Jack led the way through the manor, his stride confident and measured, with Jane walking closely beside Harry while Morwenna brought up the rear. Her footsteps were light and rhythmic on the polished marble, her hands tucked into her pockets as she followed them.
The entrance hall had been overwhelming, a space of soaring ceilings and echoing silence dominated by the great fountain in the center. The stone bodies of the serpent and the phoenix were intricately intertwined, their scales and feathers carved with such detail they looked almost supple. A silver sheet of water fell from their mouths, creating a soft, melodic splashing that caught the light from the high, arched windows and sent tiny, dancing reflections across the walls.
Harry wanted to stop and stare at the craftsmanship, fascinated by the way the water seemed to shimmer like liquid moonlight, but Jack kept a steady pace. Harry didn't want to be left behind in the vastness of the house.
The corridor beyond was even more daunting. It stretched so far that he couldn't see the end, the walls lined with heavy-framed portraits whose occupants turned their heads to watch him pass. Some whispered behind painted fans or over the brims of their spectacles.
"They always watch the new ones," Jane murmured, her voice low enough that only Harry could hear. "They are curious, not cruel."
Harry swallowed hard, but he lifted his chin and kept walking, as if the portraits might notice only those who stopped to stare.
A woman in a shimmering green dress raised a hand in silent, elegant greeting, while a man with a beard like tangled moss gave him a slow, solemn nod. One elderly wizard in a powdered wig leaned so far out of his portrait that it looked as though he might step free entirely, his sharp nose twitching as if he were trying to scent the air around the newcomers.
He sniffed once, then again, before tilting his head with exaggerated delicacy.
"Smell that?" he said, squinting thoughtfully. "Fresh magic and old fear. An interesting combination."
Harry walked faster, his heart thumping against his ribs.
They passed a suit of armor that creaked with the sound of rusted iron as it turned its head to follow his movement. Harry stopped breathing for a second, his heart jumping into his throat.
"It will not harm you," Jane said. Her pace remained steady, but her fingers brushed lightly against his sleeve. "It is only a guardian."
Harry gave a stiff, jerky nod and kept walking, though he didn't take his eyes off the metal figure until they had rounded the corner and the creak of the joints had faded.
The corridor branched several times. Jack turned left, then right, then left again. Harry tried to memorize the route, counting the doors and the statues, but he gave up after the third turn.
Gray stone walls were softened by thick, heavy tapestries hanging between the portraits, depicting scenes he didn't understand—great dragons with wings like sails, coiled serpents, and a man with hair the color of a forest fire standing amidst a storm.
They climbed a wide staircase where the stone steps had been worn smooth and shallow in the middle by centuries of use. Harry's shoes made no sound on the heavy wool runner. The portraits here were smaller and looked older.
"The children's wing," Jane explained, her voice echoing softly. "It's been waiting for someone to use it for a very long time."
Jack stopped at a door of dark, heavy oak with a polished brass handle shaped like a coiled serpent. He looked at Harry for a long moment, his expression unreadable, before turning the handle and pushing it open.
The room was far larger than Harry had expected—larger, in fact, than the entire living room at Privet Drive.
A window faced east, and the afternoon light fell across the floor in a warm, golden rectangle that illuminated the dust motes dancing in the air. The walls were a pale cream, and a thick rug woven in deep shades of blue and green covered the center of the oak floor. There was a bed with a dark green blanket, a sturdy wardrobe, a desk by the window, and empty shelves that seemed to be waiting for him to fill them with things of his own.
Jane watched his face closely, her green eyes searching his. "How do you feel? Do you need anything?"
Harry shook his head, his throat feeling too tight to speak. The sheer scale of the room and the fact that it was his made his head swim.
Jack carried the shopping bags over to the wardrobe and set them down with a soft thud before turning back to the center of the rug.
"Poppy," he called out.
With a soft, sharp pop that sounded like a dry twig snapping, a house-elf appeared in the middle of the room.
"Ahhhhh!"
Harry let out a sudden, involuntary scream. He scrambled back until his shoulders hit the stone wall, his hands pressing flat against the cold surface as his heart hammered against his ribs.
"Ahhhh!"
The elf screamed in return, clearly startled by the sudden noise. She flinched, her large, bat-like ears trembling at the tips as she looked at him with wide, frightened amber eyes.
Harry stared at the creature. She was small, with spindly limbs and long fingers, and she was trembling as much as he was.
Jack immediately knelt beside Harry and placed a steadying hand on his shoulder. "It's all right," his voice grounding and calm. "She isn't dangerous. She is here to help you, Harry."
The house-elf pressed her small hands against her chest, her voice high and quavering like a flute. "Poppy is here to serve the young master. Poppy will take care of him. Poppy will help him find his way in the big house."
Harry tried to slow his breathing, the panic slowly receding. The elf's eyes were the color of warm amber, and she was offering him a nervous, hopeful smile that revealed small, even teeth.
"Poppy will be your personal elf," Jack explained. "She will take care of your room and your things. If you get lost in the manor, she can guide you back. If you need something—a snack or a glass of water—you only have to call her name."
Harry let out a long, shaky breath, his muscles finally beginning to un-tense. "Okay."
Behind Jack, Morwenna's shoulders shook. She was biting her lip, her expression suggesting she was trying very hard not to laugh. Jack ignored her entirely, his focus remaining on Harry.
Jane crouched down on Harry's other side so she was level with him, her presence warm and comforting. "There's one thing you must never do, Harry. You must never give Poppy clothes. No socks, no shirts, nothing."
Harry frowned in confusion, his brow knitting together. "Why not?"
Jane's voice remained soft, though her eyes were serious. "House-elves are servants, and for a very long time many of them were treated cruelly. But they are deeply loyal, Harry. They need to feel useful. To care for a household is not just work to them, it's purpose. It's what gives shape to their lives."
She paused for a moment, choosing her words carefully.
"If you give a house-elf clothing, you are freeing them. To us, freedom sounds kind. To many elves, it feels like rejection. Like being cast aside by the family they devoted themselves to. Some take it very badly. A few..." Her voice softened further. "A few never recover from it."
Harry's chest tightened.
"I wouldn't do that," he said quietly, the words carrying the weight of a promise.
"Good," Jane replied, calm and firm at once. "Purpose matters more than people realize. Without it, even a happy life can start to feel empty."
Harry looked back at Poppy with wide eyes. The elf had gone very still, her ears pressed flat against her head as she watched him anxiously.
"I won't give you clothes," Harry told her solemnly.
Poppy's ears perked up at once, and her smile spread so wide it nearly reached her shining eyes.
Harry looked back at Jane, his curiosity piqued. "Are there free house-elves? Outside the manor?"
"Yes," Jack answered. "Some are free because their lines ended and they had no one left to bond with, some were dismissed, and some were never bound at all.
My sister, Saoirse, travels a lot. She found a settlement of free house-elves once who had built their own community. They are perfectly capable of living on their own, but the need to be helpful is fundamental to their nature."
He gestured toward the room and the waiting wardrobe.
"If they don't have a master, they bond themselves to something else. A place, a building, sometimes even an object of power. The bond sustains them either way, but a willing master is best. It gives them purpose, and the connection nourishes them in return. It is a partnership, not just service."
Harry looked at Poppy. She was already busy unpacking the shopping bags, her movements quick and neat as she folded his new clothes and hummed a low, tuneless melody to herself.
"We will take care of each other," Harry said.
Poppy's eyes grew wet with unshed tears that made them shimmer like glass. She gave a sharp nod and went back to her work with renewed energy.
"Rest now," Jack said, standing up and smoothing his trousers. "If you need anything, call for Poppy. She will find us."
Jane leaned in and kissed the top of Harry's head. "We will have dinner together later. Nimue will come and get you when it's time."
Harry nodded, and he watched as Jack and Jane walked to the door. Morwenna lingered for a heartbeat, looking at him with those striking, mismatched eyes—one a deep, burning red and the other a cold, crystalline silver—before she turned and followed them out.
The door closed with a soft, decisive click.
Harry stood in the middle of the room, feeling the warmth of the sun on his face. Poppy continued to work, her small hands moving with practiced efficiency as she tucked his socks into a drawer.
He walked to the bed and sat on the edge, finding the mattress soft and the dark green blanket thick and warm. He looked out the window at the pale sky and the tops of the green trees swaying in the distance.
He lay back and stared at the ceiling. There were no cracks, no spiders, only smooth cream paint and a crystal chandelier that caught the light, scattering tiny rainbows across the walls.
He didn't know exactly what to feel, so he simply let the silence and the warmth hold him, lulled by the soft, padding sound of Poppy's footsteps on the rug.
He closed his eyes and drifted off.
. . .
The light through the window had faded to a bruised purple, the shadows stretching long and thin, when Harry finally opened his eyes. He hadn't meant to fall asleep, but the bed was softer than anything he had ever known, and the quiet of the manor was a far cry from the constant, low-level tension of Privet Drive.
He sat up and looked around. Poppy was gone, the wardrobe was shut, and the shopping bags had been neatly folded and put away in the bottom drawer.
A soft knock sounded at the door.
"Young master should wash now," Poppy's voice came through the door, muffled but clear. "Dinner will be served soon."
The handle shifted, and the door opened just a crack. Harry's heart jumped, half expecting the elf to hurry inside.
"I..." He stopped himself and swallowed. "I will come in a minute."
"Poppy will wait," she replied gently. "But not too long. The bathwater will grow cold."
Harry pushed himself to his feet, his body feeling oddly light, as though the house itself were carrying part of his weight. When he opened the door, the corridor beyond was empty, though the portraits still watched him with quiet, knowing eyes.
The bathroom was two doors down, a space of gleaming white tiles and a deep, porcelain tub. There was a shower with a glass door and a sink so clean it reflected the light like a mirror. Poppy was already there, reaching for the taps with a thick, fluffy towel over her arm.
Harry's face went hot with embarrassment. "I can do it myself."
Poppy's ears drooped, her expression falling. "Poppy wants to help. Poppy will take care of the young master."
"You are helping," Harry insisted, his voice gentle. "You brought the towel and the shampoo. Thank you. I can do the rest; I have been doing it myself for years."
Poppy looked at him for a long moment, her large eyes wet and uncertain, searching his face for any sign of displeasure.
"I will call you if I need anything," Harry added. "I promise."
Poppy nodded slowly, her ears lifting slightly before she disappeared with a soft pop.
Harry let out a long breath of relief. The water was hot, and steam rose in thick plumes to fog the mirror and the tiles. He sat in the tub and watched the day's grime swirl down the drain, the soap smelling of pine and something soft and floral that reminded him of the garden.
He washed his hair twice, simply because it felt right to do so, the suds thick and white. He stayed in the water until his skin wrinkled and the heat seeped deep into his bones.
When he was finished, he dried off with a towel that was thick and soft—nothing like the thin, scratchy ones he had used at the Dursleys'. His new clothes were waiting on the wardrobe: charcoal trousers, a soft blue jumper, and socks without a single hole. The fabric felt warm against his skin and didn't itch at all.
He stood by the window and looked out at the darkened gardens. The lake was a black mirror in the twilight, reflecting the first few stars. When he caught his reflection in the glass, he saw a boy with pale skin, dark circles under his eyes, and green eyes that seemed more vibrant against the blue jumper. He didn't quite recognize himself, but for the first time, that felt like a good thing.
Another soft knock came.
"Harry," Morwenna's voice called. "Dinner is ready."
He opened the door to find her waiting in the corridor. Her hair was loose, the raven-black strands and the sections of pure white catching the light from the chandelier like spun silk.
"Come," she said. "I will show you the way."
The morning room was warm and inviting, with a low fire crackling in the hearth and the scent of woodsmoke in the air. Candles on the table cast soft, flickering shadows against the dark wood of the walls. The table was set for six. Jack stood by the window while Jane poured water into glasses, and two older people sat across from them.
The man had dark hair streaked with silver and a neat, well-trimmed beard, while the woman had her hair pinned back in an elegant knot, her dark eyes softening the moment she saw Harry.
"Harry, this is my father, Aldric," Jack said as they entered. "And my mother, Seraphina. Nimue's grandparents."
Aldric gave a polite, measured nod. "Welcome. You may call us Grandfather and Grandmother, if you like. You are family now, and this is your home."
Seraphina's smile widened, her eyes crinkling at the corners. "Welcome, dear. It's wonderful to finally have you here."
Harry didn't know how to respond to such direct kindness, so he simply nodded. "Hello."
He sat in the chair Jane pulled out for him, facing Morwenna. The table was filled with a spread of rice, grilled fish, vegetables in a dark, savory sauce, and steaming dumplings. A plate of roast chicken and golden potatoes sat near the center.
Tilly appeared at Harry's elbow with a small dish, his ears twitching.
"The young master may not be used to the other dishes," Tilly said. "Tilly has prepared British food as well. Just in case."
Harry looked at the familiar chicken and peas, then at the dumplings. "Can I try those?" he asked, pointing to the woven basket.
Tilly's ears turned a bright, happy pink. "Of course! Of course!"
He placed two dumplings on Harry's plate. Harry took a bite, finding the wrapper soft and the filling savory and warm. "They are good," he told the elf. Tilly made a small, pleased sound and vanished.
Morwenna was eating with chopsticks, her movements quick and precise. Aldric set his fork down and looked at Harry.
"Is your room comfortable? Do you need anything? More blankets, perhaps, or a better lamp for reading?"
Harry shook his head. "No, it's… it's very nice. The bed is fine and the blankets are soft."
Seraphina leaned forward slightly, her posture relaxed and unhurried. "The house can feel very quiet at night. Would you like something to keep you company? A stuffed toy, perhaps. Something soft to hold onto when the world feels too large."
Harry blinked, the idea sounding almost unreal to him.
"A stuffed toy? I... I don't know," he admitted awkwardly. "I have never had one."
Seraphina's expression softened immediately.
"Then it is about time you did," she said gently. "Every child deserves something comforting."
Morwenna glanced toward Tilly, who had just reappeared beside the tea trolley with a fresh pot balanced carefully in his hands.
"Tilly, bring Vert. She is on my bed."
The elf vanished with a crack and returned a moment later carrying a massive green snake made of velvet fabric. It draped over both his arms, its tail nearly brushing the floor. The dark glass eyes reflected the firelight, and the soft scales shimmered deep emerald.
Harry stared.
Morwenna took the snake and settled it against her chest with the ease of long familiarity.
"This is Vert," she said simply. "Grandma made her for me."
Harry's gaze lingered on the toy before he could stop himself. It looked so soft, the sort of thing meant to be wrapped around someone during storms and nightmares.
Seraphina noticed at once. Her quiet laugh warmed the room.
"I made Vert when Morwenna was five," her eyes returned to Harry. "I can make one for you as well. Whatever animal you like. A lion, perhaps. Or a raven."
Aldric cleared his throat. "I suggested a badger once."
Seraphina did not even glance at him. "And I vetoed it. A badger would only encourage digging beneath the floorboards."
"She was right," Aldric admitted gravely.
Harry looked between them, then back at the enormous velvet snake in Morwenna's arms.
"You made that?" he asked quietly.
"I did," Seraphina said. "And I will make one for you too. You only need to decide what you want."
Harry hesitated, still staring at Vert. Then he looked at Morwenna.
"Nimue," he said slowly, remembering the name from before. "Is that not your name?"
Morwenna shook her head, the white strands of her hair shifting. "Here in the manor, you can call me Morwenna. Outside, I'm Nimue."
Harry frowned, trying to piece it together. "Why two names?"
"Morwenna is special," Jack answered, his voice turning serious. "Very special. So special that she needs another name for people who don't know her. Just like you, Harry. You are special, too. Special enough that someone wanted to hide you from the world."
Harry's hands tightened on his napkin.
Seraphina set her teacup down. "Do you know how your parents died, Harry?"
"They died in a war," He looked at his plate. "A bad wizard killed them. That is what my aunt told me."
Seraphina's expression did not change, but her eyes softened. "It is true. But the truth is longer than that. Your parents were killed by the leader of a group that wanted to destroy people born with magic who didn't come from magical families. Your parents fought on the side that opposed him."
She paused, letting the words sink in. "When a child loses their parents, they were supposed to go to their godparents first. If the godparent can't take them, they go to the closest magical blood relative. Only if there are none do they go to their mundane family."
Jane reached over and took Harry's hand, her palm warm against his. "Your godfather was sent to prison without a trial. Your closest magical blood relatives are us, but you were placed with your mundane aunt instead. Magic was placed on you to keep other magical people from finding you. Even your own family couldn't see you."
he room seemed to tilt. Harry pressed his palms flat against the table to steady himself.
Jack's thumb moved over his signet ring. "The man who arranged your placement is the headmaster of Hogwarts. Albus Dumbledore." He paused, letting the name settle. "He led the side your parents fought for. He still chose to hide you."
Harry looked at his hands, his knuckles pale. "Hogwarts?"
"A school where young witches and wizards learn to control their magic," Jack said. "A place of great learning, but also great politics."
Aldric spoke up, his voice gravelly. "We had to bring you here secretly. This manor is safe, and the wards protect it from scrying, but guests come here sometimes. They write letters before they visit, so we will know when someone is coming. You will need to be careful when we have company."
Harry nodded, his mouth feeling dry and his heart racing.
Jane squeezed his hand, a reassuring pressure. "Next month, we will go to France. The Evans family—the other side of our family—are famous for their healing. They will assess your health and ensure your recovery is steady."
"France?" Harry asked, his eyes wide.
"France. The Evans manor is beautiful; you will like the gardens there. They have plants that sing."
Harry looked down at his plate. The potatoes had gone cold, but he didn't care. The world felt bigger than it had an hour ago. "Okay," he said.
The candles flickered and the fire crackled in the long silence that followed. Then Seraphina passed him the bread basket. "Eat," she said. "There's more if you are hungry."
Harry ate until he was full, the warmth of the food and the quiet comfort of the room slowly settling into his bones. When the meal ended, Jane rose and motioned for him to follow.
The corridors had grown dim, lit only by silver sconces along the walls that cast long, wavering shadows across the stone. Jane matched her pace to his, her hands folded loosely at her sides.
"The house will feel very large for a few days," she said softly. "That is normal. You will learn the paths soon enough. If you ever become lost, stop and call for Poppy. She knows every corner of this place."
Harry glanced at the portraits as they passed. Some watched him with quiet curiosity. Others only nodded faintly before returning to their own conversations.
"Thank you," he said.
Jane looked ahead, her expression calm. "There is no need to thank me, Harry."
They stopped outside his room. Jane rested one hand lightly against the doorframe, lingering for a moment as though reluctant to leave him entirely alone behind it.
"Sleep well, Harry."
"Thank you."
Her expression softened slightly. "If you wake up confused or need anything during the night, call for Poppy. Or for me."
Harry looked up at her, his throat tightening unexpectedly. "You will come?"
"Always." The word settled gently into the quiet hallway. "This house is your home now, Harry. You are not alone here."
He climbed into bed a few minutes later, the sheets cool against his skin and the dark green blanket heavy and warm over his legs. As he closed his eyes, his thoughts drifted lazily toward the stuffed toy Seraphina had promised him. Lions. Owls. Foxes. Dragons.
For the first time in a very long while, sleep came easily.