19.
Harry didn't recognise the large black Citroen Uncle Vernon was waiting by - it was obviously a new company car – but his big beefy neck and the vein pulsing in his temple were just the same as ever.
"You're late." He barked as soon as Harry drew close.
"Sorry sir." Harry replied. He thought that Uncle Vernon seemed unusually stressed; his eyes were darting around, and he ushered Harry into the car very quickly.
Uncle Vernon simply huffed and pulled out of the drive, to almost immediately begin cursing the country roads and the incompetent buffoons driving on them. Harry decided not to point out that he'd gone the wrong way down a one-way system, and instead relaxed into the leather of the back seat, managing to fall asleep despite Uncle Vernon's ramblings about the terrible radio and the terrible roads and how inconvenient it was that he had to take a day off work to pick him up.
Harry jerked awake as the car stopped, and looked up at Number 4, Privet Drive. He got out of the car, spotting an owl perched on the roof.
The inside of the house was the same as it had always been, with a few different photographs on the walls. Harry caught sight of a new microwave in the kitchen as he despondently headed to the cupboard under the stairs.
He opened the door, and was surprised to see it filled with shoes and umbrellas. He turned to his uncle, who was making himself a coffee in the kitchen.
"Uncle Vernon?" He asked.
Uncle Vernon looked up sharply. "What?" Harry wasn't sure what to say, and just gestured at the cupboard under the stairs. "Ah, yes. Well... actually... your aunt and I thought... well, you're a bit big for the cupboard now... we moved your things to Dudley's second bedroom."
"Why?" Not that Harry was complaining, but it was rather unexpected.
"Don't ask questions." Uncle Vernon snapped. "Go."
The Dursleys' house had four bedrooms: one for Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia, one for visitors, usually Uncle Vernon's sister, Marge, one where Dudley slept, and one where Dudley kept all the toys and things that wouldn't fit into his first bedroom. Harry cautiously entered the second bedroom, and sat down on the bed, staring around.
Nearly everything in here was broken. A new-looking video camera was lying on top of a small, working tank Dudley had once driven over the next door neighbour's cat; there was a large birdcage, which had once held a parrot that Dudley had swapped at school for a working air rifle, which was up on a shelf with the end all bent. Other shelves were full of books. They were the only things in the room that looked as though they'd never been touched.
He was curious as to the reasoning behind his new bedroom. Whilst it was true that he had grown a lot since he had last been at Privet Drive, neither his Aunt or Uncle had seen him in that time and so had no way of knowing. He unpacked his duffel bag into the large chest of drawers in the room, and began trying to tidy as many of the broken toys as he could.
Aunt Petunia returned from the supermarket as he was putting a stack of torn 'Looney Tunes' posters in a pile to throw away. He picked up an alarm clock, and figured he could probably fix it, setting it on the chest of drawers next to a pair of winter gloves and a box of oil pastels Harry hadn't even known Dudley owned.
The smell of cooking drove him downstairs, and Harry was surprised to find Dudley in the sitting room watching T.V. – he hadn't heard him arrive. He went into the kitchen, and found Aunt Petunia bustling around as she prepared a meal.
"Hello Aunt Petunia." He said.
Aunt Petunia jumped and gave a small shriek, before whirling around, her hand to her chest. "Don't do that!" She snapped.
"Sorry."
Aunt Petunia peered at him before turning back to the Yorkshire pudding batter she was making. "So... how was school?" She asked him after a moments' awkward silence.
Harry was surprised. "Yeah, it was good, I guess." Harry was just about to say something else, when Aunt Petunia cracked an egg on the side of the glass bowl and screamed.
"What?"
Aunt Petunia didn't turn around. She seemed to be trying to hide the egg in her hand. "Never you mind. Go to your cup-bedroom."
"Aunt Petunia-"
"Now!"
"But-"
"I thought that school of yours told you to follow orders! Go!"
Harry left the kitchen, almost colliding with Uncle Vernon, who closed the door with a snap behind him. Harry paused, then crept back to the door and pressed his ear against it.
"-but how could they get inside?" Uncle Vernon was whispering.
"I don't know." Aunt Petunia replied, just as quietly. "But they in all of them, look." Harry heard her cracking another egg, and Uncle Vernon swore.
"Just... just ignore it, Petunia. They'll give up soon enough." Uncle Vernon said. "Now, what's for supper?"
Harry moved away from the door, confused and curious. He caught sight of the front door as he walked up the stairs, and frowned when he saw that a large wooden board had been nailed over the letterbox. He stopped on the stairs, then turned and headed into the living room with a small grin.
Dudley was sat on the sofa, a bowl of crisps on the arm next to him. Harry dropped onto the armchair next to him, and rested his feet on the coffee table, and Dudley jumped.
"Alright big D?" Harry asked, his eyes on the television.
Dudley sneered at him. "How's military school, ponce?"
Harry shrugged. "Pretty good. I did an O level last month, and my friend Matches taught me how to kill somebody with a biro."
Dudley's eyes landed on a pen by Harry's foot. "You don't have a friend called Matches."
"Well, his real name isn't Matches, obviously, it's Ryan Grace, but he got sent to Coleshill for setting his house on fire. We hung out a lot." Harry said. "Anyway, what's up with the board over the letterbox?"
"It's to stop letters getting in." Dudley said, looking pale.
Harry rolled his eyes. "I got that, but why? Uncle Vernon can't just avoid bills."
"Not bills, stupid. Letters have been coming for you all week."
Harry looked up at his cousin. "For me? Who are they from?"
"I don't know." Dudley said, shrugging. "They're addressed to you. It's been driving dad crazy."
Harry began to notice that the next day: He came downstairs to make breakfast, and saw that letters had been pushed under the door and slotted through the sides, and a few even forced through the small window in the downstairs bathroom. Harry bent to pick one up, and sure enough, they were all addressed to him, in emerald green in on thick, yellow parchment.
Just as Harry was about to tear it open, Uncle Vernon came thundering down the stairs. He ripped the letter out of Harry's hands, his face purple.
"That's mine." Harry frowned.
"No it's not." Uncle Vernon snapped.
Harry raised his eyebrows. "It's addressed to me."
"They've been arriving all week. It's a prank." Uncle Vernon said, shooing him into the kitchen. "You can forget about it."
By the time Harry had finished a rather tense breakfast, during which neither his aunt or uncle would meet his gaze, all of the letters had been cleared from the hallway.
Back in his room, he carefully tore the blank first page out of one of the untouched books on the shelf in his room, and drew the coat of arms he had seen on the wax seal of the letter; a lion, an eagle, a badger and a snake surrounding a large letter H.
Harry had never seen anything like it before in his life, but he was more curious about the address on the front, and how specific it had been about his bedroom. He had only slept in the room once, but Uncle Vernon had said that the letters had been arriving all week, meaning that whoever was sending them had known where he would be sleeping once he got back from school, something Harry himself hadn't even known.
More determined than ever to find out who the letters were from, Harry spent most of the day fixing the broken alarm clock, planning on creeping downstairs early the next morning to wait for the postman.
He avoided the Dursley's all day, doing his holiday work in his bedroom, pretending to his Aunt that he wasn't bothered in the slightest about the strange letters.
The next morning Harry woke a few minutes before his alarm went off, and was able to stop the shrill ringing a fraction of a second after it started. He dressed silently. He mustn't wake the Dursleys. He stole downstairs without turning on any of the lights, placing his feet near the wall so the steps wouldn't creak, and crept across the dark hall toward the front door, reaching out with his feet in a sweeping motion before committing his weight to the next step. He could almost hear Mr. Little snarling at him as he did.
His foot knocked into something unexpected at the bottom of the stairs, rather large and strangely squashy. Frowning, Harry crouched down and reached out with his hand, slapping something warm and hairy.
"What the- BOY!"
Harry leapt into the air. Uncle Vernon had been lying at the foot of the front door in a sleeping bag, clearly making sure that Harry didn't do exactly what he'd been trying to do, and Harry had just slapped him in the face. He shouted at Harry for about half an hour and then told him to go and make a cup of tea. Harry shuffled miserably off into the kitchen, and by the time he got back, the mail had arrived. He could see letters addressed in green ink once more crammed through the gaps around the door.
Before he could demand to read one, Uncle Vernon had torn four of them into small pieces, a slightly manic glint in his eye. He collected the rest and threw them in the fireplace, before setting fire to the lot and watching as they curled into ashes.
The next morning, Uncle Vernon dropped into his armchair looking tired and rather ill, but happy.
"No post on Sundays," he reminded them cheerfully. "no damn letters today-" Something came whizzing down the chimney as he spoke, and caught him sharply on the side of the head. Next moment, thirty or forty letters came pelting out of the fireplace like bullets.
"Out! OUT!"
Uncle Vernon seized Harry around the waist and threw him into the hall. Harry tried to break his hold, but against the great weight there was only so much he could do. Once Aunt Petunia and Dudley had run out, their arms over their faces, Uncle Vernon slammed the door shut.
"That does it." said Uncle Vernon, trying to speak calmly but pulling great tufts out of his moustache at the same time. "I want you all back here in five minutes ready to leave. We're going away. Just pack some clothes. No arguments!"
He looked so dangerous with half his moustache missing that no one dared argue. Ten minutes later they had wrenched their way through the boarded-up doors and were in the car, speeding toward the motorway.
They drove.
And they drove.
Even Aunt Petunia didn't dare ask where they were going. Every now and then Uncle Vernon would take a sharp turn and drive in the opposite direction for a while. "Shake 'em off... shake 'em off," he would mutter whenever he did this. Harry didn't bother pointing out that this was a completely ridiculous evasive maneuverer.
Exactly what Uncle Vernon was looking for, none of them knew. He drove them into the middle of a forest, got out, looked around, shook his head, got back in the car, and off they went again. The same thing happened in the middle of a ploughed field, halfway across a bridge, and at the top of a multilevel parking garage.
"Daddy's gone mad, hasn't he?" Dudley asked Aunt Petunia dully late that afternoon. Uncle Vernon had parked at the coast, locked them all inside the car, and disappeared. It started to rain. Great drops beat on the roof of the car. Dudley snivelled.
"Found the perfect place!" Uncle Vernon said when he finally returned. "Come on! Everyone out!" It was very cold outside the car. Uncle Vernon was pointing at what looked like a large rock way out at sea. Perched on top of the rock was the most miserable little shack you could imagine. "Storm forecast for tonight!" said Uncle Vernon gleefully, clapping his hands together. "And this gentleman's kindly agreed to lend us his boat!"
A toothless old man came ambling up to them, pointing at an old rowboat bobbing in the iron-grey water below them.
It was freezing in the boat. Icy spray from the sea crept down their necks. Finally they reached the rock, where Uncle Vernon, slipping and sliding, led the way to the broken-down house. The inside was horrible; it smelled strongly of seaweed, there were gaps in the wooden walls, and the fireplace was damp and empty. There were only two rooms.
Uncle Vernon had bought a box of doughnuts and a bag of crisps each for them to eat, and he tried to start a fire with the crisp packets. They shrivelled up and filled the shack with the unpleasant smell of melted plastic.
"Could do with some of those letters now, eh?" he said cheerfully. He was in a very good mood. Obviously he thought nobody stood a chance of reaching them here to deliver mail.
Aunt Petunia found a few mouldy blankets in the second room and made up a bed for Dudley on the moth-eaten sofa and she and Uncle Vernon went off to the lumpy bed next door. Harry was left to find the softest bit of floor he could and to curl up under a blanket.
Dudley's snores filled the small room they were in, but Harry couldn't sleep. He regarded his cousin for a while.
In the few days he had been back at Privet Drive, he had hardly seen Dudley, as he had usually been out at a friend's house or terrorising younger children in the park. Although he had been much taller than Harry last time they were together, Dudley probably only came up to his chin now, and certainly wouldn't be able to beat him up, especially with the hours of combat training Harry had received. For somebody who had spent the past 9 months always being the shortest and weediest wherever he was, it was a welcome change.
He looked at Dudley's watch and absently prodded at a bruise on his cheekbone with his fingertips.
He jumped about a foot in the air when a loud BOOM reverberated through the shack.
Harry jumped to his feet, automatically dropping into a defensive stance and moving into a more easily defendable position as if he could hear Mr. Little shouting at him.
BOOM.
Dudley jerked awake and stared around blearily. There was a crash behind them and Uncle Vernon came skidding into the room. "Who's there?" He shouted.
There was a pause.
SMASH!
The door was hit with such force that it swung clean off its hinges and landed flat on the floor with a deafening crash.
A giant of a man was standing in the doorway, his face almost completely hidden by a shaggy mane of hair. The giant squeezed his way into the hut, stooping so that his head just brushed the ceiling.
Harry dropped his arms, well aware that he wouldn't be able to fight the man.
The giant bent down, picked up the door, and fitted it easily back into its frame. He turned to look at them all. "Couldn't make us a cup o' tea, could yeh? It's not been an easy journey..." He strode over to the sofa where Dudley sat frozen with fear. "Budge up, yeh great lump."
Dudley squeaked and ran to hide behind his mother, who was crouching, terrified, behind Uncle Vernon.
"An' here's Harry!" said the giant. Harry looked up into the fierce, wild, shadowy face and saw that the beetle eyes were crinkled in a smile. "Las' time I saw you, you was only a baby."
Uncle Vernon made a funny rasping noise. "I demand that you leave at once!" he said. "You are breaking and entering!"
"We don't even live here." Harry muttered.
"Ah, shut up, Dursley, yeh great prune." The giant said. "Anyway, I know I've missed yeh birthday, but I've got summat fer yeh here anyway... I mighta sat on it at some point, but it'll taste all right." From an inside pocket of his black overcoat he pulled a slightly squashed box. "Sorry it's a bit late."
Harry opened it. Inside was a large chocolate cake with 'Happy Birthday Harry' written on it in green icing. Harry looked up at the giant. "Thank you, sir."
The giant's eyes crinkled further in a smile. "Ah, don' worry about it. An' don't call me sir, neither. It's Rubeus Hagrid." He held out an enormous hand and shook Harry's whole arm. "What about that tea then, eh?" He said, rubbing his hands together. "I'd not say no ter summat stronger if yeh've got it, mind." His eyes fell on the empty grate with the blackened crisp bags in it. He bent down over the fireplace; they couldn't see what he was doing but when he drew back a second later, there was a roaring fire there.
"What the trank." Harry whispered, staring in disbelief.
The impossible fire filled the whole hut with flickering light and Harry felt the warmth wash over him.
"I'm sorry, but I still don't really know who you are." He said.
"Call me Hagrid." The giant said. "Everyone does. I'm Keeper of Keys at Hogwarts. Yeh'll know all about Hogwarts, o' course."
"Er, no sir." Harry said.
Hagrid looked shocked. "I knew yeh weren't gettin' yer letters but I never thought yeh wouldn't even know abou' Hogwarts! Did yeh never wonder where yet parents learned it all?"
"All what, sir?" asked Harry.
"ALL WHAT?" Hagrid thundered. "Now wait jus' one second!" He leapt to his feet. "Do you mean ter tell me," Hagrid growled, rounding on the Dursleys, "that this boy knows nothin' abou'... ANYTHING?"
Harry frowned. "I think that's a bit harsh. I have been to school."
Hagrid simply waved his hand. "About our world, I mean. Your world. Yer parents' world." Hagrid ran his fingers through his hair, fixing Harry with a bewildered stare. "Yeh don' know what yeh are?"
Uncle Vernon suddenly found his voice. "Stop!" he commanded. "Shut the fuck up! I forbid you to tell the boy anything!"
"Go boil yet heads, both of yeh." Hagrid said, and a surprised laugh burst from Harry's lips. "Harry. Yer a wizard."
There was silence inside the hut. Only the sea and the whistling wind could be heard.
Harry raised his eyebrows. "A what?"
"A wizard, o' course." Hagrid said, sitting back down on the sofa. "An' a thumpin' good'un, I'd say, once yeh've been trained up a bit. I reckon it's abou' time yeh read yer letter." He reached into a pocket of his coat, and Harry took
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 been accepted at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Please find enclosed a list of all necessary books and equipment. Term begins on September 1st.
We await your owl by no later than August 14th.
Yours sincerely,
Minerva McGonagall, Deputy Headmistress
Uncle Vernon, ashen-faced but looking very angry, moved into the firelight.
"No. He's not going." He said.
Hagrid grunted. "I'd like ter see a great Muggle like you stop him."
"We swore when we took him in we'd put a stop to that rubbish." Uncle Vernon snapped. "Swore we'd stamp it out of him!"
Harry regarded his Aunt and Uncle. "You knew? You knew I was a wizard?"
"Knew!" Aunt Petunia shrieked. "Knew! Of course we knew! How could you not be, my sister being what she was? Oh, she got a letter just like that and disappeared off to that... that school. I was the only one who saw her for what she was; a freak! But my mother and father... they were proud of having a witch in the family!" She stopped to draw breath and then went ranting on. It seemed she had been wanting to say all this for years. "Then she met that Potter at school and they left and got married and had you, and of course I knew you'd be just the same; just as strange, just as... abnormal. And then, she went and got herself blown up and we got landed with you!"
Harry felt rather sick. "Blown up?" He repeated.
Hagrid scoffed. "Harry Potter not knowin' his own story when every kid in our world knows his name?"
"What? Why?"
Hagrid looked suddenly anxious. "I never expected this." he said, in a low, worried voice. "I had no idea how much yeh didn't know. I don' know if I'm the right person ter tell yeh... but someone's gotta..." He threw a dirty look at the Dursleys. "Well, it's best yeh know as much as I can tell yeh. Mind, I can't tell yeh everythin', it's a great myst'ry, parts of it..." He sat down and stared into the fire for a few seconds. "It begins, I suppose, with a person called... but it's incredible yeh don't know his name, everyone in our world knows."
Harry was burning with questions but he kept his mouth firmly shut. Eventually Hagrid continued.
"This wizard started lookin' fer followers. About twenty years ago now. An' he got 'em too. Some were afraid, some just wanted a bit o' his power. He was takin' over. 'Course, some stood up to him... an' he killed 'em. One o' the only safe places left was Hogwarts. Reckon Dumbledore's the only one You-Know-Who was afraid of.
"But what happened is, he turned up where you was all living, you, yer mum and yer dad, on Halloween ten years ago. He came ter yer house an'... an'..." Hagrid took a deep shuddering breath. "You-Know-Who killed 'em. An' then he tried to kill you, too. But he couldn't do it. That's why yer famous, Harry. No one ever lived after he decided ter kill 'em, no one except you. You was only a baby, an' you survived." Hagrid was watching him sadly. Harry felt like the world was spinning unnaturally fast.
"Load of old tosh." Uncle Vernon snapped. He was glaring at Hagrid and his fists were clenched. "Now, you listen here, ponce." He snarled. "I accept there's something strange about you, probably nothing a good beating wouldn't have cured. As for all this about your parents, well, they were weirdos, no denying it, and the world's better off without them in my opinion-"
At that moment, Hagrid leapt from the sofa and drew a battered pink umbrella from inside his coat. Pointing this at Uncle Vernon like a sword, he said, "I'm warning you, Dursley. I'm warning you. One more word..."
In danger of being speared on the end of an umbrella by a bearded giant, Uncle Vernon flattened himself against the wall and fell silent.
"That's better," said Hagrid, breathing heavily and sitting back down on the sofa, which this time sagged right down to the floor.
Harry, meanwhile, still had questions to ask. "But what happened to You-Know-Who?"
"Good question, Harry. Disappeared. Vanished. Same night he tried ter kill you. Makes yeh even more famous. That's the biggest myst'ry, see... he was gettin' more an' more powerful, so why'd he go? Some say he died. Codswallop, in my opinion. Dunno if he had enough human left in him to die. Some say he's still out there, bidin' his time, but I don' believe it. I reckon he's still out there somewhere, but lost his powers. Too weak to carry on. 'Cause somethin' about you finished him, Harry."
Hagrid looked at Harry with warmth and respect blazing in his eyes, but Harry, instead of feeling pleased and proud, felt quite sure there had been a horrible mistake. He'd spent his life being walloped by Dudley, and bullied by Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon; if he was really a wizard, why hadn't they been turned into warty toads every time they'd tried to lock him in his cupboard? If he'd once defeated the greatest wizard in the world, how come Javid Bhandi had always been able to kick him around like a football?
"Mr. Hagrid," he said quietly, "I think you must have made a mistake, sir. I don't think I can be a wizard."
To his surprise, Hagrid chuckled. "Not a wizard, eh? Never made things happen when you was scared or angry?"
Harry looked into the fire. Now he came to think about it... every odd thing that had ever made his aunt and uncle furious with him had happened when he, Harry, had been upset or angry... chased by Dudley's gang, he had somehow found himself out of their reach... dreading going to school with that ridiculous haircut, he'd managed to make it grow back... he was also fairly certain most 11 year old boys wouldn't have been able to deal with as many practical beatings he had received from boys at Coleshill and only end up with a few bruises the next day. Harry looked back at Hagrid, and saw that the man was positively beaming at him.
"See?" Hagrid chuckled. "Harry Potter, not a wizard."
But Uncle Vernon wasn't going to give in without a fight. "Haven't I told you he's not going?" he hissed. "He's going back to Coleshill later this month and he'll be fucking grateful for it. I've read those letters and he needs all sorts of shit; spell books and wands and-"
"If he wants ter go, a Muggle like you won't stop him." Hagrid growled. "His name's been down ever since he was born. He's off ter the finest school of witchcraft and wizardry in the world. He'll be with youngsters of his own sort, fer a change, an' he'll be under the greatest headmaster Hogwarts ever had; Albus Dumbled-"
"I AM NOT PAYING FOR SOME CRACKPOT OLD FOOL TO TEACH THIS HALF-BREED MAGIC TRICKS!" yelled Uncle Vernon. But he had finally gone too far.
"STOP TALKING, RIGHT NOW!" Hagrid seized his umbrella and brought it swishing down through the air to point at Dudley. There was a flash of violet light, a sound like a firecracker, a sharp squeal, and the next second, Dudley was dancing on the spot with his hands clasped over his bottom, howling in pain. When he turned his back on them, Harry saw a curly pig's tail poking through a hole in his trousers.
Uncle Vernon roared. Pulling Aunt Petunia and Dudley into the other room, he cast one last terrified look at Hagrid and slammed the door behind them. Harry snorted.
Hagrid looked down at his umbrella. "Shouldn'ta lost me temper," he said ruefully, "but it didn't work anyway. Meant ter turn him into a pig, but I suppose he was so much like one anyway there wasn't much left ter do." He cast a sideways look at Harry under his bushy eyebrows. "Be grateful if yeh didn't mention that ter anyone at Hogwarts," he said. "I'm not supposed ter do magic, strictly speakin'."
"Why not?" asked Harry.
"Well... I was at Hogwarts meself but I... got expelled, ter tell yeh the truth. In me third year. They snapped me wand an' everything. But Dumbledore let me stay on as gamekeeper. Great man, Dumbledore."
"Why were you expelled?" Harry asked, curious.
"It's gettin' late and we've got lots ter do tomorrow," Hagrid said loudly. "You should get some sleep."
