Belonging
Boy – no, Harry – took in the luxurious dining room with wide viridian eyes and the melody of one of Aunt Petunia’s favourite songs lilting out of his juvenile voice-box – his mouth struggling to form the complex words and rhymes he couldn’t quite remember. He felt oddly at ease for being in a stranger’s home, but then again, this stranger was his grandmother so did she really count? But that wasn’t the reason he was tempted to drift off into a deep and secure sleep in the stiff dining chair, was it? He took a breath as deep as his small lungs would allow and found the answer. It was the very air itself; it was fully saturated with that delicious strangeness that drifted comfortingly from his grandmother like the beckoning scent of No.6’s Wednesday stew – only this was far better.
Harry thought he must look very strange sniffing the air and sighing contently after each deep inhale, but the thought just made him feel more at home with the strangeness emanating from the very walls, floors and strange bits and bobs lying scattered around the house. It filled a void he thought only a mother’s embrace could fill – perhaps this had been what his young heart had been calling for all those stale and solitary nights locked away from any chance at compassion like Dudley’s unwanted toys; broken, begging for what warmth they knew they once had, waiting for the day when a little forlorn Harry would rescue it from a life left in dust. Mabey this is where he is meant to be.
However, his reassuring train of thought was interrupted by the return of his harried grandmother and an old man who had a look in his eye that resembled a castaway seeing the little bobbing light of hope from a nearing boat. And it was directed straight at him, it made Harry wonder what he had done apart from ignore his stranger danger lessons that had made him become the boat.
Reminded of his actions that were surely worthy of a screeching from Aunt Petunia, he became determined on at least observing strange people before he talked to them, even if he smelt of soothing, stolen blankets.
To Harry he looked very old, he was a bit biased since he was very young, but it was the weary look in his eyes that made him look a decade over what he appeared to be – other than that he seemed far more fancy and put together than grandmother: styled hair grey at the temples, high necked and intricate starched shirts and expensive-looking jackets layered impossibly upon one another and carrying an air sharper than any knife Harry had ever been allowed to use. But it was his eyes that drew Harry in like a deer to oncoming headlights – they were mesmerising, beautiful and distant like stars long burnt out, only their echo’s remaining. And yet they were filled with such directness and attention that Harry felt he was strapped to an operating table like the ones in Uncle Vernon’s crime shows – bright, harsh and ripped apart with a gaze with scalpel-like precision.
The thought made Harry shudder and the man seemed to notice even that. Thankfully, he tried to soften his edges and sat down on one of the many odd chairs dotted around the dining table, chairs that made it seem as if this room had once been filled to the brim with guests, and lowered himself to Harry’s level, he appreciated the effort and decided he liked this strange surgical man – however stern he appeared – and this feeling grew more solid when he spoke in hushed tones laced with fine threads of awe.
“Hello, my name is Arcturus, and I am your great-grandfather.” A pause and a hesitant smirk “But please just call me grandfather, that makes me feel extremely old.” They studied each other for a second or two, mapping each other’s faces for landmarks of approval or rejection, and smiled tentatively at each other once they found themselves on the flat and welcoming plains of acceptance.
“Are you done yet? We have a lot to discuss you know?” Harry got a feeling his grandmother interrupted precious, quiet moments often by the look of utter annoyance on his grandfather’s face.
“Yes, thank you very much we know that thanks to someone.” He shot his grandmother a stern look before turning around a bickering with her for several minutes – slowly introducing erratic hand gestures that became excessively deranged the more cackling words were spat out of grandmother’s mouth. Harry watched with a curious amusement as he got the sense he was rewatching Uncle Vernon’s nature documentary of two lions battling and snarling at each other for control over their span of the vast savanna – an insignificant and petty fight in the grand scheme of all life and land but no less fascinating and entertaining to watch.
In fact, he got so caught up in watching this grand battle of offended snake vs aggressive shrew that he no longer had any idea what they were saying – just observing rapid fire mouths discuss “laws”, “political benefits” and “meddling barstards”, while wondering what these strange and abstract things were.
Suddenly, his grandfather whipped his head back around so fast Harry was sure he must have whiplash and focused his steely eyes now molten and bulging with frustration solely on the little boy. Harry was sure his gulp was audible.
“Well? What is your opinion on the matter?” He demanded; his voice heavy with exasperation while his grandmother continued to prattle on behind him.
“What?” Mabey he should have been listening. His grandfather seemed to age before his eyes. He took a deep breath from his very soul as if this conversation was physically demanding.
“We cannot legally adopt you due to unforeseen circumstances and convenient obstacles, so you can return to your muggle family o-” Harry’s little heart dropped to the basement of the bizarre house he had fallen in love with all of 2 minutes ago, he simply couldn’t conceive the thought of returning to empty plates, cramped cots, filthy clothes, aching bruises, nasty looks and harsh words. Not when promises and secrets leaked from walls. Where strange creatures and even stranger women lurked and cooed at him. Where mysterious powers not yet explained lay in wait of prodding and questioning. He couldn’t do it. He will not do it.
He tumbled off the chair that was suddenly much higher than he remembered, he tripped and spluttered over the astonished man and clutched silken robes worth more than his life just to cry into them with all his might.
“I WILL NOT GO- LET ME STAY I’LL CLEAN I’LL BE QUIET I DON’T WANT TO GO!” He willed his squeaky childish voice to pitches that he imagined would make his aunt quiver in her kitten slippers, he felt salty tears stream down his face and into his babbling mouth, but he continued to scream, he needed them to know. He needed to stay.
A warm hand enveloped his quivering shoulder, breaking him out from his spell and remining him of the presence of rigid boards under his knee, wet cheeks streaked with tears and sodden robes clutched in his tiny hands. Hi sudden clarity made him turn red with embarrassment, if he wanted them to let him stay this was not the way to do it – what was he thinking acting like Dudley when he was denied something he wanted, they would regret even letting him in the house now, he could see them in his swollen shut eyes preparing to kick the deafening brat out into the streets.
The hand withdrew, and Harry prepared himself for a smack or a kick but instead he flinched upon the impact of a warm hug, enclosing him in the gentle waves of strangeness and soft whispers of reassurances he thought he would never receive.
“Hush now, its okay we are not getting rid of you.”
“Nice and calm now, we won’t send you back.”
“It’s okay don’t worry it will all be alright.”
He dared to crack open his swollen eyes to see a shocking scene of destruction surrounding him and the two adults awkwardly trying to hug and calm him together on the floor – shattered glass and splintered chairs littered the dining area as if a tornado had strutted through the room while he had been distracted, as his eyes continued to rake over warped wood, withered wallpaper and eviscerated upholstery a new thought suddenly took over the despair and embarrassment currently running amok in his mind – what on earth happened?
He slowly wriggled around to face his grandfather before shyly asking said question, the man chuckled wearily with an expression of amusement and relief stretched across his face before answering.
“Don’t worry Harry, it was just a bit of accidental magic, I must say nobody would dare deny you as a member of the house of Black after seeing a spectacle like that!” He laughed quietly at his own joke before inspecting Harry for any possible signs of injuries or harm, Harry just showed confusion. What magic? What house?
“The house of Black?” Grandfather smiled warmly at him with a hint of nostalgia in his eyes, as if recalling precious memories of this so-called house.
“Yes Harry, that is our family – your family now, and if you had let me finish, I would have told you that you could stay with us and we would handle the legal manoeuvrings.” If Harry wasn’t embarrassed before he sure was now – he must have been bright red from the tips of his toes to the roots of his hair from the way his grandmother took pity on him and started petting his hair and reassuring him.
“Its okay Harry, you can stay with us for forever – we want you to stay as much as you do – we will adopt you no matter what.” She stated firmly, clearly not used to comforting crying children but Harry admired her valiant attempt – he wiped his eyes that were already beginning to tear up again before wriggling to face her and voiced his worries.
“But I thought you said you couldn’t because of ‘meddling bah-stads’?” Harry managed to clumsily sound out the unfamiliar noises before his grandmother broke down in fits of hysterical laughter, clutching at her stomach like someone had punched the air out of her, and his grandfather tried and failed miserably to hold in a wheeze at Harry’s expense.
Wiping tears of mirth from her eyes now swimming with joy, she managed to pull herself together enough to form a response to the mystified little boy – currently trying to understand the power he now wielded.
“Yes, yes I suppose you right-” another small breathy giggle escaped its confinement “– but that will not stop us from being meddling barstards right back at him!”
“Isn’t that bad?”
“Only if you’re at the receiving end.” She stated sagely, Harry made sure to file this information away for later.
“So, what will you do?” He questioned curiously, what counted as meddling activities?
Both his grandmother and grandfather gave each other a questioning look as if to say, ‘are you sure?’, before turning back to Harry.
“Well Harry, you may not know this, but you are actually famous in our world, the wizarding world.” There it was again – wixen, magic, wizarding – he wasn’t quite sure what these words meant to him, he was choosing to ignore the mention of his supposed fame, but the only link he could find between these mystical words was what his aunt called his ‘freakishness’ - but he didn’t know how to ask such a question and he wasn’t sure he should interrupt what seemed to be a speech.
“When you were just a baby a powerful wizard sought to kill you and your family – no one is sure as to why – but after killing your mother and father he turned his wand onto you and simply vanished.”
“Vanished?” Well, that was anticlimactic.
“Yes, but this wasn’t just any wizard Harry – he had been waging war on Britain for years before and was winning. Yet his reign was cut shot by a baby of all things, its no wonder all those foolish wixen grasped onto you as their saviour.” She gave harry a contemplative and pitying look before continuing her rant.
“But this caused people who really shouldn’t have been involved to gain an interest in you –meddling bastards as you rightly said – and from the paperwork I’ve seen they would likely ship you directly back to your muggles if they knew we adopted you.” Harry did a rather convincing impression of a kicked puppy before he noticed his grandmothers telling grin.
“Then what will you do?” His curiosity was entrapped, his despair momentarily forgotten.
“We will simply make sure they don’t know! I mean, you could have been living here this entire time for all they understand!”
“What do you mean-” Harry realised that he and his grandfather had both spoken their thoughts at the same time. Apparently, Harry wasn’t the only one left out of this crazy loop-de-loop.
His Grandma focused her calculating gaze from the two of them onto solely Harry. “How attached are you to your name Harry?” What a strange question, he had to stop and think with as much concentration as his underdeveloped brain could manage. Did she mean if he liked it? Sure, he was fond of his new name, but up until an hour ago he was still convinced that his name was ‘Boy’ – so far, he was convinced that names didn’t really mean all that much, it was just how the people around him saw or viewed the toddler but also how he viewed himself. Boy was the freaky kid who only knew cold nights and chilling winds from the empty spaces in his life from which a loving family should have filled, and Harry was apparently a mega-famous and tragic little boy. he wouldn’t say that he was attached to that idea, in fact he would rather not be seen as a different flavour of the same old freak show. So, did that make the answer no?
He relayed his thoughts to his grandparents who turned them over in their heads bearing serious expressions before his grandmother continued.
“Well, its because the easiest way around these problems is just by pretending that you’re not Harry. We will change your name and maybe your hair and you will be my son instead.” This epiphany hit him over the head like a bag of bricks, he could leave behind the barren and lonely legacy of ‘Boy’, avoid the troubles and challenges that seemed to emanate off the title ‘Harry Potter’. He could just be himself – not what others thought of him or portrayed him as. Just him. He never knew a thought could sound so beautiful.
“Please.” He was aware that begging was rude, Aunt Petunia had told him so many times but that was to Boy – and he wasn’t Boy.
Suddenly, it was as if the gloomy house was filled with a light so radiant, he had to squint – only to realise it was the wide, giddy grins of his grandparents as they began excitedly discussing possibilities, plans and names. The latter they were extremely passionate about.
“We are NOT naming him Arcturus you self-centred BASTARD!”
“I know you just want to name him Regulus, but we CANNOT have TWO Regulus’ in the same generation you IDIOTIC BAT- “
Should he be concerned that this bickering was already becoming familiar? Its not his fault its so entertaining! He was content just sitting and observing the two battling snakes as he slowly absorbed bits of their vocabulary that he planned to ask grandmother later. Eventually the two of them remembered it wasn’t their name that they were fighting over – took them long enough – and they dropped the hellish screeching to much more acceptable but no less vicious whispers, mutedly asking his opinion on said matter. Ten minutes of their back and forth and back and forth of equally mystical and ridiculous names later, they reached a standstill not to dissimilar to those wild west standoffs Dudley loved. Shockingly, it was grandmother who backed down first by primly and reluctantly stating:
“If we wish to do this properly, we will have to go to the astronomy room.” She wore the same expression one might wear when biting into a lemon, admitting defeat was a bitter thing to do.
All she received was an accepting nod from grandfather who was secretly over-the-moon at his tiny victory before the two of them frog-marched a very confused boy out of the dining room and through dingy corridors, twisting staircases, magnificent sitting rooms and seemingly infinite libraries – only slightly worried at the boy’s erratic inhalation of the dusty air – before arriving at a seemingly inconspicuous door. It seemed quite normal when in comparison to all the other grand entrances they had passed on their journey through this labyrinth, but Harry had to hold in a childish squeal of delight at the pure strangeness simply oozing out of the cracks in this mysterious thing’s enclosure.
He was practically vibrating in his grandfather’s firm hold on him as his grandmother slowly pushed open the door to reveal a room so beautiful, he forgot to breathe.
It was as if he was transported to a universe of beauty and magic, the hideous wallpapers were gone, no questionable décor in sight, only the spectrum of light splattered across the deliciously dark room like it was apiece of art. Twisting spirals and swirls of light and deep colours swayed mesmerizingly across the room in a cosmic dance beyond his capabilities of understanding – it was then he realised what he was looking at. Somehow, for some reason, Harry was looking at the stars.
He looked over at his grandmother in excitement at his revelation only to find her watching him with an unreadable expression on her face.
“This is our astronomy room, all Blacks come here to follow our tradition of naming our members after the stars – the only truly pure beauty left in this decrepit world.” The unknown expression was gone, replaced with one swimming with the painful memories of a time long past – perhaps she had come here when she was much younger, to name her own son of whom he had seen nor hide nor hair of during his time here. He wonders where he might be. Only for a second though, as his grandmother distracts him from his wonderings by explaining the wonderous masterpiece to him – pointing out magnificent constellations, grand nebulas, small burning yet inspiringly bright stars and heart wrenching stories immortalised forever in the blank expansive darkness. He had never seen anything so beautiful. Slowly, they stared narrowing them down for name ideas, wheedling out the strange and the downright bizarre to the acceptable and the memorable – testing them out on how they rolled of the tongue and how wild the combinations could become.
It was then that he truly knew that this is where he was meant to be.