Liber Fatalis: Chapter 1
Chapter 1 – Heaven help me, I’m a wizard
The summer of Harry’s tenth year was by far the best summer he had ever remembered experiencing. Of course, there wasn’t much competition that this end of term break had going for him, except possibly the one summer where Dudley had gotten so sick from some weird influenza that Harry didn’t have to worry about any “Harry hunting” during the duration of Dudley’s bed rest. Beyond that one fact, all of his summers seem to range from bad to atomically horrible. Surprisingly enough, this summer could be thought up as pleasant and possibly even awesome.
Harry Potter, only child of the deceased Lily and James Potter (whom his Aunt Petunia told him had died in a car accident when he was one), did not expect great things to happen to him. Years of hearing about how he was a worthless child from the Dursley’s and dealing with their abuse had Harry accepting the fact that nothing great was going to happen to him early on in his life. However, he couldn’t help but feel that the air had changed when the Dursley’s announced that they were going to leave for a good portion of the summer for a business trip Uncle Vernon needed to attend to and family vacation in France. They also stressed the fact that Harry will not be going with them.
“Marge was going to come and watch you boy, however she has some matters to attend to and will not have time to watch over such a delinquent like you.” Uncle Vernon had told him, to Harry’s relief. He had felt his heart beat rapidly at the mention of Uncle Vernon’s sister and the possibility that he might have to spend many days and weeks with the foul woman. Aunt Marge thought the world of Dudley and Uncle Vernon and always clucked her tongue about Harry. She always made sure he knew that he was damn lucky that Uncle Vernon was the nice, gentle soul that he was to accept him after his horrible parents died in the accident. She also always went on about how Harry should be placed in a school for delinquent boys to make sure he didn’t turn out to be as rotten as his parents.
Though Harry didn’t know much about his parents, there was always something in him that churned whenever Aunt Marge talked about his parents in such a manner. He always felt like screaming back at her but knew that would only get him in trouble.
“It seems that Petunia did speak to Mrs. Figg. The old lady has agreed to watch you during our trip.”
Mrs. Figg, as he called her since his early years, had been his designated caretaker since he was young. Although he never particularly enjoyed her company, he had found her presence far more pleasing than any of his regular family. She was strange, Mrs. Figg, who was someone that looked and felt out of place in this neighborhood. He had met his other neighbors before and they were just like his horrible Aunt Petunia. But Mrs. Figg was different. She muttered Latin under her breath, felt uncomfortable in the clothing that she wore as well as not being able to understand what half of the appliances in her home were actually used for.
There seemed to be something out of place with Mrs. Figg. It was as if she was living in a world that was entirely foreign to what she was accustomed to…
Giving Harry a sharp look, Uncle Vernon threatened him. “You better be on your best behavior when you’re with Mrs. Figg. Any word from Mrs. Figg about you misbehaving when we return then we’ll ship you right off to St. Brutus School, you hear that boy?”
“Yes Uncle Vernon.”
A few days later after the stern warning Uncle Vernon had given Harry, he was sitting by the window inside Mrs. Figg house, watching Uncle Vernon’s car drive away from him and letting the reality of the situation finally sink in.
He was free. He was not going to have to see his Uncle, Aunt, and his horrible obese cousin Dudley for the next five to six weeks. It was going to be fantastic to finally be away from some people that treated you as though you were some freak of nature. Sure, he did have a wild mop of black hair that tended to stick up in strange direction and retain it’s original length regardless of how often you cut it. Sure, he did have a strange scar on his forehead, shaped like a lightening bolt that he had received in the car accident that robbed himself of his parents, however even if he did have scars and untamable hair, he couldn’t figure out why that would make him a freak. Matter of speaking, he noted that Aunt Petunia had a long goose-like neck while Uncle Vernon seemed to lack one but made up for it by possessing a positively surly disposition. Then there is always the topic of his great ham of a cousin…
Well, Dudley was Dudley who was Dudley and well… that was all he could really permit himself because there were just too many things otherwise.
“Are they gone now?” the elderly lady asked him as he sheepishly moved away from the window.
“They just left,” Harry answered quietly, observing Mrs. Figg as she stood there, prim faced with her hair messily tied in a knotted bun. She clasped her hand together and narrowed her eyes at him.
“Now Harry,” she bore a fairly serious tone that Aunt Petunia always used on him when she was warning him and threatening him. “I need you to promise me something.”
“Yes?” Harry felt a bit nervous under her gaze. Though he was overjoyed at the fact that there were no more Dursley, he had come to realize that he didn’t know much about Mrs. Figg. Though he did spend some time with Mrs. Figg throughout his childhood, there was a part of him that was so use to living with the Dursley’s that he had expected Mrs. Figg to tell him something such as “your Uncle allowed me free reign in discipline therefore I will use it”. However, those words never came. Instead, the next thing that he knew was that she broke character by enveloping him into her arms and grinning widely in a manner Harry had never seen her do before.
“I need you to promise me that you will get yourself in all sorts of trouble. It is summer Harry, summers are meant for having fun!”
With a sigh of relief, Harry cheerfully agreed to comply with her wishes.
***
Harry had been staying in Aunt Bella’s (the older lady had required Harry to call her this after she felt that Mrs. Figg was too stuffy to be called) spare room. While the room did not match the size of Dudley’s first room (though it was about the size of Dudley’s second room), it was indeed a lot larger than the cupboard that he was use to living in. He couldn’t help but wish that he could live there forever with the elderly cabbage-smelling woman. He really didn’t mind all the cats that wove their way through the house using strange passageways that he couldn’t see (one of the cats, Ginger, even followed him around and jumped onto his lap whenever he took a seat) or even the lack of a television set in Mrs. Figg’s living room.
The previous day, he had spent most of it talking to Aunt Bella and helping her with some housework here and there. She did not require him to do everything the way that the Dursley’s did. She only asked him to do little tasks that he was enthused to help her with. His affection was growing towards this woman.
“I didn’t want to seem too nice to you the other times,” she told him when he asked her why she acted different than she usually did to him.
“I was afraid that if the Dursley’s thought that you were happy staying here with me, they wouldn’t let me watch you anymore. They’re very cruel individuals. But I decided that a few weeks are too long to play with pretences, therefore we’ll just have our fun and fib a bit here and there to the Dursley’s when the time comes.”
Harry did understand what Aunt Bella was talking about. Prior to the time that Aunt Bella had been designated caretaker of Harry whenever the Dursley’s needed someone to mind Harry as they weren’t somewhere, Harry use to be left at the house across the street. The lady that would watch him was a small petite lady that would sing such praises about how wonderful Harry was to Aunt Petunia. Soon after, the Dursley’s stop leaving him over at her house and instead left him with Aunt Bella.
He was doing some light dusting in the house when he saw the post come through the mail slot at the door. A moment later, another letter had come. And then another… and another. There was a strangely large amount of mail that found its way through the slot, one by one during a day where the post usually did not come. Curious, he picked up the post from the ground and brought it to the table.
“It is a Sunday… isn’t it?” Harry wondered out loud. Curiously, he took a peak at one of the letters and nearly tripped over Ginger, the orange cat that had taken to following him around wherever he went. Ginger let out an indigent meow and butted her head against his leg.
“Sorry girl,” he apologize to the tabby before returning his attention back to the envelopes. He was nearly unhinged when he had taken notice that the letters were actually addressed to him and not to his current caretaker.
Mr. Harry Potter
6 Privet Drive
Little Winging, Surrey
Second Room facing the East
The letters varied from one another. Not only were the envelopes different shapes and sizes, the penmanship on these envelopes differed in handwriting and sometimes ink color. If this was a prank, Harry couldn’t help but think that there was a lot of work that would have been put into it. The most curious aspect to these letters were the fact that there was not a single stamp on any of these letters. This made Harry wonder how exactly were they delivered to him if they did not travel through the British post (especially on a Sunday!). In replace of the postage stamp on front, the letters adorned a seals on the back that promised an authenticity and held an official air about it.
Harry didn’t have a clue about what he was going to do with these letters. Luckily for him, the voice behind him apparently knew something about these mysterious letters.
“Ah! I really did not expect them to come already… however there are so many nonetheless!” Harry looked up from his letters to see Aunt Bella take a seat next to him as she assessed the pile he had dropped onto the table.
“Come on Harry, open up.”
“I actually don’t know where to start,” Harry admitted. Harry didn’t ever get any post from anyone – save that postcard he once received from the optometrist after he had gotten his glasses when he was five. Thus, to be sent so many letters at one time had gotten him excited with anticipation but befuddled with what to do first. Just by handling the paper earlier, he couldn’t help but notice that it felt weird. The texture felt different from the usual manufactured envelopes with the blue linear prints acting as a ‘security’ mark that he was use to seeing. The paper that his letters were written in was thick and firm, though surprisingly lightweight.
“Maybe if you laid them all down in front of you that it would help?” Aunt Bella encouraged when she saw that Harry still made no move to pick up an envelope and tear it open.
Taking her advice, he gently laid out of the letters in front of him in columns. He had lost count after twenty because of his uncontained excitement began to rise to a level too wild for his mind to even process counting. Soon, the letters covered the round table. Aunt Bella waited for him to make his move.
“Which one do I start with?” Harry asked. He still didn’t know which one to start reading first. To give him a push, Harry looked down at all the letters that was laid down in front of Harry and picked one up gingerly and handed it to him.
“Dear, why do you not try opening up this one first?”
The envelope that Aunt Bella gave Harry was a cream envelope with an inky green script printed on it. He opened it up carefully, breaking the seal first before working to open the flap and take out the letter entrapped in the envelope.
HOGWARTS SCHOOL of WITCHCRAFT and WIZARDRY
Headmaster: ALBUS DUMBLEDORE
(Order of Merlin, First Class, Grand Sorc., Chf. Warlock, Supreme Mugwump, International Confed. of Wizards)
Dear Mr. Potter,
We are pleased to inform you that you have been accepted at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Please find enclosed a list of all necessary books and equipment.
Term begins on September 1. We await your owl by no later than July 31.
Yours sincerely,
Minerva McGonagall,
Deputy Headmistresss
Harry’s eyes felt as though they might bug out of his sockets. This letter was a letter inviting him to be schooled for magic! He had spent so many years listening to Uncle Vernon tell him again and again that there was no such thing as magic. This letter was proof that Uncle Vernon was wrong and the feeling that he had always had about there being something more to life was actually true.
Magic, of course it existed. He felt something in his mind click as if the final piece of the puzzle had been placed in the right spot. This explains the strange things that happened around him. For example, last week, there was that incident with Dudley at the zoo where the glass had disappeared and the snake slithered away muttering a word of “sanks” to him. There was also the time when Aunt Petunia cut his hair super short in punishment and the next morning his hair was the same messy mop that it usually way.
Although the concept of the existence of magic was something he had taken in easily, the idea that there is actually a school that teaches a student about magic was a bit strange.
Harry shot Aunt Bella a look then. She smiled at him, a wise expression painted on her face. Harry finally noticed that Aunt Bella wasn’t surprised at the comment about a magic school.
“Aunt Bella… do you happen to know anything about this?”
Aunt Bella gave him a delightful grin.
“Of course I do Harry,” she said. “I’m a witch. And you, Harry love, are one as well.”
Harry gaped at her as if she was dressed in a flamingo pink tutu, had four heads, three arms, and six feet while leaping over lions with an occasional pirouette here and there. His voice squeaked then, his small hands were clammy and nervous.
“I’m a witch?”
“Yes you are Harry. Well, in a manner. The proper term for it would be a wizard for you. I have been waiting for this day to come for ages! I have been so sick and tired of pretending to be muggle – oh, it means someone without magic,” she had hastily explained when she noticed Harry’s confused expression with the new word.
“Being muggle is utterly boring. I still don’t understand this telephone business and these clothing is absolutely itchy and annoying. Give me my robes any day… they’re so much easier to wash too. Just a simple cleaning spell and I’m all finished. ”
“This day that you’re talking about… do you mean the day I get these letters?” Harry asked the witch after she had finished her ranting about the conventions of ‘muggles’ and how silly some things were.
Aunt Bella confirmed with him, “That’s correct. I was waiting for you to get these letters. You see, these letters are your acceptance letters to Magic school. In this school you will learn all you need to know about being a wizard from how to use your magic and the different types of magics that exist.”
Aunt Bella scanned the letters the remaining unopened letters in front of Harry. “I find it strange though – I had only expected Hogwarts to write you a letter of invitation to their school of witchcraft and wizardry… however, it appears that other schools would also like you to attend.”
“Ah, but that doesn’t matter. Go on Harry, open up your other letters. I guess this just means you have many different schools to choose from.”
Harry hastily took up her suggestions. Unlike the Hogwarts letter that was written very formally, some of the letters were far more laid back and possibly even pleading for him to come to their school. A school by the name of Letting had (to his shock) flashing ink that read, “Harry Potter please come to our school!” in a neon green color. He had placed that letter in a pile he had created for the strange, misfit letters when he was sorting through schools that he might possibly decide to attend.
When he had finished reading all of the letters, he had three nice piles in front of him. The first pile was the pile of schools that he was actually considering, another was a pile of schools he thought were a possibility. The last pile was the pile that had the neon green Lettings letter and a couple other slightly strange ones (like the one that was written in blood or the one Mrs. Figg rolled her eyes at before muttering something about invisible ink).
The pile that he was considering was made up of three different schools: Hogwarts, Beaubaxtons, and Durmstrang. The letters themselves were similar to one another, each school had a more formal approach to them in the letter and somehow caught his attention more, though he wasn’t sure exactly why.
Aunt Bella told him where the schools were located. Hogwarts was the wizarding school in Scotland, Beauxbatons was conveniently located in France, while Durmstrang held its fort in Romania. While weighing out the locations, Harry finally came with his decision, though it was already made when he had first read the letter.
“So, have you decided yet? Or are we waiting for a few days?”
“I think,” Harry picked up an envelope in his hand before handing it to the older woman. “I will be attending Beauxbatons.”
Aunt Bella was a bit surprised by his choice.
“Are you certain?” She asked. “Wouldn’t you rather be going to a school in Britain? Hogwarts is a fine school; I had attended it many years ago.”
“Hogwarts sounds too much like something Dudley might order off of the menu.” He had admitted. His comment made Aunt Bella chuckle a bit. “I wouldn’t mind going to France.”
“I never really get to travel. Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia dislike taking me anywhere… This is going to be the seventh time Dudley’s gone to France – and each time he comes back he likes to show me all the pictures and tell me all these stories… I really want to go.”
The young boy’s confession made Aunt Bella’s heart ache. ‘That’s right,’ she told herself, ‘Harry is always left behind for travel.’
“That sounds fine Harry. Let me help you write some letters than. I should have a roll of parchment and some quills around here… Plus, I bet those owls outside are waiting for your response.”
“Owls?”
“Wizard’s use something called Owl Post. We have personal owls that deliver and receive letters… they’re still outside, if you would like to see them. Go ahead and take a peak outside if you are curious.”
The boy took a peak out his window. He was surprised by the army of thirty owls sitting outside Privet Drive. Harry couldn’t help but let out a giggle at the thought of how Aunt Petunia would have flipped if she saw this. He bounced back to the table, amused at the image of his Aunt, and prepared himself to write responses to the different letters that he had received. He occasionally gave small peaks outside to the various owls that waited for his response to make sure he wasn’t dreaming.
***
Harry had dozens of questions to ask Aunt Bella about magic. He pouted at her with his bottom lip jutted out and his big, beautiful green eyes (that were just like his mother, she thought with a smile) that would be best classified using the muggle term ‘puppy eyes’ in order to get her to perform some spells for him. She would hate to admit half of the spells she had did for him to her fellow aurors, however, even though it would be months of potential embarrassment if her colleagues found out, she did not mind. Not when Harry had given her such loud applause and gleeful squirms of delight in response to her year one spells and tricks.
She was just finishing up transfiguring a paperweight into a cat when she had noticed that the boy was suddenly quiet, no longer paying attention to her tricks as he didi before. She tapped her mahogany wand on the cat, reversing the transformation. She let out a cough, hoping to catch the boy’s attention.
Harry looked up at her with a troubled expression.
“What’s wrong?” Arabella asked in concerned.
“I forgot,” he said in a tight voice, slumping into his chair. The padding seem to swallow the frail boy.
“My uncle and aunt, they won’t ever let me go to a school of magic. They hate magic – just hearing the word sends them into a fit. They wouldn’t ever pay for such a school.”
“I want to go,” Harry whispered.
“You will, child. I will make sure that your aunt and uncle will grant permission for you to attend school.”
“But the money…” Harry started.
“Your parents were rich wizards Harry. They have more than enough money in their vault to send you off to school. Not to mention, Lily and James would have wanted you to go to school and learn magic like they did.”
Aunt Bella gathered up the dark haired boy into her arms and gave him a tight hug.
“Leave it all to me Harry. I made a promise to your mother that I would take care of you if something should happen. A witch never breaks her vows.” Her words were final. He let himself be taken by her warm arms. He wondered why he never enjoyed the scent of cabbages before this week. Arabella smiled, her thin fingers stroking his hair in a way that seemed motherly to Harry.
“Mum and dad were wizards?” He asked Aunt Bella, curious to hear about his parents. He had only heard about his parents from his aunt and uncle before and never did quite believe what they had told him. They had always said his parents were bad people that deserved to have died.
“Oh yes they were. They were brilliant wizards. Your father was an auror like I was. An auror would be similar to a muggle police officer. Quite a prankster your father was – however, he was reliable and serious when he needed to be.
“Your mother would have been the one that was most impressive. She was an unspeakable, which is a high ranking official, though what she does isn’t too known. She worked for the Department of Mysteries where they keep important and strange things there such as prophecies, ancient artifacts, and things of the unknown and suspicious nature. The only thing your mother ever told us about her job would be about the ghost that resided there that was constantly in search of his lover. She was such the romantic.”
“Your parents were wonderful.” Arabella had a soft expression on her face, recalling the two people she had shared bits of her life with.
“They were happy. Especially happy when you were born. Though I’m not surprised you are a darling boy. I’m not sure if you know this, but your unmanageable hair is just like your fathers, never did do any good to try and comb it, same messy mop that never lay down. But I think he liked it that way, always liking to run his fingers through it to make sure it stayed messy as much as possible. Maybe that’s why yours won’t stay down, as much as you keep trying. Because your father liked messy hair so much that he specifically made sure you would get those genes.
“And then there are your eyes. Beautiful eyes, greener than green. Lily’s eyes, no doubt about that. I doubt that there is any wizard or muggle with the same green eyes as yours. Your mother was very proud of it. She said she was overjoyed to be able to give you her grandmother’s eyes.
“Though father is what gave you that poor vision. Always spelling his eyes and correcting it. He gave up after awhile and just wore glasses. Your father sure did fuss about you after you were born. He brought pictures of you and magic them up everywhere in the office so that everyone could see, willing and unwillingly. He told the same stories about you over and over until everyone could recite his speech by heart. James was so enamored by you. Lily was almost as bad, I think she scared away that ghost by acting more love sick than he was…”
Harry turned red at the statement, feeling a feeling of joy in him from knowing that his parents loved him so much. After all the mistreatment that he received from the Dursleys’, it was a nice feeling to learn that he was once love.
“It was a shame though… that they died. Great people they were.”
“How did… they die?” He asked curiously. “They didn’t really die in a car accident did they?”
“No, they didn’t Harry,” she spoke in slow, careful, and pronounced words. “Your parents didn’t have an accident.”
It was in her next three words that exited the lips of the older witch that made him feel cold, distraught, and possibly shocked.
“They were murdered.”