Disclaimer: The day I own Harry Potter or X-Men will be the day that I can finally stop worrying about how to buy things I like for cheap.
A/N: I don't think I've been this excited about writing a fic in a long time. Unfortunately, it's right as my break is ending, so I guess I'll just have to go on a writing spree now. We'll just hope that inspiration doesn't suddenly dry up and smack me in the face with writer's block.
April 1982
Charles wasn't sure why he was teaching Erik how to play Quidditch since really, he was a terrible flyer (the first time he had tried riding a broom, it had smacked him in the face, and then he'd ridden it straight into a tree), but with the aid of several books (thankfully there were diagrams that would helpfully zoom around again and again if asked), the Xavier's ancient Quidditch kit (not all of his ancestors had been bookish after all), and the large collection of brooms that had been collected over the years, it seemed to be going well.
"What's the point of only ending the game after the Seeker catches the Snitch?" Erik complained, floating steadily on a Nimbus 1001, "Doesn't that mean the game could theoretically last forever?"
Charles nodded, clutching for dear life on the Silver Arrow broom (really an antique that should be in a museum, but he liked how steady and non-psychotic it was. The brooms had personalities; he always felt that the Nimbuses sensed his distaste for flying and wanted to dump him off in mid-flight), "The record, according to Quidditch Through the Ages anyway, was six months."
Erik snorted, smacking a bludger away to hit a tree with a crack, "That's pointless."
"I suppose you wouldn't want to play Seeker then?" Charles called out, cautiously propelling the broom to float closer to Erik.
"No," Erik replied, throwing the quaffle through the topmost hoop (Charles wondered sometimes, seeing Erik's happiness about flying, if he was ungrateful about having a Quidditch field when most children who would kill for this did not, but then again a giant library had to be appreciated as well).
"If you want to try being a Chaser, I could try playing Keeper, although I warn you that I might fall off the broom if you make any sudden motions," Charles suggested, hoping that his innate magic would assert itself and levitate him if he fell (most of the time his magic didn't bother, too busy peering into people's minds).
Erik placed a steadying hand on Charles' shoulder and said dryly, "Maybe not. Besides, watch."
He waved his hand, and the floating bat zooms out to meet the bludger and whacks it down into the ground, making a sizable hole.
"Definitely Beater then," Chares remarks, sincerely hoping the house elves would clean that up before his mother saw it (Mother did not like Erik; she always sniffed and said that he wasn't really their kind, but honestly, if the other pureblood kids, besides Tony Stark because he was usually fun, he meets at parties are, then he'd rather be Erik's kind).
Erik grins, and Charles is about to suggest that they release the second bludger and set up some targets when there's a sharp crack and a weeping Doodge is floating before them and twisting his ears around and around.
Charles waits, but the house elf seems intent on sobbing and twisting its own ears off.
"Yes Doodge?" Charles finally asks, wondering if the elf had smashed one of the vases or accidentally destroyed one of his robes in the wash.
"Master Charles!" the house elf finally managed to squeak out, "Mistress Xavier has told me—
Mistress Xavier said—Mistress Xavier told me to tell you—"
Doodge burst out crying again, and Charles worriedly convinces the broom to fly slowly back to the ground. The house elves got very emotional over whatever they considered their own breaches of duty, but he had never seen one crying this hard.
"Doodge, what is it?" Charles asked trying to look Doodge in the eye (it was hard to read house elves' minds, but he could sense griefsadnessgrief), "What did mother want you to tell me?"
"Master Xavier is dead," Doodge gasped out, and then disappeared again with a crack and a sob.
Dead?
"Charles, you have to eat something," Erik pleaded.
Charles gave him a blank (empty) look and turned back to stare out of the wide window.
Erik bit his lip and put down the tray of small fruit tarts and sandwiches that he had convinced the despondent house elves to make. Charles hadn't spoken to anyone since Doodge had come with the news, but what really disturbed Erik was that he had not seen his friend cry. At first he had thought it was just shock, so he had guided a limp Charles back into the house to the library, wrapped him in all the blankets he could find (that was what you were supposed to do with shock victims, right?), searched for Charles' mother, found her completely drunk in the parlor, left her there (just slightly disgusted), found Charles' favorite book (The Once And Future King), bullied the grieving house elves into making hot chocolate (he thinks he should feel bad, but Charles is more important), placed the hot chocolate in front of (an awfully still) Charles, and started to read him the book out loud ("On Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays it was Court Hand and Summulae Logicales…") .
But that had been a week ago, and Charles still had not talked to him. He hadn't spoken to anyone since then. He hadn't even felt Charles' light touch in his mind for the past week. And he still hadn't cried.
He thought that maybe Charles' mother would come and comfort Charles (that was what mothers were for, "Es ist gut, Erik, es ist gut," telling you it's okay even when it's not) but so far he has only seen Charles' mother stumbling through the corridors with yet another bottle, smelled the stink of alcohol in the rooms she has been in, and heard her wails of grief at night. He's not going to get any help there.
(He feels sad too; Charles' father was a good man, even if he knows that the only reason the pureblood head of the Xavier family had bothered to take him in was because Charles had insisted. He had been kind, Charles had obviously adored him, and if he ever finds out which Death Eater had killed him in that raid, he will see to it that that person suffers the same fate as Shaw.)
"Charles."
No response, not even a twitch.
"Charles," Erik repeats, stepping behind the other boy and placing a hand on his shoulder.
Charles stiffens, and draws away from Erik's touch, curling up in a small ball of blank misery on the window-seat.
(Part of him, the part that whispers and hates and sneers, mutters that it is fitting. That it is fair that Charles should know for once, exactly how it feels to lose something. That it is only appropriate for Charles who had everything to lose something in the war that has taken away everything Erik once knew.
But this is the part of him that Erik squashes down, and grinds his heel in for good measure. He doesn't want Charles to go through that; he never wants Charles to experience what he endured. Charles is a spoiled, charming little brat who natters away constantly, is always curious, and above all, is his best friend. And he never wants that to change. )
He's gone through every comforting notion he could think of (biscuits, tea, stories, Muggle fairy tales that Charles had before seemed inordinately interested in, science papers, a roaring fire, more blankets, soothing words, more tea), but Charles still sits there, staring out the window as though if he stares long enough, his father will return. There is only one thing left that he has thought of that could shock Charles out of his stupor, but he really hadn't wanted to do it (he had sworn that he would never do it again the day he had managed to escape).
But this is Charles, this is his best friend (who made him talk again, who made him laugh, and gave him back the sense that he was more than just a specimen on a table) and this is his last idea, so he forcefully turns Charles around to look him straight in the eye ("It is easier to use Legilimency when the target and practitioner's eyes meet. The most advanced Legilimens can perform Legilimency nonverbally and wandlessly, but less talented practitioners must use Legilimens to enter—Erik, my friend, are you even listening to me?") and abruptly drops all the walls around his mind.
Charles' eyes widen, and Erik feels the familiar presence of Charles' mind cautiously stepping into his own.
Erik? Charles calls out (grief)
I am here, Erik calls back, trying to swamp his own mind with the same feelings of comfort that Charles had (like a warm bath, but it was much harder than forming walls and knives and spikes, so he had the feeling that he was sending something much more like a sun-warmed metal sheet).
He could feel Charles lightly brush against whatever it was he was sending (he hoped it was at least blunt), and then ask Why?
Because you are my best friend. And you said once that I am not alone here, which means that neither are you, Erik replied.
He felt a small gasp in his head ("Oh, oh"), and suddenly his arms are filled with a sobbing Charles.
He patted him on the back (and felt a rising sense of panic. He had wanted Charles to start grieving properly, but what did you do when someone started crying in your arms?) and said awkwardly, "There, there."
Charles gave a hiccupping laugh through his sobs, a spurt of amusementsadnessconfusion appeared briefly in his mind, and then, You're terrible at this, Erik.
Erik sat down in the window seat as Charles curled up against his chest, "Sorry; I am trying my best," he responded stiffly, still carefully stroking Charles' back.
I know you are. Thank you, Charles gave (rewarded) him with a tiny smile through his tears.
Erik sighs and holds on and does not let go, even later during the funeral (Charles' mother glares at him through bleary eyes, but he doesn't care, and some of the members of other pureblood families mutter and stare, but he sneers right back at all of them, and some of the Order members try to offer their condolences, but Erik ignores them; they weren't there when either of them needed help, so why should they care about them?) he holds Charles' hand and lets him cry into his shoulder as Brian Xavier's body is lowered into the ground.
And during the night when Charles clings to him and asks him through a storm of panic, Let me stay?, Erik nods and lets Charles curl up next to him in bed and falls asleep feeling, for the first time since that night, that perhaps he can focus on something besides revenge.
June 1983
"Charles, there's someone I'd like you to meet," his mother says, standing stiffly in the library.
Charles looks up from the book he was reading (The Standard Book of Spells, Grade 1) and frowns. The dark-haired man, Kurt Marko, who is standing there with an arm around his mother's shoulders, has been seeing his mother for a few months now. He doesn't like him (Erik doesn't either, so it's not just the fact that he's hurt that his mother has started seeing someone a year after his father died). Every time he meets Kurt Marko's eyes, he catches whispers of goldmoneywealth, and he hates that.
But pureblood courtesies have been ingrained in him since birth, so he stands up and shakes Marko's hand, saying, "Mr. Marko, I presume?"
The man smiles tightly at him and replies, "Quite. And you must be Sharon's son, Charles Xavier."
"Indeed, that is so," Charles acknowledges, carefully probing through Marko's thoughts (the same moneywealthgold but this time with a hint of success, and he doesn't like that at all).
Sharon gives a high (much too high) laugh and says, "Darling, you remember our conversation where I said the house seemed so empty now?"
Charles nods slowly (the "conversation" had been more like his mother being maudlin and drunk while he and Erik had slowly maneuvered her up the stairs to the master bedroom. Mainly he remembers the way she called Erik a "filthy Mudblood," and how he had to talk Erik down from braining his mother with a chandelier. It had not been a good night).
"Well, now it's going to be much more full. Kurt just asked me to marry him!" his mother says happily, thrusting out her right hand where a large diamond (he wonders where the modest blue diamond ring that the Xaviers have always used to bind themselves to another has gone) glitters on her ring finger.
He can feel the radiating off of his mother, so he pastes on a smile (she does deserve some happiness after all, doesn't she?) and says, "Congratulations!"
His mother grins in relief and prattles on, "Kurt has two other children, Cain and Raven, who will be coming to live with us. Oh, this is so wonderful! I'll have to start preparations right away! But anyway, tonight we should celebrate; I'll have to tell the house elves to prepare something special tonight, perhaps a cake—"
"Mother?" Charles asked, confused and a sudden feeling of dread (really?), "Don't you remember—?"
His mother raised her eyebrows, "What dear?"
He swallows and shakes his head, still somehow managing to smile, "Oh, nothing. I'll go talk to the house elves; you two go ahead and have a lovely, romantic dinner."
He hurries away, but not before he feels the spike of fearworrysuspicion, Does he know, Does he suspect, Sharon mentioned the kid had some funny magic, does he know somehow that I'm just marrying her for the money?
He manages to tell the house elves to prepare some more food, and then takes the (his) cake outside to where Erik is examining the wards of the mansion (he had developed a sudden interest in them. Charles thinks it's more of Erik's worrying tendency toward "training," especially with the Practical Defensive Magic and Its Use Against the Dark Arts that he had seen him reading, but the wards are interesting).
"Hey," Erik greets him and then frowns when he sees the cake Charles is carrying, "Why are you bringing it out here? Don't tell me your mother banned me from the dining room now."
Charles shakes his head as he carefully sets the cake down on the grass, "No. I think—well, it seems that—my mother just got proposed to, and she—"
"She what?" Erik prompts, his eyes dark.
Charles lets out a breath as he sits down, "She forgot that it's my birthday today."
They sit there in silence before Charles laughs softly and stands up, "Stupid really, I forgot the candles—"
Erik grabbed his arm and stands so that he can look Charles in the eye (angerworryanger), "Charles," he begins, but Charles wrenches his arm away and shakes his head.
"Erik, she's busy, she's had a rough time as well," he pleads (it's exhilarating to be able to wander in and out of Erik's mind at will since he set up a gate just for him, but sometimes his friend feels things much too keenly), "Besides, this is nice isn't it? Just the two of us? I hate having those giant birthday parties anyway, and so do you—"
"Yes, which is why I thought you convinced your mother to have a quiet party this year," Erik interrupted angrily, hands balling up into fists.
Charles ducked his head down, "I suppose she wasn't listening," he admits softly, "And with all the excitement, she forgot."
Erik lets out a few German swear words (Erik, Charles chides in his mind half-heartedly), and focuses on Charles again, "There's something you're not telling me."
He doesn't want to say it, but someone besides himself should know (and Erik is looking at him much too intently), so he quietly confesses, "Kurt Marko is just marrying mother for her money."
"Why don't you just tell her that then?" Erik asks, and Charles snaps.
"Because she's my mother. Because she just found the person she thinks will make her happy again. Because I haven't seen her this happy in a year, and if anything can just drag her away from the stupid, idiotic, imbecilic bottle, then fine! I don't want to destroy her newfound happiness! I don't want to ruin everything! I don't want her to be afraid of me—"
Erik abruptly pulls him in for a hug, and Charles sobs against his shoulder and then wipes away his tears angrily. He's older now, he should be able to handle all this, not run sobbing to Erik every time (and what if Erik gets tired of him)—
"Charles," Erik says, interrupting his thoughts and pulling both of them down to sit on the grass, "You are my best friend, and that is not going to change. We'll deal with Kurt Marko together, alright?"
Charles is glad his face is buried in Erik's shoulder right now since Erik can't see the new tears that well up (although, the cool breeze of gratitudefriendshiplove, Thankyouthankyouthankyouthat he inadvertently sweeps over Erik's mind probably gives it away) as he nods.
Erik smiles fondly, pokes one of the wards in the gate, and draws out an old yellowed book (was that why he had been interested in wards?), "Happy Birthday Charles," he says solemnly, handing the book to him.
Charles peered curiously at the book (A History of Genetics by A.H. Sturtevant), before opening it to diagrams that refused to move and his eyes grow wide, "This is a Muggle book," he breathed in wonder.
Erik shrugged in embarrassment, "You kept saying that you wanted to know more about Muggle sciences after you read Home Life and Social Habits of British Muggles," he explained, "And since I don't know much about it, I walked to town a few days ago and found this book in the used bookstore, and I thought you would like it."
"This is fantastic," Charles said excitedly, flipping through the book, "This is the best birthday present anyone has ever given me, thank you Erik."
Erik shrugged again (his embarrassment the feeling of warm sand spilling against skin), and gestured for the large lamp by the gate to float closer to them. He carefully lifts the candle out of the lamp, floats his pocket knife over to chop the candle into eight pieces, carefully lights each piece, sticks them on top of the lamp, and then floats the lamp over the cake.
"Make a wish," Erik urges hazel eyes bright.
Charles smiles, folds Erik's hands in his own, closes his eyes (Let no one come to harm), and blows out Erik's makeshift candles.
"And now cake," Erik says authoritatively, already floating his cleaned off pocket knife over to cut the cake.
"But we don't have plates or forks!" Charles protests, watching as Erik's knife steadily cuts the cake into eight huge slices (really, Erik had such fine control over metal objects, which according to Childhood Magic was a bit worrisome at his age, but Charles thought it was understandable given Erik's past and also Erik's magic was wonderful).
"We'll just use our hands then," Erik replied blithely, already picking up a slice and sticking it in his mouth.
Charles giggles, a bit semi-horrified (Mother would be furious, but it was his birthday, and she wasn't here, and wasn't that the point?), and then reaches out to take a piece of cake.
Erik laughs and smears some butter cream frosting on Charles' nose.
"Erik!" Charles squawked in protest.
"What?' Erik asked serenely, leaning over to smear more frosting on Charles' cheek.
Charles batted his hand away and gets revenge by pasting frosting in Erik's hair.
By the time the Blinky comes squeaking about his mother's displeasure, both of them are covered in cake and icing, their clothing is absolutely ruined, and Charles cannot stop laughing and does not care about what's to come as long as he has Erik at his side.
July 1983
The one good thing about moving to this huge mansion was that Cain could not find her that easily anymore. It's true that now she's living with more people (Sharon Xavier who she avoids out of a sense of guilt, and the two boys who she avoids out of fear),but the Xavier Mansion is truly huge (she found an actual Quidditch training field her third day).
However, when Cain got in a bad mood, he could be very persistent in hunting down his preferred prey.
She had ducked into the kitchens (empty of house elves since they were probably serving dinner, and she still found it odd that they had house elves now), and hid behind the icebox. If she was really lucky, Cain would get tired of looking for her and go find something else to amuse himself with (she sent a silent apology to any and all small animals around the mansion).
But it seemed her luck had run out when she heard footsteps coming down the stairs (notagainnotagainnotagain), and in her distress, she began frantically oscillating between forms (perhaps if she looked like Sharon Xavier? But why would she be in the kitchen, but it doesn't matter because he was coming).
"Oh, hello. Mother? What are you doing there?"
It was Charles Xavier ("He has some odd magic, so stay out of his way."), peering at her curiously.
She stands up straight, tosses the blonde hair back, and says, "Hello Charles, I was just getting some hot chocolate. Would you like for me to make you some as well?"
Xavier's eyes narrow, he walks closer (oh god), and suddenly she hears his voice in her head saying coldly, You're not my mother; mother never comes down here, and she certainly would never offer to make me hot chocolate herself. Who are you?
She backs herself into the corner, but Xavier holds her eye, and his voice continues to sound in her head, Who are you? Who are you?
And it terrifies her ("Freak! Freak! If you ever changed outside, everyone would hunt you down like the freak you are!"), but she doesn't know what else to do except shift back to her usual blonde form (it's not the form she's the most comfortable with, but everyone would scream if they saw what she really wants to be).
"Raven?" Xavier asks hesitantly, blue eyes wide.
She hangs her head, bracing herself for the inevitable screams of horror, insults, and beatings (what's one more after all?).
"You're a metamorphmagus," he breathes in a tone she has never heard before (it's not horror, he sounds…excited?), "My god, I've never met a metamorphmagus before! This is amazing! You're amazing!"
"You're not…afraid of me?" she asks, suddenly very confused (no one had ever said that her ability was amazing before).
Charles tilts his head to the right, "Why should I be? There's nothing inherently dangerous about a metamorphmagus. But wait, how much control do you have? How does the conservation of mass work? Can you do animal features, because I read somewhere that—"
"There you are, freak."
Raven cowered behind the ice box as she could as Cain stalked forward from the open door. If she stayed still, very still, maybe Cain would get bored of hurting her and go away. It had worked a few times before, but it was unlikely to work this time, she thought with a wince as Cain grabbed her by the hair. Cain was in a really bad mood—
"Stop that!" Charles yelled, pulling Raven away from Cain and pushing her behind him, "What do you think you're doing?"
Cain sneered at the smaller boy, "I'm playing with the freak, what's wrong with you?"
"You're not playing with her, you're hurting her!" Charles protested, standing firmly in front of Raven.
Cain snorted, "Get out of my way, brat," he said, shoving at Charles,
Charles didn't budge, and Cain growled and backhanded him across the cheek, "Get out of my way," he repeated.
"Get lost."
Chains suddenly appeared, seemingly growing from the ground, hissing and twisting and twining around and around Cain, squeezing him tightly, as the other boy, Erik Lehnsherr ("The Mudblood ward, he may be some sort of pet. He's not important.") strode down the stairs angrily.
"Erik," Charles said as the other boy made a fist and Cain let out a choked sound as the chains grew tighter, "Erik."
Erik looked over at Charles, mouth a grim slash across his face, "What Charles?"
"You're hurting him," Charles said steadily, putting a hand on Erik's shoulder, "Stop."
"Why?" Erik asked incredulously as Cain struggled, "He was hurting you; why didn't you bother to stop him?"
"He's a squib," Charles said, and Cain stilled, eyes wild with fury (and Raven knew that if he got out of those chains he was going to kill him), "It's not fair to use our magic against him, so let him go."
(Raven had never considered it that way; if her magic would let her do anything besides change form she would have struck back a long time ago, but maybe it was terror, maybe it was her age, or maybe it was because she was truly useless like her father was always complaining, but she had never managed it. Father had never intervened; he had always been too disgusted that both of his children were freaks.)
Erik hesitated (and Raven wanted to tell him to keep squeezing, to twist those chains until Cain's last breath was drawn because otherwise none of them would ever be safe), and then twisted the chains so that Cain was facing him.
"Listen to me," he hissed menacingly, "If you ever try to hurt Charles again, you will wish that I had strangled you tonight. And don't think that Charles is harmless; if you truly provoke him, he will make you think you are a—a duck for the rest of your life, won't you Charles?"
Charles nodded hesitantly before adding, "And if you harm Raven again, consider both of us provoked, understand?"
"Yes," Cain rasped out, his voice filled with hate.
"Good, then get out," Erik growled, waving his hand, and the chains slithered back down to the ground.
Cain gave them one last hate-filled glare (there was murder in his heart, but Raven had always known that) before running back up the stairs.
Erik reached over to touch Charles' cheek where a bruise was beginning to blossom, "We need to get you some ice," he said quietly.
Charles sighed and smacked Erik's arm, "Did you have to scare him that much?" he asked, slightly irritated, "You looked like you were about to kill him!"
Erik began to wrap some ice in a washcloth, "Who says I didn't want to?" he muttered.
Charles sighed again (she thought she heard it in her mind this time as well) as he took the proffered ice-pack from Erik and then brightened, "Oh yes, this is Raven!"
He pushed her forward, and she cringed in front of Erik's blank stare (when she had first seen the two, she had been more scared of Erik no matter how dismissive Father was about him. Charles looked like other child pureblood heirs she had seen; Erik looked like he was plotting to take over the world).
"She's a metamorphmagus Erik! You know, a witch or wizard who is capable of changing their appearance without the aid of a Polyjuice potion or a spell—"
"I'm aware," Erik interrupted, looking at Raven with new interest, "So, that isn't what you really look like?" he asked, gesturing at her.
"It's what I usually look like. It's what Father says is an appropriate image to project," she replied haltingly.
"Then what form would you rather have?" Charles asked curiously.
She thinks that it'll be too much (Father had seen her once like this and had ordered Cain to twist her arm until she had turned back), but it's been so long since she has been in what she thinks as her natural form (shifting in the middle of the night does not count when she has to shift back after a few hours so that she doesn't fall asleep like that), and so her skin ripples and turns blue with a scaly pattern (she likes the way it curves and twists around her body), her eyes turn bright yellow, and her hair shortens and darkens to red. She stares defiantly back at the two boys, daring them to say anything (to be the same as her father and her brother).
"You're exquisite," Erik breathes in wonder.
"Erik is completely right! It's absolutely fascinating how far your ability can extend! Although perhaps you could put some more clothes on; it's a tiny bit inappropriate," Charles begins to expound, waving his hands around, "Metamorphmagi are so rare, and I have come to hypothesize that it's a mutation, an especially groovy mutation—"
"You think that I look okay like this? You don't think I'm a freak?" Raven cuts in (she gets the feeling that she'll be doing that a lot in the future).
Charles actually looks dumbfounded at the question, "Of course not!"
"Charles can do Legilimency, and I can levitate metal without a wand," Erik responds raising an eyebrow, "At this point, the real question is which one of us is the freak."
"None of us are," Charles said seriously, grabbing both Erik's and Raven's hand, "At the very most, we have odd mutations."
Erik quirks a grin, "Mutant and proud?" he asks Charles teasingly.
Charles flashes a happy smile back at him, "Mutant and proud," he replies.
Mutant and proud, Raven repeats wonderingly in her mind.
A/N: So originally I was going to end this chapter with Erik and Charles getting sorted, but then I realized how long each of these intro scenes were, so that will be in the next chapter, along with the rest of 1st year (if it can fit anyway). Please comment/review! I hope you're enjoying this fic! I know Raven was a scared little kid in this chapter, but don't worry; she'll grow up to be a bad-ass Auror yet. (I just thought that if she had an abusive father and brother, she'd be terrified out of her mind usually, kind of like Merope Gaunt? But she'll get better, don't worry). Oh, and to answer the question, yes this will eventually turn into slash when the boys get older. (I do have a plot outline; it's liable to change, but it is an outline). Oh, and please thank my lovely beta nightcoffeebean for all her help in editing, and letting me talk her ear off about ideas.