As ever, all rights to the world of Harry Potter belong to J.K. Rowling and a number of very large corporations, none of which is me, and I do not intend to make any money whatsoever from this endeavour.
This chapter parallels Harry Potter and the Philosopher's Stone, chapters five and six, largely to show how easily (I feel) this path could have been the one taken. As this Harry deviates from Canon Harry, the borrowing will obviously be less.
Constructive criticism is always very much appreciated.
Originally posted 21 June 2007
Acts of Restitution
Restitution
1 : an act of restoring or a condition of being restored: as a : a restoration of something to its rightful owner b : a making good of or giving an equivalent for some injury
2 : a legal action serving to cause restoration of a previous state
Very early one morning, Harry Potter cried. He'd been crying for a long time, but Mama and Da still weren't there. Usually, when that happened, which it did, sometimes, Pafoo or Mooey or Wootoo would come. This time, though, they didn't.
He finally fell asleep over Bristol, confused and hurt.
Harry learns that things change, age 18 months.
Dudley displayed his nonexistent wound, and Harry waited, innocent and bleeding, for his punishment. Afterwards, his aunt dragged him to his new room, which was very small but his alone.
The next day Harry received a list of chores, but if he worked quickly, competently, and silently, things were better.
Harry learns that even if he isn't loveable, he isn't worthless, age three years.
The first time Harry brought home better marks than Dudley, Uncle Vernon took pleasure in calling him an eggheaded nancy. At the end of term, when Harry brought home first class marks and Dudley was in danger of being held back, Uncle Vernon took care that the bruises wouldn't show.
Harry learns that deception can be the better part of survival, age five years.
Over breakfast on Sunday mornings, Uncle Vernon commented on the decline of modern society, which Aunt Petunia warned was bad for his digestion. He didn't seem concerned: this week's tirade was longer and louder than usual, deriding slackers, queers, and freaks, and he looked pointedly at Harry all the while.
Harry learns he is not alone, age seven years.
Uncle Vernon was away on business, Dudley was ill in bed, and Aunt Petunia was nursing him upstairs – they'd have changed the channel otherwise. Since they didn't, Harry listened to the telly from his cupboard, the story of an orphan who escaped a horrible life and made a better one.
Harry begins to plot his escape, age nine years.
One otherwise unremarkable day, Harry received his first ever letter.
Harry's plans change, age eleven years.
When Harry left Madam Malkin's, he was confused about a number of things.
He knew that things would be different at his new school – they taught magic, so, obviously – but he'd sort of figured it would be like his primary but with magic classes.
Instead, it appeared that Hogwarts would be very different. Most worrying was that a lot of it seemed to be based on traditions and family, and Harry didn't know anything about either of those.
He'd been so excited at the idea of going to a different school than Dudley, knowing that even if his grades were to suddenly improve – and he didn't think he was a genius or anything, but he was certainly smarter than Dudders – his aunt and uncle could and would explain it away as the difference between the exclusive and fabulous Smeltings and the local comprehensive. Chances were, the better Harry did, the more smug they would feel.
Since he would be going to Hogwarts, if he excelled they would have more proof that he was a freak. Poor grades, come to think of it, might force them to reconsider their prejudices, and Harry would probably be punished for that.
Now, though, Harry was concerned: how could he do well if he didn't know anything?
There would be other students who hadn't known magic was real, but they were Muggleborns. They didn't have the familial traditions to worry about – which seemed to be a big deal – and Harry did.
Worrying about this, Harry was rather quiet as he ate the ice-cream Hagrid had bought him (chocolate and raspberry with chopped nuts).
"What's up?" said Hagrid.
"Nothing," Harry lied.
It wasn't until after they'd purchased his parchment and quills that Harry finally asked one of the many questions he had.
"Hagrid, what's Quidditch?"
"Blimey, Harry, I keep forgettin' how little yeh know – not knowin' about Quidditch!"
That made him feel worse, and he told Hagrid so, then explained about the pale boy at Madam Malkin's.
"– and he said people from Muggle families shouldn't even be allowed in – "
"Yer not from a Muggle family. If he'd known who you were – he's grown up knowin' yer name if his parents are wizardin' folk – you saw 'em in the Leaky Cauldron. Anyway, what does he know about it, some o' the best I ever saw were the only ones with magic in 'em in a long line o' Muggles – look at yer mum! Look what she had fer a sister!"
He would take Hagrid's word about his mum, Harry decided as Hagrid explained about Quidditch, but he rather thought Hagrid had missed the point in the first bit. Harry hadn't grown up knowing who Harry Potter was.
"And what are Slytherin and Hufflepuff?"
"School houses. There's four. Everyone says Hufflepuff are a lot o' duffers but – "
"I bet I'm in Hufflepuff," said Harry gloomily. The pale boy was the first person his age he'd ever met who was unlikely to be intimidated by Dudley – even if they actually met, which probably wouldn't happen. It would be just Harry's sort of luck that he would be placed in the house that the other boy most despised.
"Better Hufflepuff than Slytherin," said Hagrid darkly. "There's not a single witch or wizard who went bad wasn't in Slytherin. You-Know-Who was one."
"Vol – sorry – You-Know-Who was at Hogwarts?"
"Years an' years ago," said Hagrid.
Hagrid didn't seem comfortable talking about it, so while they searched for his textbooks in a shop called Flourish and Blotts, Harry thought about what he'd learned from his sources.
They'd agreed that Muggles and wizards needed to be kept separate (Hagrid had told him earlier that it was the primary function of the Ministry of Magic), but they'd been completely opposed on the subject of houses, something he still wasn't sure he understood. What were the differences? What made Slytherin better or worse than Hufflepuff? How were the students divided?
It sounded much more complicated than intramural teams. Harry wished there was someone else he could ask as a tiebreaker, but he didn't know any other wizards. He could ask a random person, he supposed, but it would be rude with Hagrid right there, and he didn't think he would be comfortable doing that, anyway.
Besides, it wouldn't change the fact that he was entering an entirely new environment – so much of what the boy at Madam Malkin's had said had made little or no sense at all – and Harry wanted to know the rules.
He stopped short. That was the answer, right there in front of him.
"Yeh 'bout done there, Harry?" Hagrid said when Harry met him at the cash desk.
"Could I get this one, too, please?"
He added Hogwarts, A History to the top of the pile.
The rest of their shopping was as unextraordinary as shopping for magical accoutrements could be, with the notable exceptions of Mr. Ollivander, the slightly creepy wandmaker, and the beautiful snowy owl that Hagrid gave him as a birthday gift.
Eventually, the day had to end, of course, and Harry found himself on the train back to Surrey with time alone to think and worry.
He'd tried to explain his reservations to Hagrid, and the gamekeeper had tried to be reassuring, but it was hard to communicate exactly how disconnected he felt without confessing the entirety of the problem. And he didn't want to tell Hagrid about Dudley's bullying. Hagrid had said that he wasn't allowed to do magic, and he clearly had a bit of a temper, as evidenced by his behaviour yesterday with the Dursleys. He also seemed to like Harry, and while Harry didn't think Hagrid would actually go back to Surrey, he thought it best not to say anything, just in case. He didn't want Hagrid to get into trouble.
From what Hagrid had said and the reactions of the people at the Leaky Cauldron, the wizarding world was fascinated by the power of the Boy Who Lived. Unfortunately, as far as he could tell, that 'power' was luck, and the whole thing had occurred when he was a baby, almost ten years ago. Eventually, the novelty would wear off, and they'd find out he was nothing special. Then, he'd be alone again, nothing but that Potter boy with the scar.
His train arrived in Surrey before he'd figured out an answer to the problem.
He was always kept on a short leash at the Dursleys, and after the last few days, he expected it would be tighter than ever. He nevertheless assumed he would be able to manage time enough to read at least one or two of his texts, late at night, and they might help.
As it turned out, Harry had all sorts of time to read. Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon didn't shut Harry in his cupboard, force him to do anything, or shout at him – in fact, they didn't speak to him at all, so Harry kept to his room, with his new owl for company.
His school books were very interesting, though Hogwarts, a History was the most useful, at least until he began classes. There were glaring holes – where exactly the school was located, for example – but it went into quite a bit of detail about many things, including the house system. It didn't discuss the sorting per se, saying little more than that there was a hat involved, but it did discuss the differences between the Houses.
Harry tried to guess from the descriptions which one he was likely to be assigned, but he couldn't decide for certain.
He could understand why both Hagrid and the pale boy were disparaging of Hufflepuff: neither the characteristics it valued nor its notable graduates were particularly exciting.
He hadn't had much experience with loyalty – he rather thought you needed to be deserving before it could be granted – but he thought it was something he could do . He had stood up for Hagrid at Madam Malkin's, and he was definitely hardworking, so it really did seem the most likely.
Ravenclaw, on the other hand, was probably not his best fit. He hadn't had a lot of time for books, though the library at school was a good place to avoid Dudley if he could manage it (but the teachers always sent him outside if they caught him there during recess claiming he needed exercise). Besides, too much reading made things complicated. The more he learned the harder it was to remember how much he had to pretend not to know, to keep his grades lower than Dudley's.
Like Hufflepuff loyalty, he'd like to think he had the potential for Gryffindor bravery, but he couldn't think of a time when he'd had to be brave. Being also the house of chivalry, which sounded like one of those old fashioned, traditional things that he knew nothing about, it scared him a little – which made his chances of his being sorted there all the less likely.
That left Slytherin. He wasn't certain he would suit there, either.
Harry had no real ambition, except to get away from the Dursleys, though he was very determined to do that. And he didn't think he was particularly cunning. He'd done things like throw tests to keep Uncle Vernon from punishing him, though, so maybe that would be enough. There was hope, at least, that he could convince them to sort him there, for, Hagrid's views aside, it was the House he wanted to be in. It was the only thing he could think of that would give him a chance to get close to the pale blond boy. Harry hadn't liked him, particularly, but Harry was aware of the power that Dudley had wielded over the school children, and he didn't want to make a similar enemy at his new school.
There was even a chance, just a hint of one, that they could be friends.
A boy who seemed as spoiled and self-obsessed as Dudley was welcoming. To him.
It was unheard of.
And Harry liked it.