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I really appreciated them!
Hope you'll enjoy this new chapter!
Christmas holidays! The lights, the laughter, despite the short days and the cold. But that was for the others. I hadn't even been allowed to set a toe outside the Dursleys' garden since the holidays began. In three days, it would be Christmas. Aunt Marge was due to arrive tomorrow, and until then, I had to wash, tidy, polish, sand, and make the house shine from top to bottom. Everything had to be perfect.
So, for the past two days, I had been getting up before dawn to meticulously carry out the tasks Aunt Petunia assigned me, working until I could finally collapse into my cupboard at night, exhausted. This way, I was "helping" the household, and I was also too tired even to consider sneaking off to my garden—if I had even thought I could go there without being caught.
Since my first beating from Uncle Vernon, I had been hit once or twice more, for various reasons, though the punishment had never been as severe as that first time. I was beginning to grow accustomed to this new reality, where my uncle raised his hand against me directly instead of simply issuing reprimands and leaving the punishments to his wife. What hurt the most, though, was that I could no longer return to my garden. During the day, my time had been filled with school and chores, and now that I was on holiday, my aunt had made sure I didn't have a single moment to myself. At night, I could no longer sneak out. My uncle had installed alarms on the doors and windows, so that a shrill siren would go off if anyone opened an exit on the ground floor (fortunately, the upstairs wasn't rigged the same way, or Dudley would probably have woken us all up countless times).
That day was the last bit of peace before the arrival of the hag who was Uncle Vernon's sister, and I had to clear the icy, snow-covered driveway leading to the front door, then put up decorations and a Christmas tree in the garden. Thanks to the effort, I didn't feel the cold despite my worn-out jacket. After a while, I lifted my head, giving my aching arms a brief rest, and I saw it. My favourite cat, sitting on the wall as if it had always been there.
How long had it been watching me? I had no idea. But I dropped my shovel and gave it a broad smile. It approached me without hesitation, and I scooped it into my arms.
"I've missed you so much," I whispered as it purred. "I'm so glad you're here."
Alas, this brief moment of comfort had to end quickly, for I saw Dudley and his friends approaching down the street. I motioned for the cat to hide, picked up my shovel, and got back to work. Of course, when the great whale and his gang reached me, I was pelted with at least ten snowballs aimed at my head and coat. But I managed to catch three or four and dodge most of the rest. In the end, only one hit my collar and melted under my jacket, and I considered myself lucky—it wasn't stuffed with pebbles. Disappointed by my reflexes, the gang went inside to have their tea, laughing, and leaving behind wet footprints that I would probably spend the evening cleaning up.
Everything went as expected, and when I was finally able to lie down, I fell asleep instantly.
The next morning, as soon as I had prepared breakfast, I was sent back out to clear the driveway again because it had snowed overnight. Fortunately, the cat kept me company. It had appeared the moment I stepped outside and hadn't left my side since. I had completed half my task when Aunt Petunia, in a hurry, came out of the house with Dudley, shouting at me:
"We're going shopping! This had better be perfect when we get back! Vernon and Aunt Marge will be here at noon—I want everything to be spotless! And whatever you do, don't touch the food! I'll handle it myself, or you'll end up doing something strange again!"
oOo
And with that, she was gone. I was surprised that she had left me on my own like that, but when I looked at the pile of snow still left to clear, I realised I had just enough time to finish before lunch, and if I disappeared, it would definitely be noticed. So, I sighed and got back to work.
After a few minutes, the cat started meowing as if it wanted us to go for a walk, but I gestured at the snow and shook my head.
"I've got at least two more hours of this, sorry. I'd love to go to the garden too."
At my words, the cat sat down obediently, watching me work.
A quarter of an hour later, Piers appeared, demanding in an authoritative tone to know where Dudley was. I calmly explained, and in frustration, he kicked the pile of snow I had gathered from the driveway. Strangely, the pile seemed to have grown on its own since Piers had arrived. He didn't notice and eventually walked off, grumbling. I looked around for the cat, and it reappeared just as I threw the last shovelful of snow onto the heap—an hour earlier than I had expected.
I smiled at him and said, "Looks like I've done something weird again. Oh well, no one will know this time. Let's go to the garden—I haven't been there in months."
oOo
And so, the cat and I ran together down the almost deserted street. At that hour, people were likely busy preparing lunch or avoiding the bitter cold. As I reached the corner, I spotted Piers among a small group of Dudley's friends, about thirty metres away. They were heading in the opposite direction, so I hurried on, hoping they wouldn't notice me.
After ten metres, when no cry had gone up to start a Harry-hunt, I relaxed a little.
I reached the garden without trouble and stood in silent awe. I had missed it so much! The freshly fallen snow covered everything in an unblemished white blanket, and a ray of sunlight caught the rounded shapes of the stones and the tree buried beneath the snow, making the white sparkle into thousands of rainbow-like crystals.
I made my way to the arbour where I kept my crate of books. The snow hadn't reached there, and my books were untouched.
The cat sat still, watching me, almost as if it were smiling indulgently. I shot it a mischievous grin and grabbed a handful of snow, flinging it at the cat with a quick flick of my wrist.
And so began a chase that lasted a good fifteen minutes. The cat was nimble and quick, and though it couldn't throw snowballs at me, it managed to shake the branches of the tree just as I passed beneath them, sending cascades of snow down onto my head.
I forgot everything that darkened my life—the punishments, the chores, the scorn and indifference, the deprivation... I laughed freely, and I could feel the cat sharing my excitement.
Eventually, we both collapsed onto a snowdrift, exhausted. I slowly became aware that I was completely drenched. Oh well. If Aunt Petunia even noticed, she'd just scold me and blame my state on clearing the driveway.
I dusted myself off thoroughly and made my way back towards the Dursleys' house with a brisk pace. It wasn't until I reached their garden that I realised I had been followed.
Piers, standing behind me, with a smug smirk.
A cold dread gripped me. I wondered anxiously how long he had been there.
As if he knew exactly what I was feeling, Piers took his time approaching me, moving like a predator stalking its prey. Time seemed to slow as he opened his mouth—his words could either doom my sanctuary or release me from my fear.
The cat had vanished the moment I was no longer alone, as usual, leaving me defenceless.
Just then, Aunt Petunia's car turned the corner and pulled up beside us. She immediately started haranguing me to help unload the shopping.
Piers turned away to join Dudley, but as he did, he uttered the words that sent an icy chill through me:
"Nice garden, Harry. I think I'm going to have a lot fun with it..."
oOo
I wanted to run after him, to beg for mercy, anything rather than what he might do now that he knew I had a sanctuary and its exact location. But before I could do anything, my aunt's dry voice called me to order. Tense, I watched as Piers and the whale disappeared into the house. Under pressure, I tidied everything away. I obeyed every one of my aunt's orders. I was desperately trying to come up with a plan to speak to Piers alone and force him to keep quiet. But a voice in my head kept repeating, "Too late, too late, it's already too late..."
And the cat had disappeared. I had no ally, nothing.
Aunt Marge arrived. Dudley came down for dinner, looking surprisingly pleased, mirroring the expression that had danced across Piers' face as he shook his hand and said, "See you later," leaving us to eat "as a family."
Dudley knew. Dudley knew. What could I do? And, more importantly, what were he and Piers going to do? I couldn't calm down, couldn't think clearly.
And, no doubt because of all the pressure, I spilled some sauce on Aunt Marge's jacket. I cleaned it up as quickly as possible, only to receive a scathing remark about my parents. A remark quickly followed by a flood of others. According to her, my parents had been stupid, depraved alcoholics—my mother probably a whore, my father a good-for-nothing, likely a drug addict. Wrecks. Rubbish.
And for me, it was too much, too sudden. I couldn't answer, I didn't know what to say. I wasn't allowed to answer. I screamed. An inarticulate scream of frustration, and I ran outside. I didn't stop until I reached the alleyway. I climbed over the fence. I threw myself against the wall, I hit myself—so what? My frustration, my rage, needed an outlet. So did my fear. And I had nothing to offer them. I got up abruptly, not knowing why. To destroy? To punch? To throw useless punches into the snow?
But then the cat arrived. It rubbed against my leg. I pushed it away, and it meowed in surprise. I looked at it. It was two metres away, looking hurt—if a cat could even wear such an expression. I realised the distance was my doing. I had sent it flying instead of just moving aside. I had hurt it. I collapsed on the spot, and my rage faded. I cried. It approached me slowly and curled up against me.I started telling it what had just happened—Piers, Aunt Marge. I had only just begun to calm down when the cat suddenly tensed, leaping from my arms with a hiss.
I spun around in one movement and found myself face-to-face with Piers, his face alight with glee. He was holding a baseball bat in one hand, casually playing with a lighter in the other.
"Well, hello, Harry, your family will be pleased to know I've found you... They have plenty to say to you... And I think it's going to be very funny to add my personal touch to this garden..."
I was almost horrified to hear myself begging: "Please, no, not the garden, I'll do whatever you want!"
He simply burst out laughing before swinging heavy blows with the bat against the ground, crushing the plants beneath the snow and shattering a pot. The cat leapt at him, much faster than any normal cat, and clawed his face. But as it jumped back to put distance between them, the bat struck it mid-air, and it hit the ground, motionless.
For a moment, stunned, I threw myself at my tormentor, forgetting for an instant that he was older and stronger than me. In truth, I didn't even forget—I just didn't care. I only wanted to stop him, to avenge my cat, to protect my garden, to vent my rage, my frustration! The fight didn't even last two minutes. I was on the ground in seconds, a mouthful of snow between my teeth.
He knew how to fight. I didn't.
He ate his fill every day. I didn't.
All I had was my rage, and it was powerless against a baseball bat.
Without paying me any mind, he continued his methodical destruction of my sanctuary. I tried again to stop him, only to be rewarded with a bloody nose and, no doubt, bruises that would appear within hours.
Finally, he completed his work by setting my books alight with his lighter. I tried to run, to gather snow and put out the growing flames... He slammed me harshly to the ground, and all I could do was watch as my treasures went up in smoke. Why was I so weak? Why was he doing this? I wanted to cry, but there was too much rage in me, and I refused to give him that satisfaction. I would have my revenge. Yes, I would have my revenge. Why couldn't I send him flying? Why couldn't I control the strange things I could sometimes do?
My eyes fell on the motionless form of my cat. It might be dead... There was nothing I could do. I had been able to do anything. When Piers twisted my arm behind my back and forced me to stand, I didn't resist. He marched me into the was waiting for us. They dragged me back to the Dursleys' house, Piers gleefully recounting his rampage to his best friend.
I didn't resist. I had lost everything, hadn't I? But deep inside me, I felt a knot of anger, and I knew something had changed. I could not imagine submitting all my life.
I remained indifferent under my uncle's and aunt's scolding. I didn't react to Marge's remarks. I didn't scream when my uncle took off his belt and beat me in the bathroom. I didn't answer when they locked me in my cupboard with orders not to come out until the 26th. No, none of that.
oOo
I lay in wait within myself, nursing my rage and my pain. Now, I had a choice: surrender, or act. And anger made my decision. That night, after midnight, when they were all asleep, I put on my clothes, layering my two T-shirts and trousers, and my coat, worn to the thread.I wrapped myself in my blanket. I stepped out of the cupboard. Cautiously. I went to the kitchen to gather some food and wrapped it in my blanket. After some thought, I added a sharp knife, carefully wrapped in a tea towel.
To avoid triggering the alarm installed by my uncle, I climbed to the first floor, into Dudley's second bedroom—the one where he stored all the toys he no longer wanted or had broken. As quietly as possible, I cleared the window and then opened it wide. The icy air hit me, but I didn't back down. Not now.
I climbed onto the window ledge. The snow below would cushion my fall. Wanting to minimise the drop as much as possible, I gripped the edge of the window with my fingertips and looked down. Suddenly, it seemed so high... I couldn't convince myself to jump. But as my fingers began to slip, I simply let go.
I landed—without the slightest grace—on my backside, the impact painfully reminding me of all the blows I had received that day. Gritting my teeth, I got up, limping. I had to get to the garden. I had to see if the cat was still alive. If not, I at least had to bury it. I walked towards what had become the ruins of my sanctuary, crying silently. But I didn't allow myself to break down any further. I had to stay firm, stay strong—or at least make myself believe that I was. From now on, it would only be me. Me, and the cat—perhaps. But I couldn't let myself hope. Because, as I had just painfully learned, hope was always disappointed, and everything we cared about was eventually taken away.
I would not return to the Dursleys. I would fend for myself. And one day, perhaps, I would come back for revenge. Such were my thoughts as I climbed over the garden fence for what would be the last time. Anxious, I looked to where the cat had fallen.
Nothing. Just a hollow in the snow and paw prints leading away. Despite the darkness, I could see them clearly. Relief flooded me.
I hadn't realised how much I had hoped, how badly I had wanted it to still be alive. But while the moonlight revealed that it had survived, it also showed me the full extent of the destruction. This garden was no longer mine. The cat's footprints led to the arbour, then back towards the street. So, there was nothing left for me here. The cat hadn't waited for me. I could leave.
I allowed myself one last moment of weakness before departing. I sat beneath the arbour. I cried. I only stopped when the cold had numbed every part of me.
oOo
Minerva McGonagall halted at the entrance of the narrow alleyway. Should she approach the child in her human form or as a cat? The feline form was familiar to him, and the child trusted it, but the old witch suspected that, this time, a cat alone would not be enough to comfort him.
He had escaped through the window of his guardians' home. Did he even intend to return?
She had a fleeting thought for the Christmas feast she would likely miss—something that would surely earn her questions from Albus—before shaking her head in irritation. There were more important matters at hand.
Having made her decision, the cat slipped into the alleyway.
Ooo
I clumsily tried to get to my feet, my task made difficult by my numb limbs. When I finally managed, I picked up my blanket, and the knife slipped from it, clattering against the stone slabs beneath the shelter. I was about to retrieve it when I heard a meow behind me. I turned as quickly as I could and saw the cat. It looked perfectly fine, staring at me with an expression that seemed strangely human—half-concerned, half-pleased.
I reached out hesitantly, but it backed away.
For a moment, it hesitated, standing still. Then, with a soft pop, it vanished—leaving in its place a woman wearing a long emerald-green cloak. She looked rather old, her skin lined with wrinkles. Her grey hair was pulled into a severe bun, and she wore square glasses, just like the markings that had framed the cat's eyes. And her eyes—now fixed on me—held a mixture of worry and reassurance as she smiled gently.
I froze, unable to comprehend what was happening. She spoke before I could break free from my shock.
"Good evening, Mr Potter. Please, don't panic. It's difficult to believe, but I am the cat who has been following you since the beginning of the year, and—"
Seeing my lack of reaction, and the panic beginning to rise in my eyes, she abandoned her formal tone, stepping closer to place a hand on my shoulder.
"Mr Po—Harry? Harry? Are you alright? You're frozen…"
Her voice softened further.
"I have so much to tell you, but first, let's get out of here, alright?" she asked, slipping into a more familiar tone without realising it.
I had no idea what was happening or who she was, but when she took my hand, I clung to her tightly. She cast me one last worried glance, calmly picked up the knife, then, with a small shrug, pulled me into a firm embrace. Almost immediately, I felt as though I were being squeezed through a narrow rubber tube. And then, just as suddenly, we were… elsewhere.
We stood in a dark alleyway, which opened onto a bustling street filled with multicoloured lights and what seemed to be a lot of people. The woman gently loosened her grip on me, but she didn't let go of my hand. I stammered, struggling to form words.
"What…?"
She cut me off with a simple reply:
"Wait a little while. I'll answer your questions soon—let's just find somewhere warm and dry first, alright?"
That sounded like a good plan.
Abandoning any attempt to understand, I followed her towards the lights, still holding onto her hand. I never knew one could go from complete despair to such unexpected joy so quickly. I knew the reverse well enough—every time life had offered me the briefest glimpse of light, it had been snatched away just as fast.
But this…
oOo
Now, sitting at a small wooden table in a modest London hotel room, I was slowly recovering from my emotions. Apparently, we had Apparated to the capital. For over an hour, Professor McGonagall had explained the wizarding world to me—magic was real. I was a wizard.
She told me about my parents. About herself. About Hogwarts, the great school of witchcraft and wizardry, where I would certainly be welcomed as a student next year. Because no—what I had been doing wasn't monstrous. It was accidental magic, something perfectly normal for young wizards. And she—she was an Animagus, a witch who could transform into an animal. She had been the cat that had accompanied me since the summer.
She had explained so many things…
I felt good now. Tired, sore, my head full of new words and strange concepts—but good. At one point, a tray of tea and Christmas biscuits arrived—some dusted with icing sugar, others coated in colourful frosting. We ate them together, and then it was her turn to ask questions. She wanted to know what had happened since she had lost consciousness. And she was deeply vexed about that—a powerful witch, knocked out by a Muggle wielding a mere piece of metal…
I told her everything, leaving nothing out—not even the beating my uncle had given me. I trusted her. After all, hadn't she lived by my side for weeks?
When I finished, she asked me to remove my shirt. I obeyed without hesitation. I trusted her. She pulled a small wooden stick from her pocket—her wand—and waved it over me, muttering words I didn't understand. The effects were immediate. Within minutes, my bruises had faded, my wounds had closed, and even my glasses and clothes were in good shape. I thanked her. She smiled in return before declaring that it was definitely time to sleep.
She gestured towards the bed and then walked over to the fireplace, taking a small pouch from her pocket.
"I'll return to Hogwarts for the night, Harry. I'll come back for you in the morning, alright? Then we'll discuss what needs to be done."
I was glad she kept using my first name. It made me feel closer to her—like we had somehow maintained the familiarity I'd had with the cat. I nodded, watching as she threw some powder into the flames and spoke in a clear, firm voice:
"Hogwarts Castle, McGonagall's office."
She vanished in a burst of emerald-green fire, leaving me alone in the room. Strangely, despite everything that had just happened… I fell asleep almost instantly.
A lot comes down in this chapter, Mc Gonagall reveals herself... What do you think will happen now? I'm looking forward to your feedback!
