Story Synopsis: The-Boy-Who-Lived never had a happy home life. But if Vernon Dursley decided to go out of his way to prevent the boy in his care from turning out like his parents, things just might be different. This story begins as an Alternate Universe, with the branch away from canon occurring when Harry is just five years old, during his first bout of accidental magic. As far as romantic relationships go, I will tend to stick with the canon pairings, but since I am mostly writing this on the fly, with no clear outline or plan, the fic may steer itself to an alternate scenario. My muse will go where it wills, and all I can say is that I'll be just as surprised as you are most of the time. Since we know Harry's eleventh birthday is on July 31, and that it was a Tuesday (the night they arrived onthe rock was a monday according to Dudley), the events of "the sorcerer's stone" are therefore in 1990, since that's the last time that date was correct. This indicates Harry Potter was born in 1979, and that Voldemort was defeated in 1980.
Chapter 1 - The-Boy-Who-Lived
July 31, 1982
"That boy is an abominable menace," growled the massive man sitting at the kitchen table of Number Four, Privet Drive. His face nearly purple with rage and frustration, Vernon Dursley scowled at his paper, trying not to think about his unwanted houseguest, and thus causing his thoughts to drift in that direction of their own accord.
The night before, his son Dudley had been taunting the boy with a slice of cake, offering it out only to laugh and snatch it away. Vernon's nephew, Harry Potter, had been near tears, which the boy admittedly deserved, but then Dudley's cake had suddenly burst into flames. Vernon had put out the fire before anything else could catch, but Dudley had suffered burned fingers. Paddling his nephew until he was near bleeding had taken some of the edge of the elder Dursley's anger, but something more permanent would be needed.
"I agree," added his wife, Petunia. "But he is still only a boy. No matter how unnatural he is, we can't simply throw him out on the streets. What would the neighbors say?" She handed him a plate of bacon and eggs, and sat down to eat some toast. Dudley was still asleep, as it was summer holidays and he was therefore allowed to stay up later.
Vernon scowled at his paper, then put it down to begin eating. "We obviously can't just beat the unnaturalness out of him," he grumbled, scooping a forkful of eggs into his mouth. After finishing the bite, he continued, "Isn't there some story about cold iron stopping this sort of nonsense?"
"There might be. I've not read much of those sorts of stories since Lily went to that horrible school."
Vernon suddenly sat bolt upright. "That's it, Petunia!"
"What, dear?"
"Those people must have some way of stopping this unnaturalness, to put away their criminals! We just have to find it."
Petunia looked thoughtful. "Mother took me along one of the days we went to get Lily's school supplies. I think I can still remember how to get there. But they use funny money, we might have some trouble finding what we need. And the place is crawling with...them."
Vernon frowned, but said, "It's worth the risk, if it'll burn this nonsense out of the boy for good. If he settles down and turns normal enough, maybe we can even move him out of that cupboard." He rubbed his chin, and stated, "We'll go tomorrow, leave the boy with that old bat Figg. Dudley can stay with one of his friends for the day."
Petunia nodded, a bit nervous, but prepared to face her worst fears. After all, the brat was still her blood, even if he was one of those freaks.
The next morning, Harry was dropped off with Misses Figg, Dudley went to a friend's house to play for the day, and Vernon and Petunia set off for London. Specifically, a dilapidated old pub named the Leakey Cauldron, and the alley behind it. Thanks to Petunia's half-forgotten memories, the two Muggles managed to get into the pub, and out the back into the alley. There, they were confronted by a brick wall. Petunia, with difficulty, managed to persuade one of the patrons to open the way for them, explaining that their Muggle son had just been accepted, quite unexpectedly, to the wizarding school, and they had been instructed to come here to pick up the neccessary supplies. The man just smiled, tapped the bricks with a stick, and offered to escort them to the wizard's bank to exchange their money for wizarding currency, though the book shop took regular Muggle money.
"Flourish and Blott's takes care of most of the students' needs, so they don't mind taking Muggle money instead of real gold. They'll even change some of your extra for you, if you need."
Vernon tried desperately to maintain his facade of good cheer, and merely nodded. "Thank you, we're only getting books today. Our son is on a vacation with friends, so we shall pick up the rest another day."
The wizard smiled, nodded, and went back to his drink. Vernon scowled at him, and pulled Petunia closer. "Come along, dear, we should hurry."
They ducked though the crowd quickly, and found the bookstore. It was doing a brisk business, so Vernon slid into the store, and began quickly sorting through the sections to find something that would help him. At last, he stumbled across a rather dusty tome entitled: "History of Magical Persecution." The table of contents contained listings on all sorts of horrible things done to witches and wizards in the past. Figuring it would be a good bet, Vernon took the book to the counter.
"Oh my, I didn't realize we still had one of these," stated the clerk, looking rather surprised to see the book. "It's never sold very well, most people found it too graphic in nature."
"My son is doing and extra credit report on some historical events, and I was hoping this would help him. He's old enough to handle it." Vernon pulled out his wallet, recalling the names of various peices of wizard currency. "I'm short on Sickles and Galleons at the moment, would Muggle money be sufficient?"
"Oh, certainly." The exchange was made, and Vernon walked out with the book in a paper bag, collecting Petunia and making haste away from the horrible place.
Two weeks later, after reading with glee at the many ways his people had punished the abominations over the centuries, Vernon finally had something. "Here, Petunia, I think I've found it." He pointed out the relavent paragraph.
Petunia read over the information, frowning. "Vernon, this is very...brutal. Are you sure?"
"It's the only way to lock it up permanently, dear. He'll be a perfectly normal boy after this. If he gets his act together, we might even start treating him that way." He frowned. "But it might take a bit to make it stick."
"If you're certain, dear. But don't do this where Dudley can see."
Vernon nodded. "I'll lock the boy in his cupboard until everything settles down. While Dudley's at school."
July 26th, 1990
Harry Potter lay in his bed, scratching at his chest through his shirt. It was his birthday again in a bit less than a week, not that he expected anything to be different. Uncle Vernon had actually gotten him a small cake the year before, a bribe to get him to help Dudley with his homework. He had never really understood his Uncle's obsessive need for normalcy, or his other odd rules, but as Harry was a quiet boy, he mostly just stayed out of Uncle Vernon's way and did his chores. He cooked breakfast every morning, did the dishes, then went off to school with Dudley. He was not allowed to go anywhere without his long sleeved shirt, and Dudley had even beat up one of the boys who had tried to take away Harry's shirt on the playground. Dudley didn't like Harry, and Harry was not fond of Dudley, but at least his aunt and uncle were not locking him in the cupboard any more. Apparently, he'd done well enough to be moved into Dudley's spare bedroom as an early birthday present.
The bed was lumpy, and the room was still crowded with Dudley's things, which he wasn't allowed to touch except for the books, all of which he had read in the past month. At least it had a window. And the warm air from the radiator didn't make his chest hurt like the cold air in the cupboard. Harry sighed. He might not get any real presents for his upcoming birthday, but Uncle Vernon might buy him some new clothes that actually fit, instead of giving him Dudley's hand-me-downs.
Noting on the clock that it was almost six, he sighed, and got out of bed to start on breakfast. Uncle Vernon still hit him when he didn't finish breakfast on time, but not as hard as he used to. "Best to start early," Harry muttered, putting on his glasses and trudging down the stairs.
After putting the bacon in the pan to fry, and buttering the toast, Harry got a cloth and began scrubbing the floor around the table. Uncle Vernon had wanted him to weed the garden yesterday, and there hadn't been time to do some of his other chores. Fortunately, he wasn't being punished as harshly any more, and he would be allowed to make them up today.
As if summoned by the turn of Harry's thoughts, Vernon Dursley came down the stairs, wearing a robe over his pajamas. Harry looked up from his work, and went to check the bacon. "Good Morning, Uncle. You're up early today."
Vernon grunted, and took a seat at the table. Not quite glaring at his young charge, he replied, "No business of yours, boy. And hurry up with breakfast."
"Yes, Uncle. I can have your eggs done shortly, but the bacon will take a bit longer." Harry immediately pulled out three eggs, cracked them into the frying pan, and added the precise doses of salt and pepper Vernon liked. Turning the eggs once, he slid them onto a plate, placed two slices of toast on one side, and checked the bacon. It was not quite finished, so he put the plate before his uncle, and turned back to the stove. Hearing the click of utensils on plate, Harry let out a very quiet sigh of relief. The bacon was done, and he placed three slices on Vernon's plate without a sound, putting the rest onto the other two plates he was preparing for his aunt and cousin. He also placed a cup of coffee near Vernon's plate, careful not to spill a drop. After preparing a slice of toast for himself, Harry sat quietly on his stool, doing his best to appear as though he was not there. Apparently he did well, because Vernon finished his plate, drank the last of the coffee, and got up from the table. Harry finished his toast, and went quietly to get the morning paper.
All in all, a perfectly ordinary start to a perfectly ordinary day at Number Four, Privet Drive.
That afternoon, Harry had to carry a tub of dye out to the back porch to get some of Dudley's old clothes the right color for his uniform at Stonewall High, the local public school he would be attending. As it was sunday, all the Durselys were home for lunch, and Harry had eaten his sandwich quietly on his stool at the counter. Dudley was wearing his new Smeltings school uniform, and had been poking Harry with his Smelting stick through most of the day. Glad for any chance to get away, Harry went to the door, and sorted through the mail quickly, so he would not have to bother his uncle with junk. As he did so, he came across an odd letter. It had a wax seal on the back, and was addressed to him in flowing script written with green ink.
Mr. H. Potter
The Smallest Bedroom
Number Four, Privet Drive
Little Whinging
Surrey
Handing over the stack of legitimate mail to his uncle (a bill and a postcard from Vernon's sister Marge), Harry kept the letter addressed to him, and went to his stool to open it. Dudley, never one to miss an opportunity to tease, pointed to Harry and said, "Hey, Harry's got a letter!"
Vernon glanced over, and harrumphed, though he didn't otherwise react. "Who'd be writing to you, boy?"
Harry hesitated. "I don't know, Uncle. But it does have my name on the envelope." He held it out, showing clearly that it was indeed addressed to him.
"Open it, then. And read it out loud." Vernon frowned. "Have you done anything odd at school?"
"No, sir," Harry replied as he opened the letter, careful not to damage it. "One of the teachers mentioned that Dudley's homework was very similar to mine, and asked if I had been helping him." Dudley looked afraid. "I told him that was silly, and that Dudley was the one helping me." The other boy relaxed again, secure in the knowledge that his poor study habits had not been revealed.
Harry had the parchment unfolded now, and began to read the letter aloud, eyes wide.
"Dear Mr. Potter,\ We are pleased to inform you that you have been accepted at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry." Harry's face was white, while Vernon's was turning a sickly green. "Please find enclosed a list of all neccessary books and equipment.\ Term begins on September 1. We await your owl no later than July 31.\ Yours sincerely,\ Minerva McGonagall\ Deputy Headmistress."
The two elder Durselys gaped at Harry, who continued to re-read the letter. After another time through, he chuckled thinly and turned to Dudley, who simply looked confused. "This is a good joke, Dudley. Who'd you put up to mailing this?"
Dudley simply looked at him stupidly and opened his mouth to say he hadn't, when Vernon Dursley clapped his hand over his son's mouth and quickly said, "That's very good of you to try and cheer up your cousin, Dudley, but you shouldn't give him ideas. There's no such thing as wizards, or witches."
Harry nodded. "It's fine, Stonewall High won't be too bad." He chuckled. "But an owl? Who ever heard of an owl taking the post?"
But the Durselys weren't laughing.
That evening, as Harry was coming down to help with dinner, he overheard his aunt and uncle talking in the kitchen.
"Should never have let him open the bloody letter." That was his uncle's deep voice, trembling with rage and a hint of fear.
"But what will we do now?" whined his aunt's thin, screechy voice. "Should we write back that he won't be going?"
Vernon was quiet, then began to chortle. "Wouldn't matter if he went or not. We know he's got nothing to learn there, don't we? Put an end to that nosense when he was three, so I did. He won't end up like those crazy parents of his."
Harry's hand went to his chest. Vernon had never really explained what had happened to him when he'd asked about it on his sixth birthday, only that he'd had an accident. Harry had always assumed it was the same car accident his parents had died in, though that had never quite seemed right somehow.
Vernon continued, "So we won't say anything. They'll know he got the letter, and if he says nothing they'll figure he won't be attending. And he doesn't know anything about it, so he won't question."
Harry turned away, going quickly and quietly back to his room. So the letter HADN'T been a joke! There really was a magic school out there, and they wanted him to come!
"Oh," Harry mused aloud. "Uncle Vernon would never pay for it, even if I could do magic. Nothing odd ever happens around me, so how could I have magic at all?" He chuckled. "Well, unless you count the times Dudley's saved me from being beat up. I mean, everyone knows he doesn't like me, but he's the only one who's allowed to hit me. So really, I'm back where I started, with the letter being a joke, and still going to Stonewall." He sighed, and elected to make some more noise when he went down the stairs this time, to alert his uncle and aunt. If they knew he'd heard them, he'd be in real trouble!
The next day, there were another three letters, addressed in the same manner, laying on the stack of mail. Harry opened one by the door, noted that it was identical to the last letter, and folded it back up. He gave the rest of the mail to his Uncle, and noted, "Whoever's working this prank is very persistant. There were three of them today." He tossed all three of the letters in the trash, noting the frown on Vernon's face. "If this keeps up, we'll be flooded in them by the end of the week."
Dudley simply stared, then abruptly seemed to remember he was supposed to be the one doing the prank. "Err, yeah. I'll see if I can get them to knock it off, now you're on to them. But they're really hard to get hold of."
Harry simply nodded, and finished his sandwich.
The next day, no fewer than four letters were shoved through the mail slot, and a few were stuck around the edges of the door as well. Harry angrily tore one of them open, saw it was indeed the same, and said, "That does it." He grabbed a pen from the kitchen, storming past a stunned Vernon, and turned over one of the sheets of parchment. "I have no magic. You have made a mistake, and I can't afford private school. Please stop sending these letters. Harry Potter." He then strode out the door, and turned to a nearby tree. There, perched in the branches, were at least a dozen owls. "Here, one of you lot knows how to find this Hogwarts, right?" A barn owl fluttered down to perch on a bush. "Here's my reply, now off with the lot of you. And don't come back tomorrow."
Harry turned back to the house, where Vernon and Petunia stood, stunned. "What? You said it yourself yesterday, there's no such thing as magic. Maybe it'll put a stop to this."
Vernon stammered, "But... You mean you don't want to go?"
Harry sighed. "What's the point? I know you wouldn't pay for it, and it's not as if I have money. I'd just get thrown out in a couple days, and go to Stonewall high." He gathered up the rest of the letters, and threw them in the trash. "You're always saying I shouldn't daydream, so why start now?"
July 31st, 1990
Four more days passed. Nothing unusual happened, no odd letters, nothing. Harry was beginning to hope things had gone back to normal, and just in time for his birthday. As expected, he hadn't gotten any other presents, but getting out of the cupboard was gift enough for him. He had finished dyeing Dudley's clothes the day before, and in an effort to make them fit better, he had gotten a needle and thread from his Aunt. He was sewing new hems on the pants when there was a knock at the door. Vernon was at work for the morning, Petunia was having a bath, and Dudley was watching television in his room, from the sound of things. Harry sighed, and went to the door.
On the other side was a tall, severe looking woman in an emerald green cloak over an emerald green blouse and long black dress. She smiled ever so faintly, and held up a piece of parchement Harry recognized. "Mister Potter, I presume?" At Harry's answering nod, she said, "I am Professor Minerva McGonagall, Deputy Headmistress at Hogwarts. May I speak with you for a moment?"
Harry affected a mask of wide-eyed surprise. "You mean Dudley wasn't just playing a prank on me?"
McGonagall looked surprised herself. "A prank? You mean you were not informed about your parents, or your past?"
"Informed of what? My parents died in a car accident." Harry had a feeling this was a lie, and the scandalized look on McGonagall's face proved it.
"A car crash?! Is that what they told you?" At Harry's nod, the woman's face turned dark and angry. "I told Dumbledore this was a bad idea when we left you here. But no, he insited that blood bonds would be enough!" She composed herself, and turned to Harry. "I am sorry, Mister Potter. You should have been informed of this long ago. Are your guardians home?"
"Aunt Petunia is in the bath, Miss. Uncle Vernon is at work today, he has a meeting about a large order of drills." Harry stepped back. "If you'd like, you could wait inside. I'll fetch some tea. But please be quiet, Dudley hates to be disturbed while he's watching television."
"Tea would be most welcome, thank you. I believe I need something to calm my nerves." McGonagall stepped in, hanging her cloak on the coat tree near the door. Harry put a full kettle on the stove, and went back out to the sitting room. Professor McGonagall was seated, waiting for him. "Please, Mister Potter, have a seat. We have much to discuss, you and I." Harry sat on a nearby footstool, the only piece of furniture he was allowed to use. McGonagall pursed her lips, but said nothing.
"First, your parents. Lily and James Potter were students of mine when they were your age. A finer witch and wizard you would be hard pressed to find. However, when you were just an infant, there was a terribly powerful Dark Wizard causing havoc in the magical community. His name was, ah" and here she hesitated, looking a bit frightened, "Voldemort. You must understand, people still fear him even today, ten years after his disappearance. We do not usually speak his name. At any rate, your parents were being targeted by him, and ten years ago, they were murdered by a very powerful curse. And then, he tried to do the same to you, but somehow, it did not work. The curse rebounded, leaving you with your scar." Harry reached up to rub the lightning-bolt on his forehead, then scratched his itching chest.
"So they really were magic, then?"
"They were extremely talented. Truely two of the best students in their generation." McGonagall smiled. "Your father was a horrible prankster, of course, and it wasn't until their last year that your mother finally calmed him down." A thin whistle could be heard, and Harry went to fetch the teakettle. Pouring two cups, he handed one to the woman across from him, who smiled as she took a sip. "At any rate, your name has been written on the rolls at Hogwarts for ten years, ever since you're parents were lost, waiting for you to come of age. In point of fact, you are a very famous young man. Everyone in the magical community knows your name."
Harry smiled slightly at that, then frowned as he remembered. "But Uncle Vernon would never pay for me to go. That's why he's sending me to the public high school."
McGonagall stifled a laugh. "I wouldn't worry about that, young man. Your tuition has been payed for already, as part of your parents' will. Your supplies are likewise payed for, all you need to do is go and get them."
Just then, Harry heard a door slam upstairs. "Oh no, Dudley."
Indeed, the pudgy blonde boy was thundering down the stairs, and immediately spotted Harry and his guest. "Oi! What do you think you're doing, letting strange people in the house! I'm telling Mum!"
Harry jumped to his feet, but Dudley had already gone. "Drat. Now I'll be in for it."
A damp looking but dressed Petunia came down the stairs, followed closely by a smug Dudley. "Who are you and what are you doing in my house?" Petunia demanded.
McGonagall pursed her lips, looking stern. "I am here as a representative of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry to discuss the response I recieved from Mister Potter. He has obviously not been informed of his past as you were instructed to do."
Petunia looked fearful, but quickly covered it with a mask of superiority. "My husband and I swore a vow to put an end to that nonsense. And if you hadn't noticed, we succeeded. Harry Potter is a perfectly ordinary boy, not a freak like you."
McGonagall stood. "How dare you! If it were not for the laws that forbid dueling with Muggles, I would give you the most unsightly curse I have in my repitoire!" She drew a thin wooden wand from her robes, and turned to Harry. "Collect your things, Mister Potter. It is obvious that this place is not condusive to your learning about your heritage, and I am using my authority as Deputy Headmistress to invoke the Statute of Secrecy's 'Underaged Wizard Protection' clause. You will reside at a safe, wizarding location for the remainder of the summer, and we will discuss your future living arrangements with the Headmaster and the Ministry of Magic." As Harry stared in shock, she continued. "I will also take the liberty of modifying the memories of these two Muggles, under the Statute of Secrecy, in order to prevent them from spreading word of our existance. You have nothing to worry about."
Harry stood for a moment more, then ran up to his room. His few belongings went rapidly into a spare steamer trunk, which he then hauled down the stairs. "I'm ready, Professor McGonagall."
"Very good, Mister Potter. Now, your Aunt and cousin will remember that they were visited by the Deputy Headmistress, who offered a full scholarship to you based on the contents of your parents' will, on the condition that you be moved to the school year round so that you may recieve extra tutoring to make up for your deficit in learning. Your Aunt eagerly accepted to get you out of the house permanently, and your cousin was happy to hear that he got his other bedroom back."
And having said this, she flicked her wand, and both Dursleys stood a bit slackjawed as the magic took hold of them. Then, Petunia scowled at Harry, saying, "Well, aren't you finished now? Get out!"
Staring in awe, Harry pulled his trunk out the door, McGonagall following closely behind him, pausing only to collect her cloak. Once they were safely outside, McGonagall sighed. "I'm sorry you had to put up with them for so long, Mister Potter. If I had known, I would have done this much sooner."
"That's all right, Professor. They've really been much nicer to me recently." Harry idly scratched at his chest again.
McGonagall looked horrified. "You mean they were WORSE than that?"
"I used to live in the cupboard under the stairs," Harry said, unconcerned. After all, it was normal for him, even if he didn't like it. "Uncle Vernon decided a little while ago that I'd finally started cleaning up my act enough to have a real room. Said I'd turned out normal after all." He frowned. "It didn't make sense before, when he used to say that, but now it does."
"Well, that is all behind you now, young man. The underaged wizard protection clause allows us to transfer all of your assets and legal guardianship from the muggles to a family of magical folk. Although in your situation, as start of term is close, you will simply remain a ward of Hogwarts until next summer, when a full inquiry can be made." She placed a hand on Harry's shoulder, smiling. "Just you wait. Even if you can't do any magic at all, at least you won't be around those horrible people any more. And I think you have a lot more potential than you realize." Harry just nodded. Then, McGonagall held out her wand, saying, "Best step back now, Mister Potter. I'm taking you somewhere it will be safe to contact the Headmaster."
With a loud bang, a brilliant purple triple-decker bus appeared, nearly running over the pair of them. McGonagall straightened her cloak over her shoulders and said, "Welcome to the world of Magic, Harry Potter."
After a wild ride on the strange bus, which McGonagall informed him was called the Knight Bus, Harry found himself stepping off in front of the dingiest pub he'd ever seen. Strangely, his eyes seemed to want to slide away from it, as though it weren't there. "Welcome to the Leaky Cauldron. It is safe enough for us to call the Headmaster and inform him of what has happened." So saying, she went to the barman, and said, "I need to borrow one of your rooms for a few hours, Tom. Do you have one to spare? Official business."
"Sure, Professor. Room 203's empty, here's the key." The old man handed over a small silver key, which McGonagall took. Turning, she motioned with her wand for Harry to bring his trunk, and strode off for the stairs. Harry lugged his trunk behind him, noting that it was a tiny bit lighter than before. When the pair was safely locked inside the small but fire-warmed room, McGonagall took a bag of powder and threw a pinch of it's contents in the fire. The flames turned green, and she said clearly, "Headmaster Dumbledore's Office." There was a brief flare, and she stuck her head into the flames, saying, "Headmaster, I need to speak with you about Mister Potter."
Harry was shocked when the flames roared, and out stepped a tall, older gentleman dressed in a lavender robe with half-moon spectacles on his long, crooked nose. His eyes twinkled as he said, "Well hello, Harry Potter. A pleasure to meet you once again."
Harry smiled nervously. "Err, hello, sir." After a moment, he asked, "Have we met before?"
"When you were rescued from your parents' burning home, I was there to leave you with your new family." His smile dimmed just a bit. "Though the fact you are no longer with them indicates something is wrong. What has happened, Minerva?"
"Those horrible muggles have been keeping Mister Potter's past a secret from him! You saw the response he sent to his Hogwarts letter! I told you leaving him with those people was a poor decision!" McGonagall was livid, just a hair's breadth from yelling at the older Headmaster.
"Surely there has just been a misunderstanding," he replied, trying to calm his upset faculty member.
"Misunderstanding?! Albus, he was living in a CUPBOARD for nine years!" McGonagall ranted, now actually yelling. "That horrid woman admitted to beating him whenever he put the slightest toe out of line!"
"I was doing better!" Harry protested. "Uncle vernon hasn't hit me in almost a week!"
"You see?" McGonagall crowed. "He thinks it's normal! Even a muggle court would pull him out of that place and arrest his aunt and uncle! In fact, I suspect the only reason they haven't is that you never complain, do you Mister Potter?"
"Err, no." Harry affected a depressed look. If these people could get him away from the Dursleys for good, he'd help. "No one would believe me anyway. Uncle Vernon's a very powerful man in the neighborhood, he convinced the neighbors to think I'm a criminal delinquent he's trying to reform. No one pays any attention to me except Ms. Figg."
"That's horrible!" McGonagall exclaimed. She turned to Dumbledore. "I couldn't leave him there another minute, Albus! He's a hero! At the very least, he deserves to be treated like a human being!"
Dumbledore's eyes had lost their twinkle. Features drooping, he said only, "I had reasons for putting him there, Minerva. So long as he lived with his Aunt, who shares his blood, no one with ill intentions could enter his home. He was safe from any evil there."
"Except the evil he lived with day after day!" McGonagall huffed. "I've already done the memory charm, Albus. I invoked the 'underaged wizard protection' clause in the statute of secrecy. We both know his parents wanted him to come, it's part of their will. The muggles, guardians or not, cannot prevent him from coming, and they were going to do so."
"Err, actually," Harry stammered, blushing, "I thought it was a prank Dudley was pulling, sending those letters. I sent that reply because I was tired of getting the same letter so many times. Sorry, Professor."
Dumbledore gently lifted Harry's chin, to look him in the eye. "You mean to say that you have never had any odd ocurrances while you were upset or afraid? No reason to think you were odd or different?"
"No sir. Other than my scar, which is explainable, nothing strange ever happens to me. I don't even dream, most nights." Harry looked away. "I doubt I even have magic."
Dumbledore smiled kindly. "As Minerva has doubtless told you, there is more to being a wizard than magic. You may just need to be in the proper environment." He nodded. "We shall arrange for you to stay here at the Leaky Cauldron until the start of term. One of the professors will be available at all times, of course, but you should not go out without an escort, especially into Diagon Alley. You are a very famous young man, and it would be best if you kept a low profile."
"Of course," Harry agreed. "If I'm as famous as you say, I'd never get any peace once people knew I was here. And I've come to like my quiet, private lifestyle."
Dumbledore chuckled. "I suppose you have. If nothing else, the Dursleys have given you wisdom beyond your years." He turned to his associate. "Minerva, Hagrid will be stopping by on an errand for me in an hour or two. I would like you to remain with Mister Potter for a while longer, until Hagrid arrives with young Harry's Gringots vault key. Then, I would like you to fill out a complete report for the Ministry. For now, I shall bid you both farewell. There is still much to be done before the start of term."
With that, he bowed his way into the fire, saying, "Headmaster's Room, Hogwarts!"
McGonagall shook her head, sighed, and turned to Harry. "Well then, Mister Potter, I'm sure there is more you wish to know. Why don't you ask me?"
Harry spent the next hour pleasantly conversing with Professor McGonagall on a variety of subjects, including the nature of magic, a brief history of the war with Voldemort, and a bit about wizard culture. Harry was astonished to learn that most of the muggle technology was ignored by wizards. When he asked if a wizard had ever gone to the moon, the response surprised him.
"Of course not, Mister Potter. It's much too far away to Apparate, and besides, what would be the purpose?"
Harry tried not to sound smug when he replied, "The Americans put a man on the moon twenty years ago. Strapped three muggles into a steel can on top of a giant rocket, shot them into space, and brought them home again."
"Really?" Professor McGonagall looked very surprised. "Muggles?"
"Then they did it again, five more times. It would have been six, but one of the missions had a breakdown and they barely got the men back again." Harry shrugged. "Everybody learns about it in grade school. I figured if a bunch of ordinary folk pulled it off, why shouldn't a wizard?"
"I...see." McGonagall looked slightly preturbed at that. "Perhaps we have more to learn from Muggles than some wizards like to think."
Just then, there was a loud banging on the door. "Professor, it's me, Hagrid. Ah'm here ter see ta Harry."
The door opened, revealing the largest man Harry had ever seen, wearing a moleskin coat with his face mostly obscured by bushy black hair and beard. As he looked on, Hagrid stepped in, stuffing a small bag into one of his pockets. "Brough' Harry's key wit me. 'S'all righ 'ere." He smiled down at Harry, and added, "Good ter see yeh again, Harry! Last I saw yeh, yeh weren't but a year old."
Harry managed not to stammer as he replied, "Nice to meet you, Hagrid."
McGonagall stood. "Well, if you have everything in order, I have a report to file. Good day to you both." And she took a pinch of Floo powder, threw it in the fire, and said, "Hogwarts Great Hall!"
Once the flames died down, Harry turned to Hagrid. "Shall we be off then? I imagine we've got a lot to do."
"Aye, tha' we do." As Hagrid led the way down the stairs, he said, "So I take it yeh've heard the whole story from Professor McGonagall, eh?"
"Pretty much, yeah," Harry replied. "I still don't think I'm much of a wizard, but I suppose we'll have to wait and see."
"If'n yer anythin' like yer mum and da, yeh'll just be needin' a bit o' practice. Yer da was in my year, couldn't so much as lift 'is feather in Charms the first month, but he got better right quick." Hagrid chuckled, a sound reminiscent of an avalanche. "Don' worry abou' tha', or abou' not knowin' things. Plenny o' muggle-born kids comin' in ev'ry year, don' know up from down, and some o' them's the best in their class."
Harry smiled. "Thanks, Hagrid."
"Don' mention it." They came to a brick wall in the alley behind the Leaky Cauldron. "Here we are, now..." Hagrid pulled out a tattered pink umbrella, and tapped one of the bricks three times. A hole rapidly opened in the solid wall, revealing a bustling street. "Welcome ter Diagon Alley!"
Harry stared around, trying to take it all in. Hagrid smiled, then said, "First stop is Gringotts, ter get yeh inter yer vault for some money." He led the way to a large building with bronze doors, and a short, ugly looking goblin in a scarlet and gold uniform. Harry did his best not to stare. After entering, they went to the long counter, where a goblin was busily scratching away at a ledger. Hagrid cleared his throat and announced, "We've come ter take some money from Mister Harry Potter's vault."
The goblin glanced up at them. "You have his key, sir?"
"Got it here somewhere." Hagrid rummaged in his coat, and produced a small golden key after dislodging a pair of dormice.
"That seems to be in order," the goblin said in a bored voice.
Hagrid's brow furrowed, then he brightened. "Ah, an' I've also got a letter here from Professor Dumbledore," he said, throwing out his chest. "It's about the You-Know-Wha' in vault seven 'undred an' thirteen."
After reading the letter carefully, the goblin responded. "Very well. I will have someone take you down to both vaults. Griphook!" Another goblin came striding up to escort them.
As they followed, Harry asked curoiusly, "What's in vault seven hundred and thirteen?"
"Can' tell yeh tha'," Hagrid repiled mysteriously. "Hogwarts business. Top secret. Dumbledore's trustin' me a lot ter run this errand for 'im. More'n me job's worth ter tell yeh tha'."
Harry let the matter drop, as they arrived at another door. Behind this one was a stone corridor, and a set of railway tracks. At Griphook's whistle, a cart came hurtling toward them, stopping just short of running over the small goblin. After they had all climbed in, the cart streaked through a series of twisty passages, eventually stopping at a small door in the passage wall. Hagrid climbed out, looking a bit worse for wear. Griphook, however, strode to the door, and unlocked it.
After the gout of green smoke cleared away, Harry looked in to see mounds of gold, silver, and bronze scattered about the chamber. It was an incredible fortune. No wonder McGonagall hadn't been worried about how he would pay for school. Harry took the small sack Hagrid held out to him, then stopped as a thought struck him. There was only money, no possessions or papers. Turning to Griphook, he asked, "Er, is this the vault my parents used, sir?"
Griphook shook his head. "No sir. The Potter Estate vault is being held in trust until you come of age. This is a small portion of it, set aside for your expenses during school. If you should empty this vault, it will be refilled at the discretion of the executor of the estate."
Harry desperately tried to wrap his mind around that. "So what you're saying is, this isn't all the money I have access to? My parents had a seperate vault that this one is linked to?"
"That is a reasonable assessment, sir." Griphook looked bored.
"Thank you. Would it be possible to meet with the executor later? I would like to see if my parents might have left journals or photographs in their vault. I have nothing left of them, you know." Harry began filling the bag, secure in the knowledge that he had a much larger fortune waiting a few years down the road. Deciding to ration the vault into eight equal shares, he took a moment to ask the exact counts of various level of coinage, and their exchange rates with wizard and muggle money, and ended up walking out with several pounds of the vault's contents in a charmed moneybag. Hagrid raised an eyebrow at this.
"Why so much, Harry? Firs' years don' have much ter spend on, yeh know. Stuck in the castle mos' o' the time."
Harry gave the tall man an enigmatic smile. "True, but I'd like to own some clothes that fit. Plus, it's my birthday, and I don't have to live at the Dursleys' any more. I'm going to get my first real birthday present today." Then, chuckling at the horror-stricken expression on Hagrid's face, he added, "Uncle Vernon let me have a piece of cake last year, the first thing he ever gave me for my birthday. A month ago, he moved me out of the cupboard under the stairs to Dudley's second bedroom, but that's hardly a present. So I'm going to get something nice for myself, to celebrate a new start."
Fat tears rolled down Hagrids cheeks as he snuffled. "I'm so sorry ter hear tha' Harry. If I'da known wha' horrible people those muggles was, I'da never le' Dumbledore leave yeh there."
Harry sighed, and patted the big man's arm. "It's all right, Hagrid. It's over now, and I've got a year at Hogwarts to look forward to, right?"
Hagrid straightened up, and sniffed. "Righ' yeh are, Harry. Come on, I'll get yeh a present too, once we're done."
Another wild cart ride later, they came to another door. Griphook gave the door a caress with one finger, and it opened, revealing a large vault with a tiny buglap bag in one corner. Hagrid pocketed this quickly, and the trio hurried to the surface.
Blinking as they came back into the sunlight, Hagrid said, "Now, why don't you head to Madame Malkin's and pick up your school robes?" He flushed, and added in a whisper, "I'm gonna sneak off ter the Leaky Cauldron fer a pick-me-up. Those carts always make my head spin." Harry nodded, smiling, and Hagrid wobbled off, a bit green.
Harry stepped into the shop, and was greeted by a short witch. "Hogwarts, dear? I've got the whole lot up front. There's another lad being fitted now, but I'll handle you."
She had Harry stand on a stool, and as she bustled about, the pale-haired boy sneered at him. "Off to Hogwarts, are you?"
"Er, yeah." Harry immediately decided he didn't like this boy's attitude.
"Father is next door getting my books, and Mother is looking at wands," the boy continued. "After that, I think I'll have a look at the racing brooms. It's a crime that first years aren't allowed brooms. Perhaps I'll bully Father into smuggling one in for me." Turning, he asked haughtily, "Do you have a broom?"
Harry frowned. "No. We live too close to the local muggles to not be seen."
That got the boy's attention. "You're not a mudblood, are you?"
Harry frowned even more. That word left a bad taste in his mouth, though he didn't know why. Fortunately, Madame Malkin interrupted him, saying, "You're all finished, dear." Harry paid, and left quickly.
Hagrid had evidently taken longer over his 'pick-me-up' than he'd planned, because he was lumbering down the alley at a quick gait, waving as he spotted Harry. Together, they moved on to the apothecary, picking up supplies. Harry bought a sturdy pair of dragonhide gloves and a similar pair of boots, both with brass fittings. The items were quite expensive, and took a large chunk of his moneybag, so at Hagrid's questioning look, Harry said, "If I slop something dangerous, I'd rather not melt off my hands or feet. My robes ought to last long enough to get them off, but bare skin is trickier." Hagrid nodded sagely, and they moved on. At Flourish and Blott's, Harry bought all of his textbooks, then asked after a set for the next year's books as well. Browsing, he then got several history books, including a few on the war with Voldemort, a copy of Hogwarts: A History, and anything else that looked interesting. "If I've got a month to spend in a hotel room, I'm going to spend it studying what I can," was the repsonse of his practical mind. Stopping at Eeylop's Owlry, Hagrid purchased a beautiful Snowy Owl for Harry as a birthday present, waving off Harry's thanks. "Only one more stop ter go. Gotta get yeh a wand. I'll wait out here, my head's still spinnin' a bit from the carts."
Stepping into Olivander's gave Harry a sudden chill sensation in his chest. When the short man with the thick glasses stepped out from the racks, he said, "Ah, Harry Potter. I've been expecting you. You are here for a wand, I presume?"
"Er, yes. What do I have to do?"
"Well, I always say it's the wand that chooses the wizard." He pulled a cream colored box off the shelf. Inside was a long wooden rod on a red velvet cushion. "Here we are, oak and dragon heartstring, nine inches, sturdy and accurate. Just give it a wave."
Harry did, feeling a bit foolish, but Olivander snatched it away. "No no, that will never do. Here, try this one."
things continued in this vein for some time, until it seemed Harry would NEVER find his wand. Olivander looked cheerful though, and smiled. "I've never had quite such a difficult customer. Here, try this. Eleven inches, holly and phoenix feather. A rare combination, but quite powerful."
Harry waved the wand, and a thin stream of dull red sparks extended from the wand. It was the only response he'd gotten from any of the wands yet. Olivander frowned. "Interesting that you should get a reaction from that one, when its brother gave you your scar." Ignoring Harry's intake of breath, he went on to add, "There are no other wands left that would be suitable, but if that is the best we can get..." Trailing off, he stared at a single box, sitting all alone on its shelf. Unlike the other boxes, this one was made entirely of dull gray metal. Harry looked at it, and suddenly felt a warm sensation on his chest.
"Mister Potter," said Olivander in a hushed, almost fearful voice, "Please retrieve that box for me."
Harry did, wondering why Olivander hadn't gotten it himself. Picking up the box, it was light in his hands, and much warmer than he expected. Carrying it to Olivander, he missed the sad look on the old man's face. Olivander's voice was grave as he spoke. "Mister Potter. Open the box."
Gently lifting off the metal cover, Harry found another wand laying on red velvet. But unlike the other wands, this one was made not of wood, but of a dull gray metal. Picking up the wand, he heard a sharp intake of breath from Olivander. Experimentally, he waved the wand.
A thick cloud of bright white and red sparks flew out of the end of the wand, momentarily blinding him. When his vision cleared, he saw Olivander smiling sadly at him. "Er, did I do it right, Mr. Olivander?"
"That wand is yours, Mister Potter. No other will ever be able to use it, or take it from you." Olivander spoke as though at a funeral. A glimmer of tears shone in his eyes, but he did not shed them. "It is the very last of its kind ever made, and I am glad I was not the one who made it. You will do great things, Mister Potter, of that I have no doubt. But for that wand to have chosen you, you must also have suffered great hardship. Take it, and the phoenix feather wand as well. And I'll not have a knut from you for either."
Harry was dumbfounded. Finding his voice, he stammered, "B-but why? What's so special about this wand?"
Olivander gave him a very small smile, filled with concern. "That wand is made of pure iron, Mister Potter, and over one thousand years old. In all that time, none, not even I, have been able to hold it. As I did not make it, it is of no charge to you. But take heed," his voice rose, commanding and powerful, "an iron wand is dangerous. You would do better to use the other wand until you gain more control of your magic. Let none of your classmates see your iron wand, nor touch it. Not even your teachers should so much as see the box." His voice and expression softened. "There is much danger in a normal wizard handling the shield that holds the wand, let alone the wand itself. You will know when the time is right to unseal it again."
Harry nodded, shaken. He put the wand back in its box, and Olivander handed him another cream colored box, this one empty, to hide the gray box. Setting the phoenix feather and holly wand atop it, Olivander smiled. Harry got up the nerve to ask, "Mr. Olivander, if you did not make the other wand, who did?"
Olivander smiled. "A wise wizard, a prophet, who is widely regarded as one of the most powerful wizards ever. Merlin himself made that wand, Mister Potter." And with that, he ushered a frozen Harry out of the shop to Hagrid.
"Two wands?" Hagrid asked.
Olivander nodded. "The boy is marked, and not just by his scar. I would appreciate you keeping this quiet, but this is not the first time in recent years I have given out two wands to a student. The second is identical to the first, since Mister Potter may not have time to return for a repair." He chuckled. "We know he has powerful enemies. Having a spare wand will surprise them."
Hagrid smiled. "Yer righ' abou' tha'. If he's still around, You-Know-Who wouldn' give the lad time ta fix 'is wand. Thanks, Mr. Olivander."
"Oh, no trouble. Now, I expect you have other things to do, Mister Potter?"
Harry, sensing this was his dismissal, nodded. "I am rather hungry. Let's get something to eat, Hagrid."
Olivander sighed as the two walked away. Unheard by Harry or Hagrid, he whispered, "Good luck, young man. You are going to need it."
Author's Notes:
So, another Harry Potter story on the web? Not like there aren't thousands of others, I suppose. If you're wondering why Harry's life is so similar to his old one, remember that it's still early yet, and I had to set up a few things for later. As for the differences, this universe is divergent from canon as of Harry's third birthday. It's a long way back, but the ripples need time to build into a tsunami.
The importance of the iron wand, and why Harry has it, may need a few chapters to come into play. As this is a rewrite of book one, expect several scenes to be similar to their canon counterparts, but also expect divergences, as I intend to write this from memory rather than copying the text directly out of the novel. Relationships, for those who care about such things, are going to be more or less as in canon, but things may not be the same, depending on how my muse takes me.
Being slightly more acceptable to the Dursleys, coupled with and because of the total lack of stange happenings around him, has encouraged Harry to become more normal, and to try harder to make himself acceptable to his guardians. He doesn't particularly like them, but if he's going to be stuck with them he's going to make the best of it. So he is slightly more studious than usual, hoping that if he at least does well in school he will have a chance to prove he is worth something.
If this ever gets to the web, I intend to have at least a few chapters done before I post it, so these notes will be redundant. For now, just read the next chapter, and it may answer some of your questions. Flames will be ignored, as I write purely for my own enjoyment, and I couldn't care less what you think. If you have constructive help, either catching grammar flaws or plot holes, then by all means let me know, but be polite about it, 'kay?