A small, skinny boy of almost eleven years of age, by the name of Harry
looked at the ceiling of his room at number 4, Privet Drive, feeling
slightly off center. Earlier today, his relatives, the Dursley's, had taken
him, his cousin Dudley, and Dudley's friend Piers to the zoo. This normally
wouldn't have been so upsetting, but something was different today. Today,
while in the reptile house in the zoo, Harry had been talking to one of the
snakes- it was a very interesting conversation- when Dudley had come over
and shoved him. Talking to snakes was nothing new. The Dursley's garden was
full of snakes, and they were all very talkative. The weird thing was that
the glass in the snake cages throughout the building had instantly
shattered. Harry had known, somehow, that it was connected to him. Harry
trusted his instincts. They had saved him many times when Dudley and his
gang tried to beat him up.
Uncle Vernon tried to stop Dudley sometimes, but he wouldn't always keep his gang from beating Harry up.
A normal uncle would have cared more, but Vernon Dursley, for all he pretended, was not really all that ordinary. He didn't even really like Harry, but he and his family were Harry's only relatives, so they and Harry were stuck with each other for seven or so more years.
Uncle Vernon seemed to think that a family only existed to feed and clothe a child. Anything beyond that wasn't his responsibility. Of course, this principle didn't apply to Dudley, who got anything and everything he wanted. The Dursley's wouldn't even care that Dudley beat Harry up, except that they had some vague idea that hurting him would destroy his magic.
Harry, however, was expected to generate most of the income for the family. This was done in a magical fashion. He would pick numbers for the lottery and tell them to Uncle Vernon. He was always right. He didn't quite know how he did it, but if he asked himself what would happen in the future, he knew. Almost as if he had always known. Sometimes he didn't even need to ask himself what was going to happen. He just knew.
He knew that today a letter would come. He wasn't sure from where, or whom, but he knew it was coming. He could have found out the information, too, but he found that nitpicking for details tired him. It was enough to know that it was coming.
The mail would arrive soon. It came the same time every morning. Six o'clock AM. Sometimes closer to six-fifteen. It was five right now. Harry didn't sleep much, and six hours a night worked fine for him, though he was always slightly more tired during the summer.
The Dursleys didn't know how much he slept. He did his best to keep them in the dark about everything he could. They were safer that way. He'd have liked it better if they didn't know about the future-telling powers, either, but he had been three when he'd realized, himself, and had still been under the impression that the Dursleys were nice people who just happened to have slight difficulties controlling their emotional outbursts. It hadn't been until he was five that he'd figured out that they just hated him.
Harry often wished that his parents hadn't died when he was only one year old. But if wishes were fishes he wouldn't be quite so skinny from the Dursleys "forgetting" to feed him.
He had never really had any friends, either, because Dudley beat up anyone who tried to talk to him. Luckily, that would probably change next year. Dudley was going to a private school, Smeltings, and Harry would be going to Stonewall- the public school. After all, the Dursleys didn't want to spend extra money on the "freak" that made all their money. And it would be a crime if the "decent" people saw that number 4 was less normal than its neighbors. At public school, the Dursleys said, there were bound to be people much more obviously freakish- with hair in outrageous colors, of all things- so Harry wouldn't be brought to anyone's attention.
Harry spent a lot of time in his room. Whenever Dudley got a book, Harry would take it and hide it in his closet. This was only possible because his closet had shelves instead of bars- he hid the books under folded clothes. Aunt Petunia never looked at his things. She felt it beneath her dignity.
There was still quite a while until the mail arrived, so Harry walked quietly across the floor. It hadn't squeaked in years- the Dursleys had fixed everything remotely shabby when he was five- but there was no such thing as too careful.
He picked out a random book- he'd read them all twice in the past month or two, so he was sick of them equally- and went back to his bed to read while he waited.
Half an hour later, he looked over to his clock. He had only a few moments until the mail arrived. He put down the book and snuck down the stairs to the front door.
The mail was late. Harry waited for ten minutes, and decided he was wasting time standing around. He waited five extra minutes anyway.
After another minute, he turned around to go upstairs, figuring he'd listen in a place the Dursleys wouldn't be as likely to yell at him for being in. The mail slot clattered as the mail came in. Harry's law, he thought. When you wait for something to happen, it will happen either the moment you try to leave, or one second after you're out of sight. Applies especially to the boiling over of noodles and burning of any food item that takes forever to cook. Or does that fall under the lines of "everything that can go wrong will, and at the worst possible time?"
He grabbed the letter- noting briefly the green ink and thick paper held closed by a wax seal- and went back upstairs to his room.
Harry pulled at a bookcase on the hall door. It slowly moved, revealing a hidden room. This was his bedroom. The Dursleys didn't want anyone to see him- that was why they didn't let him have a room without hiding it from the neighbors. After all, magic was fine and well when it earned them money, but not fit for polite company. Harry counted as magic- it wasn't as if Dudley was the one telling the future, after all. Harry wondered briefly what would have happened if it had been Dudley who could see what would happen in the future. Probably the Dursleys would have bought a crystal ball and put beaded curtains in all the doorways.
He slipped through the gap in the "door" into the cramped room and sat on his bed. The mattress was hard and uncomfortable, but he was used to it and it sufficed while he just sat.
Mr. H. Potter
4 Privet Drive
Little Whinging, Surry
The Smallest Bedroom
It was creepy, the way whoever had sent this knew exactly where he lived, down to the room. Had they been watching him? He shook his head. He was being stupid- nobody would bother watching him. Unless they knew about the magic... But they would have had to be watching him to find out about the magic, wouldn't they? So they would have had to already know about the magic to bother watching him- He stopped. This was hurting his head. It was better to just read it and, only after that, draw conclusions. So he tore the letter open- noting the red wax seal and thick paper- and looked at the writing inside.
Dear Mr. Potter,
you will be pleased to find that you have been accepted to Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Please find enclosed a list of all necessary school supplies. We await your owl by no later than August 1st.
Minerva McGonagall, Deputy Headmistress
Harry stared at the letter with no expression on his face. Years living with the Dursleys had taught him never to show his emotions. They would only be used to hurt him.
Deep down, though, under years of neglect and emotional pain, Harry began to get a little angry. His hopes had been raised high for a moment, and now they were being stomped into little, tiny, itty-bitty pieces. This letter made no sense.
First- why him? If they knew enough about him to address the letter to his room, they had to know that the Dursleys despised magic, and would never let him go to a magical school. They had gone so far as to pulling him out of his old public school when the teacher had taught the class about Greek myths. Apparently they felt that such ideas only encouraged his "freakiness."
Second, why was there even a school for magic? Everything he'd seen in his life was telling the future, and he couldn't exactly see how anyone would need to learn about that. It was more like an instinct than a talent or skill.
Third of all, why did they say "we await your owl"? The last he'd heard, an owl was a nocturnal bird of prey, and generally not something one would... send? Give away? The meaning of the letter was not very precise.
And last... the list of school supplies was insane. They wanted him to bring a pewter cauldron. And dragon hide gloves. And a wand. A magic wand. This was insane. Where would he get these things, even if he wanted to go?
Harry threw the letter in the garbage. If these people wanted him to go to this school, they could come and get him themselves.
The days went on as normal for a while. More letters came, but Harry ripped them up and threw them out the window without reading them. But the world would not stay quiet. About two weeks after the first letter came, Aunt Petunia's screech rattled the house. It came from the direction of Harry's room, (which she insisted on cleaning herself to "keep the help from seeing that freak," and to take anything Harry liked and burn it.) and Harry knew, somehow, that she had seen the letter.
His suspicions were proved correct when, a few minutes later, she ran down the stairs, fury etched into every feature.
"BOY!"
Aunt Petunia rushed down the stairs and through the house. Harry could hear her. Eventually she would find him. Why hadn't he torn the letter up before he threw it away?
Harry didn't really want her to find him. He abandoned the kitchen- where he'd been making lunch- and ran out of the house. Aunt Petunia's screech had sounded very angry, and Harry didn't particularly want to be around when she caught him.
He thought about that last sentence for a moment and shook his head, still running. Right now was the time to get away, not to ponder useless information.
After a few minutes he stopped and sat on a convenient bench, wondering when it would be safe to go back. Probably in a few hours. But for now... he would keep walking. Just for a while. ... ...
...six hours later
...
...
...
Harry had thought he'd known what walking was. Now he knew what walking was. It was a bone-weary trek on a highway until you were ready to collapse.
He saw a sign. There was a town coming up in one and a half miles. He didn't bother looking at the name. He'd already passed dozens, and didn't have any intention of stopping here.
He changed his mind when he saw the exit sign, where the street that led into town was printed. Potter Road.
If there was such a being as destiny, she smiled as Harry walked into town. It was a small place- mostly houses. There was a small train station- presumably most people commuted, to work in a larger city, because the only businesses Harry saw were a fast food place and a bookstore.
There was a lake, and next to it was a blue and white billboard, with a rather stupid looking smiling fish on it, that said: This water is clean enough to drink. Keep it that way.
The water certainly looked clean, and Harry was thirsty. He hadn't brought any money with him- had never had any money, anyway- and so had been unable to buy anything on his journey. He walked, feet aching, to the shore, and cupped his hands to drink.
A voice stopped him.
"The water isn't really safe to drink, you idiot." Harry turned. Behind him was a girl around his age, with reddish blond hair and warm grey eyes. She was wearing red and orange jogging clothes and running shoes. While from anyone else the word "idiot" would have been an insult, it somehow wasn't, from her. She made it sound... comforting.
She continued, on a lighter note. "If you're that thirsty, you might as well come to my house. It's right over there." She pointed vaguely across the lake, which was rather small. Harry could see several houses there. "Mum will probably adopt you, though."
Harry nodded.
As they walked around the lake, Harry found out several things. The girl's name was Alexandria- Dree for short. She jogged every morning and lived with her divorced mom, whose name was Nellie. Nellie worked as a daycare worker in London, and took the train in every weekday. It was only a short ride from Willabton.
Harry asked about the name of the town, and Dree told him she'd always thought that it was a spelling mistake on someone's part.
By the time they reached Dree's house, Dree had managed to coax most of Harry's life story out of him. Not the future thing, though. Nobody in heaven, earth, or hell was going to get that out of him. Not after the Dursleys. He'd had to tell a few white lies, but nothing serious.
Actually, all she'd really managed to find out was that everyone in his family was a despicable person and that he wasn't eager to return to them. And that they thought he was a freak.
Dree's initial assessment about her mother- named Nellie- had been correct. Harry received, in the next hour, a full (though rather burnt- Nellie couldn't cook) meal, some water, a place to sleep, and a bath. There wasn't much she could do about clothes- it was too late at night- but it was agreed that the next day was as good a time as any for shopping.
Going to sleep, Harry felt better than he had ever in his memory.
Uncle Vernon tried to stop Dudley sometimes, but he wouldn't always keep his gang from beating Harry up.
A normal uncle would have cared more, but Vernon Dursley, for all he pretended, was not really all that ordinary. He didn't even really like Harry, but he and his family were Harry's only relatives, so they and Harry were stuck with each other for seven or so more years.
Uncle Vernon seemed to think that a family only existed to feed and clothe a child. Anything beyond that wasn't his responsibility. Of course, this principle didn't apply to Dudley, who got anything and everything he wanted. The Dursley's wouldn't even care that Dudley beat Harry up, except that they had some vague idea that hurting him would destroy his magic.
Harry, however, was expected to generate most of the income for the family. This was done in a magical fashion. He would pick numbers for the lottery and tell them to Uncle Vernon. He was always right. He didn't quite know how he did it, but if he asked himself what would happen in the future, he knew. Almost as if he had always known. Sometimes he didn't even need to ask himself what was going to happen. He just knew.
He knew that today a letter would come. He wasn't sure from where, or whom, but he knew it was coming. He could have found out the information, too, but he found that nitpicking for details tired him. It was enough to know that it was coming.
The mail would arrive soon. It came the same time every morning. Six o'clock AM. Sometimes closer to six-fifteen. It was five right now. Harry didn't sleep much, and six hours a night worked fine for him, though he was always slightly more tired during the summer.
The Dursleys didn't know how much he slept. He did his best to keep them in the dark about everything he could. They were safer that way. He'd have liked it better if they didn't know about the future-telling powers, either, but he had been three when he'd realized, himself, and had still been under the impression that the Dursleys were nice people who just happened to have slight difficulties controlling their emotional outbursts. It hadn't been until he was five that he'd figured out that they just hated him.
Harry often wished that his parents hadn't died when he was only one year old. But if wishes were fishes he wouldn't be quite so skinny from the Dursleys "forgetting" to feed him.
He had never really had any friends, either, because Dudley beat up anyone who tried to talk to him. Luckily, that would probably change next year. Dudley was going to a private school, Smeltings, and Harry would be going to Stonewall- the public school. After all, the Dursleys didn't want to spend extra money on the "freak" that made all their money. And it would be a crime if the "decent" people saw that number 4 was less normal than its neighbors. At public school, the Dursleys said, there were bound to be people much more obviously freakish- with hair in outrageous colors, of all things- so Harry wouldn't be brought to anyone's attention.
Harry spent a lot of time in his room. Whenever Dudley got a book, Harry would take it and hide it in his closet. This was only possible because his closet had shelves instead of bars- he hid the books under folded clothes. Aunt Petunia never looked at his things. She felt it beneath her dignity.
There was still quite a while until the mail arrived, so Harry walked quietly across the floor. It hadn't squeaked in years- the Dursleys had fixed everything remotely shabby when he was five- but there was no such thing as too careful.
He picked out a random book- he'd read them all twice in the past month or two, so he was sick of them equally- and went back to his bed to read while he waited.
Half an hour later, he looked over to his clock. He had only a few moments until the mail arrived. He put down the book and snuck down the stairs to the front door.
The mail was late. Harry waited for ten minutes, and decided he was wasting time standing around. He waited five extra minutes anyway.
After another minute, he turned around to go upstairs, figuring he'd listen in a place the Dursleys wouldn't be as likely to yell at him for being in. The mail slot clattered as the mail came in. Harry's law, he thought. When you wait for something to happen, it will happen either the moment you try to leave, or one second after you're out of sight. Applies especially to the boiling over of noodles and burning of any food item that takes forever to cook. Or does that fall under the lines of "everything that can go wrong will, and at the worst possible time?"
He grabbed the letter- noting briefly the green ink and thick paper held closed by a wax seal- and went back upstairs to his room.
Harry pulled at a bookcase on the hall door. It slowly moved, revealing a hidden room. This was his bedroom. The Dursleys didn't want anyone to see him- that was why they didn't let him have a room without hiding it from the neighbors. After all, magic was fine and well when it earned them money, but not fit for polite company. Harry counted as magic- it wasn't as if Dudley was the one telling the future, after all. Harry wondered briefly what would have happened if it had been Dudley who could see what would happen in the future. Probably the Dursleys would have bought a crystal ball and put beaded curtains in all the doorways.
He slipped through the gap in the "door" into the cramped room and sat on his bed. The mattress was hard and uncomfortable, but he was used to it and it sufficed while he just sat.
Mr. H. Potter
4 Privet Drive
Little Whinging, Surry
The Smallest Bedroom
It was creepy, the way whoever had sent this knew exactly where he lived, down to the room. Had they been watching him? He shook his head. He was being stupid- nobody would bother watching him. Unless they knew about the magic... But they would have had to be watching him to find out about the magic, wouldn't they? So they would have had to already know about the magic to bother watching him- He stopped. This was hurting his head. It was better to just read it and, only after that, draw conclusions. So he tore the letter open- noting the red wax seal and thick paper- and looked at the writing inside.
Dear Mr. Potter,
you will be pleased to find that you have been accepted to Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Please find enclosed a list of all necessary school supplies. We await your owl by no later than August 1st.
Minerva McGonagall, Deputy Headmistress
Harry stared at the letter with no expression on his face. Years living with the Dursleys had taught him never to show his emotions. They would only be used to hurt him.
Deep down, though, under years of neglect and emotional pain, Harry began to get a little angry. His hopes had been raised high for a moment, and now they were being stomped into little, tiny, itty-bitty pieces. This letter made no sense.
First- why him? If they knew enough about him to address the letter to his room, they had to know that the Dursleys despised magic, and would never let him go to a magical school. They had gone so far as to pulling him out of his old public school when the teacher had taught the class about Greek myths. Apparently they felt that such ideas only encouraged his "freakiness."
Second, why was there even a school for magic? Everything he'd seen in his life was telling the future, and he couldn't exactly see how anyone would need to learn about that. It was more like an instinct than a talent or skill.
Third of all, why did they say "we await your owl"? The last he'd heard, an owl was a nocturnal bird of prey, and generally not something one would... send? Give away? The meaning of the letter was not very precise.
And last... the list of school supplies was insane. They wanted him to bring a pewter cauldron. And dragon hide gloves. And a wand. A magic wand. This was insane. Where would he get these things, even if he wanted to go?
Harry threw the letter in the garbage. If these people wanted him to go to this school, they could come and get him themselves.
The days went on as normal for a while. More letters came, but Harry ripped them up and threw them out the window without reading them. But the world would not stay quiet. About two weeks after the first letter came, Aunt Petunia's screech rattled the house. It came from the direction of Harry's room, (which she insisted on cleaning herself to "keep the help from seeing that freak," and to take anything Harry liked and burn it.) and Harry knew, somehow, that she had seen the letter.
His suspicions were proved correct when, a few minutes later, she ran down the stairs, fury etched into every feature.
"BOY!"
Aunt Petunia rushed down the stairs and through the house. Harry could hear her. Eventually she would find him. Why hadn't he torn the letter up before he threw it away?
Harry didn't really want her to find him. He abandoned the kitchen- where he'd been making lunch- and ran out of the house. Aunt Petunia's screech had sounded very angry, and Harry didn't particularly want to be around when she caught him.
He thought about that last sentence for a moment and shook his head, still running. Right now was the time to get away, not to ponder useless information.
After a few minutes he stopped and sat on a convenient bench, wondering when it would be safe to go back. Probably in a few hours. But for now... he would keep walking. Just for a while. ... ...
...six hours later
...
...
...
Harry had thought he'd known what walking was. Now he knew what walking was. It was a bone-weary trek on a highway until you were ready to collapse.
He saw a sign. There was a town coming up in one and a half miles. He didn't bother looking at the name. He'd already passed dozens, and didn't have any intention of stopping here.
He changed his mind when he saw the exit sign, where the street that led into town was printed. Potter Road.
If there was such a being as destiny, she smiled as Harry walked into town. It was a small place- mostly houses. There was a small train station- presumably most people commuted, to work in a larger city, because the only businesses Harry saw were a fast food place and a bookstore.
There was a lake, and next to it was a blue and white billboard, with a rather stupid looking smiling fish on it, that said: This water is clean enough to drink. Keep it that way.
The water certainly looked clean, and Harry was thirsty. He hadn't brought any money with him- had never had any money, anyway- and so had been unable to buy anything on his journey. He walked, feet aching, to the shore, and cupped his hands to drink.
A voice stopped him.
"The water isn't really safe to drink, you idiot." Harry turned. Behind him was a girl around his age, with reddish blond hair and warm grey eyes. She was wearing red and orange jogging clothes and running shoes. While from anyone else the word "idiot" would have been an insult, it somehow wasn't, from her. She made it sound... comforting.
She continued, on a lighter note. "If you're that thirsty, you might as well come to my house. It's right over there." She pointed vaguely across the lake, which was rather small. Harry could see several houses there. "Mum will probably adopt you, though."
Harry nodded.
As they walked around the lake, Harry found out several things. The girl's name was Alexandria- Dree for short. She jogged every morning and lived with her divorced mom, whose name was Nellie. Nellie worked as a daycare worker in London, and took the train in every weekday. It was only a short ride from Willabton.
Harry asked about the name of the town, and Dree told him she'd always thought that it was a spelling mistake on someone's part.
By the time they reached Dree's house, Dree had managed to coax most of Harry's life story out of him. Not the future thing, though. Nobody in heaven, earth, or hell was going to get that out of him. Not after the Dursleys. He'd had to tell a few white lies, but nothing serious.
Actually, all she'd really managed to find out was that everyone in his family was a despicable person and that he wasn't eager to return to them. And that they thought he was a freak.
Dree's initial assessment about her mother- named Nellie- had been correct. Harry received, in the next hour, a full (though rather burnt- Nellie couldn't cook) meal, some water, a place to sleep, and a bath. There wasn't much she could do about clothes- it was too late at night- but it was agreed that the next day was as good a time as any for shopping.
Going to sleep, Harry felt better than he had ever in his memory.