Disclaimer

This is a work of fiction using the characters from the Harry Potter world. I do not claim any ownership. I only claim ownership of any OCs.

I would also like to make it known that while this will eventually be a Hermione paring, other relationships will be explored before it gets there, just like in real life. Because, you know, development. Also, this is a slow burn. And I mean slooww.

There are certain sensitive issues explored including underage drinking, violence, explicit language, sexual content and references.

For anyone who has stumbled upon this, this is Book Three. You may need to read the other two for the whole story.

Extended Summary

Monsters are everywhere for Alexander. They exist at home and Hogwarts. It seems that he has been looking at the world through rose-tinted glasses. After last year's revelation, his beloved grandfather is now a stranger to him, and he may very well be evil with his warped beliefs. Naturally, Alexander has ambivalent feelings.

But it's about to get worse.

His visit to Paris during the summer leads to a discovery of a box of personal possessions - underneath a loose floorboard of the Laurent ancestral home - that once belonged to his deceased mother, Amelie. Among these is a thick-bound journal that details her life and those around her. Alexander is, of course, eager for any snippet of information but finds it progressively shocking the more he reads. What he discovers is life-altering.

And if that's not enough, his grandfather, in alliance with Fudge, has secretly tasked him with keeping an eye on Harry. Turns out a mass murderer has escaped from Azkaban and is coming after Harry. Alexander is fiercely protective of his friends, so he agrees - he just hates being forced to keep secrets from them.

Changing relationships and turbulent friendships should be the least of his worries, right?

Mostly follows plot

EPIGRAPH

❝Our hands are light blue and gentle.

Our eyes are full of terrible confessions.❞

― Anne Sexton, The Black Art

Eliot looks forward to Saturday mornings because they are a time for relaxation. There is a calmness to cleaning the house, hearing the soft vibrations of the vacuum as it glides across the floor. He finds it quite soothing – second only to baking, his favourite hobby.

The house was fairly quiet. The only sounds were the hum of the vacuum cleaner, the distant drone of cars outside, and a dog's bark occasionally. Alex had shut himself in his room upstairs with a book in hand, while Antoine was at work as usual, even on the weekends. He wouldn't be back until late evening. This summer had been much the same.

Eliot wondered whether Antoine's tendency to work too much was due to a lifetime of habit that he didn't know how to break; or, whether it was because of other reasons Antoine didn't share. Most likely, Antoine intended to distract himself with work. Eliot frowned as he scooped up some crumbs from a nearby corner. He knew Alex suffered because of Antoine's mild detachment.

Eliot sighed. Antoine was a complicated man.

Everyone saw him as a clean-cut, accomplished diplomat to the French and British Ministry. But that was just the surface. In the past, even his wife struggled to fully understand him at times despite loving him.

Of course, Eliot didn't know him at the time but he knew of him. Who didn't? He was in all the newspapers and the radio: Antoine Laurent, the handsome, gifted and charming diplomat who rose through the ranks quicker than thought possible.

Truthfully, Eliot is glad he never personally knew Antoine then; he probably wouldn't have liked him very much. Antoine was a different man back then. Supercilious, conceited, and callous. At least that's how he appeared to Eliot. People would have had another opinion. Eliot recalled a specific image he'd seen on the front page of the Daily Prophet. Shiny, slick-backed blond hair, expensive robes and a haughty smirk.

But he'd judged Antoine too soon. After all, people change.

Eliot sees him for the man he is now. And that man has several parts to him that no one else would recognise: the broken and anguished; the lost; and the caring, who loved his grandson dearly. He was a broken-hearted man, yes, but that's what truly made him real and human and less perfect. Not just a picture on some piece of paper, giving polished interviews to the public.

Eliot only wished that Antoine showed his human side to young Alex. To spend more time with him, especially now that Alex was growing older. And it was only a matter of time before Alex stopped wanting Antoine's time and attention. He was becoming more withdrawn and secretive. The two were more alike than they realised.

Eliot has tried to persuade Antoine but the man was more stubborn than a bull. It was frustrating, and Eliot often pictured punching Antoine in the face and bringing him to his senses.

Eliot saw when Alex waited for Antoine every evening on the armchair by the window, staring out with a glint of desperate longing in his striking blue eyes. Growing up without parents isn't easy for any child, so no wonder Alex craved his grandfather's attention as he was his only living relative – that Eliot knew of. He will never forget how down-hearted Alex looked when Antoine would miss film night or parents' evening at school.

Despite not being Alex's biological father, Eliot considered the boy as the closest thing he has to a son. He was never sold on the idea of having children – which is why most of his relationships never worked in the long run – but there wasn't anything he wouldn't do for Alex. He had been there for Alex's important moments and had pretty much raised him from a baby, small enough to fit in his hands to the young teenager he was now. And he'd punch anyone who thought he was doing it out of duty to Antoine.

Sure, in the beginning, it'd been to help Antoine recover from a very rough part of his life. Back when Eliot had first met him in a shady pub – drunk, red-eyed and slurring his words. Eliot grimaced. It hadn't been a pretty sight, far from the sharp, dapper image from the Daily Prophet. Eliot couldn't help feeling sorry for him despite how horrifying his story had been. He'd always been empathetic by nature, even to those who didn't deserve it.

It didn't take long for Alex's crystal blue eyes to settle on him and regard him with all the trust in the world; after that, Eliot's fate was sealed with iron. He would do anything for that boy.

The whine of the vacuum came to an end as he flicked the off switch. He then picked up a green spray bottle and a cloth and set about wiping the glass table.

Eliot recalled a time when Alex must have been old enough to speak; he'd blinked up at Eliot with a wide, innocent gaze then opened his mouth to declare 'Dada.' Eliot's heart had soared and broke at the same time.

Later, when Alex was old enough to understand, he explained that he wasn't his actual father – that his parents were dead. Alex had become very quiet for the rest of that day and Eliot could sense a deep sadness – completely jarring on a young boy – settle in him. It haunted Eliot as he felt useless in being unable to prevent Alex from feeling something so disturbing. Because Alex should've had his parents with him, and a grandfather that was present and open. It wasn't at all fair. Because Alex deserved all the love in the world.

Yet, Eliot also understood why Antoine was so aloof. He wanted his behaviour to be different with Alex than with Amelie. With his daughter, Antoine had been controlling and stern. It was part of the reason why Amelie had been so rebellious and defiant against him.

Antoine had sworn to be the complete opposite after Amelie's death as he was afraid of losing his grandson. Eliot could tell from the way he stared at Alex. There was a glint of fear in his eyes. Like Alex was going to disappear in thin air. For the past two years, Alex's adventures probably hadn't helped, and Eliot – feeling his heart sink – had a sneaking suspicion that it was only going to continue.

So, yes, Eliot understood Antoine's actions. He gritted his teeth, scrubbing fiercely at a particularly tenacious smudge. But it didn't mean he had to like it.

Eliot was also worried about Alex. He somehow managed to find himself in danger. Eliot had damn near had a heart attack during the first year after hearing that Alex was in the hospital. He would have given Dumbledore a piece of his mind.

When Alex arrived home for the summer after his second year, Eliot had a weird sense – one that pricked constantly at the back of his mind – that the same haunting sadness had emerged within Alex again. However, this time, it was mixed with underlying anger and confusion. Eliot just didn't know why and hated that.

Of course, Alex wasn't one to display his emotions outright, another trait he shared with his grandfather. He may have done it when he was a child but it'd dwindled over the years until only those with a deep understanding of Alex – like Eliot – knew that his intense blue eyes told them everything.

Alex was more guarded than usual this summer, even with Eliot. Most of the time he was shut up in his bedroom, only the familiar noise of his violin seeped through the walls. He played melancholy, slow tunes that caused a string to tug at Eliot's heart. Something was bothering the boy without a doubt.

But then Alex would switch it up to play more upbeat melodies and would then come out of his room to help Eliot with baking. Eliot didn't know if this was a good sign or not. The mind of a young teenager was an indecipherable maze.

Eliot wouldn't push him, no matter how desperately he wished to know what had happened during that last year. Alex liked his boundaries. The more he pushed the further Alex will retreat.

Eliot rubbed a hand over his beard. Or, maybe he was being a tad overprotective and assuming too much when this was simply Alex becoming a teenager. He was 13, turning 14 in November, and teenagers liked their privacy after all. They'd also become moodier to authority, in this case, him and Antoine.

It was a natural cycle. God knows when he was a teenager, Eliot was a nasty piece of work, constantly getting into trouble and acting out. He used to drive his mam up the wall. He was resentful of the fact that he wasn't a wizard, but as he has grown up, he's come to terms with it and made peace with it.

Plus, Alex still spoke with his friends. Eliot watched Apollo swoop into their living room window now and then with several letters from Ron and Harry. He remembered seeing a tall, flame-haired boy on the platform during the first year. He occasionally remembered other letters, including one from a Nia and a Helen off the top of his head.

But the one that stuck in his mind was the dozens of letters Alex received from a girl named Hermione, who had elegant, quaint penmanship; he always opened her letters first. Eliot had never met her in person but could sense that she was important to Alex.

Sometimes Eliot would overhear Alex on the phone while he was baking in the kitchen.

"Ron, stop shouting – you're making me deaf!" came Alex's voice, strained with irritation. "I can hear you."

Eliot smiled, knowing that this Ron had never seen a telephone before probably. He could picture Alex rolling his eyes and running a hand through his hair.

"All right, Ron, just – let's just stick to letters, okay? This isn't going to work. Hello? Hellooo?"

Eliot mostly heard Alex talk to Hermione frequently, but never Harry for some reason. Often, he'd pause a film or stop reading a book to pick up the phone and would spend two, nearly three, hours talking. Eliot thought about the cost of the phone bill, grateful that it wasn't his responsibility.

Yet, after Alex finished and walked back inside the kitchen, Eliot would notice a certain softness that enveloped the young boy, a dazzling smile stretched across his face. Alex, in all likelihood, didn't realise it consciously. Eliot once asked Alex about it casually over breakfast one morning.

Alex had a blank expression. He stared up from his full plate. He blinked once. "What do you mean, Eliot?"

"Well, you like her, don't ya, lad?" said Eliot over the rim of his mug, curiously watching Alex's reaction.

Alex nodded, confusion evident in his gaze. "Yeah, 'course, I mean Hermione's one of my best friends. It's obvious I would like her. Why wouldn't I?"

"Oh, no reason in particular." Eliot chose not to elaborate on his true meaning. Nor did he point out the light dusting of pink that had brushed the top tips of Alex's ears.

Alex had shrugged and then continued cutting up his sausages. If it made Alex happy then Eliot wasn't going to put a stop to it. He was grateful to Hermione for making Alex happy this summer.

Eliot stood up, staring down at the glass table, satisfied at how clean and shiny it appeared.

∞ ϟ 9¾

The television blared. The sky had darkened to a pitch-black and the streetlight reflected an orange glow. Eliot's foot tapped rhythmically up and down, then almost without a conscious thought he picked up the remote to select the news channel and leaned back, mind comfortably blank once more.

Eliot gripped a glass of bourbon in his hand, twirling it in circles as the liquid sloshed and the ice cubes clicked together.

The TV acted as mostly background noise. Eliot suggested it years ago for Alex. Antoine hadn't known how to work things at the time; he'd been a stranger to most Muggle objects. Even now, neither of them watched much, it was for Alex's benefit most.

Right now, Alex was in his bed, either reading or listening to his Walkman when he should have been asleep, thinking that Eliot didn't know.

The roar of a car engine came from outside. Eliot sat up. The front door opened and Antoine sauntered into the living room, not a single hair out of place. His face appeared tired and worn out, however.

"Alright," greeted Eliot, raising his glass.

Antoine nodded brusquely then walked over to pour himself a glass and sat down on his armchair, the same one Alex occupied when Antoine wasn't present.

The two made mindless conversation until Eliot motioned toward a sheet of paper that lay on the elegant coffee table.

"What is this?" asked Antoine, reaching over to grab it.

"The young lad's Hogwarts letter came today – just this morning. He was excited to see it as ya can expect," explained Eliot with a small smile. Alex's eyes had lit up excitedly when he'd seen it. A gleam of wonder had been visible. Antoine hums as his eyes read over the paper. Eliot pointed, "That also came with it. I'm sure you'll be able to guess what it is."

"Yes, the Hogsmeade permission slip. I expected this, I suppose," sighed Antoine, scratching his chin. "Amelie received the same one. Not much has changed it appears."

Antoine scanned the paper and then placed his hand inside his suit jacket to pull out a self-inking quill. He paused, hesitating.

Eliot narrowed his eyes. "Antoine. . ." he warned lowly.

Antoine sharply inhaled then gripped the quill tighter to sign it in a dignified, confident signature. He folded the sheet in half. Eliot smiled gratifyingly, knowing that Alex will be thrilled.

"So," began Eliot, "how was work?"

Antoine's expression became heavy. "Arduous. The Ministry is in shambles, even if they won't admit it, and once again Sirius Black is still on the run. We have placed multiple Aurors around London and the Wizarding Villages, all to no effect. He is still out there."

He rubbed his forehead and Eliot could see Antoine's true age take effect. Eliot didn't care about Fudge or the Ministry. For all he cared, they could rot. No, Eliot just cared about one thing.

"What are you going you tell Alex when he goes back?" he probed. "You do realise he's close friends with Harry Potter, right?"

Antoine tightened his jaw. "I am aware of this. . . unfortunate fact. But when the time presents itself, I will deal with Alexander myself. Our priority remains to catch Black and keep Harry Potter safe. Fudge's decree."

"Don't do anything that'll make him resent you," alerted Eliot worryingly, "He deserves to have a normal year."

Antoine's eyes were stony. "I am fine with him resenting me, it is keeping him safe and out of danger I care about. Besides, I have my orders from Fudge. Especially now that the Muggles are being warned as well."

"Yeah, I heard." Eliot pointed to the TV. "It's all over BBC news."

After Antoine had told him previously, Eliot was constantly concerned that Black would harm Alex just for being Harry Potter's friend. Antoine assured him that wasn't going to happen. Not with all the Dementors posted all over the school. Still, Eliot didn't feel any better. He shivered. There was nothing worse than being around those creatures, and he didn't want Alex going near them.

Antoine turned quiet, his face steeped in thought then sighed. "I will not control Alexander or what he does if that is your worry, but I will tell him to be warier. He will certainly have to be after Fudge's orders anyhow."

Eliot frowned, not liking this at all. "What do you mean?"

Antoine shook his head, his tone offering no argument. "Nothing you need to worry about. A Ministry matter altogether."

Eliot nodded doubtfully. They sat in silence as Antoine sipped his drink. A curious thought emerged in Eliot's mind.

"Did you know him?" he asked calmly. Antoine raised an inquisitive eyebrow. "Sirius Black, I mean."

Antoine furrowed his brow but shook his head. "I did not, no, not personally at least. Of course, I knew the Blacks, who were infamous anyway. I met Walburga Black at a party once, but that was it. An intense woman I gathered."

"He must have been a year above Amelie's, yes?" said Eliot indifferently. Antoine didn't reply. His expression was a mask as he swirled his amber liquid in his glass.

"Probably," he answered quietly then gave a humourless chuckle, "But then again there was a lot I did not know about Amelie's life. I still do not, can you believe it?"

"You mustn't blame yourself," offered Eliot.

"Can I not?" scoffed Antoine, causing Eliot to close his mouth. It was better to listen in this instance. "I do not think I knew my daughter. They could have been friends, enemies, acquaintances, or mere strangers, I would not know. She did not tell me much as Amelie never trusted me. You know this?"

"I do."

Antoine frowned bitterly with a hint of sadness. His voice grew wistful. "Amelie did not tell me much after she grew older. My fault, I suppose. I was and remain a stranger to my daughter and her life. Whatever it was."

Antoine's hand grasped around the gold pocket watch that hung from his suit. He opened it and stared unblinkingly. Eliot knows he's staring at a small photograph of Amelie that he kept hidden and has done for years. After a minute, Antoine snapped it shut with a 'clink' and sucked in a sharp breath to compose himself. He leaned over to hand the permission slip to Eliot.

"Here," Antoine muttered, then cleared his throat to make his voice sound steady, "Give this to Alexander. I am sure he will be very happy to see it."

"Give it to him yourself," suggested Eliot kindly, "He'll appreciate it more, you know that."

Antoine looked at Eliot uncertainly. He who has all the confidence of a bird launching itself to the air appeared unsure at the idea of his grandson accepting it. It was somewhat absurd.

"I have my doubts about that," admitted Antoine with a shake of his head. "Alexander has not spoken to me or looked me in the eye for several days now. I am afraid something is wrong with him." Eliot had the same fear though he didn't voice it. Antoine turned toward him. "Has he mentioned anything to you recently, anything that could be bothering him?"

"No, he hasn't." Eliot leant forward and rested his elbows on his thighs.

Antoine pursed his lips then sipped once more. "I do not know what to do, Eliot. I worry it is to do with the Chamber. Perhaps something happened to him, something he is keeping secret."

Eliot chewed his lip, keeping his fears and anxieties to himself. It was something he believed but speaking them out loud might jinx it. "Not necessarily. Alex is a growing lad. He's going through a difficult period of his life, remember? 'Course he's gonna be more secretive and standoffish."

Antoine stared down at the remaining bottle of bourbon. "I suppose you are correct. I do not want to be the same as I was with Amelie as you well know. But sometimes I cannot help thinking. . ." He trailed off.

"Maybe the two of ya need some time away from London. Spend some time with each other," suggested Eliot carefully.

Antoine stared out of the window, deep in thought before nodding. "Yes. . . it will be good, perhaps." He then declared in a tone where he'd made up his mind, "We will go to France to the Chateau. Alex needs some new surroundings. He has been holed up in his room for far too long. Besides, Fudge will have me go there soon anyway."

Eliot raised a surprised eyebrow. "Are you sure? I only ask considering, you know, the history for you."

"Completely," answered Antoine in a self-assured voice. He raised his head higher. "It is time and the place will belong to Alexander when he comes of age eventually. Seeing Paris will do that boy a lot of good."

Eliot checked his wristwatch and saw that it was time for him to go home. He said goodbye but before he left, he advised Antoine with a final word.

"Just don't be too distant from him, Antoine. Or you'll regret it."

"I try not to, honestly," sighed Antoine, "often I cannot help myself. It becomes too overwhelming."

Welcome to the third book. I hope you'll join me on this journey. We've got a different perspective here, which was interesting to write as I had to picture Alexander from somebody else's view. Hope you enjoyed it and I'm looking forward to hearing what you thought. Don't hesitate to let me know. But please be nice. See you in the next chapter.