4
– August 31st, 1986 –
Monty felt gentle hands shaking him awake, the persistent nudging pulling him from sleep comfort. As he groaned softly, his eyelids fluttered open to reveal the soft glow of a waning crescent moon filtering through his window, casting delicate shadows across his room. The quiet of the night was interrupted by a small whimper in his ear, a sound that tugged at his heart.
He sat up slowly, blinking away the remnants of sleep as he turned to face the figure beside his bed. It was unmistakably his four-year-old sister, Rosebud “Rose” Ava Potter. Monty couldn’t help but smile fondly despite his lingering fatigue. She habitually slipped into his room at night, seeking solace even though her bed awaited her in the adjacent room. Monty knew this wasn’t ideal—sharing his bed with his younger sister—but after their move to Feldcroft four years ago, he found it hard to deny her comfort in such uncertain times.
Monty’s heart ached with a protective instinct whenever he looked at Rose. Rose remained eerily silent, unlike her sisters—Willow Ivy, Jasmine Regina, and Rosalie “Rosa” Lillian Potter, who were all three lively and chattering away. It was a mystery that hung heavily in the air; she had yet to utter a single word despite being the same age as her talkative quadruplet siblings. In his quest to understand her, Monty had delved into the Muggle World and discovered the possibility that Rose might be mute. This revelation ignited a flame of determination within him, leading him to learn Sign Language, hoping to connect with her in a way that she could understand.
As he picked her up, wrapping her securely in his arms, Monty felt the warmth of her tiny body against his chest. He sat back against the headboard, allowing her to settle in close as he cradled her like a precious treasure. The weight of his love for her was palpable as he pressed a gentle kiss on the crown of her head, inhaling the comforting scent of her hair—a mix of shampoo and something distinctly her, a blend of innocence and childhood.
When Rose looked up, her bright green eyes met Monty’s hazel eyes filled with warmth and reassurance. But in that moment, he noticed her subtle gesture: the delicate movements of her hands forming the sign for ‘leave.’ A wave of sadness washed over him as he registered her request. His heart sank a little because he understood the implications of her signing—it was a reminder of her struggles and the world they navigated together.
“Yeah, Rose. I have to, Piccolo fiore,” Monty whispered softly, the Italian words of endearment rolling off his tongue, even as a sense of sorrow tightened in his chest. He wished he could shield her from the harshness of the world and keep her close forever, but he also knew that sometimes, the best thing he could do for her was to respect her wishes.
Rose shook her head, tears shimmering in her eyes like tiny droplets of rain. Monty gently ran his fingers through her soft, red hair, his touch tender and reassuring. “Piccole firore,” he murmured, using the endearing nickname that meant “little flower.” “I promise I will return before you even notice I’m gone. You must be brave and listen to Mr. Sallow and Mr. Gaunt while I am away at Hogwarts. They will take good care of you and our siblings. I vow I will send you a letter as soon as I can. Everything will be alright, I swear it. Piccole firore.”
With a heavy heart, Monty lay back on his bed, still cradling his four-year-old sister in his arms. He could feel the warmth of her body against him, the innocence of childhood emanating from her small frame. As he sighed deeply, the weight of impending separation settled on him, and he closed his eyes, surrendering to the enveloping darkness of his mind. He hoped that in this quiet moment, he could momentarily escape the looming uncertainty of leaving Rose and their family behind.
– September 1st, 1986 –
Monty threaded his way through the bustling train, gripping Agatha's hand tightly as they navigated the crowded carriages filled with a horde of students—both newcomers excited for their first journey to Hogwarts and returning students chattering about the summer. The rhythmic clattering of the train on the tracks echoed in the background, creating a cacophony of sounds that only intensified the atmosphere. Monty scanned the compartments, hoping for a rare bit of luck in finding a quiet spot to sit.
Finally, when Monty thought they would have to stand for the entire ride, he spotted an empty compartment at the end of the carriage. A rush of relief washed over him, and he and Agatha hurried inside, plopping down on the left side of the plush seats.
Agatha released a shaky breath, her eyes wide with astonishment. "I didn't realize it was going to be this crazy," she exclaimed, glancing around at the chaos outside.
Monty chuckled softly, a warm smile spreading across his face as he took in his friend's nervousness. He opened his mouth to offer a reassuring comment when the compartment door swung open abruptly. Both Monty and Agatha turned their attention to the entryway, and to their surprise, Irene Prince stood there, her demeanor poised yet somewhat enigmatic.
Monty couldn't help but notice how Irene's sharp gaze narrowed at Agatha for a fleeting moment before her expression shifted into a sweet smile directed at him. It was a subtle shift he was all too familiar with; after all, he had spent years reading the nuances of emotions, taking on the responsibility of caring for his thirteen siblings. Something about Irene's look suggested an underlying agenda that piqued his curiosity. Why did she regard Agatha with such disdain?
Irene gracefully slid into the seat across from Monty and Agatha, her presence commanding yet somehow aloof. The three of them initially sat in an awkward silence, each absorbed in their thoughts. It wasn't long before Irene broke the stillness by glancing over at Monty, her voice tinged with genuine curiosity. "Are you excited for Hogwarts?" she asked, tilting her head slightly.
Monty shrugged, feeling a knot form in his stomach. "I don't know. I didn't really want to leave my siblings," he admitted, a hint of sadness lingering in his tone.
"Siblings?" Irene's brow furrowed in confusion, her interest visibly piqued.
"Yeah," Monty replied, his heart swelling with both pride and a tinge of melancholy. "I have thirteen siblings. There's ten-year-old Sirius Potter, my lively nine-year-old brother Baelfire, and my eight-year-old brother James Potter II, who can be a handful. Then I have seven-year-old identical twins—Matt and Penny—who constantly bicker yet love each other fiercely. Following them are my six-year-old quadruplets: Harry, Mia, Char, and Azalea; Harry and Mia are identical, just as Char and Azalea are, though you can usually tell them apart by their eye color. Lastly, my four-year-old quadruplet sisters are Willow, Jasmine, Rosa, and Rose. Willow and Jasmine share the same looks to the point where it's hard to tell them apart. Meanwhile, Rosa and Rose have distinct features even though they share a special bond as quadruplets."
Monty recalled their lively antics, an endless whirl of laughter and chaos that kept him on his toes. He noticed Irene's eyes widened in shock, processing the number of siblings.
"I thought you had to be the same gender to be identical," Irene interjected, her voice laden with disbelief.
Monty shook his head, a small smile hinting at the corner of his mouth. "No, that's a common misconception. You don't have to be the same gender to look identical. If Mia decided to cut her hair exactly like Harry's and dressed in his clothes, someone might only notice the difference once they started talking." He leaned back, feeling a mix of pride and nostalgia as he recounted the unique quirks of his siblings, unaware of the deeper connections that would soon unfold on this journey.
"I don't have any siblings," Irene declared with a bright smile, her voice bubbling enthusiastically. "I really can't fathom how some people deal with them. Honestly, if I had a sibling, I'd probably be miserable! My parents spoil me with everything I could ever want." Her expression radiated a sense of pride and contentment.
Agatha rolled her deep brown eyes in response, sensing Irene's dismissive attitude. "There's absolutely nothing wrong with having siblings, you know," she retorted, defending her own experiences. "I have two younger brothers—fraternal twins, no less! They're just five years old and named…"
"I don't care!" Irene interrupted sharply, cutting Agatha off mid-sentence. She then pivoted back to Monty, her expression instantly transforming into a sweet, overly saccharine smile. "As for my family, we've been in Slytherin for generations. I'm sure I'll be sorted into Slytherin, too, like the rest of the illustrious Prince Family."
Both Monty and Agatha exchanged glances, each of them acutely aware of the bubbling pride in Irene's voice. They recalled the words of both Mr. Gaunt and Agatha's great-grandfather, Sebastian, who had both explained that the Sorting Hat utilized its magical prowess to delve deep into the minds of students, evaluating their personality traits and potential to ascertain which Hogwarts House suited them best.
"Just a heads-up, you realize you might not end up in Slytherin, right?" Agatha said gently, her tone attempting to soften the atmosphere. "My great-grandfather Sebastian was in Slytherin, but…"
"I didn't ask for your family history, freckle-face!" Irene snapped back, her voice dripping with condescension as she waved her hand dismissively. Then, she turned to Monty, her demeanor shifting to feigned sweetness. "So, what about you, Monty? What Hogwarts House did your parents belong to?"
"That's none of your business, Irene," Monty replied flatly, his voice a monotone blend of annoyance and indifference.
Agatha couldn't help but smirk gently at Monty's response; she understood him well enough to recognize his irritation. However, Irene's eyes widened in disbelief at Monty's blunt rejection.
"Pardon me?" she asked, her tone laced with incredulity. "Aren't we friends?"
"I have no idea who you are!" Monty snapped, his voice rising with frustration. "We barely know each other! We met when we were getting our robes fitted at the shop! I thought we could become friends, but I don't want to associate with someone who bullies Agatha for no reason! Just leave our compartment!"
Irene remained perfectly still, her gaze locked onto Monty with defiance and uncertainty. Determined to convey his intentions, Monty pointed decisively at the door, his expression firm and unyielding. He wanted her to understand—he wanted her to leave the compartment, to step away from the tense atmosphere that had settled around them. After hesitating, Irene rose to her feet, her shoulders tense, but her expression betrayed no further emotion. Without glancing back at Monty or Agatha, she slipped out of the compartment, the door clicking softly behind her.
Inside, an uneasy silence enveloped Monty and Agatha. Monty glanced sideways at his friend, catching the slight smirk that played at the corners of her lips. It was an expression that usually signaled humor, but today, it felt layered, complicated by the sadness in her warm brown eyes. The term "Freckle-Face" was not new to Agatha; it was an old label that had been thrust upon her by the other children in their village, a nickname that had earned its cruel spot in the playground hierarchy. The teasing had only stopped when Agatha's formidable Great-grandfather intervened, casting an imposing shadow over the potential bullies.
As they continued their journey to Hogwarts, Monty felt a tightening in his chest at the thought that students might resume the taunts of the past. He knew all too well that the very same name would likely emerge again, echoing through their new school's hallways. Monty's protective instincts ignited; he felt a surge of determination to safeguard Agatha from the inevitable trials they would face together. He promised himself he would stand up for her, ensuring that no one would dare repeat the hurtful words that had caused her pain before.
Monty and Agatha stood amongst a crowd of first-year students in the heart of the Great Hall, their nerves palpable in the thick air. The grandeur of the hall loomed around them, with enchanted candles floating above their heads, casting a soft glow on the enchanted ceiling that mirrored the evening sky. Excitement mixed with trepidation as they awaited the moment that would determine their future. Monty's gaze drifted around the hall, taking in the familiar faces of his fellow students. Still, his attention turned sharply to Professor McGonagall, who stood at a nearby stool, a large, weathered hat resting prominently on the wooden surface.
Monty's eyes roamed past Professor McGonagall, scanning the professors at the head table. Each one conveyed a distinct aura, but Professor Snape caught his attention. The potion master sat still, an unreadable expression etched on his face, but his dark eyes focused intently on Monty, almost as if they were boring into his soul. A shiver ran down Monty's spine; he had met Snape only once before, on Matt's and Penny's birthday, yet the intensity of Snape's gaze suggested a long-standing animosity. It puzzled Monty—he had never done anything to provoke such disdain from the notoriously stern professor.
Sighing softly, Monty changed his focus to Professor McGonagall, who had begun to call out names in a clear, authoritative voice. As she announced, "Grendel, Chaz," a golden-haired boy stepped forward. Chaz's shoulders slumped, and he avoided the crowd's gazes, his eyes cast toward the floor. Monty tilted his head, intrigued by the boy's demeanor, notably as he climbed onto the stool for his Sorting. When the Sorting Hat was placed upon Chaz's head, a silence fell over the hall, stretching on far longer than Monty anticipated. Minutes seemed to tick by with an unbearable slowness until finally, the hat shouted, " Ravenclaw! "
Relief washed over Chaz as the hat was removed, and he descended from the stool and went to the Ravenclaw table. For a fleeting moment, he raised his head and locked eyes with Monty. Then, Monty noticed something striking—the boy's eyes were distinctly different. One was a striking shade of ebony, while the other was a ghostly white. The contrast was mesmerizing, yet Chaz quickly lowered his gaze again, visibly embarrassed as he joined his new housemates. Monty could scarcely take his eyes off him until he felt a gentle tug on his hand. He turned to find Agatha staring at him, her expression mixed with confusion and concern. Monty responded with a soft, reassuring smile before returning to Professor McGonagall.
The names continued to be called, and the atmosphere blended excitement and suspense. Monty felt the knot of anticipation tighten in his stomach as Professor McGonagall finally declared, "Potter, Fleamont." Taking a deep breath, Monty stepped forward, determined to guide his steps as he approached the stool. He sat down, the stool creaking slightly under his weight. As the Sorting Hat was placed atop his head, a familiar voice reverberated in his ears.
" Well, well, well. You are quite unlike any eleven-year-old I've encountered before ," the Sorting Hat mused, its voice a blend of curiosity and warmth.
"What is that supposed to mean?" Monty replied, his voice slightly hesitant yet imbued with a hint of defiance, feeling somewhat affronted by the hat's presumption.
The Sorting Hat seemed to chuckle softly before continuing, " You have faced challenges early in life, taking on the responsibility of raising your younger siblings. That shows a bravery that many would shy away from. Your loyalty to your family and that steadfast friend, Agatha Sallow, speaks volumes about your character. And intellect; it takes a sharp mind to oversee the well-being of others for so long. You possess the makings of a great leader, guiding your siblings as they navigate their own paths. "
Monty felt pride at the hat's recognition, but anxiety lingered as the Sorting Hat contemplated his future. " Let's analyze further. Could you embody the courage of a Lion? Or perhaps the brightness of a Raven? There's loyalty, too, reminiscent of a Badger, yet you carry the leadership potential that sets you apart from the Slytherins. So many choices... Let's see… You belong in... "