The Potters
So, I don't own Harry Potter or the Chronicles of Narnia...Damn.
Thanks to those who have followed, favored and/or reviewed.
Note: This chapter begins with a flashback.
Previously...
The woman said nothing as her husband walked out from the back and slipped his arm around her waist. She let her smile fall, though she wasn't displeased by the man now standing beside her, but the man who had just left.
"Was that him?" The old man asked.
"The woman nodded. "He doesn't remember, the bloody lion was right. What about the others?"
"None of the Pevensie's seem to be fully aware of why they are here, Pole."
"After all these years, why do you still refer to me by my maiden name?"
"Because it would be odd saying my surname considering it was mine before it was yours, dear."
The old woman snorted as she looked at her husband and said, "Have you got it?"
"One of them."
"Show it then, we haven't got all day."
September 1981
In all her years, Bathilda Bagshot had never seen such odd children in her life and she had taught hundreds of Hogwarts students, cared for her demented nephew and on occasion helped dear Kendra Dumbledore with her poor, unfortunate daughter.
The Potter children, they took the snitch when it came to their games of peculiarity.
Bathilda had never seen a boy no older than four speak in such a mature, yet perplexingly sardonic and witty on top of that, way. The older two seemed normal for the most part if it were normal for a boy of seven and a girl of six to be bickering about horns and battle strategies with talking animals that went over Bathilda's head. And don't get her started on the little girl, who developmentally shouldn't be speaking as well as she did at age two. At least the one-year-old only knew the words "dadda" and "fly", though the latter in particular concerned Bathilda because of the blasted toy broomstick the child had recently received as a birthday present from his troublesome godfather.
Bathilda, none the less, smiled as she watched the Potter children chase one another in the confined space of their parents sitting room.
"They should be out in the garden, not in here." Bathilda heard.
Bathilda turned her head and saw the children's mother, Lily Potter, standing across from her, her wand in one hand that was currently levitating the tea set; her other hand grasping around her wiggling infant son, who looked excited as he watched his siblings run around the room, though Bathilda doubted the boy understood what they were doing.
"You're quite right," Bathilda said as the tray lowered itself on the kitchen table. As she started to prepare her cup of tea, the old woman continued speaking. "They should be outside, but that blasted fool of a wizard is currently above all our heads, waiting to strike us with a flick of his wand."
Lily sighed as she sat down, adjusting her baby onto her lap, though he struggled without considering his mother.
"Speaking of the children, where's your husband?"
A flicker of amusement appeared on the freckled redhead, which made Bathilda crack a barely noticeable grin.
"He's gone off to an Order meeting," Lily answered as her amused face contorted into worry and bitterness. "He promised he'd stay and help with the children."
Bathilda frowned, taking notice of the dark spots under Lily's eyes and her pale complexion, no doubt from a lack of sleep. She wondered if any problems were going on with the Potter family, especially considering their recently limited options when it came to simple things such as playing in the garden or Order meetings. She motioned for the redhead to give her the baby and said: "Go rest, Lily. I'll watch your children until your husband returns."
Lily looked as though she were about to argue, but Bathilda got up and took the baby out of her arms.
"I won't hear it from you, Lily Potter," Bathilda said as she motioned towards the stairs. "Rest. Your children will be here when you wake up unless they find James' bloody cloak and decide to make our lives a living hell for an afternoon."
Lily smiled. Bathilda watched as the redhead glanced at her elder children before she brushed her hand along her youngest's curly hair. The infant babbled and giggled when his mother tapped on his nose with her right pointer finger.
"Alright," Lily agreed before she left up the stairs.
When Bathilda heard one of the doors upstairs close, she smiled as one of the Potter children, Peter, came running up to her. The little boy's red hair seemed almost blond-like in certain lights, but red enough that there was no mistaking that he was Lily Potter's boy.
"Miss Bathilda," the boy said.
"Peter," Bathilda replied.
"Can you tell us if this story is true or not?" the boy asked as he moved the heels of his feet back and forth.
"You would have to tell me the story, Peter," Bathilda said. "For me to know if it is real or not."
Peter nodded and for a moment, he hesitated. Bathilda wondered why, but she didn't press. The boy was young and probably didn't know how to word his question to the acclaimed author. Bathilda could sympathize, she wouldn't want to say something that would seem silly to others.
When the boy finally spoke, he sounded more mature then what Bathilda expected.
"There's a lion who once told four siblings something important," Peter said, his voice not wavering though a bit skeptical. "But the siblings wouldn't remember everything they had experienced until something really bad were to happen. Something bad will happen to someone, and they have to protect that person who will be alone in his battle."
Bathilda frowned. The story, if she could call it that, was unusual. The way it was worded, to how Peter spoke about it, was strange. Four siblings, and a person alone in his battle. Either the boy in front of her has a better imagination then Bathilda expected, or something else was going on here.
"No," Bathilda said as the boy's face dropped. "I haven't heard of your story, so I don't think it's true." At least, she hoped it wasn't true.
4 September 1992
Peter had never been inside Bathilda Bagshot's home. It was small and cramped but filled with so many books and photographs that Peter thought he was looking at a museum. It was fitting, for a historian, Peter thought as Bathilda used her wand to bring over an old but still beautiful-looking tea tray.
"I could have—"
Bathilda waved Peter off as she spoke. "I've been alone for years, boy. I can manage a tea tray myself. One of the beauties of being a witch."
A smirk flickered on Peter's face. "Quite right, I suppose."
"Why did you come back here?" Bathilda asked, not bothering with anymore small talk. "I'd imagine Godric's Hallow would be the last place you and any of your siblings would want to be."
Peter frowned. "I wanted to see if it was still in a condition where it can be repaired," he admitted.
Bathilda scowled as she used her wand to pour the hot water into her teacup, with a strainer keeping the tea leaves from entering the cup. "And live in it, if I'm not mistaken?"
"You don't approve."
"No, I don't." Bathilda placed her wand on the tray as the kettle settled itself back down. "Your family went through a tragedy, and you want to bring them back to the place where it happened?"
Bathilda watched as the young man's face fell, which made her remember their last interaction with one another before everything that had befallen the Potter family. The strange story Peter had told, though he wasn't sure if it was legitimate. Bathilda frowned, wondering if there had been more to Peter's story now then what was originally said years ago.
"I see," Peter said as he nodded absently to Bathilda, who sighed.
"You best not take my word for something like this," she said as she eyed the old photographs on her walls. All the smiling faces, and only half of whom she could remember their names. "I'm beyond my years, Peter. My mind isn't once what it was."
Bathilda looked back at the eldest Potter child, who had nodded in response to her statement. She watched the young man's face go from being conflicted to nostalgic if there were a facial expression for such a word. She could tell that he was thinking of something that made his mind travel.
"You used to tell us stories," Peter said.
"Yes," Bathilda replied. "And you once told me one story of yours."
"I did?"
Bathilda nodded. "You told me a tale of a lion and a group of siblings and how they would protect someone who will ultimately be alone in his battle."
Peter didn't respond to her words, not verbally. His answer was written on his face. Bathilda watched as the young man's face shifted instantly after hearing her words. Lines formed between his eyebrows, his lips lowering into a frown and the look on his face indicated utter confusion. He didn't remember the story.
How strange, Bathilda thought. Peter didn't remember the story, it made her wonder if he remembers the games he would play with his siblings. She thought about bringing it up, before deciding against it.
"Your mind isn't what it once was," Bathilda said as she watched the young man, whose lips quickly rose on one side while the other remained where it was. "Different from myself, though. How strange."
"How is it I don't remember?" Peter questioned as he clasped his hands together and leaned forward, as though that would help him figure out what he had just heard.
Frowning as she grabbed for her teacup, Bathilda sighed. "I could tell you a lot of things, Peter, but the memories of another is not my specialty."
8 September 1992
Lucy didn't know how to feel about Cormac McLaggen walking next to her as they made their way out of Professor Flitwick's Charms class. He had sat across from her during the lesson and had tried his best to get Lucy's attention. She found it quite annoying but she would never call him out for it, she was too polite to do something like that.
"—I heard your brother's Seeker for Slytherin," Cormac was saying, but Lucy only listened partially to. "He must be really good to get Higgs transferred to Chaser. Oh, I also heard that Malfoy kid also got on the team as a Chaser."
"Yeah," Lucy said. "Harry's excited."
"I heard he managed to get on the team with a bloody Shooting Star," Cormac said, a look of disbelief crossing his face. "How'd he do it?"
Lucy shrugged. She wasn't as much of a Quidditch fan, in comparison to Harry at least. Brooms were brooms to Lucy, she always found the idea of riding on the back of a lion more enthralling then flying on a wooden broomstick.
"I'm not sure," Lucy admitted.
Cormac nodded and a frown grew on his face as the third years walked towards the library.
"My least favorite place in this bloody school," Cormac commented, which caused Lucy to grin.
"Really? The library happens to be one of my favorites." Lucy continued to walk towards the library, though Cormac didn't follow.
"You're welcomed to join me, my brother won't mind," Lucy continued, though she knew that Edmund would mind.
Cormac feet shifted against the stone floor. "Which brother?" Cormac asked as he glanced from Lucy to the doors behind her.
"Edmund, of course," Lucy answered. "Do you think Harry would willingly spend his free time in the library?"
"Er—no?"
"Well, then I'll see you later, Cormac."
The Gryffindor boy nodded. "Right, see you," He said as Lucy smiled and turned around so her back was facing him.
Lucy entered the library, and it didn't take her long to find Edmund. Harry was with him too, and Hermione Granger. Her smile faded when Lucy noticed the strange look on Harry's face, and how he was talking very quickly.
As she moved closer to her brother's and friend, Lucy could make out what Harry was saying. "—Are you sure you don't hear it?" Harry asked.
"No, Harry," Edmund said as he frowned. Lucy could tell the older Slytherin boy was worried, even though he didn't show it.
"What about you, Hermione?" Harry asked his friend, who shook her head.
"I didn't hear anything, Harry," Hermione said as Lucy walked up to the table.
"Hear what?" Lucy asked, causing everyone at Edmund's table to turn and look in her direction.
Harry wrung his hands together as he stared at his sister. "I heard something," He said. "It said that it wanted to kill me."
So, what do you think?
I know there might be some mistakes and might seem a bit rushed, so I apologize.
Please, review, favor and/or follow. That would be great.
Until next time...
Review(s):
Guest (Chapters 1, 3, 23): Gracias por la revision. Me alegra que te guste la historia.
