THIS FANFICTION IS CURRENTLY BEING REWRITTEN AND UPDATED.

THINGS HAVE BEEN CHANGED AND I WOULD RECOMMEND REREADING THIS TITLE IF YOU HAVEN'T IN A WHILE.

THANK YOU FOR READING x

[START]

Define 'Normal'…

Chapter 24:

It was through this quirk of nature, only possible through the blessings of magic, that Charles Potter felt no ill will from the newspaper stand. Only a few copies left of the days hottest scoop:

!EXCLUSIVE!

"The Lost Potter: A Story That Needs to be Told!"

The first interview ever from the Potter's forgotten son... the TRUE Boy Who Lived.

Of course, it still stung.

That passing jab was the most direct mention of him in that entire, multi-page piece. A slight in the subtitle that was more than enough to tank his mood, yet Charles knew Harry had not wanted it to be there…

Shaky hands straightened horn-rimmed glasses, bold green eyes trying to look at anything other than the paper. The paper his twin stared back at him from, identical in nearly every feature, besides the vicious scar that slashed across the skin of his face like a bolt of electricity.

The image was disconcerting, for of course it was the 'mighty' (as the caption called it) moment where Harry held up the remains of the Dark Lord, after the massacre he laid down upon him… his gaze far from triumphant.

Confusion. He remembered that day well. Harry radiated nothing but confusion through the bond. A bafflement he hadn't felt from his brother since his return to the wizarding world all those years ago.

Accusatory. That had come next, the picture in the Prophet didn't capture it, but Charles saw it. The accusatory glare that settled on his face when his gaze settled on Professor Dumbledore. Charles didn't need the bond to surmise what his brother felt in that moment, and (in many ways) with all the time Charles had with his thoughts these days, sequestered away from the world, he wondered the same thing.

'Why DIDN'T Professor Dumbledore kill Voldemort?'

It wasn't a case of he couldn't. Had Harry not stepped in it was likely that Dumbledore would have bested the Dark Lord, the duel heavily in his favour (if not as objectively one-sided as when Harry involved himself). Leaving little doubt in Charles's mind that the man, he saw as a second grandfather, was more than capable.

Yet, decided against it.

The aged leather seats of the Leaky Cauldron booth squeaked and sagged as he shifted his weight. Briefly straightening his back and rolling his shoulders before settling into lying his head on his folded arms. Weary gaze back across the table at the Daily Prophet article, two copies of which were in the hands of his two best friends. Content in the knowledge that, despite the article's existence, his brother did not hate him…

What was colloquially known as the "Twin Bond" was a very real phenomenon. Regardless of their parents polar opposite approaches to each of them, despite Charles's fame leaving Harry in the shadows, regardless of all bullies who took their grievances with him out on Harry and in spite of how poorly Charles had treated his twin (spurred on by a massive ego and childish cruelty); Harry didn't actually hate him…

Charles knew what Harry's hatred felt like, it was a cold that burnt. Those who earned it had no way of knowing they'd provoked it until he had doled out his retribution. That was the extent of their Bond. Deeper than most, but far from specific.

Hermione was reading aloud, a simple buzzing sound to anyone outside of the bubble of the tables Muffiliato (those who were paying them any mind past the Notice Me Nots),

"It is with a heavy heart that I put this question to my readers: Who are the Potters to accept their praise and accolades, with such a litany of skeletons in their cupboard?"

"Blimey." Ron hissed as he rescanned the lengthy paragraph his bug eyes had been glued to, "This true?"

Spelled out in black were a myriad of things he did know: the birthday party, the Dursleys, Harry's involvement with the Malfoy's… and Charles had sequestered himself and his friends into a far corner of the Leaky Cauldron, trying not to let his winces and frowns show on his face. Wondering how his brother was even able to keep a straight face in times like this,

"I don't know the specifics." Charles shifted uncomfortably, perched on a chair under a myriad of Notice Me Nots, his friends Hermione Granger and Ron Weasley sat with their own copies of the Prophet on the other end of the table. The pair glued to the article that was tearing his parents to shreds… "But I know a lot of it is true."

"Harry doesn't seem the type to lie about things, if only to avoid defamation charges." Hermione's tone was absent and distracted. Her keen gaze never leaving the paper as she blitzed through what must have been her third read, "However, a lot of this is hard to believe."
"Right?! Like, look here. That bit about the Muggles and the birthday party. There's no way Mr and Professor Potter would ever-"

"That happened." Charles couldn't look at them. He felt their eyes snap to him, disbelief radiating from them like heat, "I remember that happening."

Teeth ground together; his words hissed through the gaps.

"W-WHAT?!" Hermione, giving Charles her undivided attention for the first time since she'd gotten a hold of the newspaper. Her entire being accusing and incredulous,

"It's not like I did it!"
"But you knew and said nothing about it?!"
"I was 6 years old, I only remembered what actually happened when I looked back on it."
"And when was that, Charles Potter?" A snap, sharp as a whip. The sting it left had Charles mutter his next words,

"The end of second year…"

"Mate! You-" Ron almost launched himself across the table, physically dragging himself back. He cupped his head in hands and rubbed fingers through his hair, muttering his next words, "I called him a liar."

A pregnant pause settled over the table, incredulity following it,

"He told YOU?!" Both of Charles and Hermione, the latter slowly following up with,

"Ronald-"

"I don't think he meant to. And it's not like I'd ever believe him if you or they didn't confirm it." His face was in his hands, Charles left to his painfully clenching heart.

"Regardless of… this… it's amazing how he just vanished after the fight in the Ministry." A rushed change of the subject from their frizzy haird girl beside him,
"Honestly, I hate the fact he just showed up, did all that and didn't even let us say thanks." Ron huffed, hands balled up in his lap, "I'd have preferred he stuck around and was a bit smug. I would have felt better."

Hermione quirked her brow at Ron's pout.

"Dumbledore was talking to Mum, Dad and my grandparents a few nights ago about him." A murmur that his friends barely heard,
"Where is he?" Ron sat straighter as he tiredly inquired, "And what were they talking about?"
"Dunno. But I know that Nan and Grand helped him leave the country and refused to drop some ward."
"Hmm… could it be the Fidelius?" Hermione 's mutter seemed more to herself than them, laced with a string of intrigue as she descended into thought,

"Maybe. But for some reason that doesn't feel right."

"Why? I'm not being funny, but if Harry didn't want to be found, not even Dumbledore's finding him under Fidelius." Ron allowed himself a dry snicker, Charles nodded along, "Did you hear where he is?"

"Somewhere in Japan."

"Japan?!" He near yelled, shrinking down when eyes snapped to him. Even under their precautions, calling attention to themselves could break the spell, hence the irritated glares, "What's the nearest school?"
"Mahoutokoro" Hermione's answer was crisp (ignoring Ron's pink ears),

"He's not there, he's at a Muggle school."

"…Eh?!"

"Why the bloody hell would he want to go-"

WHACK!

A sharp rap to the back of his head via rolled up newspaper. But it wasn't either of the copies they'd brought to the table.

It was one in the hands of the portly matriarch of the Weasley family, Mrs Weasley fiddling with her bright orange (and grey) hair. Her stern, disapproving stare morphing into a gentle smile when she beheld her youngest son's friends,

"Hello dearies. You're alright, aren't you?" Though addressed to them all, Mrs Weasley's scrutiny was on Charles,

"Fine, Mrs Weasley." He replied whilst Hermione provided a smile, her attention drawn to the younger Weasley female who'd sidled into the booth alongside her,
"A horrible business this, I've already sent in a Howler. Don't know what good it will do but they have a lot of nerve publishing such lies." Punctuated by a huff, Mrs Weasley shook the broadsheet in one hand whilst the other was firm on her hip, "Honestly, that brother of yours has always been a nasty piece of work. But this?!"

"Shut up, Mum." A snarl from her only daughter. A twist in Charles's stomach occurred at the sight of Ginny Weasley. Fiery hair held up in a high ponytail, hazel eyes alight with either passion or mirth, pink lips pursed as she was pulled out of her short chat with Hermione, "Harry's not a liar."
"Young lady!"

An argument was what the table was rewarded with, raised voices substituted with harsh hisses. Charles so mesmerised by the flashes of rage in those hazel eyes, and how she flicked her hair over her shoulders as she tore into her mother,

"How much of it is true?" It clicked that Ginny had asked him this more than once when he kicked himself back into paying attention (instead of staring).

"I don't- a lot of it. Everything involving Mum and Dad is true…" He faded off as her expression soured more and more. Ginny kissed her teeth, jaw set as an angry flush blossomed on her freckled cheeks,

"Surely that can't be true, Charles." Mrs Weasley turning on him, face slack and paling, "These things… your parents aren't capable… really?!"
His nod was brusque and the present Weasley's exploded into noise once again.

Noise that drew more than a few heads, and (unlike her son's outburst) people looked past the charms to see exactly who she was talking to…

"Hey, it's Potter."
"Charles Potter? No way!"
"Got some cheek, skulking around in the corner."
"Can you blame him?"
"Suppose not, it's not like he called himself the Boy Who Lived."
"Didn't stop the brat from lording it about as if he was Merlin himself."
"Bell ends. The lot of them."

"Oi!" That conversation at a table nearby, Ron throwing himself to his feet and only stayed by Hermione's hand clamped around his wrist.

Molly Weasley had no such restraint…

"You have a lot of nerve." She hissed, advancing on them and ignoring her daughters shout to 'leave it', "Especially when the Potter family is the reason You Know Who is gone. They're heroes!"

The occupants were a dark-haired wizard and witch, similar facial features (denoting familial relation) twisting into scoffs and sneers,

"Funny you'd say that with THAT in your hands." The male gesturing to the paper with a beefy finger,

Mrs Weasley drew up to her full height, sneering down her nose at the speaker

"I'm not a fool who'll take everything she reads at face value." An air of smugness that was met with a snicker and a scowl from the witch she was speaking to,

"It's not like it's been written by scum like Skeeter." She snatched up her own copy of the Prophet, her nail underlining what Charles could only assume was the author, "She's the one who did all the reports on the Death Eaters bribing their way out of Azkaban."

"And the Wizagmot CP ring." A shout from the bar. Frowning, Tom the barkeep wading into the discussion with a booming voice.
There was a sour atmosphere that settled after that, partially contributing to the words dying in her throat. The yelling inviting a buzz of noise, people yelling over one another to get a word in,

"Did they really sell Harry off for money?"

"He slept in a cupboard?"
"I can't believe they potioned their own blood."

"Never trusted them Potters, told ye din't I?! Smarmy light siders!"

White noise is what it all faded into. Molly, Ron and Ginny were shouting with Hermione awkwardly sandwiched between them, leaving Charles with his thoughts for a moment.

Primarily, how Harry was hilariously miss-sorted.

There was an undercurrent of satisfaction when Harry left, one Charles had attributed to saving the Magical world from the threat of Voldemort. But Charles wasn't a fool, he knew Harry never cared for them.

Why would he?

Bitter thoughts, despite his desire to keep things tame, Charles couldn't help the bitter thoughts that rubbed through him at the sight.

No, looking about at the patrons of the Leaky Cauldron (not a single table devoid of that incriminating paper) Charles Potter really wondered why Harry had ever graced the House of the Lions when he was so clearly a Snake…

[TO BE CONTINUED]

TO NEW READERS, WELCOME!

TO OLDER READERS, THANK YOU FOR YOUR PATIENCE AND CONTINUED SUPPORT!

AND TO EVERYONE, THANK YOU FOR READING x

. . .

AND THANK YOU TO EVERYONE FOR ALL LOVELY REVIEWS

(and all the helpful ones that pointed out things I missed in editing)

I'M GLAD YOU GUYS ARE HAPPY I'M BACK AND I HOPE YOU CONTINUE ENJOYING THE STORY!