0125 Dying Man

Harry had been staring at the name 'Claude Watson' since yesterday morning, trying to find any connection between him and Professor Watson, the former Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher at Hogwarts. But he could not think of anything, except for the coincidence of their surname. After all, Watson was a very common surname among both Muggles and wizards, just like the name Tom. Harry knew two Toms, one was the most evil wizard in history(for him), and the other was the friendly owner of the Leaky Cauldron. No one would ever suspect that they were related, right?

But when Harry saw the photo of Claude Watson in the mansion, he felt a jolt of shock. The man in the photo looked almost exactly like Professor Watson, except for the gray hair and the wrinkles on his face. They had the same sharp eyes, the same thin lips, and the same angular jaw. Harry could not help but think of his own father, James Potter, who had died when he was a baby. Everyone who had met his parents would say that Harry had inherited his father's appearance, except his mothr's green eyes.

Harry remembered what Professor Watson had told him once, when they were alone in his office. 'I grew up in an orphanage, Harry. I never knew my parents, or why they abandoned me. I only learned that I was a wizard when I received my letter from Hogwarts. It was the best day of my life.'

If Claude Watson was really Professor Watson's father, then why did he leave his son in an orphanage? Why did he never look for him, or tell him the truth? Harry felt a surge of anger and sadness for Professor Watson, who had been one of his favorite teachers at Hogwarts.

Professor Watson had arrived at Hogwarts a year ago, as an investigator appointed by the board of directors to look into the Chamber of Secrets incident. But soon, he became the new Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher, after the previous one, Professor Lockhart, was in hospital bed. Harry, who had experienced three different teachers of this course, could swear that Professor Watson was the best of them all. 

Of course, that was not saying much, considering that the other two teachers, Quirrell and Lockhart, one of whom was possessed by Voldemort, and the other who was proven to be a big liar, being better than these two people, seemed to prove nothing.

But many senior wizards, and professors of other courses at Hogwarts, praised Professor Watson as the most decent Defense Against the Dark Arts professor at Hogwarts in the past decade or so, which proved his strength.

In addition, Professor Watson was also the most powerful wizard Harry had ever seen.

He would never forget how he had saved him from the basilisk in the Slytherin Chamber, killing the giant snake with a single spell, as if it was nothing. Of course, Dumbledore must be better than Professor Watson, although Harry had never seen Dumbledore make a move, but he firmly believed so.

Professor Watson had left Hogwarts soon after the Chamber of Secrets incident was over, without saying goodbye to anyone. He had disappeared as mysteriously as he had appeared, leaving behind many questions and regrets. Harry and his friends, Hermione and Ron, had missed him a lot, but they also respected his choice. They knew that everyone had the right to choose their own path in life, even if it meant leaving behind the people who cared for them.

As soon as the Dursleys took a few steps away from the old housekeeper, they turned their heads and shot Harry a furious look. He had embarrassed them in front of their host. Dudley, who was always ready to mock Harry, sneered at him with his piggy eyes. But Harry did not care about their reactions. He was too stunned by the photo he had seen in the hallway. It showed a man who looked remarkably like Professor Watson, the former Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher at Hogwarts.

Harry wondered if the man in the photo was really Professor Watson's father. If so, why did Professor Watson, who came from such a wealthy and influential family, end up in an orphanage? 

Harry pursed his lips and looked at the old housekeeper named Lawrence who was walking in front of him with curiosity. If it weren't for the Dursleys' serious emphasis yesterday that he was not allowed to talk nonsense, he might have rushed up and asked if there was a child missing in this mansion!

They followed the old housekeeper, whose name was Lawrence, to a room on the top floor. The room was full of people wearing white coats, who looked very serious and busy. They were checking various machines and monitors, which Harry did not understand, but he guessed that they were some kind of Muggle medical devices. Harry wrinkled his nose at the unpleasant smell of medicine and antiseptic that filled the air. He tried to see the face of the man who was lying on the bed, hooked to tubes and wires. But his view was blocked by a large respirator that covered his mouth and nose.

One by one, the people in white coats left the room, nodding to Lawrence as they passed by. Lawrence led the Dursleys and Harry inside, and told them to stand by the bed. Harry felt a chill as he looked at the man on the bed. He was shocked by his appearance. He looked nothing like the man in the photo. He looked like a skeleton with a thin layer of skin. His hair was shaved off, his eyes were closed, and his skin was pale and dry. He looked more dead than alive. Harry wondered if he was still conscious, or if he could recognize anyone.

Harry glanced at the Dursleys, who looked equally horrified. Uncle Vernon, who had rehearsed many times how to greet his boss, was speechless. His face was red and purple, and he smiled awkwardly. Aunt Petunia, who had planned to compliment Mr. Watson on his complexion, was silent. She clutched her handbag nervously. Dudley, who had never seen anyone so sick and frail, was scared. He hid behind his parents, and whimpered.

Harry felt a mix of emotions. He felt sorry for the man on the bed, who was suffering so much. But He also felt angry at him, for abandoning his son and leaving him in an orphanage. 

Lawrence told Uncle Vernon that they only had five minutes to talk to Mr. Watson, and then left them alone. Harry stayed behind, hoping to catch a glimpse of the man's face, or hear his voice. He wondered if he sounded like Professor Watson, or if he had any traces of magic in him.

But before Harry could see or hear anything, a weak and raspy voice came from the bed. It startled everyone.

"It seems that my appearance scared you, Vernon-"

The man with the breathing mask said, barely audible. Harry could not tell his age or his mood from his voice. He sounded like he was in pain, and tired.

"Your face, I mean your spirit looks good, Mr. Watson."

Uncle Vernon stammered, trying to sound polite and cheerful. But he failed miserably. He sounded nervous and awkward. He did not know what to say to his boss, who was dying in front of him.

Uncle Vernon felt a twinge of regret and guilt. He had always admired Mr. Watson, who was a smart and successful businessman. He had hoped to impress him, and get a promotion. But now, he realized that he had been selfish and greedy. He should not have wanted to take advantage of his boss's condition, or make him suffer more. He should have let him die peacefully, and with dignity.

The five minutes passed quickly, and they felt like an eternity. When they walked out of the room, everyone breathed a sigh of relief. They wanted to get away from the depressing sight, and the suffocating atmosphere.

The old housekeeper Lawrence escorted them back to the gate, where a driver was waiting with Uncle Vernon's car. While they were waiting, Harry noticed that the Dursleys were all gloomy and quiet. They did not say a word to each other, or to him. Harry took the opportunity to move closer to Lawrence, and asked him in a low voice,

"Maybe it's a bit presumptuous to say this, sir, but does Mr. Watson have any children? Why aren't they with him?"

The old housekeeper looked at Harry with surprise, and raised his gray eyebrows. He seemed to appreciate Harry's politeness, but he also sensed his curiosity. He said with a sad tone in his voice,

"Mr. Watson never married, and children-"

Harry's question was cut off by the Dursleys, who heard him and glared at him. They thought he was being rude and nosy again. But they did not scold him, or tell him to shut up. They were too shocked and upset by what they had seen. They just wanted to go home, and forget about Mr. Watson.

The car ride back home was silent and tense. No one spoke a word, or even looked at each other. Harry was lost in his thoughts, wondering about Mr. Watson and Professor Watson. The Dursleys did not bother Harry with their usual questions, such as how much it would cost for the potion that could relieve Mr. Watson. They were too shocked and disturbed by what they had seen in the mansion. They wanted to forget about the dying man.

The silence continued until they reached their house. Uncle Vernon parked the car in the driveway, and got out without a word. Aunt Petunia and Dudley followed him, leaving Harry behind. Harry grabbed his backpack, and got out of the car. He walked to the front door, feeling ignored and unwanted.

Uncle Vernon turned on the TV in the living room, and sat on the couch. He watched the morning news that was being replayed, hoping to distract himself from the unpleasant memories. Aunt Petunia went into the kitchen, and started to prepare lunch. She tried to act normal, and pretend that nothing had happened. Dudley opened the refrigerator, and took out a large cake. He stuffed his face with it, and licked his fingers. He did not care about anything, except his own appetite.

Harry, who was standing at the bottom of the stairs, was unnoticed by everyone. They acted as if he did not exist, or as if he was not there. Harry, who would have been happy with the Dursley's deliberate ignorance in the past, felt a sudden urge to speak up. He had something important to do, and he needed their permission. He cleared his throat, and said loudly,

"I need to open Hedwig's cage-"

Harry's voice broke the silence, and startled the Dursleys. They turned their heads, and glared at him. They were annoyed and angry that he had interrupted their peace. Uncle Vernon, who was breathing faster and about to roar, and Aunt Petunia, who was ready to scold him, opened their mouths to yell at him. But Harry did not give them a chance. He said firmly, and with a hint of defiance,

"I need her to help me send a letter."

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