Chapter 3 – The Unsaid, Said

Professor Flitwick led Harry towards the back of the surprisingly large on the inside café where few other patrons had gone. The interior of the café had been decorated pleasantly enough, with cheerful wallpaper covered in moving pictures of animals, although it did all look as if it had been installed rather a long time ago. Still, it looked like a decent establishment and given that it was well-populated after lunchtime, Harry supposed the food couldn't be that bad either.

"I suppose you have some questions about what just happened with Mr Ollivander, and maybe some other things as well," said Flitwick when they had sat down and ordered their meals.

Harry nodded.

"It's—Well, I don't know where to start," he said. Harry felt like he didn't even have enough context or knowledge to know what to ask to get any in the first place. Still, he had to try or he'd never know anything.

"So—so there was a war, and my mum and dad were fighting in it, against someone called 'You-Know-Who'. But who was he? What was the—I mean, why was there a war? My aunt said it was a 'stupid war' over 'nothing' but it had to be about something, didn't it?" Harry asked. "I know You-Know-Who killed my parents and tried to kill me, but what does it mean that his wand was my wand's… brother? Why was he after my parents?"

Professor Flitwick looked around the room and then leaned closer to Harry.

"You-Know-Who called himself 'Lord Voldemort'," he whispered, and then returned to his regular speaking voice, "and people don't like to say or even in most cases hear the name. He was a terrible, evil man… and all the more horrifying because he had the power and the followers to do as he wished." Flitwick paused for a few moments, seemingly considering how best to phrase what he said next. Harry supposed that was fair—it was quite a heavy topic, after all, and Harry knew next to nothing about it.

"You must understand, Harry. There is prejudice and bigotry present in all societies, Muggle, magical and everything else under the sun… but in our world, the magical world, some people believe that those of non-magical heritage like your mother was are 'lesser' wizards and witches. There are some people who believe muggleborns steal magic, and others that their magic is somehow dirty. They have many justifications and excuses for what they believe. None of which is true—I wish to be quite clear on this—but You-Know-Who used these beliefs, which already existed in our society, to acquire power and a following for himself from likeminded wizards."

"These wizards—You-Know-Who and his followers—well, what did they want?" Harry asked.

"Ah, now, that is a rather more complicated question to answer," Flitwick said after a few moments. "Some of this will be covered by your History of Magic lessons, but perhaps not as ... thoroughly ... as is necessary. The book which you purchased earlier will provide an excellent basis for further study, but in brief... You-Know-Who and his Death Eaters wished for a society with stricter separation between wizards and Muggles; a society where muggleborns would form an underclass, and where there were laws restricting marriage partners and so on. Some of these laws are, unfortunately, in place elsewhere in the world, and so their views were not without precedent. Fortunately, they never caught on in Britain and Ireland—until You-Know-Who."

"So they tried to force their way on everyone else," Harry said. He could understand that. Muggle history was replete with examples of similar things. That past year in history lessons they'd covered bits about the Second World War, so Harry could see the parallels. "And that was why he was after my parents? Because they were... actually, what was my dad? I know my mum was a muggleborn, but..."

"Your father was a pureblood wizard of quite a distinguished pedigree," said Flitwick. "The Potter name has been a feature of our society for many centuries."

"And You-Know-Who didn't like that? But there must have been loads of people like that, so why my parents?" Harry asked. He could follow the reasoning—however twisted—that the Death Eaters and Voldemort used to justify their actions, even if it was abhorrent. But he couldn't understand why they'd target one random couple.

"It is not an uncommon sight to see a pureblood marry a muggleborn," confirmed Flitwick. "But the particulars in this case – the Potters are a very old family, once extremely well connected within our world – and the timing of the wedding..."

"What do you mean?"

"Your parents married just as You-Know-Who started to move his war out from the shadows, you see," said Flitwick. "And the wedding was covered in the papers – of course, the secret wedding of the pureblood heir to the Sleakeazy fortune was considered perfect material for the society pages despite its clandestine nature. They got the details from the certificate filed with the Ministry and devoted pages to idle gossip. It seems reasonable to suggest that this coverage caught the eye of the Death Eaters and perhaps even You-Know-Who himself—but this is mere conjecture. Later on, your parents were both quite vocal – really, extremely outspoken – on their opposition to You-Know-Who and his goals. And so it is perhaps not so surprising that they were targeted by You-Know-Who personally for this opposition."

"That's awful," said Harry. He wasn't sure whether it was better or worse that Voldemort personally killed his parents. They were dead either way. Did it really matter? He supposed not, but at least he had a name, and a reason even if they were both stupid ones. "But that's over now, isn't it? You said Voldemort—sorry, I mean, You-Know-Who—disappeared when he couldn't kill me. After he—with my—"

Flitwick nodded.

"And this Sirius Black – he escaped from prison and they think he might go after me? Is my aunt—and my uncle and cousin—safe? Am I safe? I know you said about him before, but I didn't really realise—I mean, all the posters, and there's Aurors everywhere…"

Flitwick had been rather less forthcoming with news on Black than he should have been – or at least that was how Harry felt after seeing all the posters and the visible presence of law enforcement throughout the Alley. Harry didn't think it would have changed his decision to attend Hogwarts, but even so, it would have been nice to have known.

"Sirius Black is the only person to have ever escaped from Azkaban, true," said Flitwick. "He is a very dangerous man even without a wand. I won't lie to you, nor will I try to keep from you vital information. But I do want you to understand that everything possible is being done to apprehend him, and to keep both you and your family safe. Even now your family is being trailed by Aurors as they make their way home. They will be unobtrusive, and you may not notice them at all, but they will be there."

"It does sound like I'll be safer at Hogwarts," Harry admitted. "And if people know that's where I am, and Black finds out—it'll make my aunt and uncle safer, too, won't it?" Harry found his aunt and uncle to be among the most boring people he had ever met, but they were his family and he didn't want them to be hurt because of him.

He picked at his lunch for a bit, then asked the last of the questions he'd been going over and over in his mind.

"And—what about the wand? Does it mean… does it mean I'm like, well—you know?" Harry asked. If wands were meant to be personal to a wizard, and Harry's wand was the brother of Voldemort's wand, Harry assumed that had to mean something—and probably something bad.

"Oh! Merlin no, dear boy," said Flitwick. "It is an obscure bit of wandlore and, it must be said, wandmakers are a strange breed. Their craft is more an art than anything else and not quite that either. It should be said their intuitions seldom make sense to the ordinary wizard, being founded in what is a very esoteric branch of magic, and Ollivander is well-known for his eccentricity. Phoenix feather wands are said only to choose singularly unique individuals, and you are nothing if not that: you are the only person in recorded history to have survived the Killing Curse, after all."

Harry's initial elation at finding out about magic and wizards hadn't quite dimmed so much as it had been supplanted by a growing sense of expectation and pressure to succeed. His parents had been war heroes. He himself, although he couldn't remember it, had survived a Killing Curse—something supposedly impossible. Even his wand – a tool that every wizard and witch had – had been made from an unusual combination of materials with a core that chose the 'singularly unique'. Worse, it was the 'brother wand' of the man who had killed his parents! On top of all that a deranged madman had escaped from prison and was quite possibly looking for Harry.

It felt like rather a lot to be taking in on the day before his thirteenth birthday. He could blame his aunt and uncle for part of that, since they had never told him about magic and they'd known the whole time. Harry had to admit, they'd kept the secret well for near enough twelve whole years, but he didn't quite understand what they thought would happen: from everything Professor Flitwick had said and done, it seemed like Harry was always going to go to Hogwarts even without permission. Perhaps even if Harry hadn't wanted to go.

He wondered if he would have bothered to make any friends at Stonewall High if he had known that, after just two years at the school, he would be plucked out of it to join a secret magical world his friends could never know about. Harry knew he probably shouldn't dwell on it, but even so couldn't help but think about it. In just a single morning his entire world had been turned upside down.

"I suppose I just have to get on with being a wizard, don't I?" Harry said finally. "I'll manage. I have to."

"No doubt you will, Mr Potter," said Professor Flitwick. "And I daresay you will do more than manage."

After that, Harry had spent most of his lunch chatting with Professor Flitwick about day to day life at Hogwarts, what sort of classes he would be offered, and helpful bits and pieces of information about the Hogwarts Houses and school life. When they had finished, Flitwick paid for the meal and dropped Harry off at Eylop's Owl Emporium to choose an owl while the older wizard attended to his own business. Harry did wonder just what sort of 'business' wizards had – since it surely couldn't be something as simple as going shopping like his aunt would do every week – but he was soon distracted by all the different owls and their accessories in the Emporium.

Harry could have spent several hours in the admittedly strong-smelling shop admiring and playing with the various different types of owl but, aware that Professor Flitwick wouldn't take the entire afternoon to complete his errand, ended up choosing a handsome black and brown male eagle owl. Once Harry had paid for the owl, food and treats, and a suitable cage he met Professor Flitwick outside the shop. The old wizard carried a paper-wrapped package.

"A magnificent specimen!" said Flitwick upon seeing Harry's new owl. "Although, they do grow quite large," he warned.

Upon hearing Flitwick's warning Harry did briefly consider that his aunt Petunia would have preferred a cat, but quickly put it out of his mind because owls were far more interesting than cats. Then, Flitwick led Harry back through Diagon Alley and into the Leakey Cauldron, stopping only briefly to point out the proprietor to Harry and then out into Muggle London.

hr/

Professor Flitwick led Harry through many crowded and dirty streets in Muggle London until they reached King's Cross Station which was where, Harry had been told, Platform 9¾ (and several other fractional platforms, all between Platforms 9 and 10 for some odd reason, according to Professor Flitwick) could be found. Harry didn't quite understand why wizards would choose to put their special train stations in between platforms nine and ten of the Muggles' King's Cross but Professor Flitwick had insisted that they had indeed done so, and not even as some sort of joke.

"Why do we have to walk right at it? Can't we just—I don't know—tap a brick with our wands?" asked Harry as he stood in front of the barrier between Platforms 9 and 10.

"Alas, no," said Professor Flitwick. "It is best to do it quickly, the first few times," he advised, "and try not to hesitate at the last moment or you might well crash into the wall."

Harry sighed and walked right at the wall as quickly as he dared, waiting for his face to crash into the brick. Instead, he kept on walking right through it, and emerged onto a wholly new platform with next to no sign that the Muggle world even existed, let alone stood mere inches away beyond a false wall.

Overhead an arrivals and departures board showed that no train would arrive until later that evening, although a group of several people – Harry thought they must be goblins, since they were so small and not wearing robes – milled about the platform waiting for something.

Professor Flitwick emerged from the wall shortly after Harry and looked up at the departures board.

"Well, I should think your aunt and uncle would be back home in Little Whinging by now, since it is the early evening after all and it shouldn't take even Muggles that long to get back from where we were this morning," he said. "Do you have any further questions before we leave?"

Harry considered it and then shook his head and took Flitwick's offered hand. At once he was sucked inside a whirling vortex and spat out again miles away in the front garden of Number Four, Privet Drive. Inside the house the lights were on and the car had been parked in the driveway, so Harry knew the three Dursleys had got home already.

"Well, here we are," said Professor Flitwick. "It was my pleasure to escort you today, Mr Potter, and I must say that I look forward to teaching you in September! Before you go, I just wanted to give you a little gift, as it is your birthday tomorrow after all!"

The small wizard placed the paper-wrapped package on top of Harry's school trunk, then surreptitiously tapped it with his wand. At once the trunk lifted from the ground and started moving in the direction of the house.

"Tell it to stop when you get to your bedroom," he said.

"Thank you, Professor!" said Harry. "For everything. I'll see you at Hogwarts."

Professor Flitwick smiled and disappeared from the empty Muggle street with a loud crack. Grinning to himself, Harry opened the Dursleys' front door and announced his return. As Harry walked past the living room carrying an owl, his magically animated school supplies in tow, the mere sight of it all caused Vernon to erupt into incoherent spluttering, and Petunia to sigh loudly.

"Why does Harry get an owl?" he heard Dudley ask.

Harry tramped up the stairs holding his new owl, and thought about what was in Professor Flitwick's gift or which of his books he would read first.


Petunia called Harry downstairs for dinner a little later that evening, as Harry had spent the entire time in his room with his new things getting to know both his new world and his new owl. Nobody –least of all Harry – seemed to know what to do or how to behave after that morning's revelations, although Dudley seemed the most normal.

Combative, argumentative, and rude, but that was normal for Dudley.

"So... Harry's just going to be allowed to keep an owl in the house?" Dudley asked as Petunia dished out the evening meal. It was clear to Harry he'd been working through this all evening. "Well, I think I should be allowed a dog now, then, because I always asked and you said no because they're 'dirty'. Well, owls are dirtier than dogs, I think, so it's only fair..."

Harry wondered what his aunt would say to that. It was true that they had never been allowed to get a dog, and for that exact reason. It had been a rare occasion when Dudley had been told, unequivocally, 'no' to anything.

At first, Petunia appeared to ignore the comment and sat down at the table with the other three.

"Well, darling," said Petunia, "from what I understand owls are very... very..." She glanced towards Vernon for some support.

"Important," said Vernon. "Owls are very important to, er, that lot."

"Important, yes," continued Petunia, "so while I wouldn't have chosen for Harry to bring an owl home with him today, it's for school, you see, so..."

Petunia sighed.

"So, you're happy that the neighbours will see Harry keeping an owl in the house, then?" Dudley continued, unfazed by Petunia's argument. "Even Mrs Jones?"

Fair play, thought Harry, that was a good point. When there was potentially something in it for him, Dudley could think his way through a problem.

"Harry's school provides an explanation for all of those things, you see, darling," Petunia said. "I remember from when L—from when my sister attended. So we're simply to say it's part of a wildlife rehabilitation programme, very prestigious, for when the students are home from school." Petunia didn't seem especially pleased with the explanation, but it was at least the sort of boring and mundane thing that would be acceptable on Privet Drive even if it did sound a bit hippy-dippy.

But then her face brightened.

"And of course, the owl won't be living here most of the year, will it, Harry? Because Harry will take it off to school with him," said Petunia, clearly happy at the thought that the owl would spend only a few weeks every summer and Christmas at Number Four.

"Er, yeah, that's right," said Harry. "And I'll make sure to clean up after him and I think he only wants to go out at night really anyway." Harry thought about it. "And I've already got him all the food he needs for the year and he can hunt for himself as well. So really it's like he won't even be here!"

None of that appeared to matter to Dudley.

"Well, then why can't I get a dog if I clean up after it and take it for walks and all that? At least dogs are normal," Dudley said. He seemed quite proud of his line of argument, which Harry thought was reasonable given Dudley's usually poor offerings.

"Well, darling, because you can't take a dog to Smeltings with you," said Petunia, "and Mummy doesn't want a dog. And that's all I have to say on the subject, Duddy darling, so please don't bring it up again."

"But—" Dudley started to say, until he was interrupted by Vernon.

"You heard your mother, boy," Vernon said. "Maybe we can revisit the dog issue if you get your marks up at school, eh?"

Dudley didn't seem particularly happy with that idea, which Harry supposed was because he had neither the inclination nor the ability to improve his marks, and remained silent for a while as he ate his dinner.

"So you knew Harry's mum—my aunt Lily—was a witch for all these years, then?" said Dudley eventually as he helped himself to seconds. "So that means you knew there was real magic and everything. And you never said." The accusation hung in the air like a nasty smell.

"Well, ah, yes, darling, I suppose we did know..." said Petunia eventually. She looked towards Vernon once more, who simply shrugged.

"Cat's out of the bag now, Pet," said Vernon. "Or should I say owl?" He chortled at his own joke. "Best get it over with, rip away the plaster, and all that."

Petunia sighed deeply.

"You heard what that little man said this morning, Dudley," said Petunia. "Magic is a secret. They take it very seriously, more seriously than they take anything else, although God knows they should..." She paused and took a deep breath. "And we didn't know—strictly speaking—that Harry would actually turn out to be a... because sometimes, you see, it doesn't... but then he was and..." Petunia shook her head. "There was never a good time to say everything, and... well, you know how little children are with secrets, and we just couldn't risk it. But now you both know, and there's nothing more to tell. So that really is that."

Petunia pushed her plate away slightly and then stood to clear the table even though Dudley hadn't finished. Clearly, she was done with the meal—and the conversations attached to it.

"Now run along, Dudley, my darling boy," said Petunia. "And you, Vernon. But Harry, stay a moment, please."

Harry stayed sat where he was while Vernon guided Dudley out of the kitchen and closed the door.

Petunia cleared away the remains of the meal from the table in silence for a few moments before taking out her marigold washing gloves to do the washing up. She started scrubbing the plates with her scourer and then she finally spoke.

"It wasn't that we—I—wanted to keep it from you," Petunia said. "The... everything. About my sister. Your mother. And your father, I suppose, although I never really knew him. It was just that—well. How do you begin to say that? So we thought that it would be better if you knew that your parents loved you, and that they died in an accident." She stopped washing up for a moment and turned towards where Harry sat on the table. "You do know that your parents loved you, don't you, Harry?"

"Er, yeah, I do," said Harry. Although his aunt had been tight-lipped on the subject of his parents throughout his childhood for reasons Harry now understood, she had always been quite clear that he had been loved and wanted. "I know that. It was just always—I mean there was only really that one photo of my mum, and none of my dad, but I just..."

"I always tried to—" Petunia started to say, and then stopped herself. "There was just so much about her world—Lily's world, your world—that people like me aren't supposed to know, Harry. So there was a lot that I never knew to tell you in the first place."

"But you did know some things," said Harry. He tried to phrase it so that it wasn't an accusation, but Harry needed to know. He almost couldn't get his head around it, that Petunia knew about a secret society full of wizards and goblins and whatever else and had never shown even the slightest bit of a hint of it. "You knew about that Sirius Black."

Petunia nodded and returned to the washing up, scrubbing the frying pan over and over again.

"I met him, once," Petunia said. "At your parents'... He was at the wedding."

Harry had questions about that – he'd never heard any stories about his parents' wedding before although now he knew why – but realised that just then wasn't the right time to ask. So he just waited for Petunia to continue despite the myriad questions that formed in his head.

"I knew about that awful man with the silly name, and what he wanted, what he did. I never thought your parents' friends... I only met them just the once, you see, but..." Petunia trailed off, apparently lost in thought. When she spoke again, she'd turned to face Harry where he sat at the kitchen table.

"There were things happening all the time, and we never really knew—And I didn't want it to happen all over again. Your grandparents—my parents—But your new teacher seems to think it's all changed, now," said Petunia with a weak, thin smile. "And going to that school is what Lily would have wanted, and we always tried to raise you with that in mind even if—well. So I just wanted you to know that."

"But... if you knew that then why did we try and ..." Harry paused, struggling to find quite the right words. "What I mean is, why didn't you just sit me down and say all this when the first letter came?" Harry asked. "I just mean, what was the point of all the fuss when you could have just said?"

Petunia stared off into the distance for a few moments.

"I remembered what it was like when they told me Lily had died," she said eventually. "They sent a letter. It's always letters with them. Letters to take children away. Letters to say your sister is dead. Letters to tell you how to live your life. I didn't want any of it to happen again. I thought... I thought it might be better for us—for you—if this time, we didn't listen. But it was never about what I thought. And then when you said you wanted to go... It's what your mother would have wanted." Petunia turned back to the sink and the washing up.

"Now, you'd best get going up to your room—I'm sure that owl of yours will be lonely," said Petunia with an air of finality.

"Thanks for—well, I mean..." said Harry, stumbling over the words. "I understand," he said in the end. He got up from the table and returned to his bedroom. Although he still didn't like being kept in the dark for a decade, he understood why his aunt and uncle had done it.

From everything that Flitwick had said, and from the things his aunt had wanted to say but hadn't been able to, Harry had gained a much better picture of the events leading up to his placement at his aunt and uncle's home than he had ever had before. It wasn't a fairy-tale story, but then it hadn't been one before that day either.

And now he knew, so as Petunia had said, that was that.