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The letter was addressed to him, he was sure of it.
Æþel Harry Potter
Þe Cuppeborde under þe Stayres
IV Privet Drive
Little Whinging
Sudrie
Harry squinted at the letter, trying to make sense of it. Maybe the sender wasn’t very good at spelling, or maybe the inside would make more sense and—
He never got a chance to read it, the first of many letters. After that, Aunt Petunia watched him like a hawk, and then Uncle Vernon took the whole family on a road trip to try and get away from the oddly-addressed letters.
Harry’s first impression was that the man was a giant. His beard was wild and black, and his hat nearly brushed the ceiling of the shack. He had a shin-length vest over an equally long shirt, with a woven belt, off which hung a dozen miss-matched pouches of various sizes and shapes. His trousers were too tight so they looked more like opaque hose and his shoes were made of thick leather, which was normal enough, except the bottoms of the foot looked to be the exact same as the top — there was no thick rubber sole.
Then he spoke. Harry was sure it was English, but the accent was so strong he could hardly understand a word.
“Couldst not make unk a cuppe o’ tysanne, couldst yit?”
He made himself at home on the sofa, greeted Harry as Potter’s-child, and turned Uncle Vernon’s rifle into a pretzel.
Then he opened one of the pouches hanging off his belt and gave Harry one of the oddly-written letters the Dursleys had been fleeing from.
“Who are you?” Harry couldn’t help but ask.
“Forsothe,” the giant nodded, “Ic nad introduced meself. Rubeus Hagrid. Kepere o’ Keyen an Grounden at Hogwartes.”
He pulled off his hat and bowed his head, then set the hat on his knee and withdrew a pole with pink stuffing tied to the end of it with a ribbon from a pocket about a fifth the length. He aimed it at the fireplace and it sparked to life, like the pole was some sort of trick lighter.
Then he started pulling more impossible things from his pouches that couldn’t possibly have fit in them. Large copper kettle, teapot, mugs. Sausages and a poker and a flask.
He shared them with Harry, and told Harry to call him Hagrid. He said a great deal more than that, but Harry was having trouble following.
He gestured to the letter, and Harry took that as his cue to open it up.
It wasn’t in English. He flipped to the next page. It looked different, but it wasn’t in English either. The only thing he could read was his name, in about the same place, on both pages. He flipped to the third.
The letters looked like the ones on the outside of the envelope. Harry squinted at it.
Hogƿartes Scole of ȝealdorcræft and ƿysardery
Heidmagister: Albus Dumbledore, Þegn
(Ordre of Merlyn, Fyrest Classis, Grand Sorcerer, Chief ƿardlokker, Supremus Mugquomp, Pannational Confederacion of ƿysardes)
Dear Æþel Harry Potter,
ƿe are plesed to enformeth ye þat ye haven been accepted at Hogƿartes Scole of ȝealdorcræft and ƿysardery. Plese finden inclosed a liste of all necessarye bokes and accountrements.
Terme ƿyll begynne on Septembre I. ƿe aƿaiten yeur oule by no latere þanne Julye XXXI.
Youren sincerely,
Minerva NicGonagall
Deputee Heidmagistra
…
Well. It was definitely addressed to Harry. He’d… been accepted at… somewhere. He thought Scole must mean school, that one was easy enough. Pysardery. Which… didn’t sound particularly promising. Or like something he’d be allowed to say at primary. And it started on September 1?
He turned to Hagrid, hoping for an explanation, but of course as soon as the man started speaking Harry knew it was hopeless. Hagrid scribbled down a note, pulled a live owl out of one of his belt pouches, and sent it off.
“He’s not going,” Uncle Vernon said.
Hagrid growled something back. Then sighed and said “muggle-tunge.”
“Not. Going.” Uncle Vernon pronounced very slowly and clearly, face red.
Hagrid sat up straight and glared at him. Speaking just as slow and careful as Uncle Vernon had, he said, “Æþel Harry beon a magicien. Hysse mam an dadde wæron dryfolc—“
Harry’s mum and dad were what? Drew-folk? And Harry is a — a magician. Uncle Vernon was yelling, but Harry didn’t have any attention to spare him, because something in him had just clicked into place.
“I can do magic,” Harry breathed. He’d always been told there was no such thing. By Uncle Vernon, by his teachers, by the other kids in primary. So when odd things happened, inexplicable things, Harry had told himself he’d understand when he was older. It’d make sense when he was older. It wouldn’t seem magical at all when he was older and wiser. But it was. It was magic, all along.
His words drew Uncle Vernon’s attention. “Now listen here, boy. I grant there’s always been something abnormal about you, something I should’ve beat out of you years ago, and your parents were weirdos, but mark my words. You aren’t going to that mad school, there’ll be no funny business under my roof!”
Hagrid was watching them interact with a furrowed brow, but Harry thought he wasn’t angry so much as confused. He seemed as baffled by English as Harry was by… whatever language the giant spoke.
“I’m going.”
“Then don’t bother coming back.”
Harry didn’t think he’d sleep at all that night, but seeing as Hagrid hadn’t hadn’t arrived until after midnight, and Harry was a freshly eleven year old boy, he nodded off anyway under the giant’s heavy cloak.
The next morning Harry was woken by an owl carrying a newspaper. He woke Hagrid, who gave it some small bronze coins, fed Harry a leftover sausage, and rowed him back towards shore.
Harry bit his lip nervously as Hagrid rowed, and finally blurted out “I don’t have any money.”
Which set Hagrid off, but eventually Harry understood there was a bank account somewhere, which Harry could use.
Then they reached the harbor. Everywhere they went people stared at Hagrid. He was twice as tall as most of them, and his odd clothes stood out like a sore thumb against a backdrop of parking meters and pavement.
He gave Harry a handful of bills and coins and had him pay for their train tickets to London. Harry wondered how he’d gotten here in the first place, since he didn’t seem to know how any of the bills worked, or even how to ask for help. On the train Hagrid continued drawing attention, sitting and knitting something that looked like a large yellow tent.
As they rode, Harry was left to his own thoughts, which quickly turned into worries. Was he going to stand out as much in the magic school as Hagrid did on the train? Harry was sick of being singled out. It’d happened all throughout primary thanks to his grubby castoffs and Dudley’s bullying.
Looking for a distraction he turned his attention back to the letter. Like the first page, the rest was given in multiple languages. The one that seemed closed to English read:
Hogƿartes Scole of ȝealdorcræft and ƿysardery
Scole dress
Fyrst- ȝere students schulen requyre
I. Þreo setten pleyn werk robes in blac
II. An pleyn poynted hæt in blac for dæ ȝ ƿeren
III. An payre sheldende glofes of dragoun hyde or ȝelic
IV. An ƿintre cloke in blac ƿiþ selver fastenynges
Plese note þæt all leonera cloþes schulen carrien name taggen
Harry couldn’t hold back a sigh of relief. At least some of his clothes were decided for him.
“Erm, Hagrid,” Harry said, interrupting his counting stitches. “Where… where do we get all… this?” He hoped the man understood him.
“Lundenheorth, ‘o cours. Diagon Alley.”
“Where?”
Hagrid smiled at him, unbothered by Harry’s interrupting his knitting. “Magykal Lundon.”
An entire magical London? It sounded fantastic and terrifying all at once. Harry looked down at his faded and stained clothes, his beat-up trainers. Even if he’d been dressed nicely, it looked nothing like what Hagrid had on.
It took the rest of the train ride to get across to Hagrid that he was worried about standing out.
“Cours, cours. Cnixt-Hwo-Lyved.” He continued mumbling as he dug through his belt pouches. Then he pulled a long periwinkle shirt like the one he was wearing out of a very small bag. Someone on the train gasped and Hagrid froze. He looked over at the woman in question, coughed awkwardly, and tucked the shirt under his arm, resuming his knitting with a conspiratorial glance at Harry.
When they got off in London, Hagrid very consciously ushered Harry into a narrow alley between buildings so he could change into the periwinkle shirt. Once Harry had it on Hagrid poked him with the fluffy end of his strangely carved pole and the shirt shrunk until the arms were at Harry’s wrists and the hem at his knees.
Then Hagrid went digging in one of his pouches and pulled out what looked like a shoestring (only, Hagrid didn’t have any laces on his shoes) which he motioned for Harry to tie around his waist. While Harry did that he went digging again.
In the end, Harry was dressed in an odd and magically-shrunken linen swim cap and straw hat, the periwinkle tunic tied off with some cord, his underwear, socks pulled up to his knees, and beat-up trainers. The breeze between his legs left him feeling rather more exposed than he was used to.
Then Hagrid led him into a grubby-looking pup. Þe Leaky Cauldr Inn the plaque over the door read. There weren’t many people inside, and it was rather dark and shabby, but those who were there were clearly magical. Pointed hats, long shirts and leggings, robes and cloaks, dishes floating through the air. Harry’s eyes shot wide, frying to take it all in at once.
Hagrid seemed to be well known in the rundown pub. Everyone greeted him by name, and the bartender clearly offered him a drink.
Hagrid said the word Hog-Wartes and that was all the warning Harry got before the giant’s hand landed heavily on his shoulder, causing him to stagger. Harry recognized it now, and was near certain that was the name of the school, even though on paper it looked like Hog-Parts.
The bartender glanced at Harry, and Harry ducked his head, hiding behind the straw brim of his borrowed hat. With that, Hagrid led Harry out the back of the pub, calling farewell’s over his shoulder as they went.
There was a brick wall, which after tapping certain bricks wiggled and folded itself back until it formed an arch tall enough for Hagrid to step through without ducking.
Diagon Alley was as bright and lively as the pub had been gloomy, and five times as magical. The alley was narrow and crowded on the street level, and people zipped by overhead on brooms, landing on balconies and terraces.
Everyone seemed to be wearing a hat of some sort and bright, vivid clothes in every color. Harry was suddenly glad he’d convinced Hagrid to lend him the tunic, breeze or no breeze.
The nearest shop had cauldrons of all sizes, copper shining bright in the summer sun, there were shops with robes, owls, brooms, musical instruments that played themselves, telescopes, and many more Harry couldn’t guess at.
Gringotts was a towering white building, and at the front were two creatures standing guard that definitely weren’t human. Harry tried not to stare. Hagrid was a giant in stature, but he otherwise looked just like anyone else. These creatures on the other hand were significantly shorter than Harry with unusually long finger and toes, and sharp-featured faces that gave them a canny appearance.
He must not’ve hidden his surprise well enough, because Hagrid said, “thei been gobelyns.”
The inside was filled with more goblins, acting as tellers, weighing jewels and speaking in low, harsh tones under the vast arching ceiling.
Hagrid produced a number of things from his pouches, including what looked like moldy biscuits, and Harry grimaced alongside the teller at the smell. At last Hagrid pulled a tiny golden key, and another goblin was called to take them on an exhilarating ride through what looked like an old mine, stopping the cart before a small door.
It opened with a wave of green mist to a horde of treasure fit for a dragon — which, now that Harry thought of it, might actually exist.
“All youren,” Hagrid said, and Harry’s head whipped around.
“What?” He said. “All… all mine?”
“Yesse hit is,” Hagrid answered with a nod.
Harry looked around, suddenly overwhelmed. Small bronze coins, gleaming silver, large gold. But how much were they worth? It looked like a lot, but were they actually the magical equivalent of sixpence, shillings, and florins? It wouldn’t be nearly so much as it seemed, then.
Harry asked Hagrid how much he should take. He had to ask it a few times in a few different ways, but soon enough the giant underground. He counted out twenty-nine of the small bronze Knuts, seventeen of the silver Sickles, and then grabbed a handful of the gold Galleons and put them in a pouch, which he passed to Harry.
Then he turned to lead the way back out, and Harry, not knowing how long it would be before Hagrid brought him back (since the giant still had the small gold key), reached out and grabbed his own considerably smaller handful of gold coins and slipped them into the pouch with the others.
Once they were back above ground and outside, Hagrid led Harry to the robe shop across the street. Harry watched with wide eyes as a buggy pulled by a winged horse made its way through the intersection. Dragons might not be taking it too far after all, Harry thought.
Hagrid was still looking rather green about the gills from the mine-cart when he dropped Harry off at Madame Malkin’s robe shop. Harry didn’t understand his mumbled explanation, and watched with a bit of alarm as the man wandered off without him.
“Hogwartes, derelyng?” A squat woman asked with a smile, and Harry nodded. She said a number of things at him, and her face said they were questions. After a minute of this, Harry passed her his supply list. Her eyebrows shot up and her hand flew to her chest. “Harry Potter?” She asked, and feeling like he was missing something vital, Harry nodded. “Æþel Potter?” It sounded like what was on his letter, so Harry nodded again.
Madame Malkin gave Harry a studying look, and Harry saw how her eyes paused on the scruffy straw hat, ill-fitting periwinkle shirt, stained and faded second-hand socks, and deteriorating trainers. She pinched her lips.
“Ye aren wantynge dæi clothes, alswo, Æþeling?”
Harry nodded for the umpteenth time. Yes, he wanted the clothes on the list, hadn’t they established that? He was afraid that if he opened his mouth, she’d know he didn’t belong in this new, magical world. She’d cry out, and point, and the magic police would come and tell him it was all a mistake after all and send him back to the Dursleys’. So he kept his mouth shut and she led him to the back of the shop to stand on a footstool next to another boy about Harry’s age who was being fitted.
He looked at Harry and his nose crinkled. Then he asked something in what sounded like French. The word Hogwarts was in there, so like a bobble head, Harry nodded. The boy kept talking at him in French, and whenever there was an expectant pause Harry shrugged or hummed. That was enough for him to go off apparently, because he kept at it.
The boy exclaimed at the sight of Hagrid, and then got very quiet when the giant came in.
“Donne getynge fit, yit?” Harry heard him say from the front of the shop. Madame Malkin stepped out of the fitting room to speak with him. She was quiet, and Harry couldn’t make out the words.
“Weren werynge muggle clothes, hyt waren,” Hagrid’s answer carried. The other boy’s head whipped around and he looked at Harry with wide eyes, then his nose went up like he’d smelled something bad and he looked away. He tried to edge away from Harry, but since they were both standing on stools, he only succeeded in making his wobble before shifting back to the center.
They continued listening in. Harry understood enough of what Hagrid was saying to know he was describing the hut on the tiny island and the Dursleys. He made himself watch the pins pinning themselves along the sleeve of the robe he was being fitted into, and the journey of the needle and thread up the side seam.
The robe was rather nice, far nicer a uniform than he’d have gotten from the Dursleys. It was all black, as the letter said, but the fabric was softer than anything he’d felt before and there was velvet trim along the cuffs and collar which Harry also found pleasant.
After a few more minutes of back and forth both Madame Malkin and Hagrid came to the fitting room.
“Ye aren wantynge dæi clothes, Atheling,” Madame Malkin repeated her question from before, and Harry, tired of nodding, said “Yes.” She rounded on Hagrid with a look of triumph, and Hagrid ran a hand down his face.
“Wit nad the teyme,” Hagrid said, but she wouldn’t budge, and there was no way Harry could go to school without the uniform, so he didn’t budge either.
The other boy began speaking rapidly in his French-sounding language, pointing at Harry and scowling.
Madam Malkin replied in kind, and Harry heard the work athel again. He thought it must mean something like mister. But the boy wouldn’t relent, and then a woman who looked very wealthy and a great deal like the blonde boy arrived.
Harry Potter the mother said, amidst the other words, and the boy went quiet. He stared at Harry’s face with wide eyes, and Harry ducked his head. It wasn’t as effective without the brim of the straw hat, but the weird linen swim cap pushed his bangs down enough to provide a bit of coverage.
Madame Malkin finished with the blonde boy first, and he left with his mother. Then she brought out more robes that definitely weren’t plain black.
Rich red satin with patterns woven in gold depicting small flying birds and flowers and trees that sat heavy on his shoulders. The birds moved. Warm green velvet with fur trim. And a deep purple silk that was lighter than the others with gold braid and a woven pattern that shimmered diamond-shapes when it caught the light.
With the robes she gave him a new, fancier fabric not-swim-cap, with the front arching down and embroidered in gold, as well as gloves. One pair of white gloves with gold embroidery, and a second in green silk with fur trim that matched the warmer robe.
When the fittings were finished Harry made to remove the purple robe, but Madame Malkin motioned for him to keep it on. She then held out the gold-embroidered gloves to go with it. Relieved not to have to put back on Hagrid’s periwinkle shirt or Dudley’s cast-offs, Harry did so.
Hagrid, who’d taken his knitting back out, saw that they were finished and tucked it back away, rising from his seat. Madame Malkin gave Harry boxes with his school robes, cloak, red, and green robes, and the another box, which when Harry peeked in saw held plain cotton shirts and briefs. He flushed and closed the lid.
It took a moment for her to communicate she wanted to see Harry’s shopping list, but when he understood he passed it over. She took it to a desk, where she pulled out an actual quill and ink bottle and began writing on it.
When she handed the list back Harry saw she’d added:
I. Þreo leþer scos and an payre patyns
II. Þreo dæȝ hæten
III. Þreo payre hose and garters
IV. An dress girdle
IIV. An dæȝ belt
When Hagrid looked at the additions he grumbled again about not having the time, but Harry at least recognized the word belt, and knew everything on the added list was probably important, if not required for school.
Hagrid took Harry to the hat shop next, where he got his school hat as well as hats to match his more colorful clothes. He put the purple one on straight away, and the hatter showed him how a tap of a wand — a magic wand! — could make the brim pop out or fold under the rim. The point was higher than the school’s required hat, which was rather stout, and had a purple velvet ribbon circling the base.
They went after the rest of Harry’s school supplies first, getting quills and ink and parchment, his books (which Harry was terrified to see were all in a different language, the first one from the letter), telescope, cauldron and ingredients, and a trunk. It was smaller than Harry expected, only tall enough to reach his knees, as long as one arm, and as deep as it was tall, but it held everything they emptied from Hagrid’s impossible pockets into it, the inside far larger than it had any right to be.
After gaining his new robes, Harry thought he’d get less attention, but that wasn’t the case. People got out of his way on the street, removing their hats and bowing their heads. Harry kept his own head tilted forward so the brim of his hat hid his face, and took in the scenery from the corners of his eyes.
By supper time they had everything on the school list except the gloves, pand — which from Hagrid Harry understood to mean wand — a possible animal, and non more þanne þreo heorþȝeneaten, attendaunts, or hus-ælfen.
Hagrid was clearly upset about what to do, since they hadn’t finished in one day, and he couldn’t stay for a second. He said the Dursleys name several times, and that was enough for Harry to come to a decision.
He had some gold leftover still, despite the expensive clothes, and after a day of shopping he knew what was in the vault really was a lot.
“Can I stay at the inn?” Harry tried, speaking slowly and clearly, “if you leave me the Gringotts key, I can get the rest tomorrow.”
“The Leaky Cauldr Inn,” Hagrid began, then said more which Harry took to mean he wouldn’t be getting the gold key from him. Hagrid made him repeat three times that he could get back to the Dursleys on his own before he conceded to letting Harry stay the night. But he thought Harry had enough money for the rest, so he wouldn’t give Harry the vault key. Harry reminded himself that Hagrid didn’t know about the extra handful of Galleons he’d had taken either. It would have to be enough.
Hagrid got him a room at the Leaky Cauldr Inn, then told Harry to get his wand first at Ollivanders, and his gloves second hand with what was left.
“What about this one?” Harry pointed to the line at the end, after the one with the word cat in it.
Hagrid looked at it then sat back with a huff. “Ye donne not need þæt,” he dismissed.
But Hagrid hadn’t thought Harry needed new shoes, or underwear, or any magician robes besides the school ones either. So as Harry got ready for bed that night in his room on the second floor of the Leaky, he decided he needed to find out what a heorþȝeneaten and hus-ælfen were and decide for himself if he needed them and could afford them. Attendaunt sounded like attendant, that was straightforward enough, and Harry didn’t think he needed a servant, but if everyone had one, he didn’t want to be the odd student out.
Changing into the white under-tunic and drawers didn’t take more than a moment, but Harry had to pee. In all the excitement of the day, he hadn’t gone once since the hut on the island with the Dursleys. Now that he wasn’t running around trying to take everything in he needed to go. Badly.
There was a washstand in the room, with a mirror over it who’d told Harry he needed to brush his hair, so he went back to it.
“Your hær been wantynge of a good cambynge,” his reflection told him.
“I know,” Harry said, “where’s the loo?”
There wasn one, as it turned out. The odd chair in the corner he’d dismissed since it had a lidded pot in the middle of the seat was actually a chamber pot. Harry, nose wrinkling, used it. The moment he set the lid back down there was an odd gurgling. He lifted it, and instead of looking at his own waste, the pot was empty, and as clean as it’d been before he used it. Well, at least he didn’t have to worry anymore about that.
He poured water from the washstand pitcher into the bowl, even though the pitcher had been empty before. The water came out hot, and he quickly washed his hands and face. Then he started at the basin of dirty water and wondered what he was supposed to do with it. But then, as the surface of the water went completely still, it began to swirl and disappear like there was an invisible drain, until the bowl was empty and dry again