Chapter 1: The Boy Who Never Was

There was a certain kind of trick to having the best garden in a wizarding village. Number 12, Marsh Road was famous throughout the countryside for having the most extravagant puffapod patch in Godric's Hollow. Some speculated that it was perhaps better than the ones in pureblood communities. The old wizard who frequently tended them often blushed and preened whenever someone complimented them. It was such a frequent occurrence that he had long since developed a kind of performance for the exchange.

They would greet him and say something like, "Those puffapods are positively glowing. You must be so proud!" and he would often respond with a wrinkly hand over his old heart. "Yes, yes. I'm very proud of them, and of my wonderful grandson who has tended them the past few years as these old hands are no longer suited for the rigors of the garden." Ah, yes. The old wizard would often shift their attention to his wonderful grandson, Harry. Oh yes, he is a talent on and off the quidditch pitch, the old wizard would say. When the conversation inevitably shifted back to the secret behind his amazing puffapod patch, the old wizard would glance around briefly as if to make sure there were no spies. He would then lean in with his long flowing beard twitching and his eyes twinkling and say...whatever silly thing popped into his head at that moment. And just for good measure, he would wink at them before continuing on with his day.

The old wizard got requests for the secret to his puffapods quite often in the small, sea-side village of Godric's Hollow. From the moment he stepped out from his door, his cul-de-sac neighbors would greet him amicably before inquiring after his beloved puffapods with hungry shark-like smiles and designs on taking his viciously coveted "Best Garden" trophy. But that simply would not do. Not on his watch. However, outside the annual competition, his neighbors were quite wonderful, actually. Mrs. Jameson in particular always had a sweet for him to try when he'd pass by her house during his morning stroll to feed the birds on the beach. Then, he'd take the long way back to his home, past the small Floo Post and the local Odds and Things. He then often found himself stopping in to sit through lessons at the Gryffindor School for Magical Children to watch the next generation of witches and wizards turn their matches into needles. Sometimes, if he were in a particularly good mood, he'd offer a tip or two to the students or he might give an introductory lecture on magical theory. If he were being honest, he missed teaching every day, but those days were long gone now. The old wizard had made too many mistakes. No. His days as a dedicated educator of young magical minds was over. He was now only dedicated to his grandson, Harry.

Today was not the day that he would be stopping by to offer old knowledge to young minds. Today, the old wizard stopped into Odds and Things to buy what he was sure would be a small token of congratulations to Harry. And, if not congratulatory, perhaps sufficiently conciliatory. Before walking through the doors, he stopped to appreciate warmth of the day. The sun and the sea breeze often made for a delightful combination. He took it as a sign of good fortune and made his way into the shop.

"Mornin' old man. I've got your standard at the counter here whenever you're ready," the shopkeeper said with a bright smile in his direction. He was a lovely young man and the old wizard often chatted with him on his daily walks.

"I appreciate your readiness, Stewart," the old wizard replied. "While I find myself mildly chagrined at my predictability, I also feel most fortunate for the steady supply of lemon sherberts."

"You're the only one who likes the little buggers, old man. Not exactly hard now innit?"

"Alas, you are right. Might I trouble you for a recommendation," the old wizard asked. He had an idea of what to get Harry, but a second opinion never hurt.

"Sure thing, mate. What can I do ya for?"

"Well, my grandson is likely to receive his acceptance letter today and I would like to get a second opinion on a congratulatory gift."

"Oh!" Stewart smacked himself on the forehead. "Of course! How could I forget? How is young Harry then? Still a right demon on a broom is he?"

"Yes," the old wizard said with a chuckle. "His father's talent for quidditch remains strong."

"Too right, old man. Everyone round here though ole Jimmy Potter would've been a shoo in for the national team, once a upon a time. Shame what happened to him and the misses, yeah?"

The old wizard took off his glasses to clean them of non-existent dust as a queasy feeling settled into his stomach.

"Yes, my dear boy," he eventually responded. "It was a tragedy. I will go browse the shelves. Have the robes I ordered arrived?"

"I'm not sure. Let me check the back, yeah?" Stewart shambled off into the room behind the counter.

"Take your time," the old wizard said.

He spent the next few minutes trying to decide on what to get Harry. Perhaps a special edition of chocolate frogs? Harry was an avid collector, having inherited his father's extensive collection. No, he could get that from anyone. This would be a momentous occasion, one that only happens once in a lifetime. Harry deserved to have something special, something that only he could give him. Actually, that wasn't a bad idea. The old wizard quickly made his way back to the front counter.

"Your new robes are in old man. Although, I gotta say purple robes with bright green cats on them is a bit of an eyesore doncha think?"

"My fashion choices are merely a reflection of my humor, my good man. I'm also not quite accustomed to the latest in wizarding fashion. I prefer the old cuts, you know?"

"Understandable. Me wife's hands must have a permanent sticking charm with the way she stays glued to Gladrags. She forced this new get up on me, saying that I need to start looking more professional or somethin'."

Stewart's robes were part of a newer style of wizard robes, where the length was cut off at the knee rather than the ankle and the sleeves were slimmer and tapered at the wrist. Above a left breast pocket sat the Odds and Things logo embroidered with a golden thread against plain black.

"One can never go wrong with a crisp dress shirt, tie, and slacks, Stewart. I think you look rather handsome. Your wife may be on to something."

"Sure, sure. First, it's the shirt. Next thing you know, my hair is full of sleekeazy's and I've got my bloody finger nails painted. It's a real slippery slope with that one I tell you."

"That is the beauty of marriage is it not? I confess that I myself have never been close enough to someone to have the wonderful connection you share with dear Helene. Yet, I would be remiss if I did not offer the observation that you seem quite happy all things considered."

Stewart stared at the old wizard like he'd just been asked which way you were supposed to hold a wand. The obvious answer being by the handle, of course. But that was neither here nor there.

"You old people sure are annoying sometimes you know that?"

The old wizard laughed. "Well, being reminded of the truth can often be quite uncomfortable. However, I must be on my way soon. Might I have a moment with your current selection of warding materials?"

"Sure thing, old man. I'll get these hideous robes and your candies packaged up for you quick and proper."

Stewart waved his wand at a closed off burgundy curtain and he quickly made his way to the back to pick out the base material for a handcrafted congratulations gift. The old wizard firmly believed that the best gifts indeed came from the heart, and if the gift was also practical, more's the better. He took his time examining the various stones and raw gems, examining each with the experienced eyes of a master alchemist and life-long student of magic. It also helped to have stylish half-moon glasses enchanted to reveal auras to the wearer.

Eventually, he settled on a rather unattractive storm-cloud greyish purple stone no bigger than the palm of his hand. Though the stone looked aesthetically unassuming and unappealing, his mage-sight enchanted glass showed him that the raw amethyst was practically oozing magical potential bordering on near volatile. Oh, he would have to be careful with this one. The benefits outweighed the risk of working with such magically saturated marvel of nature. He grabbed the nearest containment case, a simple wooden container which should hold off the latent magical energy long enough to get it into his workshop. Yes, this would do nicely. The old wizard returned to the counter with the stone and the wooden container.

"Going with the amethyst then old man," Stewart asked.

"Yes. I have decided that Harry would perhaps enjoy a handmade gift from me rather than a store-bought trinket."

"Wait a sec, is he competing the triathlon today?" Stewart placed the items in a paper bag before handing it over.

"Yes, and if memory serves, he has a chance to be the first person to ever win three consecutive British Triathlon trophies, and he is likely a lock for U-17 athlete of the year."

"Bloody hell, old man," Stewart said with wide eyes, his eyebrows nearly pressed into his hairline.

"Yes, quite. Harry is quite the gifted young man. His parents were that way as well."

"What are you feedin' him? Dragon hearts or something?"

The old wizard chuckled. "Nothing but the finest Welsh Green, of course."

Stewart laughed. "Well, it's nice to see a local chap bring a bit of prestige as it were to Godric's Hollow. You tell him we'll all be pullin for him, yeah?"

"I will, Stewart. Thank you. Give my best to your wife if you don't mind," the old wizard said as he began to leave the store.

"I will!"

Before he could leave, Stewart asked a question that chilled the old wizard's bones.

"Oi, old man," Stewart called out. "They ever find out who did it?"

The old wizard sighed as the cold sweat of grief on a hot day bloomed on his cheeks.

"No," the old wizard said. "No one knows who killed James and Lily Potter."