Harry Potter : A family??

Maximus Moriarty had survived a lot of things in his life. He once slayed a Basilisk armed with nothing but a Sword and righteous spite.

But nothing — nothing — prepared him for the experience of tutoring a ten-year-old magical prodigy who treated every new spell like it was a high-stakes science fair.

"Harry," Maximus said calmly, dodging a spell that turned half the training room ceiling into a disco ball, "you can't just guess the Latin."

Harry grimaced, wand still aimed at the smoking spot where a rug used to be. "I thought it meant levitate slightly—"

"You said levitate a volcano."

Evelyn poked her head in from the hallway. "It's glowing upstairs. Is it supposed to glow?"

Maximus raised an eyebrow. "No."

Evelyn disappeared with a sigh and a muttered, "Not again."

Harry winced. "Oops?"

Maximus exhaled slowly. "Let's go back to Lumos. We'll get to the levitations next time."

Still, despite the occasional magical catastrophe, Harry was learning fast.

By the end of the first week, he had a solid grip on Lumos, Nox, Wingardium Leviosa (used responsibly—mostly), and was starting to grasp the basics of shield charms.

And he hadn't exploded anything for three whole days.

It was a record.

Evelyn's potion lab had become Harry's sanctuary.

There were no fireballs here. No shouts or dodging. Just soft bubbling, colored vapors, and the rhythmic clinking of glass.

Harry found he liked making things. Stirring. Measuring. Watching a swirling mess turn into something useful.

"Today's lesson," Evelyn said brightly, "is the Cure for Boils. Standard Hogwarts fare."

Harry wrinkled his nose. "Gross."

"Yeah, I know."

She let him add the crushed nettle.

The cauldron hissed. The potion turned green.

"Perfect," Evelyn said proudly. "Just needs three clockwise stirs and one—"

Harry stirred. Clockwise, clockwise, clockwise—

Then, without thinking, added a second counterclockwise.

The cauldron burped. Violet smoke exploded upward. A giant bubble floated out and popped overhead, showering them both in glittering foam.

Maximus, walking past the lab door at that moment, took one look at the mess, turned on his heel, and walked away.

"I'll just pretend I didn't see that," he muttered.

Evelyn coughed once, glitter in her hair. "Okay," she said, blinking. "So maybe the stirs matter a lot."

Harry giggled.

So did she.

The Moriarty Castle library had survived four generations of eccentric wizards, one magical hurricane, and a time-travel experiment that briefly replaced every book with a copy of a Japanese ero manga, which was still stashed somewhere safe.

It was not prepared for Harry trying nonverbal spells at 3:12 AM.

Maximus found him in a pile of floating books, muttering under his breath and pointing his wand like he was trying to will the words into existence.

"Explain," Maximus said flatly.

Harry jumped. "I just… I didn't want to wake anyone. I thought if I could master silent casting, I could show you in the morning—"

Maximus stared at him. Then, at the dozen levitating chairs.

"…Okay, not bad."

"You're not mad?"

"I'm deeply concerned," Maximus said, folding his arms. "But not mad."

He knelt beside Harry, glanced at the book — Advanced Focus Techniques for Young Minds — and tapped the boy's forehead gently.

"You don't have to prove anything to me, Harry. I'm already proud. But you do need to sleep. You're ten. You'll burn out that brain of yours and turn into a sleepy puddle of genius."

Harry yawned. "But I'm so close to casting Silencio…"

Maximus sighed. Then picked him up like a sack of books.

"Come on, puddle."

Moriarty Castle had seen many things in its thousand-year history—duels that shattered towers, rituals that moved mountains, a ballroom fight that allegedly caused a minor earthquake in Wales.

But it had never seen Maximus Moriarty try to teach a ten-year-old child how to cast a Disarming Charm using a flying mannequin dressed like a pirate.

"Again!" Maximus shouted from across the spell hall, wand raised like a general leading a charge. "Wrist flick, steady stance, speak from your gut! Like you're scolding a dragon!"

Harry, standing in a defensive pose with his hair messier than usual and a lion plush tucked in the corner of the room for moral support, nodded and tried again.

"Expelliarmus!"

The spell struck the mannequin in the chest.

The wand flew out of its hand. Unfortunately, so did its left arm.

"Oops."

Maximus inspected the damage, arms crossed, lips twitching. "Well, technically, you disarmed him."

"Does it still count if the arm goes with it?"

"It counts extra."

From the balcony above the dueling hall, Evelyn sipped her tea and called down, "You're scaring the ghosts again."

Indeed, three translucent figures were floating nervously near the ceiling rafters, muttering about 'violent little prodigies.'

"Good," Maximus said. "This lazy bunch needs the exercise."

In the following weeks, breakfast at the castle became less of a meal and more of an event.

Evelyn tried to enforce some semblance of routine—protein first, sugar later, no wand dueling over toast—but the house itself had other ideas.

One morning, the cutlery staged a revolt and tried to unionize.

The cutlery in the castle was anything but normal. A previous lord of the castle heard of 'The Beauty and the Beast' novel and liked the idea, so after some experiments, he created a fully functional race of kitchenware.

"They demand better polish and weekends off," Harry reported solemnly, holding up a fork with a tiny flag made from a napkin and jam.

Maximus gave the fork a death glare. "You have two seconds to surrender."

The fork waved its flag faster.

Evelyn confiscated the butter knife after it tried to stab the jam jar in protest.

It was during one of these breakfasts that Evelyn first noticed it.

Harry had memorized the spellbook she'd left open by the hearth.

Not skimmed. Memorized.

He quoted wand movements as naturally as he breathed. One night, she found him in the hallway, practicing "Alohomora" on the broom closet. When she asked why, he'd shrugged.

"I just wanted to know how it feels to open something I'm not allowed to."

She giggled and led him on an adventure to unlock every locked door in the castle.

By midmonth, Harry was comfortably conjuring light, summoning books, and freezing Maximus's tea by accident. Maximus claimed it was sabotage. Evelyn called it karma.

"Alright," Maximus said one evening, cracking his neck like he was about to storm a fortress. "Today, you learn the Shield Charm."

Harry was still in his pajamas.

"Now?"

"There are no timeouts in life, boy. Get your wand."

Evelyn, curled up on the couch with her tea, didn't even look up.

"He's a child, Maximus."

"He's a wizard. There's no such thing as too early for battle spells."

Harry, already mid-yawn, still managed to parry Maximus's first spell.

Two hours later, he was levitating rocks while Evelyn stitched the sleeve Harry had accidentally set on fire.

"Technically, this is all Max's fault," she told him gently.

Harry grinned. "Yup, all his fault."

Evelyn's teaching, in contrast, was more structured. Less battlefield, more laboratory.

She taught him how to brew a basic Wound-Cleaning Potion, though the first batch bubbled over and melted a chunk of the counter.

"It's fine," she said. "This table was cursed anyway. It once tried to bite a tax collector."

Harry took to potions like he did to magic — curious, intense, full of questions.

"Why does salamander ash need to be stirred counterclockwise?"

"Because clockwise turns it into hair dye."

"…Really?"

"No, but that's what I told your uncle when he asked."

The potion turned violet. A perfect batch.

Evelyn beamed at him.

"You're brilliant, you know that?"

Harry ducked his head, red-faced.

He nodded. Then whispered, "Do you think Mum would have been proud? You said she was good at potions."

Evelyn smiled.

"I know she would be."

Some nights, Harry had nightmares.

Not of Voldemort.

But of silence. Cold cupboards. Locked doors.

Evelyn and Maximus never barged in. But there was always cocoa waiting when he came downstairs. There was always a fire burning.

And if he needed a hug?

Maximus would pretend it was a warrior's salute and slap his back three times like he was a veteran returning from war.

It worked.

Every time.

On the thirty-first night, the three of them sat around the fire after dinner.

Harry was reading a spellbook while his plush lion napped beside him.

Evelyn polished a blade enchanted to sever magical materials.

Maximus was teaching a fireplace how to shut up because it kept singing sea shanties.

"I think I want to learn to fly next," Harry said.

They both turned.

Maximus raised a brow. "Broom or beast?"

Harry blinked. "…There's a beast option?"

Maximus smirked.

Evelyn buried her face in her hands.

"Merlin help us."

Harry giggled.

The fire crackled.

Somewhere in the castle, a door creaked shut on its own.

Ghosts whispered lullabies in forgotten languages.

Harry stretched out on the bed, warm and full and tired.

Evelyn tucked a blanket over him.

"Goodnight, sweetheart."

Maximus added, "Goodnight, champ."

Harry mumbled sleepily. "Goodnight."

Maximus ruffled his hair.

"Good boy."

And just like that, the castle settled for the night.

It wasn't just a home anymore.

It was a family.

To be continued...