~An Emerald amongst a Sea of Stone~

Chapter One

On the Twentieth of July, thirteen-year-old Harry Potter spent his evening in the darkness of his cupboard.

Why would a teenager spend a summer night locked away in an entirely-too-small closet below his home's staircase?

Harry wasn't too sure himself.

His relatives - Aunt Petunia, Uncle Vernon, and Cousin Dudley were out eating dinner in a Chinese Restaurant a few streets away. As per usual, he had remained at home.

Not out of choice though. Even insinuating that he wanted to come along would have undoubtedly had him punished with another few days of dinnerless nights.

He'd considered watching some TV - but despite his boredom, that form of entertainment didn't really seem appealing to him. It was a lazy form of entertainment, he felt like - allowing pictures and voices to prattle down onto you for hours at an end, often without even giving the events on the screen any deeper thought.

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 night.

Books, he found, were preferable over people. They were useful, rational, disambiguous, and entertaining.

It wasn't a stretch to say that he missed school. It might have been a ridiculous thought for most of his peers, especially considering that he lacked friends and was the class nerd, but in Harry's book, any time away from the Dursleys was good time.

Even the darkness of his cupboard beat being in the presence of his despicable relatives.

A yawn escaped him. 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.

Waking up in the middle of the night was a common occurrence for him - not that it was a bother. It gave him the chance to sneak some food from the fridge while everyone else was asleep.

It was a bit ridiculous, of course, that he - whose uncle and cousin together weighed in at over 500 pounds - had to sneak any food at all. But who said that the Dursleys weren't just that? Ridiculous.

To Vernon and Petunia it seemed totally reasonable that his portions were a third the size of his Dudley's - quite ignorant of the fact that Harry towered his cousin by nearly half a foot.

Sometimes he wondered why he hadn't just been given up to an orphanage. It would solve all the problems they claimed they had, after all. He knew the answer to that question well enough though.

They'd lose their little servant.

From an early age he'd been taught to do most of the chores around the house - from cooking breakfast, over weeding the garden, and cleaning the staircase, to polishing the countertop. And if he didn't? Starvation and beatings would follow.

Anything that needed to be done, and was inside his capabilities, Harry did.

But all he could do was wait for another five years until he finally reached his majority and was allowed to get out of this shithole. 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. He'd felt guilty for it at first, but…

It wasn't as if he hadn't tried to improve his situation the honest way. Finishing his chores before the time, getting straight A's in school, always being on his best behaviour whenever guests visited.

It was never enough.

The countertop wasn't shiny enough, his tests, he had cheated on, and the label of freak never seemed to leave him.

He had once craved acceptance and acknowledgement from his family - wanted to make them proud. Now… now he knew not to be so foolish as to believe that was possible anymore.

Harry had realised that the mistreatment had never been about himself. He had done all he could.

And so, he felt negligible remorse about stealing food from them. Honestly - 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.

Their dimwittedness is their only beneficial quality…

In his estimation, his nightly adventures to the kitchen were the only things that kept him from reaching the point of chronic malnutrition… again.

Indeed - getting enough food had not always been as easy for Harry as it was now. What had changed? Well, the answer to that question might have sounded like a tale to most.

As every guardian right of mind should, the Dursleys locked Harry in his cupboard overnight. Why?

So he couldn't sneak any food, of course.

It might have worked with any other kid, but Harry… He had always been a rather… unusual one. Why? Well, the answer to that was complicated.

Saying it simply - weird, supernatural incidents liked to happen around him - and had for as long as he could remember.

They included a wide range of things.

A teacher's hair turning blue. Teleporting into the library. Fixing a broken vase without any glue. And - of course - opening his cupboard from the inside with just a thought.

He still remembered the night of his first escape from the cupboard perfectly. It was the day right after having once again lost the local contest for Little Whinging's best yard to their neighbours -

Vernon had been furious, of course, and Petunia - the yard being her one and only pride besides Dudley - even more so. And naturally, Harry had become the scapegoat - he 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 churning in his gut, his mind endlessly circling around the desire for food. He had been brought to the edge of tears within the walls of his cupboard - just because he couldn't bear the hunger after the third day.

The last night of seven had been the worst. He'd screamed into his pillow, begging for someone - something to come save him - hoping for just anything to free him of his imprisonment.

He'd hoped for a breeze blowing in through the bathroom window and lifting the door-hinge high enough for him to escape; For Vernon to stumble down the stairs in pursuit of 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 to his amazement, 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 fruitless labour, he had managed it again - with the help of a book on meditation he'd found in the library.

If he ever told anyone the story, they were sure to never believe him. Not that there's anyone I could tell a story to in the first place, he figured with a lazy smirk.

By now, he had even adapted his repertoire of… tricks into other areas of his life.

Catching seemingly impossible passes during PE. Willing a gush of wind to blast a tilted-back Dudley off his chair. Their field of use was rather small, yet his powers still managed to brighten up his life considerably.

There were boundaries he couldn't hope to surpass, no matter what he tried, but that was only natural he supposed.

Repairing broken toys worked to an extent, changing an object's colour too, but the teleportation thing that had brought him into the library he was yet to replicate. He just couldn't reproduce that weird feeling of being pressed through a very tight tube before suddenly appearing somewhere else. But most unfortunately - any attempt to cause violence with his abilities had proven to no avail.

It was quite unfortunate really, that he couldn't use his powers to do the one thing he desired most - to resist the mistreatment he received at his relatives' hands. He had hoped for something - fire, explosions, choking - but despite his efforts, nothing-

CRACK!

A sudden bang echoed in Harry's ears, making him shoot up from his cot and groan in pain as he hit his head on the low ceiling. He blinked. The sound had come from outside the house, hadn't it? Why then had it still been so bloody loud? It was almost like he could still feel the walls vibrating.

Maybe it had just been a car crash? Perhaps the Dursleys are finally done for, he mused briefly. Though that seemed rather unlikely.

For just a moment he considered staying inside his cupboard, but after all, it was rather rare that something worthwhile happened at Privet Drive - it being the perfect street with a never-ending scenery of white fences, beige walls and neatly manicured lawns…

He pushed the door to his left 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 moved to open the door, but just as he placed his hand on the perfectly-polished, silver knob, the bell rang.

A frown appeared on his face. I have a weird feeling about this.

He opened the door.

A small - no, tiny - man stood in front of him, clad in an attire that made Harry think he was from the eighteenth century. His robes were wide and colourful - entirely too large for his small frame. Had he worn a red, spiky hat, 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 mouth, hidden beneath an unruly moustache, twitched upwards. Harry blinked.

The man gave him a kind smile.

'Harry, isn't it?' he asked.

Harry's frown deepened. He nodded.

The man held out his hand. 'Filius Flitwick,' he offered. 'I was a friend of your mother's.'

A friend of my mother's?

There was just about nothing he knew about his parents except for their names. Petunia had always preached that Lily and James Potter had been homeless drunkards, but believing her would be a first for Harry.

Who is this guy?

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, considering the dwarf's choice of attire, but the fact that the man had mentioned his mother, was enough for Harry to hear him out.

'I'm afraid my… family is currently otherwise occupied,' Harry said regally. 'My Aunt and Uncle are out tonight.'

An unreadable 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. He kept his eyes trained on Mr. Flitwick, as he closed the door and led him into the kitchen.

'Would you like a glass of water?' he asked, pouring one for himself.

'Yes, please,' the man accepted gratefully.

Harry poured another one, and moved into the living room, where he offered for Mr. Flitwick to sit down on one of the armchairs. Harry took the seat opposite to the man and for a few seconds, silence hung over the living room of No. 4 Privet Drive.

'So… Mr. Flitwick, wasn't it? 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… Said that you were to end up in her care under no circumstances. I-'

Mr. Flitwick stopped.

'I apologise. Perhaps I should first ask what you even know of your mother, Harry.'

Just what is this guy's deal? Harry frowned, giving the man a calculating look.

'I know that she was called Lily,' he answered slowly. 'My Aunt likes to refer to her as a homeless drunkard. Not that I… believe anything that comes out of her mouth. To me it always felt like she was… jealous of her for some reason.'

A restrained chuckle spilled from Mr. Flitwick's lips. 'Yes, she would be. It is the exact reason why Lily would have never wanted you to end up in her sister's care. She knew Petunia well - better than anyone else.' He paused. 'Would you like to know some true things about your mother?'

I… would. Harry nodded.

'I suppose I should begin by explaining her relationship to me. After all, there is a reason why I am here,' Mr. Flitwick murmured. 'I first met your mother over twenty years ago, when she first enrolled into my class at the age of thirteen.'

A teacher… Truth be told, Harry could see it.

'She was a talented child - enthusiastic and bright, kind and compassionate. She was a brilliant student and an even better friend.'

Mr. Flitwick sighed again.

'I was taken with her from the start. Her… excitement was simply contagious. I couldn't say no to her - not ever. To this day, she has remained my favourite student, and one of my dearest friends.'

Harry waited for the man to continue.

'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 you would grow up with living parents.'

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…

'Not that it mattered in the end,' Harry murmured, a bitter taste appearing on his tongue.

Mr. Flitwick swallowed. 'No. Despite their best efforts, they were found. 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 murmured to himself. 'Why?' he asked tonelessly. 'Who were those enemies?'

Mr. Flitwick's demeanour darkened. 'We call them Death-Eaters. They followed a powerful man, insistent on revolutionising the country, no matter the sacrifices.'

We… He said we. The man's story wasn't making any sense. Had his parents been part of some criminal organisation? Had they been spies? He eyed Mr. Flitwick suspiciously.

'There's something you haven't told me,' he said, a calculative glint in his eyes. 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 and I were born a wizard.' He paused. 'I can provide some proof, if you'd like.'

Harry didn't respond for a moment. He stared at the man, before briefly nodding. For some reason it doesn't seem like he's lying.

Mr. Flitwick pulled a short, pale-blonde stick out of his pocket. He gave Harry a brief smile before carefully pointing it at the carpet under their feet.

'Colovaria,' he said loftily.

Aunt Petunia's favourite beige carpet turned bright orange. Harry's eyes widened in surprise. That's… that's something I can do… My tricks… He looked up at Mr. Flitwick.

'I'm a wizard as well, aren't I?' Harry asked.

The man chuckled. It was a hearty sound, yet it carried a tone of sadness. Mr. Flitwick nodded.

'And you're here to offer me a place at your… school or something. You're a teacher, after all. Nevertheless…' Harry murmured.

Surprise was evident in the man's face. 'You are perceptive,' he

conceded with a small smile. 'I can explain, if you wish.'

Harry nodded.

'Where to begin?' the man murmured. 'Well then. You must know, Harry, that when your parents were attacked, they were both outnumbered and unprepared. James 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 them with him… but in the end, he was forced to die a noble, noble death.'

Harry didn't show any visible reaction.

'The three remaining intruders proceeded to go after you and Lily. They followed you into the nursery, where… another fight ensued. 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 might consider it a fate worse than death. Sometimes… I think I would agree. The spell she was struck with was, and still is, one of the most feared in the country. A piece of magic so foul, cruel, and distasteful that casting it on another fellow wizard or witch carries a life sentence in prison.'

He paused.

'It's name is the Cruciatus Curse. The spell targets a person's nervous system, creating indescribable, excruciating pain for the target. Torture of the most terrible kind. Your mother was kept under the spell for a little 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 as a desert.

'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. It is likely that… that she never will again.'

A heavy, leaden silence hung over the living room now. 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.

'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 questioned firmly.

Flitwick seemed to carefully choose his answer. '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 wanted to 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. He forced himself up from the chair.

Mr. Flitwick drew his wand and Harry felt a gust of wind knock him back down. He directed an angry glare at the man.

'She is not worth it. You have 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 he suddenly felt composure settling in, his demeanour cooling off.

'You're right,' he exhaled. You haven't told me the name of my mother's torturer yet.

'Can I visit her?' Harry asked quietly.

Mr. Flitwick was quick to nod. 'I will take you the first thing in the morning if that is what you wish. Though there is one more thing I'll have to adress.'

Harry nodded to himself. 'Right. You still want to invite me to that school of yours. Go on then.'

It was easy to tell that he was making the man uncomfortable with his demeanour. 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.

Mr. Flitwick smiled. 'Of course.'

The man pulled an envelope out of his pocket and handed it to Harry. It was sealed by a splotch of red wax, a large H stamped into it.

'Your acceptance letter for Hogwarts School for Witchcraft and Wizardry,' Mr. Flitwick explained. 'Britain's premier school for magic. Open it,' he prodded.

Harry did.

Dear Mr. Potter,

We are pleased to inform you that you have been accepted 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 noticed the foreign words.

'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 to enrol, of course. There is a place called Diagon Alley in Downtown London. We will be able to buy all of the necessities there.' He paused. 'There is also an… inn in the Alley, where you would be able to spend the rest of your summer.'

'I accept,' Harry nodded. Like there ever was a question…

Professor Flitwick smiled, before once more waving his wand. The movement conjured golden digits into the air.

'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 will pick you up in the morning, eight perhaps? We will visit your mother, and head to Diagon Alley afterwards,' Flitwick suggested.

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 granted access to the family vault.'

There were a lot more questions Harry needed answers to, but Professor Flitwick stopped him in his tracks before he could even open his mouth once more.

'I know there is much to explain, but if I tried covering it all, we would never go to sleep, I'm afraid. For now, I will simply ask you to keep your temper in check until tomorrow. If you do what I ask, I will make sure that you never have to see Petunia or any your other relatives ever again.'

Harry's lips thinned as he gave the man a nod. I want to get out of here. But that doesn't mean I can't get my retribution.

'Alright,' he agreed. 'This is it for tonight, 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. It is a crime 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.'

'Good night, sir.'

'Good night, Harry.'

The door shut with an audible click.

As Filius stepped back inside the walls of the castle, a deep breath escaped him. He had not known what to expect after departing from the Great Hall, but what he had found… had been anything but comforting.

Harry was extraordinarily sharp. It was the first thing he'd noticed about the boy. For his age, the child chose his words exceptionally carefully, and any shows of emotion had been… sparse.

The cold anger the boy had shown for his aunt had been concerning, but Filius was confident that Harry would keep his promise - a reason for calmth perhaps; But something about the boy's cool demeanour throughout the entire conversation rubbed Filius the wrong way.

Not that it was a surprise.

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.

Still… there was nothing they could change now. And regardless of that… the main culprit in all of this was most likely still Frank.

Filius didn't necessarily think there was any negative intent behind the Lord Longbottom's decisions, but that Frank had been neglectful of his responsibilities was all but certain.

Harry's peculiar reaction to being told about, and shown magic was another thing that irked his mind. Every single muggle-raised child he'd met in the last thirty years - except for Lily - had been in awe any magic displayed.

Filius had expected the boy's eyes to widen, for him to ask questions upon questions… But instead, Harry had hardly reacted at all - rather, a calculating glint had entered his eyes. The demonstration had even 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 could ask the boy about it in the future, but for now, Filius was rather sure that Harry was intent on not sharing his thoughts behind the matter. Harry seemed to be closed off to a fault, and was anything but easily approachable - that much he'd been able to tell immediately.

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 was little to no similarity between the boy and his father Filius could immediately discern.

Truth be told, Filius could easily see Harry ending up in Slytherin. Or perhaps Ravenclaw. He hadn't inquired about Harry's academic success, but the boy was most certainly intelligent.

'Carpe Diem,' Filius murmured.

The door to his office opened. His paper on the Switching Spell - the topic of his article for Transfiguration Today - still laid scattered all over his desk. Authorship was always a lot of work, but occasionally he liked to contribute something to a magazine - especially when it concerned his field of expertise.

Switching Spells were technically classified as transfiguration, but in practice, they really were more of a charm.

A knock echoed against his door.

'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 talking to Minerva was inevitable. Likely he wouldn't be able to sleep for quite some time anyway.

'Come in,' he told her.

With a wave of Filius' wand, the door opened. Minerva, still her prim and proper self, entered the office. Despite her usual posture, there was definitely something off about the expression on her face.

'How did it go?' she asked thickly.

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. 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 chuckled humourlessly. '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 Petunia 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. The past cannot be changed.'

For a while, he said nothing, and a tense silence enveloped the office. Eventually, Filius spoke up again.

'Harry doesn't remind me much of his parents.' He paused. 'I'd be extraordinarily surprised if he ended up in Gryffindor.'

'Really?' Minerva inquired weakly.

'Yes. But 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…' 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.'

I have a feeling he'll snap otherwise…

'I-' Minerva seemed like she 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.

She nodded in defeat. 'Of course, Filius. Give… give my love to Lily.'

The man nodded. 'I will.'

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

Edited: 15.09.23