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Thank you all so much for the reviews! I'm so glad you guys like the story so far.

I just got this chapter finished, so I thought I'd get up.

I hope you guys like it and please review!

:)

Christopher woke up with a had felt the sting of finger's prodding at a painful spot on his torso, causing the boy to wake up from his almost peaceful sleep. An old woman was tending to the wound on his chest, whipping at it with swabs of gauze. Chris sat up straight and backed up into the bedpost, letting out a small gasp at the sudden pain this caused his injured torso. He was about to reach out and attack the woman, but thought otherwise. She was just an old woman, not really any threat to him, and if she did try to attack him, he'd hurl her across the room in a blink of an eye, conjure up an athame, and pin her down.

"Who the hell are you?!" Chris questioned, eyeing the oddly dressed woman with a threatening, but curious stare. His eyes travelled quickly around the room, taking in his surroundings. The room was lined with beds, blue curtains pushed up next to each, protecting each patient from any intruding eyes. The sun was high in the sky, shining in through the ancient looking windows. Chris noted the old, elegant, architecture and arches that rose high above his head. He seemed to be in. . .a castle?

"I am Madam Pomfrey," the old nurse quickly introduced herself, resting two sturdy hands on the boy's shoulders. Chris flinched from her touch. She gave him a warm, but stern, smile and placed her hands on his shoulders once again, "Now," she pushed the boy back down into his bed, "lay back down and let me finish healing your wounds."

"No," Chris protested. The teenager sat back up in his bed and pointed towards the woman, "you better tell me where I am and how the hell I got here," he spoke in an authoritative and threatening tone, "or I'll--"

"Oh, Christopher!" the boy stopped his threat mid sentence and turned his attention to the unfamiliar voice. An old man walked up to him, adorned in a long, elegant green and gold robe. The old wizard had a sort of twinkle in his blue eyes, "I see you've woken up." The man reached his bedside. Chris gave the old headmaster a somewhat intimating glare, but Dumbledore went unfazed. The smile on his face still shined brightly, and the twinkle in his eyes stayed.

Chris' eyes quickly scanned the room, spotting a pair of scissors, his only choice of weapon if the time called for a fight. He clenched his fists and narrowed his eyes, "How do you--"

"Do not be alarmed," Dumbledore raised his hands up, "we are not enemies," he assured the boy, "we only intend to help." He looked over to Madam Poppy Pomfrey with a smile, "I know you have many questions, but we can discuss them while Madam Pomfrey works on your wound."

Chris hesitated. He wasn't sure if he could trust the old man, but pain was pulsating through his torso, and he knew he was in dire need of medical treatment. The energy ball had singed his skin terribly, leaving him with what looked like a second degree burn. He couldn't risk infection, and if this. . .Madam Pomfrey was offering her help, it couldn't hurt to take it. Besides, if the two strangers did try anything, he could overpower them. He was a witch, after all.

He allowed himself to lower his guard somewhat, and laid himself back down onto the bed.

Madam Pomfrey took a step closer to the child and dabbed at the wound with gauze as she continued her examination, trying to decide which spell would be best to fix the singed skin. While the boy had been unconscious, she had tried many different chants. None seemed have any effect though. The wound seemed almost permeant, as well as the curse that she had discovered had been placed upon the child. Effrego mens, she recalled was the incantation. It was strictly forbidden amongst all magical communities. Playing around with someone's mental sanity was considered unforgivable. Much to her disappoint, this was one aliment she could not fix. She was in no way trained to mend the boy's fractured mind. All she could do was inform Dumbledore of the boy's situation, tell him of the symptoms that would shortly follow--the hallucinations, the nightmares--and advise him in quickly finding a wizard that was specially trained to reverse the affects of the curse.

Chris turned his gaze towards the old headmaster, eyeing the man with a cautious curiosity, "Let's start with the basic, shall we?" the teenager went to cross his arms, but felt a swift swap on his upper left arm by Madam Pomfrey. She scolded him for almost being so foolish as to brush his wound and turned her attention back towards the injury.

"Who are you, where am I, and how the hell did you get me out of that cell?" he winced as the nurse brushed his burned skin a little too rapidly and sent an irritated glare the old woman's way. She suddenly pulled out a wand, much to Chris' shock and surprise and swung it swiftly, end pointed towards his wounded chest. She chanted a song like phrase and Chris' wound suddenly began to heal. The boy looked down at his bare, uninjured chest and rubbed the spot where the wound had been. He suddenly looked up towards the two wizards, "So, I'm guessing you guys are wizards," he inferred, nodding towards the wand in her hand, "and wizardry isn't a common practice in the Americas, so I'm guessing we're in Britain. . .?" he nodded to himself, musing aloud the information that he had pulled from the back of his mind. All of those days of studying and reading about the magical community really seemed to pay off, "Britain is the most common place where Wizardry is practiced."

Dumbledore smiled widely, "You know quite a lot about the magical community," the old man noted, "did your mother teach you these things?" Chris' eyes suddenly widened at the mention of his mother and he sat up in his bed, "Halliwell is quite a well known name in both the Wiccan and Wizarding communities." Dumbledore took a seat next to his young charge, "I have read books on the lineage of your family and the battles they've fought."

"Then you've heard that they all died, correct?" Chris retorted, his eyes traveling to the blue blanket that covered his legs, "Well, other than my dear old brother and myself." Thoughts of Wyatt sent feelings of rage through Chris' mind. His brother had killed them all. Every last one of them. He wanted to kill his brother for doing this to him, for killing them all right in front of his own eyes; but the older boy was his brother, and even though the thought of the tyrant filled the boy with rage and hate, he couldn't get himself to fight against his brother. He couldn't get himself to kill the only family he had left. He wanted to, but he couldn't. He didn't want anymore blood on his already crimson stained hands, especially the blood of family.

"Sadly, yes, I've heard the news," he gave the boy a somewhat sympathetic look. He could tell the topic was something the seemed almost uncomfortable for the child, so he didn't press on it any longer.

"Why am I here?" Chris suddenly blurted out, his eyes traveling back up towards the old wizard. The boy had quickly gone back to an expression that was meant to make the man fear him, feel somewhat threatened. The wizard was barely put off though, and his friendly smile still remained as he begun.

"A war zone is no place for a child," he started, receiving a hardened glare from the boy, "I brought you here under the request of an old friend," the old man smiled at the thought of the familiar brunette woman, "your whitelighter, actually."

Chris laughed, "Aunt Paige?" he let his head fall into his hand and let out another laugh. Of course it was his Aunt Paige that set this thing up. She'd been oh so worried about him and his status in the war. She was upset with his choice of neutrality. She insisted that he joined the Resistance, fought the good fight, all of that jazz. Chris was strictly against it though. He refused to go up against his own brother. Even if he hated the older Halliwell, he couldn't get himself to fight. They were family. It just wasn't right. "Family comes first;" that mantra had been inculcated into his mind by his mother. He couldn't kill his own brother, not when a part of him--a small part--couldn't bring itself to hate Wyatt.

"She would do this," he looked up towards the old wizard from between two fingers, "so, what do you two plan to do to me? Force me to fight along side the Resistance?" Chris paused and grinned, "That won't ever happen."

The old man merely smiled and pulled out his wand, conjuring up a cup of tea. He took a graceful sip before speaking, a warm smile on his face, "Well, my plan was to simply get you to my school, as your aunt wished," he stopped for a moment to take another sip of his lemon tea, "you are still a minor, correct?"

"Why does that matter?" he snapped, giving the man a withering glare.

"Well," the man's voice trailed for a moment, that familiar twinkle appearing in his eyes, "you do know that all magical beings under the age of eighteen must be educated in the craft, correct?"

The boy suddenly looked dumbstruck. He had vaguely remembered hearing about that law when he was younger, before the war started. It was ages ago, and it almost felt like a dream to the boy. His mother had been still alive, and he was just a small, innocent child, who still had time for the casualties of youth; playing on playgrounds and wrestling in the dirt on beautiful sunny days. He was to start his first day at magic school, at his father's wishes, of course. The young Halliwell was not too pleased with the idea of leaving the comfort of his mother's protective home to go to a foreign school with his father. He remembered clinging to his mother's leg, his small arms wrapped tightly around her lower leg. He pleaded with her, begging her to let him stay, crying "please don't make me go, please!" She gave him a warm smile and gently lifted him off of her leg and held him against her hip. "You have to go, Peanut," she told him, "you don't want mommy to go to jail, do you?" His small, childish, eyes widened and she continued on, "the law says you must go to school to learn how to use your powers," she brushed a strand of his shaggy hair out of his face, "you don't want me to get in trouble, do you?" At that, he shook his head quickly and his mother handed him over to his father. "Don't worry Chris," his father had assured him, "we'll be back home before you know it." With that, father and son disappeared in swirl of blue and white orbs.

"Christopher," Dumbledore spoke, causing Chris to snap out of his reverie and look over towards the old headmaster. Once the old man was sure he had caught the boy's full attention, he continued, "Since the Americas prove unsafe for you, your Aunt has decided that this school, Hogwarts, would be the best place for you."

Chris rubbed at his temples vigorously, trying to keep his temper in check. He couldn't believe that his meddling aunt had to, yet again, try to gain some sort of control over him. She had always been like this, every since she was appointed his whitelighter. She kept him in check, enforcing strict rules on his magic use and limiting his freedoms. They had lost contact right after the war had started. When he had joined Wyatt's side, against her wishes, she had told him she would not aid him any longer. Chris was fine with it though. She didn't understand. Wyatt was the only living family he had left. He refused to be alone and felt that the pain of isolation was far worse than helping his brother.

When she had heard that he broke off ties with Wyatt and betrayed the side he was fighting with two years later, she had rushed to find him. Chris wouldn't let that happen, though. He cloaked himself from both Paige and his brother. It had taken him some time to realize, but the pain of isolation was far better fit for him, though it ended up being sort of a punishment for all of the terrible things he had done while he fought along side his brother.

Before Chris could speak, Madam Pomfrey swiftly made her way over to his bedside, noticing the distress that her patient seemed to feel. The boy was worn as it was, and she would not let the headmaster cause the boy anymore anxiety.

"I'm sorry," she spoke up, laying a firm hand on her patient's shoulder. Chris looked up towards the woman, a little startled by the touch, "Dumbledore, I can not allow you to get this boy so worked up," her face held a stern and authoritative expression, "I am going to have to ask you to leave. The child needs to rest."

Dumbledore gave the woman a kind and understanding smile and rose to his feet, "You are right, Madam Pomfrey," he turned to look at the young American in front of him, who was forcefully pushing the old nurse's hand off of his shoulder. He glared up at her, clearly annoyed, "Christopher," the teenager's head snapped in the old man's direction, "get some rest. We will get you prepared to start school tomorrow."

Chris rolled his eyes and mumbled, "There's no way in hell. . ." he let his voice trail off as Madam Pomfrey pushed him down into his bed.

"Rest," she ordered, pointing a finger at the boy before quickly making her way over to Dumbledore's retreating form. Her eyes wandered back to her patient for one brief second, before turning her attention back to the headmaster. She would bring up the curse that had been placed upon the child as soon as he was out of ear shot. She didn't want to cause the boy anymore strain. The boy needed rest and she would make sure he got it.

Chris ran a hand over his face and shut his eyes. It all felt like some sort of bad dream. This whole war felt like some sort of bad dream. Maybe Wyatt was feeding this illusion into his fractured mind. Maybe he was still chained in that cell, his body hanging limp while his brother fiddled with his mind, forcing these. . .delusions into his mind. Chris let out a snort; he wished. This was one illusion his brother could not even imagine to conjure up. The older Halliwell wasn't even aware that there was wizardry in Britain from what Chris knew, or that there was a schooling system for them.

Chris let out a sigh and opened his eyes, letting them travel to the foreign form that had appeared in front of him. He recognized the face instantly, even though the pale, gaunt body was covered in blood. It was Henry Jr., his deceased cousin. The boy stared at him with haunted hazel eyes, causing Chris to quickly shut his own. He knew it wasn't real, he knew his cousin was just another hallucination. This wasn't the first time that he had faced a delusion like this. While hanging in that damp cell, he was. . .visited by many of his deceased friends and family. He had learned just to shut his eyes, squeeze them shut as tight as possible, and count down from five. When he would snap his eyelids open, the illusion would be gone.

He began his countdown.

Five. . .he remembered the horrifying screams that his cousin let out as Wyatt tortured him.

Four. . .the scrunched expression on the boy's face, displaying the agonizing pain he must have felt as Wyatt stabbed him with an athame over and over.

Three. . .oh God, the blood. All the blood. It covered the young boy, staining his fair skin with crimson red.

Two. . .the screams of his aunt Paige echoed through the room. The cries she wailed out, begging Wyatt to stop, pleading him.

One.

Chris opened his eyes wide and looked back where delusion of his young cousin had been. The illusion of the young boy had vanished.

Thank you all so much for reading.

I hope you guys liked the chapter and I will try and get the next one done and up as soon as I can. Harry will come in soon, probably like a chapter from now he, Ron, and Hermione will appear.

Thank you again for reading and please review! Every one is appreciated!

:)