Decided to go ahead and post this chapter, as I don't know when I'll next be near a computer, and I did manage to finish it tonight.
Chapter Two: Meetings, Cordial and Otherwise"Now, Connor, be good for your professors. Do you have Godric? Good. Keep him in his cage for right now, at least until you get to Hogwarts. James, you are not sending the Invisibility Cloak with him. Yes, I saw you take it out of your pocket. Put it back right now. He doesn't need that in his first year…"
Harry trailed behind his parents as they escorted Connor towards Platform 9 ¾, smiling as he listened. Normally his mother wasn't this fussy, but normally she had Connor right at home where she could keep an eye on him, or have Harry or Sirius or Remus keep an eye on him, and could pull her wand instantly if someone who might be a Death Eater approached. In the shouting, clamoring bustle of King's Cross, filled with Muggles as well as wizards, there were more opportunities for someone to draw near and take aim at Connor.
Harry wasn't that worried. He had tried a few of his favorite spells with his new wand the moment he bought it, and to his relief, they worked even better with that than they had with the practice wand. He even thought he could trust his snowy owl, Hedwig, to spy out danger if it approached. She sat in her cage on top of his trolley right now, staring in several directions with bright golden eyes. She seemed more alert than Godric, Connor's black eagle-owl, who either sat with his eyes closed or craned his head around to stare at people Harry knew from the set of their faces were innocent.
"Harry."
Harry looked up, startled. They'd almost reached the magical wall that permitted passage between the station and the Platform, and he hadn't noticed his mother dropping back to walk beside him. Of course, she was an automatic non-threat, like Sirius or Remus. Harry resolved to be more careful, though. There wouldn't be any automatic non-threats on the train.
"Yes, Mum?" he murmured.
Lily hesitated for a long moment, as though she were thinking of giving him the stream of advice she'd handed Connor. Harry waited patiently. She was only going to say one thing, and he knew what it was. But, at the same time, he needed to hear it. It was confirmation of his purpose, of his loyalties and his position in the world.
"Take care of your brother," said Lily at last, and something coiled and tense in Harry's head breathed out a sigh of relaxation.
"Of course, Mum," he said.
Lily's hand swept across his fringe, stroking the scar that Harry knew was a distorted, imperfect reflection of his twin's curse scar. "You're the lightning bolt," she whispered. "You strike hard and fast, and you don't leave any remains behind. Connor's the heart. Protect his innocence, Harry. Make sure that he's still pure and unspoiled at the end of it all. Headmaster Dumbledore said that Connor would have the power the Dark Lord knows not. That's his ability to love, it has to be. But if he has to grow up too fast, he'll lose it." She bent down and kissed Harry on his scar. "Be sure that he can stay a child for just a little while longer."
"I will, Mum." Harry forced the words out through the lump in his throat. She had never said anything like that to him, ever. It was Connor's scar that was significant, Connor's scar that marked him for death and glory. To think that he was part of what his brother was a part of, even for a little while…
Lily looked as if she would have said something more, but Connor yelled from ahead. "Harry, come on! The train's getting ready to leave!"
Harry and Lily exchanged smiles. Connor was innocently excited about going to Hogwarts, and perhaps anticipating, just a little, what they would make of the Boy-Who-Lived. He saw it as such a big change in the life he'd lived so far, as if everything would be different and nothing the same ever again.
In some ways, Harry thought, that was true. Connor would be doing real spells now, much more often than he'd done them at home. He would have to start growing up, losing his innocence, learning to love not just his parents and Harry and Sirius and Remus, but the whole wizarding world he'd have to protect someday.
Harry was glad that his own life was so simple in comparison. His responsibility was what it had always been: protect Connor.
He touched his mother's hand one more time, then turned and walked through the barrier onto the platform. Hedwig hooted softly as he did so, as if impressed by the size and noise of the train.
Harry kept an eye on his brother as they boarded, but Connor luckily chose an empty compartment. Harry slid in behind him and raised his eyebrows at him.
Connor grinned cheekily back. They didn't actually look much like twins, Harry thought absently, the old insight brought home to him with new force because of seeing his brother in an entirely new place. Connor had black hair, but it was less messy than Harry's, so that his scar was usually half-visible, the lower curve of the heart just peeking out. He had James's hazel eyes, and Lily's lack of need for glasses, and more of James's looks.
Even that can be an advantage, Harry thought as he took a seat across from his brother. There's no possible way a Death Eater can mistake him, of course, but they might also not think I'm his brother.
"Aren't you excited?" Connor asked him.
Harry smiled. "Of course I am," he said. "But the best part is watching you bounce around like a Chocolate Frog."
"I am not bouncing," said Connor, bouncing.
"Yes, you are."
"Am not."
"Yes, you are."
"Am not."
So they continued, enjoying the completely childish argument that their parents would have been yelling at them to stop inside two minutes. They'd probably been at it for ten minutes when the door slid open. Harry turned to face it at once, making sure that his expression was welcoming and pleasant, just like Connor's innocent smile. His hand was on his wand, but that hung in the loose pocket of his school robes, which he already wore, and no one else had to know.
The boy in the open door stood blinking for a moment, as if he had not expected two of them. Then he moved forward. Harry studied his red hair and worn, if clean, clothes, and then slowly took his hand off his wand. The boy was almost certainly a Weasley, and the whole of that family was loyal to Dumbledore and fought for the Order of the Phoenix. The current mother had even lost relatives to Voldemort. Harry could trust this boy not to hurt Connor, at least until he proved otherwise.
"Hi," said the boy, and sat down across from Connor, next to Harry. "I heard that Connor Potter was in this compartment. Is that you?"
Connor grinned and lifted the fringe so that the boy could see the heart-shaped scar. The Weasley blinked and gaped in awe, then stuck out a hand, grinning. "My name's Ron Weasley. It's brilliant to meet you. Do you know my parents? I think they know yours. Mum said something about visiting you once, and Dad said it was restricted, but…"
Harry sat back and let the chatter wash over him, watching through half-lowered eyes as his brother responded, skittish at first, and then gaining confidence as he saw how fascinated with his presence Ron was. Connor had never been around other children his own age, any more than Harry had. It really was too dangerous for others to visit them, at least as long as Voldemort had a chance of coming back. That was one of the many reasons Harry was pleased they were going to Hogwarts now. Connor would have many friends. Not all of them could be the children of Death Eaters assigned to spy on him, though Harry was willing to think that many were, especially if they came from Slytherin House.
The door of the compartment abruptly slid open again, and another boy stood just inside it. Harry tensed. This wizard had blond hair and the practiced bored expression of a pureblood, and two other wizards flanked him like house elves. He glanced at the Weasley and sneered, and Harry's hand went to his wand.
"You're the Boy-Who-Lived," he said to Connor. "Aren't you." His tone, a lazy drawl that was too obviously forced, didn't make it a question.
Connor nodded, his shoulders tense. Harry gave his brother full points for observation. He didn't know who this was yet, though he had his suspicions, and Connor, sheltered from the outside world, disliked the boy on principle. A good sign of an innocent heart.
"My name's Draco Malfoy," said the boy, and stepped forward, hand out as if he expected Connor to actually shake it.
Harry stood, fully prepared to speak a hex. Lucius Malfoy had stood high in Voldemort's circle, and then escaped Azkaban on the flimsiest of excuses. Of all the children attending Hogwarts this year, his son was the one Harry would choose for Most Likely to Try and Kill Connor.
Malfoy gave him an odd glance, then laughed. "And who is this?" he asked. "Someone else paying court to you, Potter, like the Weasley?"
That's it, Harry thought, as he saw a familiar fire ignite in Connor's eyes. He's just lost his chance.
"This is my brother Harry," said Connor, also standing up. He was slightly taller than he looked, and when he turned his gaze on Malfoy, the man he would become was visible. Harry nearly stopped breathing with admiration. If Connor had to lose a piece of his innocence today, he was doing so for a worthy cause. "And this is Ron Weasley, my friend. You're never going to be, so don't insult your betters."
Malfoy froze for a moment, his eyes wide. Harry peered at him, wondering why.
Then he understood. Malfoy was an innocent in his own way, it seemed. He had come into the compartment as he probably walked everywhere, swaggering and drawling, and expected Connor to accept him as everyone must have accepted him. The Malfoys would have raised their son around other purebloods, groomed into perfect statuary by their parents to show obedience to the rich and powerful—and the Malfoys were both. Why should the Boy-Who-Lived be different from the children Draco had known all his life?
Harry sighed, feeling an odd pity for the boy, and took his hand off his wand. And then he heard Connor snicker.
"Not that I'd want you to be my friend," he said. "You have an ugly name."
"Connor!" Harry cried, shocked. Defending the innocent was one thing. Hurling a childish insult was quite another. The purebloods were part of the wizarding world, too, and Connor should have been above the kind of retaliation that Harry fully expected from someone like Draco. The hurt was still visible on Malfoy's face; he'd been too startled to hide it. Connor could have made the rebuke sting a little less with the right words, and been on the road to gaining a valuable ally. These were definitely not the right words, for all that they set Ron to laughing.
They closed off that little hurt look on Malfoy's face. He straightened, and the wizards with him looked to him for orders. But Malfoy merely glared down his nose at Connor, said, "I should have expected that someone with a Mudblood for a mother would have no sense of proper manners," and swept out the door.
Connor cried out, and Ron said, "That's tough, mate, what he said about your mum…"
Harry walked out the door of the compartment after Malfoy. What he'd said had been harsh, but Connor had provoked him. Harry knew the rules of wizarding courtesy from his father and Sirius, purebloods both. Malfoy deserved an apology.
Draco rubbed his forehead as he walked. He'd got a headache in five seconds, being inside that compartment with such a powerful wizard. Potter's magic hummed and sang around him, and filled the air with a faint ringing vibration that Draco, like all properly trained Malfoys, could feel. It made his skull hurt. Clearly, Draco reflected, he'd have to put up tougher shields once he got to Hogwarts. He'd have to do that anyway, with so many other wizards around, but he blamed Potter for giving him a headache this early.
"Malfoy."
Draco glanced over his shoulder, and then stared. Behind him stood the other wizard, the one Potter had claimed was his brother. He'd been so quiet that Draco had barely noticed him, and had included him in the insult tossed at the Weasley mainly by force of habit. He had dark hair even messier than Potter's, and green eyes behind ugly glasses.
And he made the air around him sing.
Draco's eyes narrowed further, and then further again. "Is this some kind of bloody trick?" he snarled, taking a step back towards—Harry, that was his name. He wouldn't have used such language ordinarily, but he hated being insulted or fooled. His father would have understood. "You're the Boy-Who-Lived, aren't you?"
Harry blinked. "What?" But he wasn't as confused as he pretended to be. Around him, his magic tensed and tightened into a single sharp arrowhead aimed straight at Draco.
Draco ground his teeth. "You're the Boy-Who-Lived," he said. "Not the other one. Did you think I'd think it was funny, and come crawling back to you? Malfoys don't crawl."
"Not even for the Dark Lord?" Potter murmured. His eyes sparked with lazy amusement.
Beyond infuriated, Draco tried to turn around again, but Potter's hand caught his arm. Vincent and Gregory started forward, but halted when Draco shook his head slightly. They were well-trained, but there was no way they were ready to face a wizard of Potter's power. Draco stood stiffly, fully expecting a hex he knew he couldn't stop.
So, of course, he was utterly astonished when Potter passed one hand across his brow, lifting up the fringe enough to let Draco see that his scar was a lightning bolt, not a heart, and murmured, "In Merlin's name I ask that you forgive me, for my unfair, hasty words, and my brother for his. I do not know if you will accept these terms, but I ask them: truce between us, and neutrality henceforth."
Draco stared again. He was spending an unworthy amount of time doing that today. But all the words were correct, and Potter's face was earnest when he offered them, his eyes meeting Draco's steadily. It didn't, of course, stop that ringing, impossible power, compacted and folded into perfect obedience, which still continued to give Draco a headache, but perhaps it didn't need to.
This Potter knew pureblood courtesies. This Potter had come to offer them to Draco. This Potter let go of his arm the moment the ceremony was done and backed off a cautious distance, his magic swirling in lazy patterns of sound, ready to attack but not poised as it had been before—the absolutely proper thing to do, given that Draco hadn't responded yet.
This Potter hummed and sang with pure magic, and if he wasn't the major source of the power that Draco had sensed in the compartment, he would eat his own hand.
And yet he wasn't the Boy-Who-Lived.
Draco had two choices in that moment: he could continue to believe he was being tricked, and stomp away in righteous indignation, or he could accept what was offered and see what happened. Perhaps Connor Potter was more powerful than Harry. Perhaps he was so powerful that Draco couldn't sense him.
Or perhaps Harry, who, after all, couldn't feel his own strength, didn't know anything about the aura he carried, and had even more hidden depths, ones that didn't have anything to do with spells.
Draco knew what he would prefer to be true. But he would at least take the chance offered, and see what happened.
He laid a fist over his heart, bowed, and extended a hand. Harry actually exhaled with relief when he took it.
"Thank you," he said, and bowed back, and walked back into the compartment without trying to explain himself. That was also absolutely proper, Draco thought, watching him go with a hunger that had no name yet. He would have to write a letter to his father when he arrived at the school. He wondered what Lucius would make of it.
"Why did that happen?" Vincent whispered. His voice was tinged with awe. He couldn't feel Harry, but he knew that Draco wouldn't have accepted an apology from just anyone.
"I don't know," said Draco. "Not yet. But I'll tell you one thing…" He left it at the end of a deliciously long pause.
"Yeah?" Gregory asked, leaning forward.
Draco smiled at the compartment door, which was now closed. "There's going to be a Potter in Slytherin."