Title Pending

Kenji

Rating: NC17
Genres: Angst, Drama
Relationships: Harry & Hermione
Book: Harry & Hermione, Books 1 - 5
Published: 03/02/2004
Last Updated: 31/05/2004
Status: in_progress

In the life of every pureblood family member, a surname plays a vital role in determining who they are. Without a proper pureblood surname, that person is nothing. When Harry Brumnder learns that not only he is not just a common teenager with a troubled childhood but an heir to a large estate and immense of wealth, it shakes his foundation. A story about surviving the test of foreign worlds and learning to coexist with not only a different society, but also a different perspective on life. The Potter bloodline is going to bleed its true colors in a battle for what is right.

Chapters

1. Prologue - Amnesty

2. Chapter One - Moira

3. Rhea

4. Chapter Three - Astraea

5. Chapter Four - Apollo

6. Chapter Five - Hermes

1. Prologue - Amnesty

Title Pending

Prologue: Amnesty Saturday October 31, 1981

James would protect him, like he failed to do for her.

James lay the crying baby boy down next to its dead mother and the crying ceased. The boy frantically grabbed at its mother, reaching with short baby arms to clasp an arm, reaching out towards its mother’s face.

The baby, Harry, was calm and content knowing nothing, fearing nothing.

James’ shoulder’s shook as he looked down at his completely incomplete family. They continued to shake with dry sobs echoing through his soul, tears not yet sprung but waiting on the verge.

The house lay in ruin around him.

He watched the wind toss her hair around her face and a few delicate red locks slither into Harry’s mouth. He looked into her eyes, still vacant, still open. He wanted to reach out and close them, but could not relish the thought of never seeing them open again.

A door fell over from its perch against the wall, sliding down to the ground and creating a loud noise startling both James and Harry. James fell next to his dead wife tears clogging his vision, sobs wracking his soul. Baby Harry began to cry as well, the door falling and his father crying had startled him and he knew few instincts better than to cry.

James squinted his eyes, haloes of white light flashing in front of him. He wanted imagine his Lily again, in front of him, whether in spirit or better yet, alive. He wanted to reach out and touch her, kiss her, hold her. He wanted to say he loved her, that he needed her. He wanted to say what he didn’t get the chance to say, good bye.

He heard the sound of pages rustling next to his ear and he turned his head away from his wife to see the book she coveted above all other books.

Cannery Row

He would never quite understand why she loved it so. The old paperback book was worn; edges ripped and frayed, the spine was in bad condition as well, but Lily would never tire of reading it. John Steinbeck, she claimed, was a genius. He could just not see it, the book had no plot, it revolved stupidly, in his opinion, around stupid people.

But Lily had fallen in love with the characters, Mr. Chong the shopkeeper, Doc the proprietor of Western Biological Laboratory, and Mack and the boys, a rambunctious few that drove the inhabitants of Cannery Row wild with aberration.

Lily often confided in James (as if telling him often enough would make it come true) that she had dreamt of going to Monterey, California since she had read the book as a teenager. She dreamt of walking down Cannery Row, imagine the fictitious characters in their splendor, and dreamt of buying a pack of spearmint in Mr. Chong’s shop.

And yet, at age twenty-two she was dead, her life not even half lead and her dreams helplessly shattered. Her requests and dreams never got too extravagant, she kept as simple as she was raised, never needing expensive clothing or a big house(all of which James could easily have provided). She instead reveled in the small things, her husband and for the last year and a half, her wonderful baby boy.

James felt the proverbial last straw break inside himself as he stood up, stuffing the book savagely into the back pocket of his faded jeans. He lifted his wife into his arms before re-arranging his grasp so that he may hold her frame up with a single arm. The other arm reached out to grab Harry (who had begun to crawl away) around the middle, seating him on his lap.

He held his wand in his right hand and concentrated very hard, imagining the ocean spray, the salty smell, the rolling hills, sandy beaches and wonderfully green cypress trees that had been described to him by his wife many times. It took nearly every ounce of concentration and energy he possessed to apparate not only himself, but his dead wife and living child nearly half way across the world.

He landed with a loud thud in a crowded wood. Strewn leaves softened the blow but the back of his head connected with hard ground and his vision swam several times in and out. He felt (as if far away) his son stand and start to waddle away from him into the line of trees.

He grumbled, feeling extremely weak, and crumpled back into the leaves after several failed attempts at getting up. He cried out in frustration but even that was half put as only soft sputtering and failed tears came out. He was too weak to save his wife, to weak to apparate so far and now he would be too weak to save his son.

He blacked out.

***

James awoke to the gentle crying of a baby. Harry had made his way back to his mother and was anxiously trying to peal away her shirt to suckle at her breast and feed. It broke James’ heart to see this sight, but then in the pit of his heart, he felt rectified. It was the baby’s just punishment, to die in the hills of Monterey alongside his mother. It was just punishment for James to walk away from the woman he loved, his wife and their child because that child had killed its own mother.

It was just punishment.

And then the burdens of remorse swept through him and he stood up and grabbed the baby boy, startling it. He held on to the boy as he sobbed into the mop of pristine black hair he so possessed. He wept into the light green t-shirt the baby held on its fragile little shoulders as James’ own shoulders wracked up and down. He fell again, to his knees.

He would make a life for them two. He would continue on raising the child like he knew Lily would want him to. He would hold nothing back to make this child, this boy, their child, the best there was.

And yet.

And yet…he couldn’t bring him back to the wizard world from which James himself grew up. The world he hoped to rear his family from on the ancestral lawns of the Potter family estate.

There would be followers, massing in courts to bring their leader back. They would come up with one solid solution for their trials, one answer to answer the book of questions they held.

They would kill the boy.

They would kill his son and Lily’s son. The son that she loved and died for. The son that killed its mother without remorse but with complete innocence.

He would not bring his son into the harrows of a world bent on killing him. He would shield him from all evils, magic included.

James let go of his child allowing it to sit back on it’s bottom in the forest floor. James stood up again, reached into his robe pocket for a wand and set to work.

He would create a world for his son and himself.

He would live in this muggle world; torture himself in this infernally primitive world; survive this travesty for his son and for his lost love.

James Potter ceased to be James Potter.

2. Chapter One - Moira

Title Pending

Chapter One - Moira

Sunday

August 4, 1996

It wasn't that he hated the man; it was more that he hated that he could not hate him. For who could consciously hate their father when they gave so much up, for the sake of their children.

“Harry, get in the car right now,” his father rang out, sounding more like a master scolding his dog, than a father demanding of his son. Harry did not like that one bit.

“If you'd ask nicely, maybe,” he paused, “ I will.”

James took one incredulous look at his son, turned to the car and shouted over his shoulder, “I suppose you don't want your license after all. Shame, it was a really nice picture.”

Perhaps it was possible to hate the man.

He clambered into the car—it wasn't really a car, but a jeep—one that he despised with utter loathing that could only be associated with tests or chores; annoyance and irritation resonated from the “car” when he was in it, and he liked to make it known.

“Took you long enough, bitch,” Jake, his brother said. He was only twelve and had the mouth of a sailor.

“Jake…” their mother warned. She did not like that the men she dwelled with had progressively fouler mouths, but was at a loss at how to deal with it. Eventually she had given up to muttering half warnings and threats that they, the men, had grown to ignore.

“Shut up,” Harry said to Jake, not wanting to put up a fight. His father was peeved off enough, no use in letting him get madder. It seemed, to Harry only of course, that his father was much harder on himself, than he was on either Jake or Andrew. Why he was so easy on Andrew he could understand, but Jake seemed to slither out of every crevice he could, mocking Harry for the things he did under their father's nose.

James turned on the engine and waited as it warmed up. The frigid mountain air did no good for the old engine and the family, was forced to wait several anxious and tantalizing seconds before James figured it was safe enough to pull it into drive and out of the campsite.

“Won't someone steal our stuff dad?” Jake piped up voicing Harry's exact worries.

“No.” James grunted in response.

“Oh…why not?”

“Because”

“Because what?”

“Just because!” Harry growled, frustrated.

“Don't talk to your brother like that,” James reprimanded.

“Yes sir…” Harry replied saucily. He loved testing the borders, loved stepping into the water seeing how far he could go before he drowned. He especially loved it when he was angry with his father. It did no good to get back on the good side, he doubted he was ever there.

“Don't answer me like that.”

“Like what?” Harry said, trying valiantly to hide the grin leveling on his face.

“Like that! Don't play smart ass with me, you know what you're doing and you're going to stop right now.”

“I don't know what you're saying,” Harry said, staring out the window, completely nonchalant, sans the grin on his face.

James pulled the jeep to the side of the road angrily. He turned around in his seat pointed an angry finger at Harry and yelled, “You don't talk to me like that! The next time I hear you talking to me like that…”

The grin was gone now, but the threat loomed. Harry knew his father would not hit him, but he somehow wished, deep inside, that perhaps he would someday. Not for the sake of being hit, but rather for the sake that he wanted his father to feel bad about himself for hitting his son; taking his anger out in violence.

James turned back around in his seat, threw the engine into drive and they carried on back on the twisting road.

“Open a window, it's stuffy in here,” Jake said after minutes of silence.

“It's cold,” Harry said.

“Mom,” Jake whined, “ Tell Harry to open the window.”

“Harry, open the window,” Zoe answered.

“No,” Harry persisted.

“James, tell Harry to open the window,” Zoe said.

“Harry open the window,” James grunted.

“I'll open the window,” Andrew mumbled out. The quietest of the Brumnder bunch, Andrew sat at the window opposite Harry. If there was one member of the family that Harry could appreciate, it was Andrew.

“No it's ok Andrew, I'll open the window for this fuckwit.”

“I'm not a fuckwit, you're a fuckwit!” Jake said.

“You're both fuckwits, now shut up so I don't kill us all.” James said.

Harry opened the window, the cool air hitting his face. He took a deep breath in and found it burned his nostrils. It was clean and fresh and he resented the smell. Pines and other evergreens fermented the area making the air cleaner than he ever really liked. Besides, he preferred ocean breezes, not mountain freshness. He loved that salty feeling upon his face, and the endless seagulls, as stupid as they were.

“Don't you love that smell?” Jakes asked.

“No.”

“No? You're strange.”

“Yes,” Harry answered. “Andrew is going to get too cold.”

“I'm fine Harry, don't worry,” Andrew said.

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah, don't worry,” Andrew said, pleased.

The ride was quiet then. The mountains of forests curved down to the valley of grass. He really was enjoying the trip to the Yosemite National Park, albeit, with his dad and brother around, it was less enjoyable.

They arrived at the Ahwahnee restaurant just after nine thirty. It was a thirty minutes of agony that much resembled the time ever since they had left their home in the humble city of Monterey, California.

“I bet I can eat more than you can,” Jake chided as he slammed the door shut. The boy would compete for everything, and anything and never believed himself a loser, no matter the outcome of the game; he would always find a way to “win”. This time though, Harry knew not to play along. At his twelve years of age, Jake was an inch taller than Harry, even though Harry himself was sixteen. The reason, Jake could eat like a horse and would only grow up. Up and up and up, and Harry hated it. It was as if his body disliked growing out, and only grew up. Their mother attributed it to the fact that her brother was also very tall, and nearly all the men on her mother's side of the family were very tall, but Harry had yet to see it in himself. When he asked about this, his parents conveniently, didn't have a clue.

“I don't feel like gorging myself today,” Harry said. He was by no means fat, but he did feel a couple extra pounds starting to stock up on his figure and he preferred to watch his diet for the time being.

“Suit yourself,” Jake yelped, running into the building.

“Idiot,” Harry mumbled under his breath.

They were ushered into the elegant dining room, the wooden ceilings that stretched up high, held up with several stone pillars. They were met by a woman in her early twenties. She had a startling figure and Harry couldn't help but gawk at her shimmering blonde hair and her clear smooth skin. The uniform she had on didn't help matters one bit as Harry couldn't help but like all the features the tight shirt and short skirt showed off.

They were seated in a booth, James and Zoe seated on one side, Harry, Jake and Andrew seated on the other, Andrew creating the buffer between his two older brothers.

“Welcome to the Ahwahnee, today we are featuring our special Sunday brunch where you can choose between the nine special buffet stations. Feel free to get up, select a plate and choose between the cold stations with yogurt, fruit, cheeses and meats. The salad station with several varieties of salads including pasta, fruit and tossed salads. The seafood station, which has prawns, oysters on the half shell, smoked salmon and several other choices. The hot entree station, which has quiche, pork, ham, and any type of potato. Our custom egg station has just about any type of egg cooked the way you like it. The carved—“

“Can we just go get our food?” Jake grumbled interrupting the stewardess' mantra. The way she said it sounded like she either getting tired of constantly repeating it, or was half asleep.

“Yes sir, sorry, sir. You can make as many trips as you'd like, we only ask that you grab a clean plate each time.” She took a break here, looked the family over and then said, “If you need anything, please be sure to ask me.” She plastered on a fake smile and left the table.

“Finally,” Jake said, pushing Andrew over to get out of the booth. “Move over, I'm gonna go get some food!”

Harry stood up, helping Andrew up as well as their overzealous brother leapt from his seat and ran towards the different stations.

“Dumbass…” Harry muttered under his breath. “Come on Andrew, let's go get something to eat.” Harry went with his brother to the kid's station first, holding his brother's plate and gathering the food that he pointed to, and his brother nodded at. When he was finished, he went back to the table set his brother's plate down and looked him in the eye.

“Eat up ok?” He took a second and looked behind him, glancing at the different families and couples sitting down and then said to Andrew, “you sure you're gonna be ok her by yourself? I'm sure it's only gonna be for a little while, but if you need me, just yell and I'll be here in a flash. Okay?”

“Yeah Harry, go get your food, don't worry about me, I'll be fine,” Andrew said with a smile.

“Alright, anything happens, give me a yell.”

He loved his brother, Harry did. He could not help himself and yet he could not decide if whether he loved his brother because he felt actual love of a brother, or pity at the fact that his brother had acute lymphoblastic leukemia. Projected death for Andrew had come and gone and the doctors were astonished at the resilience of the boy. However astonished they were though, they were still not convinced that Andrews' last weeks weren't upon him and the family kept vigil hoping that what the doctors said, wasn't true. Countless chemotherapy sessions with no resulting remission in sight, hadn't helped the poor boys spirit though, anymore than it helped the family's and finally James decided it was time to bring the family on a vacation from their home in Monterey, California to the wonderful valley of Yosemite National Park.

“Let the boy see the world,” James had said, and for one of the few times in his life, Harry truly admired his father.

Hunger bit him out of his thoughts as his stomach growled greedily at the site of all the food, and he grinned and succumbed to its heeds as he ordered and omelet with ham and cheese. Then he went and grabbed himself some bagels, asking for extra cream cheese. A cup of Coffee was his last order at the refreshments station, before he begged off back to the table finding his family already sitting down, engrossed in the food they had on their plates. Jake had, as it looked to Harry, every single parcel of food possible to get on his plate.

“You call that a plate?” Jake admonished.

“Yes.” Harry said.

“You better get more food, I'm paying good money for this,” James scowled, having sighted Harry's plate and listened to the small squabble between his boys.

“I'd be happy with just a sandwich, that's what camping's about after all,” Harry said.

“Brunch,” Jake piped up.

“What?” Harry answered, angrily.

“This is a brunch, not a breakfast. And you don't have to be here if you don't want to, besides we don't want you here, isn't that right dad?” Jake said.

James, who had been looking at his food the whole time simply muttered, “Be quiet and eat,” without looking up from his food. And the boys listened.

***

Harry sniffed for the fifth time in under a minute, clawed at his right eye and sat back in the ugly shit brown seat, sighing.

“Why do you keep sniffing? It's getting really annoying,” Jake begrudged.

“My allergies are acting up,” Harry said. His nose was running, his eyes were itching, painfully, and he was having difficulty breathing, the stuffy air inside the car was not helping.

“Didn't I tell you to take your medicine earlier Harry?” Zoe asked, with the worry of a mother in her voice.

“Yeah,” Harry said, remembering, “I guess I just forgot.”

“Well, if you'd woken up when I told you to, instead of falling back to sleep like you did, we wouldn't be having this problem would we?” James droned, from the wheel. He was searching for a place to park in the small parking lot and the lot of cars from the summer cars was not providing any help. As such, he continued circling endlessly, it seemed, to get a parking spot.

“Here Harry,” Zoe said, handing him back a bottle of children's antihistamine. “Don't drink too much, it will knock you out, but since you didn't take your medicine earlier, it will have to do.”

Harry sized up the bottle in his hand; the liquid was bright, cherry red and looked positively nasty. He knew it would not go down well and as he noticed, looking around the car, there were no water bottles so he would have to grin and bear that taste. He felt miserable, anything that would help him he would gladly take. He was however immensely glad that he had a stuffy nose as he put the bottle up to his mouth for when he did in fact pour the medicine in his mouth; he found he did not taste it as much. A hand tipped the bottle, pouring more medicine in his mouth than he would have liked, and out of shock, he swallowed it all.

His eyes bulged out, he closed the bottle quickly, wiped the side of his mouth and punched Jake right on the shoulder, ending the joyful laughing he was producing.

“Ow!” he exclaimed, his other arm quickly going to run the sore one. “What'd you have to go and do that for? I only pushed the bottle a little! It's gonna make you better!”

“You're an idiot!” He searched the bottle and pointed at the word he was looking for, “You see what this? Drowsy! Makes people sleepy.”

“Drowsy is not the same thing as sleepy,” Jake chanted, his swore arm forgotten.

“You dumbfuck, why don't you take some,” Harry said, opening the bottle and grabbing his brother's shoulder. Jake scooted away smashing Andrew into the door making him scream in pain.

“That's enough! Stop it!” James yelled. Stopping the car quickly, the mini-van behind them honked loudly. “You two, out of the car,” He said, pointing at Harry and Jake.

“But he—” Jake began.

“I don't care who started it, both of you out of the car right now,” James pressed.

Harry grunted as he opened the door and stepped out, contemplating slamming the door in Jake's face.

“Bastard,” Harry said, watching the car pull away, and scratching at his right eye.

“I thought that stuff was supposed to help you.”

Harry turned to look his brother in the eye. “It doesn't work that fast you stupid moron.”

“I'm not stupid, you're stupid!” Jake whined.

“Clever,” he snorted.

“Of course it was!” Jake said.

“ Let's go.” Harry sighed, he hoped Andrew was okay; he hated to hear him scream.

They met up with the rest of their family on the path. James looked angry, and Zoe was tending over Andrew who was massaging his left arm, the one pushed into the door.

“What do you two have to say for yourselves,” James asked, his arms now crossed and his foot tapping on the ground merely, Harry deemed, for show.

“I'm sorry,” Jake said, having the decency to bow his head.

James set his sights on Harry and he just shrugged, shook his head, and said, “Sorry,” then rolled his eyes.

“Dad? Why are we here?” Andrew asked, a hat on his head, although they were surrounded by trees and it was partly cloudy.

“Well, your mother and I thought it would be best to start off the day visiting one of the four great waterfalls they have here, the uh…” he struggled to come up with the name.

“Bridelvail falls,” Harry yawned. He knew the map of the park by heart.

“Right, right, that's the one,” James said, continuing walking and looking up.

“I don't see or hear it yet,” Jake grumbled. “Aren't waterfalls supposed to be big and loud?”

“It's the summer, it's dried up,” Harry sighed. The logic his brother possessed would borderline nothing. He was beginning to really feel the affects of the drug as he yawned again this time smacking his lips together.

When they finally caught view of the falls it was slightly disappointing to see. Normally big and majestic, the falls were a miniscule spray over the ridge that seemed to dissolve into the air. There were a tremendous amount of rocks at the bottom and many people were scampering along, trying to climb as high as they could. Naturally Jake's eyes lit up and he turned to his brother.

“I'll race you to the top,” Jake said, mischief in his eyes and competitive spirit shooting out.

Harry, by this time was truly feeling very tired. The rocks looked as inviting as a nice warm bed and all he wanted to do was curl up and fall asleep.

“No,” he said simply.

“What? Why not? You chicken?” Jake taunted.

“No, just tired.”

“Aww, you're just faking it. You're not really tired, you're just afraid you're gonna lose.”

“Dammit Jake, I said no.”

“Whatever,” Jake said and set off to go climb the rocks.

“Not so fast young man,” Zoe called out halting Jake's retreat.

“What is it now?” Jake sighed.

“You're not to climb those rocks without your brother supervising you. I don't want you falling and hurting yourself,” Zoe said, laying down the rules. She gathered the stern look she had in the bag of discipline she used as a teacher, but rarely used on her own children.

“But he said he didn't want to go!” Jake said, knowing that he might not be able to climb after all.

“Tough shit isn't it?” Harry said feeling a dizziness wash over him nearly knocking off his feet.

Jake took one look at his brother, summed up the injustice of it all in his head and then did what he did best.

“Dad! Make Harry go please? I really wanna climb the rocks and it's not fair,” Jake whined, professionally.

Jake was king at whining, Harry had to hand it to him. It really was tough, living with their youngest brother. Andrew, although not wanting to, did generate a lot of attention and Jake and Harry did experience quite a lot of fall out because of it. Harry accepted this fact and did not complain. Jake, however, did not and probably never would accept the fact that his brother took his parents attention off of him. His answer to it all was, obviously, whining and trying to win his way in every little thing.

And James made him. He made him climb the rocks with Jake even though he could barely see in front of him. Zoe warned them not to go too far up and that if anything happened to yell as loudly as they could. And so, Harry began to climb the rocks, so many, in so many different shapes and sizes it was disorienting. It was far from a straight slope up. Barely inclining, it was more of a big pile of rocks splattered over each other making different paths for people to climb. And indeed, there were many people climbing the rocks as Jake and Harry were.

It seemed as if, when they reached the top of the first tier of rocks, that the physical exertion, did at the very least help wake Harry up; if only because adrenaline was pumping madly through him for fear of falling and breaking, literally, his body.

Jake, not so far ahead of him now, jumped from one rock to the other with the ease of a mountain goat. Harry, stumbled in the beginning but was starting to get a feel for them; coming from veritably crawling in the beginning to standing, hunched over, arms spread out the sides just in case he should fall.

“You're going too fast,” Harry called out as Jake started to pull away quickly. Begrudgingly his brother listened as Harry caught up to him.

“You're so slow, I bet if we had raced I could have climbed up and back before you even reached half way,” Jake said scanning different possible routes to go.

“It's the stupid medicine.” Harry said back, stretching his arms out, trying to loosen up his back.

“Whatever,” Jake replied. He had searched and scanned and was ready to deliver his verdict. “If we're gonna make it to the top over there,” he said, pointing to the very top of the pile of rocks. “We're going to have to climb up in between those two rocks over there. It's gonna be hard, you think your pussy ass can make it?”

It did look daunting indeed. Along their left, there were paths leading to the base of the waterfall where the water trickled down the side of the rock into a pool. Several people were playing and getting wet in it, but where Jake was deciding to take them was much higher up. A narrow crevice seemed to separate two humongous rocks and climbing in between and up the crevice seemed the only way to reach high ground. The top of the crevice looked high enough that Harry could probably just barely reach it with his hands up. He could never do a pull up in school and from the looks of it, a pull up would be exactly what he would be doing.

“Just get on with it,” Harry spat, he had enough of his brother pushing him around for the day, and the Brumnder blood that swam through him would not let him back down as much as it would let his brother back down.

Jake made his way carefully toward the crevice, reached with his hands—which had a longer reach than did Harry's—and hoisted himself up using his feet along the walls. He did indeed make it look remarkably easy, but when Harry himself tried it, he failed miserably, falling on his ass with a dull thud against the rock below.

Jake, above burst into laughter putting out strings of “dumbass” and “feel on his ass” in successions broken only by partakes of laughter.

“Would you just shut up and help me?” Harry said, silently angry at his inability to climb.

Jake had naturally always taken to climbing, anything from trees to hills of dirt used for construction. Seaside cliffs back home were climbed, and unforgiving Cyprus trees were climbed seemingly as easy as walking on the ground. For Harry it had never been so easy. He was never really afraid of heights. He loved them in fact, when they provided a great view of the ocean at sunset. No, instead he just never climbed because he honestly knew he could not. Small and lanky Harry had never developed upper body strength the likes of which his brother, four years his minor flourished with.

“Fine, fine” Jake answered, reaching a hand down between the crevice still trying to hold in his laughter, failing miserably Harry would note. He reached his left hand out to his brother's left creating a strange clasp of fingers. “It won't work that way, you have to grab my hand with your right.”

“I can't, my left arm has no strength. Go to the other side.” Harry said.

“Ugh, fine,” Jake grumbled. His hands were equally as powerful and equally as coordinated, another talent his brother possessed that Harry did not and another thing he was envious of.

Jake jumped across the crevice to the other side and used his right hand to clasp Harry's left so that Harry could grab the opposite tip with his right hand. Together they pulled and Harry kicked helplessly with his feet trying to hoist one or the other up over the edge. He succeeded with both legs, one on either side of the crevice and then his left hand slipped from Jake's grasp quickly finding its way to the edge of the wall. Now he was placed precariously between the crevice holding on for his life and Jake having fallen over, laughing on his side.

“It's not funny!” Harry exclaimed. He was scarred to death, all sleepiness having left him in a quick burst of adrenaline. He did not feel apt to throw himself to either side so that he might scramble over. “Help me!”

“Alright! Alright, just calm down will yah?” Jake said, holding his sides. His face was red and Harry hated him deeply at that moment in time. Jake quickly jumped down the hole and under Harry, pushing onto his back.

“On the count of three I'm going to push you to your right, I want you to throw all your weight into going right, okay?”

“Alright,” Harry said, briefly contemplating all the things that could go wrong, but choosing not to dwell.

“All right, One, Two, Three,” and he heaved Harry getting him fully over the edge. Harry rolled over the side and lay face down trying to calm his erratic breathing and attempting to regain the feeling in his arms.

“There, there that wasn't so bad now was it?” Jake taunted, already up again. “Now let's get going.”

“What? We have to go back down!” Harry tried to reason. He knew his brother would continue and as such, so would he, but it was still worth the try.

“Hmm…” Jake mock contemplated. “No, let's go, you fuckin' slow piece of shit.”

Harry groaned, climbed up to his feet and continued to follow his brother up the rocks. He could see the top now, and only a few teenagers were ahead of them now instead of flocks of families.

Glancing at the terrain ahead of him, he discovered surprisingly that it was a lot easier that the terrain before. It was still compromised of several rocks seemingly scattered everywhere, but now the slope was more gradual creating what looked to Harry like a stairway.

So comfortable in his stepping, Harry started to pay more attention to his surroundings, the face of the waterfall, the valley behind, the mountains on the other side. And as such did not see Jake slip on the rock and twist his ankle, until he tripped over him and nearly hit his head.

“Aww, shit what happened?” Harry said, massaging his hands which took the blow for the fall. His knee was in pain too, but when he saw his brother's bright red face and the hands cradling his left ankle, he knew his own pain was slight in comparison.

“Harry I can feel where the bone cracked. Harry, it hurts so much,” Jake whimpered. He honestly looked like an inferno was boiling within him; pain suffocating him trying to get out but him desperately trying to hold onto his dignity and not cry.

Harry's mind drew a blank. He felt panicked, choked up and lost. It really had happened so quickly, one second he was climbing…He knew one thing, he needed to get his brother and himself down the rocks and he berated himself for not having the slightest clue how.

“Jake, I need you to…can you walk on it?” Harry choked out.

“Can I walk on it? No I can't walk on it! It's cracked in half,” Jake nearly shouted. “Look, feel it.”

And indeed it was cracked not so nearly in half as Jake had said, but the bone was nearly jutting out of his skin. It seemed strangely surreal to him, like a test. He looked around expecting to see the puppet master pulling the strings but he saw none.

“Harry, please help me. It hurts so bad,” Jake said, tears now crawling down his face, the pain too much for him now. Harry wanted nothing more at that moment than to free his brother of the pain. No matter how much he vowed to hate him, or how much at times he annoyed himm, he truly never wanted his brother to experience pain. He reached again for the fracture in the bone feeling it jut out against the skin.

And then suddenly, where he was lost he knew. He didn't know how he knew, but it seemed to crawl up from inside him itching it's way along to his fingers and pouring into his brother's skin. It was like a fire racing along through his veins that felt dreamlike in every sense of the word. A sickening lurch of bones melding together was heard and Harry sat back quickly afraid of what he had done. Just as soon as the knowledge had hit him, it had receded.

Harry looked back up to his brother, wide eyes adorned them both and neither could believe what had just happened.

“There's…no more pain,” Jake slowly said.

“Is it still broken?” Harry asked, nearly afraid of the answer.

Jake felt his ankle, felt the bones back in place. He gave it a firm squeeze to make sure he wasn't dreaming and shook his head.

“Well…what just happened?” Harry asked.

“I don't know, you did it, you tell me,” Jake said.

“I…I have no idea what just happened.”

“What do you mean you don't know what happened?” Jake jumped up. “My ankle is fine and just a second ago it was broken in half! What the hell just went on here? Ankle's don't just do that you know.” He stomped his foot a couple times, showing the capacity of the “miraculous healing.”

“I don't know! I don't know! I don't know!” Harry nearly wanted to scream. “How am I suppose to know any of this?”

Jake sighed. “Sorry, I just…that was rather scary don't you think?”

“Yeah,” Harry looked down at the ground. “Do we tell mom and dad?”

“Nah, let's not tell them. It'll be our little secret. Besides, they might not trust you for letting me fall. If that happens, I'll never be able to do anything.”

Harry snorted, “Always thinking about yourself aren't you?”

“Well, what else? Now, are we going to keep climbing or are we going to head down?” Jake said, peering up.

“I say we go down.”

Jake nodded and helped his brother down the crevice again.

***

“I was a bitch today wasn't I?” Jake said sitting in the chair next to him by the fire. Harry looked up from the flame to acknowledge the sincerity in his brother's eyes. “Wasn't I?”

“Sort of. But when aren't you?” Harry simply stated.

“Lot's of times, just…not today,” Jake sighed, picking up a stick and sticking it in the fire.

“Sure Jake, whatever you say,” Harry stretched his arms up in the air and then brought them back shivering and pulling his arms into his sweater. “Damn is it ever cold up here.”

“Yeah,” Jake nodded. “And it's August, who woulda' thunk it eh?”

Harry shook his head, “I love the grammar.”

“Thanks, I do my best to please.”

“Yeah…Mom and Dad asleep?” Harry asked looking at his brother.

“Yeah, Andrew too…why? Got something planned?”

A smirk graced Harry's face. “Maybe, what's it to you?”

“What? You can't just leave me hanging like that. You have to take me. Anywhere, where are we going?” Jake said, flailing his arms about.

“Yeah? You wanna go? Really? Go ahead,” Harry's smirk disappeared. “I'm not going anywhere.”

Jake sat back in his seat. “That was stupid and mean.”

“You're the one who thought I was going to do something,” Harry said, looking back into the fire.

The fire crackled noisily in its home of rocks. The crickets chirped in the woods and the sound of trees moving back and forth in the slight wind put an aura of calm deceptiveness around the two brothers.

“Where leaving for home tomorrow aren't we? It feels like we've been here forever,” Jake said, exasperation in his voice.

“Only four days, that's not too long. I'm going to miss the redwoods,” Harry said.

“I know what you mean, it's a shame there are so few left they really are great. What about what happened today though. What do you think that was? It wasn't anything normal, that's for sure,” Jake said, idly twiddling his thumbs.

“I wish I could say I knew.”

“It would be so nice to just blame it on a dream, then maybe I wouldn't think I was going crazy anymore.”

“Yeah, a dream…” Harry said.

“I wanna go home.”

“You said that already.”

“Yeah, but it needs to be said again, I really want to go home,” Jakes repeated.

“Why do you want to go home so much?” Harry asked, intrigued for his brother's reasons.

Jake blushed and looked down at his hands. “Well, there's this girl…”

Harry sat up in his seat now for it was genuinely news to him that his brother liked girls. It was not more than a year ago his brother still vowed all girls had cooties.

“Oh? A girl?”

“She's…she's…really nice. I guess I like her, I just don't know. It's all new to me, this…girls and stuff. I don't really know what to do.”

“Well, you can start with a name,” Harry said.

“Chelsea Hunter, she's really…beautiful…” Jake said, dreamy eyed.

“Uh-oh, someone's fallen and he can't get up,” Harry laughed.

“What? How can you tell?” Jake's eyes snapping out of their trance.

“Well, I really can't, but referring to a girl as beautiful rather than hot is one clue, not to mention your reaction. Dear brother, I must warn you now though, women are atrocious. They can beat you senseless without lifting a finger, I say to thee, tread carefully.”

“What?”

“Just be cautious, don't jump into things,” Harry said, knowing his stuff.

“You mean like what happened with you and Sarah?” Jake asked.

“Something like that. But enough about me, tell me about Chelsea. What makes her so special?”

Jake smiled. “Well, it's a lot of things and no things all at once, it's really strange. Just the way her smile is, it's so…I don't know…and I feel like such a dumbass saying all this.”

“No, go on, I'm not going to judge you. Besides, maybe I can help, you never know.”

“Well, it's just…I don't know how to describe her, she's just wonderful all in one. I find myself doing things I don't normally do, or even, don't want to do, just so maybe she can…I dunno…like me I guess. Or maybe I just want her to notice me at least. Do ever have that feeling? Where you want them to notice you and you'd do anything to do it but they never seem to even bat an eye?”

“You see, this is the evils of women, you just never know what they're thinking.”

“Maybe, but I'm scared. What if she doesn't like me? I don't think I could take that, maybe I should just give up while I'm ahead.”

“You won't know till you try. Be proud Brumnder, don't ever back down.”

“You know, I've never heard dad say things like that. You'd think he wasn't proud to be a Brumnder or something. He always makes this funny face when he says his name, you ever notice it?” Jake asked.

“Yeah, I do actually, it's like he's mad at the name. Funny.” Harry said. He was beginning to get terribly cold and his feet were frozen solid, his toes numb.

“Let's go to sleep,” Harry said, standing up. He rubbed his arms together trying to generate some heat, but it was in vain.

Jake only nodded and headed for the tent. They climbed into their sleeping bags and dosed off shortly there after dreaming dreams of home and girls.

3. Rhea

Title: Title Pending – Chapter Two - Rhea
Author name: Kenji
Category: Angst
Sub-Category: Drama
Summary: In another world, James survived. In another world, he raised his son devoid of magic. In another world, Harry is called upon once again to culture the strength within him and conquer the loathesome future of his world.
DISCLAIMER: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.
Author notes: The content in this story will progressively get darker and darker. This is not a light-hearted, happy story. As for the Harry/Hermione pairing, that might not happen like most of your are hoping. It is also a long time in coming. So if you are reading this story solely because of the Harry/Hermione category then be warned.

Chapter Two - Rhea

It was always the same dream when he had it.

He would run and run, and never tire. The park that he would run in would fly by. The trees were luscious green Cyprus trees. Their vagrant nature exceeded the wills of other life forms around him; including him. And then the murky blue water in the pond; even that was vagrant in nature. They were nature.

The forests flashed by him in an instant. He was all at once in a murky fog-ridden wood and then in an alley shallow and well lit. He felt as if a wolf. His senses were heightened; stimulated by sinewy smell of rotting flesh. There was no blood to be found, of course, but the aura of death stayed in tact.

He lay on the hard cement floor that felt not so much solid and bitter, but soft and mellow. And yet he could feel the cold seeping into his skin. He felt it clamber through the capillaries and veins and arteries in his body oscillating up its path to chambers of his heart.

The alley was peculiar to him in his surreal state. As he lingered upon the coldness of the floor he also began to think of the alley that harnessed this contradiction of feelings and sensations. And indeed the alley was simple enough; formed by the gap between two homes both ancient looking and worn with life.

The brick house. That’s the one he remembered most vividly when he woke up. It was open to his prying eye by a hole that was protruding into the alley. It yielded no warmth but the light it relished into the alley was comforting enough.

He watched through the hole for what seemed like days but was most likely hapless minutes of solitude. A family moved throughout the home. A family he did not recognize except for one solitary member, his father. It seemed as well, that this lone figure--his father--was the only one who could see him peering through the hole. Every time his father caught sight of him, the man’s face grew modest, even vengeful.

And then the notes, the last, final, and most puzzling of this recurring dream. They were notes placed underneath the hole in the wall, in his father’s pen. He knew it enough to recognize it with barely a sight. The cover was always the same.

Open quietly or the floorboards will creak.

He feared the creak. He feared the sound of the rich, stained, mahogany boards clutching at each other and screaming their variable agony. And he did not know why.

The letters were never opened. They remained prone and waiting in his hands until his conscious mind took grasp of his reality. Always the same he would wake, solute and devoid of any emotion or clue as to what to do. It was as if he were still holding that letter in his hands, waiting in the alley for something to happen.

The world to collapse perhaps.

***

And when the willow grew large enough to over power the picket fence that separated the two homes, the families came in unison and tore the fence apart allowing the regal old sapling a place to breathe and to live. The willow most graciously returned the favor of course. In prim prime fashion it allowed a house to be built in it.

A house that would connect two souls.

***

Although young, he remembered, it was just after he skinned his knee for the first time. His father had been working at the aquarium for two years and had prospered quite securely. They lived in a cheap apartment on Freemont street; one room sufficient enough for father and son; a small kitchen so tiny it was a chore for two grown people to inhabit the space at one time; a family room that was rarely inhabited by family, it sat sad and alone.

During the day James would spend time with his son. He would read to him, sing to him, cook for him, play with him. He taught him values of life and death and even though Harry was so young, he played the part of an attentive young student well, if he played it all.

At night James would tuck Harry into bed and pray the boy had a restful night. It was at night that James would work protecting not his son at home, but oceans of fish trapped in Plexiglas palaces. He would fear for his son, naturally. Often times on his lunch break he would drive back to their cheap apartment and check that his son was okay, kiss him on the cheek and quietly walk out of the apartment.

It was just after he skinned his knee for the first time—the right one— that James met Zoe Eneas. Two years James’ minor, she was twenty-two, just out of college and full of life and excitement.

Coming from a Greek family with many brothers and sisters, Zoe was accustomed to diving into things on a moment’s notice. She lived for the now and regretted the later. Her decision to become an English teacher was based solely on a whimsical conversation she had partaken in with her roommate in her sophomore year at the California State University of Monterey, her alma mater. Originally an undecided turned psychology major, Zoe realized her passions for teaching.

As was such, on a gloomy summer day that Zoe Eneas and James Brumnder came to meet, on the day Harry first skinned his knee.

Harry was still uncertain at his sixteen years of age, how the entanglement came to be exactly. What he was sure of was that Zoe Eneas became Zoe Brumnder exactly twenty-three days after he first skinned his knee. He knew exactly when his brother was born, on the sixteenth of July, Nineteen eighty-four. He was old enough now, yes, to put the two and two together. Nearly nine months prior to Jakob’s birth, was around the time Harry first skinned his knee, around the time James met Zoe. The reality of it all though, would not settle in his stomach quite well and he did not want to think of his mother and father only marrying because of an accidental pregnancy.

He knew one other thing did not equate. Although never told openly, Harry knew he was not Zoe’s son. The appearance that nearly exactly matched Harry to James was enough to rule out the possibility of him being adopted, but Zoe shared no resemblance to Harry himself. When he inquired of this, naturally at a young age, he was answered with non-committal grunts and changes of subjects. As he grew the answers were more volatile in structure. Privileges would be wagered and physical punishment would become a main threat.

Jakob, or Jake, was blonde and bashful as a child. He took to garnering at his mother’s legs; attached to them as if he’d never left the womb. He was sincere and heartfelt. He would always tell his parents how fond he was of them; “I love you” before eating, “I love you” before peeing, “I love you” before sleeping and sometimes “I love you too much.” Luscious brown eyes led him through his world as a child, so brown it was hard to believe the child didn’t see the world in a tint of some sort of brown; shit brown maybe.

Jake’s hands and feet were naturally long and thin. For a baby his hands looked out of place. Next to Molly Brown and Long Pham his hands were enormous, willing themselves to wrap around massive tree trunks. Early he demonstrated his power to harness both hands under one will. He drew magnificently with both hands even amongst chiding from chauvinistic parents that insisted he use his right hand only.

His parents grew his hair out long; Harry’s parents did that. They grew it out long and wonderful like a girl’s. It curled simply and Zoe would tie it back with a pony tail harnessing its free form will and curing it, saving it for another day. Zoe’s mother loved the little boy. She loved Jake.

An old matriarch of ethnic Greek origin, she highly disapproved of the eloping of James and her daughter Zoe. Children was her weak spot. She would bow down and did bow down when she heard of her coming grandson, the fifth grandson and sixth grandchild. She bought the house on Watson Street. She wanted a home for her daughter to raise the son she bore and heeded in her daughter’s love of teaching. She placed them right next to the High School, a five minutes walk.

When Harry was nearly seven and Jake newly three, Andrew was born. Also a July baby, his birthday of the twenty third drew very close to that of both the other boys. For Jake, this was a volatile offense. He resented his little brother, he did not want share the limelight of births. Jake knew, even at a young age, that he would lose love and adoration. He was no longer the baby in the family; he was no longer the cute one.

There was something wrong with the birth. There was something wrong with the baby and the family was not one to accept it so easily. Leukemia was not something that was detected right away; it was not found right when the baby was born. Andrew had lived for some years before the family ever found out that he had the disease.

Pale. That was the word that could easily be used to describe Andrew. Pale and weak, the venerable disease took its toll on the child. It stole grasp into his childhood and transformed his supple youth into vagrant tragedy riddled with decisions even adults had trouble making. If there were any greater heartbreak in the life of Harry, he could hardly remember it.

Green light.

***

After the fence was torn down and the tree house was built, the two friends really started to love each other. Ladders were erected that spanned from each window straight into the tree house.

“They’re very safe,” James would remark to the older, wiser Garry Mori, James’ neighbor since Zoe’s mother had bought the house on Watson Street for the family. “The ladders are sturdy. Metal like that doesn’t bend very easily, let me tell you. It weighs a lot too, so that just goes to show you how strong it is. I have faith that they won’t break, if they do, I’ll pay the hospital bill, eh?”

James reached over and slapped his stern neighbor on the back playfully. Garry only returned an insecure desolate look.

The ladder steps that led up the trunk of the regal, strong willow would eventually be taken down. The two children, Harry and Sharon were so trusting of each other and such good friends that they had taken to keeping their windows unlocked. The other could easily slip in through the window in the dead of night and slip back out to their own bed just as easily without anybody but the two of them being the wiser.

But someone was the wiser, or perhaps it was just sheer dumb criminal luck. It was on a clear, chilly November day that someone, nobody quite knew who, broke into the Mori home through the tree house. The criminal got away with many different things: Jewelry, money, pictures (why the pictures nobody knew), even the small television set that occupied Sharon’s room. It was the kind of television that ran on batteries that had crappy reception and black and white picture. It was Sharon’s more prized of possessions and after it was taken she felt deep sorrow over it.

Sharon’s room was not the most thoroughly thrashed though. Whoever had ransacked the home knew that that the Mori residence held in it a family of rich history. Family Heirlooms that Garry had had passed back since his family emigrated from Japan were taken. Swords crafted by sword crafters to the powerful Mori family of Samurai ancestry were taken and never were found again. It was a great loss to the Mori family. Steps were taken to remove the steps to the tree and the proposition that the tree house should be eliminated were also considered. The two, Sharon Mori and Harry Brumnder, fought gallantly though to protect it and there stood the tree house just as awesome and compelling as it always was from when it was first built.

***

Tuesday,

August 6, 1996

“I still hate this job,” Harry tried to reason.

“Yes, but it pays money and money does well in the end,” Sharon said.

Harry picked up his broom and collector and moved down the halls of the Monterey Bay Aquarium. He didn’t care to gawk at the fish anymore. He’d seen countless fish since he’d started working in the Aquarium nearly a year past. He glared at the tourists as they walked by, forgetful of their trash and only focused on the stupid aquatic animals that dwelled in the high roofed building. As it were, he was in front of the otter tank, a stone’s throw away from the food quart. That was where all the trash usually culminated and his boss made sure that that was were the cleanest parts should be. Nobody enjoyed eating in a messy area.

“If dad weren’t a security guard here, I’d be home right now,” Harry said.

Sharon walked over to him pinching through two white brothers that stopped in front of her to stare. She was beautiful, twenty, and full of vigor that radiated out of her; it was normal for her to get stares.

“Yes, that’s true and you’d have no money. Zilch, nothing, nada. You know, you should be thankful that you got this job. I mean, I know I’m thankful he got it for me; I wouldn’t be able to pay for college without it. The hours are great too.”

“Doesn’t make me feel better.” He swept a chip wrapper into his collector and made his way down the stairs to dump his load in the trashcan. Sharon followed him, her collector nearly full as well.

“Might not, but you’ll see, when you go off to college and you have all that money to fall back on, you’ll feel better about yourself. That is if you don’t spend it all on,” she paused, bending closer to his ear and whispered, “those fucking drugs you always insist on buying.”

She shook her head and swept imaginary dust into the collector as he took a hard look at her.

“What I chose to do, is just that,” he said.

“But why do you do it? I’ve always wondered.” She looked at her watch and grabbed his arm. “Come on, it’s time for our break. Let’s go outside and talk.”

The went up the escalators and towards the Outer Bay and then taking a left outside towards the outlook. Sharon always felt at home speaking amongst the gentle ocean spray that came there.

“So tell me, why do you insist on fucking up your life like this? You’re sixteen. You just got your license. You should have some clean fun. Why do you hurt your body the way you do? Is it just something you think is cool? Are you so stupid that you think drugs make you seem cool?”

He dug into his pocket and pulled out the pack of Marlboros he had. He took a quick glance around his shoulder making sure his boss wasn’t anywhere near or for that matter, any of the management. Then he lit it up with the old lighter he procured from his shirt pocket.

“Sharon, there are two types of drug users in this world: the kind of users that take drugs because they think they’re cool and the kind that take them because they have a deep dark whole inside them. I have that damn deep dark hole in me. You don’t understand. It’s hard to live when you know that something is missing in you. I don’t want to go to college because I know that’s not where I’m meant to be. I can’t explain it just right, but…” he stopped. He’d said too much. He never spoke much because he knew that when he started going he would talk into oblivion.

“That’s fucked. But I don’t believe it. Whatever you think is going on with your life isn’t what is really going on. Just you watch, you’re going to wake up tomorrow all hung over and you’re going to hate yourself. Not because you have a big hole in you, but because you think you are cool because you had drugs.”

She reached over, took the cigarette from his mouth, puffed it into her lungs and stubbed it out on the telescope pointed straight at the otters in the bay.

Harry made a half-hearted reach for the butt but knew it was already out. He would light another one but he felt weak and obtuse.

“Come on my favorite little fuck up. We’ve got to get back to work and then get home. Greg’s party is tonight and I’m not going to have us show up like this,” she pointed to her uniform. “It’s embarrassing enough that they know I work here, showing up in this goddamn death suit…they’d never let me live it down.”

“Yes, mistress.”

***

Harry reached into his pocket and dug out the key to Sharon’s house. She was digging through the back seat of her sedan trying to find the lost shoe that she would wear to the party. It was eight o clock and it was a bit difficult to see giving that the light above the back seat was burnt out and never replaced.

He walked in and set his keys (a jumble of metal consisting newly of the keys to his very own car now, the old jeep that he hated so much) on the table in the foyer. He set out straight to the kitchen where he met Midori Mori, Sharon’s mother. Immediately, without bothering to say hello, he opened the fridge and fished out a can of soda.

“Herro Harry, it is very happy to seeing you here,” she spoke in a very heavy accent.

Harry nodded, then turned around and walked back into the foyer barely catching Sharon’s shadow creeping up the stairs. Presumably to her own bedroom.

Harry knew the house like his own. He often wondered, in the dead of night, if he spent more time in his own home or in this one, the Mori home. It was rich with culture even though it had been robbed of part of its culture so many years ago. Flowers were arranged in a pot so conspicuously perfect that one had to wonder if they were fake or actually real. Harry knew they were real and knew exactly how to order the different types of colorful flowers in their perfect pattern, their perfect style, and their perfect form of Ikebana.

He continued up the stairs until he reached Sharon’s room. Up the stairs and to the left, the hallway ended in a door that was her room.

Stepping through the door ajar, he downed the last bit of soda from the can and threw it into the trashcan that Sharon kept for aluminum cans. It was then that he noticed that the shower was running and that Sharon’s uniform was neatly folded on her bed. He chose to sit down next to her clothes, carefully picking up the pressed and shiny cotton shirt with the nametag that said in normal green letters:

Sharon Mori

He hugged the shirt to his chest and inhaled the scent. It was one of his favorite scents, he thought as he leaned back into the bed with the short posts and cheap aluminum bed frame. Her bed even smelled of her, her room smelled of her and her clothes definitely smelled of her. He thought to himself, perhaps he should have her in his room more often instead of going to her room to have her. That would surely leave his room smelling very good, like her. He loved her smell.

The walls were painted blue and the ceiling resembled that of a blue sky moving in the wind. Garry had painted the white fluffy clouds with a sponge when Sharon was nine. Five-year-old Harry had stood beside Sharon in the doorway as Garry cursed the falling white drabs of paint from the sponge onto his forearm.

There was a light that turned on behind him, through the window that led into his room. He turned onto his stomach and used his arms in a push up position to peek out the window and through the tree house into his own room. His father stood at the doorway with the light on just staring at his room.

Harry looked at his watch. no, he thought, it’s too early for lunch break. James had not yet left for work. Harry was actually surprised to see that James had not left earlier; the aquarium that he worked at had already been closed for two hours.

Harry looked at the expression on James’ face. It was something of cross between malice and fear. Something of a cross between dread and hate. He couldn’t quite understand it there, in the push up position on his best friends bed, but he did register it in his mind so that he would not forget it. James turned off the light before too long but Harry kept to looking at the forlorn darkness in his room trying to decipher the facial expression.

The shower in the bathroom adjoining Sharon’s room turned off and not very much longer Sharon appeared in the doorway wrapped in a towel and pink faced and wet-haired.

“Something happening at your house?” she asked.

“Yeah, dad looked in my room,” he said.

“Oh,” she waved her hand emphatically. “He does that all the time when you’re not home. You should see. Sometimes it scares me suddenly seeing your light turn on, I don’t know why.”

He got up from the bed and searched through her drawers. He kept quite a bit of clothes there in her house, it was quite nearly his own home too. He was going to take a shower, and take care of the cock that had sprung up in his pants. While he was at it though (picking out his own clothes) he picked hers out too. He chose out a pair of lacy panties and a matching bra. He loved the lace; he played it in his hands a bit before throwing it behind him and hopefully to her.

When he’d finished picking out his clothes, he turned around and briefly announced, “I’m going to take a shower.”

“Well that’s fucking obvious,” she said, mockingly.

He walked past her in the room not giving her a glance and walked into the bathroom. He hadn’t bothered to close the door while he stripped naked and hopped into the shower turning the water on extra hot. It took a while to actually turn hot even given the fact that Sharon had just occupied the stall, but it did turn scorching hot nonetheless.

A pair of female hands jumped in through the thin plastic shower cover, followed by a leg.

He smiled, just as he expected.

***

Harry snacked on the deliciously tasty slices of American yellow cheese with a settling in his groin and a smile of conclusion plastered over his fake grin. Kraft American yellow cheese to be exact, Kraft yellow slices of American yellow cheese that looked more orange than did they yellow to him. He felt he should make a crayon out of them; a Kraft American yellow cheese crayon that was the exact same color. He wondered if the bigwig crayon companies would take up his offer as he sat in the passenger seat of Sharon’s old Japanese luxury sedan. He decided to voice his opinion to her.

“Do you think Crayola will take up my offer?” he said, as if she could read his thoughts.

“What’s that?” she said, not looking away from the road. The two-hour trip from quiet, lustrous, homely Monterey to rowdy, spontaneous, wonderful San Francisco was one that a driver had to concentrate on especially at night.

“American yellow cheese crayon. You think?” he said.

“It depends,” she said, having caught on to him. He’d grabbed a pack of twenty American yellow cheese slices on the way out of her home and he looked like he was in bliss gobbling them down and throwing the wrappers at her lap. She was not the greatest driver and in fact Harry with his license newly issued was better, but she knew the way and he didn’t. The wrappers ended up littering the ground at her feet and while they distracted her, she paid them no heed.

“Depends on what?”

She finally stole a glance at him, a slice cut in half and dangling above his mouth. He fiddled it as if it were alive and kicking, like a fish about to slither down his throat.

“It depends on who you know I guess. In this world you gotta know someone to get anything. Besides, where’s the Crayola headquarters? Florida?”

“Pennsylvania I think. You’re wrong,” he gulped down another cheese slice.

“Yeah. I guess I am. I guess though, that Kraft would have thought about it first don’t you think? And if they did think about it first, don’t you think that they would have tried to get it past Crayola by now? I mean, you don’t make a product and not try to get it made into a Crayola anyways. I remember once I had one of those huge briefcases filled with like…One thousand crayons and I don’t remember ever seeing an American yellow cheese crayon. And I would know too, I used every single one up till they were all leftolas.”

Harry nodded, grabbed her thigh and squeezed hard making her gasp. “You talk to much. Just drive.”

“You don’t have to be so violent. Mike is going to find that hickey you left on my neck you know. That’ll be another boyfriend I lose on the count of you. It’s beginning to get a bit bothersome you know.”

“Mike is a loser anyway. I saw that bruise you had on you; don’t tell me that’s a love mark. I know a fucker when I see him. Mike is a fucker, a motherfucker. He should fuck pigs. You’re an angel, not a pig. You shouldn’t let him near you,” he said.

Sharon slightly hung her head in shame. She knew what Harry was telling her was true, but she still didn’t feel better about it. She really did like Mike. She thought maybe he would be the “one”. Well, the one she would marry. Harry would always be the “one”.

Most people would say that it was an odd relationship they had. One of adultery and deceit altogether broiled and laced with a perfect white crust of innocent youthful love. They did love each other. They loved each other more than anybody they could ever love but they would never marry. Fuck forbid they would ever marry. They were friends, good friends, and would never break that bond.

They did not, however, resist the temptation of each other’s bodies however. They would fuck often even when with significant others. Sharon was almost always “going out” with someone while Harry had only ever dated one girl. Sharon bordered a baker’s dozen.

They were nearly there, to the party. Sharon’s car burned off the US-101 and started towards the party held by a senior attending the University of San Francisco. The party, held at an apartment on the corner of 11th and Judah Street, was a monthly thing, following the phases of the moon exactly. Every half moon exactly would bring about the party richly dubbed the, “Half full bitch bash.” Select students from all over the Bay area were chosen to attend the party and only two, Harry and Sharon, were chosen from the Monterey Bay area. Harry, while not a college student per say, was enough apart of Cal State Monterey Bay, that Greg-- the party’s founder, planner and life—thought he was fitting enough to join. He was the only High School student and for the life of any college person at the party, was never known as one.

The alcohol flowed freely into the hands of any of the party goers, all dressed alike in Scottish kilts, even the women of which there were many. Greg Douglas was about as Scottish as a thimble full of ale but he still commenced to hold on to his roots.

Harry and Sharon parked two blocks away and walked with Scottish kilts in the clan Douglas pattern of plain black and white. It was bitterly cold for the August night it was and they both willingly wrapped up in each other as they tracked up the stairs in the apartment and into through the door at the top floor left wide open.

Over the door sat a sign that said,

“Jamais arriere (Never behind)”

And Harry smiled and smacked Sharon’s ass knowingly. Sharon turned around with a wicked grin and laughed entering the raging party.

***

Wednesday,

August 7, 1996

Harry was stripped down to a pair of boxers, Sharon the lace panties and bra, Greg was stark naked and Elie Masterson was all over his lap just as nude. The party had ended quite anti-climatically. Sharon had dumped Mike. He was kissing another bitch and she would not stand for it. Greg helped Harry drag Mike out when Sharon was done with him. They dumped Mike in the gutter a block away, high-fived each other and went back to the party. Sharon was unfazed if only a bit fuming.

They all sat in the Jacuzzi that Greg had installed on the roof. The landlord, a burly redhead, had had no problem with the Jacuzzi so long as no leakage was produced. Harry had his back to the raging couple of Elie and Greg, not because he did not enjoy the spectacle, but because he was busy fondling and manipulating the contents of a bag of hash. The pipe he used was aluminum chrome, a dish for the special stuff and a long short, fat pipe for the smoke. Sharon held the bottle of warm vodka in her hand waiting for Harry and staring at the moaning couple at the opposite end. The bubbles must have been very enticing and indeed added to the charm of the aura of sex, drugs and booze.

Turning around just as Greg spent himself, Harry grabbed the old lighter he always carried with him and came from his knees into the hot tub.

“Ok, who wants the greens?” Harry asked.

They looked around at each other. Greg had a forlorn, glassy-eyed look to him. Harry decided.

“Greg! It’s your party, get over here,” Harry motioned for him.

***

Cherry red it turned,

Gray white luster,

Burning-- sweating,

There mouths filled with dust,

The sun stagnated somewhere, off into the east.

***

It was only ten minutes later that they all sat back in the seats of the Jacuzzi tub. Harry had taken three times as many hits as any of the others and thrice the amount of vodka. He was nearly certain though, that he felt quite the same as they. It was just something with his body that he could not get high and/or drunk the way he wanted to. Even when he did manage to poison his body beyond recognition, he seemed to recover much more quickly than anyone else. It was a wonder to anyone that truly knew the drugs habits of Harry Brumnder, how he had not managed to fall over and die several times over.

Elie began to cackle madly. She was always weak in the aspect of losing herself. It was not something that one automatically did, when taking drugs. Everybody could hold onto their conscious, depending on the amount. But if somebody wanted to have a good time, then that was just as easy. Harry viewed it as a sign of weakness. He loved to challenge his drugs. He loved to fight to stay in control. He merely loomed as a presence as the two others: Sharon and Greg started to giggle as well. Harry was that kind of a fighter.

“All of you, shut the fuck up!” Harry said.

And they shut the fuck up. They did.

4. Chapter Three - Astraea

Title: Title Pending – Chapter Three – Astraea
Author name: Kenji
Category: Angst
Sub-Category: Drama
Summary: In the life of every pureblood family member, a surname plays a vital role in determining who they are. Without a proper pureblood surname, that person is nothing. When Harry Brumnder learns that not only he is not just a common teenager with a troubled childhood but an heir to a large estate and immense of wealth, it shakes his foundation. A story about surviving the test of foreign worlds and learning to coexist with not only a different society, but also a different perspective on life. The Potter bloodline is going to bleed its true colors in a battle for what is right.

DISCLAIMER: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.
Author notes: I want to thank everyone who has read my story so far. I’d also like to point out again, as I did last chapter, that this is not a romance. There is and will be some material in this story that will not be happy and sometimes difficult to read. If violence, drug-use and abuse offend you, please do not read this story.

I’d also like to thank my great beta, Jenni who has helped me with marvelous critique and done terrors to the grammar that I barely posses.

***

Zoe was forever tenaciously familiar with her subject. English was a way of life for her, not just a language. She loved most of all to teach unsuspecting high school students the joys and wonders of English. Her vibrant and fulfilling nature indeed deftly propelled the schools brightest students; those students that were willing to learn, and kept an open mind and loved to discover.

She made enemies of course. Every person will make an enemy; Zoe Brumnder was hated amongst many. Not simple enemies of discourse, but complex enemies of hatred and malice. There were students that wanted nothing more than to see her hang from the highest rafter in the gym. There were also the teachers that thought they saw through the cheerfulness in her voice and face—they too wanted the teacher to hang.

She took the hatred and love in full stride. Her teaching methods were never changed in such a case that some might enjoy them.

Sharon was among the most vocal lovers of English to ever cross the fine front doors of Monterey High School. A proud Matador to the very end of her high school career, Sharon enjoyed the class taught by Zoe with deliciously infectious joy. Her grades showed it as well. Perfect. Perfect. Perfect.

It was obvious to the other students that Zoe and Sharon were both lesbians and lovers. This fact was further amplified by the fact that they were in fact, next-door neighbors. The students were indeed happy knowing that the only reason Sharon Mori did so well in her studies of English was because her lover was the teacher. They made this fact known to anybody, teacher or student.

It became a tremendous problem for Harry when news of his lesbian mother and friend reached Colton middle school. Hazing became a monstrous problem. Harry was constantly beat up by students fearing (or perhaps hating) that Harry might become gay as well. After all, one that has a gay mother and gay friend surely must become gay themselves.

It was as such that Harry was ostracized by friends he once thought he had. Rumors were very powerful. Whispering in the hall behind the teacher’s back could be just as effective as a prime time special report, and just as damaging.

Zoe knew of the problems--of the rumors. She struggled to contain them, but the minds of high school students were good for only very few specific things: locking on to devious outlandish gossip and then spreading the word.

It was considered several times amongst the Brumnder family that a move should be established. Perhaps moving to another city could be possible. Zoe argued that she knew several teachers that had moved to the Salinas Unified School District. She knew that they even enjoyed higher pay and smarter benefits. She argued that such a move would both be prosperous and not at all that difficult.

James, however, outright and completely opposed the move. He was of the opinion that any harm that was befalling Harry was only minor and could only be used to toughen him up. Harry would become a stronger person, he would say.

His iron-weighted foot ousted the two in the end. Grandmother Eneas was in favor of the stay as well. She did not want her family to move and certainly not with all the money and effort she had put into buying them the house on Watson Street--so strategically placed near the school.

***

Tuesday,

August 7, 1996

Before he cracked open his eyes he noticed the warm weight contouring the flat lines of his body. He felt the woman’s spread legs generate warmth at the cleft created at his right hip. Her arm was wrapped securely around his naked chest, calling attention to his state of undress and the woman’s.

Firmly opened though, Harry’s eyes took in volumes of shiny black hair and he relaxed. He reached with his hand to the woman’s hip and felt the long thin scar that ran along its outer form. He caused that scar and knew it to be one of his most prized accomplishments.

Sharon had never cried about the cut, of course. She was as tough as nails and never, ever, cried. Never.

As Harry contemplated what to do with his best friend currently hung all over him (or more properly put, hung over on him) she answered his contemplations.

“Mmm, I hate you…” she whispered, her breath reeking of alcohol and her leg dragging down across his leg. He barely reacted.

“Always nice to hear,” he said. Although the covers were not on them he began to grow hot and the blood started pumping through his palms.

Sharon opened her eyes, blinked copiously and then rolled over and off of Harry on the bed where she started to look around the room.

“Are we in Greg’s room?” she asked. Harry could tell from the look on her face that her head was pounding and her coherency level was low.

They were from all Harry could tell. “Yes,” he answered.

“Well, wutta we doin’ in here?” she said, again closing her eyes this time grasping her temples with her fingers.

He stood up out of the bed, “Fuck if I know.”

“Oh, right, Mr. I-never-wake-up-with-a-hangover. Please, don’t let me ruin your peace with my meanderings.” She stood up out of the bed as well. She took one look at the rumpled sheets and pointed out a fresh wet stain. “Fuck, I hope that’s yours, I’m not on the pill anymore, Dad found out.”

Harry lazily stopped his gleaning of Greg’s room and looked at the spot that Sharon was pointing out to him.

He stooped closer to inspect the mess and then said, “Yep, yep, it is mine. Can’t you see the little Harry shaped sperm?”

Sharon--whose face had gone from panic to fear--shot up and begrudged. “That’s not very funny, this is serious. I’m coming up to my junior year, and I’m majoring in English for chrissake, I can’t have a baby. How would I support it? You can’t do anything that brings in the big bucks with half a degree in English.” She turned green, “Imagine what my dad would do to me…what he would do to you!” She pointed at him.

“My grandma would support us,” Harry said as if the answer to everything was, “Grandma will take care of it.”

Sharon looked troubled before she brightened up. Coyly she said, “Us? As in you and me? You’d help me take care of the baby?”

“I hope you know you’re acting like a demented little thirteen year old who’s just had sex for the first time,” he said.

She sauntered up to him, put her arms around his shoulder and said, “I can’t help what you make me be.”

She anchored her face closer to his and kissed him, slowly and romantically. Harry naturally closed his eyes as soon as his lips touched hers but then he straightened up. He bit her bottom lip hard enough to taste blood. When she moved back to put her hand to her lip, he took his fist and rammed it into the corner of her chin snapping her head to the side.

She cried out in pain, her lip throbbed and the hit did nothing but intensify the pain in her head to a near blinding ache.

“Don’t kiss me! Never kiss me! How many times do I have to tell you? Never, ever kiss me!” he shouted.

He massaged his fist. It did not ache but it was instinct that told him to do so. He contemplated kicking her right flat in the stomach, but then he heard mewling like that of an injured dog or cat.

His fury fled him as soon as it had come and he knelt beside her wrapping his arms around her and soothing her hair. He felt deeply sorry inside his chest; the pain he felt, he thought, could rival the pain she felt in her face.

“Let me look,” he said making a timid reach for her face. She did not shy away as he expected her to. She turned her face to him and stared languidly straight into his eyes. There was not a tear in sight, or the sight of any redness around her eyes denoting the possibility of any crying. His chest swelled with pride, sick, demonic pride. He knew he had taught her well; crying was a sure sign of weakness, utterly and solely.

“Let’s go find Greg, okay? Let’s go find him and let’s get out of here,” he said to her nodding his head. Everything was okay. Everything was all right.

She started to nod but found her head hurt too much to continue. He noticed this and put his hands on her head and concentrated. Her pain vanished quickly and she looked back up into his eyes, a sign of thanks billowing out. He simply nodded again and stood up to look for his clothes.

He found his boxer shorts a sopping mess on the carpeted floor and decided best to just leave them there. He ruffled on his jeans and took care to zip up the zipper slowly. His shirt was wet too but with beer, not water. He decided it was safer not to take the shirt home for fear that perhaps his mother might find or sniff it.

When he heard the door open to the bedroom he turned around and saw that Sharon was fully dressed and walking out—in search of Greg of course. He followed her quietly, still sorry for what he had done. They ventured all around the apartment; from the trashed living room littered with blue and red plastic cups, to the kitchen and dining room littered with green and yellow plastic cups and a smattering of red cups.

Finding no sign of them downstairs, Harry and Sharon ventured up through the stairs that led to the roof. It was the last place Harry consciously remembered seeing Greg and Sharon followed behind him.

From the looks of the sky it was very early in the morning. Perhaps it was just past seven or eight, he could not be entirely sure.

His focus shifted from the sky to the Jacuzzi when he heard Sharon gasp out loud and grab his arm. Greg’s head was hanging over the edge of the Jacuzzi and looking very much like a cartoon. Harry had to bite back the urge to giggle when he saw the line of blood trail from just behind Greg’s ear and pool at the concrete underneath him.

Were it not for the fact that Elie was cowering at the corner of the enclosure that was the roof, Harry was certain he would have jumped up and down in glee. He truly expected one of the guys from the party previously in the night with a camera screaming out their ploy of trickery. He was waiting for Greg to magically right himself, wipe the blood from his face and grab some kind of cleaner to wipe the “fake” blood from the concrete.

Elie was in on the joke however, because all she did was stare at the Jacuzzi water bubbling while she rocked her lithe frame—still naked from the night previous…or was it morning?

It was a second after Sharon grasped Harry’s arm that she barreled into action turning off the jets and cradling Greg into an upright position. She checked for a pulse at his wrists, found none and then proceeded to check for one at this neck.

“He’s dead,” she cried. “Harry! He’s dead. Get over here!”

Harry’s feet stayed stuck to the ground while his eyes continued to take in the situation. Elie looked very cold and blue. He wondered why she wasn’t shivering in the cool morning air and then answered himself aloud.

“She must be so cold she stopped shivering.”

“What?” Sharon asked, perplexed. “Harry what the hell are you talking about? Greg’s dead over here and all you care about is if Elie’s cold? What the fuck is the matter with you?”

Harry stepped back. Sharon certainly was leveling a large amount of questions on him at one time. It was not like her at all. Or maybe it was.

“Maybe she knows something,” Harry pointed at Elie.

It was then that Elie moved, emitting something that Harry could only render as a cross between a sob and a gasp.

Sharon let Greg sink back into the water making careful sure that his head did not go under the water. Then she walked over to Elie who was now cradling her head between her thighs and shivering.

“Elie,” Sharon shook the girl. “Elie can you tell me what happened? What happened to Greg, he’s dead.”

“Please woman, I think the girl knows that,” Harry said to Sharon, finally stepping into action. He pushed Sharon gently out of the way and hugged Elie gently letting the girl settle into his arms and conjure a mixture of sobbing, gasping and shivering.

“Now then, honey?” Harry spoke to Elie’s shivering form quietly. “What happened here?”

“He tried to kill me first,” Elie whispered. “He tried to choke me, can’t you see?” She gestured to the marks on her neck that indeed showed what she said. “He tried to kill me first. He tried to kill me first, please believe me.”

Harry vaguely wondered if perhaps the wounds were self-inflicted. After all, what innocent person had to repeat themselves?

“Sharon, call the cops,” Harry said, very calmly. Sharon hesitated a bit before running down the steps to do what she was asked. Harry soothed the naked body of Elie taking a moment to glamour at the wonderful body she had. Harry was no fool; he knew a beauty when he saw one. He also knew a liar when he saw one. He grew up in a house of liars. He even prided himself in being a master liar as well.

“Now Elie, how exactly did all this happen? What did you say or do to provoke him?”

“He tried to kill me first. He was drunk. He was high. You saw him! He tried to kill me first. I had to…I had to defend myself. Harry please, I didn’t want to die. I don’t want to go to jail. Harry, will you help me?” There were tears in her eyes. Harry had a hard time distinguishing them from real tears and fake tears. Whatever kind of actor Elie could have been or was, it was obvious that she had talent.

Sharon burst up the stairs saying that the police were on their way.

“I didn’t tell them my name Harry. We have to get out of here. I could lose my scholarship if the police take me and question me. What if they do a drug test? I’m still only 20, I’m not supposed to be drinking and Buddha knows what they’ll do to you. Come on Harry, we gotta go home! Quickly!” Sharon’s panic was very evident in her eyes. Harry did not argue but he did take one last look at Elie and gave her a scalding look.

“Not one word of us Elie. Not one word,” he said.

They walked out of the apartment building and down the couple of blocks to Sharon’s car. Not one person on the streets remarked on Harry’s state of undress. A shirt missing in a big city was just the same as missing shoes or missing money. Harry had his shoes on and had brought no money with him to miss.

When they reached the car Sharon put her hands on the top of it, let out a breath of air and used one hand to claw at her temples.

“I still feel like shit. I think you gotta drive this one home, I’ll crash us dead,” she threw the keys on top of the car and started her way around to the passenger side.

Harry nodded, grabbed the keys from the top of the car and walked to the driver’s side. He fumbled lightly with the rubber blue sketchers key chain that Sharon’s keys were attached to and then opened the door and sat down.

“You’re sure you want to go home?” he whispered. The mood inside of the car felt very fragile and soft. He did not want to speak too loudly for fear of crushing the mood. The mood, indeed, was very interesting.

“Yes…no…I don’t know. What do you want to do?” Sharon said.

“I don’t know. Whatever you want to do.” He stared out the windshield of the car. An old Asian woman was walking with an umbrella lying on her shoulders. It was hazy and warm, even at such the early morning. He reached behind Sharon’s seat and grabbed his work uniform shirt. He put it on over his head quickly and sat back in his seat.

“We could just sit here. You know, wait for the cops to show. Or…” she trailed off.

“Or what? You have something in mind?”

“I feel like looking at the ocean. My nerves are feeling jumpy, you know? Shit like that doesn’t just happen everyday. Certainly not for me! I’ve…I’ve just…his eyes were glassy, did you see them?” she had fear expressed all through her smooth cheeks and the premature wrinkles around her eyes were accentuated.

“No,” he said.

“I don’t know how you didn’t. They were scary and just looking up at you. It was the freakiest thing I’ve ever seen in my—let’s just get out of here. I don’t want to wait for the cops to come. Let’s go sit by the windmill. I love the windmill. It’s got great calming abilities. You just look at it as it moves and it washes this great feeling of…calm over you. Listen to me. I’m so freaked that I can’t even speak! Move! Move! We’ve got to get out of here before I start to hyperventilate.” She began to wave her hands frantically for Harry to start the car and move, which he did.

“Wait,” he said. “Which windmill?”

“Which windmill? The Dutch one. Murphy Windmill doesn’t move anymore. It’s stupid.” And he set off.

It was quite a short drive from Greg’s apartment on Judah and Eleventh Street to where the windmills were situated. Lincoln Avenue was relatively empty at the early morning hour and their trip was made with few red lights.

Parked and refreshed, the couple strolled out of the car, in through the tulip and daffodil gardens and straight to the Dutch windmill. There was no wind and not even the trees surrounding the windmill moved. The windmill stayed silent and inert in the morning light. Sharon’s shoulders hunched and she sat down on the green bench just under the awning produced by the circular outlook.

“There’s no wind. It’s not gonna move.”

“No, I guess not,” he said. “Maybe it’ll kick up?”

“No, I don’t think so. We’d have to stay here the entire day and I’m not in the mood for that. Let’s just stay here for a little while. Come on, sit down,” she motioned for him to sit down on the bench beside her. When he did, she scooted over and then leaned back placing her head on his lap. Her eyes flickered from his face to the windmill to the sky and back to his face.

“Do you want to talk about it?” He touched her stomach with his hand, stroking her skin through her shirt to calm her.

“What’s there to talk about? Greg’s dead, we ran away from him and I feel like crap.”

“That seems like plenty to talk about. Go on.” He tried to encourage her by paying particular attention to the patch of red tulips in front of them. He knew that if he didn’t peer straight into her eyes, she could voice her opinions easier and would be more outright and truthful.

“Do you remember the big tank of fish I used to have in my room?” He didn’t say anything. “Well…I remember once my dad bought this beautiful fish. I forget what he said it was called…some kind of goldfish maybe I don’t know. For some reason it would always, always fight with the other fish that were in the tank. My daddy had to clean the tank of the dead fish nearly every morning. I knew he wanted to kill the new fish, because it was starting all the fights and everything. But oh, it was a beautiful fish. It was black and gold, and speckled white. I’d never seen such a beautiful fish. I begged my dad not to kill it. Do you remember that? I practically got down on my knees and groveled.

“That fish though, let me tell you. It’s like it never heard my pleas for its life. It continued on killing all the fish in the tank and it cost my dad lots of money. I wonder why he didn’t get a different tank for that fish…” she mused momentarily. “Anyways, All these dead fish kept showing up and I just couldn’t believe such a beautiful fish could be such a cold-hearted killer. It was ravishing, alluring and enticing all rolled up in a lovely package of slayer. I never would have believed that it was a killer if I never saw it kill with my own eyes. I knew from that moment on that there was something wrong with that fish.

“I wondered for so long why it kept on killing. I wondered if it knew that killing other fish was wrong and that eventually my daddy would kill it. I guess you could say that by killing, it was killing itself. I guess now I could say that maybe that fish didn’t think because its brain couldn’t think like that. You know, a fish isn’t exactly a sentient being. It has instincts and everything, but I doubt it even understands it’s alive.

“When daddy finally killed it, he did it so gruesomely! I remember it as if it were yesterday. He grabbed a net and scooped it out. The fish didn’t even put up a fight. Didn’t try to swim away or nothin’. He just floated there and waited for that net to come and get him. Daddy just took it out of the net and put it on a cutting board. He sliced the fish right at the gills! Oh! It was so sad. The fish flopped and flopped. I could see its mouth opening and I wondered if maybe it was screaming in some weird sort of fish language.

“I remember feeling happy then. Even though I’d begged daddy not to kill it for so long, I was happy when it was finally going to die. It deserved to die. It was only harming itself when it killed those other fish. It should have known if it didn’t already know, that by killing those other fish that it was killing itself slowly. I don’t know if the fish suffered because it didn’t flop much after about a minute. It wasn’t dead but I could tell it wasn’t too far off. When I leaned up close I got a glimpse of those eyes. They were dark black. Black, Black. They were crying. Those deep dark eyes were weeping for all the fish that it had killed. It was weeping for itself too. It killed itself and it was crying for that. I did all I could do to make the fish feel better as it died. I cried for it too.”

***

It was a little after seven o’ clock when they returned back to Monterey. Harry was driving the car and when he pulled it into the driveway he happened to glance at his home and saw the blinds move. His senses told him something was wrong and he begged off from Sharon quickly muttering something about a shower. She did not follow so he assumed that she heard him.

He walked through the grass divide between the two homes and stepped the two steps that lead to his front door. The door opened before he even got the chance to touch the doorknob. His mother was leaning against the doorway with tears in her eyes and a sorrowful look etched on her face.

“You want to know where I’ve been,” he said. She shook her head.

He pondered, “You want to know what I’ve been doing?”

She shook her head again, opened the door and stepped out. She hugged Harry very tightly and said softly, “Andy’s gone into another relapse. The doctors don’t think he’s going to make it out of this one. Your father and Jake are at the hospital.”

She was very concise and direct, he quietly thought. Usually she was very wordy and drawn out.

***

They reached the hospital so quickly; Harry didn’t even remember the ride. The trail was so burned into the back of his memory that he was able to drive the car, watch out for his mother and stay semi-conscious all at once.

Inside the lobby, Zoe led Harry by the hand to the security guard sitting at a desk next to the hallway that led to all the rooms. Zoe already had a fluorescent pink sticker on her indicating which room to go to and quietly told the security guard that she needed a sticker for room five hundred and twelve. The guard took a quick glance at Harry before writing down the number of the room on a sticker in thick squirmy handwriting and handing it to him.

Zoe quickly led Harry to the elevator, up to the top floor, the fifth floor, and the most depressing floor in Harry’s opinion. There were children walking the hallways of this floor, sick and knowing nothing of the outside world. They knew their sickness. They lived their sickness. They inhaled it, snorted it, drank it and would die of it. Harry hated the floor he was on. He wanted to blame it for all the hardships his brother went through. He wanted to murder the floor, slash it through and through until he saw blood. He wanted to wait beside it as it took its last ragged breath because that’s what this floor would do to his brother. That’s what this floor did to many brothers and sisters. It stole their lives. Harry hated the floor. Floor five.

When Zoe and Harry walked into room five hundred and twelve, James was watching television. He had the corded remote in his hand and was switching channels. The room had a lovely view of the golf course and naval base from where it was. The shades were half up, half down. The room was dark and dainty; one could cut the palpable air with a solid butter knife just as easily as taking a steak knife to butter.

Jake was cutting his nails, taking careful care to cut them in perfect semi-circles. He was so meticulous with his nails you’d think he was gay with his ministrations. His hair was gelled back perfectly. His face was perfectly smooth—there was not a single hash mark or pimple to be seen. Jake could be a model, Harry reckoned at that moment. Jake could be a model for his little brother and take care of him. Jake could keep Andrew company and love him, but he didn’t.

Andrew was on the bed. His eyes were closed and his breathing was steady. The television was very loud—or rather, the remote’s speaker was on very loud. Andrew continued to sleep though, as if the world were standing still around him and his sleep could keep it that way forever. Harry did not know whether to stand in the hallway forever or run up besides his sick and dying brother. He wanted to hug Andrew till he dropped to the floor. He wanted to kiss the wounds of illness away and fight the monsters that threatened to take his life away at such a young age. Harry wanted to love his brother in the only way he knew—fighting for his life.

Harry resounded to sitting in a seat provided for him. They were lucky. Andrew had gotten a corner room with no other occupants. Perhaps it was lucky and perhaps it was fate. Harry knew that only the sick and terminally ill got their own rooms. Pitiful screams in the middle of the night would awaken other occupants and the hospital patrons did not want the children that would go back to their families soon, to complain. There was something so beautifully tragic about the corner room that Harry could not place.

His family, as always, had begun to forget the reason they were in the room in the first place. James had found a channel to his liking, divesting all his attention into the square box of light and sound. Jake had finished cutting his fingernails and got up. He announced to the dull drone of the television in the room that he would be taking a walk. Nobody nodded and Jake slipped out nearly unnoticed.

Zoe was staring out the window. The sun would soon set and the window was placed in such a way as to view the sun lowering onto the pacific ocean in a beautiful, none violent way. It could be said that at sunset the sun bleed red and orange and purple and yellow but to Zoe Brumnder, the sun gave these colors out willingly. There was no forced bleeding to be reckoned with, the sun was the giver of colors and at the sun she was grateful.

A solitary beam of light hit the tip of Andrew’s foot covered in thermal hospital blanket.

***

Thursday,

August 16, 1996

It was Thursday, payday. He loved payday. He loved Thursday.

Rob was the sort of boss that knew his workers. He knew what their habits where. He knew what time they took breaks to eat. He knew what sorts of food they liked to buy. He knew which workers decided to eat in the food area of the aquarium, which workers liked to eat in the city, which workers never ate and which workers brought breakfast/lunch/dinner from home. Rob was a very conscientious boss. He loved his workers, but his workers did not love him.

There was something very fake about his smile that Harry did not like. Harry did not know what drove his coworkers to hate Rob, but it was the smile that did him in. Perhaps Rob actually was smiling. Perhaps the smile that Rob showed his workers was a real smile that meant something happy. Perhaps…no, it was fake.

Harry also loathed the fact that Rob either felt, or thought that he needed to talk to his workers. Rob wanted to be his worker’s friends. None of the workers wanted to be Rob’s friend. Rob did not seem to get the picture. There was always the half-hearted (although truly, full-hearted) attempt that Rob did, to try to get one of his workers to enjoy lunch with him, or, have a snack with him, or, in the case of the adults, have a drink with him.

As such, when it came time to get his paycheck from Rob, Harry had to hide any outward showing of whatever he felt. He had to place a fully placid look on his face and maintain it for however long Rob wanted to talk. Harry knew he was fully capable of doing such face. Calmly, he strode into Rob’s office ready to get in, get his paycheck, and get out.

“Harry…” Rob said, the moment Harry walked in. Rob had a sad look on his face, his head was sulking, his shoulders were drooped and his eyebrows were knotted up. The creases on his forehead were embellished and his double chin was wobbly with worry.

“Rob…I was just here to get my paycheck. If it’s not too much, I’m sort of in a hurry,” Harry said.

Rob looked down at the envelopes on his desk, ruffled through them nodding and saying, “Yes, yes, just hold on a sec.”

Rob found the envelope that had Harry’s name on it and slid it across his desk.

“Harry, I…uh…I had a little chat with your dad today. I’m…really sorry about your brother and all. If you know, you need to take a vacation? You know…just get out of here or something?”

Harry reached across, picked up the envelope and tore it open. He quickly checked the numbers and nodded then shook his head. He looked into Rob’s eyes, turned heel, and walked out calmly. He would not speak to his boss about his brother; he would not speak to anybody about his brother.

Harry crept through the aquarium until he reached the elevators. He reached for the third floor and waited as it inched upward. When it finally opened, he angle toward the doors that led to the area above the massive kelp forest. It was a lovely spot to stand and relax. He loved watching the solid metal arm move and sway the forest as if it were actually the sea.

The fish swimming in the murky depths did so without worry, or so it seemed. They bigger fish were fed by divers on a daily basis, as were the smaller fish. The smallest fish fed on the plant life, on the algae that formed. There was a complete ecosystem in a gigantic tank only feet from the ocean. If a fish were determined enough, Harry wagered it could fly into the ocean and live its own happy life again. Or perhaps it already was happy in the ecosystem it lived in.

Perhaps it was happy where it was.

***

Sunday,

August 19, 1996

The family arranged for their child to be transferred to their own home. The doctors assured the family that it was indeed the time for Andrew’s death and the family decided unanimously that if Andrew were to die it would not be in the hospital.

It was arranged for nurses to come check on Andrew’s vitals around the clock. Nothing would be left unchecked to prolong the life of the little boy. Harry often wondered that if by prolonging Andrew’s life, they prolonged his agony as well.

It was a question of selfishness that the family would eventually have to face. Were they so selfish that they willed their son to live the extra few days or weeks or months? Were they the kind of people that did not let their children die in peace?

No, they were the kind of people that wished to grasp at the straws in empty space when they were long gone. They knew their son would die. The brothers knew their brother would die. The family knew that each family member, someday, would die. But they refused to know the simplest fact of all: that Andrew would die much sooner than they. They hated to think that their youngest, most innocent and loving child was to be the first to go.

They shrouded the boy in white. His bed covers were fresh snow white as were the walls in the room. White cups and white plates were brought for him to eat from. White clothes and white underwear were provided and placed on the boy’s limber, eager body. Rice provided by the Mori family was as white as an angel’s wings and that was fed to the boy too.

James and Harry continued to work. Zoe continued to plan for the up coming school year. Jake took to the hills and climbed the trees. He rode his bicycle into the early morning, fog-ridden paths and returned only late in the evening for dinner.

Sharon came over every day. She helped Zoe with any food that needed to be prepared. She read books to Andrew. She read them lovingly and carefully. The voices came to life as the voices of each character she portrayed. A wolf had a wolf’s voice. A little girl had a little girl’s voice and so on.

The family thanked her each and every time she came.

***

Tuesday,

August 21, 1996

It was a calm and balmy morning. Harry sat on the deck in the backyard, which was wooden and very old. The wood was splintered and it was very dangerous to walk bare-footed on it. The early morning fog had given way to a quiet, cool sunny morning. While he had shorts on, he had no shirt and he could feel the sun warm his upper body like the touch of a mother.

It was finally his day off and he could not be more distraught at not being able to return to work. There was something calming about picking up other people’s trash that kept him from thinking. When he thought, he only thought of Andrew and while he could never forget his brother, he still did not want to think about him.

Greg’s body was recovered by the police and the death was deemed an accident. It took quite a long time for the news to reach Harry and Sharon because true to her word, Elie had not said anything to the police. She would not be charged for the death at all for the police felt sympathetic for her. She was simply acting in self defense.

Sharon wasn’t handling the death very well. Harry wondered if it was a combination of both Greg’s death and the impending death of Andrew that got her in such a state but he could not be sure for he never asked her. As for him, he’d never felt much for Greg’s death. He was disappointed that with the death of Greg that the monthly parties would end, but he knew there were other parties to go to.

Harry heard the screen door behind him open slowly. He turned around to see that it was only his father cautiously making his way over and turned back around towards the sun. James sat down next to him.

“What…how are you?” James asked.

“Ok,” Harry responded. He scratched at an itch on his left bicep and then leaned back to prop himself on both arms.

“I just got back from work. I was wondering who was out here. I saw you from the living room.”

“Oh,” Harry said.

“Zoe is still sleeping?” He always referred to Harry’s mother as Zoe.

“Yeah,” Harry answered. His eyes were now focused on the dead patches of yellow grass that dotted the backyard. The house was in disarray and had been since Andrew had fallen ill again.

“Both your brothers too?”

Jake and Harry had bunked together in Harry’s room and Andrew had his own room. All the medical equipment took up too much space for Jake and the decision had been made to move him to Harry’s room, if only temporarily.

“I dunno,” he said.

“The nurse come around?”

“Yeah.”

“I see. Good. That’s one thing out of the way today.”

They sat in silence for a few minutes. The two men focused on various things in the backyard, their eyes never meeting nor focusing on one thing too long.

James took a deep breath. “Listen, son,” Harry’s eyebrows piqued at this. “I was searching through your room a few weeks back and well…I know I wasn’t supposed to. I acknowledge your privacy but you see…I was getting worried and…Oh fuck it. Son, I found some drugs.”

“You’re wondering where I got them are you?”

“Well, yes. That’s one thing I’m wondering. Listen, Harry, I know you’re going through some tough times. We all are, I kn—”

“No. Dad, No. You don’t know. You will never know.”

“Now you listen here, this is more serious than some petty squabble of power. You’re my son and I have the right to tell you what’s right and what’s wrong. I know you better than you know yourself. Remember, I raised you.”

“Yeah? Well you should have done a better job,” Harry spat scathingly.

“You don’t know the first thing about raising a child. You don’t know the first thing!”

“Neither do you, you stupid fraud.”

James reached up a hand to hit Harry but before he could swing down a perfectly shaped tawny brown owl floated down and perched itself between the two. A letter was tied around the owl’s shoulders like a medal and there was a peculiar looking symbol on it. James absolutely froze when he saw the owl and the letter.

Harry looked up at his father inquisitively wondering. When no answer or movement came from him, Harry moved to take the letter from the owl. Without warning, James snapped at Harry’s hand and grabbed the letter for himself.

5. Chapter Four - Apollo

Title: Title Pending – Chapter Three – Apollo
Author name: Kenji
Category: Angst
Sub-Category: Drama
Summary: In the life of every pureblood family member, a surname plays a vital role in determining who they are. Without a proper pureblood surname, that person is nothing. When Harry Brumnder learns that not only he is not just a common teenager with a troubled childhood but an heir to a large estate and immense of wealth, it shakes his foundation. A story about surviving the test of foreign worlds and learning to coexist with not only a different society, but also a different perspective on life. The Potter bloodline is going to bleed its true colors in a battle for what is right.

DISCLAIMER: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.
Author notes: I’ve noticed a lot of you are anxious for Harry to get back to Hogwarts. That will happen in due time. I’m trying to build a background on the character you really only barely know. I’ve also noticed that a lot of you want Harry to meet Hermione and fall, ::sigh:: happily in love. That isn’t going to happen. This is not a romance. If you are reading this story simply for romance then you are reading the wrong story. This story is about finding out who you truly are, a coming of age story.

I’d like to thank my great beta, Jenni who has helped me with marvelous critique and done terrors to the grammar that I barely posses. And also, I’d like to thank the people that have reviewed my works. All of your thoughts are well appreciated and also, I welcome anybody to critique my story in a review. If you want to, lay it on me but let me learn from it.

***

Monday,

August 20, 1996

London, England, United Kingdom, The Earth, The Universe

Stan Wyner sat down in his very hard seat with a very loud sigh. His head was hurting, his legs were hurting, and the muggle heater situated in his office would not turn off. He briefly contemplated blowing it to smithereens but thought best of it, lest some debris go through the wall and into his boss’ office.

A stack of papers sat on Stan’s rickety, poorly made desk. Grunge work. Stan was the dog in a prestigious company that handled millions of galleons worth in estates, royalties and family fortunes including but not limited to: family heirlooms, jewels of every size and shape, swords and suits of armor, moving paintings painted by the most famous of artists and piles and piles of wizard gold. Of course Stan, being the “new guy,” had all the dirty work. His job paid the least. He was the least acknowledged. He was forgotten until work arose and he had been working at the company for nearly three years.

Mergo & Magnate was not a company to mess with and every employee took their work seriously, even if it was as horrible and rigorous as Stan endured day by day. While actually most employees enjoyed lavish offices with wonderful views of the London cityscape, Stan afforded an office strategically placed next to the owlery where he worked his days and sometimes nights. The more luxurious offices on the upper floors were of course, used to impress clients. What better enticement could be brought about than by one of a well to do company that gave even their most menial workers offices marked with gold, or so it looked. Prospective clients were of course, never brought to the owlery or even anywhere near the basement. Every company had its dirty little secrets.

Besides the conditions, Stan did enjoy ample monetary consolidation for his hard labor. After all, every lie and glamour had to have a simple shred of truth in it. As such, Mergo & Magnate was actually a very well to do company. In exchange for looking after the families’ possessions, the families paid healthy premiums out of their own vaults to Mergo & Magnate vaults. Money well spent, most families would say.

Stan enjoyed the task of taking all the claims from the families, processing them and sending them upstairs. Just the same, he took responses from the people upstairs and mailed them off to the different families. As such, even though he was not important enough to the company to enjoy a big office, he did know most of what happened.

Stan reached across his desk and picked up the first parchment envelope and read it over.

“Mrs. Storbringer, that woman will never learn…” he sighed. He’d taken to talking to himself as he worked. There was no WWN in his office and it was rare that anybody ever came to chat with him. He shuffled the papers he pulled out of the envelope and picked out the two statements that Shirley Kourchovsky had written up in response. Reaching behind him, he pulled out two separate parchment mailing envelopes, placed a statement into each envelope and titled them Angela Storbringer and Jack Storbringer, respectively. He grabbed a piece of wax, melted it on to each letter and stamped the Mergo & Magnate stamp on each letter. He set the two letters at the upper right corner of his rickety desk and took the next letter off the pile.

The second envelope was much like the first, and in that respect, much like the third and the fourth and the fifth. Rich old families were intuitively obsessed with their money. It was perhaps a crime not to care about the money they possessed…at the very least so in the world of rich old pureblood families.

The sixth parchment envelope caught his attention. It was very old and the looked like it had been stuffed away in a desk for centuries. Excitedly, he glanced at the name on it but could not make it out. The ink had been wasted away from so many years of—what Stan could only assume—someone taking it in and out of said desk. Gracious for something to really captivate his time, Stan opened the very weak top to the envelope. It gave way as if it had been done many several times before.

Potter was the first name he found, right on the top of the first page. Stan spread the papers out in front of him and gave them a very thorough search. A fugiant had been placed and was awaiting mailing. Stan had never heard held a fugiant in his hands in the three years he had been working at Mergo & Magnate. When Stan was briefed by predecessor on what his job entailed, he was informed that a fugiant was neither likely nor possible to occur in his time working at the position. A quick run through of the facts with his predecessor brought about the detail that a fugiant had only been filed twice in Mergo & Magnate’s four hundred and thirty two year history.

Truly, a fugiant was much more feared in paper than it ever was in name. The amount of paperwork that followed a fugiant was known throughout the company even if nobody working had ever really handled one. It really was all the matter of how tricky it was to deal with one that gave way to such hardship.

A fugiant, Stan went over in his head, is basically the trouble that arose when a pureblood family did not file any inquiries, or add any money, or add any materials to the estate. Basically, it was a period of stagnation in the families’ involvement that lasted for fourteen years exactly. The reason so much paperwork trailed a fugiant was because many, many deeds would have to be changed for lack of any will. Owls would be sent out, one by one, to try to find any remaining blood family to take over. If none could be found, then the estates were divided amongst the people that married in, if there were any. If none still could be found, then all the money would have to be forwarded to the ministry and all premiums forwarded to Mergo & Magnate would cease to exist. Needless to say, the problem that came with a fugiant was major.

Hopefully they would be able to locate a family member of some sort that was associated with the Potter family, although it was well publicized that the last of the direct descendants were deceased. The problem that faced Mergo & Magnate in this was that the money then would have to be divided proportionally among any remaining in-laws. Because the money would be so spread apart, the company could not garner in as much in the way of premiums as before for a combination of reasons: One, the families might take their money to separate companies, two, the lower the amount the lower the premium could safely be charged without discouraging the family involved and three, typically when wealth was presented in smaller amounts it was much easier to spend. Newly crowned “rich” families were very prone to spending their money and Margo & Magnate was very aware of this. The paperwork arose not only form changing deeds therefore; it arose from trying to locate any blood relatives.

As such, Mergo & Magnate did employ one very useful, very powerful tool in their fight to keep their premiums rich. There was a magic created many centuries past that allowed one to track any single person in the world, regardless of how hidden they wanted to be. Mergo & Magnate had acquired the spell (which is believed to date back to Merlin’s times) solely for its money making, through the use of an expert researcher who was killed very quickly after Mergo & Magnate acquired the spell. As such, the only person who knew the spell was Miss Margaret Mergo herself, great many times over granddaughter of Mercucio Mergo.

The spell worked simply enough from all that Stan could tell. It was cast on an owl, not particularly unique in design and coloring so as not to attract attention. This owl was kept simply in Miss Mergo’s office but with a very powerful disillusionment charm placed on it. Mergo & Magnate was very cautious of its assets including the valuable spell it recovered at the life of one researcher (erased from the history books).

Stan was very shocked and dismayed at having received such a valuable and costly file. He did not trust his three years of experience to be able to handle the extreme amount of pressure, stress and concern that came along with the fugiant. Forgetting completely about his work stacked not so neatly at the top right corner of his desk, Stan very quickly ran of out his steaming hot office with the envelope in his outstretched hands and his shirt sticking to his back with sweat. He carried the parchment envelope as if he had a bomb on his hands and as he rambled his way up the stairs—people avoided him as if it were.

Two very muscular and powerful looking guards stood at attention before the double oak doors that preceded Margaret Mergo’s door. Stan did not know the two guards and they paid a similar amount of recognition to him. Nonetheless, Stan new he had to get through the doors and into Margaret Mergo’s office. So mustering up a calm courage, Stan billowed out his chest and spoke to the guard closest to him.

“I need to see Miss Mergo. It’s very, very important that I do,” his voice shook.

“Do you work here?” the guard asked a bored expression on his face.

“I do, and it’s very important that I see Miss Mergo.”

“What’s so important that you have to see her for?”

Stan looked down at the tattered envelope that both guards were eyeing. He shifted it so that it rested against his hip while he brought up an accusatory finger and pointed it at the closer guard.

“This doesn’t concern you. It’s…god, I’ve said it’s very important. Just trust me on this one. If you don’t let me in to see her it will be very bad for me and I’ll make it very bad for you.”

The guard took two steps closer to Stan’s finger and stared it down to Stan’s face. Stan feared for his finger. The guard looked as if he would soon make a tasty snack of the finger and Stan contemplated taking it back. Instead, he brought his chest forward again, raised himself to a straight position and looked the guard straight in the eye.

“You don’t scare me punk. And I’m going to have to see what’s in the envelope before I let you go. We don’t want anything…hurting our boss now do we? So we can make this easy or we can make this very easy.”

What? No hard way? Stan thought. How horribly cliché

Stan finally gave in, slumped back and took his finger down staring at the ground. He extended the folder to the guard who broke out in a big smile.

“Fine, you win.” Stan watched as the guard gripped the envelope in his spiny fingers and reached for the flap to open it. “I wouldn’t suggest opening it though…it’s a fugiant.”

The guard dropped the envelope as if he’d been scalded. Of course, Stan thought again. Put on the big boy act and pretend to be worried about his boss but when the trouble might bite him, he runs away and whimpers. How easy it would be to sneak something sinister into Miss Mergo’s office!

Stan shook his head and picked up the envelope carefully again. Without waiting for the guard’s approval Stan opened the door and stepped into the anteroom of the big boss’ office. Stan had never actually seen Miss Mergo and in the lower ranks of the building this was a good thing. If a lower ranked employee ever came to see Miss Mergo then there was only one conclusion.

They were roasted, toasted and fucked on a grill.

Miss Mergo kept no secretaries and he could hear her jabbing away into the fireplace(or so he could only assume) as he neared the door to double oak doors to her office(she had a penchant for double oak doors it seemed).

When he opened the door, Miss Mergo immediately closed the grate to the fireplace she was speaking into and gave Stan a glare that just about nearly caused him to wet his pants. Before she could open her mouth and fire him he said,

“I have an explanation!” She visibly relaxed and inclined her head slightly eyeing the envelope Stan had chosen to extend as he interjected. “It’s…It’s a fugiant ma’am. I found it on my desk. I didn’t know what to do! I don’t have the authority to handle this and I didn’t want to mess it up. I had to make sure you knew about it ma’am.”

Stan tried to stop his shaking and dropped his eyes quickly to the floor while Miss Mergo reached for the envelope.

“This…will be sent off this very second. Thank you for your work. Now get out.”

Stan escaped Miss Mergo’s office as quickly as his two legs would carry him.

***

Tuesday,

August 21, 1996

Monterey, California, United States of America

“And he just left…like that? All in a huff?” Jake asked.

“All in a huff,” Harry said.

“I think he took mom’s car. I heard the starter shriek twice before it started. Where do you think he’s goin’?”

“I think it’s reasonable to assume that your mother knows something about this Harry, maybe you can ask her?” Sharon asked.

“Yeah, maybe.” Harry reached over and stroked Andrew’s cheek. It was pale and lifeless. A steady beep echoed in the room from the monitor that kept check of his heart beat. The nurses and the daily doctor said that Andrew was nearing his last days. Harry kept vigil mostly all day with Sharon and sometimes Jake by his side. Their mother stayed holed up in her bedroom doing nothing but stare at the walls.

“Well…aren’t you gonna ask her? I’m dying to know. Maybe it has something to do with the Yosemite shit that happened,” Jake said.

“What Yosemite shit?” Jake covered his mouth quickly and stared at his brother. Sharon looked from Jake to Harry who was still looking at Andrew.

“It’s ok Jake, she knows,” Harry said finally tearing his gaze away from his sick brother.

“I know? How can I know if I just asked you?”

“You know about my healing ability,” Harry said.

“Your healing ability? I thought it only cured headaches and…well…bumps and bruises. Shit is hardly bumps and bruises or headaches. What happened at Yosemite?” Sharon said.

“I’ll tell you what happened at Yosemite,” Jake said, bolstering up in his seat. “We were climbing some rocks and I was trying to get to the top really fast. Harry, of course, was really very slow and so I just kept going on without him. Then…accidentally I slipped on a rock. I wasn’t looking down because well…I was so focused on getting up and I slipped. I broke my leg and Harry did this weird light thing and fixed it. It was the most…insane thing I’ve ever seen in my entire life! It was just as good as new after.”

Sharon, who had kept her gaze on Harry as Jake spoke, said, “But…I thought it could only cure bruises and bumps. You’ve tried before. Remember? You tried it on Steve when his wrist broke when he was…well…when his wrist broke. You said you could do it and nothing happened. Then it seemed…as if it you didn’t even know how to cure bumps and bruises anymore. What…how’d you figure it out again?”

Both Jake’s and Sharon’s eyes were focused on Harry whose eyes had gone back to Andrew laying in his bed with white pillow surrounding him.

“I don’t know. Suddenly, I just knew what to do,” was his only reply.

“Well…that’s rich,” Jake harrumphed.

“No…no! This is great!” Sharon said.

“What? Why’s it so great?” Jakes asked, perplexed.

“Well…think about it. Maybe Harry can do it again. Maybe he can cure Andrew!”

Harry’s eyes flickered up in surprise, why hadn’t he thought of that? He pictured himself back in Yosemite, patching up his brother’s ankle. He remembered how broken it was and he remembered feeling the crack in it. After he fixed it, it was as good as new. Perhaps the same principle could work with Andrew.

“Maybe we should tell dad first Harry. It’s not something you should just start doing…to everyone. You don’t know what could be going on. You might actually do something worse and Andrew could die right here,” the voice of reason spoke in Jake’s subtle baritone.

“He’ll…” Harry was stuck. He could not come up with a counterargument that did not infer some of his own passion towards curing Andrew. Even though his brother was reasonable, and did understand Harry’s cause, he was still right. There could be more damage that Harry would not be able to deal with, just lying in the shadows.

“He’s right Harry. The little bastard is right,” Sharon spoke softly at Harry’s side.

“I’m hardly little. I’m much bigger than you and Harry, so don’t go off calling me little,” Jake said.

“I’m talking about your age you shit-head,” Sharon countered.

“Age ain’t nothin’ but a numba’ baby! Don’t go calling me little when you know I could kick your ass in one second, hands down,” Jake said speaking quite animatedly with his hands.

“Oh yeah?” Sharon reached across the bed Andrew was lying in and smacked Jake’s left ear causing Jake to cry out.

“Owww…you stupid whore! Harry did you fuckin’ see that?” Jake whined.

“Shut the fuck up,” Harry said, very quietly.

“Yeah, yeah. Now I see which one you like best Harry. I tell you what. Why don’t you go fuck your little whore and leave fuckin’ Andrew to sleep ok? Then maybe you can shoot up with some really good shit and forget the world even exists. All right? That sound good to you?” Andrew stormed out of the room.

Harry made a half-hearted attempt to get up and follow his brother but Sharon quickly thwarted him.

“Yeah, I know,” Harry said reading Sharon’s nonverbal communication.

“He’s right though. You…is it not enough to see that Greg died because of…Harry you gotta stop,” Sharon choked out.

“Maybe,” Harry said, taking his seat again and stroking his dying brother’s chin. He followed the gentle angles of his jaw up to his smooth scalp. If the disease didn’t kill him, Harry felt, the treatment certainly would.

“Maybe, that’s all huh? You don’t care do you, is that it? Think about this then mister, I’m-too-cool-for-you. Imagine you…I dunno, you do something! Okay? You do something and then you get caught or maybe even worse, you get killed. Don’t think what happened to Greg is just an accident. Don’t you dare think that it doesn’t’ happen all the time, okay? What you’re doing is going to fuck up your life if it already hasn’t. It’s going to fuck up your family too, just watch. Jake isn’t the only one who knows you know. When I said your dad sometimes looks in your room, I wasn’t lying. He does, but that’s not all he does. He searches through it. He knows what he’s looking for and you what? I think I’m going to help him next time.”

There was silence for a while and then he spoke, “Who are you to talk?”

“I’m you friend to talk. I don’t…it’s different between you and me,” Sharon said.

“How’s that?” Harry said.

“My family isn’t going to have to bury two kids if something ever happens to me!”

Harry wanted to hit her, but stopped himself. He wanted to smack her across the face and make her bleed. He wanted to see his fist clenched and draw blood from the perfectly shaped nose on her face and the smooth white skin on her cheeks, but he held back. Sharon took precautions though, she stood up, she stepped back, and she walked out of the room without a single glance backwards.

Harry did nothing but stare back at his brother whose eyes were creased open.

“You heard that?” Harry asked. Andrew weakly shook his head.

“You hear any of it?” Harry again asked. Andrew again, shook his head.

“You just woke up then?” Harry said. This time, Andrew nodded his head.

Harry smiled at his brother and took his hand. Andrew quickly glanced at their grasping hands and his face visibly warmed.

Harry began to tell him a story,

“Long, long ago in Japan, there lived a poor woodsman. One day, he was cutting bamboo in a grove when he came upon one stalk of bamboo glowing a bright, golden color. Finding this mysterious, he approached it for a closer look.

“To his amazement, inside the bamboo was an adorable, tiny little girl. Since the old man and his wife had no children of their own, he decided to bring the child home with him, where he and his wife raised her with love and care. They decided to name her Kaguya Hime. From that time forward, whenever the woodsman went back to work in the grove, gold coins would come pouring out from the bamboo he cut. As a result, the old couple became wealthy.

“Amazingly, within just three months Kaguya Hime grew into a beautiful maiden. Her beauty soon became known throughout the country, and one young man after another came forth to ask her hand in marriage. Kaguya Hime refused all of her suitors, but there were five insistent young noblemen who refused to give up. In order to dissuade them, Kaguya Hime asked for a gift from each, and promised to marry the first one to bring her the gift she had requested. But these items were not things that could be found anywhere on this earth, and so the five young noblemen soon lost heart and gave up.

“In the meantime the Emperor, who had heard of Kaguya Hime's beauty, also began courting the girl to become his wife and Empress. He too was refused. When the Emperor tried to force Kaguya Hime to come to the palace, she disappeared right before his eyes. The Emperor then realized that there was something unusual about Kaguya Hime, and so he too gave up.

“Three years passed and Kaguya Hime became even more beautiful. Then, one spring, Kaguya Hime began to grow melancholy on moonlit nights. She would stare at the moon with tears streaming down her face. The old woodsman, worried, asked what was wrong. Gazing up at the sky, Kaguya Hime replied, ‘Actually, I come from the moon. I was sent to live on the earth by my King, but now I have been told that I must go home. I will miss everyone here on earth, and that is why I am sad.’

“The old man was shocked, and not wanting to let his beloved daughter go, consulted with the Emperor to devise a plan. On the night of the full moon, the Emperor's guards hid Kaguya Hime deep inside the woodsman's house and surrounded it. Suddenly, the night sky became bright. Messengers from the moon dressed in brilliant clothes came down from the sky and descended to the earth on a cloud. At this sight, the guards become petrified and lost their courage. The messengers placed Kaguya Hime onto a palanquin and dressed her in a feathered robe. Leaving the heartbroken old couple behind, Kaguya Hime took off to the moon.”

***

Sarah Chavez was half-Mexican and half-White. Harry was attracted to her the second he saw her. Not in a love struck, trashy romance novel style but in a lust filled, “I wanna fuck that girl” style.

It was the first day into the second semester of his freshman year at Monterey High School. He was still growing used to being a Matador and the utter lack of friends tensed him initially. His mother was of no help. Sometimes she was the bringer of more bad news than good news. Hazing never completely stopped being a problem for Harry. He doubted it ever would. When it started, Harry thought it was foreign and impossible to fathom. Being beat up once in a while was nothing to worry about. All kids would get beat on from time to time. It was just his time.

When it did not stop he began to reach out for help. His hands were bloodied and repaired. His face was bloodied and repaired. His torso, legs, ears, eyes, nose were all bloodied and repaired. But the inside of him was reaped with interminable damage; damage that no doctor could prescribe medicine to. This was damage that was even too powerful for his unbeatable healing abilities. Unconsciously and unwillingly his broken bones would be set, cured, and good as new. But no healing could take place inside him.

On the first day of the second semester of his freshman year at Monterey High, Harry stumbled across Sarah Chavez on the field. He usually took the shortcut that was allowed through this field both to avoid people and to cut down the walking time—which really was obscenely short.

Sarah Chavez was kicking a soccer ball lazily into a netted goal post when Harry stumbled upon her—literally, of course, he actually lost his balance. Much to his surprise and slight chagrin she turned around and helped him up. She had a calm and suppressed laugh that caught his attention. It was not merely a giggle or a snicker and certainly wasn’t a chuckle or a chortle but it couldn’t just be called a laugh he deemed it much to special for that.

When she held out her hand and he took it she asked him if he was all right. He nodded of course, spellbound by her short brown hair and light skin. Her eyes were very wide and alluring. Her ears were just the right size and looked pliable and soft. Her cheek had a tiny mole just below her left eye and Harry fought the urge to caress it.

“Want to kick the ball around? Season’s already started and my goalkeeping is really the pits. It would be a great help if you could…you know…kick the ball around a bit? My dad’s been pressuring me to get good. He says I’ll never get into a good college if I don’t get a sport scholarship. He says I don’t have good grades. I don’t see how I’ll ever please that man,” she said to him after he dusted off his pants.

And he fell in love with her that moment. It wasn’t love at first sight, no, but it was love nearly at first sight. Perhaps one could call it love at first conversation or love at first large utterance of words. Her voice was just as soft and warming as her “laugh” was and it enticed him to further explore whom this Sarah Chavez was exactly.

Harry kicked the ball a few times to the goal. He wasn’t very good but it did not seem that Sarah minded at all. She deftly caught the ball every time. She did not settle for swats or ill-timed jumps. She wanted to catch the ball in her hands and celebrate the warmth of her victory with a gentle crushing.

They played until the day became night; as it was winter, that happened altogether too soon for Harry. He wanted to know more about the enchanting girl. As it were, after he finished he only knew her name and her ethnicity. He knew of her dad and his insatiability, much like his own father. He knew she liked soccer and that her grades were not that good but she had heart.

It was with courage that was nurtured by repeated ball kicking, grabbing and throwing combined with a little bit of gentle “laughter” that he asked her on a date. She responded with a small silence. She warned him that her father disapproved of her dating but that she was mad at him anyways. She agreed and Harry couldn’t help but feel a bit left in the dust. He did not want to turn into the object of a daughter’s spite. He voiced this to her gently and she “laughed” again. She wanted to go with him of course, the daughterly spite was just a side bonus.

As she walked away he could not help but notice how luscious her ass was.

***

Wednesday,

August 22, 1996

Harry’s ears perked up when he heard the key turn in the lock. He sat up from the uncomfortable couch and pried his balls from sticking to the side of his leg. He extended one hand into the air and stretched the sore stiff muscles that dwelled in the small of his back all the while yawning a terrific yawn that woke the inner parts of his brain. His father stopped suddenly at the door as he caught sight of his son awake. It was the middle of the night, he couldn’t be quite sure what time it was but it was either very late at night or very early morning.

“You’re home,” Harry said, eyeing the wooden box James held in his hands tenderly.

“I am.”

“You’ve got a box.”

“I do.”

“Your voice. It’s different. Say something,” Harry said.

“Something.”

“There! Your accent. It’s…”

“British?”

“I suppose. I’ve never heard anything like it,” Harry said running a hand through his own hair. Harry sat on the couch for a moment staring into the eyes of his father. He was different in too many ways to count. His eyes were deep but not menacing. They looked meaningless, like hot iron ore waiting to be molded. It sparkled with light but did not know it’s own existence. What would it make? What would it be molded into? His voice was deeper and more brisk. The accent accentuated his utter devotion to its mother language and pledged allegiance to the country it originated from with total adoration. Britain.

“Are you going to tell me what’s in it?” Harry motioned to the box.

James moved from his post at the door to sit beside his son on the couch. The couch groaned in protest as he settled himself into the old springs and cloth. He gently smoothed the fine grains of his hair back and smothered his eyes with a conceding scratch. James took the box and placed it in the lap of his son. Harry noticed briefly that his father’s nails were very, very dirty like they hadn’t been cleaned in months.

“Do I open it?” Harry asked. His father nodded. Harry quickly opened the top of the box to reveal a non-descript looking stick. Except for the fact that it was perfectly smooth and straight, Harry would not have mistaken it for a normal stick fallen from the willow tree that housed his tree house.

“It’s a wand,” James said, reading his son’s mind.

“It’s just a stupid stick,” Harry said still only observing the “stupid stick” as it lay in the box.

“Pick it up,” James said diverting his sight from the wand to the fireplace. Harry did as he was told and picked the wand up. At first he felt nothing but then a wonderful surge of heat swam through his fingers. The wand felt alive in his hand; he nearly felt it would leap from his fingers and dance a tricky salsa step on the coffee table at his feet.

“It is a wand then, it’s warm.”

“Yes. It is. You don’t seem surprised,” James said leveling a look of trepidation on his son.

“That owl yesterday. It has something to do with this doesn’t it?” he waved the wand in the air.

James quickly took the wand from his son’s hand and nodded. “Yes, it does. But you’re going to have to listen. It’s…why are you handling this so well? This is not your ordinary occurrence.”

“I don’t know. How am I supposed to handle this?”

“I…I don’t know. Are you…you have questions. I have answers. But first, I want to tell you what this is. What all of this is. I want to tell you who you really are.”

“Is it going to take long?” Harry asked.

“I don’t know. I suppose it could take a long while. It all depends on if I go un-interrupted or not.”

Harry nodded and settled back into his seat. James nodded and told his son all about the wizarding world. He told his son of magic and wonder, about his mother and the gallant way she died. James told him about his own struggle to bring Harry away from the evil that was beset to kill him. James talked through the early morning hours about the inner workings of the world he had left behind in hopes that he may lead a better life. And then he told Harry of his true heritage.

“You are not Harry Brumnder. Brumnder was just a name I found when we both first came here. You see, when a wizard is born they are born into a certain social standing. You were…and are of the nobility stature. You command all of the muggleborns, halfbloods, fullbloods and even some purebloods that do not register higher than you on the money and wealth scale. Really, it’s all much too complicating, I have to say, but it’s been at work for several hundreds of years,” he waved his hand at the issue, brushing it off the table with quick discourse.

“You, my son, are really a Potter. We Potters are very, very powerful. To put into terms the power that we enjoy let’s take it against the Brit—no…I suppose that wouldn’t work. Erm…well, let’s just say for now, that the Potters enjoy an extremely lavish amount of wealth. Wealth that I thought was being taken care of. So it turns out, my parents died just days after we left here for America. Had I known they were in such danger I certainly would not have put those anti-tracking charms on you and me for we could have assumed all that money much quicker. I tell you, it’s been hell living as a muggle and with so little money and power these last few years…hell. Bloody-fucking-hell.”

“So…we have money…and power, but what does this all mean?” Harry said.

“Wh—what does it all mean? What do you mean what does it all mean? It’s highly and very simple. We are moving back to the wizard world and I’m going to take over the estate that my father left me. You are going to go to wizarding school and learn to be what you should have been in the first place. This is the golden opportunity I have been waiting fifteen years to come my way for and I’ll be fucked up a jackrabbits arse if I don’t capitalize on it.”

“So we’re going to leave. Just like that,” Harry said.

“Well, yes…I suppose just like that. We don’t really need to take anything. In fact, if you want to, we can go right this very second. Oh but fuck. I’ll need to obliviate everyone’s minds. Fuck…” James massaged his chin with his forefinger and thumb. “Yes…yes, I suppose it may take a few days. Erm…but I do believe we’ll be ready by Saturday. Yes, Saturday the wizarding world is going to know the wrath of the Potters once again.”

“You…you’re…I—hmm…”

“What? What is it?”

“Perhaps the fact that you’ve just told me that you’re going to erase the minds of every human being I’ve known for the last fifteen years and that you and I are going back to a country and world that I’ve never in conscious mind been to. All of this, coming on the brink of my brother—rather, Half-brother’s impending death and my stepmother’s utter seclusion from the world and my best friend’s brink of insanity. Forgive me, dear father of mine, if I’m not too…peachy keen on this idea of yours.”

“I did not divulge all of this information for you to have a choice on it. If I wanted to, I could obliviate your mind too and just go myself but I will not because your mother would have not wanted that. Your mother was the most wonderful woman this world has ever had the graces of knowing. You will go back to the world that your mother grew to love and live in and accept as the world she would spend the rest of her life in. You will leave behind this phony family that I have created because it means nothing to you or to me. The only thing that matters right now is that we take all of the money that is rightfully ours and prosper.”

“I will not.”

“You will. Your mother died to save you from dying at the hands of that fucking monster that stole hers. Your mother would have wanted you to live in the wizarding world. Your mother loved you with all her heart. She died for you. She was stolen from this world, from me because of you. I’ll be damned if you aren’t going to the wizarding world for her. She died for you.”

“But she didn’t live for me. She didn’t raise me. She is not my mother, the woman up there in that room that you have slept in for the last twelve years is my mother. And I will not leave to go anywhere.”

Harry walked briskly and calmly up the stairs to disappear into the room that he shared with his brother. He was damned if he was going to move anywhere. He was damned if his father thought he could do something that he did not want to do.

He was damned if he would leave his sick and dying brother to die.

***

The first time they had sex was a moment to remember. Harry went by Sarah’s house very late in the night on his bike. His bike was the best transportation he could muster, as he was not yet old enough to drive.

Sarah’s house was a very old one-story house on Taylor Street. Harry had to pedal through old Monterey to reach the house and at the late hour it was very dark indeed. The traffic was non-existent and he made it to her house a sweaty mess but in quite a short time. When he went to her open window he could see the TV on and her in her bed sleeping peacefully. He couldn’t help the coy smile as he climbed through the window. He knelt next to her bed and grabbed her hand softly as he watched her eyes for the first sign of rousing.

She woke very easily and after a few yawns and stretches, joined Harry by grabbing her own bike already ready at the side of her house. They peddled quietly up the hills and through the narrow roads. Their shadows mingled in the dark night. Whenever they saw a car they hid at the sides of the roads behind bushes and trees and houses. Every single person they saw, they hid from behind bushes and trees and houses. It would only serve that they were the only ones who knew they were gone or their weeks of planning would be all for not.

When they neared Seventeen Mile Road they peddled on through the guard post. The trek up was troublesome but they were rewarded with marvelous downhill slopes that let them put their feet up from the pedals and hold hands as they briskly flew down the road. The wind was in their hair, the breeze was licking at their ears and the air was caressing their eyes, watering them until they cried from joy.

There was nothing that would go wrong with their plan. When they reached the beach they sat down for a while listening to the water froth up onto the sand. The tide was on its transition downward and backward. The water was cold and billowing through their toes as they walked through the murky depths holding hands.

“We should just kill ourselves here, right in the water,” Sarah said.

“Together you mean?” Harry asked. His sight was fixated on hers as they stood in the water.

“Yes. Let’s drown together right here. Let’s get away from that family. We’ll be martyrs of love. They’ll tell stories about us, the two teenagers from Monterey who died to protect themselves from their own families.” She looked very serious.

He shook his head and laughed, “You can’t be serious. We haven’t even had sex yet, how do we know we love each other?”

She stopped her walking and stood in the water. He was caught off guard momentarily and continued walking; their hands separated and a wave spread through their legs.

“Since when did sex mean you love someone?”

“Well…since forever.” He looked down at the peacefully placid water and into the moon’s light reflected off of it as it stabbed into eyes like icicles.

She sat down into the water slowly. It was barely up to their knees when they stood and it reached just below her breasts when she sat down. She shivered briefly at the brisk cold of the water and then held up her hand for him to join her. He frowned briefly and stared at her hand for a good hard moment. It was hard to see in the moonlight but Sarah had beautiful hands--painter’s hands. They were like the hands that a pianist could move perfectly—glide over every key with the ease of a robin taking to flight. They were smooth and gentle to the touch but nearly always cold. He contemplated the feeling of her hands on him, pleasuring him, teasing him, stroking him and feeling him. Loving him. He contemplated and then sullied himself into the ocean quickly. They held hands underneath the salty water as she took him and pressed him against her chest so that she could whisper softly into his ear.

“Has it only been two months?”

“I wonder. One…two…yes, two months and six days.”

“That’s a lot of time. You could write a book in that time. Or learn to ride a horse.”

“You could read sixty books and learn to drive a car,” he said.

“Yes, I suppose you could.”

They sat listening to the waves lap up against their bosoms the salty feeling seeping into their pores.

“What does sex mean to you anyway? Why’s it so important?” she asked him.

“I dunno,” he said.

“Neither do I. It’s stupid. Do we really need to have sex to know that we’re in love?”

“It’s what I’ve heard.”

“What if it turns out that we don’t love each other? What if we have sex and we find out that there’s no love?”

“I guess we’d have to break up then,” he said.

“I’d die if that happened…but I guess there’s no turning back now. We have to do it. You know, we gotta find out.”

“Yeah, I guess we do.”

“Let’s do it right here. Right here in the water. I want to feel the ocean all around me as you do it. I want to be able to look at the stars and ask them if it’s love. If it isn’t then I’m already in the water. I can drown myself and you can too.”

He didn’t know what to say. “Okay.”

And they had sex.

Two days later Sarah Chavez washed up onto the shores of pebble beach golf course. The rocks caressed her gentle body as the ocean swam above her weeping, weeping. The cypress trees stood watch over her body like sentinels guarding an angel into the bottoms of a world that ceased to exist. Her hands rested on a patch of sand playing the grains like an expert cellist with inspiration and passion. Her eyes were glossy glue expressed in such a way that the ocean sky could be seen through them long after she was buried.

The citizens of Monterey spoke of her for many long years to come. They talked of the girl that had died of love. They talked of the girl that had drowned herself and the sad martyr she had become. Sarah Chavez was dead in spirit, body and mind but never in legend.

6. Chapter Five - Hermes

Title: Title Pending – Chapter Five – Hermes
Author name: Kenji
Category: Angst
Sub-Category: Drama
Summary: In the life of every pureblood family member, a surname plays a vital role in determining who they are. Without a proper pureblood surname, that person is nothing. When Harry Brumnder learns that not only he is not just a common teenager with a troubled childhood but an heir to a large estate and immense of wealth, it shakes his foundation. A story about surviving the test of foreign worlds and learning to coexist with not only a different society, but also a different perspective on life. The Potter bloodline is going to bleed its true colors in a battle for what is right.

DISCLAIMER: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.

****

Friday,

August 22, 1996

There was something so wonderfully and peacefully serene about driving the hills of Monterey in the middle of the morning. He didn’t need a destination exactly, just driving around in circles to clear his mind suited perfectly to settle the hounds of his imagination down. The heater in the car was broken but in the summer morning it was hardly needed. The old Japanese coupe was in need terribly of a paint job to cover the different rusted scratches and blemishes. The engine could do with a good cleaning as the layers of grime looked as if they belonged on the engine instead of being delinquent foreigners. Nonetheless, the car still ran well, if the trouble starting it weren’t so bothersome then all matters would be solved.

As Harry neared the gates to the Laguna Seca raceway, he slowed. How he wanted to barge on through the locked gates and take the racetrack a good few times around. The wind would be in his hair and smell of dead grass and burning rubber. The engine might blow up but he could coast down the dreaded S with no problem. Nobody would cheer of course. The stands would be as empty and serene as the coast on a violent day. But there would be no booing. He didn’t mind that fact that nobody celebrated his win so long as nobody desecrated his follies.

Harry remembered the wonderful afternoons spent sitting in the stands himself with Sharon and Mr. Mori. The engines would pitch and froth a high whiny sound and he would get terribly excited. He would cheer until his throat was dry and cracked all the while never quite knowing exactly whom he was cheering for. He was swept up in the moment. Sharon was by his side and cheering all the more. She understood the different schematics. To Harry, all it was, was crazy drivers speeding around in circles. Sharon would argue differently.

Mr. Mori would always let them stay until the sun would set into the hills. They would watch as the racers packed away their vestibules of death in big cramped trucks. The crewmembers would congratulate the winners and the stands would empty. The trophy would always be polished and primed right for the winner and the bottles of Gatorade would be quenching and refreshing for the driver. Any driver.

Harry kept on driving, past the gates of the raceway. His track was the highway, 68, and his destination was no silver and gold covered cup but the endless amounts of highway that he could traverse. The hills were dead there, a few trees would swagger with life but no rain meant no water and where no water was, there was death. Grasses of every type would sway too and fro with the wind and bake under the heavyset sun in the day. Harry knew soon he would exit the hills. Soon he would enter the valley of lettuce and cabbage. There would be the rich smell of animal waste and irrigated fields. The Salinas River would not relent in its journey towards the ocean, even if weary farms never relented in their selfish water gathering.

Where the 68 highway met the 101, Harry would have to make his choice. He could go down and into the south where the sun always shined and the movie stars lived. Or perhaps not make it that far and end up in the beautiful seaside community of Santa Barbara. He could perhaps visit Pismo beach where a bay existed so much like his own.

But then he had the choice of going north into the woods. He could visit the complex and intuitive city of San Francisco where he could walk the hilly streets and own the sidewalk. He could traverse to Sacramento, his state’s capital. Litigation and the whole state’s financial well being went down there, shouldn’t commoners be allowed to see its magnificence?

And when Harry could not decide he turned straight around and made his way back to Monterey. He knew no greater joy.

***

When Harry returned he told Sharon exactly what his father had told him two days past. She sat down heavily in the upholstered chair in her living room. Sweat beads crowded on Harry’s brow and his left hand was trembling with anxiety. Harry wanted to reach out and grip his friend’s hand in his but was too weak and scared at what she might think, to proceed. There was a very fine silence that passed between the two only interrupted briefly by a car flying by outside with its radio turned much too high.

“Are you sure it’s true?” Sharon spoke.

“Positive. I used it,” Harry said.

“How’d you know what to do?”

“I just concentrated really hard. I moved the table, not very far though.”

“And does your dad know?”

“No.”

“Are you going to tell him?”

“I wonder.”

There was a pregnant silence again. The two friends paused to reassume their wits.

“Are you going to go with him? It’s tomorrow…”

“I have to.”

“You said he was erasing everyone’s minds of you, him and your brother. Why hasn’t he gotten to me yet?”

“I told him not to erase your mind.”

“And he trusts me? I find that hard to believe. I never really got along well with the guy, you know? I mean, he’s always just been your dad. I’ve never thought of him as anything else. Not really a friend.”

“He said it was the only wish he’d grant me.”

“Did your brother get a wish?”

“No, Jake didn’t care. He wanted to leave.”

“I don’t get it though, why wouldn’t he take Andrew too? And your mom, what about her?”

“He says they aren’t important and they’d be too much work to erase.”

“I guess…but I can’t believe he’d just leave them like that. Did you ever know he was so cold-hearted?”

“No, but I never knew I was a wizard until two days ago.”

“That’s right. I got you.”

He looked deep within her face and found it wrought with worry. There was something so profoundly devastating about seeing his best friend’s face in such a state. It broke his heart perhaps more than it broke his heart that he would be leaving his brother and mother.

“Why can’t you cure Andrew at least? That seems very unfair that your dad is just going to leave him with your mom.”

“I would die.”

“So Jake was right then? About it being dangerous. I guess that makes sense though, sorta…no, actually it doesn’t. Explain it to me.”

“Dad says that it’s a gene passed through the Potter bloodline but that it hasn’t been seen for three generations. Basically every time I heal I assume the injury of the person I’m healing, unless I’m healing myself then it’s negated. The reason I don’t’ feel the pain is because of the healing power invested within me. There’s something in my blood that doesn’t let me get…well…hurt permanently. Death is a whole new matter. If I were to cure Andrew, I’d take the disease along with me. Given enough time, I could fight it off. But Andrew’s disease is much too strong now.”

“So there’s nothing you can do without endangering yourself. That’s horrible.”

“I guess.”

“What do you mean you guess? You love your brother. You can’t say that you could just drop him off the face of the planet like that and just…leave!”

“I have to.”

“No you don’t. Just tell your dad that you won’t. Come on, what about before, you never used to just bend to your dad’s will. You were always the strong one that didn’t give a rat’s ass. He’s the fucktard, use that against him, he shouldn’t have kept it a secret for so long.”

“It’s difficult.”

“Why? Why is it so difficult?”

“He threatened to erase my mind of Andrew altogether if I tried.”

“How’s he going to know?”

“He’ll find out, he has ways.”

“That’s fucked. I used to have at least a shred of respect for that man. Now look at what he’s done to your family.”

“I know.”

Harry found himself a seat on the floor in front of Sharon’s chair. His back was leaned against her feet and she made room for him to scoot back and relax between her legs. His mind was abuzz with different possibilities and probable disasters. His mouth hankered for the sweet taste of apple cider and his mind drifted from the chaos that had suddenly become his life and instead focused on sweeter days of years gone by

“Can you call me? You know, when you get over there and all. I don’t want to lose you Harry.”

“I don’t think I can call you. I can write you.”

“Why can’t you call me?”

“Physics against magic.”

“Oh, right, opposite equals. Shoulda’ known. But…how can you write me? Do the wizard people have a post office?”

“Owl. It’s basic Wizard communication.”

“Oh, right, owls. So…but wait, does that mean I’ll have to wait for you to send me a letter to write back to you? That seems…harsh?”

“I wonder.”

“Maybe you can get me an owl. You know, since your family has all that money.”

“Sure. I can do that.”

“Yeah.”

“I’m going to miss you.”

“I’m going to miss you too. You know, we should do something today, like old times sake. Wanna go to Frisco?”

“Nah.”

“How about the coast? You wanna go there and you know…watch the waves?”

“I dunno.”

“Let’s just stay here then?”

“Let’s.”

“Yeah, that sounds good.”

***

James Potter was busy gathering materials and shrinking them. His work had been hard and laborious. Thankfully, his presence for the past fifteen years had not been one of over abundance. His sons were a different matter. There was only so much one could do to make a hoard of school children forget one of their classmates. James however, was ingenious with his charms. Thinking for quite some time, he absolved to go to the school and charm the announcement board at the front of the school (that cheerfully announced the end of summer vacation) to make the person who merely glanced at it forget Harry and Jake. He repeated this carefully on every place that he knew his sons frequented choosing the most obvious and boisterous objects he could find. In truth, it was a stroke of genius inspired by his late wife that brought upon this line of obliviation, but anybody who knew the Potters of years past, knew that she was always the brains of the family.

He moved about in his room quietly not trying to disturb his wife. He wondered briefly what to take and then absolved to taking all the pictures that had him, Jake or Harry.

The first one he grabbed was of Jake. He was donned in a soccer uniform, his long white legs blindingly apparent coming out of the blue soccer shorts he wore. His hair was waving in the air (long at this point) and golden to the touch. James longed for the picture to move so that he could see his child smiling.

As he thought of his son Jake, he thought of how peculiar it had been that he had turned out to be a wizard as well. James had tested Jake on a whim; he’d also tested Andrew but found no evidence there. James had known it was highly possible. If muggles could become wizards and witches then surely a muggle with half wizard blood could become a wizard. Had James thought it would happen? No. James thought, blissfully ignorant, that only his son Harry would be a wizard. But James did not have qualms with Jake being a wizard. In fact, he welcomed it, to an extent. His son Jake was the easiest to handle. His opinions were very much so that of James’ opinions, so keeping the child tamed would be no hard matter. James also thought of the fact that bringing Jake along would help calm Harry. James knew that Harry would be and was very angry at being uprooted. James also knew that by bringing Jake along, he would be bringing a piece of home along.

James knew the fates had been on his side somehow.

*****

Saturday,

August 23, 1996

The phone sprang to life next to his head and his shoulders jumped from their slumbering state. His hand reached out instinctually and grasped the phone from its cradle bringing it to his ear with the kind of malevolence one would show to an enemy or a hated criminal. The phone was a criminal, in the middle of the night, it awoke him from his drowse.

“Mmm…’lo?” he spoke quite loudly into the phone with his eyes still shut.

“I’ve got it. I know how you can do it.”

He waited patiently for her to tell him and when she did not he chided her, sleepily, “do what?”

“You just woke up?” she paused, “My watch says its only ten thirty, why are you asleep already?”

Harry grumpily opened his eyes and turned his head to look at the alarm clock next to his head on the nightstand. “Sharon, it’s three in the middle of the mother fuckin’ morning,” Harry said, thoroughly irritated.

“What the hell?” Sharon asked. “My watch says…oh god, I can’t believe I didn’t notice the second hand wasn’t moving, all this time, I’m such a dipshit, I don’t even know when it stopped!”

“Ten thirty maybe?”

“Well, yes, maybe, but AM? What day did it stop on? It could have been stopped like this for days, weeks even, I can’t believe I haven’t noticed it.”

“Sharon.”

“What? What? You’re not going to call me an idiot now are you Harry? I’ve been up for a long time, and I’m really stressed, I think I’d fall apart if you— ”

“Sharon, do what!” Harry said, his voice spiking to try to regain some sanity in their conversation.

“Harry who the fuck are you talking to?” Jake’s sleepy voice sad from across the room.

Harry covered the receiver with his hand and said to Jake, ‘nobody, go to sleep,’ in all hopes that his brother might actually go to sleep. Alas, he did not, instead he was piqued and his head emerged from under the covers and he assumed a sitting position.

“Harry? Harry are you listening?” Sharon’s voice rang out from the telephone. Harry quickly placed the receiver to his ear and putting his finger to his mouth to signal his brother be quite before pointing out the window towards Sharon’s house. Jake got the picture.

“Yeah, what?”

“I was saying that I know what you can do,” Sharon said.

“Do for what?”

“For your brother!” Sharon said exasperatedly.

“Okay, okay, hold on. Start over.”

“Harry, put it on speaker phone, I want to hear too!” Jake piped up standing from his bed. Harry motioned with his hand dismissively hoping his brother would take the hint and shut up.

“Who was that?” Sharon asked.

“Nobody. My brother. Just get on with it.”

“Oh…Oh! Put me on speaker phone, he should hear this too.” Harry grumbled at this but reluctantly put the speaker phone on to its lowest settings so as not to wake anyone in the house. Jake kneeled down next to the phone so as to hear and Harry peeled the covers off of himself to sit upright in his bed.

“You’re on,” Harry said.

“I am? Oh, there we go, I can hear the feedback. Anyways, I know what you can do so that you don’t have to go and so that you don’t have to let Andrew die alone.”

“Whoa, wait a minute here. Who says we didn’t want to go?” Jake said cautiously.

“I said we didn’t want to go,” Harry said.

“Well I want to go. Who says you get to decide for the both of us?”

“I do.”

“You know what Harry, you’ve got some nerve,” Jake said, pointing a threatening finger at his brother. “I could kick your ass in a second if I had to.”

“You know what little brother, I’d like to see you try.”

“Oh I’ll show you mother fucking little—”

“Guys, shut the hell up for a minute,” Sharon said. Harry looked away from his brother and back to the speakerphone. “Good, now let me just tell you the plan. You can decide if you want to go through with it or not later on, ok? Jake? Just listen alright?”

“Yeah, yeah,” Jake said.

“Alright, here’s the plan. I say, I go down to the police station right this very second and tell them all about your dad. Trust me on this, I can make them believe that he’s a lunatic, I mean, what person wouldn’t believe me right? If I’m telling them about a man that thinks he’s a wizard. They don’t have to know that he actually is one, but well, that’s where the fun part comes in. Anyway, once they know, I’ll try to convince them to go pick him up, if they aren’t already inclined. Then he’ll be out of your hair and you won’t have to leave!”

There was a pregnant pause before Jake snorted rudely and said, “That’s it? That’s your great plan? That’s pure genius! Oh yes, I can see it now. They’ll haul him away in the police car and lock him up in prison or maybe they’ll put him in an insane asylum and he’ll rot the rest of his life away…” Jake shook his head. “You’re a fucking idiot sometimes Sharon, as if bars and police men could keep my dad locked up. He’s a fucking wizard for crying out loud. He can do magic, he’d be able to get out of there in no time. You’re just so—”

Harry plowed his hand through his brother’s chest pushing the boy back into his own bed.

“Jake, shut up.”

“Fuck you Harry. I don’t have to do what you tell me. You’re just acting stupid. I mean, do you hear what she says? Think about it!” Jake said, tapping his middle and index fingers to his temple violently.

“Hey, listen, I thought about that for a long time. And I think it can work, ok? You just have to take his wand. He can’t do magic without his wand,” Sharon said over the phone.

“But the problem would be to find the wand in the first place. He doesn’t just keep it out you know,” Jake said knowingly.

“Actually, he keeps it in the freezer,” Harry said.

Jake’s face screwed up with confusion, “The freezer?”

“Yeah,” Harry nodded.

“Why the freezer?”

“I dunno, like a battery maybe.”

“Hmm…”

“So you see Jake, it is that easy. Just sneak down to the kitchen and get the wand from the freezer and then I can call the cops on him. He won’t be able to do a thing,” Sharon said.

“Wait a minute, who says we’re going to do it anyway? And besides, I’m sure he can do some magic without using his wand. Harry can. You know, the whole heal thingy.”

“You’re right Jake,” Sharon said. “He probably can do some magic without his wand but think about it, he’d have to use a lot of magic to get out of some insane asylum: unlocking the doors, distracting the guards and the nurses, short-circuiting the cameras, turning off the alarms, making people forget he was even there. That’s a lot of shit even with his wand.”

“Yeah well, if there’s anybody that can do it, it’s dad,” Jake said.

“Why are you defending him?” Sharon asked. “This is the man that is just going to leave your dying brother and mother all alone here. How can you have any remorse for him?”

“I don’t know…” Jake said, his face perplexed. “It’s strange…but I can’t think wrong of the man right now…”

“How can you not thing wrong about the man?” she said.

“I don’t know. I don’t know! I just can’t and we’re not going through with it,” he said throwing up his arms.

“Ye—” Harry fell silent, his vocal chords locking up.

“Harry?” Sharon asked.

“My voice suddenly locked,” Harry said.

“He’s got you two under some kind of spell!” Sharon exclaimed. “He’s made it so that you can’t jeopardize whatever he’s got planned, that devious fucking pig fucker! He’s got himself lodged so far up your ass that you can’t even fart!”

“Thanks for that image,” Jake shivered.

“You’re probably right Sharon,” Harry said.

“Fine, I’ll just go do it myself, if you two aren’t going to do it,” she said.

“No you aren’t. I’m going to lock the door,” Jake said.

“I’ve got a key shithead,” she retorted.

“I’ll sit in front of the door so that you can’t open it,” Jake said.

“Ugh, that spell has got a hold of you. Harry, you can fight it can’t you? You agree with me don’t you?”

Harry sat deliberating internally for quite some time before he slowly said, “Just let it go Sharon. It’s got to happen,”

“I can’t believe it…it’s really just going to be like that…your brother Harry…your mom…”

“I know Sharon, I know, but I can’t do anything,” Harry said. “I’m sorry.”

Harry pressed a button on the phone and the line disconnected. He was painfully unsure of himself as he sat on the edge of his mattress and looked down at his feet—un-socked and very white. He wanted to march to the freezer, snap his father’s wand and then run over to Sharon’s house and tell her to go ahead with her plan but there was a strange feeling in the back of his mind. Like a hook had dug itself in and the barb was preventing it’s clean exit; he could risk some torn tissue but the hook was much too deeply lodged.

“You think she was right about Dad controlling us?” Jake wondered.

“I dunno.”

“I don’t feel any different, not physically, not really. I just can’t think bad thoughts about dad, god, maybe he is controlling us,” Jake scratched at the base of his head trying to firmly dislodge his own hook.

“We should get to sleep,” Harry said, his voice bland and dull. Jake turned over into his bed and got under the covers. Seconds after, he turned over again to face his brother a questioning look on his face. Harry, for his part, did a good job at not noticing his brother’s look and closed his eyes. As such, they sat in silence for a few good minutes, Harry nearly falling asleep.

“Harry I can’t sleep,” Jake whined, waking up his brother.

“Just close your eyes,” Harry said, turning and lying on his stomach with a hand under his pillow and his head turned to the side.

“Harry wake up, I can’t sleep. I don’t think I want to go tomorrow.”

Harry groaned inwardly and loudly. He lay still for a moment and then propped himself up with his hands and shook his face like a dog spreading the water away from his fur. “Alright, what do you want?”

“Well, I don’t know. I just don’t want to go, all of the sudden, you know, I was just thinking and then I didn’t want to go.”

“It’s today. We leave today.” Jake looked quickly at the alarm clock with its glowing numbers and groaned a groan that nearly matched Harry’s earlier groan in pitch and audibility.

“What time’s the plane leave? I haven’t even started to pack, do you know what we need to bring?”

“First we drive to San Francisco, then we fly. The flights at…” he stopped, thinking, “Six O’ Clock I think. Dad said to pack nothing but our most prized possessions.”

“What the hell? So what, we’re going to live with the clothes on our backs while we are over there?”

“He said there would be plenty of clothes.”

Jake ran a hand through his hair, disgruntled. “What are we going over there for anyway, he never told me.”

Harry sighed, biting his lip. There was too much to explain to his brother, too much going on. “It’s where we live now Jake. It’s where the Potter family has lived since the middle of the fifteen hundreds. We’re going over there because dad says it’s where we belong and where we should have been.”

“Why does he get to decide that?” Jake shook his head. “Why don’t we get to decide if we want to stay here or not? What if I don’t want to be a Potter?”

“You have no choice.”

“Well, he can’t keep controlling us you know. I mean, look at right now,” Jake motioned in the air with his hands. “Look at us, we’re talking about him and how we don’t want to go, that spell’s probably worn off.”

Harry pondered the new information for a moment before he said, “I think we can because we know we aren’t going to do anything with our words.”

“What? How’d you get that?” Jake said, perplexed. “How do you know we aren’t going to march up there and…I dunno, kill him.”

“Try it,” Harry whispered staring straight into his brother’s eyes. He watched as his brother got up from his bed, his face screwed up in indignation and his hands clenched. His steps were quickly at first, towards the door but the closer he got the slower he went until he stopped three feet from the door and not close enough to reach the doorknob. Harry watched as Jake jerked from side to side as if he were trying in frustration to take another step. His frustrations were quickly ended when his shoulders sagged and he began to step backwards again, into his bed.

“What happened?” Harry asked his brother.

“I couldn’t do it. There was some kind of hook in the back of my brain pulling me back and I couldn’t do it.” Jake said.

“Funny, I felt the same,” Harry said.

“But you didn’t get up and try to open the door…” Jake said.

“Earlier. I couldn’t even get myself to get up,” Harry said.

Jake smiled, “So what? I’m stronger than you?”

“I doubt it, he probably put a stronger spell on me,” Harry said.

“Right, right, that’s what you say. I think, dear brother, that I’m merely just stronger than you. That’s really sad, not only am I taller, better looking, smarter and in better shape than you, but I’m also more magically sound than you. You really got the short end of mom and dad’s stick, eh?”

Harry blanched at this brother’s comment. “Nobody told you?”

Jake frowned, “Nobody told me what?”

“We’re not really…” Harry sighed. “Our mothers are different.”

“What? How can that be?”

“Jake, look at us, you’re blonde, and my hair’s black. You’re much taller than me and I’m four years older than you. My eyes are green, your eyes are just brown, what similarities can you see?”

“Well, maybe you just took more of dad’s side of the family. You don’t know, maybe dad’s mom and dad could have had green eyes. Maybe they were shorter and…and…dad’s hair is black. Maybe I got all of mom’s genes and you got all of Dad’s.”

“No Jake, I wish it were that way. But dad told me, my mother died a year after I was born. She was murdered. Didn’t dad tell you any of this?”

“No, he just did that test on me, told me I was coming with you and him to England and then that was it really. But this can’t…be true. I mean, come on Harry, you’ve got to be my brother.”

“I am your brother, just not fully. My mother was a witch too.”

“So what, you’re stronger than me?” Jake asked.

“I don’t know.”

Jake sighed, relaxed into his bed and said, “You probably are. You always get everything better than me. It’s not fair sometimes, but at least I’m taller.”

“Yeah, you are, and you’re faster, and a lot stronger,” Harry said, also settling back in to his bed. His muscles were aching and the back of his skull was giving him a steady pounding pressure.

“And I got a bigger dick,” Jake said, closing his eyes, a smile appearing on his face.

Harry snorted, hurting his head, and said, “Right, and I’m sure your hand appreciates that plenty.”

“Fuck you,” Jake said and rolled over.

***

August 23, 1996

My mother has given me you for one sole purpose, to extinguish all of my glowing passions. Now, I say glowing passions but I don’t mean happy feelings that have amassed in my body. No, I mean my travesties and grief for I have much of those. There is no easy way for me to speak to a human being about my problems so instead I turn to you, diary made of paper. You are a book and I know books; I’ve lived in them all my life and intend never to let them out of my grasp. Already, I believe, I’ve made progress for I have never been able to speak clearly my thoughts to anything. Now of course, I realize that you are simply a diary and unless I put a charm on you to make you speak back to me, then you cannot nor will you understand all that I am writing, but none the less, I have decided that what my mother thinks is best, actually is best. That, in its self is a marvel achievement and I intend to make due with it for years on end.

Let’s us first begin with my standing as of now. I am Hermione Jane Granger and I am sixth year prefect attending the noble academy of Hogwarts, a school bred entirely for the teaching of wizardry and witchcraft. As you are simply paper, I can assume that you are not entirely surprised because have no feelings, but as this is helping me assuage my feelings I shall pretend that you do have feelings and will assume that you have reacted in a just, shocked manner. I did say it; I attend a school that teaches the fine arts of being a wizard, or, in my case, a witch. I suppose I used to take offence to being called a witch, when I first begun my studies over five years ago. Now I’ve taken it as an utter and utmost compliment. I am a witch because I have power instilled in me that allows me to function outside the normal boundaries of physics and the muggle world. I suppose you mean to ask me, what is a muggle? Well, a muggle is a person with no magical powers, for short. I grew up a muggle, having known nothing of my heritage and outcome. I grew up with muggle parents, you see, I knew nothing because they knew nothing. When I was eleven years old, I received a letter via owl (yes, owl) stating that I was a witch and that I would (if I wanted to) attend a prestigious academy to train my talents. I signed up as soon as I could, with my parent’s consent.

I suppose I should have known I was something different as a child. I did have properties to myself that I should have seen as strange or out of this world. In essence, they were out of that world, but in my new world, the magical world, it is completely in the world. I have a wand that allows me to channel my magical might and utilize various spells, jinxes and hexes along with some very strategically wonderful charms. Now you ask, why would they be strategically wonder charms? To put it bluntly, the magical world is one of revolving chaos that cannot seem to be tamed. It is said that evil can only exist when good men (and women) do nothing. The magical world is filled with good people but they lack the inspiration to do anything or fear they cannot. Evil presides simply because there are not enough people willing to get up and fight. I have chosen to fight; even if this magical world was not the world I was born into I still feel that it is the world I have grown to love. Obviously, it need not be said that since I do feel that this world is worth dying for, that I absolutely love it and it is true. There are many reasons why:

It is a new world that is fully at my will to explore. The muggle world has nothing like the adventures of the magical world. The books are in an abundance because the magical world perfected a sort of printing press centuries before the muggle world aptly making justice for the bibliophilic world I have been introduced to. Another reason why I assume books are in such great quantity is that computers and electronics cannot work in the magical world rendering any computers capable of accessing the Internet useless.

Myths I used to believe have come to life in this magical world. Unicorns and werewolves both exist along with centaurs and giants. Things I never dreamed could have existed, do exist and frolic freely in the minds and forests of ordinary magical people who know of their existence and think nothing peculiar about them.

Most importantly, I believe, is that I can actually fit in, in this magical world. I was always left out and abandoned in the muggle world: either I was too snobbish, to smart, too weird or I did some outlandishly strange thing that deterred anybody from becoming too close to me. I can’t pretend that everyone in the magical world isn’t snobbish or smart, or weird…but they all do create outlandishly strange occurrences on a regular basis that allows me to fit in like a tree in a giant forest. I am a sapling willow growing my way to the opening above me and none of the other trees have taken it upon themselves to shroud my sun because of my differences…or rather, I suppose I cannot say that.

The smile that was just on my face as I wrote that has disappeared, I felt that was important to write down. You see diary, O book of paper, I am a muggle-born witch. There is a difference; I am different.

Along with acceptance of many things such as: myths that muggles think fake, and prophecies that muggles ignore…the magical world is inherently racist in a way only magical people could be. I dare say racist because they people who are of a different, “race” can only identify my muggle-born, “race” as that. It is a travesty that pure-bloods think themselves higher and mightier that I and my muggle-born brethren. I am not just a muggle-born to the pure-bloods, nay, I am something called a mudblood. Being of muggle origin I could not distinguish just how bad an offence this word was in the magical world the first time I was called it. Within time though, I began to take offence and I cannot tell you how much I would like to go back and dissuade myself that this word is a bad word to me. Essentially it is not, but because the society I now dwell in, the magical society, has decided to make it something offensive then I’ve no choice but to follow the example and be offended. You see the magical world is very, very old. While many cultures have risen and fallen in the muggle world, the magical world has stayed steady for many centuries. It has been constant and weary, as it needed to stay strong. You see, the persecutions that came against them by the muggles begged them into hiding. Ever since, the muggles have known nothing of the magical world and it has taken that wonderful cohesion in the magical world, to bring that.

I am a muggle-born witch and a mudblood.

As such, that I am treated poorly, I have begun to coexist with only a select crowd of people that will accept me for who I am and not look down upon me as some ill-reputable whore that means to infect society. Surprisingly, this task of finding kind-hearted people has come fairly easy by my expertise. I know whom to pick out in a crowd and I know when someone is truthful and kind. In my five years of attending Hogwarts academy I have chosen and kept faithful to three very good friends.

First however, I should take a moment to explain the house system in Hogwarts, as you diary, know nothing about it. There are four houses, Ravenclaw, Hufflepuff, Gryffindor and Slytherin. I am in Ravenclaw but the sorting hat (yes, a hat sorted us) gave me a choice between Ravenclaw and Gryffindor. I suppose it gives choices to everyone but I have yet to inquire about that. For the most part, oh book of paper, the houses stay to themselves; rarely do they ever venture into other house territory. You see, the four houses prize their own unique talents. Ravenclaw, prizes intelligence; Hufflepuff, compassion and hard work; Slytherin, prizes wit and cunning; Gryffindor, prizes lack-luster courage. There is a book, Hogwarts, A History that thoroughly explained this all to me (along with a lot of other information) as I journeyed the train to Hogwarts. Justly, I believe I made the right choice. Ravenclaw has a passion for learning that I feel I fit, perfectly. The people are very helpful and intelligent. There is no lack of tutoring and on average we consummate the best grades in all of the school.

Now then, diary, I have explained the houses so I believe I should explain my three friends. Two of them are not of my house. That being said, I have to point out how terribly unusual it is that I have even one friend outside of my house, let alone two. There is one, a Gryffindor that is very sporadic and bouncy. She is Ginny Weasley. Her whole family is Gryffindor, so naturally she was in it too. I personally believe she would have made a better Ravenclaw. Ginny Weasley is a pure-blood although, one of a less noble stature. Her family does not command the same astute fear and power that other pure-blood families exemplify with brash easiness. Nonetheless, she is my friend and a very good one at that. It is difficult to reach her at times, as she’s also a year younger, but we still meet any chance we get. I’ve kept a regular correspondence with her over the summer.

My second friend is one of disparaging nature to my fellow housemates and, I suppose, to his housemates as well. He is a Slytherin and a half-blood, his mother a muggle-born and his father a pure-blood. He is Blaise Zabini and he and I briefly carried on a half-hearty tryst in the year past. It did not seem to work well, I believe we were too good of friends. He is my year, so more easily accessible than Ginny is. He is devilishly handsome, and very smart.

Because I forgot to say before, I have to add, Ginny is also very smart as is my last friend, Lisa Turpin. She is a Ravenclaw, tremendously bright and studious and is in my year. She is very easily accessible and I rarely have to search for her before she is at my side chatting animatedly. I suppose that because I see her so often, we have grown into a steady monogamous good acquaintance relationship. What I mean is, we fluctuate as friends. One week she can be a very good friend, and the next, she can be a complete stranger. She is very hard to coexist with but nonetheless, she is a valuable resource in my studies and the healthy competition we share has propelled me to become the top student…although, inherently, I come in second at times. She and I are both the sixth year prefects for Ravenclaw, this being but the third time in the last century that such a thing has happened, two females as prefects. It is sad to say, but the sixth year Ravenclaw boys are pitiless and squandering fools.

That being said, my new diary, I have sat here much too long writing. I dare say, I might not keep such the regular occupation with you. I am innately busy with schoolwork but for the rarest occasions in which case, I promise, I shall take the time to update you on my life and goings in prime.

Thus said, it was a pleasure to meet you, O.B.O.P.; it was a pleasure.

Hermione Granger

***

He sat folding the edges of the page he was reading in the perfectly cooled airport terminal. His attention was completely saturated by the book in his hands as the crowds walked past him staring obliquely from the book to his face. His tongue poked out invitingly in the corner of his mouth and his eyebrows were wrought with concentration. His right index finger languidly stroked the edge of the book and it brought a gentle soothing sensation through his hand and into his brain that calmed him and served to quench the hoards of butterflies that had taken their homes into his stomach. His ears pricked courteously at the sounds of airplanes taking off and landing safely and his breath inhaled the icy cool air that was pumped continuously by the massive air conditioning units above his head, hiding, mysteriously.

Jake pounced into his own seat next to Harry with wet hands and scared, sanctioned eyes. Harry could nearly feel the anxiety and distress welling form his brother next to him and he nearly felt sorry for his minor breach in monotony; his never ending fearlessness.

They were both reveling in a deep pit of angst at having to leave their brother and mother and struggling in a vat of nervousness at the impeding ten hour, non-stop flight to London. Their mother and brother’s “death” of course, troubled them most. Jake tried to hide his sorrow by walking up and down the terminals of the San Francisco international airport. There was an infinite amount of things to do and the shops were all very enticing. People from many different countries swarmed like locusts, staying together in their own family units but branching out and feeding on the new and different culture that was San Francisco.

James was nowhere to be found. He’d disappeared the moment they had arrived at their gate and neither Jake nor Harry had seen him since.

“Harry what the hell are you reading?” Jake said inconspicuously breaking the tender mood. His blatant disregard for peace went well however in the very crowded airport. The fact that it did go well though, did nothing to assuage the feeling of being torn from a good book for Harry.

Harry quickly held up the books cover for his brother to read and said, “Cannery Row.”

“Like back at home? What are you interested in that for? And why does that book look so old? Did you steal it from the library?”

“No, it was on the foot of my bed this morning,” Harry said. It had been a grand surprise to find a well worn, dog-eared and generally beaten book at the foot of his bed. The title caught his attention directly and quickly. There was a distinct chill that spread throughout him when he first laid his hands on the book—as if the book were meaning to speak to him but did not have the energy.

“Well, is it about back home?” Jake asked.

“Steinbeck wrote it,” Harry answered, as if it were the answer to any of Jakes questions.

“So yes?”

“Yes, it’s about back home.” Harry ran a hand through his hair and peered down the terminal for any sign of his father. The plane had already arrived and they were due to be seated at any moment.

“Where’s dad?” Jake read his thoughts.

“I dunno. Go check.” Harry said to his brother. Jake wordlessly set off to go find his father as Harry settled uneasily back into his seat a nervous sweat climbing up his back and neck, saturating the lower hair of his scalp.

Jake had been gone for five minutes when suddenly all of the people that had been nosily staring his way, turned their heads. The occupants of the seats next to him got up and walked a few aisles down and reclaimed a seat. Curious, Harry looked around the airport terminal and found that absolutely nobody was looking at him. Before he could inquire more, James appeared right before him with the lifting of a coat causing Harry to jump in his seat. The coat’s glossy sheen was like nothing Harry had ever seen. James had a grin like that of a great white shark, menacing and at the same time elated at having done well on a hunt.

“You like what you see?” James asked his son.

“What exactly did I see?” Harry asked.

“If I’ve taught you anything, it’s that you never answer a question with a question. Nonetheless, I will answer you. What you see around you is a basic muggle repelling charm. Whenever they care to glance over at us, they’ll think that there’s something more interesting elsewhere, effectively rendering us invisible to the muggles.”

“What about the invisible thing?” Harry said, gesturing to the cloak.

James raised it up and give it a good sniff then held it out to his son, “This?”

Harry tentatively reached up and took hold of the material. His hands caressed the material gently, fearing it would break. When he cared to look beyond his fingers, he noticed his thighs and legs had disappeared beneath the robe and it rendered him stupid.

“It’s an invisibility cloak. Whenever you have it on, nobody can see you, muggle or wizard…well, unless they’ve got special magic on them, but rarely does anybody care to do that, it’s rather painful. Back to my point however, my father gave it to me when I began to attend Hogwarts and even though you won’t be attending until we get things smoothed over for our return…I thought you’d like to have it.”

Harry was shocked at the sincerity his father showed him. So shocked in fact, that he did not know what to do with it and he quickly assumed that there was something vile and wicked about the cloak. He quickly shoveled it off his lap and onto the ground, kicking it away from him and letting the material gather dust. Harry crossed his arms quickly across his chest and shook his head softly, looking very childish.

What Harry expected his father to do next was lash out. He expected his father to strike him across the face or thrust the cloak back into his own pockets and stock away, leaving a couple of foul words for him. Instead James smiled, bent over to pick up the cloak and held it out a second time to his son.

“Harry, I know. I know this has all been a lot to you lately, but I’d like to make amends. This world we’re going to, you can’t imagine how wonderful it is. This cloak is your first step into seeing that wonder. Please take it.”

At this Harry shot up from his seat, stuffed the book into his back pocket and started to walk down the aisle staring aghast over his shoulder at his father. Jake so happened to be looking around the terminal taking first notice of the effects of the magic so that he and Harry collided falling to the ground.

“Ow, watch where you’re going!” Jake said, rubbing his right shoulder.

At the very moment the flight attendant called for their flight and all of the people in their gate started to rustle their luggage.

“Jake, can you get my stuff?” Harry said, standing at the edge of the aisle staring at his father. James was busy tending to his own things and stuffing the cloak inside his carry-on backpack. Jake momentarily stared from Harry to where Harry’s stuff was and then back at Harry.

“Why can’t you get your own stuff?” Jake inquired, an incredulous look on his face.

“Because dad’s next to it,” Harry said.

“And?” Jake asked.

“Look, Jake, can you just get my stuff? I don’t want to go near dad right now,” Harry said, scratching at his dry elbow.

“But…you have to sit next to him on the plane…it’s the way our tickets go. You said you wanted the window.”

“Oh fuck. Fine,” Harry said and stalked over to where his own backpack was, right next to where James was waiting patiently for his two boys. Harry bent over, inspected his backpack quickly and then reached into his back pocket to put the book away.

Before he could actually place it into the bag though, James said, “So you found the book.”

Harry looked up at his father and then finished putting the book away. “It would have been hard not to find it.”

“Your mother loved to read I tell you,” James said.

“I know she did,” Harry said, hoisting the backpack onto his shoulders and sliding down the straps so that it fit snuggly on his shoulders.

“No, your real mother. She loved to read. That was her favorite book too. I put it on your bed so that you could read it and love exactly what she loved,” James said.

Harry contemplated the new information. It was not that he did not like the woman that was his real mother, it was more that he was stubborn and would not accept that the woman that had reared him was not his real mother. It was difficult to accept that someone had died so that he could live and that person was a mystery for fifteen years. He was curious about her, Lily, but he did not want to ask his father about her. He would not ask him about her.

Harry Brumnder…Potter shirked his father off, reached into his pocket and presented his ticket to the flight attendant. He was ready to go to England; to find the side of himself that had been missing for fifteen years.