DISCLAIMER: Anything you recognise belongs to someone else - JKR mostly. I'm making no money from this, etc.
PAIRINGS: future LVHP, future Harry/others (because, you know, school relationships and all). Various other canon & non-canon relationships.
WARNINGS: I'm just going to give a blanket warning for the whole fic here - the vast majority of this won't turn up until later chapters, if ever. Future het and slash, both casual mentions and as important relationships. I don't think it will ever be explicit, but there'll be plenty of warning if it is - and it's a long way away. Politics. Dubious morality. Down-right amoral characters. Swearing. Blood, gore, violence and torture. Child abuse, favouritism, angst, character death. References to sex. Spoilers from all the books.
NOTES: I don't think this will ever come up in the actual story, because Harry has nothing to compare them to, so here we go. The Dursleys are richer than in canon because without the wards keeping them at Privet Drive, Vernon gets several promotions and ends up owning Grunnings. They move into a nicer suburb just outside London, and are happy being their "perfectly normal" selves until Harry arrives on the scene nearly 7 years late.
I'm going to be changing quite a lot of canon - some canon events taking place at different times, some characters who would be alive are dead, others are still alive who shouldn't be, etc etc.
Apart from that, I can't think of anything, except that I hope you enjoy :)
For those who are interested, the title of the fic is taken from Goethe's Faust: Der Tragödie erster Teil, scene 16:
Fill up your heart with it, great though it is,
And when you're wholly in the feeling, in its bliss,
Name it then as you will,
Name it Happiness! Heart! Love! God!
I have no name for that!
Feeling is all in all;
Names are but sound and smoke,
Beclouding Heaven's glow.
- Goethe's FAUST
...
"- the dragon roared! All the people in the town were afraid, because they couldn't fight the dragon, but not Merlin! Merlin was the most powerful wizard there's ever been, and he wasn't afraid of any grumpy old dragon. He held his magic staff up to the sky and shouted a spell, a spell so powerful that no wizard had ever managed to cast it before. But it worked! The spell worked, and the dragon flew away. Everyone was happy and-"
Harry is seven when she dies, choking on her own blood. He screams, for all the good it does him, but all the muggle doctors in the world can't bring her back again.
The Dursleys are grey, and they will never compare to red and gold and green.
...
He drifted to and fro amongst the guests, aimless and anonymous in his function as waiter, a dark child itching in an old Armani suit that didn't fit properly and would be hidden away once the party was over. Not tonight though; tonight Uncle Vernon would drag Aunt Petunia upstairs after the last guest tired of meaningless chatter and free champagne. They would forget about Harry and the possible damage he could be doing to their precious suit.
Now there was an idea. If he dropped a few hints to Dudley about how much trouble he'd be in if it got damaged, it would end up being torn up and fed to next door's dog or something - Dudley never turned down a chance at wanton destruction. Aunt Petunia would have to get him a new suit, and with a bit of luck that new suit might actually fit. The question, of course, was whether the punishment would be worth it or not. Probably not, he thought regretfully. Harry would just have to keep waiting for one of the guests to mention the way his sleeves were halfway up his arm to his Aunt. It would be a while. The Dursleys avoided shrewd, intelligent people in much the same way they avoided foreigners and abnormality: with instinctive disgust.
Pausing to offer the last snacks from his tray of "Hors d'Oeuvres" (not finger food - that was so dreadfully middle class, after all, and it would never do for people to suspect the Dursleys had risen from the lower orders, would it?) to a corpulent, red-faced stranger and the anaemic blonde clutching at his arm with a simpering smile, Harry made his way into the kitchen to restock. Finding it deserted, he took the opportunity to dawdle a little, taking his pick of the fizzy drinks and opening a packet of crisps. He even took one of Dudley's chocolate bars. When he was younger he'd hated these things, but defiance made everything taste better.
It was still light enough outside at half eight that, despite the dusky shadows gathering strength in the corners, the last of the sunlight fell with heavy warmth through the tall windows that looked out onto the concrete patio. He took the opportunity to bask in it, enjoying the brief moment of inactive solitude before he was forced to go back out. Still a long time yet before he could escape up to his room.
A rap of knuckles at the window, then Aunt Petunia's shrill voice telling him to get back to work. Politely, if only because there were guests about. Harry turned, grinned, shrugged just so because that was the thing that annoyed her the most and slid languidly to his feet, his movements purposefully lazy. He'd catch it later, but it was his birthday. He'd sit down if he wanted to.
She was still glaring, though, so he supposed he'd better get back to work. Couldn't antagonise her too much. He loaded the tray from boxes labeled Asparagus Spring Rolls, Wasabi Peanuts, Tuna with Avocado and Arugula ... Don't forget the Andoui Sausages, some of those too...
Harry didn't know what any of these sour, wilted little morsels were, but they looked out of date, stank in the summer heat and were absolutely the thing to have at parties, so of course Aunt Petunia had to have them. Let it never be said that the Dursley distaste for all things foreign would ever prevent them from keeping up with the Bartley-Wingfields next door.
Suitably loaded up with food and a few glasses of champagne (they'd need it to eat those things), Harry manouevered his way through the hall into the sitting room and started offering the food to the small crowd of guests sprawled with haphazard gracelessness over Aunt Petunia's new cream sofas. Deep in some solemn, alcohol fueled discussion of the state of the drill-bit industry (going under soon, apparently, he'd have to let Uncle Vernon know that), they failed to notice him come in.
"Would anyone like some food?" he asked politely, glancing around the room. He had to repeat it a few times to get their attention.
Only the pale woman with ribs he could see through her dress and curling red hair (don't think of her don't think don't think) took any of the food, lifting a spring roll to her mouth with trembling fingers and a guilty look that he caught only because he couldn't quite keep from watching. Brown eyes, though, so it was okay, and the others had noticed now and watched with greedy, impatient expressions. He moved on, offered the champagne and endured the usual condescending small talk with a patience he hadn't had four years ago. They were always surprised to hear the Dursleys had a nephew, even the ones he'd met before, and they always said the same things. He knew he had green eyes, it wasn't as though he'd never seen a mirror before, and he never belonged to anyone, never never never, especially not Uncle Vernon, but they always forgot and said the same thing again. And he always said the same things in return, because being polite to morons meant he could go to the library tomorrow.
In fact, it was well on its way to becoming another forgotten night, unremarkable in it's tedium, of note only because it was his birthday and he was playing the servant again. It seemed unfair when Dudley had gotten fifty three presents for his birthday only five weeks ago, but he was used to unfair. Mr Monotony and Mrs Injustice and their son Incurable Stupidity, living it up in the land of the nouveau-riche. Sounded like the start of a fairy tale.
Then a dark-feathered bird broke the soft twilight and swooped in through the open window. It settled onto the back of Uncle Vernon's armchair with a dignified ruffle of its feathers and a haughty, unimpressed glance around the room. The whole room froze in shock.
Harry moved first, setting his tray on a sidetable with slow, careful precisision. The champagne sloshed noisily against the sides of the glass, but settled without spilling. He straightened up, never taking his eyes off the bird - an owl, some distant part of his mind identified. It calmly returned his stare for a few seconds, then turned its eerie white face to the side.
Following the line of its gaze, Harry noticed some sort of package, attached to the owl's leg. His brow furrowed.
Surely it couldn't mean for someone to take it? He'd heard of messenger pigeons, but delivery owls?
It seemed far-fetched, but the owl was looking at him again, and this time something in the sharp orange gaze looked impatient. Throwing logic and common sense to the wind, propelled at least in part by the surge of amusement at the thought of Aunt Petunia's reaction when she heard about this, he stepped over to the owl and reached slowly for the package, only a little surprised when he wasn't attacked for his presumption. He could feel the curious, drink-addled gazes of his Uncle's guests following his every move.
There was a thick cream envelope made out of some unfamiliar material, tied to the bird's leg by a piece of twine. No doubt about it, then. Messenger owl. Awesome.
A fancy red wax seal stared up at him, a shield with four animals - he couldn't quite make them out - and a large H blazoned on it. It looked official, although it couldn't have been any more different to the letters his Aunt and Uncle got from time to time. He flipped it over, and felt his breath catch in the back of his throat.
It was addressed to him.
Mr H Potter
The Smallest Bedroom
Church Street
Eden Park
London
How...?
"Go on then," a man said from the back of the room. "Tell us what it says."
He had a brief, selfish urge to say no: it was his letter, what right did they have to hear what it said? He never got mail, he wanted to cherish this on his own. But if he did tell them, whatever it was about, Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon wouldn't be able to take it away. He would have witnesses. And what was it about?
The seal broke with a quiet crack, and he drew the letter out. He opened his mouth to start reading, actually processed what he'd just seen, and shut it again with a click.
What? How? It couldn't be true - could it? ... Merlin was the most powerful wizard there's ever been, he wasn't afraid of any grumpy old dragon ... The letter said Order of Merlin...
"Get on with it, we're dying here!" the man from before shouted.
"Probably can't read," one of the women sniffed. "You know children these days."
Harry twitched.
"Petunia did say that this one was a little - touched, don't you remember, Cynthia? You could be right..."
"I can read!" Harry said icily. "It was just a - surprise."
Aunt Petunia was going to hatethis. It was probably a joke - no matter how much his heart leapt to think it might be true, he couldn't let himself hope, it was probably a joke - but she'd definitely hate the thought of being associated with the word 'magic'.
He was not above spite.
"Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry," he read. Over the top of the odd yellow paper he could see their faces contort in shock.
"HOGWARTS SCHOOL OF WITCHCRAFT AND WIZARDRY
Headmaster Albus Dumbledore
(Order of Merlin, First Class, Grand Sorc., Chf. Warlock, Surpreme Mugwump, International Confed. of Wizards)
Dear Mr Potter,
We are pleased to inform you that-"
"You can't honestly expect us to believe that tripe. Stop lying, boy," a man Harry recognised as one of Uncle Vernon's friends said.
"Even if it was delivered by an owl," the red-haired woman added. "And even if I am drunk. No such thing as magic."
Harry shrugged helplessly. "Well, that's what it says."
"That's what what says?" Aunt Petunia asked sharply. She had a fake smile plastered on for the benefit of the visitors, but Harry knew her well enough to spot the tell-tale trembles of anger. He wasn't supposed to draw attention to himself, after all. She hadn't noticed the owl yet. Perhaps it was directly behind him? He did vaguely recall it moving about behind him while he read out the letter. Well, it wouldn't do to hide it from her.
Harry smiled, and stood aside. "I got a letter-" he paused, surprised, as the colour visibly drained from Aunt Petunia's face. He hadn't expected that much of a reaction.
"I might have known," she practically spat the words at him. "We tried our best, but Marge is right. Bad blood will out. You're just like that good-for-nothing father of yours, aren't you? No respect for anyone or anything."
Bewildered, Harry snuck a glance at the visitors, to see if they were making any more sense of this than he was. He could see gleeful fascination but no understanding, and for a moment he almost felt sorry for Petunia, who would be hearing about this in garden gossip for years. Almost. Not enough to remind Petunia that they were there, though.
Wait. Aunt Petunia hadn't seen the letter. "You knew - you were expecting - it's true?"
"True! Yes, it's true all right." Petunia sneered. "My sister got a letter just like that one, didn't she, and disappeared off to - that school - quick as you please, turning people into toads or whatever it is they do, and my parents loved her for it. Lily this, Lily that - they couldn't see that she was just some freak!"
"Don't - don't you dare! My mother was not a freak!"
"Well, Arnold, we've got quite the job on our hands here, I think," an unfamiliar voice said from the doorway. It was soft, cultured and so obviously un-English that Harry was startled into looking away from Aunt Petunia, who had also turned and was spluttering indignantly at the oddest sight Harry had ever seen.
Two men stood in the doorway, one slender, tanned and elegant, the other round and amiable-looking, both wearing long blue... clothes. Harry wasn't quite sure what to call them, but they had the look of a uniform about them. They were both holding sticks in their hand.
Harry glanced at his letter. There, under 'Other Equipment' - Professor McGonagall had listed a wand. Could it be...?
"Are you ... wizards?" he breathed, fury temporarily forgotten.
"Ah," the elegant one said. It was the same voice as before, soft and slightly disdainful. "Yes, yes, we're from the Ministry."
The round one - Arnold - glanced over at Harry and smiled. "Did you just get a letter from Hogwarts?"
It was true! These people knew about Hogwarts, and ... Aunt Petunia's reaction... it had to be true. Harry couldn't help himself. He grinned, and waved the letter clutched in his hand a little. "Yes! And - I'm really a wizard?"
"Ah. Muggleborn. That would explain it," the elegant man muttered. Harry barely managed to pick it up; he gathered he wasn't meant to, and frowned. What was a muggleborn?
"Emrys, will you-" Arnold started, but was cut off as Aunt Petunia seemed to recover from the shock of these wizards suddenly appearing in her house.
"What are you doing in my house?" she shrieked. "Get out, get out - I won't have you-"
Emrys sighed and waved the stick in his hand. There was a quick flash of red light and Aunt Petunia slumped bonelessly to the floor.
Harry stared, wide-eyed. So easy! Just the slightest motion of the man's wand - and Aunt Petunia couldn't do anything. Harry's thoughts raced. "How did you do that?" he demanded. "Was that magic? Can anyone do that?"
"Any witch or wizard, yes," Emrys said, looking bored. "Don't worry, she's not dead."
"Oh - er, good." He hadn't even thought she might be. He wondered if he should feel guilty for thinking he wouldn't have cared if she had been.
"DEVIL!" Uncle Vernon's friend shouted, red-faced. Harry had totally forgotten they were there, and took a step backwards, eying the man warily. He looked more than a little mad.
"Oh, now you've gone and spooked them," Arnold scolded. A flick of the stick - wand, Harry corrected himself, an honest to God wand - and all the guests slumped quietly back into their seats from their various positions of alarm. Including, to Harry's relief, his uncle's friend.
A third wizard appeared at the door. "I got all the ones who noticed something from outside," the new wizard said. "How's it going in here?"
"Haven't started yet," Emrys said dryly. "There was a bit of a commotion in here."
"Well, hurry up. Our shift's nearly up and I want to get home. My wife'll have dinner cooked by now."
"Very well. Arnold, the boy's clearly clueless - fill him in, and we'll finish obliviating the muggles."
Harry saw Arnold nod, then the man stepped over Aunt Petunia and clapped Harry on the shoulder. "Welcome to the Wizarding World, young man. This is the first time you've heard of magic, I take it?"
"I've heard of magic before - I just - I never thought it was real." He'd never let himself hope it was real. Hoping hurt, because in the morning the Dursley's grey existence always returned.
"It most certainly is," said Arnold with a grin. "And a most amazing thing it is, too. What's your name?"
"Harry. Harry Potter."
"Well, Harry, magic's a wonderful thing, but there are a few rules. And the biggest one is that you don't let muggles know about it, not unless they're direct blood family." Arnold suddenly turned stern. "And that means no reading out Hogwarts letters to them, and definitely no using magic in front of them - not unless you're over seventeen and have a license to use memory charms, anyway. You're lucky we have charms in place to catch incidents like this, or you could have blown our cover sky high!"
"Cover? You mean yo- we have to hide from .. people without magic? What did you call them again? And why?"
"Muggles. And yes, we do - and don't think about breaking that rule young man, we take the Statute of Secrecy very seriously. Besides, can you imagine what it would be like if the muggles did know? There'd be witch hunts and burnings all over again. It would be terrible!"
Harry blinked. "You mean - they actually did kill witches? Most people nowadays think those were just superstition-"
"Of course they do. We do a good job of hiding ourselves," Arnold said smugly. "And it was mostly other muggles they killed, but every once in a while they did manage to get a witch or wizard. Children without wands especially, because they couldn't fight back."
"That's horrible," Harry whispered. People like the Dursleys had gone around burning witches and wizards? He could see why they were in hiding, he supposed, although it didn't look like they'd have many problems if they did decide to come out of hiding. It had only taken two flicks of a wand to knock out everyone in the room.
He would be able to do that to Uncle Vernon, he realised. The Dursleys would never be able to order him about ever again if he had magic.
"We're done, Arnold," Emrys called. "Hurry up."
Arnold nodded absently, and squeezed Harry's shoulder a little. There were two odd popping noises from somewhere behind him. "You'll enjoy Hogwarts, Harry, everyone does. It's an amazing place."
Harry smiled, then frowned. "But how do I get there? And how do I get all this stuff? You can't just buy it in London, can you?" They did say you could find anything in London if you looked hard enough.
"One of the Hogwarts professors will take you to Diagon Alley to buy your supplies." Arnold raised a brow in surprise. "Didn't it say that in your letter?"
Harry shook his head. "Just that term begins on the first of september and they 'expect my owl' by the 5th of August. And nothing about how to get there, either," he said, biting his lip.
"Probably thought you were James Potter's son, what with having the same surname and all. He died years ago, but the wife was a witch, I think, and if you were one of those Potters they'd expect you to know all this already. I can see how it all got mixed up. Easily remedied, never fear. I'll floo Hogwarts tonight and let them know that you'll need someone to show you over to Diagon. Good job you mentioned that. Is the screeching muggle any relation to you, by the way? You'll have to tell her about the letter again later if she was. I think Emrys obliviated her as well. Oh, and don't worry about the muggles, they'll start waking up in about five minutes. Well, goodnight, Harry, and enjoy the rest of the party."
Apparently having run out of things to add, Arnold the Wizard disappeared with a crack right before Harry's eyes, leaving Harry gaping, more than a little confused, and happier than he had ever been in the four years since Lily Potter had died. This was, without a shadow of a doubt, the best birthday present he'd ever gotten.
He was a wizard. Magic was real. And if this was a fairy tale, then he didn't need a fairy godmother to rescue him from his relatives.
He wasn't going to be satisfied with being 'normal'. He was going to be something special. And he would do it on his own.
Harry Potter didn't need someone else to do the magic for him.
Comments and or criticisms are more than welcome. I'm always looking to improve, so please tell me what you think! :) Also, this is unbeta'ed at the minute, so if anyone would be willing to beta for me that would be amazing. A trip to Diagon Alley next chapter, which should be interesting. :D