Chapter Text
Harry learned at a young age to not ask questions. Not why he couldn’t get his glasses fixed, not why he couldn't get his own clothes, not why his cousin Dudley was treated so much better than him or why he spent his nights in a cupboard, and definitely not why strange things always seemed to happen around him. Nothing good came from asking questions, he had learned.
He knew he was different from his relatives, his classmates, his neighbours. They stared even though he looked normal, so there must have been something wrong, right? That’s what his aunt and uncle told him, and eventually his cousin too. He was just inherently different.
His relatives had looked at him with disdain. He didn’t know why. Was it because his hair was dark and theirs was light? Maybe it was his scar, an ugly thing that stretched down his forehead in jagged lines from his hairline to his brow.
Maybe it was his parents. Anytime he brought up the subject of his late parents, they stiffened and lashed out at him. Were they sad that they died and didn’t like it when he brought it up? Was that why they got mad and scolded him? Because they missed them? Somehow, Harry didn’t think that was the case.
“You’re nothing but trouble!” they would say.
Maybe they were right in some sense. Harry had the feeling that if they had never met in the first place, they would all be happier, be better off. In another world, he would’ve been given to another family; one that cherished him and watched him grow with pride, who hugged him and ruffled his hair like he had seen other fathers do with their sons.
In another world, he wouldn’t have to be the one to cook dinner, and, instead, would be the one they cooked for. Maybe he would come home to cookies in the oven after school, sit in front of the television and watch the latest cartoon with a cat or a dog to keep him company. He wasn’t picky.
Truth be told, he didn’t realise the way the Dursleys treated him was wrong until he saw how other families interacted. He had assumed this was just how it was. His relatives had never mistreated him outside of the house, so how was he to know that the reason no one else hit their children publicly was because they didn’t hit their children at all?
Now he knew, though it should’ve been obvious in hindsight.
Useless. Freak. Boy.
He didn’t know his name until his first day of school during attendance.
Dudley had laughed for days.
Harry knew he was different. Not just because his relatives told him that everyday, but because things happened around him that simply didn’t happen around other people. The sweaters he hated mysteriously shrank too small to wear, his hair wouldn't behave no matter what Aunt Petunia did, and he suddenly appeared on the roof of his school when he was on the ground running from his cousin just moments before.
It was strange and he didn’t know how these strange happenings took place. If he didn’t know better, he’d say he was like one of the heroes in those shows that Dudley liked so much. But the heroes in his shows weren’t trapped, he’d realised bitterly.
The small glimpses he could catch of Dudley’s favourite cartoon showed victory, the heroes coming out on top and toying with the villains afterwards. Harry wondered if that was where his cousin got his inspiration for Harry Hunting.
He put away the broom he was sweeping with and grabbed the hoover, plugging it in and turning it on. The white noise clouded his mind as he gave the floor a once-over. He was tempted to knock over Aunt Petunia’s favourite vase, like he was always tempted to do, but decided otherwise. Today wasn’t the day he wanted to die.
Harry was not the most fortunate, he knew.
He had learned at a young age to take what was given to him, to be grateful for what he’d been blessed with. He never asked for more, not after the punishment he was given when he asked for a full plate one night. He accepted the too-big shirts and sweaters and pants, accepted the bare meals, accepted his chores, and accepted the way his relatives treated him.
Nothing went the way he wanted, but at least he had a place to stay, he told himself. He had a roof over his head, free food (even if it wasn’t much), clothes to wear, and a school he could attend. Once you took his relatives and their benefits away, he was left with nothing but his scraggly black hair and scar, maybe the clothes on his back, and his glasses if his relatives were feeling charitable.
The people he lived with weren’t very nice, if it wasn’t already obvious.
“You!” his aunt would yap. “Go pull the weeds out, and don’t come back until it’s spotless!”
“Yes, Aunt Petunia,” Harry would drone.
Then his uncle would growl, “Boy, go grab the mail!”
“Yes, Uncle Vernon,” his own voice would grate his ears.
“Muuuum, Harry got a better grade than me!” Dudley would complain, stomping his way through the hallway to the living room, where Harry was not allowed when he wasn’t cleaning.
Aunt Petunia would be appalled. “What?!” she would scream as she stormed to the front door, where he would be waiting. “You better not have embarrassed my little baby, go to your room! And don’t come out until dinner!” meaning: don’t come out until it’s time for you to make dinner.
It was easy to get used to their antics, to anticipate their reactions and to guess what they would make him do. He made it a game, to predict their words and to see if he was correct in his assumption that he would be locked away for a whole day, or if they had another punishment in mind. Sometimes it would surprise him, what they thought of. Though, it was always better to know what was coming. Surprises weren’t always fun.
He had learned many things about the Dursleys over the years. They liked the ordinary, and were obsessed with putting up the front of a perfect family, which was why Harry was such a big problem. A family consisting of a proud father, a loving wife, and the light of their lives, joined by a scruffy and unkempt boy who shared no physical similarities with them. He was the thorn in their side that would not leave.
Harry understood, he really did. If he had a family of his own, he wouldn’t want some random boy to show up and interrupt his peaceful life. But he wasn’t some random boy, he reminded himself. He was their nephew, someone they should care about and look out for.
He dismissed the idea.
Wiping sweat off his brow, he unplugged the hoover and replugged it in another room. He would get some water but having Aunt Petunia catch him slacking off convinced him otherwise.
He didn’t know why his parents left him. Obviously he knew they hadn’t chosen to die, but he felt betrayed all the same. His aunt and uncle clearly didn’t want him around and had no problem leaving him to figure everything out on his own. He couldn’t count the number of times he had to learn how to turn on a device through trial and error before it finally spurred to life and almost cut off his arm, burned his hand, or poked his eye out. A nasty scar on his forearm served as a reminder of when he had cut himself badly on a piece of gardening equipment when trying to figure out how to turn it on. It had healed in a week, but the damage was done, and never again would he be so careless with tools again.
Whatever Dudley spilled here stained the carpet, Harry noted with annoyance. He’d have to clean that later.
School was a nice distraction sometimes, teaching him things he never would have learned on his own. Maybe. He wasn’t sure if having his teachers around helped all that much, honestly. The teachers rarely paid attention to him when he had questions, so he resigned himself to read from his books and try his best on his own.
Sometimes he was allowed to go to the library if the Dursleys didn’t have anything for him to do. They would let him walk the twenty minute walk to the community library and await his return to cook dinner. He wasn’t always lucky though. One time, it had been a month before he was able to visit the library, and at that point he was too behind to catch up with his classmates. That was the only time Dudley had gotten a better grade than him.
He was grateful, though. If it weren't for school, all of his days would be spent at the Dursley residence slaving away. It took his mind off what would inevitably come when he went home.
Home.
That was a nice thought, wasn’t it?
“Boy, go clean the garden!” his uncle yanked him out of his thoughts. He turned off the hoover, the descending sound of the power shutting down making his body sag with it. He was already so tired.
Hair stuck to his forehead as he walked to the shed, pulling out a pair of rubber gloves and shears. The breeze made him shiver, exhaustion evident in the way he shook, and not entirely from the cold. He brought the shears up to the bushes and was about to start snipping branches when something moved in the corner of his eye. Turning his head, he saw a snake in the grass and froze. He heard it whispering about how there was nothing to eat when they encountered each other. He froze.
‘Great, another two-legged creature to ruin my day.’
Harry stared wide-eyed at the snake.
‘And what are you looking at?’ grumbled the snake. Harry frowned in confusion.
‘You,’ he replied.
—
It was a cute little thing, scales grey in colouration. Harry admired the way the matte body slithered around. He didn’t know how he could speak to it, but he knew that was something he would have to figure out on his own when the snake didn’t know either.
That was a very interesting day for the both of them, it seemed.
Harry found out that the snake was rather young, having been born not long before, was male, and apparently thought it was far too cold outside, even if it was warmer than it usually was. It was small, maybe two feet in length, and very skinny. Its underbelly was a light grey, and Harry was fascinated to find that when it realigned its jaw, the inner flesh of its mouth was dark, maybe darker than the scales on its body.
The snake’s company was enjoyable, Harry found, and with every day that passed, he became more attached. He’d never had a friend before.
They went to the library in search of a name, and Harry found ‘Orion’. He liked it. When the snake gave no sign that he hated it, that’s what he decided on.
A month came and went before Harry realised and Dudley’s birthday came crashing by. Piles of wrapped boxes and gifts filled the living room, yet Dudley still complained. Not as many presents as last year or whatever he said, Harry wasn’t paying much attention. His parents promised to get more the next time they went out.
Harry looked on as his cousin dug through the first pile, ripping and throwing the wrapping paper everywhere for him to pick up later, and raved about how amazing everything was even though Harry knew at least half of those gifts would be broken by the next month. He sat through it with a locked jaw, standing to the side.
The visit to the zoo was uneventful, save for when that boa broke out and almost ‘killed’ Dudley. Honestly, the length one had to reach to get to that conclusion was astounding. He did learn something though… speaking to Orion was not a one-off. The boa was able to hear him, and even respond by nodding and shaking its head when spoken to through the glass. When the big snake had slithered out of its enclosure, it had spoken to Harry. He almost didn’t hear what it said because of Dudley’s screaming, but it was something along the lines of going to Brazil.
Uncle Vernon was furious with him of course. For what, he didn’t know, but he assumed it had to do with the vanishing glass that kept the boa locked inside the enclosure. How was Harry to blame for that? It’s not like he was able to make glass disappear.
He was locked in his cupboard for a week as punishment, and almost regretted not bringing Orion with him. He was so lonely without him. He argued that Orion wouldn’t have been able to eat anything while locked away with him, but he still wished the visit to the zoo had gone better, if only so that he didn’t have to be alone.
His visits with Orion became longer and longer until one day Harry brought him inside. He ended up wrapping himself around his neck, now a foot longer than he was the month before, and soaked in the warmth that he couldn't provide himself. They stayed like this whenever Harry was in his cupboard, and he was able to slip small strips of meat throughout the week for Orion.
It was hard hiding a snake from his relatives, but he was careful, and they managed. His shirts were big enough to conceal a slim-bodied snake. One time they even snuck out when the door to his cupboard mysteriously opened. He had no idea how that happened. Maybe the hinges were getting too old or something, Harry didn't know.
—
A letter arrived one morning, sitting under other envelopes and postcards for his relatives. Only, this was addressed to him.
Mr. H Potter
The Cupboard under the Stairs
4 Privet Drive, Little Whinging
Surrey
He shoved it in his pocket for later and gave the other letters to Uncle Vernon, making a dash for his cupboard and shutting the door. How on earth did they know his name? Or better yet, that he lived in a cupboard? Nobody knew that aside from the people who lived with him, and those people would certainly not send him a letter, especially not one so well packaged.
Peeling open the envelope and pulling everything out, his eyes bulged out of his head as he read the first letter, and even more when he read the ‘supplies’ he needed. Harry squinted at all the middle names and titles the headmaster had. Ridiculous really, the number of names one could have.
A wizarding school, then? This had to be a joke. A cruel joke that someone was playing on him. Maybe it really was his relatives who sent this to him. Maybe they were outside his door right now, waiting for his reaction. Were they hoping for him to cry? To leap in joy at being able to leave this place? He almost ripped the letter in half, but a small part in him couldn’t. In the back of his brain, a small voice whispered, what if it’s real?
But it wasn’t. It couldn’t be. Magic wasn’t real and this letter wasn’t real either. Any minute now, Dudley would pound on his door and yell at him to come out, demanding he react in some way to his prank, but as he listened, nothing happened. The scraping of forks on porcelain continued, no one came stomping down the hallway, no clicks of heels made their way closer, and no creaks of wooden floorboards. Everything continued as they were, even after they had seen him drop off the mail at the table.
Harry looked down at the pile of paper in his hands, at the red, wax stamp that stuck to the front of the yellowed envelope. The coat of arms was detailed, showing four different animals in each corner. Something that the Dursleys wouldn’t bother with. He ran his thumb over it, the bumps and lines grazing against his skin.
He needed to make sure.
Opening his door, he made his way to the kitchen, where Dudley and Uncle Vernon had already finished eating. They didn’t spare him any attention as he grabbed their plates and put them in the sink. They didn’t look like they were anticipating anything and they weren’t watching him with baited breath. His uncle scowled at him when he turned around to take a peek at their faces.
“What?” he grunted.
“Nothing, sir.” Harry whipped his head back to the sink.
This was real.
His mind raced. This was probably how he was able to talk to Orion in the first place. It didn’t seem out of the question for witches and wizards to be able to talk to animals. In fact, this explained so much. All those times when something happened with no feasible explanation… his hair, the sweaters, the unlocked doors, the glass at the reptile enclosure, it all made sense. But how? Where did this all come from? Why was he able to do this?
Harry’s mind reeled as he washed the dishes at a leisurely pace, his brain and body going at completely different speeds.
This opened so many doors, so many possibilities. What could he do? Clearly he could learn more if this ‘school of magic’ was any indication. Would he meet people like him? People who would accept him? What problems could be solved with magic? Were there any limits? He was getting too far ahead of himself, there was still one huge problem he had to face.
How was he supposed to reply? How did witches and wizards deliver mail? The letter had mentioned something about ‘owling’ his response, so was it with literal owls? How strange. Then again, nothing about this was normal so he shouldn’t have been surprised.
He decided this was a problem for future Harry to deal with. Maybe he’d find a way tomorrow, but this was too much excitement for one night.
—
As it turned out, Harry didn’t need to figure out how to send his reply when a giant showed up at the front door the next day.
It was during breakfast when it happened, when Harry was trying to brainstorm ideas on how to send a letter to Hogwarts. The plate almost slipped out of his hands when he heard the booming knocks. He thought the door was going to fall off its hinges if that happened again. Uncle Vernon turned to look at the front door, where the knocks had come from, and shakily got up from his spot at the table.
Harry had never seen him so nervous.
The moment his uncle turned the handle the door burst open, revealing a towering man, as tall as he was wide. The sun burned behind him, shadowing his front and casting his silhouette across the hallway floor. The stranger ducked through the door and tramped onto their welcome mat, tracking dirt and debris onto the floor. Harry dreaded cleaning that, how hard it would be to get that out from the mat and from between the cracks in the wood panelling.
“Good evenin’!” the man patted down his thick coat, blowing dust in Uncle Vernon’s face. His hair was long and frizzy, as was his beard, and he dressed like he had just finished a hunt in the woods, sans rifle and a small pink umbrella hung on his hip in replacement. “Hope I’m not intrudin’, just had to speak to little ol’ Harry here.''
Harry tried not to think about how this stranger knew his name.
The man in question looked right over his uncle’s head and spotted Harry by the sink. However, before he could take two steps, Vernon pushed him back, or at least tried to.
“Stay back! I don’t know who you are but you need to leave!” His meaty hands pushed and shoved but the stranger stayed put. A few more seconds of this continued before he gave up.
“Daddy, who is this man?” Dudley asked. He got no answer.
Heaving, Vernon dropped his hands and turned his gaze to the kitchen, red in the face. Seeing as the man wouldn’t budge, he had to do something else. He pointed a finger at Harry, then pointed the same finger to the floor to where he and the stranger stood. Harry wasted no time in putting down the plate in his hand and rushing to the hallway.
“Harry!” the big man bellowed with a smile, startling Harry terribly. The man held his arms out in what he assumed was a welcoming gesture.
Harry reluctantly took a step closer. “Hello, sir…”
“Oh, none o’ tha’ now. Call me Hagrid,” he said, patting Harry’s back in a good-natured way. He stumbled from the force.
“O–Okay… er, hello Hagrid,” he said, trying to keep his voice steady.
“Been so long I forgot what you looked like!”
“Re–Really?” Harry cursed his stuttering.
“Yeah! Last I seen, you were ‘bout a metre shorter.” He spoke lightheartedly. “Not that there’s much of a difference from then an’ now!” His beard shook and blocked his face as he leaned back and laughed.
Harry looked away. Dudley always made fun of his height whenever he could. On mornings when Harry felt more tired, he’d struggle with reaching the shelf and have to use the stool, prompting his cousin to make some joke about how he was getting shorter with each day instead of taller. He tried not to let it get to him, he’d get his growth spurt one day.
“You were but a wee baby, so tiny in me hands. Bet that scar’s the same though,” he said as he reached a large hand towards Harry’ head to lift his fringe, but was stopped short by his uncle.
“Enough!” Vernon yelled. “Stop this nonsense and leave!”
Harry was for once grateful for his uncle’s stepping in. If Hagrid had touched Harry’s face, he might have freaked out, and he wasn’t supposed to do that in front of other people outside the Dursleys.
“But we haven’ even gotten to the good part, Harry’s goin’ ter Hogwarts!”
It was as if everything had stopped, including Harry’s heart. Or was it beating faster now? He couldn’t tell. He was expecting this to happen at some point, but not the day after he’d gotten his letter. He thought he’d have at least a few days to find a way to reply. This wasn’t how he wanted his relatives to find out.
They could’ve been reacting violently to the news, or sitting shell-shocked, he wouldn’t know. All he could hear was the pounding in his ears.
After what felt like an eternity, someone spoke up, but it wasn’t who Harry thought it would be.
“What?” Petunia said weakly. Her hands shook beside her as she stared, horrified at the news. “What did you say?”
Hagrid’s bushy brows pinched together in confusion. A moment later, he repeated himself. “Harry’s goin’ ter Hogwarts.”
His aunt suddenly gasped, hands raising to cover her mouth. Harry heard a low murmur of repeating ‘no’s under her breath as she turned away sharply. Her eyes darted from the wall in front of her to Hagrid, to Harry, then back to the wall. They watched her with a sense of unease, especially Harry.
“Mum?” Dudley asked nervously, breaking the silence.
“NO!” she shouted. With a resentful glare, she pointed an accusing finger at Harry. “You are not going to that wretched school!” her voice shook as she spoke, as did her hand. She pointed the unsteady finger at Hagrid, “And you are not going to take him!”
Was this her way of showing her love in some twisted way? Harry wondered. There was no way to tell if this was maternal instincts finally kicking in or if this was some sick way to torture him even more, taking away his chance to learn magic, something he assumed was a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity.
Then, Harry paused. How did she know Hogwarts was a school?
“Aye, calm down, woman. S’ not like it’s gonna kill ‘im.”
“I don’t care if it kills him! He’s not going!”
That settled it then, definitely not maternal instincts.
“Oh, get over it. Hogwarts is the best magical school in all o’ Europe, Harry’ll thrive there.” Hagrid's beard twitched as he spoke and his hands waved in the air almost menacingly, nearly hitting the framed pictures on the wall. Harry wouldn’t have minded if he knocked a few down.
Vernon’s face twisted in on itself, “Don’t say that word!”
“What word, magical?” Hagrid asked.
His uncle’s face burst into red and his veins poked out strangely. Fists shaking, he restrained himself just enough to not punch Hagrid. Instead, he spoke.
“You had no right coming into my home and dumping this thing on us good, hard working people! Now you demand we let this–this—” he struggled to find a word bad enough to describe Harry and gestured vaguely towards him, “— Freak go to this school so that he can, what? Come back to spread his freakishness and infect the rest of us?”
“Albus Dumbledore would never encourage bad behaviour,” Hagrid said, frowning.
“That Dumbledore freak will be the death of us! He’s just as bad as the rest of you and will destroy everything we’ve worked for. He knows nothing!”
Hagrid bristled, breathing in deeply. Harry could tell this wasn’t going to be good.
“You take that back.”
“Like hell I will! I meant what I said, he’s no good and I wish he would drop dead!”
Hagrid stepped forward, wood creaking under his weight. A big finger shoved its way under Vernon’s chin. “You say one more word about Dumbledore and I’ll make you regret the day you were born.”
That seemed to shut him up. Silence hung in the air and nobody moved for a moment. Harry knew he couldn’t be the one to break the silence; he wondered who it would be. Orion moved an inch under his sweater, making Harry pull his arm tighter around himself to stop him. Now was not the time to be slithering.
Unfortunately, his movement was enough for his aunt to snap out of her stupor.
“Fine.” she sniffed.
Harry refused to relax his stiff body. It felt like she had some select words she still wanted to say, but decided not to. Maybe it was because Hagrid still looked like he wanted to rip someone’s head off—he was not a small man—and Harry didn’t know if he was on the chopping block or not.
He picked at a loose string on his sleeve while he waited for the tension to lower. It was awkward.
Harry froze on instinct when Hagrid grabbed him by the shoulder. He flashed one last look at his relatives before being pulled outside by a hand twice the size of his head. Hagrid slammed the door, making Harry flinch. He was sure the hinges were loose at this point and that the whole neighbourhood could probably hear the commotion. He dreaded going back in to face his relatives, but at least he was outside for the time being. Hagrid clearly spent a lot of his time around animals if the smell was anything to go by and Harry was glad to have the morning breeze carry it away.
It was quiet for a moment before the large man spoke.
“Sorry about that…” Hagrid said, shuffling his feet. It was strange for such a big man to act so timid.
“It’s alright,” Harry replied.
Silence brewed until the big man reached into his thick coat and brought out a roughed up box, handing it to Harry while they made to sit on the steps. He opened the lid.
It was a cake.
The taste was what he expected a foam mattress to taste like: spongy and not very impressive. The icing was smeared, but an endearing—albeit misspelt— Happy Birthday was written with his name underneath. It was a few days early, but Harry appreciated the thought, even as he slowly pushed away the first birthday cake he was ever given. A sour aftertaste stayed in his mouth.
Hagrid got up suddenly, blocking the bright sky from his view on the steps.
“Maybe we can get you some new clothes, eh? What d’you think about that?”