Chapter 1
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WHEN HE WAS YOUNG, HARRY LEARNED A SKILL HE CALLED 'DETACHING'. It was certainly not the official term. Harry wasn't sure if it was even a thing. But it occurred to him one day, after hours spent in his cupboard, that he could make the long hours feel like minutes if he simply got lost in his own mind.

It was ironic, really. Because isn't it strange how being lost inside his own mind made him feel detached from his own body? How Harry was still in the cupboard, his aunt was still in the house, and yet he felt safe in the confines of his own silent mind?

You see, Harry was not a patient boy. He remembered, this one time, one of his teachers from primary school was teaching them about a play. About a playwright with a funny name and some quote about patience, trees and fruits.

Harry was not patient. He was rash, he was reckless, and he often acted without thinking. And sometimes an entire day — sometimes two — was very long and Harry needed a way to not feel hungry.

Thus, Harry learned how to 'detach'.

He did it inside the cupboard, during long hours in the garden, when doing the dishes, and so on. But when Vernon yelled at him, when Petunia sneered at him or when Dudley punched him, Harry felt the need to remain attached because he needed to be present to yell back.

The clock in the living room chimed loudly, indicating midnight. Harry was on his knees on the floor. Bits of wood were sticking to his palms and his jaw was stinging from where his uncle had landed his punch. Harry finally registered the broken table in front of him and his breathing picked up.

Events from the evening flooded back to him. Tea and biscuits, questions about Sirius, mentions of Adhara.

Harry choked on his breath.

Adhara, who hasn't answered a single one of his letters since the beginning of summer. Adhara, who would normally be here to make his summers more bearable, was ignoring him. And Harry couldn't even go to Aleyne to demand what was going on because Sirius and Professor Lupin had asked him to be patient.

"Enjoy the last few days with your relatives," Lupin's letter had said.

Yeah, right. If only they knew.

Insulting comments, a plate of biscuits, Harry's blood was boiling and words flew out of his mouth to defend, like how a knight defended with his sword. And then the first punch flew.

"Of course he would want his real niece first," had sneered Vernon, "why would anyone ever want you, you freak!"

Harry knew what stalling was, he had learned it from his aunt. And this. This was definitely stalling.

Sirius' trial was taking time because the Ministry didn't like to admit that it had made a mistake. More importantly, it didn't like to owe anyone. But the evidence was undoubtedly there. Harry's godfather would definitely walk free within a few days.

But with Lupin's insistence on being patient, and Adhara's lack of response, Harry wondered if they weren't simply stalling, because they were too afraid to tell him the truth.

Harry wasn't blood. Harry wasn't family. He wasn't patient. Harry was too rash, too reckless, too much of a freak. Adhara obviously didn't want to talk to him anymore. Remus kept telling to be patient, like how Aunt Petunia used to tell him "next year".

No one actually wanted Harry. Why would anyone want him?

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Matron didn't like noise. She didn't like babies' crying, she didn't like the wailing, the tears, the questions, or anything that had to do with them. And with time, the children of Aleyne learned to stay quiet. They learned that Matron was there to keep a roof over their head and fed enough to survive but that any expectations beyond that would result in a broken heart and burnt hands.

So they learned never to expect.

Matron didn't like noise, and it was obvious in the way she conducted herself. She talked in a serene and smooth voice, never raising it. It was obvious in the way she dressed. Her grey hairs in a low bun, her dress always smooth and ironed, not a crease in sight.

So imagine Adhara's surprise when she and the other Hogwarts kids returned to Aleyne to find Matron screaming at someone in the Furnace Room.

"It's because of your uncle."

"My uncle?"

Yaritza was working in the kitchen. Clothed in a white dress with long sleeves that reached right below her knees, the attire was very different from the colours Yaritza usually dressed in and yet what stood out the most was the girl's shiny scalp.

Adhara noticed it, of course she noticed it. Yaritza's hair was one of the most important things for her. The Egyptian girl had noticed Adhara's questioning look but neither of them made a comment.

"What does this have anything to do with my uncle?"

Her roommate shrugged. "Matron's been acting...odd. She never raised her voice before, and normally she preferred to ignore us. As long as we stayed quiet and didn't spend her money, she was fine."

It was true. The two most important things for Matron was her peace and her money. The only time she involved herself with the kids was if they disturbed either of those. As in, if they made noise, or if money was short that month, which Matron would correct with taking away food privileges.

"But now," continued Yaritza, roughly wiping down the wooden counter, "she's been shouting. Coming out of her office more often, and sending kids to the Furnace Room more often."

Adhara didn't need to be told that. The air inside the house felt too thick to even navigate in, with the amount of heat the room below was radiating. Adhara didn't think the furnace had had a break for a while now.

"She's been like this since Sirius Black escaped."

And that can't be right. Sirius Black escaped last summer, when Adhara was still here. Sure, she spent most of the summer in London, but when she was at Aleyne, Matron didn't act that different.

"That's not right. I was here when he escaped. And Matron was fine."

Yaritza stopped her task abruptly, meeting Adhara's eyes. "Sirius is a trigger. But you seem to be one, too."

"Me?"

She nodded in response, returning to her cleaning. "Ever since you've started Hogwarts, every time you leave, Matron becomes harsher." She threw the rag in a bin under the sink, looking properly at Adhara to converse. "And every time you return, she's back to normal."

Adhara frowned. She didn't know this. No one ever told her before. Not even, Roisin. But then again, it's possible no one else has even noticed the pattern.

"But this time...not only is she not back to normal. She's actually much worse. She has been since last week, when news came that Sirius Black was going to receive a trial."

Adhara sucked in a deep breath, the new information making her anxiety rise.

"Stay hidden," Yaritza warned.

Adhara didn't want to remind her that all the kids at Aleyne have always done just that. Staying away from Matron, hiding and keeping quiet was what they did best, and it was something Adhara was planning on continuing.

"Your hair," Adhara pointed out, finally, "did she make you do that, too?"

Yaritza didn't dawdle with the answer. "I prefer the roof over my head to the hair."

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Harry snatched his hands away right as the pan hit the counter. He fell on the ground from the quickness of it all — the water, the broken cup, the pan — yet the only reason Harry even escaped was because he expected it already.

It has happened enough times for him to expect it.

When he was little, though, Harry hadn't learned to expect it yet. He still remembered the first time; the pan had hit his hands. Harry remembered wailing, he remembered the tears streaming down his face. He couldn't remember what his aunt had told him, only what face she was making as she did, as he was hit with the sudden coldness of betrayal.

One minute, Harry was crying on the kitchen floor, and the next, he was in his cupboard, holding onto a frozen bag of peas.

It was Aunt Petunia, so of course Harry received peas. Had it been Vernon and Dudley, there would be no such thing.

Aunt Petunia looked at him with furious eyes, jaw clenched, teeth grinding, a face Harry was used to. He didn't feel betrayed anymore, he didn't feel longing anymore. Harry only ever expected anger from his aunt. Anger, rage, annoyance, whatever it was, it was the only thing he expected from her, and so Harry was no longer let down.

"How many times," she started, almost growling, "do I have to tell you to be careful with china?"

"Sorry, Aunt Petunia. It won't happen again."

This time, she did actually growl. She raised the pan once more, directing it towards Harry, who rolled out of the way to avoid the impact and scrambled to his feet.

"How many times have I heard that already? How much longer do I have to hear it? For twelve years, I've dealt with your excuses. With your freakishness, with you!"

This wasn't new. Every few months or so, Aunt Petunia would suddenly become irrationally angry. There was a time when Harry wasn't sure if his aunt was taking out her stress and anger on Harry, or if Harry himself was the trigger.

Now, though, Harry knew it was the latter.

She chased him, with her pan. Harry ran out the back door, to avoid getting hit, because he knew that, no matter how angry, Petunia wouldn't dare to make a scene where the neighbours could see.

And he was right. Aunt Petunia looked at him in the eye through the screen door, and locked the door shut.

She didn't have to tell Harry to stay out. The glare she fixed him with was enough to relay the message.

A few more days, Harry told himself, a few more days and then he'd be out of here for good.

Or would he?

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MINISTRY'S MISTAKE: SIRIUS BLACK, INNOCENT ALL ALONG

by Rita Skeeter

After weeks of back and forth investigation and trials, the infamous convict, Sirius Black, was finally acquitted of all charges as compelling evidence came to light. Most notably, Peter Pettigrew himself, the very man whose murder Black was arrested for.

More on p.4

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"Your uncle is free now," said Yaritza without looking at Adhara, "why aren't you leaving?"

The girl was cleaning out her belongings from their bedroom. Well, not their bedroom. Adhara's room, because it wasn't theirs anymore.

Adhara avoided Yaritza's question and asked her one of her own. "I still don't understand why you're listening to her."

Yaritza sighed. "A proper maid requires a proper maid room."

"Why are you putting up with it?"

Twisting around, Yaritza finally looked at her, but Adhara was avoiding the girl's piercing gaze. "Because I don't like to starve."

"She starves us anyway."

"Adhara."

Adhara sat on the bottom bunk, glaring at no one in particular, but glaring nonetheless. She could very well direct her angry stare at the boy who was currently firmly occupying the top bunk. Her bunk. And refused to come down.

"Adhara."

Apparently, Thomas was going through his "no" phase and took the chance to say it to whoever he could. Also, apparently, the kid, who was still very attached to Yaritza, took on a habit of sleeping in Adhara's bed while she was away.

"Adhara, I asked you a question." Yaritza had switched to Arabic, but Adhara still paid no mind.

The three-year-old was flipping through one of the few books they still had left in the nursery.

Adhara was ignoring her ex-roommate, focusing on the sound of the flipping pages instead.

"Why haven't you left, yet."

Because he doesn't want me, she didn't say. Yet, just a few years ago, Adhara wouldn't have cared about that. What people wanted wasn't her business, and she didn't care.

"You used to look for any excuse to escape this place. Here's a chance for you to leave permanently, and you don't take it. Why?"

Because, a few years ago, Harry wasn't in the equation, she didn't say. Because a few years ago, Adhara was alone in this world and escaping Aleyne was her only goal. Now, it was different. Now, there were other people, and she'd be damned if something happened to them.

"And how about the Boy-Who-Lived?"

"Harry," Adhara interrupted, replying back in her mother's tongue. "His name is Harry."

Yaritza smiled, as though she knew something. "Alright then, Harry. He's your brother, no? Why don't you go to him?"

Exactly because of that.

Meanwhile, Thomas had come down from on the bed beside Adhara. He showed her his book, closed with the back cover facing up.

"The story finished..." The kid was looking at her with his big green eyes, obviously upset.

Adhara looked at the completed book and then back at the boy, her expression remaining as impassive as ever. She still wondered why Thomas wasn't scared of her.

She took the book and flipped it over, showing the front cover again. "There. Now, it's not finished anymore. You can restart."

Thomas looked as though Adhara hung the moon for him. He flipped open the picture book once more, scanning through the drawings, although the child could not read yet. And this time, he stayed back on the bottom bunk, sitting close to Adhara.

She could feel Yaritza's gaze, but Adhara still ignored it. She would feel bad if it wasn't for the fact that Yaritza was already used to her behaviour.

"They're your family," said Yaritza. "You should learn to rely on them."

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The moon hid behind the clouds, like a child hiding behind their mother. But unlike the child, no amount of curiosity would make the shining light peak thought. It was as though the moon refused to illuminate to the scene underneath, wanting to keep it in the dark.

The mangled sight of an owl lay still on the forest floor, a snake curling around the bird's neck. The bird's eyes were open, dark eyes looking empty. It was already dead, muscle memory making a shiver run through the wings, but the snake squeezed harder.

After three full turns, the nepërka raised its head, jaw slacking open as its fangs came into full view, dripping with venom. It gave one last look at the back of the owl's head, pupil dilated at the sight of its prey which made the red eyes look darker. Without an ounce of hesitation, the snake then snapped.

The owl didn't even stand a chance.

Realizing the bird was long gone, the serpent uncurled, digging out its teeth from the flesh. It removed itself from the dead body and slithered a few feet away.

The viper coiled into itself, forming almost a small nest. Seemingly hugging itself, it rested its head on the ground, blinking slowly. Its eyes went back to normal; the slit of black reduced in size, making them glow like rubies. The slithering animal's eyes closed completely, its body going utterly still as the breathing quieted down.

A few feet away, the body of the owl was unmoving. Only the cooking breeze of the mountain made its feathers flutter, the contracting muscles doing their last few jolts. Above, the moon remained unseen, encompassing the forest in alarming darkness. The glowing orb still refused to show. The growing amount of clouds covering it fully.

The muscle in the owl's jaw jerked, the movement making its way to the back of the bird's head where it steadily increased in strength. The animal's neck contracted, slowly folding to the right. And then to the left. The wings pulled back, pushing away the dirt underneath. Its claws were forced into the ground; the eyes fluttering open, revealing ruby red.

The owl carefully rose up, flexing its legs and the muscle in its wings as though it was trying to feel if they still worked properly. Or as though it was learning how to use them all over again.

The wings rose, the owl's stare fixed the sky fervently. There was no longer a dark pupil in the middle, the whole eye would now glow red. The wings bat down, and the bird flew away, leaving behind the mountain and the woods.

On the ground, the snake remained, silent with its eyes shut all the way. It would never move from now on.

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