"Why are you crying? Feeling lonely? I told you living alone wouldn't be comfortable. Want to come back and live with me?"
The brown-haired middle-aged man slowly crouched down, rubbing Sterling's fluffy head with gentle familiarity. His glasses seemed worn for years, with several tiny scratches etched across the lenses.
"Still unwilling? That's alright, Sterling. You shouldn't take all the responsibility on yourself. No one will blame a victim."
"But I still respect your choice. I still believe in cultivating your independence—no, I should say I'm even more determined about this idea now."
Seeing Sterling's prolonged silence, Andrew awkwardly tugged his small moustache with self-conscious fingers.
"But at least let me walk you home."
"Okay." Sterling responded quietly, wiping tears from his face—most grateful now that he cried cleanly, without snot.
Sky-blue magic power rapidly flowed through his blood vessels, engraving this Andrew's appearance, voice, and name together into the magic itself.
"So, did you visit friends today? Yesterday on the phone, I think you mentioned making friends here."
Andrew walked, holding Sterling's hand, along the stone-paved road. Sterling looked around carefully—this small town seemed abandoned by modernisation's relentless tide, maintaining a strong vintage atmosphere frozen in time.
Sterling felt troubled about conversing naturally with Andrew—unlike in that constructed "Hogwarts", he had no integrated "Sterling Page" memories here, and this "Andrew" was obviously fake, all his memories artificially linked to whatever "Sterling Page" had left behind.
"Mm." He made an unclear nasal sound, deliberately ambiguous enough for either affirmation or negation.
"How wonderful... I still remember when you attended Bruton Primary School as a child—you went for so many years without making a single friend. Initially many people showed you goodwill, until you secretly brought my lighter to school."
This was something Sterling actually remembered. He nodded slowly.
However, he felt this "Andrew" seemed more lively, more animated, compared to his current vague impressions of reality.
He seemed to have broken through some obscuring mist shrouding himself—glimpsing a clearer corner of his foster father's true personality.
He was a somewhat rigorous old man who often suddenly became irritable without warning. Facing Sterling, he always carried some deep-buried inferiority, especially after Sterling received his Hogwarts acceptance letter, because he—
"Such a long time ago—in a blink, you're attending Hogwarts now. Pity you were sorted into Ravenclaw, not Hufflepuff like me."
—was a Squib.
Sterling felt momentarily speechless. He blinked in genuine surprise, watching Andrew casually use Levitation Charm to lift his just-removed vest.
Ah... so the fundamental difference between reality and fake construction lies here.
Andrew is no longer a Squib. Andrew was not abandoned by the magical world—after shedding his Squib identity, would he naturally have this lighter personality?
Sterling thought deeply, unconsciously tightening his grip on Andrew's hand. Andrew's small eyes immediately contracted with pain.
"Sterling—hurts, hurts, hurts, going to break—quite different from your usual strength."
Sterling felt instinctively that Andrew shouldn't speak to him this casually. He should have a stern face, blowing up his moustache while saying:
"Mr Sterling! You're gripping your editor's hand, not some hard battlefield baguette! If it's injured, your fairy tale book manuscripts can wait to gather dust at the editorial department!"
Not this almost joking, gentle manner.
Though this was objectively gentler, Sterling's body was faintly resisting the wrongness.
Sterling released his hand abruptly, pretending embarrassment while stuffing it deep in his pocket.
He didn't want to hold Andrew's hand anymore.
Fake…
Sterling thought he should distance himself properly, because fake ultimately wasn't real and could never be real.
Yet Sterling couldn't restrain himself from approaching him, because the moment he saw that achingly familiar face, all forgotten longing suddenly erupted, plunging him into an endless emotional vortex.
"Sterling, you really need to learn to control your strength better. Tell me about your friends—I only know their names now—Terry, Harry, Hermione, plus Neville, Ron and Padma."
"Quite surprising—actually making so many friends."
Andrew's face bore a proud, satisfied smile.
Sterling looked down at the cobblestones, wondering if this world's Harry Potter was the real Harry Potter he sought.
"Harry—is quite pitiful, right?"
Sterling frowned, kicking a small pebble with his toe.
"Pitiful?" Andrew nodded thoughtfully. "Then be good to him, Sterling. Helping others is truly beautiful."
"Speaking of which, it's interesting—after you wrote me, we parents contacted each other. You all actually live here in Godric's Hollow, I mean. Quite fateful, isn't it?"
"After all, mixed Muggle-wizard residential areas aren't only here, haha."
Godric's Hollow. Sterling chewed this significant name carefully.
He had strong impressions of this place—in Hermione's enthusiastically recommended "The Rise and Fall of the Dark Arts", it mentioned this was Voldemort's "fall" location, also the Potter family's ancestral home.
That night over a decade ago, James and Lily Potter perished here under Killing Curses, and Harry Potter was crowned the Boy Who Lived here.
Of course, this constructed world's "history" would inevitably lead to another conclusion entirely.
Sterling didn't yet know if this "Godric's Hollow" and "Hogwarts" followed the same altered history, but one thing was absolutely certain—the Potters wouldn't die here.
"Andrew, have you visited the Potters?"
"The Potters... I visited with Mrs Weasley last week. Mr Potter even gave me a bottle of special Potter-brand hair growth potion—I don't need it now, but which English gentleman can refuse hair loss insurance?"
Sterling looked at Andrew's thick brown hair, not believing he'd ever descend to hair loss troubles.
He didn't know if the real Andrew would appreciate such gifts—he'd never shown preference for anything material before Sterling—except his beloved fairy tales.
But he couldn't write them anymore.
Sterling shook his head sharply, shaking jumbled thoughts from his mind.
Harry Potter.
His primary goal should be this—not pouring emotions toward a fake constructed thing.
Momentary emotional transfer was natural human nature.
But treating fakes as real, even replacing reality—that was utterly unforgivable for Sterling.
"I'm planning to visit the Potters tomorrow."
"Tomorrow... write Harry a letter tonight. Advance appointments count as proper politeness."
"Oh, or we'll pass Potter's old house soon. You can directly call him out—also let me see how you all get along together."
Andrew's eyes concealed well-hidden worry beneath casual words.
He knew—though Hogwarts was wonderful, school bullying—or rather, excessive pranks—was a scourge even strict Deputy Headmistress McGonagall couldn't completely eradicate.
What if Sterling used fireballs on other children's faces trying to make friends...? Thinking about it, Andrew felt breathless with anxiety.
If truly so, he could only desperately beg other parents' forgiveness, then harshly educate Sterling, making him correctly understand what "making friends" truly meant.
Sterling didn't see this hidden worry. Upon hearing "will pass Potter's old house", he began thinking strategically.
How to persuade Harry convincingly.
Judgement wouldn't be difficult—just opening magical vision would make real and fake clearly display differences before him.
Sterling scratched his head, somewhat troubled.
He didn't realise he was doing many small things he normally wouldn't do. Though his body instinctively resisted, his heart had unconsciously lowered its defensive guard.
"Andrew, how far is Potter's old house?"
"Harry didn't tell you?" Andrew's worry deepened noticeably. Not even exchanging home addresses? Such friendship... he genuinely doubted its depth.
"You're very close neighbours—just one intersection away, much closer than you and me—oh, almost there, just turn this corner."
Sterling froze, suddenly realising he had absolutely no preparation time remaining. What could he possibly think up turning a corner?
He wasn't someone socially skilled like Terry at improvisation.
Unfortunately, Andrew's steps wouldn't slow for his hesitation. Soon, a house with a completely different architectural style from the surrounding buildings appeared before them.
A very homely English cottage—yes, unlike its grand name "Potter's old house", it was actually just a three-storey cottage. Its walls were painted a peaceful white, and the roof a passionate deep red.
Just like the hair of the woman currently watering flowers in the front garden.
"Mrs Potter!" Andrew raised his hand, calling out.
"Ah, Mr Durpett—may I help you?"
The woman straightened from her gardening, turning around gracefully. Sterling looked directly at her green eyes, a thought immediately emerging.
Almost identical to Harry's distinctive eyes.
The only difference might be Lily Potter's eyes held a base colour of resilient gentleness, while Harry's contained lively vivacity.
This base colour also resembled the tall man with messy black hair who'd just opened the door and emerged.
He pushed up his round-framed glasses habitually. His and Harry's aesthetics seemed remarkably similar—both favoured these slightly oversized glasses. His light brown eyes looking toward Sterling held genuine goodwill.
"Good evening, Andrew. This is Sterling, right? Harry mentions him constantly at home."
During this sentence, those large glasses slipped down again. He hurriedly pushed them to his nose bridge's very top.
"Good evening, James— My boy told me he wants to visit Harry tomorrow. Are you available?"
"Of course. Harry's been writing homework for so long; he's repeatedly said he misses his Hogwarts friends."
Lily nodded in agreement. James beside her pursed his lips, receiving Lily's sharp glare, and quickly waved his hands defensively.
"I'm not disagreeing—but I just made a bet with Harry. He bet someone would definitely come play with him tomorrow."
James sighed dramatically. "Too bad for me. I must eat an entire packet of Bertie Bott's Every Flavour Beans before bed."
"That won't do." Lily set the watering can in the garden shed. "Eating candy before bed is terrible for teeth. You don't want to drink tooth-protecting potions before reaching Professor Dumbledore's age, right?"
"Alright, then I'll tell him you forbade it—"
"Don't celebrate too early!" Lily grabbed James, preparing to run upstairs. "Keep your promises—you can eat an entire packet now. Several hours remain until bedtime."
"Oh—" James drooped dejectedly.
Lily cupped her hands like a megaphone, calling toward a second-floor room with warm light: "Harry! Your friend came visiting!"
"Really?!" Harry immediately opened the window, leaning out—an image slightly different from Sterling's memory of Harry.
His hair was more lustrous and healthy, and his face was no longer gaunt from malnutrition. Most crucially—his vision was perfect; no glasses were needed. He happily propped the windowsill, leaning half his body out.
"Sterling! It's you!"
Speaking enthusiastically, he jumped right out the window, startling Sterling badly. Just as Sterling prepared to intervene, he saw James, completely unsurprised, drawing his wand and using Levitation Charm to grab Harry's clothes, dangling him safely for landing.
"Oh, Harry—this is dangerous!" Lily placed hands on hips. Seeing James turn away, she immediately twisted his ear, making him turn back.
"And you! Don't catch Harry every single time. Even if he falls, requiring my healing potions, that's better than forming this terrible habit—"
Ignoring their continued bickering, Sterling opened magical vision the instant Harry landed.
This Harry Potter—no threads whatsoever.
Sterling was about to disappointedly close his magical vision when he felt neck soreness, so he moved his stiff neck—
The view drifted naturally to the room Harry had just jumped from.
There, brilliant golden threads were hidden.
Sterling smiled—in Harry's constructed view, showing happiness toward him, so he immediately approached, chattering enthusiastically about what he'd done after holidays began.
Yes, currently vacation time.
Christmas vacation.
Sterling smoothly responded to Harry's various questions—he discovered changes in himself weren't many. At least personality-wise, he shouldn't have changed drastically.
Because Harry showed no confusion or anger at his characteristically brief answers.
After chatting comfortably, Sterling and Harry arranged tomorrow's visit. Andrew also arranged with James to drink at a local bar another day—for this privilege, James paid the steep price of handling three days' household cleaning duties.
After parting, Andrew rubbed his tired eyes, emotionally patting Sterling's shoulder.
He never imagined Sterling truly made friends in normal people's understanding. For a father, this was truly supreme happiness.
Watching Sterling's and Andrew's figures gradually disappear from view down the street, second-floor window-side Harry pushed his somewhat large glasses up.
Seeing the affectionately bickering family of three in the garden below, Harry smiled with deep satisfaction, turning to walk into the person-height black mirror positioned beside his bed.