Disclaimer: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.
Author's Note: Just to let people know that this fic will be a H/D relationship that is centred on friendship. The boys are eleven here and are therefore underage, so there will be no sexual situations! Also, there will be parts that are very similar to the book – this is intentional as this is my version of the first Harry Potter book. Any sections that are recognisable as coming from the 'Philosopher's Stone' are just that, and do not belong to me at all.
Chapter 1. The Boy Who Lived
Privet Drive in Little Whinging, Surrey, was to anyone new to the area the sight of seeming perfection. The houses along the street were all the same – prim, proper, and in good repair. The front gardens of each of these houses were all in order, hedges and bushes pruned into reluctant obedience, with not a single blade of grass out of line.
The people who lived within these perfect houses with their perfect front gardens, put across the air of being perfect themselves, despite each having their own secrets that made them less than perfect. Even the strange old lady, Mrs Figg, who lived across the road from number 4 had a secret, though none of her perfect neighbours would believe her if she told them. However, whilst many in the street would have been disgruntled but survived had any of their secrets got out (like Mrs Shield at number 12, whose first husband had served a prison sentence for possession of a Class A drug), the occupants of number 4 Privet Drive, lived in daily terror that someone should discover theirs.
Petunia Dursley was a proud housewife, who delighted herself in keeping a house that was tidier than her neighbours', and a garden that was always the first to bloom and the last to die, with meticulous lawns and flowerbeds. However, if anyone were to ask her how she managed to keep such a wonderful household whilst bringing up two rambunctious ten-year-old boys, Petunia Dursley simply gave a trill laugh and waved her hand saying that children, given the right motivation, were often able to amuse themselves. What she wouldn't mention was that whilst her own 'darling Diddykins' was more than willing to spend days watching television, or playing upon his Playstation, to occupy him and keep him out of trouble, her nephew - ten-year-old Harry Potter - was frequently the one cooking, cleaning and gardening. If anyone were to see him in the garden, Petunia would explain his presence away stating that he had been naughty and that the work in the garden was his punishment. She didn't, however, relish anyone asking about the child or his parents, something that was sure to wind her up, and so, when the morning of Dudley Dursley's birthday rolled around, she found herself in somewhat of a bad mood with the child, knowing that his own birthday would be coming up at the end of the month. As she made sure that all the birthday presents were pre-set on the table for Dudley, she turned to rap on the small door underneath the stairs that held an external lock and an air grate.
'Get up this instant!' she said forcefully. Hearing the rustling from inside that indicated that her nephew was awake, she turned back to the kitchen and set bacon cooking in the frying pan. She mused over the morning that she had awoken to find the child on her doorstep as she put out milk bottles, and the letter that had brought the news of her sister's death. When she had brought the child into the house and surrendered the letter to Vernon, they had discussed what they would do with the child. Though they lived in a four bedroom house, Vernon had suggested the cupboard under the stairs, to try and 'stamp out the nonsense from the thing'. Though Vernon was, as yet, unaware of the impact that the child's eleventh birthday could have on them, Petunia could only remember what Lily was like the day her letter had arrived. As she heard the cupboard door open, she shook her head, banishing the images and memories, and turned to Harry.
'Well, come on, I want you to look after the bacon. And take care with it; I want everything perfect today.'
The small, black-haired boy, moved to the cooker, turning the bacon when he got there, and rolled large brilliant emerald green eyes as soon as he was sure that Aunt Petunia had moved away. How could he have forgotten that today was his cousin's birthday... it wasn't like Dudley had been going on for weeks about what he would be getting, he thought sarcastically. He finished the bacon and moved it to a warm plate, before starting the eggs, saying 'Yes, sir' to his uncle's command of 'Comb that mop of yours!'
At that moment, Dudley arrived to his aunt's and uncle's delight, and began to count his presents. 'Thirty-six! I had more last year!' he said, voice thick with the promise of a tantrum.
'There's one to come from Aunt Marge, Dudders,' Uncle Vernon said.
'Fine. But still...'
'And there'll be more bought for you when we're out, darling. How's that?' Aunt Petunia said, skilfully evading a Dudley tantrum.
The morning then passed without incident, and Harry, after a severe warning from Uncle Vernon to behave at the zoo, found himself in front of the glass fronted cage of a boa constrictor.
'Can't you get it to move?' Dudley whined at his father. Uncle Vernon rapped on the glass smartly, but the snake stayed coiled up. They moved off with Dudley's muttered, 'Boring', and Harry watched as the snake slowly opened an eye, as if to check if they were still there.
'Sorry,' Harry felt compelled to say, although he felt vaguely ridiculous talking to a snake. The snake raised his head slowly, until it was level with Harry. 'I bet it's not fun to have people try and wake you all the time.' Harry watched, stunned, as the snake shook its head from side to side. 'Do you miss your home?' he asked, and the snake pointed at the sign next to the cage. 'Born in a zoo, huh? That's me, too.' The next thing Harry knew, he was being pushed out of the way, and had landed on the floor.
'Dad, Mummy! Come here! You won't believe this!' Dudley was shouting.
The next thing anyone knew, the cage front had disappeared and the boa constrictor was slinking its way out of its confines. Lunging playfully towards the humans, it moved towards the dark-haired boy where it paused briefly.
'Thanksss, amigo,'Harry thought it hissed before it left him looking at his furious aunt and uncle.
When Harry was eventually allowed out of his cupboard again, it was to find that Dudley had his new school uniform for Smeltings, the school that Uncle Vernon had attended. Harry counted his blessings that, as he wasn't going to Smeltings, he wouldn't have to wear the ridiculous uniform.
As Harry put out the breakfast items, the sound of the post being delivered reached the kitchen. By order of Uncle Vernon, Harry went to collect the letters, dodging Dudley's attack as he left. As he picked up the letters, he noticed three things. Firstly, there were three letters. Secondly, they were all remarkably different – one was a bill, one was a postcard and one seemed to be rather fancy paper. Thirdly, one was addressed to him. He blinked and re-read the address.
Mr H. Potter,
The Cupboard under the Stairs,
4 Privet Drive,
Little Whinging,
Surrey
There was no doubting the intended recipient of the letter – after all, who else shared his 'bedroom'? Pausing for the briefest moment to consider, Harry slipped the letter into his cupboard and hid it beneath his mattress. Handing the other letters to Uncle Vernon in the kitchen, Harry set about to waiting for the day to be over so that he could read his letter.
After weeding the front and back garden, as well as cleaning the front path, Harry finally found himself in his cupboard for the night. He waited until Dudley had gone to bed, and his aunt and uncle were shut in the living room watching the ten o'clock news before he retrieved the letter. Checking the address on the front once more, to ensure that he hadn't misread that and made a mistake, he turned the thick envelope over. Sealing the letter closed was a purple wax seal bearing a coat of arms – a lion, badger, eagle and serpent surrounded a large 'H', with the words 'Draco Dormiens Nunquam Titillandus' written beneath it. Breaking the wax, Harry drew out the thick parchment and unfolded the letter.
HOGWARTS SCHOOL OF WITCHCRAFT AND WIZARDRY
Headmaster: Albus Dumbledore
(Order of Merlin, First Class, Grand Sorc., Chf. Warlock,
Supreme Mugwump, International Confed. of Wizards)
Dear Mr Potter,
We are pleased to inform you that you have a place at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Please find enclosed a list of all necessary books and equipment.
Term begins on 1st September. We await your owl by no later than 31st July.
Yours sincerely,
Minerva McGonagall
Deputy Headmistress
Harry stared at the letter, not quite believing it, pondering the likelihood that it was one of Dudley's pranks designed to get him into trouble. Harry dismissed that possibility swiftly – this was far too an elaborate letter for Dudley to have masterminded. Harry read the letter again. We await your owl... what on earth did that mean? Was it some form of code? Harry shook his head and thought that if there was indeed such a thing as magic (contrary to what he had been told throughout his short life) then "awaiting an owl" would also likely be probable, particularly if he was to write back to confirm that he was willing to attend this Hogwarts school. Harry searched his cupboard for the pad of paper that he had rescued from a pile of items to be thrown away, and a pen that he hoped would have ink still remaining. Finding them, he re-read the letter and contemplated what to write in response. How did Aunt Petunia start her letters?
'Dear Madam,' he wrote.
I would like to thank you for your correspondence in regard to Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. I would be honoured to accept your offer.
Yours sincerely,
Harry James Potter
It was short, but in essence consisted of what Aunt Petunia normally muttered when she was writing letters. Now how to send it back? There was no return address on the envelope and he had never heard of Hogwarts in his life. Harry heard his Aunt Petunia putting the milk bottles out for the milkman and her appalled nasal voice as she returned to the living room.
'Honestly, Vernon, I don't know what the problem is with these wretched birds, but there's still that blasted owl sat on the front wall. No matter how much I 'shoo' at it, it will not budge!'
Harry's heart jumped. That was it – it must be. We await your owl. Why else would an owl be sat outside his house? Harry waited quietly for his aunt and uncle to go up to their bedroom and to ensure that they would have fallen asleep, before sneaking out of his cupboard and finding the spare key for the front door. Once outside he approached the owl with caution, letter in his hand.
'Um, I assume you know where to take this?' he asked, feeling a bit ridiculous for talking to an owl in the middle of the night. The owl, however, hooted softly and took the letter before taking off into the night. Harry made his way inside hoping that this hadn't simply been a dream.