Author's Note:
Alright, here it is, the long awaited re-write of chapter 6. For those of you are unaware, this chapter came under much critique when I first published it. Much of it justified, some of it not, but regardless, after some time away, I agreed with the critiques and decided that more so than any other chapter in the story, this one needed to be re-written/edited. Anyways, I hope you all enjoy. Cheers.
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"I promise you; you don't want to know what it's like. Magic of the truly dark variety isn't as simple to cast as one might expect. Just as the Patronus charm necessitates the caster recall happy or joyful thoughts, dark magic requires the inverse – thoughts of a far more iniquitous variety. You have to be willing to twist your own magic into such a depraved and vicious state that pain and suffering outweigh all other results. And then, after you successfully cast such malevolent spells, the euphoria that washes over blinds you to the atrocity you've inflicted upon yourself... Dark magic is incredibly addictive – even now I feel its seductive call imploring me to succumb to the corruption that still taints my very soul." -Albus Dumbledore to Minerva McGonagall during a late-night discussion on magic. January 1951.
Chapter 6:
Harry Evans stared down at the tear-stained letter he'd thrown onto the desk in frustration. It had landed among the birthday cards and sweets he'd left on his desk for the past two weeks. Harry had read the crumpled paper well over twenty times in the last few days, trying to decide if he should even bother showing up to the reunion he'd been asked to attend. Alice Longbottom and Daniel Potter would be waiting at a private table at The Nook, a small coffeehouse located in Diagon Alley, at Two o'clock on the 17th of August. Today was the 16th and Harry had absolutely no clue if he was going to go or not.
Harry sighed and drew his wand. "Wingardium Leviosa," he said quietly, watching contentedly as the crumpled piece of parchment gently rose into the air.
If Harry was going to agonize over his decision, he might as well multitask and practice his magical control. The study of magic had consumed the majority of Harry's time over the last month. He'd already read through the first ten chapters of all his textbooks; glanced through the entirety of his additional Charms book and earmarked those that were high priority to learn; finished reading through Modern Magical History; and he was on chapter seven of Reality and Other Falsehoods.
The study of magic had been different when compared to anything Harry had studied in the past, and that was putting it lightly. A subject that contained both theoretical and practical elements, Harry quickly came to realize that he was a dab hand at both. That was not to say that either aspect of the extremely broad subject matter was easy, though; to the contrary, the theoretical elements of potions and the ingredients that went into creating them were extraordinarily. The sheer number of combinations and factors that could affect the product bordered on baffling: temperature of the ingredients and the solution itself, the age of the ingredients, the time of day, even the amount of ambient light could have an impact on the more esoteric potions. Harry knew that he'd never be able to memorize all of them even if he had a lifetime to devote to that single purpose. Beyond that, however, there was an acknowledged dearth of information on a number of different ingredients thanks to the scientific method utterly failing to yield consistent results when attempting to examine said ingredients. Potions was a science that only artists could master – Harry found it both maddening and enthralling.
The textbooks that focused on spells cast from the wand were largely just instruction manuals. There were brief histories and descriptors of the spells effects, but by and large it was filled with instructions and diagrams detailing how to cast specific spells. Harry did pick up on the occasional reference to Arithmancy, usually in relation to the reasons behind why certain wand movements and their associated incantations were designed in such a fashion. He had resolved to pick up an introductory textbook on the mathematics-based subject sooner rather than later. Hogwarts may not offer the class as an elective until third year, but he figured it didn't hurt to get an early start.
The theoretical elements of magic discussed in his first-year books were odd in that literally everything was treated as just that, theory. Magical Theory by Adalbert Waffling was an entire textbook devoted to the subject, but even the author acknowledged how little he truly knew.
'I have devoted my life to the study of magic and all of her properties. In my early research I was arrogant enough to believe that I had discovered laws of magic; I know now that there are no laws of magic, not truly. If we, as humans, have found limitations in our ability to actualize our wills using magic, then that is the fault of the mage, not magic itself.
With that said, our understanding of magic is the collective work of thousands of years of study. Magic may not be limited by rules, but we as finite beings most certainly are. That which we treat as laws are not laws of magic, but laws of witches and wizards.'
The author had then launched into an examination of basic theory and how it applied to every facet of wizarding magic, but Harry had already begun to wonder if Waffling was correct. Tom's words had seemingly contradicted the celebrated theoretician. Harry did not have access to the apparently taboo book recommended by Tom, but he couldn't deny the nagging suspicion that it would serve as an interesting counter to the texts assigned by his school. In lieu of any proof to his gut suspicions, Harry nevertheless resolved to study the assigned books diligently.
The practical side of magic brought nothing to Harry but pure, unadulterated joy. Many of his textbooks had made note of the difficulties associated with casting spells but Harry had experienced almost none of them firsthand. He had occasionally messed up the pronunciation of a spell or improperly performed the correct wand movements, but to identify and fix these errors was far from the most arduous task. Continuously casting magic was a tiring endeavor, but the act of literally channeling his magic was almost effortless. Harry could scarcely describe the satisfaction he felt when he essentially made reality his bitch; even when it was something so simple as an illumination spell.
Harry leapt to his feet with a start. He'd become so engrossed in the books he'd purchased that he'd somehow neglected the first book on magic he'd purchased. We Who Sense was in his hands in a flash. The small brown book was even smaller than he first thought. Less than a hundred pages in its entirety, still diminutive in size, though with thick writing. All else forgotten, Harry began to read the book sold to him by the strange wand-maker.
'There are many inborn magical abilities and traits present in our world, but none quite so useful or subtle as Sensing. Any common witch or wizard can pick up on the traces left behind by powerful or particularly heavy magic, especially that which is dark, but Sensing, however, goes far, far further.
Those who are able to Sense magic often find it manifests in a variety of different ways, not all of them pleasant. Some are able to Sense using their eyes. Magic takes on animated shapes and colors that only they can decipher and give meaning. To these individuals, one blue line will be indicative of a charm to summon bats, whereas another blue line will cause internal bleeding, while the yellow line will actually turn one blue. In all my research, I have found no consistency on what it is these Sensors see. The same ward will look entirely different to two different Sensors, yet both will describe its intended effects and purpose perfectly. Visual Sensors, as they are colloquially known, are unfortunately quite sensitive to that which they can perceive, and this sensitivity can often lead to tragic fates.
A young witch writing a book on just what she saw when she looked upon magical creatures sought to gaze upon a Dementor. As directed, the creature pulled down its hood and the young witch screamed in terror. She fled the scene and returned to her home, a home she never left again. She would never describe what she saw, only that it was "too terrible for words." She took her own life less than a month later.
A young wizard from France once wrote about the beauty and elegance he saw in the magic of Beauxbatons Academy, and so sought to gaze upon all of the magical wonders throughout the known world. Hogwarts was to be the start of his journey; it would also be the end. Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry drove the man insane. Until the end of his days, the man would spend his every waking moment attempting to understand that which he saw. His writings were numerous in number and completely unintelligible to any sane mind.
To myself as well as many others, Sensing manifests as a metaphysical sixth sense. We feel the existence and presence of magic in a fashion that is indescribable to those who cannot pick up on this sense. We can evaluate and assess the intent of magic, the will behind its creation on this mortal plane. We gain an almost intrinsic understanding of our own magic and how it is cast, as we've felt its presence, conscious thought or no, for the entirety of our lives.'
Harry almost slapped himself for his failure to return to this book the day Ollivander sold it to him. He and the author, Ashier Mi You, were clearly the same type of sensor. Harry had only been aware of magic for a month, but he couldn't fathom being unable to sense it. The ease at which he channeled his magic into spells was due to the fact that he was intimately more aware of what his magic felt like.
Harry didn't move from his seat for hours as he read Ashier Mi You's book from start to finish. The man or woman, as the author had never properly established their identity, acknowledged that it was quite the esoteric field of magic. Sensing was not a muscle to be developed through repeated use alone; Harry could spend years sensing magic as he had been for the last month and not improve at all. Ashier Mi You had recommended a practice that somewhat resembled meditation. To find a location either saturated in magic or where magic was used frequently, and to simply spend hours truly delving into whatever magic that was available to be sensed.
Harry knew that his room would likely suffice for his needs, but he had a better spot in mind. Harry navigated his way through the evening crowds and took a seat on one of the many benches that dotted the plaza. Harry closed his eyes and tried to focus on the many, many sources of magic around him. Identifying that magic was literally all around him was no trouble at all but delving deeper was a rather abstruse venture. Every single magic he could sense around him was utterly unique, but even then, he found them to be wholly indecipherable.
For now, Harry vowed.
Learning to sense was just another daily task to add to the list. Harry's life of late had been entirely consumed by the study of magic. The sheer wonder of the supernatural drove him in ways that nothing else ever had. He didn't expect the almost religious fervor in which he studied to continue for too long, but for now it was far too exciting to not do so.
Harry wished that his interest in magic was the only factor that drove him, but to claim as much would be a lie. Try as he might, Harry could not expunge the bitterness that had taken hold within him. Harry didn't care that Daniel Potter was raised around magic; that he always had access to money and resources… Harry refused to lose to him.
The emotions Harry felt for his younger twin were complicated. Even without having met him in person, Harry was confident that he already felt familial love for his brother. Family was important. Explaining why he felt as he did was an exercise in futility, but such were his emotions. It wouldn't be a stretch to say that hatred was the furthest thing away from what he felt for his younger brother, however, what Harry did hate was the thought that the world would look upon him as lesser than his twin. Worse yet was the notion that they may look upon him with pity. Some may view pity more benignly than he, but in his mind, it would always be indicative of judgement. Harry knew his life had not always been the easiest, but he didn't want pity from anyone, least of all strangers who dared to presume to know him. The solution was simple: Harry would never give them the chance to look down on him. If that meant he had to spend day after day absorbed in his books, then so be it. The study of magic wasn't exactly a steep price to pay.
OoooOoooO
"What are you reading this time, dear?"
"Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them by Newt Scamander."
"Oh? That wasn't on your assigned list, was it?"
"No Dad, but it did strike me as a rather interesting read; plus it's a required book starting third-year according to the woman at the shop."
"Well that's perfect, so you won't object to me reading through A Beginner's Guide to Transfiguration again?"
"Dad, that will be the fourth time in as many weeks."
"Well, I'm sorry, Hermione, but it just doesn't make sense."
"It's magic, Dad. I don't know why you expect it to fall in line with the principle of mass conservation."
"Now you're just quoting your mum."
"It's because she's right."
"You're only assuming she's right. We don't know for certain if magic has been properly vetted by science. I only think it's presumptuous to assume that magic falls outside of the laws that govern our universe just because it appears so at a glance."
"Haven't you already made the exact opposite assumption?"
"It's no secret that I'm more inclined to a scientific explanation, Hermione. That's why I'm looking for evidence of my assumption."
"You know you're looking in an introductory text-book, right?"
"Um-"
"One meant for teenagers no less."
"Okay, you have a point."
"I was quoting Mum again."
"I just don't understand what our lives have become, Hermione. My eyes have been opened to a world beyond that which I've always known, but I'm stuck viewing it from the periphery."
"Are you sad that you're not a wizard?"
"A bit, Hermione, yeah. I grew up reading the works of Tolkien and C.S. Lewis after all; as a boy my friends and I would get together and pretend we were fighting off evil using swords and magic. We would all return home wishing it could be real."
"And now?"
"And now it is real – just not for me. It's been a rather bitter pill to swallow, honestly. Magic was always there, I simply wasn't allowed to know about it."
"I'm sorry, Dad."
"No, Hermione. Don't do that. I don't ever want you apologizing for such a wonderful gift. Your mum and I are both so happy for you."
"Thanks. Should we go back to Flourish and Botts to buy some more books on magical theory so you can learn more?"
"Yes! But let's ask your mother if she wants us to pick her up anything as well."
"I saw her reading through my drafts and potions textbook while cross-referencing it with One Thousand Herbs and Fungi. Should we pick up an advanced potions manual?"
"She does have a degree in Biochemistry; I'm not surprised that she'd be interested in that subject more so than the others. We'll find her something."
"I will be reading in the car, just so you're aware."
"You always read in the car, Hermione."
OoooOoooO
Harry walked into The Nook without any hesitation in his step. Impassive in the face of his upcoming reunion, nothing about his demeanor so much as hinted at the anxiousness he felt slowly bubbling within his stomach. He was about to meet his family, and he had no fucking clue what to think.
Following an internal debate that lasted the better part of three days, Harry had settled on agreeing to meet his estranged relatives because he refused to be seen as running away from them. They may have sent him off, but even still, he refused to cower. While it was undeniable that he held more than his fair share of hostility, Harry was doing his best to squash such emotions. The past was the past, he wanted to leave it there.
The Nook was a chic little coffeehouse, but there was nothing extraordinary about it. A month ago, Harry would've been mesmerized by all the little displays of magic that rand rampant through the establishment, but such wonders had already become a normal aspect of his day-to-day life. Magic was incredible, but even incredible things could become part of the back-ground if they were witnessed almost every waking moment.
Harry glanced around in an effort to catch sight of the duo who was to be his company that afternoon, for better or for worse. Unable to find them, he made a polite inquiry with the café's staff and was instructed to head toward a private section in the back that was apparently a rentable location for casual meetings that still desired a bit of privacy. The private room was only private insofar as it was physically separated by a sizable hallway from the rest of the main floor, but otherwise, it was just like any other part of the café. A sturdy, wooden table rested in the center of the room lit largely by natural lights, but with some braziers on the wall. The chairs were a deep mahogany color with padded seats. In spite of himself, Harry was brought up short when he saw who had claimed one of those seats… the teen looked exactly like him. On an intellectual level, Harry knew he had a twin, so he was very well aware of all that was potentially entailed by the existence of said twin, but that did not prepare him for what it was like to see his doppelganger on the other side of the room.
Daniel Potter, for who else could he be, had almost the exact same bone structure and build as Harry; the way Daniel sat at the table left Harry feeling as if he were looking in a mirror that reflected a slightly different, twisted reality. Just seeing his twin for the first time was easily one of the most bizarre experiences of his life. Fortunately, the two twins would still be easily discernable from one another thanks to the states of their respective hair-cuts and style preferences: Harry's was still an untamed and wild mess that reached his shoulders, only half a step up from a bird nest. Each day was an exercise in futility and struggle to tame it just enough so that it wasn't falling over his eyes every damn second. Harry was well aware that he ought to just give in and either cut it or buy some hair ties, but stubbornness was a hallmark trait of his, and he was loath to abandon it. Daniel, on the other hand, had shorter hair that he wore in an intentionally messy, windswept style that worked really well and complimented his features. While it was far from neat, it didn't appear to be quite as uncontrolled as Harry's own.
Daniel was also sporting a thin pair of wire-frame glasses with circular rims. Harry was surprised by just how well the glasses fit Daniel's face, somehow adding to the easy going and laid-back aura the teen seemed to give off. Harry couldn't help it when his eyes flitted to his brother's forehead in search of the infamous scar – a scar that was mysteriously absent at that moment in time. Given the guy's popularity and fame, it made sense that he wouldn't venture out into the heart of magical Britain without some tactic to preserve his anonymity.
The two brothers were also dressed in dramatically different ways. Harry had opted for a pair of ripped jeans, his favorite black boots, and an oversized checkered flannel that was left unbuttoned, and damn near falling off his shoulder. Daniel had chosen to wear jeans as well, though his was complimented with a slightly faded graphic t-shirt that appeared to be in support of a quidditch team, but Harry could just make out that he slung a denim jack over the back of his chair. If first impressions held any value, then Harry thought it was safe to say that no one would be mistaking them based on their fashion choices.
With his visual inspection of his younger twin complete and his presence still unnoticed, Harry turned his gaze over to the woman sitting next to Daniel. Alice Longbottom was a stunningly beautiful woman with soft features and chocolate brown hair that carried a rather distinct wave but cut off at just above her shoulders. Her smile was the kind that could light up a room; even from a distance it practically radiated warmth and joy, especially when she looked at Daniel. Tendrils of anger pulled at Harry's heart as he watched the display of motherly love… love that he had not truly known since he was a toddler. The bitterness may have run deeper than he initially presumed.
Alice's smile abruptly faded when she rotated and suddenly saw Harry standing down the hallway, stoically observing from his place against the wall. The woman gasped, her neatly manicured hands leaping upwards to cup her mouth as she sat there, stunned. Only a moment passed before Daniel himself turned and became aware of his estranged twin. Fuck… here we go. As Harry entered the private room, he noticed how the conversation and sounds from the rest of the café, already muted because of the distance, vanished entirely. Some kind of silencing spell, huh? Interesting. He figured it was probably a two-way street and that no one outside of the room would be able to hear what was said inside, rather, he hoped that was the case. Harry steeled himself as he walked towards his now elated younger brother, and his still shell-shocked… godmother? No, whatever she was to him, it was not a relationship deserving of a title that carried affection. Up close, it was easy to see the undisguised well of emotions that ran rampant across Alice's face, her eyes pooling with unshed tears. Tears of guilt born from being absent for almost fifteen years, or tears of joy at those years finally being over? Harry wasn't sure there was a difference, at least not one that mattered.
There were no heartfelt embraces as the three came face-to-face. Instead, they stood around the table in an awkward, quiet stillness, each of them unwilling to be the first to speak up, whether from fear, nervousness, or simply shock, he couldn't say. The silence between them was easily the most uncomfortable experience Harry had ever had the displeasure to be a part of, and damn it all it had continued far longer than it should have.
"Daniel, right?" Harry said, face blank as he extended his hand towards his long-lost twin, though he supposed it was more accurate to refer to him as the long-lost one.
Daniel smiled broadly, genuine, unfiltered joy lighting up the grin that took over his features; apparently in his mind, the ice was shattered completely with only two words. "Hell yeah! Long time no see, Harry!" Daniel reached forward and grabbed Harry's forearm, pulling him into a deep hug.
For a brief moment, Harry was completely still, his arms held awkwardly out to the side, unsure of whether or not to return the affectionate embrace. That brief moment passed in a flash when Harry recalled just who this was. His brother. His twin. The one person Harry should have never been separated from, reunited after fifteen years. There was nothing else he could do but return the hug with a grin of his own.
"Long time no see, little brother," he replied warmly, echoing the words just spoken to him. Harry slowly pulled back from the embrace and took a good look at his twin. Up close, he could see that while they weren't quite mirror images of one another, he was still blown away by just how similar the two of them were. Though, Harry was pleased to learn that he stood an inch or two taller than his younger twin.
Harry then turned towards the woman who was, in name only, his godmother. So far, she hadn't said a word, she was simply watching the reunion with unfettered tears spilling down her cheeks, mixed emotions of joy and regret gathered in every stained track. "Alice, then?" Harry asked, his voice noticeably cooler than his address to Daniel.
Alice nodded as her hands slowly fell away from her face, though her tears did not cease their gentle cascade. "I can't believe you're actually here," she murmured softly, her arms moving as if to hug Harry before she stopped herself, hesitant in her actions before pulling back.
Harry's gaze hardened but didn't respond to the woman as he took a seat at the small table. With a lazy gesture at the full, steaming cup of coffee in front of him, he turned to face Daniel. "This is for me, I take it?"
While momentarily put off by the frosty interaction between Harry and Alice, Daniel quickly rebounded, claiming his own chair as his hands cupped his own drink, some kind of latte with what appeared to be a light dusting of cinnamon on top. "I went ahead and ordered us all something, took a guess at what you might like. If you don't like it, we'll get you something else though, no worries."
"I'm sure its fine," Harry waved off Daniel's offer. "I've learned not to be picky."
Alice seemed to withdraw in on herself even further with Harry's comment. The life he'd led under Beth Morrison's care had been a good one, but it came with its fair share of struggles. Financial challenges were a regular part of his life. Beth and by extension the kids under her care had never been destitute, but it wasn't a lie that he learned to appreciate what he could get. The old adage of beggars not being choosers was hyperbolic, but even still, he related to it. If Alice felt guilty over the life he'd led, then Harry wasn't about to assuage those feelings. For as emotionally downtrodden as the woman seemed though, Harry couldn't shake the impression that she wasn't normally this meek or restrained in the slightest.
Whether it was his abilities as a sensor or simply his proficiency at reading people Harry wasn't sure, but he couldn't help but draw a likeness between Alice and Adrian Savage. The more Harry reflected on that evening, the more impressed he was by the stern auror's presence and skillful display of magic. There was never a moment during their confrontation and subsequent conversation when the man hadn't been in absolute control of everything. Savage had been so self-assured in his actions and intuition; his words of censure and casual spell usage seemingly took less effort than smoking a bloody cigarette. Plenty of people feigned confidence in their lives, but Savage struck Harry as being wholly real in a way that he did not know how to describe. Somehow, despite the emotional distress she clearly felt, Alice Longbottom struck Harry in a similar way. The comparison was nebulous, at best, and the foundations upon which his suspicions were built might as well have been non-existent, but all the same, the two were equated in his mind.
Daniel smiled uncertainly at Harry's comment, but he steadfastly endeavored on. The effort he was putting in to keep the atmosphere friendly was admirable. "Alright Harry, let's skip the small-talk yeah? I can learn your favorite color another time. Tell me about you!"
Harry's lips quirked upwards. "You want to know more about me? Just in general?" It was a fair question, but he had not been expecting it in such a direct manner.
"Yeah!" Daniel replied exuberantly. "I mean, c'mon, you're basically a complete stranger right now. I want to fix that." The explanation was said with confidence, but Daniel's hands returned to cupping his drink as soon as the last word was given life. A physical outlet for nervousness, most likely.
Harry laughed at his brother's joyful but anxious enthusiasm; the honest reaction instantly endearing him to the older twin. That one display was all the affirmation he needed for his plan to engage with Daniel. They were brothers. Circumstances may have separated them for the better part of 15 years, but they were supposed to be closer than anyone. "That's hardly fair asking me to start, but alright," He paused, wondering to himself how much he should share. Ah, fuck it. Harry mentally shrugged, might as well have some fun. "So, I spent most of my life in London after the Dursleys kicked my ass to the curb," the sharing session needed to start with a bang and being blunt always was his preferred method of communication. The widened eyes and slight flinch backwards were satisfying to see, in a vindictive sense, at least. "I got thrown into foster care right quick after that, but that was actually a stroke of good fortune since my guardian, Beth, wasn't exactly what I would call the authoritative type."
Daniel seemed to have an inkling where Harry was headed, a grin taking shape. "Wait, so you could pretty much do whatever you wanted?" His voice was slightly awed but with hints of doubt shining through.
"To a point, yeah," Harry said, rocking his hand side-to-side. "Remind me to tell you this story about last winter when I started the night in London but woke up 14 hours later missing one shoe, my shirt but not my jacket, and I was in bloody Bedford. That was a fucking night and a half." Harry still wasn't entirely certain of all the details, but the broad strokes were no boast.
"Wicked," Daniel remarked, running his hand through his hair to make it appear even more windswept. "What kind of stuff are you into that you have stories like that?"
Harry was almost taken back by the question. He didn't often have conversations with people his age who weren't also in the same social circles, pulling the same stupid shit that he and his friends did. For every story Harry had, there was another troubled bastard with a tale just as dumb, crazy, and absurd as his own. "I mean, normal stuff, I guess? Booze, weed, that's a drug," he added, unsure if the magically-raised teen was familiar with the slang-term. "Fairly basic shit, all things considered."
"Going on a bender is basic?" Daniel asked, scoffing lightly. "I mean, I've snuck some drinks but damn…"
Harry shrugged, "like I said, not a lot of oversight on the home front. Beth probably knows a lot more than she lets on, in fact, I know she does, but aside from reminding me to 'be safe' or 'use protection' now and again, we avoid awkward conversations. I prefer it that way." Harry could tell that Alice was listening intently to every word, but she was seemingly content to not join in on the conversation. That suited him just fine. He wasn't sure he trusted himself to engage politely with her at that moment.
"Wait, 'use protection,' you mean sex?" Daniel's face flushed lightly as he quickly turned to look at Alice, apparently a tad embarrassed about the prospect discussing shagging in front of his adopted mother. Honestly, who could blame him?
"What else would I be referring to, hm?" Harry smirked, pushing Alice from his brain as he turned his full attention toward his little brother. Maya had taught him well the role of an elder sibling, he'd had practice with Sarah and the other kids, but he'd always had a soft spot for her, and the others were too young to rightfully tease. This was his moment to prove her lessons had not been in vain. "You're looking a little red there, brother mine. Never shagged before, have you?"
"Like you have!" Daniel sputtered; finger pointed indignantly.
Harry's smug grin turned predatory. "I have."
"Bollocks!"
Harry raised a single eyebrow at the undeniable challenge; his confidence swelling as he prepared to shatter his little brother's expectations. "June of last year, a buddy of mine named Jonah invited me and around ten others over to his place while his parents were out of town. Ashley Miller and I shared a bottle of vodka and by the end of the night we were fucking on top of the sheets in the upstairs bedroom."
Harry had that story, even the concise version, down to a tee. Practice made perfect, after all, and he had plenty of practice given that he recounted it to anyone who was willing to listen. He was rather proud of that entire evening. What he tended to leave out was the fact that half of the night was a complete blur thanks to the copious amounts of substances he'd consumed, and that he passed out shortly after finishing. Ashley was long gone when he woke up; but she'd been willing to sleep with him again after that time, so he assumed he hadn't been complete rubbish that first time, or maybe her standards had been lower than the floor. Either way, he liked to think he'd improved a lot since then. There was also the slight detail that Jonah had access to a number of unflattering pictures of Harry's naked ass alone on the bed, pictures that had been taken when he had still been out cold the next morning. Harry was very well aware of these pictures because every single one of his friends within that social circle never failed to make mention of them in his company. 'Evans' first time' became bloody running joke that always managed to inspire a few good-natured chuckles. In spite of some of the more embarrassing details, Harry had a simple and oft repeated mantra that kept him in good spirits: Doesn't matter, had sex.
"Unbelievable…" Daniel responded, slumping back in his chair, smiling ever so slightly. "How many stories do you have?"
"A fair few, but once we're at Hogwarts, you and I will have to make some memories so that we can share stories featuring both of us." Harry punctuated his comment with a sip of his drink, a lightly sweetened but otherwise plain cup of coffee, but the brew was excellent.
Daniel seemed excited by the prospect, Alice on the other hand looked as if she couldn't decide whether she should be scandalized or just amused. "Merlin, you really are just like James," she murmured quietly, but Harry heard her clear as day, and almost instantly he was set on edge.
"I'm like James, huh?" Harry began, his voice terse as a mixture of anger and raw pain welled up within him, the lighthearted atmosphere fading away as his focus shifted to his estranged godmother. "It's funny, up until a month ago, I didn't even know his name, and now I'm being told that we're a lot alike?" A joyless laugh echoed out. "Don't you all think that's funny?" There were a lot of emotions he'd repressed since McGonagall handed him that damn letter, and all it took was one fucking comment about his dead dad to bring them to the surface.
Alice's reaction was telling as she recoiled, her gaze glued to the table, unable to bring herself to meet his narrowed green stare. A display of cowardice? No, the woman wouldn't have agreed to meet with him if she was a coward. Her actions spoke of guilt, and Harry was not about to assuage her of that. The unintended side-effect was the pained look on Daniel's face, worried eyes fixated on Alice before returning to his twin. "Harry…" he began, "you have every right to be pissed off, but-"
"Oh? I have that right?" Harry asked, his words dripping with sarcasm. "That's good to know. And here I thought I was being unreasonable! Good to know that I'm allowed to be pissed off at being robbed of my heritage for 15 fucking years!" He was more caustic than intended, especially given that it was his blameless brother he was speaking to directly, but he couldn't help himself. The choices of the past and their consequences were always going to be hashed out at some point, might as well do it then and there. There was going to be no beating around the bush, he refused to hold back on account of sparing feelings.
"Please, please don't blame him…" Alice said, her voice barely above a whisper as the tears began to fall anew.
"I don't!" Harry bit back, his voice rising. "He was the same age I was when I was sent away. I don't blame him at all… I blame you!"
Harry had spent his entire goddamn life always wondering why? The questions he had about his mum, whom he only had a name for. Questions about his father, who he was and why he wasn't present. Questions about the goddamn Dursleys, and why'd they'd tossed him away like fucking trash. A month ago, he'd gotten his answers… and though Alice Longbottom wasn't the reason he was an orphan, she was directly responsible for the omnipresent wonder he'd felt about his own goddamn life! His family, his heritage, his own goddamn birthname had been robbed from him since the time when he was still sleeping in a goddamn cradle! Whatever explanation or justification she attempted to peddle, that fact would remain unchanged.
"Harry, please just hear her out…" Daniel's plea bordered on desperate. "After that, you never have to talk to either of us again if you don't want to, just, please, listen to what she has to say." He sounded… hurt.
A nicer, more sympathetic person would have taken their little brother's earnest, heartfelt words to heart. A boy just asking for their adopted mother to be given a chance to explain herself… but Harry was not so kind. "You know, Daniel, you seem like a good guy. Really, you do. You seem happy and well cared for; the kind of person who grew up in a stable home, loved and protected by your family… As your older brother, I should be fucking grateful that someone took care of you for all these years, right?"
So consumed by his righteous anger and caught up in his enmity, Harry barely processed the unmistakable signs of guilt present in Daniel's countenance as his cruel words took hold. His little brother was utterly blameless for the events of Harry's life, but even still, he felt guilty for the simple reason that he'd gotten the life that should have belonged to them both. It was clear for all to see, Daniel did not deserve Harry's wrath at all, but nevertheless, he internalized it as if he did.
"But I can't be fucking grateful, can I, Alice?" Harry's voice was like ice, a cold rage fueled by bitterness and spite. A malignant stare was directed toward Alice as she silently sobbed in her chair, taking every word that left his lips as if it were a lash. "I can't, because unlike Daniel, I was tossed away like fucking TRASH!"
Alice violently balled her fists as they rested upon the top of the table. Her nails dug into her skin, almost drawing blood from her own palm as she bore the weight his accusations. To her credit, she had finally found the courage to meet his eyes. All he saw reflected back at him was regret. To the side, Daniel sat in silence, one hand covering his mouth as if to keep him from talking. Harry could tell he wished to protest his harsh choice of words but refused to do so. Whatever his motivation for staying silent, deep down, it was appreciated, but at that moment, Harry didn't care how much pain his words caused, he wanted Alice to feel the full weight of the resentment that had taken hold within him, even if that meant his little brother had to feel the heat of the flames too.
"You," Harry pointed at Alice, his voice strained, "couldn't be bothered to raise me, so you tossed me to the fucking Dursleys! They couldn't be bothered with me, so they tossed me to the fucking state! Do you know how many foster homes I was moved between until I landed on Beth's door? It took a woman in her 50s for me to feel an ounce of comfort or safety! Do you even realize how fucking lucky I was?!"
Harry was very well aware of how fortunate he was, in the grand scheme of it all, to end up with Beth Morrison. Tragically, there were countless horror-stories of kids in foster homes who were abused, neglected, beaten, raped… the oversight and attention paid to kids like him was downright pathetic. It would have been so easily for him to be placed with someone who, unlike Beth, only had ill intentions for him. The world was a cruel, vicious place, and he'd been lucky to get as far as he did unscathed.
"And now here you are, 15 fucking years too late, delivering letters through goddamn proxies, expecting everything to be just water under the bridge?!" Harry loomed over the table, catharsis driving him ever onwards in his tirade. Every word that parted from tongue laced with over a decade's worth of venom and spite. He hadn't let a bad life… but the one that was robbed from him stung more than he knew how to describe. "Where was my godmother when I was a child?! Where was your goddamn letter when the only family I'd ever known fucking abandoned me?! I was scared, alone, and you weren't there!" His fist slammed into the table. "WHY? WHY WEREN'T YOU THERE?!"
Common consensus said that the act of airing one's grievances was healthy, that it could help alleviate the pain that lay deep within the heart. Well, he'd done it, he'd said his fucking piece and allowed every ounce of bitterness and anger to flow forth. So, why did he feel hollow? Why was the pain of abandonment still there?
The silence that blossomed between the three of them in the wake of his final, barbed question was deafening. Harry slumped back into his chair, the furious energy with which he'd used to rage against the injustice of his life fading away into nothing.
Eventually, Alice broke the silence, her tears having long since ceased their downward path. "May I speak?" She asked, her voice soft and fragile, as if it would fall apart with the slightest pressure.
Harry reached forward and pulled his forgotten drink toward him, the flavorful liquid the only thing preventing from answering with another verbal attack. After a moment's pause, he acquiesced to the request with a small, barely discernible nod.
"The… the reason I-" Alice cut herself off, minutely shaking her head before taking a deep breath. "Harry, there is nothing I can say that will ever excuse my decision to not raise you as if you were my own son, nothing!" The repeated word bordered on being a sob, the woman's eyes beginning to mist once more… "But-"
"There it is," Harry interjected her mid-sentence, snarling through clenched teeth. "Of course, there's a 'but!' Why wouldn't there be? What kind of fucking justification do you already have prepared to defend yourself?"
"It's not a justification," Daniel cut in, his tone sad, but resolute. "Her reasons don't justify what happened to you at all… but I still think you should hear them."
"Why should I?" Harry asked, he knew it was a petulant question, but he didn't care. The torrent of emotions swirling within him barely allowed him to form coherent sentences, let alone think in a calm, rational manner.
Smiles weren't supposed to be sorrowful. So, why was Daniel smiling when his eyes shared such grief? "Because, why else would you still be sitting at this table?" He asked gently.
In any other context, answering a question with a question would be considered rude… but at that moment, something unspoken passed between the two brothers. It didn't matter that they'd only met a few minutes prior for the first time in over 15 years; on a fundamental level that Harry would not be able to explain, Daniel's earnest plea reached through his haze of bitterness and resentment. The anger had not abated, but he would at least do the woman the courtesy of listening to whatever it was she had to say. "Continue," he murmured, nodding at Alice.
"Harry… you can hate me for the rest of your life for the choices I made, but please, please," she stressed, fervently meeting his gaze, "don't think you were tossed away like trash! Nothing could be further from the truth!"
"What else am I supposed to think?" Harry lurched forwards, his palms impacting the table as his volume rose. "You threw me to the tender mercies Petunia Dursley and her fat, fucking, whale of a husband! I've read my mum's journals! Petunia was always a spiteful cunt! Ever she was a kid, that horse-faced bitch relished in the misery she caused! Especially to my mother!
Alice recoiled as if she'd been struck, but still, she pressed on, frantic to explain. "Petunia had changed! Lily's death almost broke the woman. Her parents, Lily's parents, they had already died, and now her sister was dead too… Lily died thinking her sister hated her, but that wasn't true! The chance to raise you and keep you safe was a silver lining for Petunia. A way to repay the years of bitterness and hate between her and Lily."
"Then why'd she'd abandon me?" Harry spat, the rage within him threatening to boil over once more. "It took five years for Petunia to show her true colors then, is that it?" He had told himself that he didn't care to hear answers or justifications since every word out of Alice's mouth pushed him that much closer to true vitriol, but when finally confronted with the opportunity, he just couldn't resist.
Alice replied, but her voice was so small, he couldn't understand so much as a single syllable. "Speak up, Mum," Daniel murmured firmly. "He deserves to hear this part too."
Harry chose not to dwell on the fact that his little brother called her 'mum.' He had enough things to disentangle without adding that emotional weight onto his list.
Following a deep breath, Alice nodded at Daniel before turning back to Harry, her voice still small, but audible. "We… we didn't realize what the Dursleys had done for almost three years-"
"THREE YEARS?!" Harry roared, surging to his feet; barely even noticing the mug that shattered upon the floor as he did so. "It took you three fucking years to realize that they'd abandoned me?!"
"It's… it's not that simple," Alice stammered.
"Then start explaining!"
"Harry, after the murder of your parents we were all scared," Alice's eyes flicked briefly over to Daniel before refocusing on him. "The man who killed your family had followers, who, even after his death, still tried to find him."
Harry was very well aware of that fact. Sirius Black, his own fucking godfather, was rotting in the deepest cells in the worst prison the country had to offer because of the murders he committed following the psychopath terrorist's disappearance. The infamous mass-murderer had naturally garnered Harry's interest to some extent, but he'd put down the numerous articles written about the man shortly after their introduction. Someday, he'd stomach reading about the man who betrayed those who loved him, but that was for the future.
"I'm aware," Harry said churlishly. "Black was one of them."
For the first time, since he'd met the woman, Harry thought Alice looked angry at the mention of her former friend. "Yes, Black was one of them." A shiver trailed down Harry's spine; the sheer vitriol with which Alice spoke the man's name was unakin to anything he'd ever heard before. "He proved to us that the places we thought were safe havens from danger weren't actually safe at all. When Bellatrix Lestrange, her husband, Rodolphus, his brother, Rabastan, and Barty Crouch Jr. murdered Frank's mother in their family home, we were terrified that even though You-Know-Who was gone, his followers still posed a very real threat…"
Harry sat back down and listened to Alice's vague explanation of the esoteric magic that his mum had placed upon he and his brother. None of it made any sense to him in the slightest. How could Dumbledore, who apparently led the organization his parents were members of, manipulate the magic in complex ways without actually understanding it? "Nothing in your justification explains why Daniel and I needed to be separated!" Harry could make sense of why they would tie the magical protection into wards as a safety measure, but that was all.
"We thought that two safe-houses would be better than one," Alice said weakly, folding her arms and shrinking in on herself. "That was the reason. We couldn't think of any method to circumvent the wards, but just in case something did happen to either of you, we'd have another place of safety to fall back on… and that required you all being separated into different homes to set up the wards."
"How much fucking good could a back-up of the same kind of wards be if someone was able to break through them?!" The question was born from righteous fury, but in the recesses of his mind, the magic still intrigued him.
Alice shook her head. "That's not how wards work, Harry, breaking through wards or subverting them are both complicated. If something had gone wrong with the wards, having that other safe-house would make all the difference in the world."
Begrudgingly, Harry let the point lie. If there was one thing he wasn't in a position to argue, it was the efficacy of complicated magic. "Fine," he ground out, the acknowledgement tasting like ash upon his tongue, "even if separating us made sense, why the radio silence? Why did I not even fucking know you all existed until a month ago?"
"You weren't separated completely, not at first," Alice remarked, reaching into a bag she had hanging from the back of her chair to pull out a moving photograph. "You wouldn't remember, but when you were young, you and Dudley played with Daniel and Neville a lot. Every few weeks we would visit… you knew us."
Pictured within the photo were four toddlers, all of them boys, crawling around on the ground, laughing, and playing together. Two of the boys looked exactly alike, but he wouldn't have been able to identify which one was him even if he tried. Almost reverently, Harry placed the photo back onto the table… it was the first time in memory he'd ever seen a picture of himself from when he was younger than six. "Why did the visits stop?" He barely even heard his own question.
"As you all started to get older, the differences between living in the muggle world versus the magical were too large to ignore. One of the magical toys we'd brought over was spirited away by you and Dudley… you didn't mean anything by it, you were only two years old… but it ended with Oblivators needing to be called."
Harry had to bite his tongue from instantly lashing out. The only legal aspect of being a magical that had been stressed by both McGonagall and the official Hogwarts letter was the absolute necessity to not tell muggles about magic. If Obliviators had to be called to modify the memories of muggles, it meant something had gone very wrong all those years ago. "One bloody incident caused you to write off all contact completely? Are you fucking kidding me?"
Alice's hand flew to her chest, covering her heart. "I didn't want that, Harry! Petunia did! Dudley had to have his memory wiped about magic too, and that scared her… magic scared her, just like it did when she was younger. She was apologetic, but she thought it would be best for both you and Dudley to grow up in the muggle world, as free from magic as possible until you were ready to go to Hogwarts…"
"And you just rolled over and accepted that?!" Harry spat. With a growl of frustration, he pushed back his chair to stand. He couldn't sit still, even if he was confined to just pacing back and forth in a small area, it was an outlet for his fury.
"Of course, not!" Alice refuted, the earnest rebuttal spilling from her lips. "I practically begged her not to, but she was your mother in all but name. Ultimately, it was her decision to do what she thought was best for you! Even though I disagreed, I couldn't argue with her!"
Harry scoffed, an indignant, derisive sound full of malice and contempt. "What about the will of my dead parents? Huh? How was that not a good enough reason to put your fucking foot down?"
"She was your legal guardian, Harry! I wanted to, please believe me, I wanted to! But I couldn't at that point!" The tears had begun to fall once more.
Harry was seething. The endless parade of excuses filling him to the brim with wrath. "You don't get to deflect all the blame to Petunia alone! That bitch was in the wrong, but you could have done something, goddamn it! You could have done fucking anything except sit there and accept it!"
"You're right…" Alice choked out; the words inserted around regret laden sobs. "You're right, Harry… I could have. I'm… I'm so sorry I didn't."
Vicious satisfaction welled within Harry. Alice's admission that she was in the wrong fueling every ounce of righteous indignation he'd felt since he first read the letter that McGonagall pressed into his hands. It only took a few moments for it all to fade away like smoke in the wind. The satisfaction he'd sought was hollow when confronted with the guilt-ridden tears of a remorseful woman. He didn't pity her, but the sorrowful emotions were not one he could derive any degree of pleasure from no matter how much he wished otherwise. That simply wasn't the type of person he was.
No one said anything as moved backwards to lean against the wall. Harry had a thousand more questions to ask, but he needed a moment to collect himself. There was nothing else he could say on the subject of why Alice wasn't in his life during that period of time; he could still despise her for the decisions she made, but that was all. Daniel was simply morose, shrouded in melancholy but otherwise sitting in silence aside from brief interjections. There was no mistaking that he was not happy to be there. Alice, on the other hand, looked utterly miserable with her puffy eyes, tear-stained cheeks, and general lack of composure. The sorrowful expression never left her features, even as she displayed her casual mastery of magic to vanish the coffee he'd spilled onto the ground and repair the porcelain mug. The intricate designs of blue and white reconfiguring themselves perfectly as if it'd never been broken at all. The fairly simple spell, while incredible to see on display, was just another reminder of the world he hadn't had the opportunity to grow up in. A life filled with magic and the ease it afforded any who could use it, was a life superior to the flat, mundane existence in which he'd spent 16 years.
"Why…" Harry paused, his thoughts awhirl with too many questions to even know where to begin. "You said that the reason it took you three years after the Dursleys abandoned me to realize what had happened was complicated… I've gotten the goddamn backstory, so start explaining!" He was no longer asking.
"Without your presence, three years was how long it took for the wards tied to your magical protection to fall apart," Alice explained, the guilt in her voice almost palpable. "We… we were asked to keep our distance, and we obliged that request. Every metric and method of determining the wards potency told us they were still working without issue, which in turn informed us you were alive and healthy… beyond that, we respected Petunia's wishes." Quietly, almost to the point where Harry couldn't hear, Alice murmured to herself, "I wish we never had."
"That doesn't explain why that cunt gave me up in the first place!"
"Magical children often experience uncontrollable bouts of accidental magic," Alice explained. "Petunia knew this from when she had grown up with Lily, but we also were sure to explain it to her when taking you in… They're blameless moments of power, no different than a child knocking their drink onto the floor because they didn't understand the lack of lid."
Harry waved his hand dismissively, annoyed at the repetition of information already available to him before stepping forward to place his hands on the back of his chair. "I know all of this already. Explain my life, explain what happened to me, specifically!"
She acquiesced to his demands immediately. "When you were six, you had a powerful incident of accidental magic occur. So powerful, that it…" She paused for a moment, only pressing forward at the sight of his hardened stare. "So powerful, that it frightened Petunia and Vernon into giving you up entirely."
Harry's knuckles went white as he gripped the wooden edge the café's choice of seating. The pain that came from continually squeezing that which would not break under his strength alone was the only thing that kept him from exploding into another tirade. He wracked his brain for all the instances of accidental magic that had occurred to him that he'd once brushed off as his naught but his imagination and waking dreams. "I don't remember anything like that!"
"I'm not surprised, the incident itself and the fallout would have both been traumatic," Alice said morosely. "People in general, but especially kids, rarely are able to recall the memories surrounding trauma with clarity… You had a nightmare and your magic lashed out," she continued. "Every piece of glass in the entire house shattered; every window, picture frame, drinking glass – everything. You weren't injured, but Dudley was… and that scared them enough to -"
"To give up the child that saw them as his parents; the child that didn't understand why he was being sent away," Harry spat, unbridled hatred laced within every word. The enmity and anger Harry felt for the Dursleys was something he could scarcely describe. He loathed them with every fiber of his being and wished upon them nothing but suffering and misfortune; but back then, when he had just been like any other child, he had loved them. Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon had been his parents. The love of the past was nothing more than fuel for the flames of his malice.
"They had never formally adopted you… I still don't know how they accomplished everything so quickly, but within a few months of the incident, they'd terminated your guardianship, you were in the British foster-care system, and they'd moved houses…"
Harry had zero recollection of that time period whatsoever. The memories of a six-year-old were fragile, at best, but he remembered the day the social worker came to retrieve him perfectly. He could still recall the unmistakable tension that lingered in the air when Petunia got Dudley dressed to leave the house, but not him. At the time, he hadn't understood why he couldn't go with them, but with hindsight, it was obvious they wanted to spare their only child from witnessing a tragic scene. Vernon, once always quick with a wink and quip, was silent reading his paper. The double-knock on the front door was emblazoned in his psyche. Quick and sharp, as if the knocker was impatient. Harry still associated the social worker with that impression. Everything about that woman had set him on edge, even as a child. Her fake smile plastered with too much red lip-stick, the overpowering scent of some kind of flower he still couldn't identify. The moment she reached down to retrieve his hand was the moment the tears began. He'd almost started to fight back, to run towards his Uncle Vernon, a place of safety and comfort… but that delusion was dispelled the moment he caught sight of Vernon's cold stare. Gone was the warmth he'd known all his life. On an instinctual level, Harry recognized that he would find no help in that man. That was when his heart broke. From then on, the confusion, fear, and pain that came from knowing that the only family he'd ever known was sending him away dominated his every thought and emotion. He'd screamed and cried, but in the end, he still found himself in the backseat of that off-white, Ford Cortina, watching through the window as he sped away from his home, never to return. It was amazing that he could recall every little detail of that day, but the preceding weeks might as well have been a blur. Honestly, he wished he could just forget it all. The memories of that day brought him nothing but pain.
"By the time we realized what had happened, you were firmly entrenched in the muggle child services system, and we wouldn't have been able to adopt you without going through the Department of Education and Child Services at the Ministry of Magic," Alice finished, wringing her hands nervously.
"And what difference does that make?" Harry asked pointedly, reclaiming his seat.
Alice took a deep breath, "it was practically guaranteed that someone would catch wind that the brother of the Boy-Who-Lived was up for adoption. Whether that person was a reporter, a mole, or even a random clerk who only saw a glimpse of the paperwork, as soon as that information went public, it would've turned into a scandalous legal battle -"
Harry cut her off mid-sentence. "So, for seven fucking years, you left me ignorant of everything just so you could avoid some bad press?!" He accused, glaring daggers at his would-be-godmother, though, he saw Daniel flinch all the same.
"No! No, no, no, Harry, of course not!" Alice wailed; horror struck at the thought. "That wasn't the reason at all! It would have dragged you into the spotlight! I wasn't your legal guardian anymore, so, if I had moved to adopt you then others would have tried to stake their claim as well. You would've been pulled away from Miss Morrison, stuck with a Ministry Child Services agent, and accosted day after day by people looking to manipulate and adopt you for their own reasons!"
"Bullshit!" Harry sneered, the paltry defense not moving him in the slightest. "Even as the brother of the Boy-Who-Lived, no one would give a toss about me!"
"You're wrong, Harry," Daniel spoke up once more, "A lot of people would've cared… honestly, a lot of people will still care. Guaranteed."
"What?"
Daniel met his brother's gaze firmly. "I don't blame you for not realizing this, especially since I've grown up knowing what it means to be famous, but even beyond why I'm famous… our family is important in Britain."
"Important?" Harry repeated the word aloud. "I thought we were just an old family with a good amount of ancestral money from hundreds of years ago when this region was settled?" The journals in his family's vault had provided what he thought was more than enough context… it appeared that he was mistaken.
Alice shook her head. "The Ancient and Noble House of Potter has been a staple House in our country since they arrived during the Norman Conquest as personal friends of William the Conqueror. Even before that, the Potters were an old French family with roots in what would become the County of Flanders, and before that the Frankish Empire… And you, Harry, are the heir to that House! You have access to a very large inheritance and a great degree of political influence. Add onto that your status as the only living immediate family member to the famed Boy-Who-Lived."
"Plenty of people would've tried to turn you into a political tool…" Daniel finished the explanation. "I… don't want to sound like I'm defending their decision, but she's not lying. It's highly possible that you would've become nothing more than a piece on other people's chess board."
Harry had to bite his tongue. Was it just him being a child that such a legitimate explanation rankled him? Or was he simply furious at the notion that he was denied a family because others would've tried to use him. Perhaps both were contributors to his continuing ire?
Alice ignored the stony look in Harry's eye as she reached over and grasped his hand with her own. He flinched backwards at the sudden physical contact, but her grip, firm but also gentle, prevented him from pulling away. "I wanted nothing more than to have you back with us! I wanted to hold you in my arms and swear to never let you go again! But you seemed happy! You were with a woman who was taking care of you, surrounded by other kids you got along with! I couldn't rip you away from that – not if it meant subjecting you to the cruelty of our society!" Alice paused to wipe away the renewed tears that fell from her deep, brown eyes; her choked sobs easing as she took a moment to breathe. "I am so sorry that I was wrong."
For the first time since learning he had a family, Harry had no response as he removed his arm from her grip and rose to pace once more. The sudden revelation prompted him towards contemplation. The silence that fell over the table went practically unnoticed as he grappled with information previously denied to him. Of all the things he expected to feel towards Alice Longbottom, he never thought he would actually understand why she had taken the actions that she did. Harry hadn't considered the political and social situation of his family for even a single second. An ignoramus in every sense of the word and still he'd leapt to conclusions.
Professor McGonagall had already explained to him that while he was considered a ward under the care of Hogwarts during the school year, for all other legal purposes, he held the status of being an emancipated minor. In the magical world, the age of majority was age 21, which coincided with the final year of required education. This wasn't a huge surprise to Harry as, until the past few decades, that had been the age of majority in the muggle world as well. The only real distinction between the magical and muggle worlds was that, apparently, even centuries prior, gender equality was more common, with men and women alike sharing the same rights in essentially every respect. Harry's status as an emancipated minor was a comparatively rare but not unheard-of circumstance. It required him to have no legal magical guardians and no legal muggle guardians of blood relation. Beth Morrison wasn't related to him by blood, and thus she was not permitted to learn of magic. The moment he'd accepted his invitation to the school, his status in both the magical and muggle world was assured. Harry only just realized how that status would protect him from all of the opportunistic sharks looking to take advantage of him for who he was.
Eventually, pushing through his shocked countenance, he broke the silence with more questions; the need for more answers driving him ever onward. "Why did you never visit? Why didn't you reach out to me? Why didn't I know that my mother and father died loving me? Why didn't I know that I still had a family who gave a damn about my life?!"
"I don't have a good answer for you," Alice said softly. "I -" she broke off with a small shake of her head. "You were only nine," she croaked out, refusing to meet Harry's eyes once more. "After everything you'd already gone through, I thought… I thought that telling you about us would only bring you more pain..."
"Explain." Harry spat venomously. He knew she'd have an answer… if nothing else, he'd already realized that Alice hadn't acted in any way that was deliberately malicious. But even then, her foolishness, her cowardice in the face of what should have been done, still left him with anger aplenty. Whatever her justification, blameless, she was not.
Alice wrung her hands nervously, eyes askance as she answered him, "You were only nine," she stressed again, "a child. I didn't think you'd understand the idea that you had family you weren't allowed to live with. You wouldn't understand why you'd been sent away in the first place. You wouldn't understand not being able to talk about magic, and I would've had to explain magic for you to know why we couldn't just adopt you... I thought that staying away would hurt less."
"So, you decided to leave me ignorant of everything about my own fucking life because you thought the truth was TOO BLOODY DIFFICULT TO EXPLAIN?!" Harry roared, flinging his arms out wide before running his hands through his unkempt hair. "HOW DOES THAT JUSTIFY ANYTHING?!"
"It doesn't!" Alice cried mournfully, rising to her feet. "Nothing does! I should have been there for you! I should have done whatever I had to if it meant being in your life!" She broke off, suddenly retreating into herself. "But I didn't... because I thought I'd just be hurting you more."
"I THOUGHT THE DURSLEYS WERE MY ONLY FAMILY! I HAD NO MONEY! NO KNOWLEDGE OF MAGIC! NOTHING! I DIDN'T KNOW MY MOTHER'S FACE OR MY FATHER'S NAME! I DIDN'T EVEN KNOW I HAD A FUCKING BROTHER! HOW THE FUCK COULD YOU HURT ME MORE?!"
"I thought that if I tried to enter your life, knowing I wouldn't be able to explain everything, that it would be like I was taunting you! It wasn't fair for me to not tell you anything; you deserved to know about the life I kept from you, but I believed ignorance was better than half-answered questions and glimpses of a life you still wouldn't be able to have!" She didn't even try to wipe away her tears. "I thought that if I waited until you went to Hogwarts that – that you wouldn't be scared or confused like you would when you were only nine. By waiting to tell you, I knew you'd be angry… I-I knew you'd be hurt. But I hoped that if nothing else, you'd understand why…"
The young teen glared at the woman that should have raised him, his mouth twisted into a bitter, furious scowl. He was angry. He was hurt. And worst of all, he did understand why. Damn the woman to hell, her fucking assumptions had been right.
"Stop." Harry said quietly. Alice lightly jumped, shocked that he was suddenly speaking softly following his loud tirade. "Just… stop." Harry didn't know what to say at that moment; hell, right then, he barely knew what to think. But if nothing else, he knew he couldn't bear to listen to Alice Longbottom's tears and apologies for another second. The three of them remained still, not a single word passing between them. Harry tried to compile his thoughts so he could say something, anything, but they kept slipping away; the tumultuous emotions raging inside of him utterly blocking his ability to think. This wasn't a situation with a clear cut right or wrong answer; there was no instructions on what he was supposed to say or how he should respond. Eventually, Harry decided to just give up. "I need a fucking smoke," he muttered, his throat hoarse and raw from the shouting.
"What?" Daniel asked, mouth agape.
"I'm going outside because right now, I really need a fucking cigarette," he repeated. Honestly, he wanted a bloody drink as well, but it was still early, so he highly doubted he'd be able to find one without going to some dingey bar. A cigarette would have to suffice. "You," he pointed right at Alice, "better not fucking follow me." After what she had revealed, he desperately needed to not be in her presence.
Harry didn't stick around to hear their replies. Returning the way from whence he entered, he outright ignored every farewell comment offered to him by the staff. It was rude of him, but he didn't care. Once outside Harry stuck a cigarette in his mouth, the action that he normally executed with the smooth ease of a long habit made clumsy and difficult by his shaking hands and fervent pace. He raised his wand and quietly muttered flamma vus, a small fire springing to life on the tip. It was one of the first spells he'd sought out. Honestly, with his mindset, he was surprised it only took him a single try. Harry quickly burned through the first cigarette of what he expected would be many. On a good day, he liked to make each smoke last as long as possible; to savor every inhalation and let the act itself calm him alongside the drugs. On bad days though, of which this assuredly was, he just needed the edge to fade away as fast as bloody possible. A second cigarette followed the first as the minutes passed and the world continued to move around him.
The solitude he'd claimed for himself against the brick wall of the café was interrupted by the arrival of a melancholy stranger who should have been his best friend. "Mind if I join you?" Daniel asked, politely gesturing to the empty spot next to Harry.
A small nod was his only reply as his twin claimed his own spot leaning against the hardened surface. "I thought I smelled smoke on you earlier, so I figured you smoked, but I guess this is confirmation, huh?"
Harry exhaled a stream of the toxic chemicals as he raised an eyebrow imperiously. "My parting words not enough of a hint?"
Daniel chuckled, but there was little humor in it. "I guess you can say they didn't register properly. My mind was focused on other things, you know?"
Pain gripped Harry's heart at his little brother's words. Whatever gripes he had with Alice, Daniel did not deserve his place adjacent to their drama. It was unavoidable, but he did not deserve it. "I'm sorry you're caught in the middle of this," Harry murmured, facing forward as he took another drag. "I'm not sorry for anything I said in there, but you should know, I don't blame you at all."
"Thanks… As for what was said in there," he pointed backwards with his thumb, "well, it wasn't pleasant, but it needed to happen. You deserved to know, and Mum deserved to hear your response."
"Is this where you ask me to forgive her?" Harry asked, his voice devoid of emotion.
Daniel shook his head lightly. "No, it's not my place."
"I… I appreciate that," Harry said, surprised, but earnest in his thanks.
Daniel lowered himself to the concrete below, his feet splayed out in front of him. There wasn't a lot of traffic on this side of the street, so no one had to step over his outstretched legs. "I don't really know you, and I don't know the life you've lived. It wouldn't be fair of me to expect you to forgive and forget the last 15 years. Especially since I got to live the good life; the other side of the coin, I guess."
"I already said you're not to blame."
The younger twin shrugged. "Yeah, but that doesn't mean I don't feel some measure of guilt all the same."
Harry snorted. "Noble idiot. You've got nothing to feel guilty over. Don't feel bad for living a good life."
"I'll do my best to remember that," Daniel replied, a warm smile on his face.
Daniel was clearly a good person. Undeniably, it was the sign of a good heart that he was bothered by the fact that he lived a happy, stable life when someone else didn't. That was a level of empathetic awareness that Harry knew most people did not possess, including himself. Bloody hell, it was downright touching to know his younger twin gave a damn. If that perceived responsibility turned to pity, then they would have a problem, but in its current state, it was simply something to be rid of. Harry highly doubted Daniel would instantly be assuaged of said guilt, but a little progress was better than none.
"Do you mind if I ask a hard question that isn't fair to ask?" Daniel did not look up at his brother.
"Why not?" Harry had dealt with a lot of difficult topics that day, might as well add some more.
"When you agreed to meet with us today… what were you hoping would be the outcome?"
The probing inquiry prompted an immediate and rather long drag from Harry. "You weren't fucking kidding about it not being fair…"
Daniel scratched at the sidewalk, the sound drowned out by the hustle and bustle of the Alley, but the movement caught Harry's eye. "I know, and I'm sorry for that, but I couldn't help but wonder since, if I were in your shoes, I…"
"You what?"
"I don't know," Daniel finished. "I genuinely have no idea what I would have wanted or expected."
Harry mimicked his brother and lowered himself to the same level, stamping the remains of his cigarette out on the ground before lighting another. It was definitely one of those days. "I don't know, man, I guess I just wanted answers more than anything. The letter Alice sent with McGonagall promised to explain, so, yeah, I guess knowing why everything played out the way it did was my main reason."
"Did you think about not coming?"
Harry started to laugh, the involuntary response quickly turning into a series of coughs since he'd been in the middle of inhaling a lungful of toxic carbon. Daniel wasted no time in clapping him on the back a few times before he was waved off. "Fucking hell,"
"You alright?"
Harry coughed a few more times. "Yeah, I'll be fine. To answer your question, though, yeah, I thought about it a lot."
"What finally caused you to make the decision?"
"If I didn't come, it would've felt like I was running away," Harry said firmly. "Hypothetically, if Alice hadn't offered to explain, I don't know that I would've ever sought her out to ask. Maybe I would have, I don't know… but with the opportunity in front of me, I think I would've felt like a coward if I didn't come; like I was too damn scared of what she might say. Fuck that."
"And… and how do you feel about what she said?" Daniel's question was as direct as they come.
"I have no fucking clue." The combination of a good cigarette, the warm sun, and a refreshing breeze had done wonders in calming Harry down. Not that he was surprised, he'd taken up smoking as a quick way to take the edge off a few years back and the habit suited him. It hadn't taken long for the tiny toxic cylinders to become a mainstay of his everyday life. On an average day, he reserved himself to smoking one, maybe two at a time, but the edge he needed to knock off at that moment was a bit larger than what he dealt with on a normal day… Not that it fixed everything, even with the help of his habit, his mind was still awhirl when it came to his bloody godmother. Every ounce of anger was still present, but a traitorous part of his brain kept insidiously whispering in his ear that her logic made sense. It didn't excuse every action she took, but damn it, not even he could deny that she did have reasons. She'd fucked up, royally so… but did he hate her for that? The answer eluded him.
"That's… fair," Daniel concurred, brushing back his windswept hair with his fingers. "I guess it only makes sense that you'd need time to process everything."
"My turn for a hard question," Harry said, turning towards his twin, matching green orbs staring into one another.
"Go for it."
"If I decided I wanted nothing to do with Alice ever again, would you abide by that?"
Daniel let his head fall back against the wall they rested upon; his head tilted upwards to the lightly clouded sky. "Your question is harder than mine was."
"I know," Harry murmured.
"I would try to. To be honest, I don't know how good I'd be at it, and I wouldn't like it… but I'd try to. I think it's your right to not forgive her, if that's what you want…"
Harry hummed, the answer surprising him. "I would've thought otherwise."
Daniel laughed. "A week ago, I would've given a different answer. Yesterday, Mum and I talked. It was actually her who told me that no matter what happened, I should respect your decision."
The torrent of emotions within Harry raged that much more. "Alice said that…?"
"Yeah," Daniel said, nodding slowly. "She's not a perfect woman, I won't pretend that she is, but I guarantee that if you walked back in there and said you never wanted to see her again, she'd leave you be without complaint."
Harry took another long drag, refusing to let it show how much those words affected him. "You're really talking her up, huh?"
"No," Daniel disagreed, "I'm just being honest, mate. You can hate Mum for the choices she made, and I wouldn't blame you for that, it would hurt, but I wouldn't blame you… however, even if you hate her, you don't know her. You don't know the kind of person she is."
"You think actions don't say a lot about who someone is?" Harry countered, his tone wasn't pointed, but it was safe to say the two brothers were no longer dancing around the awkwardness of having just met and had started to speak their minds.
"I don't think those actions alone are the full sum of a person."
"Maybe you're right," Harry conceded, retrieving a galleon to twirl betwixt his fingers. "But that doesn't mean those actions aren't impactful. Hell, I'd argue they carry more weight than anything else. It's what people do that defines them, isn't it?"
"Context is important too, though," Daniel responded, his tone utterly unchanged. "Intent may not be everything, but it does matter."
"At the end of the day, results don't really care about intent… Rather, I should say that the results aren't changed by the intent." Every word he spoke to his brother was true… but even to himself, he couldn't deny the impact that knowing one's intent had on him. Alice Longbottom had tried to do right by him. She fucked up. There was no denying that. She. Fucked. Up. But she hadn't meant to. Harry may not have been the most well-adjusted guy, but even he wasn't so far gone as to despise someone forever for a mistake they regretted. At the end of the day, results did matter, and in this case, the results were his life – and Harry didn't hate his life. It could've been a hell of a lot better, and he was fucking livid over that fact, but it also could have been far worse. "Fucking hell, it doesn't even really matter right now. Can we move on from this?" Harry asked, pushing himself to his feet.
"Yeah, we can… sorry, I shouldn't have challenged you on that. Not right now, at the very least."
Harry waved off the apology. "Don't worry about it, I'm just… I'm just not in a good headspace to think about shit objectively right now."
"Are you going to head on out?" Daniel asked, accepting Harry's offered hand to pull him up.
"Well," Harry rubbed the back of his head nervously, "I'd planned to grab some food, was going to invite you along. Maybe talk without the immediate weight of other shit hanging over us… but I guess that'd be pretty difficult right now, wouldn't it?" He didn't know why he was even bothering to ask. Of course, it would. How could it not? The metaphorical ax was still hanging over whether he would even speak to Alice again.
"It might be a little forced, but I'd love to grab a bite," Daniel replied, the acknowledgment that any conversation would contain an element of falsehood an honest yet disheartening notion.
"Conversation shouldn't be forced, mate," Harry said, shaking his head. "We'll grab a bite another day, yeah?"
"Oh, okay," Daniel said, and Harry felt a phantom pain grip his chest. "That works for me, just send a letter for what day works for you, okay?" He smiled, but it was forced – fake. Daniel's smile was a deception, and it didn't take a genius to know what he was trying to hide.
Harry knew it was irrational to care for someone simply on the basis of a blood connection. There was no reason for it, no explanation or justification. People were people. Objectively, there was no reason to give a damn about someone just because you happened to be related… and yet, the simple knowledge that his little brother was hurt by his decision bothered him more than he could put into words. It didn't matter that they'd only met for the first time that day. It didn't matter that they knew almost nothing about each other. The simple reality was that Harry did not like the idea that his younger brother was hurt because of him. With that realization, he knew what he had to do. It was the last thing he wanted to do. Even contemplating the action he was about to take filled him with rage that was directed towards himself, towards Alice, towards literally everything that even dared to exist, because by all rights he shouldn't have to do this at all… but he was going to anyway because damn it all, he didn't want his relationship with his brother to die before it ever got off the ground. Fuck. Me.
Without warning, Harry stomped out his cigarette and walked back into the café. He ignored the surprised questions spilling from Daniel's mouth and continued forward, back to the room he'd stormed out from only minutes prior. The door was still ajar, just as he had left it, and Alice saw them coming. She rose from her chair, her eyes still puffy, but even from a distance, a hint of hope was present. "Fucking hell," Harry whispered, once again running his hand through his hair; a nervous habit, nothing more. The moment he stepped pass the silencing magic, Alice started to speak, all it took was one look at his face before she stopped herself. Behind him, Daniel closed the door, sealing them away from rest of the café entirely; he too, chose to remain silent. Their intuitive understanding to not speak at that moment and give Harry room to go at his own pace was a mercy. All it would take was a single wrong word to set him off completely and unleash the furor that threatened to explode as is, and he knew that if that happened, he would say things that he would regret in the future.
Harry tried to compile his thoughts, but they kept slipping away. He knew the ideas and emotions he wanted to give voice to, but he couldn't find the right words to formulate them. The decision was made for him when, without thinking, he let his lips move of their own accord. "I spent my entire life completely ignorant of magic, my heritage, my family, of the life I could have had…" His words sounded foreign to his own ears. For the first time, he understood what it meant when people described speaking from the heart. "The Dursleys abandoned me, and I grew up thinking that the only relatives I had left alive hated me… Ever since I got your letter, I thought I could lay all the fault at your feet…" Harry hadn't cried since the day the social worker picked him up from the Dursleys. Even at the age of six, he'd realized it was a useless action and sworn it off completely. Family that abandoned their children weren't worth shedding tears over. And yet, as he poured out his heart on his brother's behalf, Harry would be lying if he said he wasn't fighting back tears. "I wanted to blame you for everything, I wanted to hate you but damn it all, I can't! I can't hate you, but I can't forgive you either, because damn it all, my childhood was not right!"
Alice fervently nodded her head in agreement, liquid pouring from her eyes yet again, though, if he had to guess, they were different than those that came before. "Harry, I'm not trying to absolve myself of anything, I don't expect you to forgive me for anything I've done to you."
"Good, because right now, I don't." Would he ever find it in himself to forgive her? Honestly, he couldn't say. Forgiveness was a concept he wasn't overly familiar with, but unlike smiles, it couldn't be forced. The future was full of infinite possibilities, so, someday, maybe he'd forgive her… but on that day, at that moment in time, the best he could do was not hate her. Harry did not hate Alice Longbottom. It was a start.
"Right now," Alice repeated, her voice barely a whisper, but to him, it was still audible, and then she broke down completely. She fell to her knees, sobbing uproariously as one hand clenched over her heart. In an instant, Daniel was kneeling by her side, but Harry remained impassive. "I'm sorry," she said around choked cries, repeating the words multiple times.
"You're fine, Mum, take your time," Daniel consoled the woman who raised him, gently pulling her into a hug. Harry, on the other hand, simply reclaimed his seat and though it was rude to do so, he couldn't resist lighting another cigarette – he deserved one after his little speech, damn it. The niceties he was willing to expend were nonexistent; he wouldn't be a cunt and interrupt what was clearly an emotional moment for the woman, but nor would he offer words of kindness or reprieve.
Harry was halfway through his smoke when Alice regained a semblance of composure. "Thank you," she said to Daniel, undisguised, motherly love emanating from those two little words. Even through the bitterness, he thought it was a tender sight to behold. "So, Harry, I…" Whatever words she was about to say, he couldn't even begin to guess. "Would you like me to tell you more about James?"
The question startled him. "What?"
"I know you probably don't want much to do with me right now, but based on what you said earlier, I figured you didn't know a lot about him…" Her voice got quieter and quieter towards the end, wilting under his stony stare.
Conflict warred within him. He very much wanted her out of his sight so he could start thinking about anything but her, but at the same time, he was desperate to know more about his father… Harry had yet to find any journals from the man, and Alice was someone who had been friends with him for years. The temptation was too great to resist. Harry gestured to the chair. "Tell me about him."
Alice, whether through perception or intuition, must have realized that he didn't want to talk to her so much as he wanted to listen to stories about his father, and so she wasted no time in sitting down and launching into her tale. Even then, she was noticeably happier than any time since they'd met. "James Potter was an ass," she began with a small laugh, her words blunt yet still clearly fond. "We were all in the same year, your mum, dad, and I – Frank was two years older. James was the biggest braggart around, well, one of the biggest anyway; always so cocky and self-assured. He even crossed the line and was a bit of a bully at times, especially to certain students."
Harry listened with rapt attention. All of his grudges and tumultuous emotions falling to the wayside as he listened to tales of his father. He didn't care that it was Alice who was talking, this was the first time he'd ever heard anyone talk about his dad.
"For the first five years that we knew him, there wasn't a day that went by without James flirting with Lily and her calling him a 'toe-rag' in reply. I never did learn what that was supposed to mean," Alice trailed off with a small chuckle as she turned toward Daniel. "You've heard these stories before, would you mind getting us all more drinks?"
"Sure thing," Daniel said, a content smile on his face. Though it vanished as quickly as it arrived, a small pang of jealousy towards his brother stabbed into the older twin. Daniel had grown up hearing these stories, while, to Harry, they were like water to a man dying of thirst.
Alice waited until the door was closed to continue. "James was a huge flirt, and he made no secret of that. I swear, that until sixth year, he'd made it his mission to charm the panties off every girl he could, and that included me until I started dating Frank." Harry mentally saluted his father for his skirt-chasing endeavors. Quietly, he wondered if his father had succeeded with the woman in front of him, but that was a question for another day. He had no wish to actually engage with her.
"Still, in spite of him being a bit of a bully and a man-whore, James was a really good guy," her words carried a distinctive, sad edge. Remembering a dead friend would do that. "He liked to push boundaries, but there wasn't a single person in Gryffindor who thought he wouldn't have your back if you were in a pinch."
"Was this before or after sixth year?" Harry asked, smoke trailing his question. "You mentioned sixth year earlier, seemed important."
Alice nodded her head. "A bit of both, honestly. James and his best friends were only really mean to certain Slytherin students. There was this group in our year, especially, who gave as good as they got. When it came to those two groups, no one was just a victim, and everyone was to blame. Not that I'm defending James, though, he and his friends were still bastards."
Harry had known quite a few people like that in his life, particularly his old school. Kids and teenagers alike could be right cunts sometimes, but that didn't mean every aspect of their personality was bad… a notion that Daniel would no doubt agree with given their earlier conversation. James Potter could have been a bully towards some classmates while still being a great friend to others. Neither of the two descriptions were mutually exclusive.
"That changed?" Harry probed. He didn't mind asking the occasional question of Alice if it meant learning more about his dad.
"James changed," Alice said simply, a wistful smile on her face. "He never mentioned this profound moment or experience that caused him to grow up, he just did so of his own accord. Sixth year was the start of a new James. He was still James, of course, happy to crack a joke or casually flirt with every girl he saw, but the more boorish aspects of his personality were gone."
Harry deigned not to respond as Alice continued to share stories of his father. Eventually, Daniel returned, drinks in hand, to share in the experience. Harry, for his part, barely said a word. He simply listened and watched – he listened to tales about a man who Harry thought he could have easily loved. It wasn't hard to see why Alice compared him to his old man given their shared propensity for rebellious behavior… but Harry also watched; taking notice of how Alice interacted with one who was her son in everyway that mattered. The way she bantered and engaged with Daniel was clearly that of a mother and son, but it was friendly and fun too – the mark of a relationship that had begun to progress pass an adult and a child, and into two adults. It further reinforced his opinion that she was a good woman who had made mistakes… but it also added that much more fuel to the lingering bitterness that resided deep within. It was a bond he would never have with anyone.
"So, Harry," Alice said eventually, addressing him by name for the first time since they'd begun to talk. He didn't like how casual she sounded. "You drink, you smoke, you're already having sex. You got started young, huh?"
"Alongside everyone else in my social circle," Harry replied, his voice deliberately cold as smoke poured from his lips. "Peer pressure is a hell of a drug."
Daniel chuckled at that. "I haven't known you long, but I don't believe that there was much pressure involved," he said dryly.
A humorless chuckle escaped Harry's lips in spite of himself, his little brother had hit the nail on the head with that assumption. There had been others that influenced Harry, of course, but no one would ever accuse him of being a victim of peer pressure when it came to his poor habits.
"Do yourself a favor and go buy a few of those lung cleansing potions," Alice gestured to his fag. "I don't know the name off the top of my head, but it's a popular potion with smokers."
There was a potion that would allow him to smoke while also dodging the tar build-up on his lungs? He had never loved magic more. A nod of thanks was his only reply to the woman as he made a mental note to ask the potion's shopkeeper about potions for his teeth as well. While very diligent about his dental hygiene, assistance from magic couldn't hurt in the slightest.
"And please learn the contraceptive charm," Alice continued after a few seconds of silence. "Witches are taught it early at Hogwarts, and my mum taught me before I even went to Hogwarts; but it doesn't hurt for you to know how to cast it as well. Frank already taught it to Daniel and Neville, just in case.
Harry made note of Daniel's slight flush and once again nodded his thanks, inwardly elated that such a charm existed and was apparently commonplace. Magic really was quite the gem.
With the silence that unfolded, Alice seemed to realize that while Harry wasn't vocalizing his displeasure, she'd overstayed her welcome all the same. "Well, I think it's about time for me to take my leave. I've got a few errands to run before I head home, so…"
"That works, Mum," Daniel chimed in. "Harry and I are going to grab some food, so I'll just floo home when I'm finished, yeah?"
"That's perfect!" Alice said excitedly. "I hope you two have fun." She then turned toward Harry specifically, and a complicated expression overtook her features; clearly a smile, but one with more depth of emotion than could properly be conveyed with that word alone. "Harry…" She began, one hand extending outwards to gently touch his arm. "Thank you."
"For what?" He said, somewhat tersely, eager to have this conversation end sooner rather than later. The number of heartfelt declarations and cathartic rants he was capable of handling in a single day had long since been met. He was almost positive that there would be more emotions to air out in the future, but that was for another day. A downward glance was spared for her hand's placement on his arm, but he didn't shrug it off despite being somewhat uncomfortable with its presence. The affectionate gesture wasn't actively causing him pain, so he put up with it.
"For listening," she said simply. "You didn't have to, but I'm so glad you did."
"I wanted answers, and I got them. Besides, I didn't do it for you." That really was all there was to it in Harry's mind. Alice may have been absolved of his hatred, but she was his godmother in name only. The emotions that should have accompanied such a title were nonexistent.
"Even still, I'm glad. Also…" she trailed off uncertainly, but an encouraging nod from Daniel reignited her bravery. "Would you mind if I wrote to you? Letters, I mean. You don't have to respond if you don't want to. I would love it if you did, but it's not necessary. I just… the time for me to try and be your mother has passed, I know, but I want to be a part of your life going forward, even if it's just a small part. So, I would like to write if that's okay?"
Harry would absolutely not return her letters, but he wasn't about to stop her from sending them. Would she ever be a more active part of his life like she desired? That was a question that he would have to address in the future. "Do as you wish," he murmured.
Alice smiled brightly, a full, heartfelt smile that could turn heads from across the room. Alice truly was a beautiful woman, and Harry thought the smile fit her far better than the tears. "Well, I'll leave you all to it then. See you both later, and don't worry about the cost of the room, I'll pay it on my way out." With those parting words, Alice opened the door and made her exit, leaving Harry and Daniel by their lonesome; the two falling into a rather comfortable silence on the heels of her departure. The older twin would have never guessed that he'd find the company of his brother to be such an easy thing to settle in to. Despite the years of separation, his presence felt downright natural.
"So, ready to grab some food?" Daniel asked, pulling Harry from his reverie. Already, the tone of his question was night and day from when they were alone previously. That, if nothing else, affirmed Harry's decision to say his piece to Alice.
"Definitely," Harry confirmed, his mood easing up in turn. "Where are we going?"
"There's this place called the Maple Tree around the bend. Best waffles in the world, I swear." Daniel started leading the way to the renowned restaurant.
Harry couldn't resist the easy opportunity to tease. "Oh, and how does the Boy-Who-Was-Sheltered know about such an establishment?"
Daniel raised an eyebrow. "Boy-Who-Was-Sheltered? Where'd that come from?"
"Just an assumption," Harry said innocently. "I mean, given your fame, I'm assuming you don't get out as often as you maybe should."
"My life hasn't been quite as adventurous as yours, but it's not like Nev and I have never gotten up to anything fun. We do leave the house for various reasons!" Daniel defended, intent on proving he wasn't what Harry accused him of being.
"Dinner with mummy doesn't count," Harry mocked.
"Ouch," Daniel deadpanned. "But seriously, you're right that I don't go to parties or anything, but for the past few years we've regularly gone out and done things with light disguises to avoid getting swarmed."
"You didn't when you were younger?"
"Merlin, no. It was understandable given the number of random attacks that still occurred even after You-Know-Who was killed though," Daniel said as he led Harry through a shortcut towards their chosen destination.
"You-Know-Who… I've never understood the reason as to why people call him that. It just seems so random?" Harry remarked, the lilt in his voice conveying his confusion.
"That's what everyone calls him."
"Well, yeah, I know, but he was just a psycho-terrorist, right?" Harry asked, still confused.
"Yeah, the guy was a psycho-terrorist, but he was also a terrifying son of a bitch that almost brought our society to its knees," Daniel explained as the two of them navigated through the crowded streets filled to the brim with families shopping for Hogwarts.
"So why the moniker 'You-Know-Who'?"
"I asked Dad that too way back when, and he said it was thanks to a curse placed on You-Know-Who's actual name," Daniel explained, easily leading the duo through and around throngs of people enjoying the Alley. "Anyone who spoke it risked bringing his personal attention down on their heads. People who spoke his name with impunity almost always died."
"Nice horror story, but that sounds like confirmation bias to me," Harry said skeptically.
Daniel shrugged nonchalantly. "Maybe, but does it really matter? People who said his name tended to die, so people stopped saying his name. There's nothing fictional about it, just history. Fifteen years later and the habit stuck."
Harry thought there was a huge difference based on the potential magic involved but conceded that the public perception was the same regardless. "Fair point."
Harry wondered if his sensor abilities would allow him to detect such magic, assuming it existed at all. No doubt he would first have to improve his capabilities as a sensor since in his current state, he could barely detect obvious magic, let alone subtle spells that had their very existence questioned by an entire society. Still, it was a curious line of thought to explore, and definitely one he would have to remember for the future.
"You talk about what happened fairly easily," Harry commented. "Our parents, I mean, and their murder.
Daniel cast a forlorn glance towards his twin. "I've always known about it; I've had time to process everything. You haven't had that luxury."
"I suppose that's true," Harry once again acknowledged that his little brother had a point, but he and Daniel would go down the road that was their tragic past another time. "So, have you read any of the journals in our vault?" The blunt subject change was both obvious and intentional.
"A few of them. None of our parents' journals specifically though. I've heard so many stories about them that their journals weren't really a priority for me. I'll read them at some point, but for now," Daniel trailed off with a slight shrug.
"It seems like a Potter tradition that Mum happened to fit in with by pure happenstance," Harry remarked as they approached their restaurant of choice. "Ah, we're here."
The Maple Tree was a small little place built entirely out of wood that was stained a beautiful mix of red and browns. Harry didn't even make it inside before his eye was caught by the outside seating area; dotted with elegantly carved wooden tables and chairs, with a beautiful wooden canopy shielding the area from the rays of the sun. In an unspoken agreement the two twins claimed one of the empty tables.
"Trust me, this place is fantastic," Daniel said, his grin wide as he sat down. His assurance was perfectly timed with a sudden waft that originated from inside the establishment that tickled Harry's senses. The scent of waffles had never before been so enticing.
"You are right though, journaling has been a thing in our family since practically the beginning, as far as I can tell," Daniel continued, picking up their conversation once more.
"Yeah, that's what I figured," Harry replied. "Hell, I even bought a journal to try my hand at it. Trying to continue the family, tradition, you know, but damn is it awkward." He inwardly cringed at his mediocre attempts to journal. The act of writing to no one was both slow and uncomfortable; he did not understand how it was such a common hobby.
"Want my advice?" Daniel asked, not bothering to wait for a reply. "Grab a dictation quill. I thought writing my thoughts was awkward too, but with a dictation quill it's super easy since all you have to do is speak your mind and let the quill handle the actual writing."
"Brilliant!" Harry exclaimed, recalling just how conversational his mother's journals had seemed, an aspect that would make a lot more sense if she were simply talking rather than writing. "Did Mum use one of those too?"
"Well like I said, I haven't read Mum's, but Mum said she always had them at Hogwarts, so it wouldn't surprise me."
Harry had to take a moment to parse through Daniel's confusing choice of words, but he eventually nodded, his suspicions all but confirmed. "You call both Alice and Lily 'mum'," he commented. "Does that not get confusing?"
Daniel shrugged lightly, "not really, it's easy in my head."
"That's fair, it's a bit weird to hear, but if it works for you, it works."
Daniel suddenly looked apprehensive. "That doesn't bother you, does it? That I, you know, call both Alice and Lily mum?"
Harry sighed as he leaned forward and forcefully met his little brother's averted eyes. "Alice and Frank raised you, Daniel. They're you're mum and dad, simple as that. No one, and I mean no one – not James, Lily, or myself – would ever begrudge you calling them that."
Harry meant every word. Anyone that would get upset at Daniel for calling his adopted parents mum and dad deserved a special place in hell. Harry was certain that he would never personally ever view Frank and Alice in such a light, but they hadn't raised him. No matter what issues he had with them, he'd never deny the fact that they were good parents to Daniel and had raised him as if he was their own.
"Thanks, Harry," Daniel said warmly, a tad bashful at Harry's encouraging words, but sitting up proudly all the same.
The younger twin was spared from any teasing thanks to their waitress arriving at their table. She was cute, probably a few years older than the twins, her dark hair pulled back into a simple pony-tail. Dressed in the restaurant's uniform, a simple button up shirt with their name and logo printed on the breast and back, and a pair of light-wash jeans, the girl would have fit in perfectly anywhere in London.
"Alright guys, what will it be today?" She asked, a slight Irish accent shining through the question.
"Hey Darcy," Daniel said without having to read the name-tag on her chest, "I'll take the Red Berry Waffles, a side of eggs, and some tea, yeah?" Harry was impressed, the guy hadn't been kidding when he said he got out a decent amount.
Darcy nodded as a quill wrote in her notepad by itself. "I should have guessed that. Someday you should consider branching out and order something new," she said, smiling down at him.
"I know what I like," Daniel replied, returning the smile confidently. "Besides, I tried your recommendation once last year, and I think we both remember how that went."
"Not my fault you used too much syrup," Darcy laughed before turning towards Harry. "And what about you..." her voice trailed off as she focused her gaze on Harry before looking back at Daniel, then back at Harry, and so on for almost five seconds. The two twins were both patient and grinning from ear to ear. "Daniel, when did you have the time to create a simulacrum?" The poor girl was completely befuddled at how there were suddenly two of her regular customer.
Well, that's an easy set-up, Harry thought. There was far too much fun to be had now. "I'm Daniel Alter," Harry chimed in, interrupting Daniel before he could get a word in edgewise. "I'm the twisted and villainous version of Daniel. Or as I like to think of myself, a more honest version."
Darcy blinked, bemused at the fantastical identity Daniel's duplicate was sharing. "What?" She asked eloquently, levity clear in her countenance.
On the other hand, Daniel Prime as Harry had affectionately mentally dubbed him, looked both slightly amused and nervous at the thought of what Harry might say while operating under the mediocre guise of Daniel Alter. Even though no one would believe the obvious tall-tale, it was clear that Daniel was still genuinely concerned over the damage his older brother could cause to his reputation. His concern was honestly quite justified.
"Think of me as Daniel if he had no filter, no inhibitions, and no moral fiber," Harry said, grinning at the poor waitress he'd turned into an unwilling participant in his joke.
Darcy had clearly caught up to the fact that Harry was messing with her if her grin was any sort of judge, but she was still utterly clueless as to who the Daniel lookalike was. "Alright, I'm lost, Daniel, who is this guy?"
"That's my twi-"
Harry once again interjected before Daniel could finish his thought. It was quickly becoming a habit of his. "Don't mind him, Darcy, was it. Anyway, Daniel Prime over there is currently paralyzed in fear over what will happen when I reveal how exceptionally cute the two of us think you are." Harry briefly paused and grinned wickedly at the shocked Daniel. "See, other me? Nothing to worry about, just like I said; now that you've complimented her and she doesn't seem offended or creeped out, you can try your hand at flirting a bit or asking her out!"
Harry knew that somehow, at some point in time, Daniel was going to exact his revenge for this. Not that he cared though; the face his little brother was making was easily the most entertaining thing he had seen in months. Daniel hadn't gone completely red in the face, but the combination of embarrassment, amusement, annoyance, and downright disbelief was a wondrous sight to behold. A memory Harry would cherish for years to come, to be sure.
Darcy, who had flushed lightly at the flirtatious comment, regained her wits, and chose to help Daniel recover from Harry's onslaught of teases rather than joining him in making the guy even more embarrassed. "Don't worry about whatever your evil… lookalike, I guess, says, Daniel," she said, almost stumbling over what to call Harry but pushing through admirably, "he's just jealous of you." She hugged Daniel from behind, laughing at her own swift turnaround.
Harry chuckled as Daniel smirked at him victoriously. Darcy really was quite attractive, so he had to give it to his little brother, the guy had won this round quite handedly. The fight wasn't fair in the end, but even still, a loss was a loss. At least he had the memory of Daniel's face to the lead-up.
"Darcy, meet my twin brother, Harry," Daniel said dryly, his ability to speak seemingly having returned with the proverbial spar having reached its conclusion. "As you can see, he's a dick."
Harry grinned at the description but made no move to deny. "Charmed," he declared, extending his hand towards the cute witch.
Darcy laughed as she released Daniel and matched Harry's hand with her own. "You've been holding out on me, Daniel. I didn't know you had a twin brother," she remarked, quickly giving Harry a quick look-over. "You two don't look exactly the same, but still, I could easily mix you all up… You are clearly the nicer twin though, so maybe you weren't holding out on me."
Harry feigned a sudden pain in his heart by dramatically clutching his chest, but he still neglected to contradict the young woman. "Must you strike unto me a fatal blow?"
Daniel snorted. "Ignore him, like I said, he's a dick. He's not all bad, though."
Ahh, there was his little brother chiming in with the kind words. Harry was enjoying being the elder sibling so much, even with only meeting Daniel earlier that day. If their dynamic continued in the same fashion, he was quite certain that the future was going to be chock full of exciting teases, taunts, and jokes. Daniel was a bit more reserved than he was, but the more time they spent bantering, the more comfortable and open he seemed to get.
"What will it be for you, Harry," Darcy asked, a small smile in place as she resumed her task of actually taking their orders.
"Apple Strudel Waffle, also with a side of eggs and a cuppa, thanks." Harry returned with a smile of his own. Messing with the cute waitress at the expense of his brother had been fun, but he knew not to push too far and annoy people he wasn't personally familiar with. Besides, at the end of the day, Darcy was at work and had a social obligation to be at least somewhat nice, he wasn't about to take advantage of that fact.
"I'll be back in a few with your drinks," Darcy stated cheerfully, already turning away from the two brothers.
Harry waggled his fingers goodbye to the pretty witch, enjoying the sight of her walking away only to have to bite back a stream of curses as Daniel kicked his shin under the table. "Fucking hell! Rude!"
"You have no right to call anyone else rude," Daniel scoffed, waving away the accusation like it was naught but air, a satisfied smirk worming its way onto his face. Cheeky bastard.
"Oh, I'm the rude one? You're the git who's already resulting to violence. Could've just bloody well insulted me rather than beating the shit out of my shin. Christ…" Harry complained, throwing on a hint of dramatism for the fun of it as he rubbed his bruised appendage. It probably wasn't bruised, but he could pretend it was.
"Don't worry, I'll do that too. In fact, I'll start now. You're a cunt."
Harry leaned in conspiratorially, "Maybe I am a cunt, but…" He smirked widely. "I was right though, wasn't I? You think she's cute." It really wasn't much of a question; it would take a special brand of idiot to think Darcy wasn't an exceedingly pretty girl. Even with that objective acknowledgement, Harry still planned on needling Daniel over his obvious attraction to her; though, with that thought in mind, he realized that there were very few subjects he wouldn't tease his little brother over if it meant an amusing reaction was the end result.
"Yeah, no shit," Daniel said, rolling his eyes. "I think lots of girls are cute, that doesn't mean I want you telling each and every one of them in spectacularly obnoxious ways."
"I don't know," Harry hummed. "I think it's my solemn duty as the elder brother to tease and corrupt my younger brother. Ancient and sacred honor bestowed upon us mere mortals by the very gods themselves." It was practically written in the guidebook to life that older brothers must negatively influence their siblings – it was a tradition to be honored.
"You know you're only older than me by about two minutes, maybe three, right?" Daniel's dry commentary did not move Harry in the slightest.
"Older is older, besides, you have to admit I've been around the proverbial block a few more times than you."
"I won't deny it," Daniel agreed, nodding along as he maneuvered the glass pitcher of water that was placed on their table by a passing member of the staff. "What do you expect to happen though? Do I suddenly take up smoking in your mind, or…?"
"I mean, do you want one?" Harry asked, fishing the pack out of his pocket, and tossing it in the air with one hand. "They're pretty enjoyable, if I do say so myself."
"Nah, mate, I'll pass," Daniel waved off the offer with a laugh. "I doubt that will be the last time you tempt me, though, I wonder if you'll be tempting Nev as well?"
"Ah, the other brother in your life," Harry smiled to show the comment wasn't malicious or bitter. "I'm guessing he's like you in terms of life experience?"
"Pretty much, yeah. There was no special treatment ever shown to either of us. Hell, if anything I'd bet that Nev is even more conservative than I am." Harry didn't think his little brother was genuinely sheltered, he himself was simply a poor benchmark to the average person his age. "Nev takes after Dad a lot, and while they both know how to have a lot of fun, it's almost like they mentally associate fun as a 'time and place' kind of thing. Within the bounds of that, they go all out, but you won't see it all the time."
Before he even registered what he was doing, Harry found himself asking a question he barely wanted to hear the answer to. "I take it Alice is different?"
Daniel's eyebrows rose sharply in surprise. "Oh, Mum is almost the polar opposite. Doesn't matter when or where, she'll turn anything into a situation to laugh and have a good time. Last Christmas she was drunk singing Christmas carols until almost three in the morning."
Though he would lie about it after the fact, Harry had to smother a smile before it could show itself on his face. "Hope you snuck a few drinks yourself."
"A few, aye."
"Alright then," Harry's enthusiasm was suddenly palpable, "when we get to Hogwarts, you and I are getting absolutely plastered!"
"That seems like a lot for my first real time having more than a few drinks…" Daniel said skeptically. "I mean, I'm in, but you're essentially tossing me into the deep end to start things off."
Harry shrugged unconcernedly. "The person who taught me how to swim started by shoving me into the Thames – I'm just channeling the lessons she taught me."
"That explains way too much about you," Daniel muttered, his eyes wide as if the chaotic force that was his twin suddenly made far more sense than moments prior.
"I'm taking that as a compliment." Harry had no idea what his comments explained, but in lieu of an explanation, he was going to roll with whatever made him feel better about himself.
Daniel snorted at that. "So, what House do you think you'll be in at Hogwarts?"
Harry took a moment to ponder the question. "No clue, honestly, I know there are four Houses, but beyond that they're a mystery to me. I figured I'd just roll with whatever happened – let the cards fall as they may, you know?"
"You don't even know what they are?" Daniel asked, flabbergasted at his brother's laissez-faire attitude.
"Nope, and beyond being aware that each one corresponds to one of the four founders of the school, I'm good not to know," Harry explained. "I want Hogwarts to be a surprise, an experience unlike all others; so, until we get there, I don't want to know anything more than I have to."
Daniel nodded at the strange but still sound logic. "I suppose I can understand that. How about classes? You nervous about those?"
Harry guffawed at his twin's remark. "I've been doing a lot of reading, so I'm honestly not worried at all." Thank fucking god for his being born a sensor; he had no doubt that his ability to sense magic was greatly contributing to his rapid rise in magical skill.
"You're not worried at all despite only knowing about magic for a month?" Daniel raised an eye-brow in surprise.
"Nope," Harry popped the 'p' for extra emphasis. "I've never been bad with my studies, and this is just another kind of studying. What about you? Are you going to be the second coming of Merlin with all your super-special, Dark Wizard hunting magical training?"
Daniel laughed good-naturedly at one of the more absurd rumors about the Boy-Who-Lived that people actually seemed to believe for some unholy reason. "Oh definitely. Using the vast knowledge and resources I've gained from being the secret descendant of all four founders, I'll use the power I stole from Voldemort combined with my magical animagus form to reshape our society into a utopia!"
"All before the age of seventeen," Harry added helpfully, uncertain about what an animagus was, but still willing to continue with the bit.
"Those stupid rumors are the absolute worst," Daniel complained. "If you ever figure out who started them, please let me know so I can hit them over the head. Hard."
"You do know there's an entire series of children's books about you, right?"
Daniel smirked. "Yeah, but I make money off of those."
Harry had to hand it to him for the pragmatic outlook. Fame wasn't everyone's cup of tea, but anyone that looked down on the oft included fortune was an idiot. Harry was quite pleased that his brother didn't strike him as an idiot.
"Oh, I just remembered," Harry lowered his voice and glanced around before gesturing to his brother's forehead, "aren't you supposed to have a big prominent scar somewhere up there? You mentioned disguises earlier, but I forgot to ask how?"
Daniel chuckled at his brother's bemusement. "Normally yeah, but if I was walking around with that thing clear as day I'd be mobbed. One time was enough for that."
Harry made a mental note to ask about the mobbing later. "Glamor charm?" He had read about the useful classification of alteration spells in one of his many books.
"Mhmm, along with a bit of make-up," Daniel confirmed. "Charm on its own doesn't work too well for some reason, but when combined with make-up you can't tell it's there at all."
Harry stirred a single sugar into his recently delivered tea and took a sip with a contented sigh. "Damn, that's good."
Daniel nodded along in agreement. "Right? What'd I tell you? This place is great. I'll miss it when we're at Hogwarts."
"I can see why. So, do you cover up that thing every time you go out?"
"Pretty much, yeah," Daniel paused, adding a splash of milk to his own drink. "Most people just want to thank me, you know, which is fine; I don't deserve their thanks at all, but I can put up with it since it makes people uncomfortable to constantly deny them. Even after all these years people are just grateful that You-Know-Who is gone. Some people are obnoxious when they see me, but they're clearly the minority, so, for the most part, I really don't mind..."
"Buuuut," Harry urged his brother to continue following the poignant pause.
"But it fucking sucks being famous because your parents died," Daniel spoke softly, but there was a distinctive edge to his words. "You-Know-Who mysteriously being vanquished was a good thing for most of the bloody world, but we were orphaned right after we turned one... Most people seem to forget that part of the story."
Harry grimaced at the dark turn he'd accidentally forced their conversation down. The subject was one he wanted to pursue further, but their impromptu brunch was neither the time nor the place. "Yeah, you're not wrong… I mean, I wouldn't want people to constantly pity me, but it's a weird thing to be thanked for."
"Right?" Daniel agreed. "How do fully grown people really think that I, at the age of one, had anything at all to do with his destruction? It's bloody frustrating. Where's the credit for what Mum did? I swear, most people have forgotten her and Dad's names completely, never-mind that they were murder victims."
"That!" Harry said fervently, snapping his finger in agreement. "That bothers me to no fucking end. Even if everyone is going to thank you or whatever, at least put some goddamn respect on Lily and James' names!"
"Hey, at least we're on the same page," Daniel joked.
"True, true, I mean, imagine a world where that fame and faux praise went to your head, and you turned into an arrogant twit convinced you're the savior of the 'light side' or whatever, fucking Star Wars style. You'd be bloody unbearable."
"Ooh, and in this same alternate universe, you would've gone down a dark path and shown up to Hogwarts as this edgy prick who everyone was convinced was evil until you made unbelievably self-righteous speeches, right?"
"Makes sense, makes sense," Harry nodded along. "You think in this world I'm eventually revealed as the real Boy-Who-Lived? It'd be quite the dramatic reveal, wouldn't it?"
Daniel burst out laughing. "Oh, Merlin, I hate that I can actually imagine that rumor being spread in this world…"
"I'd coif my hair just to be different from you," Harry laughed, shoving his hands through his hair in a pathetic attempt to straighten the untamable mess. "Think I could pull it off?"
"Only if you're sorted into Slytherin."
"Whatever that means, I'll do it. At this point I'm fully committed. I might need an edgier wand though… I mean, I know Ollivander would say that 'every wand is special,' or some shite, but the layman's perspective is important in this dumb little fantasy. So, is ebony and dragon heart-string special enough, you think?" Harry adored his wand, but he wouldn't be surprised if people expected the world's most deadly magical creature to somehow be its core – well, in the universe where he's secretly the Boy-Who-Lived, at least.
Daniel groaned and rubbed his eyes. "You have no idea how accurate that is…"
"Huh?" Was Harry's eloquent reply.
"Special wands, I mean…"
"Don't tell me…"
"My wand and You-Know-Who's wand were made from tailfeathers from the same phoenix…" Daniel said despondently, instantly punctuating his reveal with a facepalm.
Harry had to spend a few solid seconds processing that information. "That's fucking stupid."
"I know…"
"Also, pretty fucking creepy."
"I know…"
Harry chuckled humorlessly. "What the hell, mate? I was just making a joke. Your wand is actually connected to that murdering fuck's wand?"
"Ollivander said they were 'brother wands,'" Daniel sat back up with a shrug, drawing his wand and handing it over to Harry. "It's a bloody amazing wand, seriously, it is. Wouldn't trade it for anything… but that connection is-"
"A lot…" Harry finished for him, feeling the aged Holly wood with his hands. The wand, surprisingly, noble, and proud, but also fierce, and determined, didn't dislike Harry. It was very obvious that it didn't view him as its… master? Partner? The feeling couldn't quite be translated into human speech, but at the very least, it didn't outright reject him like the majority of wands in Ollivander's shop had. "That is a good wand, though."
The two continued their conversation well into the afternoon, but a small part of Harry kept harkening back to the connection between his brother and the madman who murdered their parents. Was it nothing more than sheer coincidence that the two would find another connection through their wands? Magic was infinite in terms of what it could do and accomplish. For all Harry knew, the attempted slaughter of a babe resting in the crib established a nebulous and ill-defined magical connection that spanned time and space to ensure the two would have brother wands? Or maybe the stupid rumors peddled by foolish masses were correct, and Daniel was some kind of magical saint delivered from on high? Harry didn't have a fucking clue, but regardless of the reason, it was undeniably interesting.
OoooOoooO
"Welcome back honey, how'd it go? And where's Daniel?"
"Daniel is still talking with Harry, he'll floo back when he's done."
"So, I take it things went well?"
"Much better than I expected, far worse than I hoped."
"I'm guessing he yelled a lot?"
"A bit, yeah… not that I didn't deserve it."
"I can tell you've been crying."
"We both said what needed to be said, but he doesn't seem to hate me too much – I know that's not saying a lot, but I'll take it."
"Did you all talk about anything else?"
"Not really… Outside of me explaining everything, asked to hear some stories about James, but for those he mostly just listened rather than talked."
"Honestly, Alice, who could blame the kid? I'd say you're lucky to get even that much out of him. Plenty of kids his age wouldn't have even given you the time of day."
"I know, I know… I just…"
"You don't have to say it, hon', I understand. I hope he comes around even more."
"Me too…"
"Sorry for changing the subject, but is that smoke smell coming from you?"
"Oh, I didn't even realize it was there. Harry smokes and I guess the smell just got on me."
"He smokes?"
"Mhmm."
"And he's going to be around Daniel and Neville a lot? That should go over well…"
"Harry's a good kid, Frank, he's just a bit rough around the edges. Cut him some slack."
"How rough around the edges are we talking?"
"Imagine a more emotionally mature James, but with a bit extra delinquency tossed in?"
"Are you asking me? You're the one that met him, hon'."
"I don't know. I guess you could say that he's a kid that turned towards whatever habits made him feel good at that moment. Most teens use substances as nothing more than a way to rebel, but for Harry it's just the way he's lived his life for years. I don't know if he even considers the oddities of his life as oddities."
"Hm."
"What's that look for?"
"Your description, it… it reminds me of Black."
"Stop it, Frank."
"It was just an observation. I didn't mean to imply anything."
"Sirius lied to us all for years! Harry is just a kid that had to grow up looking after himself! They're completely different!"
"Okay, okay, I'm sorry. Black was nothing like who he pretended to be, so that comparison isn't fair at all."
"Harry is nothing like that traitorous son of a bitch!"
"Alice, you're right – I'm sorry."
"No... No, I'm sorry, for snapping at you."
"Black is a sensitive subject; I should have never brought him up."
"I can't run from the past forever, Frank."
"You're not running even a little bit. You just met with Harry knowing he'd be upset with you; you knew that it would hurt, but you did it anyway. That's not running, that's standing strong and facing your past. It's practically the exact opposite of running."
"Nice pep talk."
"Encouraging speeches have always been my thing."
"Oh, I know, Mister Captain of the Gryffindor Spirit Squad."
"Ugh, you're never going to let me live down that name, are you?"
"Nope."
"I was a coach for the team!"
"James always described you as their best cheerleader."
"Motivational coach!"
"Uh-huh."
"Why did everyone make fun of me and not Charlie Marsh? He basically did the same thing."
"One, Charlie was a Puff, there's a difference. Two, his girlfriend was on the team. There's a lot of things that are excusable in the name of love. His cheering probably got him laid."
"..."
"Ha! You have no defense for that, do you?"
"Whatever, keep laughing. Just don't you forget that for both years I helped coach, Gryffindor won the Quidditch Cup."
"The efforts of Gryffindor's number one cheerleader shall not be forgotten, honey, I promise."
OoooOoooO
Darkness greeted the eyes of Quirinus Quirrell as he rapidly came to consciousness. Few people understood what true darkness was; their belief that the world darkened once the sun set was naught but folly. Even he, who had journeyed to the bottom of the Veryovkina Cave and turned off the lights, had not truly grasped the domain of Erebus until his master taught him to Dream.
The true absence of all light was a familiar sight to Quirrell at that point. Many months had been spent learning the ways of this world that was not truly a world at all, and while he held no illusions as to his mastery of Dreaming, he was more than capable of escaping the darkness that blanketed him. With but a thought a grand marble fireplace sprung into existence; the warm flames flickering within its stone carapace offering their soft glow to help fight off the never-ending void of light.
An instant later, two high-backed leather armchairs took form adjacent to the fire, resting atop an intricately carved rug of Persian make. Next to each chair a small table appeared from thin air: on one sat a vintage bottle of 1970 Romanée-Conti and a single pristine glass; on the other a bottle of Macallan 1947 Single Malt Scotch with a lone crystal tumbler.
Quirrell would never be able to properly thank his Master for introducing him to the world of fine taste and luxury. Were it not for his Master, Quirrell would have continued to labor away in his ignorance, operating under the misguided assumption that muggles had little of true value to offer Wizards despite the strides they'd made without magic.
'Muggles are inferior, Quirinus, but do not misunderstand my intentions for them. Muggles have performed admirably in the world given the absence of magic. They have used their own methods to reach the stars, to build and destroy cities, to create fine cuisine and excellent wine. I would not have such talents wasted when they could be better utilized in servitude.'
Quirrell laughed lightly at the thought of his master's plans for the world as he conjured a gramophone playing Mozart's Requiem in D minor. Not even the separation of their societies thanks to the Statute of Secrecy stopped the magical world from listening to the compositions of the legendary composer.
Quirrell idly directed the ambient darkness to shift into a night sky reminiscent of the one he'd viewed whilst visiting the Namib Desert so many years ago. There was far much work to do now or else he might have begun planning another trip to the gorgeous locale. Working as his Master's only active agent in pursuit of the Stone was quite the difficult and time consuming task. There was much to do, and he remained the only catalyst by which anything would get accomplished. Despite his request for more assistance his Master was adamant that no one else be brought into the fold as of yet. Quirrell did not understand his Master's reticence on the matter but he was loathe to question him directly after already being told no. Experience had taught him that this was not the wisest course. Besides, his Master knew what was best far better than he.
Pulled from his contemplation by the sound of a cork popping from a bottle; Quirrell gasped as he turned to see his Master standing there in all of his transcendent glory. Casually pouring a glass of wine, his Master stole his very breath away. Everything about the man, if he could even be called that anymore, was perfect. From his fitted black suit to his neatly styled black hair, both contrasting beautifully with his pale skin and piercing red eyes. Every movement was graceful to a truly inhuman degree. Even the way he stood in place was striking. His Master was the true pinnacle of human evolution – a gift to all who were able to gaze upon him.
Quirrell felt his heartbeat rapidly quicken as his Master directed him to take a seat with a small gesture. These weekly meetings where the two of them were able to meet alone and face-to-face were the most cherished part of Quirrell's life. Quirrell did as his Master directed him, delaying only long enough to pour himself a glass of Scotch. The arm-chair was of a sublime level of comfort, just as he had intended. Nothing but the best for his Master.
"Excellent choice of vintage, Quirinus. And this setting is marvelous. Based on the constellations I would say we are somewhere in Southern Africa, am I correct?" A voice of pure velvet, every word his Master spoke was encapsulating.
Quirrell shuddered briefly at his master's address. Would that he could spend all day basking in the sound of his master speaking his name, but he knew better than to keep his Master waiting. Efficiency above all else, even worship. "Yes, Master, you are correct."
"An interesting region, I must say. I only visited briefly as most of my endeavors in Africa were focused on Egypt..."
Quirrell had to bite his tongue to avoid asking why his Master was in Egypt. Speaking out of turn was... unpleasant, to say the least. There were rules in place for a reason, and if he broke those rules than his master would punish him, it was as simple as that. While Quirrell would give anything to feel his master's tender touch, discipline at his hand was something not even Quirrell found pleasurable. Punishments were not meant to be enjoyed.
"As for the music you have playing," his master's words tapered off as he cocked his head slightly to the side, listening to the Kyrie intently. "A hauntingly beautiful piece. What is the name?"
"The Requiem, Master," Quirrell answered immediately. Though, he was somewhat perturbed as he had thought his master familiar with the work.
"I see, I see."
Quirrell lightly shook his head. He must have been mistaken. If his master had known of the piece, then he would've recalled it. Since he could not recall the name, he must not have known of it. There was no other explanation that made sense.
The music quieted down immensely as his master claimed his own seat, elegantly crossing his legs; seemingly content with the level of comfort provided by the chair that Quirrell had brought into existence. Quirrell let out the breath he did not realize he'd been holding. The thought that his master might be uncomfortable thanks to his failure was unbearable. His master deserved only the best that the world had to offer.
"Tell me, Quirinus, do you have everything prepared for the upcoming school year?" His master punctuated his words with a small sip. It took every ounce of willpower Quirrell possessed to focus on his master's words rather than the tantalizing visage on display. Quirrell quickly cast aside the sensual desires that had taken hold in his mind. Now was not the time to indulge in fantasies.
"Yes, Master. In terms of my role as an educator, I have everything set in place perfectly. In regard to the theft of your Stone, I have acquired every tool on the list that you provided save for one that will be delivered come October."
His master's eyes narrowed minutely, serving as the only warning Quirrell would receive before he felt a searing pain inside his mouth. He opened his lips to scream in agony, only to have his rapidly rotting tongue seep past them like it was a liquid. He fell to the floor, thrashing upon what was once a soft carpet, only now it was a hard soil with hot, sharp rocks that pierced his skin like jagged glass. The warm glow of a fireplace had been replaced by the oppressive heat of a thousand suns, evaporating every ounce of moisture in the air and blistering his skin. The light itself burned his eyes – he tried to close them, but his efforts were for naught. An acrid smoke filled his nose and mouth, turning the very act of breathing into another source of misery. Every one of his senses cried out in agony.
Quirrell begged for it all to stop.
The necrosis continued to spread, turning his gums and lips into a horrid mix of mottled blacks and browns as they quickly decayed into a foul liquid.
Quirrell screamed.
'I TOLD YOU TO HAVE EVERYTHING PREPARED BY SEPTEMBER 1ST, QUIRINUS!'
Quirrell wanted to die...
The heat melted his flesh, his skin sloughing off and searing him to the ground.
WHY HADN'T HE DIED?
'LET THIS SERVE AS REMINDER TO YOU ON WHY I AM TO BE OBEYED!'
The voice in his head that was not his own shouted, and even through the agony Quirrell understood. This was his fault. The pain. The suffering. It was all his fault. If Quirrell had just done as his master commanded, then he wouldn't be in this situation. He caused this. He deserved this. His master did not let his mind break, for that would've been avoiding the punishment he so justly deserved. The pain did not stop.
Time lost all meaning as Quirrell's body was broken down, restored, and then broken down again. Whether it was minutes, days, months, or even years Quirrell was not sure. Pain became his life. Suffering his existence.
"Welcome back, Quirinus."
Just as quickly as the pain had begun, so too was it gone. Quirrell was back in his armchair, a tumbler filled with scotch held aloft in one hand, the pleasant sound of Mozart's Requiem playing around him. Quirrell was frozen in place as phantom pains cascaded throughout his body. His master always kept him paralyzed after punishments.
His master took another sip of wine. "The delay for that final tool is regrettable, but we can still keep to our schedule without issue."
Even if he had been able to form coherent speech at that moment, Quirrell knew better than to try. As much as he wished to apologize to his master for the delays, to do so would involve interrupting the master and thus delaying him further. No. No. Quirrell would remain silent and listen. Apologies could be saved for another time.
"We will not be able to communicate like this very often once you are in Hogwarts, so I will be trusting you to stick to the schedule I set for you."
Quirrell nodded mutely, his neck the only part of his body that he could control.
"It is also likely that even should you leave the grounds of Hogwarts I will not attempt to commune with you. I will be saving my strength for when the time is right."
Again, Quirrell could only nod.
"Do not fail me, Quirinus."
The snap of his master's fingers was all the warning he had before Quirrell awoke in his bed, screaming. The pain was gone, but the memories still remained. Eventually, his mind caught up with his body and the agonized screaming ceased. Quirrell slowly rose into a sitting position as he cast a sideways glance out of his bedroom window. The rising sun's rays colored the countryside as the morning dew glistened on the grass; the sounds of singing birds and other morning life greeted his ears. Quirinus Quirrell cared for none of that, though, and began to weep, for today was another day that he was still alive.
