Harry sensed something was off the very first day he returned to Privet Drive for the summer holiday.
He hadn’t wanted to come back – not to the Dursleys, not after everything. He had begged his godfather, even Professor Dumbledore, to let him stay somewhere else. But both had refused him, though their reasons remained frustratingly vague. Left in a state of bewildered gloom, Harry had shared his frustration with Scarlet some time before they boarded the Hogwarts Express. To his astonishment, Scarlet had told him the truth.
“Though it’s not really my place to say, I think you deserve to know and prepare yourself for whatever happens,” Scarlet had said, her voice steady yet gentle as she placed her hand over his, trying to calm him. “The reason you survived the dark wizard’s attack as a baby – it wasn’t just luck. Your mum performed a ritual to protect you. Do you remember the ritual you saw when I forged the choker for Mr. Lupin?”
Harry nodded slowly, the memory sharp in his mind. Mr. Lupin had changed since that day, venturing into the wild as a kind of magical adventurer, using his advantage of becoming a werewolf to forage for rare herbs and make earnings. He seemed healthier on his last visit to Sirius’s place, more in control of his transformations, thanks to the ritual Scarlet had performed and the enchanted choker she had crafted for him.
Scarlet continued, her gaze unwavering. “Your mother did something similar, Harry. She used a ritual – a powerful one - to ensure your protection even after her death.” Her hand hovered near his scar. “That scar...it’s proof of her love. As long as that protection exists, the dark wizard can’t harm you directly.”
Harry’s breath caught. “You mean my scar – it's because of my mum’s magic?”
Scarlet nodded and leaned in slightly, her voice lowering. “Do you remember how your scar hurt when you were near Quirrell?”
Harry’s eyes widened. “But I thought it was because he practised the Dark Arts--”
“Well, it’s because the power of the dark wizard was attached to him,” Scarlet said firmly. “That’s why your scar hurt, warning you to stay away from him.”
The truth struck Harry like a thunderbolt. He raised a hand to his scar, a wave of emotion surging through him. For so long, he’d believed he wasn’t loved - that he was an unwanted burden. Aunt Petunia’s endless snide remarks about his parents had painted them as careless and irresponsible. But now...
“However, there’s a rule for keeping this ritual active.” Scarlet’s voice broke through his thoughts. “That protection – it's tied to your mum’s bloodline. To keep it strong, you have to live with her blood relatives and call their place your home.”
Harry blinked, the pieces falling into place. Aunt Petunia was his only remaining link to his mother’s family. Professor Dumbledore and his godfather must have insisted he stay at the Dursleys’ for that very reason.
“But they could have told me,” Harry burst out, frustration creeping into his voice. “If I’d known, I wouldn’t have been so confused – so angry – all these years!”
Scarlet gave a small shrug, her expression pensive. “Honestly, I agree. Professor Dumbledore probably could have explained it better. But maybe it’s because wizards and Muggles think so differently; the gap between their worlds can make it hard to know what to say.”
“Still, I would rather live somewhere else than with my aunt. They have never treated me well...I rather living in the orphanage we visited at Christmas.”
She paused for a moment, and said, “Think about it, Harry. If you were in your aunt’s shoes, what would you have done? Imagine you’re a Muggle girl, living an ordinary life, when suddenly your sister tells you she’s a witch. She starts talking about moving staircases, ghosts, and hidden passages after going to a school you’ve never heard about – things you can’t even begin to understand. What would you think?”
Harry fell silent, letting Scarlet’s words paint a picture in his mind. For the first time, he tried to imagine Aunt Petunia’s life – not as it was now, but as it might have been when his mum was still alive.
“You’d feel,” Scarlet continued, her voice soft but insistent, “that this wizarding world – this place can’t see, touch, or understand – had stolen your sister away from you. You might resent the magic and all the nonsense surrounding it, but you’d endure it because your sister loved it.” Scarlet paused, lowering her voice further. “Then one day, out of the blue, an old man shows up on your doorstep. He hands you a baby and tells you your sister is dead – killed by some magic terrorist.”
Harry’s chest tightened, the weight of the scenario pressing on him. Pain flickering in his eyes as Scarlet’s words painted a vivid, heart-wrenching picture.
“You’d remember your sister - how happy she’d been when she married that ‘weirdo’,” Scarlet went on. “You’d remember the letter announcing you had a nephew, even though you hadn’t seen her in years. And now? All that left is this baby, and the knowledge that your sister is gone – taken by that strange, untouchable world.” Scarlet sighed deeply. “What would you feel, Harry? Knowing that world had stolen not just your sister’s life, but everything she could’ve been?”
“I--I don’t know,” Harry stammered, caught off guard.
Scarlet’s hand ruffled his messy hair, her voice softening as she dissected the emotions at play. “Here’s what I think, based on what I’ve seen: your aunt loves you, Harry. After all, you’re the only piece of her sister she has left. But...”
Harry opened his mouth to protest, but Scarlet quickly cut him off.
“But she hates you too, because you’re also a part of that world she blames for taking her sister away. Every time she sees you, you remind her of that loss. The pain is so raw, so deep, that it drowns out any love she might feel. That resentment spills over, and your uncle and cousin just go along with it. That’s why your life with them has been so miserable.”
Harry lowered his head, his throat tight with unspoken words.
“And another thing,” Scarlet added, her tone pragmatic. “Your aunt raises you out of her own pocket, didn’t she?”
Harry blinked, surprised.
“Think about it,” Scarlet said. “Had anyone ever told her that you inherited your parents’ wealth? Probably not. And did anyone compensate her for raising you? No. Raising a child isn’t easy, Harry, especially when she already had her own family to worry about. Combine that with the hatred she feels towards wizards, and, well...it’s not a recipe for kindness. Honestly, she could’ve thrown you into an orphanage. But for some reason – maybe fear of Professor Dumbledore, or maybe a lingering love for her sister – she kept you. She raised you, albeit not very well, but she still did it. That’s no small thing, especially for a child like you, with magical traits, who often grew up with things beyond a Muggle’s imagination; she must have been frightened when all those abnormal things happened, and feared that you might accidentally hurt anyone.”
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Harry sat quietly, processing Scarlet’s words. He still disliked the Dursleys, but something had shifted. With this newfound understanding, he felt a flicker of patience – a resolve to approach things differently. He thought of Neville, how calmly and kindly he dealt with challenging situations while working alongside Scarlet. If Neville could do it, so could he.
And, to Harry’s surprise, things really did go better.
By the time he reached King’s Cross Station, he felt a small sense of determination. Sirius was the first to meet him, his godfather’s face lighting up with pride before souring at the sight of Uncle Vernon.
Sirius reluctantly handed Harry over to his uncle but made his displeasure known. “I’ll be visiting tomorrow to discuss Harry’s custody arrangements,” he said firmly, his voice cutting through the station noise.
Uncle Vernon, red-faced and muttering under his breath, barked an unintelligible response before landing Harry away, his frustration and annoyance palpable.
As they left, Harry allowed himself a small smile. He didn’t know what tomorrow would bring, but for the first time in a long time, he felt ready to face it.
Back at the Dursleys’, Harry seized an opportunity to speak privately with Aunt Petunia. It didn’t take long for her to confirm Scarlet’s theory. She loathed the wizarding world, despised James Potter for drawing her sister into danger, and bitterly resented the financial burden of raising Harry.
“If it wasn’t for that Potter, Lily wouldn’t have died!” Aunt Petunia burst out, her voice trembling with anger and grief. “He came from some well-known wizarding family - a perfect target for every magical terrorist. If Lily hadn’t married him, if she’d just stayed ordinary, married someone normal, like I did, she’d still be alive!”
“I--I’m sorry, Aunt Petunia,” Harry stammered, his voice barely audible. He didn’t know what else to say to the woman now sobbing uncontrollably before him.
Hearing the commotion, Uncle Vernon stormed into the room. His face turned a deep shade of red as he barked at Harry, demanding he retreat to his room and stay there for the rest of the day. Harry obeyed without argument - for now.
The next morning, Harry decided it was time to have a proper talk. After breakfast and finishing his usual chores, he sat at the dining table, wand in hand. With a calmness he borrowed from Scarlet and Neville, he addressed the Dursleys.
“I need all of you to sit down and listen,” he said firmly.
Uncle Vernon immediately opened his mouth to protest, but Harry raised his wand ever so slightly. “I won’t hurt anyone, but if you don’t listen, I might have to...improvise. Dudley, that includes you. I’d hate to see you spitting out frogs or slugs because you couldn’t keep quiet.”
Dudley gasped in horror, clamping both hands over his mouth before scurrying to hide behind Aunt Petunia, who instinctively pulled him close and glared at Harry with unmasked anger.
Harry’s heart clenched at the sight. A family of three, together and protective of one another – it was the kind of picture he’d always wished for himself. Shaking away the pang of longing, he focused on Aunt Petunia, meeting her eyes directly.
He knew she was the key to changing how the Dursleys treated him.
“Aunt Petunia,” Harry began, his voice steady, “I know I’ve been a burden to you all these years. If it were up to me, I’d leave and live with my godfather – the man Uncle Vernon saw at King’s Cross. But I can’t. I have to stay here because of a promise my mum made to me before I even knew about it.”
Aunt Petunia’s brows furrowed in confusion and frustration. “What promise? You came here with nothing, and no one ever told me about any promise!”
Harry held up a hand to keep her calm, his wand ready as a warning. “It’s magic,” he explained carefully. “A kind of protection. My mum gave it to me when she died, to shield me from the person who killed her.”
Aunt Petunia’s eyes widened, and Harry could see the cracks forming in her hardened exterior.
“I know, I know you hate magic,” Harry said softly, “But this...this is the last piece of her magic keeping me safe. It’s the only way I can feel her love, even after all this time. That’s why I have to stay here - until I’m old enough to fend for myself.”
A heavy silence fell over the room. Aunt Petunia’s lips trembled as she processed Harry’s words. Her eyes, usually cold and dismissive, softened ever so slightly.
For once, even Uncle Vernon had nothing to say. Instead, he placed a comforting arm around his wife, pulling her close. The sadness that hung in the air was almost tangible, bridging the gap between aunt and nephew in a way Harry hadn’t thought possible.
“I can promise you won’t see any magic in this house.” Harry said earnestly, his tone calm but determined, “I’ll leave my broom and my owl at my godfather’s house, and I’ll do all my schoolwork in my room. No spells, no wands – just books, papers, and a quill...I mean, a fountain pen, yeah, the school requires us to write with one anyway."
He paused, collecting his thoughts as he recalled the points he’d carefully planned with Scarlet’s guidance. “I can also contribute to the household. My parents left me some inheritance, enough to cover my living expenses. I can even give you an allowance, if you prefer, for all the hardships you have endured in looking after me.”
Harry glance at Aunt Petunia, searching her face for any flicker of recognition of their shared connection. Her resemblance to his mother – something he’d seen in photos and in the Mirror of Erised – struck him again.
“I know you’ve been overwhelmed with chores,” he continued, his voice softening. “And I know you’ve kept me away from people because you were afraid - afraid I’d hurt them. I get it now. It must have been terrifying to see things flying around or exploding for no reason when I was younger. But I’ve learned how to control my magic at school. That won’t happen again.”
He hesitated, then added, “You can even hire a helper for the house, and I’ll pay for it. Please, Aunt Petunia, just give me a chance.”
After a long, tense silence, Aunt Petunia finally gave a stiff nod. They reached an agreement: Harry would no longer be responsible for household chores, and Dudley was to stop bullying him. In return, Harry would keep magic out of the house and contribute financially where needed.
The arrangement seemed tenuous at best, but it was a start.
The doorbell rang not long after, and to Harry’s surprise, Sirius arrived – with William, Scarlet’s manager, in tow.
William stepped inside, holding a formal document in hand. “On behave of Milady,” he explained, “this is a contract outlining the terms of Harry’s care. Sirius Black, as his godfather, will compensate you for treating him properly.”
It is essentially everything Harry just proposed – only in black and white, in a more appropriate manner.
The Dursleys were reluctant, but the formality of the agreement - and the promise of no magic in the house and financial support – sealed the deal. Harry had finally secured some semblance of peace at the Dursleys’. He could live there without undue misery and visit Sirius’s home whenever he needed to send letters or escape.
For a while, things seemed to settle.
But that night, Harry felt something strange – a faint but persistent sensation, as though he were being watched. At first, he dismissed it as his imagination, but the feeling grew stronger with each passing hour. Uneasy, he decided to call Scarlet for advice.
“Don’t worry,” Scarlet reassured him over the phone. “Give me a few days, and I’ll come by for a visit.”
“Great! See you soon, then!” Harry replied, his spirits lifting. Strangely enough, after the call, the sensation faded, leaving him in peace.
However, new concerns began to gnaw at him. He hadn’t received a single letter from any of his friends - not even Ron or Hermione. That wasn’t normal, and it unsettled him deeply.
Still, he clung to the reassurance that Scarlet would arrive soon. If anyone could figure out that was going on, it was her. And Harry trusted her completely.