Liam Beckett and the Sword of Lightning
Prologue
It was a very weary Major Liam Kincaid that trudged up the stairs of the Flat Planet Caf. One that was not in the mood for surprises, the unexpected, or anything out of the ordinary. Not, mind you, that Major Liam Kincaid was ordinary himself; not in the least.
In fact, Liam was about as close to being not ordinary as it was possible to be. He was not a lawyer, or a bar-owner, a computer technician, a teacher or even a taxicab driver. In fact, Liam had two jobs, and neither of them were run-of-the-mill. Liam was the Protector to the North American Companion, Da'an, and the leader of the Resistance movement against those self-same Companions.
As an added feature, Major Kincaid was not, as he seemed to be, ordinary as relating to one of the most basic definitions of such. He was not, as he appeared to be, a 'thirty, or thereabouts' human male. In truth, he was a 'two, or thereabouts' Kimera/Human hybrid male.
Nevertheless, he was tired. Da'an and Zo'or had been arguing constantly behind the scenes of the seven different public appearances that the two of them had had that day, and by the last of these appearances, even Companion Agent Ronald Sandoval, attach to Zo'or, was losing the tight hold he kept over his temper. Conveniently, Liam had been there, throughout the day, to take on the full force of the man's exhaustion and clipped, snide comments.
Not wishing to cause the FBI Agent any more reason to dislike him, Liam had resigned to holding his own rage in and accepting his father's as it was aimed at him. (Oh, yes. Another convenient not-ordinary thing about Liam was that he had three parents; one mother and two fathers, one of whom was the 'oblivious-to-the-previous-facts' Ronald Sandoval.)
All in all, it had not been a pleasant day for the young man, and the global call he had received ten minutes earlier had helped neither his vanished patience nor his overall disposition.
Rene Palmer, CEO of Doors International, and fellow Resistance member had declared to his frayed nerves that he was needed at a five a.m. meeting the next day, or rather later that day, as it was already half-past one in the morning, that Hubble Urik wanted to speak to them following the meeting to learn of what new information they, he, had acquired on the Taelon's more secret and less publicized projects, and that he needed to cover up the fact that a Resistance raid on one of those projects, done during the Taelon's public appearances, could only have been executed with inside help.
Nonetheless, it seemed that he was going to get that unwanted surprise.
There was someone in his apartment when he opened the door.
Chapter One
Liam's first impulse was to draw his gun, and with the energy weapon held tightly in his hands, his finger not quite squeezing, but ready on the trigger, he cautiously took a few steps into his apartment.
The person hadn't seemed to have realized his arrival. Silently, Liam padded farther into his apartment. Footfalls hitting the hardwood without a sound, Liam stalked towards the intruder like a giant jungle cat, alert and tense, the wariness he had felt before replaced with rage and adrenaline.
The intruder was sitting in a chair, apparently deeply engrossed in the novel, which he had taken from his bookshelves, Liam noticed, but when Liam pressed his weapon to the back of the old man's neck, parting the long, silvery hair with the deadly barrel, he spoke without surprise, as though he had known Liam was there all along.
"Rather a dangerous thing to carry around with you, wouldn't you say, Liam?"
"Dangerous for me, or dangerous for you?" Liam replied tightly. The old man's voice was warm and soothing. Surprisingly strong and untroubled for one as old as he seemed to be, judging by the silver colour of his long locks, and for one with an energy weapon pressed against the back of his neck, it seeped into Liam's mind like hotchocolate into snow, stirring some deep memories.
"What do you think, Liam? For me, it means only the result of your actions. For you, it means its influence on those actions, and therefor, all others."
"Actions like me killing you?" Making his voice cold and unemotional, Liam pressed the weapon a little harder against the intruder's neck, preparing to demand what this old man was doing in his home, playing mind games with him, when he spoke again.
"Although, it is not, I will admit, my intention or desire to be killed, I shall not mind, I suppose, if you do decide to shoot me. Or, more so, I will not mind for me; for you I shall be terribly sorry. What forces could change one so young and innocent so that he would kill a stranger who has done him no harm."
"If it's not your desire to die, than you're doing a damn good imitation," Liam snarled, confused by the feelings his not-quite-remembered memories where inducing. "Are you so sure about not minding when I kill you?"
"Of course. Because, after all, to the well-organized mind, death is but the next great adventure."
And that changed everything.
Liam fell backwards, landing on the ground rather audibly. Shaking under the deluge of memories flashing through his mind, he was swept up in his mother's recollections of the man whom he had just threatened at gunpoint.
Running through the Great Hall, Siobhan was giggling too hard to watch where she was going. "Yer n' gone ta catch me, Peter O'Leary," she called over her shoulder, only realizing that there was someone in front of her when she plowed into him. Looking up, dazed, from the floor, her angry tirade was changed to a gasp as she realized whom she had run into. The grinning blue eyes behind the half-moon spectacles twinkled down at her.
Only to vanish as another memory took their place.
The man was standing before the immense crowd, conducting them all with grand sweeps of a long wooden baton, a large smile on his face. One of the most god-awful rackets Siobhan had ever heard, in fact, she had only ever heard it six times before, was filling the expanse of the Great Hall. Her friend, Doris Diggle, poked her. "Look at the first years," she whispered. "Were we ever that small?"
Siobhan looked to where her friend was pointing, and smiled at the anxious mass of quivering eleven year-olds seated at the Gryffindor table. "I don' know about ye," she whispered back, and Doris, seventeen and six foot, blushed, "bu' I was." Her attention fixed on one small boy in particular. One with jet black hair and taped glasses, talking to a flame-headed boy.
"Is tha' . . .?" She started to ask, but her question was answered as the boy turned and she got a good look at his face, equipped with brilliant green eyes, and a lightning bolt shaped scar peeking out from under his mused bangs.
Surprised she glanced up at the man, who was just finishing the last sweeping movements of the Weasley twins' droning, funeral march version of the school's song. The man looked over at her, a slight smile on his lips and shining in his bright blue eyes.
The same eyes that now looked down at her as she sobbed into his arms. "He din' have ta!" She screamed. "It's no' jus' a Muggle, war! I know' tha', Peter knew tha', but he din' have ta!"
"Do you have to, Siobhan?" asked the man as she soaked his robes.
"Yes!" she cried. "I will no' raise my children in a land torn by war!"
"And he would?"
"No, bu' he died, Professor! He died, an' he was smilin'!"
"Ah, Siobhan, don't worry. You will miss him, but he is safe." And he told her the same thing that she had heard him tell her mother when she was five, and hiding under the kitchen table, not quite understanding why the man had said he was sorry, and something about You-Know-Who, about her uncle, or why her mother was sobbing. "I know it's little comfort, especially when one so young as he is murdered, but he led a happy life, and as I have always said, to the well-organized mind, death is but the next great adventure. And you know how he loved his adventures."
The memories faded away, and Liam was left staring up into the same sparkling blue eyes and half-moon spectacles that his mother had on many occasions.
The man looked the same as he had when his mother had known him. His silver hair and beard where still long enough to tuck into his belt, he was still tall and thin, his nose was still long and crooked, as if it had been broken at least twice, his robes were still on, as were his floor-length purple cloak and his high-heeled, buckled boots. And, his eyes were still light, and bright, and merry.
"Professor," Liam gasped, his voice soft and shocked, the angry snarl of before forgotten.
Still holding Silver on the Tree in his long fingered hands, Professor Albus Dumbledore smiled down at him.
"Hello, Liam."
"Hello, sir," Liam responded, his deep voice very quiet.
"Do you know who I am?" Dumbledore asked.
Liam rose to his feet, and was surprised to realize that he was taller than the old wizard. "Yes, sir. You are Albus Dumbledore, Headmaster of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry." He paused, "Or, at least you were when my mother went there."
"Correct," Dumbledore smiled at him, and Liam realized that height didn't really matter. "I was. Your mother, Siobhan, was a wonderful student, and a wonderful woman, Liam. I offer my condolences for your loss; many people miss her."
The old wizard then became very interested in Liam's bookshelves as he put Silver on the Tree back in its place, and remained interested in the wood furnish as Liam brought himself back under control. Though it had been two years, since his mother's death, mention of it still hit him hard. The knowledge that she had known who he was during her last moments was little consolation to the time that they could have had together.
Still, the tears that came surprised him; usually he had better control over his emotions. He needed to. But, not with Dumbledore, he realized. The old wizard seemed to know some of his secrets, if not all, and didn't seem to mind. Unlike Rene . . . came the thought, but Liam banished it quickly.
Drawing a quick breath to clear his tightened throat, his voice lacking its usual arrogant, brash tone, he asked, "Are you still the Headmaster, sir?"
"Hmm," Dumbledore turned away from the bookshelf. "Yes, I am. And that, coincidentally, is the reason I came to see you, Liam." He sat down on Liam's couch and gestured for Liam to join him.
Curling up on the other end of the chesterfield, Liam cocked his head slightly to the side. "It is?"
"Yes, it is. How much do you know about the wizarding world, Liam? I understand that you have your mother's memories, but I do not know the extent to which you access them."
Liam's gaze grew distant as he accessed his mother's memories. They were confusing, to say the least. Jumbled and garbled, even more so than the memories he usually pulled up were, they made little sense. "Not very much, sir. I know who you are, and I know, basically, what Hogwarts is, but, really, not much. My mother's memories of it all are very . . . scrambled. To say the least."
Dumbledore sighed. "Yes, yes they would be. And that is my fault. You see, Liam, when the Taelons first arrived, we had no idea what to make of them. Why were these alien beings here? Were they truly here to help, as they said, or did they have a deeper, darker agenda. We, the wizarding community, or most of it, rather, had only recently resolved a war against a Dark Lord, a very evil wizard who had been intent on world domination, and were unwilling to trust anyone who came offering so much and yet taking so little." The Headmaster drew a deep breath, and let it out with a sigh. "And, as sad as that instinctive mistrust and paranoia may be, it seems that it saved us.
"Your mother, as I believe you know, believed the Taelons to be a good people; by making peace in Ireland they gained her loyalty and devotion. Thankfully, your mother was also logical and realistic, and allowed me to place a spell upon her."
Liam's eyes widened, but he didn't interrupt. Even as the old wizard spoke, his mothers memories were becoming clearer to him.
"I suppressed all of Siobhan's memories of her world, the wizarding world, placed false ones of a Muggle existence in their place, and created evidence to support them."
Liam blinked at both the information he was receiving and the strange word. Muggle . . . A non-magical person, his brain supplied.
"It was because of these memories," Dumbledore continued, "that she did not betray the entire wizarding world to the Taelons. It would not have been her fault, I know, but the consequences would have been the same."
The aged mage looked down and then up again to meet Liam's light green eyes with his own brilliant blue ones. "You're mother was an amazing woman, Liam. And, it seems, that you are rather amazing yourself. How old are you now? Two?"
Liam nodded, "Just over. How much do you know about me?"
The old wizard smiled gently at him. "I know that Siobhan was your mother, and that you were separated after your birth. I know that you have two fathers, one of whom is Companion Agent Ronald Sandoval, and that the other was the last of his alien race. I know that you grew to the physical form you now retain in less than a day, and I know that you have the memories of all your parents, and much knowledge of the universe, hidden in your mind. I know that you have taken the name of another, Major Liam Kincaid, and that you are both the Protector to the North American Companion and the leader of the Liberation. I know that you have placed your trust in people and have had that trust betrayed. I know that you are a good person, and that you still, even after all you have been through, tend to look for the good in people before condemning them. I know you are pulled in all different directions by your loyalty and by those who would take advantage of it, and I know that you are tired, and that you need someone to love you for just you; not Major Kincaid, Companion Protector, or Liam Kincaid, leader of the Resistance, but simply Liam, son of Siobhan Beckett and Ronald Sandoval and Ha'gel.
"And now," Dumbledore smiled slightly, running a comforting hand down Liam's cheek as the young hybrid swallowed convulsively against the tears that his exhaustion was releasing, "tell me what you know of me and my world."
Liam drew a shuddering breath, and did his best to make the scattered information he had coherent. "I know that magic exists," he began. "I know that there is a society of wizards and witches and all types of magical beings functioning without the knowledge of the general human populace. I know that this has been so for thousands of years. I know that wizards and witches can be born into non-magical families, and that the . . . pureblooded, I think they're called, families are declining in importance and number. I know that you run a school that teaches magic to young witches and wizards, and that you are probably the most powerful and respected wizard in the world."
"Oh, I wouldn't say that," Dumbledore said modestly.
"But you are," Liam said, his voice filled with the confidence of a child, then he continued on his previous track. "I know that not all wizards are good, and that some embrace powers that are . . . evil, and that one of these Dark wizards rose to great power, and that you, and others, stopped him from dominating the world."
Liam's brow furrowed as he struggled to recall the name. "Vo - Vul - Voldemort," he said finally, and shivered. "I know that you are a good man, and powerful, and well respected. But," he smiled shyly, "I don't know why you are here."
Dumbledore smiled slightly. "I am here, Liam Beckett, for that is your name, because I want you to become a student of mine. I want you to come to Hogwarts."
Liam blinked. Shaking his head, he eyed Dumbledore. "Come again?"
Dumbledore smiled at the boy's bewildered expression. "I want you to come to Hogwarts and be a student there. You have a great capacity for magic, and could be very powerful, if trained. If not, I fear you could be a danger, to both yourself and those you care about."
"But - why? I mean, why now?"
"At this time, the powers within you are increasing, and soon they will emerge. You will need to be trained; even with your mother's memories, you will have little or no control.
"Everyone has different methods of working magic. The final results are usually the same, or very similar, and though the words are the same, for the spells that control what the magic that is released will do, the internal, mental, casting can vary greatly.
"Your magic will emerge, Liam, and when it does, you will need to learn how to control it. If you don't, I loathe to think of the potential results.
"I, Hogwarts, can teach you the control you will need; if you will let us."
Liam's eyes narrowed. "How do you know this?" With his suspicion born from the fear that he could hurt others, another, previously ignored, question was blurted out. "How, for that matter, do you know about me?"
Dumbledore sighed. "I cannot tell you that; I'm sorry. I assure you, though, that I will not use that information against you, and that everything I do, I do in your best interests. I need you to trust me, Liam. Can you do that?"
Liam's confusion and uncertainty were plain to see. His eyes were haunted and conveyed his fear to Dumbledore. He wanted to trust the old wizard, he truly did, but, he couldn't help but recall the trust he had given to Da'an and to Augur, and how they had betrayed him in return.
Please, don't betray me, his eyes pleaded as he raised his head to stare straight at Dumbledore, giving the sense that he was seeing to the center of the mage, looking at the old man's soul. "I trust you," he whispered.
Dumbledore smiled. "Thank-you, Liam." He switched the topic back to Liam's attendance at Hogwarts, and Liam gave himself a mental shake to adjust to the abrupt change.
"Now then, thus we will raise the matter of when you will be attending, and how. You have many responsibilities, and I fail to see you abandoning them for a year, correct?"
Liam immediately burst forth with, "No! I can't! I can't leave! The Resistance needs me, and so, I suppose, does the ANA, and same with my Protector duties!"
"Calm yourself, Liam," Dumbledore admonished. "I was not suggesting that you should abandon your commitments."
"Oh," blushing, Liam looked at the floor. "Sorry."
Dumbledore smiled and shook his head. "Do not worry, Liam. It's a wonderful quality to be so loyal."
Liam blushed again, this time because of the praise. "Yeah, well, being the son of two Companion Protectors kind of means I have to be. I get it from both sides, well, all three, really . . . ah, Hogwarts?"
"Yes. What is the maximum length of time that you believe you could be away from all your duties?"
Liam thought about for a moment, then shrugged. "I suppose a week, two weeks, maybe. Not any longer than three. The ANA doesn't need my help too badly, I guess, and a replacement Protector can be assigned, but I don't want to leave the Resistance. It's doing better than it was after the crackdown," his voice flattened, "and when Da'an initiated the attack on the cell leaders, and Hayley's been great, but I don't want to leave it too long."
Dumbledore nodded. "A week would suffice. How much vacation time have you accumulated?"
"I've never taken a vacation; I have plenty. Suffice for what?"
Dumbledore grinned. "Why, magic, my dear boy. Magic."
Liam felt his chest tighten in slight anticipation. There was a faint buzzing under his skin, as if something was vibrating beneath it. "What are you going to do, sir?" he asked almost breathlessly.
Dumbledore smiled at the boy's eagerness. It was easy for him to see the child that Liam really was. What a difference from his public faade . . .
"There is a spell I will cast; it is a difficult spell, and an old one. It is not well known, and is rarely cast, as it disrupts the natural functions of space and time. Permission is needed to cast it, but I have obtain that."
"Permission from whom?" Liam asked.
"The Ministry of Magic."
"There's a Ministry of - oh yeah. Who's the Minister of Magic, now?
Dumbledore smiled. "The youngest Minister ever. Percy Weasley."
Liam's brow furrowed for a moment, but soon his mother's memory informed him of one of Molly and Arthur Weasley's six sons. "Oh! He actually did it? Good for him."
Dumbledore nodded, "Yes, his family is very proud.
"As I was saying, I have gained permission to use this spell, and it will allow you to attend your classes without forcing you to abandon your other duties. This spell will . . . extend a small period of time over a longer one, but only in a limited area, bubble, of time and space. It will allow you to complete a year's worth of studies normally, but when you leave Hogwarts and the spell is ended, only a week will have gone by in the, ahem, 'real' world.
"It shouldn't have any averse affects on you; it shall simply allow you to take the week-worth of living that you would have done, and spread it out over a year."
"And . . . this won't have any affect on time around me when my first year's over?" Liam asked, his mind trying to make sense of the rather warped concept Dumbledore had explained.
"No, you, and it, will continue normally."
"Would the spell be able to be cast again for my other years."
"Yes."
"Would I have to wait until my "real" year is over before it could be done again?"
"No. A month or two is usually enough time to leave as a 'break period' between castings."
"And you would just send me farther forward?"
"Correct."
"Would I still be in my first year when you did that? There, I mean. At Hogwarts. That Hogwarts, in that, time. The . . . first time."
"Yes, but, don't worry about the affects this casting could have on my perception of time, in the 'past' or the 'future', as it may be. I have my own ways of dealing with time."
"Yes," Liam murmured. "I suppose you do . . ."
The young hybrid's eyes grew distant and his brow lowered as he considered all that Dumbledore had told him. Did he really want to do this . . .? Yes. he decided. I do.
Focusing on Dumbledore, Liam said simply. "I accept."
Liam's mind swam up through the murky depths of his subconscious, slipping through flashes and passages of moments and thoughts, Dumbledore laying a hand on his cheek, smiling, "Thank-you, Liam;" his mother beaming at him, Ha'gel at her side, from the midst of the Strandhill megaliths, "Oh, well done, son. I knew ye could do it. Ye will be mighty, Liam. Trust Dumbledore!" "Be careful, Li'am," cautioned his father, "You are the first and the last of your kind . . . Protect them, son. Protect the innocents;" and Dumbledore again, placing the hand that had been on his cheek on Liam's forehead and pushing slightly, "Rest, Liam. Tomorrow is a big day . . ."
Liam sat up with a start, and looked around wildly. Recognizing his room a moment later, he calmed down. Pinching the bridge of his nose with his right thumb and index finger, he shook his head, then let go and rolled his shoulders. There was a strange pressure behind his eyes, but, all in all, he felt much better than he usually did upon awakening.
Easing out of his bed, he stretched to his full height, twisting his neck, and winced slightly as he heard it pop and crack.
Glancing at his watch, he did a double take then blinked, surprised. Whoa . . . he thought. I gotta be visited by old wizards more often.
It was only a little after four, glancing out the window at the gray pre-dawn confirmed this. He had been asleep for maybe two and a half-hours, but he felt like he had been sleeping for at least eight.
A slow smile spread across Liam's handsome face as he realized that he wasn't, for once in a long while, facing the new day with trepidation.
Plodding off to the bathroom for a leisurely shower to be followed by something with more nutritional, or at least protein and carbohydrate, value than a Starbucks vanilla latt, Liam brushed his hand over his forehead, feeling a slight tingling left over from the spell Dumbledore had placed on him to make him sleep. Liam's smile grew wider.
* * *
Running his hand through his hair, Liam strolled through his living room. Odd. Cocking his head to one side, brow furrowed, and eyes closing, Liam drew a deep breath through his nose. He could smell . . . Dumbledore, the young hybrid decided. A strange mix of chill and dampness, like an old ruin, but heavily merged with a spicy, smoky scent, and a little bit that smelled like a pine forest and a cold winter's night, a full moon, maybe, and an exciting tingle that was nothing more, and nothing less, than magic.
Slapping his hand against the palm-print security panel, Liam slipped his dark glasses over his grinning green eyes, and his imposing 'I-am-a-Companion-Protector-and-a-Resistance-Leader-and-not-to-be-messed-with' faade over his smile and shyness, and stepped out into the world, ready to face a new day.
* * *
The new day, Liam decided, can go to hell.
Abandoning his gun and holster on the floor, Liam kicked off his shoes and fell, more than sat, down on his couch. Distantly, in the back of his mind, he was thankful for the apartment's A/C; the mid-August heat was stifling in DC, muggy and sweltering. It sapped the life and energy out of things, and highlighted the stink of everything from the car exhaust to the rotting garbage in the alleys. Even now in the night, the day had come and gone in its usual, destructive, 'herd-of-rabid-elephants-on-a-caffeine-buzz-and-roller-skates' way, Liam could feel the oppressing heat.
Leaning back into the couch, Liam found himself trying not to cry.
It had not been a good day.
The five am meeting, completing with an argument between himself and Rene and the loss of half the Chicago Resistance cell, had been the beginning in a series of disasters, followed by another argument, this time between himself and Hubble Urik who continued to press his opinions on the issue after Liam had dropped the argument, and several more quarrels between Da'an and Zo'or, and T'than, who had decided to make an unscheduled visit, a few snide comments from Mit'gai about his capabilities at a meeting arranged so that Da'an could discus the repercussions of a new Taelon/Human medical venture, the same venture which had sparked his argument with Urik, and concluded, finally, with what he knew to be another attempt on his life by Sandoval, and now, to make things absolutely perfect, his palms were aching with the sporadic pain that seemed to come and go with no apparent reason or pattern.
An added bonus to the day was what Liam suspected to be the emergence of his magical abilities. When Dumbledore had told him that they would be emerging soon, he hadn't expected it to be quite this soon. However, that was the only explanation he had for the incident on the Mothership.
Zo'or and T'than had joined forces for once; both seemed to think finding new ways to insult his, and all of Humanity's, intelligence was one of the highlights of 'pleasant' conversation.
Needless to say, Liam had not been pleased, especially when their snide remarks had turned to the Resistance and then to the amount of orphaned children on Earth, although, the latter had been more T'than then Zo'or. Keeping his face passive and expressionless, Liam had turned his anger inside, seething quietly where it was still safe to do so. Semi-coherent thoughts akin to '. . . stuck up little . . . hope that sash winds around your neck and strangles you . . . children are important to us . . . if you would help us like you're pretending to do, instead of trying to enslave and eliminate us . . .damn sash would squeeze you out of that stupid jumpsuit . . . turn you bluer than you already are . . . and sitting up on that chair like you're some kinda King . . . spin it around and tip you off. . . the Resistance's doing fine . . . only upset because you're scared. . . send you flying across the deck . . . see how much you like your 'throne' when you're sitting on your stinging, glowing backside . . . ran rampant through his exhausted mind, and the results thereof ran rampant through the bridge.
It had started with a slight fidgeting on behalf of T'than. The War Minister had run a long finger under his sash, pulling it away slightly from his body, a peculiar expression on his face.
Turning slightly in his seat so he could say something, most likely something derogatory, to the War Minister, Zo'or's chair gave a funny squeak, and turned slightly.
Confused, both Taelons had paused, looking down at the item that was causing them bafflement. T'than had gasped suddenly, and bent forward, and Zo'or had, with a strangled sound, spun sharply in a circle.
T'than righted himself, his electric blue eyes wide, and the energy lines under his 'skin' blushed briefly. His sash was now noticeably smaller, hoisted higher up along his body, more at a place akin to a human's ribcage than their hips, and the loop was tight against his neck, and it looked to be very uncomfortable.
Zo'or gave another strangled sound, something like a swallowed and regurgitated cross between a gasp and a squeak, and his throne began to spin again. However, this time, it didn't stop.
Turning in slow circles, Zo'or met frightened eyes with a now very uncomfortable T'than, and then they both immediately attempted to quell any sign of fear, as the other might see it and use it against them.
Liam and Sandoval reacted immediately, Liam pulling Da'an away, confused, and Sandoval attempting to come to Zo'or's aid.
"Zo'or!" the implant called. "Are you alright?"
"Of course I am not alright!" Zo'or shouted angrily, spinning slightly faster, his long hands clenched tightly to the chair's sides and his energy courses glowing with a strange, wavering in intensity, manner. "What is happening, Agent Sandoval?"
"I do not know, Zo'or! Major?" the implant snapped, conveying his entire question in the one, clipped word.
Liam shrugged, standing in front of a very confused Da'an. The Taelon's hands were moving constantly and erratically, and faint glowing lines were beginning to appear under his skin.
"I don't know!" the hybrid replied, his worry making his tone shorter than usual. Because, he thought that he just might know. These . . . things that were happening to T'than and Zo'or, they were what he had thought of, pictured, angrily snarled in his mind. And, he just might be the cause of why the Synod Leader was now spinning like a glowing top, and why the War Minister looked like a play-doe figure that was getting crushed by an invisible four-year-old hand, right around the middle.
Shaking his head in irritation, Sandoval whipped out his global and seconds later was barking "Security to the bridge!" to a startled Volunteer over the link.
"Volunteers!" T'than gasped, falling to his knees as he attempted to tear the now excessively small sash from around him. The purple material was driving his faade in on itself, not that much of his faade was left. The energy contours that defined the Taelon's true body were plainly visible, and they were being pressed towards each other. The Taelon was now a shape similar to Barbie, except it was his 'ribs' that were nearly linked together instead of his 'stomach' and 'intestines.' "Assistance!"
And still not a please . . . Liam thought distractedly.
"Liam!" gasped Da'an, "this must be stopped!" The unaffected Taelon looked around wildly, his fingers fluttering like caged butterflies. "If General T'than is compressed any further, his core energy will react to its proximity to itself, and will erupt!
Not good . . .
Liam realized he had no idea how to stop what was obviously his fault, no matter what the Volunteers off to the side were nattering about unstable gravity bubbles in the space directly corespondent to the mass of the Mothership at the approximation of the two Taelons, and looked desperately to where Sandoval was still attempting to handle Zo'or's situation.
His father was in a crouched position, knees slightly bent and hands out in front of him, as if he could stop the spinning chair, which now resembled nothing so much as a diabolical midway ride under a swarm of blue fireflies, with sheer will-power alone.
Seeming to come to a decision, the Agent straightened, pulling tightly on his rumpled suit jacket, and raised his arm, Raven hissing and glowing slightly.
"Imbecile!" Zo'or screeched, "Do Not Shoot At ME!!"
There was something like a small explosion, or a muffled firework, off to the side, and Liam whipped his head around to see T'than rearing up from his convulsing position on the ground as his body, faade now completely eradicated, burst forth with a brilliant glow, and the Volunteers that had been trying to cut, tear and burn through the doll-clothes sized sash were thrown across the bridge to land with audible thumps against the far walls.
This has to stop! Liam thought desperately, glancing back and forth furiously between the two afflicted Taelons. Zo'or actually seemed to be rising from the ground, and Raven was hissing like a boiling kettle.
They are going to die. They will kill themselves or someone else will kill them, and they'll hurt others in the process. This is my fault. It needs to -
T'than let loose a wailing cry in hoarse, slurred Eunoia, his body glowing so that Liam's eyes could only perceive the outline of the Taelon's shape through the blue energy. Zo'or screamed, and an errant Skrill blast shot up to the biosurry ceiling of the bridge.
STOP!!
* * *
Liam still wasn't sure if he had said it aloud, but T'than had collapsed, sash falling to the floor in two torn, regular sized, pieces, and Zo'or's throne had come to such a sudden stop that the Synod Leader had been thrown from it and had landed, several feet away, on his backside. Hard.
The Taelons had eventually accepted the theory stated by the Volunteers who had been on the bridge. Those who had responded to Sandoval's call only to find themselves rushing in on, energy rifles armed and ready, a pair of battered Taelons, both of whom were muttering strong sounding alien-words, one of whom was sitting on the floor and the other who was being assisted, by three very dizzy looking Volunteers, to his feet, a blushing with relief Taelon diplomat, a haggard looking Companion Agent, who had promptly screamed at them to go away, a confused and somewhat shocked Companion Protector and several blabbering Volunteers who were using phrases like 'interstellar space and gravity malfunctions' and 'mass iregulations according to Podesky's principle and Newton convergence of InterDimensional transverse when relating to the fifth dimension matter:density ratios," were dismissed by Sandoval.
Liam suspected that the Taelons' and Sandoval's acceptance of the theory had quite a bit to do with shutting the jabbering Volunteers up, but didn't press the point. If they believed that the Mothership had found an interspace anti-gravity bubble that had malfunctioned with the IDcore in direct respects to T'than's and Zo'or's positions, it was fine by him. He knew what had happened.
He had lost control, and people had been hurt because of it.
He was a liability to the people he Protected and/or cared about, not to mention any innocents who might get in the way.
He couldn't let this happen again.
Closing his eyes and breathing deeply, his breath ragged and catching on the suppressed sobs, Liam snuggled against Dumbledore's scent, collapsing and curling up on the couch, nuzzling into the warm fabric like a kitten, imagining the drowsiness and love he felt settling upon him to be his mother's and fathers' arms, and a well-worn quilt spread out by the old wizard whom he had met so very briefly, but trusted so very deeply, and was swallowed up in the spicy, piney smell.
Briefly, before losing coherent thought to sleep, Liam sent a brief plea to whatever God would listen to a two year-old Kimera/Human hybrid that today's incident would not repeat itself, in any form, to anyone else he came in contact with before he could attend Hogwarts.
* * *
Thankfully, it seemed some passing deity had been listening to Liam's plea, and the next five days of the week of August seventeenth through to the twenty-fourth concluded without anymore such incidents.
True, Rene's hair seemed to flush blue whenever she said the word 'easy,' and Hubble Urik found that unless he kept his fist closed tightly around his keys they would end up locked inside his car, no matter where he stored them, and all the Volunteer uniforms turned a startling shade of neon orange, and all of Sandoval's suits became neon pink, and the energy riffles started shooting chicken soup instead of deadly lasers, but nothing life-threatening occurred.
Still, Liam reflected, it might be good idea to distance himself from all his duties for a while; everyone was getting just a tad paranoid.
He had already confiscated six books on Voodoo, twenty-three cloves of garlic, seventeen black candles, five skulls and bottles of cow blood, untold numbers of beaded strings, six wooden stakes, and one genuine 1873 silver hand pistol, complete with silver bullets, from jumpy, orange-suited Volunteers.
Sandoval had ordered the immediate deportation of any Volunteers found with any of the above listed items after a tightly strung cadet had attempted to stake him in the bathroom.
Liam did his best to help the Volunteers out because, technically, it was his fault that they were so worried, as he had accidentally caused everything 'strange' that had happened, and Sandoval really wasn't in a good mood since all his hair-gel had turned to bubble gum-flavored Vaseline.
Exactly one week after finding Dumbledore in his loft, Liam came home to find an owl perched on his windowsill.
Confused, but reassured by his mother's memories, Liam welcomed the owl in, and took off the envelope tied to its leg. The owl hooted softly and nipped him lightly on the arm, then took off, leaving Liam holding the old, yellowed envelope with
Liam Beckett
Flat Planet Caf
Top floor
Washington, DC
United States of America
written in flowing emerald ink across the front.
Intrigued, and sensing that he knew what it was, Liam tore into the envelope. Inside were three pieces of parchment.
Taking the first one out, Liam read, in the same flowing green script that was on the envelope,
HOGWARTS SCHOOL
of WITCHCRAFT and WIZARDRY
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Headmaster: Albus Dumbledore
(Order of Merlin, First Class, Grand Sorc., Chf. Warlock,
Supreme Mugwump, International Confed. Of Wizards)
Dear Mr. Beckett,
We are pleased to inform you that you have been accepted at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Please find enclosed the list of all necessary books and equipment.
Term begins September 1. The train will leave at eleven am from Kings Cross Station, platform 9 .
Yours sincerely,
Minerva McGonagall
Deputy Headmistress
Liam read and re-read the letter several times. A stunned look crept into his light green eyes, and an excited smile lit up his face. He was going. He was really going!
Eagerly, he took out the next piece of parchment, and found it to be a list of all the things he would need for his first year at Hogwarts. His eyes widened as he read over the components.
Where was he going to find all that?
A little more hesitantly, Liam pulled out the final parchment, and found it to be not another letter, but another, smaller, envelope.
Liam
was written across the front in a thin, graceful hand, and Liam worked the envelope open very carefully. Into his hands slid a thin, strong silver chain with a small, quarter sized, silver pendent attached.
Liam held the chain up and flipped the pendent over, examining the strange black symbol on the front. The pendent looked very much like one of his mother's old runes, but the symbol was one Liam didn't recognize. It could have been Gaelic, Chinese, or even alien for all he knew.
Strange, it felt like he should know . . .
There was a slight tingling in his fingers where they touched the rune, and Liam concentrated on the pendant. A moment later he was assured by his senses that yes, it was magical.
Eyebrows lowering, Liam dug out a piece of parchment from the second envelope, and read
Liam,
I am enclosing this with your letter from Hogwarts.
First of all, congratulations; your mother would be very proud of you, and would be bursting with that suffocating but life-giving maternal pride that all mothers seem to posses in such abundance, were she here.
Secondly, I realize that you must be somewhat worried about where you are going to get everything you will need.
Do not worry.
You have tomorrow off duty, and I have arranged for you to be taken to Diagon Ally, a shopping place, among other things, for wizards here in Britain. The man I am sending is called Rubeus Hagrid. He is the keeper of the Keys and Grounds, as well as the Care of Magical Creatures Professor, at Hogwarts.
I trust him with my life.
He does not know who you are; all he, as well as the professors, have been told is that you are the son of Siobhan Beckett, that you are somewhat special, and that you will be a student here. Hagrid will take you to get your things, and will introduce you to parts of the wizarding world.
I realize that there are places that you could buy your things from in DC, but I would like you to have the same items that your classmates will have. Do not worry about what you will use to pay for your supplies; your mother's assets are now yours, along with those she had set out for her children, and I will give Hagrid the key to their vault at our, the wizarding, bank.
Lastly, I need you to wear the pendent tomorrow.
The pendent is a spell, Liam. It will reduce your physical age to that of an eleven year-old, and will also exert its influence over anything you might to be wearing. I have done this so that you will not be separated from your classmates by your physical age, to reduce the number of questions asked about you and your heritage, and to avoid recognition. You might not realise this, but you are quite recognizable, my boy, and have quite a fan club, worldwide. Even in our world.
I am sorry if these arrangements make you feel uncomfortable, but they need to be done. I'm sure you realise this.
Enjoy tomorrow, dear boy, and I shall see you soon.
Yours Truly,
Albus Dumbledore.
P.S. Hagrid has been given your address and will meet you there at 8:30 am. Do not forget to put the pendant on before he arrives. DO NOT TAKE IT OFF.
P.P.S Hagrid is a rather large man; you will know him.
Clutching the pendant tightly, Liam re-read the letter from Dumbledore. He gave a sad smile. He should have realized that he wasn't going to fit in anywhere, not even in the magical community, completely, and that he would still have to hide things about who he was.
Yawning, the young hybrid stretched, and wandered off to his bedroom.
He wanted to be ready for Rubeus Hagrid tomorrow, whoever he was.
Dropping the letters and envelopes on his night-table, Liam placed the pendant carefully beside them and changed into his pajamas. He left a message telling Rene that he wouldn't be able to meet with her tomorrow, and curled up under his covers, a drowsy smile on his boyish features, he wondered what was in store for him tomorrow.
. . . wonder what my wand'll be like . . . he thought, before falling into a deep sleep, hands unconsciously rubbing each other to ease the pain in the palms. . . . hope it's a good 'un . . . hope Hagrid likes me . . .
Chapter Two
At the foot of an Irish monolith, a middle-aged man, not yet old, but no longer young, brushed some dirt away from the sizable hole he had created.
"Find anything yet?" Amanda Blakes hollered over to him, causing him to raise his gaze from the hole to shoot her an exasperated look.
"No, Mandy," Parson McKallen said with exaggerated sweetness. "Have you?"
Grinning with fake sweetness herself, Amanda held up a strange piece of curved . . . something. It was about a foot and a half in length, maybe two feet, was a hand's width wide in the middle, and receded to points at both ends. It seemed almost as if it could be metal, but it was strangely pliable, and it was warm. The colour was silver, but when she waved it slightly to show him, it turned a mellow blue, then lavender and gold.
The light reflected off Amanda's glasses and her teeth as she grinned widely. She flicked out a finger, and when the long, religiously manicured and magically enforced nail, somewhat black from the day's and night's worth of 'mucking around in the bloody dirt for God knows what useless junk,' as she had growled on many the occasion of less fruitful days, struck the thing, which looked almost like a miniature sliver of moon, a single, soft, hauntingly beautiful and foreign note rang in the still night.
For a long moment, Parson was quiet, straining to hear the last slivers of the note as the soft Irish breeze swept it away.
The thing in Amanda's hand shimmered with a strange white light along the silver length.
"Where was it?" he finally asked.
With a derisive snort, Amanda shook her curly brown head, the mocking tone in her voice not quite hiding the awe she felt for the strange artifact. "About ten centimeters away from the plot I've been digging up for the past three weeks - with no luck, may I add. It was lying right there. I wouldn't have found it if I hadn't . . ." the young, twntey-something witch paused, not quite sure why she had felt the urge to dig there. She shook her head, "Anyway, there it was."
Parson shook his head unbelievingly. "Of all the luck. Ah well, was there anything else there?"
"Not that I've found," Amanda answered, unknowingly cradling her find close, running her hand up and down its smooth, warm length. "But, I haven't had that long to look; I'll start again tomorrow."
Parson looked down at his watch and blinked. It was almost three thirty in the morning.
"Yeah," he said as he got to feet, the word melting into a type of groan as he stood, his stiff back protesting loudly to the movement.
Suddenly weary, he shook his head to clear it. "Wrap it and tag it, I guess. I'm heading into town tomorrow, later today; I'll report the find with the commissioner and send it off from the post office then. It'll be to the Ministry in no time."
Amanda nodded, her face illuminated from the mild light the object was giving off. "I'll record what I can find out about it and give it to you before you leave."
With an admonishment not to work too hard and to get some sleep, Parson wandered off to his tent, and left Amanda standing among the Strandhill megaliths, clutching the strange artifact closely.
Sighing, Amanda looked up at the full moon, and closed her eyes against the silvery light. Smiling slightly, she ran her hand along the sliver of moon she held in her arms. Gently, she tapped it again, and shivered as the strange, unearthly note ran through her and shook the air around her.
Five hours and many miles away, Liam Kincaid shivered in his bed, his green eyes flickering under their lids, and a strange white light rippling over his features. Turning over, a sigh escaping his lips, the sleeping man/boy flung an arm across the bed where it lay, palm up in the moonlight, and glowing.
Liam slept on.
* * *
A giant of a man, at least twice the size of a normal man and at least five times as wide, looked at the door for a moment. He raised on arm, and with a hand the size of a trash can lid, knocked on the door.
It swung open a moment later, and Hagrid found himself staring down into the quizzical light green eyes of a young boy. The boy was small for his age, and thin, and seemed slightly nervous. He rubbed his palms, then raised a hand to brush a few pieces of his sandy-blond, somewhat curly, hair out of his eyes. The pieces fell right back a moment later, and the boy seemed to accept this with a slight sigh of exasperation.
In a sweet voice, so soft that Hagrid had to strain to hear it, the boy spoke, "Hello, sir. Are you Rubeus Hagrid?"
Shaking his head, the long tangles of bushy black hair and beard that hid most of his face waving slightly, Hagrid dispelled the strange feeling of veneration that had overtaken him at his first sight of the boy. Hagrid smiled down at the child, a strong protective urge sweeping through him. Beetle black eyes twinkling, he said in his deep gravely voice, "Tha' I am! Yeh'd be Liam?"
The boy smiled, and his pale faced seemed to light up. "Yes, sir."
"None of that "sir" stuff!" Hagrid said quickly. "Yeh'll be callin' me Hagrid." Mock glaring at the boy, who seemed younger than his apparent eleven years, Hagrid scowled down.
"Yes, sir - Hagrid," the boy said, laughing slightly. "Oh - er - come in?" He opened the door wider, and Hagrid followed him inside, swinging the large pink, frilly umbrella he carried with one hand. His large feet, the size of baby dolphins, caused the fire escape to creek as he moved off it and closed the back door that Dumbledore had told him to use.
Liam looked up at him as Hagrid looked around the apartment. It was tastefully, if sparsely, decorated, and the bookshelf caught his attention. The eclectic collection on the many shelves caught surprised him, and he scanned the varying authors, ranging from Sun-tzu to Jane Austin, and David Eddings to Susan Cooper, Lady Gregory, Lewis Carol, and Isaac Asimov to Jack White, Charles Dickens, H. G. Wells and Gabriel Roy.
Frowning slightly, Hagrid looked closer at the apartment; the place really didn't look like somewhere a young boy would live. There was no evidence of anyone younger than twenty living there.
"Yeh live here?" the Ground Keeper asked the boy.
"Yes," Liam replied, large eyes looking up at the giant man.
"Anyone here with us now?"
"No. Would you like me to get you something?"
"Nah - grab your stuff, we've got ta get goin'."
Nodding, Liam grabbed a lightweight jacket from its draped position on the couch, he had been wearing it, along with his clothes and shoes, when he put the pendant and chain around his neck, and shrugged. "I'm ready."
"Then let's go!" Hagrid swung open the door and gestured grandly with his umbrella, a strange feeling of happiness fluttering through his giant chest when Liam gave him a brief smile.
Following the boy outside and down the fire escape, Hagrid couldn't help but wonder what Dumbledore had gotten into this time. Great man, Dumbledore, but he had a talent for finding strange situations that was rivaled only by Harry's for getting into them.
Shrugging, Hagrid dismissed the query, and reached down to place a hand on Liam's shoulder. He'd find out eventually.
* * *
Liam suppressed a sigh as they walked down the London street.
"An' there's another one!" Hagrid shouted, oblivious of the attention he was generating. "The things they come up with! Crazy Muggles! An' without magic, too!"
The problem with walking down a street, any street, with a twelve foot tall man who carried a frilly pink umbrella, was that you generated attention, especially when the twelve foot tall man was waving his arms, and the umbrella, and pointing out the wonders of ordinary things, like parking meters and VidBooths, in a loud and booming voice. There was no difference between the US and England; everybody stared.
This time, the object of his fascination was, as it had been many times before, a portal.
"Yes, Hagrid," Liam sighed, rolling his eyes slightly. His bangs flopped in his face again, and, exasperated, he raised a hand and irritably brushed them away. They fell right back again. One curl in particular was driving him crazy. No matter how many times he brushed it away, it always fell back. Exactly like it just had.
Arg. I need a haircut. Why do I need a haircut? I just had a haircut two weeks ago. Is it just that eleven year-olds always need haircuts? I'm going to rip this curl out . . .
"An' they're not even magical!"
"They had help from the Taelons, Hagrid," Liam reminded the giant.
"Yeah - and not a wizard in the lot of 'em! Ah!" Hagrid stopped suddenly, nearly yanking Liam's arm out of its socket as the boy kept going, rather fast, as he had to take three strides to keep up with one of Hagrid's. "Here it is, the Leaky Cauldron. Famous place."
"Ack," Liam gasped, rubbing his shoulder to return the feeling to the jerked joint. He looked up to see a tiny, grubby-looking pub. If Hagrid hadn't stopped in front of it, Liam wasn't sure he would have noticed it. The people hurrying by didn't glance at it. Their eyes slide from the big book shop on one side to the record shop on the other as if the couldn't see the Leaky Cauldron at all. In fact, Liam had the strange suspicion that only he and Hagrid could see it. Actually, his gaze grew distent for a moment, and he realized, from his mother's memories, that they probably were; the Muggles were just magically convinced that it really wasn't interesting, and that it practically wasn't there at all . . .
"Urk!" Liam jerked forward again with a flash of pain as Hagrid swung open the pub's doors, grabbed his hand, and yanked him inside.
* * *
Squinting, Liam peered around the dark, shabby pub. For a famous place, it wasn't very well looked after. There were a few old witches in the corner drinking tiny glasses of sherry, and one with a strange, almost glowing concoction that reminded Liam of some of the Flat Planet's more original drinks, with a remarkably feathery green and orange miniature umbrella floating in it. A group of men, ranging from twenties to god-knows-how-far-past-eighties, were talking to the old bartender who was quite bald and looked like a toothless walnut.
A memory of his mother's asserted itself, and Liam smiled. "So," the young hybrid thought, "old Tom's still here."
Everyone seemed to know Hagrid.
"Usual, Hagrid?" old Tom called.
"Not today, Tom," Hagrid said, "I'm on business," he added, yanking Liam forward and clapping his hand down on Liam's shoulder, almost making his knees buckle.
The bar went somewhat quiet as all the patrons focused on him, making Liam nervous. Neck prickling, Liam looked at the floor, uncomfortable. This was even worse than out on the streets, because out there everyone was looking at Hagrid; no one noticed the small, brown haired boy at his side.
Unconsciously, Liam rubbed his palms.
"Now . . ." an old man in a tall top hat said, peering at Liam through large, circular glasses that made him look like a giant owl. "You look familiar, young 'un . . ." he blinked. Liam repressed the urge to giggle as he imagined the man in his old tails and scuffed black shoes perched up on a tree branch blinking down at the people below.
Whoo, whoo . . .
"Who are you?" the man asked.
Smiling shyly, Liam said softly, "My name is Liam."
"Liam Beckett" Hagrid added, accenting the last name with a trace of smug pride.
"Beckett? Moira Beckett? Siobhan Beckett?" the old man asked, surprised, and peered at Liam more intensely. "Yes, yes indeed. I can see it now! You are most definitely a Beckett!"
Grabbing him by the shoulders, the old man, apparently much stronger than he looked, pulled him from Hagrid's grasp, and peered into his eyes. "Welcome back, lad. It's about time we had another Beckett around! Knew your mother, lad, shame about her death. Awful shame, wonderful woman. Sorely missed, she is, sorely missed," he shook his head sadly.
"Well," old Tom said, peering at Liam over the bar, "I never knew Siobhan had a son. You're right, though, Quentin, definitely a Beckett."
"Going to Hogwarts?" a young thirty-or-so wizard with sandy hair and a trace of an Irish accent asked him.
"Yes," Liam said, still quite uncomfortable about being the center of attention. The old ladies in the corner had returned to their sherries and the strange, glowing drink, but Liam felt a wave of apprehension as he heard one mutter. "Beckett, eh? Wonder why Moira never mentioned him?"
"Great," the wizard said. "I went there." Sticking out his hand, he grabbed Liam's, who felt a sudden strange flash of feeling in his palm, and had a slight muscle spasm, which, thankfully the wizard seemed to think was a handshake, because he shook vigorously on Liam's arm. "Finnigan, Seamus Finnigan. Gryffindor."
"Nice to meet you," Liam said shakily, his whole body vibrating from the wizard's hand pumping.
Fortunately, a friend of the wizard, a tall black man, seemed to realize the trouble Liam was in, and quickly came over to rescue him. "Whoa there . . . " he said, prying away Seamus' hand. "The kid needs to be in one piece to get his stuff, Seamus. Sorry about him," he added to Liam. "He's just a little giddy - got hit by a stray Cheering Charm; it'll wear off pretty soon. Dean Thomas, Gryffindor," he added by way of introduction.
"Nice to meet you," Liam said, rubbing feeling back into his hand.
"Dean, Seamus," Hagrid said, coming up behind Liam and placing his large hand on Liam's back. "Good ta see yeh."
"Hey, Hagrid," the young wizards said.
"We gotta be goin'," Hagrid prodded Liam, who was getting rather sick of being dragged around and grabbed, and led him to small, walled courtyard where there was nothing but a trash can and some weeds.
"See you, Hagrid," a voice shouted from the inside, and Hagrid shouted back, "Aye, Dedalus," but his attention was focused on counting the bricks above the trash can.
"Three up . . . two across . . ." he muttered. "Right. Stand back, Liam."
He tapped the brick three times with the point of his umbrella.
The brick he had touched quivered and wiggled, and in the middle, a small hole appeared. It grew larger and larger and wider and wider, and a second later, they were facing a large archway, big enough for even Hagrid, that lead to a long cobbled street that twisted and turned out of sight.
"Welcome," said Hagrid, "to Diagon Alley."
Hagrid grinned at Liam's smile of apprehensive delight, and they stepped through the archway. Behind them the archway shrunk back to a solid wall.
The nearest shop had cauldrons, the sun shining brightly on their burnished sides, stacked against the wall. 'Cauldrons - All sizes - Copper, Brass, Pewter, Silver - Self-Stirring - Collapsible,' read the sign, swaying slightly in the light breeze, hanging over them.
Taking out the second piece of parchment that had been in his letter from Hogwarts, Liam scanned over it; he was pretty sure that a cauldron had been on the list.
HOGWARTS SCHOOL
of WITCHCRAFT and WIZARDRY
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Uniform:
First-year students will require:
1. Three sets of plain work robes (black)
2. One plain pointed hat (black) for day wear
3. One pair of protective gloves (dragon hide or similar)
4. One winter cloak (black, silver fastenings)
Please note that pupils' clothes should carry nametags
Course Books
All students should have a copy of each of the following:
The Standard Book of Spells (grade 1)
by Miranda Goshawk
A History of Magic
by Bathilda Bagshot
Magical Theory
by Adalbert Waffling
A Beginners' Guide to Transfiguration
by Emeric Switch
One Thousand Magical Herbs and Fungi
by Phyllida Spore
Magical Drafts and Potions
by Arsenius Jigger
Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them
by Newt Scamander
Defense Against Dark Forces: The Basics
by H. Potter
The Beginners' Guide to Advancing in Charms
by H. Granger
Hogwarts: A History
Other Equipment
1 wand
I cauldron (pewter, standard size 2)
1 set glass or crystal phials
1 telescope
1 set brass scales
Students may bring an owl OR a cat OR a toad
PARENTS ARE REMINDED THAT FIRST YEARS ARE NOT ALLOWED THEIR OWN BROOMSTICKS
Yup, there it was, a cauldron.
Liam took a step towards the store, but Hagrid started another way, and since he was still holding Liam's hand, Liam was forced to follow or lose his arm.
"Yeh'll be needin' one," said Hagrid, gesturing at the cauldron shop, "but we gotta get yer money first."
Liam wished they could slow down and look at everything closer. Hagrid may have been used to the alley and it's pandemonium, but Liam wasn't, and he wanted to see all of it at once.
Everything, the stores, the people, the conversations, were fascinating. A short man coming out of an Apothecary was shaking his head and muttering. "Batwings; twenty-nine Knuts for five; it's insane . . ."
A low hooting came from the dark 'Eeylops Owl Emporium - Tawny, Screech, Brow, Barn and Snowy.'
Several boys and girls, from five to twenty, were standing outside 'Quality Quidditch Supplies.' Distantly, Liam heard one mutter, " . . . Silver Falcon . . . fastest broom ever . . . built with restoring Taelon-based bio materials . . ."
There were shops selling robes, shops selling telescopes and strange instruments Liam had never seen before, windows that were staked with thick bound volumes, parchments, barrels of iguana livers and snake skins, tottering piles of potions' bottles, models of the solar system, spinning tops that glowed, strange, murky mirrors . . .
"Gringotts," said Hagrid.
They had reached a large white building with burnished bronze doors that towered over the rest of the shops. A short little man dressed in a gold and scarlet uniform, with a swarthy, clever face, pointy beard and very long fingers and toes stood at the doors.
A Goblin . . . Liam realized.
The Goblin bowed as they walked up the white stone steps past him and through the doors. Now they were facing a second set of doors, this time silver, with words engraved on them:
Enter, stranger, but take heed
Of what awaits the sin of greed,
For those who take, but do not earn,
Must pay most dearly in their turn.
So if you seek beneath our floors
A treasure that was never yours,
Thief, you have been warned, beware
Of finding more than treasure there.
Hagrid waited while Liam read the verse, then shook his head. "Yeh'd be mad ta try an' rob it," he said.
They waked through the silver doors and into a vast marble hall, two more goblin guards bowed when they passed, and hundreds more were scurrying around inside, sitting on high stools behind a long counter, scribbling in large ledgers, weighing coins with brass scales, examining precious stones, and leading people in and out of too many doors to count.
Hagrid and Liam went to the counter.
"Afternoon," Hagrid greeted a free goblin. "We've come ter take some money outta Mr. Liam Beckett's safe."
"Do you have his key, sir?"
"Go it somewhere," Hagrid said, and started digging through the many pockets of his old moleskin coat. He began to empty the pockets on the counter, covering the goblin's books with moldy dog biscuits, sausages, bits and pieces of paper, a little hand-crafted wooden flute, some stuck-together lemon drops that looked to be very old and melted, a thick, leather dog collar, and a lot of pocket lint.
"Got it!" he said happily, and held up a small golden key. There was a squeak, and the live dormouse that the giant had abandoned on the counter raced off. Hagrid watched it go sadly, then quickly scooped up the salamander, which was beginning to burn a hole in the goblin's books, and put it back in a pocket before it could wake up and follow the mouse.
The goblin curled his lips in what could have been a smile, if one had a really good imagination, and examined the key, all the while wiping dog biscuit crumbs off his papers. "That seems to be in order. Is that all?"
"Aye," Hagrid said happily, putting the last sausage link back in a pocket.
"I will have someone take you down to the vault. Crabpick!"
Crabpick turned out to be another goblin, and Hagrid and Liam followed him to one of the many doors.
Crabpick held the door open for them. Liam looked down the narrow, torch-lit stone passageway; the wonders of the marble room suddenly seemed very far away.
The three walked down the passageway, Hagrid's and the goblin's footsteps echoing loudly. Crabpick led them with an air off indifference to the eerie flickering of the torches and the damp chill of stone. Hagrid was jumping slightly as the flames sputtered when he passed, and Liam walked by his side with a wide-eyes stare of excitement, but was still squeezing Hagrid's hand tightly; a favor which the giant returned once as the flame of the torch they were passing died completely. Liam stifled a yelp as all the bones in his hand were crushed together, and gave the blushing giant a reassuring smile, then a blank look as if to say "Happened? Nothing happened. What are you talking about?"
The passageway sloped steadily downward, and there were little railway tracks on the floor. Crabpick whistled and a small cart came hurtling up the tracks towards them. They climbed in - Hagrid with some difficulty and a resigned expression - and they were off.
At first they were just hurtling through a maze of twisting passageways, Liam's mind absently recorded the sharp turns, left, right, right, middle fork, left, right, far left, left, right . . . but he didn't pay much attention to it. The rattling cart seemed to know its own way, because Crabpick wasn't steering.
Liam's eyes watered as the cold air rushed past them, but he kept them wide open. A flash of flame at the end of a passage made him twist to see if it was a dragon, but he was too late, as they had already plunged even deeper and were passing through an underground lake where huge stalactites and stalagmites grew from the ceiling and floor.
An exited giggle escaped his grinning lips as they made another unexpected dip, and he resisted the urge to whoop aloud as they plummeted down a steep slope.
Liam met Hagrid's beetle black eyes with his own sparkling green ones, and had Hagrid been concentrating more on the boy then his need to keep that day's lunch in his stomach, he would have noticed an unearthly glimmer deep in the emerald depths.
"This is great!" Liam laughed.
"Tha's a matter of opinion" Hagrid said, "an' don' talk to me just now, I think I'm gonna be sick."
He did look very green, and Liam was grateful on his behalf when the cart stopped beside a small door in the passageway wall, and he could get out and lean against a wall to stop his knees from trembling.
Crabpick unlocked the door, and a lot of green smoke came billowing out. As it cleared, Liam felt his eyes go round. He hadn't expected quite this much.
"All yours," Hagrid said, coming up beside him, no longer staggering. "All your mother's assets an' yours, too." The giant laughed at Liam's shocked expression. "Don' be tha' surprised! The Beckett family is quite an old one, yeh're bound ta have some spare change lying around."
Hagrid helped Liam pile some of the mounds of gold, silver and bronze coins into a bag. "The gold ones are Galleons," he explained. "Seventeen silver Sickles to a Galleon, an' twenty-nine Knuts to a Sickle. That should be enough for a couple o' terms, we'll keep the rest safe for yeh." He turned to Crabpick. "That's it, and can we go more slowly on the way back?"
"One speed only," Crabpick grunted, and they were off again.
Frowning slightly, Liam turned to speak to Hagrid over the whipping wind. He was enjoying the ride as much as last time, but still . . . "If we're heading back shouldn't we be going upward?"
"Don' worry about it, an' don' talk to me 'till we've stopped!" the giant was an interesting mustard-on-pickles colour, and his hand was clenched firmly over his mouth, making Liam a little uncertain as to what he had actually said.
A grin twisting his lips, Liam nodded solemnly to Hagrid, and turned back to face forward. Another laugh escaped from the two-year-old Companion Protector turned eleven-year-old wizarding student as the cart bounced and they were sent flying into the air and then down again.
From the back, Hagrid groaned, and Liam pressed his lips together, and vowed not to laugh anymore until the cart stopped.
* * *
The small bag of coins clunking against his thigh reassuringly, Liam looked around, squinting slightly in the bright afternoon sunlight, as he and Hagrid left Gringotts.
Hagrid looked to be feeling better again, and he gripped Liam's shoulder gently. "So then, where would you like ta go first?"
Liam scanned the bustling streets, a thoughtful, somewhat serious expression on his face. Unconsciously, his body shifted to a more defensive/aggressive position, ready to react if need be. Hagrid watched the boy, a confused look p***ing over his wild features.
Although Liam was only about half a foot over a third of the giant's height, part of the groundskeeper was responding to the sense of command that the boy now emanated. The child carried himself like some sort of law enforcement or military personnel, not like an eleven-year-old. The more primitive part of Hagrid's half-giant makeup started to respond with apprehension as it realized that Liam could be dangerous, a threat even to him and his larger stature and much greater apparent strength.
Liam shifted again, and suddenly, he was just a small, skinny eleven-year-old, cautiously and carefully looking down a busy street. "How about there?" the hybrid pointed across the street to 'Madam Malkin's Robes for All Occasions.'
"Yeah." Hagrid nodded, and shook his head as if to clear it. "Might as well get yeh'r uniform. Listen, Liam, would yeh mind if I slipped off fer a pick-me-up in the Leaky Cauldron? I hate them Gringotts carts."
He did look a bit green, although Liam thought he seemed a little more nervous and confused, somehow, than sick, but he nodded, and entered 'Madam Malkin's' alone.
Madam Malkin was a squat witch, dressed completely in mauve.
"Hogwarts, dear?" she asked before Liam could speak.
Liam nodded, and she smiled. "Got the lot here - another student is being fitted up just now, in fact."
She led Liam to the back of the shop, where a tall, thin girl with a pale, pointed face and, what Liam could already tell to be a permanent sneer, was standing on a footstool, being fitted for a black robe that made her look even paler than her red lips and long, thin black hair already did.
Liam hopped up on the stool next to here, and momentarily lost sight of the girl as a long robe was slipped over his head. He struggled for a moment to find the opening for his head, and when he and Madam Malkin finally succeeded in freeing him from the folds of black cloth, his hair was tussled as badly as if he had just woken up, and Madam Malkin was rather flustered.
Feeling strangely protective of the young boy, the witch struggled to re***ure him. "Sorry about that, dear. You're all right, aren't you? These robes, there's an awful lot of fabric here, but don't worry. I'll fix it right up. You are all right, eh? Do you need anything? I have some Chocolate Frogs in the back room and - "
" - I'm okay!" Liam said quickly, trying futilely to smooth his wild curls down. "Really! Thank you!" He mentally rolled his eyes as Madam Malkin, moderately comforted by his ***urance, started to pin up the bottom of the much too large robes, nattering about the dangers of extra fabric.
Swiping at the stubborn curl that hung in his eyes, Liam looked over at the girl, and felt his face harden slightly as she smirked in an arrogant manner that reminded him of Zo'or and T'than. The girl ran her cold, iron gray gaze up and down him, and Liam fidgeted at the uncomfortable feeling that she was sizing him up like a prize stallion or a prime piece of meat.
Seemingly coming to a conclusion, she sniffed and tossed her head, her shiny back hair rippling like a sheet of obsidian.
Liam wasn't impressed.
"Hello," she said. Her teeth were very white, and made an avid contrast to her blood red lips. "Hogwarts, too?" Her voice was cold and snobbish.
Liam, although he tried to avoid forming immediate opinions about people, found that he was gaining a rapid dislike for her. "Yes."
"My father is getting my books," the girl said, not noticing the coldness of Liam's voice. "My mother's getting my supplies. Then we're going to get my wand. I think it's so stupid how you have to wait to get one until you're officially in training; I've been doing spells with my parents' since I was old enough to say the words. I hope my wand's powerful, how about you?"
"Sure," Liam answered, hoping that maybe if he stuck to monosyllables she would get the hint and leave him alone.
She didn't. "Have you gotten your wand yet?"
"No."
"A broom?"
"No."
"Well, me neither, since technically first-years aren't allowed to have their own brooms. But that is such a stupid rule; I think I'll make Father get me one, maybe that new 'Silver Falcon,' and sneak it in somehow. I mean, I've been flying for ages. Playing Quidditch, you know? Do you play Quidditch?"
"No," Liam replied, distracted, focusing on his mother's memories of 'Quidditch.'
What was it . . . the wizarding sport, his brain supplied, played on broomsticks, more than fifty feet above ground, and quite popular. Three goals, (seeing them with his mother's memories, Liam thought they looked like the wands Muggle children used to blow bubbles with, but many times larger,) seven players per team and three balls. One Keeper, who guarded the goals and tried to stop the other team's three Chasers from scoring with the large, soccer ball sized, Quaffle, which, when put through a net, gave the scoring team ten points. The two Beaters played a defensive-like position, using clubs to deflect the heavy, dangerous, black Bludgers. The Bludgers were slightly smaller than the Quaffle, and rocketed around the playing field, attempting to cream the players of either team. The last ball was the Golden Snitch, a small, walnut sized ball with wings. It was the most important ball on the field, and the Seeker, the player who attempted to find and catch the Snitch as it flew around the field, hiding itself best it could, was, in a way, the most important player. The game wasn't over until a Seeker had caught the Snitch, and one hundred and fifty points were rewarded to the team whose Seeker had ended the game.
"I do. All the McNairs play. That's my name, by the way, Isabella McNair."
She extended a cool white hand, with long, wicked black fingernails, and Liam, grimacing, held his hand out, pushing back the flapping robe sleeve, which extended about a foot past his fingers, and clasped her hand for the briefest of moments.
"Liam Kin - Beckett. Liam Beckett." A slow smile spread across Liam's face as he realized that he could, at least for the time being, acknowledge his mother's name and her family.
Isabella regarded him for a moment, then nodded. "Well then, Beckett, know what house you're going to be in?"
"No," Liam replied, his voice cold enough that Madam Malkin, who was attacking one of his long sleeves viciously with pins, looked up sharply, surprised that the sweet boy could have spoken such a chilling word. Abashed, she hurried an apology and returned to her work after Liam flinched and a small drop of blood appeared where her distracted hand had rammed a pin into his arm.
Isabella, though, either didn't notice the cold rage in his voice or found it encouraging. "Well, no one does, I suppose, until they're Sorted, but I know I'm going to be in Slytherin. Everyone in my family has been in Slytherin. I'd be so embarr***ed if I wasn't Sorted into Slytherin; imagine getting Hufflepuff. I'd leave; wouldn't you."
Liam smiled daggers at her. His mothers memories had again come to his rescue, explaining the four Hogwarts Houses to him, named after the four founders of the school.
Gryffindor, Ravenclaw, Hufflepuff, and Slytherin.
Students were magically sorted into the House that would best suit their abilities, personalities, and, in some cases, destinies.
Gryffindor, the House that Liam found himself hoping for, and the House that had been his mother's, accented bravery, daring, chivalry and nerve.
Ravenclaw was for the clever type, those who were especially smart and learned, but didn't have any overbearing qualities that would ***ure them a place in Gryffindor or Slytherin.
Hufflepuff was for those who would work hard, and who were just, loyal and patient. Although Hufflepuff was often under acknowledged, and didn't produce many outstanding or noticeable witches and wizards, Liam found himself preferring that house to the last one.
Slytherin. The house that encouraged cunning means and power gain. Slick was the best word that Liam could think of, or evil, to describe the house and the people Sorted into it. Slytherin had produced more Dark wizards and witches than the other three houses combined. Slytherin himself had been notably dark, and a strong supporter of 'pure-blood' and other such nonsense.
Maybe his mother's sour experiences with Slytherins had biased his opinions, or maybe Liam's own opinion of Isabella McNair was biasing his opinion of Slytherin, but the young hybrid felt very strongly that the snake-house suited her.
"If I was sorted into Slytherin?" Liam asked innocently.
Isabella's face froze. Her gray eyes hardened so that they looked like granite. Liam felt himself responding, and met her cold glare with his own, the warm, sparkling, emeralds becoming flecks of stormy-green ice.
The tension of the room was broken suddenly by Madam Malkin's cheerful, "Well, there you go, dear! All done!" The witch's voice was strained, and unusually high. Liam realized that she must have felt, and heard, the angry unease between himself and Isabella, and gave her a shy smile as he hopped off the stool.
"Thank you," he said, glad to see that the witch was relaxing. He slipped the robes, now perfectly sized, off and moments later exited the shop, new robes (where the other two had come from, he wasn't completely sure, but he gathered that Madam Malkin had magically copied the one she had fitted to him,) packaged and clutched firmly in his arms. A cloak and a hat, Liam was having a little trouble balancing the strange, cone-shaped package, completed the ensemble.
As he opened the shop's door, he felt the angry glare of Isabella McNair burning into the back of his head.
Turning slightly, he smiled at her, "Nice to meet you, Isabella. I suppose I'll see you at Hogwarts?"
"Count on it, Beckett. Maybe sooner."
The door closed behind him, and Liam pushed his uneasy thoughts and the realization that he had ***ured himself an enemy to the back of his mind, and smiled at Hagrid, who was looking better, and who directed
him to another shop.
Liam followed Hagrid into the bookstore, clutching a new pewter standard size 2 cauldron and the ***ortment of basic potions ingredients that they had bought from an Apothecary, which, although reeking with a strange smell that was akin to a mixture of rotten eggs, spoiled fish and year-old gym socks, had been fascinating. Hagrid had had to frown slightly at Liam to get him to leave (which had caused Liam to feel instantly horrible and stare at the ground for a while, which, of course, had caused Hagrid to feel awful and avoid Liam's gaze, after the ground had stopped being so fascinating, for a few moments.)
Gazing around 'Flourish and Blotts,' Liam's face lit up with an astonished and innocently enchanted smile. Shelves were stacked to the ceiling, as were the books, which were thick and musty smelling. Some of the books were as large as paving stones, and bound with thick leather. Others were as small as postage stamps, and encased with soft, silken covers. Many were in other languages, which Liam was astonished and delighted to realize he recognized, although, where he had learned them, he had no idea, as it obviously wasn't a magical accommodation. Hagrid asking him in an odd voice what he was doing as he leafed through the fascinating 'Usage of Colours and Music In the Magical Arts,' which had turned out to be written in a very ancient Arabic dialect, had confirmed this.
Fidgeting in the long line to buy his books, Liam gazed around the busy bookshop. He saw many other possible Hogwarts' students, ranging from about 10 to 18, and many flustered looking adults, many with very young and squalling children.
A particular group of three girls, about sixteen, caught his attention with their loud gushing.
"Oh, Lord, how I wish he weren't a Muggle!" one of the girls sighed, clutching a tired looking magazine to her chest dramatically.
"I dunno," one of her friends said, chewing and cracking a piece of gum loudly. She pulled the magazine away from her friend. Staring avidly at something inside for moment, she then sighed loudly and fanned herself with large, sweeping movements. "My Dad says that he seems a lot like he could be one of us. He just couldn't quite tell. One minute he seemed like a Muggle, and the next he was practically reeking of magic. If he is a wizard, he's powerful."
"I could of told you that," the first girl said, grabbing the magazine back and holding it open so all three could see whatever it was they were looking at inside. She had on very bright lipstick, and it was changing colour constantly. "I mean look at those muscles! And those eyes! And that smile! Oh, I'm in love!"
Both of her friends sighed dreamily.
Liam winced, sympathizing with whoever the poor man in the magazine was. He had had problems with girls like these himself. Fanaticizing, disturbing, hormonally-charged, estrogen-driven groupies that they were.
"To bad that these are just Muggle photographs," the last one, who hadn't said anything else yet, remarked.
"I know," her friend with the colour-changing lips said, "but the ones in the wizard pictures keep running away whenever we open it. I mean, it gives a nice view of his ***, great ***, may I add, but it's real annoying!"
Liam rolled his eyes. Annoying or not, he'd run, too.
Although, he was rather confused about what the girl had said about Muggle and wizard photographs and moving . . . the hybrid flipped over Defense Against the Dark Arts: The Basics and looked at the picture on the back.
The picture showed a young, thirty or so, man with messy black hair who was leaning against a large, sprawling tree, asleep. Looking closer, Liam felt his eyes go round.
The man's chest was rising and falling. Transfixed, Liam watched as he gave a snort and rolled over.
The pictures moved!
A high, screeching voice drew his attention back to the girls. The gum one was jumping up and down, chewing very fast. "Oh, oh, Janie!" she said to quiet one, "tell us again about when you saw him! Pretty, pretty, pretty please!"
"Yeah, Janie," Lips joined in. "Tell, tell!"
"Alright," Janie said with mock reluctance, a grin touching her gold-tinted lips, and she brushed a strand of short, brown hair out of her bright yellow eyes. Liam blinked at them for a moment, then gave a quiet sigh. Teenagers.
"See," Janie said, " I was visiting my cousin in America, and she lives in Washington D.C., and we were riding around, seeing the sights and such, you know, on this Muggle thing called a 'city bus.' It's kinda like the Knight Bus, but it's a different colour, one level, you can't sleep on it, and it only takes you around a certain section of the city. We were stopped beside this street, right? There were lots of Muggles walking around, and going into the buildings and stuff, and I saw him!" her voice squeaked as she said it, an she clapped her hands over her mouth and jumped slightly, eyes wide and lit with an almost fanatical light. She began again, and her friends pulled her hands from her mouth so that they could understand.
"He was just walking down the street, totally normal! I mean, you wouldn't have been able to tell him from any other guy, except, of course, he's gorgeous and I know exactly what he looks like. He was walking with this girl, who couldn't have been more then five years older than us, and we're only sixteen, and she had red hair and the coolest clothes, and she was holding his hand." All the girls sighed jealously.
"They were laughing about something, and they were smiling, and poking at each other, and everything!. Then, the bus started again, and I lost sight of them. But oh, my God! He's even more brilliant in real life, and I wasn't even up close! I looked around for him later, but I couldn't find him."
Her friends sighed again and Liam winced. Poor guy, he thought. Though, a faint feeling of unease was stirring in his stomach; it was probably ridiculous, but . . . Janie's story sounded rather familiar . . .
The line finally moved, a tall, skinny witch, dressed completely in green, and resembling nothing so much as a walking beanpole, staggered off, swaying perilously on her eight inch heels and under her literal mountain of books.
Taking a few steps forward with the rest of the disgruntled shoppers, relieved to see that there were now only two people in front of him, Liam spared one last second on the girls, just in time to hear Lips dreamily declare, "Liam Kincaid, I'd be your Companion any day."
Liam choked, eyes going wide but not seeing anything. He slammed into the back of the man in front of him, tumbling to the ground, and covering his head as his many, heavy volumes fell around his ears.
"You have got to be kidding me . . ."
"Sorry," he squeaked as the last of his skydiving books plummeted to the ground, landing on the foot of the startled man he had crashed into.
The man was somewhat old, somewhere in his sixties, Liam guessed, and practically bald. His surprised face was kind, and though it had some lines, there were more from laughter and smiles than from frowns and worry.
"Arthur?" boomed Hagrid from behind him, and the man, standing on one foot and wincing, looked up at Hagrid, who Liam wasn't sure how he could of missed, and his face broke out into a large smile.
"Hagrid," the man cried, "Well now! How are you?"
"Doin' just great. An' you?"
"No complaints. It's wonderful to see you again, though a bit of a surprise. What are you doing here?"
"Oh," Hagrid clapped a hand down on Liam's back, and, arms going suddenly numb from the force behind the friendly pat, Liam dropped all the books he had picked up from the floor. "This here's Liam; I'm just helpin' him get his things." The half-giant didn't seem to have noticed Liam's sudden upper body paralysis, and happily beamed down at the boy as he tried to make his fingers move again.
"Oh, hello," the man called Arthur smiled at him, then bent down to help Liam pick up his books. "Arthur Weasly," he said, sticking out a hand as he balanced The Beginners' Guide to Advancing in Charms with the other.
Liam struggled with the rest of the books, and quickly stuck a hand out, barely making contact with the old man's before he had to snap it back and stagger for a moment as he attempted to regain his balance.
Arthur grabbed a few of the topmost books from Liam's pile. "Thanks," the hybrid gasped. "Liam Beckett. It's nice to meet you, sir."
"Same, same," Arthur muttered distractedly. "So, looking forward to Hogwarts, Liam?"
"Yes, sir."
"That's good, very good. Enjoyed it myself, when I went there, as did my wife, and our children, and our children's children, for that matter."
"Yeah," Hagrid boomed, finally realizing Liam's struggles with the books and taking the volumes from Arthur. "How is everybody? All here, I suppose?"
"Yes, yes, just about the whole lot of us. Molly has Morgan, Jeremy and Analica getting robes, and Bill's handling David and Suzette. I think they went to Eeylops . . . the two have a new fascination with tigers, and I think he's trying to get them back to wanting to be owls; they've started to bite. Sarah stayed at home with Fiona, and I think Ginny and Crylissa took Donna to "Weasly's" and Charlie was taking Chandler to see that new "Silver Falcon," or whatever it's called. Percy stayed home with Fleur, and the twin's are both at "Weasly's, and Ron's . . ." the old wizard stared down at Liam, who's brain was beginning to overload as he tried to make sense of the flurry of names and places Arthur had just rattled off, " . . .Well, off doing "you-know-what" "you-know-where . . ."" the man said elusively.
Hagrid nodded happily. "Aye. How's tha' goin'"
"Well, he can't really say, but . . ." Mr. Weasly put a hand to his mouth and hissed, "nothing new, so far."
"Aye, so, when's Fleur due?"
"Oh, about two months or so; no word on whether it's a boy or a girl, yet."
The group of one exasperated mother and three screaming children moved away, and Arthur said, "Well, my turn. I suppose I will be seeing you soon, Hagrid. Nice to meet you, Liam."
"See yeh, Arthur."
"Nice to meet you, sir," Liam said, and settled back to wait a while longer.
* * *
The shop was narrow and shabby. Peeling gold letters over the door read "Ollivanders: Makers of Fine Wands since 382 BC." A single wand lay on a faded purple cushion in the dusty window.
A tinkling bell rang somewhere deep in the shadows of the dim shop as they stepped inside. It was a small place, empty save for a single, spindly chair that Hagrid sat down in to wait. Liam looked around in quiet awe at the thousands of narrow boxes piled neatly to the ceiling, a strange, an almost reverent feeling coming over him. The back of his neck prickled, and unknowingly, he began to rub his palms together. The very dust and silence tingled with a powerful scent of magic.
"Good afternoon," said a soft voice. Liam jumped slightly, Hagrid must have too because there was a crunching noise and he quickly got up off the chair, and turned to see an old man standing behind him.
Liam looked at him, not saying anything. The man's wide, pale eyes were shining like moons in the dark shop, and, unbeknownst to him, Liam's own eyes responded, the deep green colour they had acquired lightening to an almost silver gray. "Hello," he said finally, his voice once again very soft.
"Ah, yes," said the man. "Yes, yes. I wondered when I would be seeing you, Liam Beckett. You have your mother's eyes, and your father's influence upon them. Seems only yesterday she was here, your mother, buying her first wand. Twelve inches long, strong, made of ash with a dragon heartstring core; very fiery wand, helpful with rune studies, too. Suited her well, I think, although there is very little doubt that a wand will not suit their wizard, as it is the wand that picks the wizard, is it not?"
He gave Liam a hard piercing look. "Well, then, Mr. Beckett. Let me see . . . you will not have an average wand . . . which is your wand arm?"
"Ah . . . I'm right-handed," Liam said, uneasy of the old man.
"Hold out your right arm then, that's it." Mr. Ollivander measured Liam from shoulder to finger, then wrist to elbow, shoulder to floor, knee to armpit and around the head. As he measured he said, "Every Ollivander wand has a core of a powerful magical substance, Mr. Beckett. We use unicorn hairs, phoenix tail feathers, and the heartstrings of dragons. No two Ollivander wands are the same, just as no two unicorns, dragons or phoenixes are quite the same. And, of course, you will never get as good of results with another wizard's wand."
Liam watched as Mr. Ollivander flitted around the shelves of boxes, pulling out some at what appeared to be random, and Liam realized that the tape measure, which was attempting to measure the length of the curl that hung in his eyes, and wasn't succeeding, since the hair kept moving, was doing it on its own.
"That will do," the old wizard said, and the tape measure crumpled to the floor. "Right then, Mr. Beckett, try this one. Oak and dragon heartstring. Very sturdy. Just take it and give it a wave."
Liam took the wand, and gave it a small shake, but Mr. Ollivander snapped it out of his hand almost at once.
"Try this one; beech and phoenix feather." But that one, too, was taken away. Same with the holly and unicorn hair, apple and phoenix feather, birch and unicorn hair, poplar and dragon heartstring, and what seemed like thousands of other combinations.
The pile of tried wands was astoundingly high, and Liam's arm was getting rather tired. Mr. Ollivander, however, seemed to be becoming happier and happier as he pulled more and more wands from the shelves.
"Tricky customer, eh? - I wonder . . . yes, why not?" He melded into the shadows, reaching down to the bottom of a pile for a box. "This is very . . . unique wand. One of a kind, even more so than any other." He pulled the wand from the box, and held it up in the dim light. It seemed to glow.
"Twelve inches, three quarters. A combination of woods; hazel, the tree of healing and knowledge, willow, the enchanter's tree, "strong as a young lion, pliant as a loving woman, and bitter to the taste, as all enchantment in the end must be," and adler, the tree of fire, in it the power to free the earth from the water. A core of unicorn hair, an innocence which I believes suits you, and the powdered residue from a crystalline substance found at a stone dance in Ireland, and, on the outside . . ." he handed the wand to Liam who took it with what could have been a faint sense of providence.
Awed, the young hybrid turned the wand over in his hands. There was a sudden warmth in his fingers, and a buzzing in his palms. The wand was beautiful; the three woods mixed together, merging into one and other, showing no cracks or grooves. It was about a centimeter and a half in diameter, a little more, and had a faint silvery sheen. Along the body, Liam's eyes widened, written in graceful, flowing silver, was an intricately woven script. Script that he knew; script that no one else should have know. Script that was in the Kimeran language of sorcery.
The steady chain of alien symbols wove around one way, leaving gaps in the wood that were filled with Human symbols. The twenty-five runes of a set, and as he took the wand in his hand and held it, he realized that the twenty-fifth rune, Wyrd, the blank, most intricate rune of Fate and the complex, interconnecting web of all things, pressed directly against where the faint red star of his dormant shaqarava lay, and that under his thumb was Sowulo.
Liam raised his arm above his head and brought the wand down with a swish, silver and lavender sparks shooting out the end of it like a firework, throwing dancing spots of light on the walls.
Hagrid whooped and clapped, and Mr. Ollivander cried, "Oh, bravo! Yes, yes, very good. Well, well, well . . .I never thought you would have a usual wand, Mr. Beckett. Never."
Liam shivered at the strange, piercing look the man was giving him, and quickly paid ten Galleons for the wand.
"Mr. Beckett," Mr. Ollivander called to him as he was leaving. Liam turned and looked questioningly at him, absently running his thumb up and down the packaging of his wand. "It's is a very unique and powerful wand that you have there, but . . . true power springs from the one casting it. Know that."
Liam nodded, confused, then left quickly, shutting the door firmly behind him, eager to escape from the dim shop and the old man who seemed to know more about him then he should.
The store was loud; the bright, late afternoon sunlight that was streaming in through the windows seemed to be almost drowned in the combination of squawks, hoots, screeches and yowls. Liam entered cautiously.
A particularly loud ruckus was coming from behind the curtain that separated the back of the shop from the main area; a combination of bellowing, hooting, the occasional barking and whistling sound, and shouting. It sounded as though someone was attempting to control whatever was happening, but was far from succeeding.
A head, hair sweaty and sticking up this way and that, and face red, peeked out from behind the curtain. "Welcome to the "Magical Menagerie." Please feel free to pet the animals, however, we are not responsible for any injuries, hallucinations, chemical imbalances, misplaced spells, items, deaths or loss of fingers, toes, heads or other appendages. If it looks dangerous, don't touch. I'll be with you shortly. Thank you and have a nice day." He pulled his head back behind the curtain, where the bellowing and shrieking hoots had increased, and his voice once again joined in the melee.
Hagrid looked around, a dopey grin on his face. "Pets,' the giant rumbled happily. "'Though, none of them tha' they have here are all tha' excitin' . . . Ah well. Wha' would yeh like, Liam?"
Liam blinked, he hadn't even thought about it. Yes, he had read, and re-read, the letter that stated he could bring a Toad OR a Cat OR an Owl, but he hadn't really even considered the possibility that he would get one.
"I don't need to - " he started to say, but Hagrid quickly cut him off.
"Yes, yeh do," the half giant stated. "They're helpful, an' comforting, and if yeh get an owl it could deliver yehr mail, an', frankly, I 'ave never seen anyone who needs a pet as much as yeh do."
Liam blushed, embarrassed by the man's statement, "Well . . . what do you suggest?"
"Ah . . . toads are okay, an' they've come back in style since Trevor, an' cats are all right, I guess . . . I don' overly like 'em, though. Most of 'em make me sneeze. Owls are good - ruddy useful, too. Personally, I think yeh could use a dog, or a wolf cub, bu' student's aren't really allowed them so . . . let's jus' go take a look, eh?"
Liam smiled and shrugged, and let the giant lead him through the noisy shop. They stopped outside the large area dedicated to amphibians and reptiles. Liam was briefly distracted by the large iguana that, according to his cage, was named "Fluffy," before turning his gaze to the tank of toads.
He reached in, holding his hand steady, and picked up one of the brown creatures. It didn't seem to be at all scared, and although its heart, which Liam could feel through the dry, smooth skin of its brittle, ribbed chest, was beating fast, it wasn't overly accelerated. The large eyes blinked up at him, the lids slipping over the bulbous, yellow orbs then going half-lidded in sleepy pleasure as Liam ran a gentle finger in circles over the velvety skin.
"Well," Hagrid boomed, startling Liam, who was entranced by the feelings of the silky, pebbly skin under his sensitive fingers, "he seems ta like yeh! Strange, though, toads don't usually take to anyone right off . . . do yeh want to see the cats?"
"Sure," Liam said softly, carefully placing the toad back in with the others with a silent goodbye and thanks that although he wouldn't swear to it, he was almost certain he had felt returned . . . and followed his appointed guardian.
Liam waggled his fingers above the kitten's head, grinning with amusement as the young animal tripped over her own large feet as she attempted to leave the yarn she was tangled up in and attack the teasing digits. The other kittens swarmed around them, bodies pressing against each other, bumping their heads against his shins. Many were purring, their bodies vibrating and rumbling like everything from rocks in a pepper grinder to miniature lawnmowers.
Hagrid couldn't help but smile as he watched the child sit down among the felines, and be subsequently buried under a mountain of mewing bodies.
The curtain that separated the main shop from the back room was ripped away suddenly, the fabric tearing, and Liam was on his feet, the kittens falling, startled but unharmed, to the ground.
Tensed, Liam's hands curled into fists, palms itching fiercely. He searched the room, eyes focused mainly on the opening that the fallen curtain exposed, but flickering quickly to search, along with his other senses, the shop as a whole.
A large, pale man stormed out of the back room, his heavy face and thick, black, handlebar mustache torn and scratched. His arms, exposed through the tatters of the fancy, gold embroidered, black robes he wore were bleeding freely. In his hands, he clutched the legs of a large white owl. The bird was almost screeching; its whistling hoots pierced Liam's ears painfully. It beat its wings frantically, desperate to free itself from the grasp.
"Sir," the harried store clerk cried, chasing after the man. "I cannot allow you to take that bird; it is unstable and dangerous. That was why it was in the back room; it is not a suitable gift for your daughter."
"I will decide what is suitable for my daughter, not you!" the man roared, turning his attention from the owl to the clerk. The owl took this lapse of attention as an opportunity to dart forward and tear a chunk from the man's flushed face.
"Ruddy owl!" the man screamed, pulling his bleeding face away from the cruel beak. "It is the only snowy owl in the entire damn alley, and she wanted a snowy owl. She will have this snowy owl! It will be trained, and it will be submissive. The McNairs will not be cowed by a bird!"
As if in defiance to this statement, the owl managed to free one of his feathered legs from his holder, and slashed viciously at the man's already bleeding hands.
Mr. McNair freed him with a strangled shout, grasping unavailing at the air a moment later as he realized that the bird had escaped.
"No!" the clerk cried, jumping up and missing the owl by many feet.
The owl hooted widely, flying in frantic circles around the ceiling.
"Nonocalmdowndon'tgotherewacthouthe'sdangerous!" The clerk shouted, the words turning into one long stream of noise. "Becarefulohmythemanager'sgoingtokillmewhatchout!"
"Calm down," Hagrid bellowed. "He's scared, yeh gotta be gentle - "
"I'll show that ruddy beast gentle!" shouted the man, whipping out a thick, stout wand. He waved it and pointed it at the owl, shouting the spell and sending poisonous looking green sparks into the air.
A beam of green light shot from the end. Desperately, Liam locked eyes with the frightened bird.
"It's alright, it's okay, I won't hurt you, please come here."
The owl swooped, just avoiding the spell that splattered against the roof, destroying a section of it, and dove for Liam. He landed on the hybrid's outstretched arm, then hop-skipped up it, coming to rest on his shoulder. He ruffled his feathers once, uttered a disgusted hoot, and started to preen.
The clerk yelped and ducked as a chunk of the stone roof fell down beside him. "Sir!"
"Where the hell is it?!" the man demanded. Whipping around, his beady eyes fixed on Liam and the bird on his shoulder. "You! Boy, give me that bird!"
Liam regarded him for a moment, a sick dislike turning in his stomach. Quietly, with neither disrespect nor respect colouring his tone, he firmly answered, "No."
The man looked flabbergasted, amazed that Liam would deny him. "I said give me that bird!"
"And I said no. You are mistreating him; he's scared, and knows, as do I, that, if you are allowed to purchase him, you will continue to neglect him and his needs. You cannot have him."
"No one can have him," the stressed clerk said, making an abrupt gesture with his arms and hands. "It's mad! It's insane, crazy, ludicrous, nuts, daft, cracked, demented, deranged, one brick short of a load, two waves short of a tide, a batwing short of a draught . . . how many ways must I put this?!"
"How so?" Hagrid asked, watching Liam and the tranquil white owl with a strange expression.
"It's wild! It won't let anyone near it; tears their heads off if they try. It couldn't be a pet for anyone, let alone for a child!"
"We'll take it," Hagrid stated.
"What is with you people?! I just told you, it won't let anyone near him! It'll - " the young man stopped, having finally caught sight of Liam with the large bird siting calmly on his shoulder. The owl that had been a constant cause of torment for him since it had arrived stared at him with calm golden eyes, a dignified, almost challenging set to his posture. The boy on whose shoulder it perched looked at him with same look in his pronounced green eyes. Head tilted slightly, the child gave him an odd smile.
Struggling to find his voice, the man nodded and swallowed. "Fine; I'll get Snowflake's cage."
"What?! Unacceptable!" roared Mr. McNair. "I want that owl!"
"I don't care!" the overworked man shrieked, seeming very close to snapping. "You can't have it!" he stormed of, vanishing into the back room.
Mr. McNair stared after him, eyes bulging. Three times in as many minutes he had been told "no." With a sharp intake of breath, he turned on his heel and stalked out of the shop, slamming the door behind him.
Liam watched him go and said with quiet distaste, "Good riddance."
"Aye," Hagrid agreed. "Bloody McNairs; not a good 'un in the lot of 'em. Looks like you've found yourself a pet, though."
Liam smiled, blinking back at the owl as it rotated its head to stare at him. "I guess so."
"Snowflake?" the large man asked.
"No," Liam shook his head. "Definitely not. He's not a Snowflake; he's a Snowstorm. An Avalanche, a Tundra."
The owl hooted in response, opening his wings to flap them, sending Liam's wild curls into disarray with the wind it created.
"Tundra?" Liam asked him.
The owl hooted again, and Liam smiled. "Tundra it is, then."
Tundra whistled in agreement.
The owl's beak snapped down, narrowly missing Liam's fingers. Liam snorted, and the bird ruffled his feathers, indignantly turning his head away from the cheerful hybrid.
"Sorry, Your Majesty," the boy quipped. Liam was sitting at an outdoors table in front of "Florean Fortescue's Ice-Cream Parlour," the night around him cool, and the daily flood of shoppers dwindling.
Tundra gave his whistle-like hoot, and turned back to his 'ward,' lightly nipping the fingers that stroked his feathers.
"Thank you for forgiving me, " Liam said, the picture of child dignity. The young hybrid reached into his sundae and pulled out the last bit of cherry. He sucked the chocolate off his fingers, then offered the sugar coated red fruit to the bird.
The snowy owl snapped it up quickly, swallowing it whole, and looked at the boy expectantly.
Liam shrugged helplessly, "That's it."
Tundra looked quite affronted by this, and uttered a low hoot.
Hagrid had left the boy and his owl, along with the school supplies, at the Ice-Cream Parlour with the excuse of pressing Hogwarts business at the post office.
Liam didn't mind; it gave him some time to process everything that had happened to him since the giant's arrival that morning, and since Dumbledore's appearance in his apartment.
It was incredible, Liam decided, slightly stunned as he went over the multitude of experiences and possibilities that he had never before allowed himself to even consider, let alone hope for. While he was, chronologically, a Human child, and even more so a Kimeran infant, he was, physically, a full-grown man, and was mentally very much an adult. He would be immediately recognized as a child to one of the Kimera - his mental and psychic control, his access to his inherent memories, the colours and patterns of the faint energy lines that wound their way, unseen, under his skin - all betrayed him as an infant. Nevertheless, he had built himself a life as a functioning adult, accepting that the childhood he had been denied would never be given to him.
Yet, here he was, in the body of an eleven year old - a body nine years older than his actual age - seated amongst a multitude of incredible impossibilities, awaiting the return of another such impossibility so that he would be able to take his school supplies home.
Tundra flapped his wings and whistled impatiently, annoyed at the removal of Liam's attention.
Liam shook his head and glared at the bird. "You are such a spotlight hog," he told his pet.
Tundra whistled happily and leaned forward to hop onto Liam's arm.
"Who's that?!" demanded a voice, and Liam, letting loose a wordless sound, jumped a foot. Tundra dug his talons into the child's arm.
"Who's that?!" the voice repeated.
Breathing heavily, adrenaline still pumping, Liam blinked at the strangely off-colour eyes that stared, large and unblinking, at him. The pupils were incredibly contracted, only a tiny pinprick of black in the hazel irises was visible, and the whites, although very bloodshot, seemed almost blue. Liam leaned slightly forward, breathing slowing, his gaze focusing on the blue. It almost seemed to be . . .moving, rippling, flowing over the normal whites.
"Who's that?!"
Liam sat back, reminded by the loud voice that the eyes belonged to someone. Someone who seemed as entranced by his own green eyes as he was by theirs.
"Sorry," he gasped, feeling the blush that heated his cheeks.
The man didn't seem to notice. He was getting very agitated, and extended a hand, pointing an index finger that pressed against Liam's nose.
"Ah . . ." Liam looked down at the dirty finger, his eyes crossing. The nail was chipped and short, old blood crusting around it.
Liam raised his gaze from the finger to the man who was pointing it. He had long hair, a wild brown frizz that hung to his shoulders, and seemed rather knotted. In fact, there was what appeared to be the remains of a bird nest tangled in the locks. His face was somewhat flushed, his eyes were rolling aimlessly, and his breathing was forced. Little bits of spittle coated his lips. His skin hung on him, as if at one time he had been large, but had suddenly lost a lot of weight. His grayish blue robes looked like they might have been very expensive, but they were torn and muddy. There was even something that looked like blood on the sleeves.
" . . . Me?" Liam squeaked, wondering if the man was mentally stable, and if he could possibly back away from the finger without disturbing the stranger more.
"Yes! Who's you?!"
"Liam," Liam said, carefully pulling his head back.
"Liam's you?" The man dropped his hand, and Liam rubbed his nose, suspecting that there was now a red fingerprint imprinted on it.
"Yes I am. Who are you?" Liam spoke softly, trying his best to calm the man.
"Who's me?" the man seemed quite honestly stumped by the question. "Me's . . . Roland. Me's Roland."
"It's nice to meet you, Roland."
"Nice to meet me, Li'am."
Liam focused intently on the man, who now placed his entire attention on picking a thread from his bloody, fraying sleeves. What had he called him?
"Excuse me?" Liam asked, voice strangely tight. Somehow it simply seemed so incredibly wrong for this man to call him that.
Roland ignored him, tugging incessantly on the thread. He bit down on it with his spotted, yellow teeth, and snapped his neck viciously to the side. The movement pulled his sleeve up, and Liam could see long gouges running up his arm. They were scabbed and looked painful. They seemed to be running all along his forearm, stopping about two inches above the wrist and ran up to the elbow. There was a snapping nose, and the sleeve slipped down as the thread broke off in Roland's teeth.
Liam looked up at the man who grinned down at him, the long blue string hanging from between two of his teeth.
Abruptly, the man lost his dopey look, face freezing then growing hard and desperate. "Do you have it?!" he demanded.
"W-what?"
"Do you have it, boy? Do you?"
Liam was shocked by the sudden change, "Have what?"
"Damnit!" the man slammed a fist down on the table, hard enough to make it rattle and for the glass bowl that Liam's sundae had been in to wobble dangerously.
He fixed his gaze on the hybrid, the murky blue colouring that Liam had noticed over his whites burning brightly. The hazel irises were hard and calculating, nothing like the dazed ones that Liam had stared into moments before, and his pupils seemed to be slowly dilating.
"You," he snorted, looking down at Liam with obvious distaste. "To think this is really about you. You're nothing! Look at you, you're not even five feet. You're a child! Why would they want you?"
"W-want me?" Liam asked nervously. He was very confused, and was wishing furiously for Hagrid or for Dumbledore, or to be his real size. Unfortunately, neither the half giant nor the old wizard was there, and while removing the pendant would return him to his six foot two height, it wasn't an option. Yet.
Roland leaned forward, eyes focusing on Liam's chest, and, more specifically, on the slight bulge made by the quarter-sized pendant that hung around Liam's neck and beneath his shirt. "What's that?" he demanded, eyes trying to discern the object through Liam's light blue cotton tee shirt.
He reached out, and Liam leaned back, very sure that he did not want the man to touch either him or the pendant. "Go away," the boy whispered, strangely frightened by the glittering, blue encased eyes.
The man's hand connected with his chest, the large appendage splaying over the hybrid's pounding heart. Roland's brow lowered slightly, his eyes growing distant.
An alien conciseness pounded against his, and Liam jerked back, freeing himself from the man's grasp, and gasping at the violation. He balled his little hands into fists, holding them defensively in front of him, eyes growing hard and burning with an angry light. "Stay away from me!"
The man's eyes narrowed, and he lunged forward, grabbing Liam's shirt in a large, fleshy fist. Liam struggled as the man's other hand clamped around his arm. Tundra shrieked and flung himself at Roland, wings flapping furiously and slashing at the insane man with his talons. The owl was sent flying backwards with an angry, hissed spell.
"Let me go!" Liam cried, swinging a small fist at the large man's back. His attack didn't help; Roland let go of his shirt and grabbed his other arm. He transferred both of Liam's arms to one hand, and reached a hand down Liam's shirt, grabbing for the pendant. His fingernails scratched across the boy's chest, and Liam flinched; he now knew how the man had gotten the angry scratches on his arms.
Roland had the pendant in his hand, and pulled it out of Liam's shirt, yanking furiously on it. The thin chain refused to give.
Desperately, Liam tugged with his arms, freeing one from the man's grasp. The force of the tug sent the hybrid's arm flying out, making hard contact with the glass sundae bowl. The bowl flew into the air then plummeted to the ground, exploding in a shower of glass slivers that rained down on the ground.
Startled, Roland let Liam and the pendant go. The hybrid fell backwards, his chair flipping over, and he landed on the ground and the glass slivers. Liam's blood ran out of the many small, stinging cuts that now dotted his bare arms and hands, pooling on the ground around him.
Roland stared at the red blood and pieces of glass. He blinked very fast, then looked hard at Liam.
"Who's that?!"
"Roland!" cried a voice. "Ro - land!"
A short, heavy man came jogging up to the Ice-Cream Parlour. "Roland!" he demanded. "What are you doing! Why did you wander off? You know that's not allow - oh, dear!" The man caught sight of Liam, dirty and bloody, as he rose from the ground. Tundra flew, still somewhat dazed, towards them, and landed on his cage. "Oh, dear! I'm so sorry, lad, are you all right?"
"I'm fine," Liam said, although, with the many rivulets of blood running down his arms, it was very obvious that he wasn't.
The new man, however, seemed eager to leave, and accepted the boy's false assurance. "Wonderful. Dreadfully sorry; very, very, sorry. He gets away every once and a while, you know? He's not stable, not responsible for his actions. You can't really blame him - doesn't know what he's doing." The man shrugged, his small, hazel eyes flickering slightly. He was dressed in similar robes to Roland, only they were well looked after and weren't stained with dirt and blood. His hair, although shorter and not full of twigs, was the same muddy, reddish colour.
Liam's eyes narrowed. "Is he your brother?"
"W-what?" the man asked, surprised. "My brother? Why would you - " he paused, looking over at Roland, who was staring fixedly at a piece of broken glass. "Yes, yes he is. It's a dreadful thing, you know, to have a brother who is, well, you know . . . Come, Roland. We must go." He tugged on his larger brother's hand, pulling his attention from the glass.
"Who's that?!"
"It's Rosco," the man sighed. "It's Rosco, Roland. Come, we have to leave."
Roland cocked his head, looking at his brother.
"Wha's goin' on here!" boomed a deep voice, and both the brothers jumped.
"Hagrid!" Liam cried, rushing forward to stand beside the giant.
"Liam? Are yeh alrigh'?"
"It comes!" Roland shrieked, and took off, his dirty, unkept form fleeing the large man.
"Roland!" Rosco cried, chasing after him.
"Wait jus' a minute!" Hagrid roared after them.
"It's alright, Hagrid," Liam said tiredly. "Can we go now, please?" The young hybrid felt very drained.
"Wha'? Yes, yes, o' course we can . . . wha' happened?!" Hagrid saw the many abrasions marring Liam's arms and hands.
Liam shook his head. "Nothing."
Hagrid looked at him closely, and seeing something in the grim, tired stature of his charge, relented. "All righ'. Let's get yeh to a Doctor's to have those cuts healed, an' I'll take yeh home."
Liam nodded, thankful, and leaned into Hagrid's large hand as it was placed, gently, on his small shoulder. Tundra, a little uncertain of the big man, fluttered down to perch on Liam's other shoulder/upper arm, Liam carrying his cage, but not minding. The half-giant, owl and Human/Kimera hybrid merged back into the almost empty streets of Diagon Alley.
* * *
Liam waved to Hagrid as the half-giant turned back to make sure he was all right. Tundra was perched on the fire-escape rail, and gave a throaty hoot, preening his wings with an air of calm indifference. Hagrid finally vanished from the street, Apparating to wherever he was going, and Liam sighed, leaning against the railing that his owl was perched upon.
The setting sun shone on his skin, giving him a flushed, almost natural glow, and he brought a palm up to rub his eyes. His many cuts, including the scratches across his chest, were now healed, and although the time that they had spent at the Doctor's office had mostly been spent waiting - it seemed even Wizarding Walk-In Clinics got clogged with patients - and the shallower of the cuts had been almost completely healed by the time they had been called, Liam was glad that they had gone. Not being able to physically feel the marks left by the insane Roland helped his mental sense ignore them.
Liam had spent most of the time in the waiting area dozing against Hagrid's shoulder. He had glimpsed the long, oddly shaped package that the half-giant had tucked into one of his many pockets, but Hagrid hadn't been willing, or able, to tell him what it was. Something about it had intrigued Liam, and he had stared at it until his penetrating, focused gaze had forced the man to shift uncomfortably and transfer it to a different pocket.
Hagrid had dropped him off outside the Flat Planet, watching carefully as Liam, along with his many purchases, made his way up the steps, and had been rather upset when he had realized that there was no adult waiting at home for the child. Liam had assured him that it, and he, was fine, and had thanked him generously.
It taken some convincing to get Hagrid to leave, and as he had done so he had emanated a protectiveness and concern that Liam had found somewhat irritating, but had lavished in; it was not something he received often.
Closing his eyes, Liam tilted his head in the warm, reddish glow of the disappearing sun, letting the stars, now becoming visible, sing to him. The faint pinpricks of light blossomed behind his eyelids, flowing outwards and merging with each other and the shifting, sparkling depths of dark space. Liam hummed softly, joining his young, high voice with the universal song. A ripple of light spread over his skin, and his hands, arms hanging limply over the rail, his young body pressed against the warmed metal, rubbed each other, faint flickers of light running along them.
The young hybrid rolled his neck, content in the sound of unity, and smiled at the darkening sky. He softly sang the last few notes. A smooth, haunting, alien sound that penetrated the uncommon stillness of downtown D.C., merging with the faint, familiar sounds of far off engines and horns and the murmurs of daily life. The song joined with the warm, August breeze that rustled the drooping tree leaves, and was carried away.
The pale light that surged across Liam's peaceful face shone again, and, unbeknownst to the serene child, a similar ripple ran over the distant Taelon Embassy.
Tundra dropped off the railing, taking to flight, and Liam opened his green eyes to gaze at the bird. The owl offered a low hoot of farewell, and Liam gave a small wave. Sighing sleepily, Liam deactivated his security system. The door unlocked for him, and he carried his supplies in.
Dropping his things in the corner of his room, he ran a hand through his hair, retrieving his Global from his bedside table.
Twenty-seven new messages. He'd check them tomorrow.
He got himself a glass of water, then opened a window, erecting a security shield around it that would allow Tundra in, but nothing else.
Wandering into his room, he stripped, then pulled off the silver pendant. His body swelled, shifting and growing into the familiar shape of his natural form. He stretched, rolling his shoulders. The muscles and sinews across his back rippled, and he pulled on his pajama bottoms. He crawled into bed, eyes already closing, and sent a drowsy, mental, "Goodnight . . ." to everyone he cared for.
Prologue
It was a very weary Major Liam Kincaid that trudged up the stairs of the Flat Planet Caf. One that was not in the mood for surprises, the unexpected, or anything out of the ordinary. Not, mind you, that Major Liam Kincaid was ordinary himself; not in the least.
In fact, Liam was about as close to being not ordinary as it was possible to be. He was not a lawyer, or a bar-owner, a computer technician, a teacher or even a taxicab driver. In fact, Liam had two jobs, and neither of them were run-of-the-mill. Liam was the Protector to the North American Companion, Da'an, and the leader of the Resistance movement against those self-same Companions.
As an added feature, Major Kincaid was not, as he seemed to be, ordinary as relating to one of the most basic definitions of such. He was not, as he appeared to be, a 'thirty, or thereabouts' human male. In truth, he was a 'two, or thereabouts' Kimera/Human hybrid male.
Nevertheless, he was tired. Da'an and Zo'or had been arguing constantly behind the scenes of the seven different public appearances that the two of them had had that day, and by the last of these appearances, even Companion Agent Ronald Sandoval, attach to Zo'or, was losing the tight hold he kept over his temper. Conveniently, Liam had been there, throughout the day, to take on the full force of the man's exhaustion and clipped, snide comments.
Not wishing to cause the FBI Agent any more reason to dislike him, Liam had resigned to holding his own rage in and accepting his father's as it was aimed at him. (Oh, yes. Another convenient not-ordinary thing about Liam was that he had three parents; one mother and two fathers, one of whom was the 'oblivious-to-the-previous-facts' Ronald Sandoval.)
All in all, it had not been a pleasant day for the young man, and the global call he had received ten minutes earlier had helped neither his vanished patience nor his overall disposition.
Rene Palmer, CEO of Doors International, and fellow Resistance member had declared to his frayed nerves that he was needed at a five a.m. meeting the next day, or rather later that day, as it was already half-past one in the morning, that Hubble Urik wanted to speak to them following the meeting to learn of what new information they, he, had acquired on the Taelon's more secret and less publicized projects, and that he needed to cover up the fact that a Resistance raid on one of those projects, done during the Taelon's public appearances, could only have been executed with inside help.
Nonetheless, it seemed that he was going to get that unwanted surprise.
There was someone in his apartment when he opened the door.
Chapter One
Liam's first impulse was to draw his gun, and with the energy weapon held tightly in his hands, his finger not quite squeezing, but ready on the trigger, he cautiously took a few steps into his apartment.
The person hadn't seemed to have realized his arrival. Silently, Liam padded farther into his apartment. Footfalls hitting the hardwood without a sound, Liam stalked towards the intruder like a giant jungle cat, alert and tense, the wariness he had felt before replaced with rage and adrenaline.
The intruder was sitting in a chair, apparently deeply engrossed in the novel, which he had taken from his bookshelves, Liam noticed, but when Liam pressed his weapon to the back of the old man's neck, parting the long, silvery hair with the deadly barrel, he spoke without surprise, as though he had known Liam was there all along.
"Rather a dangerous thing to carry around with you, wouldn't you say, Liam?"
"Dangerous for me, or dangerous for you?" Liam replied tightly. The old man's voice was warm and soothing. Surprisingly strong and untroubled for one as old as he seemed to be, judging by the silver colour of his long locks, and for one with an energy weapon pressed against the back of his neck, it seeped into Liam's mind like hotchocolate into snow, stirring some deep memories.
"What do you think, Liam? For me, it means only the result of your actions. For you, it means its influence on those actions, and therefor, all others."
"Actions like me killing you?" Making his voice cold and unemotional, Liam pressed the weapon a little harder against the intruder's neck, preparing to demand what this old man was doing in his home, playing mind games with him, when he spoke again.
"Although, it is not, I will admit, my intention or desire to be killed, I shall not mind, I suppose, if you do decide to shoot me. Or, more so, I will not mind for me; for you I shall be terribly sorry. What forces could change one so young and innocent so that he would kill a stranger who has done him no harm."
"If it's not your desire to die, than you're doing a damn good imitation," Liam snarled, confused by the feelings his not-quite-remembered memories where inducing. "Are you so sure about not minding when I kill you?"
"Of course. Because, after all, to the well-organized mind, death is but the next great adventure."
And that changed everything.
Liam fell backwards, landing on the ground rather audibly. Shaking under the deluge of memories flashing through his mind, he was swept up in his mother's recollections of the man whom he had just threatened at gunpoint.
Running through the Great Hall, Siobhan was giggling too hard to watch where she was going. "Yer n' gone ta catch me, Peter O'Leary," she called over her shoulder, only realizing that there was someone in front of her when she plowed into him. Looking up, dazed, from the floor, her angry tirade was changed to a gasp as she realized whom she had run into. The grinning blue eyes behind the half-moon spectacles twinkled down at her.
Only to vanish as another memory took their place.
The man was standing before the immense crowd, conducting them all with grand sweeps of a long wooden baton, a large smile on his face. One of the most god-awful rackets Siobhan had ever heard, in fact, she had only ever heard it six times before, was filling the expanse of the Great Hall. Her friend, Doris Diggle, poked her. "Look at the first years," she whispered. "Were we ever that small?"
Siobhan looked to where her friend was pointing, and smiled at the anxious mass of quivering eleven year-olds seated at the Gryffindor table. "I don' know about ye," she whispered back, and Doris, seventeen and six foot, blushed, "bu' I was." Her attention fixed on one small boy in particular. One with jet black hair and taped glasses, talking to a flame-headed boy.
"Is tha' . . .?" She started to ask, but her question was answered as the boy turned and she got a good look at his face, equipped with brilliant green eyes, and a lightning bolt shaped scar peeking out from under his mused bangs.
Surprised she glanced up at the man, who was just finishing the last sweeping movements of the Weasley twins' droning, funeral march version of the school's song. The man looked over at her, a slight smile on his lips and shining in his bright blue eyes.
The same eyes that now looked down at her as she sobbed into his arms. "He din' have ta!" She screamed. "It's no' jus' a Muggle, war! I know' tha', Peter knew tha', but he din' have ta!"
"Do you have to, Siobhan?" asked the man as she soaked his robes.
"Yes!" she cried. "I will no' raise my children in a land torn by war!"
"And he would?"
"No, bu' he died, Professor! He died, an' he was smilin'!"
"Ah, Siobhan, don't worry. You will miss him, but he is safe." And he told her the same thing that she had heard him tell her mother when she was five, and hiding under the kitchen table, not quite understanding why the man had said he was sorry, and something about You-Know-Who, about her uncle, or why her mother was sobbing. "I know it's little comfort, especially when one so young as he is murdered, but he led a happy life, and as I have always said, to the well-organized mind, death is but the next great adventure. And you know how he loved his adventures."
The memories faded away, and Liam was left staring up into the same sparkling blue eyes and half-moon spectacles that his mother had on many occasions.
The man looked the same as he had when his mother had known him. His silver hair and beard where still long enough to tuck into his belt, he was still tall and thin, his nose was still long and crooked, as if it had been broken at least twice, his robes were still on, as were his floor-length purple cloak and his high-heeled, buckled boots. And, his eyes were still light, and bright, and merry.
"Professor," Liam gasped, his voice soft and shocked, the angry snarl of before forgotten.
Still holding Silver on the Tree in his long fingered hands, Professor Albus Dumbledore smiled down at him.
"Hello, Liam."
"Hello, sir," Liam responded, his deep voice very quiet.
"Do you know who I am?" Dumbledore asked.
Liam rose to his feet, and was surprised to realize that he was taller than the old wizard. "Yes, sir. You are Albus Dumbledore, Headmaster of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry." He paused, "Or, at least you were when my mother went there."
"Correct," Dumbledore smiled at him, and Liam realized that height didn't really matter. "I was. Your mother, Siobhan, was a wonderful student, and a wonderful woman, Liam. I offer my condolences for your loss; many people miss her."
The old wizard then became very interested in Liam's bookshelves as he put Silver on the Tree back in its place, and remained interested in the wood furnish as Liam brought himself back under control. Though it had been two years, since his mother's death, mention of it still hit him hard. The knowledge that she had known who he was during her last moments was little consolation to the time that they could have had together.
Still, the tears that came surprised him; usually he had better control over his emotions. He needed to. But, not with Dumbledore, he realized. The old wizard seemed to know some of his secrets, if not all, and didn't seem to mind. Unlike Rene . . . came the thought, but Liam banished it quickly.
Drawing a quick breath to clear his tightened throat, his voice lacking its usual arrogant, brash tone, he asked, "Are you still the Headmaster, sir?"
"Hmm," Dumbledore turned away from the bookshelf. "Yes, I am. And that, coincidentally, is the reason I came to see you, Liam." He sat down on Liam's couch and gestured for Liam to join him.
Curling up on the other end of the chesterfield, Liam cocked his head slightly to the side. "It is?"
"Yes, it is. How much do you know about the wizarding world, Liam? I understand that you have your mother's memories, but I do not know the extent to which you access them."
Liam's gaze grew distant as he accessed his mother's memories. They were confusing, to say the least. Jumbled and garbled, even more so than the memories he usually pulled up were, they made little sense. "Not very much, sir. I know who you are, and I know, basically, what Hogwarts is, but, really, not much. My mother's memories of it all are very . . . scrambled. To say the least."
Dumbledore sighed. "Yes, yes they would be. And that is my fault. You see, Liam, when the Taelons first arrived, we had no idea what to make of them. Why were these alien beings here? Were they truly here to help, as they said, or did they have a deeper, darker agenda. We, the wizarding community, or most of it, rather, had only recently resolved a war against a Dark Lord, a very evil wizard who had been intent on world domination, and were unwilling to trust anyone who came offering so much and yet taking so little." The Headmaster drew a deep breath, and let it out with a sigh. "And, as sad as that instinctive mistrust and paranoia may be, it seems that it saved us.
"Your mother, as I believe you know, believed the Taelons to be a good people; by making peace in Ireland they gained her loyalty and devotion. Thankfully, your mother was also logical and realistic, and allowed me to place a spell upon her."
Liam's eyes widened, but he didn't interrupt. Even as the old wizard spoke, his mothers memories were becoming clearer to him.
"I suppressed all of Siobhan's memories of her world, the wizarding world, placed false ones of a Muggle existence in their place, and created evidence to support them."
Liam blinked at both the information he was receiving and the strange word. Muggle . . . A non-magical person, his brain supplied.
"It was because of these memories," Dumbledore continued, "that she did not betray the entire wizarding world to the Taelons. It would not have been her fault, I know, but the consequences would have been the same."
The aged mage looked down and then up again to meet Liam's light green eyes with his own brilliant blue ones. "You're mother was an amazing woman, Liam. And, it seems, that you are rather amazing yourself. How old are you now? Two?"
Liam nodded, "Just over. How much do you know about me?"
The old wizard smiled gently at him. "I know that Siobhan was your mother, and that you were separated after your birth. I know that you have two fathers, one of whom is Companion Agent Ronald Sandoval, and that the other was the last of his alien race. I know that you grew to the physical form you now retain in less than a day, and I know that you have the memories of all your parents, and much knowledge of the universe, hidden in your mind. I know that you have taken the name of another, Major Liam Kincaid, and that you are both the Protector to the North American Companion and the leader of the Liberation. I know that you have placed your trust in people and have had that trust betrayed. I know that you are a good person, and that you still, even after all you have been through, tend to look for the good in people before condemning them. I know you are pulled in all different directions by your loyalty and by those who would take advantage of it, and I know that you are tired, and that you need someone to love you for just you; not Major Kincaid, Companion Protector, or Liam Kincaid, leader of the Resistance, but simply Liam, son of Siobhan Beckett and Ronald Sandoval and Ha'gel.
"And now," Dumbledore smiled slightly, running a comforting hand down Liam's cheek as the young hybrid swallowed convulsively against the tears that his exhaustion was releasing, "tell me what you know of me and my world."
Liam drew a shuddering breath, and did his best to make the scattered information he had coherent. "I know that magic exists," he began. "I know that there is a society of wizards and witches and all types of magical beings functioning without the knowledge of the general human populace. I know that this has been so for thousands of years. I know that wizards and witches can be born into non-magical families, and that the . . . pureblooded, I think they're called, families are declining in importance and number. I know that you run a school that teaches magic to young witches and wizards, and that you are probably the most powerful and respected wizard in the world."
"Oh, I wouldn't say that," Dumbledore said modestly.
"But you are," Liam said, his voice filled with the confidence of a child, then he continued on his previous track. "I know that not all wizards are good, and that some embrace powers that are . . . evil, and that one of these Dark wizards rose to great power, and that you, and others, stopped him from dominating the world."
Liam's brow furrowed as he struggled to recall the name. "Vo - Vul - Voldemort," he said finally, and shivered. "I know that you are a good man, and powerful, and well respected. But," he smiled shyly, "I don't know why you are here."
Dumbledore smiled slightly. "I am here, Liam Beckett, for that is your name, because I want you to become a student of mine. I want you to come to Hogwarts."
Liam blinked. Shaking his head, he eyed Dumbledore. "Come again?"
Dumbledore smiled at the boy's bewildered expression. "I want you to come to Hogwarts and be a student there. You have a great capacity for magic, and could be very powerful, if trained. If not, I fear you could be a danger, to both yourself and those you care about."
"But - why? I mean, why now?"
"At this time, the powers within you are increasing, and soon they will emerge. You will need to be trained; even with your mother's memories, you will have little or no control.
"Everyone has different methods of working magic. The final results are usually the same, or very similar, and though the words are the same, for the spells that control what the magic that is released will do, the internal, mental, casting can vary greatly.
"Your magic will emerge, Liam, and when it does, you will need to learn how to control it. If you don't, I loathe to think of the potential results.
"I, Hogwarts, can teach you the control you will need; if you will let us."
Liam's eyes narrowed. "How do you know this?" With his suspicion born from the fear that he could hurt others, another, previously ignored, question was blurted out. "How, for that matter, do you know about me?"
Dumbledore sighed. "I cannot tell you that; I'm sorry. I assure you, though, that I will not use that information against you, and that everything I do, I do in your best interests. I need you to trust me, Liam. Can you do that?"
Liam's confusion and uncertainty were plain to see. His eyes were haunted and conveyed his fear to Dumbledore. He wanted to trust the old wizard, he truly did, but, he couldn't help but recall the trust he had given to Da'an and to Augur, and how they had betrayed him in return.
Please, don't betray me, his eyes pleaded as he raised his head to stare straight at Dumbledore, giving the sense that he was seeing to the center of the mage, looking at the old man's soul. "I trust you," he whispered.
Dumbledore smiled. "Thank-you, Liam." He switched the topic back to Liam's attendance at Hogwarts, and Liam gave himself a mental shake to adjust to the abrupt change.
"Now then, thus we will raise the matter of when you will be attending, and how. You have many responsibilities, and I fail to see you abandoning them for a year, correct?"
Liam immediately burst forth with, "No! I can't! I can't leave! The Resistance needs me, and so, I suppose, does the ANA, and same with my Protector duties!"
"Calm yourself, Liam," Dumbledore admonished. "I was not suggesting that you should abandon your commitments."
"Oh," blushing, Liam looked at the floor. "Sorry."
Dumbledore smiled and shook his head. "Do not worry, Liam. It's a wonderful quality to be so loyal."
Liam blushed again, this time because of the praise. "Yeah, well, being the son of two Companion Protectors kind of means I have to be. I get it from both sides, well, all three, really . . . ah, Hogwarts?"
"Yes. What is the maximum length of time that you believe you could be away from all your duties?"
Liam thought about for a moment, then shrugged. "I suppose a week, two weeks, maybe. Not any longer than three. The ANA doesn't need my help too badly, I guess, and a replacement Protector can be assigned, but I don't want to leave the Resistance. It's doing better than it was after the crackdown," his voice flattened, "and when Da'an initiated the attack on the cell leaders, and Hayley's been great, but I don't want to leave it too long."
Dumbledore nodded. "A week would suffice. How much vacation time have you accumulated?"
"I've never taken a vacation; I have plenty. Suffice for what?"
Dumbledore grinned. "Why, magic, my dear boy. Magic."
Liam felt his chest tighten in slight anticipation. There was a faint buzzing under his skin, as if something was vibrating beneath it. "What are you going to do, sir?" he asked almost breathlessly.
Dumbledore smiled at the boy's eagerness. It was easy for him to see the child that Liam really was. What a difference from his public faade . . .
"There is a spell I will cast; it is a difficult spell, and an old one. It is not well known, and is rarely cast, as it disrupts the natural functions of space and time. Permission is needed to cast it, but I have obtain that."
"Permission from whom?" Liam asked.
"The Ministry of Magic."
"There's a Ministry of - oh yeah. Who's the Minister of Magic, now?
Dumbledore smiled. "The youngest Minister ever. Percy Weasley."
Liam's brow furrowed for a moment, but soon his mother's memory informed him of one of Molly and Arthur Weasley's six sons. "Oh! He actually did it? Good for him."
Dumbledore nodded, "Yes, his family is very proud.
"As I was saying, I have gained permission to use this spell, and it will allow you to attend your classes without forcing you to abandon your other duties. This spell will . . . extend a small period of time over a longer one, but only in a limited area, bubble, of time and space. It will allow you to complete a year's worth of studies normally, but when you leave Hogwarts and the spell is ended, only a week will have gone by in the, ahem, 'real' world.
"It shouldn't have any averse affects on you; it shall simply allow you to take the week-worth of living that you would have done, and spread it out over a year."
"And . . . this won't have any affect on time around me when my first year's over?" Liam asked, his mind trying to make sense of the rather warped concept Dumbledore had explained.
"No, you, and it, will continue normally."
"Would the spell be able to be cast again for my other years."
"Yes."
"Would I have to wait until my "real" year is over before it could be done again?"
"No. A month or two is usually enough time to leave as a 'break period' between castings."
"And you would just send me farther forward?"
"Correct."
"Would I still be in my first year when you did that? There, I mean. At Hogwarts. That Hogwarts, in that, time. The . . . first time."
"Yes, but, don't worry about the affects this casting could have on my perception of time, in the 'past' or the 'future', as it may be. I have my own ways of dealing with time."
"Yes," Liam murmured. "I suppose you do . . ."
The young hybrid's eyes grew distant and his brow lowered as he considered all that Dumbledore had told him. Did he really want to do this . . .? Yes. he decided. I do.
Focusing on Dumbledore, Liam said simply. "I accept."
Liam's mind swam up through the murky depths of his subconscious, slipping through flashes and passages of moments and thoughts, Dumbledore laying a hand on his cheek, smiling, "Thank-you, Liam;" his mother beaming at him, Ha'gel at her side, from the midst of the Strandhill megaliths, "Oh, well done, son. I knew ye could do it. Ye will be mighty, Liam. Trust Dumbledore!" "Be careful, Li'am," cautioned his father, "You are the first and the last of your kind . . . Protect them, son. Protect the innocents;" and Dumbledore again, placing the hand that had been on his cheek on Liam's forehead and pushing slightly, "Rest, Liam. Tomorrow is a big day . . ."
Liam sat up with a start, and looked around wildly. Recognizing his room a moment later, he calmed down. Pinching the bridge of his nose with his right thumb and index finger, he shook his head, then let go and rolled his shoulders. There was a strange pressure behind his eyes, but, all in all, he felt much better than he usually did upon awakening.
Easing out of his bed, he stretched to his full height, twisting his neck, and winced slightly as he heard it pop and crack.
Glancing at his watch, he did a double take then blinked, surprised. Whoa . . . he thought. I gotta be visited by old wizards more often.
It was only a little after four, glancing out the window at the gray pre-dawn confirmed this. He had been asleep for maybe two and a half-hours, but he felt like he had been sleeping for at least eight.
A slow smile spread across Liam's handsome face as he realized that he wasn't, for once in a long while, facing the new day with trepidation.
Plodding off to the bathroom for a leisurely shower to be followed by something with more nutritional, or at least protein and carbohydrate, value than a Starbucks vanilla latt, Liam brushed his hand over his forehead, feeling a slight tingling left over from the spell Dumbledore had placed on him to make him sleep. Liam's smile grew wider.
* * *
Running his hand through his hair, Liam strolled through his living room. Odd. Cocking his head to one side, brow furrowed, and eyes closing, Liam drew a deep breath through his nose. He could smell . . . Dumbledore, the young hybrid decided. A strange mix of chill and dampness, like an old ruin, but heavily merged with a spicy, smoky scent, and a little bit that smelled like a pine forest and a cold winter's night, a full moon, maybe, and an exciting tingle that was nothing more, and nothing less, than magic.
Slapping his hand against the palm-print security panel, Liam slipped his dark glasses over his grinning green eyes, and his imposing 'I-am-a-Companion-Protector-and-a-Resistance-Leader-and-not-to-be-messed-with' faade over his smile and shyness, and stepped out into the world, ready to face a new day.
* * *
The new day, Liam decided, can go to hell.
Abandoning his gun and holster on the floor, Liam kicked off his shoes and fell, more than sat, down on his couch. Distantly, in the back of his mind, he was thankful for the apartment's A/C; the mid-August heat was stifling in DC, muggy and sweltering. It sapped the life and energy out of things, and highlighted the stink of everything from the car exhaust to the rotting garbage in the alleys. Even now in the night, the day had come and gone in its usual, destructive, 'herd-of-rabid-elephants-on-a-caffeine-buzz-and-roller-skates' way, Liam could feel the oppressing heat.
Leaning back into the couch, Liam found himself trying not to cry.
It had not been a good day.
The five am meeting, completing with an argument between himself and Rene and the loss of half the Chicago Resistance cell, had been the beginning in a series of disasters, followed by another argument, this time between himself and Hubble Urik who continued to press his opinions on the issue after Liam had dropped the argument, and several more quarrels between Da'an and Zo'or, and T'than, who had decided to make an unscheduled visit, a few snide comments from Mit'gai about his capabilities at a meeting arranged so that Da'an could discus the repercussions of a new Taelon/Human medical venture, the same venture which had sparked his argument with Urik, and concluded, finally, with what he knew to be another attempt on his life by Sandoval, and now, to make things absolutely perfect, his palms were aching with the sporadic pain that seemed to come and go with no apparent reason or pattern.
An added bonus to the day was what Liam suspected to be the emergence of his magical abilities. When Dumbledore had told him that they would be emerging soon, he hadn't expected it to be quite this soon. However, that was the only explanation he had for the incident on the Mothership.
Zo'or and T'than had joined forces for once; both seemed to think finding new ways to insult his, and all of Humanity's, intelligence was one of the highlights of 'pleasant' conversation.
Needless to say, Liam had not been pleased, especially when their snide remarks had turned to the Resistance and then to the amount of orphaned children on Earth, although, the latter had been more T'than then Zo'or. Keeping his face passive and expressionless, Liam had turned his anger inside, seething quietly where it was still safe to do so. Semi-coherent thoughts akin to '. . . stuck up little . . . hope that sash winds around your neck and strangles you . . . children are important to us . . . if you would help us like you're pretending to do, instead of trying to enslave and eliminate us . . .damn sash would squeeze you out of that stupid jumpsuit . . . turn you bluer than you already are . . . and sitting up on that chair like you're some kinda King . . . spin it around and tip you off. . . the Resistance's doing fine . . . only upset because you're scared. . . send you flying across the deck . . . see how much you like your 'throne' when you're sitting on your stinging, glowing backside . . . ran rampant through his exhausted mind, and the results thereof ran rampant through the bridge.
It had started with a slight fidgeting on behalf of T'than. The War Minister had run a long finger under his sash, pulling it away slightly from his body, a peculiar expression on his face.
Turning slightly in his seat so he could say something, most likely something derogatory, to the War Minister, Zo'or's chair gave a funny squeak, and turned slightly.
Confused, both Taelons had paused, looking down at the item that was causing them bafflement. T'than had gasped suddenly, and bent forward, and Zo'or had, with a strangled sound, spun sharply in a circle.
T'than righted himself, his electric blue eyes wide, and the energy lines under his 'skin' blushed briefly. His sash was now noticeably smaller, hoisted higher up along his body, more at a place akin to a human's ribcage than their hips, and the loop was tight against his neck, and it looked to be very uncomfortable.
Zo'or gave another strangled sound, something like a swallowed and regurgitated cross between a gasp and a squeak, and his throne began to spin again. However, this time, it didn't stop.
Turning in slow circles, Zo'or met frightened eyes with a now very uncomfortable T'than, and then they both immediately attempted to quell any sign of fear, as the other might see it and use it against them.
Liam and Sandoval reacted immediately, Liam pulling Da'an away, confused, and Sandoval attempting to come to Zo'or's aid.
"Zo'or!" the implant called. "Are you alright?"
"Of course I am not alright!" Zo'or shouted angrily, spinning slightly faster, his long hands clenched tightly to the chair's sides and his energy courses glowing with a strange, wavering in intensity, manner. "What is happening, Agent Sandoval?"
"I do not know, Zo'or! Major?" the implant snapped, conveying his entire question in the one, clipped word.
Liam shrugged, standing in front of a very confused Da'an. The Taelon's hands were moving constantly and erratically, and faint glowing lines were beginning to appear under his skin.
"I don't know!" the hybrid replied, his worry making his tone shorter than usual. Because, he thought that he just might know. These . . . things that were happening to T'than and Zo'or, they were what he had thought of, pictured, angrily snarled in his mind. And, he just might be the cause of why the Synod Leader was now spinning like a glowing top, and why the War Minister looked like a play-doe figure that was getting crushed by an invisible four-year-old hand, right around the middle.
Shaking his head in irritation, Sandoval whipped out his global and seconds later was barking "Security to the bridge!" to a startled Volunteer over the link.
"Volunteers!" T'than gasped, falling to his knees as he attempted to tear the now excessively small sash from around him. The purple material was driving his faade in on itself, not that much of his faade was left. The energy contours that defined the Taelon's true body were plainly visible, and they were being pressed towards each other. The Taelon was now a shape similar to Barbie, except it was his 'ribs' that were nearly linked together instead of his 'stomach' and 'intestines.' "Assistance!"
And still not a please . . . Liam thought distractedly.
"Liam!" gasped Da'an, "this must be stopped!" The unaffected Taelon looked around wildly, his fingers fluttering like caged butterflies. "If General T'than is compressed any further, his core energy will react to its proximity to itself, and will erupt!
Not good . . .
Liam realized he had no idea how to stop what was obviously his fault, no matter what the Volunteers off to the side were nattering about unstable gravity bubbles in the space directly corespondent to the mass of the Mothership at the approximation of the two Taelons, and looked desperately to where Sandoval was still attempting to handle Zo'or's situation.
His father was in a crouched position, knees slightly bent and hands out in front of him, as if he could stop the spinning chair, which now resembled nothing so much as a diabolical midway ride under a swarm of blue fireflies, with sheer will-power alone.
Seeming to come to a decision, the Agent straightened, pulling tightly on his rumpled suit jacket, and raised his arm, Raven hissing and glowing slightly.
"Imbecile!" Zo'or screeched, "Do Not Shoot At ME!!"
There was something like a small explosion, or a muffled firework, off to the side, and Liam whipped his head around to see T'than rearing up from his convulsing position on the ground as his body, faade now completely eradicated, burst forth with a brilliant glow, and the Volunteers that had been trying to cut, tear and burn through the doll-clothes sized sash were thrown across the bridge to land with audible thumps against the far walls.
This has to stop! Liam thought desperately, glancing back and forth furiously between the two afflicted Taelons. Zo'or actually seemed to be rising from the ground, and Raven was hissing like a boiling kettle.
They are going to die. They will kill themselves or someone else will kill them, and they'll hurt others in the process. This is my fault. It needs to -
T'than let loose a wailing cry in hoarse, slurred Eunoia, his body glowing so that Liam's eyes could only perceive the outline of the Taelon's shape through the blue energy. Zo'or screamed, and an errant Skrill blast shot up to the biosurry ceiling of the bridge.
STOP!!
* * *
Liam still wasn't sure if he had said it aloud, but T'than had collapsed, sash falling to the floor in two torn, regular sized, pieces, and Zo'or's throne had come to such a sudden stop that the Synod Leader had been thrown from it and had landed, several feet away, on his backside. Hard.
The Taelons had eventually accepted the theory stated by the Volunteers who had been on the bridge. Those who had responded to Sandoval's call only to find themselves rushing in on, energy rifles armed and ready, a pair of battered Taelons, both of whom were muttering strong sounding alien-words, one of whom was sitting on the floor and the other who was being assisted, by three very dizzy looking Volunteers, to his feet, a blushing with relief Taelon diplomat, a haggard looking Companion Agent, who had promptly screamed at them to go away, a confused and somewhat shocked Companion Protector and several blabbering Volunteers who were using phrases like 'interstellar space and gravity malfunctions' and 'mass iregulations according to Podesky's principle and Newton convergence of InterDimensional transverse when relating to the fifth dimension matter:density ratios," were dismissed by Sandoval.
Liam suspected that the Taelons' and Sandoval's acceptance of the theory had quite a bit to do with shutting the jabbering Volunteers up, but didn't press the point. If they believed that the Mothership had found an interspace anti-gravity bubble that had malfunctioned with the IDcore in direct respects to T'than's and Zo'or's positions, it was fine by him. He knew what had happened.
He had lost control, and people had been hurt because of it.
He was a liability to the people he Protected and/or cared about, not to mention any innocents who might get in the way.
He couldn't let this happen again.
Closing his eyes and breathing deeply, his breath ragged and catching on the suppressed sobs, Liam snuggled against Dumbledore's scent, collapsing and curling up on the couch, nuzzling into the warm fabric like a kitten, imagining the drowsiness and love he felt settling upon him to be his mother's and fathers' arms, and a well-worn quilt spread out by the old wizard whom he had met so very briefly, but trusted so very deeply, and was swallowed up in the spicy, piney smell.
Briefly, before losing coherent thought to sleep, Liam sent a brief plea to whatever God would listen to a two year-old Kimera/Human hybrid that today's incident would not repeat itself, in any form, to anyone else he came in contact with before he could attend Hogwarts.
* * *
Thankfully, it seemed some passing deity had been listening to Liam's plea, and the next five days of the week of August seventeenth through to the twenty-fourth concluded without anymore such incidents.
True, Rene's hair seemed to flush blue whenever she said the word 'easy,' and Hubble Urik found that unless he kept his fist closed tightly around his keys they would end up locked inside his car, no matter where he stored them, and all the Volunteer uniforms turned a startling shade of neon orange, and all of Sandoval's suits became neon pink, and the energy riffles started shooting chicken soup instead of deadly lasers, but nothing life-threatening occurred.
Still, Liam reflected, it might be good idea to distance himself from all his duties for a while; everyone was getting just a tad paranoid.
He had already confiscated six books on Voodoo, twenty-three cloves of garlic, seventeen black candles, five skulls and bottles of cow blood, untold numbers of beaded strings, six wooden stakes, and one genuine 1873 silver hand pistol, complete with silver bullets, from jumpy, orange-suited Volunteers.
Sandoval had ordered the immediate deportation of any Volunteers found with any of the above listed items after a tightly strung cadet had attempted to stake him in the bathroom.
Liam did his best to help the Volunteers out because, technically, it was his fault that they were so worried, as he had accidentally caused everything 'strange' that had happened, and Sandoval really wasn't in a good mood since all his hair-gel had turned to bubble gum-flavored Vaseline.
Exactly one week after finding Dumbledore in his loft, Liam came home to find an owl perched on his windowsill.
Confused, but reassured by his mother's memories, Liam welcomed the owl in, and took off the envelope tied to its leg. The owl hooted softly and nipped him lightly on the arm, then took off, leaving Liam holding the old, yellowed envelope with
Liam Beckett
Flat Planet Caf
Top floor
Washington, DC
United States of America
written in flowing emerald ink across the front.
Intrigued, and sensing that he knew what it was, Liam tore into the envelope. Inside were three pieces of parchment.
Taking the first one out, Liam read, in the same flowing green script that was on the envelope,
HOGWARTS SCHOOL
of WITCHCRAFT and WIZARDRY
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Headmaster: Albus Dumbledore
(Order of Merlin, First Class, Grand Sorc., Chf. Warlock,
Supreme Mugwump, International Confed. Of Wizards)
Dear Mr. Beckett,
We are pleased to inform you that you have been accepted at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Please find enclosed the list of all necessary books and equipment.
Term begins September 1. The train will leave at eleven am from Kings Cross Station, platform 9 .
Yours sincerely,
Minerva McGonagall
Deputy Headmistress
Liam read and re-read the letter several times. A stunned look crept into his light green eyes, and an excited smile lit up his face. He was going. He was really going!
Eagerly, he took out the next piece of parchment, and found it to be a list of all the things he would need for his first year at Hogwarts. His eyes widened as he read over the components.
Where was he going to find all that?
A little more hesitantly, Liam pulled out the final parchment, and found it to be not another letter, but another, smaller, envelope.
Liam
was written across the front in a thin, graceful hand, and Liam worked the envelope open very carefully. Into his hands slid a thin, strong silver chain with a small, quarter sized, silver pendent attached.
Liam held the chain up and flipped the pendent over, examining the strange black symbol on the front. The pendent looked very much like one of his mother's old runes, but the symbol was one Liam didn't recognize. It could have been Gaelic, Chinese, or even alien for all he knew.
Strange, it felt like he should know . . .
There was a slight tingling in his fingers where they touched the rune, and Liam concentrated on the pendant. A moment later he was assured by his senses that yes, it was magical.
Eyebrows lowering, Liam dug out a piece of parchment from the second envelope, and read
Liam,
I am enclosing this with your letter from Hogwarts.
First of all, congratulations; your mother would be very proud of you, and would be bursting with that suffocating but life-giving maternal pride that all mothers seem to posses in such abundance, were she here.
Secondly, I realize that you must be somewhat worried about where you are going to get everything you will need.
Do not worry.
You have tomorrow off duty, and I have arranged for you to be taken to Diagon Ally, a shopping place, among other things, for wizards here in Britain. The man I am sending is called Rubeus Hagrid. He is the keeper of the Keys and Grounds, as well as the Care of Magical Creatures Professor, at Hogwarts.
I trust him with my life.
He does not know who you are; all he, as well as the professors, have been told is that you are the son of Siobhan Beckett, that you are somewhat special, and that you will be a student here. Hagrid will take you to get your things, and will introduce you to parts of the wizarding world.
I realize that there are places that you could buy your things from in DC, but I would like you to have the same items that your classmates will have. Do not worry about what you will use to pay for your supplies; your mother's assets are now yours, along with those she had set out for her children, and I will give Hagrid the key to their vault at our, the wizarding, bank.
Lastly, I need you to wear the pendent tomorrow.
The pendent is a spell, Liam. It will reduce your physical age to that of an eleven year-old, and will also exert its influence over anything you might to be wearing. I have done this so that you will not be separated from your classmates by your physical age, to reduce the number of questions asked about you and your heritage, and to avoid recognition. You might not realise this, but you are quite recognizable, my boy, and have quite a fan club, worldwide. Even in our world.
I am sorry if these arrangements make you feel uncomfortable, but they need to be done. I'm sure you realise this.
Enjoy tomorrow, dear boy, and I shall see you soon.
Yours Truly,
Albus Dumbledore.
P.S. Hagrid has been given your address and will meet you there at 8:30 am. Do not forget to put the pendant on before he arrives. DO NOT TAKE IT OFF.
P.P.S Hagrid is a rather large man; you will know him.
Clutching the pendant tightly, Liam re-read the letter from Dumbledore. He gave a sad smile. He should have realized that he wasn't going to fit in anywhere, not even in the magical community, completely, and that he would still have to hide things about who he was.
Yawning, the young hybrid stretched, and wandered off to his bedroom.
He wanted to be ready for Rubeus Hagrid tomorrow, whoever he was.
Dropping the letters and envelopes on his night-table, Liam placed the pendant carefully beside them and changed into his pajamas. He left a message telling Rene that he wouldn't be able to meet with her tomorrow, and curled up under his covers, a drowsy smile on his boyish features, he wondered what was in store for him tomorrow.
. . . wonder what my wand'll be like . . . he thought, before falling into a deep sleep, hands unconsciously rubbing each other to ease the pain in the palms. . . . hope it's a good 'un . . . hope Hagrid likes me . . .
Chapter Two
At the foot of an Irish monolith, a middle-aged man, not yet old, but no longer young, brushed some dirt away from the sizable hole he had created.
"Find anything yet?" Amanda Blakes hollered over to him, causing him to raise his gaze from the hole to shoot her an exasperated look.
"No, Mandy," Parson McKallen said with exaggerated sweetness. "Have you?"
Grinning with fake sweetness herself, Amanda held up a strange piece of curved . . . something. It was about a foot and a half in length, maybe two feet, was a hand's width wide in the middle, and receded to points at both ends. It seemed almost as if it could be metal, but it was strangely pliable, and it was warm. The colour was silver, but when she waved it slightly to show him, it turned a mellow blue, then lavender and gold.
The light reflected off Amanda's glasses and her teeth as she grinned widely. She flicked out a finger, and when the long, religiously manicured and magically enforced nail, somewhat black from the day's and night's worth of 'mucking around in the bloody dirt for God knows what useless junk,' as she had growled on many the occasion of less fruitful days, struck the thing, which looked almost like a miniature sliver of moon, a single, soft, hauntingly beautiful and foreign note rang in the still night.
For a long moment, Parson was quiet, straining to hear the last slivers of the note as the soft Irish breeze swept it away.
The thing in Amanda's hand shimmered with a strange white light along the silver length.
"Where was it?" he finally asked.
With a derisive snort, Amanda shook her curly brown head, the mocking tone in her voice not quite hiding the awe she felt for the strange artifact. "About ten centimeters away from the plot I've been digging up for the past three weeks - with no luck, may I add. It was lying right there. I wouldn't have found it if I hadn't . . ." the young, twntey-something witch paused, not quite sure why she had felt the urge to dig there. She shook her head, "Anyway, there it was."
Parson shook his head unbelievingly. "Of all the luck. Ah well, was there anything else there?"
"Not that I've found," Amanda answered, unknowingly cradling her find close, running her hand up and down its smooth, warm length. "But, I haven't had that long to look; I'll start again tomorrow."
Parson looked down at his watch and blinked. It was almost three thirty in the morning.
"Yeah," he said as he got to feet, the word melting into a type of groan as he stood, his stiff back protesting loudly to the movement.
Suddenly weary, he shook his head to clear it. "Wrap it and tag it, I guess. I'm heading into town tomorrow, later today; I'll report the find with the commissioner and send it off from the post office then. It'll be to the Ministry in no time."
Amanda nodded, her face illuminated from the mild light the object was giving off. "I'll record what I can find out about it and give it to you before you leave."
With an admonishment not to work too hard and to get some sleep, Parson wandered off to his tent, and left Amanda standing among the Strandhill megaliths, clutching the strange artifact closely.
Sighing, Amanda looked up at the full moon, and closed her eyes against the silvery light. Smiling slightly, she ran her hand along the sliver of moon she held in her arms. Gently, she tapped it again, and shivered as the strange, unearthly note ran through her and shook the air around her.
Five hours and many miles away, Liam Kincaid shivered in his bed, his green eyes flickering under their lids, and a strange white light rippling over his features. Turning over, a sigh escaping his lips, the sleeping man/boy flung an arm across the bed where it lay, palm up in the moonlight, and glowing.
Liam slept on.
* * *
A giant of a man, at least twice the size of a normal man and at least five times as wide, looked at the door for a moment. He raised on arm, and with a hand the size of a trash can lid, knocked on the door.
It swung open a moment later, and Hagrid found himself staring down into the quizzical light green eyes of a young boy. The boy was small for his age, and thin, and seemed slightly nervous. He rubbed his palms, then raised a hand to brush a few pieces of his sandy-blond, somewhat curly, hair out of his eyes. The pieces fell right back a moment later, and the boy seemed to accept this with a slight sigh of exasperation.
In a sweet voice, so soft that Hagrid had to strain to hear it, the boy spoke, "Hello, sir. Are you Rubeus Hagrid?"
Shaking his head, the long tangles of bushy black hair and beard that hid most of his face waving slightly, Hagrid dispelled the strange feeling of veneration that had overtaken him at his first sight of the boy. Hagrid smiled down at the child, a strong protective urge sweeping through him. Beetle black eyes twinkling, he said in his deep gravely voice, "Tha' I am! Yeh'd be Liam?"
The boy smiled, and his pale faced seemed to light up. "Yes, sir."
"None of that "sir" stuff!" Hagrid said quickly. "Yeh'll be callin' me Hagrid." Mock glaring at the boy, who seemed younger than his apparent eleven years, Hagrid scowled down.
"Yes, sir - Hagrid," the boy said, laughing slightly. "Oh - er - come in?" He opened the door wider, and Hagrid followed him inside, swinging the large pink, frilly umbrella he carried with one hand. His large feet, the size of baby dolphins, caused the fire escape to creek as he moved off it and closed the back door that Dumbledore had told him to use.
Liam looked up at him as Hagrid looked around the apartment. It was tastefully, if sparsely, decorated, and the bookshelf caught his attention. The eclectic collection on the many shelves caught surprised him, and he scanned the varying authors, ranging from Sun-tzu to Jane Austin, and David Eddings to Susan Cooper, Lady Gregory, Lewis Carol, and Isaac Asimov to Jack White, Charles Dickens, H. G. Wells and Gabriel Roy.
Frowning slightly, Hagrid looked closer at the apartment; the place really didn't look like somewhere a young boy would live. There was no evidence of anyone younger than twenty living there.
"Yeh live here?" the Ground Keeper asked the boy.
"Yes," Liam replied, large eyes looking up at the giant man.
"Anyone here with us now?"
"No. Would you like me to get you something?"
"Nah - grab your stuff, we've got ta get goin'."
Nodding, Liam grabbed a lightweight jacket from its draped position on the couch, he had been wearing it, along with his clothes and shoes, when he put the pendant and chain around his neck, and shrugged. "I'm ready."
"Then let's go!" Hagrid swung open the door and gestured grandly with his umbrella, a strange feeling of happiness fluttering through his giant chest when Liam gave him a brief smile.
Following the boy outside and down the fire escape, Hagrid couldn't help but wonder what Dumbledore had gotten into this time. Great man, Dumbledore, but he had a talent for finding strange situations that was rivaled only by Harry's for getting into them.
Shrugging, Hagrid dismissed the query, and reached down to place a hand on Liam's shoulder. He'd find out eventually.
* * *
Liam suppressed a sigh as they walked down the London street.
"An' there's another one!" Hagrid shouted, oblivious of the attention he was generating. "The things they come up with! Crazy Muggles! An' without magic, too!"
The problem with walking down a street, any street, with a twelve foot tall man who carried a frilly pink umbrella, was that you generated attention, especially when the twelve foot tall man was waving his arms, and the umbrella, and pointing out the wonders of ordinary things, like parking meters and VidBooths, in a loud and booming voice. There was no difference between the US and England; everybody stared.
This time, the object of his fascination was, as it had been many times before, a portal.
"Yes, Hagrid," Liam sighed, rolling his eyes slightly. His bangs flopped in his face again, and, exasperated, he raised a hand and irritably brushed them away. They fell right back again. One curl in particular was driving him crazy. No matter how many times he brushed it away, it always fell back. Exactly like it just had.
Arg. I need a haircut. Why do I need a haircut? I just had a haircut two weeks ago. Is it just that eleven year-olds always need haircuts? I'm going to rip this curl out . . .
"An' they're not even magical!"
"They had help from the Taelons, Hagrid," Liam reminded the giant.
"Yeah - and not a wizard in the lot of 'em! Ah!" Hagrid stopped suddenly, nearly yanking Liam's arm out of its socket as the boy kept going, rather fast, as he had to take three strides to keep up with one of Hagrid's. "Here it is, the Leaky Cauldron. Famous place."
"Ack," Liam gasped, rubbing his shoulder to return the feeling to the jerked joint. He looked up to see a tiny, grubby-looking pub. If Hagrid hadn't stopped in front of it, Liam wasn't sure he would have noticed it. The people hurrying by didn't glance at it. Their eyes slide from the big book shop on one side to the record shop on the other as if the couldn't see the Leaky Cauldron at all. In fact, Liam had the strange suspicion that only he and Hagrid could see it. Actually, his gaze grew distent for a moment, and he realized, from his mother's memories, that they probably were; the Muggles were just magically convinced that it really wasn't interesting, and that it practically wasn't there at all . . .
"Urk!" Liam jerked forward again with a flash of pain as Hagrid swung open the pub's doors, grabbed his hand, and yanked him inside.
* * *
Squinting, Liam peered around the dark, shabby pub. For a famous place, it wasn't very well looked after. There were a few old witches in the corner drinking tiny glasses of sherry, and one with a strange, almost glowing concoction that reminded Liam of some of the Flat Planet's more original drinks, with a remarkably feathery green and orange miniature umbrella floating in it. A group of men, ranging from twenties to god-knows-how-far-past-eighties, were talking to the old bartender who was quite bald and looked like a toothless walnut.
A memory of his mother's asserted itself, and Liam smiled. "So," the young hybrid thought, "old Tom's still here."
Everyone seemed to know Hagrid.
"Usual, Hagrid?" old Tom called.
"Not today, Tom," Hagrid said, "I'm on business," he added, yanking Liam forward and clapping his hand down on Liam's shoulder, almost making his knees buckle.
The bar went somewhat quiet as all the patrons focused on him, making Liam nervous. Neck prickling, Liam looked at the floor, uncomfortable. This was even worse than out on the streets, because out there everyone was looking at Hagrid; no one noticed the small, brown haired boy at his side.
Unconsciously, Liam rubbed his palms.
"Now . . ." an old man in a tall top hat said, peering at Liam through large, circular glasses that made him look like a giant owl. "You look familiar, young 'un . . ." he blinked. Liam repressed the urge to giggle as he imagined the man in his old tails and scuffed black shoes perched up on a tree branch blinking down at the people below.
Whoo, whoo . . .
"Who are you?" the man asked.
Smiling shyly, Liam said softly, "My name is Liam."
"Liam Beckett" Hagrid added, accenting the last name with a trace of smug pride.
"Beckett? Moira Beckett? Siobhan Beckett?" the old man asked, surprised, and peered at Liam more intensely. "Yes, yes indeed. I can see it now! You are most definitely a Beckett!"
Grabbing him by the shoulders, the old man, apparently much stronger than he looked, pulled him from Hagrid's grasp, and peered into his eyes. "Welcome back, lad. It's about time we had another Beckett around! Knew your mother, lad, shame about her death. Awful shame, wonderful woman. Sorely missed, she is, sorely missed," he shook his head sadly.
"Well," old Tom said, peering at Liam over the bar, "I never knew Siobhan had a son. You're right, though, Quentin, definitely a Beckett."
"Going to Hogwarts?" a young thirty-or-so wizard with sandy hair and a trace of an Irish accent asked him.
"Yes," Liam said, still quite uncomfortable about being the center of attention. The old ladies in the corner had returned to their sherries and the strange, glowing drink, but Liam felt a wave of apprehension as he heard one mutter. "Beckett, eh? Wonder why Moira never mentioned him?"
"Great," the wizard said. "I went there." Sticking out his hand, he grabbed Liam's, who felt a sudden strange flash of feeling in his palm, and had a slight muscle spasm, which, thankfully the wizard seemed to think was a handshake, because he shook vigorously on Liam's arm. "Finnigan, Seamus Finnigan. Gryffindor."
"Nice to meet you," Liam said shakily, his whole body vibrating from the wizard's hand pumping.
Fortunately, a friend of the wizard, a tall black man, seemed to realize the trouble Liam was in, and quickly came over to rescue him. "Whoa there . . . " he said, prying away Seamus' hand. "The kid needs to be in one piece to get his stuff, Seamus. Sorry about him," he added to Liam. "He's just a little giddy - got hit by a stray Cheering Charm; it'll wear off pretty soon. Dean Thomas, Gryffindor," he added by way of introduction.
"Nice to meet you," Liam said, rubbing feeling back into his hand.
"Dean, Seamus," Hagrid said, coming up behind Liam and placing his large hand on Liam's back. "Good ta see yeh."
"Hey, Hagrid," the young wizards said.
"We gotta be goin'," Hagrid prodded Liam, who was getting rather sick of being dragged around and grabbed, and led him to small, walled courtyard where there was nothing but a trash can and some weeds.
"See you, Hagrid," a voice shouted from the inside, and Hagrid shouted back, "Aye, Dedalus," but his attention was focused on counting the bricks above the trash can.
"Three up . . . two across . . ." he muttered. "Right. Stand back, Liam."
He tapped the brick three times with the point of his umbrella.
The brick he had touched quivered and wiggled, and in the middle, a small hole appeared. It grew larger and larger and wider and wider, and a second later, they were facing a large archway, big enough for even Hagrid, that lead to a long cobbled street that twisted and turned out of sight.
"Welcome," said Hagrid, "to Diagon Alley."
Hagrid grinned at Liam's smile of apprehensive delight, and they stepped through the archway. Behind them the archway shrunk back to a solid wall.
The nearest shop had cauldrons, the sun shining brightly on their burnished sides, stacked against the wall. 'Cauldrons - All sizes - Copper, Brass, Pewter, Silver - Self-Stirring - Collapsible,' read the sign, swaying slightly in the light breeze, hanging over them.
Taking out the second piece of parchment that had been in his letter from Hogwarts, Liam scanned over it; he was pretty sure that a cauldron had been on the list.
HOGWARTS SCHOOL
of WITCHCRAFT and WIZARDRY
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Uniform:
First-year students will require:
1. Three sets of plain work robes (black)
2. One plain pointed hat (black) for day wear
3. One pair of protective gloves (dragon hide or similar)
4. One winter cloak (black, silver fastenings)
Please note that pupils' clothes should carry nametags
Course Books
All students should have a copy of each of the following:
The Standard Book of Spells (grade 1)
by Miranda Goshawk
A History of Magic
by Bathilda Bagshot
Magical Theory
by Adalbert Waffling
A Beginners' Guide to Transfiguration
by Emeric Switch
One Thousand Magical Herbs and Fungi
by Phyllida Spore
Magical Drafts and Potions
by Arsenius Jigger
Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them
by Newt Scamander
Defense Against Dark Forces: The Basics
by H. Potter
The Beginners' Guide to Advancing in Charms
by H. Granger
Hogwarts: A History
Other Equipment
1 wand
I cauldron (pewter, standard size 2)
1 set glass or crystal phials
1 telescope
1 set brass scales
Students may bring an owl OR a cat OR a toad
PARENTS ARE REMINDED THAT FIRST YEARS ARE NOT ALLOWED THEIR OWN BROOMSTICKS
Yup, there it was, a cauldron.
Liam took a step towards the store, but Hagrid started another way, and since he was still holding Liam's hand, Liam was forced to follow or lose his arm.
"Yeh'll be needin' one," said Hagrid, gesturing at the cauldron shop, "but we gotta get yer money first."
Liam wished they could slow down and look at everything closer. Hagrid may have been used to the alley and it's pandemonium, but Liam wasn't, and he wanted to see all of it at once.
Everything, the stores, the people, the conversations, were fascinating. A short man coming out of an Apothecary was shaking his head and muttering. "Batwings; twenty-nine Knuts for five; it's insane . . ."
A low hooting came from the dark 'Eeylops Owl Emporium - Tawny, Screech, Brow, Barn and Snowy.'
Several boys and girls, from five to twenty, were standing outside 'Quality Quidditch Supplies.' Distantly, Liam heard one mutter, " . . . Silver Falcon . . . fastest broom ever . . . built with restoring Taelon-based bio materials . . ."
There were shops selling robes, shops selling telescopes and strange instruments Liam had never seen before, windows that were staked with thick bound volumes, parchments, barrels of iguana livers and snake skins, tottering piles of potions' bottles, models of the solar system, spinning tops that glowed, strange, murky mirrors . . .
"Gringotts," said Hagrid.
They had reached a large white building with burnished bronze doors that towered over the rest of the shops. A short little man dressed in a gold and scarlet uniform, with a swarthy, clever face, pointy beard and very long fingers and toes stood at the doors.
A Goblin . . . Liam realized.
The Goblin bowed as they walked up the white stone steps past him and through the doors. Now they were facing a second set of doors, this time silver, with words engraved on them:
Enter, stranger, but take heed
Of what awaits the sin of greed,
For those who take, but do not earn,
Must pay most dearly in their turn.
So if you seek beneath our floors
A treasure that was never yours,
Thief, you have been warned, beware
Of finding more than treasure there.
Hagrid waited while Liam read the verse, then shook his head. "Yeh'd be mad ta try an' rob it," he said.
They waked through the silver doors and into a vast marble hall, two more goblin guards bowed when they passed, and hundreds more were scurrying around inside, sitting on high stools behind a long counter, scribbling in large ledgers, weighing coins with brass scales, examining precious stones, and leading people in and out of too many doors to count.
Hagrid and Liam went to the counter.
"Afternoon," Hagrid greeted a free goblin. "We've come ter take some money outta Mr. Liam Beckett's safe."
"Do you have his key, sir?"
"Go it somewhere," Hagrid said, and started digging through the many pockets of his old moleskin coat. He began to empty the pockets on the counter, covering the goblin's books with moldy dog biscuits, sausages, bits and pieces of paper, a little hand-crafted wooden flute, some stuck-together lemon drops that looked to be very old and melted, a thick, leather dog collar, and a lot of pocket lint.
"Got it!" he said happily, and held up a small golden key. There was a squeak, and the live dormouse that the giant had abandoned on the counter raced off. Hagrid watched it go sadly, then quickly scooped up the salamander, which was beginning to burn a hole in the goblin's books, and put it back in a pocket before it could wake up and follow the mouse.
The goblin curled his lips in what could have been a smile, if one had a really good imagination, and examined the key, all the while wiping dog biscuit crumbs off his papers. "That seems to be in order. Is that all?"
"Aye," Hagrid said happily, putting the last sausage link back in a pocket.
"I will have someone take you down to the vault. Crabpick!"
Crabpick turned out to be another goblin, and Hagrid and Liam followed him to one of the many doors.
Crabpick held the door open for them. Liam looked down the narrow, torch-lit stone passageway; the wonders of the marble room suddenly seemed very far away.
The three walked down the passageway, Hagrid's and the goblin's footsteps echoing loudly. Crabpick led them with an air off indifference to the eerie flickering of the torches and the damp chill of stone. Hagrid was jumping slightly as the flames sputtered when he passed, and Liam walked by his side with a wide-eyes stare of excitement, but was still squeezing Hagrid's hand tightly; a favor which the giant returned once as the flame of the torch they were passing died completely. Liam stifled a yelp as all the bones in his hand were crushed together, and gave the blushing giant a reassuring smile, then a blank look as if to say "Happened? Nothing happened. What are you talking about?"
The passageway sloped steadily downward, and there were little railway tracks on the floor. Crabpick whistled and a small cart came hurtling up the tracks towards them. They climbed in - Hagrid with some difficulty and a resigned expression - and they were off.
At first they were just hurtling through a maze of twisting passageways, Liam's mind absently recorded the sharp turns, left, right, right, middle fork, left, right, far left, left, right . . . but he didn't pay much attention to it. The rattling cart seemed to know its own way, because Crabpick wasn't steering.
Liam's eyes watered as the cold air rushed past them, but he kept them wide open. A flash of flame at the end of a passage made him twist to see if it was a dragon, but he was too late, as they had already plunged even deeper and were passing through an underground lake where huge stalactites and stalagmites grew from the ceiling and floor.
An exited giggle escaped his grinning lips as they made another unexpected dip, and he resisted the urge to whoop aloud as they plummeted down a steep slope.
Liam met Hagrid's beetle black eyes with his own sparkling green ones, and had Hagrid been concentrating more on the boy then his need to keep that day's lunch in his stomach, he would have noticed an unearthly glimmer deep in the emerald depths.
"This is great!" Liam laughed.
"Tha's a matter of opinion" Hagrid said, "an' don' talk to me just now, I think I'm gonna be sick."
He did look very green, and Liam was grateful on his behalf when the cart stopped beside a small door in the passageway wall, and he could get out and lean against a wall to stop his knees from trembling.
Crabpick unlocked the door, and a lot of green smoke came billowing out. As it cleared, Liam felt his eyes go round. He hadn't expected quite this much.
"All yours," Hagrid said, coming up beside him, no longer staggering. "All your mother's assets an' yours, too." The giant laughed at Liam's shocked expression. "Don' be tha' surprised! The Beckett family is quite an old one, yeh're bound ta have some spare change lying around."
Hagrid helped Liam pile some of the mounds of gold, silver and bronze coins into a bag. "The gold ones are Galleons," he explained. "Seventeen silver Sickles to a Galleon, an' twenty-nine Knuts to a Sickle. That should be enough for a couple o' terms, we'll keep the rest safe for yeh." He turned to Crabpick. "That's it, and can we go more slowly on the way back?"
"One speed only," Crabpick grunted, and they were off again.
Frowning slightly, Liam turned to speak to Hagrid over the whipping wind. He was enjoying the ride as much as last time, but still . . . "If we're heading back shouldn't we be going upward?"
"Don' worry about it, an' don' talk to me 'till we've stopped!" the giant was an interesting mustard-on-pickles colour, and his hand was clenched firmly over his mouth, making Liam a little uncertain as to what he had actually said.
A grin twisting his lips, Liam nodded solemnly to Hagrid, and turned back to face forward. Another laugh escaped from the two-year-old Companion Protector turned eleven-year-old wizarding student as the cart bounced and they were sent flying into the air and then down again.
From the back, Hagrid groaned, and Liam pressed his lips together, and vowed not to laugh anymore until the cart stopped.
* * *
The small bag of coins clunking against his thigh reassuringly, Liam looked around, squinting slightly in the bright afternoon sunlight, as he and Hagrid left Gringotts.
Hagrid looked to be feeling better again, and he gripped Liam's shoulder gently. "So then, where would you like ta go first?"
Liam scanned the bustling streets, a thoughtful, somewhat serious expression on his face. Unconsciously, his body shifted to a more defensive/aggressive position, ready to react if need be. Hagrid watched the boy, a confused look p***ing over his wild features.
Although Liam was only about half a foot over a third of the giant's height, part of the groundskeeper was responding to the sense of command that the boy now emanated. The child carried himself like some sort of law enforcement or military personnel, not like an eleven-year-old. The more primitive part of Hagrid's half-giant makeup started to respond with apprehension as it realized that Liam could be dangerous, a threat even to him and his larger stature and much greater apparent strength.
Liam shifted again, and suddenly, he was just a small, skinny eleven-year-old, cautiously and carefully looking down a busy street. "How about there?" the hybrid pointed across the street to 'Madam Malkin's Robes for All Occasions.'
"Yeah." Hagrid nodded, and shook his head as if to clear it. "Might as well get yeh'r uniform. Listen, Liam, would yeh mind if I slipped off fer a pick-me-up in the Leaky Cauldron? I hate them Gringotts carts."
He did look a bit green, although Liam thought he seemed a little more nervous and confused, somehow, than sick, but he nodded, and entered 'Madam Malkin's' alone.
Madam Malkin was a squat witch, dressed completely in mauve.
"Hogwarts, dear?" she asked before Liam could speak.
Liam nodded, and she smiled. "Got the lot here - another student is being fitted up just now, in fact."
She led Liam to the back of the shop, where a tall, thin girl with a pale, pointed face and, what Liam could already tell to be a permanent sneer, was standing on a footstool, being fitted for a black robe that made her look even paler than her red lips and long, thin black hair already did.
Liam hopped up on the stool next to here, and momentarily lost sight of the girl as a long robe was slipped over his head. He struggled for a moment to find the opening for his head, and when he and Madam Malkin finally succeeded in freeing him from the folds of black cloth, his hair was tussled as badly as if he had just woken up, and Madam Malkin was rather flustered.
Feeling strangely protective of the young boy, the witch struggled to re***ure him. "Sorry about that, dear. You're all right, aren't you? These robes, there's an awful lot of fabric here, but don't worry. I'll fix it right up. You are all right, eh? Do you need anything? I have some Chocolate Frogs in the back room and - "
" - I'm okay!" Liam said quickly, trying futilely to smooth his wild curls down. "Really! Thank you!" He mentally rolled his eyes as Madam Malkin, moderately comforted by his ***urance, started to pin up the bottom of the much too large robes, nattering about the dangers of extra fabric.
Swiping at the stubborn curl that hung in his eyes, Liam looked over at the girl, and felt his face harden slightly as she smirked in an arrogant manner that reminded him of Zo'or and T'than. The girl ran her cold, iron gray gaze up and down him, and Liam fidgeted at the uncomfortable feeling that she was sizing him up like a prize stallion or a prime piece of meat.
Seemingly coming to a conclusion, she sniffed and tossed her head, her shiny back hair rippling like a sheet of obsidian.
Liam wasn't impressed.
"Hello," she said. Her teeth were very white, and made an avid contrast to her blood red lips. "Hogwarts, too?" Her voice was cold and snobbish.
Liam, although he tried to avoid forming immediate opinions about people, found that he was gaining a rapid dislike for her. "Yes."
"My father is getting my books," the girl said, not noticing the coldness of Liam's voice. "My mother's getting my supplies. Then we're going to get my wand. I think it's so stupid how you have to wait to get one until you're officially in training; I've been doing spells with my parents' since I was old enough to say the words. I hope my wand's powerful, how about you?"
"Sure," Liam answered, hoping that maybe if he stuck to monosyllables she would get the hint and leave him alone.
She didn't. "Have you gotten your wand yet?"
"No."
"A broom?"
"No."
"Well, me neither, since technically first-years aren't allowed to have their own brooms. But that is such a stupid rule; I think I'll make Father get me one, maybe that new 'Silver Falcon,' and sneak it in somehow. I mean, I've been flying for ages. Playing Quidditch, you know? Do you play Quidditch?"
"No," Liam replied, distracted, focusing on his mother's memories of 'Quidditch.'
What was it . . . the wizarding sport, his brain supplied, played on broomsticks, more than fifty feet above ground, and quite popular. Three goals, (seeing them with his mother's memories, Liam thought they looked like the wands Muggle children used to blow bubbles with, but many times larger,) seven players per team and three balls. One Keeper, who guarded the goals and tried to stop the other team's three Chasers from scoring with the large, soccer ball sized, Quaffle, which, when put through a net, gave the scoring team ten points. The two Beaters played a defensive-like position, using clubs to deflect the heavy, dangerous, black Bludgers. The Bludgers were slightly smaller than the Quaffle, and rocketed around the playing field, attempting to cream the players of either team. The last ball was the Golden Snitch, a small, walnut sized ball with wings. It was the most important ball on the field, and the Seeker, the player who attempted to find and catch the Snitch as it flew around the field, hiding itself best it could, was, in a way, the most important player. The game wasn't over until a Seeker had caught the Snitch, and one hundred and fifty points were rewarded to the team whose Seeker had ended the game.
"I do. All the McNairs play. That's my name, by the way, Isabella McNair."
She extended a cool white hand, with long, wicked black fingernails, and Liam, grimacing, held his hand out, pushing back the flapping robe sleeve, which extended about a foot past his fingers, and clasped her hand for the briefest of moments.
"Liam Kin - Beckett. Liam Beckett." A slow smile spread across Liam's face as he realized that he could, at least for the time being, acknowledge his mother's name and her family.
Isabella regarded him for a moment, then nodded. "Well then, Beckett, know what house you're going to be in?"
"No," Liam replied, his voice cold enough that Madam Malkin, who was attacking one of his long sleeves viciously with pins, looked up sharply, surprised that the sweet boy could have spoken such a chilling word. Abashed, she hurried an apology and returned to her work after Liam flinched and a small drop of blood appeared where her distracted hand had rammed a pin into his arm.
Isabella, though, either didn't notice the cold rage in his voice or found it encouraging. "Well, no one does, I suppose, until they're Sorted, but I know I'm going to be in Slytherin. Everyone in my family has been in Slytherin. I'd be so embarr***ed if I wasn't Sorted into Slytherin; imagine getting Hufflepuff. I'd leave; wouldn't you."
Liam smiled daggers at her. His mothers memories had again come to his rescue, explaining the four Hogwarts Houses to him, named after the four founders of the school.
Gryffindor, Ravenclaw, Hufflepuff, and Slytherin.
Students were magically sorted into the House that would best suit their abilities, personalities, and, in some cases, destinies.
Gryffindor, the House that Liam found himself hoping for, and the House that had been his mother's, accented bravery, daring, chivalry and nerve.
Ravenclaw was for the clever type, those who were especially smart and learned, but didn't have any overbearing qualities that would ***ure them a place in Gryffindor or Slytherin.
Hufflepuff was for those who would work hard, and who were just, loyal and patient. Although Hufflepuff was often under acknowledged, and didn't produce many outstanding or noticeable witches and wizards, Liam found himself preferring that house to the last one.
Slytherin. The house that encouraged cunning means and power gain. Slick was the best word that Liam could think of, or evil, to describe the house and the people Sorted into it. Slytherin had produced more Dark wizards and witches than the other three houses combined. Slytherin himself had been notably dark, and a strong supporter of 'pure-blood' and other such nonsense.
Maybe his mother's sour experiences with Slytherins had biased his opinions, or maybe Liam's own opinion of Isabella McNair was biasing his opinion of Slytherin, but the young hybrid felt very strongly that the snake-house suited her.
"If I was sorted into Slytherin?" Liam asked innocently.
Isabella's face froze. Her gray eyes hardened so that they looked like granite. Liam felt himself responding, and met her cold glare with his own, the warm, sparkling, emeralds becoming flecks of stormy-green ice.
The tension of the room was broken suddenly by Madam Malkin's cheerful, "Well, there you go, dear! All done!" The witch's voice was strained, and unusually high. Liam realized that she must have felt, and heard, the angry unease between himself and Isabella, and gave her a shy smile as he hopped off the stool.
"Thank you," he said, glad to see that the witch was relaxing. He slipped the robes, now perfectly sized, off and moments later exited the shop, new robes (where the other two had come from, he wasn't completely sure, but he gathered that Madam Malkin had magically copied the one she had fitted to him,) packaged and clutched firmly in his arms. A cloak and a hat, Liam was having a little trouble balancing the strange, cone-shaped package, completed the ensemble.
As he opened the shop's door, he felt the angry glare of Isabella McNair burning into the back of his head.
Turning slightly, he smiled at her, "Nice to meet you, Isabella. I suppose I'll see you at Hogwarts?"
"Count on it, Beckett. Maybe sooner."
The door closed behind him, and Liam pushed his uneasy thoughts and the realization that he had ***ured himself an enemy to the back of his mind, and smiled at Hagrid, who was looking better, and who directed
him to another shop.
Liam followed Hagrid into the bookstore, clutching a new pewter standard size 2 cauldron and the ***ortment of basic potions ingredients that they had bought from an Apothecary, which, although reeking with a strange smell that was akin to a mixture of rotten eggs, spoiled fish and year-old gym socks, had been fascinating. Hagrid had had to frown slightly at Liam to get him to leave (which had caused Liam to feel instantly horrible and stare at the ground for a while, which, of course, had caused Hagrid to feel awful and avoid Liam's gaze, after the ground had stopped being so fascinating, for a few moments.)
Gazing around 'Flourish and Blotts,' Liam's face lit up with an astonished and innocently enchanted smile. Shelves were stacked to the ceiling, as were the books, which were thick and musty smelling. Some of the books were as large as paving stones, and bound with thick leather. Others were as small as postage stamps, and encased with soft, silken covers. Many were in other languages, which Liam was astonished and delighted to realize he recognized, although, where he had learned them, he had no idea, as it obviously wasn't a magical accommodation. Hagrid asking him in an odd voice what he was doing as he leafed through the fascinating 'Usage of Colours and Music In the Magical Arts,' which had turned out to be written in a very ancient Arabic dialect, had confirmed this.
Fidgeting in the long line to buy his books, Liam gazed around the busy bookshop. He saw many other possible Hogwarts' students, ranging from about 10 to 18, and many flustered looking adults, many with very young and squalling children.
A particular group of three girls, about sixteen, caught his attention with their loud gushing.
"Oh, Lord, how I wish he weren't a Muggle!" one of the girls sighed, clutching a tired looking magazine to her chest dramatically.
"I dunno," one of her friends said, chewing and cracking a piece of gum loudly. She pulled the magazine away from her friend. Staring avidly at something inside for moment, she then sighed loudly and fanned herself with large, sweeping movements. "My Dad says that he seems a lot like he could be one of us. He just couldn't quite tell. One minute he seemed like a Muggle, and the next he was practically reeking of magic. If he is a wizard, he's powerful."
"I could of told you that," the first girl said, grabbing the magazine back and holding it open so all three could see whatever it was they were looking at inside. She had on very bright lipstick, and it was changing colour constantly. "I mean look at those muscles! And those eyes! And that smile! Oh, I'm in love!"
Both of her friends sighed dreamily.
Liam winced, sympathizing with whoever the poor man in the magazine was. He had had problems with girls like these himself. Fanaticizing, disturbing, hormonally-charged, estrogen-driven groupies that they were.
"To bad that these are just Muggle photographs," the last one, who hadn't said anything else yet, remarked.
"I know," her friend with the colour-changing lips said, "but the ones in the wizard pictures keep running away whenever we open it. I mean, it gives a nice view of his ***, great ***, may I add, but it's real annoying!"
Liam rolled his eyes. Annoying or not, he'd run, too.
Although, he was rather confused about what the girl had said about Muggle and wizard photographs and moving . . . the hybrid flipped over Defense Against the Dark Arts: The Basics and looked at the picture on the back.
The picture showed a young, thirty or so, man with messy black hair who was leaning against a large, sprawling tree, asleep. Looking closer, Liam felt his eyes go round.
The man's chest was rising and falling. Transfixed, Liam watched as he gave a snort and rolled over.
The pictures moved!
A high, screeching voice drew his attention back to the girls. The gum one was jumping up and down, chewing very fast. "Oh, oh, Janie!" she said to quiet one, "tell us again about when you saw him! Pretty, pretty, pretty please!"
"Yeah, Janie," Lips joined in. "Tell, tell!"
"Alright," Janie said with mock reluctance, a grin touching her gold-tinted lips, and she brushed a strand of short, brown hair out of her bright yellow eyes. Liam blinked at them for a moment, then gave a quiet sigh. Teenagers.
"See," Janie said, " I was visiting my cousin in America, and she lives in Washington D.C., and we were riding around, seeing the sights and such, you know, on this Muggle thing called a 'city bus.' It's kinda like the Knight Bus, but it's a different colour, one level, you can't sleep on it, and it only takes you around a certain section of the city. We were stopped beside this street, right? There were lots of Muggles walking around, and going into the buildings and stuff, and I saw him!" her voice squeaked as she said it, an she clapped her hands over her mouth and jumped slightly, eyes wide and lit with an almost fanatical light. She began again, and her friends pulled her hands from her mouth so that they could understand.
"He was just walking down the street, totally normal! I mean, you wouldn't have been able to tell him from any other guy, except, of course, he's gorgeous and I know exactly what he looks like. He was walking with this girl, who couldn't have been more then five years older than us, and we're only sixteen, and she had red hair and the coolest clothes, and she was holding his hand." All the girls sighed jealously.
"They were laughing about something, and they were smiling, and poking at each other, and everything!. Then, the bus started again, and I lost sight of them. But oh, my God! He's even more brilliant in real life, and I wasn't even up close! I looked around for him later, but I couldn't find him."
Her friends sighed again and Liam winced. Poor guy, he thought. Though, a faint feeling of unease was stirring in his stomach; it was probably ridiculous, but . . . Janie's story sounded rather familiar . . .
The line finally moved, a tall, skinny witch, dressed completely in green, and resembling nothing so much as a walking beanpole, staggered off, swaying perilously on her eight inch heels and under her literal mountain of books.
Taking a few steps forward with the rest of the disgruntled shoppers, relieved to see that there were now only two people in front of him, Liam spared one last second on the girls, just in time to hear Lips dreamily declare, "Liam Kincaid, I'd be your Companion any day."
Liam choked, eyes going wide but not seeing anything. He slammed into the back of the man in front of him, tumbling to the ground, and covering his head as his many, heavy volumes fell around his ears.
"You have got to be kidding me . . ."
"Sorry," he squeaked as the last of his skydiving books plummeted to the ground, landing on the foot of the startled man he had crashed into.
The man was somewhat old, somewhere in his sixties, Liam guessed, and practically bald. His surprised face was kind, and though it had some lines, there were more from laughter and smiles than from frowns and worry.
"Arthur?" boomed Hagrid from behind him, and the man, standing on one foot and wincing, looked up at Hagrid, who Liam wasn't sure how he could of missed, and his face broke out into a large smile.
"Hagrid," the man cried, "Well now! How are you?"
"Doin' just great. An' you?"
"No complaints. It's wonderful to see you again, though a bit of a surprise. What are you doing here?"
"Oh," Hagrid clapped a hand down on Liam's back, and, arms going suddenly numb from the force behind the friendly pat, Liam dropped all the books he had picked up from the floor. "This here's Liam; I'm just helpin' him get his things." The half-giant didn't seem to have noticed Liam's sudden upper body paralysis, and happily beamed down at the boy as he tried to make his fingers move again.
"Oh, hello," the man called Arthur smiled at him, then bent down to help Liam pick up his books. "Arthur Weasly," he said, sticking out a hand as he balanced The Beginners' Guide to Advancing in Charms with the other.
Liam struggled with the rest of the books, and quickly stuck a hand out, barely making contact with the old man's before he had to snap it back and stagger for a moment as he attempted to regain his balance.
Arthur grabbed a few of the topmost books from Liam's pile. "Thanks," the hybrid gasped. "Liam Beckett. It's nice to meet you, sir."
"Same, same," Arthur muttered distractedly. "So, looking forward to Hogwarts, Liam?"
"Yes, sir."
"That's good, very good. Enjoyed it myself, when I went there, as did my wife, and our children, and our children's children, for that matter."
"Yeah," Hagrid boomed, finally realizing Liam's struggles with the books and taking the volumes from Arthur. "How is everybody? All here, I suppose?"
"Yes, yes, just about the whole lot of us. Molly has Morgan, Jeremy and Analica getting robes, and Bill's handling David and Suzette. I think they went to Eeylops . . . the two have a new fascination with tigers, and I think he's trying to get them back to wanting to be owls; they've started to bite. Sarah stayed at home with Fiona, and I think Ginny and Crylissa took Donna to "Weasly's" and Charlie was taking Chandler to see that new "Silver Falcon," or whatever it's called. Percy stayed home with Fleur, and the twin's are both at "Weasly's, and Ron's . . ." the old wizard stared down at Liam, who's brain was beginning to overload as he tried to make sense of the flurry of names and places Arthur had just rattled off, " . . .Well, off doing "you-know-what" "you-know-where . . ."" the man said elusively.
Hagrid nodded happily. "Aye. How's tha' goin'"
"Well, he can't really say, but . . ." Mr. Weasly put a hand to his mouth and hissed, "nothing new, so far."
"Aye, so, when's Fleur due?"
"Oh, about two months or so; no word on whether it's a boy or a girl, yet."
The group of one exasperated mother and three screaming children moved away, and Arthur said, "Well, my turn. I suppose I will be seeing you soon, Hagrid. Nice to meet you, Liam."
"See yeh, Arthur."
"Nice to meet you, sir," Liam said, and settled back to wait a while longer.
* * *
The shop was narrow and shabby. Peeling gold letters over the door read "Ollivanders: Makers of Fine Wands since 382 BC." A single wand lay on a faded purple cushion in the dusty window.
A tinkling bell rang somewhere deep in the shadows of the dim shop as they stepped inside. It was a small place, empty save for a single, spindly chair that Hagrid sat down in to wait. Liam looked around in quiet awe at the thousands of narrow boxes piled neatly to the ceiling, a strange, an almost reverent feeling coming over him. The back of his neck prickled, and unknowingly, he began to rub his palms together. The very dust and silence tingled with a powerful scent of magic.
"Good afternoon," said a soft voice. Liam jumped slightly, Hagrid must have too because there was a crunching noise and he quickly got up off the chair, and turned to see an old man standing behind him.
Liam looked at him, not saying anything. The man's wide, pale eyes were shining like moons in the dark shop, and, unbeknownst to him, Liam's own eyes responded, the deep green colour they had acquired lightening to an almost silver gray. "Hello," he said finally, his voice once again very soft.
"Ah, yes," said the man. "Yes, yes. I wondered when I would be seeing you, Liam Beckett. You have your mother's eyes, and your father's influence upon them. Seems only yesterday she was here, your mother, buying her first wand. Twelve inches long, strong, made of ash with a dragon heartstring core; very fiery wand, helpful with rune studies, too. Suited her well, I think, although there is very little doubt that a wand will not suit their wizard, as it is the wand that picks the wizard, is it not?"
He gave Liam a hard piercing look. "Well, then, Mr. Beckett. Let me see . . . you will not have an average wand . . . which is your wand arm?"
"Ah . . . I'm right-handed," Liam said, uneasy of the old man.
"Hold out your right arm then, that's it." Mr. Ollivander measured Liam from shoulder to finger, then wrist to elbow, shoulder to floor, knee to armpit and around the head. As he measured he said, "Every Ollivander wand has a core of a powerful magical substance, Mr. Beckett. We use unicorn hairs, phoenix tail feathers, and the heartstrings of dragons. No two Ollivander wands are the same, just as no two unicorns, dragons or phoenixes are quite the same. And, of course, you will never get as good of results with another wizard's wand."
Liam watched as Mr. Ollivander flitted around the shelves of boxes, pulling out some at what appeared to be random, and Liam realized that the tape measure, which was attempting to measure the length of the curl that hung in his eyes, and wasn't succeeding, since the hair kept moving, was doing it on its own.
"That will do," the old wizard said, and the tape measure crumpled to the floor. "Right then, Mr. Beckett, try this one. Oak and dragon heartstring. Very sturdy. Just take it and give it a wave."
Liam took the wand, and gave it a small shake, but Mr. Ollivander snapped it out of his hand almost at once.
"Try this one; beech and phoenix feather." But that one, too, was taken away. Same with the holly and unicorn hair, apple and phoenix feather, birch and unicorn hair, poplar and dragon heartstring, and what seemed like thousands of other combinations.
The pile of tried wands was astoundingly high, and Liam's arm was getting rather tired. Mr. Ollivander, however, seemed to be becoming happier and happier as he pulled more and more wands from the shelves.
"Tricky customer, eh? - I wonder . . . yes, why not?" He melded into the shadows, reaching down to the bottom of a pile for a box. "This is very . . . unique wand. One of a kind, even more so than any other." He pulled the wand from the box, and held it up in the dim light. It seemed to glow.
"Twelve inches, three quarters. A combination of woods; hazel, the tree of healing and knowledge, willow, the enchanter's tree, "strong as a young lion, pliant as a loving woman, and bitter to the taste, as all enchantment in the end must be," and adler, the tree of fire, in it the power to free the earth from the water. A core of unicorn hair, an innocence which I believes suits you, and the powdered residue from a crystalline substance found at a stone dance in Ireland, and, on the outside . . ." he handed the wand to Liam who took it with what could have been a faint sense of providence.
Awed, the young hybrid turned the wand over in his hands. There was a sudden warmth in his fingers, and a buzzing in his palms. The wand was beautiful; the three woods mixed together, merging into one and other, showing no cracks or grooves. It was about a centimeter and a half in diameter, a little more, and had a faint silvery sheen. Along the body, Liam's eyes widened, written in graceful, flowing silver, was an intricately woven script. Script that he knew; script that no one else should have know. Script that was in the Kimeran language of sorcery.
The steady chain of alien symbols wove around one way, leaving gaps in the wood that were filled with Human symbols. The twenty-five runes of a set, and as he took the wand in his hand and held it, he realized that the twenty-fifth rune, Wyrd, the blank, most intricate rune of Fate and the complex, interconnecting web of all things, pressed directly against where the faint red star of his dormant shaqarava lay, and that under his thumb was Sowulo.
Liam raised his arm above his head and brought the wand down with a swish, silver and lavender sparks shooting out the end of it like a firework, throwing dancing spots of light on the walls.
Hagrid whooped and clapped, and Mr. Ollivander cried, "Oh, bravo! Yes, yes, very good. Well, well, well . . .I never thought you would have a usual wand, Mr. Beckett. Never."
Liam shivered at the strange, piercing look the man was giving him, and quickly paid ten Galleons for the wand.
"Mr. Beckett," Mr. Ollivander called to him as he was leaving. Liam turned and looked questioningly at him, absently running his thumb up and down the packaging of his wand. "It's is a very unique and powerful wand that you have there, but . . . true power springs from the one casting it. Know that."
Liam nodded, confused, then left quickly, shutting the door firmly behind him, eager to escape from the dim shop and the old man who seemed to know more about him then he should.
The store was loud; the bright, late afternoon sunlight that was streaming in through the windows seemed to be almost drowned in the combination of squawks, hoots, screeches and yowls. Liam entered cautiously.
A particularly loud ruckus was coming from behind the curtain that separated the back of the shop from the main area; a combination of bellowing, hooting, the occasional barking and whistling sound, and shouting. It sounded as though someone was attempting to control whatever was happening, but was far from succeeding.
A head, hair sweaty and sticking up this way and that, and face red, peeked out from behind the curtain. "Welcome to the "Magical Menagerie." Please feel free to pet the animals, however, we are not responsible for any injuries, hallucinations, chemical imbalances, misplaced spells, items, deaths or loss of fingers, toes, heads or other appendages. If it looks dangerous, don't touch. I'll be with you shortly. Thank you and have a nice day." He pulled his head back behind the curtain, where the bellowing and shrieking hoots had increased, and his voice once again joined in the melee.
Hagrid looked around, a dopey grin on his face. "Pets,' the giant rumbled happily. "'Though, none of them tha' they have here are all tha' excitin' . . . Ah well. Wha' would yeh like, Liam?"
Liam blinked, he hadn't even thought about it. Yes, he had read, and re-read, the letter that stated he could bring a Toad OR a Cat OR an Owl, but he hadn't really even considered the possibility that he would get one.
"I don't need to - " he started to say, but Hagrid quickly cut him off.
"Yes, yeh do," the half giant stated. "They're helpful, an' comforting, and if yeh get an owl it could deliver yehr mail, an', frankly, I 'ave never seen anyone who needs a pet as much as yeh do."
Liam blushed, embarrassed by the man's statement, "Well . . . what do you suggest?"
"Ah . . . toads are okay, an' they've come back in style since Trevor, an' cats are all right, I guess . . . I don' overly like 'em, though. Most of 'em make me sneeze. Owls are good - ruddy useful, too. Personally, I think yeh could use a dog, or a wolf cub, bu' student's aren't really allowed them so . . . let's jus' go take a look, eh?"
Liam smiled and shrugged, and let the giant lead him through the noisy shop. They stopped outside the large area dedicated to amphibians and reptiles. Liam was briefly distracted by the large iguana that, according to his cage, was named "Fluffy," before turning his gaze to the tank of toads.
He reached in, holding his hand steady, and picked up one of the brown creatures. It didn't seem to be at all scared, and although its heart, which Liam could feel through the dry, smooth skin of its brittle, ribbed chest, was beating fast, it wasn't overly accelerated. The large eyes blinked up at him, the lids slipping over the bulbous, yellow orbs then going half-lidded in sleepy pleasure as Liam ran a gentle finger in circles over the velvety skin.
"Well," Hagrid boomed, startling Liam, who was entranced by the feelings of the silky, pebbly skin under his sensitive fingers, "he seems ta like yeh! Strange, though, toads don't usually take to anyone right off . . . do yeh want to see the cats?"
"Sure," Liam said softly, carefully placing the toad back in with the others with a silent goodbye and thanks that although he wouldn't swear to it, he was almost certain he had felt returned . . . and followed his appointed guardian.
Liam waggled his fingers above the kitten's head, grinning with amusement as the young animal tripped over her own large feet as she attempted to leave the yarn she was tangled up in and attack the teasing digits. The other kittens swarmed around them, bodies pressing against each other, bumping their heads against his shins. Many were purring, their bodies vibrating and rumbling like everything from rocks in a pepper grinder to miniature lawnmowers.
Hagrid couldn't help but smile as he watched the child sit down among the felines, and be subsequently buried under a mountain of mewing bodies.
The curtain that separated the main shop from the back room was ripped away suddenly, the fabric tearing, and Liam was on his feet, the kittens falling, startled but unharmed, to the ground.
Tensed, Liam's hands curled into fists, palms itching fiercely. He searched the room, eyes focused mainly on the opening that the fallen curtain exposed, but flickering quickly to search, along with his other senses, the shop as a whole.
A large, pale man stormed out of the back room, his heavy face and thick, black, handlebar mustache torn and scratched. His arms, exposed through the tatters of the fancy, gold embroidered, black robes he wore were bleeding freely. In his hands, he clutched the legs of a large white owl. The bird was almost screeching; its whistling hoots pierced Liam's ears painfully. It beat its wings frantically, desperate to free itself from the grasp.
"Sir," the harried store clerk cried, chasing after the man. "I cannot allow you to take that bird; it is unstable and dangerous. That was why it was in the back room; it is not a suitable gift for your daughter."
"I will decide what is suitable for my daughter, not you!" the man roared, turning his attention from the owl to the clerk. The owl took this lapse of attention as an opportunity to dart forward and tear a chunk from the man's flushed face.
"Ruddy owl!" the man screamed, pulling his bleeding face away from the cruel beak. "It is the only snowy owl in the entire damn alley, and she wanted a snowy owl. She will have this snowy owl! It will be trained, and it will be submissive. The McNairs will not be cowed by a bird!"
As if in defiance to this statement, the owl managed to free one of his feathered legs from his holder, and slashed viciously at the man's already bleeding hands.
Mr. McNair freed him with a strangled shout, grasping unavailing at the air a moment later as he realized that the bird had escaped.
"No!" the clerk cried, jumping up and missing the owl by many feet.
The owl hooted widely, flying in frantic circles around the ceiling.
"Nonocalmdowndon'tgotherewacthouthe'sdangerous!" The clerk shouted, the words turning into one long stream of noise. "Becarefulohmythemanager'sgoingtokillmewhatchout!"
"Calm down," Hagrid bellowed. "He's scared, yeh gotta be gentle - "
"I'll show that ruddy beast gentle!" shouted the man, whipping out a thick, stout wand. He waved it and pointed it at the owl, shouting the spell and sending poisonous looking green sparks into the air.
A beam of green light shot from the end. Desperately, Liam locked eyes with the frightened bird.
"It's alright, it's okay, I won't hurt you, please come here."
The owl swooped, just avoiding the spell that splattered against the roof, destroying a section of it, and dove for Liam. He landed on the hybrid's outstretched arm, then hop-skipped up it, coming to rest on his shoulder. He ruffled his feathers once, uttered a disgusted hoot, and started to preen.
The clerk yelped and ducked as a chunk of the stone roof fell down beside him. "Sir!"
"Where the hell is it?!" the man demanded. Whipping around, his beady eyes fixed on Liam and the bird on his shoulder. "You! Boy, give me that bird!"
Liam regarded him for a moment, a sick dislike turning in his stomach. Quietly, with neither disrespect nor respect colouring his tone, he firmly answered, "No."
The man looked flabbergasted, amazed that Liam would deny him. "I said give me that bird!"
"And I said no. You are mistreating him; he's scared, and knows, as do I, that, if you are allowed to purchase him, you will continue to neglect him and his needs. You cannot have him."
"No one can have him," the stressed clerk said, making an abrupt gesture with his arms and hands. "It's mad! It's insane, crazy, ludicrous, nuts, daft, cracked, demented, deranged, one brick short of a load, two waves short of a tide, a batwing short of a draught . . . how many ways must I put this?!"
"How so?" Hagrid asked, watching Liam and the tranquil white owl with a strange expression.
"It's wild! It won't let anyone near it; tears their heads off if they try. It couldn't be a pet for anyone, let alone for a child!"
"We'll take it," Hagrid stated.
"What is with you people?! I just told you, it won't let anyone near him! It'll - " the young man stopped, having finally caught sight of Liam with the large bird siting calmly on his shoulder. The owl that had been a constant cause of torment for him since it had arrived stared at him with calm golden eyes, a dignified, almost challenging set to his posture. The boy on whose shoulder it perched looked at him with same look in his pronounced green eyes. Head tilted slightly, the child gave him an odd smile.
Struggling to find his voice, the man nodded and swallowed. "Fine; I'll get Snowflake's cage."
"What?! Unacceptable!" roared Mr. McNair. "I want that owl!"
"I don't care!" the overworked man shrieked, seeming very close to snapping. "You can't have it!" he stormed of, vanishing into the back room.
Mr. McNair stared after him, eyes bulging. Three times in as many minutes he had been told "no." With a sharp intake of breath, he turned on his heel and stalked out of the shop, slamming the door behind him.
Liam watched him go and said with quiet distaste, "Good riddance."
"Aye," Hagrid agreed. "Bloody McNairs; not a good 'un in the lot of 'em. Looks like you've found yourself a pet, though."
Liam smiled, blinking back at the owl as it rotated its head to stare at him. "I guess so."
"Snowflake?" the large man asked.
"No," Liam shook his head. "Definitely not. He's not a Snowflake; he's a Snowstorm. An Avalanche, a Tundra."
The owl hooted in response, opening his wings to flap them, sending Liam's wild curls into disarray with the wind it created.
"Tundra?" Liam asked him.
The owl hooted again, and Liam smiled. "Tundra it is, then."
Tundra whistled in agreement.
The owl's beak snapped down, narrowly missing Liam's fingers. Liam snorted, and the bird ruffled his feathers, indignantly turning his head away from the cheerful hybrid.
"Sorry, Your Majesty," the boy quipped. Liam was sitting at an outdoors table in front of "Florean Fortescue's Ice-Cream Parlour," the night around him cool, and the daily flood of shoppers dwindling.
Tundra gave his whistle-like hoot, and turned back to his 'ward,' lightly nipping the fingers that stroked his feathers.
"Thank you for forgiving me, " Liam said, the picture of child dignity. The young hybrid reached into his sundae and pulled out the last bit of cherry. He sucked the chocolate off his fingers, then offered the sugar coated red fruit to the bird.
The snowy owl snapped it up quickly, swallowing it whole, and looked at the boy expectantly.
Liam shrugged helplessly, "That's it."
Tundra looked quite affronted by this, and uttered a low hoot.
Hagrid had left the boy and his owl, along with the school supplies, at the Ice-Cream Parlour with the excuse of pressing Hogwarts business at the post office.
Liam didn't mind; it gave him some time to process everything that had happened to him since the giant's arrival that morning, and since Dumbledore's appearance in his apartment.
It was incredible, Liam decided, slightly stunned as he went over the multitude of experiences and possibilities that he had never before allowed himself to even consider, let alone hope for. While he was, chronologically, a Human child, and even more so a Kimeran infant, he was, physically, a full-grown man, and was mentally very much an adult. He would be immediately recognized as a child to one of the Kimera - his mental and psychic control, his access to his inherent memories, the colours and patterns of the faint energy lines that wound their way, unseen, under his skin - all betrayed him as an infant. Nevertheless, he had built himself a life as a functioning adult, accepting that the childhood he had been denied would never be given to him.
Yet, here he was, in the body of an eleven year old - a body nine years older than his actual age - seated amongst a multitude of incredible impossibilities, awaiting the return of another such impossibility so that he would be able to take his school supplies home.
Tundra flapped his wings and whistled impatiently, annoyed at the removal of Liam's attention.
Liam shook his head and glared at the bird. "You are such a spotlight hog," he told his pet.
Tundra whistled happily and leaned forward to hop onto Liam's arm.
"Who's that?!" demanded a voice, and Liam, letting loose a wordless sound, jumped a foot. Tundra dug his talons into the child's arm.
"Who's that?!" the voice repeated.
Breathing heavily, adrenaline still pumping, Liam blinked at the strangely off-colour eyes that stared, large and unblinking, at him. The pupils were incredibly contracted, only a tiny pinprick of black in the hazel irises was visible, and the whites, although very bloodshot, seemed almost blue. Liam leaned slightly forward, breathing slowing, his gaze focusing on the blue. It almost seemed to be . . .moving, rippling, flowing over the normal whites.
"Who's that?!"
Liam sat back, reminded by the loud voice that the eyes belonged to someone. Someone who seemed as entranced by his own green eyes as he was by theirs.
"Sorry," he gasped, feeling the blush that heated his cheeks.
The man didn't seem to notice. He was getting very agitated, and extended a hand, pointing an index finger that pressed against Liam's nose.
"Ah . . ." Liam looked down at the dirty finger, his eyes crossing. The nail was chipped and short, old blood crusting around it.
Liam raised his gaze from the finger to the man who was pointing it. He had long hair, a wild brown frizz that hung to his shoulders, and seemed rather knotted. In fact, there was what appeared to be the remains of a bird nest tangled in the locks. His face was somewhat flushed, his eyes were rolling aimlessly, and his breathing was forced. Little bits of spittle coated his lips. His skin hung on him, as if at one time he had been large, but had suddenly lost a lot of weight. His grayish blue robes looked like they might have been very expensive, but they were torn and muddy. There was even something that looked like blood on the sleeves.
" . . . Me?" Liam squeaked, wondering if the man was mentally stable, and if he could possibly back away from the finger without disturbing the stranger more.
"Yes! Who's you?!"
"Liam," Liam said, carefully pulling his head back.
"Liam's you?" The man dropped his hand, and Liam rubbed his nose, suspecting that there was now a red fingerprint imprinted on it.
"Yes I am. Who are you?" Liam spoke softly, trying his best to calm the man.
"Who's me?" the man seemed quite honestly stumped by the question. "Me's . . . Roland. Me's Roland."
"It's nice to meet you, Roland."
"Nice to meet me, Li'am."
Liam focused intently on the man, who now placed his entire attention on picking a thread from his bloody, fraying sleeves. What had he called him?
"Excuse me?" Liam asked, voice strangely tight. Somehow it simply seemed so incredibly wrong for this man to call him that.
Roland ignored him, tugging incessantly on the thread. He bit down on it with his spotted, yellow teeth, and snapped his neck viciously to the side. The movement pulled his sleeve up, and Liam could see long gouges running up his arm. They were scabbed and looked painful. They seemed to be running all along his forearm, stopping about two inches above the wrist and ran up to the elbow. There was a snapping nose, and the sleeve slipped down as the thread broke off in Roland's teeth.
Liam looked up at the man who grinned down at him, the long blue string hanging from between two of his teeth.
Abruptly, the man lost his dopey look, face freezing then growing hard and desperate. "Do you have it?!" he demanded.
"W-what?"
"Do you have it, boy? Do you?"
Liam was shocked by the sudden change, "Have what?"
"Damnit!" the man slammed a fist down on the table, hard enough to make it rattle and for the glass bowl that Liam's sundae had been in to wobble dangerously.
He fixed his gaze on the hybrid, the murky blue colouring that Liam had noticed over his whites burning brightly. The hazel irises were hard and calculating, nothing like the dazed ones that Liam had stared into moments before, and his pupils seemed to be slowly dilating.
"You," he snorted, looking down at Liam with obvious distaste. "To think this is really about you. You're nothing! Look at you, you're not even five feet. You're a child! Why would they want you?"
"W-want me?" Liam asked nervously. He was very confused, and was wishing furiously for Hagrid or for Dumbledore, or to be his real size. Unfortunately, neither the half giant nor the old wizard was there, and while removing the pendant would return him to his six foot two height, it wasn't an option. Yet.
Roland leaned forward, eyes focusing on Liam's chest, and, more specifically, on the slight bulge made by the quarter-sized pendant that hung around Liam's neck and beneath his shirt. "What's that?" he demanded, eyes trying to discern the object through Liam's light blue cotton tee shirt.
He reached out, and Liam leaned back, very sure that he did not want the man to touch either him or the pendant. "Go away," the boy whispered, strangely frightened by the glittering, blue encased eyes.
The man's hand connected with his chest, the large appendage splaying over the hybrid's pounding heart. Roland's brow lowered slightly, his eyes growing distant.
An alien conciseness pounded against his, and Liam jerked back, freeing himself from the man's grasp, and gasping at the violation. He balled his little hands into fists, holding them defensively in front of him, eyes growing hard and burning with an angry light. "Stay away from me!"
The man's eyes narrowed, and he lunged forward, grabbing Liam's shirt in a large, fleshy fist. Liam struggled as the man's other hand clamped around his arm. Tundra shrieked and flung himself at Roland, wings flapping furiously and slashing at the insane man with his talons. The owl was sent flying backwards with an angry, hissed spell.
"Let me go!" Liam cried, swinging a small fist at the large man's back. His attack didn't help; Roland let go of his shirt and grabbed his other arm. He transferred both of Liam's arms to one hand, and reached a hand down Liam's shirt, grabbing for the pendant. His fingernails scratched across the boy's chest, and Liam flinched; he now knew how the man had gotten the angry scratches on his arms.
Roland had the pendant in his hand, and pulled it out of Liam's shirt, yanking furiously on it. The thin chain refused to give.
Desperately, Liam tugged with his arms, freeing one from the man's grasp. The force of the tug sent the hybrid's arm flying out, making hard contact with the glass sundae bowl. The bowl flew into the air then plummeted to the ground, exploding in a shower of glass slivers that rained down on the ground.
Startled, Roland let Liam and the pendant go. The hybrid fell backwards, his chair flipping over, and he landed on the ground and the glass slivers. Liam's blood ran out of the many small, stinging cuts that now dotted his bare arms and hands, pooling on the ground around him.
Roland stared at the red blood and pieces of glass. He blinked very fast, then looked hard at Liam.
"Who's that?!"
"Roland!" cried a voice. "Ro - land!"
A short, heavy man came jogging up to the Ice-Cream Parlour. "Roland!" he demanded. "What are you doing! Why did you wander off? You know that's not allow - oh, dear!" The man caught sight of Liam, dirty and bloody, as he rose from the ground. Tundra flew, still somewhat dazed, towards them, and landed on his cage. "Oh, dear! I'm so sorry, lad, are you all right?"
"I'm fine," Liam said, although, with the many rivulets of blood running down his arms, it was very obvious that he wasn't.
The new man, however, seemed eager to leave, and accepted the boy's false assurance. "Wonderful. Dreadfully sorry; very, very, sorry. He gets away every once and a while, you know? He's not stable, not responsible for his actions. You can't really blame him - doesn't know what he's doing." The man shrugged, his small, hazel eyes flickering slightly. He was dressed in similar robes to Roland, only they were well looked after and weren't stained with dirt and blood. His hair, although shorter and not full of twigs, was the same muddy, reddish colour.
Liam's eyes narrowed. "Is he your brother?"
"W-what?" the man asked, surprised. "My brother? Why would you - " he paused, looking over at Roland, who was staring fixedly at a piece of broken glass. "Yes, yes he is. It's a dreadful thing, you know, to have a brother who is, well, you know . . . Come, Roland. We must go." He tugged on his larger brother's hand, pulling his attention from the glass.
"Who's that?!"
"It's Rosco," the man sighed. "It's Rosco, Roland. Come, we have to leave."
Roland cocked his head, looking at his brother.
"Wha's goin' on here!" boomed a deep voice, and both the brothers jumped.
"Hagrid!" Liam cried, rushing forward to stand beside the giant.
"Liam? Are yeh alrigh'?"
"It comes!" Roland shrieked, and took off, his dirty, unkept form fleeing the large man.
"Roland!" Rosco cried, chasing after him.
"Wait jus' a minute!" Hagrid roared after them.
"It's alright, Hagrid," Liam said tiredly. "Can we go now, please?" The young hybrid felt very drained.
"Wha'? Yes, yes, o' course we can . . . wha' happened?!" Hagrid saw the many abrasions marring Liam's arms and hands.
Liam shook his head. "Nothing."
Hagrid looked at him closely, and seeing something in the grim, tired stature of his charge, relented. "All righ'. Let's get yeh to a Doctor's to have those cuts healed, an' I'll take yeh home."
Liam nodded, thankful, and leaned into Hagrid's large hand as it was placed, gently, on his small shoulder. Tundra, a little uncertain of the big man, fluttered down to perch on Liam's other shoulder/upper arm, Liam carrying his cage, but not minding. The half-giant, owl and Human/Kimera hybrid merged back into the almost empty streets of Diagon Alley.
* * *
Liam waved to Hagrid as the half-giant turned back to make sure he was all right. Tundra was perched on the fire-escape rail, and gave a throaty hoot, preening his wings with an air of calm indifference. Hagrid finally vanished from the street, Apparating to wherever he was going, and Liam sighed, leaning against the railing that his owl was perched upon.
The setting sun shone on his skin, giving him a flushed, almost natural glow, and he brought a palm up to rub his eyes. His many cuts, including the scratches across his chest, were now healed, and although the time that they had spent at the Doctor's office had mostly been spent waiting - it seemed even Wizarding Walk-In Clinics got clogged with patients - and the shallower of the cuts had been almost completely healed by the time they had been called, Liam was glad that they had gone. Not being able to physically feel the marks left by the insane Roland helped his mental sense ignore them.
Liam had spent most of the time in the waiting area dozing against Hagrid's shoulder. He had glimpsed the long, oddly shaped package that the half-giant had tucked into one of his many pockets, but Hagrid hadn't been willing, or able, to tell him what it was. Something about it had intrigued Liam, and he had stared at it until his penetrating, focused gaze had forced the man to shift uncomfortably and transfer it to a different pocket.
Hagrid had dropped him off outside the Flat Planet, watching carefully as Liam, along with his many purchases, made his way up the steps, and had been rather upset when he had realized that there was no adult waiting at home for the child. Liam had assured him that it, and he, was fine, and had thanked him generously.
It taken some convincing to get Hagrid to leave, and as he had done so he had emanated a protectiveness and concern that Liam had found somewhat irritating, but had lavished in; it was not something he received often.
Closing his eyes, Liam tilted his head in the warm, reddish glow of the disappearing sun, letting the stars, now becoming visible, sing to him. The faint pinpricks of light blossomed behind his eyelids, flowing outwards and merging with each other and the shifting, sparkling depths of dark space. Liam hummed softly, joining his young, high voice with the universal song. A ripple of light spread over his skin, and his hands, arms hanging limply over the rail, his young body pressed against the warmed metal, rubbed each other, faint flickers of light running along them.
The young hybrid rolled his neck, content in the sound of unity, and smiled at the darkening sky. He softly sang the last few notes. A smooth, haunting, alien sound that penetrated the uncommon stillness of downtown D.C., merging with the faint, familiar sounds of far off engines and horns and the murmurs of daily life. The song joined with the warm, August breeze that rustled the drooping tree leaves, and was carried away.
The pale light that surged across Liam's peaceful face shone again, and, unbeknownst to the serene child, a similar ripple ran over the distant Taelon Embassy.
Tundra dropped off the railing, taking to flight, and Liam opened his green eyes to gaze at the bird. The owl offered a low hoot of farewell, and Liam gave a small wave. Sighing sleepily, Liam deactivated his security system. The door unlocked for him, and he carried his supplies in.
Dropping his things in the corner of his room, he ran a hand through his hair, retrieving his Global from his bedside table.
Twenty-seven new messages. He'd check them tomorrow.
He got himself a glass of water, then opened a window, erecting a security shield around it that would allow Tundra in, but nothing else.
Wandering into his room, he stripped, then pulled off the silver pendant. His body swelled, shifting and growing into the familiar shape of his natural form. He stretched, rolling his shoulders. The muscles and sinews across his back rippled, and he pulled on his pajama bottoms. He crawled into bed, eyes already closing, and sent a drowsy, mental, "Goodnight . . ." to everyone he cared for.
