Disclaimer: All the characters in this story belong to JK Rowling, and I have no rights to Harry Potter.
THE VANISHING GLASS
Date: June, 1991
Locations: Styncon Garden, Bristol Zoo.
Nearly ten years had passed since that nightmarish night, where the Potters' house was invaded by Voldemort. And though that home had been reduced to rubble, James, Lily and Harry lived comfortably in the Potter family home, a large farmhouse located half an hour east of Bristol, named Styncon Garden, after the oldest Potter anyone knew, Linfred of Stinchcombe, a man who loved wizards and mundanes alike, and had a habit of giving his potions to unsuspecting midwives and mundane villagers in the area. He also grew a lot of unusual plants, at least unusual to mundanes. And though the garden had changed plants as many generations of Potters cultivated the herbs and flowers they each liked best. There was also a very large library, filled with books from all places of the world and different times. The home was filled with old magic tucked in the wards, which was modified heavily by Potters over the years to allow for modern mundane conveniences, like electric lights, radio, telephone, televisions, video game consoles, stereos and other appliances, lest the ambient magic act like an electromagnetic pulse, disabling any and all electronics in the area. There was a grandfather clock in the living room, which chimed every hour, like a normal clock, but also chimed at 3:33 am and 7:06 pm. There were drawers that opened only on rainy days and some that never opened at all. And it wouldn't help anyone to start talking about the attic. That could take another ten years.
There were many portraits hanging from the walls, all of wizards and witches with kind smiles. And on the mantlepiece, sat new pictures, of a young couple and their young son. These pictures did not speak the way the portraits did. They did not admonish you to comb your hair or advise you to watch out for the loud buzzer that sounded when you stepped dead on the centre of the fourth stair, the way the large hanging paintings did. These photos were either regular mundane photographs, or they moved, a single moment being replayed over and over again. On some of them, you could hear laughter.
The pictures were of James and Lily and Harry, and of Harry growing from a tiny baby to a strong ten-year-old boy. There were pictures of Harry with his cousins and there were pictures of Harry with his parents and with his uncles. There were pictures of the Potters on vacation around the world, in Spain and Italy and Australia and America and the West Indies. Harry was much skinnier than the chubby baby in the earliest photographs, and he was a spitting image of his father, with hair just as dark and unruly, with the same wiry frame, but miniaturised. But he had his mother's brilliant green eyes. And – his most prominent feature – he had a thin scar on his forehead, vivid and blood red, shaped like a lightning bolt. He was quite proud of that scar, most of the time.
When he went out in the magical world with his parents, there were witches and wizards everywhere who knew his name and the scar on his forehead. It was important, whatever it was he had done. But Mum and Dad didn't tell him anything more than, "It's the mark of something great and something terrible. We'll tell you when you're older." Those were the days he wasn't proud of his scar, the days Mum and Dad spoke in hushed whispers, with voices full of something sad.
Today, however, there was nothing to be sad about. The sunlight filtered in through the window of Harry's bedroom, the one past the stairs, but he rolled over and pulled his pillow over his face. He wasn't ready to be awake yet! Until Mum called from the living room, "Rise and shine, Harry! Uncle Sirius is almost here!"
His feet were flat on the floor in a second. Sirius Black was Harry's godfather, and his favourite uncle. He and Dad were practically brothers.
The best thing about Uncle Sirius, in Harry's opinion, wasn't even the loud, flying Triumph Bonneville, or the daring tricks he could do on a broomstick. The most exciting thing about Uncle Sirius was his love of everything that got adrenaline in a person's bloodstream. Whenever Harry went out with Uncle Sirius, it was an adventure. To movies with too much blood and gore for his ten years, like the last James Bond movie, to fast food restaurants, to amusement parks and actual haunted houses with real ghosts.
Of course, he went out into both worlds with his parents, but every trip out with Uncle Sirius was a unique experience.
Today, Uncle Sirius was taking Harry to the zoo. It was a weekend, near the end of Year Five, and it would be filled with mundanes.
James and Lily had put Harry in a mundane school, with a plan to study mundane subjects by the post after he went off to Hogwarts, but he hadn't made it past reception. Not that he wasn't smart. All of his teachers were impressed with his work. It was the students he didn't get along with.
He'd been strictly ordered to not answer questions about his scar, not that Harry actually knew anything about it, or talk about magic in school. So, when a student inevitably asked him, he would quietly mumble something about a staircase or a broken mirror, like he'd been told to. He ended up teased by some of the older students for his awkward answers, but his good-natured spirit allowed him friends. Still, there was the unfortunate matter of his magical abilities.
Most magical children could not do much more than break a glass when they were upset, or maybe levitate a small object if they concentrated on it hard enough. Their magic was uncoordinated and untapped without proper training. Harry, however, performed rather intense spells for a child. One time, he'd shrunk a sweater he hated wearing enough to fit his Luke Skywalker action figure, just by insisting they wouldn't fit. Another time, he'd gotten a hold of his father's broomstick (instead of his, which was enchanted to stay well below fifty feet and miles per hour) and zipped halfway to Cardiff before his parents caught up to him. At six, James said it was more miraculous than dangerous. Lily had disagreed. The worst was when he was rough-housing with his cousin, Neville, and accidently ended up on the roof of the house. Harry and Neville were then taught breathing exercises and meditation to control their magic.
Harry was ten now, eleven in the summer, and he'd be going to Hogwarts that autumn with Neville. Hogwarts would teach him how to be a proper wizard, with his own wand and everything. And there would be Quidditch and duels and so much more. He truly couldn't wait.
Until then, it was the mundane school, the occasional quidditch or football game, and playing around with Neville.
Harry ate his eggs and toast as fast as he could, "Just because you finish faster doesn't mean he'll get here faster," Mum scolded, but Harry didn't listen. He swung his legs anxiously while she tried to comb his dark, unruly hair flat. It was a fruitless effort, but a battle Mum hadn't given up on, ever since he could remember.
"Make sure you talk about magic quietly when you're out today."
"Yes, Mum."
"And Uncle Sirius is not allowed to fly the bike while you ride on it. Don't let him."
"Yes, Mum."
"And don't talk to mundane strangers. They're not like wizards. They-" But she was drowned out by the deafening roar of a motorbike. Harry downed his orange juice in one gulp, shouted "Yes, Mum!" and ran to the door.
Just in time for James to walk in, barely awake, hair as messy as his son's, and eyes bleary. He squinted about the dining room as he cleaned his glasses with his t-shirt. "Sirius here?" he asked and yawned.
"Just pulled in," Lily smiled and kissed his cheek. "I'll tell him you aren't decent."
He snorted. "I've never been decent around that man."
"Just decent for me, then?"
"You get both sides of me," he said with a grin and tugged at her dress. Lily swatted his hand away and went outside to make sure Sirius wasn't flying off with her only son.
The spring day wasn't exactly cold, but Sirius was still dressed in a leather jacket, with thick black boots laced up over his jeans. His long black hair hung loose to his shoulders, and he was grinning wide as he picked Harry up in a hug.
"Won't be able to do that much longer," he laughed as he set Harry down. "You'll be as big as your dad soon."
With Harry out of his arms, Sirius pulled Lily into a hug and planted a kiss on her cheek. "Jim out of bed yet?"
"Barely," she smiled at him. "Did you get breakfast?"
"Yes," he laughed. "Thank you."
"Let's go," Harry pleaded and climbed onto the sidecar. He grabbed his helmet, complete with a lightning bolt on the front – he and Uncle Sirius had both agreed it was perfect; Mum and Dad weren't that amused, and sat in his seat. Mum made sure he was buckled in safely.
"I know how to take care of him," Sirius sighed.
"I know, I know. I trust you." Lily smiled, but she still felt that stone of fear lodged in her heart. Ten years had smoothed it, but hadn't worn it away. "And no flying," she said, though she'd lost count since the first time Harry got on that bike.
"No flying," he agreed with a grin. "Jimmy'd probably transfigure and collar me if I did."
"Glad you see it our way," she smiled, then kissed Harry's cheek. "And you'll be careful-"
"Yes, Mum," Harry said with exasperation so far above ten years old he could have only learnt it from James and Sirius.
"Alright, alright, go," she smiled and stepped away so Sirius could mount the bike.
With a roar like a lion, the bike took off down the driveway that connected the Potters' estate to the other houses in the countryside.
Harry sat patiently, as he always did, enjoying the way the countryside passed them by in a blur of colours. He loved the way it felt like riding a broomstick, but somehow more dangerous – perhaps because of the loud noises the engine made and the constant jerking as they rode along uneven roads.
The road that led away from Styncon Garden eventually turned into a smooth highway through the Cotswolds, then the scenic countryside became the suburbs, and the suburbs gave way to the bustling city of Bristol.
The zoo was exciting. There were lions, tigers, penguins, rhinoceros, giraffes and all sorts of animals Harry had never even heard of (like coyotes). Uncle Sirius mentioned a few magical creatures that would be interesting to see – hippogriffs and unicorns and hippalektryons.
"You'll learn all about those at Hogwarts, though," Uncle Sirius said with a smile.
"I can't wait!" Harry said as he walked past the kangaroos. "Dad says I'll have to wait to play Quidditch, though."
"First years can't," Uncle Sirius agreed, "but you'll have plenty else to keep you busy. Astronomy and Charms and Transfiguration." He had a secretive smile on his face.
"And Defence Against the Dark Arts!"
"I'm sure you'll be great at that."
Harry was ten years old and excitable, but he wasn't unobservant or ignorant. He noticed Uncle Sirius' tone shift and it made him feel uncomfortable. He knew his parents were excellent in Defence Against the Dark Arts – they were decorated Aurors, after all – he'd overheard stories when they thought he was sleeping, and he knew he could be just as good. But whenever he brought it up around his family (and Uncles Sirius and Remus were family), they would get very quiet. The same tone of voice they used about his scar.
Harry went over to the reptile house, trying to think of a way to broach the subject of his scar with Uncle Sirius. Mum and Dad had always said, "when you're older," which was the most irritating answer he could get.
"That's for your mum and dad to say," was Uncle Remus' answer.
Uncle Sirius was the only one who'd accidentally let a secret or two out. One time, Harry had gotten him to say, "You saved the country," and he thought it seemed silly for his parents to be so secretive about something so wonderful. Then Uncle Sirius had added. "A lot of good people died," and it wasn't at Harry – Harry knew Uncle Sirius was thinking aloud and hadn't meant to say it at all. So, Harry hadn't said anything, but had filed that away under reasons that maybe his scar wasn't so great at all.
He paused at the display of a sleeping boa constrictor. It was huge, large enough to wrap around Mum's Range Rover, and if the description of the creature on the plaque was anything to go by, it would break it in half. It sounded so frightfully dangerous, but it looked so harmless, curled up and sleeping.
He heard his uncle's noise of disgust behind him. "Not much for snakes, I'll just uh, wait outside then?"
Harry only shrugged, rather interested in the snake. It sounded like such an exciting creature, but stuck behind a glass for people to stare at and annoy – like that obnoxious couple tapping on the glass.
Maybe that was why Harry was excited to go to Hogwarts. At Hogwarts he could find out who he was, and what his scar meant – all the secrets his family wouldn't tell him. At Hogwarts there would be teachers who would know, surely. Then again, the teachers might have all the same answers his parents did: "When you're older."
But he couldn't wait until he was seventeen. That was far too long. Surely other students would have answers. Students who had parents who knew. Older students who would have maybe learned in their classes what had happened that was so amazing all witches and wizards knew about it, but so sad that no one in Harry's family wanted to talk about it.
The obnoxious couple moved on, tired of the sleeping snake. The moment they moved on, the snake opened its beady eyes and slithered towards Harry. Then it raised its head so that its eyes were level with Harry, and it winked.
Harry grinned back. "Uncle Sirius might think you're creepy, but I think you're alright."
The snake lowered its head, as if to say 'thank you', and Harry couldn't help but think that it was smiling at him.
"Harry, you still in there?" Uncle Sirius' voice came from behind. "Do you want to see the birds, a few of them are as colourful as phoenixes."
Harry glanced towards the end of the reptile house, where he could just make out Uncle Sirius coming in. He smirked, knowing how Mum would not approve of how loudly he said 'phoenixes.'
Harry looked back at the snake. "Guess I'd better go,"
The snake turned its head towards the exit just as Harry did, and Harry hated to see how sad it looked. He didn't know how he knew it was sad, but he knew. It must have not known anything past those glass walls, People staring at it, day in and day out, with nothing to do. At least Harry had a broomstick, even if it was enchanted to stay below fifty feet.
"Harry," Uncle Sirius called again, and Harry could see him a few feet away. He reluctantly pulled away from the glass and walked towards Uncle Sirius.
"Really into that snake?"
"I think it liked me," Harry shrugged, and glanced over his shoulder.
"Better you than me, mate. Come on, let's-"
Harry turned around when Uncle Sirius stopped talking, and Harry's eyes went wide. The snake slithered out of its glass enclosure and onto the floor. There was no broken glass, no sign that something had broken it out of its cage, just pure open space between the enclosure and the walkway, and pandemonium erupted.
As it slithered past, Harry swore he heard the snake say "Thanks".
"Harry," Uncle Sirius started in a choked voice.
"I didn't mean to make the glass disappear. I didn't even think about it, I just-"
"No that's fine, we'd better get home." Uncle Sirius replied as he grabbed a hold of Harry's hand, and started for the exit of the zoo.
Mum and Dad were finishing lunch when Harry got home with Uncle Sirius.
"You're back early," Mum said as she hugged Harry.
"How was it?" Dad asked, but frowned at Uncle Sirius' grim face. The three adults disappeared into the kitchen and closed the door behind them, leaving Harry to help himself to lunch. He made himself a sandwich and crouched at the door to listen.
"You're sure that's what happened?" Mum asked.
"Positive," Uncle Sirius answered.
"I'll call Dumbledore," Dad said.
"And what do we tell Harry?" Mum asked.
"When he's old enough-"
"He'll be off to Hogwarts soon. We can't keep it from him any longer."
"Then we'll tell him when he leaves."
The conversation seemed done at that point, so Harry quickly went back to the table and pretended he hadn't heard a thing.
That evening, at a very quiet dinner, after Uncle Sirius had gone home, Harry said, "I didn't mean to make the glass disappear. It was an accident."
Mum and Dad seemed very surprised at his confession and both got up and came to hug him.
"We're not upset with you for that," Dad said.
"We're not upset with you at all," Mum corrected.
"We just worry about you."
And Mum knelt so she was eye level with Harry. "Did you talk to that snake today?"
"Sort of. It winked at me."
"And what did it say?"
"Just 'thanks', for the glass, I suppose."
"Talking to snakes is a very rare gift," Dad said. "Even among magicals, so be careful who you tell about it."
Harry felt like he suddenly understood the whispers and anxiety of the evening. Of course, Uncle Sirius would be upset with Harry for talking to snakes. Uncle Sirius hated snakes. Harry still wasn't sure what talking with snakes had to do with Dumbledore, but he didn't really care about that. Dumbledore was nothing more than an interesting man his parents knew, like the Minister of Magic, who was a sweet old lady who always gave Harry chocolate when he was younger.
"Can I tell Uncle Remus?"
"Of course," Mum said with a smile. "Remus is family."
"And… can I ask a snake to take a nap on Uncle Sirius' motorbike the next time he comes over?"
Dad grinned. "I'll help you find a snake myself."
Author's Notes: This was first written sometime in the summer of 2023, when I read AidanChase's incredible "Harry Potter: Everyone Lives AU". You can call this series of stories my version of that story, but I have changed quite a few things in the story, as I had a few qualms with that fic. I have finished about 3/4ths of the first book so far.
I had no intention for posting this, until I was encouraged by a few friends to do so. This is my first story on the site, so constructive criticism is welcome.
To read the original series of stories that inspired this, search for "Harry Potter: Everyone Lives AU" and you will get the AO3 link for the entire series.