Chapter Text
Harry Potter had always been a strange boy.
He grew up an oddity among regimented order, a nuisance among normality, a freak with a family who didn’t want him. Even if one discounted the fact that he was a Wizard, Harry was about as far from ordinary as it was possible to be. Both his circumstances and his disposition were peculiar, his personality a wonder all its own. He grew up unloved yet loving, hated yet not hateful, weakened yet strong. He was a marvel in his ability to love, managing to stay stubbornly kind even when the world (and his uncle) sought to stamp it out of him.
For Harry, kindness was a form of rebellion: a way to fight without fighting, win while losing. He was powerless in many ways, left at the mercy of people far stronger than him. He couldn’t unlock his cupboard or conjure food, couldn’t avoid fists or barbed words, couldn’t stop the ache that came from being unwanted. What he could do, what he vowed always to do, was be different than the Dursleys, better.
And so, Harry sought to be as different from the Dursleys as possible, channeling all the qualities his relatives lacked. He was kind where they were rude, curious where they were closed-minded, gloriously messy where they were overly fastidious. He befriended stray cats, did his homework to diligent perfection, left birthday cards in his classmates’ rucksacks, and always wore mismatched socks.
His stubborn insistence on being different didn’t come without consequences, of course, often earning him long periods in the cupboard. In those empty hours of keen loneliness, it was hard to stay himself, hard to stay Harry. He wasn’t always strong enough, sometimes pressing his head against his knees and wishing for another family, another life. Sometimes, he would spend hours like that, drowning in hopeless solitude and cloying darkness. It never lasted, however, something always pulling him back to the light. Eventually, he would come back to himself, pulling a book from under his blankets and holding it up to the light that filtered through the grille in his cupboard door. He found peace in the world of words, the books making the darkness feel just a bit lighter.
Even with his books and stubborn optimism, Harry had bad days. He had days when the books weren’t enough, days when he wasn’t enough. On those days, he would wish for a friend, for someone, anyone, to talk to.
His wishes never came true.
He remained devastatingly isolated, profoundly friendless, alone.
Despite his best efforts, he had not a single friend at school, potential companions driven away by his general oddness and Dudley’s fists. It was hard being alone, difficult in ways Harry could never express. He often felt like a twig buried in a forest, living a life of shadowed invisibility.
He longed for a friend more than food, a hug more than a room, a smile more than fitting shoes.
Every year on his birthday, Harry made the same wish, sending his prayers into the wind. Every year, he begged for a friend, for a companion, for someone.
No one ever came.
By the time his eleventh birthday arrived, Harry made his customary wish with resignation, knowing he was wishing in vain. He watched the dust from his pathetic approximation of a cake fade into the wind, sure that he would spend the next seven years with nothing but dust to keep him company.
Just as Harry was about to curl back into his threadbare blanket, there was a pounding at the door, the shack rattling and creaking in protest. As Dudley hid and Uncle Vernon went for his shotgun, Harry stood and stared, a strange sense of safety filling his chest. In that moment, Harry just knew that his future was knocking. He met it head on, understanding that, for once, his wish had come true.
That day, Hagrid earned the title of Harry’s first friend, gaining the accolade through his sparkling eyes and easy gentleness. Harry had a strong sense that Hagrid was just like him: an outcast and an outsider. They fit together like peas in a pod, chattering like old friends as they made their way into Diagon Alley.
Thankfully, Hagrid had the patience to put up with Harry’s boundless curiosity, answering his mad jumble of questions with good-natured amusement.
Harry learned loads that day, listening with rapt attention as Hagrid told him all about the magical world, his parents, and Lord Voldemort. Harry didn’t much care about the Dark Lord, choosing instead to pepper Hagrid with questions about Lily and James Potter. He’d never heard their names before, and the shape of the words felt glorious in his mouth, the sound sweeter than any Harry had heard.
Hagrid answered his questions happily, telling him all about the people who’d died for him.
After a while, Hagrid started to ask Harry questions too, tentatively inquiring about his life on Privet Drive. Harry gave vague answers, knowing that Hagrid would be horrified if he knew the truth about the Dursleys. If the man had given Dudley a tail for daring to eat Harry’s birthday cake, there was no telling what he might do if he learned about the cupboard, the raised voices, or the periodic physical violence. Harry honestly didn’t know if the Dursleys would survive his wrath.
Not wanting his relatives to face an angry Hagrid, Harry turned the conversation toward his collection of stray cats, explaining how he’d met each of them.
“I named them all after types of tea,” Harry explained, grinning. “There’s Chamomile, Oolong, Breakfast…”
“Yeh named a cat Breakfast?” Hagrid interrupted, chuckling. “Blimey, Harry, that’s a right ridiculous name!”
Harry beamed. “I know. But Breakfast loves his name.”
Hagrid smiled, black eyes glittering. “I reckon he does.”
Talk of animals provided sufficient distraction from the Dursleys, allowing Harry to make it all the way to Ollivanders without having to answer any difficult questions. Hagrid left him alone in the shop, mumbling something about menageries and making up for lost time. Harry watched him go, rather wishing he’d stayed, quickly becoming unnerved by Mr. Ollivander. The man just wouldn’t stop looking at him, eyes burning into his face.
When, after a huge number of failed attempts, they finally found a proper wand, Harry rushed out of the shop as quickly as possible, the stick of holly clutched tightly in his hand. He practically sprinted into the street, nearly colliding with Hagrid who was holding…
Harry stopped dead in his tracks, staring in wonder at the carrier clutched in Hagrid’s enormous fist. There, curled up on a soft blue blanket, was a tiny grey kitten.
“Hagrid,” Harry breathed, feeling as if his heart was melting. “Is that…?”
“He’s yours,” Hagrid confirmed. “He’s a Half-Kneazle. Runt of his litter, so he’ll stay small.”
Harry forgot how to speak English, stuttering out random sounds that he hoped expressed his gratitude.
“Don’ mention it,” Hagrid muttered, blushing. “I’ve lots of birthdays to make up for.”
Harry didn’t know what else to do, simply leaping forward and hugging Hagrid, arms barely making it halfway around the enormous man. Hagrid hugged him back, nearly squishing him. Despite the resulting bruised ribs and slightly deflated organs, it was the best, and only, hug Harry had gotten in years.
The kitten, who quickly earned the name Earl Grey, sat happily in his enchanted carrier for the rest of the day, watching with enormous green eyes as Harry purchased his schoolbooks.
After learning that his Dad had loved Transfiguration, Harry grabbed several more books on the subject, not caring that they were a bit advanced. He did the same for his Mum’s favorite subject, Potions, piling his arms full of books.By the time he was finished, Harry had bought nearly twice as many books as required, struggling to carry them all. In the end, Hagrid escorted him back to Privet Drive, nearly knocking down the front door as he pounded his fist against the wood.
It ended up being a very good thing that Hagrid had returned with him. Without his intervention, Earl would very likely have ended up on the street. As it was, Harry was allowed to carry his kitten and his books up to his bedroom, stowing the books safely under a loose floorboard.
After loudly threatening the Dursleys, Hagrid left, leaving Harry with fuming relatives. Thankfully, probably due to the lingering threat of Hagrid’s umbrella, his punishment for bringing a “filthy beast” into the house was as simple as a missed meal. Harry hardly even cared, still stuffed from his enormous lunch.
He spent the evening playing with Earl, setting up his magical litter box in the corner and scratching behind his tiny ears. Once his furry companion was settled, Harry dove into his books, eyes sparkling with excitement. He read for hours, finally falling asleep over his Transfiguration textbook, Earl curled protectively around his ankles.
...
The next month passed in quiet wonder, Harry spending hours each day bent over his textbooks, eyes straining as he read long into the night.
His tenacious commitment to preparation might have seemed strange to an outsider, but it was just Harry’s way of doing things. He’d always gotten top marks at school, determined to be just the kind of “swot” that Uncle Vernon liked to complain about. After a while, Harry had come to enjoy the hard work, finding comfort in the methodical processes of maths and the winding narratives of literature.
Now that he was learning about magic, it was even easier to work long hours, the words enchanting him equally as much as the magic promised on the pages might have done.
When he needed a break, Harry played with Earl, falling deeper in love with the cat with each moment that passed. Harry quickly came to view the kitten as an extension of himself, a piece of his heart. Earl, who had now earned the title of Harry’s second friend, was someone Harry would fight for, someone he would protect.
He’d never had someone to protect before, shocked by his own fierceness, surprised by how courageous he could be when someone he loved was threatened.
Between his books, Earl, and avoiding the Dursleys, August flew by, days rushing past in a whirl of new knowledge and furry hijinks. Before Harry knew it, September first had arrived, bringing with it an entirely new chapter in his life.
He’d hardly slept a wink the night before, too exhilarated to close his eyes. He was bouncy and grinning all the way to King’s Cross Station, not even caring that Uncle Vernon's knuckles were turning white against the steering wheel. He knew his Uncle wouldn’t dare hurt him right now, not when he would soon be around Wizards.
His uncle’s anger only abated when Harry revealed the number of the platform he was meant to find, a smug smile spreading across his ruddy face. His uncle was cackling as he drove away, seeming to think that Harry had been pranked. For just a moment, Harry thought so too, standing dejectedly in the middle of the station, struggling to hold on to his enormous trunk and Earl’s carrier.
Just when Harry was about to lose hope entirely, something truly wonderful happened: he met the Weasleys.
The first time he saw them, red hair gleaming under the sunlight, wide smiles on their faces, Harry had such a strong sense of déjà vu, he almost fell over, feeling oddly dizzy. For just a second, Harry was sure he knew them, sure he’d met them years ago on this very same platform. The feeling grew stronger as he watched the youngest boy disappear through a wall, a peculiar sense of recognition flickering in his chest.
Brushing away the odd feeling, Harry rushed toward the gaggle of gingers, hoping to catch them before they all disappeared behind the wall.
To Harry’s immense surprise, the woman, Mrs. Weasley, helped him without complaint, not even laughing at Harry’s ignorance.
After running through a brick wall, Harry found himself standing before a magnificent train, his jaw nearly hitting the ground as he stared and stared and stared.
“I think he’s broken, Fred,” one of the twins whispered, wrapping an arm around Harry.
“I think you might be right, George,” the other twin agreed, his arm encasing Harry’s other side.
“Don’t harass him,” came another voice, the older boy with the horn-rimmed glasses glaring pointedly at the twins. “Help him find a compartment.”
The twins gave their older brother mock salutes before taking Harry’s things and spiriting them onto the train. Harry followed close behind them, still strongly resembling a shocked fish. The twins deposited him in an empty compartment, each ruffling his hair before leaving him to go find someone called Lee.
Harry settled himself near the window and removed Earl from his carrier, letting the kitten curl happily in his lap. He was just about to continue reading A Treatise on Technicolor Transfiguration when the compartment door slid open.
“Can I sit here?” a voice asked, sounding tentative and small. “Everywhere else is full.”
Harry couldn’t answer, once again overcome by the strange feeling that he’d seen all of this before. The boy on the threshold was fiercely familiar, from his red hair to his freckled face to the streak of dirt on his nose. Harry just knew that this boy would be important, was important.
“Of course,” he managed to choke out, quickly averting his gaze in the hopes that the feeling would dissipate.
Thankfully, it did, allowing Harry to get to know Ron Weasley without the startling sensation that he was re-living a life that wasn’t his.
It took Harry less than twenty minutes to discover that Ron Weasley was the best person in the entire world. He was funny, kind, and honest, talking easily and openly. He asked questions with candid curiosity, answered them with ease, laughed loudly, smiled widely.
Harry had never met someone so thoroughly wonderful.
As they shared sweets and conversation, Harry felt sure that Ron Weasley would be the most important person in his life. He couldn’t say how he knew it, couldn’t say what made him so sure. All he knew was that this boy mattered to him and likely always would.
Even the unwelcome appearance of Draco Malfoy couldn’t ruin the journey, Ron’s rat quickly proving himself a hero. Unfortunately, Earl did not seem to appreciate Scabbers at all, hissing loudly every time the rat so much as moved.
“I’m really sorry about him,” Harry told Ron, hugging Earl tightly to his chest. “He hasn’t met many other animals.”
“Don’t worry about it, mate,” Ron said. “I might just give Scabbers back to Percy anyway. He’s a bit…” Ron wrinkled his nose. “Pathetic.”
Scabbers squeaked angrily at that, digging his claws deeply into Ron’s palm.
“That settles it,” Ron hissed, grimacing as blood welled from his skin. “I’m definitely giving him back.”
Scabbers was placed back in his cage, his indignant squeaking filling the compartment. While Harry felt a bit bad that Ron was going to give up his pet, he couldn’t help but be glad that he wouldn’t have to deal with the rat. Something about the animal made Harry feel distinctly nervous, a strange nausea twisting in his stomach.
As they approached the castle, the Scabbers-induced nausea faded into anxiety, the prospect of being sorted beginning to make Harry shake.
What if they sent him home?
What if he wasn’t a Wizard after all?
“Hey,” Ron said, nudging him. “Don’t worry. The Sorting isn’t that scary. At least, I’m pretty sure it’s not.” He frowned. “Fred and George did say you have to wrestle a Troll, but I’m almost certain they were joking.”
Harry smiled, imagining a bunch of eleven-year-olds trying to fight a Troll. Something about the image felt nostalgic, like an old friend.
“I really hope it’s not a Troll,” Ron said, eyes gleaming with mirth. “It’s been three years since I last wrestled a Troll. I’m rusty.”
Harry laughed, the nervous feeling fading away.
“Seriously, though,” Ron continued. “Don’t worry. Where you end up doesn’t matter much in the end.”
“What about Slytherin?” Harry whispered, remembering Hagrid’s warning about the house.
Ron sighed. “Slytherin is complicated. Not everyone there is evil, of course, but it wouldn’t be ideal. Especially not for you.”
Harry frowned. “What do you mean?”
“You’re a half-blood,” Ron said, sounding a bit reluctant. “They don’t much like that in Slytherin.”
“Oh,” Harry whispered, a strange dread growing in his stomach.
Would this be just like Privet Drive? Would he once again be lesser, messed up, worthless?
“It’s a bunch of rubbish,” Ron reassured him. “There’s nothing wrong with being a half-blood. Nothing at all.”
“Really?”
“Really.”
Bolstered by Ron’s words, Harry managed to enjoy the rest of the journey, worries transforming easily into wonder as the gleaming exterior of Hogwarts came into view.
The castle glittered with pure magic: lights twinkling and sparkling, stone shimmering, gargoyles glaring. Harry couldn’t stop himself from gaping at it, nearly falling into the lake as they sped across black waters toward the castle.
The inside of Hogwarts was even more marvelous than the outside: ghosts gliding by, candles casting a golden glow, chattered conversations echoing about the Entrance Hall.
Harry beamed around at all of it, eyes wide with curiosity and wonder.
He listened intently to Professor McGonagall’s speech, finding that he liked her almost immediately. She seemed stern yet kind, a sparkle of compassion dulling the sharpness in her eyes. As she ushered them into the Great Hall, Harry was overcome with the beauty of it all, gazing in wonder at the star-filled ceiling.
Unfortunately, the beauty did not last. Just as the first years made it to the front of the Great Hall, the room changed, morphing suddenly into a scene of destruction and death. The stones were reduced to rubble, the walls collapsing around him, bodies lined up where the tables should have been. Harry’s heart stuttered at the sight, his breath catching in his chest as he caught a glimpse of red hair among the bodies.
“Harry.”
The voice dragged him back to the present, the Great Hall snapping back to normal as Ron’s worried face shimmered into view.
“Are you alright?” he asked, peering intently into Harry’s eyes. “You went really pale for a moment.”
“I’m fine,” Harry breathed, trying to hide the violent shaking of his hands. “I just saw something strange.”
Ron frowned, opening his mouth to ask another question. Before he could speak, Professor McGonagall began calling names, the Sorting distracting Ron from inquiring further into Harry’s well-being.
Harry hardly listened to the Hat’s song, too shaken by what he’d just seen. When his name was called, Harry didn’t even hear it, only realizing what was going on when Ron shoved him gently toward the Sorting Hat. He stumbled onto the stool, short legs dangling pathetically beneath him as Professor McGonagall placed the Hat on his head. It had barely even touched his hair before it spoke, magical voice echoing through the Hall.
“HUFFLEPUFF!”
The Hufflepuff table burst into raucous applause and whistles, some students standing straight up and jumping for joy. Harry grinned, taking off the Hat and trotting toward the table, all thoughts of the destroyed Great Hall forgotten.
He settled into a seat across from two other first year boys, waving shyly at them before turning his attention back to the Sorting.
He waited with bated breath, keeping his fingers crossed beneath the table, desperately hoping that Ron would join him. He knew it was unfair to pull Ron away from his family, but he couldn’t help himself, wishing for Ron to join him in Hufflepuff.
When his turn finally came, Ron sat beneath the Hat for nearly ten minutes, eyes squeezed shut, lips moving rapidly. He seemed to be arguing with it, face going red with determination.
At long last, the Hat opened its cloth mouth, shouting out a word that made Harry’s heart soar.
“HUFFLEPUFF!”