Disclaimer: Harry Potter belongs to its wonderful creator, J. K. Rowling

Chapter 1: The Boy Under the Stairs

He was sitting on his old moth eaten blanket in the cupboard under the stairs. His name was Harry Potter and today was his seventeenth birthday. He had been given to his Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia when he was a year old because his parents had died in an Indian raid his aunt and uncle had said. Over the years he'd been forced to practically become a slave for them and his Cousin Dudley.

Soon his Aunt Petunia came down the stairs and opened the door to the small space. He quietly climbed out, and began on his chores. As usual, he was left out of the family breakfast which Vernon and Dudley would scarf down in a matter of minutes. It didn't matter though, he'd find a couple pieces of bread with a slice of ham or chicken for him later. He had no idea what was awaiting him that day.

He was taking a small break from working on the small crops, getting a drink at the water pump, when he saw a large figure on a wagon driving down the road toward the house. His uncle and cousin, who owned a farm supply store in Surrey, the town they lived on the edge of, were home for lunch and were now walking out onto the front porch. Harry at once noted the shotgun tucked under Vernon's arm.

The wagon pulled up in front of the yard just outside of the white picket fence, and the bear of a man stepped down. He looked to be the size of two, though not in the same fat way like his uncle and cousin, and had a big, bushy beard and beetle black eyes. He looked at the Dursleys and said in a polite but gruff voice, "I'm here to retrieve Mr. Harry Potter for Professor Albus Dumbledore."

Vernon just replied, "There's no one by that name here."

Harry was caught by surprise by those words. His relatives had threatened to kick him out plenty of times in the past. Why would they try to keep him there, but then he glanced at the field he was working in just minutes before. Well, you ask a fool question you get a fool answer. He looked at the large man standing at the gate. He had dreamed of someone taking him away from this place since he was little. He'd tried to runaway a few times, but each time he had been caught and beat. Now was his chance, and he'd be damned if he didn't take it.

Harry stepped past the corner out from the side of the house, and said, "I'm Harry Potter."

The man looked at him and smiled, "Well of course you are. You're spitting image of your father, except for your eyes. Those you surely stole from your mum."

"You knew my parents?" The young man asked quickly. "Tell me, were the Indians that killed them ever caught?"

"What! Lily and James Potter kill by Indians? The Indians loved them." The man turned back toward the Dursleys with a sharp look in his eyes.

Petunia retorted, "It was better than the truth, better than saying that they were killed by some outlaw."

The man grumbled, "Well, you don't have to worry about that anymore. I'm taking him to Hogwarts where he can live his life, free of people like you!" He turned to Harry and calmly asked, "Is there anything inside you have, like better clothes?"

Harry looked down at the large, baggy shirt and pants he wore and the worn, ratty leather shoes he wore. He embarrassedly replied, "Just a few more shirts and pants too small for Dudley."

He smiled, "When we get to Hogwarts we'll see about some decent clothes. Come on."

As they began toward the wagon, Vernon lifted the shotgun and yelled, "The boy's not going anywhere!"

Harry turned and lunged at the whale of a man that was his uncle. He was able to push the barrel down to send its projectiles into the ground, harmlessly kicking dirt. The large man ran up pulling the two apart, and ripped the shotgun from the larger. He snapped it open and broke the stock and hinges over his knee. Throwing the pieces to the ground, he looked about ready to kill, but Harry stopped his arm before he threw a punch. When he looked down at Harry confused, the boy lunged forward and let his fist fly. He caught Vernon right across the face, knocking him back. Petunia ran to his side, and Dudley whimpered back, shocked at the action. His uncle would probably be left with a black eye. It was the least that he deserved.

When the two walked to the wagon again Harry asked, "I'm sorry, but what's your name?"

"The name's Rubeus Hagrid, but most people just call me Hagrid." He answered as they climbed onto the seat.

Harry smiled, "Hagrid, I think this going to one good friendship." And my first, he added silently.