Chapter Text
The corridor was long and dark. It was cold and stale, and the floor and walls were lined with black stone that seemed to suck away all light. At the end of the corridor stood a singular door, plain and black. Blue-green light shone from the cracks.
He walked slowly down the corridor. The door was a magnet, pulling him towards it. He needed to open the door. Each step he took, he could feel his heart beat faster and faster. He reached out for the door, his long, scaly fingers almost pulled to its freezing cold metal knob. He tried to turn the knob, but it wouldn’t budge. He turned it harder, frantic.
He needed to open the door.
***
Henry Edwards woke up with a sharp pain in his forehead. His hand flew up to his head, brushing over the jagged scar on his forehead. It happened almost every night, now. He’d dream of long corridors and locked doors, then wake up to a terrible headache.
He was really starting to hate that stupid corridor.
Henry sat up in his bed just to see that it was pitch black outside his window. He sighed and laid back down, knowing that now he was awake, there was no chance he’d fall asleep again.
The summer holidays were Henry’s least favorite time of year. He hated being at Wool’s Orphanage--it was so boring, the food was awful, and he didn’t particularly like anyone else there. Most of the boys there had bullied him relentlessly when he was younger. Now that everyone was older, he was mostly left alone. That was an upgrade, he supposed, but he didn’t like being so polarized from the rest of the group.
And there were reasons that Henry was treated so differently from everyone else. For one thing, he was at a boarding school for most of the year. For another thing, Henry Edwards was a wizard.
Now, the other boys didn’t know he was a wizard, of course (Henry was pretty sure that would break some wizarding laws), but they could all sense something was different about him. Most young wizards perform some accidental magic, and Henry was no exception. He once found himself on the roof of a shed after being chased through the garden, without no clue how he got up there.
Some kids might have thought this was cool, but the boys at Wool’s just used it as an excuse to tease him more. Before Henry went away to his boarding school--Hogwarts, a boarding school for wizards--he was more commonly referred to as “freak,” “maggot,” and “airy-fairy” than his name.
The only perk to being at Wool’s Orphanage, really, was that he had his own room, however small it was.
Henry grabbed his glasses from the table next to his bed and pushed them over his nose. He hadn’t gotten new glasses since he was eleven, seeing as he couldn’t afford new ones, and they were getting a bit small. Under his glasses laid a photograph, one of the only pictures he had. He picked it up. It was of him and his two best friends, Ron and Hermione, at a party celebrating Cedric Diggory’s win for Hogwarts in the Triwizard Tournament at the end of last term. Ron wrote Henry letters every week, and Hermione wrote him almost as often, but they couldn’t replace being with them in person. Henry couldn’t wait for next week, when he’d be going to Ron’s house before they went off to Hogwarts.
Resigned to his fatiguing situation, Henry figured he might as well do something useful with his time. He went over to his wardrobe and pulled out a thick, worn book: A History of Magic . He had bought it in his first year used, and by now, after having to use it for four years of school, it was practically falling apart.
Henry grabbed his glasses and wand from his nightstand. “Lumos.” No way was he going to risk having his lights on in the middle of the night and having Matron catch him.
On the front page of the book, he’d scribbled ‘ yr 5 hw; pg 345-428, 2ft essay about goblin rebellion of 1612.’ He let out another groan. Now that he was going to be a fifth-year, he had to take the O.W.L.s, which meant his classes were going to give about triple the amount of homework they had in previous years. The teachers apparently thought that meant they had to give loads of work over the summer, as well. And now he was going off to Hogwarts in two weeks, and he still hadn’t started History of Magic or Transfiguration.
The Goblin Rebellion of 1612 was just as boring as he had expected, Henry found as he read the passage. But it was a good time-killer, because by the time he got to page 428, the sun was peeking over the horizon and his wand seemed to have extinguished itself.
Henry heard a tapping on his window and looked up. Behind the glass was a gray owl that looked like it was just about to collapse.
“Errol!” Henry jumped up to open the window and let the old owl in. He was carrying two papers: the Daily Prophet, and a letter from Ron. Henry opened Ron’s letter first.
Henry--
I’ve been so bored this summer, I can’t wait for you to come. Dad and Percy are at work all the time now. I think something’s going on at the Ministry. I’ve asked, but neither of them would tell me anything. It doesn’t really matter to me, to be honest, except now Fred and George are picking on me all the time since Percy’s gone. It’s gotten annoying. Maybe when you come, they’ll let off.
Have you started any of the summer work? I’ve only done charms, and Hermione is refusing to give me the answers for the other classes. Oh, did I tell you? Hermione got here a few nights ago. Her parents had to go on a business trip or something. I’m not quite sure why dentists would have to go on a business trip. But anyways, we’re all really excited to see you. Especially Ginny. I reckon she’s got a crush on you.
Dad said he’s going to come pick you up on Friday after work. Mum told me to tell you to be sure to be all ready and packed, and that we’ll go into Diagon Alley sometime next week.
--Ron
Henry smiled and picked up the Daily Prophet. Seeing as he had almost no access to the wizarding world, he’d asked Ron to send him the paper every week. The paper was, for the most part, the same as last week’s, but Henry still read every word of it.
One column in particular stood out to him, an opinion piece about various magical creatures that didn’t quite seem real, by a man called Xenophilius Lovegood. He must have had his own newspaper as well, because he promoted it at the end of his piece. The Prophet had also added on a disclaimer enforcing that made it very clear the piece didn’t reflect their beliefs, which made Henry laugh.
Henry heard a knocking on his door. “Oi! Edwards!”
“One second!” Henry said, shoving Ron’s letter and the Daily Prophet into his dresser. He picked up Errol (who was sitting tired on his bed) and shoved the old owl out the window. "Sorry, Errol." He stuck his wand in his back pocket--all his trousers had deep pockets for this reason--and opened his door.
A boy, John, was standing at the door. He already seemed to be dressed for the day, and he’d already combed his dark hair. John was the closest thing Henry had to a friend at Wool’s Orphanage, but that didn’t mean much. Really, John was just the only one that hadn’t completely tormented him. That was partially because John was getting tormented almost as much as Henry.
“What is it?”
“You’re fifteen minutes late to breakfast,” John said. “Matron told me to come get you.”
“Already?” Henry groaned. “I thought I had another hour, at least.”
“Didn’t you hear the morning bells?” John asked. Henry had not--he must have been too invested in Crumple-Horned Snorkacks and missed it. “Get out of bed, you old loaf.”
“Coming.”
“Anyways, did you hear what happened last night?” John asked as they walked down the hallway. “No, of course you didn’t, you’ve been in your room. Crofton and Anthony tried to sneak out to go clubbing with two girls from school, and Matron caught them. They’ve got to clean up after meals for who knows how long.”
Henry laughed. “We’ve ought to make a huge mess, then.”
“I might have accidentally dropped my plate already this morning,” John said. “I’ll bet it’s going to be at least two months, because the worst part is one of the girls is Matron’s niece.”
“Wish I was going to be here to see all of that,” Henry said.
They turned into the mess hall, which was packed full of boys. Crofton and Anthony were sat next to Matron at her table, and looked positively overjoyed about it.
John and Henry claimed a spot at one end of a table, and by the time Henry got back to the table with his food, almost everyone had finished their breakfasts and gone back up to their rooms or the common room. Everyone except Crofton and Anthony, who were busy cleaning up food scraps from the floor.
“Having fun down there?” Henry teased.
“Shut it, scarface,” Crofton grumbled and threw a half-eaten breakfast sausage at him.
***
That one week felt longer than all of the rest of the summer, but somehow Henry made it to Friday. He was sitting again at the end of a table with John for supper, staring at a full plate of food he had no intention of eating. There was no way he was going to eat here now when in an hour, he’d be at the Weasleys and Mrs. Weasley would have, no doubt, made a huge feast for dinner. He’d gotten the food, of course, to make more of a mess for Crofton and Anthony.
“Liverpool’s so much better,” John said.
“Are you kidding?” Henry said. “Arsenal all the way. I mean, they’ve got Wright!”
“Mr. Edwards!”
Henry looked up to Matron’s table, where she was standing with her megaphone.
“Mr.--” she looked down at a piece of paper in her hand. “Wesley is here to pick you up. He’s already retrieved your bags.”
Henry jumped up. “Bye, Henry,” John said, rather sadly. Henry almost felt bad for leaving him.
“Bye, John,” Henry said. “I’ll write you soon.”
As he walked out of the mess hall, he pushed his plate off the table.
Mr. Weasley was standing eagerly in front of the entrance to Wool’s Orphanage, holding Henry’s one small bag. He was wearing a pullover that looked far too big on him, and looking around, fascinated. By what, Henry wasn’t sure.
“Hello, Mr. Weasley,” Henry said. Mr. Weasley jumped.
“Oh!” Mr. Weasley said. “Henry! It’s wonderful to see you. How’ve you been?”
“Good,” Henry said. “And you?”
“Just swell!” Mr. Weasley said. “I’ve got a new muggle outfit. I changed into it at the Ministry just for this.”
Henry smiled. “It looks great, Mr. Weasley. I’d think you were a muggle if I saw you.”
“You’re too kind,” Mr. Weasley said, beaming. “Alright, I’ve got a stop we have to make before we apparate home, if that’s alright with you. It’s only a few streets away, so we can walk.”
“Yeah, of course,” Henry said.
“I’m awfully sorry you couldn’t come sooner,” Mr. Weasley said as they started walking. The streets of London were practically empty, which Henry found odd for a Friday night. “I’ve just been so busy at the Ministry, and Molly’s had to--she’s been busy too.”
“I understand,” Henry said. He was tempted to ask Mr. Weasley what was going on at the Ministry, but if he wouldn’t tell Ron, there was no chance he’d tell Henry.
“Everyone’s very excited to see you,” Mr. Weasley said. “Ron especially. And I reckon Molly’s going to make a big deal when you arrive, so you’ve ought to be prepared.”
Henry smiled. Mr. Weasley might have been saying it because he figured it was something that would annoy Henry, but the truth was, it was one of his favorite parts of being at the Burrow. Being there felt like he actually had a family.
“Alright, here we are,” Mr. Weasley said, stopping in front of a row of townhouses. The street sign read ‘Grimmauld Place.’
“Which house?” Henry asked.
Mr. Weasley handed Henry a slip of paper that read Number 12, Grimmauld Place, London.
Henry looked around the houses again. He looked to the left and saw number eleven, and to its right was number thirteen.
“Are you sure you’ve got the address right?” Henry asked, squinting at the house numbers. “I don’t think there is a Number 12.”
Just as Henry said that, number eleven and thirteen started shaking and moving over. A door with a twelve on it appeared, followed by dirty walls and grimy windows. It was as though the house had pushed its way in between number eleven and thirteen. Henry gaped at the house. The few muggles on the street kept walking as if nothing had happened.
“How did that…”
Mr. Weasley grabbed the piece of paper from Henry and put it in his pocket. “How else? Magic.”