Adult-FanFiction.org : Harry Potter

The Masks of Real Heroes	By : Aelys_Althea Category: Harry Potter AU/AR > Slash - Male/Male Views: 17755 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 2
Disclaimer: Many thanks to the wonderful J. K. Rowling who offered such a beautiful world for amateurs such as myself to frolick in. This is a not-for-profit fanfiction and all characters and original storylines of Harry Potter belong to her!

Chapter List
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Chapter 1 - The Choices We Are Given
On a mild summer afternoon, in the backstreets of one quiet, city-side town, an explosion occurred. Not an explosion that bespoke terrorism; London was experiencing it's own share of those with the rise of a certain dark wizard though it's sister countries had yet to try the taste of it. No, the eruption was instead a blast of pure magic, invisible to Muggles yet caused all witches and wizards within a twenty-kilometre radius to turn and stare in wonder at the display of power. Could magic have bloomed in the air like a mushroom cloud, the flowering power would have been seen from the other side of the city.

               The French ministry, namely the Auror de Paris, were shell-shocked. A magical display such as that was easily traceable and as such a troupe of the most powerful wizards in the country trekked to the site identified. For surely the author of the magical signature would be truly powerful, and truly distressed, to have caused such a phenomenon. As they approached the crater-like fallout of the explosion, it was as though they stepped abruptly into a ghost town. The world appeared frozen, captured like a Muggle photograph with cars halted and puttering as their drivers slumped motionlessly in their seats, pedestrians crumpled to the floor in awkward displays that belied their peaceful, sleepy smiles. Even the frequent dog or bird squatted silently, nestled in upon themselves in a dreamless doze as though weariness had finally overtaken them and nursed them into a blissful sleep.

               Surprisingly, no accidents dotted the sleepy town. The traffic appeared to have halted immediately, as though with every sleeper behind the wheel whose internal brakes had locked down their weary minds, those same brakes had stilled their vehicle from aimlessly ploughing into fellow travellers. It was eerie; the magical explosion should have been absent of reason, the residual effects of powerful emotion that left no outlet, and yet the reaction it forced upon the town's residents seemed more calculated than spontaneous.

               When the Aurors eventually reached the epicentre of the eruption, the source of the phenomenon became immediately apparent. Traces of magic still writhed overhead with a strange almost-visible tinge, like smoke curling patterns in the air. The tendrils wrapped loosely around the boy's shoulders, stroking as though soothing. Before any of the Aurors could voice their wonder or query, the child spoke.

               'It was an accident. I’m so sorry, I... Can you...fix it?'

               The plea was desperate, bordering on terrified, yet contrasted starkly to the blank expression on the boy's face. There was truly no other reply to his distress. The Aurors simultaneously nodded their heads and closed in around the child, offering comforts as they removed him from the scene.

               Moments after stepping out of the magical ghost town, the inhabitants awoke, yawned and initiated their activities as though the siesta were an everyday occurrence. No one noticed the absence of the boy. It was as though his very presence were erased from their minds.
* * *

               Albus Dumbledore strode through the Ministere de la Magie with purpose, robes whipping impressively behind him like flairing wings. Only the slight crookedness of his pointed hat and slightly lopsided half-moon spectacles indicated his haste bordered on frantic.

               That damned law. If only the Minister for the English Magical Government would see reason and enforce mandatory attendance in their magical educational system. Then such events as young witches and wizards erratically unleashing their uncontrollable powers would not occur! Thank Merlin the incident has been benign. Had physical damage been imposed on the nearby Muggles, the events would have been far more controversial, and far more difficult to cover up.

               Striding into the foyer of the Department of Magical Education, Albus halted briefly at the reception desk before passing directly into the primary office. Raucous voices assaulted him before he had stepped a foot through the door.

               '...'ow you can expect uz to simply let you 'ave 'im. 'E is a resident of the Pari' Magical Protection Zone and as such 'is care is the responsibility of the Pari' Ministere de la-'

               'With all due respect, Mr. Martin, the boy is English born and bred. His family indicated their desire that he attend Hogwarts before their untimely deaths and I believe it is well within our rights to enforce the will of the deceased family members!'

               'Ah, but 'e 'as not attended your 'Ogwarts, 'as 'e? You 'ad ze chance, but 'e refused to attend your school. Beauxbatons will provide all necessary utilities and facilities for ze boy. We shall see 'im taken good care of. Madam Maxine 'as already agreed to take 'im in despite 'is age. We will tailor a curriculum for 'im; it is already in ze works.'

               Smugness quirked the corners of the Educational Minister's lips, broadening beneath his handlebar moustache as Albus’ deputy fumed silently. Minerva McGonagall pursed her lips, raking a hand through the fly-aways that had sprung from her bun and struggling to maintain her composure. Before she could rekindle the argument, however, Albus stepped forward, clearing his throat.
               Neither Minerva nor Martin had noticed his entrance, so fiercely were they engaged in their verbal sparring. His deputy immediately fell back to his side, turning towards Martin as though to provide a united battlefront of now reinforced strength.

               Martin evidently felt the same. His smirk had fallen into a sickly, downturned curve of dissatisfaction. The earlier confidence had disappeared with his gleeful expression; if Albus had visited personally then that meant the man had a significant interest in the matter. And what Albus Dumbledore wanted, Albus Dumbledore usually got.

               'Good evening, Mr. Martin. It has been a while. I do hope you are well.' A small smile amicably turned the old wizards lips as Martin nodded his head in frustrated assertion. The atmosphere of the room had change abruptly, shifting like the tipping decks of a wind-swept raft. Albus’ smile widened as he cleared his throat, preparing to steady the decks.

               'Now, Mr. Martin, I couldn't help overhearing my deputy's evident distress at the situation. I apologise both to you and on her behalf if my staff appear somewhat adamant about acquiring the attendance of young Mr. Potter. The matter hits a little close to home, if you understand my meaning.' Another smile, accompanied by a twinkling in the man's blue eyes as Martin raised an eyebrow in confusion. 'Lily and James Potter were friends and colleagues to many of our staff and student's families. You can understand the desire for us to resume our care of the child.'

               'Resume? Resume, ‘Eadmaster Dumbley-dore, would suggest you 'ad it once before and yet no more. As I am aware, Master Potter declined your request when 'e first got 'is letter at age eleven.' The man shook his head muttering 'foolish age to take ze students; far too young' just loud enough to be heard before turning back to the duo. ' If 'e 'ad any desire to attend your institution, 'e would 'ave said as much and would ‘ave been your student for five years by now.'

               Albus nodded his head gravely. 'Indeed, sir, he was reluctant to join our school at such an age. Perhaps the French educational system is more suitable; waiting until greater maturity to make such a life changing decision should perhaps be considered. However, as with many Muggleborn students, I believe his reluctance was fuelled partially by disbelief as to the validity of our claim. I am aware that most Muggles do not believe in magic.

               'However, I also believe that after such a blatant display of talent, even Mr. Potter himself could not deny it’s very existence. Yet regardless of this,' he raised his voice slightly, drowning out the protests the Frenchman had begun to voice, 'I believe it is in both our best interests and that of Master Potter to seek his opinion on the matter.'

               Both Minerva and Martin expressed disbelief at this suggestion. The desires of the boy himself had apparently been overlooked in the heat of the moment. It was only after an extended pause that both gradually began nodding their heads in agreement, confusion slipping into awkward embarrassment as they realised they had disregarded the primary linchpin in the matter. Harry would ultimately make the decision, given that his Muggle guardian abjectly refused contribution to any matter concerning magic.

               Martin was the first to recover his composure. 'Shall we ask 'im, then?'

               Albus and Minerva nodded their agreement. Yes, perhaps Harry's opinion should be taken into account before his future was configured for him. He hardly held the oblivious enthusiasm of an eleven year old now, did he?

~
               Passing into the foyer and entering a second room that branched off from the hall, Minerva followed Albus silently, pointedly ignoring the infuriating man striding behind her. Upon entering the room, the trio spread themselves out like a panel before the table and the boy seated silently at it. The room was small and furnished just enough to take the edge off its starkness. A single vase adorned the centre of the polished redwood table, alongside a plate of biscuits and a chilled cup of tea. Neither appeared touched.

               Slumped resignedly in his chair, face hidden as his chin tucked to his chest, the boy only indicated his awareness of the presence by sinking slightly further into his seat. It was a pitiful display; did he expect fury from them? That he be scolded for his use of magic?

               ‘Mr. Potter, good afternoon. Or evening, I suppose, at this point.' Albus smiled in friendly welcome to the boy, taking the lead in the conversation. It appeared that Martin unanimously agreed with Minerva that they cede his dominance in the matter. As the boy remained in his closed huddle, eyes hidden by his long fringe, the headmaster took a step forwards, leaning down slightly.

               'Harry, do you remember me?'

               At his name, the boy flinched, raising his head hastily and meeting the welcoming gaze of the headmaster. Albus’ smile grew in what Minerva recognised as both a natural and calculated response as he locked eyes with the boy. Though attempting a friendly approach seemed to have the opposite effect. The boy's eyes only widened slightly, his only change in expression, that gave him the impression of a cornered prey animal straining to maintain its composure in the face of the predator. Perhaps deducing the impression he presented he hastily dropping his head again. A faint mumble issued from his hunched frame.

               'What was that?'

               The boy’s voice rose only slightly, remaining a quiet whisper tinged with the curl of his accent. 'I...I promise I won't do it again. I understand what I did was wrong and I won't let it happen again. It was stupid of me to-'

               ‘Mr. Potter, we are not here to reprimand you.' Stepping forward, Minerva asserted her protective response to the mumbled apology. Did the boy expect to be scolded for his actions? He could no more control them than a starving man could restrain himself at a banquet. The need to use the magic build exponentially with repression and, though not frequent, it was neither unusual that such incident's occurred. Minerva inched herself closer to the youth as her anger increased. The poor child, raised in a non-magical household. How archaic! 'It is understandable to have an often violent response when one is distressed or uncomfortable, particularly in a situation one deems inescapable. Mr. Potter, why did you...?'

               The open-ended question met only silence in reply. Either the boy was too highly strung upon taught nerves to comprehend the suggestion or he deliberately chose to avoid replying. Albus patted his deputy's arm affectionately, stepping up beside her to the edge of the table. Not to be left behind, Martin followed their motion.

               'Harry, Professor McGonagall is quite correct. We are not here to scold or punish you for your actions. Quite the opposite. You should be congratulated on your ability to restrain your magic for so long. And such an impressive strength! I must say I am quite astounded.' There was no response from the boy. Albus sighed. Harry was obviously not receptive to conversation. Minerva could almost see the switch flick in her superiors head: fine, skip the small talk and dive straight into the thick of it.

               ‘Harry, I believe you remember we have met before.' The extended and intentional pause met only silence, though the pointed waiting of his audience eventually elicited a nod from the boy. 'Well, I realise I have already asked you, but I wish to revisit your acceptance.

               'If you so desire, you may wish to attend Hogwarts,' a clearing of the throat from Martin, 'or the French equivalent, Beauxbatons, to undertake studies into the education of magical arts. The decision is entirely up to you, but I would highly recommend formalising your education. The school environment is also a wonderful experience for young magic-users; I feel it would be highly beneficial to your magical and…emotional state.'

               Somewhere through the explanation Harry had raised his head to observe the trio before him, peering at them through large, black-rimmed glasses. Albus and Minerva adopted similar expressions of confusion at the blankness that met the Headmaster’s words. It was as though the suppressed fear that had met the possibility of reprimand had been wiped completely into oblivion. Harry met each of the adult's eyes in turn, cocking his head slightly as the only response to the headmaster's explanation.

               'You want me to attend your school? Even after I turned you down?'

               Albus positively beamed at the boy's words. Minerva repressed a snort of amusement as her superior responded as though to a child who had learnt their first letters. 'Indeed! Myself and Professor McGonagall both, alongside Mr. Martin, have reached the conclusion that this would be the best possible solution to your situation, given that you have just experienced your first magical display. Would you consider perhaps a transfer of educational institutions?'

               Harry dropped his head slightly, turning his attention to the table. His lips moved in a mutter and Minerva thought she could hear the words 'first magical display' but couldn't discern more from the whisper. An uncomfortable silence followed the headmaster's invitation; or, well, uncomfortable for Minerva, and likely Martin as well, though Albus and Harry seemed content to ponder in static silence. Finally, as Minerva was considering shifting to a seat at the table, Harry turned his head to the trio once more.

               'O…okay. What do I need to do?'

               If Minerva had thought Albus’ smile could not have broadened further, she would have been drastically wrong. The elderly wizard grinned like a preschooler, or for that matter a grandfather, in a candy shop and clapped his hands in a delighted single applaud. 'Very little, my boy, very little. You shall naturally need to equip yourself with your schooling necessities, and, most unconventionally for your age, a new wand. Perhaps, Minerva, you would see to his assistance?' His query and raised eyebrow was met by a rapid nod of agreement from his deputy. 'I don't suppose he is aware of his inheritance, so you will probably have to make a stop off at Gringotts along the way.'

               Satisfaction purely emanated from the headmaster, drowning out the uneasiness of the boy before them and dragging Minerva into its fiery current. She felt her own eagerness rise - the second half of the paired Boys Who Lived would finally be within their nurturing embrace. At least, it rose until its legs were abruptly cut from beneath it by a pointed clearing of the throat and an angry scowl from the Frenchman to her side. Minerva felt her face slip into a scowl. Damn it all, she had forgotten about the insufferable man.

               'Dumbley-dore, we 'ave yet to discuss the institution of choice. Perhaps...?'

               Albus nodded his head affably, as though the thought had simply slipped his mind. 'Ah, yes, Harry, we indeed have yet to touch upon the topic Mr Martin deems of most importance.' Stepping forward and pressing his hands gently into the table top, the old wizard ignored the burning glare that speared his back and beamed his warm smile once more upon the boy before him. And received as little response as he had gotten for it so far.

               'My own school, Hogwarts, is located in Scotland. I can assure you that it is equipped with the very best facilities and members of staff that the country could afford and could not be prouder to offer my school as a home to you as you begin – or complete, as it may be – your formal studies.' Leaning back slightly, Albus raised a hand to Martin, gesturing him forwards as he continued. 'Beauxbatons is a noble establishment itself. Currently under the compassionate and highly regarded direction of Madam Maxine, it rivals magical institutions across Europe, if not the entire world. Given your current residence of Beauxbatons' country of origin, I am more than aware you may be more comfortable with this establishment, but-'

               ‘Mr. Potter,' Martin stepped forwards and similarly leaned upon the table. Somehow, the stance breathed intimidation more than the warm welcomeness of the Hogwarts headmaster. Though it caused much of the same lack of response in the boy. Sniffing pompously and fluffing his moustache, the man tilted his chin and breathed deeply before beginning a speech likely rehearsed prior to the meeting. Minerva wouldn't know; she didn't understand a word of it.
               The transfiguration professor had always be partial to French verbalisation, especially that spoken with such efficiently, such fluidity, without the stilted care installed in an attempt to allow her own limited knowledge of the language to make sense of the words. Listening to the lilting drone, however, Minerva only felt her hackles rise. It seemed horribly unfair; the man could be spouting any number of underhand comments to entice the boy into his institution. It was rare enough to unearth such a deep and unexpected well of natural talent that Minerva would not see Martin above such methods. Glancing towards Albus from the corner of her eye, however, she was minutely consoled by his mild expression, the respectful smile upon his lips. As though he didn’t particularly care what Martin said. That, or he knew exactly what the man was saying and had confidence enough in his own powers of persuasion that it didn’t both him. Likely the later. Minerva was unsure of her superior’s multilingual status, but was almost certain he spoke at least half of the modern day existing languages.

               Quickly dampening her ears to the string of fluent French, Minerva cringed internally as the speech continued to drone onwards. Harry gave no verbal response, simply gazing with blank-faced attention at the orator. Finally, with a small smile and satisfied nod of his head, Martin straightened himself and fixed Harry with a questioning gaze.

               'Well, Harry, if you are as impressed with Mr. Martin's speech as much as I, then...you have a difficult decision on your hands.' Albus ignored the scowl on the man's face, smiling in open amusement as though he assumed Harry would grin in like-minded humour.

               Harry stared silently at the two men, eyes flickering between them both. His expression remained as unreadable as before, not even the reflection of his eyes beneath clear glasses gleaning an insight into the thoughts roiling beneath their surface. Minerva straightened her shoulders unconsciously, setting her jaw. Surely the boy would not fall for the self-indulgent oration of the insufferable man beside her. Surely.

            Finally, Harry dropped his gaze from his audience. His fingers rising in an odd motion to dig fingernails into the rise of his collarbone, he finally breathed a reply. 'I...'
A/N: Just a short chapter, so I figured I'd post it straight away. Most chapters hereon out are about twice as long again. Not sure if that's a good thing or a bad thing...

Hope you are enjoying the story so far! I should be posting fairly regularly, provided I don't get bogged down with assignments and work. Please leave a comment or any questions below. I'd love to hear from you!
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The Masks of Real Heroes