The Little Assassin

by Kelral Orlyana

Lying over the child's small tummy was an envelope and it did not take long for his sleep-addled mind to realise this child was abandoned, but how had the mother got the child inside the bureau? The gate was locked up tight. Gently he retrieved the letter, it was addressed to someone named Petunia Dursley demanding that she take care of the child and treat it like her own.

4. 3: Defending Home

"Italics in speech marks represents the Arabian language."

::Parseltongue::

Chapter Three: Defending Home

Malik ran onto the roof, rushing past the battlements to the front of Masyaf's castle. With the end of the war came more attention to the assassins. The Saracen's didn't like having assassins on their doorstep and chose to pre-emptively attack Masyaf in the hopes of crushing the Assassin Order once and for all. Malik didn't care that they were attacking, the assassins were too skilled to be killed, even by an army. With many agents out on the field, and so many escape routes out of Masyaf, the assassins would survive and so Malik did not fear for his Order.

But he did fear for his children. The precious Bashir and Altair's two sons who were entrusted to him. That the army had found where Masyaf was, was what concerned Malik most. While it was no secret assassins were active in Syria, the assassins were careful to ensure they weren't followed home. It was one of the things taught to all agents: Don't endanger family. That the Saracen army found them meant one thing, they were betrayed. Someone had led the army here and Malik would find that man and ensure he paid the price for putting innocents in danger.

The fact he'd been forced to leave a screaming, terrified Bashir with Rajmael, their assistant, also fuelled his anger. He'd tried to so hard to ensure Bashir would want for nothing, to never be afraid as he had been when he'd first came into Malik's care. Loud noises still startled the little boy but a mischievous character was beginning to be revealed and Malik had been so eager to see it. If there was a traitor, they'd done a great deal of damage, not only to their stronghold and the small town nearby, but also emotionally to the young and the vulnerable.

"Master Shafiq." Malik greeted. "What do we have?"

Shafiq was a classic Arabic man, dark hair and brown eyes the shade of walnut. He was a stern fellow who believed firmly in etiquette and behaved more like a nobleman than the assassin he was. And yet despite his noble countenance, there was no doubt Shafiq could get jobs done. He was often assigned the more difficult and vital of missions, missions he completed with little to nor error. It was fortunate that he happened to be in Masyaf for the attack, Malik knew of no one else who could plan effectively and anticipate enemy movements. Masyaf was in safe hands.

"The Saracen's are making a futile effort of cutting out our escape routes." Shafiq said. His voice was deep and all who were near him turned and listened to his words. "They do not realise that the valley we enter and leave by is not our only route out of Masyaf. I have sent Masters' Tremblay and Trouche and their men to protect and guard the other exits. If we must evacuate, there are no better men to shield us as we make our escape." Shafiq spoke of this option like he would a casual night out at the tavern, putting a lot of the novices and young assassins at ease. "However, we will not need to flee. The Saracen's do not have the upper hand. The streets of the town below are narrow and will act like a funnel. Instead, I intend to have the Saracen's plans used against them. The masters are in agreement that we cannot hold them off in the valley. The valley pens us in as much as it pens in our enemies. It is much better to fight them on our home turf. To that end I sent soldiers and our agents into the town to hide behind the buildings and inside if necessary. The people of the town are being herded to this castle to wait out the battle, so we do not have to worry about innocents. We will push the enemy towards Tremblay and Trouche, penned in, we can pick them off one by one until they surrender. Then we can find out if we were betrayed."

"You have come to that conclusion too." Malik asked curiously.

"In all the years I have been an assassin, I can say with all certainty that Masyaf is one of the safest places to be in the world. The fact that our enemy found us, when they've been unable to for so many years tells me one thing and one thing only. Someone told them where we were."

"Someone could have accidentally led them here." Malik offered as an alternative.

"No." Shafiq answered firmly. "We were betrayed." Shafiq turned to look at the gathered assassins on the wall with a frown. "And I intend to find out who it was."

"Altair will want to speak to them, if that is true." Malik answered, his tone revealing his anger. "And I will also want to speak with them."

Shafiq nodded. "Of course, Master Malik. An example will need to be made of them and that falls to the Master of our Order, which at this moment in time is you, do you agree to the plan I've set in motion?"

"Absolutely." Malik agreed. "We were incredibly fortunate you were here when this attack came. We could have no better defender."

"I too am glad I'm here to protect my people and my home. I swore an oath to defend Masyaf and its people. I would have been devastated to know I was not here when my people needed me most."

"Master! Master! Master!" An anxious novice cried out as he ran to Malik. "Master! Master Altair has been sighted behind enemy lines. He has a stranger with him."

"No doubt the healer he sought to rescue." Malik commented. "No doubt he already knows what is happening. Perhaps, it would be useful to alert him to our plans." Malik turned and studied the gathered assassins. "Selwyn." He called. The young man, barely out of his teens and an assistant to Master Shafiq came to the pair quickly. "You can be silent on your feet." Malik complimented. "I entrust you with an important duty. Reach Altair quickly, tell him what your master has planned. Once done, help him as needed."

"Yes, Master." Selwyn replied readily.

Once Selwyn had bowed and said his goodbyes, the two Masters turned to survey the scene. They could see flashes of red, the Saracen's uniforms and knew they were beginning to spill onto the streets. Master Aali and Abdul were distracting the invaders with a small army of assassins. Giving the invaders a good fight and luring them further into the town and into the trap. Soon, the invaders would regret challenging the Assassin Order.

News reached them not a short time later that the Saracen's had split into two groups. The larger group following Masters' Aali and Abdul, but a smaller group was heading for the castle. Shafiq said what they were all thinking. "Foolish, very foolish."

Malik grinned, and his bloodthirsty expression was mirrored by the men with him on the wall. "Who wants to punish these men for their stupidity?" A cheer went up, loud enough to be heard over the valley. Malik could only imagine what the Saracens thought, the Saracens thought they controlled the fight, that they would beat the assassins, to hear such a delighted and bloodthirsty chorus from what should have been frightened and terrified men must have startled the invaders a great deal. Malik smirked, knowing by the end of this the survivors would be more than terrified. "Move into position." He ordered. "Once they're in the courtyard, we swarm them. I want one kept alive for interrogation. Find the leader of this band and ensure he is captured."

"Yes, Master." The men responded and like ghosts, the men disappeared silently, leaving only the soldiers on the balustrades bows ready and cruel smiles on their faces as they readied themselves to protect their homes and family.

"By the time we're done the Saracens will never think to invade our home again." Shafiq stated.

The fight was brutal. The violence reflecting the mood, the anger and rage of men furious at the audacity the invaders displayed, furious at those who came and threatened their home and family. Soon it became clear to the Saracens that there was only one way it would end and there was a visible change, gone were men determined to win, who supported and worked with their comrades, in their place were men who were determined to take as many enemies with them as they could before they were sent to their God.

One such invader, a rather brutish looking man, took one look at Malik and smirked believing it to be an easy fight. He quickly learned that he'd picked a fight with one of the best fighters in the Order. Even with one arm, Malik could outpace and withstand the enemy combatant, that and being smaller than his attack afforded him additional agility, he could easily duck and avoid the heavy handed of his opponent's attacks. And so, the man's expression turned to horror and humiliation as he was brought to his knees, staring at Malik with a vulnerable and frightened expression on his face as Malik delivered a killing blow.

And then, as if sent from the heavens, a shadow appeared, white robes and a red belt glowing in the bright, unforgiving sun as Altair flew overhead and landed upon a soldier, hidden blade deep within his target's throat. And all motion stopped. There were only three Saracens left and they glanced warily around seeking an escape route and finding none. They searched the faces of the assassins around them, all with violent and angry expressions, but they quickly realised the bigger threat was the newcomer who was approaching them with a cool, bordering on cruel look. The Saracen leader, a nondescript looking man whose beard obscured much of his face audibly swallowed as he felt Altair's sword blade at his neck. "Kneel." Altair ordered and the man obeyed, his two cohorts doing the same at Altair's cruel gaze. "You trespass into my home, kill my people, frighten innocents. I am a very tolerant man, but you have made a grave mistake coming here." He stated. When Altair was like this, he was awe-inspiring and terrifying, but confronted with Altair and an army of angry men all out for blood must have been absolutely horrifying for the Saracens, the youngest of the three, a boy barely past his teens and just starting to grow a man's beard whimpered. "Unlike your comrades, you will not have a quick death. You will answer for what you have done." Altair tilted his head backwards towards Malik and Shafiq. "Master Shafiq, kindly escort these men to holding cells. Separate them and make sure their accommodations are suitable." The word accommodations was said with a tone that told everyone about how 'comfortable' Altair wanted his guests.

"Of course, Master Altair." Shafiq agreed readily.

There was a scuffle, of course, as two of the Saracens tried to resist arrest and to die honourably in battle. But they were quickly overwhelmed by the assassin guard, who pinned and tied their hands. The youngest of the invaders submitted easily enough to the binding of his hands and stood ready to be taken to a cell.

Malik halted the boy and his escorts as they passed. "Hold. What is your name, boy?"

"H…hazib Parzival, sir." He answered nervously, looking much smaller now that he was pressed between two armoured guards.

"How old are you?"

"Sixteen, sir."

"A young man."

"Yes, sir."

"Your name, it is not Syrian."

"No, sir. My mother is Jewish and her grandfather's grandfather came from Greece."

"And your father is Muslim?"

"Yes, sir."

"Unusual."

"Yes, sir. My parents have faced many obstacles in their marriage for their differing religions, sir."

Malik hummed. "And what do you think of this battle?"

"I cannot…" The boy spluttered, looking around fearfully or for some help from his superiors.

"Your superiors are not here and no one here will speak a word of what you say, child."

"It…It was stupid sir. It was obvious you were more capable and prepared than our superiors claimed you to be." The boy whispered. "I expected to die."

Again, Malik hummed before turning to the boy's escorts. "Secure him in a cell away from the two Saracens. Ensure he is treated fairly."

"Yes, Master." The men replied before leading the child away.

Malik watched them go, the boy in turn was looking over his shoulder as best he could to pin Malik with a wide-eyed and frightened stare. "You've always been a softy for the young ones." Altair commented at his shoulder. When Malik looked back, he saw Altair was sporting a fond expression. "We will see to it that…"

"Move out of the way! This is absolutely ridiculous. Just because you are warriors does not mean you should behave so foolishly!" The unfamiliar voice startled Malik. It was a cultured voice, suggesting the speaker was a highly educated individual. The impatience in the tone suggested the speaker was not used to being disobeyed. "Why are you still standing?" The voice demanded and suddenly there he was, a man who was clearly of European descent. He was absolutely gorgeous, exotic even with his flaxen blonde hair pulled into a loose ponytail and the bluest of eyes. He wore the finest of clothing, a little worn from his travels but clearly well made with exquisite decorative stitching. Even his boots, the most worn of his clothes, was well-cared for, not a loose stitch to be seen. He stood like a lord, and despite not being taller than every man here he still seemed to tower over everyone there, demanding obedience. "Well?" He asked sternly. "Why are you standing on a broken leg?" The assassin he was addressing paled and looked around for aid, but everyone was as clueless as he was to respond. "Someone, get me a pallet." The man ordered the men around him before turning back to the assassin. "You will sit down at once and take your weight off your leg. Move and I will have you knocked unconscious."

"Master?" The assassin asked, looking at Altair for help.

"May I introduce our new healer Dimitri Mafoi." Altair stated. "Healer Mafoi, I don't think a good introduction would be ordering men around and threatening to render them unconscious."

"I wouldn't need to render him unconscious if he didn't do as he's told." Mafoi hissed as he glared at the assassin. The man squeaked and all but fell to his bottom in a rush to obey this force of nature. Mafoi instantly turned from domineering to pleasant. "Much better. Now, Master Altair, you will assign me a room and I will see every one of your men to assess their health. Once I am finished treating the injured from this battle, you will set an example by visiting me first."

"Healer Mafoi…" Altair went to protest.

"Your stunt today could have resulted in a broken leg!" Mafoi yelled. "Lord knows how many blades you might have impaled yourself upon if your comrades had not seen your arrival! What were you thinking?" The man questioned. "Wait! I don't want to know what foolishness went through your head! You warrior types are all the same, throwing yourself into battle without any forethought. I will see you, tomorrow morning in the healing chambers you will assign to me." Then the man turned his back to Altair, startling everyone with the audacity and rudeness and barked orders. "Get this fool onto a pallet and carry him inside. Until I have a place to work we will make do with what we have."

Malik blinked as the man vanished into the main chamber of Masyaf castle, his ranting continuing on for minutes after he'd left their sight as he complained about the abysmal accommodation and apparent lack of medical facilities. Altair sighed. "Healer Mafoi may be a force of nature, but he is an effective healer. He doesn't have much concern for hierarchy, unfortunately. He believes as a healer he can and must disregard hierarchy when someone needs his help. He is a noble man, and from what I've seen a superb medic. But time will tell us how well he fits in our order. For now, we will have him observed and escorted within Masyaf walls."

Malik nodded. "Then I advise you give him a chamber nearer the courtyard. He will not be able to spy on or observe our battle techniques and preparations but will still be in sight of a good number of guards and assassins who spend their free time there in the relative peace of the gardens."

"I'm considering the Western Wing, he'd be overlooking the ravine there and he wouldn't be able to see the gardens, therefore he won't see our children until we are ready for him to see them." Altair answered. "If we place him on the third floor, he'd be on the same floor as the guard's barracks and high enough above the ravine that the thought of climbing out the window would be a frightening one."

"Good idea, there will be plenty of guards travelling to and from that wing and if we place some escorts within the medical wing we can ensure he is watched at all times."

"Agreed." Altair turned to the guardsmen nearest him. "See that it is done." With a nod and a quick bow, the guard and his men disappeared into the castle. "And the town, is it reclaimed?"

"Yes, Master Altair. We have defeated the Saracens. The survivors are being escorted to our holding cells."

"Good." Altair stated before he sighed. "Now, I have been away from home long enough. I will be visiting my boys. If there is any problem with the clean-up, you know where to find me." He informed the assassins before strolling away, deliberately keeping his pace casual although Malik could see his desire to run to his boys.

Malik followed at a sedate pace as well. Now that the panic was over, he needed to see his boy, he needed to erase those terrible cries from his mind and hear those sweet little giggles again.

The chamber his boys were being kept was suspiciously quiet. But it soon became clear why. Bashir was sound asleep in Darim's arms. It would have been a sweet sight if not for the stuttering breaths that proved it was not a calm sleep and the tear tracks on his son's beautiful face. Sef and Darim looked exhausted and drained, even Rajmael looked tired. "Master Malik." Rajmael stated, looking extremely guilty as he bowed low. "I failed you. Young Bashir would not calm when you left him with me. I think he sensed the danger and may have even feared for you. He screamed for you, I fear he's made himself hoarse calling for you."

"It is not your fault." Malik soothed. "Bashir has become attached to me, as toddler's do. At his age, the separation from his parent must have been frightening." He stated as he carefully took his son from Darim's arms. "But the battle is over now and I doubt the Saracen's will be back any time soon. You have done well today, Rajmael. Go join your father and have the evening for yourself. I doubt either of us will choose to be separated from our children this evening."

"Thank you, Master." Rajmael stated gratefully. Malik was startled and incredibly pleased when Rajmael gently caressed Bashir's head and whispered a soft, "Good night little one." He also wished the older boys a good evening as well, smiling fondly as Sef ran to hug the older teenager and wish him a good evening before Rajmael left the room.

Altair and Malik settled into the familiar and comforting routine of just sitting and being surrounded by family. Altair sat at the table, listening carefully to the stories the boy's told as they clambered into seats beside him, their exhaustion forgotten in the presence of their father. Malik saw Altair's eyes dart to the shelf where the eagle statue lay. That astute gaze most definitely picked up that something was different but the man said nothing as his boy's continued to talk, just eyed Malik with a gaze that told Malik he'd be explaining what happened, later.

Malik's attention was drawn to his own boy, when the precious bundle on his arm shifted. Malik saw the flash of green, before the boy's eyes closed again and he yawned wide, rubbing his eyes with the back of his small fist and making a small sound of discomfort. It wounded Malik to hear how weak it was. He leaned back on his own seat, settling on his cushions as he waited for Bashir to realise where he was and who he was with. First, Bashir whined, a sad sound that made Malik realise the boy still thought his father was absent. "Hush, little one." He soothed, and just as he hoped the boy startled, turning wide, desperate eyes upwards to see who was holding him. The beaming smile the filled that little face brought an even larger smile to Malik's face.

"Dada! Dada!"

"Hello, Little One." Malik greeted. "Did you miss me?"

"A-Ha!" Malik startled, as did Altair and his boys. "Mi…Dada!"

"I think he's mimicking you." Altair commented fondly. "He's been around us long enough to recognise sounds and noises. He probably knows some of what you are saying."

Malik chuckled. "Soon, he will be talking up a storm." He stated proudly, ignoring Altair's amused laugh, Malik kissed his boy's head, snickering as eager little hands reached for his face. The adoration in Bashir's face filled Malik's heart with warmth and made him feel whole. So, when Altair sent his boys' to bed, Malik kept Bashir with him, smiling as the boy fell back to sleep, a little smile on his chubby little face. Fortunately, it was a more peaceful sleep, hopefully a recuperating sleep since Bashir had exhausted himself earlier with his screaming and tears.

"So, why is one of my ornaments broken?" Altair prompted quietly, clearly reluctant to break the moment between father and son.

"The boys feared their father would not return like their mother. Sef wanted to hold something you made, Darim tried to stop him and it resulted in the object falling from the shelf. Fortunately, only a small part broke off and it was easily repaired."

Altair sighed. "I know our way of life is difficult but I didn't realise how badly it was affecting my sons." Altair commented.

"I don't think it is our way of life. I think they are still grieving for their mother and are unable to work through that grief. They don't know what to say or how to behave. I think they realise how fragile life is and they know one day our way of life will result in your death and they are afraid. Afraid enough that they are clinging to what objects and memories they have of you when you are absent." Malik answered softly.

"But the same could be said for me. If I did not have powerful, trustworthy people defending Masyaf and my family, I could have returned to find my sons dead today. I think we forget that our lives put everyone at risk, not just ourselves." Altair commented.

"No, if I am right, it is a traitor that put our boys at risk today." Malik answered. "Even Master Shafiq agrees that the only way the Saracens could have found Masyaf is if they were told where we are. We may be known in Syria but in all the years of our establishing ourselves here, I can count on one hand when we've been invaded. Which is a good thing, since I only have one hand." Malik chuckled at his joke before becoming serious again. "That means that someone in Masyaf gave us away. At the moment it could be anyone, a man or woman in the town, a Masyaf guard or an assassin, but Master Shariq suspects an assassin. He seemed firm in his belief that we were betrayed from within and you and I know very well that Shariq has a great instinct for these things."

Altair frowned with concern. "With a newcomer who is accused of practicing magic within our walls as well as a traitor, we may be in for some trouble if we do not act fast. I will have to speak to Master Shariq tomorrow, I will need to hear his suspicions and concerns. I do not believe he is a traitor but it is concerning Shariq has such strong feelings about this, either Shariq already suspected beforehand or he is throwing accusations about."

Malik met Altair's gaze. "You know as well as I do, Shariq is hardly ever wrong. If he says there is a traitor, I am inclined to believe him."

"As am I." Altair admitted. "But I must be systematic about this, I can't show favouritism and until we know who the traitor is, we must suspect everyone."

The weight of responsibility was a heavy one, Malik conceded. "I understand." He answered. "I will arrange a meeting with the Masters for after your visit to our new healer." Altair sighed at the reminder. "It is important we present a united front and discuss this as an Order. Leader or not, we are dealing with one of our own betraying us and this could lead to a divide in our Order, which we can ill-afford to have. We deal with this together."

"Agreed."

"As for the prisoners. I suggest we set an example. We take the strongest ones and ensure they are interrogated thoroughly before returning them to their cells. By doing this we show the other invaders the penalty for invading our home. It will break morale and ensure one of them will want to talk."

"And the boy?"

"He was a victim of politics. Old enough to be classed as a man, young enough to be manipulated. I don't think he truly realised the serious consequences of being involved in a war. He was probably overwhelmed by being around such powerful masculine men, but such hero-worship doesn't last long in war and he probably realised how cruel his heroes were. Battle does not allow such heroic illusions to last. I believe the boy has the potential to be good, he knew this fight was suicide but he could not disobey his superiors. If he had the logic to realise that the fight was useless, he may turn out to be a valuable and intelligent assassin if he is nurtured."

"You want to introduce a Saracen into our Order?"

"I want a young frightened boy to have the chance to grow into a man without the pressure of politics and war." Malik retorted. "Just allow me this. If I am wrong, I will take the blame and pay the penalty, but I believe Hazib Parzival has the potential to be an invaluable member of the Order if we help him. He is a frightened boy who needs a teacher to guide him onto the right path and I am willing to be that teacher."

"The boy stays in his cell for now. We will have him questioned by the Masters'. We will determine as a unified Order whether or not we give this boy a chance."

"Agreed." Malik answered. "But I would not ask for this if I wasn't sure of this. I believe this boy, this young man deserves the chance to be more than the Saracens made of him."

Altair gave Malik a fond look. "If the Masters agree, we will have him trained, but he will be trained as a guard before we train him as an assassin, I don't want him learning our skills until we know he is loyal to us and our cause." He explained. "You will discuss this idea with the guard and find someone reliable to train this boy if the Order deems him worth saving. But choose wisely, some will punish him for coming with the Saracens. War does not breed forgiveness and he will spend his life earning it if the Order deems him worthy of living."

"He is a boy."

"He is also an invader. And by the law of this land, he is a man. He deserves consequences for his actions. What those consequences will be will be determined by the Order."

"You're right. I don't like it, but you're right. We cannot make major decisions without the rest of our Order having a say. We cannot divide our people, or undermine each other to see our personal goals and ideals achieved. I would adhere to the ruling of the Masters. But I will have my say before a decision is made."

"As a Master of the Order, you have that right." Altair agreed. "And I for one, hope you are persuasive."

"So do I." Malik didn't know why but he felt strongly about this, but if he had his way Hazib Parzival would live. Malik couldn't see a young man, barely out of boyhood be executed for a crime he didn't fully understand. He'd probably grown-up hearing about the glories of war, he'd probably grown up under the expectation of him going to war when he was of age, which he'd done and now the boy, the young man was learning that war wasn't glorious and that there were serious and devastating consequences for all who engaged in the practice of war, willing or not. And now he was trapped within an enemy fortress, with no support and no rescuers coming, his superiors turning from organised soldiers to savage brutes willing to sacrifice one another to live or to kill more enemies than his fellow comrades. Malik would have to be the boy's voice, since he would have no-one else speaking for him and would no doubt not know what to say, since he was too young and too inexperienced. He probably knew how to use his sword better than he knew how to negotiate. Perhaps Malik was making too much effort for a supposed enemy, but he did not think of that young man as an enemy, he saw a boy who was in a great deal of trouble and didn't know how to get out.

And he had to admit, seeing a young man dragged into a war he did not want to fight made him think of Bashir. Would Bashir one day be in a similar situation? Trapped in enemy territory with no voice and no friends. He would show kindness to this young man in the hopes that in the future someone showed kindness to his son.

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Author Note:

So, this chapter took me forever to write. Nothing seemed good enough. I must have written four versions of this chapter before things started to fall into place. For example, I knew I wanted the healer to be a familiar figure for Harry Potter fans, someone everyone would recognise. I thought about Snape, but the Snape family name as we know it (i.e., our lovable Severus Snape) doesn't come until later and Snape is a muggle name in the original HP story. Gaunt is an English based name, so not necessarily wrong but it didn't feel right. But of course, one name sticks out again and again and again. I kept thinking, no, Kelral, don't use Malfoy, it's too obvious! But I couldn't help myself. So, ta da! Dimitri Malfoy.

But why Dimitri Mafoi?

Malfoy is original a French name and since the Templar's were founded by French and Jewish people to protect Christian and Jewish pilgrims travelling to the Holy Land, and therefore many Templar's were French. This meant a French name was not out of place in this story.

Dimitri. Is Slavic and Russian but Dimitri means 'Follower of Demeter', a Greek God and we can see quite easily in the Harry Potter story that many families may have named their children and their children's children after Gods and Goddess, such as Narcissa whose name was most definitely inspired by the Greek Youth, Narcissus who was enamoured by his reflection.

In the end, I also chose Malfoy because of the redeeming qualities of Draco and Narcissa Malfoy, who showed a very human and compassionate side towards the end of the series. Draco was built up to be a bit of a weakling, getting goons to do his work for him, arrogant, a bit of a daddy's boy, but by the end we see how effected he is by the war and his father's alliance (Slavery) with Voldemort.

On to the star of this story, most of you might be asking why is Harry not speaking a lot. Well at the moment Harry/Bashir is at the age where he is not yet fully able to speak. At approximately a year to 18 months old, he will be able to imitate sounds and gestures, potentially be able to say several words and definitely understand and be able to say the word, no. He may also be able to stand for a short time, but he'd prefer to crawl. (Although some if not most 18 months old can walk holding onto surfaces, each child is unique so not all children will follow the same timeline of development). Also, young children are incredibly dependent on their adults, it can certainly be a shock for young children to be separated for a long period of time from their guardian's, especially if those guardians are usually a constant in their lives, which is why some parents practice staying away from their children for a period of time, ignoring their cries if they are just crying for attention of sending them to nursery to interact with other children. This may seem cruel but some parents use this method to stop the child becoming too reliant and dependent on their adults' presence. You want a child to confidently explore their environment and to stray from the adult's side, especially in a safe environment like a nursery. This is especially important when it is time to think about sending them to school, as the separation anxiety would not hit them as hard.

Now before I leave you, I have something to tell you:

Malfoy is not the only wizard in this story. Can you spot all the hints I dropped in this chapter? 😊