A/N: Sorry this took so long, dear readers, but oddly things have been, well, slightly hetic IRL, so I had to sit this to the side. Not going to say much except the standard disclaimers apply, and I do read all your reviews so they are greatly appreciated. Enjoy!

"So tomorrow's the big day! 17! Good thing we're doing this toni... are you okay?" Merlin's voice broke through whatever thought Chris has locked himself in, and the young witch looked up. Merlin – still in his younger appearance – was looking at him with concern.

"What? Yeah, I'm fine."

"Only you look -"

"I'm fine, Emrys," Chris sighed. Merlin rolled his eyes. "Can we just get on with this already? You've been invading my dreams for the past couple of months and I'll be glad to get back to a REM cycle that doesn't involve a visit from the wizards first port of call when wanting to swear." Chris stood, shaking himself, before standing dead still. "Right, I'm ready." Merlin smiled, and nodded his head. Chris closed his eyes and stood waiting. For about five minutes, nothing happened. Chris opened his eyes. "...Pretty sure I said I was ready, Emrys."

Merlin gave a look. "Chris, I did it five minutes ago." Chris blinked.

"I don't feel any different."

"Did you expect to?"

"Well, sort of yeah," Chris admitted with a small shrug. "Thought I'd be all powerful, y'know, 'cause I'm meant to be … well you." Merlin rolled his eyes.

"Yes, because MORE power is really going to sort out the problems in this world." He sighed. "You'll know what I've given you when you need it most. And, do me a favour, be careful, okay?" Chris gave a look, and Merlin gave a shrug. "Hey, I only get small glimpses, nothing make sense to me till it happens."

xXx

On the morning of the 9th November, every boy in the Gryffindor common bar the Halliwell brothers rose and left early, not wanting to deal with Chris. They could remember the year before, and Chris had damn near torched them all when Ron had made a joke about his Mum's sending him Fred's socks... Yeah, they didn't understand why Chris had reacted so badly, but wizards did have an instinct knowledge of when a day was going to be a bad day, and they knew that 9th November was one of them. Wyatt had woken with them, but had remained in the room after he dressed, waiting for his brother to wake. The hellhound -Wyatt refused to call it by that ridiculously stupid name Chris had given it - stared at him balefully from his spot on the end of Chris' bed. It was a look of distrust, a look that said 'I don't trust you, and if you hurt this boy I will bite you.' Wyatt was beginning to regret sending Chris the damned thing.

"Stupid thing … My hurting him won't do anything today," he muttered, looking at it, before turning to glare out of the window, "he'll be too busy hurting himself. Idiot that he is." If Chris had been awake at that moment, he might had suspected that there was a tinge of pain in his brother's tone. Wyatt would deny it, of course, but since he denied nearly everything put to him, it was very hard to tell when he was being sincere. There was at least ten minutes of silence before the noise of rustling came from Chris' bed, the soft groan as he realised what day it was. Wyatt stood up, and pulled on the sleeve of his suit jacket – he had decided to forego the traditional uniform in favour of a sombre black suit, the uniform was far too bright for today – and looked over. "Get up. We're going to eat breakfast, and then we'll go to class." There was a pause, before Chris responded in a tone that was trying to be filled with his usual scorn

"I don't wan-"

"I don't care what you want to do, Christopher," Wyatt cut in, ever the commanding presence. "You will dress yourself, and then join us for breakfast. I'll give you privacy, but you'll notice I've taken the liberty to remove anything that would give you … erroneous ideas." There was the sound of footfalls at Wyatt left the room. Chris slowly sat up, and looked down at Dog. Dog looked up at his Master, then moved up to lay on his lap slightly. A good dog – a good hellhound – knows when his Master needs someone to listen, and if there was one thing Dog was particularly good at, it was listening.

"...I hate this day," Chris said, before falling silent again. After a few minutes, he swung himself out of the bed and went to change – black, of course, why the hell did today always dare to be so bright. It was about quarter of an hour later that he made his way into the common room, looking at the floor. Wyatt was sitting in the comfy chair nearest the fireplace, and stood quickly on Chris' arrival. He looked at him for a moment, apparently judging what he was wearing. Whatever, Chris didn't care. "Today is not a good day, Wy, and if you fuckin' start I swear, Tommy be damned, I'll rip your head off."

"...Let's go get breakfast, shall we?"

xXx

The minions had proven themselves useful once again by managing to grab a space at the end of the Ravenclaw table for all of them, and having a large cup of coffee ready for Chris when he sat down. Luna smiled up at him softly, handing over a brightly decorated envelope, before turning back to her breakfast porridge without a single word. Chris opened the envelope, to find a hand-made card. The front had a clever comic sketch of scowling angel – he assumed this was meant to be him – being drawn into a dance by a little elf girl – who was very obviously his Lunar. "Thanks, Moon Child," he said softly, making a start on the large cup of coffee. The mail came, in its usual way, and Chris found himself laden with a small but thick pile of rather official looking parchments. He blinked, and looked up. "Anyone who feels up to explaining, please speak know or … nah, don't hold your peace, it ain't healthy." he said, poking at the top roll of parchment with a wary finger. Nott picked it up, breaking through the seal and reading.

"So, you're 17 today then?" he said, not waiting on a confirmation. "This one is to tell you about the contribution Melinda Warren made to certain establishments and how – as her only legally alive descendant," he nodded to Wyatt, "you are the sole inheritor of the estate that her work has gathered. The rest, I expect, are likely to be marriage contracts from older families, trying to... what is that saying you Yanks use? Get a piece of the Halliwell pie?" Nott smirked, looking amused by this turn of events. Chris looked from the pile, up to Nott, to Wyatt, back to the pile, and then finally back to Nott.

"You have got to be shitting me." At that, they all seemed to pick up a parchment, opening to read through. All in all, there were 18 marriage contracts – most of which were from girls in his year, though a few were from the year below, and the year above. Chris stared at them in horror. "Dude, this is sick," he said, pushing them away from him as though continued close contact would cause them to attach themselves to him until he answered one of them.

"It's a bit outdated, but Daddy says the practice is still popular in certain circles," Luna said in a dreamy tone. "His and Mummy's marriage was by marriage contract... though they were a bit older than usual," she added, thoughtfully. "And Grandfather said the contract was created at their bidding, Daddy said Mummy was rather old-fashioned in her beliefs." she tacked on, looking vaguely thoughtful towards the end. Craig gave a nod, he had heard of this happening before, though Luperca gave a dismissive snort.

"Makes a change from the girl not getting a choice in the matter," she start, glaring at the parchments with a tinge of hatred. Nott had the good graces to look offended.

"You got a choice!"

"Yes, but I was 4 and was told that if I said yes, I would get an extra piece of cake after dinner," she rolled her eyes. Chris gave the pair of them a Look, and she rolled her eyes, speaking once more to Nott. "You'd better explain this to him, he doesn't understand."

Nott sighed. "Yes, dear." He turned back to Chris. "You're pretty much eligible bachelor number two as far as most higher families are concerned – Potter would be the better match in theory, but he's too much of a risk factor for some of the stricter of the families," he explained. "And, well, you're of the Warren line. Even those who detest the way America has really forsaken traditional magical practices won't deny that the chance to align themselves to the Warren line." Chris took this in with a slow nod, still looking at the parchments as though he expected them to do something entirely horrible in front of him.

"So, my brother is to be auctioned off?" Wyatt scoffed. "Well, whoever said you Brits were charming in your courtship forgot to mention the complete ignorance and stupidity in the magical community." That lead to him receiving many scowls, and Chris pushed himself up from the table. "Chris?" Wyatt questioned, looking over at his brother. He frowned – he looked distinctly paler than he had a moment ago. "Are you feeling okay?"

"I'm fine!" Chris said, sighing heavily. "I'm just... not going to classes today. Got better things to do than hang around this shitty place," he held out a hand, and torched the marriage contract documents. "Peace out, bitches." He orbed away. They looked at the charred remains of the documents, and it was Luna who found her voice first.

"He looked like he had the cold. Is he quite well?"

xXx

Exactly what Chris Halliwell did that fateful day was only rumoured, small snatches of true information mixing with large doses of wishful rumours. Apparently he had taken over a Defence Against the Dark Arts lesson by knocking Snape out and providing the students with paint balloons. This was partially true, if the pink and purple speckled first years milling about the corridors with huge grins on their faces was anything to go by. Another popular rumour with some truth in it was that he was the one who let off all the fireworks in the dungeons just to piss off Slughorn. Chris did remark that the annoying thing was that Slughorn refused to be annoyed, especially since the fireworks came from a potion of his own creation.

According to rumour, Chris had spent time with the Weird Sisters, helping produce their new album. He had descended into the Underworld, slaying any demon that dared to even think about giving him a shifty look. He infiltrated the Death Eaters and had them convinced that You-Know-Who had changed the uniform to bright pink robes and smiley face masks, the new name being the Legion of the Fabulous. (Wyatt received a hurried message from Sidney begging to know whether or not Chris was suicidal or just plain stupid as really it seemed like both right now.) According to rumour, Chris had stolen Harry's Firebolt and went joy-riding through Hogsmede and he went straight to the Minister of Magic himself and flipped him off, swearing heavily and accusing him of every wrong doing that he could think of. The evening edition of the Daily Prophet went to press with this headline, actually, and no matter how much the Minister denied it, it didn't help that he seemed to have developed a nasty twitch whenever the name "Halliwell" was mentioned around him.

No one knew if the tale that he had visited the Muggle Prime Minister, to see if it was possible to simply "drop a damn bomb on Voldie's head" was true or not. No one was even sure where that particular one had started, but it was one of the more persistent of the rumours. What was known as complete and utter fact, was that Chris had made his way into the Three Broomsticks and, haven proven himself of age, bought as many large bottles of Firewhisky and matured Mead as he could carry.

When the students and the teachers entered the Great Hall for dinner that evening, they found Chris rip-roaring drunk on Firewhisky, standing on the top of the staff table, kicking plates on to the floor. "Christopher Halliwell!" McGonagall called, aware somehow that there was more to this than a simple desire to break the rules. If anything, Chris never needed to be reeking of foul smelling alcohol to break the rules before. "What is the meaning of-"

"Minnie!" Chris crowed, giving off a drunken giggle as he did so. "It's my birthday, my 17th year. Lets have a party, I''l provide the Butterbeer!" he singsonged, throwing his arms wide on the last. The Great Hall was instantly transformed into the type of party venue any 17 year old would be proud to have. The students cheered loudly, swarming past the staff to get into the party, before anyone managed to vanish it all. Wyatt, however, remained where he was, watching his brother with slight concern.

"Halliwell, this drunkenness is a blatant disregard of school rules," Snape remarked dryly. "Ten points from Gryffindor." There was really not point to this – Chris had never once cared about the points system, and the attempt at punishment simply drew another high-pitched round of drunken giggles from him. It must be held as a credit to those who actually spent time around Chris that they were slightly hesitant in their reaching for the party goodies, shooting wary looks to the top tables, as if expecting this to be some elaborate trick.

Chris just giggled, and swallowed down some more of the dark amber liquid that the heavy bottle contained. The staff looked amongst each other, questioning what they should do. Dumbledore was unfortunately unavailable this weekend, and it left dealing with this type of behaviour up to them. While there was a rule against students being drunk on schools grounds – particularly to the worrying extent that Chris was – there was technically no rule preventing a student from celebrating their birthday, particularly their 17th. Besides which, considering the current climate and the constant flow of bad news coming into the school... perhaps allowing the party to continue wouldn't be the worst thing in the world. They exchanged a look known only to teachers the world over. The look meant: 'I'm not going to try to tell them to stop – are you?'

Wyatt, on the other hand, sighed and stepped forward, looking at his brother. "Chris, that's enough, get down!" he commanded. "You're making a fool of yourself," he added in a low hiss, eyes flashing briefly in his anger.

"No, Wy, I wanna party!" Chris snapped back, slurring his words slightly, stumbling backwards, and sitting on top of the table. He grinned. "Made it to 17 without dying!" he crowd loudly, drawing the attention of many of the student who didn't seem t understand how this was an accomplishment. Of course, it's also highly likely that they were simply deeply amused that Chris seemed to have no concept of volume control when he was drunk. "...'Cept, I didn't," he said, his face falling as he remembered. "Died, didn't I, Wy? Don't remember meeting the Angel of Death, though."

It was one of the rare times the hall was silent. "Chris, enough," Wyatt said, stepping forward to take the heavy bottle from him. Chris pushed his free hand out, sending Wyatt flying back, before cradling the bottle to his chest, clinging to it as though it were his only friend.

"He likes our family, Death," he said, after taking another large swig from the bottle. "Keeping taking them away. Took Mel when was only little... stupid joy-rider." Another large swig, accompanied by a small hiccup. "An' Phoebe when that vampire tore her throat out... 'member how dark the blood was, Wy? 'Member how it sprayed everywhere?" Chris began to rub at his forehead and left eye, almost frantically. "Everywhere... couldn't get if off, it was hot an' sticky, an' dark, an' it wouldn't wash off... Still there, y'know, might not have the stain but c'n still feel it." He hiccuped again, swaying slightly.

Wyatt had gotten to his feet and was painfully aware of how everyone in the hall was hanging on Chris' every word. "Chris, you're drunk," he said, as clearly as he could manage. There was a hot streak of anger coursing inside of Wyatt, that wanted nothing more than to smack Chris on the mouth to make him shut up or bleed. Either would do, the anger wasn't fussy. He looked around, trying to find someone who would help him to drag Chris down from the table, but nearly everyone was transfixed on the drunken boy.

"Least for Paige... he would have been welcome, Death," Chris said, drinking down some more. "After the torture... she always was stubborn," Chris let out a loud sniff, rubbing his nose with his sleeve, before taking another drink. "Victor was a hero when Death came for him," he added loudly. "My 15th birthday, an' he threw himself in front of the demons, bein' all you shall not pass and badass an'... then there's... Mom..." his voice trailed off slightly, and he drained the bottle. Wyatt let out a small sigh of relief, until he saw Chris bring out a brand new bottle. By this time, Cole had stepped forward, McGonagall falling into step beside him.

"Chris, you don't need to say anything," Cole said, reaching forward slowly, hoping to get the bottle from the boy before he noticed what was happening. "Just... come with us, we'll get you a big cup of coffee,"

"NO!" Chris' yell managed to knock Cole back, as a wave of telekinetic energy was released with the emotion behind it. "They all wanna know don't they? Sluggy the Walrus wants to write a book on it!" He waved hiss hand out at the crowd, before giving another drunken laugh, not a giggle this time but something that sounded heart-broken. "Everyone raise a glass, to Piper Halliwell, dead three years today!" The silence grew heavier at these words. Three years today, but then that would mean... "And it was my fault. All of them. All my fault but …" there was a choking noise, almost like a sob, but it couldn't be a sob because it came from Chris Halliwell and Chris Halliwell never let out noises like a sob. Chris Halliwell made jibes and sneered and mocked everyone who stepped in his path. Chris Halliwell didn't cry.

"It was my birthday, my 14th, and we were meant to be going out but Mom found out that I'd been hunting in the Underworld on my own," Chris' words were heavily slurred, but in the deathly silence of the hall, they were understood perfectly. "See, my first charge had been killed when protecting some innocents, an' I wasn't going to let the damn dirty stinkin' things get away with it... but Mom didn't … she said..." he hiccuped loudly, and swallowed down some more alcohol. There was another choked sob-that-couldn't-be-a-sob-but-sounded-remarkably-like-it noise. "So they came to the house and they had these... five-inch long claws and... and they... sliced an' th...they diced an' the blood was everywhere, oh god there was so much blood..." Chris faltered, and swayed. "An' I called, and called for Leo, but Leo wouldn't come, why would he? All I ever was, was the kid who almost killed his wife by just bein' born!" He was gabbling and the silence in the hall had become sickening.

Chris Halliwell was the Chief Prankster at Hogwarts. Chris Halliwell had taken on a pack of demons and saved so many student. Chris Halliwell had looked Umbridge in the eye and told her to kiss his ass. There was nothing he couldn't do.

And now, the students and staff of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry could do nothing but watch as slowly in front of them, Chris Halliwell broke.