Desiring Other Times

Chapter 18 – Culminate

Disclaimer: You are about to enter an alternate universe, one which may seem vaguely familiar but also different. This universe follows the story of 'What if the Boy-Who-Lived had a twin brother who was the Chosen One?' As such, this is not 'Harry Potter is the BWL and the CO', but I still don't own either one.

A/N: Harry may seem to disappear from this arc because, well, he isn't at Hogwarts and that's where all the action happens, no? Don't flame me saying that this is just a story where Harry is merely called something different, because there is a difference. Harry will play an important role to the plot, maybe not in this arc but definitely in the next arc.

x-x-x-x-x-x-x

For a life filled with trials and tribulations, one would think that it would only be fair that once all those troubles have passed, the poor victim would enter a lengthy period of good health, great wealth and unsurpassable cheer. But Life isn't fair, or at least it isn't doing a very good job at it.

Please, if you're listening, be you angel or demon or god, please… give my brother a break, will you?

x-x-x-x-x-x-x

The next morning, I awoke to find that a pile of presents had practically swamped my trunk.

"Er, what?" I shifted a few, and some others tipped over to land on the ground.

"It's not your birthday, is it?" Ron rubbed at his eyes, clearing the sleep from the corners.

"Um, no?" Spotting a card attached to a parcel, I pried it open.

Dearest Jeremy Potter, I read aloud.

It was with much distress that I read the missive that informed me that an assassination attempt had been carried out on your person.

"Missive? What the?"

"Probably the newspaper, Jeremy. Whoever it is, they're trying to make them sound 'closer' to you, or something…" Seamus peered over my shoulder at the letter.

Ron pouted. "Why is it that only Jeremy gets presents? I mean, it wasn't just him that got almost killed!"

I sighed. "I don't want all this," I said as I tossed the card aside. "Help me open them. I'm assuming that Dumbledore's gone through all of these, so they should be safe-"

At that moment, Dean pulled a ribbon and a parcel fell open, and a puff of hot air and sparks flew up.

"Shit!" He tossed the parcel onto my bed and backed away quickly.

"Okay, so maybe he hasn't gone through them…" I pulled out my wand and prodded at the parcel Dean had just opened. More sparks floated up from the box, and they all whirled together, then apart, spelling out a message above my bed.

"To my love, Jeremy Potter?" I read aloud, then banished the sparkling message with a quick wave of my wand. "Great Merlin, what's in the rest of them?"

Inside the parcel was… a Sneakoscope. "Well, at least the present's useful," I murmured, a little grudgingly.

"Ah, who knew you had so many fans, Jeremy?" Henry picked up a few parcels, shook them, then tossed them to the others. Sometimes he opened one up himself, and they always seemed to be rather strange presents, like a cape that could be commanded to bind someone up.

"Gee, if Dumbledore's been through these, why the hell did he let you keep this?" He held up something that looked like a clay pot, the sort the Ancients used to keep wine in. Runes were carved into the surface, winding about the round smooth exterior.

"What the hell is that?" Seamus reached out, but Henry lifted it above his head.

"I wouldn't touch it if I were you. Here," he held it out to me. "They're supposed to recognise the person who first touches it, then they turn into some wacky colour." I looked at him a little suspiciously, but picked it up from the wrapping he had between his hands and the pot.

The moment I touched it, it glowed a brilliant white. "Argh! My eyes!" We all flung our arms up to shield our eyes, and waited for the light to die away.

When it had and we could see again, we noticed that the pot was now a much deeper, almost bloodier red than it had been before. As I tilted it this way and that to have a better look at the runes, the smooth surface reflected the light so that parts of it were cast in a liquid sheen.

"Pretty, but what does it do?" I looked at Henry, wondering if in all his travels back 'home', he knew more about this… whatever it was, other than it would change colours.

"Er, not much." He glanced shiftily at the others, then continued to rummage through the presents. "Well, apparently it works like a Foe Glass… I'm not sure how, but…"

Cautiously, I inched the lid off of the pot, and almost dropped it in shock when a thick smoky mist wafted out of it. "What the…!" I cursed and hurriedly set the pot down. More smoke came out of the clay-like receptacle, until a rather large cloud of it hovered in the middle of the dorm.

"Er… I suppose that's how it shows you your enemies?" Henry stepped about the smoke cloud, which suddenly warped and turned into several ghostly figures that walked without moving an inch and talked and argued and sat or whatever it was they did.

"Look, there's Crabbe!" Neville pointed out a hulking figure that looked as if it was leaning against something, like a stone wall. The Crabbe-ghost had its eyes closed, and as the lot of us peered closer, its eyes snapped open.

"Shit! God, that's bad for the heart…" cursed Dean as he leapt back, clutching theatrically at his chest.

"I don't think he can see us…" Ron waved a hand through Crabbe-ghost's head, and the smoke parted smoothly

"So what, these are like, holograms of my enemies?"

"Holo-whatsits?"

"Holograms- oh, for the love of God… projections, representations, whatever." I replied rather testily to Ron's question. Sometimes I wished the wizards would just take a few lessons about Muggle technology – it might knock them down a few pegs, and it would lead to far more productive conversations.

Henry shrugged. "Probably. But this really isn't much of an improvement on a Foe Glass… Hang on…" Henry frowned at the Crabbe-ghost, who was now clutching his head in agony. "What on earth…?"

Ron looked at his hand, then at Crabbe-ghost's head, then back to his hand again. "Er, maybe when I put my hand through his head…?" He trailed off when Crabbe-ghost went into convulsions. "Crap, I killed him!" He seemed more worried with the fact that he might have murdered someone than the fact that Crabbe seemed to be dying.

"Okay, I take that back," muttered Henry. "It is a little more useful... I wonder…" He trailed off, ignoring the plight of Crabbe-ghost. Instead, he searched through all the figures (more and more were forming), until he finally found what he was looking for. "Hey, look! It's Vold- You-Know-Who!"

The other boys started shouting (they wouldn't scream of course, or at least they would insist that they didn't) and trying to hustle out of the room and satiate their morbid curiosity. "Where?" I tried to look where Henry was looking, and he pointed.

"There."

"Great Merlin, he looks terrible." And he did. Voldemort was still as monstrous as he had been when I had last seen him, but I wasn't sure if it was the Foe-Pot's smoke that made him seem more solid than before, or if he truly was becoming corporeal. "Reckon if I stick my hand through his head he'll cark it like Crabbe seems to be doing?"

Henry shrugged, while Ron looked quite distressed that we weren't paying attention to the fact the he had just killed someone. But then Crabbe-ghost stopped writhing in midair, and merely lay there, breathing deeply (we couldn't hear it, but the smoky figure's chest rose and fell sharply).

"Damn…" I muttered, a little disappointed. "Ah well, let's see what happens…" I stuck out a hand, then swung it sharply through Voldemort-ghost, using the blade of my hand to figuratively slice him from head to toe.

For a few seconds, nothing happened. And then Voldemort-ghost slapped a clawed hand to its head, but the image only lasted for a split second before the pot suddenly burst into a burning brilliance, as if the sun had been catapulted into our dorm. For a few moments, we blinked away tears and tried to see what had just happened. The pot was gone, as were the ghosts.

"Whoops…"

Silence.

"Wonder if there's another one in there?"

As one, we reached for the parcels when a sharp, scraping voice screeched at us. Well, me.

"Potterrrr!" The voice cried and we all shuddered. Then the others really started screaming and dashed for the door, for a smoky figure started to coalesce in the middle of the room, where the Foe-Pot had been. The figure rippled, then formed into a rather ghastly looking figure – one I would not have been able to recognise had I not just seen him in the Foe Pot's smoke just moments ago.

"Voldemort!" I cried, and backed away, stumbling on the back of my robes and falling rather ungainly to the floor.

Henry stood, a little crouched, scowling at Voldemort.

Voldemort seemed to dismiss Henry, thinking him a foolhardy young boy that was hardly worth his time. He focussed on me and floated closer, a menacing ghoul that was steadily losing his earlier rather gremlin-like look (that we saw in the Foe-Pot) and reverting to the ghostly form Harry had described and shown to Mum and Dad and me.

"Meddling Potters…" he hissed and reared back, as if preparing to rush me.

"Yes, plural works best." Henry had his wand out, levelled at Voldemort.

"Plural?" Voldemort's head swivelled about, but Henry was already halfway through his spell.

"Fragmentus Segmentus Spiritus!" He cried, and a part of me quirked an eyebrow at such a long spell. And what the hell did it mean? Fragmented Segment of Spirit? Fragment the Spirit Segment? Eh?

Voldemort bellowed in anger, and the mist he was made of split apart to let the ball of hot pink magic shoot through him – it blasted chunks of stone out of the wall instead. "You won't get me so easily, insolent child!" He cackled, and the hole in his 'chest' disappeared as he reformed again.

Henry gaped – I assumed nothing of this sort had happened when he had fought his Voldemort. Meanwhile, the wall started to crumple, and the ceiling creaked ominously.

"Neither you nor Dumbledore will ever be able to erase me!" were Voldemort's parting words as he disappeared through the window. As he left, dust began falling from the groaning ceiling.

"What. The. Heck. Was. That!" I demanded of Henry, shouting as we stumbled to the door, coughing on the dust that had come from his partial demolition of our dorm.

"Shit!" Henry tackled me, and we went tumbling and rolling to the door, across the landing and down the stairs. Behind, a gargantuan booming crashing sound chased us out of the dorm. More people were screaming, but I couldn't hear them, as if Henry and I were tumbling down the winding stairs so fast that a layer of air cocooned me.

We came to a stop at the bottom of the stairs, and several other students stampeded over the two of us. My elbows and knees had already become a little scraped as I had tumbled down from the fourth landing, but the heavy, thunderous feet of fifth, sixth and seventh year students added bruises and possibly some fractured bones to the mix.

All of a sudden, all the roaring and crashing of the tower falling into well, bits, all of it stopped. There wasn't silence, though, as a few small chunks of stone continued to pebble about us, and a lot of the students were still screaming and shouting. The Fat Lady's portrait hung wide open and students flooded out of it. A couple of professors forced their way in, and all of them pointed their wands up at the main structure of the tower, murmuring spells under their breaths.

Dumbledore wasn't among them, but I assumed he was probably wherever he needed to be to do whatever it was he needed to do. Steady the wards, perhaps. Be outside steadying the tower, or something like that.

Henry and I stumbled to our feet and raced for the portrait, past the staff, a couple of shell-shocked and fear-frozen students, and out into the main corridor.

"Mother of Merlin, what on earth happened up there?"

"I have absolutely no idea."

"I wasn't asking you."

Dean and Seamus bickered, while Neville peered worriedly at Henry and me. "Jeremy? Henry? Are you okay?"

Gasping, I nodded weakly. "Y-yeah, we'll be fine. No thanks to you," I hissed the last bit at Henry.

"Shut up. I wasn't expecting him to be able to do that." He shot back, referring to how Voldemort had, in his ghostly form, managed to avoid the… well, the whatever Henry had fire at him.

Quite a lot of time passed, and all of the school had been shunted into the Great Hall, in case whatever had happened might be only the first in a barrage of attacks on Hogwarts.

"Professor?" Dean waved his hand at McGonagall, a little too fast for Henry to stop him.

"We are in so much trouble," he murmured as McGonagall approached, glancing a little suspiciously at me.

"You got that right…" I replied, sotto voce.

Ten minutes later, Henry and I were in Dumbledore's office.

"You received a Foe Pot in the presents, tried to damage Voldemort through it, which resulted in his penetration into Hogwarts." Dumbledore went down the list, and the both of us cringed. "Then you attacked him – I'd like to know with what! – and destroyed Gryffindor Tower!" This was first time I had seen him practically lose control of his temper – he was that irate.

We blinked at him. Destroyed? Gryffindor Tower?

Dumbledore sighed, pulled out a piece of parchment, tapped it once, twice, three times and the parchment turned into a sort of screen. "This is Gryffindor Tower. Or at least, what's left of it." The parchment showed a crumbling ruin attached to the castle, with only the level with the first years' dorms and the levels below it still (sort of) intact.

"Just what do you think you're doing? What did you do to make Gryffindor Tower fall!" He demanded, then paused. Dumbledore breathed in deeply, then sat back down.

"I…" Henry began, and Dumbledore seemed to frown a little. Perhaps he had been expecting me to speak. "I used the Fragmentus Segmentus Spiritus spell on him."

Dumbledore's eyes widened. "You… you… you what?" He cried, very shocked. "How… how in…?"

Henry sighed. "I guess it's a long story. My name isn't Henry Gates, it's Harry Potter. Not your Harry Potter," he added, when McGonagall, Snape, Flitwick, Sprout and Dumbledore all looked as if they were about to dispute that. "Another Harry Potter. From… from another dimension."

Sprout sat down heavily on a chair, and McGonagall braced herself on the fireplace mantel. Snape and Flitwick stood frozen, although Snape seemed to sway a little. Dumbledore sat frozen in his chair.

"Another… dimension? How did…"

"I tried to go back in time. But it sent me into this dimension, where Harry's twin is the Chosen One. Where his parents are alive. Where Peter Pettigrew is dead and Sirius Black is innocent."

"…of what?" Snape muttered, a little acidly. Flitwick make a shushing noise and flapped his hand at him.

"I'm… well, my universe is quite different to yours. This one, I mean. I didn't have a twin, and my parents died… that night. Lots of things were… are different."

"Why did you try to go back in time?"

"I'd… well, I'd defeated Voldemort… but practically everyone was dead. I made mistakes. Lots of them. So I tried to go back and do it all over again."

"Idiot boy – arrogant Potters…" hissed Snape. "Did it even occur to you that the other side could have done the very same, if it were at all possible?"

Henry shook his head emphatically. "No, they couldn't have." He clarified. "There were several… inimitable circumstances that only I had the opportunity to exploit."

"That doesn't explain what went wrong." commented McGonagall dryly.

"I suppose not. But I did manage to well, uh… go back in the relative timeline, to when Harry Potter was still at Hogwarts. That part worked, I just… ended up in the wrong lane of the parallel universes, so to speak."

"I see…" Dumbledore was about to say more when the door slammed open.

"I hear you have the one responsible for the damage, Albus." Fudge stood there in all his pompousness, flanked by Aurors. "I take it this is him?" He looked pointedly at Henry after he had seen and discarded me as a potential culprit.

Silence. Henry looked a little panicked – one hand was plunged into his right-hand robe pocket, clutching and fumbling for something, as if it were caught in the lining.

"Er, n-" Dumbledore began, but Fudge had already pointed at Henry and nodded sharply at the Aurors.

"Arrest that student!" He cried, and the Aurors rushed forward, wands out. Henry stumbled backwards, pulling out something that looked like an eggcup. Waving one hand, the cup expanded into…

"The Grail!" Dumbledore and Snape cried out aloud, in unison. McGonagall, Flitwick and Sprout had their wands out and were pointing sometimes at the Aurors, sometimes at Henry.

"Boy, you are arrested for attempted mass murder, severe property damage and theft of a Magical icon!" Fudge declared a little too cheerfully.

"I didn't steal it!" shouted Henry a little hysterically. His left hand fumbled with his wand, and on the second swish a jet of water shot into the Grail.

"Then explain how you come to have it!"

"Damn Potters!" bellowed Snape. "That squib must have taken it!" He cried as he also pulled out his wand.

"What? Harry Potter?" Confused, Fudge spun about looking at his Aurors for clarification/confirmation, then at Dumbledore, then at Snape, then back around again.

Henry frowned in concentration, dipped his fingers into the water then whipped his hand out so that the water splashed on the Aurors about him. Almost immediately, the Aurors' clothing turned into stone, leaving the poor wizards and witches encased in stone restraints.

"Get back!" Henry dipped his fingers into the Grail again, lifting a little water up. "Next one to move gets transmuted into a rock!"

Everyone froze, as if they had all been turned into statues.

"Alright, I want all of you that are holding wands to drop them. If you've got your hands inside your pockets, take them out slowly." We did as he told us. "Everyone over there, by the window." We shuffled to the window, and Henry moved at the same time so that he was backing towards the door.

Henry frowned. Then cupped his palm, lifted up some water and swung it at the floor between us. A stone wall rose up, sealing us off from him and the exit.

"Prepare to blast!" The Aurors that still had their wands lifted their arms up. "Fire!" Jets of deep blue (almost purple) magic shot at the wall, and the magic beams fought against the stone, then blasted through with an almighty explosion. Dumbledore managed to get up a shield to reflect the bits of stone that shot in our direction, but the rest of his office wasn't so fortunate.

"After him!" The Aurors crashed through the door, and thundered down the stairs. Fudge paused at the door. "Mark my words, Albus – we'll catch him. He won't be destroying so much as a stone when he's in Azkaban!" Then he disappeared after his Aurors.

Dumbledore sighed and crumpled into his chair.

"He had the Grail."

"Harry must have kept it that night."

"Arrogant…"

"Severus!"

"What does he think he can do? The Ministry isn't going to stop chasing him."

Dumbledore sighed. "I don't know Minerva. Mr Potter," he turned to look at me. "Perhaps you can clue us in to any other… artefacts that your brother possessed that may or may not have been… redistributed."

I shuffled nervously. "Well, there's the sphere…" Dumbledore's eyes lit up, as did Snape's.

"The Sphere? You have it?"

I nodded. Closing my eyes, I called up a few memories of the Sphere and tugged. The professors gasped, and I opened my eyes. The sphere hovered near my forearm, glowing as intensely as it had a month ago, half a year ago, even as strongly as it had been two years ago.

"Well? Anything else your illustrious brother may have stolen?"

I shook my head. "I don't think so." Flitwick was peering intently at the sphere, but Snape leaned down to inform him of the safety mechanism the sphere had demonstrated the last time Dumbledore had come into contact with it.

At that moment, an owl swooped in through the window. It was a rather regal looking owl, one that shot straight at Dumbledore and landed on his arm. Holding out an equally officious looking scroll, it glared piercingly at the rest of us, as if being insulted that it had to put up with our presence.

Dumbledore tugged the scroll out, and read it, growing increasingly pale. "It seems news travels fast, Mr Potter. The Head of the School Governors Board-"

"Lucius Malfoy…" hissed Sprout.

"-yes, Lucius Malfoy, it seems that he has heard from somebody-"

"That gossiping Minister…" Snape raised a fisted hand and brought it back down, as if dearly wishing to hit something.

Dumbledore continued as if he hadn't been interrupted. "-that you are implicated in the situation." He looked at me over his half-moon spectacles, over the letter. "And all of the Governors have signed his petition for you to be… expelled."

McGonagall's eyes widened, as did Flitwick's and Sprout's. Snape seemed to be wrestling with the intense joy he was feeling, trying to prevent it from spreading onto his face.

"…no…" I whispered hoarsely. "They… they can't!"

"Conceited child – did you really think that everyone will do as you wish just because of some silly scar on your head?"

"Definitely not after I met you!" I fired back at Snape.

"Severus! Jeremy…" Dumbledore chided. "The two of you know better than that."

I wasn't listening, I was crumpled on the stone floor of Dumbledore's office. Expelled, expelled, expelled – the word rang through my head, whispering hungrily in my ear, taunting me in all sorts of voices, from Dumbledore's to Voldemort's to Malfoy's to…

Dad's?

"Expelled?!"

What? When did he get here? I glanced at my watch, and to my shock it had been almost ten minutes after Henry had fled the office.

"I will not allow my child to be expelled from Hogwarts!"

"James-"

"No! I'm taking this to the board!"

"How fortunate, Mr Potter." Lucius Malfoy stood in the doorway, surveying the damage that had been done to the office. "For it seems I am here on their behalf. Is there… anything you wished to discuss about your son's impending… change in status?"

Dad's face was twisted in fury, but then something seemed to click in his mind, and his expression smoothed out into something that was a little… smug? "Actually, I think I'll… withdraw my son's enrolment at this institution. You know as well as – perhaps better than anyone that withdrawing a student from a school just happens to be… immediate, while expulsion takes… a week." Dad alluded to how the extremist pure bloods always seemed to have children that got into trouble, and when threatened with expulsion, the Board of School Governors would say that the rules stated that withdrawal could be without notice and was effective immediately, while expulsion was not – this allowed for their children to continue school elsewhere, without having their magical license revoked.

Lucius' eyes narrowed. "Very well, Mr Potter. But do remember that if your son is unable to gain a position at… another institution, his license will still be revoked." His tone seemed to hint at more trouble – perhaps he would make it impossible for me to get enrolled at another school?

Dumbledore looked forlorn, while I picked at the bit on my robes where the Gryffindor emblem had been (it had disappeared the moment said he was withdrawing me from Hogwarts, and my tie had reverted to silky black).

"I'll have your things returned to you in due course, Mr Potter." Dumbledore told me.

"Okay," I murmured in a small voice. Not expelled, but still leaving Hogwarts. Leaving Hogwarts. Going elsewhere. Never in all my life had I contemplated being in such a situation – Hogwarts had been my one and only choice.

I trailed after dad, shuffling out of the office and into the corridor. Dad didn't say anything, but I could practically feel the aura of disappointment emanating from him.

"Your mother couldn't come – she got held back at the Ministry." He informed me rather clinically. "I left Matthew with the Pockets."

"What…" I swallowed around the lump in my throat. "What about Harry?"

"What about him?"

"Does… does he know?" I asked, for lack of a better question.

"Does he know that you almost killed yourself? That you ended up in a situation as perilous as that time and got yourself expelled?"

"I-"

"It's as good as being expelled, having to withdraw you." Uttered dad rather scathingly, as he stormed towards the Entrance Hall. "First morning back and you destroy Gryffindor Tower… Honestly!"

We exited the castle, and he led me to the Portkey Portal. Our family car was parked a little off from it, and we got into the car. Dad slammed the door rather forcefully, and the car shuddered.

The drive home was silent, and Dad left me next to the car, struggling with the trunk.

"Don't know what I'm going to do with you!"

x-x-x-x-x-x-x

Author's Notes: Angst not going down well with you lot? I dunno, doesn't that make it sound like you guys fear being emotional? Ah well, the angst is almost over, we've just got to slog our way through Jeremy getting 'expelled', him transferring over to the school Hermione's currently going to, a whole bunch of Magical people deciding that if the Boy-Who-Lived thinks Hogwarts isn't good enough, then it isn't good enough for them… some anger in the Potter household, the Renaissance of the Dark Lord – whoops, I didn't say that!

1. Foe Pot – ok, you remember the Ancient Romans? And how they used to store liquid things in clay pots? Take one of those amphorae and voila, you have the beginnings of (what looks like) a Foe Pot! Step two: carve in random runes on the surface so that there are several rings of runes circling the pot (you reckon I have a thing with circles?). Now, the magic! Okay, the first person who touches it after it's made: the pot gets calibrated to them (flashy colours and all). Afterwards, remove lid, and out come these smoke ghosts that show your foes and what they're doing – stick your hand through one of 'em and you cause them a world of pain. The whole 'foe' classification is very specific, and it will explain why Jeremy or Harry haven't been attacked by this method (if I decide to release the 'programming code').

2. Fragmentus Segmentus Spiritus – Fragmentus is a corruption of the Latin word 'fragmentum' (the root for 'fragment'), which is derived from the word 'frangere', meaning 'break'. Segmentus is a corruption of 'segmentum' (the root for 'segment'), derived from 'secare', meaning 'to cut'. Spiritus is the Latin word for 'breath', and is the root of 'spirit'.

3. Pulling a student out of a school before they are expelled doesn't really happen much in the Muggle world because (I hope) the schools aren't so corrupt. Here, there is a sort of… lengthy process through which the administration must go through before a student can be expelled, while pulling a student out of the school is effective immediately. This avoids any official ramifications of having been expelled (magical license revoked, wand snapped, unable to take up any 'real' jobs, etc.), and saves some face. James is just pulling a Malfoy, so to speak.

4. James – ah, he's getting pissed. After several years of worrying about Harry, now Jeremy starts acting up and he's gotten himself into so much trouble in his first few hours back at Hogwarts that he almost got expelled! Of course he'd be angry!

I know a lot of you expect me to have this story follow something like 'Harry gets powerful, Harry falls in love, Harry defeats Voldemort, Harry prevents Dumbledore from throwing him in Azkaban, Harry takes Dumbledore's place, Harry marries love (or enters a civil union), Harry lives happily ever after'. Well, that's not what's going to happen. Maybe he'll fall in love and marry them. Maybe he'll become empowered (actually, he will, but in a Muggle sense). But this isn't a Super Harry Beats Voldemort and Dumbledore and Anyone Who Ever Said Anything Bad About Him story.

This is, and will continue to be, a DollarSign-hit happens story, being as out there yet still vaguely realistic as possible. Things will happen that might not seem to be the 'best' for the story, but did Osama bin Laden consult George Bush on terrorism and if it fit into the story Bush wanted (and wants) to spin? There's realism, and then there's real realism in stories – although it will still have those Isn't-It-Convenient moments like how the three pivotal roles 'just happen' to be held by three brothers. That is a tip of the (cynical) hat to J. K. Rowling, and all other fiction authors.