The Will of Gryffindor

The bookshop was Elijah’s salvation. His father had taken it upon himself to whisk Fauve and Thierry away for an impromptu bonding session and he’d left coordinates for a house taped to the fridge door in the kitchen. He’d mentioned that seeing a psychiatrist would do Elijah some good. Elijah had taken little to no notice until he was placed in a position where he’d had nowhere else to go. He’d decided to think about it. He tore the note off of the fridge and stuffed it into his bag before grabbing an apple and heading out for the day. He’d fumbled with his keys, one managing to slot itself between his skin and one of his rings, but had managed to lock out without any dire issues. Then, Elijah had gone up the road to the little bookshop he spent his days in.

At about twenty two eleven though, the door of the bookshop opened. Elijah brought his eyes up from the text before him and blinked a little before taking in the two people that entered the shop. The first was a woman, tall and slender with a tiny waistline and ebony hair that fell to her waist in light curls. Her eyes were the colour of the open sky and darted about the shop, excitement sparking within her irises. Her company was in the form of a little girl that came up to her knee. She was angelic with her long blonde hair and cute, pixie features. She almost looked like...

Elijah’s breath caught in his throat.

Abruptly, he rose, kicking a stack of books over by a misplacement of his foot. He swore quietly to himself and dived to the floor, quickly and clumsily gathering the books towards him once more. A short, feminine cough overhead made him pause and he exhaled shakily before looking up into the bright, sky blue gaze that the little girl shared with her mother – and someone else Elijah knew. Her pale pink lips rose and parted into a gap-toothed smile and Elijah’s own lips quirked at the sight. Her lips came together again and she took a book out from behind her back. Elijah barely caught her whispered words but somehow, they wormed their way into his heart and emblazoned themselves over what was left.

“You dropped this,”

Then, as quickly as she was there, she was gone again. Elijah watched as her mother ushered her out of the bookshop and he continued to watch until her little form danced away down the road. It was only then that he allowed himself to breathe.

With a long, billowy sigh, Elijah dropped his head onto the pile of books that he’d gathered in his arms. It was then, that another piece of his mind unlocked, releasing his worst possible nightmare. He had no choice but to delve into the memories, re-ride the freight train that was that bitter December. His anguish was dredged up again as if it had merely been hours after the event. Her screams once again pierced his mind and he could feel the sticky scarlet on his hands, on his face, on his neck. Elijah knew it to be an illusion but the reality of it was too much.

When the shopkeeper walked back into the main room, a cup of tea for Elijah in hand, the door slammed shut. He opened his mouth to call the boy back but was stifled by the look on his face. The wise old man put the cup of tea down and picked up Elijah’s bag. He placed it high on the shelf that was the boy’s favourite to peruse and turned his attention back to his own novel, awaiting his new friend’s return.
Number 23, Godric’s Hollow was home to the Longbottoms. Elijah thought it blissfully ironic that Neville had chosen to settle his family there of all places. It was interesting to think that Neville’s whole life could have played out an entirely different way. Had Lord Voldemort chosen him to kill and his parents to brutally murder then things would have been different. It was almost laughable to think that the boy who had gotten off lucky by comparison was now as close to what could have been his reality than he had ever been.

Elijah pushed open the gate to the cemetery. The high-pitched squeal probably alerted the whole village that someone was there but he couldn’t find the energy to be concerned. He padded up the cobbled path, skirting around fallen branches and birds that were swooping down to get leaves and worms from the grass that lined the edge of the path. A few flowers had come into bloom but the shade from the trees overhead would have them shrivelled up within the week; they already looked limp enough.

It didn’t take long for Elijah to find the headstone; or rather, headstones. Lily and James shared one. Harry’s was next to it. There was something wholly unjust about the saviour of the Wizarding World not dying on his own terms; and dying because of the man he supposedly killed. Now, he lay side by side with his parents and everything he’d fought to fix was unravelling with each moment. Bravery was something Elijah did not believe he possessed yet as he stood there, his eyes drifting over the names time and time again, he realised that just their headstones created a sense of hope in him. They were people who had fought everything the Death Eaters stood for - everything Voldemort stood for – and even though they were gone, there were people in their place willing to carry on.

With a soft sigh, Elijah took a seat on the grass. He leaned back, placing his hands on the path, before sitting forward once more.

“Oi! You there! What d’you think you’re doing?”

Elijah’s eyes shot up and he immediately sourced the location the voice had come from. Further down the path, a man in grey overalls stood proudly, a broom in hand. His hair was grey and scraggly and day-old stubble splintered his jaw. Elijah opened his mouth to answer him but the words died in his mouth as the man flipped him off. A small smile ghosted across Elijah’s lips and he watched the man sidle back up the path, muttering something about insensitive kids. Elijah’s gaze travelled back to the headstones and he bit his lip.

“I wish I could be stronger,” He admitted, as if they were listening to him. “I wish...I wish I could learn to live instead of exist.”

They weren’t going to help. The real help was in Number 23. Elijah couldn’t do it though. He couldn’t bring himself to admit that he needed the help. He refused to admit that he woke up in a cold sweat every night because of nightmares that were nearly a decade old. He couldn’t deal with the fact that every time he set eyes on a little blonde girl with blue eyes and a bright smile he wanted to break down and cry. He couldn’t live at home knowing that not a kilometre away, he’d watched his best friend die at the crude hands of Muggles. He couldn’t accept the fact that he’d never be a part of his daughter’s life. He couldn’t plaster a smile on his face and pretend that Harry’s marriage was something he was happy about. He couldn’t live another day in the falseness he’d been brought up to move in.

“I can’t do this anymore,” He whispered brokenly. “I just...I want it to end.”

Frank was quitting from career counseling next year. He had not told anyone yet, but he had decided and he was sticking with it. It was too much, he was too young. Only a year ago had he graduated. What qualified him to talk about careers? He was still looking for one. He was a part time Auror, part time career counselor, and was more.. He wanted to be a musician.

But apparently, he made a good counselor. He had coaxed Rise into trusting them after all. And now Viktor Krum wanted him to talk to his son. Neville had been overjoyed- it was creepy, his dad acting like a fanboy because Krum had been a big Quidditch star. He had practically swooned. Frank had tentatively agreed, saying all he could do was talk to the boy and see if he needed any advice.

He had asked Hannah to take Rise out shopping. She had responded with, "Of course, she's the good child! And stop calling me Hannah!" Frank still rolled his eyes every time Rise pointed out she could call her Hannah but Frank was stuck with Mum. But she had been true to his word and as he got dressed he heard the bumbling activity of girls getting ready to shop them out of house and home.

Frank kept glancing out the window and finally he spotted the boy. He stood and heard Neville hurry to crane his neck behind him. But the boy continued on. Frank moved for the door but Neville grabbed his arm and said, "Leave him be, Frankie boy. The boy has his own demons to conquer- he wants to go them alone first, let him try. Give him ten minutes. I'm going out to the greenhouse."

Frank sighed and collapsed on the couch. He heard a thudding and looked up, to see his sister entering, in pajamas. "Where's Mum?" He looked up. "Shopping with Rise." Alice stared at her brother and then shrieked. "Are you kidding me?! She took Rise over her own daughter?! My robes are 4 inches too short!" Frank shrugged and Alice stomped upstairs. Whoops.

Ten minutes passed and Frank made his way out the door, casually strolling towards the cemetery- that's where most people stopped. Sure enough, he saw him. He slipped through the gate and approached the figure silently. He reached him and saw turmoil all over his face. "They're all big shoes to fill, aren't they?" he said quietly. "I usually can't even face them. I feel so pathetic in their shadow. My dad always hugs me and reminds me they were human too. He saw Harry Potter go through some terrible times and that he was no saint, even if he was an amazing person." Frank nodded. "Hard to believe though. They seem so perfect." He took in a big breath. "I'm Frank."

The world was never quite the same without the presence of Lily and James Potter. Their legacy lived on in the form of their son and with his death; the world seemed to darken just that little bit more. That was how the light supporters saw it, anyway. Elijah would have agreed had he not felt he’d been plunged into darkness long before he understood the significance of the people he was now faced with. It almost seemed a little superficial, his anguish. He’d lost so much and gained so little. He’d loved and lost. It seemed as if every time he lent his heart out, less came back. There was so little left now, it was a wonder it still had the strength to beat. Yet, despite it all, it did. They said you could die from heartbreak. Elijah had been waiting for eight years. Perhaps the Gods would finally take pity on him.

But then again, they adored toying with him and torturing him – why let him die if he was so much more fun alive?

The sound of approaching footsteps did not faze Elijah. Part of him hoped it was a Death Eater or Chase feeling particularly brave. The latter would take his children and the former would end his misery. Oh what luck that would be. Luck was never in Elijah’s favour though and although he waited patiently for his demise, it had never come. Even this time, it had not been delivered. Elijah had even closed his eyes and wished for it to be over swiftly. Instead of a flash of green, there was a voice and Elijah was disappointed by the sound.

Elijah opened his eyes again and looked up at the figure looming over him. His eyes were fixed on the headstones also and Elijah found his were travelling back to them, as if seeing Lily Potter’s name was some sort of comfort.

“We all have our own worth,” He replied, his voice shaky. “Some more than others.”

Elijah pushed himself up onto his feet once more and crossed his arms over his chest, feeling rather exposed now without his bag. He daren’t go back and get it though, out of fear of the girl returning. He knew why he was so unhinged but it felt stupid. He understood why but he hated the fact that after all this time he still couldn’t look upon someone with the same features. He still saw Alice in Mira also. He often had to do a double take and make sure it was just wishful thinking and not a dream come true.

“This is not a world which they would have wanted their children to grow up in.” Elijah said sombrely. “It’s a wonder there are any wizards left to kill. It’s as if the battle never really ended.”

Frank sighed. There was truth and wisdom behind the boy's words, more than there should have been. What had Elijah Krum seen to make him so haunted and so terrorized? Even Rise, a girl attacked and taken in by the most infamous of werewolf packs, did not seem so weighed down. Frank turned and glanced out, giving Elijah a few moments.

"Those are heavy thoughts for a sixteen year old boy," he commented, giving no opinion on what that meant to either of them, merely an observation. He chewed on his lip and closed his eyes, wishing this was easier. Frank had his own doubts, how was he supposed to assure someone else that things would straighten out, tell him what was good.

Frank squatted down and brushed some vines that had begun to grow over the headstone away, clearing the names of the three Potters. "Lily and James, the innocents betrayed." He leaned over and pulled the vines from the other headstone. "Harry, the lamb sacrifice, the one we all relate to. Thrown into a world of confusion, left to clean messes he had never created."

He stood, staring down at the headstones, giving the deceased a moment of sincerely deserved silence before turning to Elijah. "Why don't I make you some tea? Or we can see if my dad has any Friewhiskey lying about."

Heavy thoughts seemed natural to Elijah now. Such philosophy was what he surrounded himself in. It was food or thought, all of it. He only truly felt light-hearted and playful when he was with Fauve and Thierry, when he could indulge in their desires or just sit there and read with them. When he looked at them he saw children in love with life. Thierry had cooled around Elijah and was no longer as hostile. Their relationship had quickly been repaired. His nights were filled with them also. After waking up he’d take to turning his sketches into paintings. He’d start one each night, only occasionally returning to one he’d already begun. He was lost, confused and tired. He felt old. He’d seen much more in his seventeen years than many people in their twenties had. Elijah could not stand proud and say he had survived it. He was broken and could only utter what his family seemed to fear:

That he hadn’t survived it.

“Normal thoughts,” Elijah responded wearily. He ran his fingers through his hair and looked over at Frank. “I’m Elijah. Though, I reckon my father already told you. I’m sorry about him. He’s entirely too forceful for his own good. He likes sending people to shrinks; though I doubt you qualify as one. I don’t mean to offend I just...” Elijah bit his lip and shook his head before continuing. “You’re too young. I’m used to dusty rooms and puckered leather couches that are ready to split and reveal its stuffing. I’m used to bony old wizards with silver hair and mischievous smiles on their lips as they peer at me intently; imploring me to continue so their payment goes up. I don’t know what you expect me to say to you, Mr Longbottom, but I am sorry about wasting your time. I expect you have better things to be doing today.”

The Potters were all sacrifices; it was the intention of the Gods. Their plans had been flawed from the start and now the world had lost much more than just the Potters. Everyone was corrupt and if they weren’t, they were sure as hell going to be. The Death Eaters were masquerading in whatever form they wished, Muggles were being killed when appropriate and people were still going about their daily lives as if their very existence wasn’t in danger; naive and foolish they were, like his sister, like her friends and more interestingly, like himself.

“How can you hope to relate to him,” Elijah asked contemptuously. “When people put him on a pedestal like a deity? You can relate to the idea – everyone wants a hero – but not the person. No, the person was a mystery. And his parents...well; it proves love is the deepest magic of all; and the most dangerous.”

Elijah managed a small smile at Frank’s offer and he nodded. “Tea would be great, actually. Thank-you.”

Frank smiled lightly at Elijah's words. Well at least he did not hope to a\have shrink magic worked on him, because Frank had been planning to inform Elijah there would be no guarantees. It seemed Elijah had already gotten to that part. Frank said, "No offense taken, I'm glad you know I am not going to work miracles. And don't worry about my time, this is a nice change of pace. If it was okay with you, I just wanted to head inside and maybe talk."

Frank nodded at his words and said, "But that's just it. When it comes down to it, he was just a person, just a boy really. But he's been put in a display case and made into something no one can even get to know the real side of us. It happens to us all the time. Soon we're known by what we've done or what we believe rather than who we are, who we wish we are."

He sighed. He did not want to get so philosophical this early, really. He wanted to know what was going on in Elijah's life. Eli said he was up for tea and Frank gestured for him to join him. He strolled out of the garden and towards the house, remaining silent. He strode up to the house and opened the door for Eli before slipping in after. He led them to the kitchen and began busying himself making tea. "Make yourself comfortable."

Sitting on the hard ground had done Elijah no favours and so the offer of tea and a nice warm house was something he was more than ready to take up. Elijah followed Frank through the village, taking in the quaint houses and the wildlife that seemed to roam without much thought to the humans that also wandered. His eyes soon drifted up to the obelisk in the middle of the square. He squinted, sure that there was something else there, and sure enough, the obelisk morphed into a statue. Elijah stepped forward, his mouth falling open, and found himself staring at a memorial of Lily and James Potter. He took another step forward and froze upon seeing what she held in her arms. Her son, the baby Harry. Elijah felt his lip tremble and he was thankful when Frank finally jostled the door open.

Elijah scuttled up the path after Frank and slipped into the quaint little house that was, oddly, a lot larger on the inside. He stopped in the hallway, finding himself smiling at the quaintness of it all, and slipped off his shoes. Elijah left them on the doormat and shrugged his jacket off. He kept that in hand though and followed Frank through the house into the kitchen. Elijah once again paused in the doorway, taking in the charm of the household. He blinked when Frank told him to make himself comfortable and his lips formed an ‘o’ shape as he mentally slapped himself for his gormlessness. Elijah quickly took his seat, dropping the jacket onto the back of the chair, and continued to look around the room.

“The house is lovely,” he complimented gently. “H-how long have you lived here?”

He pointed his wand at the teapot from that morning and it began to shriek. He removed his wand and it quieted as he pulled out two mugs and lacy doilies- Hannah freaked out about setting hot mugs on the table because of burns. As though she couldn't buff them out in a second. He always felt just a little emasculated when he was forced to use them, but that never bothered Hannah.

He poured the hot water and scrounged around for some tea bags. "Umm, forever, actually," he said, glancing back at Eli. He dropped the bags into the mugs and dunked them in and out of the water a few times. "My parents bought the house before they even had me." He glanced around the kitchen, smiling lightly. "The only home I've had- past Hogwarts, of course."

He brought the mugs over to the table and sat, setting down the doilies before sliding the mugs on top of them. He winced as he adjusted the lacey thing beneath his mug. "My mum's rules, not mine," he explained. "She's a little bonkers." He tasted his own tea and then nodded- not bad. He sighed. "So why'd your dad even call me? He didn't explain much. Doesn't seem like too much of a talker."

It must have been nice to have been able to call one single place ‘home’. Elijah had seen so many places in his short, seventeen years so it was nigh on impossible for him to determine where his home was – even Hogwarts didn’t strike that same chord with him it did with many other students. He was a nomad, and a directionless one at that. If he’d have known where he’d been headed then he wouldn’t have found himself in the position he was now currently in. He wouldn’t have been sat in the kitchen of the Longbottom family waiting for Frank to ask questions like every other shrink had done. Elijah had a feeling though that this wasn’t about the fifteen grand or so that Viktor had promised and that scared him. The idea that Frank actually cared was terrifying.

“It’s sweet,” Elijah replied thoughtfully. “I’d love a little house like this. Maybe out in the sticks though so I could have sheep. I could become a sheep herder and keep cows and chickens. I’m sure Thierry would love learning how to milk a cow.” Elijah chuckled a little and shook his head before adding. “Thierry is...he’s...he’s my son. He’s going to be eight soon.” Elijah sucked in a breath and took his wallet out of his back pocket. He opened it up and took a picture out from inside. He unfolded it and slid it across the table. “He’s, uhm...he’s there,” Elijah pointed to the picture of a fluffy-haired boy wearing thick-framed glasses and hugging a book to his chest. Like all magical pictures, it moved and Elijah watched as Fauve sprang across the picture, Thierry’s face morphing into a look of mild irritation. “And that’s...that’s Fauve. She’s going to be seven soon-ish.” Elijah chuckled again and ran his hand through his hair.

The Bulgarian dropped his wallet on the table, knowing it to be empty anyway, and looked at Frank. He glanced down at the cute little things the mugs were sat on and he turned one of them. “I think they’re quite...cute.” Elijah allowed, his cheeks reddening a little with the lie. He looked at Frank curiously before shrugging. “My father thinks something’s wrong. He’s suddenly decided to take interest and what he can’t accept is that this is periodical. He didn’t figure that maybe I am not as okay as he thinks I am. He’s going to fix it the way he always does though. He’s sent me here to ‘talk’ about my problems knowing full well that I won’t. I’ll go home feeling just as crappy as before and I’ll just wait it out. This kind of thing shifts but I...I feel as if I’ve hit rock bottom again. For a long time I was on the up but I’m back there again and honestly...I’m scared that this time...I won’t get back out.”

Frank smiled. "That sounds quaint. We don't have animals but we have more plants than my father and Rise know what to do with. Rise is a friend of mine who is staying with us. She has been enabling my dad's strange fixation on the leafy things, though I've begged her not to." He shook his head. "I don't get it myself, but it keeps them happy y'know."

Elijah mentioned his son and Frank nodded. Viktor had spoken about the recent drama with the children, just touching on the struggle of getting them back from Eli's ex and to explain that Eli had not been a promiscuous eight year old. Frank looked at the picture and picked it up, bringing it to his face. He smiled slightly and set the picture back down, sliding it back to him. "They seem like they are really happy kids."

Elijah tried to be casual about the doilies but Frank smirked at him. "You don;t need to lie. Sometimes you have to humor family." He chuckled.

Frank listened carefully to what Elijah was saying and he nodded slowly. His kind eyes watched the boy, his face one of slight sympathy but it was more like he was focused on listening than responding. When Elijah finished Frank said, "You know.. dads freak out when they don't think they know their sons anymore. My dad was shocked to hear I wanted to take my music anywhere. I made some comment but it blew his mind. It makes it hard to want to even talk to him." He paused and then admitted, "I haven't even told him I was planning on quitting my job. All they know is something is off and it scares them."

He paused. "Speaking of dads, my dad told me a story once about this really foolish wizard who bought a hippogriff. He put him in this paddock that had an open well. Well, the hippogriff fell inside and ended up bunched of feet underground. There wasn't enough room to fly out so it began screaming. The wizard freaked out and could not think of any spells to get the hippogriff out. He figured it was a lost cause so he began heaping dirt on top of it, planning to do the human thing and bury it before letting it starve to death and have to suffer the indignity of dying a foolish death."

Frank paused. "There is more to the story than being a downer I promise. The hippogriff felt the dirt hit his back and realized what was happening. At first, he just let the dirt pile up, because frankly, he had already had a terrible day. But after awhile, the dirt irritated him and he shook and the dirt fell to the ground. He realized how to escape and stepped up onto the new layer of dirt. So with each bit of dirt, the hippogriff shook off the dirt and stepped up. He did this for hours until he was able to walk right out of that well."

Frank took a drink of his tea. "I never used to get what that meant when I was younger. I'm starting to now."