Addicted to the Wind (Harry Potter)

Septima Vector didn't usually find herself visiting muggle orphanages. The young teacher much preferred to spend her days locked up in her office, losing her mind over complex arithmancy equations. But yet here she was. The Oxford Home for Exceptional Children.

The orphanage had quite the unfitting name in all honesty. It made it seem as though the place were some kind of selective school, when according to her research it was anything but. Severely underfunded and with one of the lowest adoption rates in the country, the only thing of exception the orphanage housed was exceptionally young criminals. This place was as bad as it got.

It really made Septima wonder how her future student had ended up here. The British wizarding world was small and spread out but they still had orphanages. Most grown witches and wizards were unfortunately well aware of them, the Daily Prophet having published stories about how depressingly full the orphanages had become after the war. Perhaps the young wizard's situation had been an unfortunate consequence of that, a victim of the Ministry of Magic's general incompetence.

And yet that didn't feel like the correct explanation.

Corrupt and stupid the Ministry may be, even they would pale at the thought of placing a magical child in an orphanage this derelict. It would be grossly irresponsible, and probably end up biting them in the ass once the kid came of age and pursued legal action. The only way it could have happened would be if someone got to the kid first, dropped him off at the orphanage, and the Ministry simply didn't care enough to rectify the situation.

But that answer also didn't seem right.

Harry Potter came from far too significant a family to be the victim of administrative oversight. Someone would have said something. The Potter heir would have been adopted in record time. Nobody would have knowingly let this happen. Septima couldn't solve this problem. She couldn't calculate its answer.

How annoying. Septima despised not having the answer.

Perhaps meeting young Harry would prove to be the missing piece. Septima steeled herself and walked up the worn steps to the orphanage's wooden door. It was a decrepit old thing, covered with scratches and hanging off one hinge. Septima gave it a light knock.

Hopefully this didn't take too long. She'd just been gifted a tome about Phoenician calculations that she'd much rather be devouring right now.

A few moments later, a rather rotund middle-aged woman opened the door with a frown. She stared directly into Septima's eyes, before glancing down and seeing her arms were free of any bundles.

"Good, ya here to adopt. Got enough kids to deal with already."

"I'm actually here for a different reason," Septima smiled warmly at the matron.

The woman gave her a tired frown. "What have those kids done this time?"

"Nothing," Septima replied. "I'm here as a representative of Hogwarts. It's a prestigious private school, based up in Scotland."

The matron looked puzzled. "Hog what?"

"Hogwarts," Septima answered. "One of your charges will be attending later this year. He had his name put down as a baby, and his tuition is fully paid for."

The woman stared blankly at Septima, before opening the door wider. "S'pose ya should come in then."

Septima stepped through the doorway, closing the door behind her.

The interior of the orphanage lived up to its rough and underfunded reputation. If somebody told her the place was abandoned, Septima would have believed them. The ceiling was decorated with cracks, and the walls looked as though somebody had mined large chunks out of them. What little furniture she spied looked completely worthless, cheap and dilapidated. It wouldn't surprise her to learn that the children had stolen everything of value.

Septima had to be careful as she followed the matron into the foyer. Some of the rotting wooden floorboards looked a stomp away from snapping in two. They probably were, given the handful of gaps in the floor. The matron reached a set of stairs, then stopped. "Which of the troublemakers will ya be taking off my hands?"

"Harry Potter."

"That's one of the few decent kids I got," the matron frowned. "He still causes trouble, don't get me wrong, but he's not rotten to the core like the rest of 'em."

That was good news to Septima. She'd been a bit concerned that Hogwarts would be welcoming a muggle-raised delinquent to its hallowed halls. "I'm glad to hear that."

"S'pose it's for the best he goes," the matron resigned. "He's the only one here ya would call an exceptional child. Deserves better than this shithole."

Septima smiled awkwardly. The woman certainly made no effort to deny the orphanage's reputation. "You... speak quite highly of him," the young professor noted.

"Hard not to, he can be a charming son of a gun."

"I look forward to meeting him then," Septima replied somewhat skeptically. "Is he home at the moment?"

The matron gave no reply and instead called out up the stairs, "Is Harry around?"

She received a chorus of nos in response. "There's ya answer," the woman dryly finished.

Septima frowned. She would rather not be hanging around a place like this, but she had a job to do. She just had to hope that the teen got home while the sun was still beaming. Septima made eye contact with the matron and the pair endured an awkward silence that was mercifully disturbed after only a few excruciating seconds.

Click. The orphanage's worn door swung open, revealing a youthful male. "Speak of the devil..." muttered the matron. Harry Potter had arrived.

Not that he would have been easy to miss. Tall and athletic, his torso was covered by a yellow football jersey, one which was doing a terrible job of hiding his shockingly well-defined upper body. His thighs were adorned by similarly-coloured football shorts, and hanging around his neck were a pair of boots. Septima wasn't familiar enough with the muggle world to know the team, but she knew a football kit when she saw one. Given the fresh grass stains, she had to assume that he'd just come back from a game.

Harry was also wearing a baseball cap that was struggling to contain his long midnight-black hair. Septima sighed inwardly. She would kill to have hair that effortlessly gorgeous... It would give her another hour or two every week to spend on her projects! Unfortunately, she was condemned to a routine of volume potions and style charms, just like every other witch.

The baseball cap was worn low, obscuring Harry's features, which the matron took offence to. "I told ya about wearing hats indoors young man!" the matron admonished. "Get that thing off right now!"

"Okay, okay..." Harry relented, reaching up to free his hair from its fabric prison and give Septima a good view of his face. The first thing that struck her was his glowing emerald eyes. They were enchanting, almost magical. The girls at Hogwarts would struggle to look away from them. His eyes combined with his defined aristocratic features made it so his face alone would see him become the school's premier heartbreaker. The matron wasn't lying about him being exceptional.

"So..." started Harry, glancing at Septima. "Who's the trophy wife cosplaying as a university professor?"

And the matron also wasn't lying about him causing trouble.

Her, a trophy wife? Septima mused. She wasn't sure whether she should take that as a compliment or an insult. The teacher supposed the former since it at least meant he was calling her attractive, even if he was simultaneously assuming she was a moron.

The matron just sighed at his rude comment, used to it at this point. "That's one of ya new teachers, Miss...?"

"Vector," she answered smoothly. "But my friends call me Septima."

Harry blinked. "Huh?"

"Ya heard me," the matron responded.

"I heard you, but that makes zero fucking sense. Why would a new hire at my high school be here?"

"Because I don't teach at your current school," Septima interjected. "I teach Mathematics and Physics at Hogwarts." She couldn't reveal the existence of magic to him just yet, she'd have to wait until they were somewhere more private.

"Never heard of it," replied Harry.

"It's a boarding school up in Scotland for gifted children. I can explain all the details later."

The matron coughed, knowing she should probably leave. "I gotta get started on dinner, I'll leave ya two to it."

The teacher-student pair awkwardly watched as she hobbled towards the kitchen.

It was Harry that broke the silence, "I don't see how this is relevant to me. Last I checked I never applied for any scholarships, and there's no way I would be able to afford a boarding school up in Scotland." He gestured at the room and its general state of disrepair, gently reminding Septima that he was an orphan.

Septima nodded understandingly. "I know where you're coming from, but money is no issue. Your parents paid for your education fourteen years ago."

"My parents?" Harry questioned, surprised. He'd gone his whole life without hearing even the slightest mention of his parents. Harry didn't know a single thing about them. The official story was that he'd just showed up on the orphanage's doorstep one day, and that was that. Finding out someone knew who they were was a bit of a shock.

"Your parents," Septima confirmed. "How about we take this outside?"

OoOoOoOoO

Harry Potter would have never guessed that after his match he'd come home to a beautiful woman in her late twenties that wanted to talk to him — or that she'd be a witch that taught at a magic school.

With long blonde hair, bountiful curves, and the face of an actress, Septima was undeniably gorgeous. It was just a bit hard to pay attention to that when she's claiming she can do magic.

"So let me get this straight..." Harry began. "Magic is real and you're a witch. You teach at Hogwarts, which is the most prestigious magical school in the United Kingdom. My parents were magical, my dad was a wizard, my mum was a witch. They died in a horrific war and I somehow ended up in a non-magical orphanage, which shouldn't have happened because my family is old and important. And now I'm supposed to go to Hogwarts and rejoin your world. That about it?"

Septima nodded. "I would say so."

"Got it." Harry leaned back against the bench and sighed. They'd walked around for a bit looking for somewhere private before settling on a local park. The wind gently blew through his dark hair as he looked off into the distance, lost in thought.

Septima watched her prospective student silently, taking in his thinking expression and unfocused gaze. He was taking this much better than she thought he would. While she wasn't working with as big a sample size as someone like Professor McGonagall, in her experience muggle-raised children either dogmatically denied the existence of magic or begged to see proof. Harry wasn't doing either.

The pair stayed silent for a little while longer, listening to the local kids enjoying their weekend, taking in their playful shouts and excited laughter.

It was Septima that eventually broke the silence. "You're taking this much better than I predicted you would. Have you already had contact with the wizarding world?"

"No," Harry responded. "It seems far-fetched but it does explain the weird things that seem to happen around me."

"So you believe me. You don't want a demonstration of magic?"

"I wouldn't say no," Harry shrugged. "But I don't need to see a spell to believe magic is real."

Septima laughed softly, reaching into her tight jeans and pulling out a slender oak wand. She gave it a wave, causing a nearby stick to float up and over into Harry's hands.

"Damn."

Harry tried to hide his excitement at seeing a spell cast for the first time, but it wasn't easy. Magic was real.

"I had assumed you weren't allowed to do magic around ordinary people," the teen probed. To him that had seemed like a very logical assumption, as otherwise the whole world would know about the existence of magic.

Septima nodded affirmatively, "We refer to non-magical people as 'muggles.' And yes, you aren't supposed to perform magic around them. However, I created an obscuring ward when we sat down so it's no issue. To the muggles outside of it we are essentially ghosts, and even magicals would be unable to notice us."

"I see." Harry paused for a moment before his handsome face transformed into a devilish smirk, "So if we started making out right now nobody would know?"

"Affirmative," Septima coldly replied, though Harry thought he could detect the faintest hint of a blush. "Good luck with that."

Septima flicked her wand causing the stick to vanish from existence, pinning Harry with a smirk of her own. That would teach him. He would know better than to flirt with her next time.

Yet rather than cower at the thought of losing a limb, Harry's eyes instead lit up, his emerald globes swimming with intrigue. "Fascinating. Is the stick actually gone or did you just conceal it somehow?"

The blonde pushed her glasses back and hummed. She supposed she could humour him with a response, despite knowing full well it would likely go over his girl-obsessed head.

"That's a difficult question to answer. I didn't conceal it or turn it invisible, meaning if you were to cast a revealing charm nothing would happen. But that doesn't necessarily mean the former is the answer."

Septima paused for a moment, playing with strands of her luscious blonde hair as she debated answering the question honestly.

"Whether or not it is 'gone' depends on your philosophy of magic. The conventional belief is that magic is a tool that enables its wielders to exploit the laws of nature. We can bend those laws, but we can't break them."

Harry followed her explanation with interest, nodding in understanding, "Which would mean that the stick still exists in some form. You can't destroy matter, only change it into something else."

Septima's eyebrows raised in slight shock. He was following her explanation. This shameless teenager, to whom magic was completely foreign, was actually absorbing what she was saying. She supposed she had no choice now, she'd give him the complete and honest answer.

"That's correct. But-"

"Did you transform it into a gas?" interrupted Harry.

"Fantastic guess," Septima genuinely praised — that creativity would take him far. "But no, I did not."

"Then that explanation doesn't add up," said Harry, running his hand through his messy hair, the gears in his head turning. "The stick is gone, and as far as I can tell it didn't turn into anything. That whole 'bend not break' idea isn't adding up."

"Well observed," Septima leaned forward, looking Harry in the eyes, now thoroughly invested in the conversation. "A transfiguration textbook would tell you that the Evanesco spell puts objects into a state of non-being. The stick both doesn't exist and is everywhere all at once."

"I think I follow. So in theory you could retrieve it somehow?"

"Correct," the blonde gave him a light smile. "We call it conjuration. With the proper visualisation and spell I would be able to tap into that force and bring the stick back into our reality. Or use it to create something else, even a living organism."

Harry tapped his long fingers against the wooden bench, digesting this new information. He would be lying if he said he didn't now have a burning desire to start learning spells, to begin gaining control over the supernatural oddities that had plagued him all his life. Though he wasn't confident Septima would be much help with that — her explanation felt a bit off.

Harry decided to voice his concerns, "I understand what you're saying but you've just given me more questions. Can wizards run out of that force? Are there things that are impossible to conjure? What would happen if I tried to conjure something specific that already exists?"

Harry paused for a few moments, sharing his true thoughts with the gorgeous teacher, "In all honesty that feels like the sort of explanation you give when you have zero clue what's actually happening. You keep it vague and confusing, hoping the person feels stupid and moves on to something that's actually comprehensible."

Septima's hazel eyes lit up and her cherry-red lips spread with pleasure. He got it. Not only was Harry comprehending the theory behind a fourth-year spell, he was understanding it well enough to notice that it was flawed. Even her brightest NEWT students would struggle to do that, far too accustomed to accepting the answer in their textbooks. He truly was exceptional. She'd be looking forward to having him in her classes in a couple year's time.

"You're correct. The explanation that the conventional understanding of magic offers up doesn't make a great amount of sense," Septima replied honestly.

"And the unconventional one does?"

"In a way," responded Septima, pausing as she considered how she'd introduce what was a very controversial idea within academia. She could even be reprimanded, if this somehow got to one of the house heads.

Yet the busty blonde still launched into her explanation, "The unconventional philosophy of magic would tell you that the stick truly is gone from existence, disintegrated by the void. It doesn't place the same limits on magic, its supporters believe anything is possible."

Harry nodded along, absorbing this new information. Septima continued, "What a spell can achieve comes down to the force of your will and the strength of your magic."

"Got it," Harry affirmed.

"That being said..." the professor warned, "I'd do my best to avoid professing any belief in this theory around others. Some of its past proponents didn't exactly have the... best of reputations."

"I'll keep that in mind," Harry grinned, delighting at having learned something he probably shouldn't have. "That makes much more sense. And I can see why that theory would be controversial in academic circles. It's structured almost like a conspiracy theory."

"That's a great way to put it," Septima agreed.

"It's easy to prove but impossible to disprove," Harry continued. "If I performed magic that the conventional theory stated was impossible then it would be seen as clear and undeniable proof that the unconventional understanding of magic is the correct one. Whereas if I failed to perform that 'impossible' magic then the theory remains just as credible. I can just attribute that failure to a lack of will and my magic being too weak."

"Correct," Septima confirmed. She felt almost frustrated by how naturally Harry was understanding all of this. If only her current students had even a shred of his natural intuition.

At this point the wind began picking up, blowing with a strong intent, much to the dismay of the children playing nearby, several of whom cried out as they fell over or their ball rolled off to the side.

Septima and Harry similarly suffered the force of the wind's fury. While the arithmancy professor was aware enough of her surroundings to place an obscuring ward, she lacked the foresight to place one that guarded against the natural elements. Harry had to assume such a ward existed.

As Harry's midnight hair blew in the wind, he couldn't help but frown as he recalled his day. What a strange day it had been.

He made his debut for the reserves, coming off the bench in the dying minutes of the game, dribbling past two men and providing their striker with a quick low cross that he finished with ease, winning them the game in the ninety-second minute. He'd worked so hard to earn the chance to play with the senior guys, and to prove he belonged with them at the first time of asking should have been one of the greatest moments of his life. Instead it was... disappointing. He skipped the celebrations and instead lay down on the pitch, staring up into the azure sky, wondering why it all felt so empty.

He'd then come home to the orphanage to find an attractive blonde looking for him. At first, a part of him was hoping that she was an agent who wanted to represent him. With him breaking through it was about time he got one, and he wouldn't say no to having a stacked chick look after his every interest. Unfortunately, that wasn't the case.

Yet somehow she managed to be something even better. Magic was real, and his parents were both magical — meaning he was too. Harry Potter was a wizard. And he couldn't be gladder. He couldn't wait to delve into magic and all-

"Ahh!" a high-pitched voice squealed, distracting Harry from his thoughts. Those kids were annoyingly loud. If only the obscuring ward could work both ways. Maybe he'd look into that once he started learning magic.

But wait a second... that squeal was way too loud to have come from the kids nearby.

Harry glanced to his side and grinned at the sight of the strict blonde trying to tame her flailing hair and failing miserably. She should be more like him and embrace the mess. The girls at school seemed to be into it.

Despite the predicament her hair was in, Septima looked radiant cast against the burnt orange sky. She was the furthest the thing from the ugly crooked-nosed stereotype of a witch that dominated popular culture.

Harry supposed he should thank her at some point. He doubted she took the time to explain magic in this much detail to every student.

"Hey Septima," Harry called out, the wind finally starting to calm down. "Would I be correct to guess that you believe in the unconventional theory of magic?"

"Mm, in a way," she confirmed, still fixing her hair, "Arithmancy is like muggle mathematics. Everything you do is logical, and once you account for everything there is only one answer. I could never agree with something that provides incorrect answers found through an illogical process. I'd prefer to simply not have the answer."

Harry gave her a light smile, appreciative of her honesty. "You know, you're actually a pretty good teacher," he rested his elbows on top of the bench, leaning back. "I was convinced you were going to be the token hot teacher every school hires that can't teach for shit."

The busty professor actually laughed at his back-handed compliment, giving Harry an amused smile before replying with a back-handed compliment of her own, "I could say the same for you. I was quite confident that you'd be yet another pretty boy with no brain, but it seems there's at least some activity up there."

"Oh, so you think I'm attractive?" Harry smirked charmingly at Septima.

"I am s-simply observing that y-you have symmetrical features," the blonde floundered, embarrassed.

"And there is nothing wrong with p-pointing out that you have hair and eye coloration that women often desire," she continued, fighting down a blush and attempting to justify herself, the usually calm and cool teacher sent completely off balance.

"I see... so you want to sleep with me," Harry smirked once more. "Can't blame you," he resigned, "I suppose you're lucky I have a thing for blondes."

Septima sighed in exasperation, struggling to defend herself against the young wizard's shameless flirting. Desperate to change the subject, she quickly admitted, "I'd rather not speak ill of a colleague but you weren't wrong about the hot teacher thing."

"Oh really?" Harry grinned, aware of her pivot but deciding not to call her out on it.

"Professor Sinistra, our astronomy teacher, would be the textbook example of that trend. Her students learn much more about her two moons than they ever do the pair orbiting Mars."

Harry burst out laughing, caught off guard by the usually serious blonde's comment. Septima rather liked how his laughter sounded.

"I didn't know you had a sense of humour," Harry replied, amusement dancing across his face.

"I was just making an observation." And Septima truly was. It was hard even for her to ignore the cinnamon-skinned professor's bountiful chest, especially when she was doing everything possible to draw attention to it. She regularly wore outfits that would be considered risqué at a night club, let alone when teaching students.

"I'm surprised Astronomy is a subject at Hogwarts," Harry mused. He was vaguely aware of there being an association between magic and the celestial, but he would've guessed they learned to fly brooms long before he guessed they studied the stars.

Maybe it would be for the best to forget all the popular stereotypes about magic, since it seemed like they wouldn't be too helpful. He should try to approach it all with fresh eyes.

"I'm surprised too, it's not a particularly useful subject," Septima remarked honestly. "Charms, Transfiguration, and Defence against the Dark Arts are the first-year subjects I would recommend you focus on. You'll likely still be studying them in your final year."

Harry would keep that in mind, as he'd rather not waste his time on pointless subjects. "Thanks for letting me know."

Septima gave him a light smile before continuing her explanation, "The other subjects you'll be taking are Potions, Herbology, and History of the Magic. The last is somewhat useless, but the other two can be quite important. It just depends what area you want to specialise in — a healer with no knowledge of plants or potions should never go near a patient."

"So no flying broomsticks then?" Harry joked, hoping to be wrong.

"No, you first years will be taught how to fly, it's just not considered a core subject," Septima answered matter of factly.

Harry's face lit up, excited at the prospect of magical flight. "Wicked," he replied.

He couldn't wait to start learning magic. Though he wasn't sure yet if he wanted to go all the way to a Scottish boarding school to learn it — he was building a pretty good life for himself down here, and it would be stupid to throw it away on a whim.

"Do you need to attend Hogwarts to learn magic?" Harry questioned.

"No, of course not," Septima replied, humming for a few moments. "As long as you have a wand and some spellbooks anybody can start learning magic."

"That's great to hear," Harry expressed, looking as though a weight had been lifted off his shoulders.

Septima paused, puzzled by his reaction. "Wait..." Septima realised. "Are you seriously considering not attending even after all this?"

"I've got a lot going on," Harry shrugged.

Septima froze, her delicate features struggling to comprehend Harry's admission.

"Hogwarts is where you belong," she told him. "You deserve better than this, better than wasting away in some orphanage."

Harry's previously playful mood dissipated in an instant. Nobody decided his life for him. "Who said I was wasting away?" questioned Harry, trapping Septima with a frosty stare.

She stayed silent, momentarily stunned, realising she had said something she probably shouldn't to the handsome teen.

"I don't need Hogwarts," Harry stated, his voice cold as ice. "Hell, I don't even need magic. I'm not trapped in some abusive household, desperate to escape. My life is amazing. I have the whole world at my feet," he declared, a justified confidence seeping into his tone.

Harry pointed at the badge on his jersey, "You see this?"

Septima glanced at the badge, finding it to be unfamiliar. It was yellow, like the rest of the kit, and emblazoned in navy with an animal resembling either an ox or a bull. Above it were two words in block text that read 'Oxford United'.

"That's the only professional football club around here, and I'm a couple months away from playing league matches for them. I'll be fourteen in the fourth tier going up against grown men."

Septima blinked, beginning to form a rough understanding of where he was going.

Harry continued his clinical explanation, "Let's say I play well, and I also continue playing well for the youth national teams. It'll mean that in a couple years I'll be sold to a top club, start making unimaginable amounts of money, and get to dedicate my life to something I'm amazing at. I'm a few steps away from achieving the dream. Magic is interesting, but it would also mean I remain a hapless orphan without a penny to his name. Why should I start attending Hogwarts when I'd be giving up something I've spent my whole life working towards?"

Septima, to her own surprise, couldn't really argue with his logic. She'd never encountered a muggleborn student that didn't want to attend Hogwarts and become part of the magical world, but Harry had made a persuasive argument for why he'd be better off without them. It explained why he seemed quite willing to remain in the mundane world.

Which would be a travesty. Their conversation had made it clear to the professor that he belonged at Hogwarts, with his natural intuition for magic and inquisitive but creative mind. Plus, she'd probably face some questioning about why Lily Potter's son wasn't learning magic.

Septima couldn't force him to attend, but she could at least try to convince him.

"You make a strong case Harry," Septima began, an apologetic tone seeping into her voice. "I was being far too conceited about magic, and I made the mistake of assuming you'd jump at the first opportunity to change your living situation."

Harry gave a noncommittal grunt in response, standing up as though he were about to leave.

Septima gazed up at the setting sky, entranced by its deep purple hue, before continuing, "I'm not surprised to learn that you have other options, and I wouldn't disparage you for taking them. You'd be making a safe decision that guarantees your future."

Septima paused, allowing her words to sink in. She was framing football as the boring choice in an attempt to appeal to Harry's nature — he was a teenage boy, and teenage boys weren't exactly renowned for being cautious and risk-averse.

"But you'd also be running away from the world you came from," the blonde continued. "You'd be denying the legacy of your parents and avoiding the place you belong. You would be running from a challenge that would last a lifetime. Magic is a truly wondrous thing, so at least experience our world before you decide to forgo its existence."

Harry looked pensive, mulling over Septima's words. He couldn't deny that the prospect of learning magic was appealing. But he'd need time and a better frame of reference before coming to a decision. He couldn't throw away everything he'd worked for on a whim. Not when the only person he could rely on in this world was himself. Harry had plenty of courage, but not to the point of utter stupidity.

"Fine," Harry resolved. "I'll see what magic is all about."

Septima sprung out of the bench, a relieved smile adorning her gorgeous features as she wrapped Harry up in an enthusiastic hug. Her sizeable chest brushed up against him, but Harry wasn't complaining. He'd never say no to being in the embrace of a voluptuous older woman. They soon parted, much to Harry's disappointment.

At least now he'd have something to look forward to if he did end up attending Hogwarts. He imagined it would be a lot of fun teasing the intellectual blonde, doing his best to shatter her cool facade. Plus, if her appearance was even vaguely representative of the average witch then there would be a lot more fun to be had in the magical world.

"You won't regret it," Septima promised. "I can take you shopping for supplies this Sunday, and it can double as you testing the 'magical' waters."

"Sure," Harry revealed an easygoing smile, the once frosty atmosphere quickly forgotten. The athletic teen stretched, sore from the game and the long period spent sitting on an uncomfortable bench. "But before you leave I have a few more questions..." he added.

"I have no issue answering them, but it's getting fairly late."

Septima's stomach growled.

"And I'm also quite hungry," she admitted with an embarrassed grin, which Harry met with an amused smirk.

After some discussion the two agreed to head to a nice Italian restaurant a few blocks away, which would allow them to satisfy their hunger while discussing magic in greater depth.

A few years later, in one of his many attempts to flirt with the busty blonde, Harry would claim this dinner to have been their first date. Septima would adamantly and repeatedly deny it, though her words fell on deaf ears.

In the present, however, Harry was simply glad to have backdoored his way into a dinner with the gorgeous professor. Septima had no such thoughts — she was just looking forward to eating pasta.

Before they went to the restaurant Septima made sure to transfigure Harry's football kit into some more fitting clothes. A white button-down shirt and some casual dress pants, which Septima idly noted made him appear even more attractive. It probably helped that she'd put him into clothes she personally liked the look of.

Transfiguring his clothes took quite a few attempts however. "I'm awful at practical magic," Septima ashamedly admitted, finally changing his sneakers on the seventh attempt. "If it's not a spell I designed then I always struggle to cast it consistently."

Harry laughed at her eccentricity, though he couldn't help but be intrigued by the idea of creating his own spells. It truly did seem limitless what you could achieve with magic.

He said as much when the pair departed for the restaurant, Septima filling his mind with all sorts of possibilities on the short walk there. Like summoning a wildfire out of thin air, or transforming into a bird. Magic was impossibly amazing.

It was several hours later, with a full stomach and in a surprisingly good mood, that Septima apparated back to Hogwarts. She had been thoroughly impressed by Harry. Despite how foreign magic was to him, he'd managed to comprehend everything she was saying at an extraordinary rate. When she'd gotten a bit more technical and dove into her subject of choice, Harry had followed with ease, even contrasting arithmancy equations with their muggle counterparts.

Clever, handsome, and mischievous. Those were the three words that best described Harry. She was surprised by how little she was despairing over the lost hours in her office. Thankfully she'd still be able to get plenty done today, even with the sky firmly in the realm of darkness. It was always late at night that she did her best work.

She had a feeling she'd make a lot of progress today, her mind stimulated by the curiosity and ingenuity of her prospective student. The Potter heir would certainly be someone to remember. She just hoped that he ended up attending Hogwarts, so she was there to see him leave his mark.

The magical world wasn't ready for Harry Potter.

OoOoOoOoO

There was another reason behind Harry's reluctance to attend Hogwarts, one that he'd decided not to share with Septima. And that reason was currently in his lap, making a very persuasive case to stay.

"Mngh..." a female voice moaned as he grabbed her ass, squeezing and groping it underneath her short white skirt.

Harry smirked, relishing how the girl's pale booty felt in his hands. Being a handsome athlete really did have its perks. He bounced her ass up and down a couple times, admiring how firm it was despite its size.

"I love it when you do that to me," admitted the brown-haired girl, pressing her delectable body even firmer against him, capturing his lips for the umpteenth time that day.

The two messily made out for a while, with Harry quickly establishing his dominance in the battle of tongues, much to the girl's pleasure. Amelia — the brunette currently grinding her fat ass against his lap — loved to play the role of the snobby mean girl at school, but she was never able to keep up that facade around Harry. All it took was some heavy flirting to the turn the girl one year his senior into a blushing mess.

That being said, Amelia was still a bitch around other people. Harry was just the exception. He was the reluctant king of their high school, while she was his very willing queen. Harry dominated athletically and academically, while Amelia sat atop the social hierarchy. How could she not when she fit the 'hot as fuck, bitchy as fuck' archetype to a tee.

To an outsider, the pair really couldn't be more different. Harry was a poor but immensely talented orphan, with an intense focus on football that left little room for a thriving social life. People wanted to be around him, but time was finite and Harry simply felt those people weren't worth that lost time.

Amelia, meanwhile, was a ditzy girl that came from a wealthy family. Hardship was a foreign concept to her, and she had none of the potent drive that separated Harry from his peers. Where she surpassed him was in her thirst for social interaction. The brunette was glued to her phone, and the only time of the day when she wasn't texting or calling her friends was when she had Harry's tongue lodged firmly down her throat.

"Harry, stop~" Amelia moaned out, stimulated by the massaging of her inner thighs and wriggling incessantly in his lap.

In truth, the only real commonality between the two was their physical attractiveness. Though even then Harry would contend that he was a few levels above her, and that he had simply 'settled' for her because people at his level were impossibly rare.

It remained to be seen whether Harry was a delusional egoist, or had an accurate reading of reality, but his experiences so far suggested that he really was all that.

Despite their differences, the pair had made it work. Harry would be lying if he said her personality kept him around, but he couldn't really complain about being with a gorgeous older girl that was obsessed with him.

All things considered he was on the path to a fantastic life. It would be absolutely moronic of him to throw it all way. And yet... the growing allure of the magical world was undeniable. He could already feel himself getting giddy at the thought of conjuring fire and vanishing objects. The upcoming shopping trip with Septima could very well be the defining moment of his life.

"Hey Lia," Harry started, letting his hands rest by his side as he gave Amelia a break from his constant caressing.

"Hm?"

Harry paused to consider how he should approach the conversation. He could handle it with caution and slowly introduce the idea of him leaving, but that wasn't exactly his style.

"I might be moving to Scotland," the black-haired teen stated, resolving to bite the bullet.

"S-sorry?" Amelia stammered, stunned and confused. This had come completely out of nowhere.

"There's a good chance I'll be moving to a boarding school up in Scotland. I'll be making my decision this weekend," Harry continued, flashing his patented easygoing smile in the hopes it would make the news go down easier.

Unfortunately, it had the opposite effect. The usually submissive girl fixed him with a heated, intense glare, looking as though she was contemplating murdering him. "And you didn't tell me that why?"

"I only found out yesterday," Harry shrugged, appearing nonchalant about the whole thing.

Amelia was speechless. Her brain, one that was accustomed to navigating complex social situations, came to a grinding halt. She truly had no words.

The brunette got up off his lap and moved towards a window, not even sparing Harry another glance. She stared outside, stunned. The rumbling fury she had felt moments prior was slowly dissipating, replaced by a bitter emptiness.

"You're leaving me..." Amelia whispered, her long chestnut hair stirring with the gentle breeze.

Harry scratched the back of his head, sighing inwardly. He should have known his ever-dramatic girlfriend would react like this. He'd made sure to frame it as a possibility, not a certainty, yet that distinction had clearly gone over her pretty little head.

"I don't know for sure yet," Harry said neutrally, in a nonchalant tone that was clearly starting to grate on Amelia.

"But you're considering it. You're considering leaving Oxford. You're considering leaving football. You're considering leaving me!" Amelia turned to look at him, trying her best to fight off the oncoming tears, "That says more than you'll ever know."

Harry exhaled, looking to the side. Amelia was clearly expecting some attempt at a response. The posters on her wall had never seemed more interesting.

A minute passed. Though within that bedroom, with Amelia looking on expectantly, it felt like an eternity. Harry was honestly struggling. The gears in his head were spinning desperately, trying to generate an explanation that was something other than 'magic is real and it's cool as fuck.'

It took some time but he eventually found a line of reasoning that felt true to him, "My life feels stagnant. I'm in high school, but it already feels like I've done everything." Harry paused, letting his words sink in. "You said it. I've got you, I've got football, I've got the grades, the rest of my life should be smooth sailing."

"I know, so why the hell are you throwing it away?!" Amelia questioned exasperatedly.

"Because an easy life isn't me. I came into this world with nothing to my name except the desire to be great. That's what got me to this point. But it's not enough, having everything sorted at fourteen isn't enough for me," the young orphan explained, continuing, "I want to be challenged. I want to be doubted. I want to overcome insurmountable odds. I want to be great, and I believe Scotland is where I can achieve that greatness."

As Harry finished, with tears now streaming down Amelia's face, he realised the extent to which he had messed up. Harry should have felt awful about it, but he couldn't help the feeling of lightness that overcame him with that admission. It was as though he'd lifted a curse he hadn't even known existed. This wasn't where he belonged.

While Harry grappled with this new sense of freedom, Amelia was distraught.

"When I first met you I knew I would never meet anyone better," she started, fighting off a salty flood of tears. "You were so handsome, and funny, and smart, it felt like you were created by some higher power just for me."

Amelia gulped, choking up a bit. "Clearly I was wrong."

Harry stayed silent, not knowing what to say.

The tears continued to trail down Amelia's pretty face, the girl trying her best not to collapse into a sobbing mess, battling against the sniffles and stuttered breaths.

Amelia couldn't even force herself to be angry, "You're such a selfish asshole. Fuck you, Harry."

"You're not wrong," Harry resigned, sighing slightly. He should probably be showing a lot more emotion, but that had never been something that came easy to him.

"Just get out Harry. Never speak to me again. Never think about me again. Forget that I ever existed. Why would you want to, after all I'll be never be enough for the 'great' Harry Potter."

Harry looked at Amelia sympathetically, before obliging. He'd cause more damage trying to fix it than he would if he simply left now. She'd be fine. Amelia had always been a strong-willed girl.

Harry left her room, drinking in the details for what would likely be the final time. As he entered the hallway he turned to offer one last goodbye, only to find that her large oak door had been promptly slammed in his face.

Harry sighed. He supposed he deserved that.

"I'm sorry, Lia," he said, loudly enough that it might be audible through her room's thick walls. Though he would never find out if it was.

Harry glanced at her door one last time, then turned and left.

OoOoOoOoO

Walking back to the orphanage, Harry decided to take a detour through the university's botanic gardens.

He was trying his best to be mature and level-headed about what had just transpired, but he couldn't help the twinge of regret he was feeling. That was only natural in this sort of situation, right?

Harry stared off into the distance contemplatively, the beautiful flowers in his vicinity barely registering.

He could have tried to play the parents card, explaining how his mum and dad had attended the school in a desperate grab for sympathy, but deep down he knew there would have been no point.

He'd made his decision. There was nothing he could do about it now. He supposed he better start getting prepared for a life of magic.

Spotting a bench nearby, Harry decided to sit down and rest his tired feet. The walk had been fairly long, and his body was still recovering from the game he had played the day before. His planning for wizard school could be delayed another couple minutes.

Glancing around, Harry's eyes couldn't help but be captured by the budding hydrangeas and verdant lawn. He could only hope that Septima was correct about the wonders of the wizarding world, about how it would challenge and test him. And there better be some beautiful witches. Harry had become accustomed to having a pretty girl to tease, and he sure as hell wasn't going without that at Hogwarts.

Staring up into the sky, Harry smiled. It was a genuine, honest smile, his first in many years. The weekend couldn't come soon enough.