“All violence is the result of people tricking themselves into believing that their pain derives from other people and that consequently those people deserve to be punished.”

-Marshall Rosenberg

“Thank Merlin you’re here!”

I turn to see Vivian jogging up to me as I hang up my coat in my locker. She looks frazzled and on edge, blonde curls spilling out of her usually tidy ponytail and into her face.

“Vivs?”

“Al, he arrived today from Saint Mungos, but he’s just now woken up from the sleeping draught they gave him and he’s going mental—shooting off wandless hexes at Karen, Amy, and Leslie! Strong ones too! Come on!“ she says, dragging me by the sleeve of my robe before I even get the chance to cast a locking spell on my locker.

I give in and start to jog with her down the hallway. “174!” she pants as we make a sharp right, narrowly missing a teenage volunteer pushing a cart full of our pink plastic water mugs.

At this point, a room number became unnecessary, as I could hear two females shouting at the end of the corridor. We push forward toward the sound, dodging a couple of excited old witches who have come out to watch the show.

The scene we are coming upon is unfamiliar. Yellow and purple spells hit the wall in front of the door, illuminating the corridor with unnatural light. Karen is one of the screaming nurses; she is hiding behind a dirty linen hamper with her wand still nestled in her hair. My supervisor is pressed against the wall next to the room, wand at the ready, watching a rainbow of spells as they spill out of the room.

Whoever the wizard is, he is clearly worked up and ranting. As I near the scene, his words are easily made out. “Leave me alone! I don’t need your help, damn it! Give me my wand and get out! Merlin help all of you if you don’t!”

I can feel the crackle of his magic in the air around me; whoever it is, his magic is still strong. The hair on my arms stands on end from all of the energy he’s worked up in the air. I feel my heart start to pound impatiently in my chest as I slow my momentum.

“Amy, what can I do? What do you know about him?” I ask my supervisor frantically, grabbing her arm to emphasize that I’m here.

She jumps when I touch her. I give her an apologetic look, which is disregarded in the seriousness of the situation. “Thank Merlin! Albus, we don’t know anything about him! The Mediwizards couldn’t get any information out of him! He was found in the Forbidden Forest outside of Hogwarts, passed out and shaking like mad. He seems to be suffering from substantial nerve damage and poisonous toxins—Mediwizard Mills said he’s probably only got a couple of weeks left before his body gives out, but by Merlin’s beard, he’s going to have to go somewhere else if he can’t get himself under control! I have half a mind to call your father in to deal with him right now!”

“Dad is taking some time off right now,” I reply, looking up at the ceiling as I try to recall some specifics from my single year of Auror training. “I think I can take care of this.”

“I know you’ve got that little trick of yours, but how the hell are you going to get close enough to touch him? He’s spitting out spells right and left!” Amy exclaims, looking a bit frantic as we watch more spells hit the wall in front of the man’s room.

“Give me a little credit Amy! I still dual from time to time with my dad—a well placed Shielding Charm should get me in.” I say, feeling a bit offended that she doesn’t think I can take an old man. I’m not that pathetic, am I?

“Whatever you do, remember not to attack him Albus! The last thing this nursing home needs is a lawsuit…”

A hardened hand grabs my sleeve before I can go in. “Albus, be careful.” Vivian demands, looking at me with eyes that mean business. “Watch out for Leslie—she’s hexed and lying on the floor.”

I nod and turn towards the door. Summoning up all of my magic, I call out in a strong voice, “Protego!”

A shield appears before me, shining with power. I bite my lip and turn into the doorway. A blazing red flash of light immediately bounces off my shield and knocks a hole in the ceiling.

I glance at the man and am surprised at what I see—despite the power behind his hexes, he looks quite frail and is hunched over in bed, shaking like a leaf. I don’t let that fool me though—he must be a strong old codger if he has been casting spells for a while.

“Who the hell are you? Get the fuck out of my room!” the old man exclaims, then fires off more spells. They are both silent and wandless and I find I cannot identify half of them.

“Please stop that—I’m trying to come over and help you, alright? None of us mean you any harm!” I exclaim as one of his spells hits my shield with so much power that I am forced back two steps. I can tell my shield was weakened by the impact. I need to get to him before it fails!

I suddenly run forward, jumping over Leslie’s prone body to end up at the wizard’s bedside. His next spell smacks my shield and a loud cracking noise is audible as my shield shatters and dissipates into the air. I watch as he points his hand at me; I grab his hand forcefully and yank it upwards, resulting in yet another hole being blown into the ceiling. Debris and dust rain down on us. I grab his other hand while choking on the dusty air.

Expecting him to fight as long as he can, I immediately pull out the trick I am infamous for at this nursing home. It’s a bit of wandless magic I picked up at Auror school; in fact, it’s the only wandless magic I’ve ever been able to do. The magic feels like a trickle of water flowing through my fingers as the air fills with the light fragrance of lavender.

As I put him to sleep, however, I notice that he has stopped all attempts at fighting me. In fact, as we stare at each other, he looks a bit shocked until the Sleeping Charm takes hold and makes his eyes droop. Slowly, I put both of his arms down at his sides after I am certain he’s asleep. Even in his state of rest, they twitch with the after affects of the Cruciatus.

I get my first good look at his face at this point. He doesn’t look like any of the pictures of Death Eaters I’ve seen. I would know too, as dad has occasionally taken to looking over pictures of suspected Death Eaters and Death Eaters who either didn’t go to Azkaban or who have finished their time and have been set free. I also remember seeing photos of them in my History of Magic book, but that was a long time ago.

Immediately, I can tell that he’s dying from poison by his face, which is tinted sightly green from the toxins. He reminds of pictures of Muggle witches, with their green faces and big, wart-covered noses. His nose isn’t big though, and it’s certainly not covered in warts. In fact, his nose seems to be his face’s one redeeming quality, as the rest of his features are quite harsh with his protruding cheek bones and chin.

Finally, I lift his left arm to see if the rumors were true. Though it is faded and wrinkled on an arm that has lost most of its elasticity, the deadly skull and snake are still there. However, the snake does not move as it once must have; the magic in it is now gone, banished with its master.

A lot like the Mark set above my father’s house in Godric’s Hollow, as we came home that fateful day… Dad ran up to the door, panicking, and bolted inside, only to find-

“Albus Potter, put that man’s arm down immediately and start respecting his privacy!” my supervisor exclaims, at last deeming the room safe to enter. One by one, timid-looking nurses enter into the room, looking at the bed-ridden man with a plethora of expressions.

I put his arm down and stare at the damage in the room—it’s pretty substantial. However, Amy makes short work of it while Vivian takes the Petrificus off of Leslie. After five minutes, everyone is staring at the wizard again in a pristine room.

Amy has her right hand placed over her mouth, which means she is thinking. She is always doing that—it’s a habit for her. Sometimes I wonder whether or not she’d be able to think if someone were to hex it off.

“Don’t tell me your going to let him stay!” Karen says, outraged at the mere contemplation of it. “That man’s a menace—he should be in Azkaban with the rest of his lot!”

Leslie also looks less than pleased with this development, though after being hexed, she has a better reason to feel that way. “Amy, I’m going to have bruises from falling on the floor petrified… If he stays, I want nothing to do with him.”

She gives Amy a stern glance before exiting the room. Karen follows with an indignant “hrumph.” Vivian and I share a glance and I have to bite my lip to stop myself from laughing. We’ve been betting on how many rude things she’ll do before Amy cans her. I keep a tally in my locker, along with a list of her more memorable quotes, such as “He can wipe his butt himself!” and “I didn’t know men could be nurses.”

Our amusement is short-lived, however. Amy sighs. “You know, I just don’t think it’s ethical to kick him out because he’s a Death Eater. We may have had troubles simply because he’s mentally unstable at this age.”

“You know, he stopped fighting me as soon as he got a good look at me. I think he thought I was my dad. Perhaps he would talk a bit if I impersonated Harry Potter,” I suggest.

While I am annoyed that he attacked me, I am even more curious about him and his life. I have never actually met a Death Eater before and had always wanted to as kid. After hearing story after story about my dad’s glory days, how could I not?

“He seems a bit too smart for that,” Amy comments.

She’s probably right. While I do look similar to my dad, the similarities only go so far. I’ve only managed to convince a whopping total of three patients here that I’m Harry Potter. My hair is simply too light brown to bear resemblance to him, not to mention having some of my mum’s facial features.

“However, maybe he’ll talk if you tell him your Harry’s son. Then again, that might just make him even angrier. It’s your call Albus, and by the looks of it, you’re going to be doing a lot of his care…” she says, looking a bit nervous. “I’m not sure if I can handle him or not, Albus. I have never had a talent for dueling.”

“I doubt many nurses here do,” I say wryly.

“I’ll help out.” Vivian says, putting her foot down. “I’m not going to let some old codger scare me.”

I don’t doubt it either. She may be small, but I imagine she’s one hell of fighter when she wants to be. When she looks at me, I roll my eyes and whisper, “Gryffindor.” This earns me a well-placed elbow in my stomach.

“We’ll take care of him, Amy; don’t worry about it,” Vivian says before leaving the room.

“How long is he going to be asleep?” Amy asks.

“I’d guess about 24 hours—I held him a bit longer than I needed,” I reply, feeling a bit guilty about that. The guy only has a little time left and now I’m robbing him of it with my spell.

“Just make sure you’re here when he wakes up—I don’t want him going crazy like that again. One misplaced curse could easily kill an innocent passerby. I mean it Albus; get him under control.”

I watch as she leaves the room. Annoyed doesn’t even begin to describe how I feel about Amy right now. What she’s asking me to do is much more easily said than done.

OOOOOOO

“Dad?” I call out, looking at the clock as I Floo in from work. 11:06 p.m. I check the kitchen for any signs of life, but only find his dinner, still uneaten on the table.

I sigh as I look at his plate, still steaming from the Heating Charm I placed on it before I left. I knew I would find it like that—he never eats when he’s upset about something. I figure it’s because he often went without food as a child when he was being punished and so he associates that feeling of hunger with being upset. I imagine that he would have starved by now if I wasn’t around to make sure he eats food at regular intervals.

Feeling a bit worried, I walk to the parlor with the hopes of finding him engaged in the Prophet or a book, but have no such luck. “Dad?” I call out again, going up the stairs to look for him in his room. It’s dark though, and so is my room, the bathroom, and the office. Jaunting back down the stairs, I start to panic a bit. He’s always here when I come home from work, so where is he?

I grab my cloak off its entryway hook and start to think about who I should Floo-call for help, when a sharp movement catches the corner of my eye. I go into the parlor to investigate.

I see him out the sliding door and feel a wave of relief wash over me. With a slide of the door, I go and stand beside him on the veranda. He doesn’t acknowledge my presence, nor does he look up from the sky, though I know he knows I’m here.

“Dad, what are you doing out here?” I ask him quietly.

It takes him a while to answer. “I’m looking at the stars.”

Neither of us say anything for a while, but I imagine we are thinking about the same thing. When I have all but given up on hearing him say anything more, he starts to talk once again.

“Remember when James used to drag us out here and lecture us about the cosmos?” he asks without turning away from the night sky.

“Yes,” I reply, feeling a bit uneasy about this topic, though I remember those nights all too well. While James had never taken much interest in most of his classes at Hogwarts, for whatever reason, astronomy had been his gift. He had spent hours upon hours outside, looking through that telescope of his. He would have stayed out until the wee hours of the morning every night if mum had let him.

I think of how the two of us used to play one on one Quidditch in our backyard at Godric’s Hollow. It was fun during the daylight hours, but at night, he could never concentrate on the Snitch enough to win; not with the stars glittering above him. He always ended up lying awkwardly on his floating broom and watching for the mysterious, the unobtainable while I chased after the glowing snitch, usually with Dad zipping right behind me.

I smile a bit. “He used to get mad when we’d disrupt him while playing night Quidditch.”

I look over and see my dad smiling a bit too, obviously remembering our shenanigans. “He did,” he replies, then quietly says, “I miss him.”

“I do too,” I whisper, though it is no big secret. “Come on Dad, let’s get you some dinner before midnight rolls around.”

Ignoring his protests, I steer him inside and insist that he eats. All the while, my mind is filled with the sound of James’ boisterous laughter. I can still picture him running across the newly-cut grass, barefoot, heading towards the garage to gather up our brooms for another rousing game of Quidditch.