The Meeting

Oh, Charles had noticed the weird teenagers in leather alright. He just didn't have any idea who they were, and he still didn't know after being asked for the hundredth time. For some reason, everyone seemed to think that because he was the boy-who-lived, he somehow knew about everything that was happening more than anyone else – which was not true, really.

Professor Dumbledore and his parents rarely even let him know the basic, need-to-know stuff, they just wouldn't tell him about some teenagers that were supposed to be a secret, and – damn, that made him curious.

See, that kind of thinking was what had gotten him into trouble the first three years of his Hogwarts education. Oh, look a little package, how interesting, what could it be? BAM! Nicholas Flamel's stone. Oh, Susan, how are you feeling today, how is Hannah? She's gone? BAM! Secret – deadly – chamber. Oh, look, what a nice rat! Hey, didn't Percy use to have one of those, Fred, George? BAM! Peter Pettigrew.

Every single year.

Charles was decided to make this year at Hogwarts a peaceful year – which was why he was going to forget all about the secretive teens running around. Yeah…

One Friday night, after Quidditch practice, Dean, Seamus and Charles were walking back to their dormitory, rather hurriedly, as they were cutting it close to curfew. At least, there was no-one in sight on the large, old hallways.

"So, Dean," Seamus started with a grin. "I heard that you like that Hufflepuff girl."

Dean blushed, and Charles had to hide his grin – or rather tried to, as seconds later a burst of laughter escaped from his chest.

"You heard wrong," said Dean, embarrassed. His dark skin was tinted with a splash of red.

"Oh, come on, Dean!" Charles encouraged his friend, who looked about to bolt. "What's her name?"

Dean mumbled, twisting his hands.

"Sorry, Dean, I didn't catch that, what was it?" Seamus teased, gesturing to his ear, in a clear signal for Dean to speak louder.

"She is not a Hufflepuff, she is a Ravenclaw - "

"Shhh!" Charles blocked his friend's mouth when he heard footsteps coming from one of the hallways. "Someone's coming!"

"Who?" asked Dean, sounding muffled against Charles's hand.

"I don't know!"

"Shhh!"

The three boys were still, waiting for their impending doom. It was Professor McGonagall for sure, and she was so going to skin them alive, and feed them to Mrs. Norris -

"Do I even have to ask what are you three doing outside?"

It was a new, unfamiliar voice: deep, but still young-sounding – so it wasn't an old professor – something about it made Charles's head ache. After getting over the shock of unfamiliarity, he had noticed something within it, something familiar, but what was it?

A young, dark haired man – or should Charles say, young man – appeared from the darkness. He was wearing dark leather.

Damn.

So much for not being curious.

Charles tried to get as much from the young man in front of him, from just looking, of course, but he felt himself freeze when he saw his face. Pale skin, deep yet gleaming green eyes, and dark, messy hair – longer that what he was used to, though, but when Charles looked at the boy, it was like looking at James Potter.

He felt Seamus and Dean suck up a breath – they too would have recognized the similarities – but he couldn't bring himself to look away. What the bloody hell?

"Er – sorry," he stuttered, feeling suddenly lost. "Who are you?"

The dark haired wizard smirked, but Charles could somehow detect… uneasiness?

"What, you don't remember me?"

A tremor ran through Charles, stopping for a moment on his stomach, before ending on the end of his feet. He felt very cold. He gulped, nervous.

"Sh-should I?"

The wizard scoffed.

"No, of course not," he said, frowning for a moment before his face became calm. "I'm Harry Nightmare, my friends and I were brought here to protect the students."

Charles could almost see Dean and Seamus's skeptical faces. He too, was unconvinced. Protection? When they were so young? What kind of protection could they offer that the seventh years couldn't? He thought to voice those doubts, but the first thing out of his mouth was: "What kind of a surname is Nightmare?"

Harry Nightmare let out a little grin at his question.

"One that I gave myself, of course."

Charles frowned, curious again (yeah, curiosity killed the cat, blah, blah, blah. He couldn't help it). "Why did you choose 'Nightmare'?"

Harry – could he call him that? – smirked, slowly disappearing into the shadows again.

Shocked, Charles turned to his friends, who were looking as he felt. Seamus gulped loudly, looking around them to see if Harry was around.

"I think that's why."

"No kidding."

"Let's just go, guys, now."

Both nodded, and quickly made their way to their dormitories, leaving a smirking shadow behind them.