Hello everyone! I happy to update twice in one week. I have a ton to post. I feel like this chapter might be a tad dramatic, but oh well. As always if you have any questions/concerns/suggestions, please feel free to PM me. Also, please leave a review. I only got one one my last chapter, it is a little discouraging. On a happier note, please enjoy!

It was winter, a cold, snowy, New England winter. The wind cut through the rags of the young boy running along the edge of the beach. He was about 8, small for his age with wheat blonde hair and bright blue eyes. The snow was piled in dunes, but the boy's feet were bare, there was a trail of blood in the snow behind him where the ice had cut into his feet. He was in pain, his expression was tragic, messy tears and an anguished look in his eyes. Something was chasing him, a looming shadow followed him, just out of sight. The sound of pounding feet was just at his heels. He sent a terrified look behind him as if expecting something terrible to be right behind him. But nothing was there. Still, he ran, dashing to the looming pine woods on the top of the cliff. He strained, his little feet pounding on the slick, sharp ground. He was almost there, almost to safety. He rounded the last bend, shivering with cold. His foot caught a rock, he tripped and tumbled landing at the feet of a tall man and a large crowd. The crowd was both men and women dressed in black and warmly in furs. They carried pitchforks and lanterns, and screamed "Burn the witch! Burn the witch!"

The boy shrunk away from them, almost trying to disappear, but that was not his gift. The tall man strode over to him, his brow furrowed and his expression dark and angry. He looked at the crying and terrified boy without mercy and struck him over the head with his rifle. The little form crumpled under the blow, and the crowd carried him back with the cries of "Witch! Witch! We have captured the witch!" ringing in the air.

The boy awoke in the freezing sleet, tied to a pole, wood was stacked around the bottom. "No! No! This cannot be happening! Big Brother where are you? Why are you never here anymore?! Big Brother England you have to save me!" cried the terrified little boy. The crowd surrounding the pole was silent for a moment... perhaps? but no...they had to save their village. The tall man took one step closer."No please please! You can't do this, please! Arthur! Francis! Mattie! Mama! save me." Another step and another, the shouts of the little boy had turned to tears, they fell onto the earth and wherever they fell a green light glowed.

"He is a witch see! He is using his magic to save himself! Quick burn him!"

Another step brought the man to the edge of the pile. "Please... please...have mercy, I have never died before."

The man smashed the lantern on the wood "you are in luck witch, for men only die once" remarked the man. He turned his back on the child and began to walk away.

"No...please..." the boy had an anguished look on his face. He opened his mouth. "Our father, who art in heaven, hallowed be thy name, thy kingdom come thy will be done on earth that it is in heaven..."

The tall man turned, his eyes wide with shock and horror just as the flames reached the child's rags. They lit easily, flames licking the oil that had been poured on. The cruel orange light glanced off the tarnished steel of the tall man's silver cross.

"Give us this day our daily bread and lead us not into temptation but deliver us from evil for thine is the kingdom and the power and the glory forever. Amen" whispered the boy. His voice carried on the wind, and he barely registered his own voice open in a scream and the many voices of the crowd crying and screaming with him. The tall man stood, eyes wide, his frame, tall and strong yet still somehow broken in the face of the knives of accusing wind that whipped around the boy as if to protect him from anyone. He fell to his knees, all was lost.

"Alfred! Alfred! Wake up!" shouted Matthew. "Wake up! You are scaring the other kids! Wake up" he screamed in his and Alfred's native tongue. Alfred's face was covered in tears, he had been screaming in his sleep when Matthew was woken up by Ron, one of the boys he and his twin shared a room with.

"The fire! It hurts! Our father who art... have mercy, Big Brother!"

"Wake up, Maska! Wake up! the fire is gone, he is here, you are safe, together with me. We are safe." Matthew shouted at Alfred, trying to wake him up, the boys in the room were terrified, and Alfred was not waking up.

Matthew sharply turned to Ron, "I need you to fetch Professor Kirkland!" The boy just stared at him in dumbfounding shock, "Now!" Matthew screamed. With his eyes wide, the ginger ran off to fetch England. Matthew was terrified, Alfred had experienced nightmares before, but never to this extent. Plus, they had nearly always been about his civil war. This... this was something different. Something must have triggered a reaction of this extent. But what on earth...the dementors...they had shown Matthew his own greatest fear - his lack of control over his own power and his callousness towards life. What did they show Alfred? He had assumed that it had been the American civil war, but now, he was not so sure.

Alfred screamed again, calling for Arthur and begging for mercy. Matthew tried to no avail to wake his brother. Suddenly, the door blasted open. In ran both Arthur, and McGonagall.

"What is going on here?" demanded McGonagall sternly. Matthew looked helplessly at the crying and screaming Alfred.

"I can't get him to stop, this...this...this has never happened before, I can't help him." The last phrase was said in almost disbelief, in realization. For the first time in his entire life, Matthew could not help. "He's feeling something terrible, fire, burning, smoke, I don't know what it is but I can feel some of it through our bond. He's been calling for you Arthur, calling you big brother. I think he is dreaming of what the dementors showed him"

At this, Arthur looked up, he had been worried, consumed with worry over Alfred. But he didn't know how to respond to this emotion. He had spent much of his life trying to suppress his care for his former colony, he had tried not to feel, not to care, but now he was failing miserably. Something about seeing Alfred, his Alfred in pain just killed him, but he still didn't know what to do. He didn't know what the boy was dreaming about. When he had formed the empathy link on the train, he had been forced to only do a general overview of each of the twin's histories, or risk being completely overwhelmed. In fact, he had no clue what traumatic experience Alfred had seen. He had only seen the Revolutionary war and onwards, and had assumed that the civil war was his greatest fear. It certainly qualified.

But then suddenly, out of nowhere, the screaming stopped. On the bed Alfred was curled up in a fetal position, sobbing quietly to himself. A quiet broken voice of a little boy drifted out, "Big brother, big brother England, Arthur! Why are you never here? I need you! Help me, Please!

In a moment, Arthur swept up onto the edge of the bed. His face was hard and unreadable to strangers, but to someone who knew him well, it was easy to see the shattered and guilty look in his eyes. Slowly, painfully, the room became silent. Arthur sat on the bed, his head tipped back against one of the posts, he was fast asleep with his hand on Alfred's head. The boys in the room had long since fallen asleep on their chairs, they had given up on understanding the situation. Matthew was curled up beside Alfred as if trying to compensate with his warmth for not being able to help. McGonagall stood tall in the middle of the room, watching the little family with a smile to herself. If she harbored any suspicion at the strangeness, she kept it to herself. She left the room, full of questions, but also with a small bit of fondness towards the sarcastic professor she had at first disliked.