In the Cupboard

In the Cupboard

By: HarryDude85

When Harry trusted his instincts and opened his first Hogwarts letter away from prying eyes, the difference this one simple act has on the future is astounding.

I don't own any of these characters.


The next day Harry found himself sitting next to his uncle in his car on his way to Diagon Alley. He had ripped the directions off from the bottom of Dumbledore's letter, and now Uncle Vernon was following them, mumbling about wizards and their damn loopy, slanted handwriting.

When Harry woke up to the usual rapping against his cupboard door that morning, he had thought he had dreamt the entire last day, and now Aunt Petunia was there to tell him to make breakfast. He felt thoroughly depressed, because that was the best dream he ever had.

That depression didn't last long, for it was immediately shattered by Uncle Vernon telling him to "move you worthless legs and get out of bed! I'm on a tight schedule."

Uncle Vernon never woke him up. And although he is always on a tight schedule, that had nothing to do with Harry, unless…

It was real. And Uncle Vernon's going to take him to Diagon Alley.

Harry leapt from his bed, burst from his cupboard, and quickly ran to the front door. Opening it, he looked at the doormat. The letter was gone, which could have meant nothing, except that the rock that Harry used to hold it down was lying next to the doormat.

They had come and taken his letter! He was going to Hogwarts! He was going to learn magic like his mom and dad!

"Boy, close that damn door and go get cleaned up," Uncle Vernon ordered. "I won't drive around with a slob."

'Why not, you raise one,' Harry thought, but didn't dare say it in case Uncle Vernon changed his mind.

He quickly got a shower, got dressed, and ate breakfast.

When he and Uncle Vernon were ready to leave, Harry got Professor Dumbledore's letter from his cabinet. Not only did it have directions to Diagon Alley, but it had other important information that he was afraid he would forget.

"Hurry up, boy," uncle Vernon snapped as he kissed Aunt Petunia good-bye and gave Dudley a cuff on the pudgy shoulder.

Harry rushed to the door, gave a hurried good-bye to his aunt, who returned it with a turned shoulder. He then got in Uncle Vernon's car with his Uncle.

"Do you have directions to this place?" asked Uncle Vernon.

Harry ripped the directions from the bottom of the letter and handed them to his uncle. As they pulled out of the driveway, Harry re-read the letter.

It was as comforting and informative as it was last night, but when he got to the part about hiding his scar he faltered.

He looked into his visor's mirror and pushed his bangs back. His scar. The scar he's has for as long as he could remember. He apparently got it in the car crash that killed his parents, and while he had no other explanation, he began to wonder about that. How could two supposedly well talented wizards be killed in a simple car crash? Couldn't they have stopped the car or vanish themselves out. And what did that green light he occasionally saw in dreams have to do with it?

He would have asked Uncle Vernon about it, but Harry didn't think asking him anything more about his new life would have been the best option, not when he was already cursing about damn wizards and their inconsideration.

But Dumbledore had told Harry that he could conjure something up that would hide his scar. And while he didn't hate his scar, he actually kind of liked it and the way it made him unique, Dumbledore was right about the fact that people were very cruel to him about it. He could only imagine how wizards and witches would gawk and point at the strange kid with broken glasses, clothes far too big, no parents and a weird looking scar on his head. 'Well,' Harry thought, 'I'll just make myself the strange kid with broken glasses, clothes far too big, and no parents.'

Harry looked back down at the letter and read the words that Professor Dumbledore told him to say.

Taking in a deep breath to prepare himself for his first ever piece of magic, however indirectly he may cause it, he whispered, "Harry's helper".

Nothing happened.

Nothing appeared. Nothing made a popping sound and fell in his lap. Nothing. No magic.

Harry sighed. 'What did I do wrong?'

Harry looked back at the parchment, hoping that maybe there was more to it and he was just stupid enough not to have found it. But there was nothing. All it said was to do what Harry just did and nothing else.

Harry looked out his window, watching the cars, trees, and buildings zipping by and wondered 'How can I make it at Hogwarts when I can't do the simplest thing right.' He turned his head to look back in the visor mirror and shouted "Oh!"

"What!" Uncle Vernon looked around trying to see what it was that Harry had seen. When he saw nothing he turned to his nephew, who was still looking at himself in the mirror and rubbing his forehead, and growled, "What the devil is your problem? It was lucky I had just come to a stoplight, or their might have been an accident.

If you ever do some… some…" he trailed off when Harry turned to face him, holding his bangs up.

His scar was gone.

Where there should have been a black cut in the shape of a jagged lightning bolt, there was nothing but white skin.

"What… but how?" Uncle Vernon asked. He was brought to his senses when the car behind him sounded its horn. Uncle Vernon saw that the light was green and started driving again.

"It's magic." Harry simply stated. He felt the divide between the material and his skin, dug his skin under it, and peeled it off. There was no tug, no resistance, and no hair coming off like a band-aid. It just came off.

Harry looked at it. It was as thin as paper, something very easily losable, but when he bent it, it didn't break. When he tried to slightly rip it, it didn't tear. It was perfect.

Out of the corner of his eye he saw Uncle Vernon watching him with one eye and keeping an eye on the road with the other. He could tell he was amazed at the little item as Harry was, but didn't want to admit it.

Harry carefully brought it up to his forehead. Very carefully, he put it over his scar, and pressed down on it. When he removed his hand, his reflection showed a normal fore head, no scar, no indication that there is something there that shouldn't be.

And Harry felt normal. There was now nothing that made him stand out from a regular crowd of 10 year old boys.

The remainder of the ride was a much more relaxed one than the first part. Now that Harry didn't have to worry about people making a big deal about his scar, Harry could think about the kinds of things he would find in Diagon Alley.

What kind of stores did they have? If his school list was anything to go by, they had stores for wands, clothes, spell books, potions, owls, broomsticks (although he wasn't allowed one, he wanted to look), and cauldrons. But there had to be more than that, and Harry couldn't wait.

Fortunately for Harry, the ride only lasted another 15 minutes. Before he knew it, the car had stopped, Harry had gotten out and Uncle Vernon was glowering at him through the window. "Remember boy, 8 hours, 10 minutes. Any longer and, well, lets see that magic help you than." And with out any other word, he was gone, and he, Harry, was on his own for the first time ever.

He looked around. It was the first time he had ever been in London. 'It's much larger than Privet Drive, that's for sure.' There were so many people and so much noise, from the cars zooming by to the construction being done down the street where a new shop called Starbucks was being put up to the dozens of people walking by talking and quite ignoring him.

Turning around he saw what Professor Dumbledore must have been talking about. On one side of pub their was a record shop and on the other side was a big book shop, but in between them was a barely visible door, with an even less visible sign above it in dark green writing saying 'The Leaky Cauldron.' The other people on the street, the muggles he supposed they were, didn't seem to pay the door or sign any mind, so Dumbledore must have been right that they couldn't see it.

Taking a deep breath, which, Harry realized, he had been doing a lot these past two days, Harry opened the door to and went inside.

It was a very dark and shabby place. It seemed rather crowded. Every table seemed to have at least two people sitting around it. And the people were very interesting. They were of all shapes and sizes. The table closest to him seemed to have a person so small that standing on the chair, his nose barely reached it. And the woman he was talking to seemed to have warts and boils all over her face and hands.

Not wanting to look like he had been staring, Harry quickly pushed himself into the pub and headed straight to the bar, and the person behind it, who Harry figured was Tom the bartender. He was busy talking to a stout woman with patches of dirt in her hair.

"I tell you Tom," the woman said, taking a sip from the drink in her hand "I don't know why I keep those Venomous Tentacula around."

"Because they are interesting, Pomona," Tom replied, smiling a toothless grin.

"Interesting they may be," the witch named Pomona replied, "but they keep trying to strangle me and every other person who gets near them." With a sigh, she drained the rest of her drink, placed some silver coins on the bar with her glass and said, "I should be going. Albus wants the names of this years prefects."

"I hope they're a good batch this year," Tom said sliding the coins into a tin and picking up the glass. He held up a stick, said "Scourgify" and the glass was clean as the day it was made.

As Harry stared open mouthed, Pomona responded by saying, "They usually are Tom, except for the ones Severus chooses. I mean, is Marcus Flint really that responsible of a student? He's one of the students I am afraid will become future Death Eaters one of these days Tom. But, of course if any one asks, I think highly of my colleague's and their fine choices," Pomona added with a sly smile when it seemed she might have said too much.

"Of course, Pomona," Tom kindly said, smiling as sly a smile as the witch. "Have a good day." He added as she got up to go.

"And to you as well, Tom." She smiled kindly at Harry, who she just saw, and went out the door on next to the bar. Harry figured it must have been a back door because sunlight streamed in.

"May I help you son," Tom asked, turning to Harry.

"Yes," Harry answered, rather anxiously. He had never talked to a wizard before and hoped he didn't say something stupid or offensive. "I need help getting in Diagon Alley."

"Ah, new to Hogwarts are you," Tom said. Harry had at least enough sense to not answer that, for it was clear it wasn't a question. "But, where are your parents, my son?" Tom asked, looking around for any one who might look like an older Harry.

"They're dead," Harry said.

"Oh. I am so sorry, son," and he really did look it. And looking rather affronted and awkward at possibly upsetting the boy, Tom came out from around the bar, but stopped when he finally got a good look at him.

'Could it be?' Tom thought looking the boy up and down. He had James Potter in his pub too many times too not recognize him, even 10 years after his death. And this boy, except for his eyes, was the exact replica of James. Could this boy be Harry Potter?

Tom's eyes raked the boy's forehead and let out a cursed himself. 'Damn you old fool. This is the 8th boy that I've thought was Harry Potter this year. It's not his fault, it's not any of their faults, if they happen to look like an 11 year old boy with black hair. Get a grip on yourself.'

Harry saw Tom pause and look at his forehead and didn't know what to make of it. Was this normal wizard behavior or was Tom just old and weird.

But he didn't have time to ponder what just happened because Tom was taking him through the door the other witch used. On the other side looked like the end of an alley in a horror movie: a brick wall with a trash can and a few cardboard boxes next to it with space about as large as the Dursley's kitchen. Nothing very magical about it. And where did that witch Pomona go?

Tom brought him to the brick wall, pulled out the stick he used to clean the glass, 'It must be his wand' Harry thought. "When you want to get to Diagon Alley through my pub, just pull out your wand and just tap this brick," he indicated which brick with his wand, "three times like so."

After Tom tapped the brick, it quivered – it wriggled – in the middle, a small hole appeared – it grew wider and wider – a second later they were facing an archway large enough for a man 10-times the size of Harry, an archway onto a cobbled street that twisted and turned out of sight.

"Welcome," said Tom, "to Diagon Alley"

Harry stared in amazement. He looked up at Tom, tried to say thank you, but words seemed to fail him at the moment. But Tom seemed to understand what he was trying to say, for he cuffed Harry's shoulder and said, "Your welcome. And have a good first time, both here and Hogwarts. I know I did."

Harry nodded. "I will." That was almost guaranteed.

"Do you need any help get around?" Tom asked, worried about this adult-less child.

"No, I know what I have to do, but thanks," Harry smiled at the man, who gave Harry another toothless smile back. Harry stepped through the archway and when he was through, it began to slowly close back into the wall. Harry looked through the wall and saw Tom head back to his pub. When the hole was as big as his head, Harry said, "Thank you, Tom. My name is Harry Potter by the way." And it was now a wall again. Harry turned around, looked down the street, and headed off, excitement coursing through his being.

Meanwhile, on the other side of the wall, Tom was still processing what he had heard. When the nice boy's parting sentence got to the words "My name is Harry Potter" Tom gasped, promptly leapt about four feet in the air, and ran over to the wall. He quickly pulled out his wand, tapped the right brick, and waited as it slowly opened to show an empty path way.

"Was he Harry Potter really? Or has my mind finally gone loopy."

He couldn't stay out here forever, he had a bar to run, but was determined to see 'Harry' again when he made his round trip.

Tom closed the archway and went back into The Leaky Cauldron.


The description of the opening archway was taken from Harry Potter and the Sorcerer's Stone, American Edition, Pg. 71