AN: This chapter contains my attempt at bringing some peace between the warring fandoms of Harry Potter and Twilight. Might not be to everyone's taste, but I'm kinda annoyed about the endless arguments (Twiglit sux. Harry Potter is awesome and Harry si so SMEXY!11! Nuh-uh, Twilight is so romantic! Nothin evr happens in Hairy Potty) between the series, especially as lots are terrible arguments with horrendous spelling.
Lysander Xenophilius Scamander
His twin
For twins, Lysander and Lorcan were not very similar – personality wise, that is. They had the same basic image – white blonde hair, prone to tangles; pale blue eyes; pointed chins; wide cheekbones – but how they decorated their image was completely different, as dissimilar as their outlook on life. Whilst Lorcan had to be presentable and brush his hair every day, Lysander was more willing to let things like appearance slide. So what if his hair was long, loose and tangled? So what if he tied his shoes with grass sometimes? He was actually rather proud of his grass laces; it took complex magic to weave together several pieces of grass in a way that it was both flexable, strong and thin enough to fit in the little holes in his shoes. But in the end, none of this mattered. Lysander loved his twin, and knew that his twin loved him. What did the differences matter, in the end?
Moon Frogs
He did it. He proved it. He proved them wrong. All the experts, all the Magizoologists. Moon Frogs did exist, and he, Lysander Scamander, had proved their existence. It had not been easy. For a start, he had to get to the moon to collect and sample, which required building a broom to get there. The first five broom designers laughed his out of their shop, but the sixth, a small place off Diagon Alley, had taken one look at his determined face – for one not dazed or daydreaming – and had reached for his quill. The design stage had taken months; spells had been invented specifically to help create the broom. Specimen bags – made to mimic the moon habitat – were built in. Various tracking charms were performed; proof that he had actually gone to the Moon, and not a Yurt in outer Mongolia. He practiced the bubble-head charm for hours at a time, days even. It would take over four months to fly to the moon and back, and the majority of that time would be in space. His family begged him not to. His friends thought he was mad. Society thought he was insane. But he did it. The first wizard the touch down on the moon since the famous Neil Armstrong (Muggles might believe it was science that got them into space, but it was actually a talented wizard and a very strong buoyancy charm). The ribbit-ribbit was like music to his ears.
Wind
When he was seven, Lysander almost died. Almost being the operative word: his magic prevented any real damage. One Sunday in November, Lysander found himself alone an exceptionally bored. Mum, Dad and Nook (Grandpa didn't like being called Grandpa) were debating the migration paths of Crumple-Horned Snorkacks and Lorcan was reading in the corner, so Lysander found himself climbing the stairs to explore. Up, up, up; past Grandpa's study-living room-bedroom to his Mum's old room. This was where he stayed with Lorcan whenever then came to visit. And then, daringly, up some more! Up through the trapdoor in the ceiling and onto the roof! What a view! The hills! The sky! The wind... With a shocked shout, Lysander found himself blown over the roof edge and falling down, down, down into the garden below. He landed on the Snargaluff, which immediately shot out prickly, bramble-like vines and proceeded to attack him. Needless to say, Lysander never climbed onto a roof again.
Twilight
Perhaps the one thing Lysander had in common with the general population of Hogwarts (well, some of the population, the majority of whom were female) was an unexpected love of a certain series of vampire romance novels. Was it the rain? The romance? The sparkling? Lysander didn't know for certain (he did have a thing about rainy days) but about three thing he was absolutely positive: Firstly, for some reason, the sparkling attracted him. Secondly, there was a part of him – and he didn't know how big – that wanted to go to the all-night movie marathon of the five movies. And thirdly, he adored the special edition box set Lorcan had bought for his birthday.
Death
It disappointed him – in his final, coherent moments – that he didn't die an interesting death. Having spent a lifetime attempting to be different, passing in his sleep didn't appeal much. However, the control he had over such matters was rather limited – excluding throwing himself in front of a Healer's broom (and wouldn't that be an ironic way to go!) – there wasn't much he could do about it all. So there he sat, watching the sun set and his vision slowly cloud over. Perhaps this wasn't such a bad way to go after all.
This chapter is dedicated to my Grandad. Wherever you are, whether it be eating wine and cheese in the south of France or walking through the streets of Singapore, may you rest in peace.