“Mishaps are like knives that either serve us or cut us, as we grasp them by the blade or the handle.”

-James Russell Lowell

“So, I see you took out your Hufflepuff hair coloring… I suppose I’ll have to find something else to rib you about today,” the Death Eater mentions as I enter his room with his dinner tray.

I roll my eyes at the old wizard before setting his tray in front of him. He really enjoyed my vibrant hair the day before and made mocking comments about it all day long. Surprisingly enough, his comments almost had a joking nature to them and I found that I didn’t mind them nearly as much as I thought I would.

Charming his bed into a sitting position, I carefully adjust his pillow so it is more comfortably sitting behind his head. I then place a Sticking Charm to it so that it won’t go anywhere.

I step back and watch him slowly take his cloth napkin and situate it on his lap with meticulous care. His wrinkled hands are shaking so badly that I wish I could reach out and help him. However, I know he wouldn’t like that so I resist the urge; he has a very independent air about him and I don’t wish to anger him.

I really wish I knew who he was.

Yesterday night, I did a bit of research on living Death Eaters and found that other than the Malfoys, most of the known Death Eaters are either dead or in Azkaban. However, many of the articles I read from Dad’s collection suggest that nobody really knows how many followers Voldemort really had; basically, there could be any number of them still floating around freely in our world.

Over the years, a few have been caught too. Inadvertently, mind you, but criminals frequently aren’t willing to turn over a new leaf and a few of Voldemort’s old followers have been caught when committing other crimes. Dad has a few good stories about this; I remember hearing about them as a child. In fact, I always knew when it happened because the press would show up outside of our house and I would be forced to stay inside. Since James and I usually wanted to play Quidditch, we both found this very upsetting.

“Are you going to stand there and daydream all day, Potter, or are you going to work?” a voice asks me, making me gasp as I come back to the real world.

I feel a light flush break out on my cheeks as I realize I’ve been standing here, staring at the wall like an idiot for Merlin only knows how long. “I’m sorry sir; is there anything else I can get you?” I ask, doing my best to ignore my embarrassment.

“Some tea would be nice—green darjeeling, if you’ve got it,” he answers, eyeing me with a look that almost dares me to say we don’t.

“Okay then, I’ll go get it,” I say, then take off down the hall to fetch him some tea, as well as a Nutritive Potion. With the way he’s shaking, I imagine only about half of his meal is going to make it into his stomach.

After procuring some tea and vial of potion, I quickly walk back to the Death Eater’s room. I find that he is using a Sticking Charm to stick his food to his spoon, which he releases when it reaches his mouth.

How clever.

“Here’s your tea, nice and hot,” I say, setting down the service on the table. I hold up the potion and say, “You’ll be needing to take this as well.”

The Death Eater wrinkles his nose when the potion comes into view. “You intend for me to drink that swill? I can tell by the color alone that your Nutritive Potion is mediocre at best.”

“Oh? And how can you tell?” I ask him, curious and hoping to find out a bit more about him.

“I’ve worked with potions all my life Potter—it should be a sea foam green, not teal!” he says grouchily, looking at me as if I am a fly floating in a perfect brew.

“Aren’t those two colors the same?”

“Of course not! Who in Merlin’s name did you take potions from at Hogwarts? Clearly, that person knows nothing!” he exclaims, clearly irritated at my stupidity.

Before I can answer, Viv’s blonde head pops into the doorway and interrupts our banter. “Al, have you given Edwin his dinner yet?”

“No,” I start, “It said on his chart-“

“Good,” she interrupts, walking over and patting my arm, “Just making sure before I spelled the potion into him—we don’t want him to have a reaction tonight. Thanks Al.”

She smiles and makes her exit; my eyes lingering on her as she turns away. When I turn back to the Death Eater, I find him leering at me.

Shite.

His smirk only grows as he asks, “So, you fancy her, do you?”

I frown at him, knowing that he isn’t the type of person who would let something like this go. “I don’t think that’s any of your business,” I state calmly, giving him a look of disapproval.

“Have you ever locked yourselves in one of the supply closets? Or perhaps you enjoy having it out on some poor, unsuspecting patient’s bed when he or she is out of the room, eh?”

“We are professionals! Of course not!” I exclaim, extremely annoyed. “We are not dating either, not that it’s any of your business!”

The Death Eater smirks at me, having succeeded in baiting me today. “You are simply much to easy to maneuver, boy. You should learn to control your temper.”

I roll my eyes. “Oh, you’re one to speak about that—now, take your potion.”

I take the cork out of the vial and hand him the potion. The liquid sloshes dangerously close to the edges of the vial as his shaking hand brings it up to his mouth. He only spills a few droplets though before downing the potion in one gulp.

As he hands the vial to me, I hear him mutter something. “What was that?” I ask, taking the vial from him.

He rolls his eyes. “I said I couldn’t tell what was wrong with it.”

“I’m sure it was just fine,” I reply as I spell away the potion droplets on his blanket.

“No, it isn’t… My sense of taste is all but gone, otherwise I could have told you how to fix it,” he grumbles, looking more annoyed with himself than anything else.

I feel a small shred of pity for him now, as I realize that he must be depressed about all of this and suffering silently by choice. It is hard for wizards and witches to go through such changes; many are lucky and don’t seem to remember enough to notice how far they’ve digressed. However, for those few who remain coherent until the end, well…they tend to suffer terribly because they know what they’ve lost.

I wonder if he knows he’s dying. I wonder if he has anyone who would care that he did.

For the first time, I reach out and take his hand, giving it a gentle squeeze with my own. “It’s okay—these things happen to everyone with time,” I say, trying to be reassuring. I know there’s little I can do for him, but I don’t want him sitting around feeling sorry for himself either.

However, the Death Eater rips his hand away from me and snarls. “I don’t need your pity, boy. Go, go and get your work done!” he exclaims angrily, slamming his hand down on his bedside table. His tea service rattles under the pressure and the air becomes thick with magic.

I exit quickly with the hopes that he will calm down soon. Now, more than ever, I find that I need to know who he is. The only thing that he’s given away is that he has worked with potions, but still, that is a start. I’m going to find out who he is and I’m going to do it before it’s too late.

OOOOOOO

As I walk through the hustle and bustle of Diagon Alley, I wonder if I look as tired as I feel. Having spent a large portion of the night looking through Dad’s articles and history books, I feel like I’m dragging myself through my day off. As I push through the crowd, I see a girl pointing at me: her family all watching me. Disgusted by my fame, I duck into the grocer’s as fast as I can.

Brunhilda’s Grocery is the name of the shop and I stop to take in the usual scene; there are house-elves everywhere, pushing around tiny carts and levitating food items into them. One is hitting himself on the head with a watermelon repeatedly.

I sigh—some things never change.

Taking one of the few wizard-sized carts, I go around and levitate several food items into it without a problem, all while trying to ignore the elf chaos going on around me. I can’t help but wonder what Aunt Hermione must think of all this; she campaigned for house-elf rights for years, yet they still are primarily all bound to families. In fact, the only wizards I ever see in Brunhilda’s are my aunts and uncles and I figure that’s because Hermione would never let them hear the end of it if they got elves.

Therefore, I am shocked when I see a small blonde boy running down the isle towards me. Dressed in jeans and a tee-shirt, the boy’s trainers slam towards me and I have to step out of his way to avoid being hit.

“Polaris! Get back here this instant!” A harsh voice yells from the other side of the isle.

My eyes dart towards the mother and I am astonished to find my sister glaring daggers at her son from the other side of the isle. “Lily…” I stare dumbfounded as I watch her storm past me towards her wayward son.

“But mum, I wanted to see where Whimsy shops! Look at that elf mum; he’s hitting his head on a shelf!” the boy exclaims, pointing at the crazed elf who is in the process of concussing himself.

“Polaris, what did I tell you about running off, young man?” she asks, towering over him like a troll ready to slaughter.

“That I shouldn’t do it and that I’d get my broom taken away for a day, but mum! I just wanted to where Whimsy always goes to get our food!” he cries, “Please don’t take away my broom! I’ll be good, I promise!”

“Nope, it’s too late for that, Po. Your father and I will be locking your broom away until tomorrow once we get home.”

“NO!” young Polaris exclaims, then starts to cry rather loudly. I watch Lily snatch the hysterical five year-old up in her arms and carry him back towards me. She looks like she’s going to walk right by me, so I step in front of her.

“Albus,” she says with a glare, “get out of my way! This is a bad time!”

“No,” I find myself saying before I think. “Lily, can’t we just talk?”

“Another time, Albus!” she hisses and tries to slip by me with her blubbering son.

“You have avoided me for the past six years—Lily, families aren’t supposed to be like this!” I exclaim. I am a bit shocked that I am demanding this of her; after all, I’m not a very brave person.

Oh, who am I kidding? I back down and beg, “Can you at least tell me how you are? Please Lily, you have no idea how much I wonder if you’re doing okay!”

“I’m fine, my husband’s fine, and my children are fine. We’re all fine Albus, is that what you wanted to hear? Now move please!” she says, patting Po’s back as he starts to calm back down.

“Lily…please,” I say, still blocking her way, “Don’t you want to know how Dad is doing?”

“No, I don’t particularly care-“

“Lily, he’s in a bad way… Do you know what happened to Uncle-“

“Of course I do! I read the paper Albus!” she exclaims.

“Well, then you can only imagine how he must be feeling right now, okay? I think he’d really appreciate a visit from you.”

“No, out of the question,” she says, looking down at Polaris to avoid my eyes.

“Why, Lily? It was years ago,” I say softly.

“Because…he should have come home,” she replies shakily, “The incident wouldn’t have happened if he had just come home when Mum fire-called him.”

“Don’t you think he knows that?” I ask quietly. “Don’t you think if he had any suspicion that it would happen, he would have come home? He couldn’t have known Lily, and it isn’t his fault.”

“He put his work first, Albus,” she states sternly, “Being an Auror always came first and family second. If he had his priorities straight, this would have never-“

“Lily, it is in the past! He can’t change what happened-“

“It’s so easy for you to take his side, isn’t it? Of course you would, you’ve given up your Auror career and all that is dear to you to take care of him, after all-“

“That’s not true!” I hiss, “He is not the reason I quit my Auror apprenticeship!”

“Whatever Albus. You know, it was a much easier transition for you; you already had an apartment with Scorpius and a job. You were out of school! I was the one who had to move somewhere else because Dad couldn’t take care of himself after-“

“You didn’t have to go anywhere! We would have all managed better if we had stuck together afterwards anyhow! Now look at us: it’s years later and our family is totally destroyed! It’s like no one even wants to give out second chances!”

“Albus, it’s not going to happen—I can’t forgive what he did-“

“Lily, it just happened—don’t you want your children to know their grandfather? To know me, his-“

“Don’t you dare say that word Albus. Not in front of Polaris.”

My eyes tear up as I ask, “Don’t you want him to know me?”

She sighs and a touch of remorse is evident on her face. “Albus…”

Lily stops as Polaris swivels around to face me, with one thumb in his mouth and his other hand curled around a chunk of his mother’s red hair. This makes me feel even worse because we’ve been arguing in front of a five year-old. He looks nervous and has every right to.

I look away. “I understand,” I state calmly, “I’m sorry I took up so much of your time.”

“Albus…you can’t possibly be happy where you are…” she says softly, “Watching old people die? Living with Dad? Are you really going to be satisfied with that for the rest of your life?

She pauses. “Are you really happy?”

I put my hands in my pockets and stare at the ground nervously. I don’t know how to answer her questions. I’m used to putting others before me; I usually don’t think about what is good for myself. Between my dad and uncle, there is little time for me to think about what I might have missed out on.

“Albus?”

“No,” I finally say, looking everywhere but her face. “I suppose I’m not happy, but someone had to take care of Dad and I’m the right person to do it. He needs me and I don’t regret making the choices I’ve made.”

I somehow find the guts to look up at Lily. She turns from Po and looks at me in the eyes. I’m not sure what emotion I’m seeing there, but at least it’s not anger. “If you change your mind Lily, you can come over anytime. Bring Po and Sagi—I think a coupled spirited children would be good for him.”

Smiling sadly, I turn away from Lily and start to walk down the isle. As I leave, I hear Po say, “He looks like Harry Potter, Mum! Is he Harry Potter?”

My nephew doesn’t even seem to know his grandfather is Harry Potter. I hold in my tears though—I have to stay strong, for Dad, if nothing else. After all that has happened, he needs someone to cling to and if I’m the person he needs, then so be it. I’m not going to turn my back on him. Not now, not ever.