In which Holly finds a new way to mow the lawn, and Aunt Petunia makes good on an old threat.

“Mum!” Dudley cried. “Mum, come look! Look who’s trying to break into the cupboard again!”

Holly gave a huge start and let go of the padlock, which smacked against the cupboard door. The key fell out of her hand and landed soundlessly on the carpet.

Because there in the doorway, glowering at her with the rage and fury of an avenging angel having spotted a particularly nasty sinner, was Aunt Petunia.

“HOLLY POTTER!” she screeched, her voice even more shrill than usual.

“I can explain —” Holly began, and knew that she couldn’t. Why had she ever listened to Dudley in the first place?

Aunt Petunia grabbed her hard by the shoulders and pulled her away from the cupboard door. “You little sneak! How many times do I have to tell you that I don’t want you snooping around that cupboard?! And now I find you’ve stolen the key to it?!”

“I — that is, I was just —” Holly tried.

“Look at me!” Aunt Petunia shook her. Not very hard, but hard enough that it was uncomfortable. “There is nothing in that cupboard that has anything to do with you!” she said firmly. “Understand?”

“Yes, Aunt Petunia!”

“Say it.”

“Th-there is nothing in that cupboard that has anything to do with me!”

“Good.” Aunt Petunia let go. Before Holly could do anything, she crouched down and snatched the key from the floor. “I’ll just take this and find a better hiding place for it.”

Holly cringed on the inside when she saw the key vanish down into Aunt Petunia’s pocket. She had been so close — so close to finally getting into the cupboard under the stairs.

“I told her you didn’t want her near the cupboard,” said Dudley sanctimoniously. “I warned her that unless she backed off and put the key back, I’d tell you. But she never listens to me! I had to call for you!”

“And it was the right thing to do, poppet!” Aunt Petunia turned around and gave him a hug. Her tone always changed so completely when she spoke to Dudley that it was like hearing a different woman. “I am so proud of you. Whatever would I do without you keeping an eye on that cousin of yours?”

Holly looked away, so she wouldn’t see Dudley’s smug face. That traitor. He’d been the one who’d stolen the key from Aunt Petunia’s dresser, and who had given it to Holly. He’d been the one who had encouraged her, downright dared her to open the cupboard.

“Bet there’s treasure in there!” he’d said. “Gold and diamonds! Go on, I’ll stand guard!”

And like an idiot, she’d taken the bait. She’d thought he’d actually decided to be nice to her for once. She really should have known that it was only another one of his plans to get her into trouble with Aunt Petunia.

But the thought of finally getting to see what was inside the cupboard under the stairs had overridden her common sense for a while.

For as long as Holly Potter could remember, she had been… drawn to the cupboard under the stairs. Like there was some strange connection between her and it that she couldn’t quite understand.

On the surface, there was nothing out of the ordinary about the cupboard. It looked like a completely normal storage cupboard of the kind you found in all the houses of Privet Drive; the kind of cupboard where people stored umbrellas and winter shoes and things like that.

But Holly had always known there was more to the cupboard than met the eye. Not just because Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon were so desperate to keep her away from it that they kept it locked at all times, with a big and heavy padlock, and forbade her and Dudley from even going near it… although that was a pretty big clue in and of itself.

No… Holly just knew it, deep in her soul, that there was something very special about that cupboard. Something that, despite what Aunt Petunia said, very much had to do with her. She had no idea what it was. But she knew, as surely as she knew that sickness was bad and water was wet, that beyond that padlocked door was something wonderful. Something that would change her entire life if she just found out what it was.

But it didn’t look like her life would change today.

Aunt Petunia had finished fawning over Dudley and turned back towards Holly. Her face was hard and sharp again; not a drop left of the sweetness and love she’d so generously poured over her son.

“As for you,” she said. “You just wait until Vernon gets home. For now, you march out in the garden and mow the lawn! That should keep you out of mischief!”

“But…!” For a moment, Holly considered telling Aunt Petunia that Dudley had been the one to steal the key, but she decided against it. Aunt Petunia wouldn’t believe a word of it anyway. She instead cast a glance towards the window, where heavy raindrops were still rushing down. “Aunt Petunia, it’s raining!” she said. “I can’t mow the lawn in the rain!”

“You should have thought of that before you decided to get into steal that key,” said Aunt Petunia mercilessly. “And if I catch you so much as looking at that cupboard again, or if you try any more funny business, I’ll tan your hide but good. Is that clear?”

“Yes, Aunt Petunia, but…”

“I don’t want to hear it!”

“But can’t I mow the lawn later, when it isn’t raining?” Holly pleaded.

“Listen here, young lady!” Aunt Petunia hissed. “Either you put on your raincoat right now and go out in the garden to mow the lawn, or I lock you out in the garden without your raincoat. The choice is yours!”

Holly gave up and reluctantly went to grab her raincoat from the hanger on the wall. That last threat had seemed real in a way that the two others had not.

The threat of a spanking was nothing. Aunt Petunia was always threatening to give Holly a good spanking, but she never actually did it. It was always ‘next time I’ll do it, see if I don’t,’ but so far ‘next time’ had never come.

As for waiting until Vernon got home… Holly knew exactly how that would go. Uncle Vernon would turn red in the face and shout at her for a few minutes, and then he’d send her to bed without supper. Holly was used to this, and had long since made certain to keep a secret stash of snacks in her room, “liberated” from the kitchen, or secretly bought for money she had earned by running errands for Mr-Dumbledore-Across-the-Street. Biscuits, raisins, cereal bars, chocolates. Not a full substitute for a complete dinner, but it was food that kept for a while, was easy to hide, and was infinitely better than having to go to sleep on an empty stomach.

But being kicked out into the rain without a raincoat? That sounded a little too much like something her aunt actually would do to her.

“And don’t you dare come back in before you’re done!” said Aunt Petunia. And then, like a regular Doctor-Jekyll-and-Mrs-Hyde, she was all smiles and sweetness again when she spoke to Dudley: “Come on, Dudders, I think you deserve a little reward. Let’s see if there’s any of that cake left…”

It was the same as always, Holly thought as she slipped on her raincoat and walked up to the garden door. Dudley could do no wrong in Aunt Petunia’s eyes; no matter what he said or did he got praise and rewards. While Holly got scoldings and extra chores.

But of course, Dudley was her son, while Holly was only her niece — a miserable orphan that she and Uncle Vernon had been forced to take care of after her irresponsible, good-for-nothing parents had got themselves killed in a car crash.

Which was why Holly Potter had, for almost seven years now, lived with the Dursley family, here at Number Four, Privet Drive. It was a perfectly normal house in a perfectly normal street on the outskirts of a perfectly normal town called Little Whinging, Surrey. The only thing about Number Four that wasn’t perfectly normal (at least according to Aunt Petunia) was Holly herself, and this was all down to those deadbeat parents of hers.

Holly had heard the story a thousand times. She’d only been a year old when her parents died in that car crash, and so of course Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon had done their Duty (Aunt Petunia always pronounced the word with a capital D) and taken her in, even though they already had a son, and had treated her much better than she deserved.

They’d made sure she had enough to eat… when she wasn’t being punished for something and had to go hungry to bed, while Dudley ate her portion. They’d seen to it that she had proper clothes… bought second-hand at thrift shops and flea-markets, while Dudley got the newest and most expensive clothes. They’d given her her own room… which doubled as a storage room for Dudley’s broken toys.

All the while telling her how much they were sacrificing for her and how ungrateful she was.

The rain was pouring down from the sky, and her boots made wet sloshing sounds against the soaked grass as she trudged through the garden, over to the shed where the lawnmower was kept.

She stopped very briefly outside the shed, having caught the sight of her own faded reflection in the window.

She was a miserable sight. Nearly eight years old, but she looked younger with her tiny frame, her much-too-big raincoat, her bright pink skirt, and her huge round glasses, which were threatening to fog up because of the rain.

There was really really only one thing she liked about her appearance, and that was her hair. It was long, silky and coal-black, and somehow it nearly always looked good. Other girls she knew, particularly older ones, sometimes complained about “bad hair days,” but Holly never had one of those. Even if she neglected to wash or brush her hair for days at a time, it still looked great and was very easy to manage. Usually she kept it in two long braids, because that felt more practical and she liked the look. (She knew she’d inherited the hair from her father; about the only thing she knew about her father was that he had black hair… since none of the Dursleys had black hair, that just made Holly appreciate it even more.)

There was another thing she kind of liked about her appearance too, but it wasn’t really something she could show people: On her stomach, just above her belly-button, she had a scar.

Not a normal, boring, everyday scar from an operation or something, like the appendix scar Mindy Robertson at school would brag about. No, this was a cool scar. It was shaped exactly like a bolt of lightning, and according to Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon she’d got it in the very same car crash that killed her parents. A sign of how lucky she was, they’d said; whatever shrapnel of glass shard had hit her should have cut her open and killed her. Or at least left her in a wheelchair for the rest of her life. But she’d escaped only with that small scar.

Sometimes, late at night, she’d let her fingers trace the scar and try to think back, if she could remember anything from the crash; the sounds, the confusion, the pain she must have felt… but she never remembered a single thing.

At this point, though, Holly had to stop trying to look at herself in the window because now the raindrops were running down the inside of her glasses. She took them off and tried to wipe them on her shirt underneath her raincoat, but that only turned out to make things even more foggy. In the end, she gave up and slipped the glasses into her raincoat pocket. She wasn’t blind, after all, she could manage to get around without her glasses even if details were a little blurry.

For a moment she toyed with the idea of just crawling into the shed and waiting out the rain instead of starting the hopeless task of mowing the lawn while it was still pouring, but she decided against it. Aunt Petunia would probably look out every now and again to make certain she was actually working.

The lawnmower had of course been stowed away behind rakes and brooms and shovels, but after a few minutes’ hard work, Holly managed to haul it out into the rain. It was a rather big and clunky reel mower that Uncle Vernon had bought a few years ago because he’d heard that manual lawnmowers were healthier for the grass than motorized ones. And if they demanded a bit of extra labour, that wasn’t his problem; he wasn’t going to mow the lawn when he had Holly to do it for him.

Holly dragged the lawnmower along to the end of the garden, and then set out to mowing.

She hadn’t thought the job would be pleasant, but it turned out to be impossible. The rain was pouring down even harder, and the lawnmower was uncooperative on the wet grass, which clumped and clogged up the blades, causing the lawnmower to either stop completely, or suddenly lock up its wheel and slide forward and Holly to slip and nearly fall.

She really did try her best. She clenched her teeth and pushed on, stopping three times to pull clogged wet grass off the rotary, all the while the rain was coming down like someone up there had decided to unleash an entire year’s worth of rain in one single afternoon.

Then, for the fourth time, the lawnmower stopped and the rotary refused to spin. The uncooperative device suddenly slid on the grass, and so did Holly; for a split second she was thrusting her arms out and trying to regain her balance, the next she was lying flat on her stomach in the wet grass. The rain pouring over her and the grass soaking her skirt and her underwear, which clung to her skin in the most uncomfortable way…

And then.

She had no idea how it had happened. Something inside her just felt like it exploded; something hot inside her chest that burst out through her body. It felt almost like being on fire… but weirdly, not in a bad way.

The lawnmower suddenly sprang to life. It began moving on its own, and moving fast. The rotary was suddenly free and spinning again, and the lawnmower raced down the lawn, cutting the wet grass like it was nothing.

Holly sat up on her knees and watched in astonishment. The lawnmower was speeding up and down the lawn, all on its own, leaving strips of perfectly-mowed grass in its wake. It was like it had suddenly decided to become the world’s most effective automatic lawnmower; wet grass and pouring rain be damned.

The feeling of being on fire faded, and the lawnmower slowed down, stopping over by the shed; just a couple of feet shy of having mowed the entire lawn. The entire thing had taken perhaps half a minute.

Holly stared. She fished her still-wet glasses back out of her pocket (luckily they hadn’t broken in the fall!) and placed them back onto her nose, just in case this would reveal that she had somehow mis-seen what had happened the last thirty seconds.

But then, someone was grabbing her by the arm and hauling her up to her feet. She turned to stare into the face of Aunt Petunia, who in the pouring rain looked pale as a sheet and looking like she didn’t know whether she should explode in anger or run away in terror.

“What,” she demanded in a high-pitched and shaky voice, “did you just do?”

“Nothing!” Holly said, which was certainly true.

Aunt Petunia let out a small choked noise of what sounded like indignation before she hauled Holly off the ground and dragged her inside. She was so upset and angry that she didn’t even care that they were both tracking in mud and wet grass clippings onto the floor, not to mention dripping rainwater everywhere.

Dudley was standing there with cake-crumbs on his shirt and an astonished expression on his face. Clearly seeing his mother this careless with the nice clean floor was a bit upsetting. “Mum!” he said. “What’s going on?”

“Dudley.” Aunt Petunia was breathing heavily. She was still holding Holly’s arm in a firm grip. “Go to your room! I want to have a talk with your cousin!”

“But Mum,” Dudley protested. “I want —”

“Go to your room now,” Aunt Petunia snapped, with a harshness she usually never displayed to her son, “or I won’t buy you that video game you wanted!”

Whether it was the threat or the tone of voice that convinced Dudley that she meant business, was hard to say. But Dudley did get the message, because he was out of the room in a flash, leaving only a few cake-crumbs on the floor as they heard his hurried steps up the stairs.

“Aunt Petunia,” said Holly, trying to wiggle out of her aunt’s grip. “I didn’t do anything! The lawnmower did it all by itself!” Even in her confusion, she could hear just how stupid this sounded.

Aunt Petunia clearly thought so too. “Don’t you lie to me!” she snapped. “You did that on purpose!”

“I didn’t!” Holly tried again. “I don’t know what happened! I fell over, and the lawnmower started moving on its own! It was like magic!”

If Aunt Petunia had been pale before, she now became white as a piece of chalk. “There is no such thing as magic!” she hissed. Then, she took Holly by the raincoat and pulled her backwards, towards the couch. “I warned you what I would do if you got up to anything, didn’t I?!”

“What? No!” Holly gasped when she realized what was about to happen. This was wrong; Aunt Petunia was just supposed to threaten with a spanking, not to actually do it. “Please, Aunt Petunia, I didn’t — ah!”

Aunt Petunia tore off her raincoat and flung it aside with an uncharacteristic lack of concern about keeping the floor tidy. Holly struggled to escape, but Aunt Petunia was stronger than her. Though she fought and wriggled and bucked all she could, she found herself pulled down over her aunt’s knee, with her wet, grass-stained skirt pulled up over her head. She yelped a protest of fear and embarrassment as her soaking-wet underpants were yanked down to her ankles, but no amount of struggling seemed to help.

“I should have done this years ago!” Aunt Petunia raised her hand to lay down the first smack on Holly’s bare bottom.

The doorbell rang.

Aunt Petunia froze. Her hand stopped in mid-air before the first swat could land.

The doorbell rang again, now accompanied by a polite, but insistent knock.

Finally, with a sound that might have been frustration, Aunt Petunia moved. She pulled Holly back up to her feet, letting her skirt fall down and cover her up again. Then she stood up and gave Holly an angry look. “Stay there! Don’t you dare move a muscle!” she ordered, before hurrying out to the hallway to answer the door.

Holly stood, stiff as a pole. Her knickers were lying in a soggy heap around her ankles, but she didn’t dare move to pull them back up. Her heart was beating furiously in her chest after the narrow, if temporary, escape.

She heard her aunt open the door, and then a familiar, friendly-sounding voice sounded: “Good afternoon, Mrs Dursley! Always a pleasure!”

“Oh.” Aunt Petunia sounded anything but pleased. “How do you do, Mr Dumbledore.”

Holly couldn’t help but breathe a sigh of relief. Mr Dumbledore was one their nearest, and certainly friendliest, neighbours; a kindly man who lived at Number-Seven-Across-The-Street with his housemate Hagrid, and who unlike most of the inhabitants of Privet Drive, always had a smile and a friendly word for Holly.

“Dreadful weather we’re having, isn’t it?” said Mr Dumbledore. “Speaking of which, you look quite soaked. Is everything all right?”

“Everything’s fine, thank you.” Holly could hear Aunt Petunia’s voice raise slightly in pitch, as it always did when other adults asked her questions she really didn’t want to answer. “What can I do for you, Mr Dumbledore?”

“Oh, I just stopped by on my way home to return the book I borrowed from your husband last week,” said Mr Dumbledore.

“Nicholas Nickleby?” Aunt Petunia had clearly accepted the book from him; she sounded somewhat taken aback with the idea that Uncle Vernon would ever have lent a book to Mr Dumbledore.

“”Quite an interesting read,” said Mr Dumbledore. “Charles Dickens was a masterful storyteller. Though the way he describes the abuse heaped on children certainly makes you glad that we have child protection laws in this day and age.”

“Yes.” Aunt Petunia somehow managed to keep her voice under control. “If you’ll excuse me, Mr Dumbledore, I’m in the middle of something.”

“Oh, please, don’t let me intrude,” said Mr Dumbledore cheerfully. “I just wanted to deliver the book. Do give your husband my regards, Oh, and say hello to the children as well. I do hope they aren’t outside in this rain… it would be a shame if they caught a cold, now that summer is here.”

“Indeed, Mr Dumbledore.” It was all too easy to imagine the frozen, insincere smile on Aunt Petunia’s face.

The door clicked shut.

Moments later, Aunt Petunia came back into the living room, carrying an old copy of Nicholas Nickleby and looking rather taken aback. She seemed to have momentarily forgotten that Holly was there; at least when she lay eyes on the girl still standing there with her knickers around her ankles, she gave a slight start. But then she was glaring at her with the old familiar resentment. “Don’t just stand there, you stupid girl,” she snapped. “Go to your room and get out of those wet clothes! Now!”

Holly tried to hide her relief at having escaped the spanking. Quick as she could, she pulled her knickers back up and set out for the stairs and her room before Aunt Petunia could change her mind.

“And stay in your room for the rest of the day!” Aunt Petunia called after her. “I don’t want to see you downstairs at all until tomorrow, is that clear?”

“Yes, Aunt Petunia!” Holly called back. All in all, she’d been lucky. It did mean no dinner, but she’d just have to dig into her secret food stash a little.

Besides, being confined to her room was just what she needed right now. She certainly had a lot to think about.

What had happened with that lawnmower? And why had she felt so weird when it happened?

That evening, Holly was sitting in her nightdress (a much-too-big pink one that was really made for a twelve-year-old, but had been half-price at the shop), halfway down the stairs. She knew from years of experience that this was a perfect place for catching the voices from the living room. Of course she also knew that it wasn’t nice to listen in on other people’s conversations… but then, how else would she ever get to know anything, especially when the other people were talking about her?

Because while Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon usually liked to pretend she wasn’t there whenever they weren’t yelling at her, or telling her how ungrateful she was, or giving her extra chores, now they were definitely talking about her.

They were trying to talk in hushed voices, but this was not Uncle Vernon’s strong suit. His voice was naturally loud, and would frequently raise to a shout whenever he got excited or angry… which he very often did. (Holly knew that he was the director of a firm called Grunnings, and that his job mainly consisted of yelling at people, so it was probably a habit at this point.)

So she had no problem hearing him, even as he tried keeping his voice down, when exclaiming: ” — but I never lent that ruddy poofter any books!”

“Of course you didn’t, Vernon, but that’s not the point!” Aunt Petunia’s voice was harder to make out, but Holly had sharp hearing and didn’t have too many problems. “He knew! I was finally going to give the girl the spanking she’s had coming to her for years… and he knew! Why else would he have talked about child abuse?”

“What’s the world coming to, when honest, decent people can’t discipline their children how they see fit, without those kinds of people poking their noses into everything!” Uncle Vernon grouched. “I knew that man was going to be trouble the moment I laid eyes on him! The neighbourhood has gone completely to the dogs since he and that big, hairy fairy of his moved in! And it’s all down to that ruddy girl! She’s the only reason they’re even here!”

Holly frowned in indignation. She was used to Uncle Vernon blaming her for things that weren’t her fault, but it seemed pretty unfair of him to blame her for Mr Dumbledore and Hagrid moving to Privet Drive. They’d lived at Number Seven for as long as she could remember, anyway.

Uncle Vernon’s tone did soften a little as he went on: “And you’re certain that you saw…?”

“The lawnmower was moving on its own! The girl denied having anything to do with it, but of course it was her! And it was only just after she’d tried to break into the cupboard again, too!”

“Petunia,” said Uncle Vernon firmly. “You know I will support you in everything, and I never said a word when we had to take in your sister’s brat, but I am putting my foot down here and now. If this continues, she is out!”

“I don’t like it any more than you do,” Aunt Petunia protested. “But we can’t just get rid of her! What would the neighbours say? No — if we can just keep her from the cupboard, we still have a chance that it’ll go away… there’s still a chance she won’t turn into one of those… those lesbian freaks!”

Now, Holly blinked, leaning against the railway. Aunt Petunia’s voice had been going softer and harder to make out, but she could have sworn her aunt had said ‘lesbian freaks.’

“Open your eyes, Pet! She’s been one of those freaks since the day she was born,” Uncle Vernon shouted. “No matter what we do, she’s going to grow up to become one of them! The lawnmower just confirms it! And,” he added as he thought of another argument, “have you thought about Dudley in all this? What might she do to him?”

“Perhaps we could… move her into the shed,” said Aunt Petunia helplessly. “If we cleared out the gardening tools, we could move her bed in there, and she’d be away from Dudley…. And we could put some extra padlocks on the cupboard, to keep her from breaking in…”

“And that’s another thing!” Uncle Vernon was clearly getting worked up. “I’m sick of keeping that… that thing in our cupboard! It’s calling out to her somehow! She’s not going to give up until she gets her grabby little hands on it! I say we make one more attempt to get rid of it!”

“No!” Aunt Petunia shrieked, and then got control over her voice again. “No, Vernon. You know it won’t do any good. We can’t destroy it, and we can’t throw it away. Remember? Even that time we tried to throw it into the sea, it came back! And now the girl is old enough to know what’s going on… no. It stays in the cupboard. At least that way we know where it is.”

Uncle Vernon made a noise like “harrumph,” but he didn’t protest. Instead, after a long pause, he said, in a defeated voice: “I’ll see about getting another padlock. Or maybe one of those electronic code locks. And perhaps you’re right, perhaps it would be an idea to move her into the shed…”

“We wouldn’t have to have her in the house as much,” said Aunt Petunia. “She could come in for meals or to use the toilet, and to do her chores… and then the rest of the time she’d be out of our hair! If we locked the garden door at night, that would keep her from sneaking in and trying to get to the cupboard while we were asleep!”

“You’re right!” Uncle Vernon seemed to cheer up considerably. “And if we put an electric heater in the shed during the winter, not even that ruddy Dumbledore could complain about child abuse! Children like having their own playhouses, don’t they? Even lesbian freak children…”

When Holly slinked back to her bed, she felt more confused than ever.

She wasn’t too concerned about the prospect of living in the shed. Sure, the shed was smaller than her current room, but there’d be room for her bed and her dresser, and her few sparse belongings, and she’d get to be by herself a lot more. If she stayed in the shed she could even pretend that she didn’t live with the Dursleys at all, but a child living on her own like in the storybooks. It might make her subtle kitchen raids a little more difficult… but she was certain she could manage that.

The rest of her aunt and uncle’s conversation had just raised more questions than it answered.

Had Mister Dumbledore really known that Holly was about to be spanked? If so, how could he possibly have known? And what had Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon meant by ‘lesbian freaks’? She knew about homosexuality, of course; everybody at Privet Drive knew about Mister Dumbledore and Hagrid, and some of the late-night television shows that the Dursleys didn’t want to let her watch would occasionally feature women who liked to kiss other women instead of men (an idea which seemed quite sensible to her; boys were gross!) …but nobody had ever said anything about lesbians having the power to make lawnmowers move on their own. And then there was the mysterious talk about the item that was hidden in the cupboard…

As Holly settled down in her bed and closed her eyes to go to sleep, she knew one thing: Even if she was going to get herself into even more trouble doing it, she was going to find out what was in the cupboard under the stairs.

In which Ariana declines the offer of alcohol, and Albus declines an offer of a lucrative job.

Britain has the oldest magical school in the world.

South Americans may protest this fact and claim that their Castelobruxo, located deep in the amazon jungle, is the oldest magical school in the world — but we British know that the honour goes to our very own Hogwarts.

Though the precise year of Hogwarts’s founding has been brought up for debate a number of times, the most reliable sources all claim that the school was founded in the year 993; two whole years before Castelobruxo.  

The school, then known simply as “Hogwarts School of Witchcraft,” was of course founded by the four greatest witches of their time: Godiva Gryffindor, Helga Hufflepuff, Rowena Ravenclaw and Silvia Slytherin, whose names and philosophies are still reflected in the four original Hogwarts houses.

It is believed that in building and forming the school, the four Founders took inspiration from the Muggle cathedral schools of the time. The Hogwarts castle itself, with its towers and turrets, certainly has several visual elements borrowed from the larger cathedral schools, and it’s not hard to see how the Muggles’ “seven liberal arts” (Grammar, Astronomy, Rhetoric, Logic, Arithmetic, Geometry and Music) must have inspired our own “seven magical arts” (Transfiguration, Charms, Potions, Astronomy, Herbology, Arithmancy, Runes and Alchemy).

However, the Founders did not copy the Muggles in everything: Whereas the cathedral schools only accepted boys, the Founders set off to make Hogwarts the first all-girls’ school in the world.

To many modern witches and wizards, it comes as a surprise to learn that Hogwarts for most of its history only accepted girls as its students. But the Founders’ reasoning was clear: As most magical births are female, and even at the best of times witches outnumber wizards ten to one, it was deemed unwise to have the precious few wizards in existence freely mingle with witches, and possibly cause undue competition and resentment that might interfere with the girls’ education. 

A few half-hearted attempts were made at making a similar school for wizards, but since there were so few of them, it was found to be impractical. And so, for centuries, there was no formal education for wizards. Since we were still living openly among Muggles, young wizards would sometimes attend cathedral schools or monastery schools for their formal education, but more often they were simply either taught by their parents, or apprenticed to older wizards, and were fully educated when their masters said they were.

Things may have continued like this indefinitely, if it hadn’t been for the establishing of the International Statute of Secrecy in 1697.

All of a sudden, witches and wizards were to live apart from Muggles and hide their magical nature. The newly-established Ministry for Magic decreed that it was no longer feasible to keep the young wizards from a formal education, and so for the safety of everyone, Hogwarts was to accept boys as well as girls.

Hence, the school was renamed “Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry” and became co-ed.

To make the transition easier, it was decreed that the boys would not join any of the four established houses of the school; instead a fifth school house would be established, which would exclusively take in boys. This house would be named after the most famous wizard of all time: Merlin.

– excerpt from “Wizards of Hogwarts” by Batilda Bagshot.

It was called the Leaky Cauldron, and it was not only the oldest, but the most elusive pub in all of London.

Perhaps it didn’t look like much. It was small, unobtrusive, a little shabby… but if the pub itself wasn’t all that impressive, the clientele more than made up for it.

For one thing, it was almost completely female. On any given day of the week, you could find women of all ages, shapes and sizes in the Leaky Cauldron. Quite literally, in fact; you could find women of shapes and sizes and even colours here that you never found anywhere else. Sharing drinks, playing games, engaging in silly pub quizzes.

At one table, old grandmothers with white hair might let six-year-old girls beat them in card games. At another table, naked green ladies with hair like leaves would be having drinking contests with pale women with fangs and fancy dresses. Or at the bar, you might see pink-haired girls argue with three-foot-tall women about whose turn it was to buy the next round. And that’s not even counting all the regular human women in outrageous outfits; here you were just as likely to see absurdly long cloaks or impossibly tall powdered wigs, as you were to see loincloths and bare breasts.

In short, it was the sort of place where unusual and extraordinary women could be themselves, without having to worry about what “polite society” might say about their appearance.

The lady who had just stepped inside through the entrance this particular evening didn’t look too noticeable at first glance.

She was of an indeterminate age, rather short and plump with shoulder-length blonde hair and alert blue eyes behind a pair of gold-rimmed spectacles. She was dressed elegantly, if somewhat conservatively, in a dark red frock coat dress; rather old-fashioned for the streets of London but certainly not out of the ordinary for the Leaky Cauldron.

The barmaid, a rather buxom lady with hair like a red cloud around her head, was just serving a very tall drink to a woman so tiny she needed to sit on three thick phone books to reach the table, when she noticed the newcomer.

“Headmistress!” she greeted. “As I live an’ breathe!”

The plump woman returned the smile as she made her way through the crowded barroom. “Hello, Tanya. It’s been a while.”

Her full name was Ariana Urquart, of the Dumbledore line, but since she had been the Headmistress of Hogwarts School for Wizardry and Witchcraft for several decades, she usually just went under the name ‘Headmistress.’

“Hang on, I’ll git ye a drink.” The barmaid moved back towards the bar, past three young women were loudly arguing over whose fault it was they’d lost the pub quiz, and stood in front of Ariana. “Got sum real ale on tap… or ha’ abyeut a brandy?”

“Your brandy is always excellent,” said Ariana warmly. “But I’m actually not here to drink today. I’m meeting my brother here.”

“Definitely a brandy situation, then,” said the barmaid with a smirk. “Yoor brother arrived here half an hoor ago. He’s waitin’ fo’ ye in one of the private parloors… him an’ that giant friend of his.”

“Oh, come now, my brother isn’t that bad,” said Ariana. “He is a bit of a non-conformist, but he has never been anything but a loving brother to me. I can manage a few hours in his company without feeling the need to get drunk.”

“Just as ye say, Headmistress,” said the barmaid, even if she didn’t seem too convinced.

“But perhaps a cup of tea and some biscuits?” said Ariana. “Some of those delightful coconut macaroons.”

“Tea an’ macaroons,” the barmaid repeated. “Allright.”

She walked around the bar and once more passed the three young women, who were still arguing about that pub quiz. She stopped and nodded to them. “By the wa’, ye three, ye might want tuh think abyeut gettin’ a room fo’ the night,” she said. “Room Ten’s available, ye can be as loud as ye want there.”

The three women, Ariana noted, looked like they weren’t certain if they were arguing or flirting with one another. They did at least seem to take the offer into consideration before starting to argue again.

After writing down Ariana’s order on the slate on the wall, and after the text had glowed pink and vanished to signal that the order was received, the barmaid motioned for Ariana to follow her down the passage that led from the bar.

“Young witches,” she sighed, as she led the way down the narrow passage. “One moment they’re ready tuh tear each other’s heads off, an’ the next they end up tearin’ each other’s clothes off insteed. Ah, tuh be that young an’ foolish agyen, eh, Headmistress?”

“In my experience,” said Ariana, “old witches can be just as foolish as young ones.”

“Oh, sorry,” said the barmaid cheerfully. “I meant ‘that young an’ horny.’ “

“So did I.”

They had reached the door with the number 10, and the barmaid opened it to let Ariana in.

Inside the small parlour — just as the barmaid had said — two men were waiting for her.

One man was absolutely enormous. He had a huge black beard that covered most of his face, he wore a moleskin overcoat with so many pockets that it was impossible to count them all, and at the moment he was busy taking a swig from a tankard so large that the tiny woman from the bar could have taken a bath in it. When he saw Headmistress, he placed the tankard down with a heavy thud.

“Ariana!” he exclaimed in a thick West County accent. “There yeh are! That explains the tea an’ macaroons!”

“Hello, Hagrid,” said Ariana. “And Albus.”

The other man, who was sitting opposite the giant, now set aside his own mug (hot chocolate, from the looks of it) and raised himself to greet Ariana warmly. “It’s been much too long, Ariana. Have a seat!”

Albus Dumbledore could not have looked much more different from his sister. He was tall, thin and auburn-haired, his beard was neat and streaked with grey, and he was wearing the odd combination of a purple dressing gown over an elegant three-piece suit. But when you saw his eyes, you immediately realized that he and Ariana had to be related: they had the same sharp and intelligent blue eyes.

Albus reached out a hand, and made a brief gesture towards an empty chair. Immediately, the chair sprang to life. On four stiff wooden legs, it walked over to them and settled down by the table, right by the cup of tea and plate of coconut macaroons that true to the barmaid’s word was waiting for Ariana.

“Will there be owt else?” said the barmaid. “If not, I’d better heed back tuh the bar and see if those three youngsters have decided on whether they want tuh fight or fuck.”

“Then by all means, don’t let us detain you,” Ariana chuckled. “Both those things should probably be done in a private room.”

As the barmaid left, she sat down on the offered chair. “I’m sorry for making you wait, Albus. You would not believe how busy I am these days.”

“I might believe it. I’ve been known to be quite gullible at times,” said Albus. “How is Hogwarts these days?”

“Couldn’t be better,” said Ariana. “Incredible how busy I get, though. Sometimes I don’t even know why I chose an academic career. Always more work, never a free moment.”

Albus smiled. “If there is anything I have learned from years of listening to you complaining about your job, it’s that the Headmistress of Hogwarts is never truly free,” he said. “But there is anything I’ve learned from years of being your brother, it’s that you wouldn’t want it any other way.”

“You know me too well,” she admitted.

“And your coven?” Albus went on. “It’s been a long time since I’ve seen… any of them.”

The hesitation wasn’t lost on Ariana. “The coven is doing fine,” she said. “Elphinstone and Minerva send their greetings. As for Abby…” She sighed. “I’m sorry, Albus, but she still doesn’t want to talk to you.”

“No, I didn’t think she would.” Albus sighed as well. “I could always tell that she struggled to accept my lifestyle… to her credit, she did make the honest attempt not to judge after I came out, even after she realized I wouldn’t be starting any covens anytime soon. But then I went ahead and announced my career choice… and she never could forgive me that.”

“Actually,” said Ariana. “That was what I wanted to talk to you about. Your career.”

“I have been a private investigator for decades, Ariana,” said Albus. “I have heard all your arguments for why I should give that up, and I still haven’t changed my mind.”

“I just worry about you, Albus,” said Ariana. “I feel like I can’t open a newspaper without there being some story about how you’ve caught some deranged murderer…”

“Ah, you know how newspapers like to exaggerate,” said Albus lightly. “The life of a private investigator is nowhere near as dangerous as you seem to think. The number of deranged murderers I’ve faced is surprisingly much lower than the number of lost cats I’ve reunited with their owners. Besides,” he added, looking up at Hagrid. “I always have Hagrid to keep me out of trouble.”

“Keep yeh outta trouble!” Hagrid guffawed. “Don’ listen ter him, Ariana. Wild Hippogriffs couldn’ keep yer brother out o’ trouble! An’ thank goodness for that,” he added. “Can’t imagine how much worse off we all woulda bin if Albus Dumbledore stayed outta trouble! Don’ worry about him, he’s better at handlin’ trouble than anyone I’ve ever known.”

“Still,” said Ariana. She turned back to look at Albus. “I would feel a lot calmer if you would reconsider becoming a teacher. I need a new Head of Merlin for next year, and if you wanted the job —”

“What?” Hagrid exclaimed. “Ol’ Flitwick’s leavin’? But he can’t be retirin’ age yet, he’s barely a hundred years old!”

“I’m afraid some busybody at the Ministry found out about his heritage,” said Ariana. “I wouldn’t have been able to protect him if the Board of Governors decided that they didn’t want him teaching their children anymore… so we agreed that it was better that he withdrew quietly… oh, Hagrid, it’s all right.”

Because Hagrid had pulled an enormous handkerchief out of one of his pockets and was blowing his nose loudly. “That’s a cryin’ shame,” he said. “Flitwick was the bes’ teacher I ever had. I wasn’ ever much good at school, but Flitwick was good at explainin’ so a poor bloke unnerstood.”

“He will be missed,” said Ariana solemnly. “But my offer stands, Albus. I think you would make a good Head of Merlin — and a good Defence teacher. Even Abby thinks so. If you were to take the job, I’m certain she would talk to you again.”

Albus sighed. “I know you mean well, Ariana. But I chose my life a long time ago. I neither can nor will abandon it. Besides, if the Board of Governors can’t accept Filius Flitwick, capital fellow that he is, what would they say about having someone like me teach their children?”

“You let me worry about that,” said Ariana firmly. “If they have a problem, I can simply point to your list of merits… they should speak for themselves.”

“And they would speak against me,” said Albus. “As I know the Board of Governors, they are a rather traditionalist lot… and alas, I am far from traditional. Besides, I am not sure I would have made a very good teacher.”

“I, however, am certain that you would make a great teacher,” said Ariana. “If you had been a woman, you would have been Headmistress at Hogwarts by now.”

“And if I had been a wood nymph, no doubt I would have made an excellent Keeper of the Forest,” said Albus. “But since I’m neither woman nor nymph, I think I’m better served focusing on the career I did choose. No,” he added, gently but firmly, “I thank you for your offer, my dearest sister, but I must decline. I made a promise, seven years ago, to keep an eye on young Holly. Which I can’t do if I’m busy teaching at Hogwarts.”

“Holly? Oh, of course. Holly Potter, of the Evans line.” Ariana nodded. “The famous Impossible Child, or is it ‘the Girl Who Lived’ they’re calling her these days?”

“I think ‘Impossible Child’ is slightly more popular,” said Albus. “Though depressingly many still refer to as ‘that poor girl who had to go live with Muggles because her mother was too selfish to join a coven.‘ A bit of a mouthful, and not quite fair to poor Lily, but…”

“There is some truth to it,” said Ariana. “You can’t pretend that the child wouldn’t have been better off if Lily Potter of the Evans line had consented to share her man. James Potter was a popular boy, as I remember… rich and handsome. He could have had as large a coven as he wanted.”

“There is nothing to say that any other wives James Potter had would not also have perished when he and Lily did. In fact, I fear that is exactly what would have happened.”

“Not necessarily,” said Ariana. “If they had a coven, they would have had an elf to protect them.”

“They would,” Albus agreed. “Though in this case I wonder if this would have been enough. You weren’t there when it happened, Ariana, but I was. Riddle was on a rampage, he would have killed anyone he encountered. That final confrontation between him and Lily… I barely had time to get young Holly out of the house before the final explosion. If there had been anyone else alive there at the time, I’m not certain I could have saved them.”

“But you saved the child,” said Ariana. “Only to dump her off on her Muggle relatives.”

“It was Lily’s wish. The will she set up was quite clear that Holly should go to her Muggle sister.”

“Dunno what she was thinkin’, mind,” said Hagrid. “That sister an’ her husband. Nasty folks. Not treatin’ the girl right at all.”

Ariana took a slow sip of her tea and chose a macaroon while thinking of what to say next. “They’re not beating her, are they?” she finally said. “I remember those Muggle books you used to read when we were young, Albus…”

“Thankfully, Muggle treatment of children has generally improved since the days of Nicholas Nickleby,” said Albus. “No, her aunt and uncle have never so much as raised a hand to her. With due lack of modesty, I would have known instantly if they had. Still… I do not think she is getting the love and attention a young child needs.”

“We never shoulda left the girl with them, hang what that will said,” Hagrid grumbled. “I know Lily wanted ter bury the hatchet with her sister an’ all, bu’ some folks are jus’ lost causes.”

“Perhaps so,” said Albus. “But I can all too well understand Lily’s desire to reconcile with an estranged sister.” His tone turned slightly wistful; he was probably thinking about Abby. “I think Lily’s hope was that Petunia would overcome her own feelings about us and our world, and take Holly in as her own. Unfortunately, this didn’t happen. Petunia took the girl, but she resents her. And she has taught her husband and son to resent her as well.”

“But if this is the case, Albus,” said Ariana, “why is the child still with those people? Why haven’t you —?”

“Why haven’t I taken her from them?” Albus shook his head. “I have been tempted. But the problem is that such a thing is called ‘kidnapping.’ Her aunt and uncle are her legal guardians, in our world and theirs, and I’m merely a concerned friend of her deceased parents. I have no authority in this, no matter how you look at it. And if I’m to be honest, and honesty is supposed to be a virtue… I’m already skirting the limits of the legal with being as involved in the case as I am.”

“If I remember correctly, Albus, you have never been one to care what the Ministry wanted,” said Ariana dryly. “Or did you have a number of wives hidden somewhere, and simply never got around to introducing me to them?”

Albus chuckled. “Me, in a coven? Now, that is a dreadful thought.” Then he grew serious. “Truth be told, I’m not afraid for myself, but of making the situation worse for the poor girl. For now, Hagrid and I have had to content ourselves by watching over her and making certain she’s safe. It did mean moving from London to Surrey, but luckily even Surrey can use a private investigator every now and again.”

“You’ve appointed yourself her guardian, have you?”

“Guardian is a strong word. But I made a promise to her mother. I think you will like her when you meet her,” Albus went on. “People might call her ‘the Impossible Child,’ but I find her to be quite a delightful one.”

“She’s a good ‘un,” Hagrid agreed.

“I’ll look forward to having her at Hogwarts in a couple of years, then,” said Ariana. “Isn’t she nine already?”

“Eight,” Albus corrected. “Or rather, she will be eight this July. To be honest, Ariana, I am concerned for her. There are too many people out there who would exploit her, people she is too young to defend herself against, and which her relatives either couldn’t or wouldn’t defend her against. There have been incidents… And then there is of course Tom Riddle.”

Ariana frowned. “You still think he is alive, then?” she said. “Nobody has seen or heard anything of him for seven years. He’s been declared officially dead.”

“I don’ care about the official part of it,” said Hagrid darkly. “I know that bloody bastard. They didn’ call him ‘The Man Who Couldn’ Die’ fer nothing. I was there that time when Albus fought him. Saw with me own eyes how yer brother chopped the man’s head off with Gryffindor’s Sword. Yeh know what Riddle did?”

“I have heard the story,” said Ariana, without much hope that this would dissuade Hagrid from telling it again.

True enough, it didn’t. “He didn’ even fall down! His headless body calmly walked over to his head, picked it up, an’ then put it back on! Like it was a hat or somethin’! An’ then he went straight back ter hurlin’ curses! Someone who can do that, they don’ jus’ keel over an’ die,” Hagrid finished with a certain grim satisfaction. “Nah, he’s still out there somewhere, tryin’ ter regain his power!”

“I’m afraid Hagrid is right,” said Albus. “The question is not if, but when, he builds up enough strength to go after Holly.” Then he suddenly smiled. “So, as you see, with one thing and another, it’s quite impossible for me to accept your generous offer of a job.”

“And when Holly is of Hogwarts age?” Ariana inquired. “That’s only three years away. Will you change your mind then?”

“By then you will already have hired a new Head of Merlin,” said Albus. “It wouldn’t do for me to steal the poor fellow’s job after he’s only had it for a couple of years. Besides, at Hogwarts, she will have protections even I can’t provide. Tom Riddle will never get past Argyra and her daughters.”

“And what about those who would exploit the child, as you say?” Ariana looked at him.

“Oh, I have every confidence in your ability to deal with them, at least until Holly can do it herself,” said Albus cheerfully. “At the very least, I know you will not allow anyone to lure her into joining a coven before she is old enough.”

“I will at least do my very best,” said Ariana. “Mind you, I doubt I could stop her from doing a bit of experimenting with her schoolmates as she grows older. But that’s only to be expected.” A slightly mischievous smile appeared on her lips, as if she was either planning or remembering something vaguely naughty, but very funny. “I haven’t quite forgotten what it was like to be a young witch… even if the students would probably never believe that.”

“I wouldn’t ask you to isolate her,” said Albus. “Quite the contrary, she will need friends and allies among her peers. If this should lead to her joining a coven sometime in the future, then that will be her decision. Just so long as she doesn’t have to make the decision before she is ready for it.”

“Oh, I agree there,” Ariana nodded. “I think there are some things I could do to help the girl. It would take some time to get everything organized, but we have three years until…” And then, all of a sudden, she laughed. “Albus, you are an incorrigible rogue.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” said Albus; a statement which, whenever it’s said, is usually a lie.

“I daresay you do! Here I arrive, all set on convincing you to give up that private investigator job of yours and come work at Hogwarts, and now you have me talking only about Holly Potter of the Evans line, and how to help her.”

“That does sound like a much worthier conversation topic to me,” said Albus. “As a teacher, you have often said that children are the future.”

“Of course.”

“Well,” said Albus. “Holly Potter may be a vital deciding factor when it comes to what kind of future we will have.”