❝If by my life or death I can protect you, I will.❞
The Chosen One is kidnapped from the Dursley household and it turns out to be the best damn thing that's happened to him.
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BATHILDA BAGSHOT cupped the sides of Charlus' face, tilting her head to the side to make use of her one good eye to get a good look at him. It was like staring into the face of her old friend, Fleamont, a bittersweet wave of emotions washed over her. Out of all the people that had come to look at the old ruins of the Potter home, the last one she expected to show was Charlus. She wouldn't dare admit it out loud, but she had been one to believe that Charlus was as good as dead, wasting away his days in St Mungo's.
In his company was a woman, one Bathilda was not familiar with, but any friend of the Potters was a friend of hers.
"Maeve," Charlus spoke, " I want you to meet an old friend of the family, this is Bathilda Bagshot."
He said it so casually as if she was just another woman off the street, but the name was familiar to all those that decided to pay any mind during a magical history lesson. She could tell right away by Maeve's eyes opening wide that she had not been expecting to meet someone of such fame.
"Bathilda Bagshot as in the Bathilda Bagshot? The author of Hogwarts: A History and A History of Magic?"
"Yes, child," Bathilda chuckled, " that would be me. Although, I haven't heard people speak of my name with such honour in a long time. Usually, they follow up my name with "she's still alive?" or "I wonder what the old bat is up to these days."
"Forgive me, Ms Bagshot," Maeve bowed her head, " it's just I've read all of your works, including The Oracle of Palombo. It truly is an honour to meet you. I had no idea that you lived around these parts."
"Oh, I've been around Godric's Hollow for quite some time now," Bathilda answered, " long enough that I watched this one grow up from his time in nappies to changing nappies of his nephew."
Charlus wasn't fully paying attention to the conversation between the two, glancing over his shoulder at them, but mostly, fixating his gaze on his old childhood home. Eventually, he abandoned their side, pushing through the gate and making his way towards the remains of the front. Maeve went to stop him initially, but Bathilda held up a frail hand, stopping her before she could.
"Let him go," Bathilda said, " it is his home."
"It might be dangerous," Maeve interjected, " who knows what's ready to fall apart after being left for so long. He could get hurt and he's only been released from hospital for a short time."
Even though she didn't agree with it, it seemed her opinion didn't matter because Charlus had already made his way to step into the main part of the home that was still standing.
"I've been watching over the place since it happened," Bathilda explained, both of them keeping an eye on Charlus, " since the Ministry left it as a monument to mark the day when it happened. I thought it was in poor taste, honestly. The statues of James and Lily with their boy was enough, they didn't have to keep the house up in this condition. But what do I know, I'm just a mad hag to them at this point. And since they decided to leave the cottage, I've been spending most afternoons, shooing away the teenagers around here."
