04. The Boy Who Lived

Arthur Peterson paced back and forth across Avalon's lobby, casting frequent glances at the glass door that stood like a gateway to another world. He was almost certain that something unusual was about to happen; the tingling feeling deep in his chest had started the moment he felt that someone important was approaching.

As he settled behind the reception desk, the edges of the glass door began to glow, softly at first, then growing brighter. Arthur stood up, straightening his collar, a wave of anticipation rising in him. Whatever was coming, Avalon seemed… excited.

'Alright… this is it, our first guest' he thought to himself

The door gave a low hum and began to swing open, spilling light across the lobby floor. Arthur held his breath as a figure stepped over the threshold.

It was a boy, looking no older than eleven, with a thin, small frame draped in clothes that were far too big for him. The boy's dark, unruly hair stuck up in every direction as if he'd never seen a comb, and a pair of round, cracked glasses sat crookedly on his nose. He wore a faded, wary expression, his green eyes wide as he took in the space around him. He looked around with equal parts awe and confusion, his lips parted slightly in wonder.

Arthur took in the boy's worn-out appearance with a pang of sympathy. He looked like he'd had a rough day—or a rough life. The frayed clothes, the slight bruise on his cheek, the guarded look in his eyes… Arthur had seen it all before, not just in others, but in his reflection.

A flicker of memory surfaced, unbidden, of his childhood—the long, silent days spent in a cramped, lonely room with only the thin walls and creaking floorboards to keep him company. His father had been the type of man who wore bitterness like a second skin. Angry and unpredictable, he'd drift in and out of the house in a haze of drink, leaving Arthur to fend for himself most of the time. For years, Arthur had felt invisible, as though he were little more than an afterthought in his own home. He couldn't recall a single time his father had looked at him with warmth or pride, let alone a sense of belonging.

He remembered coming home to a mess of empty bottles, food left half-eaten, and his father slumped in an armchair, muttering things Arthur barely understood. On some days, he felt like a ghost, passing through the rooms without anyone truly seeing him. He'd learned to tiptoe around, to stay silent, to keep his head down. By the time he was Harry's age, he'd become adept at hiding—hiding his feelings, his bruises, even his dreams.

Arthur had always felt a strange kinship with the lost and the unseen, those overlooked by the world. He'd grown up on his own, often dreaming of some distant, kinder place that might take him in, a place where he could simply be. He'd spent countless nights imagining a life where he didn't have to shrink away, where he wasn't waiting for a heavy hand or a slurred voice calling his name with disdain. But that life had always seemed impossibly far away, a dream that faded with every sunrise.

The boy's body was tense, his gaze flicking between the grand, polished surfaces of the lobby and the cozy, carefully arranged seating area nearby as if he couldn't quite believe what he was seeing.

Summoning his best welcoming tone, Arthur took a few steps toward the boy, his hands held in a relaxed, open gesture. "Welcome to Avalon," he said softly, a smile touching his lips. "You're safe here."

The boy flinched slightly, though Arthur could see he was fighting to keep his expression calm. He glanced down, fiddling with his oversized sleeves before looking back at Arthur, his voice small and uncertain.

"Where… where am I?" he murmured, glancing behind him at the now-closed door.

"You're at Avalon," Arthur replied, keeping his voice gentle. "A place for travelers. Somewhere you can rest, if you'd like." He paused, tilting his head with a curious smile. "Are you here on your own? Is there someone with you? Mom or Dad?"

The boy's face fell, his gaze dropping to the floor. There was a momentary flicker of sadness in his eyes, though he seemed to shake it off quickly, his expression slipping back to one of guarded uncertainty. "No," he whispered, so softly that Arthur had to lean in to catch the word. "There's… no one."

Arthur's smile faded. There was a weight to the boy's words, a loneliness that struck him deeply. He took in the broken glasses, the frayed sleeves, the faint bruise along the boy's cheekbone that looked like it hadn't fully healed. And then, as the boy glanced up, Arthur caught sight of a distinctive, lightning-shaped scar just above his right eye.

Arthur froze, his mind racing. The boy's thin, tired face, the worn-out clothes, the broken glasses… Could it be?

His heart skipped a beat as he struggled to keep his composure. If this child was who he thought he was, then he was looking at one of the most famous figures from a world of magic—a boy known to millions, 'The boy who lived'. This was Harry Potter.

Looking at Harry now, with his guarded expression and exhausted eyes, Arthur could almost see himself in that boy's worn face. The signs were unmistakable—the slight flinch at any unexpected movement, the reluctance to make eye contact, the way Harry's shoulders hunched as though bracing himself against the world. This was a child who knew too well the feeling of being unwanted.

But Avalon was different. With Avalon's help, it is a refuge, a sanctuary for those who need it most. Seeing Harry here, a boy who had never known a true home, Arthur felt an overwhelming resolve to make Avalon exactly what he'd once needed. Here, Harry wouldn't be an afterthought or a burden. Here, he would be seen, and valued, and—if Arthur had any say in it—he would know that he was safe.

The past no longer haunted Arthur as it once had, but he'd never forgotten the feeling of being lost, of wondering if he'd ever truly belong. And now, as he looked at Harry, he knew exactly what Avalon was meant to be—a place where someone like this boy could find solace, even if just for a night.

Arthur took a steadying breath, trying to keep his emotions in check. He didn't want to alarm the boy, not now. He composed himself, giving the boy a warm smile as he asked gently, "What's your name, young man?"

The boy hesitated, his gaze darting back to the door before returning to Arthur. "It's… Harry," he murmured. "Harry Potter."

Arthur's chest tightened, but he managed to keep his expression steady. He nodded, giving Harry a reassuring smile. "Well, Harry, it's a pleasure to meet you. I'm Arthur. Avalon is a special place—a safe space for travelers from all sorts of worlds. Here, you can rest, explore, and just… be yourself. You're our first guest from your world, in fact."

Harry looked around the room with wonder, though his brows were furrowed as if he were still trying to understand where he was and how he'd ended up here. His hands fidgeted in his lap, his shoulders tense with uncertainty. Arthur could see the exhaustion and confusion in his young face, mingled with the flicker of excitement that only a boy who had been deprived of kindness and wonder for too long could understand.

"I… I didn't mean to come here," Harry said, his voice barely above a whisper. "I was just… running. And then I saw a door, in the forest… and I don't know, I just… I felt like I had to come."

Arthur's heart went out to him. It wasn't hard to piece together some of the events leading up to this. If this boy was from that world, he would have been living with the Dursleys, a family known to be harsh and unkind. Avalon had guided him here, sensing his need for something beyond the life he'd known.

"It's alright, Harry," Arthur said, his voice soft and kind. "Sometimes, places like Avalon find you when you need them most. There's nothing you have to do here, no one to answer to. You're free to stay, explore, even just sit and rest if that's what you need."

Harry's gaze drifted toward the door, his face clouding with uncertainty. He looked as though he wanted to believe Arthur, but fear held him back, the kind of fear that only came from years of neglect and loneliness. Arthur could feel Avalon's presence subtly shift, as if it were holding its breath, waiting patiently for Harry to relax.

"Please, take your time," Arthur continued gently. "There's no rush, no obligations. In fact, as the first guest from your world, you're welcome to stay for free."

Harry looked up, his green eyes wide with a glimmer of hope. "Free?" he echoed as if he could hardly believe it. "Really?"

Arthur nodded, his expression warm and sincere. "Consider it a gift, for being the first to connect your world's energy with Avalon. It's not something that happens every day. Avalon has a way of bringing people together in ways we can't always explain."

Harry bit his lip, glancing back at the door once more, clearly torn. Arthur could feel the boy's confusion and uncertainty, but also the faint, flickering excitement—the allure of something magical, something beyond the drab, miserable life he'd known in the cupboard under the stairs. Arthur had read the books; he knew Harry's backstory, and it filled him with both sadness and admiration to see the boy sitting here, still brave enough to hope for something better.

"You don't have to decide right away," Arthur added, his tone gentle. "But you're welcome here, Harry. No one here is going to make you go anywhere you don't want to go."

Harry looked down, his fingers twisting in the oversized fabric of his shirt. "I think… I'd like to stay. Just… just for a little while."

Arthur's smile widened, his heart swelling with relief. "That sounds like a good choice, Harry." He gestured toward the cozy seating area near the corner. "Why don't you come sit down? You look like you could use a rest."

Harry hesitated for a moment, but then he nodded, following Arthur to the comfortable chairs. Arthur watched as Harry lowered himself cautiously into one of the large armchairs, his small frame almost swallowed by the soft cushions. He looked up at Arthur, his eyes still wary but filled with a hint of wonder, as though he were waiting for the magic of this place to reveal itself.

"Can I get you anything?" Arthur asked, settling into the chair across from Harry. "Maybe some hot chocolate? Or perhaps a snack?"

Harry's eyes lit up at the mention of hot chocolate, and he nodded shyly. "Hot chocolate… that sounds nice."

Arthur smiled, standing up to fetch a steaming mug from the bar nearby. As he handed it to Harry, he noticed the boy's fingers tremble slightly as he accepted it, his small hands wrapping around the warmth of the cup. Arthur could sense Avalon's gentle presence hovering nearby, almost as if the hotel itself were watching over Harry, ensuring he felt safe and welcomed.

"So," Arthur said, taking his seat again, "you mentioned running. Was something… troubling you?"

Harry hesitated, his gaze falling to the floor. "It's just… home. I mean, where I live. I don't really… belong there." He paused, taking a slow sip of his hot chocolate. "I don't think anyone there… wants me."

Arthur's heart ached for him. He remembered the sadness and isolation Harry had endured in the books, and hearing it now, from the boy himself, made it feel all the more real. Arthur kept his tone soft, his expression empathetic.

"I'm sorry to hear that, Harry," he said gently. "No one should feel unwanted. But you belong here if you want to be here. Avalon welcomes you."

Harry glanced up, meeting Arthur's gaze, a faint glimmer of gratitude in his eyes. "Thank you," he whispered, his voice barely audible. "It's… nice here. Really nice."

Arthur chuckled, feeling a swell of satisfaction as he watched Harry start to relax. He remembered the details of Harry's journey, the loneliness he'd endured, and the incredible destiny that awaited him. He also knew that for now, the best thing he could give Harry was a brief respite—a place where he could simply be a child, if only for a night.

"Avalon has a bit of magic," Arthur said after a moment, his voice conspiratorial. "Would you like to see some?"

Harry's eyes widened, and he leaned forward, nodding eagerly. Arthur reached into his pocket and retrieved the small vial of Felix Felicis, the shimmering liquid casting a warm golden glow in the soft light. "This," Arthur explained, holding the vial up, "is called Felix Felicis. It's a potion known as Liquid Luck. Drink it, and you'll find yourself blessed with good fortune for a little while. It's one of many magical things connected to Avalon."

Harry stared at the vial, his eyes full of wonder. "It's… it's real?"

Arthur nodded, grinning. "Absolutely real. There are countless worlds connected to Avalon, each with its own kind of magic. I'd say you're lucky to be the first from yours."

For the first time since he'd arrived, Harry gave a small smile, his earlier worry melting away. He looked around the lobby as if seeing it with fresh eyes. The comfortable armchairs, the flickering candles, the gentle hum of Avalon's presence—it all seemed to cast a glow of warmth and safety, a feeling that Harry had never known before.

Arthur leaned forward, his tone gentle and sincere. "You're welcome to stay as long as you'd like, Harry. Avalon will always be here for you, no matter what. And tomorrow, if you still want to go back, the door will take you home. You're free to make your own choice."

Harry nodded, taking another sip of his hot chocolate. He didn't say anything, but the tension in his small frame had finally eased, and his eyes held a peaceful contentment that Arthur hadn't seen before. Arthur leaned back, feeling a quiet satisfaction. Avalon had brought Harry here, sensing his need, and Arthur was glad to be part of this boy's journey, even if only for a short while.

As Avalon's energy hummed quietly around them, Arthur sensed that this was only the beginning. This boy, Harry Potter, was special in ways that neither of them could fully understand yet. But for now, all that mattered was that he was safe, and that, for the first time in his young life, Harry felt welcome.