AN: First time trying this out, hope it works. In this continuity, Harry and Voldemort NEVER EXIST. Lily & James never have a son or die, Tom never enrolls in Hogwarts and is somewhere in Albania, no First Wizarding War. Everyone else stays the same.

Rubeus Hagrid walked alone, head down, along the dark street, his footsteps echoing along the old, worn path. All of the houses, of course, were silent, their lights turned off. The street lamps would have bothered him, but he made sure to borrow the old Deluminator before he went out- Click. A the night became dark.

He pulled out a rough, worn letter from one of his multiple pockets and glanced at the name: S. Wright. Not too bad, as names went. He could vaguely recall something about a plane, or summat like that- Another muggleborn, of course. He sat down on the doorstep of No.10, Privet Drive and waited. To his immense surprise, a light was still on in the top floor, somewhere the Deluminator couldn't have reached. In a panic, he leapt up and click the Deluminator again- a very bad decision indeed, as it released most of the contained light, making the dark street flooded with the light of the newly restored street lamps. He could hear mutterings across the lane, and (this was the scary bit) the sound of footsteps could be heard coming to the door. He struggled to find his old Muggle-Repellent charm (35 sickles for one in Daigon Alley) but it was already too late. A young boy's face peeked out of the doorway.

"Ah... how'm I supposed ta say this. What's yer name, boy?"

"Sam... Samuel. Smauel Wright." The young boy was quivering in his slippers.

"Well, er, Sam, yeh're a wizard-"

But the boy had already fainted.

Samuel awoke to a large giant of a man holding what appeared to be a pink umbrella pointing at him. "Shh..." The man was whispering, or at least he thought he was. His voice was booming, really. "Sam... yeh awake?"

"I think."

"Lovely. Glad teh see I can still do me old tricks. Wasn' sure the rennervate'd come out righ'." He retracted his pink umbrella, tucking it into his enormous jacket.

"Wh... Wh... Who are you?"

"The name's Hagrid. Sorry for the, ah, rough introduction. Didn' know yeh were still awake."

"Why are we talking in a patch of bushes?"

"Well, I, um, didn' wanna wake the muggles, yeh know. The Ministry lot would've a field day if someone got a picture o' meself"

"Muggles? The Ministry? Are you some kind of government operative? I swear, I only published that paper about government for fun-"

"Shut up, yeh givin' me a headache. Never met 'un who talked this much since... who was that? Granger. 'Course I ain't with the Ministry o' Magic. How'd I break it to yeh... Sam, this place ain't what you think it be. There's an entire secret group o' wizards in Britain, a magical society made outta people who know magic. Yeh're one of them, Sam. A wizard. I've come here teh invite you to a school."

"A school? A school for magic, you mean? Just like those fairy tales and wizards and witches and dragons?" Sam's face was open in disbelieving shock.

"Yeah. The school's called Hogwarts, headmaster's Dumbledore, one o' teh bes' schools in Britain, all that stuff."

"Give me three reasons why I should believe you."

The giant's forehead frowned alongside his mouth. "I really should'n do this, but hold yeh knickers." Whipping out his pink umbrella once more, he pointed it at a small stone and sad, concentrating hard, "Wingardium Leviosa."

The stone twitched, shivered, and rose into the air. Sam was shocked.

"Th... that... how'd you do that? Wait... Is this some kind of magic trick?"

It wasn't.

"So, tell me. How do I become it wizard? Is the price of being a wizard holding a pink umbrella all the time?"

And here Hagrid's face turned a delicate shade of red. "Well, ah, most'a yeh lot use wands, but, yeh see, I, um, had a bit of a... whatd' ya call it... an accident wih mine. So I just-"

"Keep it hidden inside the umbrella. Cool. I read about this guy who did it once. Now, how do you plan on explaining this to my parents? You obviously didn't plan on showing them magic- do most people just roll with it?"

"Well, ah, most o' the time, meself showin' up's enough for most folk-" Hagrid stopped all of a sudden, and Sam could see why.

"What in the name of Woden are you doing to my son?" (His parents were ardent supporters of Norse religion)

-Interlude-

AN: All references- A Cartoon Guide to Physics, A Brief History of Time, The Catcher in the Rye, 1984, and On the Mountains of Madness (Lovecraft, not the feeling you get when reading bad fanfiction)

Sam had never understood the term "quivering with astonishment", but he could see that his parents certainly fit the bill. They had not taken Hagrid showing up very well. His mother was sipping on a strong, sweet cup of tea with two cubes of sugar- her favourite naturally, since she had gone on a sugar-free diet only two weeks ago. His father remained silent, but his face, cheeks alight with a certain red colour that suggested a burning tank of motor petrol told the story well enough.

"Tell me one reason why we shouldn't call the police right now."

"Show him, Hagrid."

A few minutes later, they were perfectly willing to authorise him to go to "that Hogwarts". As a sign of goodwill, they even offered to show "Mr. Hagrid" Sam's room. He, naturally, had the normal reaction.

"Don't yeh thinks that's a bit much, lad?"

The room was filled, top to bottom, with books. Everywhere. And all types of books too. There was "The Pulp Guide to Physics", "An Extended History of Time", "The Goalie in the Wheat", "1985", and a quaint book called "On the Flatlands of Calmness". It wasn't even limited to English books. Sam had a proud shelf devoted to books with such exotic languages as Chinese, Japanese, and (he believed) one authentic Klingon Dictionary. The lone remaining shelf was filled with lego pieces and models of varying complexity.

"Yeah, Hagrid, I sort of... like books."

"Like mighta be too soft a word, Sam. Mesself, I jus' hope yeh don't try teh bring 'em all."

"Don't worry sir, I promise I'll try."

Hagrid, naturally, in the long-honoured tradition of muggleborn inception, pulled an all-nighter. Sam's parents, after all, were what you might call... "anxious". Sam himself sat quietly in a corner of his own room, reading The Negotiation Field book as nervous, tense chattering fills the halls. Someday, someone would write a book about this, he was sure. But for now, he would settle for some tense thinking.

Magic existed! MAGIC. EXISTED. He had spent his entire life learning about science and how nature wouldn't over backwards to accommodate their wishes, how matter was conserved along with energy, but of course when you throw something as complex as magic into the mix, what you were really doing was telling the laws of physics to bugger off- one of the spells defied gravity. There was a kind of giant-spaghetti-horror that he was feeling, which one was entitled to feel when all existing obligations had been fulfilled, you walked the dog, and you realise that everything you've been taught was false.

He st down onto his small bed, looking at his science shelf. Perhaps he would throw it away, or at least rename it "Outdated Theories". Surely someone should call the UN? There would certainly be many people who would find this utterly fascinating, and probably very profitable as well. His brain, once it got past the whole existential doubt problem, was getting fired up for the first time in years. What were the new rules then, if any? What could you do in a world where the limit could quite likely be your own imagination? Could there be a spell to fix everything? If so, what were the parameters?

Hagrid would return to find a sleeping Samuel Wright.

"Sleep tight, lad. Tomorrow, we gotta get yeh schoolbooks."

"SCHOOLBOOKS?!"