1.

It had been several days since the latest incident of something strange, this time the Brazilian boa constrictor setting on my cousin Dudley in the zoo. As always, I had been locked in the cupboard underneath the staircase as punishment for something I didn't know how I could have caused. But I was sitting in my cupboard one afternoon, and there was a knock on the front door.

I heard Aunt Petunia's heels clack to the entrance hall and she opened it. A woman's voice sounded from the other side, stern and brisk. "I am here to offer your nephew -"

"We're not buying," my aunt interrupted.

"I am not selling anything," said the woman. "It is an educational opportunity."

I perked up. My grades were fairly good, but they weren't fantastic. Who could possibly want to offer me some sort of special educational opportunity?

"Well, if you're looking for an excellent student, my son -" Aunt Petunia began brightly, and I snorted. Dudley was an idiot, and a spoiled one at that. Him deserving a special educational opportunity was even more unlikely than me deserving one.

"I am not interested in your son," the woman interrupted. "Only in your nephew."

Aunt Petunia began to get angry. "Well, my nephew is not interested!" she snapped, and I heard her move to slam the door shut - something stopped it. The woman, presumably.

"I would like to hear that from him," she said simply.

Aunt Petunia was caught off guard, I could tell from her voice. "Wh-what?" Here, she was in a dilemma. She couldn't reveal to outsiders that she regularly locked her nephew inside the cupboard under the stairs. And she definitely couldn't reveal it was because she thought he could control snakes and make glass zoo tanks vanish.

At last, she said snappishly, "Wait here." And she shut the door. I half expected her to just leave the woman standing there, but instead I heard the chain unlock and my cupboard door was jerked open. "Someone's here to talk to you," she said brusquely, glaring at me as though it were my fault. "And you'd better not say anything, and you'd better act polite."

"Yes, Aunt Petunia," I agreed, happy just to be let out and allowed to talk to another human being. I was also curious. What could this woman want?

I went to the door and opened it, looking up into the face of a tall woman with a bun of black hair, square glasses, and a stern face. She wore a black pantsuit and an emerald green dress shirt, and carried a briefcase. Her lips pursed when she saw me, as if she already disapproved.

"Mr Potter?" she said. "I am Professor Minerva McGonagall, and I am here on behalf of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry."

For a moment, I thought it was a joke.

Then my uncle bellowed like a wounded rhinoceros and skidded out into the entrance hall from where he'd been watching television in the living room. My aunt screeched and sprinted forward to pull me back. Dudley thundered down the stairs in surprise and confusion.

This all happened essentially at the same time.

Professor McGonagall reacted. She pulled out a long strip of wood - a wand? - and in a flash of violet light all three of my relatives were farm animals. I stopped and stared.

Professor McGonagall put her wand away rather briskly. "I was worried about you, so I thought I'd come a month before the letters were sent out," she said. "I asked Dumbledore to lift the sensors barring magic from being done in the house for a specified period of time. Well, technically, he didn't do it, the Minister for Magic did. Good thing, too. It looks like it was needed. I never did agree with leaving you with these people."

I tried to make sound. "Professor - what -?" I was completely lost. Very coherent, I'm sure.

"Ah, yes, I'm sure you have questions," she said briskly. "In that order: I am from a school of magic that exists inside a hidden world of magic. You have magic too. You're to be invited to join. Most times we can't do magic around Muggles, or non magical people, but our government made it so that I temporarily can."

"But… about leaving me with the Dursleys…?"

"Ah, yes. I was friends with your parents." My eyes widened. "Come now, Mr Potter, you didn't really think your parents had died in an ordinary way, did you? You're hardly ordinary yourself."

Well, I couldn't argue with that.

"I was told they died in a car crash," I managed.

Professor McGonagall looked at me sympathetically. "So you know nothing."

I shook my head. "Weird things happen around me sometimes… But I'm always locked in the cupboard under the stairs for them. That's what I was doing when… well… you came."

Professor McGonagall's lips thinned and her nostrils flared. "Isn't it dark in there?"

"The real problem is the spiders, ma'am," I said matter of factly. Then, at her expression, I added, "If you're looking to murder someone, might I suggest one of the farm animals?"

Professor McGonagall stopped - then chuckled reluctantly. I smiled.

"Alright, Mr Potter. Make us some tea. We'll take it into the sitting room and I shall explain everything."

I was used to doing chores for my aunt and uncle, and that included cooking and making tea. I brewed a pot and brought it obediently with two cups on a large plate. We drew up armchairs before the fireplace, set the tea down on the table between us, and I asked, "So this…"

"Wizarding world," Professor McGonagall offered, sipping. She seemed pleasantly surprised by the taste. I got the feeling ten-year-olds didn't make her good cups of tea very often.

"Yes, this wizarding world, full of… witches and wizards?" Professor McGonagall nodded. "What is it like?" I asked hungrily.

"It is set in pockets. We use Undetectable Expansion charms and Notice Me Not charms - which are exactly as they sound like, and which are heavily regulated by our Ministry, I might add. And we hide in little pockets among Muggle places. A shopping center hidden away in one city, a few houses on the edge of a village. There are less of us, which makes it easier."

"How does one travel from pocket to pocket? Where is the Ministry located and what does it do? Where is the school located?"

"There are several methods of travel. Adults can Apparate, or teleport, and people age twelve and over can use brooms. Floo powder is a method of traveling from wizarding fireplace to wizarding fireplace."

"Do all wizards have fireplaces?"

"Yes. We do have technomagic, technology that can exist alongside magic, but for the most part electricity doesn't function properly around magic. So we still use many old-fashioned things: fireplaces, candles, parchment and quills, messenger owls. Our architecture is old-fashioned, and we mostly use Victorian-era wear and robes. I have heard Muggleborns call it quite peculiar. A woman can be in a Victorian-era robe dress on a cobblestone street and she can have tattoos and suddenly whip out a cell phone."

"What are Muggleborns?"

"Wizards and witches can be born to Muggle-magic marriages, and also to Muggle-Muggle marriages. Additionally, there is no sexism, racism, or homophobia in the wizarding world. Same sex marriage is legal, and same sex couples can even have children - they grow in little bubbles inside St Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries."

"How do Muggleborns know how to get to school? Do you come to them as well?"

"Precisely. Now, as to your other questions…"

"I asked about the Ministry and the school," I offered excitedly when she paused.

"Right. The Ministry is located in London, in a hidden location. One of its jobs is to hide the wizarding world from Muggles -"

"Why?"

"We first separated because of the medieval witch hunts," said Professor McGonagall. "Most adult witches and wizards could escape Muggle clutches, but Muggles did often used to set fire to wizarding children. In fact, the only kind of discrimination that exists in the wizarding world is based on blood. Muggleborns and Halfbloods experience a kind of discrimination that Purebloods don't. Some wizards still do genuinely hate Muggles, and distrust them.

"That's why we hold no other kind of discrimination. We know what it's like to be discriminated against. Think of how you were treated by your aunt and uncle, who did, after all, know that you were a wizard."

I thought about it and hot anger filled me, a frown coming over my face.

"That's true," I said, "but taking it out on Muggleborns isn't right either. I mean, I'm practically a Muggleborn myself, but that doesn't mean I hate wizards. Why can't we all just hate Muggles equally and not hate each other?"

Professor McGonagall offered her first, rare smile. "Precisely, Mr Potter," she said. "Precisely."

I smiled, feeling warm.

"In any case, say we reveal ourselves and we're not burned at the stake. What's the alternative? That Muggles ask us to do everything with our magic, and stop doing anything for themselves? That Muggles try to copy or steal our magic? Where is the good possibility here?

"There are some Muggles who are capable of successfully accepting the idea of magic," Professor McGonagall admitted. "There are successful Muggle-wizard marriages. But not many. My parents certainly were not one, and it's made me wary of advocating anything of the sort."

"What happened?" I asked.

Professor McGonagall was reserved. "My mother was forced to give up her magic for my Presbyterian father. She spent her entire life envying me.

"On the note of religion, wizards and witches accept all religions, but the essential wizarding religion is closest to Wiccan in nature. It's because we're descendants of the Druids.

"Other wizarding countries besides Britain, obviously, have their own wizarding histories and religions."

"So we're everywhere?" I guessed.

"Essentially," Professor McGonagall agreed.

"What else can you tell me about the Ministry?"

"Well, that aside it has everything a Muggle government has. It's elected by vote. It has a law sector, a high court, a sector for transportation, for games and sports, for protection against Dark witches and wizards -"

"Dark?"

"Violent," Professor McGonagall clarified. "Illegal. They're sent by Aurors, or policemen, to Azkaban, an island fortress prison guarded by Dark creatures called Dementors. I used to work for the Ministry before I became a professor, so I know it well."

"So do wizards have careers? Newspapers? Music? Sports?"

"Yes to all of those things. The biggest sport is Quidditch, played on flying broomsticks. I played it myself while I was at Hogwarts. We have newspapers and magazines. Our music combines old instruments with new sounds, rather like steampunk. Wizarding careers often have crossovers to Muggle careers. You can be a working class shop clerk or caretaker. You can be a Healer, teacher, government worker, banker, Auror, reporter. You can go into the arts or the sports sector. Or you can do something magical - Potioneers work for the Apothecaries, for example, or wandmakers, and we have people in magical research and invention. Our government even has a magical research division, the Department of Mysteries."

"What about the school?" I asked. "What's it like?"

"It is located in the Highlands of Scotland, out on wild ground in the middle of nowhere. It and the village attached to it, Hogsmeade, are surrounded by anti-Muggle enchantments. It is a medieval stone castle, and it is called Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. It runs on a seven-year-training program, with entrance exams into higher levels along the way. It has four school houses, it is a boarding school, and it runs on a Prefect and Head Boy and Girl system."

"How do I get there?"

"You take a train. We do have trains and buses. But the acceptance letters haven't even been sent out yet, and term doesn't start until September first."

"So how do I travel to the wizarding world without Floo powder?" I asked.

"You come with me at first, and then later once you have your wand you can take the bus," said Professor McGonagall.

I nodded and thought about it for a minute. "Now I want to know about my parents," I said at last. "You said they were a witch and wizard? How did they die?"

"Your mother was a Muggleborn, your father a Pureblood. They both went to Hogwarts before you. They fought in a great civil war in our world. You see, there was a man, and we're not supposed to say his name but it was Lord Voldemort. Most people are still afraid to speak it, you see. He had two goals: immortality, and to wipe everything but Purebloods from the face of the earth. He gathered up an army full of people and Dark creatures who thought like he did, and began a civil war against the Ministry. He killed many people in horrific ways.

"Your parents fought on the side of the Light, defending Muggles and Muggleborns. They became political targets and had to go into hiding, where they gave birth to and christened you. But Lord Voldemort - or, well, you're supposed to call him You Know Who - he found them, and killed them in front of you. You were a baby. Then he tried to kill you. For some reason, the unblockable Killing Curse rebounded, and he died instead. That's where you got that curse scar on your forehead. That's where the curse rebounded.

"Without him, his entire side fell apart, and the Light won the war. You're quite famous in our world. You're known as the Boy Who Lived. You were sent to your aunt and uncle because they were your only living family, and because it was thought blood magic could protect you better. We see where that got you. Dumbledore, the leader of the war movement and the head of Hogwarts, can sometimes be overly optimistic when it comes to people overcoming the darkness inside them.

"I suspect your aunt and uncle have treated you badly all these years out of some combination of bitterness and fear."

I nodded, looking downward. "Sometimes I have dreams," I said suddenly. "Of a flash of green light, a burning pain on my forehead. A woman screaming and a man laughing in this high, hysterical, cruel way. It's all mixed up and confused in my head. Could that be… could that be a memory?" I looked up.

Professor McGonagall blinked back sudden tears. "The Killing Curse is green. Your mother was found near you, trying to shield you from a curse," she managed.

And suddenly I was trying very hard not to cry as well.

Professor McGonagall put a hand over mine. "I'm terribly sorry, Mr Potter," she said in a shaky voice. "Your parents were good people and they loved you very much. You must know that."

"What were they like?"

She straightened. "Their names were Lily and James Potter," she said, obviously trying to inject some cheer into the conversation. "They were a very talented witch and wizard. Your mother had red hair, and green eyes just like yours. And your father looked very much like you - the same messy black hair and glasses, for example - but his eyes were hazel. Your mother was an exceptionally kind person and an excellent student. Your father was a troublemaker with a great sense of humor and a love for sports. I had both of them as students as well."

"So you've been around a while," I guessed.

Professor McGonagall smirked wryly. "Wizards and witches age slower than Muggles, Mr Potter," she said.

I nodded. "I don't feel famous," I admitted. "Or special. Like you say I am."

"If you did feel like that, Mr Potter, I would be worried," said Professor McGonagall dryly.

"So - those things that happened around me. The weird stuff. It was all my magic?"

"Yes, it's called accidental magic, and it's quite healthy," said Professor McGonagall, nodding. "Even something celebratory. Certainly not worth punishment.

"If I may ask, what kinds of things can you do?"

"Move things without touching them. Change color, shape, and size. Make things vanish and reappear. Move myself high up into the air. Change my own appearance - make my hair regrow, you know, that sort of thing. Oh! And I can speak to snakes."

Professor McGonagall suddenly froze.

"What's wrong?" I asked.

"Parseltongue, or snake speak, is seen as a sign of Dark magic…" she admitted. "The last person who could do it was Lord Voldemort himself."

"But - but I don't want to be like the person who killed my parents!" I said, panicked.

"Relax, Mr Potter, it's just a silly myth. I was warning you not to go blathering about snake speak, that's all. St Patrick was a Parselmouth."

I relaxed a little.

"If I may recommend," said Professor McGonagall, "Parselmouths among the good have written studies of snake speak. And accidental magic can be sensed out and turned to wandless magic. You seem to have great raw power, so that's something to keep in mind."

"So I'm actually strong?" I asked, perking up, interested.

"Most children don't start learning magic until they get to Hogwarts. And your accidental magic shows unusual strength, yes," said Professor McGonagall after a moment, nodding. "Don't let it go to your head."

"Yes, ma'am," I said, smiling.

"Do you have any further questions for me, Mr Potter?" Professor McGonagall asked.

"What about money?" I asked.

"Hogwarts is a public school with a student's fund," said Professor McGonagall smoothly. I would find out later that there was more to this than she was willing to tell me in the Dursleys' house, but for now she let that be. "Anything else?"

"... No, ma'am, I just can't wait to get started," I admitted.

"Excellent. Then I have some questions for you."

I straightened, uncertain. "Will they affect whether or not I get to go to Hogwarts?"

"Not a single one," Professor McGonagall affirmed.

"... Okay," I said slowly. "Fire away."

"Why are there no pictures of you on the living room walls?"

I was startled. I hadn't even realized our tea was finished or that she'd noticed the walls. "Because my relatives don't like me, ma'am," I said.

"Do they feed you?"

"They don't starve me. But I'm never allowed to eat as much as I'd like."

"Do they assign you chores?"

"Lots of them."

"When did that start?"

"About age… four or five."

"Where do you sleep?"

"In the cupboard."

"The same cupboard they lock you into?"

"Yes, ma'am."

"With the spiders?"

"... Yes, ma'am."

"Why do your clothes look that way?"

"All I ever get are old hand me downs of Dudley's."

"Why are your glasses broken?"

"Because Dudley likes to beat me up."

"And your aunt and uncle do nothing to stop this?"

"No, ma'am."

"Do you have any friends?"

"I'm not allowed them."

"Go anywhere fun?"

"I'm not allowed that either. I'm not allowed fun, or imagination of any kind."

"What about your birthday?"

"Not usually celebrated. I never get money or presents, either, before you ask."

"How do they speak to you? Do they show you love? Affection?"

I snorted. Professor McGonagall raised an eyebrow.

"Look, Professor, I'll save you the trouble. Uncle Vernon's a jackass, Dudley's a moron, Aunt Petunia's spiteful, they all hate me, and none of them want me around ever. They tell me so. They call me a freak."

"They call you names and say they wish you didn't exist?"

"They say I cost too much to keep around," I clarified.

"Any threats?"

"All the time."

"Of cupboard punishments or physical abuse?"

"... Yes, ma'am. Look, I'm not abused." I blinked in surprise as Professor McGonagall stared at me. "I'm not. But -"

"Does anyone besides your cousin ever makes grabs at you?"

"... Yes. My uncle."

"What does he do if he catches you?"

"Pins me against the wall. Shakes me." I was deeply uncomfortable. "Look, I'm not some abuse victim," I protested. "I'm not."

Professor McGonagall stared at me. "With all due respect, Mr Potter," she said quietly, "that is in fact what most abuse victims say."

I stood, suddenly furious. I wanted to order her out of the house, but at the same time I didn't and I was afraid. It was very confusing. "... This conversation is over," I said at last, teeth gritted, and I made to stalk out of the room.

"Mr Potter, it most certainly is not! Steps must be taken to remedy this!" Professor McGonagall called, standing, after me. "... Either you let me help you or I cannot allow you to Hogwarts!"

I paused.

"You would be a liability," she said into the silence.

"... I thought you said my answers wouldn't affect my entry."

"And I thought you would be willing to accept help."

I whirled around. "I'll accept your help if you get them to stop mistreating me!" I snapped. "Blood protection or no blood protection! Or you can just leave them as farm animals; see if I care."

I had gone from smiling and eager to having a very ugly look. Professor McGonagall seemed stunned.

"... Very well, Mr Potter," she said at last, shaken. "Let's see what we can do."

On her orders, I took all my things from my cupboard room and carried them upstairs to Dudley's second bedroom. She cleared all the old junk out of the way with a wave of her wand and let me set my things down on the brand new bed. I sat there, staring around myself for a moment.

"Stand on the landing," she told me. "Watch and listen."

So I did, hiding in the shadows. She advanced on the animals with her wand - they squealed and stumbled over each other - and in a flash of violet light they were people, Aunt Petunia and Dudley hiding behind Uncle Vernon. Professor McGonagall put her wand directly into Uncle Vernon's face. All three Dursleys were pale and terrified, silent and frightened.

I had never seen them look like that before. Magic alone seemed to unhinge them.

"Here are the rules," said Professor McGonagall. "Harry Potter is going to be a wizard. That is final. However, I would like for this to disturb your life as little as possible." Uncle Vernon looked as skeptical as I was. "Therefore, this is how it will go.

"Harry will make his own meals. He is to be allowed any food he would like. He will only leave his bedroom and enter the rest of the house for food, for bathroom breaks, or to leave the house entirely. You are never to enter his bedroom, or to have any contact with him. He, in turn, can have no contact with you. You are not to control him in any way; he is not to speak to you.

"If these rules are broken, I will know and there will be consequences.

"Myself and one other witch will be coming and going from this house for the rest of the summer. We will not be entering through the front door and up the stairs. We will appear from Harry's bedroom, and disappear from Harry's bedroom. You will have no contact with us. You cannot stop our entry.

"Is this clear?"

Somehow, she managed to make her soft, matter of fact speaking extraordinarily intimidating. Uncle Vernon nodded, some shade of grey in the face, shaking.

"Very well," said Professor McGonagall, putting her wand away. "I will now go back upstairs with your nephew, and disturb you no further."

And, as I watched in amazement, she walked away.

I was free of them. They were free of me. It was a miracle.

"Now," said Professor McGonagall back in my new bedroom, coming to stand in front of me, "myself and the school Healer, Poppy Pomfrey, will meet with you twice a week over the rest of the summer in a two person team. I will be there to assist you; she will be there as your counselor. These meetings will continue once you arrive at Hogwarts.

"There is, of course, a secrecy clause. Unless you intend to hurt yourself, neither of us can talk about anything you have said in our meetings. But they are essentially therapy."

"Can it be three times a week?" I asked.

"That's a change of pace," Professor McGonagall said in surprise.

"... I'd like someone to talk to," I admitted, wincing.

"... Very well," said Professor McGonagall, her eyes surprisingly understanding. "And of course, once the acceptance letters are sent out, we will help you with that. But for now, just focus on… on your own well-being," she said at last.

I nodded. She was, after all, my teacher, and she had already gained my firm loyalty. "Yes, ma'am," I said.

I resolved myself I would try and listen to anything she and Poppy Pomfrey had to teach me. Even if I didn't like it.

My dream had come true. Someone my parents had known had come to save me, after all.