What Could Have Been

Written in celebration of my newly ended exams. I thought that the Septimus Heap fandom had too little fics, so I wanted to contribute my fic to expand it :) Hope you guys enjoy!

DISCLAIMER: I own nothing of Septimus Heap.

During his journey from the Marram Marshes to the Castle on Spit Fyre's back, Septimus is forced to crash land his dragon at the Port due to a raging storm. Only that his crash- landing did not go as smoothly as expected, and he somehow managed to land his dragon on top of a notoriously scary Darke Wizard's scruffy old hut. It does not help, of course, that said Darke Wizard turned out to be his elder brother. Set after Flyte. Brotherfic.

The rain was pouring heavily, stormy clouds gathering rapidly, spattering him mercilessly with droplets of water. Lightning flashed overhead even as both rider and dragon plunged through the heavy deluge, both soaked to the bone and buffeted by the wind at all sides.

"Just a little bit more Spit Fyre!" Septimus yelled above the roar of the wind even as his dragon made a terrifying drop to avoid a bolt of lightning. Already he could see the faint lights of the Port in the near distance, encouraging them to fly over the small expanse of water.

Spit Fyre made an odd whinny-ing noise that hardly resembled a dragon but obediently continued his unfortunate flight onwards.

Soon they were over the water, and the land was rushing up to meet them. Quite unluckily for both of them, Spit Fyre failed to slow his descent in time. The 'tailwind' just so happened to pick up at that moment, and Spit Fyre missed the small patch of ground intended for him to land smoothly, completely. At Septimus' yell, the dragon dug his heels into the ground, dragging his nails through the sand and kicking up a huge plume of dust.

"Spit Fyre!" Septimus yelled, his eyes fixed in horror on a huge looming something in front of them. "Stooop!"

Once more, luck was not on their side. They crashed headlong into the dark shape, which turned out to be a flimsy wooden shelter facing the sea. Not that he could really tell, anyway. Spit Fyre careened straight through the darkness, bumping crashing and giving odd noises that resembled both a squeak and roar as wood rained down on them.

When the noise, shock and panic finally subsided, Septimus winced and uncovered his head as he straightened. Another piece of wood fell with a 'plunk' onto the ground beside him as he did so.

A small crowd had gathered around them despite the heavy rain. Most were watching him with horror, and some, Septimus noted, with panic and concern. This was one big mess.

"Um... I'm sorry?" Septimus offered pathetically, his hand uncomfortably picking at his Apprentice robes, as he slid down his dragon to land unsteadily on his feet.

There was another crunch as he stepped on more pieces of broken wood. He winced.

An old man beside him shook his head slowly, like a foreteller would before relaying bad news. "Not to us young lad," he said gravely, "tell that to the Darke wizard who lives here."

Septimus gulped. "What Darke wizard?"

"Him." The man pointed at a steadily approaching figure. It was evident even from the distance that the man was wearing a cloak emblazoned with golden runes; they glowed faintly in the darkness, and the crowd gave the tall figure a wide berth as he approached. Before long, the entire crowd had almost all disappeared, their fear for the wizard greater than their curiousity.

Soon the Darke wizard reached his hut. Or what was left of it. Septimus edged closer to Spit Fyre unconsciously, to realize that his dragon had fallen asleep in the middle of the rubble of wood. In the middle of a panicky sticky situation, and he had the audacity to fall asleep!

The tall scary figure in black finally came to halt before Septimus, pausing slightly to note the utter destruction of his hut. Septimus swallowed and stepped forwards to speak, but when he looked up, the figure suddenly stilled. The next thing he knew, the wizard had whipped back his hood to reveal a set of furious emerald green eyes glaring daggers at him.

"What are you doing here?!"

Septimus felt his heart fall to the very bottom of his stomach.

"Simon?!"

What Could Have Been

"Of all the places in the world, I have chosen to build a tiny cramped hut on a deserted piece of wasted land. And typically, you would find it and destroy it completely with your blasted dragon!"

Septimus watched uncomfortably as Simon finished his rant. "Well, I never actually meant to," he said a tad defensively. "Trust me, if I had known you were here I wouldn't have come near this place."

Simon stopped and shot him another poisonous glare. Septimus felt himself wince again.

"Sorry about the hut," he muttered.

"You'd better be!" Simon shouted back, still bristling with anger and annoyance.

"Well... we could... rebuild it," Septimus started, lamely. The pieces of wood were strewn all over the place. Most of them had already slid down the sandy bank into the sea and were bobbing merrily up and down the choppy waters. "...somehow."

Simon gave him an incredulous glower before waving his hand in irritation, as though he couldn't bear another minute of talking to Septimus. "Just take your dragon and go," he hissed the last word venomously.

Septimus swallowed. "I would really love to," he began a tad tentatively. "...but Spit Fyre is kind of... asleep right now."

"So what? Just wake him up," Simon said sharply.

Oddly, Septimus noted that Simon referred to Spit Fyre as 'him' instead of 'it', unlike most people. "He can't be woken up," Septimus tried to explain, all the while bracing himself for the outburst that was sure to follow.

"Well I'll make sure he does!" Simon said, his voice raising as he stalked angrily towards the dragon.

"No no no no no! Bad idea!" Septimus said immediately, leaping onto the rubble and almost losing his balance as he tried to prevent Simon from reaching his dragon. "He tends to react badly when woken up. Especially to a stranger. His snot is also corrosive, I'm sure you remember that-"

"You're his Dragon Master for goodness' sake-!" Simon said exasperatedly though the mention of Spit Fyre's corrosive snot had managed to stop him in his tracks. "Surely you can Command him!"

"If I could I definitely would alright!" Septimus returned, raising his voice to match Simon's tone.

Simon made a noise of disgust and threw up his hands in the air, before abruptly stalking to a darker corner to sit down and brood moodily. Septimus cleared his throat awkwardly and shuffled over to the other end away from his brother. He wanted to find a proper shelter for the night, but he couldn't leave Spit Fyre alone in the middle of the night- goodness knows what would happen if the dragon woke up and trampled over the entire Port to find his Master. Spit Fyre might actually stomp flat a real Darke wizard's hut. Not to mention Septimus himself wasn't sure if he was brave enough to trust whatever shelter he might find in the Port.

It was weird, but he felt safer sitting there beside his sleeping dragon. Not that Spit Fyre would be much of a help if he were met with a possible threat. But hopefully Simon's notorious reputation as a Darke wizard would keep other shady characters away. Not that Simon wasn't a shady character himself, but at least he would know what he was up against... and Simon didn't seem to be in a mood for a fight. Which was good.

Somehow, they ended up sitting uncomfortably on some odd pieces of wood, facing the sea. The storm had begun to recede back into the horizon, leaving only storm clouds and darkness in its wake.

Septimus felt distinctly uncomfortable. He had expected a confrontation. A fight. An escape just in the nick of time on Spit Fyre's back. Or something. But all they had done was... quarrel. Oh well, not that he was complaining.

He sat down tiredly, shifting as pieces of wood bit into him. Briefly he wondered how Simon had survived on his own in a shabby hut at the Port ever since his elder brother had left the Castle for good. And hadn't Boy 409 blinded Simon's eye?

"What happened to the eye- patch?" Septimus wondered aloud.

In retrospect, he really shouldn't have said that aloud. However, all hopes that Simon hadn't heard him was thrown out of the window when his elder brother looked up.

"Magyk," he deadpanned. "What, are you disappointed?"

"No," Septimus amended, "but I didn't know Magyk could restore sight as well."

"It can't," Simon said shortly.

Septimus fell silent, feeling oddly stunned at the revelation. One of Simon's eyes was blinded? He probably shouldn't be, but there was a coil of dread sitting at the bottom pit of his stomach. It wasn't regret, or pity, but it was an unsettling feeling.

"Oh." He couldn't think of anything else to say. Everything between them screamed AWKWARD for the simple reason that they were in the same area and were not trying to hex each other. Suddenly, Septimus had a rush of a feeling of deja vu.

He had wondered before, if his relationship with Simon would be that rocky if they had grown up together. But sitting against uncomfortable splinters of wood from a ruined hut with a snoring dragon between them, he thought, this was probably the closest they would ever be to what could have been.

.

.

.

The rest of the night passed in relative silence. Neither made any conversation after that, and twice Septimus jumped when Simon shifted a bit. He was still paranoid around his elder brother, but who could blame him for that?

But in the end, when midnight had come and go long since then, Septimus finally managed to fall asleep, his head tilted at an awkward angle as he leaned against Spit Fyre's tail across a pile of particularly sharp splinters. But Simon never did. He just stared into the darkness, both eyes, normal and blind, unseeing into the silence.

.

.

.

Septimus woke up with a start from a nightmare about Marcia screaming for him to make breakfast as pink streaks of the first ray of sun cut through the dark clouds. He opened his eyes blearily and tried to to sit up straight, before instantly regretting it. His neck immediately seared with pain, and he could have sworn his shoulder joint popped and creaked as he tried to use his hand to steady himself.

As luck would have it, he accidentally stabbed his finger on one of the splinters lying around. "Ouch!" he yelped aloud, struggling to stand. When he finally straightened and limped out of the rubble, there was nothing to greet him except a gust of cold wind, Spit Fyre's snores and utter silence. It was then when he noticed that Simon was gone, too.

He jerked around to look for his elder brother and by some miracle, managed to catch sight of a familiar tall figure wearing a dark cloak emblazoned with runes disappear into a dark alley.

Feeling curiousity taking over, Septimus gave Spit Fyre one last look before abruptly springing to his feet and half- limped half- walked after his elder brother.

The Port looked, if possible, worse than last night. He had spent the night facing the water, breathing in the sea breeze and watching the night sky, back turned on the Port. Now that he was looking at it under a literally completely different light, it was like seeing another version of the Municipal Rubbish Dump. Rubbish was strewn simply everywhere, the gutters were completely filled and overflowing with trash, and to top it off the floor was wet and muddy from yesterday's rain. It stank so bad that Septimus couldn't help but wish that his nose was blocked.

Grimacing in distaste, he dodged another puddle of rotting food and followed the direction in which he had saw his brother leave. Upon reaching the alley, however, Septimus was forced to stop and reconsider his decision. There was no sign that Simon had ever been there, and with a mounting feeling of trepidation, Septimus noted that the things slumped in the corner were actually moving... they were actually homeless people. Some were ancient Ghosts hovering around their favorite haunt.

Suddenly a piercing scream cut through the morning silence, before it was abruptly cut off. Then nothing. A terrible, cold silence followed. Septimus felt a jolt of fear travel up the spine. What on earth could have happened?! With the slum area of the Port at the crack of dawn, he really didn't want to know. He just dearly hoped that Simon had nothing to do with that-

Before his mind had fully comprehended what he was doing, he was already running, darting quickly through the alley towards the direction in which he had heard the scream. He could hear other noises now, the sound of raised voices, but he could barely make out the words.

He was almost in a full- pelt run by then, sploshing into terrible puddles which he would regret going near at all later. Of course, his sensible, rational thought was screaming for him to go back and ignore the entire situation before he got hopelessly lost, but this wasn't a very be- rational- and- think- wisely- before- you- act situation. This was a do- it- immediately- or- take- time- to- think- and- regret- later type of situation.

Then there was a hiss- a huge bang and the next thing he knew, a plume of dark, black smoke had risen up ahead. Septimus could sense the roiling power infested inside it- it was without a doubt, Darke Magyk. And the caster was proving to be dastardly good at it, judging by the amount of energy he could sense from the smoke.

Well, at least that made following Simon's trail easier. Providing it was really Simon who cast the spell.

But if it really was, Septimus realized belatedly, he really shouldn't get involved.

However, another choked off scream had him turning sharply round a corner. Perhaps he could stay in the shadows and observe-

Septimus finally skidded to a halt before another twisted dark alley, breath coming up short. And just like that, all plans of remaining in the shadows to simply observe were thrown rapidly out of the window when he found himself facing the caster. Simon.

His elder brother's hand was outstretched; Darke Magyk radiating off him like waves, so strong the current that Septimus almost stumbled backwards at the pulse of negative energy. Before Simon was a straggly man- he was writhing on the floor in clear agony and fear, a black snake coiled tightly around his neck, wrapping- tighter, tighter, until he was gasping desperately for air. The man's fingers scrabbled helplessly at the serpent, but it continued to squeeze the life out of him, regardless of the half- screams tearing through his throat before they were abruptly choked off.

Simon's outstretched fist curled, slowly, tighter and tighter, and the serpent around the man obeyed his every command by coiling tighter and tighter. Within a few seconds, the man's face was a sickening splotch of purple, his veins bulging in his head, then a rapid shade of blue. His eyes were roving madly in their sockets, transfixed by a chase of fear and terror-

And amid-st all of that, Simon stood there unaffected, Magyk coursing through him effortlessly as though he was used to the man's screams- his eyes were so dark and furious, they weren't even their normal shade of green. It was darker somehow; a cruel edge to it- and the man was whimpering, his efforts to break free himself weakening-

His brother was going to kill the man.

"Simon!" the yell tore through Septimus' throat, horror and bile clawing up his throat at the scene.

Simon's eyes snapped up to meet his, and for a moment Septimus felt a trill of fear- almost certain that he would be on the receiving end of Simon's wrath. His hand automatically went to his Apprentice belt for a Charm, any Charm, though he dearly wished he had something as strong as Marcia's SafeShield-

Then just like that, the darkness in Simon's eyes faded into their emerald green, and the serpent around the man disappeared into dark smoke. The man gave a slight whimper has he flopped back onto the floor, his fingers reaching for his throat. He managed to gain his bearings slightly, his fear keeping him sufficiently awake to crawl away in agony on all fours, slinking into another alley. He barely made it before he passed out, wasted on the floor.

Septimus just stood there, frozen. He knew Simon was more than capable of performing Darke Magyk. He knew his brother could be cruel- he had kidnapped Jenna to be handed over to DomDaniel just a few weeks prior... But to witness it first- hand, to see Simon torturing someone else, watching calmly as the man writhed before him agony-

"Why did you do that?" Septimus burst out, his voice coming out more like a croak.

Simon said nothing. He appeared calm, but his eyes were wide as he looked down at his hands, as though he were terrified of himself.

Then suddenly, a young girl appeared round a dust bin, her dark hair which was matted and dirty flowing down her back in slightly wavy tresses. When she turned around, Septimus' breath caught in his throat- the girl looked quite like Jenna. The same dark hair, the same lips... except for the fact that her eyes were a dark brown, and where Jenna radiated confidence and radiance, the girl's eyes reflected fear.

She crawled out behind her hiding place, her dress pitifully ragged and torn. When she finally stood up, stumbling, Septimus noticed an ugly red mark running down the side of her neck- it looked recent. Timidly she stumbled in front of Simon and whispered quietly, "Thank you."

Then she too, slunk quietly away, leaving Septimus and Simon alone in the cold, dingy alley.

Bizarrely, Septimus found himself back at the ruined hut where Spit Fyre was still snoring peacefully, Simon on the other side of the dragon, watching sunrise as the waves rolled in.

While Simon's face had closed off abruptly into an emotionless mask that revealed nothing, Septimus could still remember all too well the flash of terror across his elder brother's features as he looked down at his own hands. It was gone within the second, but it still had been there nevertheless.

"I haven't used Magyk for ages," Simon said abruptly, and it was a mark of the depth of his uncertainty that he actually deigned to talk to the younger brother he claimed he hated. "I stayed away from all of it."

"Why?" Septimus asked immediately, surprised. He couldn't imagine living a life without Magyk. Ever since he had been Apprenticed to Marcia, his life practically revolved around it, it was as much an inseparable being to him as was air.

"I wanted to stay away from the Darke," Simon said abruptly, so quickly, that Septimus barely caught his rush of words. "I see now what they meant. It corrupts. It burns, but at the same time it keeps on drawing you in, enticing you. It is a... terrible beauty, they say."

A slight manic smile was playing on Simon's lips now; and the sudden change sent a chill crackling up Septimus' spine.

"What do you mean?" Septimus asked, not surprised that his voice came out as a whisper.

Simon actually smiled at him this time; it was not a pleasant smile. There was a slight wildness to it, and it was bitter, oh so very bitter. "Don't tell me you don't know, little brother," he said mockingly. "Haven't you witnessed it first hand?"

This time, Septimus was completely struck dumb. But Simon hadn't finished.

"I was jealous," he said, "Jealous because I had been working forever just to achieve my life- time dream, to be the Extra- Ordinary Wizard's Apprentice one day. I studied Magyk ever since I was young, working late hours into the night, even begging Dad to smuggle Magyk books back when Magyk was banned. But then you came along out of nowhere, the seventh son of a seventh son, and you stole my place."

Septimus felt his heart beating faster now; he wanted to say something, to protest, but his words and completely deserted him.

"I hated you for it," Simon said flatly. "And that hatred drove me on. In a fit of rebellion, to prove everyone wrong- I studied Darke Magyk by myself. And after that, when DomDaniel made me his Apprentice, I continued to dabble in it, going in deeper and deeper. It was haunting, terrifying, but simultaneously refreshing, it made me feel powerful and there were times I thought I was going too far and I needed to stop, but I couldn't. Every waking hour there was the feeling of Darke Magyk, the feeling of power at my fingertips, urging me to use it, to destroy.

"I didn't try to turn back after that. It felt enticing, powerful, I didn't want to let the feeling go. Every time I used Darke Magyk, the need to use more of it, to grow deeper in it, to destroy, became even greater. And the more I learnt, the more powerful I felt. It wasn't only that though, it turned my thoughts, and it manifested deep within me, growing stronger as I continued to harbor my hatred and bitterness for my family."

He fell silent for a moment, his breath coming in short rasps- "That day, when I kidnapped Jenna, I would have killed her."

Silence. The roaring of the waves seemed distant to his ears as Septimus listened, the cold spreading through his toes to his heart.

"Y-You didn't do it immediately though," he said a bit shakily, "You left it overnight."

"Probably shouldn't have, huh?" Simon said humorlessly.

"Because you were afraid."

Simon's knuckles turned white as his hand clenched into a fist, but otherwise he made no comment. Septimus just watched on in silence. Somehow, he knew he had guessed rightly. Then-

"Why are you telling me this?" Septimus said suddenly, realization that he was having his first decent conversation with his elder brother dawning.

"Probably because of the same reason," Simon said lightly, but Septimus could see the fear reflected in those haunted, dark green eyes. "I performed Darke Magyk again today. I thought by staying away from it so long, it would slowly fade away... but it only intensified. My power, the need to torture, to destroy... even the man's screams, the way he scrabbled for air, begging, pleading... at that moment, it was beautiful."

Septimus took a deep breath. Simon was seriously creeping him out. "You could learn to control it," he suggested, trying desperately to keep his voice even, "balance both Magyk and the Darke. Then you would be able to use both efficiently."

"How ingenious of you," Simon snapped sarcastically, his fear suddenly turning him edgy and defensive simultaneously, "I've never thought of that myself. It was completely beyond me-"

"-well it's the only thing that would work right now!" Septimus snapped back heatedly. "What do you think you're doing here, wasting your life in some sort of dump? If you planned to stay here mourning all your life I'm actually glad Spit Fyre destroyed your hut! I'm not sure if I believe you, but while you tortured the man, you did for a good cause, you intervened to save the girl." He swallowed, his voice softening slightly. "...she looked like a younger version of... of Jenna."

Dark green eyes snapped up to meet his again, but Septimus met it unflinchingly.

"Mum's been worried sick about you," he said finally, "so has Dad, but they won't bring it up because Jenna still hates you for it. And frankly, I don't quite blame her, not really." He paused, "but if you ever really regret it... maybe you could try and start over. Learn to control it, change... Mum wants you back in the Castle," he mumbled the last bit.

Simon stared at him incredulously. "Of course, with your simple- mind you would make everything sound so dastardly simple."

Septimus stood up, brushing off the jibe- Spit Fyre had begun to stir, and he was eager to fly off once more. He was tired and in a desperate need for a bath, and Marcia was probably worried sick. And he didn't even want to begin to think about Simon. His brother was being so utterly confusing Septimus was torn between feeling the slightest bit of regret at how things turned out and going back to hating his brother completely. Neither seemed to sit well with him.

"Though..." Simon mused, seemingly oblivious to Septimus' internal battle, "would you mind?"

The question was so sudden, so abrupt, that it threw Septimus off course. He blinked. Did Simon just ask him for his opinion?

"Well if everyone's happy then I supposed I could be fine with it," he said quickly, unsure. Why in the name of Hotep- Ra did Simon say that? "Maybe, probably, if you don't pose a serious threat to the Castle's safety and well- being, and this is not another ruse to destroy the- "

A great rumble from Spit Fyre drowned out the rest of the sentence. Septimus fell silent, then shifted a bit. When in the world did it become so awkward between them?!

"-and Spit Fyre's awake, so I'd better go and leave you in peace. Sorry about the hut," Septimus finished in a rush. He wasn't even looking at Simon, it was- ah, because the rising sun was becoming too bright to do so.

He clambered over the rubble to reach Spit Fyre's back, uncaring whether his dragon would protest for his lack of breakfast. If Septimus could go with an empty- stomach, so could his dragon. He just wanted to leave right now-

"Septimus?"

Septimus looked back, trying not to let his feeling of surprise betray him. "What?" he said, trying his best to keep his voice level.

"You know, for the record- I'm glad you crashed into this hut."

There was a faint smile, before Simon shrugged and walked away to give Spit Fyre a wide berth for taking off, leaving Septimus to stare after his retreating figure with no small measure of surprise.

In the far horizon, the morning sun rose, gold and glittering against the blue sea.

A/N: Thanks for reading! Pretty please drop me a thought? Loved it/ hated it? Even a simple 'great' or 'bad' will suffice. Pleaaase? ;p It would make me very happy and inspired!

This ought to be a one- shot, but I have a vague plot stirring in the back of my head. Don't know how it'll turn out yet.

Please review! Thank you :)

Take care,
Epsilon Scorpii