The Forgotten Twin

They were up to something. Or rather, his twin was up to something. But if one considers the amount of times that Bard has been unwittingly acquainted with his brother’s two seemingly inseparable friends, it would correctly assume that if one were up to something, the other two wouldn’t be far behind. He groaned in despair.

Call it twin intuition, or his admirable sense for trouble but once his eyes snapped open from his nap on an open arch column in the school’s courtyard, he knew. And to think, he had just done away with the last of his exams.

“Mr. Charles.” Came the exemplary voice of his Head of House. Bard turned his head just so to watch Professor Snape come striding down the hallway to where he lay. He smiled in greeting.

“Professor Sev,” he called in return. “To what do I owe the pleasure of this visit? Surely, not to congratulate me for my impeccable grade -dinner hasn’t even been served yet.” An appropriate hit on the head got him in turn.

“Your brother and his friends are up to something. Make sure they stay shut-in their dorm tonight.” Snape promptly said. Bard rubbed at his aching head and merely glanced back, a knowing -yet annoyed- look shown in his eyes.

“A late end to a potion’s lesson tonight then?” He need not make obvious answers to certain questions.

“I’m afraid not, the Headmaster got a letter requesting for his presence at the Ministry, today. As he is scheduled to come back tomorrow, due to circumstances, the teachers will be doubling up on the patrols until then. You will have to find your own way to get to the Gryffindor tower without getting caught.” Snape told him all with a straight face. Bard’s lips tugged upward at the show of great trust the usually hard man has on his skills and jumped off his seat in excitement.

“A tall order that one, Professor.” He faked a frown, tilting his head as if worried of the daunting task. He didn’t question how the man knew of his knowledge of the way to Gryffindor Tower. “May I at least have paper of legibility for when I do get caught?” He politely asked with an expectant smile. Snape did not even deign to give him an answer.

“I guess that’s a no then.” Bard mocked sighed. “But what if I was too little too late, and I happen to find themselves with, -god-forbid- the culprit,” he dramatically flared, much to the professor’s annoyance, “Do I get any consent to defend?”

“...” Snape took a minute glaring. He was no fool, he knew what was being asked and though he should, by all rights, say no, this child before him stood more like a man than any other man he cared to know. Just what had this child gone through in his short years of life? He found -looking at hazel green eyes- that he did not want to know.

Nevertheless, he was still a teacher.

[Evening]

Bard silently cursed. It seemed he had been too little too late; professors’ shift be damned, ghosts were nasty security sentries -the way they came coming in and out through walls in hallways without being heard was more than what Bard was prepared for. And with most hallways without nearly any corner to effectively hide in without being noticed; it took him longer than estimated to reach Gryffindor Tower. Fortunately, his intuition of heading straight to the forbidden third floor corridor rather than the lion’s den was deemed correct as he caught the last notes of a flute and Hermione Granger’s head before it disappeared in the trap door. Unfortunately, Cerebus was wide awake and caught his eyes right at the moment he closed the door. What luck.

He dove right under the beast’s feet and slid to its rear before three massive jaws could bite his head off. His hand automatically closed against the hilt of his dagger behind him but slackened. This… wasn’t just anyone’s pet, but Hagrid’s. He chewed his lip. A growl snapped his attention back at hand.

Cerberus was a bit confused at the sudden disappearance of the dark clothed human but a quick sniff of its nose and all three heads slowly turned its body around. Thankfully for Bard, the room which held the beast did not accommodate for the sheer size of its occupant and gave Bard some precious time to think of a plan.

‘Flute. Hermione. Harp. Dog.’ His mind raced -having seen the harp when he slid underneath.

‘Flute. Hermione. Harp. Dog.’ He repeated, his eyes going from the trap door to the fallen, broken string harp. Three pairs of eyes settled on him.

’Flute. Hermione. Harp. Dog. Flute. Hermione. Harp. Dog. Flute. Hermione. Harp. Dog. Flute!’ His eyes widened when an idea came together and once again threw himself beneath the beast’s feet just before the jaws snapped. Once at arm’s reach of the harp, he waved his wand and transfigured the broken instrument into a nicely polished tiny guitar.

He grasped the hilt of its neck, faced the three headed demon, inadvertently squeezed his eyes and strummed. The notes gave about a stillness in the room. Bard’s hair and clothes rustled from a sudden warm breeze and once he opened his eyes to look, three large wet noses greeted him with another warm breeze. He smiled with a sigh of relief and tuned the tiny guitar in his hands. Soon a song resonated around the room as deft hands played the tiny guitar, along with some soft humming and Bard safely landed on the next room under the trap door. He took a breath before sitting up and gazed about his next challenge.

Using what little light the trapdoor gave from above, he could see nothing in the room but what appeared -and smelled- to be giant leaf vines. Sprout’s room no doubt and it took him only but a few seconds to identify what sort this particular plant was, as it wriggled around from under him and snared a leg. Devil’s Snare -a magical plant’s version of a boa constrictor, with the same rules applied. The more you struggle, the tighter it constricts. But the one difference of the two is that the animal was less merciful than a plant.

A devil’s snare was no plant eater, that was for sure; only relax some and it will release. Sadly, Bard’s date with death and slight exhaustion had caused his blood to pump his heart in a rapid up beat tempo. It will take more than a few minutes for him to calm down. Luckily, he had a new instrument to help with just that.

A new song filled the dark and damp room and reached the room above. The rumbling he heard stopped and he let out a longful sigh. Oh how he missed playing for the masses, but he supposed a three headed demon dog will do, for now.

Not long after his song ended, the vines released him completely and dropped him beneath its confines to an open stone passageway, leading the challenger to its next challenge. Bard fixed his clothes and dusted some dirt away, strapped his newly acquired guitar on his back with his long scarf and started on the path. A niggling thought crept up in his mind as he continued on about these strange tests but was shoved away once a large wooden door ended his path. He took a breath before entering the next task.

Birds. Or what look like birds fluttered nearly everywhere in the brilliantly lit, very high ceiling and large room. A wooden door -similar from the one behind him- met him from right across the room. Glancing around more, there were broomsticks. ‘Ah,’ he smiled, ‘this must be Madam Hooch’s, then’. He turned back at the door and shrugged. Walking across the room -and not getting attacked, he noted- he tried to pry open the door, locked, he tried enchanting the door open. It did not. He turned back to the birds. One bird was near enough for him to recognize it for what it truly was. A key. He glanced back at the exit door behind him. Once satisfied with his assessment of what the key might look like, he grabbed himself a broom.

Brooms were not his strongpoint, admittedly. Although his stunt at their first flying lessons with Madam Hooch proved him skilled, the coach herself said that he wasn’t as naturally gifted as his twin. Speed was the key (A/N: yes, the pun XD) but with a lot of practise, he could easily outmanoeuvre his twin any day -he would make an outstanding chaser, she said. And so, after a long chase, he finally caught the limping, battered, sad looking key. And wasn’t that an embarrassment? On the positive end of the spectrum though, he thought as he continued on to through the door -the key having fluttered away-, he had gained the practise that Madam Hooch had said he needed, not that he had any care for Quidditch. He much preferred a good game of--

He stood on a large black and white checkered floor. The tall, larger-than-life pieces scattered about the floor looked to have already been played with but with a sense of a new challenger entering the finished game, they all came to life and took no sooner to clean up the board with new pieces forming to replace the missing ones. And though he would have loved to play a good game, the unconscious red haired figure lying prone on the floor reminded him of the time. Once spotted, he took a running leap and grabbed hold of the white King with his dagger pressed at its throat gathering all the moving pieces’ attention on him. It would have proved comical had it not had been a life-or-death situation.

“I have taken your king by surprise.” He proclaimed loudly. “Lay down your weapons and yield, or have you no honor?”

Time seemed to have frozen as Bard waited, yet thankfully, the chess pieces not only resembled knights of medieval times but also the same virtue it boasted about as one by one, the animated, life-like pieces lay down their weapons. He released the King once the last piece -the white Queen- admitted defeat. He did not, however, let out a breath until he had crossed the board to the other side.

“I can’t believe that worked.” He mumbled softly and flinched when a distinct female voice echoed his words.

“I Can’t believe that worked!” Hermione Granger, whom had came back just as he took hold of the white King, voiced and stared in utter disbelief. Bard jogged the rest of the way towards the two Gryffindors and shushed the bushy girl before she could say anymore.

“If you value your life, you will tone down your voice.” He addressed quietly with a warning glare as he knelt down to the unconscious’ boy’s side. She gave a glare in return yet complied. Bard proceeded to interrogate her while checking the other Gryffindor’s condition.

“What happened?” He asked. ‘To Ron’ was what he was about to say but Hermione was too full of adrenaline from the tasks -and was too worried about her friends that, like a dam, she blabbed to him all of why they had come here for. Bard couldn’t help raise a brow at what Cerberus’ real name was and nearly laughed. Fluffy, wait ’till Draco hears of this.

“--and Harry said that if Professor Snape gets the Sorcerer’s Stone before we do, then it could mean Voldemort coming back and he’ll probably turn the school into some Dark Arts school and kill him and us and who knows who else?! And he would’ve went down here whether Ron and I came with him or not so of course we came with him but now Ron sacrificed himself so that me and Harry could get through next chamber and there was a troll, but it was dead, and, oh, I would’ve followed him but Snape’s potion only had a little bit of it left and Harry said to come back and check on Ron and to go back--” she nearly screamed when her arm was roughly grabbed by Bard, whom she had forgotten was there with her. Bard took pity and let her take a moment’s breath as he stared at the all but sobbing state she was in. He gently rubbed her arm to help with calming herself -and himself- down.

It took nearly everything he had in his willpower to not shout in a potentially dangerous area. By the gods, did they have no self-preservation?! And his brother! He released his hold on the girl’s arm lest he hurt her and gave a smile, though not entirely convincing by how Hermione reacted. He shot to his feet and unstrapped the tiny guitar he had.

“The teachers are patrolling the area, should be easy enough to find anyone of them. Here,” He gestured her to take the instrument and replaced his scarf on his neck once she took it. “Take care of this and go; I’ll go after him.” he nodded to the next door.

“But what about--”

“He’s fine,” Bard responded with a waving hand, already off to the next chamber. “No broken bone or anything dangerous like that -give him a minute. And don’t let anything happen to my guitar!”

The wooden door slammed close before Hermione could enquire him about anything else -like his clothes, for one.

[Philosopher’s Stone]

Bard had on a disgusted face and a part of his scarf on his nose well before he reached the troll’s rotting body in the next chamber. This was bigger than the troll he encountered at Christmas, he noted. He made a quick sweep of the place before moving on. As expected, Quirrell needn’t bother with tests as the next door easily swung open with little to no effort on his part -likely the troll was mere decoration.

Snape’s chamber, however, was very well thought of.

Seemingly innocent and inviting at first glance, with only a long table and seven differently shaped bottles perched on top. It gives nothing away before it entraps you with black flames from behind and purple flames across. No hope of escape to be seen only if you have a good head on your shoulders and correctly guess which potion gives which with only a rhyming clue as your guide.

Bard passed the table without another glance. Before the purple flames, he pulled out from his pocket a bottle Severus left him with before the start this endeavor and downed it in one go. He grimaced and involuntarily shivered at his sudden drop of degree temperature. He pocketed the bottle and walked right through. And just as Sev had said, he got past no problem though the scene happening before him was.

Harry and a bald headed man in purple robes -whom could only be Quirrell, were on the floor in a fierce struggle. He took a step to help but paused. ‘Huh?’ He then blinked; was that a face--. He flinched when they separated and ingrained reflexes had him hiding behind the closest pillar before he could be seen.

“KILL HIM! KILL HIM!” A raspy voice demanded. And though Bard would normally jump into action, something inside of him reassured his twin’s safety despite the terrifying words and instead, kept an eye on the situation- for some reason, Quirrell’s skin started to swell and blister and turn an angry, raw red as if burned. Harry then came charging at Quirrell with his hands stretched out and placed them on their teacher’s face.

“AAAARGH!”

Even Bard could not hide his grimace from hearing the scream.

The man then quite suddenly turned into ash, just as a gray wisp with a demonic face shot through his brother with a horrendous angry howl before dissipating into thin air. Bard barely caught hold of his brother before he cracked his head onto the cemented floor. He stared at the prone figure of his brother and took the glasses off. His lips twitched. It seemed his brother had fainted from shock.

“Lucky, little…” He mumbled, amused yet also a tiny frustrated at his brother’s daring quality. Had Quirrell been any wiser and instead used his knowledge of spells rather than physically attack, and had it not been for the strange way Harry’s hands reacted to Quirrell’s skin… Bard nearly laughed. What a… Gryffindor of a brother he has. He let out a sigh and stood, glancing around the room for the first time.

The room was oblong in shape, with pillars darting around in equal space and steps coming down to the center of the room. It was brilliantly lit with flames and had a grecian look in all. The center held a full length, ornate mirror with claws for feet and had words etched in its golden frame. A glint from his left had him crouching down and staring at a ruby rock that felt more like looking at blood.

‘This must be the Philosopher’s Stone’.

He tossed it into the air and caught it, holding it at eye level to thoroughly examine it.

There were numerous theories on how this legendary rock was to be made but of course, some -almost all- were fantastical in nature, they were considered to be magical or in layman’s terms, impossible, thus the legend -not to mention, some were on a sacrificial level that borderlined the word massacre. He stared meaningfully at what could be the blood of hundreds, even thousands of lives sacrificed for this gem he held in his hand and pocketed it. Light in weight yet immensely heavy. He then focused on the mirror and nearly fell on the floor. There were people staring at him in the mirror!

“Wha?” He voiced, clearly dumbfounded and checked the back of the mirror just to be sure. Nothing. There were really people inside the mirror! He placed a hand on the mirror and nothing happened. He frowned and checked the etching again. Other than the unfamiliar language, it simply said ‘Mirror of Erised’. He turned back to the people in the mirror.

Two adults; a long, red haired, beautiful woman and a man that looked exceedingly similar to himself and Harry; and three children; En, himself and Harry, yet they were all in the same age of five, playing together at the feet of the two adults and completely ignoring him as opposed by the adults staring down at him with opposite reactions. The woman had a happy yet sad look on her face whilst the man smirked at him as if smug about something with an arm wrapped around the woman’s waist. Judging by the gold ring they both had on their fingers, this was a married couple. He glanced back up and was caught locking eyes with very distinct green ones.

It felt like a jab on his heart once realization struck him.

This woman was his Mother. And this man beside her was his Fa--.

…

For some inexplicable reason, he felt most irritated by the man who felt eerily similar to himself than his twin yet in the most, Gryffindor like way. His father’s smug demeanor says it all. He sent a look to his mother and smiled victoriously once she laughed in the mirror.

Though Bard could not hear her, he felt and heard his mother’s laugh as if they were in the room together.

He also appreciated his mother’s intelligence and returned the smug look his father had been wearing back at him, proud of himself for irritating his father.

“It’s the truth.” He said out loud, with a cross of his arms. He then ignored his fuming father and glanced back down at the three children whom seemed to have not noticed anyone other than each other.

“...Do you like him?” he hesitantly asked his mother and feeling a great weight lift from his shoulders once he saw the nod and acceptance in both of their eyes.

He knew this could not be his real parents and only a figure of this mirror’s magic of showing not his face but his secret desires, yet it helped lift a grand portion of his life for the better. He did not doubt; he knew better than to look a gift horse in the mouth. He then noticed his mother staring at something behind him and knew it to be her other son still laying on the floor out cold. He gave a quick glance at his brother on the floor.

“He just had an ordeal and fainted. A friend of his is coming back with company to help bring us back. They’ll bring him straight to the infirmary once they see him and most probably keep him there even when he wakes up.” A blink of confusion and he felt compelled to add, “I’m fine. No broken bones or anything.”

‘Ah’ a thought came to him with a smile, ‘this must be what it feels like to have a mother worry for you’.

His mother then pointed a finger at his brother and himself before joining both her hands together with a look on her face and Bard only had to give it a second for him to understand. He gave a smile of reassurance as well as a touched amused by having an easily worrisome mother.

“We’re not at the best circumstances but I’ll keep him protected as best as I can, while within my sight.” He promised.

It was the last of what he’ll ever say to his parents as the black fire of the entrance in the room started to dissolve. But with his mother’s smile of relief and his father’s proud look before their image began to disappear, he knew it to be a vow he will never break.

“Mr. Charlus, why is it that I am not surprised to find you here?” Came the stern voice of the Deputy Headmistress of their school.

Tbc