Morality was something many people struggled to understand, the difference between right and wrong a fundamental question to humanity's nature. Though if one were to ask Harry Potter, he would find such a notion laughable, for Harry knew that it was very very simple: Whatever the Dursleys find good is evil and anything they hate is automatically good.
There was once a time when Harry accepted what the Dursleys told him, about himself and his dead parents. He had accepted the chores laid upon him because he was a 'miscreant' and that Dudley 'was a good boy so he gets a big room and presents and no chores'. He put his head down and did as he was told, he washed and wiped, watered and swept, cleaned the chimney, fetched the paper. This was his lot.
Harry didn't really know what this school thing was, he had read it in the books Dudley threw at him occasionally and he always found it rather confusing. Apparently, it was where little boys and girls go to learn to read and write and do maths. At first he put it out of mind because it seemed like something that the Dursleys would never let him go to, it seemed far to nice for him, and he seemed to be right because Dudley went to school and he stayed home.
That lasted a whole year but the next year a man in a suit came to the home and got really really mad with Vernon. Harry wasn't supposed to be listening but he snuck around the corner. He didn't understand most of it but what he did get was rather odd, the man insisted that all boys and girls must go to school or else a man called Fine will attack them (though that seemed odd because Vernon was always complaining about Mr Fine causing him trouble but Harry had never seen him before).
As weird as it all was Harry was eager to go to school, he had been growing increasingly bored and agitated at the house (he wasn't allowed to call it a home because it was the Dursley home not a freak house). He had noticed that sometimes when he got really bored like super super bored weird things would happen, freakish things. Things he knew the Dursleys would not like, for instance one time he was cleaning the walls again because auntie Petunia found him tainting (reading) her books again. Which wasn't his fault because there was nothing else to do but as he was cleaning the wall all of a sudden there was a little bird figure painted onto the wall. It looked just like one he had drawn in his drawing book (well Dudley's but he considered anything Dudley threw at him his and Dudley never came back looking for it so it should be fine). Vernon was furious when he found it later that day, and got even madder when Harry tried to explain that it just appeared on the wall.
So it was a very excitable Harry that walked to school for his first day (he wasn't allowed in the car because he would make it crash) old ragged pencil and scraps of paper in hand. He noticed as he walked that nearly every house looked exactly like number 4, he thought it was odd and just on Privet drive but no, every house all the way to school was almost exactly the same.
It was once he was at school that Harry started to notice things, for one he was the only one with tattered clothes that were way too big for him. Even Evan who had bigger brothers who gave him hand-me-downs had one that fit and still looked ok and Susan whose parents were very poor and couldn't afford the school clothes also still had ok clothes, they were faded and a bit threadbare but they mostly fit her still. Even more confusing were the teachers who treated them all the same even him, even though he was Harry and a freak and bad breeding was treated the same, nicely once the teachers realised he was at a higher reading level than the other kids.
This carried on for months, in a series of increasingly confusing events. The teachers wouldn't allow Dudley to whack Harry with things like the Dursleys did, he was encouraged to read and even assured that he wouldn't be hurting the books so long as he was careful. None of it made any sense, why were there so many weird people at school, why did he get treated so much differently there, so much nicer. These questions bounced around his head everytime he got praised at school for doing well on a test but then yelled at for 'stealing Dudder's shine' at the house. Everytime Dudley got sent into class for detention for hitting him but him sent to the cupboard for 'getting Dudders into trouble'. It kept going on and on until one day there was a knock on the door, Harry immediately took up his snooping position around the corner, he had been told not to many times but he couldn't help it.
But to his surprise it wasn't the girl guides, neighbour, postman, or even those odd Jehovah people, it was Mr Rogers, him and Dudley's homeroom teacher.
"Good day Mr Dursley, may I come in? I need to talk to you about your sons." He said, politely.
"Sons? I only have the one, Dudley, wonderful little chap isn't he."
"Hmm, yes sorry I didn't mean to presume, I wish to talk to you about your son and, uh, nephew?"
Vernon harrumphed but let him in, Harry scrambled till he was hidden from the coffee table where he knew Vernon was taking Mr Rogers. He saw auntie Petunia rush to the kitchen to put on a pot of tea for their guest.
The conversation continued and Mr Rogers spun a tale of adventure and cunning, apparently Mr Rogers was here to congratulate Dudley. In a strange turn of events he'd shown his true cunning and begun copying his homework. He had managed to bungle things up by not keeping up the same level in class, and had also made the mistake of copying things word for word. But either way this was a great achievement and spoke well of his character and future as a drill bit salesman like his father. Things like the truth and ethics were roadblocks on his way to the top and Harry was very happy to be the catalyst of his transformation.
Mr Rogers must see that too since his voice had been getting very loud and exited at Mr Dursley.
Satisfied, Harry went to his room, he used to live in the cupboard under the stairs but after the… incident he was 'given' Dudley's second bedroom.
He'd never had toys before but Dudley was an avid toy recycler and always made sure to donate them to Harry. Usually at high speed, usually to his face. His reflexes were quite good though so he didn't mind. Harry loved taking the broken toys apart, and putting them back together in increasingly ridiculous fashion. Simple entertainment was always the best.
His newest rendition of Sir Conkers the one-eyed six-legged motorcycle skid tailed knight was rudely interrupted by Mr Vernon throwing open the door.
"You little brat!" He… bellowed? Yes that was definitely a bellow.
"Trying to make him look bad, we take you in after your bastard father and bitch mother go and get themselves exploded." His face had long surpassed puce and was swiftly approaching an angry vermillion. "And this is how you repay us?"
He went on and on and on from there, Harry may have tuned out after the third 'ungrateful' and thought of better things. Like what to next add to Sir Conkers.
"Look at me when I talk to you!"
Hmm perhaps some Troll hair?
"I SAID!"
No his head was far too big for the one, perhaps if he stitched together all the hairs from all the-
"LOOK AT ME!"
Vernon struck.
Harry's thoughts turned away from anything else but the pain in his face. He'd been hit before plenty by Dudley but he was just a kid and it never really hurt that much. But Vernon was an adult, and he hit a lot harder than Dudley.
AS he lay on the floor crying it finally occurred to him that the Dursleys weren't unpleasant, or mean, or even cruel. They were evil, and they were wrong. Long after Vernon had left the room and the pain had faded away. Harry came to a few realisations, namely that if the Dursleys were wrong than the things they say were also wrong. Which in turn meant that Harry wasn't a 'useless waste of space' or a 'freak and a nobody'. He was useful, a not waste of space kind of person, nor was he a nobody. He was a somebody, and nobody could stop him.
-x-
The following month Harry was moved up a class, it was very challenging, the multiplication tables hurt his brain, and sometimes the other kids made a bit of fun out of him for being so small compared to them. But there was no more Dudley and the other students quickly got used to his presence.
School was always a nice relief from the house, it always felt weird in there now. Like someone singing one note all the time, you're left waiting for them to get to the rest of the song or stop singing or something. Eventually his sewing got nice enough that he could fix the second-hand clothes to fit better.
He finished at Little Whinging primary a year early thanks to moving up, quite eager to start at Stonewall despite the dubiously dyed 'school uniform'. He knew full well by now that Petunia, Petty Petunia, could easily afford the proper uniform. In fact, it was far more work for them to dye the uniform by hand than it was to just buy it from the uniform store. It also stunk up the house something fierce. Either way, being away from Dudley completely was going to be amazing. He'd still tried to go 'Harry hunting' on occasion, the end result was Harry somehow appearing almost magically on the school roof in panic. A feat that he had spent no small amount of time attempting to recreate without success.
Stonewall, despite his Aunt and Uncle's insistence that it was an 'abominable waste of their tax dollars' and 'unfit to teach a monkey let alone a child' was perfectly pleasant. Sure, the buildings were quite worn, and the teachers harried, the students often uncaring if they even bothered showing up for classes. It had hardworking teachers, a big library, and plenty of students, some would even let him play with them. Though he always preferred the company of the library and the stray cat, Mikey, who loved wondering around the grounds and curling up next to him in the library when he read. There was also a very rude tree snake in the woods next to the school that said rather mean things about Mikey, but he managed to thoroughly ignore him. Nobody believed him about the snake though, apparently, they don't talk, Harry just thought everyone else must be bad listeners.
It was after school finished for the year, that Harry's life took a drastic turn for the strange. He had a letter addressed to him by name in the mail. It was a bit surprising sure; he was under the impression that his report card would be sent to the Dursleys and not him. The envelope itself was made of some kind of thick paper that he'd never seen before.
He walked into the room with the rest of the mail.
"What have you got there boy." Vernon sneered.
"My report card I think? Its on a weird sort of paper." He replied distractedly, noticing that they'd somehow managed to guess which room he stayed in.
"What a waste of good paper." Dudley announced, followed by a look of pure pride from Vernon.
"Do you-"
"No, I do not care what grades you get boy."
Harry shrugged and took the letter along with the sandwich to his room, he was eager to read his report. All the nice comments from the behaviour reports made him happy, he liked to imagine that it was his mum or dad saying it.
He sat down in the temporary clearing in the room, Dudley's birthday was a few weeks ago and all the presents he got were making their way steadily into Harry's room. Broken of course, but far more loved now than they ever were before.
The letter, addressed to one 'Harry James Potter 4 Privet Drive Surrey, the littlest room down the hall'. Contained of all things a wax seal with an unfamiliar crest, it looked nothing like the stonewall symbol and the motto was completely different. For one the Stonewall motto was 'teaching is for all, always' the Latin to English dictionary (why anyone would think that Dudley of all people would be interested in Latin was yet another mystery) revealed an altogether different motto. 'Draco Dormiens Nunquam Titillandus' or 'Never Tickle a Sleeping Dragon'.
By this point Harry was getting quite exited, this was like one of the mysteries the characters in his book got. Grabbing a butter knife from his plate, the sandwich long forgotten to him, he carefully broke the wax seal.
Inside was not his school report, he wasn't that surprised at this point. Instead it contained an invitation to a magic school. Hogwarts school of witchcraft and wizardry. It was the most incredible prank he'd ever hap played on him in his life. He wandered who from school would have done this, he wasn't very close with anyone but he was friendly with a few. It couldn't be Bradley or Dylan as they weren't imaginative enough for this. The writing was far too neat for Hamish, and whilst Susie had both the imagination and neat handwriting to do this he could not remember telling her his address.
Actually. He hadn't told anyone at school his address, the only people who knew it were the teachers and they wouldn't pull this sort of prank either.
Magic.
Magic isn't real, the Dursleys were very insistent on that anytime something strange happened around or to him. Like when he made a fuss at the zoo by telling the zookeeper that the snakes were unhappy about their confinement and wanted to explore the world. Like when he appeared on the roof, or made a picture on the wall.
But, if the Dursleys are always wrong, and the Dursleys say that magic isn't real, does that mean it is? Harry could feel the excitement bubble up from the depths, magic must be real, of course it is, the Dursleys wouldn't be so angry about it all the time if it wasn't real.
Harry leapt back to the letter to see how he could respond, reading it seriously now instead of laughing at every second word, because now its real.
Aha, 'we await your response by owl.'
Now, Harry did not own an owl, nor did he know anyone that did, but he reasoned that if nobody knew about magic before the letter that meant that maybe owls were like snakes.
He supposed the fact that he could hear snakes talking and nobody else could should have tipped him off to the fact that he was different far sooner.
So he wrote his response letter to Professor McGonagall, accepting the invitation and asking for directions to Hogwarts, wherever he bought his school supplies (he doubted Tesco's kept pewter cauldrons in stock), and many many questions about how on earth he's never heard of magic before. His response, written on the last piece of paper from his old sketchbook may have gotten a bit side tract after the first few questions. The bottom of the page had devolved into smaller and smaller writing as he ran out of space.
He waited until nightfall before his owl search, remembering that they were a nocturnal species and likely would not appreciate being woken up in the day. The rude snake from school was like that whenever kids played during lunch, something about stomping and vibrations?
At ten to midnight, the combination of excitement and a tactical nap keeping him up late Harry crept out of his room and made towards the attic. He swore he saw an owl fly in earlier that night so he would check it first.
The journey was treacherous, past his Aunt and Uncle's room, they were usually heavy sleeper but had been on edge the last few weeks. He figured that they must have known about the magic school and would definitely try to stop him from learning 'devilish things', not that he would give them the opportunity. Nothing was going to get between Harry James Potter and learning magic and that was a Perilous Potter Promise, perfectly precise and primed to perform.
The ladder for the attic very nearly spelled the end of his adventure, creaking all the way down and landing with a dull thud. Thankfully he heard nothing from their room and was free to climb into the attic where lo and behold there was an owl.
He had to hide a giggle when he realised that it was a little owl, also known as a Minerva owl, which just so happened to be the same name as Professor McGonagall.
"Psst," he whispered once close, "can you understand me." The owl merely looked at him, with that silent judgy face he sometimes saw on Mikey or from other cats. He pulled out his letter, wrapped up into a scroll with a piece of twine he had left over. "Do you think you can deliver this to Professor McGonagall?" He asked politely, the owl must have understood him because it hooted in offence, clearly unhappy about Harry's doubt.
"Sorry, I didn't mean to offend you Mr Owl," he gave it the letter which it took in its foot without hesitation, "Have a nice flight." The owl left through the open window, though not without clipping his head on the way out.
Harry turned to leave only to be met with a very unhappy Vernon.
It was going to be a long night for him indeed.
-x-
Found this lying in my documents half-completed and thought I'd finish up the first chapter at the very least. I might keep writing more of it, depending on how frustrated I get at my own writing skills (or lack thereof). The idea for this story is that Harry is a very curious camper, I love stories that have him be super curious all the time, especially when he's also not like some magical supergod or a genius (he skipped one year but that's about it), anywho have a good one.