Harry ran through the abandoned corridors of Hogwarts as the stone walls stretched around him. The Walls twisted and turned, narrowing until they seemed to close in on him. Each step he made echoed in line with the thudding of his heart against his ribcage. The air was thick, heavy, smelling of dust and something… wet. Harry's heart hammered as a low, guttural hiss slithered through the shadows, curling around his spine.
From the darkness ahead, he stilled when he saw a pair of impossibly large, glowing yellow eyes appear. They looked at him with unconcealed malice, like molten lava alive with hunger, and unblinking.
The Basilisk. Its body stretched impossibly far, and the green scales glinted faintly in the shadow. The hissing grew louder and louder until even hearing it was enough to make him bleed from the ears. Harry tried to move, but his feet felt rooted to the stone floor.
From the corner of his eyes, he spotted movement. The eyes of the statues of the four founders of Hogwarts flickered with life with a green flame, and their stone mouths opened in a silent scream. Every shadow around him was a flickering memory of fear, of Professor McGonagall, of Ron and Hermione, of Alicia and Oliver, the rest of the Quidditch team – all of them twisted into something unrecognizable, their faces melting into the Basilisk's slithering form.
Then the basilisk spoke, not through words, but directly in his mind. Its voice was ancient and full of unconcealed malice, "You cannot run. You cannot hide. Your fear is mine. Rip! Kill! Tear!"
The walls around Harry pulsed with each heartbeat of the Basilisk shaking the floor. A flash of light blinked for a mere moment, but Harry caught a glimpse of himself in a cracked mirror and flinched. Because the reflection in the mirror was not his own, but the Basilisk's massive head, its tongue flicking, its fangs dripping venom.
He stumbled backwards, tripping over invisible obstacles as his screams were swallowed by the corridor.
Every turn he tried to take led him back to the same place - the monstrous unblinking eyes, the endless hiss, the suffocating weight of painful death. The corridor stretched endlessly into infinity, but the Basilisk was always closer than before, scales scraping the stone, fangs glistening, ready to strike.
And then, its gaze met Harry's, seemingly locking onto his soul.
///
Green eyes snapped open, and a gasp of terror escaped his lips as the thirteen-year-old boy shot up on his bed. Harry James Potter looked around and only started to calm down after seeing himself in an strangely familiar room, covered in a thick blanket.
He ran his tongue across his extremely dry lips as he took a few deep breaths. His heart was hammering against his ribcage hard enough that he could feel it, and he was covered in a sheen of sweat and grime that made him feel incredibly filthy.
It took Harry a few moments to remember where he was.
That's right, Harry had been living at the Leaky Cauldron ever since he'd run away from 4 Privet Drive. He couldn't help but remember what had happened. Aunt Marge had been insulting his parents, and that had cost Harry his patience, and he snapped at her in anger. Accidental Magic flared up and blew her up, and not in the sort of way a blasting curse did, but more like a balloon. The last Harry remembered seeing of her was as he ran away, with Uncle Vernon holding on to one of her legs to try and keep her from floating away into the night sky.
A light chuckle escaped his lips as he remembered that hilarious scene of a Fatman holding onto another of his kind.
Looking out of the window, enchanted one to show the outside despite Harry staying in a room surrounded by other rooms on all sides, and saw that it was already morning.
Guess it was time to get up.
Stretching as he let out a yawn, Harry ran his hand across the side table for his glasses and put them on his face once he found them.
Getting off the bed, Harry glanced at the enchanted calendar hanging off the wall, showing today's date: 23rd August, 2003. Harry silently cheered. Resisting the urge to do so loudly. Only one more week left before he would be able to go back to Hogwarts again!
He grabbed and dressed himself into the nicest set of all of Dudley's old cast-offs before opening the door to go get something to eat. But before he could even leave the room, he noticed a letter floating in front of the door. His eyes narrowed in confusion behind the round glasses. Getting letters wasn't something new, and even here at the Leaky Cauldron, the incoming mail enchanted to float in front of the recipient's door until they grabbed it out of the air. What was confusing, though, was the Name.
Who was Jonathan Aldwick?
Food First. His stomach grumbled, and thus Harry decided on his next course of action.
Grabbing the letter from the air, he stuffed it inside the pocket of his jeans and made his way down to the Leaky Cauldron proper. "Morning, Tom," He called out as she stepped onto the ground floor and took a seat at one of the empty tables.
Like always, the Leaky Cauldron was full. There were all sorts of people going about their day, either sitting down for a bit to eat or using the old brick wall that served as the main entrance to Diagon Alley. 2 Up and 3 Across had practically been burned into his memory. The air carried the familiar mix of butterbeer, wood smoke, and damp cloaks shaken free of London rain. Wizards and witches passed through in a steady stream, tapping the bricks with practiced ease while others lingered inside, their low conversations blending into the tavern's constant, comfortable hum.
"Morning, Harry," Tom, the bald barkeep, approached Harry, wiping the inside of a bronze glass clean with a dirty old rag. "So, what'll you have today?"
Harry gave a small smile, rubbing the back of his neck. "Just whatever's quick. I'm starving." As if on cue, his stomach rumbling again loudly enough for the two of them to hear even through the bustle of the restaurant, as if emphasizing the point.
Tom nodded, flicking his wand, and a nearby floating quill wrote in an order. "Alright then. Eggs, bacon, and toast it is." He grunted. "Get comfortable, the food'll be out soon." He started making his way back to the kitchen before turning around. "Oh, and I'll send someone to feed that bird o' yours." His word said, he clattered back into the kitchen, leaving Harry alone at the table.
Harry didn't need to pay because the Minister of Magic himself was sponsoring Harry's stay at the Leaky Cauldron. Harry didn't know exactly why, but he doubted it was just due to his bout of accidental magic that inflated Marge.
The food didn't take long to arrive. It was a hearty way to break the fast. Fluffy and perfectly golden scrambled eggs, smoky, sizzling bacon strips, and slices of evenly browned toast with melted butter glistening on top. But even Harry was surprised by what was on the side, a large wooden mug filled with a frothy brown see-through liquid. When Harry grabbed the mug, he could feel how cold it was.
Butterbeer.
Harry turned towards Tom, shooting him a confused look.
Tom winked back at Harry, "On the house," he said. "I heard you talking with Jett yesterday. You've never had it before, have you?" he asked, and then continued before Harry could answer. "Go on, give it a try."
Harry lifted the mug to his lips, eyes widening as the cold liquid touched his tongue. Sweet, creamy, and faintly spiced, it slid down his throat with a fizzy tingle that made him grin. The frothy top tickled his nose, leaving warmth in his chest despite the icy chill of the drink. He set the mug down, cheeks tingling from the sweetness, and let out a small, amazed laugh - he had never tasted anything quite like it before.
"How is it?"
"Amazing," Harry said with a grin. Then he took another sip.
Then, reminded of the hunger he was feeling by another grumble from his stomach, he dove into the breakfast. It took less than a minute for him to finish all that food, and he couldn't help but let out a burp as he swallowed the last strip of greasy bacon.
Delicious.
Absolutely Delicious.
Just as he was about to down the butterbeer before getting up to leave to explore the alley some more, the letter in his pocket started vibrating, lightly but enough to be noticeable as it pressed insistently against his leg. He froze, before he slowly pulled it out, now certain it wasn't ordinary mail. The parchment felt heavier than it should, almost alive, and faint golden letters shimmered across the envelope and formed a sentence.
Read me before Noon.
Harry blinked. Before noon? His mind raced. Could it be a prank? A cursed letter? Because he'd just about had enough with stationery that could talk back to him. He glanced around, hoping no one noticed, though the tavern was too busy to care about one boy fiddling with a piece of parchment. Even if that boy was the Boy-who-lived, he thought, slightly grimacing that the thought of his accursed title.
Finally, unable to resist, he cracked the wax seal and pulled the letter free. The handwriting inside was precise, almost impossibly so, curling elegantly across the page.
To Harry James Potter
Room 11
The Leaky Cauldron
Charing Cross Road
London.
23 August 2003.
Dear Mr. Potter,
Please excuse the suddenness of this correspondence. My name is Jonathan Aldwick, a solicitor practicing wizarding family and inheritance law. I have been retained by Miss Rose Potter, who has asked that I arrange a meeting between the two of you at the earliest convenient opportunity.
Miss Potter has indicated that the matters she wishes to discuss with you are of a personal and familial nature, and that she would strongly prefer to explain them to you in person. At her request, I have not included the details of these matters in this letter.
Should you be willing, please attend a meeting at three o'clock this afternoon at my office:
Aldwick & Barrow, Wizarding Legal Services
Second Floor
23 Copperdown Alley
Diagon Alley
Upon arrival, kindly present this letter to the receptionist, and you will be shown to my office.
Miss Potter understands that this request may come as a surprise, but she hopes you will agree to meet with her nonetheless. The discussion, she believes, is one that you deserve to hear directly.
Yours faithfully,
Jonathan Aldwick
Solicitor
Aldwick & Barrow, Wizarding Legal Services
Harry read the first few lines without much thought, figuring either he was going to be pranked or it was someone messing with him. Or maybe it was mail meant for someone else and had been accidentally enchanted to float in front of his door by mistake. That sort of thing happened often enough at the Leaky Cauldron, Harry had discovered over the last few weeks.
He took a sip of the butterbeer with one hand while his eyes drifted down the parchment.
Solicitor… retained by…
Harry stopped, the tankard hovering halfway to his mouth before he lowered in slowly. His eyes moved back up the line, as if rereading it might somehow change the words.
Miss Rose Potter.
For a moment, Harry simply stared.
Potter.
His surname. Not an uncommon one in the wizarding world perhaps, after all there were a lot of Muggleborns, but uncommon enough that it made something uncomfortable twist in his stomach.
He read the line again.
I have been retained by Miss Rose Potter…
A cold, prickling sensation crept along the back of his neck.
Who in Merlin's name was Rose Potter?
Harry had grown up knowing almost nothing about his parents' family. The Dursleys had never spoken about them unless it was to complain. Hogwarts hadn't offered any answers either. If there had been other Potters… no one had ever mentioned them.
His eyes continued down the page.
A meeting… three o'clock this afternoon… personal and familial matters…
Familial.
Harry frowned slightly.
That word made the whole thing feel heavier somehow. It could be a mistake, he supposed. Someone else with the same surname. A misunderstanding. But if it was a mistake, why send the letter directly to him? His full name was written on the top. There might be more potters than him, but there was only one Harry James Potter.
Harry folded the parchment slowly, his mind turning the name over and over again.
Rose Potter.
The name meant nothing to him.
And somehow, that made it feel even more important.
.