Family Matters Solo Finished

"Maxwell Avery," came the familiar voice from behind him, stern and lecturing. "You've been an unacceptably bad child. Not only did you not show up when you said you would, but you didn't bother sending word that you wasn't coming. What was I to think?"

There was a long pause as Max slowly turned, his face serious and full of fear. Then, abruptly, he started laughing and the other boy could no longer hold a straight face either. They met in the middle of the long floor, hugging and thumping each other's backs heartily as they both started trying to talk, one over the other.

"Where was you this whole - "

"Mother kept making me learn these bloody - "

"Your mother's a right bloody witch, who should - "

" - can't be talking about her like - "

The disjointed conversation continued the whole time that they climbed the library's stairs, neither of them really finishing a sentence but understanding each other nonetheless. It had been like this for the past couple of years, Tommy's eagerness to say every single thing he thought warring with Max's excitement to tell Tommy about some new bit of history he'd learned. It had already earned them quite a few pointed glares from the librarians who kept threatening to kick them out if they didn't keep quiet and tone the whole 'bloody' business down. Fortunately, the threats were idle; everyone who was a regular there didn't mind the boys nearly as much as their loud complaining would suggest.

"Never mind that, anyway," Tommy finally interrupted, and the glint in his eye stopped Max from going on. "I figured you was held up by your parents. The real exciting thing here is that me Mum and Pa finally agreed to let you come stay with us. I've been telling you, mate, that I'd convince the lot of them, and I did. I told them you was basically being held captive by your parents and they was all 'we can't leave him with people like that.' You know how they are when they go on a crusade; they go all out. I reckon you could be living with us by the end of the week."

Max stared in shock, eyes wide as Tommy kept on about how great it would be when they could finally live together. He may have jokingly mentioned it in passing, but he'd never actually meant for his friend to take what he'd said to heart and go on to ask his parents. When they reached the history aisle, he had to lean against one of the shelves to support his legs, which felt like they might come out from under him at any moment.

"Mate, you all right? You haven't said nothing yet and you look like you're about to piss yourself."

"I - " Max began, unsure of how to continue. For the past two years, his friendship with this boy his parent's would kill him for talking to had been gaining momentum, and at this point they were close enough to feel like brothers. Despite Tommy being a couple of years older, he never acted superior or treated Max like he was any less for not being alive as long. He was probably the coolest person on the face of the earth, and living with him would be wicked. But leaving his family? Just up and going without any explanation? It had crossed his mind in passing, but actually doing it would be insane.

"I'm a bloody idiot, aren't I?" Tommy sighed suddenly, crossing his arms and rolling his eyes towards the ceiling. "'Course you don't fancy coming along to be with another pair of adults you've never met. I weren't thinking, is what. Even after all you've said, I still don't know much about your parents, do I? I always just figured..."

Max understood and he laughed awkwardly, trying to diffuse the tension. Tommy vaguely knew that his parents weren't the world's nicest people. Beyond that? Nothing. He had no idea about magic or the wizarding world; if Max tried to say anything about pure-blood or half-blood, Tommy would look at him like he'd grown three heads. It was always fun to come here to escape, but times like these made him realize that this was all it was. A couple of hours where he could be Max, Tommy's friend, instead of Maxwell Avery, heir to his parent's names. A temporary reprieve from a permanent problem.

"It's not so bad at home as all that," Max answered, shrugging lightly with a forced grin. "You know how it is. Everyone complains about their parents at one point or another. Doesn't mean I want to leave home, though thanks for the offer."

Tommy nodded, eyes rolling from the ceiling to study Max with an expression that wasn't exactly the picture of belief.

"Alright. Whatever you say, mate. But the offer still stands, eh? You ever need an out, I'm your guy. Don't matter that we're not blood; you're my brother. Always."

"For life," Max agreed, and then both of their grins were genuine as they tapped fists and pretended their hands were dramatic explosions, sound effects included. Bouncing from such a heavy subject to a light one in record time, Tommy reached out to slug Max in the shoulder with a mischievious: "Tag. You're it for Hide-and-Seek."

"You're a bastard, Tom," Max groaned as he spun to set his forehead against his arm, leaning on the shelf and deciding that ten seconds would be plenty of time for his friend to find a hiding spot. "And I know you're just going to hide in the female anatomy section again."

"Hey! Don't fault me Mum for sleeping with the milk-man," Tommy joked, his voice growing more distant as he started searching for somewhere to hide. "And don't fault a guy for wanting to learn more about anatomy. When you're older, you'll understand how interesting it is. I'm in it for science, mate! Science!"

Max snorted under his breath, resuming his count and trying to listen for where Tommy was going. Doubtless he actually was heading back to that section because it would be too obvious and Max wouldn't look. It would be like... a double bluff. Unless he triple bluffed and didn't go. Or quadrouple? Max's head was starting to hurt when he finished the last three numbers in a rush, a predatory smile tugging at his lips as he started making for where he'd last heard Tommy. In their version of Hide-and-Seek, they could move spots, so he'd have to be stealthy about it.

He crouched down to take his shoes off - he'd get a lecture from the librarian if she caught him, but it would be worth it - and started running across the cool marble, peering down every shelf he went by. As he neared the end, he slowed, brow furrowing in confusion. He had yet to be yelled at and there was nobody in the teen fiction section. There were always a few teens hanging out there, trading old, dog-eared books back and forth.

"Hello?" he called cautiously, wondering if Tommy had gotten them to hide and jump out at him. No answer. Frowning, he abandoned his search and went to stand along the railing of the second floor, scanning the first floor for signs of life. There was nobody down there either. Odd. There was always a librarian at the front desk.

"Alright, Tom, you got me," he called out into the now-eerie silence, waiting to be hushed. When nothing happened, he swallowed thickly, wiping palms that were beginning to sweat on his slacks. "You're hilarious. You're the master of pranks. I dunno how you managed to get everyone in on it, but congratulations. I'll admit that you've won our prank war."

When there was still no answer, he finally got the clue that something was seriously wrong. He tugged nervously on the bottom of his sweater, suddenly regretting calling out. There wasn't much he should be afraid of, not when he came from a family of dark wizards who were powerful enough to fight in wars, but the unknown tickled something ancient in his brain that made him have to blink back tears.

Blood rushing in his ears, he continued towards the last shelf. He would've heard if Tommy had gone down the stairs, even if his friend had removed his shoes. The last shelf was the only place Tommy could be.

By the time he reached the last shelf, he had a white-knuckled grip on his sweater and his lower lip was trembling in fear. He half expected to see a Dementor or maybe even Voldemort himself, somehow still alive and angry, standing in a swirl of black between the anatomy and astrophysics shelf. But when he peered down the long aisle, ready to leap back at the slightest movement, there was nothing there either. He didn't know whether to be relieved or even more scared.

"You're being silly," he muttered to himself, furiously swiping at his eyes to rid them of those stupid tears. Tommy had probably gotten everyone to leave somehow - like maybe there was a back way that he didn't know about and they'd all snuck out and were now taping him. A fine state he was in, then, nearly crying over a couple of hiding people and the quiet. He let out a long, shaky breath, turning to head back towards the stairs, when -

"Maxwell."

There was no time to react before the hand was on his shoulder and the feel of the world being torn out from under him assaulted his senses. He stumbled back, close to throwing up, and crouched over with his hands on his knees until his stomach was calm enough for him to straighten. What he saw when he did turned his veins to ice.

"Where the hell have you taken us, you bloody louts? You think you can just get away with kidnapping a couple of children in broad daylight with some sort of odd drugs to make us see stuff? You must be daft if you think - "

"Tommy," Max said flatly. "Shut up."

" - and if you hurt me or him, there'll be hell to pay! You know what, I don't know what those bloody sticks you keep waving about are, but if you don't let us go, I'll shove them so far up your - "

"Tommy." Max's voice was a command now, and something about its tone must've finally gotten through to the boy because he paused, frowning at Max. "Shut. Up."

"At least you're showing sense now, Maxwell," a light, fluting voice said, and Max tried not to tremble when the woman laid her hand on his shoulder again. "Though one must wonder... Where has it been for however long you've been seeing this boy? Did you pack it away with your capability to make sound judgement and your will to remain a part of this family?"

"No, Mother," Max answered in a weak voice, staring straight ahead when he heard Tommy's strangled gasp of recognition. It was the eyes. Everyone always said he shared her eyes.

"Then tell me. Why this? Have you also spent time rolling in mud with pigs? No... that would be much better than what you've done. I just can't understand this. You've broken my heart, Maxwell."

"Forgive me, Mother." He wasn't sure when it had happened, but he became aware all of a sudden of the salty sting of tears on his cheeks, one of them cooling in the cold basement air before dripping lazily from his chin.

"A simple 'forgive me' won't suffice this time," a second voice joined in, and Max tried not to shrink away as his father circled him, studying him like he was a piece of meat that wasn't worth half the price the butcher was asking. "How long has this been going on? Speak up, boy."

"T-two years," Max got out after a moment's hesitation, trying not stammer too much. He drew in a quick breath when his father raised his hand, flinching, and knew it had been a bad mistake when his father simply accepted a wand from his mother. They'd both seen his fear; he was in deep trouble now.

"You leave him alone," Tommy piped up suddenly, startling Max for a second; he'd almost forgotten his friend was there. Alisdair Avery didn't even look at back as he waved his wand in Tommy's direction, silencing anything else Tommy might've said. Max tried not to look him or he knew he'd break, and that was probably exactly what they wanted from him.

"What should we do? What can we do?" Alisdair asked sorrowfully as if he really didn't know. Rosalyn twined her arm in her husband's, regarding Max with an expression akin to pity. Her eyes never once changed from that piercing coldness.

"I suppose we'll have to teach Maxwell another lesson, but this time it will certainly need to be more severe in nature." She always managed to make it sound like she genuinely regretted it. Sometimes Max even believed her. "Is that acceptable, darling?"

"Yes... Mother," Max whispered, closing his eyes as he waited for his father to come up with something worse than he'd ever done before. It was fine, Max told himself. You could recover from hurts in six weeks or less, for the most part, and bones usually grew back stronger if it came to that.

"Oh, and naturally, we'll kill the other one. I don't want it stinking up my basement." It was added like an afterthought, like Rosalyn had just remembered that it was raining outside or that she'd left a casserole in the oven.

"No!" Max cried, stumbling from his straight-backed position to fling himself in front of Tommy, careful not to look at where the boy was beating the air like there was a invisible wall before him.

"You can't!"

"Can't?" Alisdair asked calmly, but there was danger in his eyes.

"Shouldn't," Max corrected hurriedly, his mind racing for anything to say as an excuse. "If... if you do, people will look for him. Muggles won't be able to find him, but - but what if word got out that there was something odd about his disappearance? I'm sure - that you - that you didn't make any mistakes, of course. I'm just saying... his Mum and Pa will be upset and it could turn heads. We don't want the Ministry finding out, right?"

Alisdair looked annoyed, as if he were about to refute what had been said, but Rosalyn touched his arm and gave the slightest shake of her head, the two exchanging a meaningful glance.

"Continue, darling. What would you do in our position?"

"I'd... I'd erase his memories. His, his parent's, the people in the library. There's too many things to keep track of and too many people to do all at once if he's gone. But if he just forgets me, that's okay, right? It'll be easier. And better for the family," he added hastily, remembering that he was always supposed to bring it back around to 'the family.' "Punish me however you want. I deserve it; I don't know what I was thinking. But killing him won't solve any problems. It'll make more."

He was rather proud of himself when he finished; it all made a ton of sense and he thought maybe it was enough for his parents not to kill his friend. Until his mother leaned in, touching two fingers under his chin and lifting his face to study it.

"Maxwell," she said quietly, her voice inflectionless and cold. "Your desperation is showing."

She turned away and Max's face crumpled, his legs giving out as she drew her wand and waved the invisible wall away from Tommy. Tommy cursed and sweared a storm, moving like he was going to grab Max and try to make a break for it, but Alisdair murmured a spell that kept him bound while Rosalyn looked at him like he was a particularly disgusting bug. She raised her wand, the spell on her lips, and Max pressed his face into the damp rock of the floor hard enough to leave a mark.

"I'll do what you want," he sobbed, lacing his fingers behind his head and folding his arms around his ears like he could block this whole thing out. "I'll be who you want, Mother, I promise. I'll learn all of the curses and listen to Uncle Ivor and know everything about dark magic. No more mudbloods or muggles anymore; I'll make friends with pure-bloods and get good grades and become powerful. I'll do it all, I swear it, just please don't do this. Please."

His voice cracked and dissolved into choked sobs; he was sure she'd continue with it anyway. He didn't think there was a hope in hell of stopping her, but he at least had to try. It was a last-ditch effort and he honestly hadn't the faintest idea just what he'd babbled, only that it had been enough to make her pause. One beat, and then another, until he finally lifted his head to see the tiniest smirk on his mother's face.

"You know I could never say no to you," she sighed, lowering her wand for a moment. "Just like I know that you'd never be anything less than the perfect son for me. If this is truly what you want, I won't kill this thing. But it does need to be punished for attempting to befriend something higher than its class, wouldn't you say?"

Max looked at where Tommy was now also crying, looking terrified beyond belief at the fact that Max's parents could do whatever they wanted with him using a simple wand. "Yes, Mother."

It seemed to go on forever.

It seemed to go on for only a second.

She made Tommy say things he didn't mean, but maybe he really did. By the time she was done, Tommy had cursed Max's name, screamed about how much he'd actually hated Max all this time, choked out that there was no way in hell that they could ever even be remotely close to brothers.

Max wasn't sure if, by the end, it had driven him or Tommy more mad.

He wasn't much sure of anything, only that Tommy's face only looked relieved when Rosalyn whisked his memories away. No more Max also meant no more of this torture. When Tommy slumped over in a deep, spell-induced sleep, Max felt like someone had pulled the plug on his emotions and they'd all swirled away down the drain. He wasn't really a living boy anymore. He was a nothing-boy. The walls around him weren't really walls; they were just shapes and colours that seemed to hurt his eyes. That was oddest part. His eyes hurting. It wasn't because he'd been crying - he'd stopped that somewhere in the middle. It was just that looking at stuff hurt them.

Odd.

He was an odd-nothing-boy.

Yeah, that was him.

Adjusting her robes daintily, Rosalyn came over to stand by him as Alisdair took Tommy away somewhere. She tucked her wand away and crouched down, pulling him into her arms and pressing his face into her shoulder.

"I'm so sorry he did this to you, Maxwell," she said gently as she stroked his hair, pressing a kiss onto the top of his head. "You know how I hate to see you suffer. I promise that this is for the better, though. Now you can continue being a good boy for me and you don't have to worry about anything. You can make much better friends at Hogwarts who won't ever say that they hate you, or try to trick you because they know you can do magic and they want it for themselves."

Was that why Tommy had been his friend?

Oh.

Of course.

If Mother said it, it must be right.

"Now, let's get you upstairs. How about I run you a warm bath and fix you some of those cookies you like so much? I'll bake them up myself, no House Elves involved this time. Sound like a plan?"

Max wrapped his arms around his mother, squeezing her tightly and wondering idly if she meant the cookies with raisins in them. Those were the only ones she knew how to bake. He hated raisins.

"Yes, Mother," he said in a tone as blank as he felt. Even if it was with raisins, that was fine; if she was baking for him, it clearly meant that she loved him. As he loved her, of course, which he'd remember as soon as this blank feeling had gone away.

That night, in his room, Max finally stopped being an odd-nothing-boy. He was laying in his bed, staring at the wall, when it all hit him. He had to stuff his fist in his mouth to keep from yelling as he bolted upright, curling against his headboard until he finally got the idea to grab a pillow and jam it over his face to hold everything in.

Two minutes. It had taken two minutes for Tommy break under his mother's curse. It took two minutes to get a fire roaring without magic. To eat something if you needed to leave quickly. To gather up supplies for class. To get dressed in the morning. To brush and floss your teeth at night. To -

He was yelling before he knew he was going to, the pillow the only thing that stopped it from alerting everyone in the house to his anger. He didn't even know why he was angry, but if it didn't come out then he figured he'd explode in a mess of blood and guts all over the room. His mirror cracked up the middle, and one of the trinkets he'd gotten for a birthday suddenly shattered. Then another, until, in quick succession, everything in his room broke. The brick around his fireplace shattered into dust, the plate of cookies his mother had left imploded, the pencils snapped, his clothes tore themselves to threads, his toothbrush exploded into shards that made a pincushion out of the surrounding area, and the mirror splintered into a complex spider-web of cracks.

He lowered the pillow, eyeing hundreds of himself in the mirror.

When his parents burst in, he spoke his excuse in an apologetic monotone, unaware that across the city, another boy was saying the same words, feeling for some reason like they were a betrayal.

"It was just a bad dream."