Harry Potter was huddled in his "room," the dark, dusty hollow under the stairs at 4 Privet Drive. He had just finished scrubbing the kitchen floor with bleach so strong it made his eyes water, and the smell still stuck in his throat. From the crack in the door, the meaty sound of Dudley bingeing on fries in front of the TV and the fluted voice of Aunt Petunia commenting on a new gossip from the neighbors slipped in. He'd been punished because Dudley accused him of stealing a toy—a toy Harry hadn't touched. He'd tried to defend himself, but the Dursleys never listened.

He squeezed his eyes shut, wishing not just to be invisible, but for someone to finally see him. To believe him. Sometimes, strange things happened around him. A sweater that shrank to doll-size, hair that grew back overnight after a brutal haircut… He shoved the thoughts away.

"Freak," he whispered into his knees, the Dursleys' favorite word. It was what he was. A mistake in the normality of the Dursley family.

Suddenly, a dry crack, like a snapping branch inside the house, echoed outside his cupboard door. A strange, powerful light bled through the cracks, unlike any bulb in Privet Drive. He froze. The footsteps that followed were unknown. Not Uncle Vernon's stomp, not Aunt Petunia's click, and not Dudley's chaos.

An intruder.

The Dursleys would never invite a neighbor into the house, they actually prefer to visit the neighbors and take the opportunity to take a look at them and then criticize them. The only exception was the nanny, Mrs. Arabella Figg who smells like garlic and is obsessed with cats.

Before he could react, the door to his cupboard flew open. No one opened it, just the door moved. The hallway light, normally dull yellow, formed a blazing halo around the silhouette now looking down at him.

A woman. Maybe in her 20s or 30s.

She held a wooden stick in one hand, poised. But her posture shattered the instant their eyes met. Her breath hitched; her free hand flew to her mouth. She stared, as if seeing a ghost in him.

Then, she stepped forward and knelt, bringing herself to his level in the mouth of his prison. As she moved, the light caught the faint gleam of a simple gold ring on her left hand. And engraved inside: Sirius.

"Harry…", she breathed. "Oh, my boy. I’m so sorry it took me so long. I'm truly sorry..."

Harry didn't move. He just stared back, his green eyes wide at her tear-streaked face to the ring on her finger. "Who…" his voice was scratchy from disuse, but held a stubborn edge, "who are you?"