Had Richard Linwood lived several centuries earlier, he would embody the ideals of Romanticism. It is easy to imagine him as the “Wanderer Above the Sea Fog“ when he stands on the grassy hillocks of Falklands. A tall, still figure gazing into the vast unknown -- is he waiting? Anticipating? Dreading something? You don’t know, and his face wouldn’t tell you either, as it would stay as still as the rocks beneath his feet.


Alas, he lives in the 21th century, where time seems to run faster and lingering is seen as a flaw, where rationality and efficiency has gained the upper hand, so the aura of being from another place in time and space is fleeting and reserved for the most private moments. Instead you have something -- someone -- straight out of Enlightenment, with all its preference for cold and calculated lines.


The 21st century Richard is a tall, towering figure, akin to an old, darkened maple tree. Standing at 1,95m (6’4”), his hair a vivid orange, it is hard to miss him, that is, if he wants to be seen.


Some say that all the Linwoods look more alike than should be possible, and that has always been a thorn in Richard’s side. From a young age he had decided that he would be nothing like them, as he was constantly being pitted against his brother in everything. He had tried to differ himself, cutting his hair short and keeping it slicked back in contrast with his brother’s unwieldy mane, and while they both had full beards, Richard’s is never longer than a few inches, always neatly trimmed. Over the years, he's relaxed a bit about this, and lets his hair grow out on occasion, often pulling it back in a bun, and letting it down only on special occasions.


His brother gives the impression of a kind grandfather already at 30-something. Richard -- not so much. His skin is peppered with freckles, like hot embers at the end of a flickering flame. His brows are low and often furrowed, overhanging his blue eyes, the tone of which is akin to the blue waters of the Atlantic ocean after a storm - a dark blue, muddled by foam. They are a stark contrast to the Linwood green.

Richard’s straight, sharp nose and his tight lipped mouth make him look like a mountain lion out for prey. He had spent his whole life preying on others, after all, his shoulders slumped from all the nights spent sneaking through the darkness, searching, following, tracking down his prey.

Even the best of hunters aren’t always successful, and Richard wasn’t some miraculous exception. He has scars to humble him. The most prominent ones are on his neck. They are long, thin lines wrapped around his throat -- the marks of a run-in with a rather nasty Kappa in Japan. He barely got out with his head still on his shoulders. They say scars make a man more handsome, but Richard doesn’t believe it. For that reason, he prefers clothing with a high neckline, be it turtlenecks or robes that would cover every inch of his skin.


There is another thing. His right hand. He always wears gloves, even when indoors, which always raises a few eyebrows, but he has a reason. You see, his right hand isn’t even a hand, really. It is a wooden prosthetic, charmed to act like flesh and blood would. The original had been lost to a dragon years ago, and now he lived with it. Losing his hand was both a curse and a gift.

The prosthetic had been made by his own brother Andrew, carved out of dark wood, a bit rough on the edges, as was common with his brother’s craft work. Richard had smoothed it out himself, and even though it was excellent craftsmanship, it would never truly feel like his own. So he hides it underneath dark leather gloves, out of sight and out of mind.

Even though he comes from a pureblood family, years of travelling taught him that if there was something that the muggles knew how to do, it was dressing for travel. When out and about you wouldn't be able to tell he isn’t a muggle -- from heavy leather combat boots to flannel shirts and beanies, he looks like a lumberjack driving to work. He always makes sure he is neatly groomed and his clothes are clean, wishing to appear professional, rather than another muscle-for-hire with no brains. Wizard robes are left for special occasions, and then they are dark and conservative, putting functionality above embellishments.

Richard doesn’t smile often. By the time he was 36, he’d lost whatever dysfunctional social construct that he called “a family” twice, had seen half of the world - the ugly part - and lost a hand while at it-- It’s hard to expect anything more than pessimism and a general resentment towards the world.


He isn’t one to complain about it out loud. Despite the fact that he had tried to reject his roots for the most part of his life, he was and still remains a Linwood. And there is nothing more characteristic to Linwood men than silence. Sometimes he wonders how any of them even manage to reproduce, with their stunted emotional intelligence and all. The Linwoods had always been the quiet type - to protect their precious trade secrets, they had to keep their mouths shut and keep away from people, plus working and talking at the same time equaled a job poorly done. If you were a Linwood, at home you kept quiet and went into life lacking proper social skills. Richard is well aware of this, but you can’t teach an old dog new tricks, can you?

Sometimes he wished he wasn’t like this. For most of his childhood, his ancestors had tried to push high expectations onto him, and he did all he could to rebel against it. Being a kid it was easier said than done, though his teenage turmoil had instilled an independent sense of self. Now, as an adult, he didn’t bend his back backwards to meet anyone’s expectations. If he wasn’t good for someone as he is, whether it be for work or personal relationships, then no perverted parody of himself would work either.

Behind the quiet exterior lie deep and troubled waters. Since he doesn’t vent his frustrations outwards, they sit inside, bottling up until the cap blows. Sometimes he can keep it under wraps by having a walk alone, preferably through a forest. Exploring untamed corners of nature provides him with a form of therapy; especially in early winter, when the first snowflakes fall on the ground and the temperatures make both his mind and the air turn cold and crisp.


If the circumstances don’t allow for it, he sits and carves wooden figurines of animals, putting his stress into the precise work and the repetitive movements. He always finishes them by polishing them - imperfections are not allowed.

Sometimes it all becomes too much, and he locks himself away with seemingly endless bottles of alcohol, preferably vodka or whiskey until he falls asleep, just to wake up in a puddle of liquids the source of which is better left a mystery.

During times like these, he tries his best to be left completely alone and inaccessible. Though, if he’d be left alone with someone who’d try to get him to talk about his problems, they’d have this giant of a man crying like a little kid, bawling his eyes out and cursing at the world, ripping off his wooden prosthetic and begging for an answer to only one question - Why him? He’d give away his left hand too, if it would mean that he could have another life, a quiet one, just him, living alone somewhere far away, with some sheep and a dog. The life he had rejected his whole life was the one he wished for the most.

He knows he wants to live alone. Or, at least, be able to distance himself from everyone when he deems it necessary. He could count people that hadn’t screwed his life up with the fingers of the one real hand he had. Even his brother would count as a half a finger on that list.

His brother had once been his best friend. A long, long time ago they had been inseparable. Now, sometimes Richard thinks it’s a miracle that his brother even talks to him, not mentioning the fact that he spent several years caring for him. Richard knows that, no matter what Andrew says, he will always feel like he’s in debt to his brother. He won’t say it out loud, but he is eternally grateful for what Andrew did for him, and still does by keeping his door wide open for Richard, to come and go as he pleases. He appreciates it a lot, though he doesn’t abuse this kindness, keeping away from Andrew and his family, lest his presence makes them or their daughters uncomfortable.

To repay his brother, he promised to keep an eye on his daughters while at Hogwarts. He doesn’t see much of them out in the grounds and he isn’t one to try and seek them out. In his mind, they are just kids and he is a skeleton that walked out of their parents closet. Plus, he doesn’t know how to work with children - an absolutely remarkable quality for a would be mentor.

The rest of his family… Hell, he would never call his birth parents that. They were the ones largely responsible for his whole life going to hell. He felt a lot of quiet resentment towards his father, who’d always been distant and absent from his life. Alastair Linwood hadn’t even once tried to stop his wife from making Richard’s life hell.

His mother. Alice. Nothing else makes him as angry as any mention of this woman. He hopes he will never, ever have to see her face again. He’d prefer if she would consider him dead. In truth, he’d prefer that she’d be dead. He wouldn’t go to her funeral, only later, when the crowd would disperse, he’d go and spit on the grave for his own satisfaction.

In his school years he had found a new family. They had been loving and caring and everything a kid would need, but it was a false fresh start. The Cadigans, every last one of them, had used him for their long winded plots in attempt to gain riches. He had ruined their first plan by cutting off his birth family, and then his own moral qualms over murdering people had made him fall out of favour. Isn’t it lovely when people make you feel loved just to try and murder you afterwards?

He feels betrayed by them. It is a wound that can’t be healed, as the main reason for the whole ordeal was dead. His only love, Liam, had been the beginning and the end of it all. He taught him of true friendship, of the asylum that love provides and the peril that comes along with it. Richard has never known true love as in his mind it only has place in fairy tale books. Nobody can be that exposed and vulnerable to someone else and not get hurt. It was impossible. People love to live on other people’s expense, that just is the nature of man.

His years as a mercenary helped him to realize many things. First of all, he loves the thrill of a duel, the adrenaline rush that comes with leaping behind a boulder as a rather nasty hex flies past him. If he would be some ten years younger and competitive dueling would be a thing, he’d throw his heart and soul into it.


The duels that he’s been through never ended in a handshake. The only prize he’d win was his health and even his life, in return for someone else's. He could kill most beasts without remorse, but seeing the life drain from a person’s eyes or hearing them scream in pain made his blood freeze in his veins. Those few times when he had been the cause of someone’s death, he’d spent months walking around just like the Bloody Baron, regretting his existence in utter silence.


The day he had to murder a whole muggle family, all of them innocent, who hadn’t committed any crime was his darkest moment. He hopes nobody will ever find out it was him, especially not his brother. He wouldn’t be able to look anyone in the eye and would jump straight into the ocean, never to be seen again.

But at the end of the day, if there would be no other way out of whatever situation he would have gotten himself into, he’d cast the Killing Curse and leave torturing himself for later.

Second of all, he is afraid of dragons. Not just because one bit his hand off and turned his boyfriend into a well done roast, no. He had known this much earlier in his mercenary career. A fire breathing lizard with wings, often the size of a building, with teeth as long as his arms… It instilled a healthy respect at the least, not to mention the trembling of knees and profuse sweating.

And lastly, he knew that he’d never feel okay working indoors. He often feels restrained by the stone walls of Hogwarts, even though had once been his favorite place in the universe, but now it only contained the ghosts of his past and a horde of children that make him want to shave his head and become a hermit somewhere in the mountains of Nepal.

Richard Lyall Linwood was born on the 12th of June, 1982, in the master bedroom of the Linwood family farm, in dim candle light, and his first blanket was just a sheepskin with wool on it. He was the second son of Alistair and Alice Linwood, a pair of sheep farmers.

The Linwoods were a fairly wealthy family, for centuries guarding trade secrets of the wool cloth industry. Their wool made the softest and sturdiest of fabrics. It was magic, of course, but it was magic no other family knew of. Or, at the least, didn’t know how to use.

This made the Linwoods prosperous. They could have had it all - mansions, servants, anything their heart desired. But they never forgot their roots and remained strong, silent and self-sufficient. They kept away from people, preferring to work at their farm, hands on, tending to their sheep for generations.

But for Richard? His birthday was the day all his troubles began.

First of all, he was the second son. Any intelligent person knew that where there was wealth and property to inherit, there would be tension between offsprings. Any intelligent parent would want to minimize that possibility, at least by ensuring there was only one male per generation. Elective gavelkind never helped anyone.

Second of all, his mother, Alice, absolutely hated this whole reclusive farmer ordeal that the Linwoods had kept up for centuries. Her parents had made her marry a pureblood, to keep their good name unsullied and their status strong. Yes, she liked Alistair, she loved him, but 5 years on Speedwell island with nobody but Alistair to talk to - and he didn’t talk much - had taken an irreversible toll on someone that Alistar’s father Gordon had dismissed as “just one of those useless city folk”. Another child meant that she’d have to stay around nannying for a few more years before she’d be free to leave with no repercussions, so, instead of motherly love, she felt resentment towards him since the first day. In more heated moments she’d exclaim that she’d rather have had a daughter or no second child at all.

Third of all, his brother Andrew was the golden child. Only three years apart, yet from the very first day Richard was doomed to always live in the shadow of his older brother.

When he was a young boy, he lived in blissful ignorance. For the first few years, all was fine. Sure, he got punished, but so did his brother. Sure, his mother raised her voice and was a little rough, but Andrew didn’t have it much better. So the brothers ran around, getting in the way of their irritated mother and their always silent father, getting a swat on the back of their heads. It was great.

Since the Linwoods lived in a secluded area, far away from people, there were only sheep, penguins and the family dogs to keep them company. It wasn’t a surprise to anyone that the two brothers were the best of friends.

Andrew was everything little Richard wished he could be. Taller, stronger, smarter. Andrew took care of Richard and kept him company, their father sometimes remarking that the duo lived in each other’s pockets. Richard picked up all the same hobbies as Andrew, trying to imitate his brother, even if the only one that stuck was woodworking. Richard was happy.

But all good things must come to an end.

When Richard was 8, Andrew turned 11. As it goes in the British wizarding world, this was the age when kids got sent to Hogwarts. The younger Linwood was upset by his brother’s departure, but he still held onto the hope that nothing would change. Andrew had promised they’d stay best friends. Andrew wouldn’t lie, right?

Naive little child.

Alice grew more and more irritated by the fact that she had to sit around tending to Richard. As he later realized, his parents’ marriage was at an all time low in those three years that he spent at home, waiting for Hogwarts. The tensions were high, his parents were snappy with each other, his father spoke 3 words a week and his mother sounded disgusted every time Richard was in the same room.

The only time the two of them felt like the people he had loved was when they would receive letters from Andrew. Alice would read them out loud, with a triumphant smile each time he got good grades or accomplished something. Nothing could compare to the Linwood pair’s joy when Andrew told them he was a Gryffindor.

And not once did Andrew write to him, or even about him. He didn’t even come home for the holidays, only arriving for the winter months. He would proceed to dismiss Richard, citing homework and other ‘big boy stuff’ as reasons not to play with Richard.

Soon, Richard became resentful. After one particularly long night of crying, he looked in the mirror and decided in his 11 year old brain that he would be nothing, nothing like Andrew. They were not best friends. Andrew had broken the promise as soon as he’d stepped on that train.

Richard didn’t want to be anything like his parents either. He had picked up his mother’s wish to leave Falklands, only he wanted to leave so he wouldn’t have to listen about Andrew’s successes and never have to experience his mother’s scowls. As for his father...Hell, he didn’t even feel like he had one. He wouldn’t aim to please his parents, he wouldn’t try to salvage the relationship. If his family didn’t want him, he didn’t want them either. He was going to distance himself from his blood as much as he could, starting with that same night.

He found a pair of scissors, snatched a bottle of Wizard’s Sculpting Gel and went back to his room. Staring at his reflection, he felt sick. Disgusted. He had his father’s vivid red hair that was ridiculously curly. He looked so much like both Alistair and Andrew. It was unacceptable. Without much measuring, he cut off his hair as short as he could manage.


A pair of blue eyes were staring back at him from the mirror. Puffed and bloodshot, and full of rage. Those were his, but at the same time they were his mother’s. He didn’t dare to do anything to them, even if the person he inherited them from was on the top of “people that I hate” list. He didn’t want to go blind. Instead, he would go on a warpath, he would actively spite her with every fibre of his being.


First of September came quickly. He hadn’t offered any explanation to his family about the haircut, though nobody had really asked. He hadn’t spoken a word to anyone in a month.

At King’s Cross, Richard quickly split off from his family, all the nervousness replaced by the burning desire to get away, to be someone else. He got on the train, found an empty carriage and didn’t even lean out to look at his parents. He didn’t care anymore. At least, he pretended not to.

Evening came and sooner than he knew it, it was time for the Sorting Ceremony. For centuries Linwoods were Gryffindors, one generation after another, with outliers being rare - he’d only heard about the brother of the man who began their line - apparently he had been a Slytherin - but those were just age old tales. It wasn’t even clear to him why this house loyalty had happened, none of the Linwoods he knew had ever exhibited any of the qualities the Sorting Hat was singing about. But it didn’t matter what his family was. He would be different.

He was standing at the back of the crowd of first year’s when his name was called. As he pushed through the crowd of nervous kids, he could hear murmur and giggling at the Gryffindor table. He was resolute in his intentions to be sorted anywhere else. If they couldn’t sort him, he’d gladly leave. Where to, the boy didn’t know.

He sat down and the hat sank over his head, clouding his vision. After a few seconds of complete silence the hat exclaimed:”Slytherin!”. A weight fell off his chest, as he sprung up from his seat, ripped off the hat and almost ran to the table, his robes acquiring a green trim. With the corner of his eye he saw his brother. Andrew looked puzzled. Richard didn’t linger on it, proceeding to find a spot further away in the back.

This would be the story of Richard first and a Linwood second.

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------
1st Year,

1993.

His new life started right there, that very same night, in his dorm. He met a boy named Liam Cadigan, another pureblood. He told Richard that he was from Wales, the son of a Welsh pureblood and a witch from Botswana, and that his father was a traveller. From that first night, Liam stuck to Richard like a bandaid, not letting him feel alone and abandoned. That first evening Liam offered to be Richard’s friend, but when the young Linwood expressed his doubts about having friends, he just smiled and said:”I’ll be here tomorrow, the next day and for the next seven years. Whenever you’re ready…”

Hogwarts provided plenty of opportunities for Richard to avoid Andrew, and frankly, he didn’t have much time to think about his good-for-nothing brother, when he had so many classes to go to and so many things to learn.

At first, all the new knowledge was overwhelming, and in some classes, like herbology, he couldn’t help to think:”When would I ever need any of this? What do I do with all this information?” That’s where his newfound friend Liam came in - his tales of his family’s antics and adventures - they were mercenaries, great travellers and explorers! - had hooked Richard, who now wished to grow up to be one. It would be like a slap in the face to the Linwoods if he would leave them. Perhaps, to never come back…

At the age of 11, he already knew what he wanted out of life, and nothing could steer him off his path. Fuelled by Liam’s stories, he put all effort to be good at all of his classes. His favorites were Charms and DADA, and as soon as the opportunity was presented to him, he joined the Dueling Club. He was good at Potions, as he had practice at the farm. Richard really wished he would be better at Transfiguration, but somehow he couldn’t get a knack for it during school, or even afterwards.

His dislike for it stemmed from an accident he had in the October of his first year - he and Liam tried to transfigure Richard’s hair so it would be black. It didn’t end well, and it became an inside joke of his inner circle at Hogwarts for years to come. When someone had suggested muggle hair dye, he became as red as his hair and mumbled that he didn’t like the color anyhow.

He never understood the need to study Astronomy. He had enough with the basics of navigation, and the rest felt like a waste of time, so in the later years his grades started to fall. Same went for Herbology - he only memorised the difference between what was usable, and what would kill him - he couldn’t give a damn about growing the plants.

To his own surprise, he enjoyed flying. Alas, his parents had never bought him a broomstick, and since first years weren’t allowed to even have brooms at school, he couldn’t spend all his free time flying around the grounds, no matter how much he would have liked. Every flying lesson felt like a tiny birthday.

Around Christmas he realised that he would rather stay at Hogwarts, alone, than go back to Falklands. Liam had already mentioned that he wasn’t going to stay for the break, and there was no way Richard would go to Andrew for company. Quietly he wished that the break would be cancelled and Liam would have to stay or that his parents couldn’t pick him up. To his surprise, a letter from Mister and Mrs. Cadigan arrived, inviting Richard to stay with them and that everything had been arranged for his stay. You didn’t have to ask him twice.

The Cadigans were a prominent family, they were rich and powerful, they lived in a mansion, had servants, it all was a bit alien to the young Linwood. But they weren’t arrogant or elitist, always kind to Richard during his stay. Even Mister Cadigan, a scarred man, who, at first glance looked cold and unforgiving, spoke to Richard as if he was his own son. Christmas eve was spent by the fireplace, listening to Liam’s parents tales about all the beasts they fought during their time in Africa and the Middle East. The boys and Liam’s older sister kept asking for more and more stories, until the kids fell asleep right on the couch. Richard hadn’t felt so happy in years. From that day forth, he and Liam would become inseparable, like he and Andrew once had been.

On the last day of the semester, on platform 9 ¾, his heart broke a little bit, as Liam ran off to his parents. They waved to him, and he waved back, his smile disappearing as soon as his own father’s heavy hand fell on his shoulder, gently nudging him to leave. It was a long and uneventful three months, which he spent in his basement room, waking up early in the morning to send letters to Liam before his parents woke up and could bother him about all the winter farm work. Andrew, on the other hand, had been allowed to spend the whole break at some friends house, enjoying the summer in the Northern Hemisphere. The only comfort he had were the family dogs and Liam’s letters.

2nd year, 1994

Richard’s joy was immeasurable, when on the first day of September he was surprised by a sudden tackle hug. Of course, it was none other than Liam himself. A sight for sore eyes. Otherwise, the year was quite uneventful, and later the only thing he could remember was Christmas at the Cadigan manor. They gifted him his own broomstick, the newest Nimbus model. He couldn’t believe his eyes, and it became his most precious possession.


He grew closer with the Cadigans, and they humored his wish to become a “traveller”. Mr. Cadigan oversaw both his and Liam’s studies, never forgetting to remind Richard, that out there it wasn’t child’s play. Of course, as children do, Richard didn’t take the warnings seriously. No, the thrill of adventure kept the fire in his eyes bright.

Time snapped its fingers, and the school year was about to end. Richard had to pick at least two more subjects to start studying next year. He ended up picking Care of Magical Creatures, because what kind of an adventurer would he be if he didn’t know which end of a dragon exhales fire? His other choice was Study of Ancient Runes, purely because Liam suggested it. Plus, the other three didn’t seem important enough to care about, especially divination. They often laughed about the Divination teacher, and even to this day, Richard thinks that all seers need to be sent to St. Mungos for a year or two.

3rd year, 1995


Things began to pick up the next year. As all healthy boys at this age, he was going through a growth spurt, and now he was a tall and lanky mess of limbs. He had followed Mr. Carigans advice and spent the whole summer training, so he was quite fit for his age. He decided to go to Quidditch tryouts, hoping that he would get the part of a Beater. That day he didn’t get through, as a 6th year old got the spot. Richard was ready to put his broom away for the year and try again next time, but an outbreak of the Black Cat Flu at the start of November changed everything.

Half of the Slytherin team were in the Hospital wing, and the school wanted to cancel the game, but Slytherin were in the lead and they didn’t want to lose it. Plus, the game was against Gryffindor.


The team captain reluctantly asked Richard to fill in the space, and he accepted without hesitation. Not just because he wanted to play, no. Andrew just so happened to be the Gryffindor team’s keeper, and Richard wanted to participate in destroying Gryffindor’s chances for the cup. And what better way to do it than with a bludger.

It was a cold, crisp November morning when the two teams met on the field. The brothers stood across from each other. Andrew looked confused and slightly amused to see his little brother in the Slytherin team robes, while Richard stared right at him with a malevolent smile on his face.

The game began.... And for Andrew, it ended almost instantly, as Richard sent a bludger right into his face, knocking the older Linwood out cold. Needless to say, Slytherin won that match, and Richard got detention, but it was very well worth it. The satisfaction of seeing his brother plummet down and bleed didn’t compare to anything else he had ever experienced. Payback for the pain he had caused. He spent the night laughing as Liam reenacted Andrew’s fall over and over. It would take him at least a decade to realise how cruel he had been, but at that moment he felt like he was right.

He had doubts about his actions, but it was mostly fear of how his parents would react when they would find out. Once again, Liam came to his rescue, making sure that his parents would invite Richard over for the summer too. Yet, to his surprise, he didn’t receive the howler he dreaded so much.


After the incident Richard put Andrew at the back of his mind, acting like he didn’t exist. He had gotten used to it, because after all, his brother had ignored his existence for the last five years, and Richard didn’t see a reason for him to start now.


On the last night of the autumn term, a house elf apparated into his dorm and gave him a crudely wrapped package. It contained a pair of black mittens, from Linwood sheep wool - as there was no wool as soft as theirs - and a small note.

“Hope you’re not too angry. From Andrew.”

Understatement of the century. The fireplace was roaring like a wounded lion as it ate up the paper and wool. He could feel his heart breaking along with the crackling of the firewood.


The next time Andrew tried to talk to him was at breakfast in the Great Hall. It ended quite abruptly, as Richard told him to fuck off and pushed him out of his way. He didn’t bother him until the very end of the year.


Richard was studying late in the library, and the only person there besides him was the librarian. She was keeping a close eye on him, as a month before, somebody had tried to break into the restricted section. The gates that separate the sections had been charmed to cut like razors if anyone besides the librarian were to open them. The measures felt a bit too drastic, but if the Headmaster had ordered it, they must have had a good reason.

His labouring over Ancient Runes homework was interrupted by none other than Andrew himself. His brother stood there, trying to figure out what to say. It looked like his brain had slowed down to a snail’s pace. Richard quickly stopped listening to his poor attempt at an apology and was about to tell him to fuck off and go back to his friends, when Andrew asked him, if they could simply put it behind them.

He exploded, yelling, pouring out all the bitterness he had held onto since he was 8 years old, his knuckles turning white and his face turning as red as his hair. His brother stood there, dumbfounded, while the avalanche of anger buried him. Richard could never recall how exactly it had happened and he swore that he didn’t use his wand, but the next thing they knew - Andrew had been thrown against the charmed gate by an invisible hand, his shirt torn apart and his back bleeding. Richard haphazardly gathered his things and ran away, away from his brother who was lying on the floor, away from the librarian who called out for him, away from everyone.

Liam found him in a corridor not far from the Slytherin common room. They sat on the damp dungeon floor as Richard sobbed and cried into his friends sweater. Richard was sure that he couldn’t return back home, not after this. And Liam promised that he would help him, that he had a family in Wales, he had a home, he had a friend.

Richard didn’t return home until he was 18.

4th year, 1996

He spent the summer at Liam’s house. They provided him with a room and gave him money to spend however he deemed necessary. He finally started to feel like he had a true family. It was a blissful summer, spent in fresh air, playing Quidditch and being idiots. He didn’t know how to thank Liam for all that he had done for him. He had just… Invited him in, never asking anything in return. Anyone else would think it was too good to be true, but Richard was absolutely intoxicated by his happiness and by the butterflies he felt every time he saw Liam.

Yes, butterflies. He didn’t know what to think of this strange feeling in his stomach. It made him all giddy and eager to spend time with Liam. Late at night he wondered if he might be ill, and he even dared to ask Liam’s older sister, Meridith, what she thought of it. She laughed and told him that he was all right and that he should stay close to whomever it was that gave him this feeling.

It was reassuring to hear someone older than him say that he wasn’t going crazy, but he still didn’t know what to do about it. He decided to wait and see, to stay quiet about it. Perhaps the feeling would disappear on its own? He didn’t dare say anything to his friend, so he waited, both dreading and anticipating the turmoil of emotions he had every time they were in the same room.


School resumed and he didn’t have time to linger on his feelings no matter how much he’d like to. His schedule was becoming more and more tight, homework longer and complex, and in addition to everything, he was seeing a lot more of Andrew now.


His brother seemed to just...show up. Every morning upon arriving for breakfast, his brother was already there, sitting by the very entrance to the Hall, trying to catch Richard’s attention with a timid “Hi!”, a smile or the wave of his hand. Nevermind the grudge he still held against him, Richard was confused. He had sent him to the Hospital wing, broken his jaw as some claimed; then turned his back into tartare and left him to bleed out, and he was smiling?

Richard spent many nights, after everyone else had gone to sleep, staring at the roof of his bed, trying to understand. Was this Andrew’s way to try and apologise? Was he trying to get to Richard even if it meant getting hurt? Did Andrew really care about him?

Liam’s opinion was much more grim. He insisted that it was most likely a ploy by Richard’s parents to get him to go home and lock him up forever, or even worse. It sounded a bit excessive, but he wasn’t the only one of his family to think so.


Richard considered Mr. Cadigan the father he had never had (despite the fact that he still didn’t know his name), and always trusted his judgement. When Richard had mentioned in a letter how his brother was acting, Mr.Cadigan warned him to keep away.

“If he didn’t want to be your brother when you needed him the most, there is no genuine reason for him to do it now. Until he states and proves that he has nothing malicious in mind, tread carefully.”

Should he follow his head or his heart? Richard didn’t know what to think. But his hesitation didn’t put off Andrew, and as most Linwoods, his brother was just as stubborn and determined, so he wouldn’t quit until he achieved a result. And in those rare moments when Richard stopped overthinking, he felt a glimmer of hope. After all, he did want to have his brother back, no matter how much he denied it.

With all this uncertainty, it wasn’t surprising that they only managed a handshake on the very last day at King’s Cross, along with some awkward goodbyes. Both of them knew that they wouldn’t meet any time soon.

5th year, 1997

The summer before his 5th year Richard turned 15. While living with the Cadigans he noticed something strange in the way they were acting. To be more precise, it was their daughter Meredith. She was insistent on spending time with him, often sitting uncomfortably close to him. She wasn’t the little girl he had met 4 years ago -- she was a young woman now. He was sure the other boys in school would be teasing each other whenever she’d pass them in the halls. He wasn’t interested though -- he only had eyes for Liam. It didn’t seem like Liam had picked up on it at all, though.

By the end of summer it was certain that his dream of being an adventurer would become a reality. Most of the summer had been akin to a bootcamp, with practice duels in the Cadigans’ backyard, frequent exercise and all the rest. He signed up for ghoul studies, as being munched on by a vampire did not fall in with his plans for the future.


He returned to playing Quidditch, as the new Slytherin team captain invited him to tryouts, complimenting his aim and strength, all based on that jaw breaking bludger of his. He made it into the team. Needless to say, everyone tried to stay on his good side, lest he got angry at them and sent someone plummeting straight into the ground.


His feelings for Liam hadn’t disappeared at all. In fact, now they became accompanied by a different flavor of stomach butterflies, the kind that came along with hormone storms and words better left unsaid. Liam still seemed fairly oblivious, and every day was a challenge of not “being weird” around him. All his inner romantic frustrations were poured into vigorous exercise and studying, as he prepared for his exams.


As for Andrew… Richard received a short postcard from home every month. They were Never more than a few sentences long, with timid attempts to get him to open up. The younger Linwood kept quiet about these postcards and didn’t speak a word even to Liam. He knew that Liam and his family only wanted the best for him, but he wanted to try and see where their relationship would go. Perhaps they could regain what was lost?

Months came and went, days toiling over parchment scrolls and dusty books felt both like an eternity and a fleeting second. OWL’s were upon him. Richard passed DADA and Charms with flying colors, though Herbology and Transfiguration left a bitter taste in his mouth, as he barely passed. Anyhow, the whole year had a party afterward, and with the help of some booze “borrowed” from the seventh years, he and his friends got absolutely drunk by the lake. The next morning someone told him that there had been a game of “Spin the Bottle” and he and Liam had made out.


Richard hadn’t kissed anyone before. He hadn’t told Liam about his feelings. And he couldn’t remember any of that happened. But the way Liam looked at him from that they on didn’t leave him doubting that something had happened. It would be quite the eventful summer for the two of them indeed.

6th year, 1998

Love is rarely simple.

To Richard’s surprise, that summer the Cadigans presented him with a key to their hunting lodge. It was a two story log house on their property, outfitted with everything needed for it to become a full time dwelling. It was his now, with empty bookshelves and a room for woodcrafting. He hadn’t done any woodcarving in years, and he had only mentioned it a few times, but they had remembered.

In a way, he had his own house with everything he could have wished for. It all sounded too good to be true, but it was. Plus, Liam pretty much moved in with him, much to Meredith’s chagrins.

Liam told him that he liked Richard -- and so did Meredith. Not like a friend or a sibling, but like “adults” do. It had even created a bit of a rivalry between them. Richard’s heart was soaring and he couldn’t be more happy. They went back to Hogwarts not as friends, but as a couple.

Liam talked a lot about marrying him. He assured Richard that his parents would only welcome it, even if they could produce no heirs, as it didn’t matter to them. On the other hand, Richard didn’t know what his parents would think. He wasn’t going to inherit any of their riches if his mother had a say in it. His lover didn’t let him frown over it, if it would be so important to him, they’d all fight the Linwoods until they would guarantee him his birthright.

Liam did ask endless questions about his family’s farm and their way of income, but all Richard could do was shrug - after all, he had cut himself off of them, and none of the closely guarded knowledge was shared with him. Andrew… Andrew probably knew everything by now.

Speaking of Andrew, Richard found himself missing his brother and wishing they could meet. He didn’t know how to go about it - from the rare postcards that they exchanged, it seemed that his brother was closely guarded by their mother, who, in Richard’s mind, would tear his head off if she’d ever get ahold of him. On Christmas he received a more lengthy letter from his brother, full of mundane details about his daily life. But the simple “Miss you” at the end of it makes a big difference. Slow and steady, they warmed up to each other. Not enough to get over their pride and sincerely say that they were sorry, but enough to mend the smaller cracks.

7th year, 1999

His seventh year felt like a fever induced nightmare, as for most of the year he was hunched over his books well past midnight. Neither him or his yearmates could remember what having a good night’s sleep was.

As the end of his Hogwarts years grew closer, exams weren’t the only thing that made him feel like the contents of his stomach had been sucked out by a black hole - he realised that he had to go back to Falklands one more time, to take away all of his belongings for good. That meant one final confrontation with his parents, who he hadn’t seen since he was almost 14.


Andrew’s wedding invite came both as a blessing and a curse. Andrew had apologised that he couldn’t make him the best man at his wedding, writing that “Mother would be furious, but we’d still love to have you there.” So he wasn’t looking forward to having to be polite to his parents in public, something that felt worse than having a N.E.W.T in Divination, but it did give him a solid reason to show his face in Falklands. This stressed him out quite a bit, and even the end of exams and his nightly trysts with Liam didn’t help relieve his nerves. But time was unforgiving, and soon the day was upon him.

He tried to stay out of his parents’ view, hoping that they wouldn’t even know he was there, but a few days later he found himself sat at the living room table, eating lunch.

They were having roast lamb that day. The food felt dry as sand and you could cut the tension in the air with a knife. They ate in complete silence. Minutes felt like years. Every time his mother looked at him made Richard flinch internally, though on the outside his face stayed emotionless. Both Andrew and their father, Alistair, were practicing their best display of the Linwood silence. Andrew’s wife, Sarah, wasn’t present, but at that moment Richard wished she would be. Having someone else around could discourage his mother from speaking.


Alas…


“So,” his mother said, stabbing a slice of lamb with her fork, “what have you been up to for the last 4 years?”

Richard didn’t answer, so she continued to talk, her tone dripping with bile.

“I heard you found yourself a new family. New parents, even! We weren’t good enough for you, were we? Of course we weren’t. Why would you come help with the farm when you could live like a king, showered with gifts? Not even bothering to find out if any of us were alive-”

“You never wanted me around anyhow.” he grumbled underneath his breath. His mother let out an amused scoff.

“Someone thinks they’re in the right! How about breaking your mother’s heart?”

“You never had one, not for me.”

“How dare you speak to me that way, Richard Lyall Linwood? You ought to respect your mother! Why couldn’t you have been like Andrew? He’s never upset me, us-”


Every word felt like a bludger straight to the abdomen. Over and over, until he snapped, jumping up from his seat, slamming his fists on the table. His brain and his mouth weren’t connected,he didn’t quite filter through what he was saying, but the last thing he heard was Andrew calling his name after him, as he rushed out the door and apparated away.

That night he cried in Liam’s arms just like he had when they were kids, only now the tears were mixing with alcohol, which, in retrospect, made things only worse.


2000. - 2005.

Even if it felt like the world had ended, by cutting himself off from his family for the final time, at least as he thought, he had opened the door to a life unbothered by obligations to his bloodline. He was free to roam as he wished and pursue his dream of adventure. Now the problem was deciding what to do with his life - the world was huge, after all.

Once again, the Cadigans were there to help. Or, rather, to employ him. As it turned out, they ran a wizard mercenary company, from muscles-for-hire to beast hunters, and none of it was quite legal. That last part didn’t bother Richard much - travelling the world and living on the edge was the dream that had gotten him this far. He was promptly accepted into the company and partnered up with Liam. The next five years felt like a bliss, as they guarded expeditions to the most dangerous parts of the world, never knowing what to expect the next morning. It wasn’t an easy life, but he couldn’t have asked for more.

For the first few years, it was blissful, but as time went on, he started to notice, that Liam would start to avoid him. He felt colder, like he had changed. Perhaps it was because they spent every day together, watching out for each other's back, their nerves always on edge. It would take a toll on anyone. Their line of work didn’t come with vacations, though.

Besides that, over the years a rivalry of sorts had popped up between them. If at the beginning it had been harmless boyish fun, then now they had gotten at each other’s throats a few times. They both decided it was time for a break.

Richard went to ask if he could work alone. He got more than he had bargained for.

2006.


In all his years of mercenary work, he had fought both men and beasts, he’d robbed and he’d extorted, but he had never killed any sentient being. Killing animals was nothing, it was like slaughtering sheep for a meal, but people… He’d come close, once, out of self-defense, but he apparated away before it was too late. He had spent many nights thinking about it, how it would feel… He’d seen Liam do it. His lover did it with boyish glee, even laughing, though he had always chalked it up to the high stress situation rather than some maniacal qualities. But he had seen Liam cast the Killing Curse without even flinching, shrugging it off.

“It’s just part of the job.”
And now, it was his turn.

It seemed like an accident, really. He was being pursued by a band of other mercenaries, ones that, as Mr.Cadigan had told him, wanted to seize the power that the Cadigans had fought long and hard for. The Marzáns were somewhere from the Mediterranean, Richard didn’t quite know or care where. All he knew was that they wouldn’t stop until he was lying dead in the closest pond, rocks tied to his limbs. He was wounded and couldn’t apparate, fearful that he’d tear himself apart. Hexes were flying past his head, hitting against the trees, barely missing him. He needed to get away from them, block their path, stop them somehow--


There was a large pile of freshly cut trees stacked by the side of the forest road. He cast Depulso and continued to run, trying to filter out the thunder like rumbling and the pained screams behind him. Only later did Mr.Cadigan tell him they had died, even congratulated him on turning them into pulp. That night, a bottle of whiskey was Richard’s only friend.

He didn’t like knowing that he had killed someone. It made him feel disgusting, like he had lost a part of his humanity. He expressed his concerns to his colleagues, who laughed at him or told him to suck it up. Upon receiving his next task, he realized that he was being tested.

He was tasked with an assassination. Not just any assination, no. He had to go to Falklands. That in itself was already making him uneasy. His victims - a family of muggle farmers, who just so happened to be redheads. His task - to set their house ablaze while they were sleeping. If something didn’t go according to plan, there would be heavy consequences.

He had fallen out of favor for not wanting to kill, and his punishment was swift and gruesome.

It was almost like asking him to murder his own family. Even with all the pain they had caused him, he couldn’t fathom killing them. At least, not Andrew.

He left, arriving in Falklands in the evening. Using the Disillusionment Charm to disguise himself, he crept around the muggle farm. All he had to do was cast Incendio a few times, but he couldn’t do it. There were children in that house, for God’s sake. He spent an hour sitting on a bench outside his victim’s home, drinking whiskey, as it was his liquid courage. Only when he had drunk to the point where he couldn’t recall his name, did he unlock the door and slip in, cast Avada Kedavra on all the people including the children, promptly vomited in the hallway and set not only the house, but his robes on fire and race straight to the ocean, jumping straight into the waves.

He couldn’t recall much besides thrashing around the seaside like a wounded animal until the sun came up. Exhausted, he let his feet take him wherever they desired. Lo and behold, he found himself in parts all too familiar. It was the Linwood farm, a place he had once called home, now the favorite setting of his nightmares.

He walked right up to the windows, still shrouded by the leftovers of his Disillusionment charm, and glanced into the living room. He could see his brother, older now, with hair longer than ever, holding a little girl in his lap while a slightly older one was standing in front of him, hands crossed on her chest, pouting. His brother leaned back, laughing as the younger girl reached for his beard. Sarah walked into the room and leaned in to kiss Andrew.

Richard felt like he was watching something not meant for his eyes. He reached into his ruined robes and found a piece of paper and a pencil, wrote a note and left it on the windowsill. It only had two words on it - “Miss you. R.”

He knocked on the door and hid behind the corner of the house, fearful that his charm might wear off soon. His hands were trembling and his breath hitched as the door opened. Andrew looked around, puzzled by the absence of the knocker. When he noticed the note, he began to look around, his movements frantic.

Richard didn’t dare to show his face. With his last bits of strength, he apparated away.

As soon as he set his foot in the Cadigan’s yard, he was disgraced. Mr. Cadigan stormed out, screaming at him for not being able to do even one thing right, for being a traitor, pouring buckets upon buckets of verbal sewer sludge over Richard’s head. Even though Richard was taller, stronger built, looking like he could crush his boss with one hand in every way, he stood there like a kicked puppy, in burnt and soaked robes.

It was the beginning of the end.

2007.

They kicked him out, taking away all of his savings, leaving him with the clothes he had on his back. He proceeded to find an apartment in a slum in London, his housemates being the dregs of wizarding society. To survive and not become the midnight lunch of a half senile werewolf, he had to assert himself. Soon, everyone in the area feared him and didn’t dare to cross his path, although few of the inhabitants had been turned into bloody slime to guarantee his survival.

He got by somehow, doing small jobs that people hired him for in the local pub. Soon, his body count grew and grew, and he started thinking less and less of it. His morals had been tossed into the same garbage as he had been, and now he was out for himself. Still, he spent every day hoping, that this would end soon, that he’d be in the Cadigans’ good graces once again. And he wanted to see Liam. But it didn’t seem like Liam wanted to see him. There were no attempts at contacting him whatsoever, and his letters would go unanswered, some even returned back to him.

2008. - 2011.

His salvation and at the same time, his undoing, would arrive in the form of a letter. It was carried by a raven and it smelled like tobbacco and lilies. It was anonymous, but the sender was very well informed about Richard, his wrongdoings and his situation. It called for him to go to Japan, meet a band of mercenaries there and deal with a rather nasty Kappa that had been terrorizing the locals for years. It came with promises of money, so Richard didn’t think twice before apparating to the marked place.

His surprise was huge when he met Liam, waiting for him there. But instead of a warm welcome, he was only asked why he smelled like the backside of a wet werewolf. His heart shattered, but there wasn’t any time to discuss their relationship, or whatever was left of it, as he was ushered to the kappa’s hunting grounds.


He barely got out alive. The long scars around his throat served as a reminder for years to come. He couldn’t recall anything that had happened, as if someone had wiped his brain. One moment he was sneaking up on the beast, and the next he was lying in bed next to Liam, who was begging him for forgiveness.


The beneficiary was pissed off, to say the least, that they hadn’t managed to keep the whole thing under wraps and that they failed to do it without catching the attention of the local authorities. Later,one of the other men was found dead with a note attached - it was their first and last warning.

The next few years were a mix of a strange relationship between the two. They were toying somewhere between love and abuse, as the nights were filled with passion and the days pitted Richard against death over and over again, always missing by an inch. The rhythm of his life had become utterly unsettling, as the days melted into one and he couldn't recall when was the last time he didn’t have at least one of his limbs bandaged.


2012.

The mysterious beneficiary showed up again, this time with a request to find a missing person who had last been seen somewhere in Romania. They set after the man, traveling criss cross over the country, running into dead ends, losing hope of finding him, until one fateful summer day.

Richard and Liam were ascending the Bihor mountains in the western part of the country, following a clue that the man had been last seen on that very path. Little did Richard know, that he was walking straight into a dragon's mouth.

They ascended to a plateau. It was quiet, the sun was shining and the only thing that gave any indication of the impending doom were the half charred carcasses of animals, and some humans too, that were laying around a couple of unhatched eggs.

Richard would have loved to leave, but they had a job to do. They had to find some sign of the man, even one sign that he had been here, no matter if he’d lived or died.

Dragons are not the beast whose home you should meddle with, and they had just wandered into the center of it. The terrible beast swooped in from above, fire blazing. Their spells didn’t have any result at all, which sent them both into a panic. The dragon landed in front of them and tried to grab them with its mighty teeth.

One second, they both were hiding behind a rock, the second he had been pushed right in front of the dragon, his wand arm stretched out.

Pain. Fire and pain. Moments ago he had had a hand. Now, there was a bleeding stump. A inhuman scream left his lungs as he leaped out of the dragon’s way, watching a stream of fire shoot at Liam. When the flames died down, he crawled to the charred body of his lover, just to hear his last words.

“It should have been you.”

Before the dragon could turn Richard into lunch, he apparated away to the only place he could think of - Falklands.


The sunlight disappeared, replaced by the pitch dark of the Linwoods’ living room. His hand was gushing blood and he screamed. He screamed until his throat hurt, and he sobbed and he choked and gasped for air, and, and-

He woke up in his old room. For a moment he thought that it had been the longest nightmare in human history, but Andrew was sitting next to him. An adult Andrew. Richard’s right palm just...wasn’t there anymore. Instead there was a stump, wrapped in bandages and linen.

2013.- 2017.

Richard fell into a deep, deep depression, refusing to talk to either Andrew or Sarah for days on end, sometimes spending months only getting out his bed to relieve himself, or when Andrew dragged him outside in the middle of the night so he could have a breath of fresh air. He confined himself to his basement room, trying to make sure that Andrew’s children wouldn’t know he was there. It would be too difficult to explain to them who he was, why he was here now and not before, where his hand had gone, all the scars he had, it was too much… He couldn’t even start explaining it to his own brother.

It didn’t stop Andrew from caring about him. Sometimes Andrew would sit down and try to get Richard to talk, and if he wouldn’t answer, he’d talk about the mundane things that were happening in their daily life. About the sheep, about the wool, sometimes he’d share stories of his little daughters. It was love. Unconditional family love from his brother, the kind he needed now more than ever. And even if he couldn’t bring himself to say anything, he appreciated it.


On his 35th birthday, which he had even forgotten about himself, Andrew visited him. This time, along with bringing him dinner, he had brought a parcel. It was a gift from him. Andrew wasn’t any good with words, and neither was Richard, but the gift said everything.

It was a wooden hand. It fit perfectly, like it was a cast of the original limb. It moved and worked like his own, it was his own. It was a bit rough. Richard recognized Andrew’s handwriting in his carving, and the magic necessary for such a thing...He didn’t know if Andrew had learned it himself, or spent a fortune on getting someone else to do it, but it didn’t matter. Their relationship had been mended, and Richard snapped out of his emotional slumber.

Andrew assured him that Richard wasn’t putting them in danger by being around them, and that he didn’t care what Richard had done over the years, he would always be welcome as long as he wished. He wasn’t going to restrain his brother and make him stay, Andrew knew better.

Richard didn’t know how to repay his brother for his kindness and selflessness. He didn’t have a galleon to his soul and being around him was certain bad luck… He asked Andrew his thoughts, and his brother suggested he put his sense of adventure to use in the Ministry. Not only could he try to rebuild his life, he could also protect Andrew’s daughters.