Disclaimer: I do not own this amazing franchise know as Harry Potter. All rights go to J K Rowling, the author of Harry Potter, and her publishing company whom she probably sold the rights to. This story is written purely for my entertainment with nothing to do with profit or recognition. "I write what I want to write, I write what amuses me, it's totally for myself."- J K Rowling.
Hayden Elddir had always known that he was different. When he'd asked his mother where the Bad Man was and why there had been green light blasting from a wand for the umpteenth time she'd asked him why he thought so. So of course the four-year-old Hayden had replied as best as he knew how; he'd looked his mum straight in the eye and said, "Because the Bad Man killed me, Mum," and her face had told her that was not the right thing to say.
Hayden had not understood that four-year-olds didn't know what death was, nor that you didn't come back from the grave. It was because of that incident that Hayden was sent to a psychologist whom Hayden had instantly adopted as his second father. When the man named Mr. Kings had asked Hayden about his dreams, the small boy had replied that he dreamed of his hand out stretched to catch the ball of gold. He spoke of his nightmares where Hayden was blasted off his feet by bright green light and the dreams of a young teen falling from the sky as the darkness circled him.
Since then the honey-blond-haired boy had kept his dreams and premonitions as quiet as he could. It was odd because sometimes something would just slip out leaving everyone, himself included, confused. In second grade, Hayden had said, "I wish I could fly again," as he stared up at the sky longingly. Of course, Hayden had never flown before, not in a plane or in any other way. Then there was that time when the ever-growing boy had cursed upon Merlin's name, something that confused both himself and others. Who had Merlin been and why was he so important? Hayden had searched the internet for the man with the clunky desktop computer in his home and had found the name Merlin Emyrs, the wizard.
And then there was the ever interesting matter of names. It wasn't that Hayden disliked his name, oh Merlin no; it meant fire and that was pretty cool. It was that he was never able to truly connect with the name. Every so often, he'd hear his own name and be forced to remind himself that Hayden was, well, Hayden. When writing out his own name, his pencil had a tendency to begin on its own, patterning out a c. Chayden. That was what the other children called him. "Hey Chayden," they'd shout with glee, "how you doin' in spelling?" Naturally, Hayden was the best at spelling in his class from kindergarten onwards. He'd been able to spell 'beautiful' without hesitation and correctly in kindergarten and the very next year had correctly spelled 'changeable' and 'judgement', both of which did indeed have an e within them, or two in the case of judgement.
At first Hayden's mom had shrugged off his oddities but as the boy grew older, it quickly became clear that it wasn't just a phase that he would outgrow. At the age of eight or so, Hayden had begun to dream about a story of a boy with a name similar to his own- Harry. There were also vivid dreams of two boy the same age as Hayden with identical red hair and mischievous smiles. There were the two younger girls who giggled away about made-up creatures and successfully dragged Hayden and the evident twins into their hunts. There were two stuck up prats and a dark haired girl named Sabrina.
At fifteen, Hayden sat upon the swings at an old and rundown park in the middle of a baking hot summer. In his hands was a long rod of soft wood and a blunted carving knife. With practiced stroked, the rod became exactly 12 and a quarter inches long with runes carved into the soft wood to create a handle. A sigh escaped the somewhat defeated boy as he placed the blunted knife back into his pack and absently twirled his latest creation in his hands. No matter how hard he tried to do something differently, he always seemed to end up with the same pattern. There had only been one exception. That particular rod had ended up as thirteen and a half inches exactly, a hooked handle shaped like a bone marring its pale beauty. Hesitantly, Hayden picked up the strange rod, twirling it in his fingers with morbid fascination.
"You remind me of someone," a voice said. Hayden dropped the rod in surprise, glancing up to see a slightly small man, perhaps 5'7. Hayden himself would have had a good inch or two on the man if he were to stand up. A head of ash black hair that neatly covered his forehead. Just below his fringe were a pair of emerald green eyes hidden behind a set of dark glasses. "Though I don't think that Cedric ever held that wand." The man chuckled softly, "he was always following the rules, that Cedric." A warm smile traced the man's features. "My name is Harry Potter, lad. Might I ask for yours?"
He was polite, certainly, but Hayden couldn't help but to be suspicious. His mum had always taught him not to talk to strangers. Despite this, Hayden found himself politely introducing himself by the name of Hayden Elddir. Something about what Mr. Potter had said stirred something within the still growing lad. That name… Cedric… It felt so familiar and soothing despite Hayden having never heard it before. A meaning popped into his head. Chief. It was a good meaning, though certainly not as good as fire yet that name still plagued him.
"Interesting," Mr. Potter said with a gentle smile. "Elddir… Spelled Riddle backwards?" Upon receiving a confirming nod, his gentle smile became much sadder and plagued with quiet misery. "My friend whom you remind me of, young Mr. Elddir, he was killed by a man with the last name of Riddle. Oh how ironic Fate's sense of humor can be." He seemed to make a conscious effort to brighten. "So young lad, might I ask what you are doing out on such a day as this?"
Nerves playing with him, Hayden replied. "I'm escaping," he replied simply, "my fellow students have a tendency to be less than playful when it comes to those they dislike."
The sadness returned in Mr. Potter's eyes. A long moment later he replied. "Some people say that fifteen years is a long time to hang onto a memory. They say that fifteen years is too long to hold on. Ce- err, Mr. Elddir, fifteen years is not all that long so hold onto those memories and someday, you can find the answers. Remember, if you have to ask you will never know, if you know you need only ask. The answers are there and I have faith that you will find them."
"I was reborn, wasn't I. I'm your friend Cedric in a second life, aren't I. It explains everything about me, my gift with classes, my dreams, my instincts, everything."
Emerald eyes met luminescent grey. "Yes, I believe so."