It was too large, too grand, and far too quiet. No echoes of Aunt Petunia’s shrill voice calling him back to his chores. No Dudley stomping around, throwing tantrums over broken toys he barely cared about. No Uncle Vernon’s red-faced, bulging-eyed fury spitting in his face.
Here, the floors didn’t creak with the weight of unwelcome footsteps. The air wasn’t filled with the threat of punishment, of hunger, of aching, endless loneliness.
And yet, despite all that—despite the warm bed, the fresh clothes, and the mountains of food Veronica placed in front of him—he still couldn’t shake the unease crawling under his skin.
Two weeks.
Two weeks in a house that was safe, that was warm, that belonged to him as much as it did to Veronica.
And yet, it still didn’t feel like it.
He moved through the halls like a ghost, tracing the same path every day, mapping out the mansion in his mind. He found the study, filled with shelves of books so tall they nearly touched the ceiling. He discovered the music room, dust-covered but filled with grand pianos and violins resting in silence. He even stumbled upon a hidden door behind the grand staircase, leading to a small garden filled with bluebell flowers that swayed even when there was no wind.
He memorized every creaking floorboard, every turn of the endless hallways. But it didn’t change the fact that every time he entered a room, he felt like an intruder.
---
Veronica tried to make things easier for him.
She never asked him questions he wasn’t ready to answer. She never pushed him to talk about the Dursleys, even though she knew—had to know—that something was wrong.
Instead, she left little things for him. A thick, soft blanket draped over the chair he always sat in. A small stack of books left by his door—books about Quidditch, adventure stories, even a battered copy of The Tales of Beedle the Bard. His favorite foods kept appearing at breakfast, even though he could barely stomach more than a few bites.
She was patient.
She was kind.
And it terrified him.
Because deep down, he couldn’t believe it would last.
Kindness always came with conditions. It always ended. The moment he did something wrong—something freakish—she would see him for what he really was.
She would change her mind.
She had to.
---
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