"Blah"=Speech

'Blah'=Thoughts

(Blah)=Subconscious memories from before

Chapter Two: A Boy Called Seer

Once upon a time there was a pureblood family, though there were those of a certain leaning who believed they should have lost the right to call themselves such for their practice to marry half blood and muggleborn spouses, but by the definition of pureblood in the Old Laws they were still considered such for they retained being an all magical family.

Among this large clan like family was a half blood father and a muggle born mother who adored and cherished their son. Delightings in his storytelling and avid fascination for books and knowledge that they encouraged with gifts of writing tools and story books from far off countries to incite his imagination.

One day the little boy felt an odd throbbing in his right hand and a thin scar like mark appeared looking as if something had stabbed clean through it, though nothing such had ever happened. The parents had worried at first but the healers assured, even as they too were puzzled by such, that there was nothing wrong with their son and to treat such as a birthmark. Until one day the scar throbbed again and the little boy felt an urge to write that he couldn't ignore. The words that fell from ink and quill were not the normal words of a young boy fascinated with stories of adventure and discovery. Indeed it seemed to be a story of one of his cousins that had gone on holiday getting into an odd mishap that had said cousin lose the tip of a fingertip due to an enrage gryffin that he had stumbled upon by accident when looking for a rare plant in a mountain. The story was puzzled over and put aside, almost forgotten about by everyone in the family until the cousin returned home, missing the tip of a finger and regalling them with the tale of how such happened.

The story was soon passed around again as the adults marveled at how exact the story written was to the tale they had been told. Even some details they had not heard because their cousin had not been paying attention to fully notice such until reading that story and having those little memories slot into place. The family as a whole decided to keep this a Secret, for this could be a sign of something grander than just a story.

During the years when more stories written came true the family began to whisper and call the child a Seer child and began to wonder how to help this talent grow for the betterment of the family as a whole. The mother and father however were concerned and did not want this gift to become a curse to their son, so they began to visit and introduce their child to the mother's magic less brother.

The man was a metal worker, and though not an ounce of magic could be found in his veins, to the young boy it was clearly some sort of magic in how his uncle could turn lumps of metal into so many things, from knives and horse shoes, to tin soldiers and music box ballerinas. Because of this and the uncle not wishing any magic of his own or to be used, made his home a safe haven for the young boy when he family kept looking for more and more stories to come true so they could use them to help the family as a whole become more.

It was in this the young boy also gained a fondness for ballet. He did not want to only do ballet, for despite his fear of the stories that came true writing was still what he loved most of all, but something about it felt familiar to him. More so when after a time he would dream fleeting glimpses of a different class learning ballet and someone with bright hair that he wanted to dance with.

Once upon a time the magic that flowed with tragedy formed a noose around the neck of this large family and a dark lord destroyed most of it, and after being vanquished his followers completed its destruction.

All save for the little boy who they called a Seer, who in a fever dream had wrote a story of the skulls that were eating a snake would eat the family with black flames. A story his parents burned without him realizing it was even written before bundling him up and leaving him with his uncle and walking back into their tragic fate.

The boy did not learn of the story, instead believing that if he had been able to write one of those stories that came true he could have saved his family. Because of this he refused to write a story ever again and learned to ignore the itch in fingertips when an idea hit, and to pretend that the throbbing of a True story did not exist even as it throbbed and ached that he could almost imagine a sharp knife right through his hand, exactly where the scar like mark was. Even when he gained a letter to learn magic he refused to ever write a story again and pretended that he had ever had such a talent to begin with.

Bitter and cold, and with biting words the boy joined the house of bronze and blue, for despite his vow to never write another story his passion for books and knowledge could not be extinguished. Though what had once been the passion of a writer for such was now the dedication of a knight as he read and practiced in order to become strong enough that he could fight against a threat instead of being useless as he had been before, even as he also made certain never to get close to anyone again in case they were taken from him again because he was too weak to protect them.

Once upon a time a mage knight with the soul of a writer met a duckling and fledgling raven and the strings of tragedy around his heart soon began to break.

Fakir easily ignored the crowds of shoppers, even as he mentally berated himself for deciding this day of all days to go to the second hand bookshop to see if anything new may catch his interest. He knew today would be busy since the letters for Hogwarts had gone out, a testament to such in his coat pocket as the parchment of his school list crackled as he moved. Luckily most of the crowd would stay on the main street for such and few would go down the smaller streets to the not as well known shops for supplies. The purebloods out of snobbery since those smaller shops were usually second hand shops and most would rather die than wear something that wasn't new.

'And I have to play nice with some of them because I can't give reasons for them to think I'm anything less than one of them before I'm seventeen.'

The scowl on his face became even darker and knife sharp at the thought, seventeen seemed so far away at the age of thirteen when so many supposed 'friends' of the family kept circling around waiting for him to show a weakness they could exploit. He missed when he was just another child in a branch family of the McKinnon clan, he missed having a large clan to be honest but he shoved that hurt back down where it belonged and focused on the irritation over how he was now the head of a family of ghosts that some were hoping to ensnare and populate to their liking.

Lost in such thoughts his mind took a few seconds longer than it normally would to realize the woman with the steel straight spine and hair in a severe bun wearing tartan robes was his Transfiguration professor. Not only that but she was talking to two figures he couldn't see clearly from his angle in the door of the shop and blinking sun blindness away. He was ready to just slip into the stacks and pretend he hadn't seen the others in the store until one of those Professor Mcgonagall was talking to peeked around the older woman and suddenly he couldn't breathe.

She was small (she was always small, even as a duck. She was always so impossibly tiny and fragile seeming that he was always, always so afraid he would break her and it was only her personality and sheer belief in everyone that made her stronger than anything despite such delicate limbs and a fluttering heart that he didn't deserve any piece of.) so small that he was almost certain she was a younger sibling as her head barely reached the professors hip, even with that feather like cowlick that fluttered on the top of her head. Until he saw her holding a list that he could make out enough words to show it was a first year shopping list when he thought back to the one he got two years ago. For some reason large blue eyes that for a brief moment he felt should recognize him and he didn't understand the flare of sharp pain in his chest at the curious look she gave him instead, stared up at him (she was always craning her neck or having to be a certain distance away from him when she looked at him or talked to him, made even more so when she was a duck that fit in his hand and was so low to the ground, and even though he freely picked her up when she had feathers he only had a few moments of two different dances to hold on to where he had held her as a girl.) before flitting around fully to bounce to him. All awkward steps and flailing limbs when she stumbled slightly over a piece of rug before catching herself and finishing her trek over to him.(He was amazed at how she could go from being so scatterbrained and clumsy enough to constantly fall on her face to shaky grace that in time would become confident posture of a dancer that was made more so when she was Princess Tutu, and though he agreed she was a better dancer when she was using such magic he found he liked the awkward flailing and shaky stances far more than the ethereal grace and royal poise she had when she was being the someone meant to help the prince.) A long braid of bright red hair almost as long as she was tall trailing behind her like a banner as she stopped in front of him. Her face leveled with his stomach before she looks up and smiles brightly at him like she walked up to perfect strangers all the time. (It was as she was about to leave, to help fight the Ravens, to give Mytho back his Hope that he was struck with the thought that he had never seen her with her hair down and for one selfish moment he wanted to call her back ask her to be just Ahiru to not give up being a girl, but that would be the opposite of everything he had said, had promised in the Lake of Despair to her and this was not the time to be that weak they had a story to finish and he had already promised…)

Then she begins to chatter and the odd fog and flashes of sights and words he knows but doesn't know is gone as he attempts to parse what is being said to him even as the professor and another child walk up to them. The boy with raven feather hair tilts his own head at an angle to look at Fakir. An angle that he had watched so many birds use when studying something and the bright green eyes are curious with a glint of something he learned to recognize due to being unfortunately in the same year as the Weasley twins, even if in separate houses, but unlike when he would notice it in the self proclaimed pranksters that glint of mischief doesn't make him tense and look for the pitfall. More it looks like someone that has found someone to share mischief with instead of torment with it.

Somehow between the chattering of Arianna, and the amused questions of Corbin, who he had already guessed was Harry Potter before names were exchanged because that head tilt had shown the scar clearly, but he barely registered it because he wasn't an idiot like many other magicals in regards to the whole boy-who-lived frenzy that seemed almost cult like in some regards; he finds himself pulling books off the shelf and giving blunt comments regarding certain things about the magical world that he's certain the professor that has gone to do an errand when she realizes the soon to be third year has both enthralled somehow would disapprove of. Particularly when he grabs three different potion books and point blank tells them to study as much on their own because the professor of that subject is overly harsh and critical so best to know too much then too little in that class. The two soak up what he's saying and trail after him like fledglings, even as they get distracted by a title or peculiar binding of a book to investigate and ask him about such because somehow in their eleven year old views he must know everything there is to know despite only being two years older, and somehow despite everything he helps and chides them. Both seeming to not care or just completely accept his caustic words and flares of temper.

By the time both piles, Fakir's and the two who despite the fact he knows the Potter family was well off both are sharing the books instead of each taking a copy as if they are used to penny pinching, are purchased and placed away he's somehow been enfolded into the group. He can see the amusement of such in the eyes of the Professor and he has a mortifying thought of this being spoken of the the other staff at some point, because he knows his head of house has noted and talked about his reclusiveness to not only his year group but his house as a whole.

He barely speaks but they don't seem to mind as they twitter like a pair of birds in the morning to one another, to the professor, and to him and he learns more than expected as they talk.

He learns neither has a caretaker and a small part of him feels guilty because at least he has his Uncle. He learns that until today Corbin didn't even know he had a name or a family legacy and Arianna voices for both of them that the trust vault for Corbin made them uneasy because they were used to what was provided by the orphanage and anything extra was gained by earning pocket money from small errands, so that much money was unheard of for them. He learns how both see nothing special about themselves, and while the people that gawk and stare the hunched shoulders and tense back shows the magical world as a whole don't believe that about him Fakir feels words clogged in his throat that he knows she is also special in someway no one else would understand. He learns by watching that they fit together like twins, two pieces of a whole and somehow he feels that where there is a duck there is always a raven in some form and his heart is just glad for some reason that this time the raven is not an enemy.

"Can we sit with you on the train?"

The fact it's Corbin who asks is a surprise even as green meets green as Fakir looks down at the boy that acts far too much like the ravens he is named after, even as Professor Mcgonagall attempts to 'help' with a quiet "Mr. McKinnon may be sharing a compartment with others." Which is a bald face lie because the only time he ever 'shared' a compartment is because he had no choice or was cornered and unlike today where such had irritated him and caused a few to flee in tears today had felt oddly safe and normal. So he isn't fully surprise when a casual 'yeah' leaves his mouth and Arianna is there all bright and hopeful.

"Do you promise? You don't have to if you don't want, but we're friends now right and it would be fun to sit with friends on the ride there and you can tell us more stories about the school and check to see if we did good in reading everything we should before getting there."

"Yeah, don't worry. I promise." (I promised you forever after all.)

The McKinnon family was one of the few named families that were not only wiped out by Voldemort but also had family members in the Order. The lone named McKinnon was Marlene McKinnon who was cried over by Lily when her death was found out. In canon they were all wiped out during the first war, but I'm abusing the "Storyspinner" magic to make it where most were wiped out during the war and the rest by remains of uncaught Death Eaters years later, in order to parallel Fakir's canon backstory and have him slot into the role that Ron Weasley had as the pureblood friend of Harry since Arianna/Ahiru has taken the muggleborn spot that Hermione had in canon. This sets me up nicely to explore headcanon on why both sides are as different as they are to cause so many dark lord problems.