Author's Note:
Wow, I never expected this kind of a response. I really hope you like where I take this, and thanks for leaving some of your thoughts. Feedback is very helpful when I go to write the next chapter or modify the plot that I had in mind.
So, please, keep giving suggestions as you like or tell me what isn't working.
Hope you all had a wonderful New Years!
Here is my disclaimer that says I do not own anything Harry Potter related. Everything belongs to JK Rowling, except in universe 47837. Probably.
Harry's eleventh birthday started off very similar to any other day of the week in the Dursley household.
The only slight deviance from his normal schedule was that this was one of the few days that Harry allowed himself to lounge in bed, a rare indulgence on his part. Usually, he was up at the same time everyday regardless of the time of the year and whether he had school or not. He liked to get a head start on the day for there were books to be read and things to learn and everyday was an opportunity for him to further perfect his gift.
However, his birthday was the one day of the year where he gave in to his human desire of commemorating another year spent revolving around the sun. In honor of the occasion, Harry would spend an extra hour or two reviewing the progress that he had made over the course of the past year while still in his pajamas and then he would outline the goals that he would like to achieve in the coming year.
Other than that, it was simply business as usual at number four, Privet Drive, and everyone generally stuck to their proscribed routine.
Over the years Harry had become quite comfortable in using his gift to make his Aunt and Uncle behave according to his wishes. So the haze that he constantly enveloped them in kept them preoccupied and out of the way, except that he always made it a point for Petunia to cook him breakfast. It was his little way of making sure that it hadn't all been a dream and that each morning he would have the satisfaction of knowing how he had changed things for the better.
Normally, Harry would just be sitting down to eat when Vernon left for Grunnings. His Uncle's improved personality and hard work – under Harry's watchful care – had seen him promoted to a vice president position where he was in charge of sales for the entire region. The increased income that came with the job had been an additional boon to the family's finances.
Of course, Harry had needed to take control over the family's money flow quite early on to rectify their exuberant spending on unnecessary purchases intended to impress neighbors whom they hardly ever talked with. It was unacceptable to Harry that nothing had been saved for his future or his needs, and he had immediately implemented changes in how money was being spent.
The first thing that he had done was to put the family on a modest budget, and combined with the money that the family saved by not indulging Dudley's every whim meant that Harry was sitting on a small, but growing fund that he would be able to use in the future when he was old enough to permanently move out and never look back. Even some had been set aside for Dudley to use.
And for additional income, Petunia, who had kindly consented to resume taking care of the household, also started working part time at a flower shop. Initially, Harry had just wanted more time to himself in the house but it turned out that Petunia – with all of her attention to detail and tendency to gossip – was a perfect fit and was soon hired to work full time.
Sometimes it made Harry shake his head that he had unintentionally done a very nice thing for her, but he managed to console himself. This meant that even more money was now able to be saved for his future and Petunia was absent from the house almost as much as Vernon. At the very least, he considered it a win.
He even arranged for them to take Dudley on fiscally responsible weekend excursions to keep them out of his hair even more. Just because he didn't continually abuse them with his gift - like they no doubt would have kept taking advantage of him by working him to the bone if he hadn't been able to make them stop - didn't mean that he particularly enjoyed their company either.
It was hard to ignore and forget what they had done to him and the longer that they were in his presence, the more he felt tempted to indulge his vengeance – but he had other things that he wanted to spend his time on. In the end, it was easier if he just kept them busy and out of the way instead.
Their child, Dudley, spent most of his summer mornings outside in the back yard tending to the garden and bushes. He had learned that if he got all of his chores done and out of the way then he could spend the rest of the day playing with his friends. In fact, Dudley spent a lot of his time outside and away from Harry as much as possible.
Everyone did his or her part around the house; except for Harry, who had done more than his fair share of the work over the years. So he didn't feel guilty in the least for not raising a finger to help out now.
Well, that wasn't completely true. Harry occasionally broke things only to fix them with his gift so he could work out all the things that he could do it with it. Recently, he had stumbled upon the fact that his gift was able to change one thing into something else, but it didn't work every time and it took an awful lot of concentration for him to be able to achieve even the smallest change in color or texture. For instance, while he had finally succeeded in being able to turn a pen into a pencil, he found that changing the ink to lead was still a work in progress.
Which had been one of the things that Harry had committed to dive deeper into on the day that he turned eleven. He had already started to think that perhaps changing one thing into something else was based on the item's initial and final characteristics but he hadn't been able to confirm this just yet.
Interestingly, Harry was going over possible experiments that he could perform while working through the last bit of his morning tea when a brown owl shot out of the fireplace and dropped a letter in his lap.
It had been a most unexpected event and reading the letter forever changed his life because, after opening the sealed parchment, he learned that he was in fact a wizard.
From there it hadn't take him long to understand what the true nature of his gift really was – but it didn't change how he felt about using it to take back control over his life at the Dursleys.
Magic or not, he was just happy to have it.
And Harry would have been lying if, over the years, he hadn't questioned reality sometimes with the extraordinary things that he could do. However, every attempt at trying to understand his special ability ultimately raised more questions than it answered. Eventually he had just come to the conclusion that it didn't matter how or why he could do all of these things, just that he could do them.
But now, all of the dots had been connected in his mind and it made too much sense to be anything other than the truth. In fact, it explained everything so well that he had then started to wonder why he had never considered magic to be the reason for everything before.
Normally, he would have immediately disregarded everything that he had just read in the letter as fanciful; except that in this case he knew that it was true from the moment that his eyes had first passed over the word that had brought everything together. He had believed that he was or would be a wizard wholeheartedly because his gift – which he now properly recognized as magic – hummed contently along his skin, in agreement with every word.
Harry had read through the short letter twice just to make sure that he hadn't missed something important. He wasn't accustomed to this level of excitement that coursed through his veins and he didn't want to make a mistake.
Then, a sudden hoot from where the kitchen faucet was startled Harry, who had been so engrossed with this letter that he had forgotten all about the tawny owl that had delivered it.
It screeched again and Harry could have sworn that it had sounded impatient and was waiting for him to do something.
In response to the owl's stare, Harry quickly drew his attention back to the letter and realized that the owl was indeed waiting for him to indicate that he would attend this Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. For a fraction of a second, Harry thought that it was absurd that he would have to make an important life decision on the spot, especially one that concerned his education.
However, not attending a school of magic was something that he couldn't even process correctly and he had then made up his mind so quickly that he didn't even stop to think about the cost or anything else associated with attending.
Though, once he had indicated that he would attend with his signature on the proper sheet, the owl had flown from its temporary perch and headed straight for him. The parchment that he had just signed had then immediately rolled itself up and attached itself to the owl's leg as it flew by and then disappeared into the fireplace along with the owl.
If he hadn't believed in magic before, he certainly had after that.
And though it took his brain a few minutes to function normally again, he soon began to wonder just where he would acquire his school supplies and all of the other questions that he had uncharacteristically skipped over.
Not even a second after he had thought that, a special postscript had appeared after the Deputy Headmistresses' signature and informed him that someone would be by on the first of August at nine in the morning to take him into London to do his shopping.
After that, there was no new information besides the list of school supplies that were grouped on a third sheet of parchment and Harry was left with a lot of time of his hands to think.
Time to wonder if other magic users were like him and what this school would be like. Would he be ordinary among those that could do the same things that he could or would he continue to stand out? Were all magic users able to do the same thing or was there variation in what a person who could perform magic do? Question after question was addressed in a methodological manner, looking at his new situation from as many different angles as he could imagine.
Ultimately, Harry had come to the conclusion that he didn't have adequate information to answer anything just yet and that the only thing that he could do was to observe everything that occurred the following day when he did his shopping. Only then would he be able to start putting together a reasonable foundation to begin to reply to his queries.
The only immediate concern that he had at this time was in procuring the funds necessary for his purchases. That was easily solved with a few suggestions to Petunia, which Harry took extra note of as it had been the first time that he was consciously using what he now knew to be magic.
And Petunia didn't disappoint when she had returned to the house a little while later with a few hundred pounds that Harry hoped would be enough. If not, she had also thoughtfully given Harry her credit card as well. How touching.
This sudden and unknown expense made Harry thankful that he had had the foresight to begin managing the fiscal aspects of this otherwise irresponsible household. He was sure that the funds he had accrued over the years and what he would be able to set aside while he was in school would be enough to pay for his education. Which had been his whole reason behind starting to save in the first place!
Although, later that night when he had been going over the day's events for the umpteenth time, he had a curious thought while eating at the dinner table.
With finally knowing why it was that he was so different, it was only natural for him to then wonder if either Petunia or Vernon had also been in possession of this knowledge of his uniqueness from the beginning. The more that he continued to stew over it whilst picking at his pudding, the more certain he was that they had to have known that he could do magic.
Why else would they have called him a freak or gone to the lengths that they had to make him feel inferior? When in truth, it had been quite obvious from the beginning that he was anything other than ordinary.
When he was finished eating he had questioned them using his magic – and Harry did not like what he had found out.
It was fortunate that Dudley was staying at his friend's house tonight, because Harry was angry and in his fury he held nothing back.
"Did you know," he started darkly. "Did you know that I could do magic?"
He then removed the haze from their eyes and so now they were fully aware of their surroundings for the first time in several years. Everything had seemed like a dream to them and their eyes darted about as they woke from it. But the terror of their situation was realized when they finally recognized that they were frozen to their chairs.
Petunia's nostrils flared in her attempt to move against her invisible bonds while Vernon was growing more purple with each passing minute. The man was not accustomed to anything holding him down, let alone something that he couldn't see.
It was then that both pairs of eyes turned to Harry, who they couldn't believe had the audacity to sit at their table; for that was how little they noticed him that they didn't even realize that he had aged several years.
Vernon made to reply with a litany of things that he wanted to call Harry, but found that he couldn't actually say any of it. Instead, he discovered that he couldn't even speak unless it was to answer the question that Harry had asked. Little did he know that he was also being compelled to tell the truth.
Because Harry was sick of their lies and how he had been treated and he was going to put an end to it once and for all. He wanted to know everything.
"Yes, you little freak!" Vernon spit out in a tone that brought back bleak memories of Harry's younger years when he had been unable to fend for himself and constantly berated.
Suddenly, a fierce rage boiled inside of Harry. He thought that he had been kind to them considering how they had treated him over the years, but something just snapped inside of him. Harry had gone out of his way to not sink to their level and he thought that he had been generous with how much of a hell he could have made their lives.
But no longer.
His green eyes erupted in a most terrifying green as he unleashed his magic from inside of his chest. His skin tingled as he molded his emotions to combine with his will to cause the pain that he knew Vernon deserved to feel after what he had done. He needed to learn that his behavior was unacceptable.
The large man howled as he shook as much as he could for being confined to his chair. His screams were delightful to Harry, and he was aware that he was taking a satisfying pleasure in them. The only other effect that they had on Harry was to make him grateful that the neighbors were away as Vernon's shrieks became increasingly louder. The man was a screamer.
"Stop it, stop it!" Petunia sobbed.
Tears were pouring down her bony cheeks at the sight of the blood that began to trickle out of Vernon's mouth because he had bit down on his tongue in response to the pain.
Harry, his righteous anger feeling partially sated, acquiesced to her pitiful pleas for the moment. It would be easy to turn the pain on again, and it wasn't like he had anywhere else to be that evening. They had all night to work through this and Dudley wasn't expected home until the next day.
"Very well," he intoned as if he were bored.
But he looked at her with a devilish smile and his eyebrows rose playfully. He would finally get the answers that had been denied from him.
"Tell me about my parents."
If they had known about him being a wizard, it stood to reason that what they had told him about his parents had been false as well.
Her face blanched and Harry's smile hardened. They had lied to him about that as well if her reaction was anything to go by.
"They didn't die in a car crash, I take it?" Harry said with a harshness that promised pain no matter what answer she gave him.
At the same time his hand moved to touch his scar. What had that been from then if it hadn't been a remnant of the car crash that they had told him that he had survived?
"No," Petunia said in a deathly whisper, causing Harry to focus on her once more.
Her eyes locked onto what consciousness was left in Vernon's and they shared a moment of complete despair. It was sickening – or beautiful, depending on how one viewed it – that two people so full of hate had found each other.
"I don't know how they died, exactly," she next said delicately, unaware that Harry was urging her to tell the truth with magic. Before he exacted his punishment, he wanted to know everything that had been withheld from him.
"I just know that they died protecting you." She said with this far-off look in her eyes. Harry guessed that she was regretting a few of her actions; not that it mattered to him, of course, since he doubted that she actually meant them.
"What do you know?" He then asked, silencing Vernon's attempt to shout at him with another round of pain. The obese man strained against Harry's magic as it held him in place to suffer.
Petunia stuttered, but managed to answer quickly in the hopes that her response would ease Vernon's torment.
"Your father was a wizard, and my sister was a witch – the first in our family. They went to school at Hogwarts and then got involved in some wizard's war, or something, which led to their deaths."
Her eyes were nervously darting back and forth between Harry and Vernon.
Harry's death-like stare lightened as he released some of his magic once he knew that she had been telling the complete truth.
"Is there anything else?" Harry asked with a cold expression while Vernon was finally spared from his torture and collapsed to the floor because his body couldn't even hold it's own weight anymore.
Petunia closed her eyes and took a deep breath, a silent confirmation on her part that there was indeed more to the story. Harry leaned in and his eyes narrowed.
"You were dropped on our doorstep with a letter. It was from Albus Dumbledore, the Headmaster of Hogwarts. He said that you would be safe here and I took you in because you would somehow provide safety to Dudley."
Harry's eyes erupted again, and this time it was Petunia that felt his wrath.
She howled as her nerves felt like they were on fire from Harry's rudimentary and wandless torture, which was so very close to the Cruciatus Curse.
"Safe?" he spat at her, not realizing that the hairs on the back of his neck were raised and that his eyes had started to glow in a faint green.
Never before had Harry been so angry; he hardly had to focus on wanting to cause her pain. His want, no his desire, to cause her to suffer spread warmth throughout his body; the feeling was addicting as her cries of agony only intensified the triumphant feeling of justice radiating throughout his body.
It was a much different scenario for Petunia. Even with the sensation that every nerve was being sliced open with a million little razors, Petunia was unable to pass out. Harry wouldn't let her body give in yet, for he wanted to hear the rest.
Reluctantly, Harry softened the amount of torture that he was putting her under so that she could think clearly for a final time. And her, knowing in what was left of her heart just where this would end, and wanting it over with, she readied herself to tell Harry what his magic would have fished out anyways. She couldn't resist holding it in; death was preferable to what she was experiencing now.
"I was jealous of Lily, of magic, and the fact that she got to go to Hogwarts! She was the perfect child in my parent's eyes and I was left to feel different because I was normal!" she screamed, finally getting to the crux of why she could never love Harry.
Harry had expected as much but didn't take pity on her and slowly kept increasing his desire to hurt her until she passed out and helplessly sank to the floor like her husband had. This left Harry sitting alone at the table to catch his breath while his heart rate returned to normal.
The feeling of dominating someone had been exhilarating and he knew that he had let his emotions get the better of him. While he took another moment to collect himself, he poured another cup of his favorite green tea and thought things over.
"So, the Headmaster dropped me off here."
Harry was speaking to himself while looking around the house deep in thought. Why had the Headmaster of a magical school gotten himself involved in this? Had his family been good friends with the man? What safety could his presence have provided to Dudley? For that matter, what safety could himself, a wizard, have gotten from the Dursleys?
The last few questions that ran through his mind caused him to snicker thinking about just how safe the unconscious Dursleys were with him around.
But he still wondered why Dumbledore had made mention of their safety at all. It seemed odd how connected everything appeared even though he didn't know how it all fit together.
But like before, each subsequent thought that he entertained only unearthed new questions that needed to be answered. There was so much about magic and this wizarding world that he didn't know anything about.
For instance, could anyone detect his use of magic here? If so, he wasn't sure that what he had just done had been legal – if that even was a thing with magic. But he shot that down almost instantly since he had been doing it for years and nothing had ever happened, granted he had never gone quite this far before.
"But still," he then voice quietly. "Perhaps I should be more conscious of what I use it for."
He stood up and walked around the table to stand over Vernon and Petunia, who were still shaking lightly even though they were unconscious. Harry sent his magic out again, but this time it was business as usual and he willed them to act like they had been before his interrogation.
Their eyes fluttered open and they were slow to stand up, which Harry noted appeared to be an effect that still lingered in their body from what he had done to them, an effect that his magic couldn't cover up immediately. Magic, it seemed, did have certain limits in this type of situation.
Smiles appeared on their tired faces, and the only indication that something very different had just occurred was the trail of blood that still dribbled out of Vernon's mouth.
"Go wash up and get some sleep," he ordered to them without emotion.
"We have a guest tomorrow and I expect you to be on your best behavior."
Harry hoped that there would be no odd traces of his punishment in the morning when this mystery person came over. He had gotten carried away with his desire to cause them pain and would have to be more mindful in the future. Still, he wasn't all that upset with himself since he now had some answers and had thoroughly enjoyed their little session; they had gotten what they deserved.
The next morning, Harry was dressed and ready hours before this unknown visitor was scheduled to come and collect him. While he was waiting, he made sure to send his Aunt and Uncle on some errand that was somewhere else – he didn't know what was going to happen and felt better knowing that they weren't in the house. Also, Dudley was still at his friend's house, which one was thing fewer for him to worry about.
When he was alone in the house, he took a few glances around to make sure that nothing was out of the ordinary. He didn't know if this person would be coming in, but he was trying to run through everything as he didn't know what to expect.
By the time that the hand turned to the nine position there was nothing else that he could do. Fortunately, he didn't have to wait much longer for a knock to sound at the door.
Swallowing his nervousness, Harry felt his well-worn mask slide into place and he confidently opened the door to greet whoever had come.
However, it took all of his skill at hiding his emotions for him to not gape at the impossibly huge man that stood before him.
"Harry!" The giant, gregarious man said immediately while trying to shake his hand.
"Hello?" Harry said hesitantly as he took in the man's ragged appearance. There was a lot of hair and even more fabric than was necessary to cover his entire body.
The man introduced himself as Hagrid – the Keeper of Keys and Grounds at Hogwarts – before indicating that they should get going to Diagon Alley.
All the way into London, Harry wondered why people didn't stop and turn to look at the giant that Hagrid obviously was. However, the noise from the motorcycle that Hagrid was driving prevented him from asking until they arrived at their destination.
"Hagrid, can they see you?" Harry reasonably questioned once they had parked.
"Just like yer mum!" Hagrid said before briefly going into how Lily had been quite intelligent herself before answering his question.
"Dumbledore – great man he is – did a little Notice-Me-Not Charm so that the muggles don't see me."
"Muggles?" Harry said slowly while noting the reverent way that the man spoke of this Albus Dumbledore character, who was popping up everywhere it seemed. Harry had a lot of questions about this man.
"Non-magical folk," Hagrid said while not so gently extracting his large frame from the bike.
As Harry stepped out of the sidecar, he took note of the seedy nature of the surrounding area that he found himself in.
They had parked right outside one of those bars that his Uncle had never set foot in because those that frequented such establishments were of a different sort, a sort that he had liked to complain about. Well, that was before he had started behaving himself anyways.
However, Harry didn't get the chance to take in more of the outside as Hagrid led him inside of this place called the Leaky Cauldron while it was still quite early in the morning.
The place was almost disserted and Hagrid had to wave off the bartender who had tried to give him a usual of some frothy beverage. Instead, Hagrid had mentioned something about official Hogwarts' business regarding taking Harry to get his school supplies.
Harry watched as the man's face changed into one of intense curiosity at the mere mention of his name. He watched as the man's eyes next traveled up to his faded scar. Until recently, Harry had never paid it much attention since he had believed it to be a remnant of the car crash that had killed his parents.
But now he knew that that wasn't the case and it was peculiar how the man seemed to regard him now after finding out what his name was.
He would have to ask Hagrid about it when he got the chance, but that would have to wait too as the giant led him immediately to the back of the bar. Harry thought it was odd when the man removed an umbrella and started tapping on the brick wall, until the bricks started to change and rearranged themselves to reveal an entrance to what looked like a quaint little shopping area – only magic was everywhere.
Harry did his best not to react when Hagrid proclaimed this as Diagon Alley as there were so many things that caught his eye. He now understood that magic had hidden this part of London away from those muggles, much the same way that it had shielded Hagrid from sight. He thought he could even feel it against his skin as the hairs on his arms tingled slightly.
The various shops all had items that were simply wondrous on display in their windows, but they kept moving in a straight line towards a huge and offset white marble structure.
They proceeded to go into what Hagrid had described as a bank that was run by Goblins.
When they exited about an hour later, Harry discovered that his parents had been quite wealthy and that they had arranged for a vault solely for him to get through the next seven years of school and another one that was even larger and contained all the wealth of the Potter family.
However, even with all the gold that Harry had taken out of his school vault to buy his supplies, he still exchanged some of his pounds that Aunt Petunia had given him, and he knew just what he was going to spend it on.
First, he got all of the obvious things on the list like his robes and supplies and potion ingredients and of course a nice trunk – that could literally bend space – to hold everything in. And then Harry had acquired a wand, which had felt so right in his hand that he had trouble stowing it away in his pocket. Although, the man who had sold it to him had been a very odd fellow who had gone on and on about how his wand was a brother wand to someone whose name he couldn't even say and how Harry would go onto do great things. Needless to say it had been an awkward goodbye as he hurried off to join Hagrid.
Speaking of Hagrid, he had given Harry a birthday present – a beautiful owl that he had instantly connected with. It has been a nice gesture but Harry felt strange about it just the same. He wasn't used to people giving him things of their own volition.
But that was quickly pushed aside as Harry arrived at the one place that he had been looking forward to going where he hoped that he would be able to find some answers.
After getting his required textbooks, he spent the rest of the gold that he had taken out of his vault and exchanged on books that he hoped would help to clarify things. There were large books and small books that covered topics ranging from wizarding history to current events to the nature of magic and he had even managed to find one on Hogwarts itself.
On his way out of the shop, Harry found a form next to the register on owl-ordering books and he slipped that into his pocket feeling quite pleased that he would be able to add to his collection while at school.
Because, from the moment he had received his letter, Harry wanted to know as much about this world as possible. Then, after seeing the strange looks that people kept giving him and his scar – Harry had even more questions as to why everyone seemed to know more about him than he did.
Luckily, Hagrid had been able to help him somewhat. But even then he was only left with vague answers about someone-who-must-not-be-named and a war that had enveloped the entire wizarding community of Britain.
Apparently one night, this Lord Voldemort, which Hagrid was only able to say because Harry kept pestering him relentlessly about it, attacked his family.
Harry knew that he ought to feel sympathy for his dead parents and anger at this other man but he had no idea what any of the fighting was about, nor which side they were on. What if he had agreed with what Lord Voldemort was trying to achieve? So far the only thing that he had really learned regarding any of this was that Lord Voldemort had disappeared the night that he had come after Harry and his parents. That was why he was so famous: he was the only person to survive the event that had seemingly ended the war.
Although, Harry did learn that his scar had come from that night – but Hagrid couldn't tell him anything about it.
Interestingly, a warm tingly feeling cascaded down his neck and settled comfortably in his gut when he heard the name of the man who had given him the scar for the first time, but he barely noticed it with everything else that was going on.
All of what Hagrid had told him didn't help him all that much to understand the wizarding world and his role in it, and was part of the reason why Harry had insisted on getting as many books to educate himself as possible. The other part was that Harry truly loved learning and would have bought most of the books anyway. It was just prudent in his mind.
So, with his trunk comfortably full of his new purchases and his wand tucked away in his pocket, Hagrid dropped Harry off back at the Dursleys with instructions on how to get to platform nine and three quarters on the first of September.
However, before he left, Hagrid suddenly realized that he had forgotten to tell Harry something.
"Almost forgot to tell yer, Harry. I know it maybe temptin' to use that wand of yers but no magic outside o Hogwarts. It's illegal that is and so you best be careful."
A certain understanding was reached inside of Harry's mind as he waved the man off and headed inside with his stuff. He had been right to question whether or not magic could be detected, but it seemed that he didn't have to worry about using magic as long as he didn't use a wand.
"Perfect," he whispered happily to himself as he greeted his Aunt and Uncle, who had just sat down to the dinner table with Dudley.
The next month saw Harry read through an enormous volume of material. Even by his standards, as a self-proclaimed bibliophile, it was an abnormal amount that he went through. But he just couldn't help himself; an entirely new world was now open to him and he just had to learn as much about it as he could.
The first thing that he had done was to look over his new course books. He read through the first several chapters of each text and quickly came to the conclusion that he would continue to be a standout in the classroom. Each subject devoted most of the first pages to introductory material that Harry found to be quite basic – even though all of it was new to him.
It reminded him of his first few years in school where he found himself to be quite bored as the material was vastly beneath what he was capable of. Plus, Harry had already spent several years getting acquainted with his magic and supposed that he had a better grasp about the nature of it than others his age. Having to learn something out of necessity, like a matter of life or death, as opposed to a casual study often led to a richer and deeper understanding of the material.
Once he was satisfied that he would be more than prepared for his classes and still be able to excel at the very top, he devoted the last three weeks to learning as much about the wizarding world – and his role in it – as possible.
Harry started with the history of himself and Voldemort and worked backwards. Allegedly, this Voldemort bloke had led a movement in the name of blood purity that terrorized the wizarding world. More specifically, his faction believed that muggles and magic users who were borne from them were inferior to those whose parents had been witches and wizards in every single way.
However, the first thing that Harry had then questioned was the parentage of Voldemort, for he knew from his history lessons that those in positions of power within these types of movements would have broadcasted their superior heritage to show just how much better they were. Or they conveniently were deemed so untouchable that no one ever questioned where they had come from in the first place.
He suspected that the man was not a so-called pureblood because when he read further into the rise of Voldemort and his Death Eaters, he noted the distinct lack of information about the man's beginnings. Everyone had an origin story and Harry was curious as to what his was. Plus, the world had just been ripe for revolt and if it hadn't been Voldemort at the front of it then it would have been someone else.
Before Voldemort's – or as the books referred to him instead as He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named's - rise, there had been another wizard called Grindlewald, who had terrorized Europe at the same time that Hitler was trying to subjugate all of the muggles. Some of the texts had even linked their movements together and suggested that Grindlewald was the mastermind behind what the muggles referred to as World War II.
Interestingly, Grindlewald's defeat by Albus Dumbledore – whom Harry was now convinced that there was something more to with his hand in seemingly all aspects of wizarding life - had left a lot of witches and wizards with the feeling that their way of life was being threatened by new blood, so to speak. Many witches and wizards felt like their traditions and heritage were being phased out with each new generation.
It would have been very smart for Voldemort to take advantage of a population which were readily available to be united behind a common cause if the right manipulation were applied. Harry was confident that Voldemort had done just that – regardless of what his true intentions were – because it was the same thing that Harry would have done had he been in that position.
Why waste time in slowly recruiting a group to a specific cause when all one had to do was to get a loosely associated population all riled up about something that they already cared about?
As he kept reading, Harry was surprised that the authors didn't come right out and say all these things and had left the reader to infer everything that they were lightly implying.
Of course, he found it impossible to read about Voldemort without seeing his name peppered throughout the various texts as well. Apparently he was viewed as some kind of savior for stopping the Dark Lord, though no one seemed to have any idea how he had done so; however, that hadn't stopped the authors from offering their own take on things.
Again, Harry had questioned why the authors freely made their opinions known here but had held their tongue when referring to Voldemort. They couldn't even write his name!
The whole thing was ridiculous and it made Harry angry because now people would have expectations of him and he would have to take those into account – whether he wanted to or not – with how he would need to behave at Hogwarts. It was unfortunate that he would be in the spotlight for this, but at the same time he began to think about how he could use that to his benefit. If people were going to blindly and stupidly give him renown for something that he hadn't even been aware of doing, then he was going to exploit it in every way that he could.
As he continued to read about that specific night where Voldemort had killed his family, which again he didn't know how he felt about it, Harry thought back to that bright flash of green light that he sometimes dreamt about. He wondered if that had had anything to do with that night. That shade of green reminded him of the color of his own eyes and he loved how different they looked from everyone else's.
Though, if he had to put his finger on why he didn't begrudge this Voldemort person for killing his parents, Harry was pretty sure that he knew why he was so indifferent to the past. Sure, he supposed that it would have been great to have parents that would have given him a normal childhood filled with love and happiness and all that.
Except that Harry was a firm believer that a person was shaped by their experiences; it explained too much about a person's character and what they were capable of – and even who they were deep down - to be anything other than the truth.
And the bottom line was that Harry loved who he was. He may not have enjoyed certain aspects of his childhood, but he wouldn't have changed it for anything – even having his parents back - since it had led him to this point. Harry knew that he was a survivor and very capable in a multitude of situations and he knew that he would not be the same person that he was today had his life experiences been different.
Wishing for a different childhood was futile in his opinion and, if anything, he supposed he owed this Voldemort a thank you for shaping his future the way that he had.
Because Harry Potter or not, he knew that he was something special and had undergone trials in his short life that had demonstrated to him that he was capable of anything. And a future without limits was the most important thing to him.
Let me know what you think! I think that is a plausible rationalization for why Harry doesn't begrudge the man.
Next chapter is Hogwarts!