Chapter Text
Harrison Smith was an ordinary boy, thank you very much. He lived in a flat on a council estate with his mother, he went to school and did his homework, and always left an extra portion of dinner for Mum to have when she got off her late shifts at the local chippie. She always smelt of sauce and chips, and once in a while she'd pack him a butty for lunch.
Harrison Smith didn’t know his dad. Mum said he’d died in a work accident when Harrison was young. Mum didn’t really talk about it much, but Harrison got the feeling from the photographs she kept that they loved each other very much.
Sometimes he could swear the photographs moved. He was pretty sure that was all a trick of the eye.
Harrison Smith wasn’t allowed to have classmates over for sleepovers, or send for any books and other fun things in the post. Money was frequently tight, though there were some things at home that seemed very valuable, like Mum’s antique ruby-encrusted hair combs, and her old crimson dresses that smelt like mothballs. He’d brought the combs to school once and told his classmates his mum used to be a princess.
Mum had smiled a little sadly at the teacher-parent conference, and from then on, Harrison couldn’t open her wardrobe and drawers no matter how hard he tried. Even when he got angry—and sometimes, when he got angry, things just blew up—the room remained impervious to him.
It wasn’t a bad life, even if it was unglamorous. But then, everything changed on his eleventh birthday.
It was a nice summer day. With July drawing to a close, it would only be a matter of time before school started up again, and Harrison would be going to the local comprehensive. Completely ordinary, but at least he would have his friends with him. They were here now, faces covered in chocolate frosting from the Colin the Caterpillar cake his Mum had picked up after an early shift, playing tag on the playground just like they did when they were younger.
“I call safe zone!” shouted Rose as she dove for the climbing frame.
“You’re always in the safe zone!” protested Gary, lunging for her ankles. She screamed and kicked him.
From his position atop the slide, Harrison aimed his water pistol at Gary. It had been one of his birthday presents, which meant he could use it in their game for as long as he wanted. He pulled the trigger; Gary screamed and ran for him, which made Harrison slip down the slide and dash away as far as his skinny little legs could take him.
“That’s not fair, Harry, you get back here right now!” shouted Gary, giving chase. Harrison easily outstripped him for the first two laps around the table where Colin the Caterpillar was slowly melting in the summer sun, but he had much less luck the third time around, when he ran straight into his friend.
“Guess I’m it,” he said, and aimed his water pistol again. Gary shouted for Rose to run. A burst of water hit her in the back of the head, and she screamed.
Harrison gave chase quickly, gaining on his laughing friends. He aimed his pistol, hoping to get Gary again, but a sudden black blur appearing out of nowhere turned his plans of tag victory into a contingency of panic.
He’d accidentally got Aunt Sevvy full in the face with his new water pistol.
“I’m sorry!” he exclaimed, as Aunt Sevvy slowly reached up and wiped the water from her face. She looked down at Harrison with a distinct air of unamusement, lip curling just briefly before stalking away to the table where Mum was sitting.
Sheepishly, Harrison resumed his game, until Mum called for the three of them to return.
“It’s getting rather late, Gary, Rose; perhaps you ought to go home,” Mum said.
“Aww, Mrs Smith, we wanted to watch a film later,” protested Rose.
“Harry can pop down to yours tomorrow and do that,” promised Mum. “Please bring some extra cake to your families.”
Gary and Rose eventually, reluctantly, returned to their homes with extra pieces of Colin trapped on bright birthday plates. Harrison pouted as he watched Aunt Sevvy disdainfully tuck into a slice herself, looking as out of place as ever in her black… everything.
Aunt Sevvy wasn’t really his aunt. She was one of Mum’s school friends. She must have been a very bad princess, because princesses never looked half as grumpy as Aunt Sevvy.
No, Aunt Sevvy was more like a grumpy Mary Poppins, between her long severe dresses and gloves and parasol and her tendencies to make things appear out of nowhere, almost like magic. She snapped easily, but she would then apologise with things like bubblegum that seemed to last forever, and jellybeans that seemed to have every single flavour. She had taught Harrison how to cook.
Aunt Sevvy had a parcel in one hand, and a thick yellowy envelope in the other. She was not smiling.
“Happy birthday, Harry,” she said, holding out the letter. Harrison took it, frowning when he saw that it was addressed to a Mr Harry J. Potter.
“That’s not my name,” he said, looking up to see a flutter of paper and vinyl. In the blink of an eye, all of the used plates had vanished, Colin was stashed in a food container, and the tablecloth had folded itself up neatly into Mum’s hands.
“Severina,” said Mum, her tone reproachful.
“The sooner we return to your home, the better,” retorted Aunt Sevvy. She thrust the parcel towards Harrison. “Open it when you get back.”
Harrison took the parcel. It felt like clothes. He shook it curiously. It rustled like clothes.
He tried to peek under the tissue paper, only for Aunt Sevvy to smack his hand.
“What part of ‘when you get back’ do you not understand?”
“Sorry, Aunt Sevvy,” said Harrison.
Aunt Sevvy’s severe expression softened infinitesimally, before she turned with a whirl of black towards their building. Mum smiled sadly at Harrison, before nodding in her wake.
Soon, Harrison found himself seated at the kitchen table back in their flat. Mum was bustling about with the kettle for some tea. Colin was stashed in the fridge. Aunt Sevvy was glowering at the parcel and the letter in Harrison’s hands.
“Well, open it,” she said.
“You’ve given me the wrong letter,” insisted Harrison. “My name’s Harrison Smith.”
Aunt Sevvy flashed a glare at Mum. “This is why you should have told him,” she snapped.
“What, so he could tell all his friends at school?” wondered Mum as she poured three mugs of tea. Aunt Sevvy’s was as black as possible, while Harrison’s had an extra spoonful of honey.
Harrison pouted. “What would I be telling them?”
“That you’re a wizard,” said Aunt Sevvy before Mum could protest. “And not just any wizard. You’re Wizarding nobility.”
Harrison examined the seal on the back of the letter. It showed an ornate crest with an H, surrounded by a lion, an eagle, a badger, and a snake.
“I’m sorry,” he said, frowning up at Aunt Sevvy, “Wizards have nobles?”
Aunt Sevvy snorted ungracefully into her mug. “That’s what shocks you more? Not the existence of magic, but Wizarding lords?”
“Yeah,” insisted Harrison. “Wizards can do magic but they still need to have lords and titles. How does that make sense?”
Aunt Sevvy surveyed him through narrowed, dark eyes. Harrison was reminded of the dark shiny beetle shells he and Rose used to collect until their parents objected.
“Because some families have been serving Mother Magic for much longer than others,” said Aunt Sevvy after a while, her voice long-suffering, “and your father’s family is one of them.”
At his mother’s gentle shoulder squeeze, Harrison took the parcel and opened it to find a silvery cloak. He gasped when he stuck his arm in only to find that it had vanished under the shimmering cloth.
“This is from your father,” explained Aunt Sevvy, with particular disdain at the word ‘father’.
(Harrison had got used to that a long time ago; Aunt Sevvy hating his dad was a fact of life as obvious as the sky being blue.)
Mum’s jaw tightened. “Who found it, Dumbledore?” she wondered.
“He had wanted to return it, but he did not wish to compromise your position,” Aunt Sevvy drummed her fingers on the table. Her nails were pitch black. “High Lord Slytherin has been quiet for ten years. Perhaps it is time.”
Mum’s expression paled, and she turned away, shaking her head. “I’m not going back to that,” she said. “The rules and the courting. There’d be no way I could get back in with the old crowd, anyway. They’ll think I’ve turned from Mother Magic, hiding in the Muggle world for so long.”
Aunt Sevvy’s gaze lingered on Mum’s hair. It was short, bobbed to her shoulders. There was a faint hint of pity in her gaze, though it was quickly swallowed up by her usual grumpiness. “Even if you will not return, Lilith—” she began, but Mum held up a hand.
“Lily,” Mum insisted, shaking her head. “I’m back to Lily again.”
“Lily,” conceded Aunt Sevvy, “your son has no choice. If left untamed, that magic of his…”
Mum nodded. “I know,” she said, sadly. “And I couldn’t afford to teach him myself.”
“I have magic?” demanded Harrison.
Aunt Sevvy’s lips curled. “You are a wizard, Harry,” she pointed out.
“And what happens if I don’t want to be a wizard?” countered Harrison.
“Your magic gets out of control and threatens you and your mother’s lives,” replied Aunt Sevvy.
Harrison shuddered. He wouldn’t want that to happen. If something were to happen to Mum—
“Therefore, it is imperative that you attend Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry,” continued Aunt Sevvy, with a nod at the envelope. Harrison opened it, pulling out the letter. His heart sank further as he read it.
“How…” he faltered a little as he glanced up from the letter again, “how did I become a wizard noble?”
Mum’s smile was sympathetic. She squeezed his shoulder again, before leaving the room and returning with the ruby hair combs. “Do you remember these, love?” she asked.
Harrison nodded. “I got in trouble for taking them to school.”
Mum nodded. “Mummy really was a princess, for a while,” she explained. “Well, not really a princess—”
“A witch,” Aunt Sevvy cut in, “and widow of Lord James of the Honourable and Most Ancient House of Potter.” There was clear disdain in her voice as she said the full title.
Mum sent her a pointed look. “The lordship has passed to Harry.”
“So it seems.” Aunt Sevvy nodded at the cloak. “Congratulations must be in order.”
Harrison frowned. “So I’m really named… just Harry?”
Aunt Sevvy’s expression pinched like there was too much lemon in her tea. “Your full title is Lord Harry Potter, Duke of the Eternal Eyrie, Earl of the Blood Moors, and Baron of Godric’s Hollow.”
“But I’m just Harry,” protested Harrison—Harry, really, no one ever really called him Harrison. “I don’t want to be a Lord of this or a Duke of that. Why do I have to be?”
“You don’t have to be,” said Mum, comfortingly.
“Because it is, unfortunately, your dear father’s legacy,” sneered Aunt Sevvy at the same time.
Mum looked at Aunt Sevvy through narrowed eyes for a long moment. “Not like any of this would have been easier if I had picked differently,” she pointed out quietly. “Nor would I have come to my senses as quickly.”
The conversation was starting to go over Harry’s head, much like other conversations Mum and Aunt Sevvy often had. Harry vaguely wondered if he’d put on Dad’s cloak without realising it, because they seemed to have forgotten he was in the room.
“You chose to abandon our world for this,” snapped Aunt Sevvy.
“And who helped me do that?” demanded Mum. “You have as much a role in this as I do, Severina!”
Aunt Sevvy’s black eyes flashed. “I recall my plan was to get you and your brat out of the country, not into the Muggle world.”
“Do you think Lord Gaunt would have stopped at the border?” hissed Mum.
“You did not need to break your covenant with Mother Magic,” retorted Aunt Sevvy.
Mum’s laughter was harsh at that. “Where was she, Sev? Where was Mother Magic when Peter betrayed James? Where was Mother Magic when Lord Gaunt decided we should suffer for James’ actions? Where was—” she stopped, having noticed Harry still sitting at the table staring between the two of them. “Harry, love, go to your room. I’ll take you to get your books and things on my next day off.”
“I have to go to Hogwarts?” protested Harry.
Mum’s eyes were sad. “We’ll talk about this later, love,” she said, nodding towards the door. “Go.”
Harry sullenly got up, grabbing his letter and his father’s cloak. “It was nice to see you, Aunt Sevvy,” he said, as he pushed in his seat.
“Happy birthday,” repeated Aunt Sevvy, looking more interested in the contents of her teacup than in Harry.
Harry turned at the entrance to the kitchen, only to see Aunt Sevvy wave her wand, and a veritable wall of silence flew up to block him from hearing the continued argument between her and his mother. With a dejected sigh, Harry stomped back to his room with his presents, and spent the rest of the afternoon tearing his Hogwarts letter into tiny pieces. He suspected Mum could just do some magic to put the pieces back together, or the school would send him another letter. It felt inevitable, like some sort of destiny.
He wasn’t cut out for destiny. He was just a normal eleven-year-old boy. He had normal friends, went to a normal school, liked normal things. He didn’t want to go to a different school from Gary and Rose. He didn’t want to go to some posh wizard boarding school and be a wizard noble.
Harry had always thought of being able to support his mum someday. He’d get a good job, and enough money to buy them a proper house, with a nice garden Mum could work in, and more free time for them to be together.
But he didn’t want to achieve it like this.