Harry Potter had always seen things that nobody else did.

The first time this became important was when he was five and saw a glittering red spider weaving a web of golden-red strands above the stove. He had pointed it out to Aunt Petunia, who scolded him for making up stories — and yet the spider had finished weaving its web while she lectured him, and the stove burst into flames. After the firemen had left, his aunt forced him to repeat what he had told her, mouth set into a worried line.

His odd visions had never been ignored again. When he was six and reported the strange, semi-transparent green worms in the beef Aunt Petunia was preparing for dinner, she had thrown it out on the spot — the news later reported that there was an epidemic of improperly-cleaned meat causing sickness around the country, with a few young children dead. Uncle Vernon, who had complained the loudest about having a salad for dinner, had given Harry a grudging pat on the shoulder and a gruff thanks for protecting Dudley. The very next day he was given his own bedroom, even though Dudley threw a tantrum, and Uncle Vernon scolded his son for the first time. Dudley had been confused, but over the next few weeks he seemed to understand that things had changed — Harry was given normally-sized meals, and Dudley was given chores to share with his cousin.

Dangerous creatures like those were the exceptions rather than the rule, though. Some of them were actually quite pleasant, like the finger-sized naked girls that lived in the garden. They were always happy to take time out of their frolicking to talk to him about the flowers they seemed to live in, about which they were very knowledgeable — under their tutelage, Harry came to love working in the garden and begged that he be allowed to continue even when his chores were reduced. Aunt Petunia had no objections, especially because Harry's tending had somehow turned it into the most beautiful garden on the block.

The enormous spider that had lived in the cupboard under the stairs with him had been frightening when he first saw her, and of course his aunt and uncle hadn't believed she existed, but he had quickly learned that she was a fascinating conversation partner who was only too pleased to take him as a student in the art of weaving. Even after receiving his own room, he paid regular visits to the cupboard in order to catch up with her and show her his latest projects, about which she would inevitably have some form of constructive critique. After his most recent visit she had promised that he was almost ready for her to show him something special, and he couldn't wait.

But most of the things he saw were just in passing and displayed little interest in him, even on the rare occasions that they realized he saw them. The tiny, frog-like creatures that lived in electrical cables were too busy rushing around to talk, and the elephant-eared snake with a head for every phone in the house and a tail stretching into infinity never gave him more than a lazy eyeroll when he tried to draw it into a conversation, though it always did its job and mimicked voices so that he could use the phone like everyone else. When he was out and about there were creatures everywhere, just living their lives — it was fascinating, an entire world that only Harry could see. Even if some of the beings he saw were frightening to look at, like the barbed-wire horses that pulled cars, bleeding oil from every pore of their bodies as they went, they rarely acknowledged his existence. It was easy enough to live normally.

But he was almost nine years old now, practically a grown-up, and had gotten a lot better at vocabulary and writing thanks to the help that the woman whose body was strewn throughout the school library (its Witch, she had called herself) had been giving him. His drawing skills were also better than ever, the result of mentoring from a half-melted man made of paint that he had met in an art supply store. That meant it was time for him to start the Project.

The Project was something he had been dreaming of for years: a catalog of the creatures he saw, with names, pictures, and detailed descriptions of their purposes and traits. That meant he was going to need to start approaching creatures more than ever before, and he knew that was somewhat risky — but as an almost-adult, he was as ready as he'd ever be. The old man who ran the little bookstore Harry had begun frequenting had been only too happy to procure an enormous, blank tome for Harry's use, and the bookstore's Witch (who, unlike the Witch at the school library, could almost be seen in her entirety if you stood in the right place) had taught him an enchantment that he could use so that it would be able to get as big as it needed to be, and it would even update its own index for him, and keep itself alphabetically sorted! It was the biggest piece of magic he had learned, and he loved it.

Oh, that's right, magic was real! The first one to teach him any magic had been the spider in the cupboard, who had shown him how to feel every part of something that he was weaving. The spell gave him a keen awareness of every strand of fabric, as well as anything in contact with it — it was, the spider said, the magic that spiders used to make sure their webs were perfect and detect food once it was caught. Used properly, it could even control the movements of the threads, letting the user weave with nothing but their will. More than once, the awareness granted by the spell had been the only reason a pattern Harry was weaving into a piece of clothing came out perfectly symmetrical. She had also taught him how to secrete colored spider silk from his fingers and hair, and how to narrow and sharpen his nails so that he had no need for needles or scissors. It was the spell for his hair that had allowed him to finally tame it, turning his messy mop of hair into a beautiful, smooth, waist-length curtain of literal silk that he could use as extra sets of limbs due to the thread-control-spell. He frequently took advantage of this to quickly weave large projects or work on several smaller ones at once.

The little girls in the garden had taught him magic, too — how to speak to plants, how to predict the weather, how to understand the whispering of the wind. Thanks to their help, he never left the house without an umbrella on days that it was going to rain, even if the sky looked completely clear. The paint-man at the art store had shown him how to remove individual layers of ink or paint, so that he could always cleanly erase exactly what he needed to, and how to make sure colored paint he was mixing would end up the right hue.

Magic was incredible.

Harry gazed down at the large book on his lap. It was early on a Saturday evening, and Dudley was sleeping over with a friend. His aunt and uncle had decided to have a date night, so they were probably at a movie theater right now. This was a good time to start, because there would be no distractions for hours… but before he began, he needed a name for the Project, something he could use as a title. He thought back to the lessons he'd received from the Witch of the school library, and nodded decisively. He flipped open the cover, grabbed his pen, and wrote in large letters: Codex of the Real.

That's what this was, after all. In school, Harry had learned that people thought electricity was a force based on particles, but he could see with his own eyes that it was really those little frog creatures. Batteries were absolutely packed with them! Everywhere that there was electricity, there were those frogs rushing around. People didn't realize that the reason that phones worked was that giant snake — Harry had learned that it didn't just have heads in the Dursley's phones, but in every phone, everywhere! Because people couldn't see how the world really worked, they made up all of these stories about science. Harry was going to write the truth down in this book, even if nobody but his family would believe it! But what creature should he start with? Harry bit his lip. There were so many fascinating things out there, but the first one had to be special.

Well that kind of decided, didn't it? Harry jumped to his feet, smoothed down his skirt, and headed downstairs to the cupboard. It didn't get more special than his very first friend.

"Good afternoon, little weaver," the spider greeted, her voice a symphony of clicks and hisses.

"Good afternoon, Lady Weaver," he replied with the same not-speech, giving an elegant curtsy, just as the enormous woman made of mannequins that had shown him how to make human clothing had taught him. Harry was reasonably certain that they weren't actually speaking English, but he had never asked — it didn't really matter. "I'm starting the Project." He held up the book in his hand.

"How wonderful," Lady Weaver clicked. "Am I to be cataloged in your book?"

"If you'll let me," Harry said, smiling hopefully. "I wanted you to be the first one I record, since, um…" He ducked his head, blushing. "You were my first friend."

"Of course I'll let you," Lady Weaver declared, a series of clicks that Harry knew were laughter following her words. "I'd imagine you have some questions for me."

"I do, but, um," Harry trailed off, twirling a lock of hair around his finger. "Can I draw you first?"

"I have no objections," Lady Weaver said, tilting her head. "Why must you ask again?"

"Because…" Harry nibbled on his lower lip. "I can't really see you all that well in the cupboard, so you'd need to come out into the light."

"Is that so." Lady Weaver's eight eyes narrowed. "You know I dislike the light, child, but for you…" She sighed, but a moment later she emerged from the cupboard. She seemed to grow larger as she did, changing from the size of a large cat to the size of a horse. For a moment, Harry could only gaze at her in awe — she was gorgeous. What had appeared to be a black carapace in the darkness of the cupboard was made up of a blend of every color he could imagine, causing her to shimmer in the light.

"T-This may take a little while," Harry whispered, mouth dry. "I'm going to need to mix some new colors." He needed to capture that effect in the picture, or this was all worthless. The hue-changing spell that the paint-man had taught him wouldn't be enough on its own — it was a one-and-done effect, designed to blend two colors in specific quantities. But what if he was able to make it remember all of the colors it used and change between them based on the light…?

Harry carefully put a small amount of every color of paint that he had on his palette, then licked his lips, trying to decide how to weave his spell. After a minute, he took a deep breath and began mixing the paint together, eyes shut as he visualized the pattern he hoped he needed. When he finished and opened his eyes again, a soft cheer left his mouth — he had done it. The paint was shimmering, and while it didn't include as many colors as Lady Weaver's body did, he was pretty sure there was no way he'd ever be able to replicate that exact mixture — some of those colors definitely didn't exist as paint. This would have to do.

Lady Weaver peered down at his palette and clicked in disappointment. "You can do better than that, little weaver."

"How?" Harry asked, looking up at her with wide eyes. "I don't have enough colors."

"You only need one 'color' of paint," Lady Weaver admonished. "I didn't teach you to be such a shallow thinker, little weaver."

Harry bit his lip and gazed down at his tubes of paint. Only one color…? He gasped, then used the erasure spell to clean his palette and squirted a glob of black paint onto it. A touch of his finger and spark of magic later, it shimmered with countless beautiful colors. Lady Weaver remained silent as he leapt into action, a sketch quickly appearing on the page, followed by careful painting. An hour later, he was done. He wrote her name, Lady Weaver, beneath the picture with his best calligraphy and turned it around so that she could see it.

"Excellent work, little weaver," Lady Weaver clicked, pride in her voice. She skittered back into the cupboard, her body compressing once more to fit into the small space.

"Thank you," Harry replied, beaming. The portrait was hands-down his best work yet. "Um, can I ask my questions now?"

"Of course," Lady Weaver said, settling her legs under her in an odd pose that had always put Harry in mind of the meditation poses of the small men that emanated from statues of Buddhas that he had seen at some Asian restaurants.

"So… are you really a spider, or…?" Harry asked hesitantly.

Lady Weaver chittered with laughter. "My dear little weaver, I am not a spider. Here in Europe, I am the spider." She leaned forward, eyes glittering. "You may have heard of me in your books, in fact."

Harry's mind raced, trying to think of legendary spiders. "Arachne…?" He whispered. Was it possible? But why would someone like that be in the cupboard, of all places?

"Yes indeed," Lady Weaver declared smugly, returning to her previous stance. "Though I would prefer that you continue to call me 'Lady Weaver.'"

"Then… why are you here…?"

"Now that is a long story, but the short answer is that I'm here because of you," Lady Weaver said, waving a leg. "Your mother made a deal with me for your protection."

"M-My mother?" Harry asked, voice shaking, and he made no move to wipe away his tears. Why hadn't Lady Weaver told him this before? Aunt Petunia had admitted that the car crash had been a lie and his parents had been murdered, had said that they had loved him, but this was the first proof he'd had of that. His mother wouldn't have asked Lady Weaver to protect him if she didn't care, right?

"Yes, your mother," Lady Weaver said. She paused, then reached out to gently cup Harry's chin. "She asked that, if you could see me, I not tell you until you were old enough to understand. After all, the price for my protection was her life."

"Really?" Harry asked, voice shaking. Then his mother really must have loved him dearly, right? Humans valued their lives so much, so to trade hers for his… He felt warm.

"Not in the way you're thinking, silly little weaver," Lady Weaver murmured, a chittering laugh escaping her. "Your mother had her own great project, a spell that would have been able to provide a defense against a certain death curse. However…" Four of Lady Weaver's eight eyes slipped shut. "She had a glimpse of the future after her death if she saved you in that manner, and learned that your life would not be a happy one. So she entreated with me to save your life and ensure you would not be abused by her sister's family — and in exchange, I devoured the knowledge of her life's work."

"I see," Harry muttered, tears still leaking from his eyes. "Could you have saved both of us?"

"She did not ask me to, and it was not my concern," Lady Weaver said, shrugging her eight pairs of shoulders. "This is the most important lesson you will learn from interviewing me, little weaver: Grand Spirits such as I are not human, even if some of us may take that form. There is a limit to the direct assistance we may provide without an equal trade, lest we unbalance the world — and mortal lives pass us by in the blink of an eye. What reason did I have to care for some human girl I'd never met before?"

Harry understood. That was how the world worked, how all of the other creatures he'd met though — though he doubted any of the others he knew were Grand Spirits. They lacked the gravitas of Lady Weaver. And yet…

Lady Weaver was his first friend. He had thought she was a little different, that she cared more than the rest. If she could so easily dismiss his mother, did she really care about him, or was he just a job to her? He wouldn't blame her if that were the case — it would be silly to try to deny her nature, but all the same… what payment was she planning to ask for her lessons in weaving?

"Oh, little weaver," Lady Weaver whispered, voice sad. She pulled him into an eight-legged hug, and he wrapped his arms around her without hesitation. "I have watched you grow for eight years. I have taught you my art." She sighed, and he felt her body shake against him. "You are like a child to me, little weaver. Please, never doubt that I love you."

And now Harry was bawling openly, his hair stretching out to hug Lady Weaver all the more tightly with six extra rope-like limbs. For as far back as his memory stretched, nobody had said those words to him. Perhaps his mother had, but he was too young to remember it. Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon tolerated him, maybe even kind of liked him on their better days, and Dudley didn't mind sharing games with him sometimes, but he knew they didn't love him.

Lady Weaver did. She wasn't human, and she was no different from the other creatures in her lack of care for humans. He didn't think she'd care if the entirety of Privet Drive burned to the ground, killing every family that lived there… though in truth, neither would he.

But she loved him. And that was enough.

AN:

So this was an idea that hit me when I was chatting with some friends, and I banged out a couple of chapters that I'll post over the next few days, after which I have no idea what kind of update schedule it will have, so sorry about that! I do want to keep going with it, though, so chapters will show up whenever they managed to coalesce out of the ether… and no, this isn't part of the same AU as Tigers and Pizza, sorry! I do have another little piece for that almost ready for release, though.

This Harry has been more-or-less entirely raised and taught by a variety of non-human creatures, many of which have mentalities that are far from human. As a result, he'll tend to come off as a little odd even to people in the magical world, but he gets results. His set of taboos and understanding of 'common sense' is completely different from a normal human's, in ways that can be both helpful and problematic…

One thing I've had a lot of fun with here is the variety of creatures that keep day-to-day life running. Science is, of course, an explanation for how things works that goes into all of the nitty-gritty details and is seen by many scientists as a replacement for mythological explanations, and I wanted to try writing about a world where those scientific explanations aren't quite getting it right. Science-based ideas work, of course, but… not for the reasons people think! Mind, magical people as a whole are just as off-base with their own explanations. The ability to see these creatures is quite rare!

Anyway, hope you enjoyed it!