Since he got picked for the Quidditch team, Harry could swear he was spending more time on the field than actually doing homework. He had to thank Hermione for helping him with that, even if she was more keen on guiding him when it came to the theoretical parts of it, and wasn't that eager to help him practice in the common room. With each instance, Harry couldn't help but think about the point Ana made that one day in the owlery. How were they supposed to learn magic, if it was mostly kept in the classes? Well, he was thankful they weren't supposed to brew potions at least, and he could just throw his cauldron in a forgotten corner, until next time he'd have to face Snape.
In his Quidditch uniform, as he walked on the field, behind Oliver Wood, and flanked by Fred and George, Harry wondered in what year his father got picked for the team. Wood had no idea, and Professor McGonagall was so busy that he never managed to catch her alone - she'd be going to one place or another in a hurry, mouthing off about Peeves, or dealing with an issue or another.
He took a deep breath. At the sound of Madam Hooch's whistle, Harry rose up with the others on his broom, and after throwing a look at his teammates as they placed themselves into position, Harry's arduous training with Wood kicked in, and he started looking for the Snitch, gliding above them as he hoped to see at least a glimmer of it. He listened to Lee Jordan's commentary, wishing he could be in the stands, if only to watch McGonagall's reactions up close.
And there it was. Right as Lee Jordan was announcing that he caught a glimpse of the Snitch, so had Harry, and it seemed that so had the Slytherin's Seeker. Soon enough, they were shoulder to shoulder, until Harry felt a jolt as a massive green wall appeared in front of him, in the form of the Slytherin's captain. The next moments were a blur as he held on for dear life on his broom, hearing Madam Hooch's whistle at the same time as both Lee and McGonagall had things to say about what had happened. Lee, about the foul, and McGonagall, about Lee's objectivity.
However, that was far from the only time he'd be holding onto his broom for dear life, as only minutes later it started jerking away from him, as if trying to throw him off. Harry held onto it, hoping someone was watching him, ideally someone that knew exactly what spell could be used to make him not break his neck. As if his broom read his thoughts, it moved him further and further away from the game, rolling and jerking like an unruly horse.
He'd seen a horse like that once, that kicked his Muggle rider down, and almost killed him in a wild frenzy. At that moment, Harry felt just like that Muggle, and wished he had his wand with him. His broom finally slipped from under his hold, holding onto it with one hand as he tried to swing his other arm back onto it. In his head, Harry pictured Gavril's Squib uncle. He'd come every summer to visit his nephew, and he'd come on a horse, and he'd shown both boys how to mount a horse safely. How to deal with an unruly horse. 'Put your arm over it and pull tight. Let it know who's in charge. Don't flail for help. Only God and this beast here are with you.'
From the corner of his eye, he saw his teammates as static, scarlet blurs, and noticed that even some of the Slytherins stopped to watch him, no one knowing what to do. He'd never had this happen on this or any other broom, and wished he'd read more from Quidditch through the Ages before Snape took it from him. All he'd seen similar to that was the Squib uncle riding the horse from one side, holding onto his neck with both hands. And Harry tried to repeat just that, waving his arm with such force he was afraid it would pop out any moment.
Right as he managed to swing his arm around the broom, the jolting stopped, just as suddenly as it had started. He settled himself back onto the broom, and adjusted his glasses back on his face. And that was when he caught the golden glimpse. Close to the grass. If he'd rush this time - surely he could get it. Surely he could.
Without even thinking, Harry gripped one hand tightly on the broom, and plunged to the ground, his other arm extending to catch the Snitch.
"Come to me, come on, come to me, come-" he beckoned at the Snitch, his heart beating in his throat as he whispered. Yet despite his fingers almost touching it, the damned thing decided its best course to escape his grasp was to fly towards him, right into his mouth. Harry almost threw up as he lost control of his broom, feeling its wings brush against the roof of his mouth. He let go of his broom and fell to his knees, pounding his fist into his chest.
The next thing he knew, he was waving the Snitch in his hand, shouting it at whoever would heat. He fixed his glasses and looked towards Lee Jordan, towards the enormous Gryffindor lion Dean Thomas made, and up towards his teammates, holding the Snitch up high as Oliver Wood raised his hands high and dived on his broom to him.
Drunk with excitement and his throat still hurting from almost swallowing the Snitch, Harry had almost forgotten about his broom going crazy, until, back in Hagrid's hut, Ron explained it was Snape, and how Hermione stopped him from making Harry fall from his broom.
Hagrid did not seem to believe him, and Harry felt it was only appropriate to mention what Snape did at Hallowe'en, trying to steal what the three-headed dog was guarding. Yet Hagrid seemed to focus more on them knowing about the dog's existence, and refused to tell them anything, while in fact providing them with a clue they did not know.
"If Hagrid won't tell us who Nicolas Flamel is, I'll just ask someone back home." Harry thought out loud to himself on the way back to the castle, not even noticing the confusion Ron and Hermione had on their faces as they looked at each other, behind him.
"Harry?"
"Yeah?"
"Harry, where is your home?" Ron finally asked, and Hermione nodded behind him. "You never said."
"Oh, yeah… Well, you never asked."
"In Modern Magical History it says you lived down south, with family from your mum's side, a Muggle family, right?" Hermione asked, and Harry turned around. He didn't want to lie to his friends, and he couldn't look Hermione in the eye, after she saved his life from Snape a mere half an hour ago, and lie to her.
"Wait, but there was a witch that brought you to the Platform, and you said then she's not-"
"We're not related, yeah." Harry nodded, and thought about it for a moment, before asking them both to wait.
The Gryffindor common room was in the middle of a party celebrating the winning team, and Harry barely managed to escape the grasp of Fred and Geroge, beckoning him with pastries and smuggled treats as he got a stack of photographs. He went back to Ron and Hermione, and sat down on the grass, still in his Quidditch uniform, asking them to sit down with him.
"I was supposed to stay with my Muggle aunt, like the books say, but it was too dangerous. I had to stay somewhere far away, in a place no one could find me easily, and where no one would recognise me… or care about the name Harry Potter."
"How come no one would recognise you there?" Ron asked, and Harry opened his mouth to explain, but Hermione had already started to explain.
"You-Know-Who wasn't interested in changing the world, he only cared about obtaining power in Britain. There was not a single recorded murder stemming from You-Know-Who's regime outside of British borders, and all foreign wizards who fought in the war had to travel to Britain. So when Harry defeated You-Know-Who… well, other countries congratulated us, but didn't celebrate it like Wizarding Britain did."
"Right." Harry nodded. "So.. I grew up in a village in Romania." While he said this, he looked at Ron. "I'm sorry I didn't tell you before mate, I just didn't know if-"
"I can't believe it!" Harry apologised again, but Ron shook his head. "And you said you met Charlie - how come he never told us! I can't believe him! Never said a thing in his letters, and calls himself a brother, huh!"
"I asked him not to… Sorry… again. Thing is, everyone knows who I am here. I can't do a thing, can't walk down the street without someone pointing or looking. There, I'm no one… and I like that."
"I get that." Hermione spoke up, and both boys looked at her, surprised. "When I first started to show magic, I turned my cousin's Holly hair green once - I really didn't like her, she'd always mock me. Everyone called her Moldy Holly for a week, until she got her hair dyed a week later. And other things too…" She kept raising her shoulders as she spoke, until half of her head almost disappeared under her robe, the visible half turning into a bright red.
"Well, when my parents told my cousins and aunts that I'm a witch, that's when it all changed. They've always looked at me funny since - I'm not just their cousin, or just a niece anymore, I'm the witch now. And it's great, but it's also just…"
"Exhausting." Harry saw her struggling for the word, and Hermione nodded. "Hagrid knows where I live. I think Dumbledore knows too, Lena always mentions it. Oh, right. So, that's Lena, well, Magdalena. She raised me."
Harry pulled a picture from his stack, showing two women on a porch. One of them, an old, gray-haired woman, was sitting down and smoking a cigarette, looking off to the side of the photograph and motioning for someone to come. The other, a young woman with dark hair caught in a long braid, stood propped against a wooden beam, gazing at the audience with bright, vivid eyes, furrowing her brows from time to time.
"That's Magdalena." Harry pointed at the younger woman. "And that's Avizina, she taught Magdalena wizardry. That's who I was going to ask about Nicolas Flamel. She's like a book, knows anything you ask her. I've told Lena about the package and Gringotts, but she hasn't said a thing about it, so I'm worried she'll keep quiet, like Hagrid. Avizina's different, she always tells you everything."
"Look at that - is that… stuck?" Ron pointed to another photograph, a static one, as it was taken by a Muggle camera. In it, a bunch of men and boys, Harry among them, were grinning at the camera. Most people in the picture held musical instruments in their hands, holding them high above their heads.
"It's a Muggle picture."
"Yeah… That's my friend from back home, Gavril." Harry pointed at the boy next to him. Gavril was a head taller than Harry and two years older, and wore his hair in a low ponytail. They were the youngest two in the picture, and the only ones without instruments. "He's a wizard too, that's his family. Well, the men. Some of them aren't wizards, so all photos are taken in the Muggle way."
"Oh, my dad would go mental over this. He loves Muggle stuff." Ron took the photograph in his hand, and poked at it with his finger.
"So, Harry, do you speak Romanian then?" Hermione asked, excited for the opportunity.
"Lena didn't mean to teach it, said I should learn English since I have my spot at Hogwarts, but… I picked it up."
"Oh, that's so cool! I learnt French when I was in Muggle school, is that like French at all?" Harry shrugged, saying he didn't listen to much French. "Est-ce que tu me comprends?" she asked, and Harry smiled sheepishly.
"Sorry, that doesn't sound like much to me. I got 'tu me', sounds like 'you to me' in Romanian. Is that right?" Harry asked, and was amused to find out that it was kind of correct. "Maybe you'll have more luck with Ana. Ana from Hufflepuff, you know her." Harry specified, as Hermione appeared to not know who she mentioned. "She's Romanian."
While Harry busied himself telling Hermione about his first interaction with Ana, Ron continued looking through Harry's pile of photographs, until he found a familiar one.
"Did you ever find out who this is, or what it says on the back?"
"What's that?"
"It's a picture from Harry's parents' wedding day." Ron pointed to the dark-haired man, showing Hermione the picture. "See, this bloke here. We've been trying to figure out who he is, but the details got wiped off with magic. We've been trying to figure out how to make the ink reappear."
"So wait… if I have this right. We have… one three-headed dog guarding something inside Hogwarts, someone called Nicolas Flamel involved, and now this man." Hermione raised one finger for each mystery, and raised three up.
"And how to stop Snape from killing me."
"Four things." Hermione raised another finger.
"And how we can best shove this Quidditch win in Malfoy's face." Ron raised his entire palm, and both Harry and Hermione raised their palms and high-fived him, in a motion almost automatic.
Harry couldn't help but breathe a sigh of relief a few days later, seeing Hedwig flutter her wings excitedly over his bowl of cereal. The letter he received was thick, written on an enormous piece of parchment. In her old age, no matter how much she would squint and struggle, Avizina simply refused to wear glasses, and the handwriting was enormous. Thankfully, it was written in Romanian, which meant no one else at the table could decipher it, even if the wanted to.
Harry my love,
I welcome your letter to me. I am well, and so is Niculai. He will be very happy to hear from you, old man has been going mad saying he needs to show you something, only to remember you're not even here! And to think he's younger than me, I should dump him one night, and let the dogs eat him. But enough about my old man.
I'm very surprised you've been learning about Nicolas at school. Back in my day, we wouldn't even cover Flamel and alchemy in the first few years! And from what I remember, alchemy hasn't been taught at Hogwarts for quite some time.
Saying you've looked through books on him surprised me even more. You must not have looked enough! That's a skill you'll learn with practice. However, since you asked me nicely and sent me those chocolate frogs, I'll tell you in a few lines.
To be honest, from what I know myself, you won't find much in writing, apart from lines anyway. Nicolas has always been an isolated and private person, never liked fame, refuses to talk more than pleasantries with anyone known for writing any sort of books. And those he talks to know to respect his privacy.
Nicolas is the only known man who ever managed to create eternal wealth and life. About half a millennium ago, he created the Philosopher's Stone. Him and his wife managed to
Harry stopped reading, and folded the letter carefully, his hands trembling as he did so. He looked at Ron and Hermione, and motioned for them to follow him. He couldn't relay the contents of the letter with others around.