A/N: I am SO sorry that it took me so long to update. Things have been crazy busy around here...school is a constant struggle (I hate algebra. I hate chemistry. Sometimes I even hate English), plus I was in the school musical, Oklahoma! (It was a raving success. We got three standing ovations opening night ^_^) so that has been taking up a LOT of my time.
But now I'm BACK! And now, without further ado or excuses, I'd like to bring you *drum roll please* our feature presentation!
Chapter Two
Jealousy
~Don't you love the life you killed
The priest is on the phone
Your father hit the wall
Your ma disowned you
Don't suppose I'll ever know
What it means to be a man
Something I can't change
I'll live around it
I want to wake up where you are
I won't say anything at all
So why don't you slide?~
**Goo Goo Dolls' "Slide"
After four years of being a professional Auror, James Potter was finally starting to convince people that he could stand on his own to feet without Daddy's help. It was painful to hear the other guys talking about him. Yes, he had been in the first cut for entering Auror's Academy. Yes, it was a direct result of being Harry Potter's son. That didn't make it any easier to hear them snicker.
Seven years after graduation from Hogwarts, James had finally come to terms with the fact that he probably never would have made first cut if not for his father's influence. Harry was not only a national hero, after all, but the Minister of Magic as well. But now, after three years of training and four years of hard work, he was finally starting to get a name for himself.
That didn't mean his father's name went away. Once a month every Auror squadron had to send a man over to the Ministry with the tedious, but necessary, paperwork. As a rule, Aurors avoided contact with Ministry officials-yet another reason James was scorned back in the day. Young blooded Aurors tended not to trust the snobbish beaurocracy James had grown up with.
James, however, was on middle ground, perfectly safe (in the everyone else's opinion) on Ministry turf as well as in the Auror HQ. Which explains why they always managed to make him the gopher and ship him and the paperwork to the Ministry.
He hadn't minded so much as a rookie, and after the first year and a half James had become adept at avoiding the dreaded duty. As for his own thoughts, he hated confronting his father while he was in uniform. He hated being Daddy's son. He knew he was competent, and had become more secure with his position as a Potter over the years, but he still avoided prodding the old resentment whenever possible.
Today, it had not been possible.
By June even the rookies were seasoned enough to avoid James's tricks to make them take care of delivering the paperwork, and they wouldn't get a new batch of recruits until August. Which is why James found himself standing in the lobby of the Ministry of Magic, a scowl on his face and a thick manila folder in his grasp which had to be left with the Minister's secretary. Her name was Ruby, a kind old woman James had known all his life. That just made it worse.
From the ground floor he considered his options. There were several ways to get to the Minister's office. His first instinct was the direct and quickest route, but that would require direct passage through the Department of Magical Law Enforcement and his mother's office. If there was person James wanted to avoid more than his father, it was his mother. A man can slip by when he uses his father's influence. A mama's boy is never forgiven.
And James was, he had realized over the years, one of the worst cases of "mama's boys".
Well, James was more afraid of Hermione than even the rest of the guys in the squadron, so the plan was to not meet his mother while in public. Which meant he'd have to take one of the roundabout ways.
He finally settled on cutting through the Department of Magical Accidents and Catastrophes. Once he had made up his mind we weaved throughout the building with ease. No one bothered him. If they didn't notice the Auror's robes, they noticed the exact resemblance to the Minister. Everyone knew James Potter.
He was getting along very nicely, without anyone stopping to ask annoying questions or the like. He didn't slow until he just after he had passed the Obliviator Headquarters when he heard someone call his name.
For one dreaded moment, he was sure it was his mother. He spun around, his eyes wide, to see a young woman. She was petit and thin, with smooth, milky skin. Her hair was fiery red and her eyes were a penetrating silvery gray.
"Angel!" he cried, grinning. He had completely forgotten in his scheming of ways to avoid his parents that his best friend had been moved to her own office. It was a shabby, cubby hole of an office, with no windows or much working room, but it was a private office nonetheless, with a shiny nameplate on the front reading Angel M. Flint, Assistant Director of the Obliviation Squad.
"Were you just going to pass right on by without saying hello?" she asked teasingly, giving him a hug and a peck on the cheek. "What are you doing on Daddy's turf anyway?" she teased. He laughed.
"Dropping off the paperwork," he made a face.
"All the rookies know you by now?" she grinned, "Can you spare a few moments to talk to your poor neglected friend? You haven't been over for ages and the kids are dying to see you."
"I've been busy," he apologized, following her into the office. He looked around approvingly. She had fixed it up since his last visit with cheery colors and feminine flair. "How's Will coming with the alphabet?"
"He's doing fine," she smiled, "Very advanced for a three-year-old, they say," she added proudly.
"He'll be four in a few months," James reminded, smiling. He loved his godchildren dearly, and was watching them grow with fascination. He couldn't believe how fast they were becoming taller. Time flew with children.
Angel mentioned something about coming for dinner, and he nodded distractingly. His eyes were examining the pictures on her desk interestedly. James only had one on his own tiny desk that he hardly ever saw. She had the same picture, taken on graduation day. It was James and Angel in their long black robes, grinning and smiling, with Harry, Hermione, Draco, Ginny, Ron and Rayven walking in and out of the background from time to time.
However, Angel had practically an entire lifetime on her desk. Her wedding day, her parents' twentieth anniversary party, and of course about fifteen pictures of Will and Gracie at various stages in their young lives. There were two family portraits with a grinning Tom and Angel proudly displaying their two beautiful children. Will's hair was as red as his mother's, with light brown eyes and a good amount of freckles. Gracie, however, more closely resembled her father, with darker hair and eyes.
James smiled as he watched them all waving from their frames. His smile fell when his eyes landed on the last picture. There was no Tom, no Will, no baby Gracie. The image was taken before their time, long before. It was of three children, looking to be around age fifteen or so. James recognized the one on the left as himself, with the lanky arms and lopsided grin of his teenaged years. The girl on the right was undoubtedly Angel. But it was the girl in the middle he studied.
He hadn't seen or heard from Grace Weasley in the last eight and a half years. This picture seemed to be about ten years old. Grace was just a carefree, laid back teenager then, with wild red hair and bright eyes of gold with a heart to match. James felt his stomach clench at the sight of her in the picture, just the way he remembered her. After all these years, Grace rarely entered his thoughts. He liked it that way. It was less painful.
Angel seemed to have noticed that she had lost his attention. She followed his gaze with interest, trying to find the picture that could make him stare in such a fashion.
It didn't take her long. She knew that James ran from his problems, and nothing had damaged him more emotionally than Grace. The three had once been the closest of friends, inseparable. Now they knew nothing of her whereabouts or welfare...or even if she was alive. Angel had first taken up a profound study of Obliviation to see if there was a way to reverse powerful Obliviating charms without damaging the victim. She had yet to find a solution.
It was her Uncle Charlie who had been Obliviated. The main problem was that he had done it to himself. He was furious now, of course, and frustrated, trying to remember those few crucial hours he had wiped from his memory. Those hours were the key to finding Grace. But it was to no avail.
The silence had become tense. James was the one to break it.
"I'd better go," he finally said, tearing his eyes away and trying to smile. "Business, you know."
"Dinner on Friday," she reminded him softly. He nodded and left, his head high and his pace unhesitating. She sighed. Life was complicated enough without sad memories of lost friends.
*~*~*~*~*~*~*
It was a peculiar relationship, to say the least. Few understood the exact standing of Grace "Peters" and Nathaniel McCoy. They didn't really understand it themselves. Nate would have called them friends, but Grace probably wouldn't have even stretched it that far. In her opinion, Nate was this poor kid with an unfortunate history who needed a place to stay besides the homeless shelter until he got back on his feet. Period. There was nothing else to it, no emotion involved (Grace hated emotion), just a charitable act on her part. Not that she would have offended him by calling it charity. Charlie, who usually had entire essays in his mind about every occurrence in their lives and was not afraid to share them, was strangely silent on the subject. When Grace asked him what he thought of Nate, Charlie shrugged. It was a first in Grace's memory.
Luckily, where as back at home everybody would have had their noses in the relationship searching for scandal, the Americans shrugged and said; "it's their business". This was mainly because they were poor diner workers and not movie stars, but poverty has its perks too. Especially when you're trying to be inconspicuous.
One person who had plenty of opinion on the subject was Pat. Molly, Pat and Jim found the arrangement out quicker than they had expected (they had underestimated the length Pat would go for good gossip.) Pat highly disapproved. Being an old fashioned mama, she found the whole affair scandalous-which shows you how desperate for scandal she was. However, she couldn't get in more than a few good lectures, because Molly told her to leave off. She seemed fond of the idea.
Grace rolled her eyes at the thought. Everyone thought they were sleeping together. She didn't deny it because they wouldn't have believed her. The fact was; she barely let him touch her even in casual conversation. Grace didn't trust the touch of a man, even after all these years.
After a few weeks it became less awkward. Grace stopped flinching every time she saw Nate asleep on her couch when she walked into the living room in the mornings. Some days she would sleep in and wake up to find Charlie and Nate watching television, usually arguing over the remote. Charlie wanted to watch the Discovery Channel. Nate wanted to watch cartoons. Go figure.
As a matter of fact, Grace found herself liking the arrangement more and more as time went on despite herself. It was almost like a marriage, except held together by...well, a friendly affection and mutual respect as opposed to love, passion, and a physical relationship.
They talked about things, at night when they were eating together and during the long afternoons when the diner was empty. They discussed education (a missed opportunity for both), music (he liked jazz and ballads, she liked rock and roll), politics (incredibly boring in both opinions), and literature ("I STILL don't understand how you can stay awake through The Scarlet Letter!"), among other things.
Charlie watched the two grow closer with a fond, if somewhat distant smile that should not have been found on a child's face. He was happy that his mother had found someone she could connect with at last.
However, there was a slight jealousy he was unwilling to admit even to himself. It was the first time in Charlie's life that Grace's attention hadn't been devoted entirely to him. Occasionally Charlie even had to raise his voice to make a statement. Once and a while he got the impression they wanted to talk alone...without him. Charlie knew this would happen some day, and he accepted it nobly, yet he hadn't expected the sacrifice to be so great.
He went to bed one night feeling particularly torn between his happiness for his mother's newfound friendship (for friendship it was, whether she would admit it or not) and his own jealous feelings. He only read one chapter of Hogwarts, A History before turning out his light for bed. He was in no mood for reading, for probably the first time in his life.
He fell asleep quicker than usual. Of course, for Charlie, there was little difference between sleep and waking life because he always dreamt, always knew he was dreaming, and always remembered every detail of the dreams. His visions took him to a brief stop in Britain to see Baby Gracie's third birthday party and a clip of Harry's work at the Ministry. Charlie sighed in contentment. It was here in his visions that he felt the most at home...
His heart suddenly stopped as he recognized the setting of his next dream. He was no longer in the present, but in the distant pass. He wasn't sure how exactly he recognized it, seeing as he had never had a vision of it before, but there was a certain feeling that he belonged. This was not why he panicked.
It was Annabella again. He felt his heart sink. He was so sure, SO SURE that Philadelphia was the place...but the presence of the princess of Parsel showed otherwise.
She was much older than the last time he had seen her. It seemed about ten years of her life had passed. He frowned. It was unusual for there to be that much of a gap in time. Her hair was still silken gold, but it was shorter and pulled out of her face. She was dressed plainly and her hands were calloused. She was smiling, which was also strange. Charlie turned his attention to the man standing next to her.
It was Godric Gryffindor. Charlie didn't know how he could be so sure, but he was. His hair was dark and wavy, falling nearly to his shoulders. His broad shoulders were encased by a scarlet cloak, and his high, noble brow was unlined. He had an arm around Annabella.
There were three children standing in front of the handsome couple. The oldest was a boy who looked strangely familiar, although once again Charlie couldn't place the resemblance. He had jet-black hair and friendly blue eyes. Standing next to him was a figure he could hardly see, because it was completely covered in a long, gray cloak. He squinted and decided the delicate features were that of a young female, but she was looking at the ground and her hair was completely tucked into the cloak.
The youngest was a boy around ten years of age and Charlie's heart skipped at the sight of him. The boy was...Charlie. No one else would have understood the assumption; the two boys hardly looked alike. The other boy's hair was golden brown, with intense blue eyes and a pale complexion. But it had nothing to do with actual appearance.
It was this boy who left the little family and approached Charlie. Charlie stared, too confused to move. His panic only increased when, for the first time in his life, one of the characters from his visions addressed him directly. "Good evening, Charles Weasley," he said, blinking slowly, "I've wondered when I would be seeing you."
"Ga...Galdinus?" Charlie whispered, suddenly realizing he must be seeing Annabella's son, the Heir of Slytherin...and Charlie's ancestor. The boy made a face in response.
"I go by Galdin," he explained, "But it's a horrible name any way you look at it." Charlie relaxed immediately. For the first time in his life it was like he was talking to someone that really understood him. It was wonderful.
"How can you see me?" Charlie asked without preamble, "I'm in a vision."
"So am I," Galdin replied, smirking, "The divination runs in the family. It just took about a thousand years to pass it on. Oh, and by the way Charlie, the Death Eaters aren't coming just because you see my mother there. I've used that to warn you in the past, but that's all over now. You were right, everything goes down in this city, so don't screw it up by waking the whole house."
"Why now?" Charlie challenged, intensely curious, "What's happening? Why haven't you communicated with me before?"
"I won't be communicating with you directly again," he replied brusquely, "But I have to get in contact with every heir born from this line so I can pass down the prophecy regarding the Dagger."
"Whose prophecy?" Charlie asked.
"Mine, of course," Galdin replied, his voice smug.
"Well?" Charlie grew impatient, "What is it?" Galdin smirked and allowed Charlie to wallow in curiosity for a moment before he finally recited...almost chanted the ancient prophecy:
"The Blood of the Innocent must be Willingly Spilled upon the Alter
While the Sacrifice is Presented and the Heir of the Name is Waiting
The Resurrected Song of the Daughter of Gryffindor
Shall Destroy the Hope of the Chosen Darkness"
"That's it?" Charlie asked after a few moments of silence when Galdin's tones died away.
"Yes," Galdin replied, sounding almost offended at Charlie's reaction. "I would warn you not to forget it if I thought there were any danger of it."
"I don't understand," Charlie commented. It was statement he had never made in his life. Galdin smirked in response.
"I can only give you one clue," he replied smugly.
"What's that?"
Galdin pointed to the remaining family, which Charlie had forgotten. Godric, Annabella and the oldest boy didn't move, as if they were completely unaware of Galdin's sudden disappearance. The girl, however, looked up and lowered her hood. Charlie felt his eyes widen.
Bright golden eyes stared into his while fiery red hair tumbled from the hood of the cloak.
*~*~*~*~*~*~*
Charlie barely looked up from his book when Nate and his mother left for work. He waited a good ten minutes before setting the book down with a sigh.
Everything was going as Fate intended, as usual. Fate was not to be trifled with, as Charlie was well aware. His mother didn't understand, really. She didn't understand the absolute awesome power of Fate.
It was odd that he called the power Fate. It was the same power some called God, or Allah, or Buddha, or any of those other almighty deities. They were all the same being in the long run, as Charlie knew. There was one Higher Power which guided life. Some called it God. He called it Fate.
Nate was crucial in Fate's plan for Charlie and Grace. Powerful as he was, Charlie was humble in a way most humans cannot experience. He had seen several hundred lifetimes and knew how very insignificant he was in the grand scheme of things. He and his mother, his grandparents and his father, Voldemort, Dumbledore and Harry Potter were all mere specks when one looked at the entire span of history, no more important than your average paper boy. But Fate had a specific plan for each little spec, a particular mission for each and every living thing. Charlie just happened to have a complicated destiny.
He didn't know as much about Nate's history as he would have liked. One thing Charlie had grown used to was knowledge. He couldn't be surprised because as a general rule he knew every detail of what was going to be happening, sometimes years in advance, and his mind was structured with a perfect memory. It was like living in a constant state of deja-vu. However, he had a very limited profile of Nathaniel McCoy. Luckily, it was enough of a profile to know that Nate was not working with Damian Flint.
Lately, his visions had becoming less frequent. He still had a mind-boggling amount of them (by now he had trained himself to be able to carry on entire conversations in real time and have a vision at the same time), but he knew Fate was preparing him for something big. He was actually rather annoyed that he wasn't being fully prepared.
He had seen what was going to happen in March. He didn't like it, but he accepted it. The visions were given to him so he could make sure they were carried out. There was no way to fight Fate. He wished there were some way to prepare, but it was hopeless.
In the meantime, Charlie had taken it upon himself to become as familiar with his surroundings as possible. He would need to know his way around Philadelphia.
He always felt a slight qualm when he snuck out of the house, but he had been doing it for a few years now. If his mother came home early-it was unlikely that he wouldn't be warned, but possible-she would probably throttle him out of worry when he got home. He couldn't help it, curiosity always got the better of him. Besides, in this case there was an actual purpose.
He went into his room and found his wand. After a moment of concentration he transfigured it into a pen. It was a complicated process, transfiguring one's wand. His mother didn't know how to do it. It was several years out of even Charlie's league, and he had had to practice diligently for over a year before he could do it properly. However, the results were invaluable. He knew enough self defensive hexes to get him out of trouble in case of an emergency.
He locked the door when he left. One could never be too careful.
It was Charlie's fifth afternoon on the town, and he had decided to go east that day. He had swiped twenty dollars from his mother. She wouldn't notice; he had made sure about that. And besides, with Nate now paying half the rent his mother could actually afford to spare twenty dollars.
Whistling tunelessly, he walked to the bus station. The bus driver didn't say anything once he had handed over the change, but a few elderly women looked at him piteously. Women, he had realized early on in life, did not approve of unsupervised young children. But seeing as they disapproved of very young mothers with not so young children Charlie couldn't see any profit in going out with his mother to avoid the clucking tongues and shaking heads.
He picked a random spot and climbed off the bus. It was sooner than he had intended, but he didn't mind.
He walked around aimlessly for a few blocks. This was the better side of town, with lots of fancy town houses and apartments. He studied the buildings interestedly, learning the architecture by heart. Architecture was one of Charlie's chief interests, and a subject he studied adamantly when given the opportunity.
He found himself standing near a park. It was a pretty little park, the kind a hoard of wealthy young mothers persuaded their husbands to persuade the Mayor to build for their band of toddling darlings. The darlings were a bit older now, around Charlie's age. There were a good number of them present, seeing as it was a lovely summer afternoon, and the mothers were sitting on the benches, laughing and gossiping among themselves.
The kids were everywhere. There was a line to reach the slide, all the swings were occupied, and the sandbox was full. Five or six were assembled around the monkey bars. Charlie observed them the most, since they were the closest.
There were five of them there, he realized, three girls and two boys There was a girl with blonde pigtails, another who kept pushing her brown hair out of her face impatiently, and a pretty black girl with cornrows. The black one had a bright yellow jumper with flowers printed on it and grass stains from playing with her friends. The other two girls were in the typical tee shirts and matching red tops featuring Big Bird. They were probably sisters. The boy currently crossing the bars was obviously the oldest, looking to be around nine. His shirt boasted him to be a Cubs fan, and he had a matching baseball cap. The younger boy watched jealously as the older one swung from bar to bar easily. The younger boy's shirt was blue and white striped with khaki pants with lots of pockets. He kept itching his nose.
Charlie felt an odd tugging in his stomach. They were so very normal. He probably looked pathetic, he knew. He was the only child alone, with an old, plain green shirt and blue jeans. He didn't mind that. He wasn't afraid of talking to the others, really. He knew children were accepting and would play with him. But it just didn't feel RIGHT to play with little kids...sure, some of them were technically older than him in objective time. But he was so much older in reality.
His age seemed to be persistent that afternoon, and he had an undeniable urge to go play with the other kids. He wondered what it would be like to be naïve. For a brief moment, he almost wished for childhood innocence, before frowning reasonably. Charlie had been given a great gift, and he should be grateful for it. He was chosen. Let the children play. They're having fun, the same way you do when you master a new spell. Leave them alone, Charlie, and forget about it. Your path is different.
He turned and walked away without saying anything to the children on the monkey bars. He wished earnestly that Fate had happy and successful futures for all five of them.
For the next block he had a vision concerning Tom talking to his mother-in-law, who was also his boss. Ginny laughed and asked about the children. Tom boasted. That was it.
Charlie was not jealous of Tom's legitimate children. Charlie was special. He was secret. It wasn't Tom's fault that he couldn't boast about Charlie too.
Charlie wandered aimlessly, and grinned widely when he found a library. It was a fair size, with a pretty brick front. He walked inside, his wide brown eyes inspecting everything curiously.
It was darker inside, with the quiet, reverent feeling found only in libraries and museums. He wandered aimlessly, avoiding the colorful displays of easy-to-read books meant for children his age. To him the displays were disrespectful of the potential knowledge around him. Whenever he happened to glance at one his small, aristocratic nose would wrinkle in disgust.
He eventually found himself near the fantasy section. He had a secret passion for books with magic and adventure. He knew the Muggle idea of magic was extraordinarily inaccurate, but he still reveled in their world. He had a particular weakness for Tolkien. He felt an odd kinship with Frodo Baggins.
After several moments, he chose three of the thickest novels and one large tome entitled A Study of Psychology (he couldn't waste all his time dilly-dallying with fiction). He had acquired a local library card last week when he had traveled to the north side of town, and displayed it proudly to the librarian behind the counter near the entrance. He had to crane his neck to see her and stand on tip toes to see the surface of the counter. The world should be designed for the short, he thought in annoyance. He hated being vertically challenged on account of his age.
The librarian looked at him dubiously, as if she didn't believe that he could read the books he had supplied. He merely smiled innocently. She informed him that the books here due back in two weeks and placed a reminder in one of the novels. Once outside, he ducked into an alley and shrank the books, slipping them into his pocket. He was anxious to read them and headed to the bus stop.
He stared forlornly out the window as he headed back to the apartment, wishing there weren't quite so many potholes in the streets of Philadelphia. He was just reaching into his memory to reread The Return of the King when his eyes widened and he sat up suddenly.
It wasn't a sight that would stir most people. His eyes had focused on the corner of Oakwood Road and Washington Street. There was a Starbucks on one side and a Walgreen's on the other. It looked hardly any different than any of the other street corners in the city.
But Charlie recognized the place. He had seen it several times in his visions. This was where things were to be set in motion. This was the corner that would change Charlie's life forever.
*~*~*~*~*~*~*
The sun beat down on Philadelphia. Luckily the apartment had air conditioning, and even more luckily Grace had someone helping her pay the bills now, so she could now afford to turn the air all the way up to the point where she sometimes needed a blanket. It felt wonderful.
It was strange, having all the extra money. Most people wouldn't have considered it anything to be excited about, but to her it was a Godsend. For the first time in her life she wouldn't have to scrape for almost a year before taking Charlie to a bookstore.
Unlike England, there was some kind of magical outpost in every major American city, which in Grace's opinion was very convenient. There wasn't much in Philadelphia. Like the Muggle part of the city, the main attraction of Witching Corner (as it was known here) was the important history and the beginnings of magical government in the United States. No doubt Charlie had read up and was looking forward to the trip. Grace knew only the basics about magical America.
The main problem with orchestrating an afternoon in Witching Corner was Nate. He was around all the time, and they were almost always working the same hours. Grace had wanted to make the trip in June, but it was nearly September before an opportunity presented itself.
Pat had seven children, all grown and with kids of their own these days, scattered across the country. Only two still lived in Pennsylvania. Grace got the impression the other five had gotten as far from their mother as possible.
However, Pat's birthday was August 29, and all of her brood would be flying in for the weekend. Grace decided to take full advantage of her absence as soon as she was informed of it one lazy afternoon the week after Independence Day.
"Yes, we'll be in trouble the last weekend of the month," Molly sighed as Pat left, humming under her breath. There was a grand total of five customers at that moment. Grace and Nate had just arrived for their afternoon shift.
"Why?" Grace asked, frowning.
"Didn't I mention Pat's kids are coming into town?" Molly said.
"No," Nate replied, as Grace's mind started whirling.
"Why would you have a problem?" Grace asked.
"She opens the place!" Molly snapped, as if this should have been obvious.
"Well even I can do that," Grace replied, rolling her eyes. "I'll open and Nate will close. It's not that big of a deal."
"Oh would you?" Molly asked, sounding relieved. Grace nodded.
"It'll be terribly dull around here without you, Grace," Nate whined. She shrugged.
"I think you can make do for one day," she replied.
"Then its set," Molly said. "Now, isn't there SOMETHING you too could be doing?"
"No," Nate replied rudely. Grace laughed. Molly rolled her eyes and muttered under her breath.
Nate complained the rest of the week about having to work alone on a Saturday afternoon, but Grace ignored him, instead focusing on the happiness she knew the outing would bring to Charlie. He hadn't responded when she told him she had finally set a date for the Witching Corner, but she could see his face light up, and he had spent an increased amount of time reading about the magical history of America.
*~*~*~*~*~*~*
Locking the door dutifully behind him, Charlie set off on yet another daring adventure to explore Philadelphia. Today his destination was southerly, although he didn't want to go too far from home. He was planning a fantastic dinner for his mother and Nate, and he wanted it to be finished when they got home. It was things like that that kept them from suspecting his adventures.
He wandered a close section of the city with storefronts frowning down on him from every direction. He was in a crowd of people who jostled his small frame without much thought. They were the kind of people who didn't think much, Charlie thought with a private smile, they think just because I am young that I am silly and unimportant.
He walked into a bookstore and stared wistfully for a while. He had some money, but he didn't want to spend it unless he had to. His goal was to return it to his mother before she noticed all the money that had been discreetly disappearing. He had to keep her faith in his innocence high. He left the bookshop to wander some more.
He finally stopped in front of a tall, imposing church. He couldn't make out the particular sect of worship it housed, although the giant cross on the steeple assured him that they called themselves Christian. Charlie understood why people felt the need of a Divine Being. It just annoyed and amused him that they gave Him so many names and had so many different rules. Did they realized He was the same no matter Christ or Allah or Buddah, Catholic, Protestant, or any of the other endless faiths and deities found in the earth's long and bloody history?
Obviously not.
With this unorthodox and possibly blasphemous thoughts in mind Charlie climbed the steps of the church and bowed his head respectfully as he entered. It was a gargantuan room, with a typical cathedral ceiling and long, narrow stained glass windows. The pews were nearly empty, save a few kneeling, silent worshippers. Walking forward and painfully aware of the echo of his footfalls, Charlie turned and studied the choir loft, just above the entrance, and the giant pipe organ behind it. He looked at it wistfully, imagining how the room would fill with warm, round music if a decent musician were playing it. He himself was a decent musician, unbeknownst to most people. It wasn't hard when you had a perfect memory.
He continued his journey down the aisle, wondering how many nervous brides had made the same journey with that beautiful organ playing the familiar strains of "Here Comes the Bride" echoing around her. He then wondered why he had marriage on his mind and decided not to worry about it. His mind worked in ways even he didn't understand.
Charlie found what he had been looking for with forlorn hope. In a little alcove to the left of the alter was another organ, smaller but still usable. Charlie approached it eagerly, his hands aching to play. He sat down carefully and looked out at the six dedicated persons with heads bowed in prayer. They wouldn't mind, he decided. Music was a good background for communicating with the Almighty.
Without any warning his hands crashed with the keys, and of their own accord started to play Beethoven's Ninth Symphony. It was a beautiful piece, and one that fit with the religious sanctity of the cathedral. He could almost hear the choir singing along, "Joyful, joyful, we adore thee!" The worshipers looked up, startled. Their eyes went first to the choir loft, but then to Charlie. Charlie himself was totally oblivious and happy, his eyes and his mind entirely focused on the keys below him. They looked at each other uneasily, uncertain as to what to do. After a few moments they came to the conclusion that he must have been there for a reason and returned to their prayers.
Charlie smiled, and after a few more pieces, finally ending with Fur Elise, he stood, bowed to the crucifix, and walked down the aisle again, past the confused parishioners who were forgetting their prayers in their curiosity, out of the door and finally skipping down the wide stone steps. He looked at his watch and sighed. He had wasted most of his allotted time. Slowly, he plodded in the direction of the bus station. He wondered, briefly what his mother would say if he were late and he tried to convince her he had been at church.
*~*~*~*~*~*~*
Saturday, August the twenty-ninth dawned bright and early...far too early in Grace's opinion. She hadn't opened Melinda's since the first week she had met Nate.
She frowned as the thought entered her mind. It was odd that she should think of that week as the beginning of Nate as opposed to the beginning Philadelphia or the diner or any of the other, more important things that had begun here.
She pushed Nate out of her mind as she walked briskly to Melinda's. There was no need to dwell on her room mate while she was at work.
However Grace found this end harder and harder to achieve as the day went on. Everything in the diner reminded her of Nate. Even certain regular customers brought back fond and recent memories of side comments and secret, shared laughter. It was odd to remember laughing with such clarity. Nate had that effect on her.
He arrived in the early afternoon right on time, pouting as she took off her apron and nametag. She grinned.
"Now Nate, I'm just having one little afternoon to myself and Charlie, I think you can handle it," she said. She had meant to be severe. She had come off as playful. How very odd.
"But GRACE," he whined, making his best puppy eyes at her. He was very accomplished at making the puppy eyes. "What will I do when Crazy Christa comes in?"
Crazy Christa arrived every single day exactly one minute before closing. She ordered a grilled cheese sandwich and a strawberry milkshake. She knew perfectly well that they didn't make strawberry milkshakes, but never complained when they gave her hot chocolate instead.
Grace only laughed in response. "We both have tomorrow off," she said consolingly. "How about you, Charlie and I take a day out on the town? We can go to the park, see the sights...whatever. We'll just have a little family day out."
"Fine," Nate pouted.
"Goodbye, Nate," she said, reaching up and pecking him on the cheek. He blinked and stared without response as she left the diner. Had she just kissed him on the cheek...?
We are just friends, he reminded himself, and tomorrow we're going to have a little family day out...he grinned. For just one single moment, Nate McCoy allowed himself to imagine himself as Charlie's father.
"Hey, yo!" a customer snapped, "Where's my joe?"
Reality was bound to catch up eventually, he reminded himself as he hurried to fetch the coffee.
*~*~*~*~*~*~*
Grace and Charlie returned from their afternoon in the Witching Corner tired but happy. Charlie had had the foresight to bring a large bag bearing the Muggle-friendly brand name of Barnes & Noble. Grace shrank their purchases to fit neatly into the bag using Charlie's wand. It felt good to be holding a wand again, if only for a moment. In America the state governments controlled the ages at which children could do magic. Pennsylvania had relatively strict standards, setting the age at twelve. This was inconvenient for Charlie's studies, but Grace couldn't help but be relieved. Charlie was too powerful for his own good sometimes.
They returned home later than she had expected. Strangely she thought about their little apartment as home instead of just a place to live like she had in the past. She had looked forward to being home every single day since...well, for at least a month now.
She was fumbling for her keys when the door was opened for her. She looked up in surprise, then smiled when she recognized Nate's attempt at a scowl. "You're late," he grumbled.
"I know," she replied with a smile. "Charlie got caught up in the bookstore.
"Yes, and now I would like to be excused to read," Charlie said, and then darted around Nate and into his room without waiting for a reply. Grace smiled after him before following Nate inside and dropping her purse in its customary place.
"Work was boring without you," Nate complained.
"I'm sure you'll live," she replied callously. She was distracted by something she hadn't been expecting. "What is that smell?"
"Cheesy Chicken Bake, hopefully," Nate replied nervously. Grace's eyes widened.
"YOU cooked?" she asked, "For me?"
"Well...for us," he replied, flushing scarlet. "And Charlie, of course."
"Nate, you HATE cooking!" she exclaimed.
"It's not that big of a deal," he insisted, following her into the kitchen. Sure enough, the oven light was on and a cookbook was open on the counter.
"Where are all the dishes?" she asked, quickly noticing the empty sink, "In the dishwasher?"
"Well...no," he replied, "I figured I would just do them myself."
Grace blinked in surprise. SHE did the dishes. She or Charlie cooked. Nate swept and vacuumed and any other random, necessary cleaning around the apartment. They did their own laundry at Ali's Laundromat across the street. Nate hated cooking.
"I'm sure it won't be THAT bad," Nate said with a hesitant smile.
"I didn't think it would be," Grace replied, "I was just surprised, is all."
"Oh,"
An awkward pause descended on the kitchen by habit Grace forced herself not to fidget. As they looked blankly at one another they listened to the living room clock tick away the seconds with an amazing increase in volume. The silence dragged on...five seconds, six seconds, seven-
They both jumped when the oven timer blared. Grace's heartbeat sky-rocketed in a moment of panic, and then she laughed nervously, placing a hand over her racing heart. Nate's easy grin slipped back into place, and for the first time Grace found herself wondering if his grin was as much a mask as her smile.
She bit back a peal of real laughter as Nate grabbed an oven mitt and pulled out the chicken bake. He carefully placed it on the stove and shut the oven door.
"I never imagined you as the casserole type," she said playfully.
"It was the easiest recipe I could find, and we had all the stuff for it," he replied with a shrug.
"No false heroics?" she asked in mock seriousness. "No deadly battles with the fire breathing broiler or tales of Lady Chedder, the fair damsel you rescued from the Dread Lord Grater?"
"I did duel with the Loch Ness Dishwasher," he replied, laughing, "But I suppose it could have been worse." Grace just shook her head with a giggle, then turned to collect Charlie for dinner.
Grace wasn't surprised to find her son reading. Hermione would be proud, she thought vaguely after clearing her throat to get Charlie's attention.
"Hello, Mother," he said, not looking up.
"Nate made dinner," she said in a commanding voice. Charlie sighed, casting a wistful look at the heavy volume. His face brightened with inspiration.
"Mother, may I eat in my room tonight?" he asked. Grace blinked. She and Charlie had eaten dinner together at the kitchen table, in various kitchens across the United States, ever night for the last seven years.
"Well..."
"I won't make a mess," he promised eagerly, "I can't very well read anywhere else while Nate's around. Please?"
"I suppose," she finally acquiesced.
"Thank you!" he grinned, before sprinting out of his room to collect his meal. She watched him go bemusedly, wondering why something so little was bothering her so much.
She passed Charlie on her way back to the kitchen. He nodded in the way of greeting, carefully balancing a blue plastic plate heaping with steamy casserole and a full glass of milk. She supposed it was just that Charlie was growing up. She should have known there would come a day when he wouldn't want to eat at the dinner table with her.
Her plate was prepared and waiting for her on the table when she reentered the kitchen. She sat slowly and Nate took his customary place across from her. Grace was painfully aware of the empty seat on her right. Nate lifted his fork and watched her tentatively. She realized he was anxious to have her approval of his meal. Smiling, she took a bite.
Frankly, she had been expecting the undertaste of scorching, but she was pleasantly surprised. She grinned and he let out a breath of relief. "So, you like it?" he asked.
"It's wonderful," she raved, "A work of art, a culinary masterpiece!"
"Now you're just teasing," he pouted. She laughed. She noticed somewhere in the back of her mind that she laughed a lot with Nate around.
"It IS good, Nate...well done," she patted his hand and turned her attention to her dinner. She notice his face flush under her praise.
*~*~*~*~*~*~*
That night Grace dreamt. She didn't often dream anymore. She had become an expert at blocking the memories that triggered her nightmares. That day her guard must have been down.
She was sixteen again, young, scared, and stupid; full of stubborn nobility. Her Dark Mark blazed with hidden fire on her arm. She was bowing before Voldemort. She couldn't see his face from within the dark confines of his flowing, deeply hooded cloak.
It was a common nightmare, a mere memory of one of her mission as an assassin to the Dark Lord. This particular murder was her only international affair and the only time during a mission that she had dared to defy him. He wouldn't explain why he was sending her to upstate New York, only gave explicit instructions that everyone in the house was to be killed.
It was a typical Muggle neighborhood, full of young, conforming families in a young, conformed little square of suburbia. She couldn't understand why her master would be so adamant about this boring Muggle family. The street was darker and foggier in her dream than it had been in reality. Through the gloom she recognized the house and sneaked inside.
Her memory led her to the staircase. It was miles long. She climbed for eternity before finally reaching the long hallway above. She slowly crept across the carpeted hall, gently pushing the door aside as she entered the master bedroom. The door's faint creak was thunderous in her mind, but the oblivious Muggle couple slept on.
She was unmasked, having been assured that in this country a young witch in dark robes wandering the streets at night wouldn't be nearly as suspicious as the same witch in possession of a Deaht Eater's mask. She felt naked without it; completely exposed to the curious eyes.
Both husband and wife died without waking. It was better that way, Grace had decided. She didn't pause in a few moments of contemplation as she had once done. She turned on her heel and marched out of the bedroom and back down the corridor. It might have been easier to simply Apperate outside to cast the Dark Mark, but Grace preferred to leave the way she had come in.
She was nearly to the stairs now, not paying a lot of attention in her effort to escape the house. Through the foggy gloom of memory she distinctly heard a small gasp. She turned abruptly, her wand out and read.
The boy was young, maybe twelve or thirteen. He was a skinny creature, in blue flannel pajama pants and a bare, smooth torso. His eyes were also blue, wide open, and filled with horror. She saw a certainty of death in those eyes, half hidden by the messy bangs turned silver by the moonlight from his room. Grace was acutely aware that she was unmasked and her face completely revealed. "Grace," the boy whispered, raising an accusing finger.
"No," she replied in a raspy whisper, taking a step back. Her wand hand twitched.
"Grace!" the child cried again, growing taller. His face twisted into the terrible monster of her guilt.
"NO!" she screamed, her denial echoing through the long corridor of death.
"Grace!" the monster-boy declared again. Still screaming through tears, Grace turned and fled to the right. She soon found her path blocked by an advancing army. The leaders were James Potter and Angel Malfoy. She could see her parents, the Potters, all her aunts and uncles, her teachers and Severus and Bill behind them. "Murderer..." they chanted in a childish, sing-song voice, "Murderer!" Their steps forced her back and their fingers were pointed at her.
"NO!" she screeched, then turned and ran to the left, past the monster-boy who was still calling her name. She was sprinting, but halted abruptly when she found her path rudely blocked again. It was another army, this time composed of her victims and lead by the dark-haired skinny teenager from her first Bonfire, his blood-speckled glasses in place. Their taunting "Murderer!" chorus joined the matching song from her family behind. She turned again, but the two armies blacked her into the center of the hallway again. Looking up, tears streaming down her face, she saw the monster-boy again. "Grace! Grace!" he called steadily over the resounding "Murderer! Murderer!"
She sank to her knees, her guilt and self-hatred consuming her as sobs racked her frame. She looked up in the vain hope of mercy. She watched in terror as the monster-boy's features twisted again. Her eyes widened as she recognized the new face...her very own beloved Charlie.
"Mother," he whispered, his finger also pointed down at her.
"NO!" she screamed, the agony of his accusation ringing through the corridor through her sobs.
"Mother!"
"NO!"
Mother!"
"Murderer! Murderer!"
"Grace!"
"NO!"
"Mother!"
"Grace!"
"Mother!"
"Grace!"
"Murderer! Murderer!"
"NO!"
"MOTHER!"
Suddenly, the screaming stopped and the world turned to darkness. Then, just as suddenly, light blinded her as her eyes flew open, darting around her bedroom from a sudden sitting position. Nate was standing over her, his golden hair reflecting in the light giving him a halo around his concerned, gentle face. Charlie was kneeling on the bed. He reached out and touched his mother's shoulder. She jerked away, her eyes wide with horror. "No," she whispered.
"Mother," Charlie pleaded.
"Grace," Nate said gently.
"Murderer, murderer!" Grace's cruel mind finished viciously.
"NO!" she screamed as loud as she could, trying to drive the taunting voices from her mind. She pulled her knees to her chin and rolled into a fetal position, her head buried in the pillow. She cried then, cried as she hadn't cried in months. Her body was shaking from the effort of such heartfelt sobs of agony.
"Grace!" Nate cried in alarm. He reached for her. She flinched, but was too preoccupied with the crying to resist any further than that. She fell like a rag doll into his embrace. He held her as close as he dared. She grabbed his shoulders and clutched as if for dear life and directed her sobs into his chest in lieu of a pillow. Nate looked over her head with wide, concerned eyes and made contact with the same worry in Charlie's deep brown orbs.
"She has nightmares," he whispered, knowing his mother was too far gone to comprehend him. "She dreams of things that happened when she was young, when she lived in England. Horrible things. She...she won't let me touch her." He forced the last sentence out. It had always bothered him that his mother rejected any comfort he offered, and now she was in Nate's arms. Charlie wondered, for the first time, if he was in the dreams. It would, he suddenly realized, make a great deal of sense.
*~*~*~*~*~*~*
It was three in the morning before Nate was finally convinced that Grace was sleeping peacefully. She had recovered after ten minutes of solid sobbing enough to command Charlie to go to bed in shaking tones. She had tried to do the same with him, but he refused to leave her alone when she was so obviously terrified. He thought that maybe beneath the wounded pride she was happy for his company.
He couldn't deny it much longer. If she hadn't been crying hysterically, Nate would have quite enjoyed holding her so close for so long. It was to be expected, was it not, that after several months of living in the same house his feelings for Grace would change? She was, simply put, the best person he had ever met...beautiful and generous and kind. Apparently she had a darker history than he had thought. He also knew, in the back of his mind, that any feelings other than friendship he might have for her would not be returned. She was still in love with someone back home...his instincts told him that much. He wondered if it was Charlie's father...She had never mentioned the man, but he assumed he had played some important role in her life.
He finally fell asleep with his mind full of worry and unanswered questions. The most pressing was his own feelings toward her...He loved her as a person, that was certain, but was it more? Did he want a deeper relationship just because it fit the picture of a happy family of three? He had often wondered how he would explain himself if the three of them went out for dinner...the mother, the son, and the mother's friend who lives with them yet has no romantic relationship with the mother. So perhaps he just wanted a picture of normality...he hoped that was all it was. He could handle that and get over it. A serious emotional attachment was more dangerous to the heart.
His sleep was uneasy and broken, full of broken bits of memories of his parents before their murder. He remembered nothing of the night they were killed. Absolutely nothing. His memories were happy ones, full of laughter and watermelon and motherly embraces. It was waking up that made the memories so horrible.
When Nate sat up at around sunrise the next morning, he thought at first nothing but his own mind had awakened him. However, his groggy mind was suddenly alert and waiting as he heard the door rattle...the peculiar sound that told him someone was unlocking the door. His mind reeled with the possibilities. He, Grace, Charlie and the landlord had the only copies of the key. It was the middle of the month, so the landlord was not an option...and he would never show up before around noon anyway. Nate's mind immediately reeled to a foster home in North Carolina that had been plundered by burglars when he was fifteen.
Leaping to his feet, Nate stood in a tense position, waiting to see who was breaking into his home. The doorknob turned slowly, as if the opener were taking great pains not to make any noise. Slowly, the door swung open. The open doorway revealed a man Nate had never seen before. He was tall, even taller than Nate, with thick black hair and cold brown eyes. He was dressed casually yet professionally in suit pants and a blue dress shirt. He wore an expression of surprise. Nate was about to attack when the man spoke.
"Oh!" the exclamation betrayed genuine surprise or very good acting. The accent was gentle, soothing...and foreign. Distinctly British and distantly familiar. "I'm so sorry, sir, I must have the wrong apartment."
"You're damn right," Nate snapped without thinking. His mind was with Grace, still sound asleep in her room.
"I apologize, sir," the man replied sincerely, "I'm looking for the home of Grace...Peters. Could you tell me where to find her?" Nate narrowed his eyes. He recognized the accent now. It was much thicker than Grace's, who had been living in America for the last several years, yet it was undoubtedly the same.
"What do you want with Grace?" he snarled, automatically taking a more defensive position and blocking the entrance to the hallway that lead to Grace and Charlie's rooms.
"You know here, then?" the man inquired politely. Nate's keen eyes spotted the hand moving slowly, unobtrusively yet decidedly for his pocket. He has a gun, Nate thought immediately. His sole thought was now on getting Grace and Charlie out of the building. There was a fire escape outside of Grace's room. He decided it was time to sound the alarm.
"GRACE!" he cried at the top of his lungs, not moving. His sudden shout brought the man to a complete stop. Encourage, Nate continued, "Grace, get the hell out of here, now!"
"You don't know what you're doing," the man protested in a deadly soft voice, his brown eyes flashing.
"I know I want you to get the hell out of here," Nate snapped in return.
"Listen, sir-"
"Get down, Nate!" Grace's voice interrupted from the hall. Nate spun around in shock. Grace came running out, her bathrobe tied efficiently around her waist and a gun in her hand. Nate stepped back in surprise more than anything, watching as she swung the weapon in the stranger's direction as soon as he came into sight. The man threw his hands in the air. Nate stared at the effrontery of the man...he was grinning.
"No, no, no, Grace," he said, shaking his hand and crossing the room swiftly. "You're holding it all wrong."
"Well, I'm sorry I can't kill you," she said sarcastically, however she didn't object as he swept out of her line of fire and wrapped his arms around her. Nate's eyes flared with jealousy.
"Like this," he instructed, changing her stance and his arms completely encircled her. "Now, aim at the door and...bam."
"How do you know so much about M...normal weapons?" she asked, lowering the gun and turning to the newcomer. He shrugged enigmatically in response. She growled in frustration, "Tom, what are you doing here?"
Tom, Nate thought, so the stranger has a name. He and Grace seem very familiar...
"It's Charlie's birthday next week, in case you forgot," he replied easily.
"I certainly did not," she replied with her nose in the air.
"Grace darling, I don't mean to pry," he said, his maliciously sparkling chocolate eyes turning to Nate, who narrowed his own blue eyes in response, ready for a fight, "But who is this fascinating gentleman? He almost throttled my innocent self."
"Like you're innocent," she snorted. "This is Nate McCoy. Nate, this is Tom Flint."
"Pleasure," Tom said, holding out a hand. Nate didn't accept it.
"What are you doing here?" he snapped instead. Tom Flint opened his mouth to reply, but was interrupted by another, younger voice.
"Sensei!" the voice cried. Nate turned to see Charlie, still in his pajamas but other than that appearing completely ready for the day. The boy ran down the hall, grinning. He ran straight into Tom Flint's arms. Tom lifted him up, and it finally hit Nate like a ton of bricks. Their chocolate brown eyes and wide grins were identical.
Tom Flint was Charlie Peters's father.
"How about some coffee?" Grace asked, grinning, "You take it black, don't you Tom?"
"You know me so well, Grace," he replied, still carrying Charlie. Nate watched with a growing, festering jealousy in his heart. The scene was so domestic....so very familiar and familial. The three just FIT together so well, they made such a perfect little family...right down to morning coffee.
Tom followed Grace into the kitchen. They seemed to have forgotten Nate entirely. Growling under his breath, he turned and marched down the hall to the bathroom to prepare for what was quickly becoming a miserable day.
He slammed the bathroom door shut and stared at his reflection in the mirror. There he was, plain little Nathaniel McCoy. His face was so much younger than Tom Flint's...and he had dirty blonde hair that just looked silly next to the slick black locks of Tom Flint. He realized, more vividly than ever now, that Charlie's eyes were a deep, unending brown. Tom Flint's eyes were just the same. Grace Peters's eyes were golden and soft. His were blue...just plain blue.
His reverie was interrupted. The walls of the apartment were thin, and he could hear the laughter from the kitchen. Charlie's giggles and Grace's musical chuckles sounded just as they always had, but the warm baritone rumbles made Nate's blood boil. He remembered that less than twenty-four hours he had imagined himself being the missing father figure of his little family.
It wasn't his little family anymore.
But now I'm BACK! And now, without further ado or excuses, I'd like to bring you *drum roll please* our feature presentation!
Chapter Two
Jealousy
~Don't you love the life you killed
The priest is on the phone
Your father hit the wall
Your ma disowned you
Don't suppose I'll ever know
What it means to be a man
Something I can't change
I'll live around it
I want to wake up where you are
I won't say anything at all
So why don't you slide?~
**Goo Goo Dolls' "Slide"
After four years of being a professional Auror, James Potter was finally starting to convince people that he could stand on his own to feet without Daddy's help. It was painful to hear the other guys talking about him. Yes, he had been in the first cut for entering Auror's Academy. Yes, it was a direct result of being Harry Potter's son. That didn't make it any easier to hear them snicker.
Seven years after graduation from Hogwarts, James had finally come to terms with the fact that he probably never would have made first cut if not for his father's influence. Harry was not only a national hero, after all, but the Minister of Magic as well. But now, after three years of training and four years of hard work, he was finally starting to get a name for himself.
That didn't mean his father's name went away. Once a month every Auror squadron had to send a man over to the Ministry with the tedious, but necessary, paperwork. As a rule, Aurors avoided contact with Ministry officials-yet another reason James was scorned back in the day. Young blooded Aurors tended not to trust the snobbish beaurocracy James had grown up with.
James, however, was on middle ground, perfectly safe (in the everyone else's opinion) on Ministry turf as well as in the Auror HQ. Which explains why they always managed to make him the gopher and ship him and the paperwork to the Ministry.
He hadn't minded so much as a rookie, and after the first year and a half James had become adept at avoiding the dreaded duty. As for his own thoughts, he hated confronting his father while he was in uniform. He hated being Daddy's son. He knew he was competent, and had become more secure with his position as a Potter over the years, but he still avoided prodding the old resentment whenever possible.
Today, it had not been possible.
By June even the rookies were seasoned enough to avoid James's tricks to make them take care of delivering the paperwork, and they wouldn't get a new batch of recruits until August. Which is why James found himself standing in the lobby of the Ministry of Magic, a scowl on his face and a thick manila folder in his grasp which had to be left with the Minister's secretary. Her name was Ruby, a kind old woman James had known all his life. That just made it worse.
From the ground floor he considered his options. There were several ways to get to the Minister's office. His first instinct was the direct and quickest route, but that would require direct passage through the Department of Magical Law Enforcement and his mother's office. If there was person James wanted to avoid more than his father, it was his mother. A man can slip by when he uses his father's influence. A mama's boy is never forgiven.
And James was, he had realized over the years, one of the worst cases of "mama's boys".
Well, James was more afraid of Hermione than even the rest of the guys in the squadron, so the plan was to not meet his mother while in public. Which meant he'd have to take one of the roundabout ways.
He finally settled on cutting through the Department of Magical Accidents and Catastrophes. Once he had made up his mind we weaved throughout the building with ease. No one bothered him. If they didn't notice the Auror's robes, they noticed the exact resemblance to the Minister. Everyone knew James Potter.
He was getting along very nicely, without anyone stopping to ask annoying questions or the like. He didn't slow until he just after he had passed the Obliviator Headquarters when he heard someone call his name.
For one dreaded moment, he was sure it was his mother. He spun around, his eyes wide, to see a young woman. She was petit and thin, with smooth, milky skin. Her hair was fiery red and her eyes were a penetrating silvery gray.
"Angel!" he cried, grinning. He had completely forgotten in his scheming of ways to avoid his parents that his best friend had been moved to her own office. It was a shabby, cubby hole of an office, with no windows or much working room, but it was a private office nonetheless, with a shiny nameplate on the front reading Angel M. Flint, Assistant Director of the Obliviation Squad.
"Were you just going to pass right on by without saying hello?" she asked teasingly, giving him a hug and a peck on the cheek. "What are you doing on Daddy's turf anyway?" she teased. He laughed.
"Dropping off the paperwork," he made a face.
"All the rookies know you by now?" she grinned, "Can you spare a few moments to talk to your poor neglected friend? You haven't been over for ages and the kids are dying to see you."
"I've been busy," he apologized, following her into the office. He looked around approvingly. She had fixed it up since his last visit with cheery colors and feminine flair. "How's Will coming with the alphabet?"
"He's doing fine," she smiled, "Very advanced for a three-year-old, they say," she added proudly.
"He'll be four in a few months," James reminded, smiling. He loved his godchildren dearly, and was watching them grow with fascination. He couldn't believe how fast they were becoming taller. Time flew with children.
Angel mentioned something about coming for dinner, and he nodded distractingly. His eyes were examining the pictures on her desk interestedly. James only had one on his own tiny desk that he hardly ever saw. She had the same picture, taken on graduation day. It was James and Angel in their long black robes, grinning and smiling, with Harry, Hermione, Draco, Ginny, Ron and Rayven walking in and out of the background from time to time.
However, Angel had practically an entire lifetime on her desk. Her wedding day, her parents' twentieth anniversary party, and of course about fifteen pictures of Will and Gracie at various stages in their young lives. There were two family portraits with a grinning Tom and Angel proudly displaying their two beautiful children. Will's hair was as red as his mother's, with light brown eyes and a good amount of freckles. Gracie, however, more closely resembled her father, with darker hair and eyes.
James smiled as he watched them all waving from their frames. His smile fell when his eyes landed on the last picture. There was no Tom, no Will, no baby Gracie. The image was taken before their time, long before. It was of three children, looking to be around age fifteen or so. James recognized the one on the left as himself, with the lanky arms and lopsided grin of his teenaged years. The girl on the right was undoubtedly Angel. But it was the girl in the middle he studied.
He hadn't seen or heard from Grace Weasley in the last eight and a half years. This picture seemed to be about ten years old. Grace was just a carefree, laid back teenager then, with wild red hair and bright eyes of gold with a heart to match. James felt his stomach clench at the sight of her in the picture, just the way he remembered her. After all these years, Grace rarely entered his thoughts. He liked it that way. It was less painful.
Angel seemed to have noticed that she had lost his attention. She followed his gaze with interest, trying to find the picture that could make him stare in such a fashion.
It didn't take her long. She knew that James ran from his problems, and nothing had damaged him more emotionally than Grace. The three had once been the closest of friends, inseparable. Now they knew nothing of her whereabouts or welfare...or even if she was alive. Angel had first taken up a profound study of Obliviation to see if there was a way to reverse powerful Obliviating charms without damaging the victim. She had yet to find a solution.
It was her Uncle Charlie who had been Obliviated. The main problem was that he had done it to himself. He was furious now, of course, and frustrated, trying to remember those few crucial hours he had wiped from his memory. Those hours were the key to finding Grace. But it was to no avail.
The silence had become tense. James was the one to break it.
"I'd better go," he finally said, tearing his eyes away and trying to smile. "Business, you know."
"Dinner on Friday," she reminded him softly. He nodded and left, his head high and his pace unhesitating. She sighed. Life was complicated enough without sad memories of lost friends.
*~*~*~*~*~*~*
It was a peculiar relationship, to say the least. Few understood the exact standing of Grace "Peters" and Nathaniel McCoy. They didn't really understand it themselves. Nate would have called them friends, but Grace probably wouldn't have even stretched it that far. In her opinion, Nate was this poor kid with an unfortunate history who needed a place to stay besides the homeless shelter until he got back on his feet. Period. There was nothing else to it, no emotion involved (Grace hated emotion), just a charitable act on her part. Not that she would have offended him by calling it charity. Charlie, who usually had entire essays in his mind about every occurrence in their lives and was not afraid to share them, was strangely silent on the subject. When Grace asked him what he thought of Nate, Charlie shrugged. It was a first in Grace's memory.
Luckily, where as back at home everybody would have had their noses in the relationship searching for scandal, the Americans shrugged and said; "it's their business". This was mainly because they were poor diner workers and not movie stars, but poverty has its perks too. Especially when you're trying to be inconspicuous.
One person who had plenty of opinion on the subject was Pat. Molly, Pat and Jim found the arrangement out quicker than they had expected (they had underestimated the length Pat would go for good gossip.) Pat highly disapproved. Being an old fashioned mama, she found the whole affair scandalous-which shows you how desperate for scandal she was. However, she couldn't get in more than a few good lectures, because Molly told her to leave off. She seemed fond of the idea.
Grace rolled her eyes at the thought. Everyone thought they were sleeping together. She didn't deny it because they wouldn't have believed her. The fact was; she barely let him touch her even in casual conversation. Grace didn't trust the touch of a man, even after all these years.
After a few weeks it became less awkward. Grace stopped flinching every time she saw Nate asleep on her couch when she walked into the living room in the mornings. Some days she would sleep in and wake up to find Charlie and Nate watching television, usually arguing over the remote. Charlie wanted to watch the Discovery Channel. Nate wanted to watch cartoons. Go figure.
As a matter of fact, Grace found herself liking the arrangement more and more as time went on despite herself. It was almost like a marriage, except held together by...well, a friendly affection and mutual respect as opposed to love, passion, and a physical relationship.
They talked about things, at night when they were eating together and during the long afternoons when the diner was empty. They discussed education (a missed opportunity for both), music (he liked jazz and ballads, she liked rock and roll), politics (incredibly boring in both opinions), and literature ("I STILL don't understand how you can stay awake through The Scarlet Letter!"), among other things.
Charlie watched the two grow closer with a fond, if somewhat distant smile that should not have been found on a child's face. He was happy that his mother had found someone she could connect with at last.
However, there was a slight jealousy he was unwilling to admit even to himself. It was the first time in Charlie's life that Grace's attention hadn't been devoted entirely to him. Occasionally Charlie even had to raise his voice to make a statement. Once and a while he got the impression they wanted to talk alone...without him. Charlie knew this would happen some day, and he accepted it nobly, yet he hadn't expected the sacrifice to be so great.
He went to bed one night feeling particularly torn between his happiness for his mother's newfound friendship (for friendship it was, whether she would admit it or not) and his own jealous feelings. He only read one chapter of Hogwarts, A History before turning out his light for bed. He was in no mood for reading, for probably the first time in his life.
He fell asleep quicker than usual. Of course, for Charlie, there was little difference between sleep and waking life because he always dreamt, always knew he was dreaming, and always remembered every detail of the dreams. His visions took him to a brief stop in Britain to see Baby Gracie's third birthday party and a clip of Harry's work at the Ministry. Charlie sighed in contentment. It was here in his visions that he felt the most at home...
His heart suddenly stopped as he recognized the setting of his next dream. He was no longer in the present, but in the distant pass. He wasn't sure how exactly he recognized it, seeing as he had never had a vision of it before, but there was a certain feeling that he belonged. This was not why he panicked.
It was Annabella again. He felt his heart sink. He was so sure, SO SURE that Philadelphia was the place...but the presence of the princess of Parsel showed otherwise.
She was much older than the last time he had seen her. It seemed about ten years of her life had passed. He frowned. It was unusual for there to be that much of a gap in time. Her hair was still silken gold, but it was shorter and pulled out of her face. She was dressed plainly and her hands were calloused. She was smiling, which was also strange. Charlie turned his attention to the man standing next to her.
It was Godric Gryffindor. Charlie didn't know how he could be so sure, but he was. His hair was dark and wavy, falling nearly to his shoulders. His broad shoulders were encased by a scarlet cloak, and his high, noble brow was unlined. He had an arm around Annabella.
There were three children standing in front of the handsome couple. The oldest was a boy who looked strangely familiar, although once again Charlie couldn't place the resemblance. He had jet-black hair and friendly blue eyes. Standing next to him was a figure he could hardly see, because it was completely covered in a long, gray cloak. He squinted and decided the delicate features were that of a young female, but she was looking at the ground and her hair was completely tucked into the cloak.
The youngest was a boy around ten years of age and Charlie's heart skipped at the sight of him. The boy was...Charlie. No one else would have understood the assumption; the two boys hardly looked alike. The other boy's hair was golden brown, with intense blue eyes and a pale complexion. But it had nothing to do with actual appearance.
It was this boy who left the little family and approached Charlie. Charlie stared, too confused to move. His panic only increased when, for the first time in his life, one of the characters from his visions addressed him directly. "Good evening, Charles Weasley," he said, blinking slowly, "I've wondered when I would be seeing you."
"Ga...Galdinus?" Charlie whispered, suddenly realizing he must be seeing Annabella's son, the Heir of Slytherin...and Charlie's ancestor. The boy made a face in response.
"I go by Galdin," he explained, "But it's a horrible name any way you look at it." Charlie relaxed immediately. For the first time in his life it was like he was talking to someone that really understood him. It was wonderful.
"How can you see me?" Charlie asked without preamble, "I'm in a vision."
"So am I," Galdin replied, smirking, "The divination runs in the family. It just took about a thousand years to pass it on. Oh, and by the way Charlie, the Death Eaters aren't coming just because you see my mother there. I've used that to warn you in the past, but that's all over now. You were right, everything goes down in this city, so don't screw it up by waking the whole house."
"Why now?" Charlie challenged, intensely curious, "What's happening? Why haven't you communicated with me before?"
"I won't be communicating with you directly again," he replied brusquely, "But I have to get in contact with every heir born from this line so I can pass down the prophecy regarding the Dagger."
"Whose prophecy?" Charlie asked.
"Mine, of course," Galdin replied, his voice smug.
"Well?" Charlie grew impatient, "What is it?" Galdin smirked and allowed Charlie to wallow in curiosity for a moment before he finally recited...almost chanted the ancient prophecy:
"The Blood of the Innocent must be Willingly Spilled upon the Alter
While the Sacrifice is Presented and the Heir of the Name is Waiting
The Resurrected Song of the Daughter of Gryffindor
Shall Destroy the Hope of the Chosen Darkness"
"That's it?" Charlie asked after a few moments of silence when Galdin's tones died away.
"Yes," Galdin replied, sounding almost offended at Charlie's reaction. "I would warn you not to forget it if I thought there were any danger of it."
"I don't understand," Charlie commented. It was statement he had never made in his life. Galdin smirked in response.
"I can only give you one clue," he replied smugly.
"What's that?"
Galdin pointed to the remaining family, which Charlie had forgotten. Godric, Annabella and the oldest boy didn't move, as if they were completely unaware of Galdin's sudden disappearance. The girl, however, looked up and lowered her hood. Charlie felt his eyes widen.
Bright golden eyes stared into his while fiery red hair tumbled from the hood of the cloak.
*~*~*~*~*~*~*
Charlie barely looked up from his book when Nate and his mother left for work. He waited a good ten minutes before setting the book down with a sigh.
Everything was going as Fate intended, as usual. Fate was not to be trifled with, as Charlie was well aware. His mother didn't understand, really. She didn't understand the absolute awesome power of Fate.
It was odd that he called the power Fate. It was the same power some called God, or Allah, or Buddha, or any of those other almighty deities. They were all the same being in the long run, as Charlie knew. There was one Higher Power which guided life. Some called it God. He called it Fate.
Nate was crucial in Fate's plan for Charlie and Grace. Powerful as he was, Charlie was humble in a way most humans cannot experience. He had seen several hundred lifetimes and knew how very insignificant he was in the grand scheme of things. He and his mother, his grandparents and his father, Voldemort, Dumbledore and Harry Potter were all mere specks when one looked at the entire span of history, no more important than your average paper boy. But Fate had a specific plan for each little spec, a particular mission for each and every living thing. Charlie just happened to have a complicated destiny.
He didn't know as much about Nate's history as he would have liked. One thing Charlie had grown used to was knowledge. He couldn't be surprised because as a general rule he knew every detail of what was going to be happening, sometimes years in advance, and his mind was structured with a perfect memory. It was like living in a constant state of deja-vu. However, he had a very limited profile of Nathaniel McCoy. Luckily, it was enough of a profile to know that Nate was not working with Damian Flint.
Lately, his visions had becoming less frequent. He still had a mind-boggling amount of them (by now he had trained himself to be able to carry on entire conversations in real time and have a vision at the same time), but he knew Fate was preparing him for something big. He was actually rather annoyed that he wasn't being fully prepared.
He had seen what was going to happen in March. He didn't like it, but he accepted it. The visions were given to him so he could make sure they were carried out. There was no way to fight Fate. He wished there were some way to prepare, but it was hopeless.
In the meantime, Charlie had taken it upon himself to become as familiar with his surroundings as possible. He would need to know his way around Philadelphia.
He always felt a slight qualm when he snuck out of the house, but he had been doing it for a few years now. If his mother came home early-it was unlikely that he wouldn't be warned, but possible-she would probably throttle him out of worry when he got home. He couldn't help it, curiosity always got the better of him. Besides, in this case there was an actual purpose.
He went into his room and found his wand. After a moment of concentration he transfigured it into a pen. It was a complicated process, transfiguring one's wand. His mother didn't know how to do it. It was several years out of even Charlie's league, and he had had to practice diligently for over a year before he could do it properly. However, the results were invaluable. He knew enough self defensive hexes to get him out of trouble in case of an emergency.
He locked the door when he left. One could never be too careful.
It was Charlie's fifth afternoon on the town, and he had decided to go east that day. He had swiped twenty dollars from his mother. She wouldn't notice; he had made sure about that. And besides, with Nate now paying half the rent his mother could actually afford to spare twenty dollars.
Whistling tunelessly, he walked to the bus station. The bus driver didn't say anything once he had handed over the change, but a few elderly women looked at him piteously. Women, he had realized early on in life, did not approve of unsupervised young children. But seeing as they disapproved of very young mothers with not so young children Charlie couldn't see any profit in going out with his mother to avoid the clucking tongues and shaking heads.
He picked a random spot and climbed off the bus. It was sooner than he had intended, but he didn't mind.
He walked around aimlessly for a few blocks. This was the better side of town, with lots of fancy town houses and apartments. He studied the buildings interestedly, learning the architecture by heart. Architecture was one of Charlie's chief interests, and a subject he studied adamantly when given the opportunity.
He found himself standing near a park. It was a pretty little park, the kind a hoard of wealthy young mothers persuaded their husbands to persuade the Mayor to build for their band of toddling darlings. The darlings were a bit older now, around Charlie's age. There were a good number of them present, seeing as it was a lovely summer afternoon, and the mothers were sitting on the benches, laughing and gossiping among themselves.
The kids were everywhere. There was a line to reach the slide, all the swings were occupied, and the sandbox was full. Five or six were assembled around the monkey bars. Charlie observed them the most, since they were the closest.
There were five of them there, he realized, three girls and two boys There was a girl with blonde pigtails, another who kept pushing her brown hair out of her face impatiently, and a pretty black girl with cornrows. The black one had a bright yellow jumper with flowers printed on it and grass stains from playing with her friends. The other two girls were in the typical tee shirts and matching red tops featuring Big Bird. They were probably sisters. The boy currently crossing the bars was obviously the oldest, looking to be around nine. His shirt boasted him to be a Cubs fan, and he had a matching baseball cap. The younger boy watched jealously as the older one swung from bar to bar easily. The younger boy's shirt was blue and white striped with khaki pants with lots of pockets. He kept itching his nose.
Charlie felt an odd tugging in his stomach. They were so very normal. He probably looked pathetic, he knew. He was the only child alone, with an old, plain green shirt and blue jeans. He didn't mind that. He wasn't afraid of talking to the others, really. He knew children were accepting and would play with him. But it just didn't feel RIGHT to play with little kids...sure, some of them were technically older than him in objective time. But he was so much older in reality.
His age seemed to be persistent that afternoon, and he had an undeniable urge to go play with the other kids. He wondered what it would be like to be naïve. For a brief moment, he almost wished for childhood innocence, before frowning reasonably. Charlie had been given a great gift, and he should be grateful for it. He was chosen. Let the children play. They're having fun, the same way you do when you master a new spell. Leave them alone, Charlie, and forget about it. Your path is different.
He turned and walked away without saying anything to the children on the monkey bars. He wished earnestly that Fate had happy and successful futures for all five of them.
For the next block he had a vision concerning Tom talking to his mother-in-law, who was also his boss. Ginny laughed and asked about the children. Tom boasted. That was it.
Charlie was not jealous of Tom's legitimate children. Charlie was special. He was secret. It wasn't Tom's fault that he couldn't boast about Charlie too.
Charlie wandered aimlessly, and grinned widely when he found a library. It was a fair size, with a pretty brick front. He walked inside, his wide brown eyes inspecting everything curiously.
It was darker inside, with the quiet, reverent feeling found only in libraries and museums. He wandered aimlessly, avoiding the colorful displays of easy-to-read books meant for children his age. To him the displays were disrespectful of the potential knowledge around him. Whenever he happened to glance at one his small, aristocratic nose would wrinkle in disgust.
He eventually found himself near the fantasy section. He had a secret passion for books with magic and adventure. He knew the Muggle idea of magic was extraordinarily inaccurate, but he still reveled in their world. He had a particular weakness for Tolkien. He felt an odd kinship with Frodo Baggins.
After several moments, he chose three of the thickest novels and one large tome entitled A Study of Psychology (he couldn't waste all his time dilly-dallying with fiction). He had acquired a local library card last week when he had traveled to the north side of town, and displayed it proudly to the librarian behind the counter near the entrance. He had to crane his neck to see her and stand on tip toes to see the surface of the counter. The world should be designed for the short, he thought in annoyance. He hated being vertically challenged on account of his age.
The librarian looked at him dubiously, as if she didn't believe that he could read the books he had supplied. He merely smiled innocently. She informed him that the books here due back in two weeks and placed a reminder in one of the novels. Once outside, he ducked into an alley and shrank the books, slipping them into his pocket. He was anxious to read them and headed to the bus stop.
He stared forlornly out the window as he headed back to the apartment, wishing there weren't quite so many potholes in the streets of Philadelphia. He was just reaching into his memory to reread The Return of the King when his eyes widened and he sat up suddenly.
It wasn't a sight that would stir most people. His eyes had focused on the corner of Oakwood Road and Washington Street. There was a Starbucks on one side and a Walgreen's on the other. It looked hardly any different than any of the other street corners in the city.
But Charlie recognized the place. He had seen it several times in his visions. This was where things were to be set in motion. This was the corner that would change Charlie's life forever.
*~*~*~*~*~*~*
The sun beat down on Philadelphia. Luckily the apartment had air conditioning, and even more luckily Grace had someone helping her pay the bills now, so she could now afford to turn the air all the way up to the point where she sometimes needed a blanket. It felt wonderful.
It was strange, having all the extra money. Most people wouldn't have considered it anything to be excited about, but to her it was a Godsend. For the first time in her life she wouldn't have to scrape for almost a year before taking Charlie to a bookstore.
Unlike England, there was some kind of magical outpost in every major American city, which in Grace's opinion was very convenient. There wasn't much in Philadelphia. Like the Muggle part of the city, the main attraction of Witching Corner (as it was known here) was the important history and the beginnings of magical government in the United States. No doubt Charlie had read up and was looking forward to the trip. Grace knew only the basics about magical America.
The main problem with orchestrating an afternoon in Witching Corner was Nate. He was around all the time, and they were almost always working the same hours. Grace had wanted to make the trip in June, but it was nearly September before an opportunity presented itself.
Pat had seven children, all grown and with kids of their own these days, scattered across the country. Only two still lived in Pennsylvania. Grace got the impression the other five had gotten as far from their mother as possible.
However, Pat's birthday was August 29, and all of her brood would be flying in for the weekend. Grace decided to take full advantage of her absence as soon as she was informed of it one lazy afternoon the week after Independence Day.
"Yes, we'll be in trouble the last weekend of the month," Molly sighed as Pat left, humming under her breath. There was a grand total of five customers at that moment. Grace and Nate had just arrived for their afternoon shift.
"Why?" Grace asked, frowning.
"Didn't I mention Pat's kids are coming into town?" Molly said.
"No," Nate replied, as Grace's mind started whirling.
"Why would you have a problem?" Grace asked.
"She opens the place!" Molly snapped, as if this should have been obvious.
"Well even I can do that," Grace replied, rolling her eyes. "I'll open and Nate will close. It's not that big of a deal."
"Oh would you?" Molly asked, sounding relieved. Grace nodded.
"It'll be terribly dull around here without you, Grace," Nate whined. She shrugged.
"I think you can make do for one day," she replied.
"Then its set," Molly said. "Now, isn't there SOMETHING you too could be doing?"
"No," Nate replied rudely. Grace laughed. Molly rolled her eyes and muttered under her breath.
Nate complained the rest of the week about having to work alone on a Saturday afternoon, but Grace ignored him, instead focusing on the happiness she knew the outing would bring to Charlie. He hadn't responded when she told him she had finally set a date for the Witching Corner, but she could see his face light up, and he had spent an increased amount of time reading about the magical history of America.
*~*~*~*~*~*~*
Locking the door dutifully behind him, Charlie set off on yet another daring adventure to explore Philadelphia. Today his destination was southerly, although he didn't want to go too far from home. He was planning a fantastic dinner for his mother and Nate, and he wanted it to be finished when they got home. It was things like that that kept them from suspecting his adventures.
He wandered a close section of the city with storefronts frowning down on him from every direction. He was in a crowd of people who jostled his small frame without much thought. They were the kind of people who didn't think much, Charlie thought with a private smile, they think just because I am young that I am silly and unimportant.
He walked into a bookstore and stared wistfully for a while. He had some money, but he didn't want to spend it unless he had to. His goal was to return it to his mother before she noticed all the money that had been discreetly disappearing. He had to keep her faith in his innocence high. He left the bookshop to wander some more.
He finally stopped in front of a tall, imposing church. He couldn't make out the particular sect of worship it housed, although the giant cross on the steeple assured him that they called themselves Christian. Charlie understood why people felt the need of a Divine Being. It just annoyed and amused him that they gave Him so many names and had so many different rules. Did they realized He was the same no matter Christ or Allah or Buddah, Catholic, Protestant, or any of the other endless faiths and deities found in the earth's long and bloody history?
Obviously not.
With this unorthodox and possibly blasphemous thoughts in mind Charlie climbed the steps of the church and bowed his head respectfully as he entered. It was a gargantuan room, with a typical cathedral ceiling and long, narrow stained glass windows. The pews were nearly empty, save a few kneeling, silent worshippers. Walking forward and painfully aware of the echo of his footfalls, Charlie turned and studied the choir loft, just above the entrance, and the giant pipe organ behind it. He looked at it wistfully, imagining how the room would fill with warm, round music if a decent musician were playing it. He himself was a decent musician, unbeknownst to most people. It wasn't hard when you had a perfect memory.
He continued his journey down the aisle, wondering how many nervous brides had made the same journey with that beautiful organ playing the familiar strains of "Here Comes the Bride" echoing around her. He then wondered why he had marriage on his mind and decided not to worry about it. His mind worked in ways even he didn't understand.
Charlie found what he had been looking for with forlorn hope. In a little alcove to the left of the alter was another organ, smaller but still usable. Charlie approached it eagerly, his hands aching to play. He sat down carefully and looked out at the six dedicated persons with heads bowed in prayer. They wouldn't mind, he decided. Music was a good background for communicating with the Almighty.
Without any warning his hands crashed with the keys, and of their own accord started to play Beethoven's Ninth Symphony. It was a beautiful piece, and one that fit with the religious sanctity of the cathedral. He could almost hear the choir singing along, "Joyful, joyful, we adore thee!" The worshipers looked up, startled. Their eyes went first to the choir loft, but then to Charlie. Charlie himself was totally oblivious and happy, his eyes and his mind entirely focused on the keys below him. They looked at each other uneasily, uncertain as to what to do. After a few moments they came to the conclusion that he must have been there for a reason and returned to their prayers.
Charlie smiled, and after a few more pieces, finally ending with Fur Elise, he stood, bowed to the crucifix, and walked down the aisle again, past the confused parishioners who were forgetting their prayers in their curiosity, out of the door and finally skipping down the wide stone steps. He looked at his watch and sighed. He had wasted most of his allotted time. Slowly, he plodded in the direction of the bus station. He wondered, briefly what his mother would say if he were late and he tried to convince her he had been at church.
*~*~*~*~*~*~*
Saturday, August the twenty-ninth dawned bright and early...far too early in Grace's opinion. She hadn't opened Melinda's since the first week she had met Nate.
She frowned as the thought entered her mind. It was odd that she should think of that week as the beginning of Nate as opposed to the beginning Philadelphia or the diner or any of the other, more important things that had begun here.
She pushed Nate out of her mind as she walked briskly to Melinda's. There was no need to dwell on her room mate while she was at work.
However Grace found this end harder and harder to achieve as the day went on. Everything in the diner reminded her of Nate. Even certain regular customers brought back fond and recent memories of side comments and secret, shared laughter. It was odd to remember laughing with such clarity. Nate had that effect on her.
He arrived in the early afternoon right on time, pouting as she took off her apron and nametag. She grinned.
"Now Nate, I'm just having one little afternoon to myself and Charlie, I think you can handle it," she said. She had meant to be severe. She had come off as playful. How very odd.
"But GRACE," he whined, making his best puppy eyes at her. He was very accomplished at making the puppy eyes. "What will I do when Crazy Christa comes in?"
Crazy Christa arrived every single day exactly one minute before closing. She ordered a grilled cheese sandwich and a strawberry milkshake. She knew perfectly well that they didn't make strawberry milkshakes, but never complained when they gave her hot chocolate instead.
Grace only laughed in response. "We both have tomorrow off," she said consolingly. "How about you, Charlie and I take a day out on the town? We can go to the park, see the sights...whatever. We'll just have a little family day out."
"Fine," Nate pouted.
"Goodbye, Nate," she said, reaching up and pecking him on the cheek. He blinked and stared without response as she left the diner. Had she just kissed him on the cheek...?
We are just friends, he reminded himself, and tomorrow we're going to have a little family day out...he grinned. For just one single moment, Nate McCoy allowed himself to imagine himself as Charlie's father.
"Hey, yo!" a customer snapped, "Where's my joe?"
Reality was bound to catch up eventually, he reminded himself as he hurried to fetch the coffee.
*~*~*~*~*~*~*
Grace and Charlie returned from their afternoon in the Witching Corner tired but happy. Charlie had had the foresight to bring a large bag bearing the Muggle-friendly brand name of Barnes & Noble. Grace shrank their purchases to fit neatly into the bag using Charlie's wand. It felt good to be holding a wand again, if only for a moment. In America the state governments controlled the ages at which children could do magic. Pennsylvania had relatively strict standards, setting the age at twelve. This was inconvenient for Charlie's studies, but Grace couldn't help but be relieved. Charlie was too powerful for his own good sometimes.
They returned home later than she had expected. Strangely she thought about their little apartment as home instead of just a place to live like she had in the past. She had looked forward to being home every single day since...well, for at least a month now.
She was fumbling for her keys when the door was opened for her. She looked up in surprise, then smiled when she recognized Nate's attempt at a scowl. "You're late," he grumbled.
"I know," she replied with a smile. "Charlie got caught up in the bookstore.
"Yes, and now I would like to be excused to read," Charlie said, and then darted around Nate and into his room without waiting for a reply. Grace smiled after him before following Nate inside and dropping her purse in its customary place.
"Work was boring without you," Nate complained.
"I'm sure you'll live," she replied callously. She was distracted by something she hadn't been expecting. "What is that smell?"
"Cheesy Chicken Bake, hopefully," Nate replied nervously. Grace's eyes widened.
"YOU cooked?" she asked, "For me?"
"Well...for us," he replied, flushing scarlet. "And Charlie, of course."
"Nate, you HATE cooking!" she exclaimed.
"It's not that big of a deal," he insisted, following her into the kitchen. Sure enough, the oven light was on and a cookbook was open on the counter.
"Where are all the dishes?" she asked, quickly noticing the empty sink, "In the dishwasher?"
"Well...no," he replied, "I figured I would just do them myself."
Grace blinked in surprise. SHE did the dishes. She or Charlie cooked. Nate swept and vacuumed and any other random, necessary cleaning around the apartment. They did their own laundry at Ali's Laundromat across the street. Nate hated cooking.
"I'm sure it won't be THAT bad," Nate said with a hesitant smile.
"I didn't think it would be," Grace replied, "I was just surprised, is all."
"Oh,"
An awkward pause descended on the kitchen by habit Grace forced herself not to fidget. As they looked blankly at one another they listened to the living room clock tick away the seconds with an amazing increase in volume. The silence dragged on...five seconds, six seconds, seven-
They both jumped when the oven timer blared. Grace's heartbeat sky-rocketed in a moment of panic, and then she laughed nervously, placing a hand over her racing heart. Nate's easy grin slipped back into place, and for the first time Grace found herself wondering if his grin was as much a mask as her smile.
She bit back a peal of real laughter as Nate grabbed an oven mitt and pulled out the chicken bake. He carefully placed it on the stove and shut the oven door.
"I never imagined you as the casserole type," she said playfully.
"It was the easiest recipe I could find, and we had all the stuff for it," he replied with a shrug.
"No false heroics?" she asked in mock seriousness. "No deadly battles with the fire breathing broiler or tales of Lady Chedder, the fair damsel you rescued from the Dread Lord Grater?"
"I did duel with the Loch Ness Dishwasher," he replied, laughing, "But I suppose it could have been worse." Grace just shook her head with a giggle, then turned to collect Charlie for dinner.
Grace wasn't surprised to find her son reading. Hermione would be proud, she thought vaguely after clearing her throat to get Charlie's attention.
"Hello, Mother," he said, not looking up.
"Nate made dinner," she said in a commanding voice. Charlie sighed, casting a wistful look at the heavy volume. His face brightened with inspiration.
"Mother, may I eat in my room tonight?" he asked. Grace blinked. She and Charlie had eaten dinner together at the kitchen table, in various kitchens across the United States, ever night for the last seven years.
"Well..."
"I won't make a mess," he promised eagerly, "I can't very well read anywhere else while Nate's around. Please?"
"I suppose," she finally acquiesced.
"Thank you!" he grinned, before sprinting out of his room to collect his meal. She watched him go bemusedly, wondering why something so little was bothering her so much.
She passed Charlie on her way back to the kitchen. He nodded in the way of greeting, carefully balancing a blue plastic plate heaping with steamy casserole and a full glass of milk. She supposed it was just that Charlie was growing up. She should have known there would come a day when he wouldn't want to eat at the dinner table with her.
Her plate was prepared and waiting for her on the table when she reentered the kitchen. She sat slowly and Nate took his customary place across from her. Grace was painfully aware of the empty seat on her right. Nate lifted his fork and watched her tentatively. She realized he was anxious to have her approval of his meal. Smiling, she took a bite.
Frankly, she had been expecting the undertaste of scorching, but she was pleasantly surprised. She grinned and he let out a breath of relief. "So, you like it?" he asked.
"It's wonderful," she raved, "A work of art, a culinary masterpiece!"
"Now you're just teasing," he pouted. She laughed. She noticed somewhere in the back of her mind that she laughed a lot with Nate around.
"It IS good, Nate...well done," she patted his hand and turned her attention to her dinner. She notice his face flush under her praise.
*~*~*~*~*~*~*
That night Grace dreamt. She didn't often dream anymore. She had become an expert at blocking the memories that triggered her nightmares. That day her guard must have been down.
She was sixteen again, young, scared, and stupid; full of stubborn nobility. Her Dark Mark blazed with hidden fire on her arm. She was bowing before Voldemort. She couldn't see his face from within the dark confines of his flowing, deeply hooded cloak.
It was a common nightmare, a mere memory of one of her mission as an assassin to the Dark Lord. This particular murder was her only international affair and the only time during a mission that she had dared to defy him. He wouldn't explain why he was sending her to upstate New York, only gave explicit instructions that everyone in the house was to be killed.
It was a typical Muggle neighborhood, full of young, conforming families in a young, conformed little square of suburbia. She couldn't understand why her master would be so adamant about this boring Muggle family. The street was darker and foggier in her dream than it had been in reality. Through the gloom she recognized the house and sneaked inside.
Her memory led her to the staircase. It was miles long. She climbed for eternity before finally reaching the long hallway above. She slowly crept across the carpeted hall, gently pushing the door aside as she entered the master bedroom. The door's faint creak was thunderous in her mind, but the oblivious Muggle couple slept on.
She was unmasked, having been assured that in this country a young witch in dark robes wandering the streets at night wouldn't be nearly as suspicious as the same witch in possession of a Deaht Eater's mask. She felt naked without it; completely exposed to the curious eyes.
Both husband and wife died without waking. It was better that way, Grace had decided. She didn't pause in a few moments of contemplation as she had once done. She turned on her heel and marched out of the bedroom and back down the corridor. It might have been easier to simply Apperate outside to cast the Dark Mark, but Grace preferred to leave the way she had come in.
She was nearly to the stairs now, not paying a lot of attention in her effort to escape the house. Through the foggy gloom of memory she distinctly heard a small gasp. She turned abruptly, her wand out and read.
The boy was young, maybe twelve or thirteen. He was a skinny creature, in blue flannel pajama pants and a bare, smooth torso. His eyes were also blue, wide open, and filled with horror. She saw a certainty of death in those eyes, half hidden by the messy bangs turned silver by the moonlight from his room. Grace was acutely aware that she was unmasked and her face completely revealed. "Grace," the boy whispered, raising an accusing finger.
"No," she replied in a raspy whisper, taking a step back. Her wand hand twitched.
"Grace!" the child cried again, growing taller. His face twisted into the terrible monster of her guilt.
"NO!" she screamed, her denial echoing through the long corridor of death.
"Grace!" the monster-boy declared again. Still screaming through tears, Grace turned and fled to the right. She soon found her path blocked by an advancing army. The leaders were James Potter and Angel Malfoy. She could see her parents, the Potters, all her aunts and uncles, her teachers and Severus and Bill behind them. "Murderer..." they chanted in a childish, sing-song voice, "Murderer!" Their steps forced her back and their fingers were pointed at her.
"NO!" she screeched, then turned and ran to the left, past the monster-boy who was still calling her name. She was sprinting, but halted abruptly when she found her path rudely blocked again. It was another army, this time composed of her victims and lead by the dark-haired skinny teenager from her first Bonfire, his blood-speckled glasses in place. Their taunting "Murderer!" chorus joined the matching song from her family behind. She turned again, but the two armies blacked her into the center of the hallway again. Looking up, tears streaming down her face, she saw the monster-boy again. "Grace! Grace!" he called steadily over the resounding "Murderer! Murderer!"
She sank to her knees, her guilt and self-hatred consuming her as sobs racked her frame. She looked up in the vain hope of mercy. She watched in terror as the monster-boy's features twisted again. Her eyes widened as she recognized the new face...her very own beloved Charlie.
"Mother," he whispered, his finger also pointed down at her.
"NO!" she screamed, the agony of his accusation ringing through the corridor through her sobs.
"Mother!"
"NO!"
Mother!"
"Murderer! Murderer!"
"Grace!"
"NO!"
"Mother!"
"Grace!"
"Mother!"
"Grace!"
"Murderer! Murderer!"
"NO!"
"MOTHER!"
Suddenly, the screaming stopped and the world turned to darkness. Then, just as suddenly, light blinded her as her eyes flew open, darting around her bedroom from a sudden sitting position. Nate was standing over her, his golden hair reflecting in the light giving him a halo around his concerned, gentle face. Charlie was kneeling on the bed. He reached out and touched his mother's shoulder. She jerked away, her eyes wide with horror. "No," she whispered.
"Mother," Charlie pleaded.
"Grace," Nate said gently.
"Murderer, murderer!" Grace's cruel mind finished viciously.
"NO!" she screamed as loud as she could, trying to drive the taunting voices from her mind. She pulled her knees to her chin and rolled into a fetal position, her head buried in the pillow. She cried then, cried as she hadn't cried in months. Her body was shaking from the effort of such heartfelt sobs of agony.
"Grace!" Nate cried in alarm. He reached for her. She flinched, but was too preoccupied with the crying to resist any further than that. She fell like a rag doll into his embrace. He held her as close as he dared. She grabbed his shoulders and clutched as if for dear life and directed her sobs into his chest in lieu of a pillow. Nate looked over her head with wide, concerned eyes and made contact with the same worry in Charlie's deep brown orbs.
"She has nightmares," he whispered, knowing his mother was too far gone to comprehend him. "She dreams of things that happened when she was young, when she lived in England. Horrible things. She...she won't let me touch her." He forced the last sentence out. It had always bothered him that his mother rejected any comfort he offered, and now she was in Nate's arms. Charlie wondered, for the first time, if he was in the dreams. It would, he suddenly realized, make a great deal of sense.
*~*~*~*~*~*~*
It was three in the morning before Nate was finally convinced that Grace was sleeping peacefully. She had recovered after ten minutes of solid sobbing enough to command Charlie to go to bed in shaking tones. She had tried to do the same with him, but he refused to leave her alone when she was so obviously terrified. He thought that maybe beneath the wounded pride she was happy for his company.
He couldn't deny it much longer. If she hadn't been crying hysterically, Nate would have quite enjoyed holding her so close for so long. It was to be expected, was it not, that after several months of living in the same house his feelings for Grace would change? She was, simply put, the best person he had ever met...beautiful and generous and kind. Apparently she had a darker history than he had thought. He also knew, in the back of his mind, that any feelings other than friendship he might have for her would not be returned. She was still in love with someone back home...his instincts told him that much. He wondered if it was Charlie's father...She had never mentioned the man, but he assumed he had played some important role in her life.
He finally fell asleep with his mind full of worry and unanswered questions. The most pressing was his own feelings toward her...He loved her as a person, that was certain, but was it more? Did he want a deeper relationship just because it fit the picture of a happy family of three? He had often wondered how he would explain himself if the three of them went out for dinner...the mother, the son, and the mother's friend who lives with them yet has no romantic relationship with the mother. So perhaps he just wanted a picture of normality...he hoped that was all it was. He could handle that and get over it. A serious emotional attachment was more dangerous to the heart.
His sleep was uneasy and broken, full of broken bits of memories of his parents before their murder. He remembered nothing of the night they were killed. Absolutely nothing. His memories were happy ones, full of laughter and watermelon and motherly embraces. It was waking up that made the memories so horrible.
When Nate sat up at around sunrise the next morning, he thought at first nothing but his own mind had awakened him. However, his groggy mind was suddenly alert and waiting as he heard the door rattle...the peculiar sound that told him someone was unlocking the door. His mind reeled with the possibilities. He, Grace, Charlie and the landlord had the only copies of the key. It was the middle of the month, so the landlord was not an option...and he would never show up before around noon anyway. Nate's mind immediately reeled to a foster home in North Carolina that had been plundered by burglars when he was fifteen.
Leaping to his feet, Nate stood in a tense position, waiting to see who was breaking into his home. The doorknob turned slowly, as if the opener were taking great pains not to make any noise. Slowly, the door swung open. The open doorway revealed a man Nate had never seen before. He was tall, even taller than Nate, with thick black hair and cold brown eyes. He was dressed casually yet professionally in suit pants and a blue dress shirt. He wore an expression of surprise. Nate was about to attack when the man spoke.
"Oh!" the exclamation betrayed genuine surprise or very good acting. The accent was gentle, soothing...and foreign. Distinctly British and distantly familiar. "I'm so sorry, sir, I must have the wrong apartment."
"You're damn right," Nate snapped without thinking. His mind was with Grace, still sound asleep in her room.
"I apologize, sir," the man replied sincerely, "I'm looking for the home of Grace...Peters. Could you tell me where to find her?" Nate narrowed his eyes. He recognized the accent now. It was much thicker than Grace's, who had been living in America for the last several years, yet it was undoubtedly the same.
"What do you want with Grace?" he snarled, automatically taking a more defensive position and blocking the entrance to the hallway that lead to Grace and Charlie's rooms.
"You know here, then?" the man inquired politely. Nate's keen eyes spotted the hand moving slowly, unobtrusively yet decidedly for his pocket. He has a gun, Nate thought immediately. His sole thought was now on getting Grace and Charlie out of the building. There was a fire escape outside of Grace's room. He decided it was time to sound the alarm.
"GRACE!" he cried at the top of his lungs, not moving. His sudden shout brought the man to a complete stop. Encourage, Nate continued, "Grace, get the hell out of here, now!"
"You don't know what you're doing," the man protested in a deadly soft voice, his brown eyes flashing.
"I know I want you to get the hell out of here," Nate snapped in return.
"Listen, sir-"
"Get down, Nate!" Grace's voice interrupted from the hall. Nate spun around in shock. Grace came running out, her bathrobe tied efficiently around her waist and a gun in her hand. Nate stepped back in surprise more than anything, watching as she swung the weapon in the stranger's direction as soon as he came into sight. The man threw his hands in the air. Nate stared at the effrontery of the man...he was grinning.
"No, no, no, Grace," he said, shaking his hand and crossing the room swiftly. "You're holding it all wrong."
"Well, I'm sorry I can't kill you," she said sarcastically, however she didn't object as he swept out of her line of fire and wrapped his arms around her. Nate's eyes flared with jealousy.
"Like this," he instructed, changing her stance and his arms completely encircled her. "Now, aim at the door and...bam."
"How do you know so much about M...normal weapons?" she asked, lowering the gun and turning to the newcomer. He shrugged enigmatically in response. She growled in frustration, "Tom, what are you doing here?"
Tom, Nate thought, so the stranger has a name. He and Grace seem very familiar...
"It's Charlie's birthday next week, in case you forgot," he replied easily.
"I certainly did not," she replied with her nose in the air.
"Grace darling, I don't mean to pry," he said, his maliciously sparkling chocolate eyes turning to Nate, who narrowed his own blue eyes in response, ready for a fight, "But who is this fascinating gentleman? He almost throttled my innocent self."
"Like you're innocent," she snorted. "This is Nate McCoy. Nate, this is Tom Flint."
"Pleasure," Tom said, holding out a hand. Nate didn't accept it.
"What are you doing here?" he snapped instead. Tom Flint opened his mouth to reply, but was interrupted by another, younger voice.
"Sensei!" the voice cried. Nate turned to see Charlie, still in his pajamas but other than that appearing completely ready for the day. The boy ran down the hall, grinning. He ran straight into Tom Flint's arms. Tom lifted him up, and it finally hit Nate like a ton of bricks. Their chocolate brown eyes and wide grins were identical.
Tom Flint was Charlie Peters's father.
"How about some coffee?" Grace asked, grinning, "You take it black, don't you Tom?"
"You know me so well, Grace," he replied, still carrying Charlie. Nate watched with a growing, festering jealousy in his heart. The scene was so domestic....so very familiar and familial. The three just FIT together so well, they made such a perfect little family...right down to morning coffee.
Tom followed Grace into the kitchen. They seemed to have forgotten Nate entirely. Growling under his breath, he turned and marched down the hall to the bathroom to prepare for what was quickly becoming a miserable day.
He slammed the bathroom door shut and stared at his reflection in the mirror. There he was, plain little Nathaniel McCoy. His face was so much younger than Tom Flint's...and he had dirty blonde hair that just looked silly next to the slick black locks of Tom Flint. He realized, more vividly than ever now, that Charlie's eyes were a deep, unending brown. Tom Flint's eyes were just the same. Grace Peters's eyes were golden and soft. His were blue...just plain blue.
His reverie was interrupted. The walls of the apartment were thin, and he could hear the laughter from the kitchen. Charlie's giggles and Grace's musical chuckles sounded just as they always had, but the warm baritone rumbles made Nate's blood boil. He remembered that less than twenty-four hours he had imagined himself being the missing father figure of his little family.
It wasn't his little family anymore.