If you asked him, his life begun after he stepped in a magical cupboard. He was seven when he entered, nineteen when he stepped out. And if you were safely sitting on the most comfortable couch of the house and had no cup in hand, he would start narrating those twelves years he spent in the most wonderful cupboard he had ever seen. You started listening to those fantastical stories when the sun would barely show up and he would still be describing all those tales long after the moon took its place in the sky. Stories about two Queens (sisters with the purest heart and cleanest hands) and two Kings (brothers with wills of fire and minds as sharp as a knife) fighting against evil, protecting their land, defending their people. Ariel was the heir to those Queens and Kings. He was the Prince. Not that you couldn't already know that. His long braided hair were put in a crown around his head, his vibrant green eyes seemed to be the judge of your soul, his hand were soft and firm, used to handle swords and daggers, his steps were confident and prideful. All in Ariel screamed Royalty.
But you are never to hear his stories, do you hear? They are for his people, for his brother and sisters, for the Kings and Queens of Narnia. Not for mundanes or for ordinary wizards. Not even for Dumbledore or friends. The tales made of true facts were to be heard only by the Narnians. It was only fair. Especially when it would be the Prince telling them. Sharing them to people who wouldn't understand their importance would only make his heart bleed and his soul darken. The Prince needed to see the comprehension and the familiar horror in the eyes of the listener. He needed to have the affirmation that his childhood had not be a fantasy, that it had happened, that it had been real. Telling them to anyone that did not know wouldn't give him this. In the contrary, it would secure him in his fear. When he took back the path to the cupboard at age nineteen with the body of a Prince and that he walked out on the other side looking like a scrawny, famished seven years old, he had for several days thought that those twelve years he had lived among the Queen Lucie and Suzanne and King Edmund and Peter had been a dream, a lie. After finding the dagger Queen Lucie had gifted him on his sixteenth birthday had been proof enough that it was real.
That Narnia was real.
Sometimes, however, his thoughts dragged him to dark corners of his mind. Reminded him of the hard times when he used to live with the Dursley as a child, at the abuse and the neglect. A boy so young and so afraid would do anything to run away. What if Narnia had been his escape? But as soon as those thoughts crossed his mind, he shook them away. That was why you are never going to hear his stories. You are not to hurt him anymore than he already is.
"Vernon. Petunia." Calling his Uncle and Aunt family would only sound wrong. Lucie, Edmund, Suzanne and Peter were family. Not those despicable people sitting on the couch in front of them. "Hogwarts is calling for me."
The grimace on Petunia's face darkened and Vernom's face became purple. Obviously, Ariel knew they were aware magic existed. And he also knew how much they hated it. Hated him because of that.
"When are you leaving, boy?"
Ariel fought back a shiver. Being called boy in such a offending tone was difficult to listen to after having been named Prince by all his people. Petunia and Vernom weren't his people, though. They didn't have to call him Prince or bow to him or answer to him. To them, he was just boy.
By Aslan's, he hated that name.
"Right this moment. If people come seek for me, tell them I will be waiting for them at hogwarts."
Petunia scoffed, straightening on the couch with her arms crossed. "You need the train to go there. It's impossible otherwise."
So Lily had taught some things to her sister. Maybe when they still viewed themselves as sister, when the wonders of magic had overcome any hate. This only served to amplify Ariel's ire. The woman had known that her nephew was magical and had not trained him accordingly.
She wasn't worth much more than the white witch or the Telmarines.
He didn't bothered answering and instead, walked right out of 4 Privet Drive, closing gently the door and leaving behind a silent house. Vernom and Petunia were surely too stunned to say anything, even less to catch him and Dudley was out to a friend's house. Until Dumbledore found him, until the wizarding world caught wind of a black haired eleven years old that looked very much like the drawing made of the famous boy-who-lived, he was free. Free to discover the world, to recenter himself in this world that once was his, to maybe even sharpen his act of a boy. Being a Prince and being a boy were too very different attitudes, he discovered not long after leaving Narnia. When people used to bow as he entered a room, they sneered down at him or tried to coddle him. Not to say there was much of coddling in Privet Drive. Ariel had to become Harry Potter in order to discover as much things he could of this world. After all, being the boy-who-lived meant knowing some things that the common flock wouldn't be aware of, right? The wizarding world wouldn't try treating him as a normal boy and give him as much of a childhood as they could, right? Ariel was fooling himself. He knew better than not that it would be easier manipulating an innocent child than one who understood the politics of this world.A sneer crossed his face as he pulled up his arm, the Knight bus appearing almost instantly in front of him.
He would show them what a Prince from Narnia was capable of.
Everyone could agree on one thing: Harry Potter wasn't like everyone else. But while the others thought that because he survived the killing curse, Albus had a variety of other reason.
The first was the most obvious: he lived through Voldemort's wrath.
The second, only Minerva, Severus and Filius knew about: The wards on Privet Drive showing that Harry Potter was alive broke. Which didn't mean Harry Potter had died, otherwise the wards would have simply sent a red signal. Broken, no one knew what it meant.
The third, only him was aware of it: The letter sent to Privet Drive wasn't addressed to Harry but to an Ariel Pevensie.
With the broken wards and that letter, Albus Dumbledore slipped on his most colourful robes and hat and nearly ran to the astronomy tower to apparate away. If his boy was dead, then the wizarding world was doomed. No one would be strong enough to fight against Voldemort. He needed the boy alive, for the greater good.
Hence why he was standing in front of 4 Privet Drive. The moment he apparated there, Albus could feel no magical core inside the house. His boy wasn't there. At all.
He knocked, deeply upset.
"What?" The woman that opened the door was Petunia Dursley, sister of his Lily Potter and vastly less impressive than her. She was nothing like her sister, just a boring, old muggle.
"I would like to know where is your nephew. You see, he is very important to me."
The moment he said that, the annoyed expression on the woman's face suddenly changed to a fearful one. She looked right and left and right against before opening slightly wider the door. Albus knew when he was being told to walk inside. The house was like any he had seen, but he supposed that if Harry had lived there for the most part of his childhood, then maybe he had a good start of life.
"He's gone."
"What do you mean, my dear? Harry is only eleven." An eleven years old do boy run away. Do not disappear. Do not break wards.
"I told you: he's gone. Just this morning. Told us to warn you he was waiting at Hogwarts."
His mind stopped for a moment. And when the informations passed to his brain, both his eyebrows rises up, his eyes widened and Petunia Dursley had the privilege to look at a flabbergasted Albus Dumbledore, sight not many could brag having been witness of. But for his defense, this was surreal. Like a fantasy. Like a dream. How could the boy he had put in a muggle family to not be aware of the wizarding world before his eleven years old possibly know what hogwarts was? And how did he even get there? Something was terribly wrong.
"I waited one hour and thirteen minutes more than I intended, Albus.
"The boy couldn't be eleven. He definitely could not be eleven. It was Impossible. Impossible!
I was only made aware that you were waiting recently, my boy."
The boy frowned. "Now, now Albus." He could not remember one person brave enough to call him by his given name. He was too superior. Too good. Maybe the boy was confused? Maybe he wasn’t so aware of the wizarding world after all? "Like I call you by your name, you shall call me by mine. As equals."
Albus saw it. Sitting comfortably on the front steps made of stone of Hogwarts, legs apart and arms crossed on the knees, Albus saw it. Even if the boy — the man — had the scar and the green eyes, he was not Harry Potter. Not his boy.
Tom had possessed this body, then? But it wouldn't make sense. Even him did not hold as much grace.
Then who was he? Who was this individual who had managed the impossible and come to hogwarts without apariting or taking the train? Why had he been in relation with the Dursley? What did he want from him?
"Would Harry be better?"
"Harry?" He seemed thoughtful, as if he didn't recognise the name before his eyes started shining with glee. Amusement. "No, my name is Ariel. Ariel Pevensie." The name written on the letter. He had lived in Privet Drive. He had to be Harry Potter. "I've been that for several years now."
"Tell me then, Mr. Pevensie, what you want of me."
"Many things." Pevensie smiled. "But maybe you have something else you wanted to ask me..."
Dumbledore frowned. The boy was more perceptive than he first thought. "What happened to Harry Potter?"
"I am him and he is me." Pevensie stood up and Albus felt the urge to bow, to kneel, to at least incline his head. Never before had he felt that urge. But this boy — man, whatever — had this aura around him of nobility. Royalty. Standing up, he was as impressive as he was when sitting. But this time, one could truly start seeing the superiority. And it wasn't even bragging. Pevensie knew he was worth more than Albus even could dream of and it was real. "I've decided to attend your school for I thought I could see what it could teach me. Seeing you, it's Headmaster, is proof enough that Hogwarts will never be what I'm seeking for."
If Pevensie attended Hogwarts, the wizarding world would only remember that it had been Harry Potter. And having written in Hogwarts reviews in the SATWJ ( Schools Around The World Journal) that the boy-who-lived had been in his school would give a boost to its popularity. He needed Potter — or whatever name he went by nowaday — in his school. In Hogwarts.
"Now, my boy," The scowl on his face was reminder enough for Albus not to call him that.
"You are young and still have many things to learn. I'm sure you don't know what the alignement of the stars will mean this year, do you? And that is something you will know by coming to Hogwarts."
The boy sneered. "The alignment of the stars? Even you, Albus, don't know anything about astronomy."
"My education was not as complete as the one Hogwarts gives."
"You're old. You had all the time to catch up."
"That is quite rude, my... Mr. Pevensie."
The boy looked down at him, eyes filled with disgust. Disgust aimed at him. Of all people. The only ones Albus was used to argue with was Severus. And he would always win the argument. But never had he been talked down by an eleven years old child that way. Never had he felt like loosing either...
"My request is simple, Albus. If I cannot be a student at your school, then I want to be a teacher."
Albus spluttered. Literally. The youngest age of recruit had been twenty years old. Not eleven! "I-I don't think that will be possible."
And what class did he even want to be teaching? Defense?
"Why not?" Pevensie actually sounded surprised.
"We already have a defence professor."
Not that Quirrel was qualified by any means but he did have Voldemort at the back of his head. With any luck, Potter could kill him.
"I was not talking about defence." He crossed his arms, raised an eyebrow, and Albus simply couldn't see Pevensie as a child anymore. Even with the body of a boy, he had the height of a man. "I've heard that children, especially not pureblood ones, lack any etiquette."
"You want to add a class to hogwarts?"
"Absolutely." And I will do it. Pevensie didn't say that but the way his eyes sparkled, the way his lips were pinched, he meant it.
When Albus woke up this morning, he did not think the day would go like that. At all. When he grabbed his most colourful robes, he hadn't thought his trip out of Hogwarts would end up being that disastrous. Actually, when Potter Jr. was born, he did not think he would cause any trouble. He should have never let Potter loose in the Dursley's house. Should have never let him grow without surveillance. Miss Figg obviously hadn't been enough.
If only Albus could time travel back.
Ariel had almost immediately abandoned the idea of pretending being Harry Potter. To see magic being butchered in mindless lessons by ignorant teachers, to spend a year among immature children, to have to pretend knowing of the world surrounding him. All of it sounded incredibly boring. And annoying. In short, Ariel decided to keep his name and his title. To not pretend. To be the one his Sisters and Brothers taught him to be.
He was a Prince. He would act as such.
And the idea to become an Etiquette Teacher had crossed his mind and he thought it fantastic. To teach those immature children how to truly hold themselves was certainly much more interesting. And he would still be at Hogwarts, still be in the middle of the action. Even if he wasn't the protagonist anymore.
He didn't know yet how Albus would present him at the welcoming feast. What he would say about the reason why Harry Potter is not here. Not that this should be his main preoccupation at the moment. Standing in the circular room, Ariel was being stared at from all angles. Judged by elder eyes. Sneered by what they believed themselves to be the most knowledgeable ones.
There again, they weren't aware he knew magic on a deeper level. One they would never reach.
"Albus!" Scowled a deeply wrinkled Scottish woman. A cat animagus, very obviously. "What is the meaning of this? Why was a child accepted among us?"
Ariel was glad to see the inconfort on Albus' face. "He is the new etiquette teacher."
"A new class?" A round, lovely looking, woman cut. "We haven't had one in years!"
"He gave several good reasons to have one..."
Was the animagus turning red?" He was the one to propose a new class? Albus, by Merlin, what was crossing your head?"
The conversation was becoming difficult to follow and he was becoming increasingly annoyed by the way those adults fought. They were the ones to teach the children? He could only hope that they didn't fight like that in front of them. It was truly improper. Perhaps they too needed an etiquette lesson. If they never had one, by the looks of it...
He stepped forward and instantly everyone stopped talking. Even if they had things to say, even if they wanted to argue, they couldn't open their mouth, couldn't move, could only breath. Silence was good but he couldn't appreciate it being he was angry. So angry by the way they acted.
But grateful of his royal status to give him the power to make everyone in a room shut up. Even if they didn't recognise him.
"My name is Ariel Pevensie," He started, his voice loud and powerful. "While I will be a teacher at this school, I will not be treated as a child. I will your equal and colleague, don't you forget. My age doesn't define me either. You shall do good to remind yourself of that." Looking around, he saw an odd one standing in the shadow. "Also, I was made aware that I am not the only new teacher."
Like a spell, all attention turned to the suttering old fool. He was already known by many but they wanted to hear his stories, why he left, where he went. Ariel was an expert in diverting attention away from him. It had been an early skill Peter and Reepicheep had taught him. Silently, he moved away from the center of the room, not acknowledging the deep stare of Albus' blue eyes, to stand by a tall man.
Ariel knew he, at least, wouldn't be like the others. That he wouldn't coddle him because he was a child or treat him as such. He had only raised an eyebrow when he had been introduced and had restrained himself from doubting him."You played them well." Sneered the man. Ariel did not take it personally, he could feel it was his way of speech.
"Wouldn't you have done the same?"
"Perhaps..."
And that was that. No questions about his age, about where he learnt magic, about why he became a teacher. Just mutual respect.
Already Ariel was liking his decision to come out as Pevensie.
Hermione prided herself to be smart. To be worth being a witch. Oh, she knew what people said behind her back, that she was just a friendless book-worm, but she didn't care. Not anymore. Not when she had so much to do and accomplish.
Now, she regretted alienating herself from Gryffondor.
"Is anyone on its own?" Hermione looked around discreetly, her bottom lip pinched and her eyes starting to water. Everyone had a partner, everyone had started the group exercise. "I repeat, is anyone on its on?"She did not have a choice but to tentatively raise a hand and aware of everyone looking in direction of Professor Pevensie.
"I am, sir..."
"Miss Granger. Is there anyone else?"
"No, sir." Everyone answered before breaking back in their discussion.
Professor Pevensie walked up to her and she tensed, regretting everything that led up to this moment. If she hadn't fought against a troll alone in first year, no one would have accused her of being a teacher's pet. If she hadn't gotten herself petrified in second year, no one would have whispered to the one closest to them that she had only done that for attention. So many other examples such as those until sixth year, where she had no friends and only enemies.
Looking up, she forced herself to sit straight. It was worth a few points to not have a correct posture in etiquette class. Class taught by Pevensie who was currently standing in front of her, his eyebrow raised. She gulped, not because she was afraid, but because of the strong magic surrounding her Professor. And it wasn't just the glamour (glamour she had found he was wearing in third year after learning about it).
"Miss Granger, I believe I will have to be your partner. " He looked towards Parvati and Seamus, before turning back towars her. "Unless you want to join another group."
"N-no, sir." She hesitated before adding quickly: "Thank you, sir..."
Politeness and honorific were important in Professor Pevensie's etiquette class.
Her Professor nodded and sat at the empty chair beside hers. Shamelessly, she stares back. After all, she was just an ignorant muggleborn. She had no manners, no education. Even if it wasn't correct to do so, she could still look dead in the eye her Professor. And also... Hermione was curious. Mainly on the reason why he wore a glamour. To hide a frightening scar or hideous features? This wouldn't be the kind of thing Pevensie would do. On the contrary, he seemed to be proud of his bbody. Proud of who he was. So it must be something else, something Hermione couldn't put her finger on.
Perhaps she could ask him... He didn't seem much older than her. Eight years at best, most certainly.
"Am I that interesting to look at, Miss Granger?"
"I'm... I was curious."
"Curious?" He seemed as thoughtful as her.
"About you."
"Ah, you don't know much about me, do you?"
"No..."
"No?"
Sheepishly, she smiled. "No, sir."
Professor Pevensie looked at her for a moment, his lips pinched, his eyes narrowed and Hermione felt her stomach churn. Something about her Professor was just different."Would you like our conversation to be about me?""Yes, sir."A seldom but soft smile crept on his face and she felt blood rush to her cheeks and her heat-rate quicken. No one could deny it: he was beautiful.
"I have four siblings, two sisters and two brothers. Their names are, in order of the youngest to the oldest: Lucy, Edmund, Suzanne and Peter. I was the last one. I believe you have no siblings, miss Granger?"
"No but I kept Miss Groggin's children for a summer, in second year. I always wished to have a little sister. Not that a brother would have been bad either." She looked tentatively at her Professor, before going on. "I feel I am missing something, a part of a life I could have had, by not having a little sibling to take care of us. That I could have been more mature quicker, that I could have been more independent sooner. I am aware they are silly..."
"Silly?"
"Foolish, sorry sir. I am aware they are foolish thoughts. It is too late anyways for me to become an older sister.""Being an only child also have its advantages, miss Granger...""How old are you siblings, sir?" She lesnt forward on her chair before hearing how impolite her sentence was and pulled back. "If you don't mind answering."
"You are a fast learner, miss Granger." He nodded. "Lucy is 21, Edmund 23, Suzanne 25 and Peter 26. I have always felt closer to Lucy, regarding our close age."
So Professor Pevensie couldn't be eight years older than she was. It was Impossible. She was sixteen. He had to be nineteen. Or, stretching it, eighteen. Though, it seemed young. Very, very, young. Especially when he had been her Professor ever since she was eleven. How old was he?
"Professor, I have a question..."
But that very moment, the bell rang and following that day, Hermione never got to ask her Professor anything else.
War was over. Finally. Years they had fought for that day, for that final battle, and they had won it. None could believe it. None could truly wrap their mind around the knowledge they wouldn't have to wake up at dawn to answer to orders or fear for the loss of their close one.
But they would all be forever grateful of the five grand soldiers who had stepped up in front of the fourteen teachers of Hogwarts and defeated Voldemort and his death Eater. When they appeared from thin air, all fights stopped and the spells were casted on them. All the others could lid down, tend to the injuries and simply catch a breath. From afar, some students recognised their Professor Pevensie as being part of the five. But there had been too much blood and too much terror to really see, to really look.
Now, Hermione was sitting by the Weasley's, looking at four of those soldiers entered in a horizontal line the Great Hall.
Everyone, even the injured, stopped breathing when seeing them.
They were stunning.
The women wore long overflowing dresses made of what seemed to be the finest silk and on their head thin sliver crown. One had the longest golden hairs falling straight in her back, the other had them brown shorter and in a braid. Walking by the side of the youngest looking one was a man with hair of a similar brown and a regal expression. The other, by the side of the other brown haired woman, was a dirty blond hair man which a stubble on the chin. Both had more heavy looking crowns but so rich in decoration. The four of them screamed Royalty. Royalty and Soldiers, with the bow in one of the woman's hand, the bloody knife in the ones of one of the man, and other weapons held by the other two. Weapons weren't the only thing that gave the creeps to the younger of them. Blood that weren't theirs was dripping from their hands and their faces and their chests. All four were covered in blood.
They stopped when reaching the center of the Great Hall, and with habit, they positioned themselves to be all back to each other and be facing everyone.
The youngest looking woman spoke, her voice sweet but strong: "We are the Queens and Kings of Narnia. We fought for you, we bled for you, we expect respect in return. Don't you believe you will have no debts, no more battles to fight. Our country is in constant need of willing soldiers to defend the weaker ones"
"In four months, we shall go back, followed by those that want." Ended the other, her voice firmer.No one piped a word. Maybe because they already saw that those were Royalty. Maybe because they feared their power. Not even Malfoy said a word. Not even Granger tried to ask questions. No one said anything.
Mainly because they were tired.
"We lost our youngest brother in this insane battle. Would one of you mind showing us the way to your Infirmary?" The blond King was old, and powerful.Much like the Queens, who by their similar features, could be his Sisters.
Which meant, in Hermione mind, that those were Lucy, Edmund, Suzanne and Peter. She never forgot her conversation with her Professor one year ago.
Brave Hannah Abbot stood up, wincing at the wound on her leg, grinding her teeth at the headache, but kind enough to forget her suffering to free those four from their worries. Queen Lucy, dubbed that way by Hermione, stepped up towards her with a cordial in hand and made her drink two drops. Immediately, Hannah felt better and held herself straighter.
No one asked for this potion, knowing that their friend had been rewarded for her kindness.
And that's how the story ends, thought grimly Mcgonagall as she watched the Kings and Queens of a faraway coutrny rush to the bedside of their little Prince, fast asleep. War and Voldemort was over, the legend of Harry Potter too.
All that would stay in the history books would be Prince Ariel Pevensie, youngest professor at hogwarts and formerly Harry Potter. Students would learn about him, talk about him and she could not see it any other way. Ariel was as good as a professor as he was as a Prince. Noble and kind, much to the similarity of his siblings. Nothing could take away his qualities. Mcgonagall knew that he had spent his childhood in the country of Narnia, that he became Pevensie there, that he abandoned Potter there, and she could not think of a better way. The boy had to become Pevensie to learn who he truly was, what he had to become.
In her mind, he managed quite well and with a sly smile, she walked away, back in the privacy of her own office to reminisce herself of the times before War broke.
Maybe now, a new era could begin...