Disclaimer:I do not own Harry Potter or its subsequent universe. All recognisable characters, settings and plots belong to J. K. Rowling.

Acknowledgements: Thank you to my team of Betas and Editors: AJAVENGER01, JT, Ares Alexander Peverell, Avidnarutofan, Tendrael Umbra

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Harry Potter and the Trials of Twilight

BY: ArtyWords

Book 1: The Premature Arrival

Chapter 2: Hospitality

June 26, 1990

St. Mungo's

After Midnight

Madam Pomfrey quietly stepped into her patient's room, closing the door behind her. The room was silent sans the rhythmic ticking of the clock and the steady breathing of its occupants.

It was a standard room in the hospital: one of modest size with soft green tiles for the floor and white coloured walls and a bedside table on either side of the beds, one for the patient and the other for the healers to use. Off to one side was a small bathroom and a small sitting area for visitors across from it.

She made her way to the base of the twin-sized bed closest to her, picking up the folder labelled Potter, Harry. It was a thick file, not surprising given how extensive his treatment was. Most of the ailments and injuries in it had been easy to remedy. The bruises and scars that had littered his skin were treated using numerous salves and balms. His case of mild malnutrition, while time-consuming, was just as easy to counter using a regiment of nutrient potions over the coming months.

She glanced up at the boy currently floating a few centimetres of the mattress under the effects of dreamless sleep. Several parts of his body were encased in braces. It had been a nausea-inducing couple of days as she and Healer Fleming had methodically refractured his bones and reset them in braces before using Skele-gro to simulate and accelerate their regrowth.

It had been difficult to sleep some nights with the sounds of breaking bones echoing through her head. She was drawing from her thoughts by the chiming of the clock. She quietly left the room with a copy of the folder she would need for tomorrow's meeting and made her way home.

Carkitt Market,

7:57 am

She walked along the uneven cobblestone streets of the market, as the sun in the bright azure sky blazed down on them. It wasn't as crowded as it usually was later in the day, but it was still fairly busy. People bumped into her as they bustled around the marketplace, browsing through the assortment of goods on display in each of the vibrantly coloured stalls and shops.

She let the cacophony of sounds wash over her.; it was a mix of patrons talking amongst themselves about the bargains they manage to negotiate, of stall owners noisily advertising their overpriced goods to passersby.

She made it to the end of the actual marketplace where the more permanent businesses were established. She was greeted by the sight of very loud buildings each a different technicolour shade of the rainbow. Luckily she didn't have to enter those eye-watering buildings. Her destination ironically stood out, nestled in a corner at seven stories tall the Victorian Brownstone stood out a bland splotch in a sea of vibrance.

"Benjamin!" she called.

Benjamin pushed off the wall he was leaning against and approached her. He was taller than her; his six foot three frame dwarfed her own, He had soft blue eyes set on his gracefully aged face. As usual, his salt and pepper hair was well-kempt.

"Poppy, I was afraid you weren't going to show up." he teased.

"Are sure they'll meet with us, Benjamin? We don't have an appointment." She asked pointedly, ignoring his jest.

"Positive," he nodded, looking more serious now. "It's about Heir Potter and his welfare."

Right, Harry Potter. That was what this was all about, she looked up at the facade of the building before following Benjamin inside.

Renata Lawson's Office

Monty & Lawson

Noon

Renata idly drummed her fingers on the large desk she sat behind. She had just finished an impromptu meeting with two healers. It was only their irrefutable proof about their knowledge concerning the existence of the Potter Family Heir that had allowed them an unscheduled appointment. It was the firm protocol that ensured she was the one to meet with them.

While what they had accomplished had been a crucial first step, it was easier than it should have been. In this world, something she was grateful for, anything to do with the custody or guardianship of a magical child usually required a lengthy legal process primarily done through the Department of Magical Child Services.

The MCS primarily dealt with the average wixen families, muggle-born families and orphans. While the Wizengamot Charter prevented them from preemptively stepping in to deal with cases involving seated families, many of the lesser ranking houses had little qualms using their services. It was the higher ranking houses, who tended to be the oldest families as well, that didn't use most of their services preferring to deal with cases intra-house and/or inter-house.

Said process had been rendered irrelevant in this case. The months, sometimes years-long process had been reduced to a short visit to the MCS offices within the Ministry of Magic. By the time morning tea had been served, she was back in her office.

Despite the inane efforts and asinine protests of people like Arthur Weasely, muggles didn't have many rights or protections. Sure the parents of muggle-borns did, but they were more of an exception. It was rather telling that she didn't have to embellish the story she gave the judge about a pseudo-orphan heir and his abusive relatives. Within moments, she had walked out of the offices towards the fireplaces with an injunction in hand.

After returning to her office she had pondered how to deal with a problem that had immediately arisen as a result of her actions. House Black was adamant in its refusal to allow any of its members to take the boy into their care, and with no other family members that she knew of, full guardianship would fall to Albus Dumbledore, making the old man both his legal and magical guardian. While the medical report and sworn testimonies from the two healers as well as their professional opinion had been enough to deal with his relatives, they were next to useless against someone like the Chief Warlock.

She huffed in frustration. Even after a few hours, she had only one viable idea and though she was yet to meet her client, she was sure sharing his weakest moments was something he wouldn't agree with.

Resigning herself to waiting until they met, she put her files away and left the office for an early lunch.

'If nothing else, a full stomach and some fresh air would be wonderful.' She told herself.

July 3 1990

Early Morning

He was confused when he began to wake up, and had no idea where he was. The bed he was on felt too big and soft to be the old tattered cot the Dursleys forced him to use. He tried cracking his eyes open to look around but immediately squeezed them shut. After a few moments, when the brightness of the room was bearable, he got his first look of wherever he was. Not that he could see much with the curtains drawn around him, blocking out most of the room.

It was only when he turned to get off the bed and saw his clothes on the bedside table nearby that he realized he wasn't wearing them. Dismissing the odd feeling he felt as unease, he picked up his clothes and stumbled his way to the bathroom on wobbly legs.

Harry stood in the shower with his head against the wall as the soreness he felt was washed away by the steaming hot water flowing down his body. He stood there, clutching his hair and mumbling to himself, as the steady pitter-patter of the rushing water lulled him further into his thoughts, struggling to remember. It was harder than it should have been, his mind feeling unusually sluggish.

Desperately, he latched onto the fragments — the bits and pieces floating around his mind.

A letter? No, to two letters, letters for him. One about a school and the other a dead woman's guilt-driven confession.

A giant-like man screaming at a tuskless walrus? Odd.

Hard slate-grey eyes and a headache.

The truth about his family. Pangs of despair and longing.

The truth about his life. Confusion, disbelief, mind-numbing rage.

A crowded, ensured street, himself standing in the middle of it. Rapid shallow breaths as his chest tightened and his heart sped up. His eyes frantically searched for familiarity.

'Lost?' Deeper slower breaths his chest wasn't so tight. Relief.

Harsh truths and kind grey eyes. An open book he felt vulnerable.

Gentle hands and unspoken hopes. Blurry eyes, embarrassment. A tight throat, shame. He hated himself for it.

An offer of hope for better days and his hesitation. Her closed of visage, his desperation. A leap of faith.

Warmth and safety as larger arms pulled him closer. A hug? That was new. He found he rather liked it. His face felt wet and his body kept moving involuntarily. Odd, he didn't remember any rain or it being that cold in the summer.

Shutting off the water he stepped out of the stall and grabbing a towel to dry himself with. He made his way over to his pile of clothes on the counter. As looked up into the mirror, he froze. They were gone, his scars were all gone. The ones from Vernon's belt, Petunia's scalding hot oil, even the ones along his wrists. They had all been reduced to little nicks and scratches, the subtle blemishes and marks he had seen children his age pick up while exploring the world.

On the way back to his bed, Harry dumped clothes he had woken up in and the damp towel in the nearby hamper. He was relaxed, but the odd feeling hadn't gone away. The best he could describe it as was a phantom tugging sensation on his body. It was strongest when he faced the other bed. Unlike his, the curtains around this one weren't drawn. Unable to stop himself, Harry moved right up to the side of the bed to get a closer look at the woman who laid on it.

She was beautiful; with beige skin and an angelic face framed by blood-red hair. As he continued to stare at her, Harry unconsciously took one of her hands into his own. He gently brushed some stray hair away from her face with the back of his hand. There were plenty of similarities between their faces, the most prominent was perhaps their almond-shaped eyes. He was sure he knew her yet her name remained elusive.

Harry winced as her slack hand suddenly gripped his own tightly. He idly noted that it was a lot stronger than he expected from her. As she began to thrash about, he noted for the first time that her wrists were loosely bound to the bed frame. Unsure of what to do Harry began to hum a tune as he gently stroked her hair, surprisingly she calmed down.

They were both startled by the door flying open as several people — he assumed were doctors or nurses based on their uniform — rushed in brandishing… sticks? He watched as multiple bolts of light crashed into the bed. Instinctively, he tightened his grip on her hand. If the look on her face was any indication, he wasn't the only one distressed by the situation.

Harry saw flashes of purple-faced man when large hairy hands clamped down on his shoulders. As he struggled to escape he banged his arm on the bedframe and stopped in confusion; it felt too soft to be metal. The moment of hesitation cost him as someone else grasped his hand trying to pull it away from her's. As the last of their fingers slipped by each other she sat up, eyes wide open as she screamed in agony.

As Harry's panicked green eyes met her tortured green ones his mind was painfully assaulted as he caught a glimpse of a black-haired, grey-eyed man with a feral grin on the other end of a stick with a glowing green tip. There was a brief moment of lucidity in the madness as they continued to stare at each other. In that moment Harry could have sworn he heard a voice in his head.

"Harry?!"

And it clicked as he finally remembered.

"Mom?!"

Then the moment was over as Lily let go of his hand to clutch at her hair desperately as she screamed even louder than before.

Harry was in the hallway with his back against the wall. He had his knees drawn to his chest, his hands gripping his hair tightly as he rocked back and forth, mumbling in between shallow, shaky breaths. Harry coughed violently as a foul-tasting potion was forced down his throat. He blinked bemusedly as a calming sensation spread throughout his body.

Looking up, seated against the wall opposite him was a man in lime green robes. He had crow's feet around his blue eyes, his tanned face was hidden behind a neatly trimmed bread that matched his equally neat salt and pepper hair.

"Hello Harry, I'm Benjamin."

Harry was grateful that Benjamin dropped the hand he had intended to put on his shoulder when he flinched away.

"Are you okay?"

He gave a noncommittal hum in response as he stared back at the room he had been forced from.

"Is that my mother?" he whispered.

Harry watched as several emotions flitted through Benjamin's eyes, though he found it frustrating that he couldn't discern what they were before the man's shoulders drooped.

"Yes, that is your mother."

Harry allowed a quiet moment to pass between them as he swallowed thickly. He had been hoping Hagrid had been lying to him when he talked about his family.

"How do you know my name?"

Harry frowned as the man chuckled at his question. He watched as the man's eyes glazed over, probably lost in a memory.

"I was there the night you were born. I was supposed to be the one in charge of your birth."

Harry frowned, "Supposed to?"

"Yes, supposed to," the man chuckled. "Your grandmother had other ideas. It was nigh impossible to change Dorea's mind when she set it to something. She wanted to be the first person to hold you — her little star."

Harry blushed slightly at the last bit.

"Where is she?" he asked.

Benjamin scowled.

"Regent Black," he scoffed. "Has refused to let anyone but the right sort to see her, going as far as enacting several obscure laws to do so. Which I find ridiculous given how much they hated each other growing up."

"What does that mean?" Harry asked.

"Only family and those Regent Black approves of can see her."

"She's my grandmother, is she not?" Harry retorted in frustration.

He found it hard to understand why it was so hard to see his grandmother.

"I am aware." Benjamin hesitated. "Regardless, Regent Black would neither recognize you as family nor would she approve of you."

"Why?"

"Honestly, it's not you per se, it's your mother she doesn't approve of, and that disapproval would extend to you." Benjamin explained bitterly.

Harry was starting to get annoyed with how vague the man across from him was with his answers. Before he could ask another question Benjamin stood up and proffered his hand. Harry took it and allowed himself to be pulled to his feet.

"Let's go to my office for a quick check-up, if I'm not mistaken, you still have shopping to do."

Benjamin's office turned out to be close by located at the other end of the hallway. It was a quaint place. On the door was a plaque that read Benjamin Fleming, Senior Healer. Inside, in a curtained-off corner behind the door, he could see one of those beds he usually saw in the secondary school's nurse's office. The wall and shelves behind the large desk were decorated with various accolades and degrees. One wall was dominated by large windows and had a small informal seating area. The other was blocked from his view by floor to ceiling bookshelves filled to the brim.

Harry was seated on the bed as Benjamin walked around him waving his glowing stick in complex patterns as floating quill made notes on a piece of parchment.

"What happened to them — my mother and grandmother?"

Hagrid had skirted around the topic when they had talked about it and Harry wasn't in a hurry to meet him again anytime soon. He watched as the man tensed before he released a heavy sigh. He pulled up a chair and sat down in front of him.

"Your mother is suffering from something I have never encountered," It seemed to pain the man to admit that. "Your grandmother on the other hand… If I or any other competent healer had been treating her, we wouldn't be having this conversation," his eyes narrowed. "But it's as I said before — Dorea and her niece never got along."

Harry could feel the man's bitterness and frustration roll over him. It didn't escape his notice that Benjamin had once again failed to answer his question. Sighing in frustration, Harry decided to ask a simpler question.

"Where am I?"

"St. Mungo's. It's the largest magical hospital in Britannia — the only one if you're a stickler for detail. Poppy, the healer at the clinic, had you transferred here last week."

"Last week?" Harry blurted out.

Benjamin, who was rummaging around his potions cabinet answered him distractedly.

"Yes, last week. You healed faster than we anticipated though I'm not sure why."

He came over to Harry with several vials in hand.

"You'll need to drink these," he handed over the vials one by one. "Let's see, it's mainly nutrient potions to help counter your malnutrition and strengthen your bones."

Harry gagged as he downed the potions.

"Now, when you return later I will have the rest of your potion regiment prepared. A word to the wise, the nutrient potions are purely supplementary and will not replace actual meals, so I expect you to keep a balanced diet or else this will all be pointless."

A few minutes later, Harry was weaving his way through the crowded reception. In his pocket, he tightly gripped his two letters, wary of the number of people who kept brushing up against him. He sighed in relief when he finally made it outside.

The alley he appeared in was behind an abandoned store with a red-brick facade. As he watched several other people walk by him either leaving or entering the hospital he realized to his annoyance that he had no idea how to navigate in this world.

The look of annoyance was quickly replaced by a small smile.

"Lost?"

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Next Chapter - August 30, 2021

Author's Note

Not much to say about this chapter, the world continues to build and the plot thickens.