Chapter Text
Harry was woken up by a sharp rap on his cupboard door.
“Up! Get up! Now!” Aunt Petunia’s voice sliced through his sleepy mind, and he gathered himself as she wrenched the door open.
After the escape of the Brazilian boa constrictor, Harry had been confined to his cupboard until the start of the summer holidays. The Dursley’s had mostly left him alone this last week, however, so Aunt Petunia’s wakeup call was unusual.
She glared down at him from the doorway, “Get dressed. We’re going into London today.”
Harry blinked at her stupidly for a second. “Now!” She screeched, slamming the door shut once more. Her steps clicked sharply on the roof of his cupboard as she went upstairs, presumably to wake Dudley.
It was only then that her words penetrated. We’re going to London today. Did she mean Harry was going with them? Surely not.
Yet, as Aunt Petunia fussed over Dudley’s shoes and coat, assured Dudley that they could have a special breakfast in the city, fed Dudley a chocolate bar to stop his wailing, and hustled both boys out the door, she made no move to march Harry over to Mrs. Figg’s. Instead, Harry trailed the pair as Aunt Petunia walked briskly to the village train station and bought all three of them tickets to London.
Harry had never been to London before. He enjoyed the train ride immensely, even though Dudley kicked the back of his chair the whole time. Aunt Petunia had bought sandwiches for her and Dudley to eat on the train, though Harry had to make do with an apple. Instead, he gorged himself on the sights flowing past the train windows. Houses and little fields slowly turned into cramped streets of identical brick homes, then warehouses and more buildings until they were in the heart of London.
At Waterloo, they switched to the underground and caught the Northern Line to the British Museum. The huge building loomed over the little lane, covered in tall marble columns with enormous lion statues guarding either side of the entrance. Harry would have loved to go inside but Aunt Petunia stopped them at a stone bench just outside.
Grabbing his arm, she turned Harry to face her, staring at him intently despite Dudley complaining over his empty stomach. Finally, she spoke, her face as serious as Harry had ever seen it.
“You are to wait here, you understand me? Don’t move from this spot.”
Even Dudley stopped at the intensity in her voice. He was looking uncertainly between Harry and his mother, not sure whether to be upset at being ignored or pleased that Harry was in some kind of trouble.
Harry didn’t know how to react either, but the sinking feeling in his stomach told him whatever she said next was going to be bad news for him, “Why do I …”
“Don’t,” Aunt Petunia cut in, “ask questions!”
Still holding his arm in a painful grip, she continued, “Stay here and wait for a woman with blue hair. Do you understand?”
Harry swallowed thickly, “Yes, Aunt Petunia. Wait for a woman with blue hair.”
“Good. Good…” She released his arm and that intense look in her eyes faded away.
Taking Dudley’s hand, she nodded briskly to him, then turned on her heel and walked away. Harry watched her retreating back, quickly losing sight of her in the crowd of people flowing in and out of the museum. She never looked back.
He sat down on the bench, suddenly overwhelmed by the feeling that he’d been abandoned. Tears pricked at his eyes as his mind raced, trying to figure out how he was going to get back to Little Whinging. He supposed he could ask for directions to Waterloo Station, but what would he do from there? He had no money, and no idea what train he’d need to catch. And even supposing he made his way back to Privet Drive, would the Dursleys let him in? He’d known his whole life how little they cared for him. He had even wished that some previously unknown relative might come and take him away. But now, facing down a life without the Dursleys, Harry was terrified.
Breathing quickly, Harry repeated, “Wait for a woman with blue hair,” to himself a few times, trying to calm down. He scanned the crowd but no one fitting that description could be seen. What kind of person had blue hair anyway? And how had his aunt met them? Aunt Petunia sneered at people on television who had unnatural hair colours – Harry couldn’t see her being friendlier toward them in real life.
Suddenly, he did see someone with blue hair. A tall, skinny girl, stringy blue hair hanging over her shoulders, was standing in the middle of the crowd. She was wearing head to toe black – black hoodie with patterned badges sewn into it, a black studded belt holding up ripped black jeans, and big black lace up boots, like the kind soldiers wore. She even had a black piercing through her large nose, so from a distance she looked a little like a parrot holding a ring in its beak.
Her head was turning, scanning the crowd for something, then stopped when she saw him looking at her. She began to walk toward him, and Harry wondered if this was the person Aunt Petunia had meant. She didn’t look that old – a teenager at least, though Harry couldn’t be sure she wasn’t older – and seemed as uncertain as he felt as, dodging through the foot traffic toward his bench.
Reaching him at last, she crouched down so that they were eye to eye. Smiling tentatively, she asked, “Excuse me, are you Harry Potter?”
Her voice was strangely accented, high and clipped, and she spoke so quickly it sounded like she’d said ‘Hirry Putter.’
Slowly, Harry nodded, and watched tears gather in green eyes that were a mirror to his own.
Smiling blindingly, the girl held out her hand to shake, “Hello Harry. I’m your sister, Maggie. It’s so good to meet you!”
…
Harry was still reeling in shock. A sister! He had a sister? His sister – Maggie – had promised to explain everything after breakfast and so had walked Harry to a little café down the street.
Of course, Harry hadn’t just followed a complete stranger through the middle of London. He’d questioned her a little to make sure she wasn’t one of those people who kidnapped children off the street. But she had known not only his name, but Aunt Petunia’s, Uncle Vernon’s and Dudley’s names, their address, and most tantalising of all, his mother’s maiden name – Lily Evans.
The waitress seated them at a little table in the back of the café and left them to ponder the menu. Harry had never been in a café before and was trying hard not to ask all the questions dancing on the tip of his tongue, so hadn’t decided what to order when the waitress returned with glasses of water.
“Can I start you two with something to drink?” the waitress asked, pen poised above her notepad.
Harry mumbled that he was fine with just water, but Maggie ordered him a hot chocolate anyway, and some coffee for herself. She also ordered both pancakes and French toast when he couldn’t decide which he’d like better. “We can share them,” she said smiling, handing their menus back to the waitress.
As the waitress left, Harry couldn’t hold onto his curiosity any longer. “How come I never knew I had a sister?”
Maggie’s smile faded a little as she looked at him. “I didn’t know I had a brother either, until recently.” She looked down at her hands. “I grew up in a girls’ home – an orphanage – in New Zealand.”
“Where’s New Zealand?” Harry asked. He’d never heard of it before.
Maggie laughed a little, then explained “it’s tiny country at the bottom of the world – near Australia. Anyway, I’d been left at the hospital as baby and they sent me to the girls’ home, where I lived knowing nothing at all about my parents or family. Then, when I was seven, this came in the post.” She dug around in her satchel and produced a battered postcard.
Harry picked it up to examine it. It was creased and faded, like it had been handled many times already. On one side was a photo of a stone castle and the words ‘TOWER OF LONDON, ENGLAND,’ the other side had two addresses written in neat black ink:
Lily Evans
4 Privet Drive
Little Whinging
Surrey
England
Miss Margaret Evans
Lower Hutt Home for Wayward Girls
Lower Hutt City
Wellington
New Zealand
Harry looked up in surprise. “But my mother never lived at Privet Drive!”
“I know,” said Maggie. “Or I do now. But look at the post mark.”
Harry did and read aloud, “Third of August 1981.” His brow creased. “That’s the year my parents…” He trailed off, suddenly unsure. Did Maggie know his mother – their mother – was dead?
“The year your parents died,” Maggie finished quietly. “That postcard was the only clue about my family I ever had. So, when I was old enough, I came here to find out who sent it and why. I found your aunt,”
“But that doesn’t explain,” Harry interrupted but Maggie shushed him.
“Shh, let me finish. Your aunt told me that our mother was dead, and that she must have suspected she was going to die. Which is why she sent the card. If anything happened to her, I would still have a way to find her, to find you.”
Harry was more confused than ever. “But my parents died in a car crash!”
Just then, the waitress arrived with their drinks. They lapsed into silence as their cups were laid out on the table. When she was gone, Maggie began again. “Harry, have you ever made things happen? Things no one could explain? Like, when you were angry or upset.”
Harry’s thoughts began to churn – the vanishing glass at the zoo, his hair growing overnight, escaping Dudley’s gang and ending up on the school roof. “What does that have to do with my parents’ death?”
Maggie must have seen the recognition in his face, for she continued, “Strange things kept happening, whether you wanted them to or not. Almost like magic.” She put particular emphasis on the last word.
Harry flinched. The Dursleys forbade him from talking about unnatural things, and magic was at the top of that list.
“It is magic Harry. Magic we both inherited.”
“There’s no such thing as magic,” Harry said woodenly, still caught in Maggie stare.
“Yes, there is. Look,” Maggie brought one cupped hand forward. She whispered something he didn’t catch, but suddenly a ball of fire no bigger than a candle flame formed over her palm.
Harry’s breath caught in his throat. He wanted to believe it was some trick of the light or maybe hypnosis? She couldn’t really have just done magic.
Maggie grabbed one of his hands, then carefully poured the flame into his own palm. It flickered moving from her hand to his but kept burning. It felt warm and almost alive. Like it was burning something in him as well as the air of the café. Harry’s hands were trembling, causing the flame to flicker and spark. Watching him, Maggie brought her own hands over his and he felt, more than saw, the fire go out.
“Magic is real, Harry,” she said, still holding his hand. “I have it. And so do you. Because our mother was a witch.”
Harry glanced quickly round the café, sure that someone must have seen what had just happened. But no one was looking at them. In fact, it seemed to Harry as if he and Maggie were invisible to everyone else, caught in their own little bubble of reality.
Seeing his distress, Maggie said “Don’t worry we weren’t seen. Magic is supposed to be a secret from people who don’t have it, so I made sure no one would notice.
“B-but how?”
Maggie smiled a little. “With magic.”
Harry digested that for a moment.
When she spoke again, there was no amusement in Maggie’s voice. “Our mother didn’t die in a car accident Harry. That’s what I learned from talking to your aunt. She died in the Wizarding War.”
Harry opened his mouth to ask what the Wizarding War was, but Maggie gestured for quiet. “I don’t know too much about it either. Just that a powerful dark Wizard was gathering followers here in Britain ten years ago. He was trying to take over all of wizarding Britain, and probably the muggle side too but was defeated at the peak of his power.”
“Muggle side?” Harry asked.
“Non-magical people.” Maggie gestured to the other people in the café. “Magic is supposed to be a secret, but some witches and wizards have always resented that. They think about how much power they could claim if they didn’t have to hide themselves. That’s what the war was about. Anyway, your parents fought against these wizards. But that must have marked them for death, because they had to go into hiding.”
Harry was still stuck on one thought in the middle of all this. “Aunt Petunia told you that? She knew about – about magic and my parents, and everything this whole time?” Harry brought his hands into his lap and clenched his fists. His aunt had known everything and never said a word? Did Uncle Vernon know? Did Dudley? And why was he only hearing about it all now?
Maggie watched him, gauging his response. “Not all of it, no. I don’t think she knew anything about the Wizarding War. She said you turned up on her doorstep ten years ago, with nothing but a letter explaining that your parents had died, and that you were in grave danger.”
Alarm flashed through Harry, and he forgot about what his aunt had or had not known for the moment. “I was in danger? But why?”
Maggie sipped her coffee, clearly trying to decide what to say. Harry stirred his own drink moodily, the pleasure of the treat swamped under the revelations of his past.
At last, Maggie said “Your aunt didn’t tell me this, but I knew it as soon as she told me your name. That dark wizard I mentioned, he had his heart set on killing your family – the Potters. But the night he found them, the night he killed our mother, something happened to him. No one knows what exactly, but everyone knows that that night he tried to kill you and failed.
Harry could scarcely hear over the pounding of his heart. “Failed how?”
Maggie reached across the table and parted the messy hair over Harry’s forehead. “Have you ever wondered how you got this scar? This kind of mark can only be made where a powerful curse touches you.” Harry fingered his scar as Maggie’s hand retreated back to her cup. “He cast a curse at you, a deathly curse, but somehow – and no one knows exactly how – you survived.”
Something very painful was going on in Harry’s mind. As Maggie’s story came to a close, he saw again the blinding flash of green light, more clearly than he had ever remembered it before – and he remembered something else, for the first time in his life – a high, cold, cruel laugh.
Maggie was quiet, watching him sadly over the rim of her coffee cup.
“How come you know all this?” Harry asked.
Maggie smiled thinly, “because after that night, that same Dark wizard disappeared. Completely vanished. And with him gone, the war was over. You’re famous. Harry Potter, the boy who defeated the Dark Lord. The boy who lived.”
“But I didn’t do anything!” Harry protested. “I was only a baby. How could I?”
“Even so, because of you the war ended. And every witch and wizard, even where I’m from knows your name.” She looked down at her hands, “I never expected… I never would have guessed Lily Evans was Lily Potter. But she must have sent that postcard when she was hiding from the Dark Lord. She must have known it was possible she’d never see her child,” here Maggie did look at him, “either of her children again. I think she knew that even if she didn’t make it, you would. And that you would need me.”
She sighed out a long breath. “Your aunt told me that when she took you in, she made a promise. That promise, sealed in ancient magic, meant that as long as your home is with someone of your own blood – Lily’s blood – that same magic would protect you.”
Harry leaned forward, “But what do I need protecting from?”
Maggie’s eyes were shadowed, but she answered him, “Powerful wizards – especially dark ones – don’t die easily. The Dark Lord did not die when he failed to kill you. He’s out there somewhere, powerless for now, but alive. That is reason enough to need protection.”
Harry shivered, thinking of that cold, cruel laugh. Seeing it, Maggie gave him a kind smile. “It’s alright. The good news is the magic works – you are safe and hidden from prying eyes.”
“How can you tell?” Harry asked, eyeing her.
“Because I can feel it,” she replied. “You’ll be able to feel it too, eventually.”
“Because I’m a witch?”
Maggie giggled. “Wizard, not witch, but yes. And because your blood is in the spell. I can feel it for the same reason. No one else can though, which is one of the ways it keeps you safe.”
Harry suddenly felt quite tired. He didn’t know how to feel after all that. He still felt scared and confused, and a little nervous, but there was so much to take in. He sipped his hot chocolate and the warm, sweet drink washed away some of his fear.
Watching him, Maggie smiled. “One more thing,” she said. “Your aunt made me promise her something, in exchange for telling me all this. You probably already know, but your aunt doesn’t like people like us much. That is, magic people.”
Harry nodded slowly. It was probably why, he reflected, his aunt seemed to hate him so much. Which didn’t seem fair to Harry. He’d never asked to be a wizard. He hadn’t even known he was one.
Maggie paused, measuring her words carefully. “She hadn’t wanted to take you in, you see. But she’d promised, and the magic meant she had to keep it. But me coming here changed things.”
Harry felt a trickle of hope build within him. If the magic was why he’d had to stay with the Dursleys, then… Oh, please. Please let this be what I think it is. Please, please…
“She made me promise to look after you. Instead of her, I mean.” Maggie was watching him, trying to gauge his reaction.
Harry stared, eyes wide as saucers. “You mean, I’d get to live with you? Instead of the Dursleys?”
“I mean, if you’ll have me.” Maggie smiled weakly. “I don’t have much at the moment, but I can get what we’d need for ourselves in a few days. I make and sell potions, which means I can work pretty much anywhere. I can’t give you a nice house or anything like you’ve had, but I thought,” she paused, staring straight into Harry’s eyes. “I thought that if you had grown up anything like me – no parents, no one to turn to, and feeling like you were different somehow, but never knowing why – I wanted to help you. And,” she continued nervously, “I know how to hide! I can protect you better than your aunt! And teach you about magic, and, and – I guess, I just wanted to have a family.” Maggie trailed off, seeming to have run out of things to say.
Harry felt like his heart was going to leap out of his chest. “Yes!” he blurted out suddenly, grabbing her hand where it lay on the table. “I want that too!” She stared back at him, startled. But as they looked at each other, Harry felt like she understood his desperation. He felt like understood hers too. It seemed both of them had wanted a real family for the longest time.
She returned his grip on her hand, as they both started to laugh. They were still laughing when the waitress arrived with their food a few minutes later.