The Boy: Brandon Dursely

Chapter 8: Friends

Severus Snape was a man of complexities and everything else. He had too many tragedies in his short 31 years, and he doesn't regret any of them, except that one night of overhearing the bloody prophecy and running to the wrong side of the road. He was terrified by then, and his actions lead to sacrificing many lives for many more times, and when he saw the boy, he can't help but wonder what wrong he did again this time.

He was Sorted to his House. His House.

He went by the a different name, but the boy was still Lily's son. One look at those eyes back in the Potions Apothecary, he knew already it was the Boy Who Lived, and he looked like every bit of James Potter without the eyeglasses, but the boy grew his hair longer than Potter would. His skin was paler than Potter, but that doesn't hide the fact that he is James Potter's spawn. He would've completely hate the wretched boy, if not for Lily's eyes, and the fact that his self was the reason that she died fighting for her baby, fighting for love. The boy's scar, though hidden completely by the long hair, was a reminder of Severus' fault. Of his fears. Of his regrets and of his selfishness.

The day a Muggle letter came would be a day that one wizard, any wizard, would never forget, even the great and oh so mighty Dumbledore. He was the one to read it first, seeing that Dumbledore gave him the 'honor'.

As he read from who it was from, he could already feel a headache coming. The letter was from Petunia Dursely nee Evans, and the letter was asking- no, pleading and begging Dumbledore to protect her 'son'. At that point, Severus wondered about the feeling of anger at Petunia claiming what isn't hers, but the letters had tears smudged, so she must have been crying as she wrote it, but the anger (if it really was anger) in his heart lingered longer that it made him cringe.

She said that being the Boy Who Lived wouldn't help Harry Potter, but rather make his life harder. Severus doubted it. Being the Boy Who Lived would mean adoring fans and the popularity. What teenage boy wouldn't want that? Wasn't it that James Potter was like that, too?

Rich, famous and adored for being a heartless bastard. Of course, almost anyone would allow themselves to be swayed by the devillish grins and charismatic looks to let the bastard pass and let the "prankster" in. But he wasn't anyone. He was the victim of all the bullying and the pranking and all of the things they wanted to do to all those whom they find funny. They embarassed him, they bullied him and when he tried to tell people, he was branded as an attention seeker and was dismissed as "nonsense".

And Dumbledore agreed for the boy to keep his adoptive name, making him Brandon Dursely, not Harry Potter. For additional protective measures, he said. Snape knew better. Dumbledore must have seen something beneficial for "the greater good" in doing so, and that is why he agreed readily, and right now, the said man was leaning over with the blasted twinkle in his eyes behind the half moon spectacles.

"Well, what do you know, Severus," Dumbledore whispered, "the boy is with you now. Take care of him, will you?"

His fingers clenched into a fist. He already swore to protect the boy in front of Lily's grave, what more does the old coot want him to do? Baby talk the boy? Make him a saint or something?

His heart was hammering with all the emotions mixed together, and he can't help but sneer at the sudden helplessness he felt.

He looked at Dumbledore, who was introducing the Faculty and Staff to everyone. As he was called, he stood up and did nothing. He then looked back at the boy. His sight never left the small figure standing apart amidst the crowd, despite the noise and the Headmaster's voice booming as he exclaimed,

"Let the Feast begin!"

---

"Brandon Dursely!" Hermione Granger exclaimed.

"Hello, Hermione Granger. I'm glad to know that we are on the same House! Would you like to sit next to me?" Brandon offered, glad to have at least one person who is familiar.

The Sorting Ceremony has just finished and Hermione Granger looked lost as people (particularly Draco Malfoy with his 'pets', Vincent Crabbe and Gregory Goyle) stared at her and snickered and whispered as she passed by. Brandon couldn't help but pity her.

"Oh, uhm," Hermione said, womdering why the others looked at her as if she had two heads and a horn. None of them would like her to be near them, that is, except Dursely, so it seemed, "yes, I guess. Thank you." She propped the seat next to him.

"Who's the girl, Brandon? I thought you didn't have any other magical friends before?" A boy asked Brandon. Hermione looked at him, and admired the way his curls went on and on, and his brown eyes that were of a darker shade than hers. But she doesn't admire the way he looked at her.

"Oh, sorry. No, I haven't. But anyway, this is Hermione Granger. I met her on the train."

Lancelot eyed the girl. Bushy haired, she was silent. He'd seen her talk to the Gryffs before, especially with the Longbottom boy.

"Hey," he whispered to Bran, who was offering the girl a glass of pumpkin juice. He motioned him to come closer. Melinda eyed them carefully, while biting from a roast chicken, "She's a Griff fanatic!"

"A Griff fanatic?"

"You know, Griffyndor ally?" His voice was laced with distrust, and the voice said that Brandon should have known better.

Brandon's brows furrowed, "Is that really a big deal?"

"Of course it is!" Lancelot's curls bobbed as he pounded the table with his fist. Hermione looked up at midbite. All the people stopped to stare at them. Lancelot heaved a sigh and composed himself.

"Look, the rivalry between us and the Griffs has been going on for ages, Brandon, and she can't be the reason we will lose to them!"

"I don't know where this is going. I don't fu-" he took a moment to inhale and exhale, "I don't bloody care about that stupid rivalry! She's my friend, and our Housemate, and why the hell would I brand her as different?"

Lancel stared at him. Brandon was, at first impression, cool, well mannered and silent. Seeing him fiery like a furnace had taken him aback. No one in their little circle, even Malfoy and his croonies, had expected that.

"Look, if you don't want her, fine! But can't you see? We can't be divided this early," Brandon went on, clearly not backing down, "I've heard the whispers and felt the stares. The other Houses hate us, don't they? And if we end up hating each other, that would lead to downfall. You know better than that. So just shut it, Lancel."

Lancelot knew better than say something to someone in a fit like that.

Brandon sank back. The other years nodded at him, pleased to see a child had stood up for something. He was eleven, but he wasn't dumb. Even Ron said something nasty about Slytherins, saying they were traitors and slimy things back at the train.

He doubted that Ron would ever talk to him now, but he would try.

After the small argument, he looked over to Hermione. There tears welling in her eyes and he clasped her trembling hand in his and squeezed in tightly under the table.

He looked around the Table and he was surprised to see them nodding at him, especially the Upper Years. He felt warm inside.

No one hurts his friends, even back in Surrey, and he made an oath to himself that no one will ever do.