It was there. The final, missing element that would finally finish this seemingly everlasting process of healing his broken and battered soul. It was standing on a small, wooden table right in front of him as if patiently waiting for him to make a move. A plain silver goblet from which a green fume was spilling out in an impressive, yet terrifying way. His own Holy Grail.
It was so close. All he had to do was to grab it and empty its content. Then he would be practically free to finally leave this almost prison-like place and be his true self at last.
He reached out for it slowly, holding his breath, his eyes never losing connection with the sacred-like object. He feared that it would disappear if he made a sudden move or worse – blinked. He could feel that his right hand was shaking slightly. Frankly speaking, his whole body felt like jelly, and his excited heart was pounding furiously. He considered it to be a great miracle that the organ was still in his chest.
His slim fingers gently brushed the goblet. It was as cold as ice. But it still was there. It didn't vanish. That was a good sign. Determined, he wrapped his fingers tightly around the object, exhaling sharply. He knew what he had to do.
With a swift movement, he took the chalice and drank what was inside of it without batting an eye. He almost regretted what he did.
Almost.
The goblet was cold, icy even, but the liquid was hot. Burning. He had never seen lava in his life. He only read about it, but he was quite convinced that he had just drunk some of it. He knew in advance what he should expect, but no amount of reading and professional conversations with his Healer prepared him for this kind of pain. His internal organs were on fire, and the worst thing in this whole situation was that he knew well enough that there was absolutely nothing he, or his Healer, could do to stop the pain. The potion had to run its course, or else all would be in vain.
He was too close to achieving his goal to start everything all over again. He couldn't give up.
Tears made an appearance in his chocolate-brown eyes, as the potion continued to burn him alive. He wanted to be brave. He wanted to face the challenge with dignity. He didn't want to weep like a baby. He fought hard not to cry.
In vain.
A broken sob escaped his mouth without his permission. Tears, like a stream, began to run down his face. He wanted the excruciating pain to be over as soon as possible, but at the same time, he didn't want the potion's effects to stop working without running its course.
Ten minutes. He had to endure the agonising pain for ten long minutes before everything would be over. Ten unbearable minutes and then, he hoped, he would be happy for the rest of his life.
No more humiliation. No more bullying. No more cruel jokes. He would be free to live his life the way he wanted to without being judged and mocked every single day. Only because he was different than others. No. Not different. Special, as his Healer and guardians used to tell him when he was feeling particularly sad.
He had a feeling as if someone just put their hand on his shoulder. He had no clue whether it was real or only part of his imagination. He could well enough be hallucinating things. He wouldn't be surprised if he did. He was too sore to think clearly.
"You're okay, baby. You're okay," he heard a familiar, female voice somewhere above his head when the pain slowly began to subside. "Two more minutes. Just breathe, sweetheart. It's almost over."
Was the voice even real or only a part of his imagination, he had no clue. He followed the instruction regardless, as it sounded like a good idea, and a few moments later, he managed to stabilise his uneven breath.
"That's my boy," said the voice. This time he could hear it more clearly. "Twenty seconds. Continue to breathe. In and out. In and out."
He closed his eyes, listening to the words whispered into his ear. Or, at least he thought the words were spoken into his ear. He truly hoped he wasn't hallucinating as the voice was making him feel safe.
"Ten seconds," the voice informed him. "Almost done."
His eyes remained closed as he took a deep breath, and when he released it, the agonising pain was gone. He still was sore, but it wasn't as bad as it used to be. He wasn't burning anymore. He could handle such kind of pain.
"You did this, sweetheart," he heard the voice again and forced himself to open his suddenly tired and sleepy eyes when he felt his interlocutor's lips on the back of his head. "It's over now."
He blinked when he realised that he was sitting on the floor in the arms of a chestnut brown-haired woman who was in her late twenties. His mother. He knew she was in the room with him, but he didn't know why she was holding him and what they were doing on the floor.
"You drank the potion before you returned to your bed, young man." Another female voice sternly answered his unasked question. "Would you like to remind me of the condition under which I even let you out of bed in the first place?"
His naturally pale cheeks turned red in a fraction of a second as he made a mistake of looking at his Healer, who just finished examining him. The brown-haired witch, a few years older than his mother, was kneeling next to him and raised her eyebrow at him when their eyes met.
"You agreed to let me out because I promised that I wouldn't drink it immediately," he muttered under his breath, feeling ashamed of his action. However, he bravely maintained eye contact with his unamused interlocutor.
As he was a patient of St Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries' private ward, it meant that nobody but his Healer and people approved by her – namely his parents and her daughter – were allowed to enter the room. His case was unusual, even for wizards, and the woman decided after his arrival that he should be kept in the restricted area of the hospital. The witch wanted him to be under constant supervision, and the hospital was the best option at that time.
"That would be correct, mister," she agreed with a firm nod. "And why did you agree not to drink it before you returned to your bed?"
"Because you've warned me a hundred times that the final step is going to be extremely excruciating, and there were high chances that I'm going to be thrashing around…" A grimace made an appearance on his young face when he finally understood what he was doing on the floor. "I'm sorry, Healer Tonks. I wasn't thinking."
As no other hospital worker was allowed to enter his room, his potions were magically appearing on a small, wooden table on the opposite side of his room. At the beginning of his treatment, when he was still very eager and full of energy, he was allowed to pick them up on his own – under the witch's supervision, of course – but the longer he took them, the weaker he felt, and the witch was administering them to him instead. Today he was supposed to take the final, and unfortunately, the worst potion. Healer Tonks wanted him to stay in bed, as he usually did when he had to take his medicine. However, he was too excited to stay still and begged her to allow him to pick the elixir up on his own after he reassured her that he wouldn't drink it until he was back in his bed. The witch was concerned about his safety, so she put several variations of the Cushioning Charm on the furniture in order to prevent any potential damage that could happen to him.
"I'm not the one you should apologise to," answered the woman. Bile rose in his throat once he heard the words. What did he do if she told him that she shouldn't apologise to her? Did he hurt someone? He had a feeling that his interlocutor noticed his terrified expression as her own became softer. "You broke your father's nose, but I already fixed that. And I'm quite certain that your mother's going to have a nasty bruise on her collarbone."
He froze the moment he heard his Healer's words, not paying attention to his mother, who started making comforting circles on his back. He broke his father's nose and hit his mother, what worse, hard enough to make her bruise? He was a fool. How could he be so stupid to break his own promise and injure his parents! He was a disgrace. He should be disowned and cast away to die in…
"I know that look, young man," said a male voice with a detectable French accent, snapping him out of his self-hatred thoughts. "Stop blaming yourself for things that were out of your control."
"But I hurt you!" he answered hotly, his exhaustion and pain long forgotten, and he looked at the wizard, pointing at his white shirt, which was covered in blood.
His guardian was a thirty-years-old, quite tall and handsome man with fair blonde hair, light beard, and so bright blue eyes that it should be illegal to have them – or so his friend used to tell him.
"I've suffered worse, courtesy of being an Auror," his father informed him nonchalantly, shrugging at the same time. "But I must admit that you have excellent punch, buddy. Your arm movement is a work of art. I think you should consider enrolling for a martial arts course and become a force to be reckoned with. Just like your badass papa. I know people who would gladly train you. Moreover, with proper training, you're going to be a great Chaser."
"You're inappropriate, Jean-Baptiste," Healer Tonks said, shaking her head as she and his amused mother helped him to get up. A moment later, he was in his father's strong arms. "Sometimes, I still wonder how the Ministry allowed you to adopt a child. You're acting like a child most of the time."
"Quite the contrary, Andromeda. And they approved the adoption because I'm awesome, and everyone knows it," the older wizard declared and gently put him down on the bed, ruffling his hair. "Besides, you're jealous that your daughter likes me better than you and wants to follow in my footsteps instead of yours."
He watched with a small, sleepy smile as Healer Tonks good-naturedly rolled her eyes at his father's antics and started bickering with him. They almost always did. Still, he blamed himself for hurting his parents. How could he be so irresponsible?
"What my goof of a husband wanted to tell you before he got distracted, was that you shouldn't blame yourself for what happened because we should've realised that you won't make it back to bed. You were practically bouncing off the walls with your excitement." His mother's voice made him stop staring at the bickering duo. He frowned when he saw her smirking at him. "You must work on your poker face, sweetheart, otherwise you won't get away with anything, ever. Everyone and their brother could say that you still feel guilty."
"Sorry," he muttered. "But I hurt you anyway because I was too eager to be myself at last… sorry."
"We know, young man." Healer Tonks offered him the Sleeping Draught which she took out of her pocket. At the same time, his father approached his mother, who sat on the chair next to his bed and put his hands on her shoulders, smiling warmly at him. "Drink. You deserve some sleep. And tomorrow, if nothing changes, you can finally go home."
He accepted the potion gratefully and gave the woman an empty vial back once he swallowed it.
"Will you let Tonks come and see me?" he asked as he hugged his plush falcon. He liked to believe that he was too old to have "children' toys," but it was always making him feel better. It was also his friend's gift, and he cherished it with his whole heart.
"I'd be her public enemy number one if I didn't let her," she informed him gently, offering him a warm smile. "I had to threaten her because she wanted to be here with you today."
"Tell her I say thank you," he muttered, fighting hard not to fall asleep in the middle of a conversation.
"I will." He heard the Healer agreeing, but he couldn't see her. He already closed his eyes. "Sweet dreams, dear boy."
"I still don't understand why you insist on attending a Muggle school," he heard his friend's voice from his room. He was currently in his walk-in-closet – walk-in-closet! – putting on his new uniform.
Today was September the 1st, and he was about to start a new school year. For the first time in two years, he would be attending a regular school. He was both nervous and excited, and his Healer's daughter came to visit him and wish him good luck. Tonks was about to start her new school year today as well, but as the train was about to leave at eleven, she still had time for that. His father agreed to Apparate her to King's Cross later, as she was only sixteen herself.
"You know I enjoy studying, and I'm too young to attend Hogwarts, yet," he answered the teenager's question as soon as he finished tying his navy blue and white tie. "Going back to a Muggle school sounds like a good idea. It's only for two years, anyway."
"I'm well aware that my honorary cousin is a nerd, thank you very much," Tonks responded, and he could tell without saying her that she just rolled her eyes. "What I meant is that I have no idea why you want to attend it. You were home-schooled, or rather hospital-schooled, for the last two years. If I were you, I'd gladly continue learning from home. I tried to attend it. I gave up after a week. Muggle kids bore me to tears."
"You're just angry and bitter that your parents suppressed your Metamorphmagus abilities when you were among Muggles because you were yet to learn how to control it." He put his head out of the room and looked at his friend, who sat on his bed as if she owned it. A grin made an appearance on his lips. "Admit it."
"Damn right, I was mad because of that," she agreed and changed her hair colour a few times. He stopped counting after the fifth time when it became white. "How could anyone suppress this? Moreover, the children dared to call me that name. I mean, what the hell, my mother had to be drunk when she came up with such a lame name."
"Drama Queen," he muttered under his breath, rolling his eyes good-naturedly, and put on his blazer. It was of the same colours as his tie. Then he re-entered the room. "What do you think?"
"Not bad, but I thought that boys your age are supposed wearing shorts?" Tonks asked with a frown, and they both looked at his freshly pressed black trousers that covered his glossy black dress shoes.
"I think it depends on the school," he said with a shrug. "At least now I can and am expected to wear trousers. Not like… before."
He shuddered at the thought. He hated wearing dresses. He hated it when the people called him by his former name even though the name itself was lovely, in his opinion. He hated that they denied to treat him like a human being only because he was special.
"I got you," Tonks said once he found himself in her arms. When she approached him, he had no idea, but he appreciated her support more than anything. "You're not alone. Not anymore."
"Thank you," he muttered into her chest.
"Don't mention it." They continued to hug for another few minutes. "If anyone dares to make fun of you – write to me, okay? I'll sneak out of Hogwarts and teach them a lesson about hurting my honorary baby cousin."
"Your mother would kill you for this," he responded, grinning.
"Then I'd die a happy girl," the witch answered with a smile on her own. "If I'm able to get here, that is. I'm not sure if the Knight Bus would even know how to find this place. You live in the middle of nowhere."
He laughed upon hearing her words. "Little Whinging isn't in the middle of nowhere. It's in Surrey."
"But can you find it on the map? Of course not! If something isn't on the map, then it's in the middle of nowhere. Simple as that."
"I'm pretty sure it's now how—"
A loud laugh against his will escaped his throat, not allowing him to finish his sentence as his friend started to tickle him mercilessly.
"If I say it's in the middle of nowhere, then it's in the middle of nowhere," Tonks grinned at him and looked at her watch once she stopped torturing him. "But now come, you little nerd. I'm sure your parents will call us any minute. We wouldn't want you to be late for your first day at a new school."
"Hello, everyone. My name is Horus Granger," he said once he found himself in front of his new classmates, feeling nervous as twenty pairs of eyes were looking at him now. His teacher, Mr. Thomas, asked him to introduce himself, but he had an unpleasant feeling as if they knew his secret and were judging him. "My parents and I moved to Little Whinging in the middle of August."
"Hi, Horus!" came up a simultaneous answer.
"Welcome to the class, Mr. Granger," the teacher greeted him again. "Please, take a seat next to Miss Potter."
Horus' head immediately turned towards the direction indicated by his new teacher. Miss Potter? Could the man mean the Miss Potter, the one his parents told him about when they adopted him and taught him about the history of the Wizarding world? The daughter of their fellow the Order of the Phoenix's members? The girl who survived the Killing Curse?
His heart froze as their eyes met.
He saw a few photographs of the Potters. She looked just like her father with her unruly jet-black hair and glasses. She looked just like James Potter, except for the fact that her facial features were gentler, and she had her mother's green eyes.
She was the Girl Who Lived.
"Yes, sir." He started walking towards the girl, who looked at him curiously. He offered her a sheepish smile, which she returned, as he sat down next to her.
"Hi, I'm Hera," she said and offered him his hand.
He knew her name, of course. But when he heard her saying this, something stirred in him. Hera. Goddess of Heaven. And he was Horus. God of Sky.
He took her offered hand and instantly had a feeling as if someone electrocuted him. It was as if his magic suddenly woke up.
He looked again at his companion, and thanks to their closeness, he could see that she had her glasses broken, and her uniform had certainly seen better days. He frowned. Why would Hera Potter, the Saviour of the Wizarding world, wear second-hand clothes? As his father once told him, nobody knew where she was living, but she was supposed to be well-cared for. A well-cared for person wouldn't wear second-hand clothes and broken glasses, especially since the said person was rich. Something wasn't right.
Their eyes met again. And he knew. He saw that look more than once when he was looking in the mirror. Loneliness. Helplessness. A desperate need to find someone who would care.
She wasn't the Girl Who Lived. She wasn't some fearless hero as he knew some people believed her to be. She was just a girl who even didn't know her heritage.
She was Hera Potter. Simple as that.
"Pleasure to meet you, Hera," he said, offering his interlocutor another smile as he shook her hand. "It would be an honour to be your friend."
She looked surprised at his words but offered him a small smile before she hastily turned her head. He smiled inwardly. He meant every word he said. He would be honoured to be her friend. He knew what his parents believed about the wizard who murdered the Potters. They thought he wasn't dead. And if he wasn't dead, then the girl was in danger. He would do anything to protect her, even though he had no idea why he felt that way.
Maybe choosing to move to Little Whinging and insisting on attending St. Grogory's Primary School wasn't as accidental as he first believed.
Thank you for reading. This may become a multi-chaptered story, but at the moment it is an one-shot. This story can be also find on Ao3. My username there is Silancio.