Chapter Text
Harry Potter’s eyes snapped open. He groaned, stretching his skinny frame as much as the cupboard under the stairs allowed. Fumbling for his worn glasses in the dark, his hand brushed up against the rough underside of the stairs as he got his bearings. Sleepily, he reached for the cord that turned on his lightbulb. Harry had gotten pretty good at avoiding the nails and staples that barely poked out of his ceiling, or so he thought.
“Ouch,” he muttered to himself, sticking his pointer finger in his mouth and tasting blood.
Sitting up, he finally grasped the metallic frame of his glasses with his other hand and placed them on his nose. Putting on a brave face, he used his left hand to again reach for the light cord and was met with the cool metal barely dangling from the underside of the stairs. He pulled and was met with darkness. Of course, he berated himself, his light had been out for weeks. The bulb had exploded rather spectacularly after a particularly nasty reprimanding by his uncle had led to him being locked in the cupboard all day.
Harry leaned against the back wall and pulled his knees to his chest, wincing at a fading bruise on his ribs. Uncle Vernon had not been happy that he had burnt his dinner last week.
As if summoned, Harry heard someone fumbling with the latch on the other side of his door, and was met with light streaming in. Grimacing at the sudden change of brightness, he blearily looked up as the figure of his uncle came into focus.
“Get breakfast going, boy, I’ve got to leave for work soon,” Vernon Dursley barked.
Noticing Harry still sucking on his right pointer finger, he sighed. “Do avoid getting blood in my coffee.”
“Yes, Uncle Vernon,” Harry replied.
Harry stood, and shuffled to the kitchen, where he was met with his Aunt Petunia, leaning over the countertop speaking to Dudley, his cousin.
“Happy eleventh birthday Dudders,” she cooed. “Your card from Aunt Marge should be arriving in the post shortly.”
Dudley’s whoop of excitement caused Harry’s heart to sink. He had never gotten post for his birthday, or any day for that matter. One day, he had even asked his primary school teacher to send his report card via post, however it had never arrived, and his Aunt Petunia had not been happy.
“I guess freaks like you just aren’t good enough for post,” she had told him.
Bacon grease nipped at the cut on Harry’s hand, snapping him out of his reverie. He hadn’t even noticed the bacon go from crispy to blackened between his morning stupor and trip down memory lane. Harry froze, knowing exactly what was coming his way.
‘No no no no no’ he thought. It was already bad enough when he didn’t make his uncle and aunt happy, let alone on Dudley’s birthday. That too might set off a whole new round of ‘Harry Hunting’ as Dudley and his friends fondly called it. They would chase him around again and again until they tired or caught him. He shivered at the thought of what they would do if they did.
“Boy! I told you everything must be perfect for my Dudder’s eleventh, and you couldn’t even make breakfast right!” Petunia screeched at him.
Vernon raised himself from his seat in the living room and marched into the kitchen with a thunderous expression, his hand clenching and unclenching menacingly. However, Harry’s silent prayers were answered by a knock at the door and the morning post being dropped into the mail slot.
Dudley came squealing in excitement around the corner and into the kitchen, oblivious to what was occurring.
“Mum! Dad! There’s so many birthday cards to go with my presents!” he yelled in delight. “Aunt Marge, Uncle Jeffrey, Ms. Lindfrey,” he began listing them off.
Vernon gave Harry a look that promised comeuppance later and smiled to his son. “Well of course Dudders, it is your big day after all!”
Suddenly, Dudley’s smile faded, and a look of puzzlement overtook his face. Dudley had reached the last of the letters, a faded, yellowing envelope with a red seal. He turned his expression towards Harry, who shrunk even further towards the corner of the kitchen, already trying to avoid the attention of the room’s other three occupants. Suddenly, Dudley’s face contorted in jealousy, and he glared at Harry.
“You’ve got a letter” he spat. “Why have you got a letter on my birthday? Who would want to write you?”
Petunia stepped forward and snatched the letter out of Dudley’s hand, raking her eyes across the front of the envelope. She gasped softly and the letter fell from her grasp and to the pristine white kitchen floor right at Harry’s feet. He gulped and looked down, reading over the front of the envelope slowly.
To: Mr. Harry Potter
The Cupboard Under the Stairs
4 Privet Drive
Little Whinging
Surrey
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Harry’s life had been a whirlwind since that day. The Dursley’s had tried their best to ensure the letters never reached him, but their efforts were all for naught. After their home had overflowed with letters, Vernon had ordered the family into a car and driven out to the coast. They then took a boat to an island where they fitfully slept in a rickety hut on an island. Vernon and Petunia took the bedroom, leaving Dudley and Harry with the couch and the floor, respectively. After all, there was no way that Harry’s whale of a cousin would sleep on the floor for him, even if it was almost his birthday.
Harry rolled over, glancing at Dudley asleep on the tattered couch across the room. Uncle Vernon’s rumbling snores from behind the closed bedroom door affirmed Harry’s suspicion that he was the only one still awake in the dingy hut. Harry tossed and turned, his threadbare blanket not providing much protection from the cold that seemingly permeated the entire hut. Abandoning sleep, Harry stood and wrapped the blanket around his shoulders. Tiptoeing towards the cracked window facing the sea, he glanced at the ancient-looking clock that hung askew on the wall.
11:59. One minute until his thirteenth birthday. He shed a silent tear as he stared out at the waves roughly crashing against the edges of rocky outcrop the hut stood upon. The moon bathed Harry in light through the fissured windowsill, and Harry stared at the vast sea of stars above him.
“I wish—” he whispered to the sky.
The clock struck midnight.
BANG BANG BANG. Harry whirled to face the decaying wooden door of the hut as a knock loud enough to wake the dead echoed all throughout the hut. He heard Vernon shout, Petunia scream, and Dudley fell off the couch and quickly ran to hide behind his parents, who had emerged from the bedroom.
Harry heard muttering outside the door, followed by a much lighter knock at the decrepit hut’s entrance. Vernon, shotgun in hand, crept towards the door with Petunia and Dudley flanking either side of his back, walking in tandem. He cracked the door, only to fall to the ground in terror as it swung fully open to reveal a man so big he took up the entire doorframe, wearing an equally large brown trench coat.
“Happy birthday Harry!” he boomed. “It’s great ter see you”
Harry gaped at the man, his jaw in freefall. He gulped.
“How do you know me?” Harry stammered, finding his voice at last.
“Well Harry I was a good friend of your parents” the man answered. “Name’s Rubeus Hagrid, Keeper of the Keys and Grounds at Hogwarts.”
“Hogwarts?” Harry questioned.
“Well o’ course, Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, it’s where your parents went ter school. You were reserved a spot as soon as you were born.”
Vernon, who had been watching the exchange between the two from the floor, finally gathered himself.
He waved his weapon of choice around madly, his eyes nearly bulging out of their sockets as he spoke: “There will be none of that freakishness in our family! None!”
Hagrid took a step forward, dwarfing the much smaller man, and grasped the barrel of the shotgun with one hand. Pulling upwards, he bent the barrel around in a loop to face the weapon’s wielder. Vernon purpled in rage, but yet the man’s voice abandoned him.
“Hogwarts is Harry’s birthright,” Hagrid spoke in a low, dangerous voice. “And so is this letter, try as yeh might ter keep it from him.
Hagrid opened a satchel on his side and produced the very same yellowing parchment that Harry had been trying mightily to obtain for the last few weeks of his life. Harry walked forward hesitantly and claimed the letter from the smiling giant of a man. Hagrid’s eyes twinkled as Harry sat down in an old rocking chair to read the letter.
“Almost forgot, after all it is your birthday!” Hagrid said, producing a small square parcel from his satchel, and placed it on the antique table next to Harry. “And what’s a birthday without a cake?”
Harry, however, was lost in thought. His eyes raked over the letter hungrily as he took in what it said.
At last, Petunia spoke up: “He will not be attending your freakish school. He’ll end up just like his freaks of parents, poor and dead in their twenties with no one to remember them by.”
“James and Lily Potter were some of the greatest people I’ve ever known!” Hagrid thundered. “They are as honored as people can be in tha magical world and I won’t have you sully their memories!”
“My parents didn’t die in a car accident, did they Mr. Hagrid?” Harry meekly spoke, raising his eyes from the parchment at last.
“A CAR ACCIDENT? LILY AND JAMES POTTER? NEXT, YOU’LL TELL ME THEY HAVEN’T TOLD YOU ANYTHING ABOUT MAGIC!” Hagrid yelled, fixing his venomous gaze on the three Dursleys huddled together in fear. Vernon became an even darker shade of purple, and Petunia blanched. Neither challenged Hagrid’s assumption.
The cogs in Harry’s head turned rapidly. His parents weren’t who he always thought? He was going to Hogwarts to learn magic? Magic was real?
“Mr. Hagrid, magic is real?” Harry questioned.
“Aye, you’re a wizard, Harry,” Hagrid answered, his expression softening.
Hagrid whipped a pink umbrella off his belt and pointed it at Vernon. Pink sparks shot from the tip and struck Vernon in the chest, and suddenly he began to panic. A curly pig’s tail sprouted from his behind and he began to grasp it with both hands in shock.
“Now you look the part of the pig you are, Dursley,” Hagrid said.
A grin swept over Harry’s face as he saw Vernon begin to run circles around the room, grabbing at his tail. Petunia chased after him shouting, and Dudley simply stared at his father in amazement. Harry could not believe it. Magic was real, and he was going to learn it.
“When do I get to go to this school Mr. Hagrid?” Harry questioned, giggling at his uncle’s antics.
“We’d best be going now, Harry, weh got a long trip to make,” Hagrid replied.
Harry grabbed his letter, and the birthday cake Hagrid had given him and stood, walking towards him. Hagrid took his hand and the two walked towards the door. The Dursley family paid their departure no mind as they continued their mad chase around the hut. The chilly wind nipped at Harry as he stepped out onto the doorstep of the small cottage. He shivered, and Hagrid again raised his umbrella, pointing it at Harry, muttering words that sounded foreign to Harry’s ears. With a flash of orange light, Harry didn’t feel so cold any longer. The two walked towards a motorbike, with a sidecar attached, that was parked at the edge of the island.
At Harry’s questioning look, Hagrid gave him a rugged grin, his beady black eyes twinkling in concert with the night sky. “How do yeh feel about flying?”
Harry blinked dumbly for a moment, before breaking out in a huge grin. “This is the best birthday ever.”
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Harry Potter, for perhaps the first time in years, slept soundly. Tucked in a bed above the Leaky Cauldron, he was unaware of the congregation of adults that had grown since his arrival earlier. Hagrid had stashed his bike magically, before checking Harry and himself into rooms for the night and heading down to sit at the bar. He sat heavily in a booth, before beckoning Tom, the bartender, over.
“Send this to Minnie, will yeh?” he’d murmured. “And a tankard Berry Ocky Rot on my tab.”
“Of course, Rubeus,” Tom had replied before scurrying off behind the bar.
Shortly after, the bar’s fireplace roared and out stepped Minerva McGonagall, with Remus Lupin in tow. The two were quite the contrast, Hagrid thought, as they stepped out from the flaring green flames. Minerva took her pointed hat off, adjusting her glasses as she dusted off the soot. Even dirtied by the floo, she was ever the pinnacle of stern regality. Lupin, by comparison, looked scruffy. He wore a shabby suit, which blended with his dirty blonde hair to make him appear far older and worn than he truly was.
At Hagrid’s beckon, they crossed the room to sit with him in his booth in the corner.
“You’ve truly got him, Hagrid?” McGonagall asked in a tense whisper.
“Aye, asleep upstairs, the poor kid,” Hagrid answered, swirling his tankard of alcohol around. “His relatives didn’t even seem to care that he was leaving.”
Lupin frowned at that. He’d always thought that Petunia wasn’t the nicest person, but to show little regard for her own blood?
Their further conversation was cut short as Tom came by to take drink orders, and he once again scurried off to the bar.
“He didn’ even know magic was real, Minnie,” Hagrid finally ground out, raising his gaze to meet hers. “He thought his parents died in a car accident.”
McGonagall gasped softly, and Lupin froze. Remus was the first to speak.
“Those bloody muggles,” he swore.
“I told Albus they were the worst kind of people, but since Lily and James--” she choked, “and Sirius clearly couldn’t take care of him, so he had to go to them,” McGonagall ground out. “I know any one of us, and many more for that matter, would’ve taken him in a heartbeat. But the minister wasn’t willing to budge on the matter. Albus begged them to send him anywhere else, but even he had to concede that living in the muggle world would keep him safe.”
“From the Death Eaters, maybe, but apparently not from his own family,” Lupin spat.
“When Hagrid dropped him off at the Dursley home, some kind of protective spell was activated. That’s why none of us could find him for so long. It was supposed to be some kind of failsafe in case Lily and James had to hide or leave Harry there, but Lily’s death and Harry’s magic charged the wards further beyond anything we could imagine,” Minerva finished.
“Something must’ve affected the wards recently, or I fear not even Harry’s Hogwarts letter would’ve reached him. The Dursleys taking him to that island finally allowed us to track him down,” Lupin reasoned.
“Right good thing too, or he’d have been stuck with those damned muggles even longer,” Hagrid said, scowling.
“We won’t let that happen again. I nor the headmaster will stand for it,” McGonagall said with finality.
“I’ll drink to that,” Remus said, raising his glass of firewhiskey.
The three of them clinked their drinks together and drank in unison. As the night wore on, McGonagall retired back to Hogwarts and Lupin went back to his home, citing work early the next morning. Hagrid finished his tankard off and ascended the stairs slowly. Upon reaching the doorstep to his room adjourning Harry’s he fumbled for the keys, the alcohol slowing his hands just a bit. He heard muttering in Harry’s room and opened his door first to take a peek.
“No, no! I’m sorry!” he begged.
A single tear escaped Hagrid’s eye and dropped into his wild beard as he softly closed the door to Harry’s room. Trudging into his own, he promised himself that things would be different for Harry. Starting tomorrow.
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Harry Potter’s eyes were alight with wonder as he took in the wizarding pub he found himself sitting in with Hagrid. Hagrid chomped at plate of bacon and eggs ravenously, while Harry more timidly nibbled on a piece of toast. The bartender, who had introduced himself as Tom, had shaken Harry’s hand profusely upon delivering his breakfast, which struck him as odd. The man acted almost in reverence of the young boy, which left Harry rather confused. Similarly, Harry felt the attention towards him increase as the morning patrons of the pub began to mutter quietly, and shoot looks in his direction. He shrank back into the booth as far as his tiny frame would allow, and Hagrid could stand it no longer.
“Blast, I’m no good at this kind of thing, but yer no regular wizard Harry,” Hagrid said, his black eyes piercing Harry’s green ones. “Years ago, our world was in a very dark time, terrorized by a very evil wizard. Yer parents were part of the group that stood against him. They gave him quite a fight, they did. But he caught up with them eventually. He always did. He killed your parents, but something happened that night he hadn’ considered possible.”
“What happened, Mr. Hagrid?” Harry said, his knuckles white from gripping the table.
“He found you, just a baby in your crib. He cast the killing curse on you, but it didn’t quite take. You beat him, Harry, just as a baby. Tha’s where the scar on your forehead comes from,” Hagrid finished.
Rubbing the mark above his head, Harry’s body was rigid as a board. “What was his name? The dark wizard?” Harry asked, barely a whisper.
“Well, his name is--” Hagrid sputtered. “Vol-- Voldem--” Hagrid struggled, “Voldemort,” he growled in a low whisper.
“Voldemort?” Harry gasped, a little louder than he’d meant. The name tasted sour in his mouth, wrong. The other patrons had quieted down at the mention of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, and Harry had the good sense to look sheepish.
“Aye, Harry. Voldemort. You’re the only person to ever survive the spell he used on you. ‘Tween that and vanquishing You-Know-Who, well, you’re quite famous in the magical world. An’ that’s not even touching on your parents. Yer dad was quite a quidditch player, the major magical sport. Even was considering going pro before the war started. And your mum was the most brilliant witch I’ve ever met,” Hagrid finished.
Breakfast abandoned; Harry cried. Cried for parents that he never knew but still were willing to sacrifice themselves for him. Hagrid reached a massive hand over the table, gently patting Harry on the shoulder. Harry dried his eyes on his sleeve and gazed up at Hagrid.
“Thanks, for telling me all that, Mr. Hagrid. I’ve always wondered about them. Sorta hoped they’d come back for me. At least I know that they’re watching over me now.” He hiccupped.
Hagrid stood. “We’ve got to get your school things squared away, and then I’ll spend the rest of the day telling you all the stories I know about yer parents,” Hagrid promised.
At that, Harry grinned. Looking back around the pub, his grin only widened. He sniffled, wiping the rest of the tears away. Magic was real, and he was going to learn it at the same place his parents had.
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Licking an ice cream cone from Florean Fortescue’s, Harry contemplated his day. He and Hagrid had first gone to Gringotts, the wizarding bank, where they withdrew money from Harry’s rather large inheritance, and retrieved something mysterious for Hogwarts’ headmaster, Albus Dumbledore. He had gotten new wizarding clothes, as well as some muggle ones from Madam Malikin’s robe shop, he’d gotten new schoolbooks and his potion cauldron. Hagrid had also taken him to get another assortment of things from the various stores at Diagon Alley such as a telescope and a set of scales, and what felt like a ton of other things Harry had never seen before in his life. Diagon alley was full of so many magical things and people that Harry felt like he’d barely scratched the surface. Thus, Harry found himself sitting on his new brown school trunk containing all his possessions, watching the shoppers pass him by.
Some bystanders had stopped to thank him or shake his hand, much like in the pub. Others had simply gawked at him and continued walking. That would take some getting used to, Harry mused. A snowy owl squawked in a cage behind him, and he absentmindedly reached back to pet her. He had yet to name his first ever birthday gift from Hagrid, but he could tell she didn’t mind.
The two had spent the remainder of the day exploring the alley, Hagrid shared much about his life as well as his interactions with Harry’s parents. Harry soaked up every little detail about them with such reverence that Hagrid had promised to look for some old pictures he had of them as soon as they reached Hogwarts. Harry was quiet about his own life though, not sharing more than was strictly necessary. He could tell Hagrid meant well but he was afraid to open up to the jovial man. Afraid of what he would think of him if he heard about life with the Dursley family.
As the day drew to a close, Hagrid had one more surprise up his sleeve. The two returned to the Leaky Cauldron to store Harry’s goods and let Harry’s new familiar fly for a bit. Hagrid found Harry leaned up against his headboard, engrossed in one of his new textbooks, A History of Magic by Bathilda Bagshot.
“I think I’ll call my owl Hedwig. What do you think?” Harry asked, suddenly unsure of himself.
Hagrid smiled. “I think that’s a beautiful name for a beautiful owl. As far as birthday gifts go, I’ve got one more surprise for yeh, Harry.”
Hagrid reached into one of his endless number of coat pockets, producing two tickets that were a bright yellow, with a small broomstick flying back and forth on them. “There’s local pickup quidditch in Diagon. I figure with yer dad an’ all, you’d want to see what the buzz is all about.”
Harry closed his book and left his bed with a jump. “Thank you! Can we go right now? Or whenever you’re ready?” Harry mumbled at the end, seeming to withdraw into himself once again. He was afraid Hagrid would think he was too needy.
“O’ course, get yer shoes on,” Hagrid replied happily, brushing Harry’s worries.
Entering a side street from the main strip of Diagon, Harry and Hagrid navigated the crooked cobblestone street, walking between the sides of buildings and flats until they reached a warehouse-like building, with a towering metal roof.
“They play sports in there?” Harry questioned, confused.
“Magic, Harry, magic,” Hagrid prodded good naturedly.
At Hagrid’s gesture, Harry opened the door to find himself staring at a rather large open area, where tons of people milled about, followed by an archway leading to asphalt. The two stepped through the entrance, the door closing behind them with a metallic snap. Hagrid showed their two tickets to the usher at the door, whispering to him about keeping the tickets and gesturing to Harry. At the usher’s smile and nod, Hagrid pocketed the two tickets into his trench coat once again and led Harry up a winding staircase. Harry gasped audibly when they reached their destination. The warehouse was much larger than it looked from outside, housing an entire quidditch arena. The two slid along the rows of metal benches until they reached their seats. The arena was not completely full, but the din was still deafening to Harry as he took it all in. Protruding from the asphalt there were three hoops on each side of the rectangular arena. In the middle, a circle, where various players stretched, flew short laps from sideline to sideline, and chatted with one another.
“Usually, it’s free to come all summer, but since this is the last time before Hogwarts starts back, and the last chance for scouts to watch young players, they kept a gate tonight,” Hagrid explained.
Harry nodded, still struggling to take it all in. Muggle alternative rock, along with upbeat wizarding songs, played over the arena’s speakers. Harry leaned against the cool metal row of bleachers behind him and watched with rapt attention as the players began to separate into two teams.
Suddenly, an announcer’s voice broke over the speakers. “Representing the team in red, Pippa’s Pistons, we have captain Pippa McMillin at chaser.” A thin raven-haired girl waved to the crowd. “Also playing chaser, we have Alanza Alves and Marina Sanchez.” The two similarly gave the crowd a courteous wave.
“Playing beater for McMillin tonight, we have the dynamic duo, Nicholas Grimmett, making his return from a broken arm last week, and his partner-in-crime Gordon Pummell!” The two took a bow with their arms joined. “At seeker, the spectacular Mervyn Wynch! And last, but certainly not least, we have the young keeper, Oliver Wood!” Oliver and Wynch each gave the crowd a small wave. The seven congregated in a circle, and the announcer prattled on, introducing the opposing team: Captain Cyril Hawking, Alex Sykes, Marcus Turner, David Boorman, Graham Montague, Merula Snyde, and Stacey Faucher.
After the announcer had finished reading the second team’s lineup, the fourteen players took to the air on their brooms.
“Officiating tonight’s match, just as all the others, we have Dennis Bellamy, our very own liaison to the Magical Games and Sports office!”
At the blow of the referee’s whistle, a ball was thrown in the air, and the players were off.
“The golden snitch is loose, the bludgers are bobbing, and here comes the quaffle toss! Possessing the quaffle early is McMillin, pass to Sanchez, ooh, nasty bludger by Turner, there,” the announcer commented. “Sanchez narrowly avoids trouble but drops the quaffle.”
“Ball is loose, and it is picked up by Montague. He passes to Boorman, no! Intercepted by Alves! She’s looking to press the issue here folks, held scoreless in her last game. Let’s see if she rectifies that here early tonight.”
The red chasers flew into a diamond formation, and the beaters took a position on their flanks.
“Going for an overtly offensive attack right out of the gate tonight! McMillin has been aggressive with her play calling recently. We’ll see if that’ll pay off shortly as Alves attacks the hoops! She shoots, no! Dropped down to Sanchez, who whips it to McMillin, she shoots! Oh, look at that!”
A bludger that had been passed between the two red beaters whizzed right by the blue keeper, Faucher, who narrowly avoided being struck. So caught up in dodging the bludger, Faucher missed the quaffle going into the hoop to her right.
“McMillin scores! Bringing us to ten-nil Pistons!”
“What’s this? A long inbound pass to Boorman, he passes to Montague, and will red be punished by their daring offense early? Montague back to Boorman, Montague, Boorman, Montague! What a dizzying display of passing!”
Sanchez narrowly missed intercepting their game of catch, leaving the Pistons’ keeper alone versus the two chasers.
“Montague takes aim, it's a fake to Boorman! He fires—saved by Wood in a diving catch at the left hoop!”
The crowd only gained energy as Wood relayed the quaffle to McMillin, starting the Pistons’ next offensive attack. Harry realized suddenly that his own cheers were among them. He leaned forwards on the edge of his seat, unable to tear his eyes away from the game.
“Las’ game of the night, glad we made it,” Hagrid said to Harry.
“Me too,” he replied, awestruck.