Disclaimers:  I do not own either Gundam Wing or Harry Potter.  I am making no money with this.  This story is purely for
entertainment purposes only.

Notes:  Trowa and Quatre get interesting letters.  Both get different reactions from their loved ones.

Soldiers of Sorcery

Part Three

Trowa woke up achy and sore.  He hadn’t left his trailer all day yesterday, just staying in his bed and sleeping, not having an
urge to get up, let along leave the trailer.  He didn’t think he could face anyone, not after what had happened the other night.  
That man . . . the pain . . . the feeling of being ripped apart.  He buried his face in his pillow as he whimpered, not wanting to

A gentle nudge against his side, got Trowa’s attention.  He raised his head, looking to the side and seeing that panther laying on
the bed right next to him.  Trowa smiled faintly, raising his hand and lightly gliding it across the soft black fur of the large cat.  
It didn’t act like a wild animal at all, more like a contented house cat than anything.  

The panther’s company was the only one that he welcomed.  They were two of a kind, both having experienced the same pain
and from the same man.  He felt a connection with the animal that slept in his bed, allowing Trowa to pet it.  They were friends
now and the panther seemed intent on protecting Trowa.  Just yesterday, he had growled when Catherine had tried to come in,
probably would have attacked her if not for Trowa warning Catherine to stay out.

“I suppose I should think of a name for you, hm my friend?”  Trowa asked, raising himself on one elbow and continuing to
stroke his free hand along the panther’s fur.  He found it oddly soothing to pet this creature, almost hypnotic.

The panther rolled over and looked up at Trowa, nuzzling his head against Trowa’s chest as if in agreement.  Trowa smiled,
letting his fingers graze across the oddly relieving fur, not thinking about his own problems for the first time since he had been
attacked.  As he looked the panther over, trying to determine a suitable name, his eyes locked with the gaze of the creature.  For
some reason he couldn’t turn away, as if there was something deeply hidden within those eyes.

“I bet I could get lost just as easily in Duo’s eyes.”  Trowa mused to himself, then shook his head, breaking himself out of his
trance-like state.  Where had that thought come from, Trowa wondered.  Why so suddenly had he thought of Duo?

He smirked as he watched the large feline.  The grace of its movements reminded him so much of Duo . . . if Duo were any
kind of cat, he’d be a panther.  Once again, Trowa found himself shaking his head and wondering where his mind was going.  
Now he was comparing Duo with panthers.  He must be losing his mind.

However, this line of thinking did give Trowa a good idea for a name for his new friend.  “How about I name you Max?”  
Trowa asked.

As if in response, the panther lifted its head and licked his sandpaper-like tongue over Trowa’s cheek.  Trowa could both hear
and feel the purring and knew that this reaction was definitely a good one.  Max seemed to like his new name.

“Max it is then.”  Trowa smiled, tracing nimble fingers over the fur of his friend.  Then he sighed, deciding that perhaps today
he would venture outside of his trailer.  “I think I should get dressed and take you outside.  You’re probably as hungry as I
am.”  Trowa said, smirking as Max lazily stretched out beside him.

Trowa silently slipped out of bed, getting dressed in his usual jeans and turtleneck.  He unlocked and opened a few of the
windows, then went over to the door, slipping on a pair of shoes.  Max was waiting for him by the door and he smirked, seeing
that his friend was eager to leave.

Trowa had just opened the door when an envelope seemed to drop out of nowhere onto the floor of his trailer right in front of
him.  He knelt down and picked it up, looking curiously at it for a moment, before raising his gaze and looking around for where
it could have possibly come from.  Trowa blinked, not truly believing his eyes as he saw a barn owl sitting atop his trailer.  An
odd time for owls to be out, Trowa thought.  It was the middle of the morning.

He shrugged, then turned the envelope over in his hand, wondering if it was addressed to anyone he knew.  It was thick and
heavy, made of yellowish parchment and the address was written in emerald-green ink.  There was no stamp or return address.  
Trowa thought for sure that it wasn’t for him, he hadn’t gotten a letter from anyone for as long as he could remember.  Yet,
here was this envelope, the address so plainly written that there couldn’t possibly be a mistake:

Mr. T. Barton
Formerly known as: Triton Bloom
3rd Trailer on the left
The Circus

That was odd, Trowa thought . . . why did it say that he was formerly known as Triton Bloom?  If he wasn’t mistaken that had
been the name of Catherine’s younger brother who had died as a child years ago.  He couldn’t be that boy . . . could he?

With hands that had begun to shake with the prospect that he had a family, Trowa turned the envelope over again, seeing a
purple wax seal bearing a coat of arms; a lion, an eagle, a badger, and a snake surrounding a large letter H.  He wondered what
the seal stood for.  Maybe if he opened it he would get some answers.  

He opened it, unfolded the heavy parchment that was inside and read it aloud from top to bottom, as if doing so would make him
believe it was real.  “Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.  Headmaster: Albus Dumbledore. Order of Merlin, First
Class, Grand Sorcerer, Chief Warlock, Supreme Mugwump, International Confederation of Wizards.”  Trowa blinked, trying to
decide whether this was some sort of a joke.  Surely it couldn’t be real.

However, he continued to read.  “Dear Mr. Barton, We are pleased to inform you that you have been accepted at Hogwarts
School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.  Please find enclosed a list of all necessary books and equipment.  Terms begin on
September 1.  We await your owl by no later than July 31.  Yours sincerely, Minerva McGonagall, Deputy Headmistress.”

After he had read it, and reread it, Trowa came to the conclusion that it had to be a hoax.  He turned and leaned over, intending
to toss it in the trash.  However, Max nudged Trowa’s hand away from the trash can before he could drop it.  Trowa looked
down, wondering what was so important.  His eyes locked with Max’s again, and he could swear that could feel something in
his mind urging him not to throw it out.  He shook his head, clearing the faint trace of an emotion other than his own from his
mind, lifting the parchment to read it again.

This time it was Catherine who made her presence known to him.  “W-Where did you get that?”  She asked, wide-eyed.  

For a moment, Trowa thought that she had been speaking about Max, but when he looked to her, he noticed that she was most
definitely pointing at the letter.  He furrowed his brow, wondering why Catherine found this odd thing important.  “I found it
here, on the floor of my trailer.  It just seemed to drop there from out of nowhere.”  Trowa said.

“Burn it, Trowa . . . just get rid of it.”  She said, grabbing the letter from Trowa’s hand and reading through it.  She gasped,
looking between the letter and Trowa repeatedly.  “Trowa . . . Triton?”  She asked in a breathless whisper.  Then she looked up
at Trowa, staring at him long and hard, as if all the answers she needed would appear if she stared at him long enough.  “You’re
my brother?”  She asked.

“I don’t know.”  Trowa replied.  “The letter indicates that, but unless there was a blood test I doubt we’d be certain.”

Catherine moved closer, brushing aside his bangs with one hand and looking deep into Trowa’s eyes as if searching for
something.  She smiled suddenly, wrapping her arms around him and pulling Trowa into a strong hug which he didn’t truly feel
comfortable with.  “You are Triton . . . I don’t know why I didn’t see it before.  You have Mother’s eyes and look so much like
Father.”  Then she suddenly pulled away, her face set in a sneer as she raised her hand and slapped him hard.  “You’re my
brother and you get one of these letters?”  She hissed.

Trowa was confused.  He raised his hand to his stinging cheek, touching it lightly.  “What are you talking about?”  He asked.  
“What’s wrong with the letter?”  

“I knew someone who had gotten one of these letters . . . she was a freak.  Left one year for this school and came back turning
bowls into mice, carrying the oddest most disgusting things in her pockets.”  Catherine said, her face twisting in anger.  “She
was thrown out of the caravan . . . she was so abnormal.  We were all relieved once she was gone.”

Trowa couldn’t believe that Catherine was saying such hateful things.  She had never seemed the sort of person to be prejudiced
against someone for their beliefs.  And frankly, everything she was saying was just making Trowa want to go and find out
personally if this was real or not.  He took his letter back, turning on his heel and walking away from her, Max close behind him
as he headed out to get breakfast.  He didn’t have anything else to say to her, couldn’t think of anything that he could say that
would do any good.

As he walked, he read his letter once more.  He was putting the letter back into the envelope, when he noticed another two slips
of parchment.  He pulled them out, discovering one of them to be blank and the other a request for him to attend a meeting
where the letter and Trowa’s future would be discussed.  The address written on it was for someplace in London.  He could
easily get there within the time allowed to him.  Maybe then he would get some answers.

A loud squawk caught Trowa’s attention and he looked up, just in time to watch that owl from before land on a fence near him.  
He then remembered that one line in the letter, and decided he had better respond to the letter.  Pulling a pen from his pocket, he
wrote what he thought was a satisfactory reply on the blank parchment that had been supplied along with the smaller note.  He
hesitantly approached the owl, warily watching it as he folded up the reply.

“You going to take this for me?”  He asked, not truly expecting an answer.

He was very surprised when the owl flew from its perch on the fence and took the letter from his hand, flying off to
somewhere unknown a moment later.  Very odd, Trowa thought, then shrugged and returned to his original objective . . .
getting breakfast.


Quatre raised his head from his pillow, tears burning his eyes yet again this morning.  Cera had come to ask if he would be
heading off to work today and of course he had once again replied that he wouldn't be.  He just had no urge to follow in his
father’s footsteps.  Of course, he had no urge to do anything anymore.

His life was tedious and drawn out . . . and this morning he wished it would all end.  There was some nagging feeling in his
heart, telling him that he was missing out on something so very wonderful.  There was something he was supposed to be doing,
something that wasn’t working in a boardroom or attending to idle business matters.  He just knew that he was supposed to be
doing something else, something far more magnificent.  And that was where his heart urged him to go.  However, without the
knowledge of where this place was, he was slowly decaying on the inside, as if a dark chasm was gradually devouring his heart
and soul.

Quatre shuddered, a sob ripping through his aching throat as he buried his face once again, digging his fingers into the pillow.  
He wanted it to stop, wanted to find what was missing in his life . . . he just didn’t know how to go about it.

He was jarred from his thoughts as his windows blew open with a strong gust of wind.  Quatre raised himself to a sitting
position, wiping the back of his hand over his weary eyes.  A moment later, he gasped, watching as a large owl perched itself on
his windowsill, dropping what looked to be an envelope to the floor.

Without a thought of hesitation in his mind, Quatre stood and crossed the room, picking up the letter and returning to sit on the
edge of his bed.  For some reason, he just didn’t find it at all odd to see an owl at his window, but he couldn’t explain why he
felt it was a completely normal occurrence.  He smiled at the owl that was currently preening itself, then turned his attention to
the envelope in his hands.  

It was addressed to him, so he broke the seal and read it, not sure what to make of it even after he had finished reading.  He
picked up his robe, pulling it on as he crossed the room to his bedroom door.  At least he was more appropriately covered now,
even if he was only wearing pajama bottoms and his robe, it was better than being in the nude when he asked advice on this
perplexing letter.

“Cera?”  He called out as he stepped into the hall, hoping that one of his sisters was within earshot of his voice.  

He wasn’t disappointed, since only a moment later, Cera and several of his sisters found their way to him, all of them happy to
see that he had left his room.  “Is there something you need, Quatre?”  Cera asked, her fingers tenderly brushing through his
pale hair.

“An owl dropped this letter inside my room.”  Quatre stated, handing the odd parchment over to Cera.  “What do you suppose it

After reading what could only have been the first line, if that much at all, Cera wrapped her arms around Quatre and pulled him
into a fierce hug.  “Oh this is so wonderful!”  She exclaimed, turning to her sisters and raising the letter above her head to show
it to them.  “He's been accepted to Hogwarts!”

A loud round of applause and numerous cheers quickly followed, along with Quatre being engulfed in a multitude of hugs and
getting loving kisses on his cheeks from all of his elder siblings.  They all seemed so thrilled about this letter and it left Quatre
feeling even more confused than ever.

“What’s going on?”  Quatre asked, raising his voice so that he would be heard over his sisters’ excited cheers.

Cera smiled down at him.  “You’re a wizard, Quatre . . . and you’ve just been accepted to the best school there is.”  She said,
ruffling his hair.

“Wizard?  You’ve got to be kidding me.”  Quatre said, not truly believing.  However, he felt his heart grow warmer as he heard
of this school . . . perhaps that was where he was meant to be.

“No, this is no joke, Quatre.  Your mother was a witch . . . an excellent student at Hogwarts, I heard.”  Kira said.

Quatre frowned, trying to understand.  “But Father told me I was created in a test-tube, just like all of you.”

Cera took Quatre aside, telling the other women that she would handle this personally.  She sat beside Quatre on his bed,
wrapping an arm around his shoulders.  “Quatre, Father didn’t want you to blame yourself for your mother’s death.  You see,
she died giving birth to you.  He planned on telling you if you got the letter from Hogwarts, which you should have gotten when
you were eleven years old.  However, things happened that couldn’t be fixed . . . Hogwarts closed its doors to all the colony
kids, not wanting them to risk their lives to get to the school . . . we all thought you had lost your chance.  Father felt it best not
to tell you the truth then.  He only meant to keep your best interests in mind.”

“I understand.”  Quatre nodded, meaning that in all honesty.  He did understand and he felt no ill will toward his father for
keeping this secret.  In fact, he felt it quite relieving to hear the truth, even if so many years had passed without him knowing.  
Perhaps being a wizard was why he was empathic . . . it would explain many things in his life.  “My mother was really a
witch?”  He asked, looking up at Cera.

“Oh, yes . . . she used to entertain us some nights . . . just the family mind you . . . with simple spells.  We being non-magic . . .
Muggles I think we’re called . . . it was frowned upon to let us see real magic.  She even took a few of us to Diagon Alley once,
to show us around a bit.  She knew that she wouldn’t survive your birth, Quatre, and wanted to be sure that someone could
show you where you needed to go to buy your supplies.  It’s been a while, but I think I can still find my way around.”  Cera
smiled, brushing her fingers through Quatre’s hair.

“I think I’d like to go to this school.”  Quatre nodded.

Cera smiled brightly.  “I’m sure you’ll love it there, Quatre.”  She said, looking through the parchments.  She held up one that
was smaller than the others.  “Ah, you’re going to need to be in London in a few days it seems . . . a meeting with someone
from the school.”  She said, handing the note to Quatre.

He nodded.  “I’ll go.  I’d like to hear more of this school.”  He said.  

“Then you’d best respond to this letter.  I think that owl is waiting for it.”  Cera stated.  “Wait here.”  She walked out of the
room, leaving Quatre to watch the owl in curiosity.  A moment later, Cera returned, carrying was looking like a quill and a bottle
of ink in her hand.  “Here, use these.  The ink is new, but the quill was your mother’s.”

Quatre nodded, walking over to his desk and setting the blank parchment down on the wooden surface.  He dipped the quill in
the ink supplied by his sister, scrawling out a simple response.  He wasn’t exactly sure what to say to a bunch of wizards and
witches . . . he hoped his message was good enough.  Once he was done, he rolled the parchment up and handed it to the owl,
watching in amusement as it took the letter in its beak and flew off.  For the first time he felt happy and excited, wondering over
the possibilities awaiting him at this school.

He smiled up at his sister, feeling inquisitive as well as happy.  “Cera, will you tell me more about my mother?”  He asked.

“Of course.  Anything you want to know.”  Cera replied, patting a section of the bed beside where she sat.

“Was she pretty?”  He asked, eagerly sitting beside Cera, nearly bouncing in excitement as he waited for her answers.  “What
was she like?  Tell me everything.”

Cera chuckled.  “Yes, Quaterine was quite beautiful . . . in fact you look a lot like her.  She was kind and generous . . . the most
giving woman I had ever met.  She treated all of us as if we were her own children, instead of test-tube children . . . she made
us feel loved.  Father loved her a great deal . . . he even named you in memory of her.”

Quatre nodded, then yawned widely.  He covered his mouth, blushing in embarrassment as he apologized.  “I’m sorry, I haven’t
been sleeping well.”  He admitted sheepishly.

“That’s alright, Quatre.  Why don’t you get some sleep?  I’ll be glad to tell you anything else you want to know about your
mother once you are well-rested.”  Cera said.

Quatre sighed, but nodded.  He was quite tired.  “Agreed.”  He said, yawning again.

Cera pulled the robe off of him gently, ushering him into bed and covering him loosely with the blankets.  Quatre honestly had
not known how tired he had been until his head hit the pillow.  A moment later, he had drifted off into a peaceful slumber, filled
with dreams of his hopes for the future and the life he was meant to live.

To Be Continued . . .