Chronicles of The Boy Who Lived

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Acknowledgements go out to the kindred spirits at Live Journal who first breathed life into deliciously pompous idol that is DracoRockstar. Bless you. Also, creative_twist, to whom I owe chunks of my inspired snark to. Thanks, Babe. This story wouldn\'t 1/2 of what it is w/out you. Literally.

Beware: Slow-burn sexual tension and psychological warfare ahoy!!

...You\'ve been warned.

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Chanel Steele was about to pawn her raggedy-ass drum kit. She was arguing pissily over its worth when she heard him.

The chord was soft and low and plaintive. She whipped her head around, nearly losing her cigarette. There was a boy in the back, sitting on a haphazard pile of vinyl records with a guitar in his hands. He had his head bowed, his unkempt hair sweeping over his glasses. He sat posed his fingers not touching, but just teasing the air above the strings. And the wildest shiver ripped through the room.

He didn\'t look up for the longest time. But when he did, she knew she\'d met god.

He was reasonably good looking, despite an ugly but strangely familiar scar now fading dully against his too-pale skin. And he obviously had the talent.

He had The Gift.

But most importantly, he would need a band to back him. A family. The kid could probably pack and play a stadium solo, but he had a spirit that had been trampled on. There was something deep in those brilliant eyes, though, that told her he wasn\'t all dead inside. He just needed to be reawakened.

Chanel gave him a pen and receipt and asked him to write down the tune he\'d just played. He looked up at her solemnly, then scratched something down on a piece of paper.

Erised.

Chills ripped down her spine.

And she didn\'t know why.

She told him on the spot that she could make something of what he had -- something better than whatever it was waiting for him (or whatever he was waiting for). She told him she would show her good faith. She shoved her drumsticks over at the owner and demanded the shitty amount he was taking her for. She snatched the money and turned to the boy.

\"Tell me your story.\"

While they lunched on the miserable change Chanel had got from the trade in, she fell spellbound to the wonderful melancholy of his story. The dark and aching longing; the love.

The Fury.

Chanel would never forget that day she walked into his life and he plucked the bitter cords of her heart. She remembered every dream and nightmare she had had in the wake of what he\'d told her and a burning vengeance that dictated only one thing -- that she would redeem him.


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Four years later…


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Tori Klug stood at the entrance to the Mandeville Hotel in London, shocked and stunned, in complete disbelief that she was actually there.

She had set the crazy idea in motion with a click.

She needed to get away. Run away. He wasn’t leaving.

click

The phone hitting the wall, still ringing, as she had closed her door.

click

Her boyfriend of three years, and on-off again boyfriend for two more, trying to call her. Why?

click

Fuck you. Go be with her and your soon-to-be child.

Should’ve known, she told herself, sitting in front of her computer after hearing the news that Saturday.

Where to go, where to go. Out of state had seemed like a good idea. Just for a week, just to clear her head, sort things out, deal with it.

click

In the corner of the screen there had been an advert for London. Tori stared at it for a minute before shaking her head and typed in other cities: Las Vegas, Miami, Boston. It hadn’t been her idea to go out of country, just out of state.

But each time she would go back to the main screen, and there it was: London.

Another county. Sixteen hours away. Practically the other side of the world. She turned away from the screen, and her gaze fell upon the broken keyboard in the corner. It had been a gift from her boyfriend, and now it lay in shambles.

Tears stung her eyes as she whipped around to face the screen once again.

Fury rose up inside her. I am not weak.

click


***


She woke up Monday morning, only slightly less shocked that she was really in London.

Outside of the hotel, Tori walked down both sides of the streets, just taking everything in. The sky was cool and gray, but there was no wind. She walked for hours.

It truly was like being in a different world. Everything seemed cleaner, neater, and more open. She walked until it was nearly noon, and then she ducked into a café to grab some tea and a snack. Then she walked some more. After dinner, she stayed in the room, perched by the window, looking out at the dazzling night sky, notebook in lap, scribbling out more notes, more chords.

The routine repeated itself on Tuesday and Wednesday as well; it was amazingly therapeutic. Thursday, Tori was eating breakfast in her room, when her fingers started tapping on the bed. She realized she was missing her keyboard. Then the notes she had written in the notebook came back, and Tori knew what she was going to do that morning.

After throwing on a new cream-colored sweater and a dark pair of jeans, Tori headed off in search of a music store. Walking down both sides of the street the hotel was on for two hours, she came across nothing. Feet sore, she hobbled back towards the hotel. As she approached her hotel, intent on calling a cab and finding a damn music store, she started laughing.

Not two spaces down from the hotel was a pawn shop. In the front window, along with the pieces of dilapidated jewelry and the old furniture, were an old guitar and some sheet music. Tori walked inside, hoping, and was not disappointed.

In the back, with the other worn instruments from varying families, was a keyboard. It was about ten years old. Nonetheless, she calmly asked the old gentlemen if she could play on it. He appraised her quickly, and nodded.

She trembled slightly as her fingers approached it. But the apprehension drained away as they were greeted by the keys like old friends. When she had been confronted by her ex, she had smashed her only keyboard in a fury, and hadn’t played since then, almost a month.

Tori played on the keyboard until it was time to close. It had felt so good to play, to feel her fingers dance on the keys; she hadn’t moved a muscle from that spot. The elderly gentleman complimented her on her playing as he locked up. She thanked him and turned to go back to the hotel, when his voice called after her, “You’re welcome back any time.”

On Friday, she dressed quickly and, as an afterthought, grabbed her notebook. Promptly at 10 am, she entered the shop, smiling widely at the owner, who nodded in return. She made her way back to the keyboard. Opening the notebook, she began to try out her untitled song. Periodically, she would stop and make minor changes here and there. Head down, Tori would occasionally hear the bell jangle as people came and left.

Sometime after lunch, the bell jangled again, which Tori barely noticed. She had just made the final changes to her untitled melody, and was playing through it for the first time. Tori didn’t realize she had closed her eyes as her fingers flew up and down the keyboard as if they had written the notes themselves. She felt a strange sensation quell up inside of her. The melody seemed haunting, yet beautiful. She had no idea why she had written such a thing.

She opened her eyes halfway through and stopped abruptly, startled as they came into contact with a pair of green eyes. Bright, striking green eyes set in a face as pale as hers had been the day she had left for London.

They belonged to a person who was about three inches taller than her. He had short black hair and was wearing gray cords and a black hooded sweatshirt. He had been watching Tori intently, unmoving.

Taken aback, Tori stood there, mute. The stranger offered a thin smile, which she briefly returned, more automatic than anything.

“Hello,” he said quietly, his voice accented like most here.

“Hi,” Tori managed, still tense at having been watched like that for who-knew-how long.

“Can you play that again?” he asked, again quietly.

Tori blinked, surprised. Why did he want me to play it again? Instantly, she chastised herself. Stop being so jaded.

She found herself nodding before giving it another thought. Why she was willingly playing for this stranger, she didn’t know, but she began playing.

When she was done, she paused, then raised her eyes cautiously to look at him.

Again, a small smile. “That was incredible,” he said. “Did you write that?”

A little embarrassed, Tori looked down. “Yeah, just this week.”

“Hm,” He glanced down at her hands, now resting on the keyboard. “Played long?”

Tori nodded. “I took it up when I was nine. I hurt my knee, and couldn’t do anything for six months. My parents had me take piano lessons, and…yeah.” Stop talking.

He had looked down when she started speaking, but now fixed her with those brilliant green eyes. “You’re not English.”

Tori smiled briefly. “No, I’m not. I’m from the States.”

“Why are you here?”

She hesitated. The answer was too personal and she was too embarrassed to admit she was in London on a whim, trying to outrun something painful. “I—I just wanted to—go somewhere else. Try something new.”

He looked impressed, and she felt a slight twinge for not telling the truth. Why do I care what I tell a stranger?

“Can you sing?”

Her eyes widened. “Uh, yeah, in the shower. Or a car.”

He laughed, then spoke seriously. “I think you can.”

The joking demeanor died as that rang in her ears. He was serious.

“Sing something.” His voice was soft and imploring, and again she found herself relenting, unexplainably. A song popped into her head, and she quietly began playing. Her mouth opened, and she heard herself singing in a low, steady voice:


\'You took your coat off,
And stood in the rain,
You were always crazy like that.
And I watched from my window,
Always felt I was outside,
Looking in on you.\'


After another verse, she broke off then, fully realizing that she had just been singing out loud, in front of a complete stranger. In a store. In London.

He chuckled to himself as the color rose in her cheeks. “You have nothing to be embarrassed about.”

Tori mumbled a reply, unbelieving. He cleared his throat, and she looked up. “I was being serious.”

Tori couldn’t keep eye contact. “Thank you.” Now, if you would just leave me to my embarrassment…

He smiled again. “Can I bring someone over here to hear you play?”

“I don’t—” Her eyes darted around the store, feeling a bit off.

He cut her off, as if sensing that he was losing her. “Please?”

Tori stared at him hard, wondering inside why the yes was already playing on her lips. As he turned to leave, she took notice of something on the upper right of his forehead, underneath his bangs. It looked like a scar, which was curiously shaped…

She only got to think about it for a few seconds, because the stranger came back with a girl who was merely an inch shorter than him. She was very striking, with short, auburn colored hair that ended just below her chin. Her gaze was piercing, making Tori feel a little intimidated. What was going on? What did I just get myself into? They were talking; she didn’t seem too happy.

Tori heard one word of their conversation as they approached, and she wasn’t even sure she heard correctly.

“Erised.”

Tori didn’t recognize it, but apparently the girl did, because her demeanor changed to reluctant curiosity, she gave a cursory nod and waited, arms crossed.

The stranger smiled at Tori encouragingly, which solicited only a half-smile. She began to play, keeping her eyes off of the girl. Tori chanced a glance up at the stranger, and he was watching her as well. Feeling warm, she resumed her focus on the keyboard.

As Tori finished playing, she looked up and received a shock. The girl’s face softened, and the fleeting look on her face was now serious, not haughty. She exchanged a curt look with the guy. “That was…good.” She stepped forward reluctantly, her hand out. “Chanel.”

Tori shook her hand. “Thanks. I’m Tori.”

She nodded again. “I won’t waste your time, then, Tori.” She motioned to the stranger and herself. “We’re in a band and we need a keyboardist. Do you sing?”

Tori hesitated as the stranger spoke up. “Yes, she does.”

Chanel looked quickly at the stranger, then back at her, crossing her arms. “Sing something.”

Inwardly, Tori knew that she was being challenged, to see what she would do. Something inside of her told her to keep going. Tori immediately began playing, picking up where she had cut off from before.

For the second time, Tori abruptly ended the song. The girl looked as if she had been taken by surprise. It was quickly replaced with a stone face, suggesting that she was one who was rarely taken by surprise. She looked from Tori to him and back. He nodded, which she didn’t seem to agree with wholeheartedly.

Then she spoke tersely. “We would need to finish our demo in seven weeks, and then jump into touring right after.” There was a brief pause, before she added, “Interested?”

Tori stood there, stunned, as what Chanel said sunk in. She thought vaguely of her ticket, scheduled for Sunday. What Chanel was saying, what she was asking…and why the hell was Tori thinking about it? Her home was sixteen hours away. Then his face floated through her mind, the one she had been running from, for the first time in almost a week. And instantly, Tori knew she didn’t want to go back.

Tori realized she had been silent for almost a minute. Both Chanel and the stranger were watching her intently. Tori cleared her throat. “Um, yeah, I’m interested. But, can I think about it first?”

Chanel’s eyes narrowed. “We need to know by Sunday. Morning.” She stuck out her hand again, which Tori took, reeling from the short time she would have to make such a decision.

Chanel turned abruptly and went back up front, leaving the stranger standing in back with Tori. “Where are you staying?” he asked.

It took a second for Tori to find her voice, which had been rendered nearly mute after what Chanel had just said. “The Mandeville.”

He nodded. He took out a yellowed piece of paper, scribbled on it, and then extended it to Tori.

She glanced at the paper as he said, “That’s where you can reach me.”

She nodded dumbly, as reality began to sink in.

“I hope to hear from you, Tori.”

She managed to speak. “I’ll let you know.”

He smiled at her again, and left. Tori stood there, watching him leave. Then she turned off the keyboard, grabbed her notebook, quickly stuffed the old piece of paper into her pocket and headed to the front.


***


“I don’t like it,” Chanel started immediately as Harry joined her outside.

“Her?” he asked, as they started walking.

“No, no,” she said irritably, “She’s fine, I’m sure. For a Muggle.”

Harry raised an eyebrow. “All the better.”

“Yes, well, all fine and dandy for you,\" she muttered. \"But she\'s going to be in way over her head...the rehearsals, the touring, the magic...\"

Harry shrugged, not caring. “So? Not from me.”

Chanel sighed. “Look, I don’t feel like babysitting a Muggle, or playing ‘Twenty
Questions’ with one for that matter.” She stopped and looked at him pointedly. “How will you explain the Veelas? How will you explain Draco?”

“Look, I don’t know.” Harry answered. “The issue right now is we’ve been looking for over two months. She can sing well enough to back me up. And you heard her play; she’s brilliant. What she played fit with ‘Erised’ better than anything I could’ve done.”

Chanel grunted, unrelenting. “I’m sure you would have figured something out.”

“Time, Chanel.” Harry reminded her. “We’re due to start the tour in seven weeks and
he insisted that we not hold it up any longer. You convinced him to give us this time as it is.”

She threw him an exasperated look. “Fine. If she comes on board, she’s your problem. Comments, questions, complaints…the whole kit and caboodle.” She grunted. \"You\'ve been warned.\"

Harry shrugged again. “All right. But I think she’ll do fine.”

Chanel mumbled under her breath.


***


The owner spoke as Tori reached the door. “You should do it, you know.”

She paused, turning away from the door. “I should?”

He nodded, and jutted his head in the supposed direction that the stranger had exited in. “He’s a good person, and talented. Used to come in here and play the guitar that’s now in the window.”

Instinctively, she looked at the old guitar sitting in the front display. “Thanks,” Tori said genuinely, before leaving.

She thought long and hard into the night, marveling that she had just been asked to join a band. A band. It was unlike anything she had ever done before; it wasn’t like her.

But going to London wasn’t her, either. It seemed that she didn’t want to be the same person she had been back home. She didn’t want to be taken advantage of, didn’t want to live quietly, never doing anything to make herself happy.

This decision will change my life.

The strange feeling that had welled up inside of her almost a week ago, deciding to come here, came back. Unable to sit still, she jumped up, threw on a jacket, and headed outside to walk.

The sky was gray and it looked like it was going to rain. But she walked anyways, spurred on by something, thoughts racing through her head again. An hour later, rain pouring down, Tori entered the hotel and went back to her room.

Soaked to the skin, she dug out the stranger’s phone number and sat by the phone.

“Hello?”

She paused, then spoke. “Hi…this is Tori.”

“Tori.” There was a pause on his end, too. “You’ve made a decision?”

“Yeah, um, yes, I have.”

There was silence on the other end of the line, and Tori wondered how it could feel fearful. She took a deep breath. “I’m in.”

She could hear the smile in his voice. “Brilliant. This is going to be fantastic.”

Now that she had made the verbal commitment, Tori felt shaky. She leaned back against the headboard. He could tell something was off by her silence. “Are you sure you want to do this?”

“Yes.” Tori said quickly. “It’s just a little overwhelming.”

He chuckled. “I bet. Would it help if I came over?”

She paused, confused. “Come…over?”

There was silence on his end, too. “Er, yeah. To talk?”

“Oh!” she sighed inwardly, feeling silly. “Yeah, that might help.”

Tori told him the room number, and he said he’d be there in about twenty minutes.

She hung up, lost in thought.

She must’ve sat there thinking about it for awhile, because the knock at the door snapped her out of her thoughts. She hurried to open it, and the stranger stood there.

Without thinking, Tori blurted out, “I don’t even know your name.”

He laughed. “It’s Harry.”

“Harry,” she said, trying it out. “Come in.” She backed away from the door, and he walked in.

“You’re soaked!”

Tori looked down at her clothes, and felt wet for the first time since returning to her room. She smiled and shrugged. “I was walking earlier and got caught in the rain. And you have no room to talk.” she retorted, taking in his water-drenched jacket and jeans.

Harry laughed again, as she grabbed two towels from the bathroom and tossed him one.

He told her that the band had been named by Chanel — The Boy Who Lived.

“Is that you?” she asked right away.

He nodded, but Tori noticed that his eyes had dulled when she asked.

Tori left it alone. “Interesting,” she added, hoping that she hadn’t said anything wrong.

Harry filled her in on the fact that they were behind, and that the tour was due to start rather soon; after they had finished recording. He told her that a car would be picking her up tomorrow to take her to the studio to start recording.

“I’ll see you at the studio tomorrow then.” he said, standing up to go.

“Yes, you will.” Tori answered, standing also and opening the door as he brushed by and stood on the other side.

“Oh, and bring your notes for Erised.”

“What?” she frowned, not understanding.

“The song you played for me — us — yesterday,” he said.

Comprehension dawned on her face, and she remembered hearing that word, too. “Oh, got it. Yeah, I’ll bring that.”

Their eyes met. “This will be fun, Tori.”

She smiled. “I know.”

As she closed the door, Tori was struck again by the enormity of what was happening.

I have no clue what is going to happen.

For the first time in her life, she was okay with that.


***


August 26th.


Tori was awoken by voices. She shifted on the couch, blinking her eyes against the dark velvet of night as she readjusted her blanket. It sounded like Harry and Chanel were arguing, and since Chanel’s apartment was small, with only two bedrooms, voices carried to the living room, no matter how soft. And since Chanel hadn’t offered to share, Tori had taken up residence on the couch.

They had finally finished recording the album that day, the longest day in a string of long days. Harry, it turned out, was a perfectionist who kept insisting that they try it one more time. Except that it turned out to be four or five dozen times.

She listened with her eyes closed as she started drifting off to sleep again. It wasn’t anything new, Harry and Chanel were almost always discussing, sometimes arguing, about something that had to do with the band. It reminded Tori of her and her younger sister, the way they bantered back and forth.

She distinctly heard Chanel’s voice, edgy. “You’re not telling her.”

Tori’s eyes opened. She had a funny feeling they were talking about her. There had been quite a few times this past month when she had felt like they weren’t telling her something, when conversations would stop as she entered the room. How Chanel would turn away and go back to work without a reply, and Harry would smile briefly before asking her a question or something to bridge the awkward silence.

Not getting a response, Chanel pressed. “You think she’ll understand the difference when you tell her you’re not a Muggle? You know how crazy you’ll sound?”

Tori sat up.

Harry’s voice was low too, but firm. “She needs to know, Chanel. I think she can handle it.”

Chanel spoke again. “There’s a reason there’s a law against this, HP.”

Tori was perplexed. Muggles? What the hell was going on?

Harry sounded weary as he spoke again. “Yeah, the Code of Secrecy. But there are some Muggles that know; my aunt and uncle and cousin, for instance.”

“That was different—”

He cut Chanel off sharply. “Yes, but still, Tori should know; she’s part of the band, and all the people involved on the tour…”

“I knew this would happen.” Chanel hissed. “You brushed it off, and now you have a problem.”

“I’m sure she won’t go around telling other Muggles, Chanel. But it would be better for her to know.”

“So you don’t care about getting fined?” she shot back, her voice flaring up ever so slightly. “Wait -- I could get fined!”

Tori could hear the indifference in Harry’s answer, which she found somewhat odd. “I’ll get fined, which I’ll take care of. It’s not a big deal.”

Chanel pushed on, her tone incredulous. “They’ll insist on a Memory Charm.”

“I’ll make sure it doesn’t happen.” Again, Tori was surprised by the indifference in Harry’s voice. “The Ministry won’t say no to me,” he added, heavily sarcastic.

“No, of course not.” Chanel muttered under her breath.

Tori looked around, quite confused. Their first concert was tomorrow and the nerves in her stomach had prevented her from falling asleep immediately. Now there was the strange conversation she had just heard. Had they been talking in some sort of code? she wondered.

Harry’s voice interrupted her thoughts. “We’ll discuss it later; we have a concert to get ready for.”

Tori could hear Chanel cursing as Harry exited, just before the door slammed, which startled her. Before she could lie back down and pretend to be asleep, Harry peered around the corner. “Did we wake you?” he asked, and she was startled that he could know she was awake in the dark.

“Yes and no,” she answered truthfully, pulling her legs up to make room for him as he walked around to join her on the couch. “I’ve been thinking about tomorrow.”

“Are you nervous?” he asked.

Thankful that he didn’t ask if she had heard anything, Tori answered, “A little.”

She could see him smile in the darkness. “You’ll do fine.” he reassured her, reaching out absently and patting her leg.

The touch sent shivers up her spine, and she felt her face heat up. Harry also realized what he had done, but had left his hand there as he figured it out. His smile faltered; embarrassed, he pulled his hand back. “Guess I should go to bed.”

Tori found her voice and said, unconvincingly, “Yeah, we’ve got a big day tomorrow.”

She eased herself back down as he went to his room. Mentally shaking her head at herself, she found herself thinking about the long days in the studio this past month. How the first two weeks had passed relatively simply; Harry had been gone a lot, getting things ready outside the studio, while Tori and Chanel spent all their time there. Chanel had been getting all the tour information together while Tori had been working on the songs.

The lyrics to ‘Snitch’ had been somewhat of a bridge between her and Chanel, or at the very least earned her a measure of respect. Upon first entering the studio, Chanel had handed her what Harry had written for the melody and informed her that it was to be their first single, and needed to be ready by the end of the week. For the next two days, whenever she had a free moment, out came the notebook, where she’d jot down words as often as she could. She caught Harry coming back to the flat on the second night, where she was feeling panicky. After talking with him, she set to work, trying to describe what he had told her about the feeling of the song. She had spent the whole night writing, but grew frustrated with each sheet, which she’d tear off and throw away.

By six-thirty the next morning, Tori had had it with herself. She stared at the words blearily; they looked just like the others. Cursing under her breath, she tore the paper away from the notebook and tossed it half-heartedly towards the wastebasket before stretching out on the couch and promptly falling asleep.

When she woke up four hours later, Tori noticed that someone had cleaned up her mess of crumpled papers; the wastebasket was empty. Feeling guilty, she got up and went to the bathroom. Taped to the mirror was a lyrics sheet with the last lyrics she had written and thrown away that morning. Down in the corner was a simple note, written in Chanel’s neat script: “This didn’t look like garbage.”

Then Harry had come back to the studio full time, where they spent the next two weeks laying the tracks, rehearsing and practicing the songs. It was during those two weeks that she had started to recognize the tell-tale symptoms. When they’d work side by side, and she would feel those little tingles in her stomach from the accidental touching. The same thing would happen when he’d ask her a question, and wait patiently, his green eyes watching her. It would take her a moment to compose herself, but she’d get the answer out and look away, noticing that he too seemed a little unnerved, probably from noticing that she was looking at him. When Chanel was in the room with them, she’d notice, and it seemed to amuse her slightly.

Well, she rolled her eyes quite a bit.


*******

UST, anyone? Grab yourself a drink. And relax. This one\'s on me ^_^