Chapter Text
Privet Drive was a quiet, meticulously kept suburban street located in the town of Little Whinging, Surrey, with neat rows of nearly identical houses, each with trimmed hedges, manicured lawns and spotless driveways. Everything about Privet Drive exudes order, normalcy, and a deep desire to avoid attention; qualities its residents, particularly the Dursleys of Number Four, pride themselves on.
To outsiders, Privet Drive seems like the typical picture of middle-class respectability. But inside, in the cupboard under the stairs, a whole different image was playing out.
A beautiful redhead with mesmerising green eyes let out a scream of terror. A streak of green light sliced through the air, followed by high, cold, maniacal laughter as her body collapsed to the ground. Then, a pair of glowing red snake-like eyes appeared where the woman's enchanting green ones were a moment ago — just before another burst of green light pierced the darkness.
A scrawny ten year old boy, who looked more like he was eight, with unruly black hair and badly repaired glasses shot straight up, panting and dripping cold sweat. 'Another nightmare', he thought before falling asleep again. He did not get to sleep for too long before someone thundered towards the cupboard.
"BOY! Wake up and make breakfast and make me my coffee!" a deep voice bellowed. Harry begrudgingly fumbled his glasses onto his face and trudged towards the kitchen to make breakfast for his Uncle Vernon Dursley, who looked more walrus than human, his equally pig-like cousin Dudley and his horse-faced Aunt Petunia.
"Hurry up, freak! Don't keep my Dudley boy waiting and don't burn the food or you'll wish you died with your parents in that car crash!" came Petunia's shrill voice from the living room, as Harry started preparing the bacon, eggs, toast and pancakes.
"Yes, Aunt Petunia," Harry morosely replied as the stairs shook, announcing Dudley's arrival, as he waddled towards the living room to open his presents.
"BOY! You'd better have that breakfast done and prepared me that coffee before I give you a second round of punishment after breakfast!" Vernon shouted, as his face neared its familiar shade of red when speaking to Harry.
Harry was usually left in the cupboard under the stairs, when he wasn't doing any chores. Yesterday, however, Harry was in big trouble for ruining Dudley's birthday. His crime: hissing at a boa constrictor at the zoo before releasing it and trapping Dudley and Piers in its glass enclosure.
When they returned home and Piers' mother picked him up, a purple-faced Vernon grabbed Harry by the collar of his oversized shirt that used to be Dudley's and looked like he was about to explode, like from the action movies Dudley liked watching, before he roared,
"BOY! You couldn't even keep your freakishness under control for one goddamn day! I warned you about not doing any funny business and you didn't even follow that one simple instruction. Looks like being in that cupboard until Christmas isn't enough. You'll also be getting no meals this week."
The comment still stung, even though Harry was used to snide and insulting remarks from his relatives.
'Why is Dudley the only one who is treated well,' Harry thought bitterly, as he remembered, when he was seven, his Aunt Petunia telling him that only normal people get love and freaks like him don't deserve it.
Harry couldn't spend any more time despairing over his situation, as Vernon's coffee and breakfast for the Dursleys were ready. He also knew that all eyes were on him, so he wouldn't be able to sneak a bit of food for himself, like he usually did, since the Dursleys insisted on giving Harry smaller than normal portions.
Once Harry had served breakfast, his aunt forced him to sit at the table and watched them eat. The sound of Dudley's loud chewing filled the entire room, as if he was trying to rub in the fact that he was allowed to eat, while Harry was not. After Vernon had finished scoffing his English breakfast, which could have easily fed two people, he yanked Harry from his chair and dragged him into the living room.
He then threw Harry on the floor. Harry had received a similar punishment when he was eight for turning his teacher's hair blue, so he prepared himself for a particularly nasty beating, silently hoping that Vernon wouldn't use his belt, like he did the day before. He covered his head, as his uncle prepared to strike him with his pudgy fist.
Harry grunted, as his uncle landed blow after blow on him, but he refused to cry. He learned early on that crying and screaming was a sign of weakness and that he would get beaten harder and for longer if he made any unwanted sound.
"This will teach you to keep your freakishness under control amongst us good, normal people!" his uncle thundered in between blows. Once Vernon started huffing, after he ran out of breath from beating his nephew, he dragged Harry across the living room and towards the cupboard door. He thrust open the door, kicked Harry in the ribs, as he was forced into the cupboard door, before the older man locked it shut.
By the time he was allowed out of his cupboard again, for more than chores, the summer holidays had started and Dudley had already broken his new video camera, crashed his remote control aeroplane that he got for his birthday. He also knocked down old Mrs. Figg as she crossed Privet Drive on her crutches, the first time out on his racing bike. Harry was glad school was over, but there was no escaping Dudley's gang, who visited the house most days. Piers, Dennis, Malcolm and Gordon were all big and stupid, but as Dudley was the biggest and stupidest of the lot, he was the leader. The rest of them were all quite happy to join in Dudley's favourite sport: Harry Hunting.
Harry, on the other hand, liked to spend his time in the library reading, as he knew Dudley and his friends were too stupid to even think of ever visiting the library. He'd amassed a decent collection of books in his cupboard that Dudley just left lying around.
It was fair to say that Harry was looking forward to September, as he would be going off to secondary school and would finally be able to spend time away from Dudley. Dudley had been accepted at Uncle Vernon's old private school, Smeltings. His best friend, Piers Polkiss, was going there too. Harry, on the other hand, was going to Stonewall High, the local state school: something Dudley relentlessly teased Harry for, but he didn't care.
"They stuff people's heads down the toilet the first day at Stonewall," he told Harry. "Want to come upstairs and practice?"
"No, thanks," replied Harry slyly. "The poor toilet's never had anything as horrible as your head down it — it might be sick." Then he snuck out, before Dudley could work out what he'd said.
One day in July, Aunt Petunia took Dudley to London to buy his Smeltings uniform, leaving Harry at Mrs. Figg's. Once Dudley and Aunt Petunia returned, he paraded around the living room for the family in his brand-new uniform. Smeltings boys wore maroon tailcoats, orange knickerbockers, and flat straw hats called boaters. They also carried knobbly sticks, used for hitting each other while the teachers weren't looking. Dudley took great pleasure in testing his stick on Harry, as 'training' for the new school year.
There was a great stench in the kitchen the next morning when Harry went in to make breakfast, as usual. It seemed to be coming from a large metal tub in the sink. Although the smell made him want to gag, he went to have a look. The tub was full of what looked like dirty rags swimming in grey water.
"What's this?" he asked Aunt Petunia. In that moment, he forgot that he was not supposed to ever ask questions and that he should be seen and not heard.
Her lips tightened, before she answered,
"Your new school uniform," she said. Harry looked in the bowl again.
"Oh," Harry replied meekly, "I didn't realize it had to be so wet."
"Don't be stupid," she snapped. "I'm dyeing some of Dudley's old things grey for you. It'll look just like everyone else's when I've finished."
Harry doubted that, but he learned not to press further if he didn't want to be locked in his cupboard again. The rest of the holidays were quite boring for Harry, as Dudley was allowed to meet up with his friends at the local park without adult supervision. They did this most of the time, during the latter half of the holidays, leaving Harry behind.
July 31st started as one of those dull days, as none of the Dursleys ever remembered or cared about it being Harry's birthday. He made a wish, as he usually did, in the solitude of his cupboard, as his relatives did not want to hear him or be reminded that he existed at all.
'I wish for a distant relative to come and take me away from here,' thought Harry. He made the same wish every year, but it never came true. 'Why should this year be any different?' he thought, but it was the only thing that helped him keep on going.
Harry went downstairs to prepare a full English breakfast for three, as he usually did in the mornings, with double portions for Vernon and Dudley, who was 'a growing boy' and smaller portions for himself of course.
However, this morning was when the monotony of life in the perfectly ordinary Privet Drive was suddenly disrupted by the distinct sound of heavy knocking on the door of Number Four, Privet Drive.
"Who the ruddy hell is knocking at our door at this stupid hour!? Get the door, Dudley!" bellowed Uncle Vernon as he stormed into the kitchen.
"Make Harry get it."
"Get the door, Harry."
"Make Dudley get it."
"Poke him with your Smelting stick, Dudley."
"Okay, Uncle Vernon," Harry replied morosely, after getting whacked in the ribs by Dudley's stick.
"And if they're trying to sell you something, tell them to piss off and shut the door in their face."
Harry tentatively opened the door and stumbled backwards, as the largest man Harry had ever seen, with a long shaggy mane for a beard stood in the doorway with a letter outstretched in his giant hand.
"'Ello Harry, I 'aven't seen yeh since yeh were a baby," the giant said with a kindly smile on his face that put Harry a little more at ease, as he gave Harry the letter. "Yeh look a lot like yer dad, but yeh've got yer mum's eyes," he added.
The giant thundered into the house, just as a purple-faced Vernon yelled, "I demand that you leave at once, sir!" he said. "You are breaking and entering and give me that bloody letter, boy!"
Harry's eyes widened, as he looked at the envelope that was addressed to him – him. He'd never received a letter before, yet here it was, a letter, with his name and address so clearly written on it, that there was no possibility of a mistake.
Mr. H. Potter
The Cupboard Under The Stairs
4 Privet Drive
Little Whinging
Surrey
"Who's at the door, dear?" came Petunia's voice from the kitchen.
"It's one of those freaks."
Harry paused, as he looked up at the giant. He meant to thank the giant for his first ever letter, but the words never came out and instead asked, "Who are you?"
The giant chuckled.
"True, I haven't introduced meself. Rubeus Hagrid, Keeper of Keys and Grounds at Hogwarts." He held out an enormous hand and shook Harry's whole arm.
"Hogwarts, what's that?" Harry asked curiously.
"What do yeh mean, what's Hogwarts!?" Hagrid thundered. "I never thought yeh wouldn't even know abou' Hogwarts, fer cryin' out loud! Did yeh never wonder where yer parents learned it all?"
"Learned what?" questioned Harry
"Shut up!" Vernon demanded. "Don't you dare tell the boy anything!"
"Yer a wizard Harry."
"I'm a what?" gasped Harry.
"A wizard, o' course," said Hagrid, "an' a thumpin' good'un, I reckon, once yeh've been trained up a bit.
Hagrid took a step back, as Harry finally opened the envelope and read his letter in excitement. It read:
HOGWARTS SCHOOL of WITCHCRAFT and WIZARDRY
Headmaster: Albus Dumbledore
(Order of Merlin, First Class, Grand Sorc., Chf. Warlock, Supreme Mugwump, International Confed. of Wizards)
Dear Mr. Potter,
We are pleased to inform you that you have been accepted at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Please find enclosed a list of all necessary books and equipment.
Term begins on 1 September. We await your owl by no later than 31 July.
Yours sincerely,
Minerva McGonagall
Deputy Headmistress
HOGWARTS SCHOOL of WITCHCRAFT and WIZARDRY LIST OF SUPPLIES
UNIFORM
First-year students will require:
1. Three sets of plain work robes (black)
2. One plain pointed hat (black) for day wear
3. One pair of protective gloves (dragon hide or similar)
4. One winter cloak (black, with silver fastenings)
Please note that all pupils' clothes should carry name tags.
COURSE BOOKS
All students should have a copy of each of the following:
The Standard Book of Spells (Grade 1) by Miranda Goshawk
A History of Magic by Bathilda Bagshot
Magical Theory by Adalbert Waffling
A Beginner's Guide to Transfiguration by Emeric Switch
One Thousand Magical Herbs and Fungi by Phyllida Spore
Magical Drafts and Potions by Arsenius Jigger
Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them by Newt Scamander
The Dark Forces: A Guide to Self-Protection by Quentin Trimble
OTHER EQUIPMENT
1 wand
1 cauldron (pewter, standard size 2)
1 set glass or crystal phials
1 telescope
1 set brass scales
Students may also bring, if they desire, an owl OR a cat OR a toad.
PARENTS ARE REMINDED THAT FIRST YEARS ARE NOT ALLOWED THEIR OWN BROOMSTICK
Harry just froze and stared in shock. It took him a minute before he could compose himself and stammered, "What does it mean, they await my owl?"
Hearing his question, Hagrid took out a long quill and a roll of parchment and scribbled a note before opening the door, where a regal looking tawny owl was hovering and hooted impatiently for him to give it the note.
"Don' worry abou' tha' righ' now, it's the way we send mail," Hagrid explained, as he rolled up the note, gave it to the owl, which clamped it in its beak and flew to its destination.
Seeing this distraction, Vernon finally mustered up the courage to demand, "He's not going. He's going to Stonewall High, like we planned."
"Oho, I'd like ter see a great Muggle like you stop him. He's had 'is name down since he was born," Hagrid grunted.
"Muggle?" Harry questioned with interest.
"Non-magic folk."
"We swore when we took him in we'd stamp his freakishness out of him," said Uncle Vernon angrily.
"You knew? You knew all along and you never told me?" said Harry angrily.
Petunia finally spoke for the first time with disdain, "Of course we knew. My perfect sister being who she was, my mother and father were so proud the day she got her letter. We have a witch in the family. I was the only one to see her for what she truly was: a freak!"
Harry finally saw red and stormed out of the house before a firm hand landed on his shoulder, causing him to stumble.
"Oh, before I forget, happy birthday 'Arry." Hagrid said before presenting him a large, sticky chocolate cake with Happy Birthday Harry written on it in green icing before adding,
"I mighta sat on it at some point, but it'll taste all right."
"Th - thank you sir." Harry stuttered, as he received his first ever birthday cake.
"No worries, 'Arry and call me Hagrid. We'd best get off to get yer supplies, unless you want to stay of course."
"Of course I'll go, but where am I meant to get all this?"
"London, if yeh know where to look o' course."
"And how am I to pay for all of this, I don't have any money?"
"Gringotts, of course, the wizards' bank. Ain't no place safer, 'cept maybe Hogwarts. As a matter o' fact, I gotta visit Gringotts anyway. Fer Dumbledore. Hogwarts business." Hagrid said with pride, as he puffed his chest out. "He usually gets me ter do important stuff fer him. Fetchin' you — gettin' things from Gringotts — knows he can trust me, see."
"Wait, did you say you were the one who brought me here?"
"I did."
Harry's smile faded from his face, as Hagrid's admission dawned upon him. He was the first person to show him kindness and was about to take him into the wizarding world for the first time since his parents died. However, he also was the one who brought him into the place where he suffered for the last ten years. He also wasn't sure he liked this Dumbledore person too much, since he gave the order for Harry to be brought to Privet Drive.
Harry was quiet the rest of the way to London, as he was trying to process what Hagrid had just told him. Although Hagrid seemed to know where he was going, he was obviously not used to getting there the muggle way. He got stuck in the ticket barrier on the Underground and complained loudly that the seats were too small and the trains too slow.
"How do the Muggles manage without magic?" he wondered as they climbed a broken-down escalator that led up to a bustling road lined with shops. Despite all of his doubts, Harry still felt that he could trust Hagrid. Suddenly, they came to a halt, as they had reached their destination.
"This is it, the Leaky Cauldron. It's a famous place," boomed Hagrid before adding, "Yeh also migh' wanna cover yer scar with yer hair."
Harry did what he was told and absent-mindedly brushed some hair over his scar.
Harry finally walked into the dingy little pub that seemed to be the crossroad between the muggle and wizarding world. The old bartender stopped his conversation with a little man with a top hat, as he saw Hagrid. He waved and reached for a glass.
"The usual, Hagrid?"
"'Fraid not, Tom. I'm on official Hogwarts business. Just helping young Harry buy his school supplies."
The old bartender peered at Harry and whispered, "Bless my soul, it's Harry Potter." The usually noisy Leaky Cauldron instantly went so quiet that you could hear a pin drop. He hurried from behind the counter to shake his hand.
"Welcome back, Mr Potter, welcome back."
And the sound of chairs scraping could be heard throughout the pub, as everyone wanted to shake hands with the seemingly famous Harry.
"Doris Crockford, Mr. Potter, can't believe I'm meeting you at last."
"Delighted, Mr. Potter, just can't tell you, the name's Diggle, Dedalus Diggle."
"I've seen you before!" exclaimed Harry, as Dedalus Diggle's top hat fell off in his excitement. "You bowed to me once in a shop!"
"He remembers!" cried Dedalus Diggle, looking around at everyone, some of whom were chuckling quietly. "Did you hear that? He remembers me!"
A pale young man, with an unusual purple turban nervously made his way forward.
"'Ello Professor Quirrell!" said Hagrid. "Harry, Professor Quirrell will be one of yer teachers at Hogwarts."
"P-P-Potter," stammered Professor Quirrell, grasping Harry's hand, "c-can't t-tell you how p-pleased I am to meet you."
"What sort of magic do you teach, Professor Quirrell?"
"D-Defense Against the D-D-Dark Arts," muttered Professor Quirrell, as though he'd rather not think about it. "V-vividly fascinating subject, n-not that you n-need it, eh, P-P-Potter?" He laughed nervously. "You'll be g-getting all your equipment, I suppose? I've g-got to p-pick up a new b-book on vampires, m-myself." He looked terrified at the very thought.
Finally, Hagrid managed to make himself heard among the pandemonium.
"Must get on — lots ter buy. Come on, Harry."
Harry let out a sigh of relief as Hagrid led them through the bar and out into a small, walled courtyard, where there was nothing but a rubbish bin and a few weeds and Harry finally asked the question that had been bothering him since he was swarmed in the pub.
"Why am I famous, Hagrid? How is it everyone knows who I am?" Harry asked, slightly overwhelmed by the attention he received.
"I'm not sure I'm the best person to answer that, Harry," Hagrid responded. "Now where's me umbrella?" Harry stood back, as Hagrid tapped the wall three times with his umbrella. He waited a few seconds before the bricks rapidly shifted into an archway, as Harry's mouth opened in awe.
"Welcome to Diagon Alley," Hagrid said cheerily.
Harry's head was on a swivel, as he turned his head in every direction, trying to look at everything at once as they walked up the street, while Hagrid grinned at Harry's amazement. They walked towards a marble white building that towered above the rest with bronze burnished doors.
"'Ere it is, Gringotts," Hagrid said before lowering his voice and continued, "Run by goblins. Clever as they come, but not the friendliest of folk, so best show 'em some respect." Harry straightened his back and tried to appear as confident as he could, nodding respectfully at the goblin guards, as they entered through the doors and made their way towards the first open counter.
"Morning," said Hagrid to a free goblin. "We've come ter take some money outta Mr Harry Potter's vault."
"And does Mr Harry Potter have his key?" The goblin barked out.
"Got it 'ere somewhere," replied Hagrid, as he fumbled in his pockets, while the goblin wrinkled his nose in disgust, as Hagrid scattered mouldy dog biscuit crumbs onto the teller's desk.
The rest of the room went silent, apart from the sound of slow rhythmic footsteps getting closer, as a man purposefully strode towards them and a quiet, but deep voice, laced with authority asked in a commanding tone,
"And why do you have Heir Potter's key?"