"Love is the most powerful magic of all" - Dumbledore.
"For the Greater Good" – Grindelwald.
"Constant Vigilance" - Moody
"Always Pure" – Black.
"A crow will not pull out the eye of another crow" – Lestrange.
"Purity always conquers" – Malfoy.
Magic has been the dream of many and the reality of none. It took far too many years for James to realize this.
Harry Potter and the Philosopher's Stone was a film James Harrington had watched numerous times. It was not out of obsession, nor a lack of success in his life. James was intelligent, sharp, and deeply academic—a successful English professor teaching at one of the most reputable institutions in the world.
To most scholars, Harry Potter is not a major work; many refuse to even classify it as proper literature. Yet, James watched the films countless times. Every weekend, he would return to them. Perhaps it was an obsession, but not for the cinematic craft. He did it for a memory etched so deeply into his mind that he needed to relive it, again and again. It was the only way he could.
He had lost his grandmother at a very young age. She was the typical doting grandma, and watching the first Harry Potter movie with her had become his most cherished memory. He always felt her presence when he watched it. Eventually, the entire collection became a conduit for that feeling.
One Saturday evening, he sat on the couch, leaning back as he started the film. The legendary score, heard countless times before, filled the room as the title card appeared on his flat-screen television. Hearing the music, he felt a familiar jolt. He knew his grandmother was sitting on the couch behind him, stroking his head just as she always used to.
He did not turn around. He never turned around, fearing that reality would surely disappoint him. No matter what happened, he kept his eyes forward, smiling as he sensed her. He had tried to communicate once, to no avail, so he simply accepted her presence.
The evening progressed. On screen, Harry was accepting his Hogwarts letter from Hagrid when, suddenly, the apartment lost power. The screen went black, and the presence of his grandmother vanished abruptly.
A rare rage broke through his usual calm demeanor. In a fit of frustration, he hurled the remote control at the television. It ricocheted off the screen with surprising force, striking him squarely in the forehead. He clutched his head as his vision blurred, and he collapsed to the floor.
The presence behind him appeared again, this time accompanied by another.
"Your grandson is dumber than I thought, child," said the new presence. There were no audible words; even if they had been spoken aloud, there was no one left to hear them.
"Do not speak ill of my grandson. He is always my sweetest boy. You have seen him, haven't you? What he did for me when the rest of the family moved on?"
The new presence replied, "Moving on is good for everyone. Though, I do not fault him for holding on. He is special. He can sense your presence. But he cannot stay in this world any longer."
The grandmother looked at the entity blankly. There was not even a hint of the warmth she had shown when speaking of James. Suddenly, the room grew impossibly cold.
"You will not take him from this world."
The male presence looked at her. "Patience, my child. This world contains no magic. The moment he started to sense you, he no longer belonged here. But for you—for your deeds and your devotion—I can let him live. He may start his life over, but not here."
"Where, then?"
"That is for him to decide."