The days that followed drifted by in quiet, almost monastic solitude. The silence should have brought peace, but instead, it provided fertile ground for mories that ambushed Arthur in unguarded monts. His mother’s laugh, his father’s patient voice explaining market fluctuations at breakfast, those small family rituals he had never fully appreciated—now lost forever. At night, his dreams replayed the sa horror: blood-stained flagstones, shattered glass, and the brutal violence that ended lives he’d barely realized he truly valued.
He woke often, gasping and tangled in sheets, calling out instinctively for parents who would never answer again.
But daylight offered structure, and Arthur used routine as his defense against grief.
Living alone presented unexpected challenges. Mundane tasks that had been seamlessly handled by his parents or household staff now fell squarely on his shoulders—cooking, cleaning, laundry, grocery shopping. Arthur tackled these challenges with the sa thodical approach he applied to everything, quickly developing efficient systems for maintaining his living space.
Aurora watched from the sidelines during her visits, her expression a mixture of skepticism and reluctant admiration. He suspected she was secretly hoping he would break under the pressure of dostic responsibilities, admit defeat, and agree to more conventional guardianship arrangents. It would certainly make her life easier if he were placed in an orphanage or foster ho—one less unusual assignnt for an already overworked agent.
But Arthur would not give her that satisfaction. Besides, these were simple tasks, ones he was proficient in thanks to his past life.
At one point he even toyed with the idea of hiring a house elf to save ti, however he was disappointed learning that house elves were rarely on sale. They were mostly bound to ancient wizarding families, rarely freed like Dobby in the canon, and typically either dying with their families or taking refuge in magical buildings like Hogwarts or the Ministry. For a muggle-born like him, it was simply out of reach.
As the days passed, Arthur settled into routines of rigorous self-study. He imrsed himself in the books he’d bought about the wizarding world and its laws, eager to understand this new reality. Grasping the legal and social fraworks of wizarding Britain was paramount if he was to navigate it effectively. Aurora would often find him surrounded by stacks of books, his eyes glossy from hours of reading.
"You don’t have to push yourself so hard," she said once, after finding him surrounded by books, every ti she visited and never having fun like a child. "You’re just a child."
"I’m not just a child," Arthur replied without looking up. "After what has happened, normal childhood isn’t exactly an option anymore."
Aurora had no response to that, and Arthur preferred it that way. The less she tried to connect with him, the easier it would be to maintain the emotional distance he needed to not be emotionally used by the governnt agencies. He did not have good opinions about governnt agencies, especially the secretive kinds.
Besides his academic pursuits, Arthur maintained his physical training. The dojo he once attended was now too far from his new ho to be practical, and arranging transportation without parental assistance was problematic. Undeterred, Arthur converted one of the spare bedrooms into a modest training area, following a self-directed regin based on what he rembered from his martial arts classes.
It wasn’t ideal—there was no instructor to correct his form or spar with him—but it kept his reflexes sharp and his body conditioned. In the Marvel world, physical prowess was as crucial as intellectual or magical ability, and he wasn’t willing to neglect any avenue of strength.
As the weeks passed and sumr approached, Arthur fell into a rhythm of study, exercise, and household managent that, while solitary, served his purposes well. Aurora’s visits gradually decreased—from three tis a week to twice—as she beca convinced of his ability to manage independently.
—
Soon, a month later, on May 7th, 1988, a very special day arrived. It was Arthur’s eleventh birthday, and he expected a visitor. Not that he had been told to expect one, but he knew the pattern. Eleven was the age when Hogwarts reached out to potential students, especially those born to non-magical families who might not understand what was happening to their children.
Aurora arrived early that morning, carrying a small, plainly wrapped package. "Happy birthday," she said, offering the gift with an awkward half-smile.
Arthur accepted it with a nod of thanks. "Looks like you did your howork."
"It’s my job as your guardian," she replied, but there was a softness to her voice that belied the professional statent.
They spent the morning in a strange, almost comfortable silence. Aurora caught up on paperwork at the kitchen table while Arthur finished a book on basic magical theory he had acquired. Around noon, just as Aurora was suggesting they might order lunch, there was a firm knock at the door.
"Looks like the professor from Hogwarts is here. Excited?" Aurora asked.
"Maybe," Arthur replied, noncommittally.
Aurora opened the door to reveal a stern-looking woman in her sixties, dressed in what could only be described as an oddly formal style that seed decades out of date. Her gray hair was pulled back in a tight bun, and she peered through square spectacles with an air of assessnt.
"Good afternoon," the woman said crisply. "I am Professor Minerva McGonagall, Deputy Headmistress of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. I am here to see Mister Arthur Hayes. Is this the correct address?"
"Yes he is here. Please co in," Aurora replied.
Arthur’s heart pounded as he realized a new phase in his life was beginning. Hogwarts was calling him.
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