Disclaimer: The only thing in this story of my own invention is the plot. I own nothing else.
Author's Note: This is a story about a tragic romance. You'll see later how it relates to Harry Potter. I am re-writing a story that I started quite a while ago and wasn't happy with. I think I rushed it. So, this time, I'm going to make it a quality story, even if it means I can't update it very often. I want to specially thank for posting a Harry Potter encyclopedia that helped me a lot with my research, and for giving me ideas.
A young man stood on the doorstep of a small, run-down house, facing out into the world. He was clean-shaven, his head was held high, and he wore a crisp, neatly-ironed tailcoat. His face was blank, devoid of all emotion, and he carried in his hand a single suitcase. From his appearance, no one would have ever guessed the pain that he had been through, not to mention that of which he would face in his lifetime.
"Didn't I tell you to get OUT?" came a sudden screech from behind this man. He jumped, and the door slammed behind him. Just as he began to run off, this old hag whom he regrettably called his mother started shouting at him through the window. "Don't you dawdle! I want you out NOW! That's right, you can't disgrace me anymore! That's right, young man…" She was still yelling when he, the young man whom she regrettably called her son, arrived at the train station, but the sound of her voice had long since faded from his range of hearing.
"One one-way ticket to the next town over, please," he panted when he got to the ticket counter. An obese man wearing suspenders handed him a dirty ticket, and then promptly leaned back in his chair, presumably to take a nap. Looking around, the young man didn't blame him. The station was nearly empty.
As he waited for his train, the young man opened his suitcase to check its contents. He wanted to make sure he wasn't missing anything. However, I'm not going back even if I've left something, he thought. He made a mental checklist: Shirts? Check. Ties? Check. Pants? Sweaters? Toothbrush? Check. Check. Check. He had all the basics that he would need for his new life. Glancing around, he reached into the bottom of his suitcase. Feeling the small, cold object made him feel very relieved. He slipped his father's wedding ring on his finger. And my notebook? he thought. He felt around and soon retrieved it from the depths of his pack. He pulled out a pen and opened the blank book, closing his suitcase before he began to write:
March 27, 1943 - I begin my new life today. I will no longer make mention of my old. I do not know where I am going. But wherever it is, I am all alone.
The young man could think of nothing else to write, so, sighing, he closed the book and tucked it into his jacket. Later, after he had boarded the train, he drew the book out again and clutched it tightly in his hands. His father's golden ring shimmered in the dim light of the rickety train. Glancing around, he saw only a half dozen dozing passengers. He could think of nothing worthwhile to write, and he didn't want to waste his paper. He thought of how hard he would be working in the next town over, most likely for little money. Paper, after all, was now a precious resource to him. The cheap railroad company had failed to provide neither any form of entertainment, nor any food or beverage on the train. So, as the young man waited to arrive at his destination, all he could do was think of what he was leaving behind.
He thought first of what he could gather of his birth. His parents wouldn't speak of it, but since his childhood he had imagined a particular scene for his birth. He knew that a child wasn't what was unwanted by his parents, but it was he specifically whom they didn't want. He imagined being born in the larger house his family had used to own, surrounded by a crowd of friends who were anticipating his arrival. He imagined magic everywhere, in the air, surrounding the scene of his birth. Indeed, his family had loved him very much, and had long awaited his arrival into the world, at first… until they realized that there was nothing particularly special about him. He was different from anyone else in the family. At first he didn't understand, but as he grew older he became frustrated at his mere plainness. While his house was filled with surprises—he would often stumble across pictures of long-deceased relatives, the characters in the frame moving as if they were really alive, and he would sometimes open up a forbidden book in the library only to be caught by his parents because they heard the book screaming—he found, growing up, that he could produce none of this excitement himself. His parents were always throwing red sparks into the air, or levitating objects, but he himself had never been capable of anything of the sort. However, he wasn't sure that he was supposed to have these capabilities. At least, he wasn't sure until his little brother was born.
When Erik was born, his older brother observed with jealous eyes the attention his parents showered on the baby boy. The older boy hadn't received so much since he was a baby. When Erik grew into a young child, his brother saw the reason why. Erik would occasionally shoot sparks out of his finger when he grew angry or impatient. Once he even levitated the ends of his mother's hair. Instead of being angry, she was ecstatic. "Gustav!" she shouted for her husband. "Gustav! Erik is one of us!" Finally, the boy understood. The reason he was not loved so was because he was not magical, and he had been born into a family of magicians.
Soon, he learned what his title was: squib. An outsider. A misfit. The only reason he wasn't thrown into an orphanage was his father. Gustav was in no way happy to be his father, but he would never have submitted to such cruelty. Annabel, his wife, was different. It came to the point where she wouldn't so much as look at her older son, while she spent hours with her younger trying to teach him tricks and spells. Erik was an eager learner, and was praised heavily. His older brother was shunned to the library, where he read all day. His parents longed to send him away, but they would never want him to go to a muggle school. What would become of him there? He would be made even worse! They talked often of Hogwarts, but from eavesdropping the boy could only draw the conclusion that he wouldn't be accepted there. He assumed this was a magical school. They even tried to hire him a private tutor, but the effort was fruitless and it exhausted their resources. Providing for their failure of a son was expensive, and they were quickly running out of money. They had to move to a run-down shack, leaving behind the enchanted house of his childhood. In this new setting, everything was bleak.
Then his father died. By this time, Erik had been away at Hogwarts for years, and his older brother had grown into a young man. He was living with just his cruel mother, who often took out her bad temper on him in the form of spells. Feeling as if he was about to completely lose control, he stole his father's old tailcoat that had been worn at his wedding, along with his wedding ring. It wasn't much, but it was something he could hold on to. Gustav's mild cruelty had been the kindest affection that the young man had ever received.
When his mother found that these items were missing, she immediately ordered her son to leave. She had searched everywhere, but had not been able to find these objects. Her son had become a master at mischief, since, growing up, he had always tried to evade his parents. Her desire to see her son leave outweighed her love for her husband's prized possessions. When his mother told him to leave, he hardly hesitated, knowing that he would not miss what he was leaving behind. He only feared what he would soon come to know. What is life like outside these walls? he had often wondered as a child, locked inside his own home. Now he was afraid to find out. As he sat waiting to arrive at the next town over, it dawned on this young man that he actually had no clue where he was heading; the ticket master had failed to tell him. Wherever he was going, however, he knew that he was going all alone.
Next Chapter: Where will the train stop and what will happen there…?