Chapter 3

The former Mr. Matthew Crawley was a lawyer from Manchester. He had a distant relative, Lord Grantham, who lived at Downton Abbey. Then, strange things happened—the several heirs between them died one by one, until Matthew Crawley inherited the beautiful estate. Just as the estate faced financial crisis, he inherited a substantial fortune from another distant relative, allowing the estate to be preserved intact.

Today, Sir George Crawley inherited an estate from his father. He too had a distant relative, Mrs. Petunia Dursley, who lived on Privet Drive. Then, strange things happened again—the several couples between them vanished one pair at a time. In the end, George Crawley inherited the boy who lived.

Just as his father had inherited a fortune when he needed it most, George actually longed for the arrival of a boy. Born in 1921, he was injured in the war and lost his ability to father children, leaving the estate once again without an heir.

Before this, Sir Crawley had nearly given up on finding an heir. Compared to old aristocratic families, he, having fought in the Second World War, was more drawn to red ideas. He originally intended to run his law firm well and spend his remaining years helping laborers subjected to injustice. But in 1982, perhaps to ease his loneliness in old age, he adopted a little girl and named her Eve Crawley.

Just as Matthew Crawley had received unexpected wealth when the estate faced hardship, Harry’s arrival as a legally valid alternate heir was undoubtedly a great blessing to Sir Crawley. The servants whispered about it, believing Downton was a place favored by God.

When Harry stepped out of the car, he was nearly stunned. Two rows of neatly dressed male and female servants stood before the estate’s main gate, watching him with gentle eyes.

An elderly gentleman with upright posture slowly approached him. His silver-white hair was combed perfectly neat; Harry could not read his expression, but he felt the man looked upright and kind.

“Harry, you’ve arrived,” said Sir Crawley. “From now on, you will live with us. I am George Crawley—you may call me Sir Crawley, or Grandfather.”

“And this,” he pulled forward a little girl, “is my granddaughter, Eve Crawley. She is one year younger than you.”

“Hello, Sir Crawley. Hello, Eve,” Harry said nervously, greeting them both, then fell silent, unsure what else to say.

“Come in and rest a while,” said Sir Crawley. “Your room has been cleaned. Later, I will assign you a personal valet. If you have any questions, feel free to ask any servant for help.”

“Grandfather is very busy,” Eve whispered. “He rarely involves himself in estate affairs.”

“That’s right,” Sir Crawley continued. “With a tutor and a butler in charge, I have no worries. Harry, you will become an excellent heir—if you are willing to study hard.”

Sir Crawley led Harry and Eve inside, and one by one, the servants followed. The cat that had been crouching by the shrubs left, and Downton returned to its usual calm and peace.

“I’ve seen it, Dumbledore,” McGonagall’s tone had lightened considerably. “The entire estate is filled with Muggles. That man could never cooperate with Muggles.”

“Good, good,” Dumbledore agreed aloud, yet his expression remained grave.

“What are you still worried about?” McGonagall asked. “There’s a girl there, about Harry’s age, who seems to have magical talent—but she’s too young to be a Death Eater.”

“I heard he was connected to the Lestrange…” Dumbledore hesitated. “Sometimes, a person doesn’t need to do anything—their mere existence can have great influence.”

“It doesn’t matter. If she has magical talent, she’ll come to Hogwarts eventually. What worries me more is Sir Crawley—he seems determined to raise Harry as the heir to that Muggle estate.”

“That’s good for Harry,” said Dumbledore.

But it might not be good for the magical world, he thought.

Since moving to Downton, Harry’s life had changed greatly. Yet with the help of his personal valet, John Bates, he quickly adapted. Bates was a slightly overweight middle-aged man, quiet but warm—he took every request from Harry seriously.

Sir Crawley, as he himself claimed, was more devoted to his law practice in London. Harry rarely saw the old man at Downton; often, the long dining table held only him and Eve.

Harry and Eve got along well and soon became close friends. Their laughter echoed in every corner of Downton, and even the library held many cherished memories.

Indeed, the one part of the estate that troubled Harry most was the library. Each day, a different tutor came to teach him and Eve, their subjects so numerous they surpassed the variety of dinner dishes. Four resident tutors taught them fifteen subjects weekly, and most of these lessons filled Harry with agony.

Miss Jenny Earle taught grammar, reading, and writing. Her stylistic habits differed sharply from what Harry had learned before; he was constantly criticized for “speaking too plainly, even rudely.” Worse still, she also taught French, German, and Latin. Rather than repeatedly bending his straightened tongue back into shape, only to have it straightened again in the next lesson, Harry would rather endure a few more beatings.

Miss Clara Oswald taught mathematics, physics, and chemistry. These abstract sciences also tormented Harry. Yet among the four tutors, he liked Miss Clara best—because she occasionally told him fantastical stories: a lady eight feet tall, a colossal carriage in the sky, a palace surrounded by ice sculptures, beautiful maidens singing hymns in the forest. These tales were not scientific, but Harry’s intuition told him they might be true.

Professor Nonoelius Yury taught history, philosophy, and sociology. Sometimes he spoke of psychology, or in history class, expounded on military theory. Harry had once hated history—he could never remember the complex dates and events. But Professor Yury taught only modern history after 1917, in great detail, which Harry could barely memorize. What truly troubled him was philosophy: every philosophical theory Harry learned had been invented by a man named Marx. He respected Marx, yet feared him.

James Bond taught physical training. Every morning, he made Harry run laps—initially, this became Harry’s nightmare. But as his stamina improved, running no longer pained him. His lessons were mostly enjoyable; Harry learned basic combat, deduction, surveillance, and counter-surveillance from him. At age nine, he received a PPK as a birthday gift and began training in pistol shooting.

Most lessons were taken by Harry and Eve together, except physical training. While Harry sweated outdoors, Eve remained in the estate, studying vocal music and dance with another teacher named Maria. Her eighth birthday gift was a violin.

Though Harry disliked lessons, under the “help” of private tutors, these subjects were eventually crammed into his small head. As he neared eleven, all four tutors grew anxious, drilling him relentlessly on past lessons. They said Sir Crawley would administer an examination this year and hoped Harry would achieve respectable results.

Sir Crawley nearly missed this symbolic elementary graduation exam. He learned suddenly that a distant relative in Italy had died, leaving him a large inheritance. Though Downton’s finances were still stable, Sir Crawley agreed to travel to Italy to handle the inheritance procedures. “British money must return to Britain,” he said.

Yet he negotiated with the Italian lawyer to delay the trip until after his June examination of Harry. He estimated the trip would take at least four months and did not wish to miss Harry’s birthday, so he kept postponing.

“The letter to Harry has been sent, but I’m still worried,” McGonagall returned to the headmaster’s office—she rarely came unless it concerned Harry.

“What are you worried about?” Dumbledore smiled. “I’ve confirmed it—George Crawley is a pure-blood Muggle noble with no connection to the magical world.”

“I’m not worried about the people around him—I’m worried about Harry himself,” McGonagall replied. She had visited Downton several times and knew how much Harry had changed.

“You know, the knowledge he’s learning…” McGonagall tried to speak, but could not find the word to describe her subtle unease.

“Just Muggle knowledge,” Dumbledore dismissed. “When he realizes he’s a wizard, he’ll return to Hogwarts. Besides, some exposure to Muggles will prevent future prejudice.”

“Don’t worry,” Dumbledore added, seeing McGonagall still uneasy. “I’ll send Hagrid to explain. Nothing is more convincing than a half-giant showing up on the boy’s birthday.”