Standard Disclaimer Applies.

Chapter 26: Of Grandpa

"Grandpa," Chris's voice could be heard, muffled against the young man's chest, and understanding instantly flooded Wyatt's face.

They vanished in a whirlwind of flames.

"That was him- from the Prophet- Lord Wyatt!" Ginny gasped, looking amazed. "He can get through the wards!"

"Blimey," said Ron, dazed. "And Chris just called him right to us."

Harry's eyes, which were clouded over in thought, stared hard at the ground. This was, quite simply put, one of Dumbledore's best catastrophes. "Do you remember, in Dumbledore's office, the real reason he said he wanted Chris here?" he asked quietly.

Ginny's eyes widened, and Ron's mouth came open slightly.

"So that's it?" breathed Ron, looking chagrined. "We let him go back to him just like that when we were supposed to, I dunno, help him? Keep him with us and show him a good fam-…" he and Ginny shared a look. "…Oh, hell."

Harry understood their sudden sentiments. Dumbledore was afraid of Chris turning back to Wyatt. In an effort to prevent that, he had wanted Chris to stay with the Weasleys a while to learn that there was still good worth fighting for- good like a family like the Weasleys.

Chris had only been met with hostility since he had arrived… and now Chris was turning to the Source of all Evil for help.

"We've really done it this time," Harry sighed heavily.

XXxxXXxxXXxxXXxxXX

Chris felt the familiar flames and then the split second sensation of falling into oblivion before they reappeared beyond the wards. He instantly tore himself from his brother's arms and flew to the godforsaken familiar hospital bed, not bothering to look at anything else first. All he saw was his grandpa's sunken, gray face-- the deep-set, half lidded dark eyes; the sharp, protruding cheekbones and sunken cheeks; the expression of nothingness that was creeping around the edges and closing in.

"Grandpa-" the word ripped from his throat in shock, in fear.

That's why he didn't know anything else was wrong until he felt a sudden searing sensation in his shoulder, the force of the impact sending him reeling to the floor. Distantly, he was aware that it felt like an energy ball-- demonic. Distantly, he heard Wyatt shout angrily, and he caught a blur of bright gold- which he also distantly knew meant Wyatt had vaporized at least three demons in one move.

But it didn't matter. Their little battle was meaningless; irrelevant. It just didn't matter. His grandpa, whose eyes were closing, he was slipping- no!, was all that mattered. VictorBennett meant everything.

Without a second thought to the throbbing, searing ache in his bloodied shoulder, he clambered to his feet and stumbled to the bedside.

"Grandpa- Grandpa, please don't," Chris murmured instantly, terrified by the way the man's eyes just kept closing. He had never felt more helpless to stop anything in his life. The eyes- those vibrant, penetrating eyes- they just kept slipping, and Chris was too far lost to even think straight. He couldn't help; he couldn't do anything, and he just kept slipping. "Grandpa, don't do this. I can't… I lied, Grandpa, I lied-" He knew he was sobbing, he knew he wasn't making sense. It didn't matter. Victor was leaving, this was it, and this was Chris' last chance. How was he supposed to be prepared for this? "I lied when I said I wanted to say goodbye, Grandpa. I lied; I can't do it. I can't say it. Please don't leave me. Please don't go; I can't…."

Chris was holding onto Victor's hand so hard, he might have been trying to keep the man's soul pressed down into his body; he might have been trying to keep it from slipping away.

…Victor's eyelids raised slowly, heavily, and the orbs moved painstakingly over to Chris. The look within those eyes struck Chris like a bolt to the chest: the sparkle of life in his grandpa's eyes- the sparkle was gone. Completely gone. Chris closed his eyes, refusing to let the struck sensation overwhelm him. But the realization did. His grandfather was really going to die.

Chris felt the hot tears seep from beneath his lashes and burn his cheeks. How could this happen? When did everything become so fucked up? It wasn't right; it wasn't fair; how had it even come to this?

"Please don't leave me, Grandpa," he whispered brokenly, the tears falling freely. "You're all I have."

The cracked, broken lips parted slightly, and Chris practically threw himself onto his grandfather, he was leaning so close to listen. At first, all that came out was a hoarse rasping noise, almost like a dementor's ghastly breathing. Then the noise began to form two barely audible words.

"…I'm… sorry…"

"Then don't go," Chris whispered, feeling his heart stop beating. It was so simple in his mind; why couldn't his grandfather understand? "Just don't go…."

Victor's eyes closed the final centimeter, and Chris knew it was for the very last time. Those eyes were too weary to ever open again. Chris squeezed his own eyes shut and cursed the boiling streaks of tears that just kept falling.

"I… love… you."

And it was over.

Chris, barely able to even breathe through the imploding and heart shattering silent grief, let his head fall forward to rest on his grandpa's unmoving chest. His tears stained the unforgiving hospital gown as the heart rate monitor blared shrilly.

Hours seemed to pass, but no nurses entered the room to interrupt or unplug the shrieking monitor. It felt like an eternity before Chris wearily sat up, again. Without a word, he stared at Victor's body and waited silently as his brother approached him.

In the same silence, Wyatt unhooked the heart monitor and stood beside Chris, also staring sorrowfully at the corpse of their grandfather.

The silence stretched. At length, Chris whispered hoarsely, not moving his bloodshot gaze, "Are you going to take me to the dungeons, now?"

Chris felt the weight of a hand on his shoulder and flinched tensely. Wyatt's voice was quiet- almost gentle- as he replied, "I think you've been through enough. …Grandpa's death warrants a truce, don't you think?"

Hesitantly, Chris moved glossy eyes up to his brother, weakly searching out any signs of deception. But it was too much. He couldn't handle hating his brother- not now.

Unable to hold up his guard with suspicion, Chris squeezed his eyes shut and let himself fall back on Wyatt's chest, and Wyatt once again pulled him into an embrace. Without opening his eyes, Chris mumbled brokenly, "I'm tired, Wyatt…. I'm always… so tired…."

"I know, Chris," Wyatt whispered, softly, pulling Chris tighter. "I know…."

And before Chris knew what was happening, Wyatt's hand that was over Chris' shoulder suddenly began to feel warm… and before Chris knew what he was doing, his eyelids were drooping and a peaceful blackness enveloped him entirely.

XXxxXXxxXXxxXXxxXX

Harry sat awake on his bed while Ron snored softly from his. Chris' conjured bed remained empty, still completely unused. The only time Chris came into this room- which was the second smallest in the entire house- was to retrieve new clothes from his trunk, which had been summoned as soon as he realized he would be staying a while.

Harry, Ron, and Ginny had told the rest of the household what had happened almost immediately, but no one had known what to do.

"He called Wyatt?" Leo had asked, his expression strangely guarded. "And he came? Are you sure?"

"I'm sure," said Harry firmly, wondering at the angel's expression. "I've seen Wyatt before, and it was definitely him."

Leo opened his mouth as though to say something else, but he eventually just shut it and turned away, his countenance still pensive.

"You've seen Lord Wyatt before?" repeated Bill, frowning. "As in, other than in the Prophet?"

That had led to his recounting of the mind invasion incident, and then there was more speculation about that, but in the end, the real problem of Chris' disappearance remained unsolved.

"I can sense him," James had offered quietly. "He's not mortally wounded… but that's about all I can tell."

Mrs. Weasley had informed Phineas' portrait of the sudden turn of events, and he had relayed the message to Dumbledore.

"The headmaster is moving the negotiations as fast as he can," Phineas returned in his usual lofty manner. "He and Lord Voldemort are using a medium and are both being quite firm on their own demands. There's been progress, but he estimates another two days before anything can be agreed upon entirely." He examined his fingernails and sniffed haughtily, "Looks like Christopher's spell wasn't so grand after all if Lord Wyatt could get past as easily."

Harry, Ron, Ginny, Fred, and George had all given the snotty little man a piece of their minds at that point, but the fact remained. There was nothing anyone could do.

That's why Harry was unable to sleep, his mind spinning and racing around possibilities: What could they do? What was Chris doing? What was happening?

So when a torrent of flames materialized out of thin air in front of Chris' bed, Harry bolted to his feet, his wand out and ready.

Harry immediately knew it wasn't Chris- the person was too tall and broad. As the pale moon shifted out from behind a cloud, milky light flooded the room and revealed blond hair- Wyatt. The man had his back turned to Harry, but Harry could see him lay something in Chris' bed and hesitate by it.

"What are you doing?" Harry blurted before he could stop and think about it.

Wyatt barely glanced over his shoulder to see who it was. He gave a wry smile before turning back to the bed. "Hey, Harry. …And don't question me."

Harry, all too aware that this man was Voldemort's superior and therefore very powerful and evil, moved cautiously up beside him and glanced down at the bed.

Chris was asleep, his expression at complete peace for the first time Harry had ever seen. Without a word Wyatt waved two fingers and the blankets soared gently onto the sleeping teen. They watched silently as Chris automatically rolled onto his side, pulling the blankets more comfortably around him.

Harry couldn't help but make a face and glance at the dark lord. "Er… I know you said not to ask questions, but why are we watching Chris sleep?"

The Source threw him a sidelong look, and Harry couldn't decipher the expression. "Because it's a rare sight and I want mental documentation of it."

"…Oh."

Wyatt rolled his eyes, then sighed. Mutely, he stepped around to Chris' trunk and flipped the top open. Harry peered around as well and had to frown. It was completely empty.

"Lame, Chris," Wyatt muttered, flicking his eyes in a roll again. He waved a hand and muttered deliberately, "Reveal."

Instantly, the emptiness glowed golden and it seemed to expand before their very eyes into something like a walk-in closet. Rows and shelves appeared, all laden with objects- most of which were clothes, daggers, books, potions, and potion ingredients. Wyatt didn't seem at all surprised, but Harry's mouth dropped open. How had he not noticed that before?

Wyatt held out his hand and commanded in the same forceful tone, "Alcohol." Immediately, a dozen bottles of various drinks flew at him and Harry. Wyatt stopped them in midair an inch from his face and then smashed them angrily into the ground, causing Harry to jump back in surprise as glass and liquid splattered in all directions.

"What the blazes-" he began in shock, but Wyatt had already continued with, "Drugs."

Several small bags of questionable substances now soared to the two young men. Wyatt scowled, obviously identifying them, and flicked his fingers. They combusted into nothing.

Harry was truly baffled now. "What- the- bloody- hell- was that about?"

Wyatt sent him a narrow look at yet another question. "Harry, you had better consider yourself lucky you're on Voldemort's side rather than mine right now, or else we would be having some problems."

Harry blinked. "I'm not on Voldemort's side…"

"I meant, Voldemort's side of the magical spectrum… thingy," Wyatt 'clarified'. He seemed to realize the confusion still present, so he continued, "We just have boundaries with each other's worlds, okay? I don't mess with his war, he doesn't mess with mine unless I tell him to. …We were having some issues about drawing lines… so you're on his side after that nice little conference."

Harry was still confused, but managed to just shake it off. He had gotten the general point that Wyatt wasn't going to kill him, and that was all he needed. "Why did you just destroy that stuff? Why did Chris even have it?"

Wyatt opened his mouth as though to snap at Harry again, but he ended up just giving Harry an appraising look. "Would you consider Chris a friend?" he asked after a moment. When Harry nodded, he looked thoughtful. After another moment, he said quietly, "Did you know Chris has been a drug addict, and may possibly still be?"

Harry felt his jaw begin to drop again, but quickly stopped himself. He shook his head. "I don't think he is anymore. He doesn't act like he's drunk or… on drugs," Harry stated, searching his mind to find any proof otherwise. He couldn't really think of anything… except the occasional scent of smoke. But that clung to clothes for weeks, didn't it? Harry shifted his weight to his other leg, uncertain.

Wyatt actually smiled slightly. "Well, that's good. But he's tried quitting before, and relapse is always just a hair's breadth away, ya know? And when he relapses, it's… hard. I don't know how many times he's overdosed, intentionally or not. I just… I want to… to eliminate the possibility, so he doesn't even have to choose." And now his concern was utterly transparent as he looked down upon the Halliwell, his soft, compassionate expression betrayed by the moonlight.

Harry blinked, stunned. Overdosed? For the love of God, how many times had Chris tried to kill himself? Harry wondered, numb. How bad could his life have possibly been?

As those thoughts rolled and twisted in his consciousness, Harry could only recognize one prominent thought:

"Why do you care so much?" he managed to force out weakly, truly questioning how someone as evil as this young man could have such concern for the usually cold Halliwell. It was the most unlikely scenario he could imagine with these two people. Wasn't Lord Wyatt supposed to be mad at Chris for leaving him? Wasn't Wyatt really hunting Chris? Why was he suddenly so interested in Chris' well-being?

Wyatt glanced up briefly, his eyes slightly confused. "Why wouldn't I?" he muttered, returning his gaze to the slumbering teen. He continued softly, almost to himself, "Just because he disagrees with my views doesn't change the fact that he's still my brother. …We're all we have left, now…."

…Harry was pretty sure the floor vanished from beneath his feet. "WHAT?"

Now Wyatt's head shot up. "Do you mind?" he hissed angrily, brandishing a hand out over Chris. "Do you have any idea how long it took me to get him to sleep?" There was a pause, and most of the anger vanished into a rather abashed expression. "Actually, it took forever for me to sneak up on him and use my power…. Man, he's going to be pissed when he wakes up…."

But Harry didn't care. "You two are brothers? You are a Halliwell?" he demanded, aghast and still feeling as though the floor had disappeared. He could only stammer as his mind flipped and sparked. "What- how- when did this-?"

Wyatt stared at him blankly. "You didn't know?" he asked in a voice just as blank as his expression.

Harry shook his head, still horror-struck. "..How did this- when did he- what-…?"

Wyatt rolled his eyes and reached into the pocket of his khaki jacket. "…If you're done stuttering… give this to Chris when he wakes up," he said, handing Harry a long, wooden-beaded necklace. Harry accepted it mutely, staring at Wyatt with newfound awareness. Now that he looked, he did notice the oldest Halliwell greatly favored Leo… unfortunately. He shook himself when he realized Wyatt was speaking again. "Tell Chris that I'll be back in the morning to talk about the funeral and stuff so he doesn't freak out when I suddenly appear…Um… if Chris demands where all his stash went before I come back, just tell him I destroyed it. And, uh, when you finally manage to get out of here- this… house, just, ah, watch out for him, will you? Drugs and all that. I really mean it when I say he crashes hard. And… um… yeah. I don't suppose you know how to make him eat, do you?"

Harry just could not stop himself from staring. Was this really happening? "What are you, his mother? Of course I don't! He'd kill me for even suggesting it!" Harry was quickly getting the feeling that he was not, in fact, even awake. Had he fallen asleep, thinking about Chris' disappearance, and this was the dream his mind came up with? -He pinched himself hard, but it hurt. A lot. Oh, God, this was real. What was happening to the world?

Wyatt just threw him a deadpanned look. "You would be surprised how much I could say about that. …Anyway, I've got to go now. Some meeting with vampires in, like, two minutes. They're never happy when they have to wait past midnight…." With one last look at his little brother, Wyatt vanished in a wave of fire.

Harry stared. It wasn't long before his knees gave out and carried him to the nonexistent floor.

XXxxXXxxXXxxXXxxXX

Hours passed. It was Christmas Eve, and Harry was in the kitchen, brooding over a steaming cup of tea, at five in the morning when Mr. Weasley arrived. The flustered man jumped at the sight of Harry sitting alone in the early hours of the morning, but Harry quickly assured him that he was just too awake to lie in bed until a decent time of morning. Mr. Weasley grinned in understanding, wished him well, and took off to see his wife.

Another hour passed in silent contemplation. Harry made another cup of tea after sipping his way slowly through the first. He was beginning to wonder when his father and Leo tended to wake, as he was certain Molly was the first Weasley ever to rise, and that was probably going to be delayed by the arrival of Mr. Weasley. …Harry quickly discontinued that line of thought. He hoped his father and Leo slept in. He didn't think he could handle a conversation with either at this moment….

Luckily, it was Molly that bustled in first, and only half an hour later.

"Harry, dear, what are you doing up this early?" she asked, concerned as she instantly began making breakfast for the house's occupants.

Harry, merely skipping the obvious answer of not being able to sleep, replied instead, "Chris is back. He's asleep."

Mrs. Weasley look up, surprised. "Well, that's wonderful. I was beginning to get worried," she replied more gently than Harry expected. "I don't think he's slept in days. How's his grandfather?"

Harry stirred his tea, eyes focused only on it. "He died," he said softly.

Mrs. Weasley was sincerely saddened by this news, but didn't say much. She cooked in silence. Within minutes, food began piling up enough to feed a small army, and Harry watched the incredible process with detached fascination. His mind was in the same place it had been since Wyatt left.

Surprisingly, the next person to enter the comfortably silent room was the alluded teenager himself.

Chris, his expression as closed and unreadable as Harry had ever seen it, stopped at the sight of people and made as though to turn back around and leave.

Six simple words from Mrs. Weasley stopped him dead. "I'm sorry about your grandfather, dear."

Chris' unclad feet scraped to a stop on the carpet in the hallway. He stared at something in front of him for a moment before turning to face her. His eyes, Harry was chilled to see, were practically dead. "…How did you…?" he asked quietly, not quite meeting her gentle, motherly gaze.

Mrs. Weasley looked to Harry, her answer obvious, and Harry, sensing the still-lingering question, responded bluntly, "Your brother told me."

Chris stared at him flatly. He blinked, then sighed quietly. Not even looking at Harry, he asked emotionlessly, "Who else knows?"

"Just me. Why didn't you say anything?" Harry inquired wearily, unable to conjure enough energy to be as ardent as usual. He hadn't slept at all, and he had a suspicion that his tea was decaffeinated. On top of that, he had just spent two solid hours thinking about it, and he wasn't as shocked, anymore. In a way, their relationship made sense. In other ways, though…

Chris just turned around again, his expression indecipherable. As he began to walk away, Harry sighed.

"Wait. Stop," Harry muttered. He stood and walked the distance between himself and Chris, who failed to look interested in anything else Harry had to say. Harry fished something out of his pocket as he continued, "He told me to give you this when you woke up. And he'll be back in the morning to talk about funeral stuff… so that gives you a few hours to find a way to tell everyone why exactly he's arranging your grandfather's funeral."

Chris blinked mutely and caught the object Harry had dropped in his hand. Chris blinked, and something- something alive- flickered within his dulled eyes. He blinked again. After a moment, his lips twisted at the corners, and that faded look in his eyes softened to something a little more human.

"Hmm," he spoke wordlessly, looking a little less like his world had just been Chernobyl-ed.

"Why's that so important?" asked Harry curiously. He had thought it a simple, mediocre piece of woodwork, but that didn't seem the case, now.

Chris held the center circle of wood in the beaded necklace, which was larger than the others and had a single rune carved into it. The twist at the corners of Chris' lips returned, and he replied softly, still looking at the rather crude necklace. "The few months I lived with him, my brother carved this into the headboard of my bed and spent days working out the incantation to go with it." He smiled slightly again, his eyes distant as he studied the gift. "…It keeps the nightmares away…. I can't believe he made a necklace out of it…."

"Your brother made that for you?" asked Mrs. Weasley fondly, coming up to the boys without restraint. "Which one was he, again, dear?"

Now Chris shot her a look that Harry found quite interesting. He didn't know if it was because of the 'dear' or because of the answer that followed.

"Wyatt," came the innocent response, and then to Harry, "I'm going back to bed."

He started to walk away yet again, when Harry shook himself from his surprise at the blunt admission. "Wait! What happens when he gets here and you're asleep?"

"Wyatt's definition of morning is eleven fifty-nine, Harry. I'll be up by then…" And with that, he was gone.

Harry blinked. Even though he now knew Wyatt was Chris' brother, hearing Chris using the words, 'Wyatt' and 'my brother' interchangeably just made Harry's head spin.

That was when Mrs. Weasley found her tongue. She rounded on Harry, who instinctively took a step backwards. "Wyatt? What did he mean, Wyatt?"

…Harry knew he should tell the Weasleys what he had learned within the past few days; he knew he should tell them what Dumbledore had really wanted if they spent the holidays with Chris, but, at the moment, words escaped him. He could only sigh and tell her exactly what it meant.

XXxxXXxxXXxxXXxxXX

It was close to eleven in the morning when Chris could finally be found making his way into the kitchen. He was still wearing pajamas, which consisted of a huge black long-sleeved shirt and baggy gray flannel pants, which also caught everyone by surprise. To put it bluntly, he looked like the innocent little boy swamped in his daddy's favorite nightwear. It was a startling change from the black dress shirts, black pants, and black trench coat.

Without looking at anyone assembled (which was everyone), he moved to the coffee pot, poured more water in, and turned it back on. Still not looking at the people behind him, he crawled up onto the countertop beside the coffee pot and sat quietly with his legs crossed. Only after picking absentmindedly at the hem of his pants did he finally glance up- only to have to do a double take. He blinked in surprise to find everyone staring at him like a museum exhibit.

Silence. After another moment passed with no explanation from either side, Chris slipped down from the counter. Still looking rather lost at the whole situation, he moved out of the kitchen and into the parlor.

Harry sighed and followed a little ahead of the Weasleys, Elder, and Whitelighter.

"They know," Harry muttered to him, causing Chris to look up, his expression guarded. "About Wyatt. And I sort of hinted… strongly… about Leo, as well."

Pause. Chris stared. Then he stated bluntly, "Thanks, Harry."

Harry shrugged with a grimace. If Dumbledore had wanted Chris to know the real side of a loving family, that family had to know where Chris was coming from. How could they allow themselves to care about the kid if they were constantly struggling to decide if the aforementioned kid was planning to kill them in their sleep? Harry had seen the logic at the time.

"So, let me get this straight," said Mrs. Weasley, pushing her way through the crowd of various family members. She stood in front of Chris, who had taken a seat on the floor and now had to look up at her, which made his eyes look extraordinarily wide. Mrs. Weasley whipped out a copy of the Prophet which contained the picture of Lords Wyatt and Christopher. She waved it in front of Chris and demanded, "This is your brother? Wyatt Halliwell, the twice-blessed son of Piper and Leo?"

Chris blinked, his expression unreadable. After a moment, he looked into the fireplace and gave a nod.

Nobody seemed very surprised at this news any longer, but Bill did clarify rather disbelievingly, "And your father wants to turn your custody over to your maniac brother? What the hell?"

Leo sighed exasperatedly. "I've been telling you why since Harry brought it up," he said wearily. "If Wyatt had custody, he and Christopher would be around each other more, and Christopher would have more of a chance to talk sense into him! It's the best plan anyone's had yet, I'm telling you."

"God, father, don't be so modest…" Chris drawled, still staring unseeingly at the fireplace.

Leo's face twitched with anger, and he snapped quietly, "What, you think moving between sides and backstabbing everyone is working so well, do you?"

Now Chris shot a look of pure venom at his father, and Harry jumped in surprise. It was the first time Chris had ever been openly angry with the man- and it was scary. "You know it's not that simple," he hissed, his eyes dangerous.

Leo arched an eyebrow, challenging. "What isn't simple? Choosing between saving your brother and killing him? Of course not…. I can really see how hard that choice would be for anyone…."

The cup of tea in Mr. Weasley's hand shattered, causing everyone to jump. Chris looked away quickly, his expression frighteningly closed.

"What?" asked Leo coldly, giving Chris a foul look. "Did I strike a nerve, Christopher?"

"Father, leave," said Chris quietly, staring straight at the fireplace. Everyone twisted around to face him, surprised. Chris stared straight ahead and continued in a soft but vehement voice, "You have no right to be here, and you have no right to talk to me right now. Just leave."

Leo's face screwed up in anger. "How dare you? Just because I suggest you're being traitorous- which any idiot could see just by looking at the way you constantly switch between forces- stabbing your brother in the back or stabbing the Resistance in the back-"

Chris didn't even move when Leo was suddenly ripped from his feet and thrown straight through the wall leading into the kitchen.

Shocked silence met the collision and clatter of debris. Fred and George, who were nearest the wall, coughed heavily in the swirling dust.

Silence.

"Well," said James in bright tones. "Say what you will about your inconsistency in the war, at least you're consistent in your hatred of Elders."

Chris didn't smile.

There was silence. Eventually, Bill went to check on Leo and came back to report that the man was out cold.

"…So why do you change sides?" Bill asked, squaring Chris a level look. "It sounds serious."

Finally, Chris titled his head to look up at Bill. Finally, there was an expression within his stormy eyes, but it was one that Harry couldn't identify. Without a particular tone in his voice, he asked, "What sides?"

When everyone stared at him blankly. He stared back. After a stretch of time, however, Chris sighed and looked away. "Never mind…"

"Chris, what do you mean, what sides?" asked Bill, looking sincerely concerned. "We're not going to lynch you for speaking your mind, you know."

Chris gave him that same unidentifiable look, then shook his head again. "It doesn't matter," he murmured, then stood up to leave.

"Chris, please don't…" Mrs. Weasley began, also looking worried by his behavior, but Chris had already vanished through the wall.

Eventually, Mrs. Weasley sighed and sank into the nearest sofa. "Has he actually talked to anyone?" she demanded wearily, holding her face in her hands. "This is awful! What happened to the Halliwells?"

"Oh, you know, demons… death… destruction…. That sort of thing," said a new voice, and the Weasleys and Potters whirled around to find Wyatt Halliwell himself standing next to the demolished wall. The tall blond, who was holding a steaming cup of coffee with both hands, frowned and peered overtly at the wall. "Speaking of… what happened here?"

His blue eyes looked up expectantly as he raised the steaming mug to his mouth and sipped. When nobody moved to answer from their slack jawed positions, the Source sighed painstakingly. Grumbling something under his breath, he instead chose to ask, "Where's Chris?"

"Present," came a pseudo-chipper voice, and they looked over to find Chris leaning against the doorway beside Wyatt- who jumped in surprise.

Wyatt clutched his chest and exclaimed, "Jeez, Chris, it's too early for that! Give me a heart attack, why don't you?"

Chris rolled his eyes, then stopped. He checked his watched and looked at Wyatt in surprise. "Wow, it's eleven fifteen. This is early for you."

Wyatt grinned widely, which caused the Weasleys to just about faint in shock. "I know, right? I've been working on it. Five minutes earlier every week…."

Chris just stared at him. Wyatt's eyes narrowed. "Hang on…" Wyatt said, his voice no longer as pleasant as it had been since he arrived. "There's something wrong with you…."

Chris rolled his eyes and said- rather acidic, "It couldn't be the fact that- gee, I dunno- the closest thing I ever had to a father just died, could it?"

Wyatt waved his hand as though brushing that fact aside. "No, no, something besides that."

And while Chris looked absolutely outraged that his statement had been brushed aside so easily, Wyatt's mouth fell open. He whirled around in a circle, seemingly looking for something, then turned wide eyes on his little brother. "What is wrong with you? There are no windows in this place!"

Chris blinked at him. "…And that's my fault how…?" he queried feebly.

Wyatt gave Chris such a deadpan look, Harry instantly realized where Chris had learned the skill from. "Alright, I get that you don't want to create a real window because it couldn't hold all these enchantments… but why on earth did you not just say a freaking spell to put an illusion up?"

Chris blinked at him again. Wyatt spat out a quick spell and what looked like a window instantly appeared in the far wall. The scene outside was simple, but Harry, who knew Grimmauld Place was a nasty little neighborhood, knew it was false. The window showed a clear meadow with a few willow trees swaying in the distance. The grass was almost as tall as that of the un-kept patch that really was outside that wall.

The blond raised his eyebrows pointedly at the brunette, who seemed to shrink before their very eyes. Eventually Chris let his head fall into his hands. "I am such an idiot…" he said, his voice muffled through his hands. But even as he said it, he seemed to gravitate towards the window as though pulled by an invisible force.

Wyatt snorted. "Yeah. I'll say. I swear, Chris, you can be absolutely brilliant when you want… but you have, like, negative common sense."

Harry, however, was frowning at the strange quality in Chris' voice. "Chris... are you… crying?"

"...I'm just… so… happy…" Chris mumbled, sounding very much like he was crying, but when he removed his hands to look out the window as he sat down next to it, he was actually smiling.

Wyatt rolled his eyes at the theatrics and said seriously, "Come on, Chris. We need to talk."

Chris looked up at him. "Why? You already know what I'd want... for the funeral arrangements…" he said softly.

Wyatt stared at him for a moment then sighed. "No demons, public obituary so old friends can find him, and a nice quiet ceremony?"

Chris, looking back out the window and pulling his knees up to his chest, nodded silently.

Wyatt sighed again. "And… you won't be going."

Chris shook his head mutely.

"…Because you never go."

Chris agreed with him again.

"You know, Grandpa would have wanted you to be there, Chris," Wyatt said quietly, watching Chris carefully.

"You know, Grandpa didn't want to die at all, Wyatt," Chris said bluntly. His eyes looked back up to Wyatt. "It's time for you to leave, too, Wyatt."

Now it was Wyatt that frowned. "Too? Who else got past these wards?"

Harry found himself unable to be surprised when Chris chuckled darkly.

"Oh, Father didn't leave through the wards, Wy."

A/N: First of all, I would like to thank each and every person who reviewed. I couldn't believe how much support I'm getting for this story. It is absolutely INCREDIBLE. I never would have imagined I'd have such amazing readers, AND such touching reviews.

I cannot express to you how much it means to me when a reviewer tells me I made them physically cry by something I wrote, or I actually made them laugh aloud. It's so amazing for me, and I just can't tell you enough how inspiring that is. I feel so honored by everything you write to me. It really is just incredible, and I will never get tired of reading those reviews. They make my world. You guys are the reason I would never stop writing this story- so the next time it takes two months to update, never fear. I WILL NOT surrender. I WILL finish this story. -And thank you for sticking with me this far. I know it's been a long journey.

So...

For the next chapter, I'm seeing more of Harry's reaction to Wyatt and Chris being brothers, and some interaction between Leo, Wyatt, and Chris. :) Thanks for reading, everyone!

AND - ATTENTION! - AND - AND - AND - ATTENTION! - AND -AND - AND - ATTENTION! - AND - AND - ATTENTION!

ANNOUNCEMENT!

Hey guys, I'm co-writing a story with Stoneage Woman- the first chapter is already posted. It's called Lonely Light of Morning, and it is a Charmed/Supernatural crossover. THE MAIN CHARACTERS ARE CHRIS AND SAM, so I haven't veered from writing our favorite character. -And it's main genre is angst, of course, because that's about all I do, right? I'd really love it if some of you guys went and checked it out, since it's become my second baby, right next to this story. :) Thanks again!