Professor Minerva McGonagall was shocked, relieved, excited and proud, along with a little sad. Imagine, Lily and James’ boy! She regretted deeply that her lions were not here to see their son – Harry must be so powerful, and to have so many multiples! It was the last thing she expected to find upon entering Number 4 Privet Drive that afternoon, after having received a vaguely alarming letter. The mature and formal note that had sent her immediately to Surrey had arrived at lunchtime. Written on the thin, muggle paper was a polite acceptance of the Hogwarts letter, that also, much to the staff members’ consternation, asked for a personal meeting to discuss health issues which may interfere with Mr. Potter’s schooling. This request prompted Minerva’s imagination into mass production: had those disgraceful muggles neglected the boy’s well-being? Had the backfired killing curse harmed him in someway? Had he been hit by one of the deadly, muggle “automobile” contraptions?
No conjured scenario could prepare her for what she did find, however.
On the evening of the 24th of July 1991, a short, black-haired 11 year old boy – with only a worn schoolbag of belongings - was side-along apparated out of Little Whinging by Professor McGonagall. The mismatched pair disappeared from England in a twist of magic, and reappeared at the gates of a castle in Scotland. Minerva strode through the school towards the staff room, with an enchanted child trailing behind her, gazing at the grand architecture and moving portraits. The twinkling blue eyes of Albus Dumbledore looked up from his meal as the door swung open to reveal the deputy-headmistress.
The staff room was a spacious, yet cozy area that served as an escape for many a frazzled teacher. The sofas were worn and comfortable, and a fireplace crackled in the background. In the centre of the room someone had conjured a sturdy table, around which four people were sitting.
‘Ah, Minerva!’ the Headmaster greeted his old friend, drawing the attention of the rest of the staff, who appeared to be half-way through their evening meal. ‘How is young Harry?’ he asked cheerfully, ‘Have you eaten yet? Come, sit! The steak and kidney pie is delightful, the house elves have really outdone themselv...’
‘Albus!’ the strict woman cut him off sharply, and proceeded to gently usher the boy in question into the room. Eyebrows went up amongst the staff, and Filius Flitwick the Charms professor gave a surprised squeak. Minerva shot a warning glare to the Potions Master, whose gaze had shifted from passive, to stone cold.
‘This’ she introduced to the curious room, ‘is Ri Peverell-Potter’.
Frowns of confusion appeared on faces, so the stern Transfigurations teacher went on to explain in a firm voice; ‘He is one of Harry Potter’s Multiples.’