~An Emerald amongst a Sea of Stone~
Chapter One
~§~
Just like every other Sunday, on the Twentieth of July, thirteen-year-old Harry Potter spent his evening lying in the monotone darkness of his cupboard.
Why would a teenager spend a summer evening locked away in an entirely-too-small, spider-infested space below his home's main staircase?
Harry wasn't too sure himself.
Aunt Petunia, Uncle Vernon, and his cousin Dudley - The Dursleys - were out eating dinner in a Chinese Restaurant a few streets away, and - as per usual - he had remained at home.
Not out of choice, of course. Even making the suggestion to Uncle Vernon of wanting to come along, would have had him punished with another week of dinnerless nights.
He could have used the chance to watch TV, but frankly, that form of entertainment had never quite caught his interest. It was a lazy form of spending time, he felt like - allowing pictures and voices to prattle down onto you for hours at an end, while doing absolutely no thinking yourself.
He much preferred to seek sanctuary within the confines of Little Whinging's local library. Something he would have done - had it not been a Sunday.
Books, he found, were preferable over people. They were useful, rational, disambiguous, and entertaining.
Now that he thought about it… He missed school. It was probably a mortifying thought for most kids his age, especially considering that he had no friends and was the class nerd, but in Harry's book, any time away from the Dursleys was good time.
Even the darkness of the cupboard beat being in the presence of his relatives.
A yawn escaped his mouth. It was still rather early into the evening, around half past seven if he had to guess, but that wouldn't stop him from dozing off soon enough.
He usually woke up in the middle of the night anyway, mostly out of hunger. He even preferred it that way, as he wouldn't dare miss the chance to sneak some more food from the fridge while everyone else was asleep.
It was ridiculous, of course, that he - whose uncle and cousin weighed in at over 600 pounds - had to steal food. But no one had ever claimed the Dursleys weren't ridiculous.
His relatives - that was to say Petunia and Vernon, really - liked to make him feel like he was a burden - another mouth to feed, another child to pay tuition for, and so on.
So for them, it was simple justice, that his rations were a third the size of his Dudley's - no matter whether Harry towered his cousin by nearly half a foot or not. Fairness was a foreign word for the Dursleys.
Sometimes he wondered why he hadn't just been given up to an orphanage. It would solve all the problems they claimed they had, wouldn't it?
It was a rhetorical question, of course. They'd lose their little servant. Something they'd never admit though. Harry and useful? Those two words didn't fit together in their head.
Ever since the age of six, he'd been forced to take on a laughable amount of chores - from cooking breakfast, over weeding the garden, and cleaning the staircase, to polishing the countertop.
Anything that needed to be done - and was inside of his capabilities - he did.
But that's just how things were. He could try standing up to them, of course… but if he stopped doing his chores, the Dursleys would stop giving him food. That hardly seemed like an alternative.
He sighed. It was truly a miserable existence, wasn't it? All he could do was wait for another five years until he finally reached his majority and was legally allowed to get the hell out of this place. At least his outstanding grades would guarantee him a scholarship. He could work from there.
Back to sneaking food though… It was a thing he'd started doing years ago. Not that he liked stealing things.
It wasn't as if he hadn't tried to improve his situation the honest way. Finishing all his chores before the time, getting straight A's in school, always being polite despite the abysmal treatment at his relatives' hands.
It was never enough.
The countertop wasn't shiny enough, his tests, he had cheated on, and despite being on his best behaviour, the Dursleys still labelled him a freak.
Back then he had craved acceptance from his family - wanted to make them proud. Now… now he knew not to be so foolish as to believe that was possible anymore.
Not that I even consider them family… His last family had died twelve years ago.
Harry had realised that it had never been about himself. He had done all he could. It was the Dursleys that were wrong.
It certainly explained why he felt absolutely no remorse about stealing food from them. They weren't even smart enough to notice. With the copious amount of bread, milk, and pudding his cousin and uncle stuffed their faces with every day, it wasn't really a surprise either, but still…
Not that I'd complain about their dimwittedness…
His nightly adventures to the kitchen were probably the only things that kept him from being chronically malnourished. In his mind, he was more than justified in stealing his food.
It hadn't always been that easy though. Why? The answer was another ridiculous one.
Quite naturally - As every guardian right of mind should - the Dursleys locked him in his cupboard every night. Why?
So he couldn't sneak any food, of course.
But then how had he managed to circumvent that little obstacle? Well, the answer was… complicated.
Four years ago he had first managed to escape the confines of his prison at night, but that hadn't really been the start of things, had it?
Harry had always been an… unusual kid. Weird - supernatural, even - incidents liked to happen around him - they had for as long as he could think.
And these… incidents included a wide range of things.
Teachers' hairs turning blue. Teleporting into the library while running away from Dudley and his gang of bullies. Fixing a broken vase with his bare hands. And, of course, opening his cupboard from the inside.
He still remembered the night the latter had happened perfectly. The Dursleys had - once again - lost the local contest for Little Whinging's best yard to their neighbours, the Browns.
Vernon had been furious, of course, and Petunia - the yard being her one and only pride besides Dudley - even more so. So, naturally, they needed a scapegoat. Fortunately for them, it didn't take them long to find one. Harry hadn't weeded the flower beds well enough, they said. Cut crooked curves into the bushes.
Bollocks, of course.
As punishment, they had forbidden him any and all food for seven days - during the holidays, where he couldn't even eat at the cafeteria in school. Those had probably been the seven worst days of his life.
Pain constantly churning in his gut, his mind endlessly circling around the thought of food. At night, he had cried within the walls of his cupboard, because he couldn't bear the hunger after the third day.
But the last night of them all had been by far the worst. He'd silently screamed into his pillow, begging for someone - something to come save him - hoping for ludicrous things that had no chance of ever happening.
A breeze blowing in through the bathroom window and lifting the door-hinge high enough for him to escape. Vernon stumbling down the stairs to have a midnight snack, and accidentally getting stuck on the hinge with his pyjama…
It had been in that moment of absolute misery and burning desperation, that a silent, yet audible click had echoed in his ears.
Not daring to hope, he had wiped the tears from his cheeks and gotten up, giving the door of his cupboard a light push. And it had opened.
From thereon he had spent weeks trying to replicate the same effect. He would stare at the closed door of his cupboard for hours, pray, shout into his pillow - anything. And finally, after nearly two months of zero success, he managed it again, with the help of a book on meditation he'd read in the library.
If he ever told anyone the story, they were sure to never believe him. But it wasn't like he had anyone to tell the story to in the first place…
By now, he had even adapted his repertoire of… tricks into other areas of his life.
Catching a seemingly impossible pass during PE. Willing a gush of wind to blast a tilted-back Dudley off his chair. The fields of use were rather small, yet these powers brightened up his life to heights previously unknown.
Back then he had struggled with it, but by now… most of these small things were almost subconscious for him. A wave of his hand - even a blow of his mouth was enough to make them happen.
But unfortunately, he quickly found out that there were boundaries he couldn't hope to surpass, no matter what he tried.
Repairing broken toys had worked, changing their colours too, but the teleportation thing that had brought him into the library he was yet to replicate to this day. He just couldn't reproduce that weird feeling of being pressed through a very tight tube and suddenly ending up somewhere else.
Another disadvantage about the… nature of his powers, were that he couldn't use them to actively do something against his mistreatment at the Dursleys' hands. He had hoped for something - fire, explosions - but trying had only made his disappointment bitterer.
Still… It was better than nothing. Better than-
CRACK!
He was torn from his thoughts by a sudden bang. It had come from outside the house. He could tell, since it had been suppressed. Still, whatever the bang had been… it had been bloody loud. He could still feel the walls vibrating.
Should I investigate? The Dursleys were still out eating dinner… Maybe it had just been a car crash? Perhaps the Dursleys are finally dead, he grinned briefly. But it hadn't sounded like it.
For just a moment he considered staying inside, but after all, it was rather rare that something worthwhile happened at Privet Drive, it being the perfect street with its never-ending scenery of white fences, beige walls and neatly manicured lawns…
He pushed the door to his cupboard open and stepped into the hallway, giving the family-portraits on the dresser a snide look. Naturally, Harry himself was nowhere to be seen in the pictures.
He strode onwards, stretching his limbs, and just as he laid his hand on the perfectly-polished, silver door-knob, the bell rang.
A frown appeared on his face. Something is definitely off about this.
Nevertheless, he opened the door. The sight that graced his eyes was one he would remember for the ages.
A small - no, tiny - man stood in front of him, clad in an attire that would make one think he belonged to the eighteenth century. His robes were wide and colourful - entirely too large for his small frame. Had he worn a red, spiky head, Harry would have mistaken him for an oversized garden-gnome.
The man's thin, grey hair weaved in the breeze of the wind, and his moustache was unruly. Harry didn't know what to think.
A short sigh escaped the comical man's mouth, before he turned towards Harry, forcing a bright smile to appear on his features.
'Harry, isn't it?' he asked.
Harry's frown deepened. A short nod.
The man held out his hand. 'Filius Flitwick,' he offered. 'I was a friend of your mother's.'
A friend of my mother's? Suddenly, Harry was interested.
There was almost nothing he knew about his mother - either of his parents, really - except for their names. Petunia always preached that they had been homeless drunks that had died in a car crash, but - truthfully - he couldn't care any less for her words.
But what is he doing here? Especially now.
For all he knew, the man could be a psychopathic, midget serial-killer that had escaped from the local asylum. It wasn't too far a stretch with how he was dressed, but frankly, just the sheer mention that the man had been a friend of his mother, was enough for Harry to listen.
After all, no one had ever voluntarily mentioned his parents before.
'I'm afraid my… family is currently otherwise occupied,' Harry said carefully. 'My Aunt and Uncle are out tonight.'
A dark look briefly passed the man's - Mr. Flitwick's - face. 'Perfect,' he said brightly. 'May I come in, then?'
Slowly, Harry nodded, gesturing for the man to follow him inside. I still need to be careful. There's no way this guy didn't have anything to do with the noise I heard…
He closed the door and led the man into the kitchen.
'Would you like a glass of water?' he asked, pouring one for himself.
'Yes, please.'
Harry poured another one, and guided them into the living room, where he offered for Mr. Flitwick to sit down on one of the armchairs. Harry took a seat opposite to the man and for a few seconds, a heavy silence hung over the room.
'So… Mr. Flitwick. How may I help you?' Harry asked finally.
Mr. Flitwick answered with a shake of his head and smiled softly. 'The better question would be how I can help you, Harry.'
Harry didn't respond, eliciting a sigh from the man's mouth.
'Petunia doesn't treat you very well, does she? Your mother often spoke of her, you know… Said that you were to end up in her care under no circumstances. I-'
What? Mr. Flitwick stopped.
'I apologise. Perhaps I should first ask what you even know of your mother, Harry.'
This is probably the weirdest day in all of human history. And it's only been two minutes that this man has been inside the house… Despite the circumstances, he answered the question.
'I know that she was called Lily,' he said shortly. 'My Aunt likes to refer to her as a homeless drunkard. Not that I… believe anything that comes out of her mouth. She seems rather biassed in the matter.'
A bitter laugh spilled from Mr. Flitwick's lips. 'Yes, she would be. It's the exact reason why Lily would have never wanted you to end up in her care. She knew Petunia would take out her dislike of her on you, if it ever came to happen.' He paused. 'Would you like to know some true things about your mother?'
I'd love to. He nodded.
'Well… I should best start by explaining her relationship to me, I think. After all, there is a reason why I am the one telling you all of this,' Mr. Flitwick murmured. 'It all began over twenty years ago, when your mother first enrolled into my class at the age of thirteen.'
A teacher… Weirdly enough, Harry could see it.
'She was a talented child - enthusiastic and bright, kind and compassionate. There aren't really enough words to describe her brilliance.'
Mr. Flitwick sighed again.
'Of course, I took to her rather quickly. Whether she would need assistance in her extracurricular projects, or simply ask countless questions about the curriculum, her… excitement was simply contagious. I couldn't say no. To this day, she has remained my favourite student, and one of my dearest friends.'
Finally a teacher that admits to having a favourite student… Harry thought morbidly enough.
'The time passed rather quickly. Seven years, she spent under my tutelage at the school - blooming from a small lily into the most beautiful flower under the sun - pun intended. After her education, she began an apprenticeship under me. But then… then, you came along.'
Mr. Flitwick gave him a sad smile.
'Shortly after you were born, she and your father were forced to go into hiding.'
Into hiding? Harry frowned, speaking up for the first time in a few minutes.
'Why?'
Another sigh slipped from Mr. Flitwick's lips. 'Saying it simply… They had enemies, Harry, and those enemies… They were terrible, cruel people. Your parents were forced to make a decision. Either they continued to fight - and risked orphaning their only child in the process… or they hid away, making sure that you would always be well looked after.'
Strangely enough, Harry's heart warmed ever so slightly at those words. They did care about me… But right the next moment, a clump of ice settled inside his chest. Not that it changed anything in the end…
'What happened?' Harry asked, a bitter taste spreading all over his tongue.
Mr. Flitwick swallowed. 'Their enemies found them. Someone who they thought was their friend betrayed their location. All help that came was too late.'
Silence.
'They were killed,' Harry said flatly. 'They were killed,' he whispered to himself. 'Why?' he asked tonelessly. 'Who were those enemies?' he almost demanded.
Mr. Flitwick's demeanour darkened. 'We called them Death-Eaters. They followed a powerful man, insistent on revolutionising the country, no matter the cost or blood.'
We… He said we. Why? This doesn't make any sense at all. Why would my parents have these people as enemies? How have I not heard of this evil man wanting to start a revolution? There hasn't been anything akin to a war in Britain for over thirty years.
'There's something you haven't told me,' Harry said with a glint to his eye. It wasn't a question.
Mr. Flitwick slowly nodded. 'There is, multiple things in fact. I suppose it's rather difficult to explain it all while trying to maintain a cohesive line of thought. Perhaps it would be best to just say it outright.' He paused. 'Your mother, Harry, was a witch.'
'A witch?' a single brow ascended Harry's forehead. 'As in a magician?'
'A witch,' Mr. Flitwick nodded simply. 'The same way your father was a wizard.' He paused. 'Perhaps you would like some proof before we go any further?'
Harry didn't respond for a moment. He stared at the man, before briefly nodding. The thought is ludicrous… but it doesn't seem like he's lying.
Mr. Flitwick pulled a short stick out of his pocket. It was a pale blonde and intricate patterns adorned the piece. It's made of wood. Is that supposed to be a wand? Mr. Flitwick smiled and carefully pointed the stick at the carpet under their feet.
'Colovaria,' the man said loftily.
Aunt Petunia's favourite beige carpet turned bright orange. But Harry's eyes didn't bulge out of their sockets… Rather, they constricted into narrow slits.
That's… that's something I can do… My tricks… He looked up at Mr. Flitwick, and eyed the man opposite him carefully.
'I'm a wizard as well, aren't I?' he asked flatly.
Mr. Flitwick chuckled. It was a hearty sound, yet it carried a tone of sadness. The man nodded.
'And you're here to offer me a place at your… school. You're a teacher, after all. Nevertheless…' Harry paused. 'Please continue.'
For the briefest of moments a soft, slight smile graced the man's elderly features. 'Of course,' he nodded. 'Well…' Before he could start, a sigh slipped from the man's mouth. 'Perhaps it is rather foolish of me to address this now… but I do not think you deserve to be kept in the dark any longer.' He paused.
'You must know, Harry, that when your parents were attacked, they were… outnumbered and unprepared. But one thing was clear to them… that whatever happened, you were the priority. Your father - James - he tried to hold the four intruders off for as long as possible, hoping he would buy enough time for Lily and you to escape, or for help to arrive. He even took one of the attackers with him… but his chances of success had been all but meagre from the start. He- he died a noble death.'
Mr. Flitwick allowed his words to sink in for a moment, but Harry showed no visible reaction.
'The three remaining intruders, enraged by their companions' death, proceeded to go after you and Lily. They followed you into the nursery, where… another fight ensued. It was an absolute blood-bath. Your mother killed two more people that night. But it wasn't enough. She was struck by a spell.' A sole tear slid down the man's cheek. 'And a terrible one at that,' he added in a whisper.
'Some would consider it a fate worse than death. Sometimes… I think I might even agree. The Curse that struck… it was, and still is, one of the most feared in the country. One of the most foul, cruel, and distasteful spells ever created. Casting it on another fellow wizard or witch carries a life sentence within Azkaban - the wizarding prison.' He paused.
'It's name… was the Cruciatus Curse. The spell directly affects a person's nervous system, creating indescribable, excruciating pain for the target. It's torture, Harry, plain and simple. Your mother was held under the spell for more than half an hour. Any and all help was too late to save her, even if justice was served to the culprit.'
Harry's mouth was dry. He couldn't swallow. He couldn't speak. He could only listen.
'She was admitted into the long term spell damage ward. She still retains her physical functions, but… is yet to speak a word again to this day. She likely never will.'
A heavy, leaden silence hung over the living room for what felt like an eternity. Mr. Flitwick tried to give Harry a comforting smile, but it came out as more of a pained grimace.
Eventually, Harry spoke. 'There's no cure?' he asked. There was no depth to his voice. His breaths were shallow.
'None that has been discovered,' Flitwick said. 'I'm sorry.'
There's nothing for you to be sorry about… He shook his head. All this time my mother has been alive… and I didn't know.
A dark thought creeped into the back of his mind, and unadulterated fury spread in his veins. 'Did my aunt know?' he whispered.
Flitwick seemed to carefully choose his every word. 'As she was aware of the world your mother lived in, and you were entrusted into her care, I would assume-'
'I'll kill her,' Harry said without a trace of emotion.
He would walk into the Chinese Restaurant the Dursleys were currently feasting in, and murder Petunia on the spot. How could she? He had known that she was a pathetic, shallow, miserable human being. But this… He couldn't describe the sheer, cold-blooded hatred that hung in his chest. His arms started trembling, and he forced himself up from the chair.
Mr. Flitwick drew his stick and Harry felt a gust of wind knock him back into the armchair. He directed an angry glare at the man.
'She is not worth it. You have so much grander things waiting for you in life than revenge on your aunt, Harry. She's irrelevant.'
For a moment, Harry felt even more anger rising to his throat, but then the boy suddenly composed himself, his demeanour cooling.
'You're right.'
You haven't told me the name of the person who tortured my mother yet. He didn't voice the thought.
'What happens now?' he asked suddenly. 'Can I visit my mother?'
Mr. Flitwick nodded. 'Of course. I will take you the first thing in the morning if that is what you wish. Nevertheless… unfortunately our business isn't concluded just yet.'
Harry laughed, trying to cope with the cruelty of it all.
'Right. You still want to invite me to that school of yours. Go on then.'
He could tell he was making the man uncomfortable with his behaviour. Not that he could blame the teacher. Harry was certain Mr. Flitwick was only here to clean up the mess other people had caused. Somehow I have a feeling he was the only one willing to do it. He almost seems as angry about everything as I am.
'Sorry… I-'
Mr. Flitwick smiled. 'It's perfectly alright, Harry. You have every right to be upset.'
He pulled an envelope out of his pocket and handed it to Harry. It had a red wax seal with a large H stamped into it. The boy's eyes flickered upwards with a question.
'Your acceptance letter for Hogwarts School for Witchcraft and Wizardry. Britain's premier magical school. Open it.'
Harry did.
Dear Mr. Potter,
We are pleased to inform you that you have been accepted for a place at Hogwarts School for Witchcraft and Wizardry. Please find enclosed a list of all necessary books and equipment.
Term begins on September 1st. We await your response by no later than July 31st.
Yours sincerely,
Minerva McGonagall
Deputy Headmistress
His eyes flickered over the mentioned list, a frown appearing on his features, as he read the foreign words. The choice was easily made, of course. He would go, if only to honour his mother… and father.
'I assume you've been sent here to help me get all of those,' he concluded after a while, looking up at Mr. Flitwick.
The man smiled. 'Not really. It was more that once I found out you had been living with your aunt, I was… very adamant to help.'
Just like I thought then… He couldn't help but return the smile.
'Thank you… sir.'
'Either that or Professor is fine, Harry. And yes, I will be the one to help you collect your supplies - if you wish so, of course. There is a place called Diagon Alley in Downtown London. We can get all of the things on your list there.' He paused. 'There's also an… inn in the Alley, where you will be able to spend the rest of your summer. I assume you have as little a wish to spend any more time in this house as I have.'
'You could say that,' Harry nodded tightly.
Professor Flitwick once more waved his wand and conjured golden digits into the air. 8.30, they read.
'Tempus, the time charm. A useful spell, and part of the first year curriculum. The wand movement is a straight circle,' he explained.
Harry saved away the information for later.
'Since it is rather late - and a Sunday - I would suggest I pick you up in the morning, eight perhaps? We- we can visit your mother, and head to Diagon Alley afterwards,' Flitwick told him.
And finally leave this place behind for good…
'I'd like that,' Harry slowly nodded. 'If I may ask though… how will I pay for all the supplies on this list? Is there a school fund or something? My relatives will not cover the costs, I'm afraid.'
The man smiled. 'You come from a rather wealthy family, Harry. Your inheritance is rather large, I assure you. There is a bank in Diagon Alley - Gringotts. It is run by goblins, and as the Heir to your family, you are allowed access to your vault.'
There were a million more questions forming in his head, but Professor Flitwick stopped him before he could even open his mouth.
'There is much more to explain, but we would continue to sit here for hours if I tried covering it all. I will give you more details tomorrow, Harry. There is already too much I have laid onto your shoulders today. For now I'd ask you to try and process things and focus on keeping your temper in check until tomorrow. If you do what I ask, I will make sure that you will never have to see Petunia or your other relatives ever again.'
Harry's lips thinned, but then he nodded. I want to get out of here. But that doesn't mean I won't get my retribution.
'Alright,' he exhaled. 'This is it, then?' he asked.
The Professor's lips tugged upward. 'For now,' he nodded, getting up from his chair. 'It has been a pleasure meeting you, Harry, and for all it's worth… I'm sorry for how things have gone for you, and that no one thought to check up on you earlier, including myself.'
Harry remained silent as he accompanied the man to the front door. As he reached for the door-knob, he briefly made eye contact with the Professor.
'Thank you, sir,' he said.
Professor Flitwick smiled. 'There is nothing to thank me for, Harry. I will see you in the morning.'
'Yes…' Harry nodded. 'In the morning.'
'Goodbye.'
'Goodbye.'
The door shut with an audible click. As Harry slipped back inside the darkness of his cupboard, thoughts kept him up all night long.
~§~
As Filius stepped foot back inside the castle, he allowed a deep breath to escape his lungs. He had not known what to expect after departing from the Great Hall in his rage, but what he had found… had not been comforting.
Harry was extraordinarily sharp. It was the first thing he'd noticed about the boy. He chose his words carefully, and any shows of emotion had been… sparse.
The anger the boy had shown for his aunt… It had been concerning. Filius had little doubt that, had he not stopped Harry, the boy would have followed up on his promise. He was confident that Harry would keep his control for tonight, which was a reason for calmth, but something about the boy's cool demeanour immediately after being sat down had been… unsettling.
Still, Filius couldn't fault him for any of it.
Harry had been dealt one of the worst hands in life he'd seen, and he truly regretted not investigating things earlier. In that regard, Minerva had failed as well. James had long been considering an apprenticeship with her instead of joining the aurors. They had been close. He couldn't imagine that she hadn't had a single clue about Lily and Petunia's relationship.
Still… there was nothing they could change now. And regardless of that… the main culprit in all of this was - in Filius opinion - undoubtedly still Frank.
He didn't necessarily think there was any negative intent behind the Lord Longbottom's decisions, but the fact that Frank had been neglectful of his responsibility was all but certain.
Another thing that had caught his eye was Harry's peculiar reaction to being told about, and shown magic. Every single muggle-raised child he'd met in the last thirty years, except for Lily, had been in awe of any magic shown.
Filius had expected the boy's eyes to widen, for him to ask questions upon questions… But instead, Harry had reacted coolly - calculating. The demonstration had been enough for him to figure out the reasons behind Filius' rather sudden appearance.
Some form of surprise had been evident in Harry's eyes, but it certainly hadn't been amazement.
Maybe he would find out in the future, but for now, Filius was rather sure that the boy wouldn't share his thoughts on the matter. Harry seemed to keep things close to his chest and had given up almost nothing for free.
He won't follow in Lily and James' footsteps. That I'm sure of. The difference in personalities had almost been… disturbing.
He had seen traces of Lily's temper, but James… except for Harry's looks, there had been little to no similarity between the boy and his father.
Frankly, Filius was rather confident that Harry would end up a Slytherin. Though I can certainly see him joining my own House as well…
He didn't know how the boy did academically, but Harry was most certainly intelligent. But what did wondering help? All he could do was wait.
'Carpe Diem,' Filius incanted, his voice thick.
The door to his office opened. His papers on the Switching Spell - the topic of his article for Transfiguration Today - were still scattered all over the desk. It was a lot of work, but occasionally he liked to contribute something to a magazine, especially when it concerned his field of expertise.
Of course Switching Spells were technically classified as part of a branch of transfiguration, but in practice, they really were more of a charm.
Suddenly, he heard a knock behind his back.
'Filius?' a familiar voice asked from the other side. 'Could we talk?'
The Charms Professor hesitated for a moment. He was tired - exhausted, even… But perhaps talking to Minerva would provide him some closure. As it was, he doubted he would be able to sleep in reasonably early. He knew that the moment his mind lost a clear occupation, his thoughts would circle back to Harry. And Lily…
'Come in,' he said quietly.
With a wave of Filius' wand, the door opened. Minerva, still her prim and proper self, entered the office. Yet there was definitely something off about the expression on her face.
'How did it go?' she asked.
Filius remained quiet. 'I don't know,' he answered after a while. 'It was good to see him. He looks a lot like James. Has Lily's eyes. But at the same time…'
'How has he been?'
Filius scoffed. 'You should know better than to ask. Not well, that much is sure. He made his distaste over his aunt well known, even if he gave me no idea of how deep his feelings really run. He was extraordinarily closed off.'
'He didn't know about magic?'
'I-' Filus paused. 'I'm not sure. When I showed him the colour-changing spell he wasn't… amazed. He just stared at the carpet… as if he had realised something.'
'So Petunia really didn't tell him…' Minerva whispered.
Filius banged his fist on the desk. 'Of course she didn't. You didn't know Lily as well as I did, but you should have known that her sister is a miserable, evil woman. How long have you even known that he was with her and her pathetic husband?'
She swallowed. 'For a few months. I asked Albus about Harry, since I knew he'd be coming to Hogwarts this year. He told me that Frank had sent the boy to live with his… only remaining relatives - except for Lily, of course. I thought that perhaps Petunia and Lily had made up somehow. I couldn't imagine why she would even take Harry otherwise.'
Because of money.
'So you chose to look away…' he said quietly. 'Don't deny it,' he added, as she made a move to protest.
'I- I trusted Frank's decision. I can't fault that he didn't trust himself with one - let alone two children after the war. The loss of Alice… it really hit him hard.'
'That isn't an excuse,' Filius shook his head. 'But it doesn't matter. Things are how they are.'
For a while, he said nothing, and a tense silence hung over the office.
'Harry doesn't remind me much of his parents.' He paused. 'I'd be extraordinarily surprised if he ended up in Gryffindor.'
'Really?' Minerva asked thickly.
'Yes. All we can do is wait and see. I will pick him up first thing in the morning to visit his mother. He didn't even know Lily was still alive until I told him…' He shook his head. 'Afterwards I'll help him get his supplies and settle into a room at the Cauldron. He will never return to that house if I have anything to say about it.'
He'll snap if he's forced to remain there for much longer…
'I-' Minerva didn't know what to say. Eventually, she just lowered her head. 'Thank you, Filius. For caring… and for doing what I failed to.'
Filius shook his head. 'Don't thank me Minerva… Apologise to Harry.' He sighed. 'I- I would like to head to rest now, if you don't mind. I need to be up quite early tomorrow,' he told her.
It seemed like Minerva wanted to protest, but in the end she just nodded in defeat. 'Of course, Filius. Give… give my love to Lily.'
The man nodded. 'I will.'
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Good morning, day, or evening dear readers,
You have finished the Chapter. I hope you enjoyed it. I considered quite intensively, whether to include the scene with Flitwick and McGonagall in the castle, but thought it was a good idea in the end. It builds a clear picture on how Flitwick interprets Harry's behaviour, and provides some more answers to what happened the night of Halloween 1981.
In regards to the scene with Harry; I hope I did a good job trying to convey his emotions here. It was rather important to me to get it right, as it sets the premise for many of the future conflicts in the story. Let me know what you think in the reviews.
A thank you goes to my Beta for this Chapter - Jono. On that note, if you would like to join this project as a beta, feel free to join the discord and message me. I'd be glad to have you. The link is on my profile.
I think that's it for now. I appreciate the awesome responses I've received from you guys, and hope to provide you with more content soon enough.
Until next time,
Redd
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