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(no subject)

Who: Charles Xavier + You
Broadcast: Video
Action: SS Heron
When: Right now!

[ The video starts with Charles sitting on his wheelchair, his hands neatly folded on his lap. He rubs faint circles on his legs for a few seconds, the only real sign of tension. ]

Hello. My names is Charles Xavier. I am a geneticist graduated from Oxford. I -- [ ran ] -- run a school in Westchester for the Gifted. Mutants. People with abilities. My focus is the training and control of abilities we do not always fully understand, abilities that are gifts but can often run amok.

[ He pauses, catching his second wind before continuing on, poised. ]

I am also a telepath with a full set of abilities in aiding the mind and extremely . . . proficient. I do not read minds without permission, because honestly, I really don't care.

[ Charles pauses again, wondering if he should say more and dismisses it. People can ask him if they need details - which they will. ]

If anyone would like to make use of my abilities and skills, they are certainly most welcome to. Confidentiality, of course, is key and you need not make anything public if you do not wish to. If you have any questions for me, the floor is open for you.

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[ Not at all, he replies. He feels oddly self-conscious. I'm at the entrance. Would you like to come to the kitchen? It's well stocked. ]

[ I remember. Erik made me tea. Which was when she came here upset because Charles wasn't her Charles, but she does try not to let that memory float across. I'm on my way! And she is, grabbing her bag and adjusting the things around her neck before she heads up, following the only just familiar route. ]

[ There's a brief wave of nostalgia and warmth at that. Erik isn't homely, but he's learned the art of it. They both had. Charles simply can't do it as well anymore.

He rubs his hands lightly, an old habit. He's rather good at that. You should see him bake. ]

[ Hermione had been touched, mostly because of the fact that she was usually the one offering comfort. She hadn't expected Erik to invite her over and take care of her - she had expected that they would find out who's Charles it was and then go their separate ways. He had calmed her down and it's something she is more than just a little thankful for.

I think I'd pay to see that. Stepping through, she pushes open the kitchen door, pushing hair out of her face and focussing on Charles in her mind. I think he imagines that you and I sit around and do nothing but drink tea, given where we're from. ]

[ A pinprick of amusement, technically, I am from America. His schooling left him with a stronger accent than most and he had enjoyed the culture there. Fond memories, he muses to himself, not that he can remember much of it. All of them seem to have faded after Erik and . . . other events. ]

[ The door shuts behind her and she shakes her head, fighting her smile. I remember a time when you and I sat on a beach lamenting about the utter lack of fish and chips. You may not have been born there, Charles, but I think you picked up on it. ]

[ It feels like lifetimes ago, doing those sorts of things. Erik and Charles had attempted them, tried to grasp whatever normalcy they could. Little dates and moments stretched between them as they tried to make it work - tried not to let their own legacies eat away at the simple feelings.

Charles pulls up the tea and mugs. Padme had started adjusting the ship a little, making it easier. They have several kinds of tea here, for which I'm grateful. ]

[ It's been years for me. Years of fighting, and just the idea of fish and chips sounds ridiculous. It's too normal. Living in the Drabwurld meant that meals were simpler and for Hermione, who had been cursed to be unable to eat... They had been hard. Being here hasn't done much for the strength of her stomach and eating, as a rule, is still a sore subject for her.

I'm going to have to come here more often. ]

[ We have to fight for our normal, he says quietly. Food was never difficult in Kyriakos, but it was hard for other reasons. Charity of strangers and so forth, the same people who let the woman who killed his team walk free as they were murdered again and again and again --

He moves away from it as he sets the kettle. I think we can all appreciate what we have. And you should. I'm sure Erik would like that as well. ]

[ They're in the kitchen together now, but Hermione doesn't stop her careful conversation with Charles - she doesn't see the need to. He says they have to fight for normal and this is normal for her; sitting with him, talking to him without speaking anything aloud. It highlights her loneliness, the way that her heart feels like it's getting colder and how, sometimes, she just wants to cry, but she does her best to shove those away for now. She can break alone - in front of people she needs to be strong.

We have to fight for lots of things, but at least normal is what we make it. Still, she turns to give him a soft look, moving forward to help because that's who she is, not because she thinks he needs it. Erik's going to get tired of me if I keep coming over and drinking all his tea. ]

[ He feels the strings of a faint melancholy and he turns to look at her, assessing.

I doubt any of us would get tired of you. ]

[ She pauses in her movements, not really able to turn her head to look at Charles before she does her best to force a smile, glancing over with a raised eyebrow.

You haven't seen me when I'm studying something new.

It's easier to deflect then face the truth. ]

[ Then perhaps you'd show me. Though it seems I'll have my hands full right now.

The response he got from his announcement was . . . heartening. Old wounds, from people he had trusted never fully left. ]

[ She laughs aloud, lifting a hand to cover her mouth.

That's what you get for being a kind and generous telepath, Charles. You're going to have dozens of friends and I'll have to sneak in to spend time with you. ]

[ Charles snorts delicately and there's a faint thread of cynicism, but nothing extreme. Dozens of friends sounds like someone else entirely.

I highly doubt that's going to happen. It just seems like a lot of people here need the help. ]

[ Hermione just battles it back with her own optimism, her belief in Charles and her pride, the kind that swallows her up and makes everything else feel forgettable in comparison.

I'm glad they have someone to help them. And then, stepping closer, she softens. And you have people to help you, when you're done listening to their hurts. ]

[ He waves it off, my hurts are fairly inconsequential at this stage. And mostly conquered.

But he realized that was callous and he subsides, I have people. I'm . . . grateful for that. ]

[ That doesn't mean they're not there.

Hermione isn't offended, not in the least. She knows that overcoming pain was a step to getting stronger, and she had had to face it herself - so much death, and suffering, and pain, the kind that was inescapable in a world built on war and heartache. If she hadn't learned to grow from it she would have broken by now and she's still not entire sure that she hasn't forced herself together with fine, fragile stitches.

Reaching out, she touches his hand. People that aren't going anywhere. ]

[ No, and he's a little rueful there. He's gotten better at acknowledging them but it's always been a process he's fought with. Charles has always been unsure of his own feelings, unsure of their power, unsure of what they could do.

( unsure because all the love in the world can't make people stay. )

He pats her hand comfortingly. Sometimes people have to go. That doesn't mean they can't come back.

He has patience. He can wait. ]

[ There is some echoing hypocrisy in how Hermione handles herself, constantly urging others to have faith in their friends and speak their minds, to not hold anything back and ask for support. She never took those rules upon herself, never asked for anyone to stand at her side and listen to her worries - because she never felt as though they were important enough to bother. She's working on it, of course, but it's still hard.

Lifting her head, Hermione smiles, her hand squeezing his.

As long as there's a path for them.

She remembers Ron, saying her name is the thing that brought him back, remembers Nico and John and her family, remembers Charles seeking her out when her mind was shattered and she was completely and utterly broken from nightmares - and she knows he's right. There's always a chance they'll come back. ]

[ We leave our doors open for such a moment, and though his heart may waver, it weathers the storms.

He lets the memories flit by, like an old newsreel.

Tell me more. About yourself. ]

[ Exactly. And no one can take that from us.

The question makes her stop and she pauses for a moment, trying to think about what to say about herself before she shakes her head. Might as well start at the beginning - it was as good a place as any.

I was born in England, and I studied magic at a boarding school in Scotland. I helped fight against one of the darkest wizards every to exist starting at eleven, and when I was nineteen I was brought to the Drabwurld where I lived for three years fighting another war. My parents don't know who I am, but I have an adoptive father, and a brother, too. I was supposed to be a leader, but sometimes I feel like I don't really know what I'm doing.

There's more she could say, she's sure, about the deaths she'd seen, the ones she'd caused, the pain and hurt and even the happier things, joyful memories of Samhain and being around her friends, of loving them even when they were gone, but she's not sure how much Charles wanted to know. ]

[ That tells me where you came from. Your family. But it doesn't tell me much about yourself.

He knows that she had given him permission. That he could look without censure and fear. But he finds he would prefer if she let it unfold, out of her own volition. ]

[ Oh. Right.

There's a moment's pause, then, before Hermione shifts back and focusses. The best way to get to know someone is share their experiences and, so, that's what she does. She offers Charles all that she can offer at a time like this; herself.

She offers the memories to Charles slowly, so he has time to look at them if he wants, to decide for himself which ones might be best for him to know her as well as she knew him. There were the happier times, such as her first patronus, her rather violent vengeance on Malfoy, her first real dance and then, of course, time and time and time again, memories of her protecting Harry, risking it all for him.

The good memories have to come with their share of the bad, of course. Hermione can pass those on too, to give a sense of everything that she is and all the things she had chosen to be. The loss of her parents flickers first, tied up with her hopelessness and the torture she went through at the hands of Bellatrix Lestrange. All of it echoes with the faint memory of fear and failure, her heart thick in her throat.

What ties all her memories together, all the pieces of herself that make her who she is, are the memories of family that she can't hide. A tall soldier, a young boy, dotted with images of knights and dragons. The last memory she offers is one that she thinks will effect him most, a memory of her and the Charles she knew before, where he shared the feeling of his telepathy with her, leaving her awed and loving him more than she had before.

When she's done she blinks herself out of her near trance, lifting a hand to rub at her eyes.

That was a lot, wasn't it? I'm sorry. ]

[ He wipes his face out of habit. His control was better than he thought, not all that weak. It was good to know.

Not at all. I did ask, anyway.

He hesitates before continuing on, thank you for letting me in. ]