The Latest Shard

The Beginning

absit omen
[let an omen be absent]*

The first time Harry sees them is during the Welcoming Feast of his eighth (technically, seventh) year at Hogwarts, several months after the Final Battle.

They look like father and son, but Harry knows better. He sees a discreet red glint in the eyes of the elder, who's seating at the staff table, and notices how the younger winces, when playing with his red-and-gold tie, seating at Harry's own former table, among Griffindors.

Harry himself is still in shock over re-sorting of those who started anew, by the Hat's words, as, also technically, Hogwarts magic allowed only seven years of study, so the students returning for their eight/seventh year were to be resorted. He landed in Slytherin, which was not very surprising, considering his argument with the Hat all those years ago, but some other students' changes of House were truly remarkable, to say the least.

For instance, Nevill is now proudly wearing yellows, sitting among Hufflepuffs. Hermione's nose is, as usual, buried in a book, but among blue sea of Ravenclaw-uniformed students similarly hunched over their books Hermione's posture looks at home.

Ron – well, Ron never changes (Harry smiles with a sad fondness) – so the red-head occupies his customary seat amidst the Griffindors, his sister flanking him on one side and, shockingly, Draco Malfoy – on the other. The former Slytherin is also fiddling with his new tie with a surprised look, at times switched with a mild disgust.

Harry's eyes return to the staff table and then – back to the other side of the room. He watches like a hawk, eyes never wandering elsewhere for more than a minute a time, supervising the pair of identical haircuts of brown locks neatly arranged in the same style, two sets of dark-blue eyes (with one set sporting red sparkles still), carefully chosen old-fashioned robes and trousers, which both men are clad in.

For a moment Harry's gaze locks with the purplish of the older man at the staff table. A brow is risen in silent question. A mouth' corner is twitching in mockery.

Harry turns away, furrowing, feeling a beginning of a headache forming deep inside his wracking brain.

There's a quiet snort, which hears only Harry – after all, it sounds only in his mind. Then a drawl is heard in his head 'You'd make a hole in me, Potter. Stop staring!'

Harry winces and looks down at his plate: it is still empty and clean, although, he clearly remembers eating something or the other (he does not remember the taste).

Harry looks up again, returning to his discreet watch over the two most dangerous men in this hall, no, in the whole Britain, or, possibly, in this part of the world, even.

'And don't look at him, either!!!' the voice in his head snaps. 'I can tell he's upset over it!'

Harry stubbornly refuses to communicate with the bastard, be it mentally or vocally. He scrunches his nose in disgust, when his eyes fall on his plate: there is spinach, some fish and a leaf of salad, which he doesn't remember placing there – the other is trying to make him eat, taking control of his body while Harry is distracted, ignoring his violent glares and silent protests.

'You should sustain that scrawny body of yours, after all we both live off that energy,' the same voice reminds him. 'And don't look at me like this, that was your choice to spare me.'

Harry closes his eyes in defeat – the voice in his head is right, it is his own doing. The product of his own weakness, of his selfish wish to live and to stay innocent of murder. He could have prevented all this charade by the simple agreement to do as everyone, especially Dumbldore, expected him to – by sacrificing himself and the monster within him together with the monster standing in front of him with a wand raised and the Killing Curse flying his way. Instead he had cowardly and soft-heartedly chosen to spare that ugly baby, to pick it up from under that bench on that misty platform. To embrace it, to nurse it in his lap, while he and the old Headmaster conversed. To hold it close to his chest, when he decided to return to the world of the living, shield it with his body and his cloak to give to Narcissa, who happened to help him, albeit not too willingly. The Battle unfolded with a baby wailing, and keening, and whining in the background, unnoticed by most, especially those, who might've been concerned in this little monster the most: Harry was distracted by all the events, surrounding his "wondrous resurrection", and the Dark Lord was occupied with his killing spree.

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* Or, "Let this not be a bad omen". Expresses the wish that something seemingly ill-boding does not turn out to be an omen for future events, and calls on Divine protection against evil.