eyes landed on Harry, who hadn't moved for the duration of the issue.
His older brother caught his eye briefly and merely nodded in acknowledgment with a conflicted half-smile. John returned the gesture with a numb wistfulness before the little group was interrupted by the announcement of birthday cake back in the dining room. John hung back as everyone filtered out of the room and caught his brother's attention.
"Harry..."
"What?"
John didn't know how to continue, he'd never been good at these sorts of things. Harry looked at his younger brother's expression and softened slightly, before glancing around to make sure they were alone.
"Congratulations, John," he said softly, "I'm sorry I didn't think of your well-being earlier, I should have thought to make sure you weren't hurt by that car."
John was stunned by his brother's apology; obviously the idea that John had been hit by a car had affected his brother deeper than anyone realized. His surprise must have shown because Harry gave a pained smile.
"I may give you a hard time, which I will try to control, but I would never want you to be seriously hurt or... something."
John bent his head, taking in his brother's words, then looked up with a heartfelt smile for his brother.
"Thanks, Harry."
"Of course, John"
They stood there awkwardly but felt more familiar with each other than they had in years.
"Harry! John!" Carver poked his head around the corner, "You're going to miss the cake!"
"Beat you there!"
"Wait for me, John!"