Chapter Text
This is a story of records. It was written from the memories of all that inhabit it. One of the few times where hindsight gets a say in how the narrative moves forwards. Alright, that might be a little more dramatic than what this is, but a hook is a hook. Now, there isn’t any specific beginning or end to a story like this, so let’s choose a point that feels most familiar.
There once lived a boy in Surrey. He lived with his Aunt and Uncle who were completely ordinary. Down to the white picket fence, perfectly kept hedges, and colour palette that matched the interior of a mental asylum …mainly paper white and slate grey. The boy lived with his Aunt, Uncle, and cousin. His Uncle and cousin were a bit roundish and his Aunt was rather stick-like. The boy himself was small–less stick and more broken branch–fairly ordinary, at least to his own standards. Of course “ordinary” can have a few different definitions.
Harry’s definition, at the time, included being so thin he looked like he could be knocked over by a feather. He was small for his age, smarter than a lot of the other children, his skin was far darker than his family, making it far easier to see the various scars scattered across it, and he was famous. Famous in the way that dog excrement is famous. Everyone knows it’s there, but nobody wants to touch it. The only reason it is touched is for the owner to throw it away.
That was what it was like to be the legendary Harry Potter, The Boy Who Lived.
“Get over here, boy,” Vernon said rather quietly, which was far more frightening than if his Uncle had yelled. “I found an interesting book in your room.”
“Why were you in my room?” Harry asked, too tired to remember the filter he usually had between his brain and mouth.
His Uncle was furious, his face very quickly turning purple from the lack of oxygen he was letting into his body. Perhaps it had been like that before Harry had spoken, someone at work or something on the way home or the sky might’ve been a tiny bit too blue today. It didn’t matter the cause, the result was the same. Vernon opened his mouth multiple times, attempting to come up with words for his anger, but he only managed to lose more oxygen which made him look far more like a walrus without tusks than a human.
“This is my house, boy,” Vernon said finally, wielding Harry’s book like a weapon. “I own everything in it, including your room. You should be grateful you’ve got a room in the first place! I don’t need any cheek from you. I have had a very tiring day, I don’t need to come back to a messy home with a little twerp reading filthy things in my own house!”
“It’s a book for school,” Harry protested. “I got it at the library. There’s nothing filthy– ”
“Why didn’t I see this in Dudley’s school things, then, eh?”
Harry bit his tongue, succeeding in not rolling his eyes, but that filter…
“You should’ve, he stole my copy.”
Wrong answer. Very wrong. Vernon looked ready to deck him right then and there and Harry had not prepared for that possibility.
“Are you accusing my son of stealing?” Vernon spat.
Looking back, Harry must have lost all common sense at that moment. He spoke without thought, without concern for how it would be taken. Though, in his defence, he hadn’t meant his next words to be interpreted in a sarcastic manner.
“Is it an accusation, if it’s true? I think Miss Brightman said that would be an assertion , not an accusation. It’s one of the vocabulary words in the book. I—” Harry swallowed as he glanced back at the look on his Uncle’s face.
“Room.”
Harry finally managed to close his mouth at the simple command, but he had to ask the question. It was the question he always had to ask.
“For how long?”
The proceeding silence sent a shiver down Harry’s spine. He had managed to go three weeks without messing up and he had to go and let his mouth run. He silently walked to his room, barely making it past the door frame before the door was shut and locked from the outside. Harry’s stomach rumbled, mocking him. He had been reading the book in the school's cafeteria when Dudley stole it and had proceeded to dump his food tray on Harry.
It had left Harry frustrated, hungry, and in need of a book. He had had to rummage through the lost and found just to find clothes that would allow him into the library and wouldn’t set off any alarm bells in the Dursleys. Most of Harry’s clothes had once been Dudley’s and his cousin was larger than most children their age. That meant that any time Harry came home with clothes that actually fit him, he’d be in big trouble.
Harry had placed his soiled clothes in his bag which, quite unfortunately , meant that either he kept the clothes in his room for however long he was left in here or he pushed it through the slot in the door to his room. The latter would result in the clothes, his bag, and all of his school things being left in the fireplace. The former could mean living with rotting food for who knew how long. Both options were rather bad in Harry’s opinion. Yet, just like every time before, Harry decided to wait until the stench was too horrible to handle before choosing the second option. He took out his school things, so they wouldn’t get ruined, sighing at the grease stain on the front of his notebook.
That sort of thing, the punishments, were rather subpar for Harry. He’d long since learned how to shut out the harsh words, deal with isolation, and pretend the aches in his body weren’t there. His Aunt and Uncle weren’t known to be the kindest people to anyone really, but especially to Harry. They were nice, cordial, very ordinary, but they weren’t the sort of neighbours to throw housewarming parties or go to baby showers for friends or god forbid open the door for the odd passersby for fear of being associated with the rabble.
His Aunt was extremely concerned with how they were viewed. It was one of the biggest reasons why Harry wasn’t allowed to make friends and why nobody questioned his long stints isolated in the house. He knew the story like he knew his name.
“Harry’s just a bit shy…been like that ever since his parents died,” his guardians always left out the part where Harry had absolutely no memories of his parents. “He doesn’t like to go out, especially in cars. Poor thing walks everywhere. He doesn’t like to ride with Dudley to school. That’s how his parents died, you know. In a car crash, he never could get past it.”
Sometimes, very rarely, curious neighbours or concerned adults would ask more pointed questions. It was rather sweet in a sad way. Some people didn’t always believe the ruse…at first.
“Bruises? No, dear. Oh, it’s nothing. Well…the boy, Harry, he gained rather poor genes from his parents. Just the slightest tumble and he’s broken bones and all sorts. Just a few weeks ago, well you must have seen, he fell on his way home from school, broke his arm. Our Dudley was up all night fussing over his cousin. We do our best, bring him to the best doctors, get him the best care, but still…I mean, you can’t change your genetic makeup, right?”
And just like that, questions went away. Fear dissipated into pity which dissolved into indifference. Harry always found it rather fascinating how easily people let go of their concerns when a lie was told enough times with just the right amount of confidence. It made it incredibly easy for Harry to go along with the narrative. He had absolutely no hope in his situation getting better, but if he did what he was told then it wouldn’t always be terrible. Besides, it wasn’t all bad.
He found that he very much liked to clean. Nobody bothered him when he was scrubbing the bathroom floor or drying clothes in the lawn. He couldn’t clean when he was stuck in his room, though. Nor could he do his homework. Still, it might have been boring in his room and very cramped but at least it was safe. That’s where Harry stayed for another week or two before his family realised that they didn’t like cleaning just as they always did.
In case there were any queries on why exactly Harry’s room was exceptionally cramped for a growing near-eleven year old boy, his room was not a room at all. In fact, if one were to go to number 12 Privet Drive in Little Whinging, Surrey, simply find the cupboard situated underneath the staircase. There you would find a small cot, a ratty pillow, and an ugly ripped blanket. The only thing in the room that wasn’t ripped or dirty was a baby blanket, kept in very good condition with golden spheres with wings flying in a cloudy sky.
Perhaps unnecessarily said, but you’d only really be able to see these things if you’d gone before Harry Potter went to Hogwarts and while nobody was in the house, which was unheard of. This means, any fanatic attempting to learn what it was like during Harry Potter’s childhood would have to find a long period of time where nobody was in the house to observe. If that was unclear, anyone with a time-turner would rip a hole in the fabric of the universe if they tried to see this in real time. Besides, if found with an unsanctioned time-turner, you will be arrested.
—◊◊◊—
I, Harry Potter, will break the fourth wall for this one moment, I’m legally obligated to add this into the story. If I didn't, those Harry Potter fan clubs that I’m not supposed to know about would kill for a time-turner. Don’t do that, please . My friends at the ministry will get extremely cross with me if I cause another revolution. I’m writing this autobiography because of how often you accost the ministry.
This story will give you every bit of information you need about me and my life. I’m begging you to stop trying to find my house and finding new and creative ways to attempt to raid the ministry. Take it from someone who has actually successfully raided the ministry and Gringotts, they will catch you before you get past the doors.
I should know, I tell them how I sneak in every other month. The security department and I have a love-hate relationship. At this point, I’ll get arrested for going to work. You might be thinking, Harry, why don’t you just enter the ministry the normal way? To that I say, monthly sneak-ins to clock in for work is the best form of entertainment. It’s getting hard for me to get in now...meaning you definitely shouldn’t try, or do. I could do with a laugh. Don’t tell the Minister of Magic I said that.
If the past paragraph mysteriously disappears from later copies of this autobiography, just know that it’s because you all are menaces, definitely not because I’m an enabler. Ahem. Anyways.
—◊◊◊—
“Harry Potter?”
“Present,” he sighed, running his fingertips along his nails and avoiding Miss Brightman’s eyes.
“You’ve been gone for a while,” she said softly. “Do you feel better?”
“Yes, Miss.”
“You get sick quite often, Mr. Potter.”
“My parents–”
“Yes, your guardians mentioned that you have a rare condition that predisposes you to illness, is that right?”
“Yes, Miss,” he said, shifting to sit a bit straighter at the probing question.
“Hmm,” she said, moving on to the next student.
The rest of the class went slowly. They had a vocabulary test that Harry hadn’t known they would have. Luckily, he knew most of the words. He carefully answered 16 out of the 30 questions correctly, writing slowly and making sure he was one of the last students to hand in his test.
“Thank you, Miss,” he whispered, placing the paper on her desk.
“Mr. Potter,” she whispered softly, taking off her pink reading glasses to see him more clearly, “could you stay a few minutes after class, please?”
“Have I done something wrong?”
“Of course not, dear,” she smiled. “It’ll only be a few minutes, I promise.”
“Alright,” Harry said, walking back to his seat, his heart racing.
There were still 15 minutes of class and suddenly everything seemed to move far more quickly than it had in the first half of class. Harry wrote down words and phrases in his notebook, but he couldn’t process a single thing he had written. He stared at his notebook instead of the racing clock and only looked up when he heard the class begin to pack away their things.
His hands were clammy as he slowly put his notebook into his bag and placed his pencil into a small pencil case that Dudley had thrown out since the zipper didn’t work properly. Harry used some string to close it, tucking it away in his bag. He slowly finished buckling the straps on it as the last student filed out of the classroom. Harry tapped his fingers nervously against his legs as he walked towards his teacher’s desk.
“You’ve got a 16/30 on your test, Harry,” she told him, handing the paper back to him.
“Oh,” Harry said, staring at the paper despite knowing that already. “I passed, then?”
“No, Harry,” she sighed, leaning back in her chair to cross her legs.
“But–”
“You passed the test, dear,” she said softly at the look of panic clear in Harry’s face. “That’s not what I’d like to talk to you about. Do you remember our readings at the start of the year, Harry?”
“Yes,” Harry drawled, unsure where she was going with this, “It was a children’s version of Sherlock Holmes.”
“You were the only one in class who knew who Sherlock Holmes was,” she said with a knowing look in her eyes that Harry didn’t understand.
“Mr. Pinn mentioned him in History,” Harry shrugged.
“Yes, to introduce the scientific method,” she smiled. “That’s to observe a behaviour, propose a hypothesis, create a test to prove that hypothesis, then come to a conclusion from your results.”
“That’s right,” Harry said slowly, “but this isn’t history, Miss.”
“No, it’s English which you have missed quite a lot of due to your sick days.”
Harry blinked, his heart skipping a beat.
“36, to be exact,” she continued. “Let me tell you what I have observed this school year. I might be new here, Harry, but I’m rather good at noticing things. Despite missing so many school days, you always seem to have 16 out of 30 questions correct on every exam. There are never more than 14 questions wrong and each wrong question is always an odd number, do you know what that tells me?”
“That your odd number questions are more difficult than your even ones?” Harry said with a fake laugh.
“It tells me that you know the answers to the questions before you answer them. Which is odd with all of the school days you miss, Harry. You know words and concepts that I haven’t taught you. You’re very intelligent for year 6, can you tell me why your schoolwork doesn’t reflect that?”
“Erm…”
She nodded, looking at Harry’s hands before continuing.
“Do you mind telling me what you were sick with for a week and a half? I don’t remember you looking ill.”
Harry shifted uncomfortably. She had a light smile on her face, but her eyes were very focused. It was exceptionally disconcerting. It didn’t help that he didn’t have a story to tell her since he hadn’t really been sick (other than the smell of mouldy food which took him four solid hours to clean out of his bag). As his teacher continued to observe him, he began to get the terrifying feeling that she already knew that.
“I’ve got this condition that makes me ill a lot of the time,” Harry said, looking her in the eyes and slowing his breath to seem more sincere, just like Aunt Petunia would to their neighbours. “It comes on randomly, Miss.”
“Have your doctors told you what this condition is called, Harry, because you’ve also seemed to break a lot of bones in the last few years.”
“But you’re new this year, how do you know that?” Harry hedged.
“The school nurse shared her concern with all of the teachers. There aren’t many students who are ill so often. Even less who’ve broken as many bones as you have.”
“I’ve got brittle bones, that’s all,” Harry said, swallowing back his panic. “My Aunt and Uncle just don’t like to advertise it. They didn’t want anyone treating me differently.”
“Brittle bone disease?” She asked sceptically.
“Yes, Miss. My Father had it.”
“That’s not in your medical records, Harry.”
“It’s only type one,” Harry said, recalling the book he read when he tried to figure out if there were any such diseases that could explain his constant broken bones–other than the truth. “I’m a bit clumsy. I’m sure my Aunt and Uncle would put it on my records if it's cause for concern.”
“I’d say three broken bones in the past year is cause for concern, Harry. I want you to tell your Aunt and Uncle to send this into the school for next year. We need your GP to confirm this.”
“For next year?” Harry asked, short-lived relief flooding his system.
“Well, there’s only a few more weeks of the school year, Harry. Summer break should give you enough time to get a doctor’s note, right?”
She smiled like she had said something rather funny, but Harry couldn’t bring himself to laugh. He nodded, asking if he were free to go. She assented, allowing Harry to rush out of the classroom to the nearest bathroom. He took deep breaths, but nothing seemed to stop the fear coursing through his body. He had no idea what he was going to tell the Dursleys.
—◊◊◊—
It turned out, the best thing Harry could come up with to inform the Dursley’s of his massive lie was to say nothing at all. He’d come up with another solution. He had a while to come up with something. He didn’t think he would be able to get any doctor to actually sign off on a paper stating he had a disease he did not have, but he did have quite a few real doctor’s notes. Now, according to the history of ever, forgery is incredibly bad and no one should do it.
“What are you writing about, now?” Dudley asked, trying to peer at Harry’s papers.
“Nothing,” Harry muttered, crumbling up his loose papers in a fist and stuffing them as quickly as he could into his bag.
Harry was not very good at forgery it turned out.
“Writing about your parents again?” his cousin continued, crossing his arms to look bigger, as if Harry needed a reminder. “Upset they won’t be there for your birthday?”
“How would you know what I write about? I didn't know you learned the alphabet.”
Dudley glared at Harry, but it slowly turned into a sneer that promised something terrible. Harry took a deep breath, attempting to keep calm.
“At least I’ll have a birthday party,” Dudley sneered. “My parents love me enough to get me presents and a party, can’t say the same about yours.”
“My parents are dead,” Harry said factually. “Do you expect them to simply rise from the dead just to buy–”
“Do you dream about what they looked like,” Dudley started, cutting Harry off, “or just their screams when you killed them?”
The deep breath did not help. That was how Harry ended up with a fractured radius. Luckily for him, it healed in just two weeks. Nobody could quite understand why he healed so quickly, but it always made his Aunt and Uncle more angry for some reason. Harry supposed the reason didn’t really matter. None if it really mattered. Nothing would change until Harry could leave.
“Excuse me, love.”
Harry blinked, moving away from the shelf he was standing next to. He apologised, smiling at the woman buying her groceries. She didn’t grab anything from the shelves, though, standing right next to him and glaring at someone. Harry looked around and realised that a man was staring at him. He looked rather odd, still wearing a robe, with a stiff, pointed nightcap. The man looked away, speaking excitedly with his wife who was similarly dressed.
Harry shrugged it off, there seemed to be a lot of people dressed like that recently.
“Are you alright, darling?” she asked, looking at him with concern.
“Yes,” Harry nodded, grabbing the flour he had gone down the aisle for in the first place. “I’m just grabbing some things for my cousin’s birthday. I’m making a cake.”
“Oh, how sweet of you,” she smiled. “But where are your parents, dear, you shouldn’t be out on your own?”
“I’m nearly eleven,” Harry protested, putting the flour in his buggy. It likely didn’t help his case that the bar to push the buggy was near the top of his chest.
“Do your parents know you’re here, dear?”
“That’s not very likely, Miss,” Harry shrugged. “My name is Harry, Miss.”
He put his hand out towards her, not wanting to be impolite.
“Well, it’s nice to make your acquaintance, Harry,” she said smiling and shaking his outstretched hand. “Still, you should really tell your parents where you’re going. I’d be terribly worried if my daughter ran off without telling me.”
“Oh,” Harry said, looking up at the woman apologetically. “My Aunt and Uncle know I’m here, they sent me to get some things. See, I’ve got a list.” Harry pulled out the rather long list of groceries he needed. Uncle Vernon’s credit card sat in a buttoned pocket of his jeans, he couldn’t lose that . “I haven’t told my parents because they’re dead.”
“I’m so sorry, Harry,” the woman said with a gasp.
“It’s alright, Miss. They died when I was a baby.”
“Your Aunt and Uncle are fine with you going to the market on your own?” she asked, a concerned look on her face.
“I’m old enough, Miss. Besides, my house is only a couple blocks down. I live on number 4 Privet Drive.”
“Would you mind if I walked with you, then? My home is only two blocks down. Number 6.”
“I suppose so, Miss,” Harry shrugged. “I’ve got a few more things to get. I wouldn’t want to inconvenience you. I can walk home all by myself.”
“I’m sure you could,” the woman assured him, “I prefer to walk with someone when I’m out on my own. You wouldn’t mind me tagging along, would you?”
Harry shrugged again, continuing to grab the rest of the things he needed on his list. The woman continued to talk about her daughter as she followed Harry through the aisles. She didn’t seem to mind that Harry didn’t talk much, only giving the perfunctory responses to show that he was listening. She was very nice. Most people ignored him when he went to the market. Well, except for today it seemed.
There were quite a few oddly dressed people in the market that day, but none of them ever seemed to approach Harry. That might’ve been because of the nasty glare the kind Mother would give anyone that stared at him for longer than two seconds. He couldn’t imagine what his Aunt and Uncle would say if they were here. They’d probably leave, muttering about people playing dress-up or nightclothes should only stay in the home at night.
The woman was new to town, so she hadn’t seen Harry when he used to go with his Aunt, but it was never like this before. Harry wondered why today was different. The woman told him all about moving to Surrey. Her voice was rather soothing as Harry finished purchasing all of his items and putting them into bags. They were heavy as per usual, but she took some in hand without a word from him.
Harry protested, but she took no arguments, saying that she only went to the store for some vanilla extract. He tried to give her the lighter bags, but she simply smiled like he had done something quite funny. She continued to rattle on about anything that came to her mind. Harry found that her favourite cake was chocolate, but it had to be made from scratch. Any type of boxed cake just tasted wrong to her. Her Father had owned a bakery, so she was used to the whole process.
She asked him what sort of cake he was making for his cousin and Harry said strawberry. She went on a long tangent on tips and tricks on cake making. Harry smiled, mentally taking note of everything she said. He started comparing recipes for different pastries that he had made, absorbing every bit of information she gave him to improve.
It came as quite a shock that Harry found himself at the corner of the sidewalk that turned onto his street.
“Number 4 Privet Drive,” she smiled. “It was nice to speak with you, Harry.”
“You too, Miss.”
“Would you like me to bring these to your door?”
“No, I’ve got it. Thank you for your help, Miss. You didn’t need to.”
“Don’t even think about it, Harry.”
“I’ll remember what you said when I’m making the cakes.”
“I’m sure your cousin will love it.”
Harry just smiled, knowing that Dudley could eat cake made for the queen and still hate it. The Mother walked off towards her house as Harry picked up the rest of the bags. He made it back to a quiet house. Dudley was taking an afternoon nap while his Aunt and Uncle were out buying gifts. It was up to Harry to clean and set up for the party later in the week.
When his Aunt and Uncle came back, Harry had to move all of the presents to the tool shed where they would stay until Harry wrapped them and transported them back to the house. It turned out that Dudley didn’t want a strawberry cake for his birthday, he wanted a cheesecake like his friend Piers had had for his birthday. Harry went to gather the things he’d need with no kind woman there as a buffer between the very odd people. They didn’t seem to do anything other than stare and whisper, but it still left Harry feeling rather unnerved.
He shrugged those feelings off, though as he made his way back to the house, arms full of cheesecake ingredients. Fatigue set into his body as he thought of the presents he would have to move to the living room. The new TV was so heavy and he knew almost everything would break within the week anyway; then Harry would have to bring it to the smaller bedroom full of all the broken things Dudley didn’t want anymore. His pace slowed.
Harry looked back towards the little town. He wondered if anyone knew his parents. Maybe they’d like to take care of Harry. Well, it didn’t have to be someone that knew his parents; Harry would gladly have anyone. He wondered if the nice lady would take him in. She already had a daughter, though. Surely there would be some place out there with a family that needed some extra help. Harry would cook and clean. He could sweep and dust. There had to be somewhere that he wasn’t bothering his Aunt and Uncle.
Where would he go though? He’d get caught and sent right back, or the Dursleys would finally get angry enough to send him to an orphanage. He hadn’t met anyone from an orphanage, but it was probably worse. He couldn’t run away. No one knew him and no one could tell him if he had any more family out there. Besides, if someone knew his parents, they would have come to see him by now, wouldn’t they? Except…they probably all knew about the accident.
No one would want a killer in their home. Nor would they want someone that screamed in their sleep. If the Dursleys hated it, why would anyone else tolerate it? His nightmares were becoming a constant gripe in the Dursley household. Harry was having the same nightmare more and more frequently. It felt more like a memory in an inexplicable way. A certain clarity shone through them. Always, they started with a strange flash of green and a laugh that brought shivers down Harry’s spine, waking him up with a scream of fear.
No, Harry thought, no one would want a defective child with nightmares about flashing lights and laughter.
Harry looked at the clock shining through his neighbour’s window and knew that he could dawdle no longer. He gathered his strength and pushed open the door of his Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia’s house.
“You’re late, boy!”
“Well, the gardenias in Miss Lutz’ yard were looking particularly nice today so I simply had to stop and smell them,” Harry responded to his Uncle, setting down his bags on the kitchen counter.
“They’re what?!” Aunt Petunia screeched. “I told you I should have put salt in her soil beds, Vernon. Do you think she’ll win—”
“Of course not,” Uncle Vernon pressed, hastily. “Your violets surely outshine her gardenias.”
“They better, if that Argyle gets another ‘Best Lawn’ award, then—”
Harry smiled, quickly putting away everything, so his Aunt and Uncle couldn’t get too angry with him for coming back late. His devious plan didn’t exactly work out as well as he planned as Dudley caught him wrapping one of the presents and told Uncle Vernon that they had to get him a new one now that he’d seen the new video game. Harry knew he shouldn’t have had the shed’s door open, but it was incredibly hot in there with no windows.
“It must be better here than the orphanage,” Harry muttered hours later, putting plaster on the minor cuts. He ripped one of his older shirts to wrap around his torso for the smarting ache going down his back. Luckily, he was finished bringing all of the presents to the living room. He only had to cook and clean tomorrow.
Harry sighed, closing his eyes to sleep.
—◊◊◊—
It was some rather inventive, cruel twist of fate that Harry was able to go on Dudley’s birthday trip to the zoo. Harry hadn’t been able to see many animals in person and he had been excited to see the reptile exhibit. Most reptile species were solitary animals. They were much happier alone, without the risk of fighting with other reptiles. Harry felt a connection to them for some reason.
Harry wanted to go directly to the exhibit, but one look from his Uncle told him that he was absolutely not to wander. Harry walked behind the group, never straying farther than five feet from his Uncle. They had made it to the lion enclosure right as the workers were starting their feeding time. They all stopped to watch the large predators, lining up against the far gate, sitting and waiting. It was rather surprising. They groomed themselves and each other as they waited.
They never fought like Harry expected, even when the workers gave each cat a large slab of meat. Aunt Petunia looked disgusted, but Dudley was nearly vibrating with excitement. Harry looked at the railing in front of him, seeing some information about the animals etched into a large board.
“I bet they’ll fight, Piers, What do you think?” Dudley asked.
“They’ve got to,” Dudley’s friend, Piers, replied.
“They won’t,” Harry said, staring at the colourful infographics. “They’re all in the same pride, they won’t fight unless–”
“ Dad , Harry’s spoiling it,” Dudley said.
“Sorry, Dudley,” Harry said immediately, stepping away from the railing.
Vernon glared at him and Harry got the hint. Pretend not to exist, but don’t wander off . Well, Harry could do that. He let his curiosity be answered by any nearby plaques and held his tongue whenever someone said false information. By the time they made it to the reptile exhibit, Dudley was very loudly complaining about how far they must have walked.
Harry didn’t mind, his eyes were focused on the enclosures. Large tanks full of greenery and rocks, each holding a single snake, to keep them from fighting according to the signs. Most of them were hiding, not wanting to be around the gawking people. All except one. A large boa constrictor was laying in the sunlight. Harry watched Dudley walking around the other side of the room, looking for the snakes. The Dursleys weren’t looking at him so he made his way to the boa constrictor.
The snake didn’t look at him, basking in as much natural sunlight its enclosure could give.
“Wow, you’re beautiful,” Harry whispered with a smile, staring at the dark brown and black spots covering an olive green. “It’s a shame the other snakes aren’t out to see. I bet none are as magnificent as you.”
Flattery will get you nowhere, human. I’ll leave as soon as I’m warm enough.
“That’s alright,” Harry said, resting his arms on the bar in front of him. “I wouldn’t want people staring at me all day either.”
The snake blinked, turning its head towards Harry.
Do you understand me?
“Yeah,” Harry shrugged. “You have very good diction other than your ‘s’ sounds but that’s to be expected.”
You’re an odd human.
“My name is Harry Potter. What’s your name?”
The snake glanced towards the plaque next to its enclosure. Harry frowned.
“Axel,” he read. “Well, that’s a name, but what’s your name?”
The snake leaned closer to the glass, trying to get a better look at Harry.
Takshaka.
“Takshaka,” Harry repeated, not noticing the other snakes in the enclosures begin to poke their heads out of their hiding spots, “what would you be doing if you weren’t stuck here?”
Laying on a dark rock where there are no humans to see. I have known nothing but captivity.
“I wish I could help you.”
You can’t, young Harry Potter.
“Dad! Harry’s talking to it!”
Now, what happened next didn’t make any sense to Harry. Dudley came running, pointing his finger. Every snake in the exhibit was near the glass, attempting to get a glimpse of the scene. Dudley pressed his face against Takshaka’s enclosure begging him to speak, but the snake simply laid back down, closing his eyes.
Then, Dudley fell forwards. Screams erupted from all sides. Takshaka and every other snake in the room slithered out of the room, the glass somehow allowing them through. Dudley had fallen through, but as soon as he turned around the glass had solidified again.
Thank you, Harry Potter.
Harry tore his staring eyes away from Dudley long enough to smile, waving towards Takshaka and the rest of the snakes. Dudley was screaming. Harry laughed, he couldn’t help it. Dudley was trapped behind glass, drenched in water, and saying it was his worst birthday yet. Harry sobered immediately at the look on his Uncle’s face when they locked eyes.
—◊◊◊—
After they had dropped Piers back home, Harry tried to numb himself from the world around him. He didn’t want to experience the next part. He pretended he couldn’t hear the hate filled words screamed in his ears. He pretended he didn’t feel Dudley’s fists or Vernon’s belt. He pretended it didn’t hurt to walk the ten steps to his room. He was allowed to wrap himself up, more to cover up the sight rather than to help him heal. The Dursleys were used to the way Harry seemed to heal quicker than regular people, but it wasn’t fast enough.
Maybe that was why he was kept in the closet for the next few weeks. No one could stomach the battered look of the boy they despised. And when he healed, they simply didn’t want to see him. They didn’t forget about him, though. He got a single glass of water and small pieces of bread every day during his confinement in his small cupboard. He was allowed to use the bathroom twice a day when his family had left unless they forgot to unlock the door. It wasn’t so bad. It could’ve been worse. That was Harry’s mantra.
Never would Harry believe that in a few weeks’ time, his entire life would change. It started just like any other normal day, Harry had cooked breakfast and cleaned the house. The Dursleys were eating breakfast while Harry went to pick up the mail that had been dropped off. There were the normal things, the newspaper, Aunt Petunia’s magazines, bills that had likely already been paid, but at the bottom of the stack was an envelope that was thicker, closed by an actual wax seal.
Harry stared at the seal in confusion as he started walking towards the dining room. He ran his fingers over the large H on the deep red wax. He turned it over and saw his name embossed on the thick paper. Harry Potter, cupboard under the stairs. 4 Privet Drive, Little Whinging, Surrey. Harry would always regret not opening his first ever letter as soon as he saw his own name. By then, Harry had made his way back to the table and placed the rest of the mail on the table in front of his family. He had just broken the seal when Dudley snatched the letter from his hand.
Harry protested, but Dudley had already handed it to his Father. Harry sighed, waiting to be yelled at for accidentally gaining some sort of friend or something of the sort. Instead, there was a charged silence. Harry looked up, seeing Uncle Vernon staring at the seal. He hadn’t even picked up the letter, staring at it like it was poison.
“What is it, Vernon?” Aunt Petunia asked, moving to look over his shoulder only to make the same shocked and fear-filled face.
Dudley broke the silence first, annoyed that Harry hadn’t been yelled at yet. He moved to grab the letter himself, but Vernon took it away, throwing it into the fireplace. Harry didn’t even have time to mourn the loss before Dudley was asking what it was, trying to see the thick paper burning away. Harry watched the wax melt, seeing swooping letters that were too small to read as it quickly burned.
Dudley was still demanding to be told what it was, but Uncle Vernon was still denying him. That got Harry’s attention. Uncle Vernon never said no to Dudley.
“ That’s enough, Dudley! ” he shouted. Then he said the words that Harry heard too many times to count. “Stop asking questions! Nobody wants to hear your voice. There will be no other questions about that letter! Now, both of you, go to your rooms.”
The silence that followed was deafening. Harry and Dudley walked their separate ways. The look of shock on Dudley’s face likely mirrored Harry’s own. Harry didn’t think he would ever know what that letter was or why his Aunt and Uncle had such a strong reaction to it. Then the next day’s mail came. Aunt Petunia grabbed it this time, immediately walking to the fireplace and throwing two letters into the fire. Dudley didn’t ask any questions.
The next day, four letters were thrown into fire. Harry was told to sleep in the extra bedroom. The next day, eight letters said, Harry Potter, the spare bedroom on the second floor . No one mentioned the rising tension in the house, but they could all feel it. There were quite a few unanswered questions that mounted the longer they let the letters keep coming. Harry couldn’t connect it to the letters at the time, but there had seemed to be a lot of owls circling the house which was incredibly odd since Harry had never seen owls near before. Even the neighbours began commenting on the “summer migration of owls.”
It wasn’t until Sunday when sixteen letters were stuffed into the mail slot that the tension broke. Harry was finally able to read the emotions that had been hidden in his Aunt and Uncle’s faces, fear. Something about the letters frightened them, and they were all labelled with his name. It scared them so badly that Uncle Vernon told them they were going on a trip and needed to leave the house immediately.
“Who could possibly be writing you this much?” Dudley whispered at him as they waited for Uncle Vernon to pack the car with their luggage.
Harry shrugged. He truly wished he knew. Whatever or whoever it was was forcing the entire family to move somewhere else for a week. Harry wasn’t sure what that would prove. If his counting had been accurate, the amount of letters was doubling by the day. If they left for the week, their entire front room could be covered in letters. Harry was sure he could slip at least one of them into his pocket before anyone noticed. He only had to wait a week.
Except, he didn’t have to wait at all. When they arrived at the hotel, a very sweaty bellman asked if any of them was Harry Potter. Harry bit his lip, waiting for his Uncle to say something.
“Well, it’s only we’ve gotten an influx of letters for a Harry Potter, arriving in a Vauxhall Vectra estate. That’s your car, sir.”
“I bloody well know what my car is,” Uncle Vernon snapped, before regaining his composure. “Excuse me, sir. It’s been quite a long drive. I don’t think those letters are for us.”
The young man looked terrified.
“You wouldn’t happen to know what the owls are for, then? They won’t seem to go away.”
Fear flashed in Vernon’s eyes before going back to anger.
“I will not be accused of such ridiculous things, sir. I don’t think we’ll be staying here tonight.”
“But Dad. ”
“I’ll hear none of that, Dudley, we’re leaving.”
Uncle Vernon drove the whole night. Harry pretended to sleep, but his hairs were standing on end. He felt a poke in his side and a piece of paper appeared in his vision.
We’re heading towards the ocean. The note said.
Harry stared out the window, seeing pouring rain and the deep black of the ocean at night. That was only mildly surprising considering Dudley’s face when Harry turned back around. He was nearly shaking with fear. Everyone believed Vernon had gone mad.
“Vernon, dear,” Aunt Petunia said delicately in a shaking voice, “where are we going?”
“I’ve got the perfect place. Perfect. ”
That’s how Harry and the Dursley’s ended up on a beach harbour in the middle of the night, soaking wet from a freak rain storm.
“Dad, it’s freezing ,” Dudley complained.
“It’ll be warm when we get there.”
Uncle Vernon was smiling.
“There’s nothing out there, Vernon.”
“Just get in the boat, we’re almost there.”
Dudley’s eyes widened, looking at the dinghy that Uncle Vernon was pointing at. Harry was sure he had a matching expression on his face. Uncle Vernon went first, the boat sinking dangerously low just from his weight. Dudley was next, then Aunt Petunia, with Harry taking the rear, sitting on their luggage to make sure it stayed in the boat. The motor stuttered, before wheezing back to life, propelling them forwards at less than a walking speed.
Harry just watched the watch strapped to his Uncle’s wrist. It was July 30th, 1991, three in the morning, as they waded through the black expanse surrounding them, freezing from the rain that had blissfully stopped. Four and Harry couldn’t see the harbour behind them. Five and the black expanse around them lightened a few degrees. Six and everyone was shivering, but the sun turned the dark blue sky yellow. Half past, Harry could see a blob of grey in the distance. Quarter till, Harry could see an island small enough to house one house and enough land to walk around within thirty minutes.
“We’re here,” Uncle Vernon boasted, smiling as if he weren’t shivering from the cold.
Dudley couldn’t even speak, but his face said enough. Exhaustion, fear, and the emotions that mind-numbing cold brought was on everyone else’s faces. Nobody spoke as the boat was tied to a post at the end of a small boardwalk. They walked a short distance to the house, Uncle Vernon whistling the whole way. The house, if you could call it that, leaned to the side. Two stories, with short, maybe 6 foot ceilings. It was built from stone, didn’t look to have any sort of insulation, and its foundation was likely crumbling to bits like the sand around it.
“Oh look, they even left the fire burning,” Uncle Vernon said, pointing to the smoke billowing out from the chimney.
That was all he had to say for the family to begin piling through the heavy wooden door, attempting to get any sort of warmth back into their bodies. Harry had stopped shivering a while ago. He didn’t feel so cold as everyone else looked. He idly thought about learning in science class that that wasn’t a good thing, but maybe it had something to do with his oddly quick healing. Either way, he was far too tired to care, moving immediately to the mouldy couch and laying down to sleep.
Some time later he felt a nudge and the feeling of something cold and smooth placed on his upper lip.
“He’s still alive.”
Then silence. By the time Harry properly woke up, his body was aching from the uncomfortable couch and his throat hurt. He looked back at his impromptu bed and figured it was likely due to inhaling whatever had grown in the recesses of that couch. It was dark out, so Harry had slept most of the day. According to the loud snoring he heard from upstairs, the rest of his family had fallen asleep for the night.
Harry’s luggage sat near the fire. Everything in it was wet, due to the broken latch and the excessive rain from earlier. Harry sighed, sitting down next to the dying fire and looking at a clock on the wall. It was nearly 12 in the morning. Only ten minutes from July 31st…Nine minutes now until Harry Potter turned eleven years old. Harry thought he could hear the waves crashing outside. Harry sat on the ground, staring at the dust on the floor as it hit the 23:52. Harry drew a birthday cake in the dust, smiling as he imagined the swirling lines as icing and the lines on top lit candles.
He had just finished writing his name on his cake when a loud knock sounded at the door. Harry stared at the door, his heart beating loudly in his chest. Just when Harry was beginning to think either the wind was getting bolder or he was hallucinating, a loud knock sounded at the door again. Harry looked up at the ceiling, still making out the snores of the Dursleys.
Harry stared at the door as the knocking grew more insistent. It seemed to shake the entire house. Still, the Dursleys were sound asleep. One more knock and Harry saw the bolts on the door go loose. Harry ran towards the couch, hiding slightly behind the side. The snoring stopped. Another loud blow and the beds upstairs creaked.
The bolts fell to the floor with a clank, but the heavy door still stayed in place. Harry heard the Dursleys slowly making their way downstairs. Harry saw the neck of Uncle Vernon’s shotgun as the Dursleys made it to the first floor.
BANG!
They all started as the door crashed to the floor with a deafening thud. Uncle Vernon aimed the large gun at the giant of a man in the doorway. He had to fold almost completely in half to walk into the room. He had a scraggly mane of hair matched by his large moustache and beard. Uncle Vernon’s jaw went slack at the sight of the man in front of him.
The man glanced at Uncle Vernon then Aunt Petunia before landing on Dudley, a broad smile erupting on his face.
“There ya are!” he laughed. “Yer a migh’ diff’rent from when I left yeh as a babe, but who am I to judge if yeh have a bit more round the belly, eh, Harry? Sorry ‘bout the door.”
“I’m not Harry,” Dudley sputtered as the man turned around to put the door back in its proper place, lifting it as though it didn’t weigh near a ton.
“Oh,” the man said gruffly, “well, I’m sure they gave me the righ’ address. My name’s Rubeus Hagrid, but everyone calls me Hagrid. I’m lookin’ for Harry Potter.”
“I’m Harry.”
Harry stood up from his hiding spot, trying to get a better look at the odd man. He looked at Harry and a look of pure joy graced his face, before cooling to a look of near sadness that Harry didn’t quite understand.
“Well, of course ya are. You look jus’ like yer Dad when he was yer age.”
Harry’s eyes widened.
“You knew my Father?”
“Yes. He was a great man, yer Father. It’s a shame ‘bout him and yer Mother.”
“The car crash,” Harry said sadly, the guilty feeling spreading through his body at the thought.
“Wha’ car crash?”
Harry’s eyebrows furrowed together as he looked back up at Hagrid.
“My parents,” Harry said in confusion, “they died in a car crash, because of me. That’s what Uncle Vernon always says.”
“A car–” Hagrid sputtered, staring at Harry, then turning a blazing eye at Uncle Vernon.
“You told him the great James and Lily Potter died in a car crash ?”
“They didn’t?” Harry whispered, mostly to himself.
“Harry, tell me you know about yer parents,” Hagrid begged.
“They–”
“What are you doing here?” Uncle Vernon demanded, cutting off Harry’s words. “You are trespassing. You need to leave.”
“I’ve been told tha’ there’s been some trouble in getting Harry’s letter to himself. I’m here to make sure he gets it.”
Hagrid reached into his large moleskin coat and pulled out a letter that seemed tiny in Hagrid’s hand. It was the same familiar thick paper, with an intricate red seal. It was a bit more crumpled than the others, but Harry wasn’t one to complain. He looked back at the Dursleys, and though the fear and anger was still on their faces, they didn’t stop him from breaking the seal and opening the letter.
“What’s…Hogwarts?” Harry asked, reading the bold name.
“Did yeh teach him nothing?” Hagrid growled, glaring at the Dursleys.
Harry frowned. He wasn’t an idiot. He’d gone to school.
“I’m great at Maths and English,” Harry defended, if he ever actually tried .
Hagrid shook his head, smiling slightly.
“Thas’ not what I meant, Harry. Hogwarts is a school, a wonderful school, the same school yer parents went te.”
“But it says it’s a school for witchcraft and wizardry.”
Hagrid smiled, his eyes crinkling as he poked a finger at Harry’s chest.
“Yer a wizard, Harry.”
Harry laughed, “No, I’m not. I don’t know how to do any magic tricks.”
Hagrid waved his hand with a light scoff.
“No one really knows how to do magic correctly until they get some schoolin’. Thas’ wha’ Hogwarts is for. Believe me, Harry. If yer name was put down for Hogwarts, yer a wizard.”
“I didn’t apply to any schools.”
“Yeh don’ apply to Hogwarts. The Book of Admittance and the Quill of Acceptance do that part fer ya. Oh! I almost fergot. Sorry, I might’ve sat on it at one point.” Hagrid reached into his coat again and withdrew a small box. Harry opened the box and smiled. “Happy birthday, Harry.”
“Thank you, Hagrid,” Harry smiled, seeing the slightly crushed vanilla cake.
“Now, I don’ mean to rush yeh, Harry, but we’ve got a bit of a schedule to keep and I’m runnin’ a bit late. It took a bit longer to get here than I’d expected and it’ll take awhile to get back.”
“What do you mean?” Harry asked, putting down the box and opening his letter again.
“We’ve got to get yer school supplies. It’s all in tha’ letter of yers.”
“Right now?”
That’s when Uncle Vernon finally got his wits back. He began yelling at the man, screaming about how the man was talking nonsense and how he would not have that around his family. He called Harry’s parents freaks and how they tried to keep Harry from turning into a freak like his parents. Harry just stared. Was that it? Was that why the Dursleys always treated him so badly, because Hagrid was right? Harry was a wizard and so were his parents.
Harry stared at his hands, expecting some magical light to show up, but there was nothing. He was the same. Nothing was different. Hagrid was staring at Uncle Vernon in confusion and anger, saying words that Harry wasn’t really processing. He vaguely noticed Dudley opening his cake box and taking a piece, but he was more focused on five weeks ago.
The snakes, every single one of them had been able to get through the glass. All of them had escaped, animal control couldn’t find them for some reason. Was that because of him? The news had said that cameras and tracking devices had all failed for every single reptile. They were gone and very likely to survive in the wilderness if given enough food. Harry had been able to hear the TV from his closet. The Dursleys had stopped watching after that, not wanting to hear more about that awful day.
“HOW DARE YOU!” Hagrid bellowed, pulling Harry out of his thoughts. “Dumbledore is a great man! You have no ri–I cannae…oh, you rotten man. Dumbledore ne’er shoulda given Harry to yeh.”
“At last , something we can all agree on.”
Silence. All Harry could hear was the crackling of the dying fire. Even Dudley was staring at his Father with a look of shock.
“Vernon, you don’t mean that,” Aunt Petunia scolded softly. “He was just a baby.”
“He’s been nothing but a pest, since then, Petunia,” Uncle Vernon said acidicaly. “So there. Go on, then. Take him. We don’t want him. You’d better never come back, boy.”
Harry bit the inside of his cheek, staring at the ground. Hagrid said something, pointing his pink umbrella at Harry’s family. Harry wasn’t listening. He stared at his dust-drawn birthday cake, smeared from all of the movement in the room. He heard Dudley squeal, sounding oddly close to a pig, and the proceeding screeches of outrage from his Aunt and Uncle. Harry looked up to see Dudley sporting a small pig’s tail, though any humour he found in seeing it was drowned out by the feeling of fog in his mind.
“Harry, would you like to come with me?”
Harry blinked, looking up at Hagrid who was smiling at him with a kind smile. Harry glanced at the Dursleys who were glaring at Hagrid now. Then Uncle Vernon turned his anger towards Harry. There was a silent challenge in his eyes.
“Yes, I would like to, Hagrid,” Harry said, keeping his hands in his pockets so no one could see them shaking.
No more words were spoken much to Harry’s surprise. The Dursleys watched him leave in shock. Hagrid broke open the door to crawl through, waiting for Harry to follow before he turned to put it back in its place. Harry stared at the small boat that his family had arrived in with confusion. Where was Hagrid’s boat?
He followed Hagrid, who was walking towards the dock, still searching for a small boat in the water that he must have been missing.
“Here we are, Harry,” Hagrid said with an encouraging smile. Harry whipped around, staring at the large motorcycle that he completely ignored at the edge of the beach. “I even got a sidecar installed for yeh.”
Harry’s eyebrows scrunched in confusion as he stared at the bike and then the wide expanse of water in all directions.
“How did you-”
Hagrid laughed, gesturing for Harry to sit and buckle in. Harry strapped himself into the four point seat belt and strapped the goggles and helmet onto his head. He couldn’t be sure, but he could’ve sworn he felt the helmet mould itself to his head.
“Want to see, Harry?”
Harry nodded, waiting for some sort of floatation device to pop up out of nowhere. Instead, the motorcycle started just like any other. They started careening towards the edge of the beach, which was a feat in itself because the sand didn’t seem to affect the motorcycle’s forward motion at all. Harry stared at the wheels, assuming the wheels would transform into ski-like rods like something in the movies.
They got closer and closer to the water and Harry was beginning to get a little worried, but Hagrid looked calm, excited even as he pushed a button that definitely wasn’t present on other motorcycles. Harry waited for the splash of the water, but it never came. Harry stared wide-eyed as the motorcycle flew! Higher and higher into the air they went, the cold air not seeming to reach them.
Harry laughed, stretching his arms out wide and staring at the dark expanse of water beneath them. Hagrid smiled, cheering along with Harry.
“Welcome to the Wizarding World, Harry Potter.”