This isn't meant to be a story of abuse. This is the story of a child celebrity's not famous sibling, and what the effects of that could possibly be. This is the story of a grandmother so caught up in morning what she has lost that she forgets what she has. She doesn't mean it, but it's happening. This is the story of a father who is stern, and believes in corporal punishment. He goes a little far sometimes, and that probably pushes the line into abuse, but it's not lost-temper-beat-the-shit-out-of-him-repeatedly sort of thing.

It's about parents and guardians who don't mean it, but slip over the line into the territory of abuse, and three young men who have found something, in each other and themselves, that helps them deal with that.

It's about coming back in time to fulfill a prophecy they weren't supposed to know about.

It's about awakening family magics some say are better left forgotten.

It's about music and healing and the Gods of old.

Mostly, it's about friends and family.

I'm not going to write long, drawn out author's notes justifying everything that you see. I'll answer some comments if necessary, but it's my hope that the story itself will explain things.

I told a friend that this story consists of a lot of my favorite tropes thrown in a blender with the alphabet, and that's about accurate. You might notice the tags update as I think of more things to add to it.

Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter and unless I specifically state otherwise, the lyrical poetry stuff is mine.

Edit: I forgot, but my friend reminded me... THERE IS SELF HARM IN THIS CHAPTER AND IT IS SPOKEN OF LATER ON.

Do you really want to play,
Play that game?
Do you really want to seek,
Seek the same?
Are you ready for that pain?

Evan James let his voice trail off with the music, smiling shyly as the room erupted into cheers. It had been a hard year, but this was what made it worth it, this crowd of people cheering for him and his music. He slid the microphone into its stand, "All right everyone," he said as the cheering began to quiet down, "As I told you that was the last song of the night. Thank you all for coming out, I'm Evan James." There was more clapping and cheering and Evan headed off stage to where his best friends were waiting.

"Good show, mate," Nate said as he slapped his shoulder, "you really had them going."

Evan grinned, "It was the best kind of show, I think."

"If you were single," Reggie said as he fell in on Evan's left, "you'd probably have your pick of the girls out there."

"But I'm not single," Evan said as he pushed open the backstage door, "and I don't want just any girl."

They headed across the back lot of the club as the band inside started up again. "That was my last gig," Evan said, turning to grin at his friends, "starting next week it's concerts and recording studios and more money than the Malfoys."

"I dunno, I think Lucky Lucy could give you a run for your money," Reggie said.

"He could," Nate said, "if he cared to covert his money." He reached up and rubbed two fingers over his cheekbone.

"Hey mate," Evan said, catching Nate's hand, "you're the one who wanted that transdermal whatever piercings, stop toying with it."

"They're anti-eyebrow microdermal piercings," Nate muttered as he freed his hand, "I'm thinking about getting another one, actually."

"Are you finally going to get your PA?" Reggie asked as he pulled out the car keys.

"Is this were I point out that I don't want one of those?" Nate asked, "I'm thinking in my nose, actually, either that or my lip."

"If your grandmother could see you now," Evan said as he stole the keys from Reggie and scrambled into the driver's seat.

Evan glanced up at the rearview mirror, taking in his own green eyes and auburn hair before adjusting it so that he could back out. He still wasn't sure how he'd managed to get so lucky as to be able to spend his life with his two best friends. There had been a time when he'd been half convinced they wouldn't survive school, much less manage their escape.

"Earth to Evan," Reggie said, tapping Evan on top of his head, "You in there?"

"Yes, sorry," Evan replied, "just thinking about school."

"Why would you be thinking about that?" Reggie asked, "I intend to forget I ever went there."

Evan shrugged as he pulled out into traffic, "Just thinking how ten years ago, I was afraid that I'd wake up and one of you wouldn't be there."

"You were afraid?" Nate said, "We almost lived that nightmare, Harry."

"I know," Evan said, "I know, Neville. I'm sorry. We all had our demons back then, didn't we?"

He couldn't look, traffic in Miami wasn't ever kind to distracted drivers, but he knew that Reggie and Nate were both probably running restless fingers over hidden scars. Evan's fingers twitched and he wanted to pull off the leather wrist cuffs that hid the worst of his scars. Not that he would, Evan had spent years learning that the moment you least wanted it; someone would be taking your photograph.

"I've been thinking," Evan said as he guided the car up the A1A towards home, "I want to invest in a flat. How do you feel about moving to South Beach?"

"The woman will be pretty," Reggie said.

"It won't be Key West," Nate said, "but I guess the alcohol will be nice enough."

"I thought you hated Key West," Reggie said.

"No, that was me," Evan said. "Although the tips were pretty nice down there and all; I'm just not the island type, I guess."

"I liked Key West," Nate said smugly, "and Key West liked me."

"Yes, we know," Reggie said, "you got laid in the Keys."

"About South Beach," Evan cut in, hoping to get around another bragging session. The conversation meandered for the entire drive home, only to be forgotten when they arrived at the large townhome that had been theirs for almost a year.

Waiting for them by the front door was a tall woman with curly brown hair and a worried expression. "Can I help you?" Evan asked as they approached the woman.

"I'm sorry," the woman said, "I'm looking for Neville Longbottom."

"Shh," the three men said in unison, making the woman flinch.

"I'm Nate Long," Nate said, "come in and explain what this is about." He opened the door and gestured the woman in.

Under the brighter lights on the staircase, Evan realized he recognized the woman, "Hermione Granger," he said quietly.

Hermione stared at him for a moment, and then Reggie, "I'm sorry, but who are you?"

Evan smiled, "Most people call me Evan James now." He gestured, "Come up stairs, have a cup of tea, and tell us why you came looking. I'm sure that unless Gwarp is charging Miami, we have time for tea."

"He's right," Reggie said, "come on, this isn't a mudblood free zone, you know."

Hermione followed them up to the living room, "You're Harry and Draco?" She said after a moment.

"Evan James," Evan said, "I don't use that name any more."

"Reggie Black," Reggie added. "I definitely don't use that name."

"Sorry," Hermione said, "I just, I can't believe I found you."

Evan looked up from where he was collecting cups from the living room. Hermione's shoulders were shaking as she watched Nate put the kettle on. "Hey Hermione," he said, reaching to touch Hermione's shoulder gently, "What's wrong?"

Hermione burst into tears and Evan pulled her into a hug. "I'm sorry," she sobbed.

"It's ok," Evan said, "you're safe here, I promise. Just let it out, ok?" He squeezed lightly and began rubbing small circles onto her back, "Just let it out, Hermione, it's ok."

By the time, the teakettle whistled, Hermione was calming down, "I'm sorry," she said.

"You needed that," Evan said, "now come have a seat and tell us what's going on, hmm?"

Hermione allowed herself to be steered to their couch. "Harry, I mean Evan," she said, "I-I don't know where to start. I mean, it's such a shock and I think you should know before they find you and Dumbledore is acting so strange, I just don't understand."

"Hermione," Evan said, "what's going on?"

Hermione took a shaky breath, "Vol-Voldemort killed Patrick. The Ministry thinks Dumbledore made a mistake about who survived the killing curse and they're looking for you. Voldemort's taken the ministry. It's awful, nobody knows what's going on or what to do, and the Muggleborns."

Evan sat back, keeping one hand on Hermione's knee. Patrick was dead. Patrick, the thorn in his side, pain in the butt older brother was dead. Evan wondered what he was supposed to feel upon hearing that the twin he hadn't been close to since the first time they'd seen the flash of killing curse green was dead.

"The ministry is coming for Evan?" Reggie asked, jolting Evan out of his thoughts.

"They're looking for him," Hermione said.

"Were you followed?" Nate asked as he came out of the kitchen with mugs of tea in hand.

"I don't know," Hermione admitted.

The three exchanged looks and then Neville put down the mugs and Evan stood up. "There's something we need to do before anyone else shows up," Evan said, he offered his hand to Hermione, "will you help us?"

Hermione took Evan's hand and stood up, "What can I do?"

"Add three ingredients to a potion while we're casting a spell, then handing each of us a dose when it's done." Evan said.

"I can do that," Hermione said.

"Thank you, Hermione," Evan said as they headed into the large laundry room.

There was a small silver cauldron on the tile floor that Reggie was examining. Evan let Hermione join him as Nate brought in their wands. "It's almost ready," Reggie said as he took his wand from Nate.

"What do I need to do?" Hermione asked, "I don't recognize this potion."

Reggie smiled, "There's a book under the mattress in the master bedroom, and it has the potion and spell in it. You can look later. For now, what you do is, when we start casting, you put in this cup," he pointed to the red cup on the dryer, "and stir sixteen times clockwise. Then you put in the green cup and stir seven times counter clockwise, then you put in the blue cup and you stir until it becomes clear. Then you add the yellow cup, stir three times clockwise and then ladle out three shot glasses," Reggie gestured to the shot glasses also on the dryer, "and that's it." He pointed at the back wall of the laundry room, "There are the instructions again."

"Ok," Hermione said.

A soft gong ran through the room and the three men exchanged looks, "Someone just apparated nearby," Evan said quietly.

"Could just be a neighbor," Nate replied.

"Let's just do this," Reggie said.

They raised their wands, touched the tips together, and began to chant.

The spell they were invoking was long and required to be spoken in unison. They had practiced it for hours until this moment came. They'd found the spell and potion in an old book in Reggie's family library, just as Evan had found the old journal that had inspired their adventures in Miami. Nate had found the spells that had hidden them so well, although only Evan had changed his looks so drastically. As they entered the second part of the chant, Evan reflected that it was amazing what time had done for them. Reggie had stopped using hair products and his hair had turned honey blond almost overnight. That and the fact that Reggie had relaxed enough to laugh and tease his friends made him a different person from who had once been. Nate had not changed much, he had started going to a gym and traded his baby fat for muscle. Other than his habit of getting tattoos and piercings, Nate's greatest change was his self-confidence. It had blossomed as Nate realized how much his friends cared for him. Evan knew that he had changed to, not just changing his hair and getting contacts, but the way he stood, the way he interacted with others, it was different.

None of them were liked the three boys who had vanished when their NEWTs arrived. They didn't have to be.

Finally, the spell was done, and Hermione was handing over the shot glasses that they threw back, still in unison.

They set the shot glasses on the washer as a louder gong rang through the townhouse. "Visitors," Reggie said as he swayed.

Evan turned to Hermione, "Thank you, Hermione. You'd better get out of here fast. That was the intent ward. Someone with magic is headed this way. They're about half a kilometer out. We'll be fine."

"Thanks for warning us," Nate said.

"We'll see you soon," Reggie said. "Get the book, and the trunk, from the master bedroom and go."

"Ok," Hermione said, hurrying out of the room.

"Good thing she trusts us," Evan muttered as they all sat down on the ground. His eyes felt heavy so he closed them, "Anne's going to be pissed."

"No worries mate," Nate replied. "I'm sure she'd understand."

There was a crack of apparition and then a third gong.

"Later," Nate said.

The world went black.

It is Christmas, Harry is five and holding one of the few presents with his name on it. Rick is tearing through a small mountain of gifts. Lily and James are watching as Rick works his way through the pile. They haven't noticed Harry really, beyond giving him a cup of chocolate milk and a plate some sausage wraps on it. Harry begins to open the gift, wishing his dad was joking about what he'd gotten or his mum was taking his picture. Nobody looked as he opened the gift, it was a book; The Tales of Beadle the Bard.

It's Spring and Neville is eight. He knows his gran would disapprove of him getting muddy, but Neville wants to see the plants. He stands at the window and stares at the back garden.

"Your grandson is well, I trust?"

Neville hesitated, looking back over his shoulder, but Gran and Ms. Muriel weren't coming into the drawing room.

"As well as can be expected," Gran replied with a soft sigh.

Neville could hear her disappointment. He knew she was starting to believe that he would be a squib. Neville headed for the door, he did not want to hear this.

"Draco, it's time to come inside."

Draco is ten and ready to go to Hogwarts, "In a minute, Mother," he calls, staring at the sky. There, there is his constellation.

"Draco, don't make me tell you again," Narcissa calls.

Draco flinched, but turns to run inside, "Can we go to Diagon Alley tomorrow?"

"Maybe," Narcissa said. "We'll see what your father says."

Draco skipped in happiness, he loved Diagon Alley.

"Malfoys do not skip, Draco," Lucious said as he came out of his office, cane in hand. "Do we need to discuss this again?"

"No sir," Draco said.

"Very good."

"Is that Patrick Potter?" Someone said.

Harry flinched, wondering why he'd decided to walk beside Rick as they headed to the Hogwarts Express. Someone had noticed, soon, there would be reporters, and he doubted his parents would let him escape. They'd said it often enough, that he could duck some photos, but not all; otherwise people would worry.

It was tough being the identical twin of Patrick 'Rick' Potter, the defeater of Voldemort and the only known survivor of the killing curse. It was bad enough, in Harry's opinion, to be a Potter without being a celebrity also.

Draco hated the Slytherin dungeons. There were no windows in the dorm.

It was his second year in Slytherin, and Draco knew he could survive that. He wasn't sure he could survive his potions partner; Snape had assigned the extra Gryffindor to him. Especially given that it was one of the Potter twins. At least it was the quiet one, Harry, and not his braggart of a brother, Rick.

Draco remembered the warning hissed in his ear about treating Harry right. Draco had thought that Rick hated his brother, given the way he usually talked about Harry. It was noteworthy.

The words bounced through his mind like stone, worthless, stupid, squib, weak, coward, they wouldn't leave him alone. They hounded him with all the fury of a pack of Hell Hounds. There was only one way to make the words go away and Neville gripped his razor in his shaking hand like it was a lifeline.

He slipped into the bathroom, relieved that this late, or this early, it was nearly five am, all of his dorm mates would be sleeping. Neville sat down on the bench in the middle of the room and lifted the blade. His hand stilled and he made the first cut. There was no pain, only a moment of silence as if the bright red blood were pulling away one of the words.

The bathroom door opened and Neville looked up, terrified. It was Harry. There was a glint of silver in one hand, and Neville could see the thin red lines on his arm, not unlike his own.