It was in a strange trance that Albus Dumbledore delivered a baby boy to his nearest blood relative. He could hardly think. He was smiling brightly.
"Albus." a woman said seriously. "We can't leave him here. They're the worst sort of Muggles imaginable!" she cried.
"They are his family. All he has left." Dumbledore replied distractedly.
The woman's lips thinned, but she didn't argue any longer.
"Goodbye 'Arry." a tall man with a shaggy beard and hair moaned sadly.
"Nonsense Hagrid. We will see young Harry again." Albus said cheerfully.
Hagrid continued to cry as he nodded his understanding to the older man.
Line Break
Harry Potter grew up in a strange home. He lived with his Aunt, Uncle, and cousin. That was fairly normal, but they weren't. As lomg as he could remember, his Aunt Petunia drank wine with startling regularity, his Uncle Vernon ate like a starving man and grew frighteningly huge, and his cousin Dudley ate much the same.
His Uncle had a job at a drill company named Grunnings, where he supposedly was well respected. He worked a lot, and he seemed to enjoy his work, as it was the only thing that stopped him from eating constantly.
Whatever the mans' salary, by the time Harry was old enough to realize his families' strangeness, he had to help support them in their indulgencies.
Harry discovered he was adept at growing plants, and his Aunt helped him create a Vineyard, which he grew high quality grapes. His Aunt had taught him to create Wine, which they sold to help pay for the remarkable amount of food they went through, while Petunia drank a good portion of their product.
This was the life that Harry knew. Though his Aunt was constantly slurring her words and explaining strange things that made absolutely no sense to anyone but her, and his Uncle ate and worked so much that it was amazing to think of him as a person, he was happy. His cousin was a bit of a bully, usually preventing Harry from eating his food, but he loved them.
Besides, Harry wasn't the type to eat a lot, and though he tried to develop an interest in his Uncle's work, he didn't find it as fascinating as Vernon did. His Aunt was the one he was closest with, because he loved tending the grapevines, and his Aunt loved the wine he made.
He had drank some of his results, and it didn't seem to do anything to him except taste quite good to him, nothing like his Aunt's pleasant haze.
This was how his days passed. Tending his grapevines, making wine, attending school. A routine of quiet contentment that he followed daily.
Until one week before his eleventh birthday.
Line Break
It was as normal a day as any other. It was summer, so all he had to do was tend to the vineyard. After checking the soil for weeds and ensuring it was moist, he cleaned up and helped his Aunt make breakfast.
Or rather, she sat in the kitchen while he cooked.
After breakfast was prepared, a large meal with eggs, pancakes, bacon, sausage, toast, biscuits, and french toast, Harry and Petunia delivered the plates to the dining room.
A metallic click was heard, and Harry spoke up. "I'll get it." he volunteered.
He had already tucked away his food, a smaller affair, and hopped up to go get the mail.
He flipped through the letters carefully, reading the sending addresses.
"We've got some bills, and a notice from Grunnings." Harry mused aloud, handing the relevant envelope to Vernon as he saw it. "Oh, and something for me?" he said with some surprise.
Harry didn't recieve letters, and neither did Dudley, seeing as the postal service was mostly used for bills and magazines.
His Aunt cheered weakly, smiling broadly with a somewhat clear expression. "See?" she said with a mild slur, "I told you you'd get it."
Harry frowned. "I had thought you were making it up." he said quietly.
"What?" she asked indignantly, though her drunken stupor was already tinging her voice. "I couldn't make that up!" she declared.
Harry sat down at the table, staring down at the unopened letter in his hands. He had liked the idea of his Aunt being an imaginative drunk, and instead, she was the type to talk about the past.
That meant that his parents really had been murdered. That he was different from his family. That he was special.
"Why can't I just be Harry?" he cried.
Petunia pulled herself together and hugged him close, smiling to reassure him. "You are just Harry. But this is who you are too."
He held her back as his tears soaked into her blouse. "I don't want to leave my vines. My home. My family." he whispered into her shoulder.
"You aren't leaving us." she stated firmly. "It's just school. We can handle it while you go."
Harry sniffled again. "Okay."
Line BreakHarry returned an acceptance letter and asked for help getting to Diagon Alley, which resulted in the visitor he recieved the next day.
He answered the door to find a stern faced older woman in black.
"Hello?" he asked. "Are those robes?"
"Mister Potter, I presume?" she asked. When he nodded, she continued. "I am Professor Minerva McGonagall. I teach Transfiguration at Hogwarts."
"Oh. Cool." Harry said weakly. "I'll just get my shoes on, and then we can go."
As he slipped on some sneakers, he continued talking. "How much money do I need to bring for my school supplies?"
"You have a vault at Gringotts, and I've been asked to deliver the key to you. It should well cover anything you want to buy."
"Woah, really?" he asked, awed.
McGonagall nodded with a slight smile.
"I'm ready." he informed her.
She nodded and Harry called a farewell to his relatives as they left.
Line Break
Shopping was an interesting affair. Harry finally saw some of the things his Aunt had always talked about, and knew they were true.
It was, dare he say it, magical.
He was so overwhelmed with the sights and sounds that he didn't process very much until he found himself in front of an old dusty shop. The sign above the door named it Ollivander's.
"You go in alone, Mr. Potter. Garrick likes to make these into private affairs." McGonagall informed him. "I'll just be waiting out here."
Harry nodded and stepped through the old wooden door.
The shop was dimly lit, and old. He didn't see anyone, but there was a huge area behind the front counter that most likely contained a large number of wands.
"Mr. Potter." A voice called. It sounded like it was breathing in his ear, and he shuddered as he whipped around. He saw an old man who seemed to blend well with the old wood of the shop. "I wondered when I might see you in my shop."
Harry calmed down as the man continued to talk.
"I remember every wand I've ever sold, Mr. Potter. Your father's, Mahogany, 11 inches, pliable. Your mother's, Willow, 10 and a quarter, swishy."
Harry gave a small grin. He loved hearing about his parents.
"Now, let's see what we can find for you." Ollivander said. Harry was handed a wand. "Mahogany, Dragon Heartstring."
It barely touched his hand before it was snatched back, the sound of breaking porcelain in the back.
"Willow, Unicorn Hair."
The situation repeated itself, wand after wand being thrown away and the shop becoming more and more cluttered with shattered flower pots, broken glass, icicles in the ground, grapes embedded in shelves, and the like.
"I wonder." Ollivander whispered, before handing him another wand.
This one did nothing at all.
"I'm sorry, Mr. Potter, but I don't have a wand in my shop that I can claim would choose you." Ollivander said with an ecstatic grin.
"Then why are you smiling?" Harry asked.
"Mister Potter, my life's work has been dedicated to making wands using only Unicorn hair, Dragon Heartstring, and Phoenix feathers. You have proven that those three wand cores are not the only premium cores. My father used to build wands based off of people bringing in animal parts that were important to them, and I was determined to prove that kneazle hair couldn't compare to a stronger magical creature."
Harry was even more confused. "Doesn't that mean you were wrong?" he asked.
Ollivander's grin grew even wider. "Precisely. I have a few more wands in the back I'd like to try, Mr. Potter. They are not the same as before, but rather, ideas I was toying with."
Ollivander stepped through to the back of his shop and returned with an old trunk.
"Elder and Thunderbird feather." he whispered.
The wand gouged a scar into the counter. Ollivander took it and replaced it with another.
"Ivy and Horned Serpent" he said.
The wand grew warm in his hand, but nothing else happened.
"Interesting. Set that one down, and take this one." Ollivander said.
Harry did so.
"Ivy and Thestral hair."
Harry took it and it glowed lightly, a pleasant white light filling the room.
"Alas, a dilemma." Ollivander said with a smile. "Both of these wands are compatible, and there is a law against multiple wands without a permit."
"What should I do, sir?" Harry asked.
Ollivander shrugged. "I'm afraid I don't know, Mr. Potter. But here." Ollivander handed him a fabric brace. "A wand holster. It is mokeskin, so no one can see it besides you. It can't be taken from you and you can't be disarmed if your wand is inside."
"Uh, thanks?" Harry said. He looked at it for a few seconds before he noticed. It had two slots. He figured Ollivander was exactly the right kind of person for him to be purposefully obtuse.
"Look, a flying squirrel!" he cried, pointing behind the old wand maker.
The man turned dutifully with a smile as Harry slipped the two wands into the holster. Harry slapped the holster against his forearm and watched it stick.
When Ollivander turned back around, a good five minutes later, Harry was set.
"How much, sir?" Harry asked with a smile.
"20 galleons." Ollivander replied.
Harry paid and left, Ollivander wishing him luck as he did.