The next day, as Aaric woke up, he had to lie in bed for 15 minutes, simply sorting through the new knowledge swirling in his mind. He was worried his parents might question him about yesterday. He remembered holding the gourd in his hand when he passed out.
"Where is it?" he thought, looking around in mild panic—then sighed in relief as he saw it safely on his bedside.
He got up, walked over, and opened the gourd. Only a few drops of silver liquid remained inside. He pocketed it quickly—the gourd was about the size of an apple—and headed downstairs.
As he entered the hall, he spotted his mother sitting on the sofa, lost in thought. When she saw him, her face lit up with a warm smile. She beckoned him over. He walked up to her, and she scooped him into her lap. He leaned into her embrace instinctively.
"Are you feeling alright, baby?" his mother asked softly.
He nodded silently.
"It seems your magic has settled in and awakened. That likely caused the fever and the passing out," she said, gently brushing his hair with her fingers.
He looked up at her for a moment, then leaned in again. She seemed to be drawing her own conclusions about yesterday—of course, no mother would suspect her eight-year-old son of anything too mysterious.
"Though, where did you find the silver gourd you were holding in your hand yesterday?" she asked, her voice curious but gentle. She seemed to have some inkling of what it might be.
Aaric took it out of his pocket and replied, "I went in the basement yesterday and found it in Grandpa’s stuff."
Edwina was mildly surprised. Her father—a powerful, eccentric wizard—had passed away when Aaric was five. He had traveled the world, collecting ancient artifacts, and filled her childhood with stories of his magical adventures and deep arcane knowledge. Knowing his whimsical nature, she thought it entirely possible that he had left the gourd behind, designing a mechanism so that Aaric would discover it on his eighth birthday.
She figured it must have some kind of magical property and could prove useful to Aaric’s magical development in the future.
"Do you know what it does?" she asked.
He nodded and said, "It makes something that helps grow plants." His vocabulary was still limited, as he was just a little kid.
His mother was intrigued. She had never heard of such an object before, but she already had a few ideas on how to help Aaric use it.
She gently placed him back on the floor and took his hand. "Come with me, son."
He followed her eagerly. In his previous life, he had been an orphan—and the love and affection of his parents was all he had ever longed for. He would gladly give up all his gifts and magic if it meant never losing their love.
With the warmth of his mother’s hand in his, he walked beside her to a small sapling in the garden, one that seemed to be surviving purely by chance.
"This is a Nagavriksha—a Serpentwood Tree sapling," she began. "It was gifted to me by the noble House of Greengrass after I healed someone in their family. It’s a rare and powerful plant, used for wand-making, potion brewing, ritual catalysts, and more. It’s native to Kerala and is notoriously difficult to grow."
She gave him a long, detailed explanation about the plant’s value and magical uses. Aaric loved these lessons—his mother was a gifted healer from an ancient lineage that used Parseltongue for healing spells, runes, and even powerful secret magic only passed down through blood.
A/N: I have not seen or read any skin color–based racism in the Harry Potter world (books or movies), so any discrimination will not happen to him in either the magical or muggle world. These are sensitive topics.
This was the family’s greatest secret, one she had only recently revealed to Aaric. No one outside their bloodline knew the truth. Edwina was famously secretive—known across Britain as the mysterious healer who never let anyone witness her healing rituals, but was widely respected for her results. She was credited in several major healing texts, and her herbal remedies were referenced by other celebrated healers.
When her explanation was done, Aaric brought out his gourd and gently poured the silver liquid onto the struggling plant.
Within moments, the dying sapling shimmered with life—it sprouted fresh leaves and grew to nearly half a foot in height.
His mother’s eyes widened with astonishment. She squealed in delight and hugged him tightly. He hugged her back, laughing softly.
"You know... these plants aren’t even meant to grow here," she said in amazement. "Even in Kerala, they take years to reach this size with constant attention and resources."
Even though it hadn’t felt like much, Aaric relished in his mother’s praise and her joy.
They walked back into the house. His father was sitting in the living room, reading the newspaper.
As they entered, he smiled and said, "What mischief were mother and son up to today?" he asked playfully.
Edwina stuck her tongue out at him. "That’s between mother and son."
He chuckled and shook his head. "Nibbin, please set up the table."
With a soft pop, their house-elf appeared and began preparing the meal. Nibbin was usually cheerful, but still sulking a little—he was upset that they had insisted on cooking dinner themselves yesterday for Aaric’s birthday.
They both smiled knowingly. Nibbin would come around in time—they were used to his quirks.
It was Saturday, and since both Edwina and her husband were their own bosses, they would be going to work late. They wanted to spend more time with Aaric after the scare from yesterday.
"Now that your magic has stabilized, we can start teaching you some basics," his father said, remembering Aaric’s request. "We’ll begin in a few days."
The three of them sat together, discussing the morning’s events in the warmth of their home—Aaric feeling, perhaps for the first time in two lifetimes, truly safe.