Disclaimer: HP ain't mine. Only OCs are.

Trigger Warning: Mentions of torture in a flashback.

Chapter 2: Next Steps

2 September 2027

Professor Llewellyn waited patiently for Cenric to arrive. She surprised the professors earlier with news she'd be missing breakfast for an errand. Alluding to a new gamekeeper, she kept much of it vague, appreciating the trust Cenric gave her in helping him keep a low profile.

Still, she worried about the boy, well man, now. Clearly, prison did a number on him, but to what extent, she wasn't sure. Guilt ate at her as well; she felt that Cenric's family needed know that he was here, that he was free, but she didn't want to betray the tentative trust she earned from him. Likely she only had that trust because she had been his favorite teacher.

The door to her office opened and in stepped Cenric.

It was so jarring to see him all grown up. He was tall; certainly the tallest out of his family. It was more the broad build that surprised her. Sure, there was a leanness to him, but she remembered a skinny, lanky boy. His lean muscles showed that he used them often; perhaps in prison he did a lot of labor or a lot of exercise? Though those eyes and that messy mop of black hair should've told her right away he was a Potter. That certainly hadn't changed.

His hair and beard were still a bit wild. Though he reacted badly to her magic before, he'd draw attention with his looks and Muggle clothes. "Before we go, I'll need to clean your look up a bit and transfigure your clothes. You'll draw too much attention and I doubt you want that."

Cenric looked none too pleased, but he nodded anyway. As she said, he didn't want to draw attention.

A few waves of her wand shortened his hair to shoulder length and his beard to a manageable style, neatening both up with a conditioning spell, and transforming his shirt, thin jacket, and jeans into plain black robes.

"There we are. Much better." She hoped her positivity would put the reticent man at ease.

Though his face was stone, she could see tension in his shoulders as he hunched as if to make himself appear smaller. He definitely didn't like magic being cast around him. That was something that they'd need to work on.

"We'll use the floo to Flourish and Blotts." Llewellyn said. "Technically, it's closer to use…well your uncle's shop, but I figured you'd want to avoid that." Even with nine years on him and his change in appearance, Cenric looked enough like Harry that the beard and long hair would only do so much.

Cenric said nothing to that as Llewellyn walked towards the fireplace.

A silver dish on the mantle held the glittering, green powder.

She grabbed a fistful and tossed it inside the fireplace, trusting Cenric to follow her, she stepped into the green flames. "Diagon Alley!"

It didn't take long for the twisting sensation to subside. Opening her eyes, the bookstore was before her, quiet and with very few patrons considering the early hour. She stepped out of the fireplace and with a flick of her wand, rid herself of the soot.

"Good morning, Professor Llewellyn." The manager, Elladora Tewksbury, greeted. "What brings you here this morning?"

"A new employee." Professor Llewellyn said. "I'm aiding him in tracking down some things before he begins work."

"Oh that's nice." Elladora said. "Is it that gamekeeper one, or was it caretaker that was open?"

"Gamekeeper." Llewellyn said.

Before she could say more, the fireplace came alight with the green flames.

The tall Cenric struggled somewhat to step out of the rather cramped space.

Without thinking, she waved her wand to rid his clothes of the soot.

Cenric tensed up, but said nothing.

"This him?" Elladora asked.

Cenric glanced at Elladora before staring blankly back at Llewellyn, though she sensed a bit of anger in his eyes.

"Ah, yes, James Evans." Professor Llewellyn said, quickly, her way to reassure him that she hadn't revealed much. "Unfortunately, we don't have much time for pleasantries. So sorry, Ella, but our errands will have to be quick. Can't leave the school for too long."

"That's all right, Professor." Elladora smiled.

As the professor and gamekeeper left, Elladora turned to her assistant manager. "Fabian, did that young man look familiar to you?"

Fabian looked up from where he'd been marking inventory. "Wasn't much paying attention."

Elladora shook her head. Perhaps she was mistaken.

Madam Malkin didn't like him.

Cenric wasn't sure if it was the fact that he didn't speak, or the fact that he was so tall and broad that the short, squat lady had to get a two-foot tall stool to get all of his proper measurements.

She kept complaining about not having big and tall customers under her breath, but Cenric had very good hearing. He learned the very hard lesson of listening to every sound made around him, which saved his ass many a time in prison.

However, patience was his greatest asset. Madam Malkin could curse his build all she wanted; he could wait it out. What he couldn't stand was Professor Llewellyn's eyes on him; he felt like she studied him every time she looked at him. He remembered the last time she saw him; life and he himself had been so different back then…

"Have a Happy Christmas, Mr. Potter, Ms. Weasley." Professor Llewellyn smiled, her hair a medium chestnut, not a sliver of silver in sight. Her skin was smoother and rosier as she waved Cenric and Artemisia off.

"Happy Christmas, Professor!" He and Artemisia chimed together as they rushed out of the D.A.D.A. classroom. They were heading home for the holidays and couldn't miss the carriages to Hogsmeade.

"There we are." Madam Malkin spoke loudly.

Cenric ignored the pain in his chest at the memory. He tried so hard not to think of his family for years, but especially his favorite cousin. It hurt too much to remember what he was missing and even more that his family seemingly left him to rot in jail.

"Now, I will get right on the orders." Madam Malkin continued. "Since your job will involve the outdoors and animals, I will be creating a mixture of leather, hides, and of course, self-repairing robes."

Cenric wanted to protest, but Llewellyn spoke for him, thanking Madam Malkin for her time.

Madam Malkin totaled the order and Cenric paid. It was Professor Llewellyn's money, but she handed the money off to him as to look less suspicious.

"Thank you, Madam." Cenric managed after they exchanged money.

Madam Malkin started at his polite tone, surprised he could speak after all.

Cenric turned away, ready to get back to the school.

As soon as they exited the shop, Professor Llewellyn stopped him. "Hold on, Mr. Evans."

Cenric turned to her. The woman used to be so much taller than him, but now her five foot four stance was nothing. "Yes, Professor?"

"If you are going to be gamekeeper, there are a few more items that we need." She told him.

His skin itched; he wanted to claw it off. There were too many people; they'd already taken too long in Madam Malkin's. Were there always so many people milling about Diagon Alley? His jaw clenched slowly. "And what does that entail?" Careful, controlled monotone escaped him.

"Well for one, you'll need books on groundskeeping and magical creatures." Her tone was stern as her eyes narrowed.

Shite.

Professor Llewellyn must've picked up on his mood. She already put a lot on the line for him and now she was his boss. He needed to be more respectful. Taking a breath, he worked to calm his irritation. He needed to get used to being around people again, but he wished that he didn't have to be present to do all of this shopping.

"You'll also need writing supplies." She continued. "Potion supplies, a broomstick for traveling, a pet companion if you'd like, an owl if you want to avoid using the school owls, and a wand."

Cenric shuddered at the idea of spending a minute longer here. "I can get by with what I have." Which admittedly wasn't anything; he truly did need supplies, but couldn't he just owl for everything?

"You don't have anything except the clothes you're wearing." She stated, throwing his words from the previous day back at him. "I should be taking you to open up a Gringott's account, but they'll know who you are and they like for their clients to actually have money to deposit." Llewellyn continued. "So, it's up to you where we go next."

His jaw clenched again; it would lock up if he kept at it. No owling for supplies then. They were already here, and Llewellyn was being generous enough as it was, so it wouldn't due to test such charity. "I suppose we shall start with supplies."

Llewellyn relaxed her stern stance. "Lead on."

Cenric took a breath. This was turning out to be the longest morning of his life.

Oh but he was a curious one. Llewellyn watched as Cenric carefully picked through the broomsticks.

They first visited Potage's Cauldron Shop. Clearly, Cenric figured that the cauldron would do best for him to carry all of their purchases in. After that, it was off to Slug & Jiggers Apothecary, Scribbulus Writing Implements, and the second-hand bookshop where of all things the boy insisted on getting Muggle poetry books. His eyes lit up upon finding them and even though loving Muggle items in these times was suspicious, Llewellyn hadn't the heart to discourage him from buying them. Curiously, at the last second, he bought a children's book he spotted near the register. It seemed almost impulsive of him, which was at odds with how Cenric conducted himself around her.

Really she wanted to save the books until they returned to Flourish and Blotts, but she had a feeling that using her money to pay for everything and being in her debt until he could pay it off was eating at him. Weasleys and Potters were a proud bunch and this one was no different.

Now, here at Quality Quidditch Supplies, the best damn chaser she'd seen in her years at Hogwarts was deciding between the cheaper and lesser Comets and Cleansweeps, when he deserved a Firebolt Supreme Model 5 or a Nimbus 3003.

She knew he'd prefer the better quality racing brooms. He eyed them even as he studied the lesser brooms. But she wouldn't say anything. He wasn't a Quidditch player after all and with his talent, if needed, he'd probably be able to outrun or at least outmaneuver a Firebolt while flying a Comet.

"This'll do." He held up a Cleansweep Twenty.

As he paid for it, Llewellyn wondered whether they were getting him a pet or a wand next. Her gut told her that he was avoiding Ollivander's for as long as possible.

She probably would've too in his position; Garrick Ollivander had keen perception. He knew that she was a Llewellyn the moment she stepped into his shop. Her parents lagged behind, so she went ahead alone.

"You're a Llewellyn. The young Gareth's daughter."

"Yes, sir." She'd spoken timidly to him.

"Yes, yes, you have your father's nose and cheekbones." Mr. Ollivander said.

"Ready?" Cenric asked.

She was right about him avoiding Ollivander's when he bypassed the wand shop, heading straight to Magical Menagerie. Her pace picked up in order to keep up with him. "Have you decided what you'll get?"

Cenric nodded. "An owl and a cat."

He'd had a cat once. Pixie. Got her over twelve years ago. His mum had wanted him to get an owl, but Cenric insisted that he'd use one of the school owls. Pixie had been a grey tabby. Cenric didn't allow himself to wonder what happened to the cat after his imprisonment.

As he stepped inside the pet shop, he allowed himself a small smile. Animals were his first love. When he was three, he accidentally transfigured his father's snitch into a miniature hippogriff he named Birdie. He loved that little feathered menace; cried for days after his parents told him to change Birdie back.

Around him was a vast array of animals. Joy filled his chest for the first time in years as he looked over the many cages.

"Welcome." A middle-aged, stout salesman smiled at him. "How can I help you today?"

"What owls and cats do you have?" Cenric asked. He felt Professor Llewellyn's surprise. It was the most he'd really spoken that morning and with little prompting.

"Ah, good, good." The salesman smiled. "We have quite a few barn owls. Some tawnies. A few screeches. A couple of snowies."

As he went on about owls, something hissed at Cenric as he passed.

Glancing down, he found a bright orange cat with a white snout and white underside glaring up at him amber eyes.

"Oh no, not that one." The salesman said. "That's a Norwegian Forest, that one is. Only about a year old, but we've had him since he was five months. Keeps scaring off the customers."

Cenric knelt down to better look at the cat. There was pain and wariness in those amber eyes. Well, aren't we a pair? The cat got his attention for a reason; like souls recognized each other after all. "I'll take him."

"There's some much calmer cats." The salesman insisted. "Many nicer ones too. We got ragdolls, shorthairs, wirehairs, Maine coons…"

"I'll take the Norwegian." Cenric allowed some sternness to seep into his tone to show him meant business. He even added a glare at the man.

The salesman swallowed. "All right, mate. No returns on that one." He rang up the cat. "What about your owl?"

A screech sounded behind him. Cenric turned.

A pale grey Eurasian Eagle-Owl with bright, lemon colored eyes stared him down. There was a fierce pride to her as she puffed out her chest.

"Her?" Cenric asked, motioning to the owl.

The salesman grimaced. "You sure know how to pick them. That one's as cantankerous as that cat. No returns on it either."

"Good." He turned to Llewellyn, who only looked at him with arched brows. "Could you get her for me?" He motioned to the owl.

Llewellyn hesitated but did so, while he picked up the cat's cage.

Once the animals were paid for, there was only one last stop before returning to Hogwarts.

"Must I get a wand?" Cenric asked as he glared at the window displays in Ollivander's.

"You might need it someday." Llewellyn said. "Come on. Ollivander is discreet."

Cenric bit back a remark. Letting out a huff of breath, he followed the professor into the wand shop. They set the cauldron full of their purchases and the two cages near the doors.

Gingerly, Cenric stepped towards the counter, but before he could ring the bell, a man with white, wild hair appeared before him. Pale eyes locked onto the young man.

"Cenric Potter, rowan and dragon heartstring, thirteen inches." Mr. Ollivander said. "I suppose you lost it at some point."

At least he was kind enough to not mention why the wand was lost.

Though Cenric honestly had no idea where his old wand was as he didn't have it on him when he was arrested. He left it at home that day, because they were going to Muggle London, and Dad was going to have his wand just in case. That worked out well.

Cenric said nothing.

"Very well." Ollivander said, already producing a wand. "Perhaps we should try something similar. Rowan and unicorn hair, twelve inches."

Cenric stepped forward and took ahold of the wand.

It flew out of his hand. That was a first.

"Not that one." Mr. Ollivander said.

They tried a few other rowans, cedars, ashes, dogwoods, and so on. As well as all three cores.

It felt like he'd spent an eternity in Ollivander's, trying wand after wand. His teeth ached from grinding together; his skin itched as more and more people walked past the windows, even if they were slightly hidden by the piles of wand boxes in the bay windows. They'd been here too long; someone would recognize him; his release would be all over The Daily Prophet and his life would be a media circus.

His fists clenched at his sides as Ollivander took back yet another wand.

"Hmm. Very curious." Mr. Ollivander said. "You were not so difficult to pair with a wand last time." Those pale eyes scrutinized him. "You must be so very broken. Yes, very broken indeed." Ollivander was already walking off in search of another wand before Cenric could react to his words.

You have no idea. He practically snarled inside of his head, ready to throttle the old man. Who does he even think he is, making comments like that?

Ollivander returned with a box. He carefully studied Cenric once more. "Perhaps, this."

He held the box out to Cenric.

"Hawthorn and phoenix feather, fifteen inches." Mr. Ollivander said.

Cenric took the box and opened it. A lovely, dark wand with intricate Celtic knot designs carved along the thick, tree like grip laid inside. Delicately, he took the wand from its box. Instantly, he felt warmth course through his fingers. With a swish, he watched as red sparks flew from the tip.

"Hmm." Mr. Ollivander said. "Phoenix feather is very picky. Hawthorn even more so. Both are very hard to tame. In my experimental phase, I thought the two would be best suited. Mr. Potter, I have been in possession of that wand for seventy-seven years. It's the only wand I've had for more than twenty years, and it's the only hawthorn and phoenix feather wand I ever dared to make."

Cenric swallowed. He knew phoenix feather was picky and temperamental, but it was the hawthorn wood that worried him. Hawthorn was known for being paired with those in turmoil or those who were conflicted. His stomach dropped. "How much?"

Ollivander studied him. "A knut, Mr. Potter."

Cenric blinked. "Mr. Ollivander, I can't pay that little for a wand."

Ollivander raised his hands. "Believe me, I am glad to be rid of it, and I am most curious to see how you fair with it. One knut, Mr. Potter."

Reluctantly, Cenric handed over the coin, feeling like he needed to give the old man more money.

"Oh, and Mr. Potter." Ollivander met his eyes. "As far as I know, you were never here."

That made Cenric feel somewhat better.

With that, he and Llewellyn gathered everything and headed back to Flourish and Blotts.

Cenric didn't remember the floo travel or the walk to Hagrid's cottage with all his new things. He sat at the plain, old wooden table and stared at his new wand.

Rowan wands were for those pure of heart. Dragon heartstring produced powerful magic. So why did his wand wood and core change so drastically? Was he really so different?

You must be so very broken. Yes, very broken indeed. Ollivander's words floated through his head.

"Yeah." He whispered to himself. "Very broken."

9 September 2027

A tapping on his apartment window woke Theo Potter up earlier than he liked. Tired blue eyes opened slowly as the tapping continued quite incessantly.

His owl, Lady, hooted in annoyance.

At first, Theo thought Lady was tapping the window, wanting to be let out for her morning hunt. Then he remembered that she was still in her cage, which was a few feet from the window.

Rolling over in his bead, the bleary-eyed young man looked to see a type of grey Eagle-Owl perched on the window.

Lemon colored eyes glared at him.

"All right, I'm up." Theo pushed himself off of the bed and walked over to the window.

The owl had a small parcel with it, so it wasn't a Daily Prophet or a Quibbler owl.

Opening the window, Theo jumped back as the strange owl swooped in, dropped the parcel on the bed, swooped around to steal a small bag of owl treats, causing Lady to squawk in indignation, before finally escaping out the window once more.

"Oi!" Theo called after it. "That's theft! You bloody menace!"

He slammed the window shut, glaring after the bird. Looking over at Lady, he spoke. "Sorry Ladybird, I'll get you some more treats after work." Theo's eyes fell to the parcel.

Running a hand through his messy black hair, he walked over to the bed and picked it up. Turning it over in his hands, he found no address, nothing to indicate who it was from.

Warily, he removed the twine and opened the plain brown paper.

Inside was a book. It appeared used, but still in nice condition. Buffy the Bowtruckle's Adventures: Voyage of the Dirigible Plum by Illondra Pudgewinkle. Theo couldn't help but grin. The Buffy the Bowtruckle series had been his favorite as a kid. Especially this particular story. He'd read it so much, that by his first year at Hogwarts the spine was worn and pages were falling out. He still had it, but hadn't been able to read it for years. Buffy the Bowtruckle was a series about a bowtruckle that wanted to stand out from her family and go on adventures. Theo often felt overshadowed by a lot of his family and sympathized with Buffy, yet he never had her courage. He was a Hufflepuff after all.

Opening the book, he found an inscription on the inside cover.

To Theo:

Happy 20th!

Remember, no matter how much others accomplish, your accomplishments are still yours. You are the only you that we've got. The most important Theo in the world. More than that, always know that you are never alone.

There wasn't a signature or anything. The letter clearly was for him, but who sent it? Looking closer, Theo wasn't sure if he even recognized the handwriting. Maybe one of his many relatives or honorary relatives sent it and forgot to sign? He'd ask around and see so that he could properly thank them.

Though the owl that carried the book didn't belong to anyone in his family as far as he knew. Perhaps someone got a new owl?

It was a bit of a mysterious start to his birthday.

11 September 2027

The owl liked the name Boudica. She seemed very content now though a bit prissy and she wasn't cantankerous, at least with him.

The cat on the other hand…that cat was difficult. Alfred was rejected, as was Tolkien, Beowulf, Uther, Gawain, Galahad, Poe, Fitzgerald, Edgar, Frost, Tennyson. Not even Godric, Merlin, Ptolemy, Scamander, Newt, Flamel, or Morgan worked.

The cat wasn't cantankerous; just a picky, prissy prince.

Other than that, his duties were fairly easy to learn. He patrolled the Forbidden Forest on his own, day or night, to learn the layout and see what magical creatures remained. There were still numerous creatures hiding out in the vast forest. No centaurs though. He was making a list to keep track.

He helped the new Care of Magical Creatures professor, well new three years ago, Professor Jocelind Kegg with caring for the creatures for her classes. She thankfully didn't recognize him, helped by the fact that she graduated from Hogwarts some years before his first year and that James Evans was a common name.

It was the gardening he was more concerned about. He'd always been better with animals than greenery, but he'd have to learn. Especially since he was apparently responsible for the pumpkins that decorated the castle on Halloween and the Christmas trees for the Great Hall in the winter. He was glad he got plenty of magical gardening books back in Diagon Alley, but he was avoiding the task of actually planting anything.

The other matter at hand was when he could build his own home. While scouring the Forest for the creatures that were left, he found a spot further in the Forest, close to the lake and close enough to count as school grounds while also remaining isolated, surrounded by trees on three sides and the lake on the fourth side. It was quite peaceful.

He wasn't sure when he could start building. He'd get permission from Professor Llewellyn, of course, but the problem was whether or not to build it the magical way or the Muggle way. Cenric hadn't used magic in nine years, not counting the wand back at Ollivander's. Even with his job he kept his labor strictly by hand.

His wand laid untouched on the table in the hut. It wasn't that he hadn't itched to touch it; ever since the wand was in his grasp, his hand tingled, almost wanting to do magic again. After years of actively suppressing his magic, could he really use it again? Could he learn again the spells that came so easily to him during his school years?

He wasn't sure. All Cenric knew was that his hand shook every time he reached for the wand. His stomach rolled and protested the feeling of magic every time he tried.

"Meowrah." The cat, who refused every name in the book, waddled up to him as he hammered some nails into new boards on the Thestral enclosure.

Professor Llewellyn didn't question his request for a vast multitude of Muggle tools and supplies.

"You know, I'm just going to throw names at you from now on." He told the cat. "Any name, and if you like it, or at least hate it the least, it's sticking."

"Meooooowrah." The cat seemed disagreeable to that idea. Then again, the cat was always disagreeable.

"Too bad." Cenric said. "How about John?"

Another displeased noise left the cat.

"Charlemagne?" He earned a scoff, or the cat equivalent, in response. "Baldric?"

The cat glared up at him.

Cenric shook his head. "Fine. I'll come up with something."

Leaves crunched from somewhere behind him. Tensing, he turned around. Not too far from him, there was a small group of first years. He softened. It wasn't so long ago that he was in their shoes.

The sorting hat was big on his head. He couldn't see anything as the brim covered his eyes.

"Ah, a Potter." The hat spoke into his head. "Now, where shall we place you?"

Cenric shifted. He didn't know where he'd fit in. Most of his family were Gryffindors.

"I see you have talent." The hat continued. "Yes, you're a powerful one. Slytherin would fit you well, but you have no ambition. Ravenclaw is suitable for that brain of yours and your natural capabilities. And yet…that resolve, that strength, that courage. Yes, I see. Best fitted for…GRYFFINDOR!"

"Excuse me, Mister?" A small voice broke him out of his memory.

He looked down. Had he been so small as a first year?

It was a boy, brunette, with pale blue eyes. He was just under five feet.

Looking behind the boy, Cenric saw an identical boy, a young Indian girl with pigtails, and then there was a fair girl with thick black hair which fell in front of hazel eyes. There was something very familiar about that girl.

"Can I help you?" Cenric asked.

"My mum said that there are Thestrals here." The boy said. "But it's empty."

"You can't see them." The brother said. "Remember, you have to see someone die to see the Thestrals."

Cenric turned to look at the skeletal winged horses. Normally, only wizards or witches well versed in Thestrals could really tend to them, but when Professor Kegg showed him the paddock and learned that, not only could Cenric see them, but that they had walked right up to him, she decided with some tutoring, Cenric could look after the Thestrals on his own, eventually. However, paddock repair didn't need too much skill and Cenric could see the Thestrals, so that he'd know where they were, she thought that the repairs were a good first step. "They're there." Cenric turned back to the kids. "But none of you should be out wandering around. This is still the Forbidden Forest, which is still forbidden for a reason."

"Are you going to give us detention?" The Indian girl asked with worry in her eyes.

"I'm just the gamekeeper." Cenric said. "I don't have the authority to do that. I can tell your professors though."

"Please don't, sir." The first boy who approached him said. "It's mine and Lorcan's fault. We wanted to see what creatures were in the forest."

"Dangerous creatures." Cenric said. "Too dangerous for…" Wait, Lorcan? Cenric looked between the twin boys. It couldn't be. Lorcan and Lysander Scamander? Aunt Luna's boys? They were so big now. The toddlers that he and Artemisia used to babysit, his little god-brothers, now here at Hogwarts. Looking at them now, he could see Uncle Rolf in their stature and Aunt Luna in their eyes.

"Are you okay, Mister?" Lorcan asked.

Cenric blinked. "Evans. My name is Mr. Evans." His monotonous seemed to throw the kids off as the girls stood back and the twins shared looks. Cenric shook his head. "I won't tell your professors that you were here."

The kids faces lit up.

"But I don't want to catch any of you in the Forest again, do you understand Messrs. Scamander?" Cenric asked.

"Yes, sir." The boys said together.

"And same to you two." Cenric told the girls. "Misses…?"

"Jaya Finnegan." The Indian girl spoke up.

The other girl winced before speaking her name as though expecting a reaction. "Primrose." She cut herself off before saying her last name.

She didn't have too.

Cenric just needed the first name to know exactly who she was.

"Thanks for not telling the professors, Mr. Evans." Lysander said. "We'll be off now."

He didn't get another word out as the four ran off.

His eyes didn't leave Primrose.

That's why she was so familiar. That unruly black hair and small frame. Those big, hazel eyes.

Primrose Potter.

That was his baby sister.

A sharp ache hit him square in the chest. It was suddenly hard to breathe. There was so much that he missed; his god-brothers and baby sister looked at him as if he was a stranger, despite being the spitting image of his father. Even with the height, long hair, and the beard on his face, surely he was familiar to them? No, of course he wouldn't be. They'd been only two years old last he saw them.

A breeze blew through the trees and it was so cold.

The ache in his chest grew as tears clouded his vision.

The breeze picked up, though the trees remained still.

A terrible screeching from the Thestrals sounded behind him as though they were frightened.

Cenric's eyes began to unfocus. He felt his feet leave the ground. Where was that black smoke coming from?

"Meooooowraah." His cat hissed and then a sudden pain bloomed on his arm as his cat pounced on him.

Falling back onto the forest floor, Cenric groaned.

The breeze stopped.

That smoke was gone too.

His cat sat on his chest glaring down at him.

What the hell just happened?

"Mr. Evans seemed nice." Lorcan said. "Sure is a bloke for not telling the teachers."

The four students walked back towards the castle. It was Saturday; not much to do other than homework or exploring the castle and grounds.

"He's huge." Lysander said. "Is that a gamekeeper requisite? Uncle Hagrid had been huge."

"Uncle Hagrid was half-giant." Lorcan reminded. He looked behind them, seeing that Primrose was lagging behind. "You all right, Prim?"

Primrose nodded. Really though, she couldn't stop thinking about Mr. Evans. There was something very familiar about him, but she couldn't figure out why. He reminded her a bit of her dad; like her father, Mr. Evans seemed to have very haunted eyes. His eyes were the exact shade of green and same shape as her dad's eyes too. That was odd. But Mr. Evans was much larger than Dad and his scruffy appearance reminded her a bit of Uncle Hagrid.

There was something else too. How did he know Lorcan and Lysander's last name, but not hers or Jaya's names?

"Prim!"

Prim looked over at a female voice calling for her.

Her older sister Diantha was coming up from the Quidditch pitch, separating from three other students. As the Captain for the Gryffindor team, Diantha was likely working out the pitch practice schedule with the other House captains. House rivalry wasn't as intense as it used to be.

"Hey Di." Prim smiled as her sister caught up with her. Prim was somewhat disappointed that she had been sorted into Ravenclaw. She didn't mind being smart, but what she wanted more than anything was to be as brave as most of her family. Though Theo and Chrys were Hufflepuffs and Roland was in Ravenclaw like her, most of her family were still Gryffindors.

Bravery often seemed to elude her. She was so easily scared as a child; scared of the dark, scared to try new things, scared of going on adventures. Some Potter she was; she could never live up to her parents, or her older siblings. Cautious should be her middle name.

"Have you written to Mum and Dad yet?" Diantha asked.

"Not yet, why?" Prim asked.

"I was going to send Cadogan off with my letter." Diantha told her. "Figured I might as well send your letter. Rhoda and Rolly's too if I can find them. Chrys already sent hers on with Oddball."

"I'll just send mine with a school owl." Prim shrugged.

Diantha looked at her little sister. The two couldn't be more different. Diantha was the spitting image of their mother, bold and brash, always looking for adventure or trouble. Prim was so much more proper and so quiet. Diantha worried often that her sister would try so hard to be invisible here at Hogwarts. Unsurprisingly, Prim stuck to Lorcan and Lysander, both Ravenclaws and her two oldest friends. Diantha wished that she could help her sister find herself instead of getting lost in the mass of Weasleys and Potters. "Hey." Diantha stopped Prim. "Are you all right?"

"I'm fine." Prim said.

Diantha wasn't sure. "You know, you'll do well here at Hogwarts, but Prim, don't be afraid to stand out."

Wasn't that the problem? Primrose was afraid of so many things. "I'll be fine."

"Prim, come on!" Lysander called back.

"See you later, Di."

Diantha watched her sister walk off. Some big sister talk. Disappointed with herself, she continued up to the castle. It wasn't easy acting as the oldest. Well, Theo was older, but he often struggled in the shoes of Cenric. Theo wasn't good with emotions and often flubbed up whenever comforting the younger siblings, but hell if Cenric wasn't a lot to live up to. Merlin, how she idolized him. Cenric had always been there for them, he always knew what to say, what to do. Diantha wished that he was still here. He'd know how to get Primrose out of her shell.

She wished she had the answers.

15 September 2027

Harry read over the letter again. If there was one thing he always knew, it was when something was wrong with his kids. Primrose's letter was clinical and factual. Was she all right? Was it because she was in Ravenclaw? She'd do fantastic in Ravenclaw. Lorcan and Lysander were with her.

Perhaps he should check in on her. Then again, Ginny would tell him something along the lines of Prim never being able to stand on her own if he kept going out to hold her hand. But she was his baby girl. They were all his babies. He was always going to try and catch them if they fell.

Ever since…since Cenric…he knew he'd been a bit of a smother, but the thought of losing one of his children again ate away at him. It was all his fault what happened to Cenric anyhow.

"Dad, can we go to the cafe?" Cenric asked. "It's freezing and they've got hot chocolate."

Harry smiled down at the teenager. Not that he'd be smiling down at Cenric for long. The boy was shooting up in height. He'd probably be as tall as his Uncle Ron or Bill soon enough. "All right. You have your mother's sweet tooth."

"Mum said it's Uncle Ron's sweet tooth." Cenric grinned. His emerald eyes, Harry's eyes, twinkled.

"The Weasley sweet tooth." Harry chuckled throwing an arm around his son.

"Potter!"

Harry turned at the sound of his name.

Then chaos exploded around him.

Burying his face in his hands, Harry quickly blocked out the memory.

Why did he use magic?

Because Cenric was there. He sighed.

When a few Alliance for Wizarding Superiority members attacked them in Muggle London, Harry's first instinct was to fight back in order to protect his son, but the chaos that followed ended with Cenric being blamed by the Muggle authorities as the A.W.S. members escaped.

"It was me!" Harry snapped at Minister Huxley. "Cenric didn't do anything."

"That might be the case." The Minister said. "But our world is in chaos and full of fear. We need Harry Potter now more than ever."

"He's just a boy." Ginny cried. "Please, Minister…"

"Then he will be an example." Minister Huxley snapped. "To show that even Harry Potter's family isn't safe. We need everyone to be more careful and this will show them the consequences of magic in the Muggle World."

A seething rage welled up in his chest at the memory. Harry rubbed his eyes and dropped Primrose's letter. He glanced over at Diantha's letter.

P.S. Any news?

That was Diantha's way of asking if Cenric was ever coming home.

Harry never knew what to tell her. The Muggle prison refused to let any family or friends contact the prisoners. Even nine years ago, Harry knew that they couldn't reveal their relation to Cenric, because then the whole family would come under suspicion. Hermione often tried to represent herself as Cenric's barrister, but that had failed time and again.

A knock sounded on his office.

"Come in." Harry said. He was still working for the Ministry. Head of the Department of Magic Law Enforcement. He hadn't wanted to work for the Ministry in the aftermath of Cenric's arrest, but Hermione, always level-headed, often reminded him that they needed someone with influence and who wasn't corrupt in the Ministry. As though she weren't influential, but he was still The Boy Who Lived.

A young American Auror entered. Parthenia Ashworth was a talented MACUSA Auror, who recently moved to Great Britain for a change.

Harry remembered Valora Warren, Head Auror, mentioning something about Ashworth's brother being problematic for MACUSA.

"Good morning, sir." Parthenia greeted. Her arms were full of paperwork. Like Harry, she was a half-blood, and like him as well, she often liked to do things the Muggle way. Like turning in reports from the Auror Department by hand rather than sending them flying through the Ministry.

"Ms. Ashworth." Harry said. "What do you have for me?"

"The usual reports on A.W.S. activity." Parthenia said, placing the stack on Harry's desk. Her mahogany hair was in a simple ponytail. Her hazel eyes looked tired. "And a rumor."

"Oh, you know I love those." Harry chuckled.

"Well, I promise this time it's not the one about Neville Longbottom and your wife being seen at the Leaky Cauldron for a candlelit dinner."

For years after the war, the discredited Rita Skeeter started her own paper that was nothing more than a trash-gossip rag, and Harry and his peers and family were often her favorite targets. Luckily, since Rita was no longer with The Prophet and a proven hack, her paper was bought more for amusement than to be taken seriously. Last week there was an article that he and Luna had an ongoing affair with Viktor Krum and they frequented BDSM clubs.

Luna was like his sister for Merlin's sake, and Viktor was a bloke and all, but not his closest friend. But it was Rita. So long as the children were not topics of her trash articles, then he could handle it.

The other thing about Parthenia that he liked was that she believed in rumors as much as he did. She also treated him like a person, not a legend, often teasing him about those rumors despite him being her boss's boss's boss.

"What is it then?" Harry asked.

"One of our informants in Muggle London says a wizard was released from the prison about a month ago." Parthenia's tone was serious. "Warren wanted me to run it by you before she sent any of us out to investigate."

Harry considered it. There could be something to it. Sometimes it took their informants a long time to get back to them with news with the restrictions in the Muggle World. "All right, Warren can send you and Kerridge out."

"Kerridge?" Parthenia arched a brow. "The rookie?"

"He's going to have to get out in the field sometime." Harry said. "Might as well be on something that could be nothing."

"If you says so, sir." Parthenia said. "I'll let her know."

"Good luck, Ms. Ashworth." Harry said.

Once she left his office, Harry sighed and glanced back at Diantha's letter.

He should probably respond to it. He glanced at the reports. Then again, it could wait.

23 September 2027

"Francis." Cenric said, placing a plate of food down before the cat.

The cat huffed at the name before eating.

Cenric turned to Boudica. "Such a critic, this one."

Boudica glared at the cat with a measure of agreement.

With the hut dusted and cleaned and the fire cooking his dinner, Cenric felt a little more at home. Still, it was strange and unsettling being in Hagrid's hut. It was so Hagrid in every way that it felt like the gamekeeper just stepped out for a bit and would be home any moment.

He had to get out of here. Get his own place.

He'd been avoiding going up to the castle unless absolutely needed for work. So far, he'd only needed to work in the forest and on the grounds. Nothing in the castle needed his attention yet. He couldn't avoid it forever.

Tomorrow, he'd go up there and talk to Llewellyn about building his own place at the lakeshore and getting supplies.

Cenric glanced at his wand. Taking a breath, he reached out. His hand started shaking. Come on. It's just a stick. Pick it up. His fingers were inches away, but his hand's violent shaking only increased.

Frustrated, Cenric's hand clenched into a fist and slammed onto the table top.

A squeak of surprise escaped Boudica, while the cat hissed startled.

He needed to get over this aversion to magic sooner or later.

His throat was sore from screaming.

"Show us your magic." A man said calmly. His slicked back blond hair was perfectly gelled in place. Grey-blue eyes were cold and calculating.

Cenric's breathing was harsh. His lungs burned.

"Perhaps, we should let him rest." Another man said. "This isn't working. We'll come back when his body has rested. After all, we don't want to kill him."

The blond man stared down at the seventeen year old. "Three years, you'd think he'd show us something."

"He might not have magic." The other man said.

The blond man stood up.

Cenric glared defiantly up at him. Hatred burned in his bones. The sweat from his body's exertion ran down his sensitive and raw skin.

"We will break you." The blond man said.

After the two men left him alone in the small nine by nine room, Cenric collapsed onto the cool, tiled floor. His back was screaming out to be cooled down, but Cenric struggled to roll over. It would probably hurt like hell to move.

They were upping their tactics. Before this, it was simple things: isolation, sleep deprivation, minor neglecting and abuses that went on and on. But now, they were determined to torture his magic out of him.

Anger and hatred swirled in him. He wanted to explode.

There were cameras.

With every ounce of self-control he had, he pressed down the magic that was screaming to escape.

Since his imprisonment, Cenric hated the magic he was born with; if he didn't have it, would they have kept him so long? Would they keep him much longer?

Fuck them. He'd show them he wasn't a wizard no matter what it cost him.

Cenric came back to the present when the cat hissed, swiping at his face from it's perch on the table. That's when he smelled something burning. He glanced over at the pot by the fireplace that was cooking his meal.

It was so cold in the hut despite the roaring fire.

Shooting a glare at the wand, Cenric hurried over to the fireplace, hoping to salvage some of his dinner. Looking at the charred chicken and burnt vegetables, Cenric sighed. He could save it with magic, but that wasn't going to happen any time soon.

Still, he'd eaten worse than overdone food.

The cat meowed loudly, his tail swishing off the edge of the table.

"Get down, Horatio." Cenric's tone was stern.

The cat hissed at the name and jumped off the table, kicking the wand as he went.

The wand rolled off the table onto the floor. It continued rolling until it hit Cenric's foot.

If he believed in signs, that sure was one.

Signs were for the hopeful.

What the hell did he have to hope for?

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