Harry Potter 'sTwin Brother

Chapter 23– Whispers in the Leaky Cauldron

The soft clack of the stone arch folding back into place echoed behind them. As they stepped through the concealed brick wall of Diagon Alley and into the narrow hallway that led to the Leaky Cauldron, the atmosphere shifted.

The moment Harry and Hardwin stepped inside the pub, a wave of warmth and shadows greeted them. Dim candlelight flickered, casting golden pools on old wooden tables. The ceiling beams were blackened with age and soot, and the air smelled of roasted nuts, worn leather, smoke, and faint spice—like ginger and clove.

A low hum of chatter floated through the room. Wizards hunched over glasses of butterbeer and tankards of foaming ale. Some played chess on enchanted boards, others murmured over parchment scrolls, and one wizard was feeding something scaly from a velvet pouch.

Harry blinked. "This place is real?"

Hardwin whispered, "This is old magic. Feels like it's been here for centuries."

Professor McGonagall led them in, her presence straight-backed and crisp among the slouching regulars. They crossed the room, heading toward a booth near the fireplace, where green flames crackled softly.

Tom, the barkeep, looked up and grinned with toothless warmth. "Professor McGonagall! Back again?"

"Afternoon, Tom," she nodded. "Three class juices, please."

The boys took their seats, wide-eyed.

Glasses soon arrived, filled with a pale golden drink that shimmered with a faint fizz. A small plate of warm scones followed, dotted with raisins and soft butter melting into their cracks.

Harry took a sip. "Tastes like… lemon and honey," he murmured.

Hardwin grinned. "Better than the cupboard, yeah?"

Just then, a wizard at a nearby table turned. A tall man in dark plum robes, he studied the boys for a moment, then leaned toward McGonagall. "Excuse me… is that—?"

She paused, clearly debating how much to reveal. "Yes," she said calmly. "This is Harry Potter, and his brother, Hardwin Potter."

The name rippled through the room like dropped stone in still water.

Heads turned. Conversation died.

A witch gasped. A man knocked over his mug.

> "Harry Potter?"

"Is that really—?"

"The Boy Who Lived?"

A kind-faced wizard rose from his seat and cautiously approached. "Mr. Potter… forgive me… but I must thank you."

Harry blinked in confusion. "Me? What for?"

The man looked startled. "For… for what you did. For surviving. For stopping… him."

She stepped in gently. "He was a baby, Mr. Halloway. He doesn't yet understand."

But hands reached out—soft pats on the shoulder, firm shakes, a woman who simply bowed slightly in his direction.

Even Hardwin received glances—curious, uncertain, wondering. He watched the crowd closely. There was admiration, but also expectation… and mystery. He wasn't the "Boy Who Lived." He was the other one.

> "And this… Hardwin…" someone whispered.

"Twin, she said?"

"Strange. Never heard of another Potter boy…"

McGonagall placed a protective hand on both boys' shoulders. "That's enough," she said gently but firmly.

"Let them enjoy their juice in peace. They're just children."

The crowd respected her voice. Slowly, the whispers faded, and the room exhaled. But something had shifted. The name Potter had been spoken. The myth had walked into the room—and it had twin faces.

As the warmth of the fire danced in front of them and their drinks sat untouched, Hardwin leaned slightly toward Harry and whispered, "Welcome to your legend."

Harry gave a nervous chuckle. "You think it's always going to be like this?"

Hardwin took another sip of juice, his eyes still scanning the room.

"…Yeah," he said quietly. "Only louder."

---

McGonagall returned to the bar, voice low and calm.

"Tom," she said, "would you happen to have a room available for the summer?"

He raised a brow, glancing discreetly at the two boys still seated, now watching the wizarding world with uncertain eyes.

"For them?" he asked, wiping his hands on a cloth. "Well… for you, Professor, anything. I've a clean room on the second floor. Facing the alley. Warded and quiet."

She nodded. "That'll do. They need some time here—to adjust."

"Paid in Galleons or Ministry voucher?" Tom asked with a wink.

McGonagall gave him a small, rare smile. "School fund. Consider it Hogwarts-sponsored research."

Tom chuckled, nodded, and reached for his registry book.

The warmth of the Leaky Cauldron's fire flickered across the wooden floor. A gentle hush had settled again over the pub, though the occasional whisper still followed in the wake of Harry's name.

At a quiet booth near the back, Harry sat with Hardwin beside him, both nursing glasses of chilled pumpkin juice and half-finished scones. Their earlier excitement had melted into puzzled silence.

Professor McGonagall returned from the bar, where she'd been speaking in low tones with Tom, the innkeeper.

"We've arranged your room upstairs," she said briskly, smoothing her robes as she sat across from them. "Second floor, quiet, and quite safe."

"Thank you," Harry said, voice low. Then, after a moment, he looked at her with a furrowed brow. "Professor… why did everyone stare at me? Why were they thanking me?"

McGonagall paused. Her expression, usually strict and composed, softened into something gentler.

"People know your name, Harry," she said carefully. "Because something… very unusual happened when you were a baby."

Hardwin kept his gaze on her, silent. He already knew what she was referring to. But she wasn't about to give away the entire truth—not here, not yet.

Harry blinked. "Something unusual?"

She nodded. "There was… a terrible dark wizard. His name was Voldemort."

Hardwin saw her lips tighten slightly at the name.

McGonagall continued, "Many people feared him. But one night, something happened that no one expected. He went to your home—and that night, he disappeared."

Harry looked confused. "He disappeared?"

"Yes," she said firmly. "And after that, the world began to recover. They say his power broke that night. And because of that, people are grateful to you."

"But I was just a baby," Harry said, puzzled.

"You were," McGonagall replied, "which is why it's not something you need to understand fully right now. In time, you will."

Harry seemed unsatisfied but nodded slowly. "And… Hardwin?"

The professor glanced toward the quieter twin.

Hardwin simply looked back with unreadable eyes, but said nothing.

McGonagall cleared her throat. "Not many people knew there were two of you. It was safer that way."

"Why safer?" Harry asked.

"We live in a world with dangers you don't yet know," she said, gently but firmly. "That's why there are places like Hogwarts. To teach, protect, and prepare."

Hardwin turned slightly toward the window. The flickering gaslight from the alley glowed like stardust against the glass.

"You don't have to tell us everything," he said calmly. "We'll learn soon enough."

McGonagall gave him a quiet look, almost surprised.

Harry looked from her to his brother. "Do you think it's true, what people say?"

Hardwin shrugged. "I think… if people believe something deeply enough, it becomes real in its own way."

There was a pause, filled only by the low hum of conversation and the clinking of cutlery around the pub.

Then McGonagall stood. "Come. Your room is ready. You've had a long day."

---

Upstairs, the boys followed her up the narrow creaking staircase to a warm room tucked beneath the sloped roof of the Leaky Cauldron. It had two small beds with woolen blankets, a desk, and a single glowing lantern above the hearth.

Tom appeared behind them with two brass keys. "Room's set with privacy charms. And breakfast's at seven, lads. Don't miss the waffles."

"Thank you," Harry said politely.

As the door closed behind them, the quiet was comforting. Hardwin walked to the window, gazing down at Diagon Alley's twinkling street below.

> "Not everything has to be told at once," he thought.

"But the pieces are starting to fall into place."

He looked at Harry, who was running a finger over the scar on his forehead.

And he smiled.