LIFE IS ON

“Hey, Black!” A kid threw a ball of cow dung at the painting little Edward Black had spent hours colouring. The painting was ruined. Black turned around to see the kids chuckling as they hurried away. Eleven-year-old Black froze, then flung his paintbrush onto the ground in his front yard. He kicked the canvas, sending it toppling over, stormed inside his house and slammed the front door behind him. Edward Black was not well liked by the other kids. Almost every day, he was bullied and mocked. He had no one to protect him except his mother, who was often ill and confined to their home. His grandfather, an elderly farmer in the village of Gaunt, took care of them both. But all of this had left Edward intensely lonely and alienated from the world. For all practical purposes, he had no one. The only thing Black loved was painting. He had been a wonderful painter from the beginning. He had never seen his father, yet, from his mother’s description alone, he had managed to paint a portrait t...

“Peter! What are you doing in the Forbidden Forest at this hour?” Professor Flamel’s voice rang out in concern. Peter stopped. The Headmaster stood before him, apparently unharmed. “Professor Flamel? Are you all right?” “Yes, I’m perfectly fine. What are you doing here?” “I… I saw someone taking you into the forest,” Peter explained. “I thought you were in danger.” Flamel’s expression softened into a smile. “Oh, my dear boy.” He chuckled. “There’s no need to worry about me, Peter. I’m quite capable of looking after myself.” “Who was it, Professor?” “Edward Black,” Flamel replied. “But don’t worry. I defeated him. He’s with the Dementors now. They’ll see that he returns to Azkaban.” “Oh.” Peter let out a breath. “I’m sorry, Professor. I shouldn’t have come here. I’d better go back.” “Yes, Mr Harrow. Back to bed with you. I’ll explain everything in the morning.” Peter nodded and turned to leave. Then something occurred to him. “Professor?” He turned back. “Why was Black after you?” Flame...

Peter sat in the Slytherin common room that evening, lost in thought. Stewart and Alison had been arguing like cats and dogs beside him, but he had barely heard a word. Eventually, Stewart turned towards him. “What is it? Still thinking about Black?” “Stewart. Alison.” Peter looked at them seriously. “There’s something I need to tell you.” “Don’t tell us you’ve found him,” Alison said sarcastically. “Professor Flamel hasn’t managed it, and he’s the Headmaster.” “Actually,” Peter replied, “I think I have.” Both stared at him. “Really?” Alison asked. “That spell. Basilisko. It’s hardly common. I doubt they teach it at any other school.” “So?” Stewart asked. “Professor Lincoln’s a clever man. Of course he knows unusual spells.” “That isn’t all. During the winter holidays, he told me his father left his mother before he was born. The same thing happened to Edward Black. Doesn’t that seem like a rather big coincidence?” “You’re overthinking it,” Alison replied. “It could just be a coincide...

4. After a few months the classes are about to end, when Lincoln teaches the Basilisko spell which puts a doubt that he is in disguise of Edward Black. Peter stepped into the Headmaster’s office and looked around in wonder. The chamber was vast and almost spherical. Paintings and portraits of Hogwarts’ former headmasters lined the curving walls. In the centre stood Flamel’s desk, and behind it, a tall window overlooked the lake. Moonlight and starlight shimmered on the water, and along its edge rose the dark silhouette of the castle. Near the desk, a stone basin hovered in mid-air. A bright cyan light rose from within. Peter approached it cautiously. Shadowy figures were moving beneath the surface, but he couldn’t make out their faces. He leaned closer, then closer still, until his head dipped into the basin and the scene came into focus. He found himself in a square chamber built of ancient black stone. Tiered benches lined the walls, crowded with people looking down at the centre of ...

The holidays were over, and the students had returned to Hogwarts. Peter was sleeping peacefully when a familiar voice rang out beside his bed. “WAKE UP TO REALITY!” Peter jolted awake. Stewart was standing over him, grinning. He’d been waiting to get Peter back for that one. Peter grabbed his pillow and swung. Stewart grabbed his own, and it took a brief but spirited pillow fight before either of them was ready to go downstairs and meet Alison. She was already in the common room when they arrived. “So,” she said, giving Stewart one last chance, “did you ask your uncle if he knows my mum?” “No…” Stewart’s face fell. He’d spent the entire holiday reminding himself to ask that one question, and somehow he’d still forgotten. Alison shrugged. “All right. Let’s keep it a mystery, then.” “Wait, no!” Stewart protested. “Come on. What is it?” Peter looked just as puzzled as Stewart did. Alison leaned over and whispered something in Peter’s ear. His eyebrows shot up. Whatever Alison had known s...