A/N: Harry in this story can lip read. Deaf people, and this is a common misconception, cannot lip read perfectly. Especially if they have been deaf from birth. It isn't like another language for them. But in this story Harry's magical elements affect his ability and that is why he can, it is an unconscious magical thing that lets him be able to do this. Also, in this story he has very good eyesight, he doesn't need glasses. THANKS FOR READING I HOPE YOU LIKE IT!

A/N: Also, here is the key for different ways of communication and such.

/sign language\

"spoken word"

lip reading

thoughts

-flash back-

'parstletongue'

…...

The prophecy

The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord approaches

Born to those who have thrice defied him, born as the seventh month dies

The Dark Lord will mark him as his equal

But he will have power the Dark Lord knows not

And either must die at the hand of the other for neither can live while the other survives.

(What they didn't hear)

Abandoned by his own kin, replaced by one who looks like him

Never seen, never heard, lurking in the shadows

The light will need to lead him away from darkness or pay the greatest price

The wrath of the one who decides the fate of magic

Chapter 1

For as long as he could remember he couldn't hear. He didn't think it was strange; it was just how life was. He couldn't explain it if you asked him because there was nothing to compare it to. There was no sound. Just... no sound.

It was an emptiness in his ears that had never needed to be filled. He had never needed to hear. He could see and that was all he needed. He had never learnt to talk because he didn't know how. He didn't know what he sounded like. He didn't know how to make his voice work, if he even had a voice.

He didn't care.

Because it had never been anything different.

They didn't know he was deaf. At least he didn't think they did. He was careful like that. He was worried. He knew that other people could hear. Hearing was a thing. It wasn't imaginary. He just couldn't. So, he knew other people could. But, he didn't know what they would do if they found out he couldn't. They never asked him to speak either. It never came up. They never asked him questions, he just did what they asked.

No questions asked.

He had learned to read lips at a very early age. Other people learned to talk. To understand vibrations in the air that somehow changed to sound. He learned to read lips. To understand what people were saying via body language. He could determine their moods and emotions, possibly their actions.

But mostly it was sight.

He relied heavily on his sight.

He could read their lip movements like listening to a language. It was the same. Every mouth expression was different. He knew words. He could read and write. He could understand what they were saying. He could place words to movements. Movements to actions. Words to objects. Words to sciences and theories and maths.

He was deaf not dumb.

But he had never thought much about it. It was just something that came with his life. He was that boy. The deaf boy. The freak boy. The boy who lived under the stairs. The boy who ate burnt toast whilst they ate omelettes.

And he didn't care because that was how it had always been. That was how he thought it would always be. He was deaf and they didn't know. He couldn't speak and they didn't ask him to. He was ordered and he did what they said.

He had never expected it to change.

He had only ever communicated with snakes. He had learnt long ago that he couldn't read their lips, no it was something else all together. It was like they hissed their thoughts into the air and he simply plucked them out and read them to himself. They floated a written conversation out there for anyone to see. But he was the only one who could understand.

It was like magic.

He hissed his thoughts back. He spoke. But in a way where he wasn't certain if he had actually made any sound.

He wasn't sure if sound mattered. It had never mattered to him, not really. He knew it existed. He acknowledged that other people could interpret... something. But he had never quite known what it was. It would be like trying to see into a fourth dimension. It would be like asking what a blind person saw.

The truth is they didn't see anything. Even if they saw blackness, which wasn't likely, if they had never seen anything else but blackness they wouldn't be able to name it. If they had always lived in a world without sight then seeing wouldn't make any sense. They wouldn't understand.

He didn't hear anything. As far as he knew he never had. He couldn't change that. So, he accepted that there was a dimension in his world that he couldn't glimpse. Everyone else lived in this dimension, they lived their lives wholly with this sense. They went through there everyday lives carrying something he didn't. Something he didn't really understand. Something that he had no clue to what it was.

What was he missing?

What did they have that he didn't?

What really was sound?

They were living in a completely different world to him. They had some special skill.

He didn't.

But he had accepted that. He had acknowledged that sound did exist, that it explained things he couldn't understand. That when he read people's lips as they talked to one another and said things like didn't you hear the kettle whistle he would never truly know what they meant. And that was fine. He wasn't any less of a person. A part of himself hadn't been taken away.

It had always been missing, and to have that part would be like having a piece of metal shoved into your leg.

It was foreign.

It didn't belong.

And if you had it, it wouldn't change who you were. You wouldn't suddenly be defined by that metal. You wouldn't be metal man, you would simply be a person with metal in their leg. Nothing more. Nothing less.

…

Harry woke up to vibrations in his cupboard. They pulsed around the tiny room and he skilfully evaded the dust that rained down from the ceiling and threatened his eyes. Light slid under the door in slits. It illuminated the room just enough that when he strained his eyes he could see his hand.

He sat up and shoved the book he had been reading the previous night under his pillow. It had been careless to leave it out where the Dursleys could take it. He wiped the sleep from his eyes and slipped out of the cupboard into the rest of the house.

Vernon, Petunia and Dudley all sat at the table. They looked impatient and Vernon was red in the face and shouting things that Harry was able to read for only a moment before he made his way over to the stove.

-don't know what took you so long, freak. Better watch it around here. We took you off the streets and this is-

Harry had to turn around as he started to make breakfast. He quickly made two sets of tea and handed them to his relatives and Petunia told him what they all wanted.

Toast and eggs today, boy, and make it snappy.

Harry worked in the kitchen as if it were his sole purpose in life. To cook. He moved as if he were dancing to a tune only he could hear. Which was ironic because he couldn't hear anything. But he still managed to move with grace in the permanent silence. He cracked, whisked, fried and buttered his way to a satisfactory meal.

Once Petunia had taken a bite he looked at her cautiously, wondering if he would be allowed to eat today. She nodded at him and he made himself some bread and butter before returning to his cupboard to wait for his next summons.

Harry had learned it was best not to try and entertain himself while he waited through breakfast. Not to play with his toys or read a book. Because he couldn't hear them coming. Sometimes Vernon ordered him about for the day but that didn't happen often, and he could feel the vibrations in the floor as he made his way to Harry's cupboard. Most of the time it was Petunia and she moved surprisingly stealthily for a woman of her figure.

Harry ate one of the slices of bread before hiding the other (folded as not to get hair on the butter) under his pillow with his newly stolen book. He would eat it later as it was unlikely that he would be allowed dinner tonight.

Eventually, after spending almost half an hour staring at the wall and thinking about what today would bring, his door opened. His aunt's pudgy face beckoned for him to get up and he did so with haste. Once outside she droned on a list of instructions for today. She still had a mouthful of food so he had to pay very close attention to her mouth movements.

Today you need to bring in the mail, do the dishes, mow the lawn, tend to the garden, clean the house, vacuum the living room and especially clean the toy room.

Harry nodded and set to work straight away. He went over to the mail right inside the door and rifled through the letters, wondering what mouth movements would go with each name. Then he stopped and stared.

To Harry J. Potter

The cupboard under the stairs,

4 Privet Drive,

Little Whinging,

Surrey.

The letter was for him? He dismissed it and continued walking into the kitchen, hiding the letter under his shirt in the hallway. He waited silently holding the other letters, waiting for Uncle Vernon who was still reading the newspaper to say something. He murmured almost unnoticeably.

Any letters?

Harry handed over the stack in his hand and Vernon gave him a short nod. Then Harry stepped into the hallway and started to open his letter. The idea was crazy. It was unbelievable. He had never, in all his ten years of life, gotten a letter. But, odd things occasionally happen so he ruled in the possibility that perhaps someone had in fact sent him a letter. He got a surprisingly satisfying feeling out of ripping the top of the letter, making the smooth edge rugged. He didn't one hundred percent know why. Harry brushed this away as well.

He was about to unfold it as Dudley stormed into the hallway. Harry looked up to see him mouth,

The freaks got a letter. He's stolen a letter.

Then Dudley snatched it out of Harry's hand and raced (as much as Dudley could race) back to the kitchen. Harry followed him with a strange sense of anger in his eyes. That had been his letter. Sure, Harry accepted that he didn't get a lot of things. He didn't get birthdays. He didn't get his own room. He didn't get his own toys. He didn't get his own clothes.

But that had been his letter.

Vernon's face turned from a red to a purple and Harry shuddered slightly at the mortified expression. Then he started shouting, his mouth opening wide like a fish but no sound coming out. It might have been funny if Harry wasn't absolutely terrified. And the fact that Harry had no clue what he was saying, and for all Harry knew he was threatening his life at that moment.

Then there was the finger. The finger pointing back to his cupboard and without a word Harry crawled back inside.

Maybe it hadn't been his letter after all.

…

That afternoon Harry played with his toy soldiers. They were green and he had four of them, they were all about the size of his index finger. One of them he named H, one J, one P and one O. He didn't know what names sounded like so he thought it would be best just to give them letters, he liked the mouth movements that these letters were associated with. He thought they looked cool. H was the leader, he had a little green hat and a shotgun. He held it tightly to his chest as always and instructed the other soldiers using telekinesis, because lip movements were overrated. He communicated with the others like Harry communicated with snakes; by writing thoughts in the air for the others to read and reply to with their own air thoughts.

J was his second in command and a girl. Harry had read a lot of books about the army and was confused to why there wasn't many girls. So, he decided as god of their lives, to turn J into a girl. She didn't have a hat or a weapon, those had been broken off, so the only power she had was the ability to shoot invisible lasers out of her eyes. He had read that in a comic book.

P was the foot soldier, the cannon fodder. He was the one they sent in first to fight off the bad guys. He also had a bit of gum stuck to his leg that Harry couldn't remove. P actually had a weapon, a small pin that Harry had found on the floor to be used as a sword.

O was the sniper. He was cunning and stealthy and didn't really take orders from H. He constantly argued back using telekinesis. Always writing in the air about how H was an idiot. He was always on guard, but not for the soldiers. He protected Harry and watched the door to the cupboard, lying flat on his stomach with his gun pointed in that direction, and a look of determination in his eyes. Harry liked O the best.

P was in love with H, but H loved J. J didn't love anyone because she was too busy shooting invisible lasers. O didn't love anybody either because he was too busy being a sniper and being constantly on guard. So, P and H were the only eligible soldiers. H loved J but he was willing to date P because J was obviously not interested.

He was in love, not blind.

Harry had also stolen a few dramatic romance novels from Aunt Petunia. He found the plots silly but it gave him a better idea of what love was. What love felt like. What you do in love. And some icky chapters that he would rather not think about.

Overall he thought love was stupid.

He didn't want H, the strong leader, to give up everything to be with J. He was better off with P. He could settle with P, and P didn't seem to mind that H was in love with J.

Harry also didn't know why there were never any gay characters in his books. He had only read about one and they had been very silly. So Harry decided that P would be gay, for the sake of diversity. He was also disabled, (gum leg).

That afternoon they just went through some training drills. H would send his thoughts into the air, like Harry did with snakes, and the other soldiers would read them and do what he said. Apart from O who was looking at the door. P said he was still in love with H and H said he needed time to get over J.

J was busy shooting lasers.

Eventually Harry got tired and decided it wasn't likely he would be let out of the cupboard. The letter had obviously been a bad mistake for him to make. He pulled out the other slice of bread and quickly ate it, trying to stop his hunger before it got too bad. He knew it was bad when it felt like someone was punching him in the gut, and when he felt rolling vibrations along his stomach with his hands. (which would have been ticklish if it didn't hurt so much) But his stomach was small so he could last a while before he had hunger pains.

He slid his soldiers between his bed and the wall, and layed down looking up at the ceiling. It was dark and the air was slightly hot. As he lay there he wondered how long he would be locked in for. Locked in darkness and hunger. He never really had any sense of time, only when he woke and fell asleep, and he couldn't see anything because his light bulb had died a long time ago. It had stopped working and they hadn't bought him a new one.

Harry missed his light bulb. That had been his other toy. He had named it L, for light bulb. He hadn't known the light was in limited supply. He thought it was magic and infinite but it wasn't. And then it ran out and he was left in darkness. He used to turn the light switch on and off. Trying to make a pattern with the light and dark contrast. Sometimes he would place a hand on his heart or neck and feel the steady pump of his heart. He would then translate that to the light and dark.

It was soothing.

But all of that was gone because he had thought light was infinite. He had thought it was like the outside light, the one that lit up the garden. It was infinite in the day, it stretched on and on everywhere. It was amazing.

His light obviously hadn't been like that and now he felt stupid for not realising that.

And he felt scared.

And alone in the dark.

Harry closed his eyes and fell asleep, absent-mindedly wiping off small specks of dust that had fallen on his face. He felt a sense safe and calm because O was on lookout like always. Looking over him, glaring at the door, just daring it to open.

…

Harry woke up two times in his time locked up. He chose not to read because he had once seen someone at school say.

My mother, Di-lie-lah, said I shouldn't read in the dark because its bad for your eyes.

Harry's eyes were the only thing keeping him in step with the real world, he couldn't stand to lose them, so he made sure to take very good care of them.

He mostly played with his soldiers. Making them fight invisible monsters and then have to try and explain their actions to politicians who would always write things like 'and why did you kill it' and 'was there any other way'. H was a bit hot headed and he would always get angry and glare, but J was calmer and she would shoot a few lasers and then explain the mission.

She really liked her lasers.

P would obviously go along with whatever H said and O would just stand there silently, angled slightly towards the door in case it would open, always ready for attack.

Harry had read a lot about politicians in his soldier books. The ones he got second hand off Dudley. Harry had another uncle who was an ex-marine and thought Dudley was interested in the army. So he sent him an army book every birthday and Christmas. Then Dudley would throw it away and Harry would fish it out of the trash and teach his soldiers new tactics and let them face new monsters.

Harry's army faced a cross between enemy soldiers and alien monsters.

J was happy as long as she could shoot lasers.

After a long time spent alone in the darkness Harry woke up to vibrations around his room that alerted him that someone was coming down the stairs. Harry sat up and tested to see if his door was open, if it was unlocked his time in the cupboard was over. It was, and he quietly slipped out of the room. He walked to the kitchen to see the family sitting at the table like nothing had happened.

Harry took a quick glance at the paper.

It was Sunday.

He had been in the cupboard since Saturday morning. It wasn't that long then. Not as long as usual, and he had eaten yesterday. Harry counted it all as a win.

Harry quickly made two cups of tea and stared at Petunia waiting for her to respond. She mouthed,

Pancakes this morning. Be quick freak.

Harry then turned and did his silent dance, gliding around like a mad man, and soon enough pancakes with butter and syrup were ready for everyone. He looked at his aunt, wondering if he would eat, and she nodded in the direction of a spare pancake. His eyes widened but he took a plain one before she could change her mind.

He ate it out in the hallway, almost fainted at how nice it tasted, and then slowly walked back into the kitchen thinking about what chores he would do that day. When he walked back inside he saw his uncle happily talking about something. He rambled and it took Harry a few seconds to lip read.

And there's no mail on Sundays. That means no more mail from those ruddy owls and that lying freak school. All yesterday they had the nerve to send us letter after letter. But NOT TODAY! Today there is no mail. And that means that there is no way for-

The god of irony struck him down. Mail started to pour in through every crevasse left open in the house. Out the chimney. Through the letter box. Even through cracks in the windows and under the front door. Harry stared in alarm as the letters swirled around in a snow storm. The others started to panic and duck and he was about to do the same when he saw the name on one of the letters.

To Harry J. Potter

The cupboard under-

He had to stop reading and had to start acting. That was his letter. They were all his letters. And if it was his letter then that meant he deserved to read them.

Harry made a jump into the air ignoring the possible consequences of his act. He pulled a letter into his hand and started to rip it open. He pulled out the paper and...

Vernon snatched it from his hand and shoved him into the cupboard.

Into the darkness.

Away from his letters.

Tears flowed down Harry's cheeks. He felt awful and even O couldn't protect him. A thought struck his mind like lightning.

At least I got to eat.

Somehow that didn't make him feel any better.

…

That night Harry woke to his door being opened. He squinted as the light filled his cupboard and he saw Vernon say,

Come on Boy. We're leaving.

Harry shoved his broken soldiers into his pockets quickly and followed Vernon out into the hallway. There they stood, small suitcases packed, raincoats on their backs and they prepared to leave. But where were they going and why? They had left before, for day trips. Most recently the zoo. But never could he remember a time where they left to an overnight place and took him with them.

Dudley sneered and probably said something but Harry was too busy shutting his door behind him. Then he turned he read his lips,

Didn't you hear me, freak? I said its all your fault that we're going and I'm going to make you pay and-

Harry ignored him and simply followed the others out the door. Petunia looked shaken, more shaken than usual, and Harry had a soft spot in his heart for her. While Vernon would have been fine killing him she had always stopped him. She did put him in a cupboard and almost starve him but Harry thought she was the nicest out of the Dursleys. She had said to him once,

You look just like Lil-ee... Its a shame how she turned out. She used to be a good sister before she left.

Harry had thought that must have been the nicest thing she had ever said to him and he cherished that memory. The memory where her expression wasn't all hatred.

Harry entered the car and stared out the window, oblivious to any conversation going on. He didn't need to hear it. He was quite content with sitting in his natural silence and watching the houses pass beside him. He let his mind drift off into nothingness, not really thinking of anything. Harry just stayed in a gentle dose, not even recognising the mad ramblings of uncle Vernon as he talked of the freaks and letters and how he would make his family safe. (not including Harry)

Hours blurred into one block of time and soon the car arrived at its destination.

The ocean.

It was night and the waters were choppy and dark. Swirling like something out of another world. Vernon fetched a key and boat and led the family through the darkness onto a towering hill isolated in water. It was a tiny dark island and Harry shivered at just the sight of it. The rain and wind whipped his hair until it was flat on his face. He saw the others jump when flashes of light consumed them. He didn't know why they jumped, it was just light. The silent storm swirled around them. Harry closed his eyes and the only thing he registered was the cold wetness of the rain falling onto his barely covered skin.

Soon he felt a lurch of the boat and opened his eyes to see them docked at the island. Vernon led them to a shack at the summit, a small house. Inside it leaked rain through the cracks in floorboards and the roof. He gestured upstairs and Harry missed his mouth movements so he simply assumed that was where he should go.

There was a single bed with two blankets and Dudley instantly curled under it still wet. Harry sighed and lay down on the cold floor shivering. He was so tired but he couldn't sleep. His body was wracked with shakes and the icy wet cold seeped into his very bones. He closed his eyes and tried to ignore it but it was inescapable.

Eventually he gave up. He stood and peered down the stairs to see Vernon and Petunia both asleep. Then he returned to the room he shared with Dudley and wrung out the water from his clothes. Harry lay back down on the floor and stared at the dark ceiling above him.

He still couldn't sleep.

He saw out of the corner of his eye Dudley wake up in a fright. The boy looked about in worry and then raced down the stairs. Harry followed, curious as to what grabbed his attention. When he got down he was shocked to his core to see his uncle pointing a gun at a very tall and very wide man. He almost looked like a square, given his sides were almost equal.

Harry wiped his eyes and stared at the man. His eyes rested on Harry. Harry looked down to the other man's lips and saw him say,

'Ar-ree I'm Hag-rid and I'm here to take you to Hawg-wawrts.

Harry didn't make any move of curiosity so Hag-rid assumed that he had already been told about Hawg-wawrts. Then he said,

Well come on with me. We've got to get your stuff.

Harry made no move to recognise he had heard him other than following him as he walked out the door. The other Dursleys stood in shock as their nephew just... walked away as if it were the most normal thing in the world. He didn't even glance back at them. He didn't say a word. A shocking thought entered Dudley's mind for the first time.

He had never said a word and Dudley had never noticed.

When the door shut with a slam they broke out of their shock and all moved back to their beds in a sort of trance.

Harry followed Hagrid. The giant of a man was talking about something but Harry couldn't understand because he was facing away. Eventually Hagrid pulled out his umbrella and Harry saw him say,

Now hold on tight. I have a room booked at the Leaky Cauldron.

Harry assumed it was come kind of inn from the name. He was just glad they had read a book about witches in class, so he knew what a cauldron was. Then Hag-rid took Harry's hand and he was pulled by his navel into a new place in the blink of an eye. The world swirled and colours faded, and Harry felt a floating sensation before he crashed harshly into the ground. When he arrived he instantly collapsed onto the ground and held onto himself tightly to stop from vomiting.

After a few moments Hag-rid helped him up and brought him inside an inn called the Leaky Cauldron. There weren't many people inside, most seemed to ignore him as the small boy that he was, and he was glad at it. In this new place, with all these new people, Harry decided the smartest action would be to make himself as inconspicuous as possible.

After all who even knew what these people would be like. Harry was very accustomed to self-taught stranger danger. Once when he was eight a 'kind old lady' had tried to kidnap him. He bit her and she scowled and ran away but from then on he had always been sure to stay on guard outside of his cupboard, and the rest of the time be as quiet and well behaved as possible to keep himself safe.

When he was younger the Dursleys used to hit him, one occasion belted him. The hitting wasn't often, only once or twice a month when he had been bad, but it still hurt. He recognised it as danger. So, using all his self preservation instincts, he had managed to make himself useful to the Dursleys, managed to use some of his childish looks to gain sympathy, managed to change their thoughts from hate to dislike. He had slowly manipulated them into not hurting him. Harry had managed to protect himself by being someone else, their freakish innocent slave.

He was only ever himself when locked alone with his soldiers in his cupboard.

In this new world he was lost. His life had always consisted of his cupboard, the Dursleys and school. All three he had managed to master. Now he was taken by some man named Hag-rid to the Leaky Cauldron via some sort of teleportation. But he took it in his stride and was determined to make the best of it. After all he still had his most prized possessions, he hadn't lost H, J, P and O. Harry could possibly prosper in his new surrounding, he could research this new place, discover its secrets, and survive.

Hag-rid walked up to the counter and shared a few words with the bar keep. Harry could only see the bar keep's mouth, so only understood one half of the conversation.

Hey Hag-rid, what can I do you for?

Oh? What's this? You've brought a little skrap-er with you?

Hawg-wawrts? He barely looks nine! Well look, seeing as you're escorting someone you can have the room free for the night. Just until you leave for the train, mind you. Now, would you like a butter beer?

Hag-rid shook his head and led Harry up the stairs. He continued to talk and faced the other direction. Harry was frustrated. He had no clue what was going on and Hag-rid wouldn't even look at him. Where were they going? Why were they here? What was Hawg-wawrts? But Harry remembered he was in a new place and he needed to stay calm. He put his hands by his sides, dug to that deep part inside of himself and made a nest. It calmed him and had the added bonus of a neutral expression.

He felt the warm walls of his inner cave seem to breathe with him. Harry had the urge to close his eyes and sleep inside that place but decided against it. He could use this clear state of mind to get some answers... If only he could talk. Well he didn't even really want to talk. People could make all kinds of mistakes, he didn't have a clue what was going on so his mistakes could be far worse. No, he would follow information like a fly on the wall and once he had enough he would buzz on out of there to freedom.

They reached the door and Hag-rid looked at him. Finally.

Harry this will be your room for the night. ...Don't break anything. Tomorrow... There will be a surprise tomorrow. But we'll also be fetching your school supplies, going to Grin-Gots. That's a bank. And buying your wand.

Then Hag-rid said,

Goodnight.

He waited for the child to respond. Harry did nothing but stare into the other man's eyes blankly. Hagrid got frightened, turned and left for his own room. Harry tilted his head in curiosity at his reaction before entering the room.

It was small, but big compared to his cupboard. It was about 3by3 metres, had a small cot and the side, a large cushioned chair and a bookcase.

Harry instantly fell in love.

He noticed clothes folded on the bed and walked over with curiosity. There were two sets. One was soft blue pyjamas, with little stars and moons on it, with cheap looking material. The other was more normal day clothes, the type that Dudley would wear. There were blue jeans, a striped white and green long sleeved shirt and a small red jacket.

Harry grinned. His own clothes. This new world just got weirder and weirder.

He carefully slipped into the new blue pyjamas, hanging his other damp clothes at the edge of the cot. He pulled his soldiers out of his wet pocket and left them on the floor to dry beside the bookcase. They were each very small, about the size of his index finger, so he made sure to have them in sight so he wouldn't forget them.

As if he could ever forget them.

On top of the other set of clothes was a note. He instantly picked it up and read it.

Mr. Potter,

We noticed when you came in that your clothes were worn down and wet. We were worried for a master as young as yourself catching a chill, and why he would be wearing clothes not of his stature. So, we left these other clothes here in hopes that you would wear them and not be so cold and wet.

-The house elves.

Harry smiled at whoever these elves were. Then a thought struck him.

Elves were real?

Harry folded the note carefully and placed it by his other possessions on the floor. So now he had soldiers, clothes and a note to keep track of! Already his things seemed to be piling up. He tried not to think about how mythical creatures could be real, but he couldn't. He absolutely couldn't. The idea in and of itself seemed crazy, and then it begged other questions.

What else was real?

Suddenly the bookshelf was becoming more and more appealing. Harry rushed over to it to simply pick a book to read. He was way too excited now to sleep. He let his gaze wonder over the titles.

Flying with Phoenixes

The many and mysterious whyms of Saint Peters-burg

The stories of Beetle and Bard

The muggles guide Wizarding culture

The Goblin Wars

History of the wizarding world from the last 200 years

Okay... So magic was real.

Harry fished out 'the muggles guide to Wizarding culture' and immersed himself in its material. It talked of blood heritage, what made a muggle, wizard, half-blood, muggle born, muggle raised, pure-blood. It talked of how certain creatures were traditionally treated, what customs were considered polite. How to treat a pure-blood, goblin, half-blood giant, half-blood veela and numerous other creatures. Harry read about the main magical attractions of the wizarding world. Hogwarts (not Hawg-wawrts), Gringotts, the magical museum and Ollivander's wand shop.

It was also very bigoted.

Bigoted against other creatures, muggles and most other types of magic that weren't light. But, if wizards were humans then they could make human mistakes...

And Harry could profit from said mistakes and gather information.

Harry didn't finish the book, that would have taken all night, but he read the parts he needed. He understood basic wizarding things and taboos. And once reading about all of culture and the highly outdated political system he had an idea. A single idea that would shape his destiny.

He didn't have to fit into their role. He didn't have to do what they said. He would bide his time, gather information, lurk in the shadows, be almost invisible and strike when the time was right.

The last thing Harry did before he slept was to write a courteous greeting note to the under-appreciated goblins of Gringotts. He would want to make a good first impression. And a thank you note to the House Elves (based on what he read in the wizarding book, and a bit of his own ideas), resting on his second set of clothes.

Dear House Elves,

Thank you so much for the clothes. They made me very happy and warm. You did your job well and you have my most sincere gratitude. You have been brilliant house elves and if it were up to me you would be rewarded handsomely.

In the future if you need a new master because you have been freed (not that it would happen because you are very good house elves) you can come to me. I would happily oblige and take you into my care.

Sincerely,

Harry J. Potter.

Then he closed his eyes and went to sleep. He never heard the squeals of delight coming from the other room once his letter was taken and read.