Autumn for the Two. The First Moment of Eternity

As they approached the Dursley's house, Minerva slowed her pace and turned to Harry. ‘Mr. Potter, if you wish, you can wait in your room while I talk to your relatives.’ Harry mentally shuddered. ‘I'd rather stay with you,’ he said, quickly. ‘Very well… and,’ the woman paused, ‘could you clarify what happened to your letter?’ ‘Uh, well…’ ‘The Dursleys tore it up,’ Tom answered for his friend with a hint of satisfaction. ‘Now, really,’ McGonagall muttered, quickly turning away so the children couldn't see her expression, ‘well, that's quite… unexpected.’ She knocked on the door, Harry took a deep breath behind her, the sound of footsteps came from inside the house, and a moment later, in the opened doorway, all three of them could see half of Petunia Dursley's face who was looking suspiciously at the visitors. ‘Who are you? What do you need?’ she asked warily, giving the professor a hostile look. ‘Good afternoon, my name is Minerva McGonagall. I'm a professor at Hogwarts and I'd like to…’ she didn't have time to finish speaking as Petunia grunted softly and tried to slam the door in her face. ‘No, you don't,’ the irritated witch snapped sharply and waved her magic wand, after which the door suddenly swung open, pushing Harry's aunt deeper into the corridor. ‘How dare you?!’the woman shrieked. ‘Get out of my house right now!’ Tom followed McGonagall in and leaned on the railing, grinning with satisfaction and clearly expecting fun, he really wanted to see this strict sorceress pin Harry's ugly relative to the wall like a collector's butterfly, or if possible turn her into a bug. Potter himself looked miserably at Petunia, wondering what had angered McGonagall so much. ‘Mr. Potter,’ Minerva said calmly to him, ‘enter the house and close the door behind you.’ The boy hastily obeyed, for some reason the harmless phrase coming from the mouth of the Transfiguration professor sounded like a death sentence. About thirty minutes later, the main stream of swearing had dried up, and Petunia was exhausted. Harry was relieved that neither Uncle Vernon nor Dudley were at home, otherwise there would have been twice as many screams and they could have lasted into the night. The boy was amazed at the composure with which Professor McGonagall listened to all these terrible insults, the woman didn't express anger or displeasure even once, she just waited until Mrs. Dursley had enough and when she fell silent, she only smiled coldly. ‘Are you done?’ Minerva stepped forward, and Petunia hastily moved back, looking at the witch with a mixture of anger and fear. ‘As a teacher at Hogwarts, Deputy Headmistress, and representative of the Board of Governors, I have come to you with an inspection of how you are coping with the guardianship of young Mr. Potter,’ McGonagall said. ‘Perhaps it would be more convenient for us to go into the living room for a conversation.’ ‘He's not going anywhere,’ Petunia snapped, ignoring the professor's words. ‘Not only have we fed and given him water all these years, but now you want us to put up with all his horrible tricks?!’ ‘You know perfectly well that your nephew has been enrolled at Hogwarts since the moment he was born,’ Minerva said coldly, ‘so I don't understand what for are all these objections now.’ The witch turned to the dumbfounded Harry, who was blinking at his aunt, then at the professor. ‘You knew?’ he blurted out when Petunia met his gaze. ‘You knew about Hogwarts?’ ‘Of course I did,’ the woman spat out contemptuously, ‘my sister was just as freaky as you.’ ‘And you didn't tell me anything?’ there was indignation in the boy's voice now. ‘You said that my parents were drunkards, that they died in a car crash!’ ‘What a vile lie!’ for the first time in the entire conversation, there was an ill-concealed anger in McGonagall's voice. ‘Did you expect me to brag that my crazy sister turned out to be an unnatural freak?’ Petunia snapped. ‘Like her disgusting husband and that boy?’ she glared at Harry, who shivered involuntarily. ‘Don't you dare,’ Minerva hissed very quietly and threateningly, resembling an angry cat, ‘insult James and Lily Potter! They were talented, exceptional wizards and wonderful people! How could you lie to their son that they've died in such an absurd fashion?! You knew that…’ ‘What do I care about how my sister and her husband got blown up?’ Mrs. Dursley interrupted the witch. Harry thought that it was very rash of her, for some reason it seemed to the boy that Minerva McGonagall was not the kind of person who would tolerate being spoken to in such a way for a long time. Suddenly, the meaning of his aunt's words came to him. ‘Blown up?’ he repeated, turning a blank look at the Deputy Headmistress. ‘What do you mean, blown up?’ ‘They were murdered, Harry,’ Minerva replied very quietly, looking apologetically at the boy, ‘they died protecting you.’ Harry shook his head, either denying the new information or just trying to make sense of it. He felt anger rising in his chest, mixed with a burning sense of guilt. For eleven years, he was ashamed of his own parents, blindly believing the nasty things that his aunt and uncle told about them, thought that they had died in a car crash, and now he finds out that all this was a lie. That they were respected and loved, that they didn't abandon him, but died… trying to protect him. The boy squeezed his eyes shut, he couldn't find the strength to look at anyone now. He was so ashamed of himself, how could he believe that lie even for a moment? How could he despise his parents? They protected him. They protected him at the cost of their lives. But he… such an ungrateful, terrible brat… A hand fell on his shoulder and Harry opened his eyes, meeting Tom's gaze. His friend squeezed his shoulder a little in silent support and smiled bitterly. ‘You didn't know,’ he softly said, as if he could read his mind, feel what he felt, ‘don't blame yourself.’ ‘I believed them,’ Harry grimaced, ‘I'm such a fool…’ ‘That is unthinkable,’ Minerva exhaled in the meantime. ‘Why did you do this? Was it so important to make a child ashamed of his family? Of his power?’ ‘What do you mean “power”? I'm ashamed to even look into our neighbour' eyes just because this boy lives with us, and you expect me to approve of the freakish antics he performs in front of everyone?’ ‘He's a wizard and you knew about it.’ ‘We tried to get that filth out of him! Eleven years we spent trying to make the boy a normal person, and then you show up…’ Petunia hugged her arms around her shoulders and turned sharply, heading to the sitting room with Minerva following close behind. ‘I will not tolerate any magic in my house! I've had enough of my crazy sister!’ Out of the torrent of insults, Minerva latched onto just one phrase. ‘Get it out?’ she repeated silkily. McGonagall and Petunia froze in the middle of the sitting room. Harry and Tom sat quietly on the sofa, holding their breath as they watched one thoroughly irritated witch and one exceptionally shrill woman lock horns in a verbal duel. ‘What, pray tell, might that mean?’ ‘The boy needed discipline,’ Potter noticed that his aunt no longer seemed quite as self-assured; something in the witch's gaze had clearly unsettled her. ‘We did what had to be done!’ ‘Oh,’ a terrifying smile flitted across McGonagall's lips. ‘And what exactly did you do?’ Petunia stiffened, her teeth clenched as she stared resolutely at Minerva. ‘Perhaps you'd care to share the brilliant method of child-rearing you employed over these eleven years,’ the witch suggested in a voice as smooth as silk, ‘to make a wizarding child stop being wizarding?’ In that phrase, spoken in a calm, emotionless tone, there lay something far more significant than a mere question. Even Harry could sense it, though he didn't fully grasp why his aunt's confession had angered the professor so much. Suddenly, Tom intervened. ‘Harry, why don't you show the professor where you live?’ he suggested innocently, a sweet smile directed at Petunia. ‘I'm sure Professor McGonagall would like to see your room.’ Minerva turned to the boys, immediately noting the gleam of anticipation in Archer's eyes and the mix of fear, shame, and indignation in Harry's as he glanced at his friend. ‘Is there something you'd like to tell me, Mr Potter?’ she asked calmly. The boy shook his head at once, casting a wary look at his aunt, who had gone alarmingly pale. ‘Perhaps you'd like to tell me how your uncle and aunt have cared for you?’ Potter shook his head again. ‘No, ma'am.’ ‘You're saying there's nothing you wish to share with me?’ she pressed. ‘Are you perhaps afraid of something?’ ‘No, ma'am. Everything's fine, ma'am,’ Harry blurted out, his words tumbling over each other. The last thing he needed was to embarrass himself in front of this stately, self-assured witch. What was Tom thinking, stirring this up? Why did it matter where he lived? ‘Nothing to say at all?’ ‘Yes, ma'am… I mean, no, ma'am,’ Potter stammered, as a chilling thought slid through his mind. What if, upon learning where he slept, Professor McGonagall decided he wasn't suitable? That he couldn't be a wizard? Wizards didn't sleep in cupboards under stairs. Normal people didn't sleep in cupboards, full stop. The professor would immediately realise that there was something wrong with him. And though Tom had said a hundred times that it was his relatives who were freakish, Harry couldn't shake the feeling that something was wrong with him. After all, something had always been wrong! At that moment, Archer leaned forward and opened his mouth to say something, but Potter immediately grabbed his arm and shook his head in warning. ‘Don't you dare,’ he mouthed silently. ‘If you won't say anything, I will,’ Tom declared with exaggerated pomp. ‘I think it's important…’ ‘No!’ Harry shot a glance at Minerva and his aunt, who had grown suspiciously quiet. ‘No, it's not important at all!’ ‘Mr Potter,’ sighed the witch, clearly aware there was something far more serious at play than she had initially assumed, ‘I promise no harm will come to you. I just want to see the conditions in which you live.’ The boy stubbornly frowned, remaining silent, but his friend nudged him with his elbow. The look in Tom's dark eyes said it all: “I won't keep quiet.” Harry glared at him in frustration for a moment before finally turning to Minerva. She noted how, behind his outward irritation, he was struggling to mask nervousness and fear. ‘All right, all right,’ he muttered, hopping off the sofa and heading towards the hallway. McGonagall followed him. Tom stayed behind, lounging on the sofa with a sweetly innocent smile that clashed starkly with the vindictive glint in his eyes as he stared down Petunia. Even then, Minerva was certain about which house this boy would eventually be sorted into. When Harry stopped in the middle of the hall and opened the cupboard under the stairs, the Transfiguration professor didn't immediately understand what he was doing. But as he stepped back with a disgruntled mutter, revealing the cupboard's contents, her confusion gave way to deep shock, which quickly transformed into a blazing fury. The sight of the crooked, old bed with its greyed, threadbare sheets, a tattered blanket, a couple of battered toy soldiers, and a toothbrush in a makeshift wooden cup on a flimsy shelf spoke volumes. ‘You… you live here?’ she managed to ask, staring at the cramped, dusty space. Dragging his gaze up from his scuffed trainers, Harry looked at her pale face and, after a pause, nodded. ‘But that's… that's a cupboard…’ Minerva stared at him as though he'd just fallen from the moon. ‘You… sleep in a cupboard?’ ‘Er… yeah…’ he shrugged awkwardly, watching her warily and wondering what he'd done wrong this time. ‘Is that… um… is that bad?’ ‘Merlin's beard,’ the professor breathed before spinning on her heel and striding back to the sitting room. Harry hurried after her, feeling a growing sense of unease. This was starting to scare him. Why was Professor McGonagall so angry? What was going on? Could he have been right? Had she decided he couldn't go to Hogwarts after all? The thought made his stomach churn. What was so wrong about the cupboard? Sure, it was small, dusty, and dark, but he had nowhere else to sleep. Was that against the rules? Could it really stop him from becoming a proper wizard? From going to Hogwarts? Up until now, Harry had at least understood that the professor was outraged by what Aunt Petunia had said about his parents. But what had upset her now? And why did Tom have that infuriatingly smug smile plastered across his face? Harry was beginning to suspect his friend had been born with that ridiculous smirk – it seemed so natural on him. McGonagall halted a few steps from Petunia, fixing the trembling woman with a look of utter contempt. ‘A cupboard?’ the professor hissed, barely containing her rage. ‘He lives in a cupboard?’ ‘And what did you expect?’ shrieked Harry's aunt, backing away from the furious witch. ‘That we'd flaunt this little monster in front of the neighbours?!’ ‘This is unthinkable! He’s your nephew! Your sister's son!’ Minerva's outrage had obliterated her usual composure. ‘When we left him in your care, we believed he'd be safe, that you'd look after him! And what do I find? The boy lives in a cupboard under the stairs!’ her voice shook with fury. ‘He's so thin it looks like you've hardly fed him, and these rags? You call this clothing? Even children in orphanages are better dressed! For heaven's sake, he's a child! Have you no concept of care or compassion? And to top it all off, you've filled his head with vile lies about his parents! This is not the life we wanted for James and Lily Potter's son when we left him with you. It's despicable!’ Minerva's eyes blazed with fury. ‘Do you even understand who this boy is? If the wizarding world were to learn how you've treated him all these years, they'd tear you to pieces!’ seeing the fear flash in Petunia's eyes, Minerva gave a chilling smile. ‘You knew what he did. You knew he was famous. There isn't a child in the wizarding world who doesn't know Harry Potter's name, not a witch or wizard who doesn't admire what he accomplished. And yet you locked him away in a cupboard under the stairs after everything he's been through?’ Harry blinked in surprise, exchanging a bewildered glance with Tom. Famous? Famous for what? What had he done? Why did everyone know him? And – oh! – the professor wasn't angry with him but with his aunt. Perhaps Tom had been right when he'd said Harry shouldn't have to sleep in the cupboard. A small wave of relief washed over him. That meant he could still learn magic! But… if the cupboard was off-limits, where would he sleep now? Not that it mattered much. He was going to Hogwarts! He'd become a proper wizard! His stream of jubilant thoughts was interrupted by Petunia's hysterical laughter. ‘Left him with us?’ she sneered, shaking her head. ‘You dumped him on our doorstep like some mangy stray,’ her face twisted in revulsion. ‘Why didn't you raise your precious, famous Potter yourself if you cared so much? Why shove him off on us like yesterday's rubbish? Spare me your outrage. I know full well that boy meant as little to you lot as he does to us. Otherwise, he wouldn't have been left on our doorstep with some daft letter full of pompous drivel about his so-called importance. Ten years! Not once in ten years did anyone check on him! No one cared how he lived or even if he survived the night you left him out in the cold! And now you have the gall to waltz in here and point fingers?’ Petunia's words hit like a ton of bricks, leaving Minerva stunned, her expression a mixture of anger and disbelief. Harry felt as though he'd fallen from the heavens, crashing down to earth with a painful jolt. The magical wonderland he’d been imagining since learning he was a wizard now felt painfully distant, like a dream slipping through his fingers. “She's right,” he thought, staring at his aunt. “If they knew my parents, if they admired them so much, why didn't anyone visit me? Why did they leave me with the Dursleys? Did no one want to take me in? Did my parents have no friends who could…” he stopped himself, shaking his head internally, clenching his trembling hands tightly in his lap, and staring at them with an unseeing gaze. “No, of course not. After all, I'm just an orphan.” A heavy sense of guilt smothered any resentment Harry might have felt toward the wizarding world for leaving him with the Dursleys. How could he be angry with Professor McGonagall – or anyone else – for not wanting to care for him? Hadn't the Dursleys always told him he should be grateful for the roof over his head and the food he got? That he was unwanted? That worthless layabouts like him only made life harder for normal people? His budding sense of belonging to the magical world began to crumble into ashes. Of course. After his parents died, someone had to take him in. But who would want a useless child? An orphan. A tidal wave of loneliness surged over him, washing away the last vestiges of joy and leaving behind a cold, hollow emptiness. “I'm just an orphan,” he told himself. “Nobody wants other people's children – it's only natural. Why am I upset? No one cares about me except my parents, no one will love me or look after me but them. And they're dead.” Harry stared out the window with a distant gaze. “Did you really think there'd be someone in the magical world who'd want to be your family? Love you? Care for you? That person doesn't exist here, so why would they exist there?” A soft voice broke through his grim thoughts. ‘Oi, you all right?’ a hand lightly touched his arm. Harry flinched, looking up to see Tom standing beside him. The concern in his friend's dark eyes was unmistakable. For two seconds, Harry felt as though he were suspended in a void, deaf and numb to the world around him. Slowly, colours and sounds returned, and the first thing he saw was Thomas Archer – his best friend. The first thing he felt was a warmth spreading through his chest and an unprecedented calm. “Tom! Of course! We'd sworn never to abandon each other, to be brothers. How could I ever feel alone when I have Tom?” relief bubbled up inside him, and he almost laughed aloud. The chill and despair vanished as if they'd never existed. “How could I ever think no one wanted me?” Harry marvelled. “How could I forget our vow?” Tom was his family. They had sworn to stay together, never betray or leave one another. What did it matter where or how he had grown up? He had someone who was as good as family. And suddenly he didn't care if he was a wizard or not, whether he went to Hogwarts or to an ordinary school, continued to live with the Dursleys or left them. As long as Tom is with him, he will never be alone. The world in which his best friend is with him will become his home. Meeting Tom's gaze, Harry beamed. Tom grinned back, the picture of easy confidence, and looked over at McGonagall as though he fully expected her to fix everything. Harry felt the last of his tension dissolve. Everything would be all right as long as they were together. Tom was certain they were going to Hogwarts, and the Dursleys wouldn't be able to stop them. If Tom believed it, then it must be true. So what if his relatives didn't care for him? So what if the wizarding world had left him on a doorstep and forgotten him? None of it mattered any more. Because he already had a family. His family was Thomas Archer. And what more could he need?

***

Minerva left the Dursleys' home only after practically threatening Petunia into moving Harry out of the cupboard. Once assured that the boy now had a small but liveable room, the professor exchanged a few biting remarks with Petunia, leaving the pale and visibly shaken woman to her thoughts. Then, with much greater warmth, she bade farewell to both boys, informing them she would return in two days to escort them to Diagon Alley, where they could acquire everything they needed for school. At the door, Harry hesitated, then called after her, clearly nervous, and admitted that he had no pocket money at all, and he wasn't sure his aunt would give him allowance for magical books. ‘You needn't worry about that, Mr Potter,’ she replied with a restrained smile. ‘Your parents made arrangements for your inheritance.’ ‘Inheritance?’ he echoed, frowning. ‘Oh yes,’ Minerva confirmed patiently. ‘When we visit Diagon Alley, I'll take you to the bank.’ ‘Oh,’ Harry mumbled, unsure how to process this information. ‘Thank you, Professor.’ ‘And, Harry,’ the boy's head shot up at the unfamiliar sound of McGonagall addressing him by his first name, ‘please let me know if your relatives cause you any trouble. The details of your living situation were… unexpected. I'd like to be informed about how things are at home.’ ‘I'm fine, ma'am, really,’ Harry assured her with a small smile. ‘Thank you.’ The professor regarded the small, thin boy thoughtfully before shaking her head with a sigh. With a soft pop, she disappeared into thin air, causing both children to jump in surprise. ‘Did you see that?! Did you see that?!’ Tom yelled, dashing to the spot where Minerva had been standing moments earlier. ‘Wow! How did she… Harry?’ Archer stopped his excited hopping and turned to his friend, who sat slumped on the porch, tugging at the frayed hem of his oversized T-shirt, a forlorn expression on his face. ‘What's wrong now?’ he sighed. ‘I just…’ Harry hesitated, rubbing his brow and managing a weak smile. ‘I was thinking… what if she's wrong? I mean, I… I can't believe I'm a wizard. What if I'm not like my mum and dad at all? What if I'm just… a freak? What if I don't belong in Hogwarts? I believe you'll be an amazing wizard, Tom, but me? I'm just… ordinary. There's nothing magical about me. What if I get there and they tell me I'm not good enough? That I can't do anything? What if –’ ‘Oh, shut up, will you?’ Tom sprawled lazily on the porch beside him. ‘The only thing that'll get you kicked out of Hogwarts is your endless moaning. How can anyone be such a pessimist?’ ‘I'm not a pessimist,’ Harry said indignantly. ‘Then shut it and listen to me,’ Tom leaned forward, lowering his voice conspiratorially, forcing Harry to incline his head toward him. ‘You and I, Harry – we're going to be great wizards,’ he declared with absolute confidence. ‘The strongest. The most… what's the word… powerful!’ he leaned back slightly, dark eyes alight with anticipation and excitement. ‘There won't be a Muggle or wizard alive who doesn't know our names. They'll all revere us and…’ a snake-like grin slid across his handsome face, ‘and fear us. Oh yes, they'll all hear about us. Everyone will.’ ‘I don't think that's such a good idea,’ Harry said with a slight grimace. ‘Why would we even want that?’ ‘Why not?’ Tom asked, genuinely surprised, stretching with gusto. ‘What could be better than being the greatest? Famous? Isn't it grand when people tremble at the sound of your name?’ ‘I dunno,’ Harry said with a shrug. ‘It sounds kind of silly to me. Besides, I'm not even sure I could –’ ‘Oh, cut it out!’ Archer elbowed him playfully, silencing him. ‘We're going to be great, and there's nothing you can do about it.’ ‘And why's that?’ Harry shot him a sceptical look but couldn't stop the small grin tugging at his lips. He was starting to enjoy this new game, “Becoming the Greatest Wizard.” It seemed just as thrilling as their usual one, “Pelt Dudley With Rotten Apples and Run.” Though, admittedly, those games often ended badly for Harry – not because he wasn't fast, but because Dudley always complained, no matter what, and Harry was inevitably punished. ‘Why?’ Tom's grin widened. ‘Because it's in our blood, and don't you dare argue with me!’ ‘Wouldn't dream of it,’ Harry said, yawning as he basked in the glow of the setting sun. ‘So, we'll be great, huh?’ ‘Absolutely!’ ‘And we'll help everyone, protect them…’ ‘Well… something like that,’ Tom murmured less confidently. ‘And we'll learn to transform into animals, like Professor McGonagall? What did she call it? Anim… something.’ ‘Animagery,’ Tom responded thoughtfully. ‘Yeah, that's really cool,’ he added, nodding to his own musings. ‘I'd want to transform into some kind of predator.’ ‘Something strong,’ Harry agreed eagerly. ‘And cunning…’ ‘Fast…’ ‘Silent!’ ‘With sharp fangs!’ ‘Yes, dangerous, something like…’ ‘A lion!’ Harry exclaimed. ‘…A snake,’ Tom finished at the same time. They glanced at each other, then burst out laughing. Their laughter dissolved into childish giggles as they wrestled playfully, shoving, tickling, and teasing each other. One did his best impression of a snake, while the other roared in his attempt to mimic a lion. When they finally calmed down, they sat quietly for a while, each lost in dreams and plans. ‘We'll be the most powerful wizards,’ Tom said again, savouring the idea. ‘There's no other way.’ Harry chuckled. “Oh yes, for Tom, the very notion of mediocrity would be insulting,” he thought, shaking his head. Tom Archer was undoubtedly the most ambitious and grandiose friend Harry could have ever found.

***

The door to the office of the great wizard, Supreme Mugwump of the Wizengamot, Order of Merlin First Class recipient, defeater of Grindelwald, and simply the Headmaster of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore, flew open with a resounding crash, slamming into the wall. Storming into the room was an enraged witch in an emerald-green robe. Her dark hair, streaked lightly with grey, was tightly pinned back but somehow seemed electrified. Her sharp brown eyes, fixed on the Headmaster, betrayed barely concealed fury, and her lips were pressed into a thin line. Everything about her demeanour radiated a towering anger, and the white-bearded wizard seated behind a grand desk – amidst a cup of tea, a pile of parchment scrolls, and a phoenix whose vibrant scarlet feathers made it look aflame – immediately sensed that this was a troubling sign. ‘Minerva,’ Albus Dumbledore greeted her as pleasantly as he could manage, rising from his seat. ‘How lovely to see you. Tea?’ ‘This is outrageous, Albus!’ Minerva McGonagall erupted instead of offering her usual polite refusal. ‘I told you Those Awful Muggles were unfit, but as always, you had to do things your way! I warned you!’ ‘Minerva,’ her highly esteemed employer said, taken aback, ‘I'm afraid I've lost the thread of your reasoning. If you could just –’ ‘If you had listened to me, Albus, none of this would have happened,’ she interrupted sharply, ‘but instead, I find out that Harry…’ ‘Harry?’ the mention of the boy's name instantly stripped Dumbledore of his earlier calm. ‘Harry Potter?’ ‘Exactly, Albus! I visited his home, and what I saw…’ gradually, either calming down or succumbing to exhaustion, Minerva sank heavily into a chair opposite the Headmaster. ‘I don't even have the words to describe it.’ ‘Minerva,’ Dumbledore sighed. Her behaviour was, to put it mildly, alarming. ‘I've always valued your rationality and composure,’ he said, folding his hands on the desk and leaning forward slightly, regarding her as though she were a wayward student. ‘It would be easier for me to understand your feelings if you explained in more detail what has brought you to this… state.’ ‘Oh,’ Minerva suddenly became eerily calm, though the look she gave him could have struck a lesser man dead on the spot. ‘So you want details?’ she smiled then – a smile that sent Dumbledore reflexively leaning back in his chair, subtly concerned for his own safety. Minerva McGonagall had always been a formidable witch, and in a state of such palpable fury, she was undoubtedly a threat to anyone in her vicinity. ‘So, what happened? And how does young Harry come into this? I thought he was due to receive his Hogwarts letter recently. Did you decide to visit him?’ ‘Oh no, it wasn't planned. After all, I didn't think that…’ McGonagall admitted, drumming her fingers on the desk. ‘As you know, I visit Muggle-born students who've received their Hogwarts invitations. Today, I was at Privet Drive, where young Mr Archer resides.’ ‘Oh,’ Albus murmured, glancing down at the documents spread before him. Finally, he smiled faintly as he located what he was searching for. ‘Yes, yes, Mr Thomas Archer, 8 Privet Drive. So, I take it you met Harry at his house?’ ‘Yes,’ she replied curtly, her tone sharp enough to make Dumbledore glance up warily. ‘It turns out Mr Potter didn't even know he was a wizard.’ ‘Oh?’ Dumbledore's expression shifted to one of surprise. ‘His relatives didn't tell him? That's… unfortunate. But I trust you clarified things for him?’ ‘I did,’ McGonagall said, her irritation clearly simmering, ‘and when Mr Potter learned who his parents were, he looked at me as if I'd grown a second head!’ she shook her head in dismay. ‘And later, I found out the boy's head had been filled with vile lies about James and Lily and the circumstances of their deaths!’ Albus remained silent for a moment, observing the Transfiguration professor. ‘I understand your outrage, Minerva, and I can imagine what Harry's relatives might have said. But you know how Petunia feels about magic. She's always had… issues. Perhaps she just didn't want Harry –’ ‘You still don't understand,’ McGonagall cut him off sharply. ‘Merlin! You should have seen him! I don't think they feed him properly, and the way he was dressed – Albus, I hesitate to even call those rags clothing! And the way he looked at his aunt!’ Her voice hardened. ‘I told you! I warned you nothing good would come of leaving him with those Muggles. They treat him abominably!’ ‘Now, now, Minerva,’ Dumbledore interjected with a faint smile. ‘All boys Harry's age are a bit… untidy. Perhaps you're exaggerating? Petunia might be strict, but surely you misunderstood her intentions.’ ‘Oh, if that's the case,’ McGonagall said with mock sweetness, ‘then explain to me why there isn't a single photograph of Harry in their house? Why does she call him a freak?’ her voice dropped to a quieter, more menacing tone as she added, ‘And, mind you, she says this in his presence. Albus, they hate him.’ ‘But he's protected there,’ Dumbledore said, his attempt at a reassuring smile faltering as her words proved unexpected to say the least. ‘I can't think of another place where Harry would be safer.’ ‘Safer from what? Their hatred? Their cruelty?’ McGonagall's voice was like steel. ‘No child should grow up in such conditions, Albus! They'll destroy him faster than He Who Must Not Be Named and his Death Eaters combined! Half of Britain would gladly take Harry Potter into their homes and protect him as if he were their own. But those Muggles –’ she sneered in disdain, ‘– they've starved him! He looks far younger than his age, thin as a rail and deathly pale. Believe me, Albus, children raised with love and care don't look like that. He looks like a street urchin!’ Dumbledore's face grew darker and more pensive with each word she spoke. ‘You've condemned him to a miserable childhood, to loneliness and humiliation,’ McGonagall declared, her tone heavy with reproach. She let the silence hang before adding with a biting edge, ‘And for what? I doubt this was the best way to ensure his safety. By your logic, you might as well have sent the boy straight to Azkaban. At least there, he'd have been more comfortable – and as for safety, well, nothing beats Dementors for guardians, wouldn't you agree? They'd also prove to be a far more pleasant company than Those Muggles.’ ‘Minerva, your sarcasm is unhelpful,’ Dumbledore sighed, rubbing his temples. ‘I… I find it difficult to believe things are as bad as you claim.’ The professor snorted derisively. ‘Albus, the boy has been sleeping in a cupboard under the stairs for ten years. How does that rank on your scale of “bad”?’ McGonagall paused, watching as the Headmaster's face slowly hardened into a mask devoid of emotion. ‘He. Slept. Where?’ Dumbledore asked quietly, the full weight of her anger finally sinking in. ‘In a cupboard, Albus,’ she repeated mercilessly. ‘A cupboard under the stairs. Now, explain to me why you sent him to live with Those People. I dread to think how much bitterness and resentment must have built up in his soul. Tell me, Albus – is dealing with just one Dark Lord has become too dull? Have you decided to raise a second?’ A flicker of indignation flared and faded in Dumbledore's eyes. Now, he simply looked old, weary, and… lost. ‘I only wanted him to grow up in the Muggle world,’ he murmured, almost in self-defence. ‘To know and love it as much as the wizarding world. To value both. To understand them. I… I suspected the Dursleys weren't an ideal family for Harry, but I hoped they would give him warmth and love. And protection.’ ‘So it wasn't about the wards, then?’ Minerva interrupted coldly, entirely ignoring his justification. ‘Lily's enchantments protect him better than any shield or spell; that much is true. In his relatives' house, Harry is absolutely safe. I… I wanted to hide him, Minerva. To keep him safe – even from the magical world. He was in danger, and you know that well.’ ‘He will not live there any longer,’ Minerva stated firmly. ‘What?’ ‘I will see to it that the boy is removed from their care as soon as possible,’ she declared. ‘Minerva,’ Dumbledore sighed, ‘and where do you propose to send him?’ ‘Any family would be delighted to take him in, and I have no doubt they'd offer him far more warmth and protection than his relatives ever did.’ ‘Very well,’ Albus said, his gaze sharpening as he looked at her. ‘Let me rephrase the question: whom can you trust so implicitly?’ Now she remained silent for much longer, her unfocused gaze fixed on a single point. ‘Perhaps Molly and Arthur Weasley could… No… they couldn't afford to…’ ‘They'd gladly take the boy, I'm certain, but would he be safe there?’ ‘And you, Albus?’ she asked hopefully. ‘Couldn't you become Mr Potter's guardian? You, perhaps, are the only one who could protect Harry better than any spell or charm!’ ‘You know Harry is dear to me… I visited the Potters often, and… I even considered taking the boy in after his parents' deaths,’ Dumbledore said, pausing, his thoughts wandering through memories. ‘But understand me, Minerva, I'm too old and at times too… inattentive. I'm not fit to care for a child,’ he added with a rueful smile. ‘Moreover, I'm constantly at Hogwarts, always busy. Harry needs a family, not an ever-absent elderly guardian.’ ‘But that's better than Those Muggles,’ McGonagall snapped. ‘And you could teach him so much…’ ‘I doubt the Minister would understand my desire to take guardianship of Harry. You know Cornelius – once he's convinced of something or frightened by it, persuading him otherwise is nearly impossible.’ ‘Especially if it threatens – or he believes it threatens – his position as Minister for Magic,’ agreed the witch. After a moment of reflection, she looked decisively at the Headmaster. ‘Fine, then I could take –’ ‘Hogwarts regulations state…’ Albus began quietly, and Minerva sighed in resignation. ‘…that a teacher may not become the guardian of their own student,’ she finished for him with a nod. ‘Yes, but, Albus, leaving the boy with those people… I can't just abandon him,’ she said, her gaze icy. ‘We've already failed and betrayed him.’ ‘That won't happen again,’ Dumbledore promised softly. ‘Will you accompany Harry and Mr Archer to Diagon Alley yourself?’ ‘Yes. The day after tomorrow.’ ‘On that day, I'll personally visit the Dursleys to ensure Harry is provided with everything he needs. I'll speak to them.’ ‘It's the least we can do for him,’ McGonagall agreed, rising from the table and casting a troubled glance at her pensive superior. ‘Whatever you say, I'll still feel that leaving Harry on Privet Drive ten years ago was a grievous mistake.’ ‘Now, now, Minerva,’ Albus replied almost automatically, taking a sip of his long-cold tea, oblivious to its temperature or taste. ‘It's not too late to set things right.’ ‘I wish I could believe that,’ she murmured, shaking her head as she left the Headmaster's office. The moment the door closed behind the Transfiguration professor, Albus Dumbledore leaned back in his chair, covering his piercing blue eyes with his hand, wondering how much truth there was in Minerva's words about their grave error in leaving the boy with his relatives. Sighing heavily, he turned his gaze to Fawkes. The phoenix was grooming its feathers, occasionally casting inquisitive glances at the Headmaster. ‘I cannot allow those who should protect the boy to jeopardise his life because of their hatred,’ he said, addressing either himself or the phoenix. ‘But neither can I take him away from them.’ Fawkes raised its finely sculpted head, tilted it slightly, and clicked its beak softly, locking eyes with the Headmaster. If Dumbledore could understand phoenix-speak, he'd be nearly certain that the sound was a sarcastic remark. ‘So, you judge me as well,’ Dumbledore smiled grimly, returning to the documents spread across his desk. Day was blending into night, and the Chief Warlock still had a massive list of things to do, which now included his upcoming visit to the Dursleys.

***

Since Professor McGonagall's visit, Harry felt as though he were trapped in a dream about to end. There was no more cupboard under the stairs, no more shouting or insults, no endless chores, no early mornings, no cooking, and no punishments for the smallest mistakes. The Dursleys, it seemed, were doing their utmost to ignore him, avoiding contact or even thinking about him. The only remnant of his old life was his quarrelsome cousin, but Harry now had two advantages: he could run fast, and, as an almost-official wizard, he could terrify Dudley… or at least enlist Tom's help. His friend had a knack for threats, crafting them so precisely that by the end of his speech, the recipient might well lose their wits from sheer terror. Archer's mind always seemed wired towards solving problems by intimidating or alienating others. Half the school viewed Tom as ‘the guy to avoid,’ while the other half spun the wildest theories about his stability and mental health, flinching nervously at every glance he cast their way. Tom was adept at creating whatever impression suited him. Harry admired this quality in his friend, although he himself seemed to be unable to do anything but seem like a complete fool. He often wondered why Tom had chosen to associate with him. The more time passed, the more Harry feared it was built solely on their shared secret: magic. Potter repeated the forbidden word from the Dursleys' home to himself a few times, grinning slowly. “Magic, magic, magic,” he sang softly before his expression darkened. “I'm a wizard, I'm a wizard…” This self-affirmation consumed Harry for nearly two hours as he tried to convince himself he was ‘special’ rather than ‘freakish.’ Surprisingly, it wasn't easy. “What if, when we get to Hogwarts, Tom finds new friends?” the depressing thought had plagued him since morning. “What if he realises how dull and ordinary I am? Surely the wizarding world is full of kids far smarter and more talented.” Tom always gravitated towards strength. He found the weak repugnant and uninteresting. At best, he ignored them. At worst, he savaged them with his inherent cruelty. Harry didn't like admitting it, but he was terrified of becoming the target of Tom's scorn. It wasn't just about the humiliation of being insulted; it was the fear of losing the one person he considered family. Harry was afraid to be left alone, afraid that his abilities were the only thing that attracted Tom to him all these years, that his best friend actually just tolerated him. Lost in self-doubt and spiralling paranoia, Harry missed both breakfast and lunch. By the time twilight crept across the sky, he remembered he hadn't eaten all day, his stomach's growling serving as a stark reminder. Driven by hunger, he crept downstairs, careful not to rouse his irritable relatives. He had no intention of dining with them – not that they'd allow it – but they didn't forbid him from sneaking a plate of sandwiches back to his room. Sated at last, he spent much of the night ruminating on his peculiar life, only to wake the next morning groggy and bleary-eyed when Professor McGonagall arrived at the door. Tom, in contrast, was energised and excited, peppering their escort with endless questions during the journey to London, absorbing her answers like a sponge. It is difficult to say what the boys expected when they went shopping that day in the mystical Diagon Alley. Perhaps floating houses, dragons, pegasi, luminous flying orbs, faeries, or talking animals. What they hadn't expected was to step through a narrow, battered doorway into a dimly lit, smoke-and-wormwood-scented pub named ‘The Leaky Cauldron’ and become surrounded by the most peculiar and suspicious-looking individuals imaginable. ‘Is this the wizarding world?’ Tom whispered, though there was no need – the pub was alive with noise. ‘Dunno,’ Harry replied, wide-eyed as he glanced about. ‘Odd place.’ They exchanged a glance and quickly followed the professor, who navigated through wooden tables and patrons towards the pub’s dark back exit. ‘This is weird,’ Harry muttered as they stepped into a small courtyard, empty save for a brick wall and a rubbish bin. Tom silently agreed, opening his mouth to ask if McGonagall had lost her way, only to notice her pulling out her wand and tapping it against the bricks. At first, the scene seemed like some sort of joke, but the wall trembled and began to shift, parting to reveal a winding, bustling street. ‘Welcome to Diagon Alley,’ Minerva said, suppressing a smile at the boys' dumbstruck expressions. ‘One of the busiest places in magical Britain.’ Harry and Tom froze, forgetting to breathe or move. In that instant, all their wildest fantasies became reality.