Harry looked around in his new room. His room.
The house was big, two stories, an attic and a basement, a living, room, kitchen, dining room, study and a library filled with all kinds of books and four bedrooms and two bathrooms upstairs. One of which was all Harry's, just like the bedroom that's walls were painted pale green and had a two windows, a desk, a wardrobe and a small bed with curtains around it. There was a balcony at the end of the hallway from where you could see the whole backyard and the orchard.
A woman cleaned the house every Friday, and an old man tended to the garden on the weekdays.
The house was new, but it was filled with furniture that had an air of age around them, and at first Harry was afraid to even sit on the couch or on the dining room chairs because he was frightened he would damage or break something.
Everything Harry now had looked expensive. Even his pens that were piled neatly on the desktop gleamed with newness and screamed of money. Harry wasn't used to money being spent on him, but after the first week he'd learned that a pen, even if it was expensive, could still break and be replaced just like a cheap one.
The man that had taken him from Aunt Petunia told him they were cousins from Harry's Father's side, and that's why they shared the same name and looked so much alike. Harry didn't mention the eyes that were like his mother's, or the man's accent that sounded nothing like American, even though that's where he'd said he'd been living before coming to get Harry.
They didn't talk about magic, but it was there.
There were moving pictures in the newspapers his cousin read in the mornings, the dishes on the sink washed themselves and some of the books his cousin read screamed at him and one even chased Harry around the library when he untied the rope around it.
He managed to catch it and tie the rope back around it before his cousin came back inside from the garden where he'd gone carrying a broom, but Harry always suspected the man had known about it, because the book was moved up so Harry couldn't reach it as easily.
Then there was his new school.
Harry wouldn't start there until after Christmas, but he already had all his books and his cousin had been helping him go through them and catch up with anything he might have missed. He even started learning French, something there hadn't been in his old school, but which his cousin told him he would need to learn. Just like he would have to wear the uniform; a white shirt, dark blue jacket, straight pants and a silver tie with the school crest on it.
And he learned how to write with a quill. Harry thought it was silly, but he'd seen his cousin use one to write letters and make notes with when he sat in the study surrounded by books and parchment that smelled new.
Harry only started thinking his cousin by his name after the old man with the long white beard and a strange purple suite came to visit.
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Harry opened the door for him and was instantly greeted with a long fingered hand and an introduction that had too many names for Harry to memorise. He stepped back, not taking the hand or telling his own name and called out for his cousin.
His cousin came to the entrance hall, took one look at the man and his face darkened and he looked almost as scary as he had when talking to Harry's Aunt. The old man kept the jovial smile on his face and patted Harry on the head when he was invited in. Harry grimaced and ruffled his hair, shorter than his cousin's which reached to his chin, but just as messy and impossible to tame.
His cousin led the old man to the library, and even though he'd told Harry to go back to his books he didn't close the door all the way, so Harry decided to stay and listen.
They talked about a lot of things Harry didn't understand. About blood protection, Gringotts and family heirlooms. The old man looked reluctant to concede at all, and Harry's cousin became more and more angry the more the old man spoke.
Then the old man mentioned the Dursleys and family and how they shouldn't be at odds. He suggested Harry go back.
Harry's cousin spoke one word, and with a pop the old man vanished.
Harry pushed open the library door and his cousin looked at him with those same eyes Harry's mum had looked at him, and Harry noticed that they held the same kind of love his mother's had.
Thomas never said anything, but Harry knew he'd never be sent back to the Dursleys and he would always have a home in this big house filled with old furniture and talking books.
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There was a black dog sitting in front of their house.
It followed Harry to school, and waited for him at the school gates. It stood at the edge of the playground when there was a recess and always seemed to be looking at him. It had been following him for a week, and then one day it was gone.
When the man appeared, Harry knew right away it was the dog. There was something familiar in the man's roguish grin and in the mischievous glint in his eyes that made Harry think of the dog, and Harry wasn't all that sure it was a good thing.
He wondered if he should have mentioned the dog to Thomas.
"Hello Harry," the man said, hands in his pockets, leaning against the motorcycle parked on the side of the road where Harry stood waiting for the bus. "I'm your godfather Sirius and your parents wanted me to take care of you if anything ever happened to them."
Harry shifted the weight of his school bag and gripped it tighter, hoping he'd had his heavier books with him, because no one would ever know if the man grabbed him now.
"You shouldn't keep following me," Harry said. "I'm telling my cousin and he'll have you thrown to jail if you try anything." One of the school teachers had noticed the man and was walking towards them. It was never a good sign when grown men hung around schools and talked to young boys. Even Harry knew that much.
The man, Sirius, had noticed the teacher too but didn't seem worried, but he looked back at Harry, nodded and climbed on to the motorcycle. Before he started the engine he turned back to Harry and said, "I'll talk to your cousin then, Harry. I hope we'll be good friends soon."
By the time Harry got home the motorcycle was already standing in front of his house and the library doors were closed. This time Harry didn't even try to listen in, but headed upstairs to his room to do his homework.
By the time Harry had finished his homework and headed downstairs, the library door was open and when he looked outside he saw that the motorcycle was gone. He found Thomas in the kitchen chopping up vegetables, potatoes and meat boiling on the stove and cheery music playing on the radio.
Thomas looked up when Harry entered the kitchen, already changed from his school-uniform to jeans and a T-shirt. Thomas gestured to the kitchen cabinet with the knife and Harry took out two plates and glasses and carried them to the dining room. He came back for the utensils and was just about to leave the kitchen with them when Thomas put down the knife and gestured Harry towards a chair by the kitchen table.
Thomas sat down across from him and folded his hands on the table. Harry dropped the utensils and waited for Thomas to start talking. It was a long wait, but he finally did.
"I haven't told you much about your parents, have I?" Thomas asked and Harry shook his head. The only thing Thomas had told him was that Harry's dad and Thomas had been cousins. They didn't talk about Harry's mum or her family, because neither of them liked to be reminded of the Dursleys.
"Then maybe it's about time I did," Thomas said, but then the timer beeped and Thomas got up to take the potatoes of the stove. With his back turned to Harry he said, "We'll talk after dinner."
Harry got up, gathered the forks and knives and went to the dining room and waited for Thomas to bring the food. He sat in silence, not sure what he should be feeling right now. He'd always wanted to know about his parents, but the burning need had waned after his dream of the meadow and when he'd come to live with Thomas.
Thomas came in, carrying a pot and Harry hurried back to the kitchen for the milk. Thomas had said they'd talk after dinner, and Harry could wait.
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They were sitting in the living room, the low table between and the empty fireplace on their side, the candles on its mantel lit despite the sunlight still streaming through the windows.
"Does this have anything to do with the man?" Harry asked, and Thomas looked up, a little startled.
"What man?" he asked, but Harry knew Thomas knew who Harry meant.
"The man with the motorcycle who's been following me as a dog," Harry answered. "He said he was my godfather."
Thomas shifted in the chair, looking uncomfortable. "Yes, it has something to do with him."
"Is he really?" Harry asked, and then elaborated. "My godfather, I mean. And if he is, why didn't he take care of me when my parents died. He said that's what they wanted."
Thomas looked even more uncomfortable and leaned forward on his chair. "That takes a bit longer to explain, and I think we should start at the beginning of it all. And it started long before you were even born."
Harry lifted his feet from the floor and laid his hands on his crossed ankles. Something told him he should get comfortable.
"You know there is magic and what you might have guessed is that there is a whole community of people with magic that is hidden from the world. There are Magical communities in every country, some better hidden than others, and some call themselves as something other than wizards and witches, as we do here in Britain. You Harry, are a wizard, as am I and Sirius." Thomas paused here and looked at Harry to see if he had any questions, but the boy just nodded. Most of it he had already guessed, though he would have never called himself a wizard, or dared call any girl or woman a witch.
"When your parents were still in school a dark wizard who called himself Lord Voldemort began to gather followers, mostly people that had something against muggles and muggleborns, people that had no magic, or wizards and witches whose parents had no magic. Lord Voldemort was a very charismatic and powerful wizard who, in his words, wanted to cleanse the Wizarding world from the taint of muggles.
"His followers, who were called Death Eaters, used masks to hide their identities. The authorities had no way of knowing who hid behind the masks, murdering wizards and muggles alike. Everyone feared him, and still today the name strikes terror in to the hearts of every wizard and witch and not even his followers spoke his name.
"For over a decade the Wizarding World lived in constant fear. No one knew who to trust, and only a few were brave enough to stand against him in public. Your parents and their friends were among them."
"Is that why they were killed?" Harry asked, pulling his knees to his chest.
"Your parents believed that everyone, whether they had magic or not had a right to live. They did what they thought was right."
"I don't blame them," Harry said, staring at the carpet covered floor. "Something must have stopped him or you wouldn't talk about him like he was gone. What happened?" He lifted his head from the floor and looked at Thomas who diverted his eyes from Harry and looked out of the window.
"On Halloween 1981 Voldemort came to your house. Your family had been hidden by a charm called Fidelius that should have kept them safe, but a traitor revealed their location to Voldemort. Voldemort killed your parents, and turned his wand on you, but something went wrong. Instead of killing you he was vanquished. No one knows what happened that night, but everyone celebrated your victory over him."
Harry lifted his hand to his forehead, and the now almost completely faded scar, remembering the woman from the hospital and her words. Whoever gave you that scar Harry, did something very bad.
"And Sirius?" Harry asked, not wanting to talk about his parents or Voldemort anymore.
"Everyone thought he was the traitor that had betrayed your parents, and he was sent to prison. They found the real traitor a few months ago and he was released." Thomas leaned back and stayed quiet, letting Harry get used to everything he'd heard.
"Is he really gone?" Harry asked, and Thomas didn't need to ask who he meant.
"If he ever comes back, that's something you don't have to worry about," Thomas said, with a tone that made it sound like a promise, and Harry believed it.