discontinued, re-write titled "Mind Over Matter".
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❞𝐘𝐨𝐮❜𝐯𝐞 𝐛𝐞𝐠𝐮𝐧 𝐭𝐨 𝐟𝐞𝐞𝐥 𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞 𝐡𝐨𝐦𝐞. . .❞
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Liliana Granger never sought out the adventures of life, she'd grown comfortable in what she knew and applied...
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"You're not choosing sides are you?"
Harry didn't have a very clear idea of how he had managed to get back into the Honeydukes cellar, through the tunnel, and into the castle once more. All he knew was that the return trip seemed to take no time at all, and that he hardly noticed what he was doing, because his head was still pounding with the conversation he had just heard.
Why had nobody ever told him? Dumbledore, Hagrid, Mr. Weasley, Cornelius Fudge, Atlas... why hadn't anyone ever mentioned the fact that Harry's parents had died because their best friend had betrayed them? Why hadn't anyone mentioned the fact that one of his best friends was that man's son?
Ron and Hermione watched Harry nervously all through dinner, not daring to talk about what they'd overheard, because Percy was sitting close by them. The pair kept sneaking glances at Atlas and Liliana, who were sitting on the far end of the table, knowing Harry was not eager to speak or see them.
Ben kept looking up from the Hufflepuff table every now and then; his face disheartened when he saw the broken looks on Atlas and Harry's faces. Both were thinking the same thing without even knowing it, What happens now?
When they went upstairs to the crowded common room, it was to find Fred and George had set off half a dozen Dungbombs in a fit of end-of-term high spirits. Harry, who didn't want Fred and George asking him whether he and Liliana had reached Hogsmeade or not, sneaked quietly up to the empty dormitory and headed straight for his bedside cabinet.
He pushed his books aside and quickly found what he was looking for - the leather-bound photo album Hagrid had given him two years ago, which was full of wizard pictures of his mother and father. He sat down on his bed, drew the hangings around him, and started turning the pages, searching, until...
He stopped on a picture of his parents' wedding day. There was his father waving up at him, beaming, the untidy black hair Harry had inherited standing up in all directions. There was his mother, alight with happiness, arm in arm with his dad. And there... that must be him. Their best man... Harry had never given him a thought before.
If he hadn't known it was the same person, he would never have guessed it was Black in this old photograph. His face wasn't sunken and waxy, but handsome, full of laughter.
Had he already been working for Voldemort when this picture had been taken? Was he already planning the deaths of the two people next to him? Had he already made up his mind on leaving his son behind? Did he realize he was facing twelve years in Azkaban, twelve years that would make him unrecognizable?
But the Dementors don't affect him, Harry thought, staring into the handsome, laughing face. And as he stared at that face, he saw the alikeness Atlas shared with him, but it was the eyes that reminded Harry so much of his supposed best friend. Harry felt sick as he looked down at the photo, he doesn't have to hear my Mum screaming if they get too close-
