"I'm what?" Harry asked, incredulously.
"A wizard, Harry," said the man.
"But I can't be a wizard, I'm just Harry," Harry said.
"Well, 'Just Harry', you're a wizard!" The man sounded annoyed.
"Bu-" Harry began, but the man made a swift gesture and Harry lost his voice. As Harry clutched at his throat in panic, the man continued.
"Wizards can do magic," he said slowly, enunciating his words carefully. "Because you, Harry, are a wizard, you can do magic. Nod if you understand so far."
Harry glared balefully at the insulting man, who smirked.
"That's enough," Uncle Vernon said suddenly, pushing everyone out of the way. He advanced on the mysterious man, waving his finger threateningly.
"If-" he said, and then collapsed to the ground, limp. Aunt Petunia soundlessly screamed, before collapsing herself.
Dudley elected to remain quiet.
"At least someone in your family has sense," the man sighed. He dismissively waved at Aunt Petunia. "Though I'm honestly astonished that Tuny here actually lucked into a kid with half a brain. Sit down, the two of you."
Dudley sat crosslegged on the floor next to Uncle Vernon. Harry sat on the bed. The man retrieved a stick from his sleeve and idly waved it. The door slammed closed.
"My name is Professor Snape. I am a teacher at a school that teaches young wizards and witches to control their magic. No doubt you've noticed events out of the ordinary occurring around you, especially when you were in an emotionally charged state?"
Harry and Dudley shot each a confused look.
Professor Snape sighed. "You've noticed strange things happening when you were upset or angry, right?" he said, much more sharply.
Harry still couldn't speak, so he shot a pleading look at Dudley, who stepped up to the plate.
"Um, no? We've never seen anything like that," Dudley said, fidgeting.
Professor Snape raised an eyebrow and leaned forwards. "Really?" he said, sounding interested. He pulled a beautiful yellow flower out of nowhere and handed it to Harry.
"Let's test it then," he said, waving his wand at Harry.
Harry felt cold, a creeping dread, an absolute and complete certainty that he was about to die. The terror held him so tight that he could not even breathe. His vision dimmed as he felt lightheaded, and he began to collap-
The feeling disappeared. Harry gasped, holding on to the bed.
"There, see?" Professor Snape sound pleased. The flower Harry held in his hand was now withered to a gray husk.
Harry stood up. No way he was staying around someone who did things like that.
He was suddenly pushed down again.
"Where would you even go?" Professor Snape said, sounding amused. "You can't even talk until I undo my spell."
Harry glared at him.
"So, as a wizard, you are required to attend Hogwarts for seven years. You will learn the basics of magic to the point where you can get some job or other. Since you will require certain materials, ex: books, robes, etcetera, we will have to arrange some shopping trip. You will attend beginning in early September. Instructions and other details are listed in this letter," Professor Snape retrieved it, again from nowhere, and handed it to Harry. "Now then, since you showing up with your current gormlessness would reflect badly on me, I will have to inform you of some additional cultural information." Professor Snape took a deep breath and leaned forwards.
"Do you know how your parents died?"
Harry tried to respond, but Professor Snape's spell remained.
"Mom and Dad said they died in a car crash," Dudley said.
Professor Snape chuckled. "A car crash? I forget how fragile muggles are."
"Muggles are non-magic users?" Dudley guessed.
Professor Snape nodded. "Harry's parents were wizards. It's unlikely that they would have died in a car crash, had they been in one. Rather, they were killed by a dangerous wizard referred to as He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named."
Dudley scrunched up his nose. "That's a stupid name," he said.
Professor Snape smiled. "Don't let a wizard or witch hear you say that. You have no idea that fear and chaos he spread throughout the wizarding world. When he tried to kill Harry, however, he suddenly disappeared. For this reason, you," he said, looking at Harry, "are renowned throughout the wizarding world as the 'Boy-Who-Lived'."
Harry was starting to get very sick of this silencing spell. If he really was a magickal wizard with wizardly magicks, he should be able to get rid of it. He started concentrating on the concept of speech, imagining himself talking in various situations. Focusing on his desire to speak, Harry tried to reach his magic.
Meanwhile, Dudley was saying, "So Harry is like, some kind of ultra-wizard?" He stared at Harry, probably imagining him on some cliff summoning a thunderstorm.
Professor Snape shook his head, "Doubtful, most doubtful. Headmaster Dumbledore, arguably the greatest wizard of the age, performed some rather extensive tests on him after we confirmed the defeat of the Dark Lord."
"Then, Harry must've absorbed the Dark Lord's power! He can probably use it but it corrupts his soul," Dudley guessed, grinning widely.
"That was actually the first thing we checked for, before the 'savant' theory," Professor Snape said. "No, I'm afraid that Harry here is a rather depressingly average wizard."
"But that's boring," Dudley objected. "He should have something cooler if he beat a evil wizard."
"Personally, I take it as evidence of a weak personality and lack of moral fibre," Professor Snape contributed.
Harry felt the weave of the magic through his soul, a vague hallucination that involved some sixth sense. And he could sense his Will as a sign, woven through the threads of Power. His Will was the Word, and his Power ignited the threads. They pushed up against the Serpentine thread, and died out. Harry felt the burned-out threads return to his soul, where they were torn apart and reconstituted anew.
Harry briefly returned to reality, to hear Professor Snape saying, "An amusing idea, no doubt. But, no, we do not have to worry about these 'spell slots'. You must allow me to copy this book of yours. Studying Muggle interpretations of magic has always been a hobby of mine."
Harry decided that he didn't really like this reality and returned to the sixth sense.
His Will was the Sign. The Sign of what? An image of speech, a concept made concrete, a cause and effect distilled into a singular form, comprehensible to the universe. He formed the Sign, clearer now. His Will was the Word, and his Power ignited the threads. They died out, and were reborn anew.
Harry still couldn't speak. Return to Start.
He repeatedly failed to undo the silencing spell, even as he clarified the Sign further and further. No matter what he did, whenever the threads reached the silencing spell they immediately burned out.
Giving up for the time being, he reluctantly redirected his attention towards Professor Snape.
"Aha, no," Professor Snape was saying. "I suppose you might call it an intersection between the two, where we must both be born with the magic and engage in intense study-"
Harry clapped his hands to grab his attention, then gestured furiously at his mouth.
"What? Oh, yes, I forgot about that," Snape said, flicking his wand. Harry felt the Serpentine spell unravel, the threads being pulled away.
"Please don't do that again," Harry asked warily. Professor Snape smiled slightly.
"In any case, back to business. You will need your school materials and a more thorough cultural primer. I have some free time next Wednesday, so be ready at nine'o'clock sharp."
"Can I come?" Dudley asked, his eyes bright.
"Hmm, no. I'm afraid this is a wizard-only expedition," Professor Snape said. Dudley's face fell.
Professor Snape suddenly looked very irritated. "Hmm, memories." His face changed to a more neutral expression. "Some advice, Dudley. Leave thoughts of the wizarding world behind. Focus on your own life. I can assure you that the glamour of magic is visible only from the outside, in any case. What seems to you to be a blessing beyond any other is nothing remotely close to such."
Dudley briefly considered this, then nodded in the way that Harry recognized as a signal of his intent to ignore the advice.
"What about Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia?" Harry asked.
"They can't come either," Professor Snape replied.
"No, I mean," Harry shook his head. "They clearly hate the idea of me being a wizard, so what if they try to stop it or take my stuff after I get it?"
"Oh, that," Professor Snape said dismissively. "Your Aunt, at the very least, knows what happens to muggles who cause trouble for their kids. No, I don't think you'll have any issues on that part."
Harry wasn't so sure, but what was there to say?
—
Well, Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia were clearly very upset about the whole matter, but they had a furious whispered conversation for a long while and came out of it with the joint decision to pretend it wasn't happening.
"As far as we, and everybody else we know, are concerned, Harry has been accepted to a far-off boarding school, tuition paid," Aunt Petunia said, as the four sat in one of the bedrooms of the bed-and-breakfast. "It was arranged by his parents before their deaths, god rest their souls, and we just had to honor their wishes. But I won't have magic of any kind in the house. You'll keep your wand and any toys you have locked in your room, or I'll confiscate them until you go. And I won't have any pets, either," she added. "I remember that ghastly creature your mother brought home."
Harry thought a pet would be great, but resolved to not push his luck.
"And absolutely no going after any Dark Lords." Aunt Petunia said the words 'Dark Lords' with the same tone of voice she used for 'foot fungus'. "I won't have it, not while you're living under my roof. Those kinds of people are all drug addicted hippies pushing leftist ideas around, and I simply won't! Have! It!"
Harry briefly wondered whether Aunt Petunia was talking about the Dark Lords or the people fighting them.
Uncle Vernon had remained sullenly silent throughout Aunt Petunia's instructions, but now he started nodding vigorously.
"I know their type," he said viciously, his face slowly turning red with political rage. "Filthy lowlives, making others clean up after their mess, pushing their broken ideologies in court and expecting us to pick up their share of the workload. It didn't use to be like this, you know. Britain was great once. We were the kings of the world! A beacon of civilization, an example! Back then we had standards! Not like today, where half the damn populace's a bunch of druggies who'd rather live on the street than get a decent job." Uncle Vernon continued ranting about a wide variety of groups, blaming hippies, gangsters, criminals, and politicians for the general state of affairs, the collapse of the moral standard, the slowing down of the economy, and, presumably, the collapse of the British Empire.
Harry continued to wonder which group he was talking about. Dudley listened carefully, eventually pulling out a small spiral notebook and making notes.
Uncle Vernon's rant was eventually cut short by teatime, and the family took it in Agatha's lobby. It was a pleasant affair, as Agatha brought out her record player and let the soothing classical music suffuse the room with an air of calm cheer.
"So," Harry asked Aunt Petunia, "you know Professor Snape?"
"Oh, I know him alright," Aunt Petunia said, loathing dripping from voice like the tea from the shaking cup she held in her hand. "That man is the lowest life form on the planet. I have known evolutionists with better manners, communists with more sense, Irishmen with more temperance, and Catholics with superior morals. The Pope himself would disdain to take tea with him, an Arab would consider him perverse, and an editor of the Mirror would think him excessively dishonest."
"It sounds like you don't like him," Dudley remarked.
"God alone can judge a man," Aunt Petunia said, primly, "as I'm sure Mister Snape will discuss at length with Lucifer."
Harry decided to obtain information about Professor Snape from less biased sources.
Later they had a picnic. It was very nice. Agatha's lemon cakes were indeed delicious.
The following Wednesday, Harry was ready at nine'o'clock, when a sharp knock came at the door.
—To Be Continued—