Harry Potter
If you would have told Harry that he would be spirited away to Ireland in the beginning of summer, then he would have laughed. Any hope of having his godfather take him in had been crushed after Dumbledore had told him that Sirius was safe, and that Harry would have to return to his relatives. He had not truly been surprised though. It had been too good to be true after all.
But then they arrived, the old man and Sirius. It had been humiliating when they had seen his room and then his cupboard but there was nothing to do about that now. They had still taken him with them to the woods in Ireland.
The cottage was quite big and had thick wooden walls that seemed to resonate with the trees outside, Harry found himself becoming fond of how the magic seemed to caress him. It was not dissimilar to the way Hogwarts felt, the school felt old and protective while the cottage felt harmonious and empowering.
Harry cracked his neck and stretched out on the sofa.
“Shouldn’t you be in bed?”
Harry started at the voice and sat up hurriedly as he faced the old man.
“I couldn’t sleep.” Harry answered quietly. Ready to bolt to the room he had been given. Why did he even leave it? He hoped that he hadn’t taken too many liberties by coming into the sitting room. It was only that it was larger, and the magic wasn’t as suffocating here.
The old wizard grunted before taking a seat in the armchair in front of the fireplace.
“Why?”
Harry hesitated, wondering if he should lie or be honest. He didn’t know this man, but couldn’t the same be said for Sirius? Fearing retribution in the form of sending him back to the Dursley’s he opted to be honest.
“The air feels restless, I don’t know how to explain it.” he flushed at how weird he was being. He should have lied. If Ron was here, then he would have told Harry that he was going bloody mad.
“You can sense the magic?” The man asked in surprise.
Harry frowned. “What?”
“We have entered Litha, the magic gets more erratic the closer we get to the solstice.”
So many questions filled Harry’s mind.
“What?”
The old wizard rolled his eyes.
“They don’t teach you about the Wheel at Hogwarts?”
Harry shook his head. The man mumbled some obscenities.
“I will give you a book on it then. Now tell me, is this the first time you’ve felt magic?”
“Yes, I don’t, well no. I think I can feel it at Hogwarts too, I don’t really know how to explain it, but it just fills the air.” Harry shrugged.
The man leaned back in the armchair, looking pensive.
“Is that not normal?” Harry questioned nervously.
“No, it is not. Most wizards and witches never experience it, at least not outside the festivals. Litha will be celebrated in two days, but you cannot experience it if you don’t do it at a Stonehenge. Each festival has a ritual that must be followed in order to reap the benefits.”
Harry stayed quiet and mulled over his words.
“Very old and very powerful wizards or witches can feel what you describe, it is the very reason I built this cottage when I turned 107 years old. It was then I started to truly feel the old magic in these woods.”
“I’m not even fourteen yet.”
Something unknown flickered in the old man’s dark eyes as he regarded Harry with a slight upturn of his lips.
“Very old or very powerful.”
“No” Sirius said, glaring at Mister Macmillan.
“The boy needs to learn,”
His godfather had a pinched expression.
“It’s too risky!”
Mister Macmillan rolled his eyes.
“None will take him away, the legalities have been dealt with and not even Dumbledore can say anything about it unless he wants to renew the war.”
Harry still didn’t understand why the Irish authorities decided to claim him, Harry was English and Sirius had told him that the Potters was an old family from Wales.
“But I cannot come?” Sirius whined.
The old wizard sighed.
“Not this time, Fudge is being difficult regarding your asylum, and we better not risk it for now.”
Walking up the hill to where the Stonehenge was were thrilling, the magic was thick in the air and a feeling of euphoria filled his veins. Mister Macmillan looked undisturbed.
“Harry?”
Harry turned the owner of the voice and was surprised to see Seamus Finnigan looking back at him with a disbelieving expression.
“Seamus,” Harry greeted.
“What are you doing here?”
Harry found it amusing that it was now easier to understand Seamus, he had not lived with Mister Macmillan that long, but the old man had a much thicker accent than his schoolmate.
“Celebrating Litha,” Harry said as if he was talking about the weather.
Seamus blinked at him, looking disturbed.
“But you’re English.”
“I thought all wizards and witches could celebrate it no matter their nationality?” Harry stated, he knew why Seamus was confused though. Mister Macmillan had explained how these celebrations had been banned in England after the fall of Grindelwald. The English ignored them while the Scottish, the Irish and the Welsh celebrated them on their own soil. It had made Harry wonder if his family used to celebrate them too as he had learned that his grandparents were born and bred in Wales and his father too. It was all so confusing as Harry had always seen himself as just British. He had never pondered too much about his family’s origins, thinking it was all the same in the end. Learning that it wasn’t had been a rollercoaster.
It all seemed so very posh and nationalistic in his eyes. He guessed that the Dursley’s may have hand in that, they had never instilled any nationalistic pride in him. They had instead ignored him – thankfully as he preferred that to their not so nice attentions.
“You´re Harry Potter, the chosen one, the saviour of Great Britain. And you are very English, have you ever heard yourself speak?”
Harry ignored the accusation as a woman walked up to them, clearly worried for Seamus who was almost frothing by now.
“What’s the matter, my dear?”
Seamus blushed at the endearment.
“This is Harry Potter, ma.”
The witch looked surprised before narrowing her eyes at him in question.
“No offence Mister Potter, but what are you doing outside of England?”
Harry felt a hand on his shoulder and relaxed at the familiar presence he had come to recognise during his time away from the Dursleys.
“I don’t fault you for not knowing yet Mrs Finnigan, but Harry here is now under the protection of the bond of blood.” Mister Macmillan explained. Seamus’s mother gasped in surprise.
“Well forgive me, it’s only that bad things follow the English. Congratulations Mister Potter on the kinship. It is good to know that Seamus will have another kinsman with him at school.”
Harry did not pretend to understand the pure distaste the Irish had for the English, it was not something he had paid much attention to in school before Hogwarts and Binns had never mentioned it either. At least he did not think so.
“You want to meet the others?” Seamus asked, looking a bit unsure.
Harry looked towards Mister Macmillan who nodded his consent.
Several students from Hogwarts were there and each one of them looked at Harry in confusion. It was only two others who were in their year and who Harry recognised.
Theodore Nott and Fay Dunbar.
One a Slytherin and the other a Gryffindor whom he had barely interacted with. Seamus seemed friendly with both of them, which was a surprise as Harry had always thought that the Irish boy hated Slytherins.
“So how come you’re here Potter?” Theodore Nott questioned. Fay Dunbar and Seamus seemed to be just as interested in his answer.
“I live with Mister Macmillan, and he thought it ‘prudent’ that I was educated in the matter of being a wizard.” Harry joked.
Fay Dunbar whistled. “Donal Macmillan?”
Harry nodded.
“Lucky sod,” Seamus muttered, which was weird as the other boy had been there when Mister Macmillan had spoken to his mother.
Seeing the confusion on his face, Dunbar smiled.
“He’s a bit of legend in the Irish community, he led the Irish forces against Grindelwald and Ireland never lost. Not even once. Many believe that Grindelwald did his best to evade the Irish forces because of him.”
Nott nodded in agreement.
“You mean that he is on par with Dumbledore?”
Seamus grinned at that.
“Macmillan surpasses that old coot.”
The other two hummed in agreement.
Harry had a feeling that the Irish disliked Dumbledore too.
“Then why didn’t he fight Voldemort?”
The three young teens flinched at the name.
“Do you know nothing Potter?” Nott sneered. Dunbar sighed and pushed the wizard softly.
“He’s English,” she said as if that alone was an explanation. Seamus guffawed.
The blonde witch turned to Harry and looked at him imploringly. “After Britain scorned Ireland after Grindelwald’s defeat, the Irish swore to never aid the English until they’ve made amendments.”
“We stayed true to that!” Seamus huffed.
“A British Dark Lord attacking British residents? Sounds like a British problem.” Nott smirked.
Harry narrowed his eyes. “Weren’t your dad a deatheater?”
Nott sputtered and turned bright red.
“My father was cast out as he bowed to an Englishman, my grandfather made sure of that.” Nott said bitingly. Harry did not miss that it was Englishman he said and not dark lord, one would think that being a dark lord would be worse than being English.
“It’s time.” An older witch said as she fetched Dunbar.
Harry did not have to look long for Mister Macmillan as the elder wizard appeared out of nowhere.
The magic flowed as eight witches started to sing and dance around the stones, they twirled and sang without difficulty and the stones began to shimmer as their song got louder. Everyone watched the spectacle and Harry was enamoured by the sight.
It was beautiful.
Soon more joined them and small groups gathered around each stone and formed a circle of people holding hands.
“Go on then.” Mister Macmillan said as he pushed Harry toward the closest stone.
Not ready for the rather forceful action, Harry stumbled forwards. He was about to turn back when someone grabbed his hand. An older witch with greying hair smiled at him and brough him closer to the stone by his hand.
Harry followed obediently and was surprised when his other hand was taken, this time by Fay Dunbar. He had no choice but try to keep up as they seemingly jumped around the stones, skipping to the beat of the singing. It was after the second lap that Harry started to feel dizzy as the magic grew more potent. It was exhilarating.
He did not know how long they danced around the stones, but he wished that it was longer despite the ache in his calves as they slowed down. The woman let go of his hand first with a nod in his direction. Dunbar grabbed his arm with her other hand.
“That was wonderful Potter!” Dunbar gushed, her dark eyes glittering with excitement. Harry nodded and grinned at her, in complete agreement. She gave him a hug before wishing him a happy solstice. He hoped that the blush wasn’t too visible. He looked after her with a wistful expression.
“Did you have fun pup?” Sirius questioned with a smile.
Harry nodded. “It was brilliant, I got to dance, and the magic was otherworldly.”
Mister Macmillan chuckled. “The stone he danced around shone the brightest.” he said with a knowing smile.
“Have you danced there too?” he asked his godfather.
Sirius nodded. “My grandmother used to bring me and my brother each year before she fell ill, those were the happy times. When she died my grandfather and father decided to ignore our Irish roots, we were forbidden to speak about it.”
Mister Macmillan sighed.
“I did speak to Arcturus about that, but the man was too stubborn for his own good. I offered to take you both, but the man did not want to hear about it. Something broke within the wizard at Melania’s death.”
Sirius seemed surprised at that. “You did?”
“Of course, I did, you were my sister progenies after all.”
Harry looked between the wizards, seeing the sadness in their eyes. It felt like he was interrupting them by just being here. Sirius’s eyes cleared as Harry wondered how he could best walk to his room.
“Did you hear any insults towards the English pup?” Sirius asked with mirth, a smirk on his face. Quite the change from his mood a second ago.
Harry blinked and snorted as he nodded.
“I didn’t know that nationalities were so important. I mean, aren’t we all British?”
Sirius laughed loudly as Mister Macmillan sputtered.
“Oh kid, Ireland does not belong to Great Britain. History together with that has made them a bit more antagonistic, fortunately the Welsh and Scottish don’t share quite the same views. I mean some dislike us Englishmen, it’s only natural when thinking of our bloody history but Ireland is very special. It’s why I came here for help, not many countries would want to go against Great Britain.”
Harry frowned at Sirius’s words. “How does that even work as muggle Ireland is British?”
Sirius blinked owlishly while Mister Macmillan sighed loudly, shaking his head in disappointment.
“Oh Harry, Northern Ireland is a part of Great Britain. That’s true for muggles and magical folks. Ireland is not. It is important to separate the two.”
Harry blushed. His godfather’s words did ring a bell. He had never been one for geography even before Hogwarts.
“And that is a crime itself, the English are brigands’ boy!” he could see Sirius roll his eyes at Mister Macmillan’s words. “The rest has forgotten and ignored but Ireland does not. Your education is lacking Mister Potter, something we shall rectify. Mark my words.”
Sirius snorted and gave Harry a wink while the boy wanted to sink into the sofa. He could bet that Hermione would sigh in disappointment if she was here.
“Will I go back to Hogwarts?” Harry asked as he clutched the letter in his hand. It was this year’s list.
“Do you want to?” Sirius questioned.
Harry nodded, he wanted to see his friends again.
“Please.”
Sirius looked towards Mister Macmillan.
“It will be alright, the British ministry has no dominion over Hogwarts as it is protected by ancient Scottish laws weaved into the wards. Never underestimate the Scottish, lad.”
Harry brightened at the news.
“And Dumbledore?” Sirius mumbled. Harry had been told that his headmaster had practically demanded Sirius to return Harry to his relatives. His godfather had not taken well to being ordered around and had made that clear to the old wastrel as Mister Macmillan liked to call him.
“Even Dumbledore is beholden to the law, Harry is one of us now”.
Harry felt something stir in him at the proclamation. A sense of belonging washed over him.
Harry James Potter had found a home in Ireland.