Like Hogwarts?

POV: Michael Harris

Michael was sitting with his family in the living room, watching the evening news on television.

"The long-awaited film Harry Potter and the Philosopher's Stone has premiered, and according to reports, thousands of fans gathered around the cinema hoping to catch a glimpse of the cast," one of the presenters reported.

"And the film will be coming to cinemas here on November 16th," a female presenter added. "According to film critics, it could even outperform Titanic."

"Dad, I want to see it!" Lia, his daughter, said, suddenly standing between him and the television.

"Of course we're going to see it," he replied. "After all, I know Harry Potter personally."

"That was the boy who had you working overtime for weeks, wasn't it?" his wife asked.

Before he could answer, however, his phone rang. He gave his wife an apologetic look and left the living room.

"Harris," he said as he answered.

"Sorry to bother you, but we need you in Peckham," one of his colleagues said.

"Peckham? Again?!" Michael knew the area very well by now. Violence, drugs, poverty and theft — and the families trying somehow to survive in the middle of it all.

"Yes. An eight-year-old girl was taken in by the police, and they're waiting for someone from us to look after her. I'll send you the address…" his colleague began.

"No need. I know where Peckham police station is," Michael interrupted him. "I'm on my way."

***

POV Oliver

Oliver sat in one of the armchairs in Mill Grove's common room, one leg hanging over the armrest and a newspaper spread open in front of him.

Behind him, Margaret had been suspiciously busy for the past few minutes. First he had heard her opening a drawer, then she had disappeared somewhere, only to return shortly afterwards with a hammer and nails.

As the first strike of the hammer echoed through the room behind him, he turned another page and stopped at an article about the premiere.

──── 📰 ────

Harry Potter Works Its Magic

By Daniel Mercer — Film Critic

★★★★½ | 9/10

Chris Columbus delivers an impressive and remarkably faithful adaptation of Harry Potter and the Philosopher's Stone. Hogwarts looks magnificent, John Williams' score is unforgettable, and the film's experienced cast delivers exactly what one would expect.

Alan Rickman and Maggie Smith are excellent, while Emma Watson and Jamie Fletcher prove inspired choices for Hermione and Ron.

Yet the film belongs to Oliver Bennett.

The eleven-year-old not only lives up to the extraordinary expectations surrounding his casting, he exceeds them. Even opposite performers of Rickman and Smith's calibre, Bennett never fades into the background. At times, it is difficult to watch anyone else.

Oliver Bennett isn't playing Harry Potter. He is Harry Potter.

Verdict: 9/10 — Magical, faithful, and carried by a remarkable young lead.

──── 📰 ────

He would be lying if he claimed it didn't feel damn good to read a review like that. During filming, he had regularly been praised for his scenes. Even by Chris, who otherwise never missed an opportunity to put him back in his place.

But Oliver had always assumed they were mostly comparing him to the other children. Never to actors like Alan or Maggie. Alan in particular was a massive compliment in Oliver's eyes. The man was something of a role model to him.

Reading on this site? This novel is published elsewhere. Support the author by seeking out the original.

His attention shifted to Margaret, who was now fixing a picture frame to the wall. Even Margaret seemed proud of what the newspapers were saying about him.

He stood up and walked over to see which article she considered good enough to deserve both a frame and a place in the common room.

But when he got closer, he stopped dead and stared at the picture in disbelief.

"You cannot be serious!"

Margaret took a step back and admired her work with satisfaction. "I think it looks excellent there."

Oliver looked back at the framed newspaper clipping.

HARRY POTTER AND HIS MUGGLE CAR

Margaret's old Volvo stood prominently in the foreground, clearly visible amongst all the black limousines. Next to it was Oliver himself, caught in the middle of climbing out of the car.

Oliver closed his eyes for a moment.

"Out of every article about the premiere…" He pointed at the frame. "Out of every photo they took of me yesterday, that's the one you hang up?"

"People like my car," Margaret stated, perfectly satisfied.

Oliver opened his mouth, failed to come up with any sensible response, and looked at the Volvo again.

Margaret smiled and handed him two more copies of the same article. "One of them is for Peter!"

"You can give it to him yourself! He'll be here any minute anyway. Our taxi is picking us up and taking us to the airport," he replied irritably.

Margaret seemed more than pleased with that solution and placed both copies on the table.

Oliver sat back down in the armchair and tried to continue reading his newspaper. He didn't get very far. A few minutes later, the door to the common room opened and Peter walked in.

This time Oliver was already grinning before Margaret could even reach for the newspaper.

"Pete, Margaret has a present for you."

"Olli, we have a problem." Peter ignored Oliver's comment.

"There are photographers waiting outside." He gestured towards the entrance with his head.

Oliver's grin disappeared.

"Oh, them," Margaret cut in, placing the newspaper back on the table. "They've been standing there since this morning."

Oliver and Peter both turned to look at her.

"Since this morning? Why didn't you say anything?" Oliver asked.

Margaret shrugged. "They took a few pictures and asked some questions. I told them that as long as they leave the other children alone, they can wait there as long as they like — you hardly ever leave Mill Grove anyway."

"What do you mean, I hardly ever leave Mill Grove?"

Even Peter looked at him in disbelief.

"Olli, you're a homebody. If you're not working or at school, you'd never leave the house voluntarily," Peter said. "I've been wondering for ages what you even need a bodyguard for."

"Maybe someone to protect me from the nun," Oliver said, pointing at the picture frame behind him.

Peter looked at the frame, then at Margaret, who still looked perfectly satisfied with her choice.

"I do not get paid enough for that."

A little while later, Oliver said goodbye to Margaret and followed Peter outside. Their luggage had already been collected, and a black limousine arranged by Warner was waiting in front of the gate to take them to the airport.

Oliver stopped for a moment when he saw it.

"Finally, someone is treating me according to my new social standing."

Peter opened the rear door for him. "Please get in, Your Majesty."

Oliver raised his chin haughtily and settled into his royal chamber.

A moment later, Peter climbed into the back seat beside him and the driver pulled away. In just a few days, Oliver was already expected at the next premiere in New York.

"How long do I have to stay?" he asked Peter.

"The premiere is on November 16th, and after that you've got dozens of press appointments. Breakfast television, TRL, talk shows and various interviews," Peter listed, glancing at Oliver. "So nothing major. Just a few days."

"Nothing major?" Oliver stared at him in disbelief.

Peter merely shrugged and said nothing.

Oliver let out a breath. "Where am I sleeping?"

"Only the best for Your Majesty. The Waldorf-Astoria," Peter replied with a grin.

***

POV: Michael Harris

It was shortly after nine in the evening when Michael entered Peckham police station. One of the officers was already waiting for him and led him down the corridor towards the rooms at the back.

"What exactly happened?" Michael asked.

"The father was arrested this afternoon after a fight. Not the first time. Several reports for assault and domestic violence." The officer briefly looked through the papers in his hand. "When two officers went to the flat afterwards, the daughter answered the door. Alone."

Michael grimaced. "And the mother?"

"Alcohol. Drugs. We know her as well. She normally works in a bar, but she hasn't shown up there for several days. The girl says she's at work."

Michael nodded slowly. "What did the flat look like?"

"Bad. Hardly any food, empty bottles, drug paraphernalia, rubbish everywhere," the officer said. Then he paused and looked at Michael intently. "Mr Harris, that girl cannot go back there."

The officer stopped in front of a door and pointed through the small window.

Sophie was sitting at a table with her legs pulled up onto the chair. In front of her sat a cup and an open packet of biscuits, but she didn't seem to have touched either of them.

"I'll take care of it," Michael replied at last and opened the door.

Sophie flinched and pulled her legs even closer to herself.

"Hello, Sophie," Michael said, keeping a little distance from her at first. "You don't need to be afraid. I'm Michael, and I'm here to help you."

Sophie studied him briefly. "I need to go home."

"We can't leave you at home on your own," he explained.

She immediately began to cry. "Where am I sleeping? I've got nowhere else to go!"

"Don't worry. We'll find somewhere for you," Michael tried to reassure her.

Sophie wiped her eyes with her sleeve. "How long do I have to stay? Do I have to go back afterwards?"

Michael paused as he realised what she was actually asking.

Sophie hadn't been crying because she desperately wanted to go home. She was afraid that eventually, she would have to go back there.

"We'll find somewhere you'll be safe," he said.

Sophie looked at him as though she first had to decide whether she could really believe him.

Then she asked quietly:

"Like Hogwarts?"