Chapter Text
Harry Potter was used to waking up early, not because he liked it, but because it was safer that way. The cupboard under the stairs didn't let in much light, but he always knew when morning had arrived. His body had learned the rhythms of the Dursley household better than any clock. He knew the creak of Uncle Vernon's heavy footsteps, the jangle of Aunt Petunia's bracelets, and the slap of Dudley's oversized slippers on the stairs. If Harry wasn't up and moving before them, things tended to go worse than usual.
This morning, like all others, he rubbed sleep from his eyes, trying not to wince as the scrape of the rough woolen blanket brushed against bruises that had yet to fade. He sat up slowly, careful not to hit his head on the low ceiling of his cupboard. He listened- only silence upstairs.
Good.
He reached for the clothes Aunt Petunia had tossed into the cupboard the night before; Dudley's old castoffs hung on his thin frame like sails on a mast, but Harry was still grateful. Last week, she'd forgotten to give him clothes entirely and he'd gone without until the next morning, shivering beneath the stairs with nothing but the threadbare blanket and the ache of hunger to keep him company. Luckily, he didn't have to leave his cupboard that day. He crept into the kitchen and started on the bacon; The sizzle and pop masked the sound of the refrigerator door squeaking open as he retrieved the milk for Aunt Petunia's tea, ensuring that he made it just how she liked it- two sugars, just a splash of milk. As the scent of frying meat filled the air, Harry tried not to think about whether there would be enough left over for him to have any. With the way Dudley ate nowadays, probably not.
Speaking of the devil, Dudley thundered into the kitchen first, an oversized pink blur of appetite and shouting. Harry flinched instinctively as his cousin swept by, knocking the frying pan with a chubby elbow which caused a piece of bacon to tumble to the floor.
"Pick it up, freak," Dudley sneered.
Harry obeyed without a word. Experience had taught him that talking back only earned him worse. Uncle Vernon entered next, newspaper tucked under one arm, moustache bristling with indignation at nothing in particular. He grunted at Harry and sat down heavily.
"Bacon's burnt," he grumbled.
"Sorry, sir," Harry said quickly, although it wasn't. It was perfect, as always.
Harry served breakfast in silence. Dudley whined about the number of sausages on his plate until Aunt Petunia swooped in to add two more, glaring at Harry like it was his fault the plate hadn't been overflowing. Harry stood by the sink, quietly nibbling on a piece of dry toast while slowly cleaning the countertops. He barely tasted it, he never did. He was too busy watching, waiting, bracing himself for whatever might come his way.
The mail slot clattered and there was a faint thud as a small pile of letters landed on the doormat in the hallway. Harry moved automatically to fetch them, quickly going through them as he walked back to the kitchen so that he could give his uncle the most important letters first. There was a Gas bill, A letter for Uncle Vernon from his work, A postcard from his horrible Aunt Marge, and a thick, cream-colored envelope with emerald-green ink, addressed in a precise hand:
Mr. H. Potter
The Cupboard under the Stairs
4 Privet Drive
Little Whinging
Surrey
Harry came to a complete stop.
He blinked several times then looked at the envelope again. It didn't change. It was right there in emerald ink: His name, his address, even his cupboard. It was as if the letter knew everything about him.
His fingers trembled as he turned the envelope over. There was a seal- a wax stamp with a crest he didn't recognise; it was an intricate design of a lion, a snake, a badger, and an eagle all circling a capital H.
"What is taking so long, boy?" Uncle Vernon's booming voice echoed from much closer than usual, which made him jolt violently. Before he could think, Uncle Vernon had snatched the envelope from his hands.
"What's this?" he barked at him, while turning the envelope over to see the address on the back, "Who's writing to you?"
"I don't know," Harry replied automatically, and it was true. But a small, reckless flame had lit in his chest, tiny and dangerous and stubborn.
Someone had written to him.
Someone knew he existed.
Uncle Vernon turned the envelope back over, then his large purple face got significantly more purple. His bushy brows furrowed very disapprovingly, then he ripped the envelope in half without even opening it.
The flame in Harry's chest guttered as the shredded parchment fluttered to the ground and he didn't dare move.
He should have seen this coming, yet something in him-some small, invisible piece- had been crushed beneath Uncle Vernon's navy slipper.
"Clean that up," Uncle Vernon snapped at him while shoving him down onto the floor beside the shredded parchment.
Harry's fingers brushed the torn paper as if it were something sacred. He gathered the pieces carefully, hiding one fragment in his pocket as soon as his uncle had disappeared back into the kitchen. It bore only the edge of what looked to be a letter and part of that strange crest. But it was proof, a secret he could hold forever if another letter never came. Somebody knew him outside of these four walls and wanted to reach out,
The rest of the day passed in a haze. Dudley shrieked about television, Aunt Petunia barked about fingerprints on the glass, and Uncle Vernon grumbled about "weirdos" and "that blasted postman". Harry moved through it all like a ghost, he was used to feeling invisible, but now he felt watched. Uncle Vernon was paying annoyingly close attention to him now, and he occasionally caught his Aunt Petunia looking at him with pursed lips and a look of distaste, but this look was... different than the usual look he got from her, he couldn't quite place it.
That night, locked once again in his cupboard, Harry lay awake staring into the dark underside of the stairs. His letter might have been torn up, but it had said his name.
Harry Potter.
Like he mattered.
He couldn't stop thinking about that seal; the lion, the snake, the badger, the eagle. They were just animals, but there had been something regal about them, something proud. What were they part of? A private school? He had gotten good grades in his SATS, after all so it wasn't impossible... Maybe it was a secret society of forgotten children who wanted to recruit him? Or maybe, and most likely, a member of his extended family he had no idea about? After all, his whole entire family couldn't be dead, could they...?
The vague familiarity he had felt when he held that envelope was also something that he couldn't get off his mind; it was a warm feeling, he couldn't forget the tingling he got in his fingers when he touched it. It was the same feeling he got at the zoo when the Boa Constrictor had escaped through glass that had just... disappeared.
At some point, Harry had managed to fall into a restless sleep, but he didn't dream of flying away to escape the Dursleys like he usually did;
He was very small, chasing a very annoyed looking ginger cat around blurry surroundings. A faceless man with long shaggy black hair seemed to be laughing with his head thrown back, but he didn't feel embarrassed or small like the Dursley's made him feel when they laughed at him- he was laughing too. Loud, real cackles of laughter like he'd never laughed before. A blurry tattoo clad hand had reached down and ruffled his hair, whispered something, and then there was loud barking. Another man with blurred, scarred features had come to a crouch beside him with his hand on his back. He was telling him to run after the shaggy black dog now, "go, Harry, go!"
The scene changed.
He was alone in a crib. Tear-filled emerald eyes- eyes like his- were staring at him with fear, then there was a flash of bright green light, and the eyes turned glassy and fell out of sight. His forehead seared...
Rap rap rap.
***
The letters kept coming.
This time, Uncle Vernon burned them in the fireplace before Harry could get within ten feet of them, then he got a particularly harsh whack around the head. The day after that, no less than six letters were slipped under the door, then eight were jammed through the mail slot, then dozens appeared in egg shells and, finally, hundreds of letters came pouring down the chimney.
Each time, Harry lunged.
Each time, he failed.
Each time, he shielded his face and braced himself.
Uncle Vernon had boarded up the mail slot, nailed the windows shut, screamed at the postman, screamed at Harry, and then he took drastic measures and took the whole family on a deranged road trip to nowhere in particular, trying to outrun whatever force kept finding them to deliver the letters.
The Dursleys hadn't said a single word to him since they left Privet Drive, which Harry honestly couldn't exactly complain about; The boot of the car was actually quite comfy after a while and he'd managed to get some pretty good naps in while they were on the road. One of the duffel bags had served as a pretty good pillow, and the Dursleys had been kind enough to give him an old blanket for when he slept in the car overnight while they were in the hotel.
He hadn't had any more funny dreams since the first time he got one of the mysterious letters, but the faded memory of it played on his mind like a broken record; Who was the faceless man? was he the one sending the letters? And if the sender of the letters knew where he lived, why hadn't they just come to take him away?
On the eve of his 11th birthday, Harry found himself in a remote shack on a stormy rock in the middle of the goddamn sea. The wind was howling louder by the hour, and the waves crashed harder against stone.
His aunt and uncle were really pushing the limits now. He could not stop shivering from under the thin blanket he had been given, and he felt like he might die from hypothermia here on the floor, as the clock ticked on and on.
Midnight ticked closer.
Harry lay curled on the cold floor, his eyes fixed on the clock.
What would the Dursleys do if they woke up and he was dead?
Probably throw him in the sea and head home, glad to be rid of him.
Boom.
The thunder was loud tonight.
Boom.
He curled up as tight as he could to try and preserve any remnants of body heat.
Boom.
Wait...
...That wasn't thunder.
BOOM.
BOOM.
CRASH.
The door was flung off its hinges and Harry sat up quickly all concern for the cold vanishing in an instant. The Dursleys thundered down the creaking stairs, his uncle carrying a shotgun. Where did he get that?!
Now wildly alert, he looked back to the doorway to see a huge, hulking man with wild beetle-black eyes and a tangled beard. He was already stooping down to fit through the rickety doorframe, the wind whipping around him. Harry froze in place, heart thudding in his chest. Was this the sender of the mysterious letters? Was he some kind of military recruiter? Cult leader?
"Sorry 'bout that," the large man said to the room in a deep, gruff tone. His voice echoed around the room and seemed to make the decrepit walls shake, "I did knock." His beetle black eyes then scanned the room and finally set on Harry, which was when a kind, warm smile that Harry very much wasn't used to appeared on his face. "An' you must be Harry Potter. We've been tryin' to reach yeh."
So he was the sender!
Harry, who had been gaping in pure disbelief, managed to swallow down a particularly large lump in his throat in order to speak to the man.
"I'm- I'm not... I'm... just Harry." He said in a very small voice. The words burned, but that's what he had been told his whole life. 'You're just Harry, you're nothing. You're not important. You're not even worth your name.'
The massive man didn't react to his words at all and simply stepped forward, his large boots making the floor creak as he bent down, lowered his head so he could look Harry in the eye, and gave him another kind smile. He looked... gentle, and not at all like someone Harry should be afraid of. But then again, Harry had learned long ago not to trust appearances.
"Well he sure isn't 'Arry Potter," he spoke, gesturing to a very stunned and petrified Dudley, "which means you must be 'im. You are Harry Potter."
Harry looked up at the giant. He meant to say something along the lines of 'I'm an orphan, I don't have a home or a name', but the words got lost on the way to his mouth, and what he said instead was, "...Who are you?"
The giant only chuckled.
"True, I haven't introduced meself. Rubeus Hagrid, Keeper of Keys and Grounds at Hogwarts. Yeh'll know all about Hogwarts, o' course." He held out an enormous hand and shook a very confused and rather frightened Harry's whole arm.
"Er- no." was all he was able to get out, and from what he could see of his face, Hagrid looked shocked. "Sorry," he added a little too quickly.
"Sorry?" barked Hagrid, turning to stare at the Dursleys, who shrank back into the shadows. "It's them as should be sorry! I knew yeh weren't gettin' yer letters but I never thought yeh wouldn't even know abou' Hogwarts, fer cryin' out loud! Goodness, did yeh never wonder where yet parents learned it all?"
"All what?"
"ALL WHAT?" Hagrid thundered. "Now wait jus' one second!" He had leapt to his feet, his anger he seemed to fill the whole hut which made Harry falter meekly and The Dursleys cower against the wall. "Do you mean ter tell me," he growled at the Dursleys, "that this boy- this boy!- knows nothin' abou'- about our world? His world. My world. His parents' world?!"
"...What world?"
Hagrid looked as if he was about to explode.
"DURSLEY!" he boomed.
Uncle Vernon, who had gone very pale, whispered something that sounded like "Mimblewimble."
Hagrid stared wildly at Harry, who seemed to be making himself as small as possible.
"But yeh must know about yer mum and dad," he said. "I mean, they're famous. You're famous."
Hagrid's words rung in Harrys ears. He stayed silent for a few moments, looking up at the giant in shock before he spoke up,
"What...? My- my mum and dad weren't famous, were they?"
"Yeh don' know... yeh don' know..." Hagrid ran his fingers through his hair, fixing Harry with a bewildered stare. "Yeh don' know what yeh are?" he asked finally. Uncle Vernon suddenly found his voice.
"Stop!" he commanded. "Stop right there, sit! I forbid you to tell the boy anything!"
A braver man than Vernon Dursley would have also faltered under the furious look Hagrid now gave him, and when Hagrid spoke, his every syllable trembled with rage.
"You never told him? Never told him what was in the letter Dumbledore left fer him? I was there! I saw Dumbledore leave it, Dursley! An' you've kept it from him all these years?"
"Kept what from me?" asked Harry with both confusion and eagerness. It was all very much of a shock, but he had often dreamed about somebody taking him away from his aunt and uncle- was this man going to be the one to do that?
"STOP! I FORBID YOU!" yelled Uncle Vernon in panic. Aunt Petunia gave a gasp of horror and shook her head frantically with her hands covering her mouth.
"Ah, go boil yet heads, both of yeh." Hagrid spoke gruffly. Harry watched the giant called Hagrid turn back to look at him with a glint in his eye, he swore he had seen the same expression before somewhere. Nothing prepared him for the huge man's next words.
"yer a wizard, Harry."
There was silence inside the hut. Only the sea and the whistling wind could be heard.
"I'm... a- a what?" Harry gasped, completely bewildered.
"A wizard, o' course," Hagrid said matter-of-factly, sitting back down on the sofa, which groaned and sank even lower, "an' a thumpin' good'un, I'd say, once yeh've been trained up a bit. With a mum an' dad like yours, what else would yeh be? An' I reckon it's abou' time yeh read yer letter."
Harry stared at the letter in the man's massive hand, unable to move, unable to breathe. His mind felt like it was spinning, caught in a whirlwind of confusion and disbelief. This couldn't be real. It wasn't real. A wizard? Him? Harry Potter, the boy the Dursleys had always called worthless, and had locked away in that cupboard for years? It didn't make sense. They had always told him that he wasn't good enough for anything, that he was nothing but a burden. The very idea of being special, being important, was too much for Harry to take in. Yet the giant's- Hagrid's- eyes, dark and kind, never wavered. He didn't look at Harry like he was some sort of freak, or with the disgust that the Dursleys had always shown him. There was something else in those eyes, something gentle but firm, like a promise. It felt... real.
"I'm… not a wizard," Harry said again, but his voice wavered this time. He didn't believe it, not really, but his heart was beating faster, the truth about himself sitting somewhere deep in his chest, aching to be acknowledged. It was like an automatic reaction when he reached for the letter that the giant called Hagrid was holding out to him, as if he was waiting for this his entire life.
‘Mr. H. Potter,
The Floor,
Hut-on-the-Rock,
The Sea.’
With quivering fingers, he pulled out the letter and read:
'HOGWARTS SCHOOL OF WITCHCRAFT AND WIZARDRY
Headmaster: ALBUS DUMBLEDORE (Order of Merlin, First Class, Grand Sorc., Chf. Warlock, Supreme Mugwump, International Confed. of Wizards)
Dear Mr. Potter,
We are pleased to inform you that you have been accepted at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Please find enclosed a list of all necessary books and equipment.
Term begins on September 1. We await your owl by no later than July 31. Yours sincerely,
Minerva McGonagall, Deputy Headmistress'
Questions exploded inside Harry's head like fireworks and he couldn't decide which to ask first. After a few minutes he stammered, "What does it mean, they await my owl?"
"Gallopin' Gorgons, that reminds me!" exclaimed Hagrid, clapping a hand to his forehead with enough force to knock over a car, and from yet another pocket inside his overcoat he pulled an owl- a real, live, rather ruffled-looking owl- a long quill, and a roll of parchment. With his tongue between his teeth he scribbled a note, rolled it up, gave it to the owl which clamped it in its beak, went to the door, and threw the owl out into the storm. Then he came back and sat down as though this was as normal as talking on the telephone.
Harry realized his mouth was open and closed it quickly.
Aunt Petunia, who had been standing in the back, gasped in horror, stepping back as if she might be struck by some invisible force.
"No. No! This is madness. This boy is nothing special! He's a disappointment!" Her voice was frantic, shrill. "We've raised him well, and he's nothing like... like her!"
"He's not going." Vernon added.
Hagrid grunted.
"I'd like ter see a great Muggle like you stop him." he said.
"We swore when we took him in we'd put a stop to that rubbish," said Uncle Vernon, "swore we'd stamp it out of him!"
Harry, who was still clutching the letter for dear life. Was it really his? Did he really belong in this world? Could he truly leave behind the horror of the Dursleys? It felt impossible, but then, so did the idea of magic being real.
Worse still, the Dursleys knew.
"You knew?" He asked suddenly, a wave of anger rushing through him. "You knew I'm a- a wizard and never bothered to tell me?!"
"Knew?!" shrieked Aunt Petunia. "Knew! Of course we knew! How could you not be? My dratted sister being what she was? Oh, she got a letter just like that and disappeared off to that- that school- and came home every summer with her pockets full of frog spawn, turning teacups into rats! I was the only one who saw her for what she was... a freak! But for my mother and father, oh no, it was Lily this and Lily that, they were so proud of having a witch in the family!" She stopped to draw a deep breath and then went ranting on. It seemed she had been wanting to say all this for years. "Then she met that- that boy at school and they left and got married and had you, and of course I knew you'd be just the same, just as strange, just as- as- abnormal- and then she went and got herself blown up and we got landed with you!"
Harry had gone very white in the time that his aunt was talking, As soon as he found his voice he exclaimed, "You told me they died in a car crash!"
"CAR CRASH?!" roared Hagrid, jumping up so angrily that the Dursleys scuttled back to their corner. "How could a car crash kill Lily an' James Potter? It's an outrage! A scandal! Harry Potter not knowin' his own story when every kid in our world knows his name!"
"But why? What happened?" Harry was still very much shocked at the sudden revelations, but it made him want to know more. He needed to know more, and he felt safe with Hagrid on his side keeping his family in check. He watched as the anger faded from Hagrid's face. He looked suddenly anxious.
***
Ten minutes had passed by time Hagrid had told him everything. Harry's mind was... he didn't even know. He was grieving for people he didn't even know- the parents he had never even seen, or experienced growing up with. The way hagrid described them... they sounded just wonderful. How did his aunt petunia end up so bitter if his mother had been so wonderful? He swallowed. Something very painful was going on in Harry's mind. As Hagrid's story came to a close, he saw again the blinding flash of green light, more clearly than he had ever remembered it before- and he remembered something else, for the first time in his life: a high, cold, cruel laugh unlike the one he had initially heard in his dream. This laugh made the hair on the back of his neck prick up. Hagrid was watching him sadly.
"Took yeh from the ruined house myself, on Dumbledore's orders. Brought yeh ter this lot..."
"Load of old tosh," said Uncle Vernon. Harry jumped; he had almost forgotten that the Dursleys were there. Uncle Vernon certainly seemed to have got back his courage. He was glaring at Hagrid and his fists were clenched. "Now, you listen here, boy," he snarled, "I accept there's something strange about you, probably nothing a good beating wouldn't have cured- and as for all this about your parents, well, they were weirdos, no denying it, and the world's better off without them in my opinion- asked for all they got, getting mixed up with these wizarding types- just what I expected, always knew they'd come to a sticky end-"
Harry felt very sick, But at that moment, Hagrid leapt from the sofa and drew a battered pink umbrella from inside his coat. Pointing this at Uncle Vernon like a sword.
"I'm warning you, Dursley..." He threatened, "I'm warning you- one more word... "
"I AM NOT PAYING FOR SOME CRACKPOT OLD FOOL TO TEACH HIM MAGIC TRICKS!" yelled Uncle Vernon. Harry flinched, but it seemed like he had finally gone too far. Hagrid seized his umbrella and whirled it over his head,
"NEVER," he thundered, "- INSULT- ALBUS- DUMBLEDORE- IN- FRONT- OF- ME!"
He brought the umbrella swishing down through the air to point at Dudley. There was a flash of violet light, a sound like a firecracker, a sharp squeal, and the next second, Dudley was dancing on the spot with his hands clasped over his bottom, howling in pain. When he turned his back on them, Harry saw a curly pig's tail poking through a hole in his trousers. Uncle Vernon roared. Pulling Aunt Petunia and Dudley into the other room, he cast one last terrified look at Hagrid and slammed the door behind them.
It was real. It was all real.
He pinched himself, just for good measure.
Hagrid looked down at his umbrella and stroked his beard.
"Shouldn'ta lost me temper," he said ruefully, "but it didn't work anyway. Meant ter turn him into a pig, but I suppose he was so much like a pig anyway there wasn't much left ter do."
He cast a sideways look at Harry under his bushy eyebrows.
"Be grateful if yeh didn't mention that ter anyone at Hogwarts," he said. "I'm- er- not supposed ter do magic, strictly speakin'. I was allowed ter do a bit ter follow yeh an' get yer letters to yeh an' stuff- one o' the reasons I was so keen ter take on the job..."
"Why aren't you supposed to do magic?" asked Harry, he was trying very hard to keep the laughter out of his voice.
"Oh, well... I was at Hogwarts meself but I- er- got expelled, ter tell yeh the truth. In me third year. They snapped me wand in half an' everything. But Dumbledore let me stay on as gamekeeper. Great man, Dumbledore."
"Why were you expelled?"
"It's gettin' late and we've got lots ter do tomorrow," said Hagrid loudly. "Gotta get up ter town, get all yer books an' that." He took off his thick black coat and threw it to Harry. "You can kip under that," he said, "Don' mind if it wriggles a bit, I think I still got a couple o' dormice in one o' the pockets."
Knowing that he wouldn't get anything else out of the giant, Harry nodded and wrapped the coat around him. Exhaustion began to take over his body and before he knew it he was asleep.