Chapter Text
When the first letter came, Harry was immediately surprised and intrigued for a few different reasons. First, he never got post. Being 11 and all. Second, because it had only been a week since he’d privately decided on his name and the only one he had told about it had been the local cat (his only confedont, but she was a great listener).
Dudley yanked it from his shaking hands to read.
“Harry? DAAADD this letters been sent to the wrong address!”
There was nothing the poor boy could do but stand rock still in horror as Dudley processed the rest of the address on the letter.
“Cupboard under the stairs? But that’s where -” The chubby boy was cut off by the appearance of his father who took the letter from Dudley.
Dead silence blanketed the hallway of 21 Privet drive, each second stretched and Harry felt like he couldn’t breathe. Vernon Dursley stared at the front of the letter with a similar expression of confusion as his son, but when he turned it over, his complexion turned a dangerous shade of white. Both boys backed away a step, if the huge man fell, he could squash them flat, even Dudley.
Harry had never seen his uncle move so fast in all his life.
The door to the kitchen was locked faster Harry could shout- “That’s mine!”
After the letter rain madness Harry didn’t know what to think. What the hell was going on? Was this the world's most elaborate practical joke? In the long car journey to who knows where, Harry couldn’t stop theorising and pondering. Had he gone mad? Were they now driving to some sort of mental hospital?
The boat trip only added further to his list of questions. But the mood onboard was like glass, a second away from shattering and ripping them to pieces, so he kept quiet. As did Dudley, so that was a blessing.
The island was remarkable in that, if they approached it from any other angle, it would sink the boat and shred them all against its rocks. If Mr Dursley was right, and there was a storm coming, then he pitied the lady who had rowed them here, and who now had to get back before the wind picked up.
At least there was a roof over their heads and four walls to shelter them from the worst of it, however holey and smelly those were, thought Harry. It was his birthday tomorrow so he was trying to stay as positive as possible.
Unfortunately when your bed for the night is a dusty rug, that’s a hard thing to do.
Eventually the occupants of the shack drifted one by one to sleep. All except Harry. As he drew his sad little dust cake, he kept an eye on Dudley’s wrist watch. It silently hit a new day and he blew out his ‘candles’. Dull dust motes danced in celebration of his birthday. Harry sneezed.
The first knock shook him to his bones. He worried his sneeze had woken Mr Dursley who was now coming over to give him hell for it.
The second was even louder and fully woke the other residents of the shack.
Then the third knock broke down the door and Harry was glad he went to the toilet before bed.
A monster of a man carefully replaced the door after stepping through it.
“Couldn’t make us a cup of tea could ya?”
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After the hierarchy of the room had been established with Hagrid sat firmly on top, the arguments about how much Harry knew began.
All of this left the poor boy more than a bit confused. If it wasn’t a car crash that killed his parent’s, then he’d been lied to his whole life? Why? What truth would be so bad that he wasn’t allowed to know?
Hagrid handed him his letter and explained it all. Harry felt like he was going to throw up, except thankfully he’d eaten so little.. Magic? Dark forces? His parents murdered? This was surely some sick game being played on him.
The letter almost looked like some sort of invitation to a private school or at least how Harry imagined one of those would look like, except it also made exactly no sense. He had to read it several times over before he could get any meaning at all from it.
It seemed this Hagrid wanted to come and take him away. He wasn’t sure whether that was a good thing, but Mr & Mrs Dursley seemed upset by it, which was a shock.
Although they were now more disgusted by him than Harry had ever seen them be before, and that was saying something.
The whole argument mostly passed him by after that, until he was forcibly brought back in by the newcomer (‘Hagrid he said his name was?’) asking him a question?
“Ever made things happen when you was scared or angry?"
Harry stared into the fire, desperate to think of something, anything, he’d done that could have been magical. Now he was beginning to consider the idea that this was real, he couldn’t bear to have it ripped so cruelly from him. He supposed there was that time they went to the zoo for Dudley’s birthday, he could have sworn that snake was talking to him. Then again a day out with the Dursleys was enough to make anyone go a little mad.
But there was nothing. The bullies at school had always found him an easy target, and his regular bruises had been attributed to his own clumsiness. Surely if he really had magic, then at least once he might have had a lucky escape. He clamped down on this new hope and reminded himself of that fact… it was something that he would repeat to himself regularly over the next few days.
Hagrid however, had taken his thoughtful silence as confirmation.
Harry spent the next few hours, even once everyone had finally gone back to sleep, analysing every detail of his life so far trying to find anything that might mean he had magic.
He fell asleep still searching.