Harry says good-bye to his twin who's going off to defeat Voldemort.
Author's Note: Oooh snap! Forgive me; I just had to get one of the cliché plot devices out there. Is it a Right or Wrong Boy-Who-Lived fic? In the end, does it really matter? Neglected Harry Potter! Smart Harry Potter!
Warnings: Sarcasm and Stupidity and Arrogance and Slight Out of Character
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Wordless Disaster
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"I do not think we brought enough jars." Professor Snape remarked softly, after finding his voice. The boy looked over at the other's unusual lack of decorum and noted that his Potion professor looked like he wanted to rush up and hug the basilisk corpse in joy. The stoicism had left his face and floated into the other secret passages that were whispered about in the legends of Salazar Slytherin's Chamber of Secrets. The preservation wards on the stone walls ensured that the giant snake was not rotting. Just imagine: once upon a time, Slytherin worked here in his cauldron, creating potions with a delicate hand that all future heads of the Slytherin house seemed to possess. Huh, the famed, hidden lair is nothing more than a glorified potions lab.
"Funny, I thought we overestimated, since I only remembered the size based upon memories of my second year," The other noted. Comprehension graced his features, "… the skin back there, that's it right?"
The older man hummed a small tune, stroking the scales reverently and examining the massive, multi-forked tongue, "Every part of a snake has potion, specifically medicinal properties, even the discarded skin. It's one of the reasons why Greeks of Antiquity had their god wield a caduceus." The younger struggled to remember his lessons; the caduceus was a traditional medical symbol, a staff with usually two entwined serpents circling around, usually in a double-helix. Snape continued his impromptu lecture while absentmindedly stroking the eyelid, "Most potions used at St. Mungo's contain a part of a specific magical snake that corresponds to the part on the human being. For example, potions for cataracts need a part of an aspis' pupil."
The boy allowed Snape another few minutes of basking in his personal heaven, take out the scavenging tools and knives, and began to cut, "Slytherin had more than a few tomes about potions, some were out of date but others are lost arts, no ward traps or curses. I took all of them in my sixth year and moved it to my personal vault at Gringotts. I'll lend some to you for your perusal." He shrugged modestly and inspected his nails, "Once we work out a deal."
Snape glared up suspiciously from his vantage point, "And what if the books are coded with something that I have no hope to decrypt, such as parsel-script?"
Amusement showed on the Ravenclaw's face, "Parseltongue is nothing more than Parseltongue, professor. Snakes cannot write. I can assure you that I have no problem reading them, once I learned a bit of the Old English script."
The man relented, wearily rubbing the bridge of his nose as he straightened, "You already take private tutoring lessons with me in Potions that can lead you to a Mastery within the year you graduate from this school, what more do you want, Potter?"
"Actually, it's Black, Hadrian Corvus Black." Hadrian cocked his head to the right and grinned as the professor noticeably blanched at his new name. "You've been gone too long on your touring lectures, you missed quite a bit."
"Black?" Snape parroted in disbelief, "Has that mutt suddenly reverted back to his pureblood roots? Granted he didn't change your first name into Antinous but your middle name is now a constellation." He peered at the green-eyed boy, "I can only be thankful that he didn't have you be Hadrian Sirius Black, since I hazard that he's now your secondary blood-father as well as godfather. When did you initiate the blood-adoption and magical lineage ritual? And why wasn't I informed?"
Hadrian loosened his blue tie, "I guess it started right after sixth year. That summer, Mr. Potter disowned me from the family: not the blasting off the tapestry that Sirius went through with Madame Black, as that wasn't legal, but full out, no bars disownment." He smiled ruefully, "thankfully my skills of Transfiguration did not stem from my previous family line, much to Mr. Potter's disappointment." To prove a point, with a small flick of his wand, a loose stone morphed into a modest stool which he sat upon, "Did you remember, sir? You were there."
Yes, Potter Senior, in one of his usual fits and disagreements with his second son over something trivial about Har- Hadrian resisting to befriend with the Weasleys for however many times and practicing Grey and Dark magic, had summoned his power to erase all evidence of any Harry James Potter. The boy had gasped as the protective familial guard escaped him as he became Harry, just Harry. Potter Senior held a grim face, Ethan Oliver Potter looked on with near glee and morbid curiosity, and Lily, who was now a mere shadow of her former, vibrant self, stood behind her husband with a pale visage, but said nothing. Snape, after witnessing the incident, had grabbed the distraught boy by the arm, led him out of the boundary wards, and apparated to Spinnet's End where the former Potter child was administered Calming Draughts.
Sometimes, Snape wondered if Potter Senior would be less brash if the Marauders were still close, as they had been in school. Peter, the traitor, was a lost cause. Lupin had, unfortunately, left after a stint at Hogwarts teaching DADA, after he realized when they studied the Boy-Who-Lived, had an irrational fear of werewolves. The man tried so hard, for years, to dispel the prejudice… Snape winced; Lupin more or less gave up on the Potter family once Ethan revealed to the whole entire school his furry secret towards the end of the boy's third year, starting a near enactment of new laws concerning the werewolf population control. Rumors had flourished about a midnight romp under the full-moon and the professor's transformation. That had not been pleasant. The werewolf is currently in Greyback's pack, still sending an occasional letter concerning his good health to Black.
And now Black, who had always doted on the celebrity brat as the next Marauder had apparently turned around and adopted and named Hadrian as his heir. That must have been the reason behind the mysterious duel between the men last week. "Why would the mutt do that? It certainly would not make the brat happy."
"Don't call my brother a brat," Hadrian mockingly chastised and then adopted a serious thinking pose, "I really don't know. Sirius always liked Ethan more than me, even as toddlers, even though he was my godfather. I think. I think it was the fact that I was disowned that made him help me, I think Mr. Potter had hit too close to home, as so when Sirius found out when he returned from his expedition through the Andes… I could imagine he wasn't too happy with the news." Yes, the mutt certainly would not; he might even be ecstatic to find something that he can relate to with his godson. "His exact words were, 'Nobody deserves to have their roots stripped from them. Family lineage is not a privilege, it's like air: we need it to identify ourselves to a group, our first group. Harry, listen to me, I may be your father's best friend, I may be a Marauder, but I am a Black, first and foremost. I don't hold modern political stances but I uphold the traditions, rituals, and ways. I know that I haven't really been a true godfather to you… come with me, I might be able to help you… with your permission.' …It was a brash action, but Sirius has always been a Gryffindor."
Dropping the topic, the potion master resumed his work, making shallow cuts into the skin in perfect squares and using a long broad knife to slice off only the top layer of skin. "Such a beautiful creature, I wonder why Dumbledore has not hired workers to at least clean up and clear out the chamber, especially when he has access to this place."
"Don't know," Hadrian began to make incisions at his side of the basilisk, "Since Ethan is also able to speak Parseltongue, I half expected this place to not exist, after so many years." He pulled down a flap of sinewy flesh and hit bone, "I think that since Parseltongue is the only Slytherin trait Ethan has, he denies it with all his heart. So in order to keep his denial, he avoids this place like the Plague. And in this case, I doubt Ethan or his parents are able to be swayed by the Headmaster in this regard. But enough about Parseltongue, I want to talk about you owing me. I think that I would like some extra DADA classes, not to gain Mastery, but to at least pass my NEWTs and survive."
"Ah yes, the Potter twins, two sides of the same coin." Snape muttered, rolling his eyes as he imitated the conversations in the school, "One is excellent at Potions and Transfiguration and the other is excellent at Defense against the Dark Arts and Charms. You two really are sometimes the opposite sides of the same coin."
The green-eyed boy smiled grimly as he twisted a jar shut and placed it off to the side. "Dumbledore believed that too. The day after I became a Black, he called me and the Potter clan into his office, prepared to do the Potentia Transfert Fratrem Ritual, but I didn't have the Potter magic or blood anymore but Black, which is inherently dark." For the Greater Good and all that shit. A pause to remember the memories of the pain at his magic core as it tried to escape him, was sucked by Ethan's body, then declared incompatible and have all his power returned. Dumbledore's face was white with fury, as were his once-parents were white with fear of their benevolent leader.
"Didn't you resist?"
"Yeah, but what good would it have done? Albus Dumbledore? Boy-Who-Lived? The famed Potters? I knew it wasn't going to work, why delay the inevitable? The really amusing part was that with such a ritual, the Head of the Family, Sirius Black, was notified by the family magic, bypassed the wards at Hogwarts and apparated directly behind me. Boy, I didn't understand the meaning of Black Rage until I saw Sirius blow a gasket. Wanted to pull me out of this school and send me off to another School, he was even considering Durmstrang, but I convinced him otherwise. Too much politics will be involved." Snape raised an eyebrow at the years of friendship destroyed on a single action.
Besides the politics, Hadrian would also be loosing a fair amount of friends if he left Hogwarts, the thought continued, with the amount of allies his apprentice is amassing: the entire Ravenclaw House has always been a tightly knit study group, been close to the Hufflepuffs as tradition, been closer to his own snakes than any other non-Slytherin, and been amiable and tolerant of the Gryffindors, ultimate neutrality. All the cultivated friends were also neutral. It would be a shame to loose years of hard work. Snape tapped some fat bits into a jar and grudgingly said, "Alright, I'll help you in DADA. I hope you'll benefit; if it hadn't been for your work ethic, I think you would have had a 'D' in your OWL exam."
"I'm also piss poor at Charms, never came naturally." Hadrian replied cheerfully, "Total shame to my housemates, Anthony told me so. It was only because of Nott and Carrow that I didn't get a 'T' at DADA."
That comment received a snort in return, "Nott and Carrow? Sometimes I think you should have been sorted into my house, Black."
The younger hummed thoughtfully, "Maybe, at my sorting, the Hat wanted to put me in Slytherin, but I said no because I knew my family wouldn't be happy. The Hat then suggested Gryffindor, but I didn't want to be with Ethan for seven straight years, so it settled on Ravenclaw, though I wasn't as smart as the norm in that house." He wrenched out a rib and blew on it softly, "I think I did well there, none-the-less."
There was no response. The pair worked in comfortable silence, as they usually do when working in the Slytherin Head's private potion lab. When about half of the containers were filled, a red flash, Fawkes, appeared into the chamber bearing a message for the boy-wizard. The scroll was caught mid air and the fastening undone, deft hands unrolled and he read softly, "Looks like a summons to Dumbledore's office. This time he promised no coercion."
"Does it say the reason?"
"Yeah, Ethan's leaving today to battle with the Dark Lord, Gryffindor Style. No behind-the-scenes plans, no back-up, golden nobility, face to face. Tomorrow is Imbolc, purification magic will augment and Riddle won't be able to resist his chance to kill the one who destroyed him. That man probably doesn't think that a minor magical boost will be able to help his nemesis." Feeling relief that it wasn't him and worry that it was for his brother, his face clearly portrayed his conflicting emotions. Is it right to feel brotherly worry or to be utterly apathetic? "I'm to say farewell."
Ethan Potter most likely doesn't even know what the significance of Imbolc is: the potion master sneered disdainfully. "Honestly, I think the final battle should have been delayed till Eostre. Has the war been going on that badly to make Dumbledore act quickly?" The man mused, thankful that his duties to his apprentice and to his commissions for potions took him away from his role as a double-agent. "Would you like me to come with you?"
He heard deep, shuddering breaths and some minutes of silence and then a shaky voice, "Nah, I'm fine; don't need you to hold my hand… It's just my… ex-parents. In fact, I'll go right now." Hadrian replied with a tone that sounded like he was trying to convince himself, "Fawkes, are you to carry me?" The bird trilled a short melody and extended a leg. With one last word, "Don't forget to gather the firewood for tomorrow's celebrations at the dungeons," red wings extended and flapped, the boy and the bird rose and disappeared in a burst of flame.
Snape huffed in amused exasperation and wondered about his apprentice. That boy is still forgives too easily, it took years before he finally began to stop hoping for his parents' love, and it took years before his hate and love to his twin brother evened out into a precarious balance. The Ravenclaw cares for Ethan but at the same time wants nothing to do with him, as everything bad in his life that has happened always points to Ethan. Hadrian still cares. Dumbledore wants Hadrian to care. The man went back to work. Something is going to happen soon, his instinct call for it.
Hadrian landed in the middle of the room with a pureblood-bred grace that his twin can possibly never achieve, surrounded by small floating flames that instantly vaporized. His hands went up to dust off the ashes off his shoulders. He then extended a silent thanks to Fawkes, who chirruped and glided to his metal perch.
In front of the firebird, Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore sat behind a grandly decorated mahogany desk that on top of it laid many rare and functioning magical instuments with his hands clasped and his eyes twinkling and glittering with an inward light. "Harry, my boy," he smiled. The room, colorful as ever, had two bookshelves full of rare books, desks, a trunk, and many decorations. At the corner of his eye, Hadrian saw the beginnings of the previous Headmasters' portraits on the back wall.
The muttered reply, "its Hadrian, sir," was muffled by Ethan's affronted drawl. Fawkes sang a single soft note.
"What is he doing here?" The other twin turned to the red-headed woman standing behind him and complained, "Mum, I don't want him here."
Hadrian scrutinized his ex-parents for a while, noting the circles under their eyes and the near possessiveness they held onto their remaining son. Dumbledore said, "Yes, but Ethan, don't you want one last heartfelt goodbye to a brother?" Nobody dared, or in Hadrian's case, bothered, to correct him.
Ethan gave his mirror twin a skeptical glance while almost visibly thinking things through. "Sure," After two minutes, he relented, causing Hadrian to raise an eyebrow in mild surprise and his parents to sputter, "But I want it to be done in private."
"But, Ethan dear, are you sure you don't want us-." Lily Potter started, clasping her hands in front of her. Dumbledore's eyes twinkled.
"Yes mum, I'm sure." The Boy-Who-Lived impatiently tugged on the other's arm, as if expecting his whims to be obeyed without question. Hadrian Black followed.
The twins left the room and walked some ways from the gargoyle and any portraits. The walls were bare and looked muddy, a small wind came around a corridor. Ethan waved his wand and muttered a spell to cast a privacy and silence ward around them and looked around for ghosts before giving a sigh of relief. The other waited patiently for what seems to be a request and his prediction was sound. Ethan looked up with a determined and pleading look, desperation hidden in the green eyes, begging, and "Please trade places with me."
Whatever the Black heir was expecting, this wasn't it. "Pardon?"
"Just look at this from a logical, Ravenclaw sort of view. You've always been smarter and more magical than me, just plain better than me." The Boy-Who-Lived fiddled with the handle of his wand, Holly and Phoenix feather from Fawkes, "our 'rents have been training me for three years but I don't think I'm powerful enough to defeat… the You-Know-Who." A glance over to the side, the stone gargoyle looked curious but disappointed. "But it won't work. Hell, we both know I won't be able to kill him. But I think you can, we can just switch clothes, I'll act like you and you'll act like me. How about it?"
He got a frown as a response, "Dan," the baby nickname was used in a mocking tone, "There is a prophecy, remember? It was told to you that you are the only one destined to defeat the Dark Lord. Dumbledore said-."
"Forget about Dumbledore!" Ethan furiously whispered, "His words don't make sense to me anymore. He tells me that in order to defeat him, I must first die and then only can he have the possibility of being dead by my hand. I say, 'bloody hell.' What is that suppose to mean? I'm fated to die? And he trains me anyways and tells me that I'll figure it out once I'm there!"
His twin sighed in exasperation, kneading the skin between his eyes, "The Prophecy said that you are the Chosen One-"
"And about this Chosen One," Ethan interrupted again, waving his arms to show emphasis. Lines under his eyes showed his exhaustion, the typical arrogant stance was gone. "Who knows if it's you? Nobody was there the night he came 'cept for the two of us. But we can't remember? What if the Chosen One is you and this is all a big mistake that has lasted for seventeen years?" His words carried weight that would be surprising to hear in a boy of his nature. The wards around them hummed.
And there was a reason for this near blasphemy-thought. The proverbial snowball had started to roll about a month before Dumbledore attempted to strip Hadrian's magic to offer to Ethan, at a seminar given by the Boy-Who-Lived himself. The occasion was at the Great Hall in the evening after supper, the purpose was to cater to the fans and devout who wanted to bask in the boy's light. From ages eleven to seventeen, many wizards and witches raised their hands and asked questions on his personal life, his aspirations, and how he would be defeating the Dark Lord. The last question was given in abundance, as people more and more worried about the slow manipulation that crept its tendrils into high places of the Wizarding Britain, including the Ministry. It was unspoken in the newspapers, but everyone knew it was going on. The answer was overly done, Ethan detailed a (phony, but only to those who knew which were his immediate family and the Hogwarts staff) magnificent plan that touched upon the ultimate battle between Light and Dark, purification spells, powerful foci, etc.
But then there was a second year Gryffindor, a girl, muggle-born, who asked in a childish breath, "But how do we know you will defeat the You-Know-Who?"
"Well, it's in the Prophecy that I'm the only one who can. It's either me or him and it's destiny, you know. That's why I've been getting specially trained for this occasion."
Another girl, fourth year Ravenclaw, twisted a ringlet of black curls around her finger, "I heard about the Prophecy, but how do we know it's you? The Chosen One is born on the end of July of that year. I researched: Neville Longbottom, Harry Potter, and you. The Chosen One is marked by the You-Know-Who. That's Harry and you. So how do we know it's not your twin?"
Before regaining his composure, puffing up his chest, and shooting a glare at his brother who was engrossed in his Potions essay, everyone saw Ethan visibly falter, "Dumbledore told me about that." He shook a finger and repeated information that only the Potter family and Dumbledore knew since that day on Halloween, "After V-Voldemort was destroyed, the Headmaster had come; he sensed concentrated Dark magic in my scar and not in Harry's. That's why there is the conclusion that I am the Prophecy child."
A Slytherin boy, Draco Malfoy, who sat at the corner with the group of friends of skeptics sneered and yelled loudly, "Oh yeah? Well my father works at the Ministry and she heard from a family friend, today, who is an Unspeakable that Harry Potter's scar was pouring out raw magic. It was a secret that Headmaster Dumbledore tried to cover up. Pure, unadulterated, raw magic."
Whispers came from all sides of the room: raw magic? That's thought to be impossible, a legend- real, raw magic? The type that Lady Magic gives from her hand to you, untouched, unharnessed? The pureblood children started giving interesting looks to the Ravenclaw Potter, who looked up once he sensed the stares aimed at his way. The twin to the Boy-Who-Lived received the gift of pure magic, unbelievable. Well, now that you think about it, Harry is the brighter, more magically adept brother. (He's also more polite too, not arrogant at all unlike Ethan who likes to push the younger kids down the stairs and make it look like an accident.) Ethan had always worked for average grades, only struggling at Transfigurations and failing dismally at Potions. But Harry is brilliant… But Ethan had always ended up in these adventures, is he looking for trouble? Is he a fake?
Sensing an uprising, Mr. and Mrs. Potter took drastic action and announced that the seminar was going to end early, never looking at Harry once as they ushered the students out of the Hall. Dumbledore's eyes had stopped twinkling but still remained seated. Students demanded for more answers but got none, Harry had easily disappeared into the shadows. Students began owling their parents. Draco Malfoy retreated back into his group of Slytherins, his job at creating doubt was finished. The gathering of skeptics dispersed. Tomorrow, Malfoy will be transferred to Durmstrang for the remainder of his education. Tomorrow the Daily Prophet will bring out a front page news article on the Chosen One. Tomorrow, there will be chaos.
Ethan stared straight ahead, taking in the new information presented to him.
Was it all wrong? Was he not the Boy-Who-Lived?
Hadrian Corvus Black, previously Harry James Potter, looked up at the ceiling and tried to prepare for his response that was eagerly awaited for. He pondered the unfairness of life and Fate's hand in all things magical. Sure, no one was absolutely positive that the Chosen One was Ethan, but Dumbledore said that it was him, and if any at all, that was the only words that Hadrian believed that came out of Dumbledore's mouth. Unlike his estranged family who metaphorically worshipped the ground the aged wizard walks on. After the fateful seminar, Hadrian's views didn't change.
As a recap: The Supreme Mugwump had cited his proof from his mage sight, that there were lingering traces of dark magic around both twins, but it was Ethan Potter who sported the lightning bolt shaped scar on the left side of his brow that reeked of Dark Magic. The lightning bolt shaped scar that Hadrian wore under usually a hat, bandana, or makeup, was on the right side of his brow, and apparently, according to that Slytherin boy, after the Dark Lord's attack, had been spitting off raw magic. Obviously, the Dark Lord had fired off the Killing curse at him. It wasn't too hard to draw a conclusion. Was Dumbledore wrong?
Well that's the problem, the Headmaster can't be wrong. At this point in time, no body, not even Hadrian, can afford it. There were so many reasons why he can't be the Prophecy Child, so many. Hadrian idly fingered his own wand kept up his sleeve, Cypress and Phoenix feather from Fawkes, picked the first and, to him, the most important reason and spoke softly , "Tell me, dear brother, who was it that our mother and father talked to less in the household?"
"You, but that's not the po-."
The smile that said, 'Shut up,' as benignly as one can, shut the other up. "Who was it that our mother and father forget to feed from time to time?"
Ethan Potter paused, the memories blurred in his head, "You." He slowly said.
"And who was it that lived in the attic with a cot? That didn't attend galas and balls and had to stay with a babysitter at home for sometimes days when the rest of the family was gone? That got mistaken for his brother by normal citizens off the street? That received no recognition for his hard work and dedication to his studies?"
One blink, "You."
"Who was it that didn't get special training, attention, or favor from the Hogwarts staff? That got bullied by his twin brother and his friends but was always blamed for starting the fights? That had his own friends leave him to associate with his twin brother? That had to work his arse off in school to get somewhere in the world as opposed to expecting good marks? That was even forgotten, for a time, by his own godfather? That was blasted and disowned from the family lineage by his dear father?" The sentences slowly grew in volume, soft but more, as one might describe it, omniscient and reverberating, a definite accusing tone.
The memories were there: "Harry, look at your brother, see how he gets along with the Weasleys?" "Harry, don't practice Dark Magic, Ethan is practicing only Light, why don't you join him?" "Harry, your gift is nice, but I know that you took it from her. I know, you say that it was won, but it's wrong. Give it back. Look at Ethan's homemade card, isn't it wonderful?" The memories are numerous, admonishing, scolding.
"…You."
And it wasn't that Harry's childhood is bad or abusive, it was just that being looked over repeatedly can do work a bitterness into a kid's psyche, especially when the kid, raised in darkness, sees his brother, who is his mirror image, receive all the love and glow of pride. ("Mummy, Daddy, why won't you love me?") Maybe Lily and James, once upon a time, treasured both sons equally. Now, Hadrian can't see it and has eventually trained himself not to see it in case he is mistaken, like past experiences, and is hurt, again and again.
"And who is the Boy-Who-Lived?" The Black heir said with a caustic smile.
"…Me."
"And who is it that shall go off to defeat Lord Voldemort?"
There was no answer. Ethan looked down as Hadrian patted his back and soothed the tension with small circles. Unspoken words, 'you've been raised to this moment your entire childhood, don't back down now. Even if it's not you, it should be you, so just play pretend.' There was a perverse understanding between them: it was a tradeoff of lives, one can't have the perfect life forever, and all good things must come to an end. And the balance had to be maintained or else, even if the wrong person goes off to save the world. Neither twin will mention the potential disaster that might follow, as is agreed.
The brother of the Boy-Who-Lived is adamant of receiving his dues in life that he had slaved over. His story has not been pleasant to say the least, but he had endured it with all his heart and believed that it would get better, and it shall. By a Wizard's Oath, he will make sure it would get better even if society falls. He has no care of this world, if the Dark Lord should win, the Black heir will allow himself to get swept by the mass exodus that is sure to follow. The other magical communities will take steps to make sure that Voldemort's power will not go past the boundaries of Britain. Professor Snape is spending more and more time outside of the country and one day will not come back. Most of his friends and allies have already moved out and more are preparing to do so, and when the last of his friends and family leave, there will be nothing for him here to cherish.
He does not love his family and he is sure that his family does not love him.
With a flick of his wand, Hadrian took down the wards around them, muttered a "Goodbye," to his brother's stiffened state, and headed back into the direction of Myrtle's bathroom without looking back.