Disclaimer: I own nothing!
Sorry about the long wait and all, I've been kind of busy. The year is winding down and finals are starting Tuesday this week.
Enjoy this chapter, I promise the next one will be longer and better.
Bodies. Hundreds of the them. For miles and miles that was all that the fourteen-year old could see. Smoke rose from the fires that engulfed the buildings surrounding them, blocking out the sun. Screams could be heard from the distance--horrific, blood-curdling screams--causing Chris' eyes to slightly widen. He quickly turned his attention to the bodies beneath his feet--the bodies of men, woman, and children, all innocents--and leaned down beside one. It was a small girl, probably five of six. Her eyes were wide open, glazed over with white. Blood seeped through her shirt and covered the ground beside her. Chris kept a blank expression on his face. He really felt for the child, he should have help her--helped them all--but it had been his plans that had killed her. He was what killed her.
"Christopher," the voice of the teenagers older brother called from behind him. It was stern, but somewhat compassionate.
Chris didn't respond. He just kept his position and let his eyes travel over the lifeless bodies that were scattered across the streets.
"Christopher," Wyatt grabbed his brother's arm and forced him up. He turned the boy with force and examined his brother's emotionless expression, "Don't you go blaming yourself for this," Wyatt paused, knowing exactly what his brother was thinking, "you didn't kill any of these people Christopher," he assured his brother, "I killed them, me and my minions, not you. . ." Chris just stood in place, eyes towards the ground, "You must understand, Christopher, they were getting in the way. They don't see things like we do. Good and Evil are just concepts contrived from the mind, they don't exist Christopher, the only thing that does exist is power."
"Wyatt. . ." Chris' voice came out in barely a whisper. He didn't agree with his brother, he didn't agree with any of this. It wasn't right, killing innocents like this. These people didn't deserve to die. They never did anything wrong, other than disagree with Wyatt. His brother had no right to kill these people, no right. But yet he didn't stop him. He shouldn't be allowing this to go on. . .
"Christopher," Wyatt curled his lips into a smile and placed a hand on his brother's shoulder, "we've only got each other now," Dammit, Chris cursed, the stupid bond they had. Wyatt had listened in on his thoughts again. He knew playing the family card would make those thoughts vanish quickly from his head. "We've got to stick together; it's you and I against the world."
Chris nodded his head weakly and his brother's smile grew wider, "Come on," he smiled, "let's get out of here, celebrate our victory."
The two brother's disappeared in a swirl of white and black orbs, leaving the carnage and destruction behind them.
From that day on Christopher Perry Halliwell was a murderer.
Dumbledore sat at his desk, a cup of tea in his hands. He wore a friendly grin as he watched the American teenager that sat in front of him. The boy had his arms crossed and gave the man a hard glare.
"This really isn't the best time to enforce this law," Chris informed the headmaster, leaning in slightly towards the man, "I mean, if you haven't noticed, things are getting pretty chaotic back over in America."
"Well, the Resistance can take care of it, can't they," Dumbledore took a sip of his tea, twinkle in his eyes, "This should not get in the way of your education, Christopher--"
"I'm going to cut in for a second," his hands gripped onto the arms of the chair. He was trying to keep his anger in check, because he was seriously debating jumping the old wizard, "One; Don't call me Christopher," he pointed a finger at the man, "Only two people are allowed to call me that; my brother, who I hate, and my father, who I hate even more. And Two; War should definitely get in the way of my education. I need to be in America."
"From what I've heard Christ--Chris," he corrected himself quickly before continuing, "you are on no side right now," he took a sip of his tea and watched the boy.
"So what?" Chris rose his hands up, "There are still people who need help. I do help innocents you know," he pointed out, "you don't have to be on a side to do that."
"That is true," the man smiled and nodded, "But there are others who can help innocents while you are away," he assured the boy, "It won't be that painful, Chris. It's just school, and besides, your aunt said you were quite an intelligent boy. You'll do fine."
"Well, my aunt needs to butt out!" his eyes travelled to the ceiling, hoping that somewhere Up There, his aunt was hearing this, "I'm none of her concern. I can take care of myself, I have been for years!"
"She's your whitelighter, as well as your aunt," Dumbledore pointed out, "You are her concern."
Chris snorted and crossed his arms, "You know, what you're doing is completely unfair." Chris watched as the headmaster took another sip of his tea, shinning him a friendly smile once the cup was away from his lips, ". . .And I can tell you won't change you're mind about it," Chris sighed and rubbed at his temples, "Fine, I'll attend your dumb school, but don't think that you can expect me to follow any of your rules. I do what I want."
Dumbledore chuckled and placed his cup down on a saucer, "I wouldn't expect any less of you, Chris. You Halliwell's are rather independent. I learned that from your aunt."
"Glad we have an understanding then," Chris smirked and leaned back in his chair. He wasn't too pleased with the arrangements, but as long as he was here he would make the best of it. He did need some rest. He had just been saved from three months of captivity.
The old man pushed his chair back and stood up, "Well then, let's get you sorted, shall we?" He walked off behind Chris, the boy turning his head slightly to keep a cautious eye on the old wizard. He reached up for a hat that sat on display atop a mantel and took it from it's stand. It reminded Chris of one of those hats that witches were pictured to wear, black and pointed at the top. No witches to his knowledge would ever be caught dead in one of them though.
Dumbledore turned and walked back towards the boy, hat held with both hands, "This," his eyes travelled down to the hat, "is the Sorting Hat."
Chris studied the old hat, taking in the creases where it folded down. He noted that it almost resembled a face. One crease forming pointy eyebrows while the other made a sort of mouth.
He looked back up at Dumbledore, a little bemused, ". . .And you're showing me your hat because. . .?"
The old wizard smiled, "There are four houses at this school," he explained, Chris giving him a somewhat uninterested expression. He went on, none the less, "There is Slytherin, Ravenclaw, Hufflepuff, and Gryffindor. This hat," he nodded down to the hat with his head, "will decide where you are best suited."
Chris looked up at the old wizard as if he was a lunatic, "At hat," he looked back down at the hat, "a hat will decide what house I should be in." Dumbledore nodded, "Are you sure there's nothing wrong with you up there, old man?" Chris pointed to his head, still a little taken back by the suggestion that an inanimate object would somehow choose where he would be staying.
Dumbledore merely chuckled at the young American, "Yes, I'm positive," He placed the hat on the Halliwell's head, the boy's eyes going wide as the large hat covered his eyes, "Now, let's get you sorted."
"Oh, a witch!" a small, gruff voice screamed in his ears, causing Chris to jump, "I've never had to sort your kind before." the Hat paused, pondering for a moment, before continuing, "You have quite a darkness to you, such hate, something you've been trying to stray from. . .Slytherin may be a suitable place, perhaps if you just embraced that darkness, you could do wonders with your powers," the Hat paused again, "Oh, but you are quite intelligent, ambitious to learn, one of the most brilliant minds I've seen. You'd do even greater things in Ravenclaw. . ."
Chris rolled his eyes at the indecisiveness of that hat, "Oh come on," he whined, "stop pondering so much and pick a house already."
The hat simply ignored him and continued, "No, perhaps Gryffindor would be best. You're a brave soul, very courageous and selfless. . .yes, yes, it shall be. . .GRYFFINDOR!" The hat's once quiet voice grew into a loud, dramatic, exclamation.
The hat was lifted off his head by the smiling old headmaster, "Gryffindor. . ." the man mused aloud softly as he walked back to the mantle, "I think that is the perfect place for you." He placed the hat back down on the mantle and turned to look at his younger charge.
"There is something else we must discuss before I send you to your house," he told the boy as he made his way back over to his desk, "Madam Pomfrey and I both noticed that you seemed to be cursed. . ." his voice trailed off as he took a seat, "I believe it was Effrego mens," Chris suddenly tensed at the incantation, "it is a strictly forbidden spell, highly dangerous if used. One mistake and one's mind may turn into a state of permanent chaos."
"I'm well aware of all that," Chris crossed his arms and gave the man a hard glare, "And so was my brother."
"Well," Dumbledore started, "you're mind is already fractured, thankfully not permanently. A teacher here at the school, Professor Snape, is specialized in the Dark Arts. He has agreed to help you mend your mind. A few sessions with him every week, and your mind can be fixed completely."
"How do I know you won't screw with my mind more?" Chris asked, sending an accusing glare the old headmaster's way.
"We are not enemies, Chris," the man reminded him, repeating the phrase from the day before, "we are not going to hurt you, I promise you that."
Chris sighed and ran a hand through his hair, "Fine," he accepted the man's proposal, "I'll take this Snape guys help, but if he does anything to screw up my mind even more, I won't be accountable for what I do to him."
Dumbledore lightly chuckled and nodded his head, "He will only help you, I promise that."
Chris sighed. Dumbledore watched as the boy slid down in his chair and stuffed his hands in his pocket.
Chris wasn't exactly pleased with his circumstances, but he was getting help with the curse. If this opportunity hadn't arose, he would have had to go Up There and ask those idiot Elders. Going Up There would mean a definite confrontation with his father. He really didn't want that. The last time he had seen his father was almost one year ago. Leo had found him somehow, even though he thought he was blocking everyone from sensing him, and appearing in a swirl of orbs on the Golden Gate Bridge. His father quickly mouthed words of concern for him, and practically scolded him for not taking a side. It was like Aunt Paige and him had been having meetings behind his back. He quickly told his father to "go to hell" before orbing out and making sure he was as far away as possible from both his father and Wyatt.
"I'll call Professor McGonagal," Dumbledore told the boy, cutting his mental recollection short. He peered up at the old headmaster with a look of confusion, "she's the head of your house," Dumbledore clarified, "she'll bring you to your dorm. You will start classes tomorrow, but today, just get settled in. You can conjure up your belongings, correct?"
"Yeah," Chris nodded, "the little that I own."
"Good," the man smiled before continuing, "I'd like to chat with you again tomorrow," he folded his hands and rested his elbows on his desk, "after your classes. How does tomorrow night at seven sound?"
"It's not like I can say no," Chris mumbled, crossing his arms and leaning back. He curled his lips into a smirk, "Sounds just delightful, old man."
Thank you all so much for reading, and sorry this starting off kind of slow. Hermione is definitely introduced in the next chapter, and I will try and get it up as soon as I can.
In the meantime, please review!
:)