Chapter 240: Another Counseling Session
Morning hours, The Leaky Cauldron, square table in the corner.
The young elective professor and the student about to enter third year sat facing each other. Melvin ordered butterbeer and fish and chips, didn’t touch the fish, just ate french fries dipped in ketchup, unhurriedly. The tavern owner stood alone behind the counter, pursing his lips.
The conversation between teacher and student had lasted half an hour, almost entirely Harry talking, with Melvin offering no opinions.
“Ever since I can remember, they’ve constantly reminded me that I’m not their child, I’m a boarding relative, an extra child.” Harry said with a dejected expression. “For me, life in Diagon Alley is much happier. The Leaky Cauldron is far more comfortable than Dursley’s home.”
His words carried a faint sense of loss and sadness. Since leaving number four Privet Drive, Harry had experienced the panic of being homeless, the bewilderment of having nowhere to go. He himself wasn’t sure how he had boarded the Knight Bus that night.
The student who had just turned thirteen wasn’t mentally mature enough. After such a drastic change, his heart couldn’t find peace. Although he was doing alright at The Leaky Cauldron, it was only now, meeting a professor he could fully trust and confiding his recent experiences, that he finally relaxed.
“I don’t know what kind of character the people at Dursley’s home have. I’m not in a position to judge others’ family relationships.”
Melvin said calmly, picking up a piece of french fry and dipping it in ketchup. “Besides, my opinion doesn’t matter. You’re the main party in this relationship. Only your thoughts can influence its future.”
Harry bit into a french fry viciously: “My thought is, I don’t want to go back to Privet Drive for winter or summer vacations anymore. If possible, I’d rather live at The Leaky Cauldron forever.”
“Don’t jump to conclusions yet. Before that, you need to figure out the answers to some questions.” Melvin savored slowly.
“What questions?”
“Are you Dursley’s child?”
“I…” Harry immediately wanted to deny it, but the words that came out weren’t so firm. “I’m their nephew. Aunt Penelope is my mother’s sister.”
“So you’re just a relative of Penelope Dursley.”
Melvin nodded, picking up the beer on the table and taking a sip. “What does that Aunt Penelope do for work?”
“Why ask that?” Harry was a bit confused. “Aunt Penelope doesn’t work. She’s a full-time housewife, doing chores at home every day.”
“So can I assume your aunt is a housewife with no income, completely supported by her husband.”
“Yes.”
“So among the three members of the Dursley family, Vernon and Dudley actually have no blood relation to you. They have no obligation to raise you. The only relative, Penelope, is a housewife with no income. She might have the obligation, but no ability to raise you.”
Listening to the professor’s analysis, Harry felt a crack appear in some solid belief in his heart: disgust toward Dudley, resentment toward Vernon, resentment toward Penelope, dissatisfaction with the Dursley family.
“I don’t know what your Uncle Vernon and Cousin Dudley think. That Aunt Penelope seems to be caught in the middle. For her to raise you to now instead of sending you to an orphanage or church, it’s probably Penelope who convinced her husband. What do you think?”
“Mm…” Harry nodded hesitantly.
The Muggle Studies professor pinched a fried french fry, analyzing motives with a calm expression: “In the adult world, a housewife with no income hardly has any say. If she sides with an outsider, she’ll be seen as an outsider too… What could she do? She has to stand with the Dursley family to keep her husband and son from kicking out the nephew.”
“But they…” Harry’s rebuttal lacked the confidence it had at the start.
“They are indeed abusing you.”
Melvin didn’t say「that raising you is a favor, so you should forgive」. Childhood trauma and physical and mental pain are real. Even if those pains are in the past and the person involved might not intend to dwell on them, an outsider’s lighthearted advice to forgive is very annoying.
The Dursley family didn’t raise Harry well. That’s a fact.
Often, the pains from childhood are even more profound.
After finishing the last french fry, Melvin said to the runaway student: “The world is just this complicated. Human interactions can’t be summed up from a single angle. You must learn to speculate on others’ thoughts from multiple dimensions, try to handle these relationships, maintain them running smoothly according to certain social norms, until you can be completely independent.”
Hesitation appeared on Harry’s face. He fell silent, not knowing what to say.
Melvin wiped his hands with a napkin from the table, ending this counseling session, and turned to other topics: “I’ve just returned to London not long ago and haven’t booked a hotel yet. How are the accommodations at The Leaky Cauldron? If suitable, I’ll stay here too.”
“Pretty… pretty good.”
Harry’s mind hadn’t caught up yet; he felt a bit dizzy.
“How’s the cleanliness? Do rats climb on the pillow at midnight?”
“No, the guest rooms are very clean.” Harry detached from his family troubles and began introducing the accommodations to the professor. “Someone cleans every day. It’s right behind Diagon Alley. The shop assistants and owners there are all nice…”
Having lived here for a few days, he actually felt a bit grateful to Minister Fudge. He didn’t seem as bad as originally thought. At least Fudge had let him settle down.
“Minister Fudge isn’t as bad as I thought. He didn’t hold my spellcasting violation against me, waived my fine, let me stay here. Other places are fine, just too rigid. He wouldn’t even sign the consent form for me, saying rules are rules…”
Harry was a bit puzzled. “He’s the Minister of Magic. Approving a little wizard to go to Hogsmeade on weekends, what rule would that violate?”
“He’s not worried about breaking rules. Fudge wants you to stay put safely in one place, avoid contact with strange wizards, worried that Black will come after you.”
Melvin reminded him. “Because of forcibly promoting Umbridge, Fudge has been under heavy criticism lately. Wizengamot members even want to remove him. Black escaped Azkaban during his term. Many officials and wizard residents are even more dissatisfied with him. He doesn’t want you, the boy who lived, to have an accident.”
Harry was stunned for a moment, then muttered softly as he came to his senses: “So that’s it. No wonder Fudge let me off.”
At this point, he was puzzled: “Why do so many people think Black will come after me? Stan and Ernie on the Knight Bus, Mr. Florean at the ice cream shop… They all gave me strange looks when mentioning Black. Has Black fixated on me? Just for Voldemort, his master?”
Melvin paused briefly, choosing his words: “Like I said earlier, don’t limit yourself to a single angle. Learn multidimensional thinking.”
Harry noticed the professor’s gaze become subtle. He couldn’t read the complex emotions in it, but vaguely felt that the professor’s look when mentioning Black was different from other wizards: “You mean Black won’t come after me?”
“No, he definitely will come after you.”
“Not for Voldemort?”
“Hold on, Harry. Let me think how to explain it to you.”
Melvin didn’t plan to reveal the truth yet. He was waiting to watch the show. But he wouldn’t distort facts or deliberately mislead. “The matter starts with your parents’ class.”
“Back then, Godric Gryffindor had a famous little group: Sirius Black, Peter Pettigrew, Remus Lupin, and your father James Potter. They were very good friends, did everything together, pulled pranks in class, acted cool in the corridors. That student-era friendship lasted until graduation.”
Harry’s mouth fell open in shock.
“That was when Death Eaters were rampant, hunting wizards who opposed Voldemort at will. Your parents escaped their ambushes three times, until your birth. The newborn you were too fragile, not suited for constant fleeing and moving. You needed a safe home, so the Fidelius Charm came into play.”
Harry especially missed Hermione right now. If she were here, she’d immediately explain what the Fidelius Charm did.
Instead of him staring blankly at the professor and asking: “What kind of magic is the Fidelius Charm?”
“A defensive spell that hides a specific secret permanently in the Secret-Keeper’s soul, ensuring the secret can’t be discovered by others unless the Secret-Keeper willingly reveals it. Commonly used to protect important locations or people.”
Melvin looked into his deep green eyes. “Publicly at the time, your parents chose Sirius Black as Secret-Keeper. You know the rest.”
Harry sat there woodenly.
Of course he knew. Voldemort came to the door, both parents died, leaving him, the boy who lived.
“Black leaked the secret.” Harry murmured dazedly, a bit at a loss. In his panic, he picked up the beer on the table and took a sip.
No wonder people gave him strange looks. No wonder everyone thought Black would come after him. He was the accomplice who caused his parents’ deaths, his blood enemy.
Harry felt a burning heat rush from his stomach. The bubbles in the beer filled his throat with a choking alcoholic taste, burning from his throat all the way to his heart, making him forget he was in the tavern. Amid the terror, anger and hatred surged, his blood boiling. He wanted to kill that enemy with his own hands.
“Thump… thump…”
Melvin tapped the table with his knuckles, the sound snapping Harry out of his trance: “Remember what I just told you?”
“Don’t limit to a single perspective, think and speculate from multiple angles.” Harry came to his senses and repeated blankly, not knowing why bring it up now.
“Good that you remember.”
Melvin observed his state and saw his eyes were slightly glazed, probably from absorbing too much information too quickly. His not fully developed brain couldn’t process it, short-circuiting a bit. Otherwise, no issues.
He planned to let Harry calm down alone. He himself got up to settle the bill with Old Tom at the counter, book a guest room, and ask about the latest on Azkaban.
The butterbeer just ordered wasn’t finished. Old Tom didn’t bring new drinks, simply asked about Harry’s condition. Hearing Melvin recount the old events, he didn’t know what to say, sighed in sigh, and dropped it.
Melvin, holding his wine glass, asked: “With Black escaped from Azkaban, what measures has the Ministry of Magic taken? Sent Dementors to hunt?”
“Aurors and Dementors are patrolling. They also had us post notices and wanted posters.”
“Where are the Dementors searching?”
“Why do you ask?”
Old Tom eyed him suspiciously but figured as a professor, he wouldn’t do anything illegal. “Mainly around the North Sea. Heard they’re planning another sweep of Knockturn Alley and Diagon Alley, but Dementors are so hated, and it’s not long since the last sweep, so Wizengamot rejected it.”
“Around the North Sea… that’s a bit far from London.”
“Not far for wizards, right?”
“Far for Dementors. They can’t use Floo Powder or Apparate.”
“Why do you care about them?”
“Nothing…”
Melvin shook his head, his tone casual. Caring about Dementors’ movements was, of course, to catch one for research.
Bastien’s increasingly strange power needed Dementor treatment. The magic gifted by his own Horned Serpent was similar to Dementors’. He had this idea last time at Azkaban, but unfortunately Dementors were official, and Tonks was there, no opportunity.
Plus, Dementors’ form was very unique, no discreet containment method yet.
This required a thorough plan, consulting professionals.
Melvin sipped butterbeer, his eyes thoughtful.
Chatting idly with Old Tom, time passed bit by bit. After finishing the remaining butterbeer, it was nearly noon.
Patrons in the tavern gradually increased. Old Tom got busy greeting guests and looking after family nephews and juniors helping in the back kitchen. Melvin also learned various recent news, organizing his plan in his mind.
Harry sat by the corner square table, his gaze still a bit blank.
Among the patrons, some odd old witches, at least seventy and up, sipping small glasses of sherry. Some smoked long pipes, the bluish smoke a bit choking. Occasionally someone noticed the scar on his forehead, casting appraising glances. Perhaps due to Black’s escape, no one came to talk.
The professor’s advice still echoed in his ears, but he couldn’t grasp the deeper meaning. He just wanted revenge for his parents, wanted to kill that Sirius Black.
But he felt he couldn’t deal with a vicious Dark Wizard, and thus worried for his own safety.
Various thoughts tangled in his mind like an Acromantula’s web nest, a mess, no clue.
Unable to figure it out, Harry stood and went to the counter: “Professor, what should I do? Can you give me some advice?”
“Advice…”
Melvin thought briefly. “I suggest you write a letter to your aunt and uncle, inform them of your current situation. Don’t forget to enclose that weekend activity consent form.”
Harry was stunned. That wasn’t what he meant to ask. In the last half hour, he hadn’t even thought about the Dursleys at all. The words on his tongue took a turn:
“Will they sign it for me?”
“Who knows.”
