Disclaimer: Yeah… I wish.
Chapter Seven: Year 5 (continued)
Dear Harry, #171
It's not that I don't appreciate what Snape is doing, it's just exhausting. I don't understand Occlumency at all. I even read the book you sent me on it (well… I skimmed it), and it STILL doesn't make sense. Plus, I feel more vulnerable to Voldemort's mind after the lessons, so that's another reason why I don't enjoy them.
I hate it, Harry. I can't be around Professor Dumbledore, I can't understand what Snape is trying to teach me, and I can't get a good night of sleep! Not to mention I can't fully appreciate anything that I'm feeling or react impulsively on my feelings because I'm never 100% sure that the emotion is truly mine.
I'm going crazy, Harry! How in Merlin's name am I supposed to be able to know what's real anymore?
I'm trying my best not to isolate myself, but it's near impossible. No one knows what I'm going through. I feel awful making people deal with my crazy mood swings but I can't control them! I feel so out of control in everything now. I find myself thinking that it would be better for everyone if I just handled this on my own. That way, no one has to get hurt because of me.
I'm sorry. I don't mean to dump all my problems on you all the time. If anyone can understand me, it's you, but I don't think even you can help me with this one.
-Charlus
Harry pinched the bridge of his nose as he finished re-reading the last letter he had received from Charlus.
What was I supposed to say?
He let the letter fall from his hand as his head dropped back on the headrest of the armchair he was currently perched on. He had written a reply to his brother shortly after receiving this, but that was weeks ago, and Charlus still hadn't responded. However, they would often go a few weeks without writing, so that wasn't what had Harry so distressed. No, what bothered Harry was what he had written in response to Charlus' confessions.
It'll get better in time.
You're strong enough to get through this.
I'll always be there for you to support you in any way I can.
These were all true statements, but Harry had left something out, something he should have told him. Because, the fact of the matter was that Harry had been hiding something from his brother, and that was something they had promised never to do.
The atmosphere in the room shifted, but Harry kept his eyes shut.
"Hello Lydia."
"You know, I could have killed you long before you knew I was here." The girl responded, sitting in the chair opposite Harry.
Harry knew that wasn't true. He was acutely aware of Lydia's presence: a natural, unwanted radar that allowed him to sense her whenever she was anywhere close to being nearby, but he would never admit that to her – hell, he barely admitted it to himself. Instead, he smirked and prepared himself for some verbal sparring that would bring a needed reprieve from his thoughts.
"Oh right, because you're a trained killer now aren't you?"
"Actually, as a matter fact, I am. But, seeing as how, technically, you are too, that's not really saying much. No, that's not where I have the upper hand." She continued nonchalantly, throwing one leg over the arm of the chair and examining her nails.
"Face it Lydia, you don't have the upper hand. We always tied whenever we were sparring partners, and I would always beat you whenever we dueled." Harry responded with equal amounts of indifference, not even bothering to open his eyes.
The Assassin in Training's carefully schooled features faltered slightly as she narrowed her eyes at the boy in the chair across from her. However, she recovered quickly and Harry was none-the-wiser.
"We haven't been paired as sparring partners since I joined the Training program. And I don't remember the last time we had a real duel. You always refuse to partner with me."
Harry knew why he refused, but admitting his reasoning to Lydia would be admitting to a weakness, and that was practically suicide.
"I just hated embarrassing you all the time. Aren't you Assassins supposed to be invincible or something along those lines?"
"We never claim to be invincible," Lydia snapped, her composer slipping (as it so often did when she was around Harry). "We just claim to be able to kill you before you kill us."
"Oh of course! How could I have mixed up your motto? 'Kill or be killed.' Am I right?" Harry asked sardonically.
"We're not some stupid club. We don't have a motto." Lydia responded haughtily.
"But you have rules." Harry said mockingly.
This earned a glare from Lydia, but Harry had yet to open his eyes since she had come in, so it did not have the desired effect. So the Assassin in Training had to settle for verbal abuse.
"Jerk."
However, this did not bring about the desired reaction either. Instead, Harry began to laugh; which caused Lydia to scowl and make a frustrated noise; which caused Harry to laugh even harder.
When Harry finished, he wiped the tears of mirth that had leaked from his eyes and finally opened his eyes to look at Lydia. She was sitting the armchair opposite his, arms folded, grey eyes glaring hatefully at him, and pouting (an act which Lydia would deny to her dying day – Assassins do not pout). He noticed her dark hair had been cut since the last time he had seen her, but it was still styled to perfection, which was no doubt Adrianna's doing, and a few loose strands fell in front of her face as she hunched slightly (*cough*pouting*cough*). Harry restrained the urge to reach out and tuck the loose strands behind her ear.
Harry wasn't blind. He was also a boy. The combination of these factors made the fact that Lydia was beautiful frustratingly impossible to deny.
His gaze fell to her wrist, where the red irritation gave away the newness of the tattoos. There was an intricate pattern of runes that encircled her forearm that hadn't been there before, but it was the simple circle surrounding the Avalon "A" that reminded him of just what she was training to be.
This thought sobered Harry up immediately, he straightened up and avoided looking at Lydia all together.
"What do you want Lydia?" He asked, sighing as he stared into the fire that was quickly fading.
Lydia felt Harry's lighthearted attitude get locked away behind his cold mask of indifference. She let the abrupt change go without comment.
"I was just wondering if you finished the assignment we got in Advanced Warding."
"Yeah I did, did you want to check answers?"
"Why else would I be talking to you?" Lydia smirked and reached into her bag to pull out her homework.
Harry tried not to let the off-handed comment hurt him. Why else should they be talking? Lydia wasn't supposed to have friends. He shuffled through the scattered papers on the table before finding the Warding assignment and hanging it over to the Assassin in Training.
He watched her as she read over his answers, comparing them to hers. He knew they were the same; they both always had the right answer. But she always wanted to compare, and he was sure it was just to see if Harry had made some mistake she could rub in his face.
He attempted to busy himself with other assignments, but he had finished them right before Lydia came in. He tried checking them over, but he knew all his answers were flawless. Finally, the silence became unbearable to Harry.
"I see you earned your first Mark." He commented, gesturing to her rune tattoo.
Lydia started at the sound of his voice, but didn't look up from their papers.
"Yes I did."
"Congratulations."
Now Lydia looked up and searched his face, boring her gaze into his, what she was looking for, Harry had no idea, but he supposed she found it since she returned her attention to their Warding assignments.
"Thank you. I still haven't caught up to you though."
"But it's much more uncommon for an Assassin in Training to be earning Mastery Marks so quickly – it's easier in the Mastery Programs." Harry said encouragingly.
Lydia frowned, unsure of where he was going with this, and confused as to why he wasn't gloating about his obvious achievements. She knew what Harry said was true: those in the Mastery Program were able to focus a majority of their attention on their preferred subject, while only taking standard knowledge classes in other subjects. The Assassins in the Training Program had a larger and broader list of required curriculum. They were obligated to take Master level classes in all subjects that may prove to be useful in an Assassin's line of work. In short: everything.
Because of this, it was uncommon for those in Training to actually reach a Mastery of any given subject before their final years. Normally, Assassins went a couple years without receiving many (if any) Marks of Recognition, and then, in the last year or two of their Training, received an influx as they completed the Program.
Lydia had gone against the norm by already having acquired her Mastery in single sword fighting. She had received her Mark a few days ago and the thin band of runes was sore and itchy, but she was hardly bothered by it. She hoped to receive another by the end of the year. Many other Assassins in Training with her questioned her dedication to obtaining her Masteries so early, but Lydia refused to grace their pointless inquires with a response.
She found her gaze being drawn involuntarily to the boy across the table from her, who had apparently given up on conversing with her and now had his nose buried in a book. The young Assassin flicked her eyes to the boy's right bicep, where he already had six Marks: two thin lines of darkened runes to represent his Mastering of the twin broadswords and sai, a thicker, but a lighter shade, Mark was beneath them symbolized that Harry had a Secondary Level of the Politics Mastery. In addition to those, Harry had beginning Marks for knives, History, and Potions.
Adrianna was so upset when he finished his Primary in Politics before she finished her Secondary. Lydia remembered, amused.
"What Program are you in right now?" The young girl found herself asking.
Harry's eyes glanced up from his book to look at Lydia once again. She seemed as surprised as him that she had initiated a conversation with him. He raised an eyebrow, but responded nonetheless.
"My just finished my Primary in Politics, but I haven't gotten my Mark darkened yet. For this term I've made History my Primary with Potions and Martial Arts as my Secondaries. I have my beginning Marks for those, and I'm hoping I'll get them upgraded to a Secondary Level Mark by the end of this year and then Primary before I graduate. My Weapon of Choice at the moment is knives, but I've basically finished that. I'd like to try the single swords this term as well, hopefully get a beginning Mark by the end of the year and master it by the time I graduate."
"That's quite the schedule." Lydia commented dryly.
Harry chuckled softly. "Yeah, but I'm enjoying it. Is the Training Program going well?"
"It's everything they promised it would be and more." She responded. "Don't get me wrong – it's hard as hell – but it's not anything I can't handle." She said dismissively with a flick of her hair. "Besides, they have to make it like that in order to weed out the weak."
"There aren't any 'weak' in Avalon." Harry said, amused.
"Well, The Way's standards aren't as soft as Avalon's." Lydia said, haughtily.
Harry laughed outright, and Lydia offered a small smile in return. The pair drifted into a comfortable silence after that exchange as Harry returned to his book and Lydia finished looking over their assignments.
Finally, the young Assassin knew she had checked her homework as much as possible and thereby, she had no reason to remain in Harry's company.
Assassins who follow The Way are swift and efficient, never wasting time.
"Well, it looks like you managed to do a decent job on this assignment. Not bad for someone in the Mastery Program. Maybe you should think about adding Warding as a Secondary." She said wryly as she handed his homework back to him.
Harry accepted the parchment with a small smile and a shake of his head. "I'll think about it." He promised.
Lydia smiled back reflexively, Harry felt his smile grow. Then the young girl's smile faded and her eyes shown with determination.
"It's worth it, Harry." She said softly, but with resolve. "You can't even begin to imagine the rewards The Way brings to its followers."
Harry's smile promptly disappeared as he stood abruptly and began to gather his things. Lydia reached out and stopped his movements by grabbing his hand. His heart skipped a beat and then started again in double-time when she didn't break contact.
"I know how you feel about it, but you don't understand-"
Harry interrupted her. "Yes I do. I understand it well enough to know that I could never do what you are required to do when you choose that path. It's not how I want to live my life." He looked up at her, squeezed and then released her hand, and finished packing up his things.
The loss of contact made Lydia feel incomplete, but she pushed that feeling away.
The Way does not permit emotions.
"Well it's how I want to live mine," she responded.
"I know, Lydia."
"It's all I've ever wanted," she continued, determined to… well, to be perfectly honest, she wasn't sure what she wanted to gain from this conversation since she knew Harry would never be convinced.
"Lydia-"
"I need The Way, Harry."
"I know you do!" He said grabbing her shoulders as if to physically stop her tirade. "I understand Lydia! You don't have to explain yourself to me."
White hot anger flared through Lydia unexplainably.
"No you don't!" She responded, yanking away from his grip. "If you understood The Way you wouldn't have turned down the offer to follow it!"
"It's because I understand it that I turned it down!" Harry responded just as vehemently. "I can't live like that Lydia! And if you ask my opinion, I don't think anyone should live like that!" He continued in a softer tone. "Especially not you."
Lydia deflated.
"Harry…" She started softly, but trailed off as she had no idea what to say. She knew full well what she wanted to say – what she should say – but knew just as well that she couldn't – she had chosen her path.
Those who walk along The Way walk alone.
She forced her walls back up and hardened her tone. "You're just one of the weak. I wouldn't want to live like you. I know what I want, and I'm willing to do whatever it takes to become the best. I won't allow anyone to hinder me."
"Is that what I am? Is that what Adrianna is? A 'hindrance'?" Harry responded accusingly.
Lydia refused to look at him and began to gather her things, preparing to leave.
"Fine. We're better off this way anyways."
Lydia, shocked at Harry's cold tone, looked up and hid her disappointment at the sight of Harry's closed off visage.
We're better off this way. How right Harry was.
The young assassin nodded her assent before turning sharply and walking out the door.
Harry stared at the entrance for a long time after Lydia's departure.
He tried to brush off the argument - after all, they had had this debate before and it always ended with them hostilely "agreeing to disagree."
However, he knew this argument was different. There was a sense of finality to it: he knew they would never try to sway the other to their side again.
He tried to tell himself that he was hurt on Adrianna's behalf. He couldn't believe Lydia, whom his sister considered her best friend, wanted nothing to do with her. He tried to rationalize the pain by telling himself that he was just sad for all the assassins in the Training Program who had chosen The Way: what a sad existence, to live only to kill.
But he knew none of these things were what was causing the pressure in his chest that was making it hard to breathe; none of these things were what had him staring at the door, willing it to open again; none of these things were the real problem.
The problem was that Harry knew it wasn't about his dislike of the Training Program, he knew this was no longer just about Adrianna. This was about him and Lydia – he knew that.
He also knew that it came down to the fact that Lydia had a choice, and she had chosen The Way.
Not him.
"But that's not what the book says."
"Trust me, Hermione."
"I do trust you Neville, but what you're saying directly contradicts An Intermediate Guide to Herbology."
"That's because they just recently made this discovery. It was published last week in The Planters' Journal. I'm sure Professor Sprout will mention something about it in our next class, but she might give extra credit if we mention it in our essays beforehand."
"Well that also means she can't take off points if we base our essay on the information we have in the book."
"But it's wrong!"
"The new discovery could be proven wrong someday too! Plus, this information is most likely what we will be tested on in our OWLs. I would like to stick with what the book says."
"But you'll be upset that your essay is outdated when Spout explains the change."
"Then I'll write a new one at that point in time."
"But that's just stupid Hermione!"
"No it's not! I – "
"Will you two shut up?" Charlus snapped from his position on the couch. He felt frustration creep us his spine, causing his neck to tense.
The two Gryffindors quieted at once and stared at their friend in apprehension.
"Sorry, mate." Neville responded timidly.
"Yes, sorry. We'll be quieter." Hermione agreed.
Instead of relieving the tension in his shoulders, their tentative and apprehensive responses only caused his frustration to build.
He hated this.
He was sick and tired of being constantly angry and short-tempered, especially with his friends.
But you don't need them. It might be better, easier, without them to slow you down.
He could just lash out now, lose his temper completely, cause Neville and Hermione to pull away, to give up on him. Charlus shook his head to dispel those foreign thoughts, and tried to will away the anger that still simmered just underneath the surface and caused his skin to crawl. But no matter how much he attempted to clear his mind he couldn't distinguish where his own emotions ended and Voldemort's began.
"I need some fresh air." The Boy-Who-Lived said as he stood up from the couch and stretched.
His two friends shared a look before glancing back to him.
"Do you want company?" Neville asked.
Charlus bit back the harsh No that immediately wanted to spring from this mouth and took a calming breath.
"Nah, I'll be ok. You and Hermione need to finish your debate about… whatever it was." He waved in the general direction of the pile of parchment and books scattered around the Common Room floor. "I won't be long. I'll just go on a walk around the lake. I'll meet up with you guys for dinner."
With a final wave behind him, Charlus stepped through the portrait entrance and took another deep breath - which did nothing to relieve the foreign frustration building within him.
The breeze coming off the lake felt nice, as did the sunlight coming through the clouds. It wasn't quite spring, but it was almost as if the whole earth was anticipating its arrival. Charlus was lying on his back, staring at the sky and, once again, attempting to clear his mind. He closed his eyes and took even, deep breaths.
For the first time since he discovered whose feelings he was feeling, the young Gryffindor allowed himself to truly focus on the foreign emotions. What was He feeling?
Anger was the most prominent. Well, frustration really, but that always led to anger with Voldemort, so the two emotions were interchangeable. But there was something else… another facet that was causing Charlus to constantly be on edge; something that made him constantly snappish, as if waiting on the edge of... Something. What was that? He felt… apprehensive? No, it was more anticipatory than that. It was…
Impatience. Voldemort was impatient. He wanted something to happen and he wanted it to happen now.
But what is he waiting for? Charlus found himself wondering, anxious over what was causing Voldemort such eagerness and expectation.
"Sickle for your thoughts?" A voice drawled from behind him.
"Is that all you think they're worth?" Charlus responded indignantly.
"Only because I'm a Malfoy and I can afford to splurge. Weasley wouldn't deem them worth a knut." Draco scoffed as he settled down on the grass next to Charlus with the same dignity he would have if he was sitting down to dine at the Minister's Ball. "Seriously though, what's eating you?"
Charlus sighed as he continued to gaze into the blue expanse that stretched above them. He didn't know how to respond to Draco's inquiry without explaining everything. That would be a very bad idea; they were tentative friends at best. And while they enjoyed each other's company and had mutual respect for the other, they both understood that their camaraderie would be forced to end some day.
"Do you miss your father?" Charlus heard the words come out of his mouth despite his best efforts to suck them back in.
He didn't have to be looking at him, the Boy Who Lived felt Draco stiffen beside him.
He had crossed a line, Charlus was sure of it. They never discussed these types of things. For Merlin's sake! Charlus was the one responsible for Lucius' imprisonment! (Well, technically, Harry was responsible for it, but that was beside the point) Why was he stupid enough to bring up the huge pink hippogriff in the middle of the room? It had been so much easier to just ignore it and pretend like they were two regular Hogwarts students: just two boys who were the classic picture of a Gryffindor/Slytherin rivalry.
To pretend that their friendly acquaintance didn't go against everything their parents believed.
Stupid. Stupid. Stupid.
Change the subject. Change the subject. Change the subject now.
"How about that last Quidditch game with Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff? Pretty good, right? Not that either of them will give our houses a run for the Cup, but their seekers aren't half bad." He blurted out so fast that Draco was only able to distinguish a few words.
Wow. Smooth Charlus. He found himself thinking.
"Smooth Scarhead," the Malfoy heir snorted, unknowingly echoing Charlus' thoughts. "It's no wonder you're in Gryffindor – you have the subtlety of a drunken giant."
Charlus felt relief flow through him at the friendly insult and could barely muster up an indigent retort in response to the jab at his House.
A comfortable silence stretched between them and Charlus found himself relaxing again.
"I know I shouldn't, but I do." Draco said softly.
And all that relaxation flew out the window faster than his Firebolt.
The Boy Who Lived shifted his gaze to the young blonde beside him. Draco, however, refused to meet Charlus' eyes and instead chose to decimate the patch of grass in front of him.
"He's my dad." He stated, as if that explained everything.
It did.
You'd think he had learned his lesson, but once again Charlus found the words flowing before he could stop them.
"I have a twin brother, Harry. He was my best friend, sometimes I feel like he still is. When he was still with us, my parents – my father especially – pretended like he didn't exist. There are times when I feel like I should have done more, like I should have made them treat him differently. But they're my parents, and in the end, even though I knew what they did was wrong, I ignored it. I… trusted them. I didn't believe anything really bad would happen. Harry was always so understanding, and they were our parents - they had to know what was best."
Draco stared at him. This was the first time he had ever heard Charlus bring up his brother. Sure, everyone heard the rumors, but Charlus hadn't ever talked about it. "What happened to Harry? Where is he?"
Charlus shrugged helplessly.
"He left."
He and Draco stared at each other for a long moment, before a silent understanding was exchanged. Charlus broke eye contact first and returned his gaze to the sky above them.
"I know what my father did during the Dark Lord's last reign. But Death Eater Lucius Malfoy and the man who is my father are two separate people in my mind. And when I think of the chill that had constantly surrounded Hogwarts during our third year, and the ruthless walls of Azkaban, all I can think of is the man who taught me how to ride a broomstick, and then cast the healing charm himself when I fell off; the man who takes me to the train station every year and picks me up after every term and shops for my school supplies with me. All I think about is my father sitting in his cell, wasting away before the dementors. And I miss him." Draco finished softly.
"I'm sorry." Charlus replied weakly, but sincerely. What else could he say?
Draco made no response, but Charlus hadn't expected him to.
They fell into a silence that was slightly less comfortable than before, but not entirely uncomfortable, as they both drifted into their own thoughts.
Suddenly, Charlus felt inexplicable happiness bubble up from deep within him.
Finally. He found himself thinking involuntarily and had to force down the maniacal laughter that threatened to bubble up from the deep recesses of his mind.
The Boy Who Lived felt a chill pass through him that had nothing to do with the cool breeze.
MASS BREAKOUT FROM AZKABAN
The Ministry of Magic announced late last night that there has been a mass breakout from Azkaban. Speaking to reporters in his private office,Rufus Scrimgeour,Minister for Magic, confirmed that a total tally of twenty seven prisoners escaped in the early hours of yesterday evening, and that he has already informed theMuggle Prime Ministerof the dangerous nature of these individuals. Among the escapees are high security prisoners, and convicted Death Eaters, Bellatrix Lestrange, Lucius Malfoy, Antonin Dolohov, and Augustus Rookwood (For more information on each of the convicts – see page 5). No witnesses were left alive, but the brutality displayed and the fact that all dementors guards have deserted their posts points to only one suspect: He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named (For more information on You-Know-Who's return – see page 7).
Charlus Potter, the Boy Who Lived, has not been available for comment as of yet. But the Minister assures The Daily Prophet that they will do everything in their power to…..
Charlus stopped reading, glanced up and searched the Slytherin table. Grey eyes met hazel from across the Great Hall.
It was times like this that Charlus wished his parents had taught him more the more subtle skills of being a Pureblood, instead of just dueling and Quidditch, because he desperately wanted to be able to understand Draco's expression right now. Instead, he found himself staring helplessly at the blonde's stoic countenance.
After what seemed like an eternity, Draco's gaze broke from Charlus as Crabbe elbowed him from his left and offered (what Crabbe thought was) a subtle smile and wink. Draco smirked triumphantly in return and Charlus found himself unable to watch anymore of the Slytherins' excitement.
Now what?
He turned to Neville, who was gripping the article detailing Bellatrix Lestrange so tightly his fingers had already ripped through the paper and were now cutting into his palm.
He and Hermione shared a worried look. Charlus reached over and ripped the paper out of his friend's hands. The Longbottom heir's head snapped towards the Boy Who Lived and Charlus was momentarily taken aback by the pure hatred that burned in Neville's eyes.
Charlus shook off his shock and crumpled the paper before tossing it into the nearest pitcher of Pumpkin Juice. He ignored the faint protests of Seamus, who was reaching for that particular pitcher at that time, and gripped his friend's shoulder tightly.
"You don't need to read that rubbish." He said firmly, giving Neville's shoulder a firm shake to emphasize his statement.
Hermione reached across the table and placed her hands over Neville's clenched fists and gave him a gentle squeeze.
Finally, Neville seemed to register the crescent shaped cuts on his palms and his best friends' worried expressions. The hatred bled out from his eyes and he gradually unwound his clenched hands. He sighed in defeat and his shoulders slumped from the lack of tension. He threw Charlus a reassuring look and took a hold of Hermione's hands.
"I'm okay." Neville stated weakly, squeezing the young witch's hands to emphasize his statement.
Charlus was preparing to say something (he wasn't sure what quite yet, but that was beside the point), but before he could state his deep, heartfelt, emotional comment that would undoubtedly fix everything (because he was really good at those), he found himself being yanked out of his seat.
"James! Let the boy stand on his own!" Charlus heard his godfather say from somewhere behind him.
"Shut up, Sirius. Come on, Charlus," James commanded, dragging his son away from the House table. "We scheduled a press conference for you so you can release your statement about these current events."
"Alright, alright! Let me go so I can walk properly, yeah?" The Boy Who Lived grumbled as he waved dejectedly to his friends.
"James, please!" He heard his mother say.
Finally, his father released him as they were walking out the Great Hall entrance.
"So what exactly is 'my' statement?" Charlus asked as he straightened his robes.
Lily handed him a piece of paper that held "his" thoughts on the Azkaban "incident" (as they were calling it). Charlus quickly began to memorize it (so that it would actually look like his own thoughts) as they exited Hogwarts and walked towards the apparition point.
When Charlus finally looked up from "his" statement, he was shocked to see that they were surrounded by aurors (well, more than usual). He caught Sirius' gaze and sent him a questioning look. His godfather raised an eyebrow, then glanced meaningfully from his father, back to him and then completed with an exasperated eye roll.
Right.
Mass breakout of Azkaban high-security prisoners + paranoid parents of Boy Who Lived = lots of bodyguards.
This was going to be a long term.
Lily Potter's whole body sagged into the couch of the common room outside her and James' quarters at Hogwarts. The last few weeks since the Azkaban breakout had been a flurry of press conferences, meeting with the Minister, interviews with the Daily Prophet, and constant auror protection. Well, that's what it had been for Charlus at least; Lily only scheduled these events, then sat back and watched her son handle it like the seasoned celebrity he was.
She was happy to see Charlus and Minister Scrimgeour grow closer as the months progressed. Their relationship was a bit awkward at first, but because they spent so much time together they had developed an easy camaraderie. Their close association was crucial when assuring the public that the Ministry and the Boy Who Lived were working hand in hand to combat the threat of Voldemort.
It was comforting to a mother to know that her son had an entire country supporting him in his destiny.
There was one thing that Lily knew would make her feel even more at peace. She and James longed for Charlus to have a personal bodyguard of sorts, someone who would remain by their son's side at all times; who would be willing to do anything, even sacrifice their own life, for Charlus. Their list of potential applicants was short: including only one name.
Harry.
They were doing everything in their power to amend the situation they had gotten themselves into: to find their wayward son, to bring him back, place him in his rightful position behind Charlus, and thereby make the world that much safer for their son; but, for a runaway teenager, Harry was impossibly difficult to find.
They had been discreetly asking around and casually searching for him over the past few years, but their search had increased in the last few months, becoming their #2 priority since the Azkaban breakout (Charlus would, of course, always be #1). But despite their best efforts, they could not find their eldest son.
Suddenly, the door slammed open and her husband came running into the room waving a letter like a lunatic. Worried, Lily sat up, quickly taking in his appearance and gauging his expression. His hair was even messier than usual (a difficult feat, Lily would assure you) and his robe was beginning to fall off his shoulder, and his breathing was labored as if he had run here from the Great Hall (which, it appeared, he had). But he appeared to be happy, so Lily let herself to relax.
"Lily Flower! Do you remember that foreign guy who was at the Minister's Ball? The one with the loose tongue after a few glasses of champagne? Do you remember what he said? That gang he heard of once, a long time ago, from an old man at a bar? Well he was right! Merlin, he was right! We found him!"
Lily stared at James in confusion. She had been able to distinguish the words "Minister," "tongue," "old man at a bar," and "Merlin," and thereby hadn't the faintest clue what her deranged husband was talking about (and she wasn't sure she wanted to know).
"James why don't you sit down. You're making about as much sense as Hagrid after a few kegs of mead. And do try to calm yourself, you're scaring me."
"Sit down? Calm myself?" James continued hysterically, "I can't! Lily, don't you understand? We found him! We found Harry!"
Lily sat frozen in shock as the impact of her husband's words washed over her.
"Oh." She said, stunned. "Well… this changes things."
She and James stared at each other for a while, one grinning like a maniac, practically shaking in excitement and anticipation and the other blinking blankly, still trying to register her husband's words; after a few moments of silence they proceeded to try and hug the life out of one another.
"We found him! We found him!" They exclaimed excitedly.
And then the Potters' quarters filled with a flurry of activity. They had to prepare to retrieve their son.
Charlus stood frozen outside of his parents' door. His hand poised in the position to knock, where it had stopped at the sound of his mother and father's declarations.
They had found him. They had found Harry.
The Boy Who Lived was torn: on one hand he was upset that Harry would be forced to uproot from the life and the family he had formed at Avalon. But on the other hand… Harry was coming home.
Harry was coming home.
Charlus was suddenly overwhelmed with the idea of seeing Harry again, eating dinner with him, playing quidditch, doing homework, and just… being brothers – being twins – again. Were they the same height? Would Harry get sorted into Gryffindor? Would they have the same favorite subjects? Would Harry like his friends?
But then, he thought of how fondly Harry always spoke of Adrianna and her parents, of the feelings Harry so obviously had for Adrianna's friend – Lydia, and of the goals he had that he wanted to accomplish before he graduated from Avalon. Would Harry even come home? What if he runs away? What if he refused to come back with their parents? Would he fight them? What if Harry thinks Charlus gave away his location? What if he doesn't get to say goodbye to Adrianna and her parents? To Lydia?
Then it hit Charlus like a herd of hippogriffs. All the conflicting considerations that were dancing around in his head stilled as one thought stood out with perfect clarity:
I have to warn him.
Even if he couldn't (or was it that he wouldn't?) stop his parents, he would not let Harry be caught unawares of the impending invasion on his life.
He turned from his parents' door abruptly and ran to the Owlry. He had no doubt that Hedwig would be able to get there in time to provide Harry with ample warning. Time enough for Harry to say goodbye, to get his things together, to set all his affairs at Avalon in order, and (Charlus tried not to dwell on this possibility for long) to disappear if he wanted to…
No matter how badly he wanted to have his brother back with him, he would not allow Harry to be taken against his will. He would not allow his parents to ruin Harry's life… again. Maybe he could have done more to prevent his parents' negligence when they were younger, maybe he couldn't have; he would never know for sure.
All he knew was that he could do something now. And he would. The rest was up to Harry.
That night, if anyone had been looking, they would have seen a distinctive white owl streak across the starlit sky carrying a small letter.
That night, if anyone had followed said owl, they would have seen her carry said letter to a young man relaxing with his family and his pet snake.
That night, if anyone was wondering, the lives of Harry and Charlus Potter, as well as those closest to them, were changed drastically by just a few short sentences:
Harry,
I don't know how – but Mum and Dad found you. I'm guessing they plan on bringing you back, but I don't know much else. It'll probably be soon.
Please be careful.
A/N
And we've caught up to the Prologue!
Whew. Wow. Longest chapter yet. So sorry for the long wait!
There was a lot of explanation in this chapter as to how Avalon's education system is run. I tried to make it clear enough without having a really long and boring paragraph simply stating how it works. But as a result, it may have been a little confusing. I thought their conversations gave away all the necessary details to understand the system, but then again, I invented it, so of course I understood it. I completely understand if you got a little lost – I'm not sure if I explained it very well – especially the design of the tattoos. I'm afraid I didn't really do them justice. I have this great picture in my head that I am having a really hard time putting into words.
There will be more explanations and (hopefully) more clarification in further chapters, but if you have any questions at this point in time feel free to ask me in a review or PM me. I'll do my best to answer (given that it doesn't give away any plot secrets).
Thanks for reading! I look forward to reading everyone's feedback! =)
~Lilah
