J K Rowling owns the potterverse, I just live there.
.-.-.
Prologue: This story begins it's AU-ness when harry catches sight of the first letter, just before Vernon destroys it. He doesn't see much, but he can just make out two words...
.·.·.
Mrs. Nez looked up sharply at the sound of the bell. Ever since the big metropolitan library had finished construction just a few blocks away, working at their little local library had become very boring. As a matter of fact, there was only one person who regularly came here... And sure enough, there he was.
Poor little mite; always in those big baggy clothes, and so small! What are they feeding him? Mrs. Nez wondered.
"Excuse me, Ms." the little boy said, "Could you please help me with something?"
"Certainly Harry, what can I do for you?"
"I'm wondering Ms, what's a witchcraft and wizardry?"
"Ah, they're a kind of, they're names for people who do magic. I mean, for magic – wizards are men who do magic, and witches are women who do magic, so you can call magic witchcraft or wizardry."
"I see" the small boy said, nodding seriously. "Ms?" He said, looking up hopefully, "What's magic?"
Mrs. Nez thought for a moment. She didn't know anything about this boys family, or their religious beliefs, and there had been another one of those satanism panics just last month. The library couldn't afford a lawsuit. Still, nobody could fault her if she didn't say anything herself, could they? And it was a crying shame for a little boy not to believe in, or even know about, magic.
"Here, I'll show you some books you might like. They'll tell you anything you could want to know."
She led him towards the fantasy bookshelf. It wasn't a big shelf, but there were still a good few dozen books there, and included all the classics. Zelazny, Moorcock, Howard... none of that Tolkein rubbish, of course, just the good stuff.
Harry frowned up at the shelf, eyeing the stacks of books warily. "They're all a bit... big. Do you have any with pictures?"
Mrs. Nez looked up at the shelf. Now that she considered it, fantasy writers did tend to the verbose, and something like Robin Hobb was hardly suitable reading for a child in any case. Then her eye was caught by something – a large, hardbound book, with a brightly colored cover. That looked like a childrens book. She pulled it out and flicked through it, yes, there were plenty of pictures.
"Here you go, Harry, have a look at this."
Harry Potter took the book gratefully, and read off the title.
"Players Handbook v. three-point-five. What's in it?"
Surprisingly, Mrs. Nez had no idea. She thought she knew all the books in her little corner of the world, but she hadn't seen this one before. Still, it didn't do to seem ignorant.
"Ah now Harry, you'll just have to read it and find out. Just you give it a try – I'm sure Mr." - she glanced at the spine - "Gygax is a wonderful writer. And if you don't like, don't worry, just bring it back and I'll find you another one."
"Thanks Mrs. Nez" Harry said, as he walked out the door, arms wrapped around his book.
Mrs. Nez smiled as she checked it out for him. Such a nice boy.
.·.·.
Harry spent the next few days avoiding the Dursleys even more then he usually did. They seemed to be terribly excited about something to do with the mail, but Harry didn't worry about this – they were always doing things for reasons he couldn't guess at, and he had long since learned not to try.
Instead, he spent his time studying the Players Handbook the kind woman at the library had lent him. Harry was absolutely amazed to learn about all the different things people could do – he wished he was allowed to watch TV or talk to people, so he could find out more about some of the adventures they had. But what really fascinated him, was the idea of magic. Harry read through all the spell descriptions, awed by the range of abilities represented, until at last he reached the end of the book, and a sheet of paper fell out.
Or rather, something that looked like paper, but was a little bit thicker and heavier than the rest of the pages in the book. He spread it out on the ground next to him, and examined it. It was a character sheet.
The next day, when Harry stole a pencil and snuck out while Petunia was shredding letters in her blender, and hurried to where he had hidden the book. Taking out his stolen pencil, he slowly started to fill out the sheet.
After carefully considering his options, he decided that what appealed to him most was the sheer range of options available to a wizard. Somehow, perhaps because he was small for his age, the other more physical classes just didn't seem right.
No sooner had he chosen his last spell, then there was a loud pop, and a heavy leather bound book was resting on the ground next to him, and Harry felt a sudden pressure in his head. Closing his eyes, he saw a stream of bewildering images flashing in front of him, sounds and shapes that he had never heard before.
In truth, he was terrified, but as the minutes sped past and the stream of knowledge slowed to a trickle, Harry realized that he wasn't just seeing, he was learning. Somehow, what felt like the result of years of study was being pressed into his mind. "Holy Boccob" Harry whispered, as his mind filled with thoughts such as no young boy had ever had before.
When he was finally able to shake of his new memories enough to focus on something outside his head, Harry was surprised to see that the sun was well on its way to setting. He had been lost in his own mind for hours. And he was hungry.
The sudden appearance of the book was more than enough to reassure him that his magic was real; now, it was time to start using it. First thing, food. Harry decided. After carefully concealing both his new spellbook and his old Players Handbook, Harry headed of to find something to eat.
Plenty of times while wandering the streets of Little Whinging, alone and hungry, Harry had passed restaurants and cafe's and dreamed of tasting the food they displayed. He knew, though, there was no way he would be able to get away with something like that. At least, until today.
Finding the nearest convenience store, Harry peered inside. One man, standing behind a counter next to the door, an array of sweets in front of him and various other shelves further in, including one covered in bottles.
"Atra Ereinyal Sta-kol" Harry whispered, and there was a sudden sound of breaking glass, followed by more – as if a cascade of bottles was falling to the floor. The proprietor rushed to the back of the store, while Harry ran through the door, scooped up two handfuls of sweets, and stuffed them in his pockets (thankful for once for the over-large clothes he was forced to wear) and ran out the door.
That evening, it was a well fed and happy Harry who crept quietly back to his cupboard in number four.
.·.·.
The 30th was an eventful day for Harry. He had hidden his two precious books under a loose floorboard in his new room, and was hiding under his new bed studying them when Vernon's furious roar swept through the house. Wary of losing them, Harry had already resolved to keep them with him at all times, and so it was that, that evening, harry and his books were huddled together under a scarcely adequate blanket on what felt like a rock in the middle of the ocean.
Harry lay awake, watching the seconds pass as the hand on Dudley's watched ticked on, bringing him ever closer to the next year of his life. Harry had never had a birthday, or any kind of celebration, but this year he felt like he had at least received a present. I'm a wizard now, he thought with a shiver of pleasure, and knew that no matter how bad his birthday might have be, his life would only get better from here. Little did he know just how true that thought would be.
*BOOM*
*BOOM*
*BOOM*
*CRASH*
The door of the shack flew open, and standing in the open doorway as an enormous man, a veritable giant, with a ragged black beard and kind eyes.
"Couldn't make us a cup o' tea, could ye'h? It's not been an easy journey..." The giant said.
Startled at this abrupt appearance, Harry said the first thing that popped into his head. "Are you a wizard?"
"Bless ye'h, Harry," The giant chuckled "I'm just Hagrid, Keeper of the Key sand Grounds at Hogwarts."
"What's Hogwarts?" Harry asked, although he had a sneaking suspicion that it might be some sort of school for magic. The implication in the Players Handbook was that wizards tended to form some sort of school or college or other organization, and it wouldn't surprise him at all if they had some way of tracking down new wizards to invite them to join.
"Yeh don' know wha' Hogwarts is? Di'n't yer Aunt ever tell yeh where they got it from?"
"Where who got what from?" Harry asked, thoroughly confused.
They were interrupted by a metallic click, and the quivering voice of Vernon Dursley. "I'm warning you, I won't hesitate to shoot. Get off this rock or you'll have a bullet in the brain!"
The giant and vernon stared at each other across the couch on which Dudley lay, whimpering. Vernon's arms shook slightly, but he kept the barrel of the rifle pointed firmly in the direction of the new entrant, who did not take kindly to being threatened.
He covered the distance to Vernon in two enormous strides, reaching out and plucking the gun from his shaking hands as easily as you might pick a toothpick off a table. Vernon, his back against the wall, slid slowly down until he was half lying on the ground, staring in horror as the swarthy giant bent the rifle neatly in half and tossed it out the open doorway.
"Harry, yeh know wha' ye are, righ'?" the giant asked, bending down to look Harry in the eyes.
"Of course I do!" Harry smiled, "I'm a wizard!"
Appearing much relieved at the, the giant sat back, almost squashing Dudley, who scurried out the way. "Righ' ye are, and a damned good one too, I'll bet, with yer paren's"
"You... you knew my parents?" Harry asked.
"Knew em? Course I did! Went to school together. A finer bunch of people there never were. So sad about wha' happened, but at lest yer alrigh'. Yeh look a lot like yer dad, but yeh've got yer mom's eyes..."
They talked long into the night, as Harry insisted on learning everything Hagrid could tell him about both his own parents, and the school of magic he was invited to join.
.·.·.
Harry's first visit to Diagon Alley was everything he could have hoped for, filled with odd devices (and even odder people). Fortunately, Hagrid had warned him in advance about his boy-who-lived fame, and so he was able to use a Disguise Self spell to help hide his distinguishing scar. It would only last ten minutes, but that should be plenty of time to find a hat or something. The last thing he wanted was people staring at him.
Their first stop for the day – well, the second after picking up a hat, but the first important one – was Gringotts, the wizarding bank. As they walked, they passed Ollivanders the wizarding wand store, Gladrags the wizarding clothier, Flourish and Blotts the wizarding book store, Gambol and Japes the wizarding joke shop...
Harry had asked Hagrid whether all the names of the wizarding shops in the wizarding world were prefixed with "wizarding" ("It's not even a word!") when it was obvious that any store in Diagon Alley must be magical. All he got in reply was a funny look.
They reached Gringotts without incident, and Harry stopped short in shock the moment he saw that the teller behind the counter was something other than human.
"I know this!" he said in surprise, before continuing in perfect Gobbledegook (the language of goblins everywhere). "Greetings gold-guardian, may your blade always be bright, and your gold flow".
If the goblin was surprised to hear a human child speaking his language, much less using a traditional (if rather old fashioned) greeting, he didn't show it. Instead merely responding in the same tongue. "Greetings to you as well, Wizard, and welcome to Gringotts. How can I be of assistance today?"
Somehow it seemed that when Harry had chosen Goblin as one of his starting languages, he had received more then the ability to speak it – he also seemed to have an intuitive understanding of the culture and courtesies surrounding the words.
"I understand my parents were magical, and that they left some money here for me. We would like to visit my vault, and I believe my friend has something he wanted to pick up as well."
Harry turned to look at Hagrid, and continued in english. "Where did you need to go, Hagrid?"
"Ehm, vault 713." Hagrid replied, then leaned in close, his beard brushing Harry's ear, and whispered loudly "Where did' yeh learn Gobbledegook?"
Harry looked back with an expression of unaffected innocence "I'm a wizard, aren't I? Everyone knows wizards speak strange languages."
Hagrid seemed about to reply, but was interrupted by a harsh grating sound from the teller, who reminded them (in english) that he hadn't got all day, and if they wanted to stand around discussing language they could do it somewhere else.
"Er, righ' then" Hagrid said, "Off we go."
He led them to the back of the hall, where the entrance to the underground vaults was. They were stopped there by a goblin who introduced himself to Hagrid as Griphook, and to Harry as Guardian Knallhart. He was small, with long delicate fingers, and pointed nose and ears – even a small pointed beard. His eyes were dark, and he seemed to carry an air of malice about him, as if he knew some dreadful secret which could at any moment be brought to bear against them.
Without a word beyond their curt introduction, the goblin led them into the stygian depths of Gringott's dark underbelly. Hurtling through narrow tunnels and above gaping chasms left Harry too busy clutching the edge of the cart in fear to ask any questions, although he would have liked to take the chance to learn more about goblin culture.
When they reached Harry's vault, he was awed by the enormous piles of gold and silver.
"Is this normal? I mean, do most wizards have so much?" Harry asked his guide.
"No", the goblin replied, "although your parents were wealthy themselves, the majority of this is the result of various bounties placed on the head of the Dark Lord, awarded to his vanquisher. Since you were unavailable at the time, we were happy to collect them on your behalf – for a minor processing fee, of course" the goblin finished, with a toothy grin.
Struck by a thought, Harry ran forward and dived into the largest pile of gold, laughing gleefully. Throwing coins in the air, he took the chance to stuff as many as he could into his pockets, knowing that Hagrid would most likely put a limit on what he could take, and that it might be a long time before he had a chance to return.
It only took him a few minutes to stuff his clothing with as much as they could hold (mentally thanking dudley for his ridiculous cast-offs), and then he walked calmly out of the vault, past a bemused Hagrid, doing his best not to clink as he moved.
Knallhart was eyeing him with a feral grin as he emerged, and made that horrible grating sound Harry had heard from the teller earlier – obviously the goblin equivalent of a throat clearing.
"There is a particular item you might be interested in" Knallhart said, speaking Gobbledegook. "Gringott's provides them to our... special customers. It's a magic bag, connected directly to your vault, ensuring you will always have access to your money."
"Really?" Harry replied in the same tongue, "That's awesome! Where can I get one of these?"
"Like I said, Gringott's provides them only to those we deem worthy, and I think you would find a good use for such a thing. Our fees are entirely reasonable."
"Guardian Knallhart," Harry said more formally, "I am greatly honored by your offer. I would be proud to carry a goblin-made item. Just... don't tell anyone I have it, will you?" Harry said, with a sidelong glance at Hagrid, who was staring at them in confusion. "Don't worry," Knallhart assured him, "I'll slip it to you on our way out."
"Wha' was that abou' then, Harry?"
"I was, uh," Harry stuttered, trying to quickly think of something to say to avoid having to explain the agreement they had just reached. He was saved by Knallhart, who explained "Harry here was complimenting us on our security. A fine, upstanding young man."
Hagrids face broke into a smile "Ah, tha's good then. Clever as they come, Goblins, I've always said so."
.·.·.
After Gringotts, their first stop was to Ollivander's to pick up Harry's wand.
The tiny shop, crowded with shelves stacked high with tiny boxes, was thick with dust and the whole place had an air of abandonment about it.
"Are you sure this is the right place?" Harry asked, "Only, it doesn't look like anyone's been here for years."
"You are quite correct, Mr. Potter." A mournful voice from behind said, startling him, as Harry had not seen anyone go past and couldn't imagine how the man had appeared so suddenly. "My store has many visitors, but they never stay for long."
"W-Why's that then?" Harry asked, collecting himself. The old man was eerily still, and as wrinkled and gnarled as if he had been carved out of knotty wood – an impression further strengthened by the fact that Harry had yet to seem him move, or even so much as blink.
For a frozen second, Harry wondered whether he had somehow been tricked, and was looking at some sort of statue rather then a person. Then the man spoke again, with a dry, quiet tone.
"I do not know, Mr. Potter. But I do know... Yes, I think I have just the wand for you!"
With a flicker of motion, the man was gone, and then back again so swiftly Harry was hard put to see him move. He was holding in his hand a short wooden stick.
"Just pick it, and wave it around a bit."
Harry did so. It felt like an entirely ordinary stick.
Ollivander snatched it back. Another flicker, and he was holding a different stick. Again, Harry waved it, to no avail. A dozen times Harry tried, each time picking up the stick, waving it around, and feeling rather silly.
At last he decided that enough was enough. He remembered taking a couple of ranks in Use Magic Device when he was filling in his character sheet, so when Ollivander presented his next wand, Harry focussed all his energy on intently trying to feel some sort of connection to it... to make it do something, anything at all.
Harry felt a sudden click, as if something had fallen into place, and the wand abruptly shot a cloud of golden sparks into the air.
"Ah, a very unusual combination" the wandmaker said, "yes indeed, very, very unusual. But then, you are clearly a very unusual boy."
"Oh? Hows that?" Harry asked, more interested in getting away from the strange old man who still hadn't blinked then he was in hearing an answer.
"I remember every wand I have ever made, Mr. Potter, and this is not one of them. No, this wand was made by my... predecessor. Thirteen inches, unicorn and thestral hair. It is no surprise that it has waited so long, most wizards would find such a combination utterly unusable."
Harry was no becoming really unnerved by the way the man just kept staring. "Right, thanks, great, good to know, I'll um, I've got to be going now, so.." Harry babbled as he backed out of the store, giving a sigh of relief when Hagrid joined him a moment later. "Where to next then?"
.·.·.
Harry rushed through the rest of the day, buying his school supplies as quickly as he possibly could. He was in a hurry, because he wanted to spend as much time as possible checking the spellbooks in the book store, as well as seeing if he could find any interesting wonderous items to buy. After all, he had a bottomless bag of gold just begging to be used.
He was destined, however, to disappointment. Flourish and Blotts was filled with books, certainly, and they said they were spellbooks, but they didn't look anything like the spellbook Harry had. When he asked the attendant if these were the only kinds of spellbooks they carried, the man said they were, and assured Harry that they had only the best.
He had a little more luck in his quest for magic items. Although there were surprisingly few really useful items available, he was able to acquire a bag of holding (complete with an enchantment to ensure that whatever he needed was always at the top), as well as a stone of alarm (good for Dudley-detection). He also took the chance to commission the man who sold him the bag of holding to make him a glove of storing, which he seemed excited about and promised to send to Harry by owl sometime in the next few of weeks.
All in all, Harry felt the day had gone rather well, and a glance at his character sheet showed that he had somehow managed to gain twenty experience points – although he couldn't think how.
AN: Don't worry, this isn't going to turn into one of those "Harry befriends the goblins" stories. They're vicious little blighters in canon, and so they shall remain. By the way, can anyone guess where I got the name for Mrs Nez? A virtual cookie if you get it right... If no one gets it by the next chapter, I'll give you a hint.
In this universe, Harry stopped to get a hat on his way, causing him to arrive at Madam Malkins just as Draco was leaving. They never spoke, and so Harry failed to develop the hatred for Slytherin that led to him being sorted into Gryffindor. Not to imply that this is in any way plot relevant, of course. Just some random trivia. Yup. Not relevant at all...
I do have a character sheet written for Harry, but I'm not sure if I should post it – I think I prefer the suspense :)