The Reply.
Harry sat on his bed, staring at the new letter in his hands. The parchment was the same—thick and slightly rough beneath his fingers—but the handwriting was different this time. Still neat, still careful, but slightly sterner.
He took a deep breath and read it again.
Dear Mr. Potter,
Thank you for your swift reply. I was not aware that you had been relocated, as our records still listed you at your previous address. However, this is no cause for concern. I will personally come to collect you and escort you to purchase your school supplies.
You do not need to worry about the nuns’ disapproval. I will explain to them that you have been accepted into a private school that has taken an interest in your talents. You need only be ready when I arrive.
I will see you soon.
Professor Minerva McGonagall
Harry exhaled slowly, his hands tightening slightly around the parchment.
She was coming.
Someone was actually coming.
For the first time in years, the thought of leaving the church felt real.
He set the letter down beside the first one, swallowing the lump forming in his throat.
What would the nuns say?
Would they believe McGonagall? Would they ask questions?
Would they… let him go?
Harry pressed his hands together, trying to steady himself.
He had never been allowed to make decisions for himself before. Never been given a real choice.
But the moment that owl had carried away his letter, something had shifted.
This was happening.
And he wanted to see where it would lead.
A sharp gust of wind rattled the windowpane, and Harry flinched. His eyes flickered toward the door.
It was slightly open.
Just like always.
The hallway beyond was dark. Still.
But for the first time in years, the sight of that open door didn’t make him freeze.
The air no longer carried that suffocating pressure. That horrible weight.
Still, he knew she was there. Watching. Waiting.
She had always been waiting.
Harry took one last breath, then turned away from the door.
He had other things to prepare for.