Disclaimer: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended. Harold and Draco's conversation is lifted directly from Harry Potter and the Philosopher's Stone; everything in quotations belongs, verbatim, to JK Rowling.
A/N: Sorry this chapter took longer than anticipated. The next chapter will likely take a while as well, since unlike the previous chapters, it isn't already written. On the other hand, I'm looking forward to writing it. Your kind reviews continue to motivate me ) Thanks.
Not take me anywhere, eh, Harold muttered, eyeing the large man askance as they rode the London Underground. What a nutter. I can't believe I'm here.
How he had come to be there was an odd story indeed. When Harold's letter had arrived from Hogwarts - funny name for a school, Harold thought - the Dursleys had thrown it away unopened. They had done so with the dozens and then hundreds of letters that followed. Father had wanted to take the car and go on vacation to escape them, but Mum had flatly refused to be away from home on Harold's birthday. Harold had been glad; Father had been acting very strangely and it hadn't seemed wise to indulge him. Given his current situation, the boy was rethinking his opinion.
One week after the first letter had arrived, the Dursleys had been awoken by someone pounding on their front door. Father had taken a poker from the fireplace on his way to answer it, only to have the poker bent into a pretzel by the enormous man who stood on their doorstep. The man turned out to have been sent by Hogwarts, since Harold hadn't opened any of his letters.
The letter, when Harold finally opened it, hadn't held any big surprises. As his parents had told him, it was a letter of acceptance to the wizard school, and contained a list of truly strange school supplies. These had aroused the boy's curiosity - dragonhide gloves? Made from real dragons? - but he hadn't been overly concerned, even when the man was shut in the parlour with his parents for an hour. He and Dudley had tried to listen at the keyhole, but for some reason they hadn't been able to hear a thing. Their parents finally emerged, looking pale and frightened, and Father had announced that Harold would attend that school. Mum had tearfully gone on to explain that Harold's magical powers would apparently develop whether he went to the weird school or not, but they would be dangerous if he didn't learn to control them.
That was how Harold came to be riding the Underground alone with a man he was starting to suspect of being a real giant.
Er, Hagrid?
The giant looked up from his knitting. Eh, Harry?It's Harold. And I've just been reading over this list again - can we really get all these things in London?Sure, if yeh know where to look! Hagrid was relentlessly cheerful, and Harold found himself warming to the man against his will. They passed quite a pleasant day among the incredible shops of Diagon Alley, finding and buying all the objects on Harold's list that he still wasn't sure he believed in. The apothecary was frankly disgusting, even supposing that the labels weren't really true, but what appeared to be a sports shop caught his eye. Could one really race on broomsticks? Excellent.
Hagrid left Harold alone in a clothing shop to be fitted for his uniform. Harold was relieved to see that it was black - Smelting's maroon and orange made a frightening combination with his eyes and pale skin. There was another boy being fitted for his uniform as well, with blond hair and sharp features. He looked Harold over scornfully.
he said, Hogwarts too?
Harold's lips tightened. He didn't even want to go to the freakish school. Who was this boy to look down on him? he replied shortly.
My father's next door buying my books and mother's up the street looking at wands, the other boy continued, sounding bored. Then I'm going to drag them off to look at racing brooms. I don't see why first years can't have their own. I think I'll bully father into getting me one and I'll smuggle it in somehow. Have you got your own broom?
Finally able to get a word in edgewise, Harold could think of no better answer than, Play Quidditch at all? Harold said again, wondering what on earth Quidditch might be.
I do - Father says it's a crime if I'm not picked to play for my house, and I must say, I agree.
Harold suppressed a snort.
Know what house you'll be in yet? Harold repeated a trifle impatiently.
"Well, no one really knows until they get there, do they, but I know I'll be in Slytherin, all our family have been - imagine being in Hufflepuff, I think I'd leave, wouldn't you?"
Harold made a noncommittal noise. What was the other boy talking about? He hated to feel foolish, and suddenly Harold made up his mind to learn everything he could about the so-called Wizarding World. He didn't want to stay with the freaks a minute longer than necessary, but he wasn't going to give them a reason to look down on him!
"I say, look at that man!" The pale boy exclaimed. Outside the shop, Hagrid was waving to Harold and smiling widely.
"That's Hagrid. Harold lifted his chin, glad to know something the other boy didn't. He works at Hogwarts."
"Oh. I've heard of him. He's a sort of servant, isn't he?"
"He's the gamekeeper, Harold corrected.
"Yes, exactly. I heard he's a sort of savage - lives in a hut in the school grounds and every now and then he gets drunk, tries to do magic and ends up setting fire to his bed."
"I think he's brilliant, Harold said coldly. Whoever this boy was, he needed to be taken down a peg or two.
"Do you? the boy sneered. Why is he with you? Where are your parents?"
"They're dead. Harold replied shortly.
"Oh, sorry. But they were our kind, weren't they?"
Harold felt his temper growing short. "They were a witch and wizard, if that's what you mean, he replied with scorn to match his companion. He wasn't proud of his heritage, but he bloody well wasn't going to let this freak snub him for being normal.
"I really don't think they should let the other sort in, do you? They're just not the same, they've never been brought up to know our ways. Some of them have never even heard of Hogwarts until they get the letter, imagine. I think they should keep it in the old wizarding families. What's your surname, anyway?"
Harold was ready to throw caution to the winds, launch into a tirade on the supposed greatness of old wizarding families and tell the other boy just what he could do with his heritage when the witch adjusting his robes interrupted. "That's you done, my dear. Harold hopped off the stool and stalked out of the store, barely glancing at the boy when he drawled, Well, I'll see you at Hogwarts, I suppose. If that was what wizards were like, Harold was certain he didn't want to be one.
The weirdest part of the day was buying a wand. The man who ran the store was downright creepy and Harold had been glad when a wand - the hundredth-and-thirty-second, by his count - had finally shot out a shower of brightly coloured sparks. Then the odd man had started talking about destiny and had actually touched Harold's scar, so he left as soon as he could. What business was it of the old man's how he had gotten his scar?
Harold was feeling out of sorts and a little panicky from the encounter with Ollivander when Hagrid came up, carrying two melting ice cream cones and an owl.
Hear yeh are, Harry! he announced, Happy Birthday!You didn't have to do that! Why did you do that? I don't even know you!
Calm down, Harry. Hagrid placed a large, comforting arm around Harold's shoulders and led him to a nearby bench. It's all a tad overwhelmin', eh? Not what yeh're used to. Here, have your ice cream.
Harold took it and licked doubtfully at the dripping mess. The chocolate seemed to steady his nerves and he looked back up at Hagrid. But why is everyone acting like they know me? I don't understand.
Hagrid frowned. Don't know if I'm the best person to tell yeh this, Harry. But I guess I'm the only one around. Here goes.
He proceeded to tell Harold a most extraordinary tale: how there had arisen a dark wizard who hated Muggles and cared for nothing but power; how James and Lily, beloved of the wizarding world, had been murdered by that darkest of wizards; how their infant son had miraculously survived; and how the dark wizard had fallen, stripped of his powers and his body by the tiny child.
So yeh see, Harry, everyone here knows who yeh are. Yeh're famous! Yeh're - the Boy Who Lived.
Harold could hear the implied capital letters. Well, he had always sought excellence and recognition. Now it appeared it would be handed to him. How ironic that the person whose opinion mattered most to him wouldn't care at all.