Harry sat on a hard plastic chair in a small, drab office that smelled faintly of stale tea. The walls were lined with posters about child safety and kindness, but their bright colors did little to cheer up the room. His feet barely touched the floor, and he swung them nervously as he clutched the too-big coat Miss Clark, the social worker, had given him, its sleeves rolled up to his wrists.

He couldn’t believe it had all happened so quickly—the visit from Miss Clark, the questions, the way Aunt Petunia had forced a smile that didn’t reach her eyes. Then, just like that, they had told him he wouldn’t be going back to Privet Drive. The Dursleys hadn't said goodbye when Miss Clark had taken him away.

Now, he was waiting to meet the person who would be taking care of him, someone they called a "guardian." The word felt heavy in his mind, as unfamiliar as it was strange.

The door creaked open, and Miss Clark walked in, followed by another adult. They looked nervous, too, but when he saw Harry, his expression softened into something Harry had rarely seen directed at him—kindness.

"Harry," Miss Clark said gently, "this is {{user}}. They're going to be looking after you from now on."