Chapter Text
July 24th, 2001
Harry and Hermione are sitting beside each other on the soft, cream coloured loveseat in their family’s sitting room. Harry is fiddling with the stiff, black trousers that she was forced to wear for the occasion, and Hermione is nervously munching on a carrot stick dipped in their mother’s homemade hummus.
Richard was setting down a tray of tea, nervously twisting the teacups, trying to get them at that ‘perfect angle’. The last time Harry saw Calypso, she had been wiping at an invisible spot on the counter, which was hypocritical, as she had only started doing so after forcing Harry to give up a vendetta against the countertop.
“Daddy,” Harry says, a title that was only used in this house when one of the Granger girls needed to get their father’s attention. “I don’t think our guest will care which direction the teacup handles are pointing.”
Richard shakes both his head and his hands as he looks at both of his daughters. “Well, you never know…”
“Dad, are you alright?” Hermione asks, picking up another carrot.
He gives them a shaky smile. “Of course, darling. I’m just… so excited for you to meet our guest.”
Yes, this mysterious ‘guest’. The one whom Harry and Hermione had heard so much about this past week, and yet didn’t even know the name of.
All that the Granger girls had been told was that they were going to be meeting with a representative from a private boarding school.
Harry didn’t understand why she also had to wear her ‘Sunday Best’, as she assumed that the representative was coming to talk solely to her sister.
After all, Hermione was the best in her year, if her grades and reports from her teachers were anything to go by. Hermione was also entering secondary school after this summer, while Harry had one more year in primary school, as she had started a year after Hermione. Harry found it hard to believe that this meeting had anything to do with her, however she would do anything to offer support to her older sister.
Even if that meant wearing nice, uncomfortable clothing, when all she wanted to do was lounge in a pair of her baggy jeans and a loose t-shirt.
The sound of someone knocking at the front door breaks Harry from her reverie, and sends her father into a new round of nervous sweats.
“Oh! That must be her, I should-” Richard flounders for his pockets, though Harry has no idea what he could be looking for.
“I’ll get it!” Calypso’s voice echoes through the house as she rushes towards the door.
“Right behind you.” Richard replies, hurrying along after her.
Hermione turns to face Harry. “They seem really nervous.”
“This school better be worth it.” Harry hums, raising her eyebrows to her hairline.
Hermione gives a soft, shuddering laugh, which means that she didn’t actually find Harry’s comment funny, but that her nervousness left her without a better response.
Harry hears her parents’ voices echo in from the entrance hall.
“Professor McGonagall, a pleasure to see you again.” Calypso, ever the strongest of the Grangers, greets the visitor.
The voice that responds has a thick, scottish accent. “Mrs. Granger, a pleasure. Mr. Granger, you’re looking a bit peaky. Are you alright?”
“Just fine, Professor.” Harry can hear the strain in her father’s voice from here.
“Okay, then.” Though Harry has never met the woman before, she is quite sure that she can pick out the slightest hint of impatience in her tone. “Where are the girls?”
“Right through here.”
Hermione gives Harry a wide eyed look, and Harry gives her sister’s hand a tight squeeze, pointing towards the doorway where the three adults were going to enter through.
Calypso enters first, the only sign of her discomfort in the way that she is wringing her hands together. Right behind her is a tall, thin woman who might have been in her mid sixties to early seventies. She had her black and silver streaked hair pulled into braids, which was piled on top of her head in a tight bun. She had black eyes, and rather thin lips pulled into a semi-permanent frown, and Harry immediately understood why her parents, even as forty year olds that had never had her as a teacher, could still refer to her as ‘Professor’.
Calypso clears her throat, giving her daughters a reassuring smile, and gesturing towards the older woman. “Harry, Hermione, I would like you to meet Professor McGonagall.”
Hermione gets to her feet, her right hand extended. “Nice to meet you, Professor. I am Hermione Granger.”
Harry holds back an audible sigh, knowing that Hermione would get worked up if Harry didn’t follow her lead, and gets to her own feet.
Harry stands right besides her sister, holding out her left hand in a slightly more hesitant manner than Hermione. “Hi, Professor McGonagall. I’m Harry Granger Potter.”
For a moment, Harry thinks that she sees some sort of emotion cross over the Professor’s face. A slight upturn of the lips, and softening of the eyes…
But as soon as Harry processes it, the emotion is gone, and McGonagall looks just as cold and statuesque as before.
“It is wonderful to finally meet you both.” McGonagall gives both of them a piercing look that urges Harry to stand just a tad bit straighter, before the professor gestures to a lone arm seat. “Shall we get started?”
***
Harry is sitting on her white, wicker hanging chair, one of her green pillows pressed to her chest. She is idly swinging one of her legs back and forth, one pointed toe dragging across the fuzzy, purple rug that her mother had bought her when she had first moved in.
She can still see and hear Professor McGonagall, as if the older woman was still sitting right in front of her in that green armchair.
“The school I work at is called Hogwarts.” Those black eyes remained pinned on Harry, as if waiting for a reaction. “Hogwarts: School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.”
One of Harry’s hands fist the material of her pillow.
Truthfully, Harry had learnt to be nonreactive when it came to most things. It is a defence mechanism that crops up when you spend roughly the first six years of your life in an abusive household where you were punished at the mere sign of emotion. At least that's what Ted Tonks, her social care worker for four years and counting, had said.
However, when Professor McGonagall had told the Granger sisters that they were witches, not even Harry could prevent her jaw from dropping slightly. At least she had not burst into panic-induced hysterical laughter like Hermione had.
“Sometimes young witches and wizards let out small bursts of accidental magic. Sometimes it can be when they are sad, scared, or angry.’
Harry couldn’t help but be reminded of all the times something ‘unexplainable’ had happened around her.
Like when the stream of water from the fountain had somehow managed to land right on Greg Hamilton’s crotch, embarrassing him in front of his entire class, a few days after he had stolen one of Hermione’s books right from under her nose. Or, when Arnie Capulet had slipped as he hung upside down on the monkey bars, only minutes after Harry had heard him call her sister an unsavoury word to his arsehole friends.
Harry couldn’t even begin to explain the rivalry that erupted between her and Ashley Oliver. She had absolutely no idea how that family of snakes had wound their way into Ashley’s bookbag, and her teacher had been unable to connect her to the incident. Ashley moved away that summer, and Harry had wished her good riddance.
(There are, of course, other examples Harry could think of. These were just the ones that didn’t involve them , and the less Harry thought about them , the happier she was.)
“Every young witch and wizard starts Hogwarts as long as they are eleven before the start of term. This year, for instance, term doesn’t start until the third of September. Though, all students will have to arrive at Hogwarts on the second.”
Harry rubs at her eyes underneath her round spectacles. Useless factoids were running through her mind. Mostly questions that Hermione, long over her nervousness, had asked, and answers that Professor McGonagall had unrelentlessly answered.
“You, Hermione, are what we in the wizarding world call muggleborns. A magical child born to two non-magical people, or muggles. I visited your parents last week to inform them of your magic, as I have learned from experience that it is usually far more difficult for adults to come around to the news than children.”
Harry whips her head back, causing the chair to take a wild swing backward.
“Usually when I meet with muggleborn or muggle-raised students, I meet with them on their birthdays. However, seeing as Hermione here is the eldest of her class, and Harry is the youngest, I thought it best to meet today, as the letters were sent out to the students born in wizarding families today.”
Harry’s door swings open, revealing none other than her older sister on the other side.
“Hey…” Hermione says in that overly sympathetic tone that she uses when she knows her usual, blunt manner is not the correct way to handle the situation. It makes Harry feel like a caged animal.
“Hermione,” Harry says, letting out a long breath out through her nose. “What have I said about knocking before entering my room?”
Hermione blinks, obviously taken aback by Harry’s subject of conversation. “Um… to do it.”
“Mhm…” Harry replies, pointedly staring at the door, which had just been unceremoniously thrown open.
“Do you want me to close the door and knock this time?” Hermione asks slowly, pointing at the still open door. This was, after all, what Harry had always told her to do in the recent months since knocking had become such a big point of contention between the two Granger girls.
Harry shakes her head. “No, I can tell you have something you really want to say. Just remember for next time. And close the door behind you.”
As soon as the door clicks shut behind her, Hermione takes a seat on Harry’s desk chair, spinning around until she is facing her sister. “How are you feeling?”
“A tad bit tired. I'm a little hungry. Other than that, I can’t complain.”
Hermione’s nostrils flare for a moment, revealing her irritation at Harry’s usual evasiveness. “Harry, you know that isn’t what I meant.”
Once more, Professor McGonagall’s voice filled Harry’s mind: “Miss Granger-Potter, your parents-- your birth parents, I should say-- were both wizards. I taught both of them. In fact, twenty years ago, I had this same conversation with your mother before she started at Hogwarts.”
“Well, then you should have been more specific.” Harry responds, making sure to heavily enunciate every word. Then, she lets out a long sigh, knowing that her older sister wouldn’t let the subject drop. “Really, Hermione. I’m fine.”
“If I may be so candid, Miss Granger-Potter, do you have any idea how your parents perished?”
Hermione’s lips are pursed in a thin line, her disbelief apparent, as Hermione has never been good at hiding her feelings. “Harry…”
In the early eighties, a dark wizard rose to power. His name was…
“I mean, it is a bit embarrassing that I was orphaned by a man whose name rhymes with ‘mouldy wart’.” Harry gives a hollow laugh at her own bad joke. Hermione gives her a disapproving look.
However, I should warn you not to repeat his name amongst other wizarding families. Many people are still quite afraid to utter it. Whenever we refer to him it is usually with You-Know-Who, or He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named.
A soft knock at the door breaks Harry and Hermione’s staring contest. Harry takes a deep breath of relief, and calls out, “Come in!”
Calypso creeps in, an unfamiliar, sheepish expression on her face. “Hi, my darlings.”
Harry lazily waves her hand in greeting. “Hey, mum. What are you doing here?”
Calypso looks over at Hermione. “Hermione, dad wants to know if you could go with him to the market? He only has to pick up a few things.”
Hermione reluctantly nods as she stands up from her chair. She makes sure to squeeze one of Harry’s hands before leaving her mother and sister alone.
“You-Know-Who was going after many families, mostly those that challenged him in some way, or refused to join him. Nearly an entire generation was lost to the war in the decade since he rose to power. And then, October thirty-first, 1991, he visited Lily and James’ house.
Deciding to address the elephant in the room, Harry leans forward until her elbows rest on her knees. “Mum, if this is about what happened earlier… really okay”
“You-Know-Who, he killed James and Lily. But when he turned his wand on you, Miss Granger Potter, you did not die. Nobody knows for certain what happened that night, but when he tried to kill you, his spell backfired. You survived with only a scar, and You-Know-Who hasn’t been seen since that night.”
Calypso kneels beside Harry’s hanging chair, grasping her hand. “Darling, I just want to make sure you’re okay with everything. I just… I know that it is a lot of information to get at once. And, just so you know, if your father and I had known beforehand what Professor McGonagall was going to say about your parents, we would have warned you first.”
Harry smiles at her mother, a tired smile, but a smile nonetheless. “Mum, in a way, it’s nice to know what really happened.” It was certainly better than the image of her parents that had been crafted and cultivated by her aunt; A drunkard of a father who didn’t care enough of his wife and child to drive sober, and a weak woman who met her own sticky demise by not being strong enough to leave.
Calypso gently runs her fingers through Harry’s microbraids. “I understand. I know that it made me feel better when your grandmother told me how my father died. That doesn’t mean it is always easy to hear.”
Harry bit her lip, her eyes going a bit distant. “There are worse things.”
“The name, Harry Potter, is famous in the Wizarding World for defeating the Dark Lord. However, there is a… problem that I should warn you of.”
“Dad and I decided to order takeaway from that Chinese restaurant.” Calypso announces, rising to her feet. “D’you wanna watch some Friends reruns on the telly with me? We can wait for Dad and Hermione to get back from the market. They may have even picked up that treacle tart that you like so much.”
Harry nods, feeling a surge of warmth for her family settle in her chest. “That sounds great, mum. Can you give me a mo?”
“Of course, love.” Calypso replies, leaving Harry’s room, and closing the door behind her.
Harry takes a deep breath, and rises from her chair. She walks over to the mirror hanging above her dresser.
The lightning-shaped scar that mars her forehead is on full display. She hasn’t hidden it since her fringe had grown out, and despite what Professor McGonagall had told her, she can’t find it in herself to go back to keeping it concealed.
“You should know that during the war, many families kept up aliases and fake identities. When Lily gave birth, she told everyone that she had delivered a boy. A boy named Harry Potter. And as Lily and James, the only ones to know the truth, died before they could rectify that misconception. the story of Harry Potter, the boy who lived, was born.”
What an interesting day this had turned out to be.