Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter. Otherwise, my name would be J. K. Rowling, I wouldn't be composing music, I'd be rich, and I would be found in England. This does not describe me in any way, shape, or form. The plot I have in store is based loosely off of J.K. Rowling's plot, just with some of my own creativity. If you can call it creativity, that is.
Chapter Four: The Hut on the Rock
By the time Harry was released from his cupboard, the escape of the boa constrictor had spread through Surrey like wildfire. All of the neighbors were gossiping about and frankly, it was about Harry. Piers had apparently told his mother, the biggest gossip in town (second only to Aunt Petunia, of course), who related the story to anyone she could while adding sobs in.
The neighbors even spoke of strange noises that they heard from Number Four. Hearing whispers all around her made Aunt Petunia furious. This forced her to double her efforts to keep Harry in the cupboard as much as possible until about a month later.
Though Harry was glad school was over, there was still no way to escape Dudley and his gang. Every day, Piers, Dennis, Malcolm, and Gordon were all big and stupid. But, seeing as Dudley was the biggest and stupidest of the lot, he was the leader. All the rest of them were quite content to join Dudley in his favorite pastime: Harry Hunting.
This was why Harry spent as much time as possible out of the house, wandering up and down Magnolia Crescent thinking about the end of the holidays, where he could see a very small ray of hope. When September came, he would be going off to secondary school at Stonewall High and, for the first time in his life, he wouldn't be with Dudley. Dudley, as well as Piers Polkiss, had been accepted to Uncle Vernon's old private school, Smeltings. Harry was overjoyed at this prospect, but Dennis, Malcolm, and Gordon were going to Stonewall High with him. Dudley obviously thought this was very funny.
"Didn't you ever hear?" asked Dudley with a wide smirk plastered on his face. "They stuff people's heads down the toilets the first day at Stonewall," he continued while licking a popsicle. "Want to come upstairs and practice?"
"No, thanks," said Harry, "I'd feel sorry for the poor toilet, seeing as it has never had anything as horrible as your head down it – it might get sick." Then, as usual, Harry ran off before Dudley could work out any retaliation to Harry's insult.
Dudley had been taken to London with Aunt Petunia to buy his Smeltings uniform, leaving Harry at Mrs. Figg's. Mrs. Figg seemed to be less fond of her cats, seeing as she had tripped over Tufty while she was carrying a cup of boiling hot tea. She let Harry watch television and even gave him a bit of chocolate cake that tasted as though she had baked it several years ago.
When Harry was dropped back off at the Dursleys', Dudley was parading around the living room in front of Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon in his brand-new uniform. Smeltings' boys wore maroon tailcoats, orange knickerbockers, and flat straw hats called boaters. They also carried around knobbly sticks that were used for hitting each other behind the teachers' backs. Apparently, this was supposed to be good training for later life.
As Dudley twirled his stick in the air, only to have it fall with a clang onto the floor, Uncle Vernon said that it was the proudest moment of his life. Aunt Petunia sobbed tears of joy, not believing how handsome and grown-up he looked. She smacked Harry over the head when he started to gag.
There was a horrible smell in the kitchen the next morning when Harry walked in, ready to fry up breakfast for the Dursleys. He could scarcely believe that Aunt Petunia was bent over the counter until he noticed that she had lifted what appeared to be dirty gray rags out of the pale gray water.
Harry tried not to gag when he asked, "What's this rubbish?" Her lips pursed as they always did when he dared to ask a question.
"This is your new school uniform," she said, trying not to sound bitter.
Harry looked back into the sink, saying, "Oh, I didn't realize that the school was underwater." He knew that on any normal day, he would have to duck a blow from a soapy frying pan.
"Don't be stupid," snapped Aunt Petunia. "You're lucky I'm in a good mood today. I'm dyeing Dudley's old things gray for you. It'll look just like everyone else's when I've finished."
"Somehow, I highly doubt that," Harry muttered under his breath.
"What was that, boy?" Aunt Petunia snarled.
"Nothing!" Harry said, raising his hands defensively. She stared at his hands warily as though he look like he were about to shove her to the ground and strangle her.
Harry thought it was best not to argue. He sat down at the table and tried not to think of how he would be ridiculed on his first day at Stonewall High – like he had climbed into piles of old elephant skin, more than likely. He thought it was bad enough that he felt sick yet again.
Although he was used to this by now, since it happened every month. He always felt sick and was forced to take super strong sleeping pills in the middle of the day during the week. Harry didn't ask questions. He knew that the reply would come out the same as it always did. "Don't ask questions!"
Dudley waddled into the kitchen, followed by Uncle Vernon, both had wrinkled noses from the stench of the dye. Uncle Vernon opened his newspaper as he did in routine while Dudley banged his Smelting Stick on the table loudly out of sheer boredom.
Then, the usual click of the mail slot and fluttering of letters through the slot cut through the silence (minus Dudley's banging, of course).
"Get the mail, Dudley," grunted Uncle Vernon from behind his paper.
"Make Harry get it," said Dudley idly, not wanting to stop banging his Smelting Stick on the table.
"Get the mail, Harry," Uncle Vernon wheezed.
"Make Dudley get it," said Harry, feeling too ill to move.
"Poke him with your Smelting Stick, Dudley," Uncle Vernon suggested.
Harry ducked under the Smelting Stick and went to retrieve the mail. Three objects were lying on the doormat: A postcard from Uncle Vernon's sister, Marge, who was vacationing on the Isle of Wright, a brown envelope that looked like the electric bill, and – Harry rubbed his eyes – a letter for Harry.
Harry picked it up and stared at it, his heart twanging like a giant elastic band. No one, ever, in all his life, had written to him. Who would? He had no friends, no other relatives – he didn't belong to the library, so he'd never even gotten rude notes asking for his books back. Yet here it was, a letter, addressed so plainly there could be no mistake:
Mr. H. Potter
The
Cupboard under the Stairs
4 Privet Drive
Little Whinging
Surrey
The envelope was thick and heavy, made of yellowish parchment, and the address was written in emerald-green ink. There was no stamp.
Turning the envelope over, his hand trembling, Harry saw a purple wax seal bearing a coat of arms; a lion, an eagle, a badger, and a snake surrounding a large letter H.
"Hurry up, boy!" shouted Uncle Vernon from the kitchen. "What are you doing, checking for letter bombs?" He chuckled at his own joke over the continuing banging of the Smelting Stick.
Harry strode back into the kitchen, still glancing at his letter. He handed Uncle Vernon the bill and the postcard, sat down, and slowly began to open the yellow envelope.
Uncle Vernon ripped open the bill, snorted in disgust as he placed it back on the table, and flipped over the postcard.
"Marge's ill," he informed Petunia, who was now sticking Harry's clothes on a clothesline hanging above the sink. "She ate a funny whelk. . . ."
"Dad!" said Dudley, freezing as he was about to poke Harry in the ribs with the Smelting Stick. "Dad, Harry's got something!"
Harry was on the verge of unfolding his letter, which was written on the same heavy parchment as the envelope, when it was snatched away by Uncle Vernon.
"That's mine!" Harry shouted fiercely, trying to snatch it back.
"Who'd be writing to you?" laughed Uncle Vernon, shaking the letter open with one hand and glancing at it. His face swapped shades of red to green faster than a set of traffic lights. It didn't stop there. The color drained from Uncle Vernon's face, leaving it the same grayish white as the porridge in the bowl in front of him.
"P-P-Petunia!" he gasped in horror.
Dudley tried to grab the letter to read it, but Uncle Vernon held it high out of his reach. Aunt Petunia took it curiously and read the first line. For a moment it looked as though she might faint. Harry hoped so, for then he would grab his letter and try to make his getaway.. All she did was grab her throat and make a choking noise.
"Vernon! Oh my goodness – Vernon!" They stared at each other, seeming to have forgotten that Harry and Dudley were still in the room. Dudley wasn't used to being ignored (which was extremely hard for him to accomplish). He tapped his father on the head with his Smelting stick.
"I want to read that letter," he shouted.
"I want to read that letter," said Harry, shaking with fury, "as it's mine."
Aunt Petunia gasped when she looked into Harry's eyes, as though she had seen a ghost.
"Get out, both of you," croaked Uncle Vernon, stuffing the letter back into its envelope.
Harry didn't move.
"I WANT MY LETTER!" he shouted, seething with fury.
"Let me see it!" demanded Dudley, trying to reach for the envelope.
"OUT!" roared Uncle Vernon, and he took both Harry and Dudley by the scruffs of their necks and threw them into the kitchen door behind them. Harry and Dudley had a furious, but silent fight over who would listen at the keyhole. Harry won, but Dudley shoved Harry to the floor, leaving Harry to listen at the crack between door and floor.
"Vernon, did you see his eyes?" asked Aunt Petunia, her voice still quivering. "They changed color from green to amber. . . ."
"Petunia, I'm sure it has nothing to do with – " Uncle Vernon began, but he was interrupted by Aunt Petunia.
"Vernon, don't give me that! You know the people they hung around with!" she shrieked.
"I mean, it would possibly be safer for the family if he went off to this –" Aunt Petunia continued.
"No!" Uncle Vernon bellowed. "We are not having that under our roof!" He then took a deep breath.
"Vernon, look at the address – how could they possibly know where he sleeps? You don't think they're watching the house?" asked Aunt Petunia.
"Watching – spying—might be following us," muttered Uncle Vernon wildly.
"But what should we do, Vernon? Should we write back? Tell them we don't want –"
Harry could see Uncle Vernon's shiny black shoes pacing up and down the kitchen floor.
"No," he said finally. "No, we'll ignore it. If they don't get an answer. . . . Yes, that's best . . . we won't do anything. . . ."
"But—"
"Didn't you just say we were not having that in the house? Didn't we swear that when we took him in, we'd stamp out that dangerous nonsense?"
"Vernon, we also have to get him registered at some sort of Registry," Aunt Petunia choked out.
"No!" Uncle Vernon roared. "If he gets in trouble with their law," Harry could have sworn that Uncle Vernon had given a manic grin, "then he'll be out of our lives forever."
That evening when he got back from work, Uncle Vernon did something he'd never done before; he visited Harry in his cupboard.
"Where's my letter?" Harry asked immediately. "Who's writing to me?"
"No one. It was addressed to you by mistake," said Uncle Vernon shortly. "I have burned it."
"It was not a mistake," said Harry angrily, "it had my cupboard on it."
"SILENCE!" yelled Uncle Vernon, and a couple of spiders fell down from the ceiling. He took a couple of deep breaths and then forced his face into a smile, which looked quite painful.
"Er – yes, Harry – about this cupboard. Your aunt and I have been thinking . . . you're really getting a bit big for it . . . we think it might be nice if you moved into Dudley's second bedroom."
"Why?" asked Harry.
"Don't ask questions!" snapped his uncle. "Take this stuff upstairs, now."
The Dursleys' house had four bedrooms: one for Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia, one for guests, one where Dudley slept, and one where Dudley kept all the toys and things that wouldn't fit into his first bedroom. It only took Harry one trip upstairs to move everything he owned from the cupboard to this room. He sat down on the bed and stared around him. He could hear Dudley's furious screams downstairs that he didn't want Harry up in his room. He "needed it for other things." Harry could only guess what those other things were.
Harry sighed and stretched out on the bed. Yesterday he'd have given anything to be up here. Today, though, he'd rather be back in his cupboard with that letter than up here without it.
Next morning, breakfast was a rather quiet affair. Dudley had tried everything he could think of. He had whacked his father with his Smelting stick, been sick on purpose, kicked his mother and thrown his tortoise through the roof of the greenhouse, and he still didn't get his room back. Harry was staring at his bowl of grits, thinking about this time yesterday and bitterly wishing he had opened the letter in the hall. Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia kept exchanging dark looks.
When the mail arrived, Uncle Vernon, who seemed to be trying to be nice to Harry, made Dudley go and get it. They heard him banging things with his Smelting stick all the way down the hall. Aunt Petunia grimaced as he heard a flower pot filled with dirt be knocked onto the carpet.
Dudley then called out, "There's another one! 'Mr. H. Potter, The Smallest Bedroom, 4 Privet Drive –"
With a strangled cry, Uncle Vernon leapt from his seat and ran down the hall, Harry right behind him. Uncle Vernon had to wrestle Dudley to the ground to get the letter from him, which was more difficult by the fact that Harry had grabbed Uncle Vernon around the neck from behind. After about a minute of confused fighting, in which everyone got hit a lot by the Smelting Stick, Uncle Vernon straightened up, gasping for breath, holding Harry's letter high above his head.
"Go to your cupboard – I mean, your bedroom," he wheezed at Harry. "Dudley – go – just go."
Harry paced back and forth in his new room. Someone knew he had moved out of his cupboard and they seemed to know he hadn't received his first letter. Surely they seemed to know he hadn't received his first letter. Surely that meant they'd try again? And this time he'd make sure they didn't fail. He had a plan.
Harry's repaired alarm clock went off at six o'clock the next morning. Harry felt sicker than usual, seeing as he was slower than he normally was at getting up. Harry got himself dressed, went downstairs, and walked over to the front door.
"AAAAARRRGH!"
Harry leapt into the air; he'd trodden on something big and squashy on the doormat – something alive!
Lights clicked on upstairs and to his horror Harry realized that the big, squashy something had been Uncle Vernon's face. Uncle Vernon had been lying at the foot of the front door in a sleeping bag, clearly trying to keep Harry from getting the letter. He shouted at Harry for about half an hour before ordering him to make him a cup of tea for his nerves. Harry shuffled off, staring at the floor, into the kitchen and by the time he got back, the mail had arrived and Uncle Vernon had already torn the envelopes into shreds before Harry got a chance to ask for them.
Uncle Vernon stayed home from work to nail up the mail slot.
"See," he explained to Aunt Petunia, who was holding a fruitcake she had just made, "if they can't deliver them, they'll just give up."
"I'm not sure that'll work, Vernon," said Aunt Petunia, handing Uncle Vernon a slice of fruitcake. Harry privately agreed with her.
"Oh, these people's minds work in strange ways, Petunia, they're not like you and me," said Uncle Vernon, who was trying to hammer the nail in with the piece of fruitcake Petunia had brought him.
Aunt Petunia turned to Harry and handed him the sleeping pills, which weren't working as well as they used to. Harry tried to go to sleep, but he had visions of being chased through a parking lot by a vicious, wolf-like creature.
Harry woke up the next morning on the floor, his clothes torn as usual. He found a dreadful set of teeth marks on his arm, meaning that he had bitten himself in his sleep. Harry took a paper towel and wrapped it around the bite.
Harry then went downstairs into the living room, where he saw his uncle taking envelopes from a complete stack, smiling as he burned each and every one of them one at a time. Harry could have sworn he could hear him whistling "Tiptoe through the Tulips" as he started boarding up the windows soon after.
On Saturday, things started to get out of hand. Twenty-four letters to Harry found their way into the house, rolled up and hidden inside each of the two dozen eggs that their very confused milkman had handed Aunt Petunia through the living room window. While Uncle Vernon made furious telephone calls to the post office and the dairy, trying to find someone to complain to. Aunt Petunia had thrown several letters into the blender and had thrown the rest down into the garbage disposal unit.
"Who on earth wants to talk to you this badly?" Dudley asked Harry in amazement, while poking random objects with his Smelting stick.
On Sunday morning, Uncle Vernon came into the kitchen looking rather tired and ill, but happy. "No post on Sundays," he reminded them cheerfully as he spread marmalade on his newspapers, missing the toast by a few inches, "no damn letters today –"
Something came whizzing down the kitchen chimney as he spoke and caught him sharply on the back of the head before he could finish his sentence. Next moment, no less than thirty or forty letters came tumbling out of the fireplace like bullets. The Dursleys ducked, but Harry leapt into the air trying to catch one –
"Out! OUT!" Uncle Vernon screamed, seizing Harry by the waist and throwing him unceremoniously into the hall. When Dudley and Aunt Petunia had run out with their arms covering their faces, Uncle Vernon slammed the door in fury and bolted it shut. Harry could still hear the letters flooding the room, bouncing off of the walls and linoleum floor.
"That does it," said Uncle Vernon, trying to speak calmly but was pulling great tufts out of his mustache 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 mustache that no one dared to argue. Ten minutes later Uncle Vernon had pulled away the boards that barricaded the front door. They had climbed into the car, Dudley sniffing in the back seat because Uncle Vernon had hit him round the head for trying to pack his television, VCR, and computer in his sports bag. Dudley did manage to sneak his Smelting stick though.
They drove for what seemed like hours. Uncle Vernon kept taking a sharp turn every now and then, muttering, "Shake them off, shake them off." Eventually, they reached London, where they parked in the parking lot of the hotel they stayed at six years ago. It was a gloomy looking hotel on the outskirts of London, and it gave Harry bad memories of the incident. Since then, he had been forced to take sleeping pills at least once a month, waking up to find a multitude of scars marring his body.
Harry had to sleep in a room with Dudley, who had complained about the lack of a television to watch his shows on. Dudley was soon snoring, leaving Harry wide awake, staring outside the window and watching the lights of speeding cars, wondering. . . .
For breakfast the next morning, they ate stale cornflakes and cold tinned tomatoes for breakfast the next day. As Harry was fiddling with a single tomato left on his plate, the manager of the hotel walked to their table, holding up an envelope.
"'Scuse me, but is one of you Mr. H. Potter? Only I got an 'undred of these at the front desk." She turned the letter so that the address faced Harry and the Dursleys.
Mr. H. Potter
Room 17
Railview Hotel
Cokeworth
Harry made a grab for the letter, but Uncle Vernon slapped his had out the way. The woman stared, raising an eyebrow.
"I'll take them," said Uncle Vernon, standing up quickly and following her out of the dining room.
"Wouldn't it be better just to go home, dear?" Aunt Petunia suggested timidly, hours later, but Uncle Vernon didn't seem to hear her. Exactly what he was looking for, none of them knew. He drove them into the middle of a forest, looked around, shook his head, and off they went again. The same thing happened in the middle of a plowed field, halfway across a suspension 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 under a curtain of heavy rainfall.
The raindrops pelted the roof of the car like bullets. Dudley moaned.
"It's Monday," he told his mother. "The Great Humberto's on tonight. I want to stay somewhere with a television."
Monday. This reminded Harry of something. If it was Monday – and you could usually count on Dudley knowing the days of the week, seeing as the TV Guide was his calendar – then tomorrow, Tuesday, was Harry's eleventh birthday. Of course, his birthdays were never exactly fun – unless you count the day after Harry's birthday six years ago, when he woke up in extreme pain in Mrs. Figg's spare bedroom. Even just last year, Harry had received an old coat hangar and a pair Uncle Vernon's old, custard yellow socks. Still, you didn't turn eleven everyday.
Uncle Vernon was walking back to the car with an insane, twisted grin plastered on his piggy face. He was carrying a long, thin package in his arms and ignored Aunt Petunia when she asked what he had bought.
"Found the perfect place!" he exclaimed. "The damn fools won't dare follow us out here. Come on! Everyone out!" He pulled Harry out of the car by his ear, earning a reproachful glare from Harry. Aunt Petunia and Dudley climbed out of the car, immediately getting soaked as if they had fallen into the ocean just several feet away.
It was, of course, very cold outside the car. The winds had picked up, hitting Harry with a spray of seawater. He could barely see, through the curtain of torrential downpour, that Uncle Vernon was pointing at a large rock way out at sea. Perched on top of the rock was the most miserable-looking shack you could imagine. One thing was for certain, there was no television in there.
"Severe storm warning tonight!" Uncle Vernon said gleefully, looking as though he were giddy enough to jump into the choppy water and swim to the hut on the rock himself. "And this gentleman's kindly agreed to lend us his boat!"
A toothless old man sidled up to them on his cane. He pointed to a flimsy-looking rowboat that was tied to a weak wooden peg by a rotten lasso of rope. It was bobbing up and down in the furious, iron-gray water nearby.
"I've already gotten us some rations," said Uncle Vernon, holding up four paper bags up for the rest to see. "Everyone get in!"
It was even colder in the boat. Icy sea spray and rain crept down their necks and a chilly wind whipped their faces. After what seemed to be hours, but was only minutes, they reached the rock, where Uncle Vernon, slipping and sliding, led the way into the broken-down house.
The inside smelled horrible to Harry, but Uncle Vernon started dancing around on the rotten floorboards in glee. Uncle Vernon then fished out his rations from the inside of his bag. As it turned out, his rations were just a bag of chips and a banana for each of them. While Uncle Vernon wasn't looking, Dudley snatched Harry's food, leaving him with nothing. Not that Uncle Vernon would do anything about it, but Harry was not feeling hungry anyway. He had his mind set on the letters. Hopefully, the house would be so full of them, he'd be able to grab one and stuff it in his pocket.
When everyone had finished their chips (minus Harry, of course), Uncle Vernon snatched up the bags and tried to start a feeble fire with them. All the bags did was shrivel up in smoke.
"Could do with some of those letters now, eh?" Uncle Vernon asked cheerfully.
He was in a very good mood. Apparently, he didn't think that the sender would attempt to go through the trouble of sending the letters to Harry all the way out in the middle of a violent storm. Harry privately agreed, but this thought had the opposite effect on him as it did on his uncle.
As night fell, the storm grew even more furious. The waves crashed against the walls of the hut, but this seemed to place Uncle Vernon in a better mood. Aunt Petunia squealed in fright when she found a pile of dirty, moldy rags, which, Harry assumed, were blankets. She passed them out, Dudley getting the largest and thickest. She gave Harry one that was severely moth-eaten and smelled like sick. Harry grimaced and tossed it into the corner when Aunt Petunia wasn't looking.
The storm intensified outside, and Harry couldn't sleep. He was curled up on the floor with nothing to keep him warm while Dudley was rolled up on a moth-eaten sofa. Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia shared the lumpy bed in the other room, sleeping peacefully through the virulent storm. Dudley's snores seemed to have intensified with the storm, but they were still drowned out by the low rolls of thunder that pounded outside. Harry turned and glanced at the lighted face of Dudley's glow-in-the-dark watch on Dudley's fat wrist, which was dangling over the edge of the sofa. It was ten minutes until midnight, meaning that Harry would be turning eleven any moment now.
Harry watched the minutes tick by on the watch.
Five minutes to go. Harry glanced up at the ceiling, hoping that it wouldn't collapse do the heaviness of the storm.
Three minutes to go. Was that the waves that were slapping hard on the rock like that? At two minutes on the countdown, Harry could hear the crunching of pebbles as Harry thought the rock was crumbling away into the sea.
One minute to go and he'd be eleven. Thirty seconds . . . twenty . . . ten . . . nine – maybe he'd wake Dudley up, just to annoy him – three . . . two . . . one . . .
BOOM.
Harry snapped his attention to the door. Someone, or something, was standing outside the door.
Chapter Five: Rubeus Hagrid
BOOM. They knocked again. Dudley jerked awake.
"Where's the cannon?" Dudley asked stupidly, rubbing his beady little eyes. He groped around for his Smelting stick.
There was a crashing noise behind them and Uncle Vernon was sliding into the room. He was holding a rifle in his hands – which explained what the long, thin package carried.
"Who's there?" he shouted, his voice shaking with fear. "I warn you – I'm armed!" He pointed the rifle at the door.
There was a smash and the door flung open with such force that it was knocked off of its hinges. With a deafening crash, it landed on the floor.
A giant of a man was standing at the door. His face was almost completely hidden behind long, shaggy mane of hair and a wild, tangled beard. You could barely make out his eyes, glinting like black beetles under all the hair.
The giant squeezed his way into the hut, bending his head down so that it did not hit the ceiling. He reached down, picked up the fallen door, and fitted it easily back into its frame. The noise of the storm was diminished a little. The gigantic man then turned to look at them all.
"Couldn't make us a cup o' tea, could yeh? It's not been an easy journey, I can promise yeh that. . . ."
He strode over to where Dudley sat on the sofa, frozen with fear.
"Budge up, yeh great lump," said the stranger
Dudley squeaked in terror and scampered over to his mother, where he hid behind his mother, whose thin body did not provide much protection. Uncle Vernon hustled over to shield his wife, still brandishing his rifle.
"An' here's Harry!" said the giant.
Harry looked up into the fierce, wild, shadowy face and saw that the beetle-like eyes were crinkled into a smile.
"Las' time I saw you, you was only a baby," said the giant. "Yeh look a lot like yer dad, but yeh've got yer mom's eyes."
Uncle Vernon made am odd noise as though he were a rat being trodden on.
"I d-d-demand you leave at once, sir!" he stammered. "You are b-b-breaking and entering!"
"Ah, shut up, Dursley, you great prune," grunted the giant. He leaned over the back of the sofa, reached over to Uncle Vernon's rifle, and grabbed it. He then proceeded to bend it into a knot as easily if it were made of rubber, and then chucked it out of one of the broken windows.
Uncle Vernon made a noise similar to the one he had made just seconds before.
"Anyway – Harry," said the giant, turning his large back on the Dursleys, "a very happy birthday to yeh. Got summat for yeh here – I mighta sat on it at one point, but it won't taste no differ'n.
He reached into an enormous inside pocket and pulled out a slightly crushed cardboard box. Harry opened it with trembling fingers. Inside was a large, sticky chocolate cake with Happy Birthday Harry written on it in green icing.
Harry looked up at the giant, who was staring at Harry's right shoulder apprehensively. Harry wanted to say his thanks, but the words were caught in his throat. He then asked, "Who are you?"
The giant chuckled.
"True, I haven't introduced myself. Rubeus Hagrid, Keeper of Keys and Grounds at Hogwarts."
He held out an enormous hand and shook Harry's whole arm.
"What about that tea, eh?" he asked, rubbing his hands together. "I'd not say no ter summat stronger, mind."
His eyes fell on the burnt, shriveled chip bags and he snorted with laughter. He pulled out a pink umbrella, walked over to the fireplace, tapped the chip bags in the fireplace (which looked like it hadn't been used for years), and a fire was glowing in the hearth. It filled the whole hut with a flickering light and Harry felt the warmth flood over him as though he had plunged himself back into the storm again.
The giant sat back down on the sofa, which sagged under his weight, and began pulling out a copper kettle, a squashed pack of sausages, a poker, a teapot, several chipped mugs, and a bottle of some amber liquid that he took a swig from before starting to make tea.
"Madam Rosmerta's oak-matured mead. It's pretty delicious, actually. But, then again, at your age, you'd probably prefer butterbeer," he said, more to himself than Harry.
Soon, the hut was filled with the sound of sizzling sausage. Nobody said a thing while Hagrid was working, but as he slid the first six fat, juicy, slightly burnt sausages from the poker, Dudley fidgeted a little. Uncle Vernon said sharply, "Don't touch anything, Dudley."
The giant chuckled darkly.
"Yer great puddin' of a son don' need fattenin' anymore, Dursley. Don' worry."
He passed the sausages to Harry, who was so hungry as Dudley had stolen his feeble rations earlier. He had never tasted anything so wonderful, but he couldn't take his eyes off the giant. Finally, as nobody was about to explain anything, he said, "I'm sorry, but I still don't really know who you are."
The giant took a gulp of tea and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.
"Just call me Hagrid," he said, "everyone else at Hogwarts does. An' like I told yeh, I'm the Keeper of Keys and Grounds at Hogwarts – yeh'll know all about Hogwarts of course."
"Er – no," said Harry.
Hagrid looked paralyzed with shock.
"Sorry," Harry said quickly.
"Sorry?" barked Hagrid, throwing a dark stare at the Dursleys, who shrank back into the shadows, huddled together in fright. "It's them as should be sorry! I knew yeh weren't getting' yer letters but I never thought yeh wouldn't even know abou' Hogwarts, fer cryin' out loud! Did yeh ever wonder where yer parents learned it all?"
"All what?"
"ALL WHAT?" Hagrid thundered angrily "Now jus' wait one second! Did yeh even know about yer, uh . . . condition?" Hagrid added a bit of tenseness to the last word.
"What condition?" Harry asked, one eyebrow raised.
At this, Hagrid turned to the Dursleys. He leapt to his feet. In his anger, he seemed to blow up enough to fill the whole hut. The Dursleys backed away into the corner.
"Do you mean to tell me," he growled at the Dursleys, "that this boy – this boy – knows nothing; abou' – about ANYTHING?"
Harry thought this was going a bit far. He had been to school, after all, and his marks weren't bad.
"I know some things," he said. "I can, you know, do math and I can read and stuff."
Hagrid simply waved it off and said, "I mean about our world. Your world. My world. Yer parents' world."
"What world?" asked Harry. "All I know is that I get a sleeping pill forced down my throat once per month."
Hagrid looked as though he were trying not to explode.
"DURSLEY!" he boomed. "YOU MEAN TO TELL ME THAT YOU DRUG HIM EVERY MONTH?"
Uncle Vernon, who had gone very pale, whimpered something that sounded like "Mimblewimble." Hagrid stared wildly at Harry.
"But yeh must know about yer mom and dad," he said, trying to reason with himself. "I mean, they're famous. You're famous."
"What? My – my mom and dad weren't famous, were they?"
"Yeh don' know . . . yeh don' know . . ." Hagrid ran his fingers through his hair, transfixing Harry with a bewildered stare.
"Yeh don't know what yeh are?" he asked finally.
Uncle Vernon then cut across before Harry could reply.
"Stop!" he commanded. "Stop right there, sir! I forbid you to tell the boy anything!"
A braver man the Vernon Dursley would have probably run into the other room out of pure terror. Uncle Vernon, however, was planted where he was, though he was frozen in fear. Hagrid glared at him with a fury in his eyes. When Hagrid spoke, his every syllable trembled with rage.
"You never told him? Never told him what was in the letter Dumbledore left fer him? I was there! I saw Dumbledore leave it, Dursley! An' you've kept it from him all these years! One thing I don't know is how could you keep it a secret that he is a werewolf!" Hagrid then paled at the last sentence. "I shouldn'ta said that. I shouldn'ta said that. . . ."
"I'm a what?" asked Harry, trembling.
"STOP! I FORBID YOU!" yelled Uncle Vernon in panic.
Aunt Petunia gave a gasp of horror.
"Ah, go boil your heads in heated bubotuber pus, the both of yeh," said Hagrid. "Harry – yer a wizard."
There was silence in the hut. Only the sea and the whistling of the wind could be heard.
"I'm a what?" Harry asked again.
"A wizard o' course," said Hagrid, sitting back down on the sofa, which groaned and sank even lower, "an' a thumpin' good'un, I'd say, once yeh've been trained up a bit. With a mum an' dad like yours, what else would yeh be? An' I reckon it's abou' time yeh read yer letter."
Harry stretched out his hand, but before opening the envelope, he had just thought of something.
"Hagrid, you said something about me being a werewolf. What did you mean by that?" asked Harry.
"Well Harry – yeh were bitten by a werewolf, abou' say . . . six years ago," answered Hagrid, looking anxious. "We'll have to get you registered today, o' course."
"Registered?" asked Harry.
"Yeah, with the Werewolf Registry," said Hagrid. "Go on, read yer letter."
The letter was addressed in emerald-green ink. On the front, it was addressed to Mr. H. Potter, The Floor, Hut-on-the-Rock, The Sea. He pulled the letter out of the envelope and read:
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 1. We await your owl by no
later than July 31.
Yours sincerely,
Minerva McGonagall
Minerva
McGonagall,
Deputy Headmistress
Questions exploded inside Harry's head like fireworks and Harry could not decide which one he should ask first. After a few minutes, he worked up the courage to ask, "What does it mean, they await my owl?"
"Gallopin' Gorgons, that reminds me!" exclaimed Hagrid. He slapped his large forehead with his trash can-sized hand before reaching into his overcoat. He pulled out a living owl with ruffled feathers (some of its feathers were missing). Hagrid then pulled out a long quill and a roll of parchment. With his tongue between his teeth, he scrawled a quick note that Harry could read upside down.
Dear Professor Dumbledore,
Given Harry his
letter.
Taking him to buy his things later today after getting him
registered at the Werewolf Registry.
Weather's horrible. Hope you're well.
Hagrid
Hagrid rolled up the note and gave it to the owl, who clamped the note in its beak. Hagrid walked over to an open window and tossed the owl out into the storm. He then came beak and sat down as though this was as normal as talking on the telephone.
Harry soon realized his mouth was open and closed it quickly.
"Where was I?" said Hagrid, rubbing his forehead with his hand. At that moment, however, Uncle Vernon jumped into the firelight, looking mortified but very angry.
"He's not going!" he shouted.
"I'd like ter see a great Muggle like you stop him," Hagrid said with a snort.
"A what?" asked Harry, interested.
"A Muggle," said Hagrid," it's what we call nonmagic folk like them." Hagrid pointed at the trembling Dursleys. "An' it's your bad luck you grew up in a family o' the biggest Muggles I ever laid eyes on."
"We swore when we took him in we'd put a stop to that rubbish!" growled Uncle Vernon. "We tried to stamp it out of him! We knew we couldn't stop him from turning into that ferocious beast every month, but we kept him asleep so he wouldn't pay any attention to it. Otherwise, that boy would ask questions!"
"You knew?" asked Harry in shock. "You knew I'm a – a wizard? You knew I'm a werewolf?"
"Knew!" shrieked Aunt Petunia incredulously, speaking for the first time, her bony lower jaw trembling in a mixture of anger and fear. "Knew! Of Course we knew! How could you not be, my dratted slut of a sister being what she was? Oh she got a letter just like that one and disappeared off to that – that school – and came home every summer with her pockets full of frogspawn, turning teacups into rats. I was the only one in our family who saw he for what she was – a freak! But as for my mother and father, oh no, it was Lily this and Lily that. They were proud of having a – a witch in the family!"
She stopped to take in a furious breath and then went ranting on. It seemed she had been bursting to say this for years.
"Then she met that Potter tramp at school and they left and got married and had you. Of course I knew you'd be the same, just as strange, just as – abnormal – and then, if you please, she went and got herself blown up and then we were stuck with you! You have been nothing but an ungrateful waste of space and hopefully, if karma even exists, you would meet the same sticky end as her! Oh, but of course it didn't end there! You then got yourself bitten by a werewolf while we were shopping in London. Ever since that day, you have attracted rumors about our family when you fell ill. Do you know how many of our neighbors thought we had underfed you? You lost weight after each month, so of course that made everyone talk! I couldn't look Mrs. Polkiss in the face for weeks because of you!" She shouted this last word, hoping to make an effect on the listeners in the room.
Harry had gone white with anger. As soon as he found his voice, he bellowed, "Blown up? You told me they died in a car crash!"
"CAR CRASH!" roared Hagrid, jumping to his feet, shaking with fury. "How could a car crash kill Lily an' James Potter? It's an outrage! A scandal! Harry Potter not even knowin' his own legacy when every kid in the Wizarding world grew up knowing his name!"
"But why? What happened?" asked Harry. He seemed to be confused about the entire situation.
Hagrid calmed down and his expression flashed from anger to anxiety.
"I wasn't expectin' this," muttered Hagrid. "I had no idea, when Dumbledore informed me, that you would be so clueless about your identity. But I have ter tell yeh – yeh can't go off ter Hogwarts not knowin'"
He shot a dirty look at the Dursleys, who continued to cower in the corner. Dudley had his Smelting stick raised in defense.
"Put that down. 'Snot like it's gonna protect you from nothin'," said Hagrid. "Well, I'll tell yeh everythin' the best I can – mind, I can't tell yeh everythin', Dumbledore doesn't share everything he knows. . . ."
He sat down and gazed at the fire intently, as though he was expecting something to pop out of it. After a few seconds, he then said, "It begins, I suppose with – with a person called – but it's incredible yeh don't know his name. Everyone in our world knows –"
"Who?"
"Well – I don' like sayin' the name if I can help it. No one does."
"Why not?"
"Gulpin' gargoyles, Harry, people are still scared. They're still goin' 'round, trying to catch his old followers. Thanks to him, werewolves are no longer trusted in the Wizarding –" Hagrid cut off. He suddenly looked scared. "Harry, werewolves are considered dangerous by almost everyone in the Wizarding world. They always have been. The fact is, they kill even though they have no control over their actions during full moon. And it doesn't help that berks like Fenrir Greyback are runnin' around, bitin' kids left an' right, either.
"Anyway, see, there was this wizard who went . . . bad. As bad you can go. Worse, Worse than worse. His name was . . ."
Hagrid gulped, but no words came out.
"Could you write it down?" Harry suggested.
"Nah – can't spell it. All right . . . His name was Lord Voldemort." Hagrid shuddered. "Please don't make me say it again. Anyway this – this wizard, about twenty years ago now, started lookin' fer followers. Got 'em, too – some were afraid, some just wanted a bit o' his power, 'cause he was getting' himself power, all right. Dark days, Harry. Didn't know who ter trust. You didn't dare get friendly with strange wizards or witches . . . terrible things happened.
"He used werewolves to attack those who didn't support his ideals. Fenrir Greyback was the main one. He bit several children, includin'you, Harry. Although his intentions for bitin' you were differen', seein' as yer famous and all," Hagrid said with the faint traces of a sad smile.
"On'y thing that was standin' against him was Hogwarts. Reckon Dumbledore's the only one You-Know-Who was afraid of. Didn't dare try takin' the school, not jus' then, anyway.
"Now yer mum an' dad were as good a witch an' wizard as I ever knew. Head boy an' girl at Hogwarts in their day! Suppose the mystery is why You-Know-Who never tried to get 'em on his side before . . . probably knew they were too close ter Dumbledore ter want anythin' ter do with the Dark Side.
"Maybe he thought he could persuade 'em . . . maybe he thought he wanted 'em outta the way. All anyone knows is, You-Know-Who wanted ter kill you, Harry. I mean, most everyone knows that he marched up to yer house, presumably alone, an' – an' –"
Hagrid suddenly pulled out a very dirty, spotted handkerchief and blew his nose with a sound like a foghorn, drawing scandalized looks from Aunt Petunia.
"Sorry," Hagrid apologized. "But it's that sad – knew yer mum an' dad an' nicer people yeh couldn't find – anyway . . ." Hagrid drew himself back to an upright position, his eyes still watery.
"You-Know-Who killed 'em himself. An' then – an' this is the real mist'ry of the thing – he tried to kill you too. He wanted ter make a clean job of it, I expect. Or, maybe, he just killed without remorse then. But, for some reason, he couldn't do it. Never wondered how you got that scar on your forehead? That is a cursed scar, just like the one on your shoulder. He tried ter kill yeh, but he couldn't do it. That's why yer famous, Harry. No one lived after he decided ter kill 'em. You're the only survivor of the dreaded Killing Curse: Avada Kedavra."
Harry could see, as Hagrid was explaining this, a flash of green light in his mind's eye. It was clearer than it had ever been before. Then, Harry had visions of being chased through the hotel parking lot many years ago, only to end up being bitten by his pursuer. As these visions played through Harry's mind, he could hear a cold, cruel laugh sounding in the background.
Hagrid was watching him sadly.
"Unfortunately I had to take yeh to this lot after I took you out of the ruins –"
"Rubbish!" shouted Uncle Vernon. Harry jumped in surprise. He had almost forgotten the Dursleys were there. Uncle Vernon had seemed to gain back his courage. He was glaring at Hagrid with his teeth grinding madly and his fists were clenched.
"Now you listen here boy," he snarled, "I accept that there's something strange about you. We've had to keep your condition quiet for years! As if a regular beating would have done it. We should have bludgeoned you until your ears started to bleed. We were too damn soft for our own good!" At that, Uncle Vernon had taken Dudley's Smelting stick and had thrown it at Harry, hitting him squarely on the nose. Hagrid had risen from his seat.
"If you do that again Dursley," Hagrid said fiercely, holding out his pink umbrella like a javelin, "you'll wish you hadn't been born . . ."
In danger of being speared on the end of an umbrella by a bearded giant, Uncle Vernon deflated and withdrew back into the corner with Aunt Petunia and Dudley.
"That's better," said Hagrid, breathing heavily and sitting back down on the sofa, which now sagged all the way down to the floor.
Harry, however, was still bursting with unanswered questions.
"But what happened to Vol-, I'm sorry – I mean, You-Know-Who?"
"That's a good question, Harry. He vanished. He hasn't been seen for years since the night he tried to kill you. That makes yeh even more famous. His power was rapidly rising throughout the years, so – why did he go?"
"Some say he died. Codswallop, in my opinion. I dunno if he had enough human left in him to die. Some say he's still out there, bidin' his time, like. But I don't believe it. People on his side came back ter ours. Some of 'em came outta kinda trances. Don' reckon they coulda done if he was comin' back.
"Some of his followers are still active. However they perform acts for their own selfish need, nowadays. . . ." Hagrid sighed.
"You mean like what this . . . Greyback fellow did to me?" asked Harry.
"Yeah," answered Hagrid. "I don't understand why he didn't grab you afterwards though. That's what he usually does. . . . Not the I'm complainin', o' course. You wouldn' be sittin' here if he had grabbed yeh.
"And now . . . it's time for shut-eye," Hagrid said, standing up. He walked over to the Dursleys, picked them up, and placed them on the bed.
Uncle Vernon, however, shouted, "I AM NOT PAYING SOME CRACKPOT OLD FOOL TO TEACH HIM MAGIC TRICKS!"
This time, he had gone too far. Hagrid spun around on his heel, pointing his umbrella at Uncle Vernon's nose.
"NEVER –" he thundered, "—INSULT – ALBUS – DUMBLEDORE – IN – FRONT – OF – ME!"
He brought the umbrella down on Dudley. There was a flash of violet light, a squeal, and Dudley was seen holding his hands over the rear of his trousers, screaming in pain. Harry looked when Dudley had turned around, holding his hands over his face. Harry could see a pig's tail curling out of a hole that it had poked in Dudley's trousers.
Uncle Vernon yelled in fury. He slammed the door behind Hagrid after casting a terrified look towards him. Hagrid looked slightly abashed, stroking his beard and gazing down at his umbrella.
"I shouldn't have done that," he said, his voice full of regret.
"What are you talking about? That was brilliant!" said a thoroughly excited Harry. "To tell the truth, he's had it coming."
"Yes, well," began Hagrid, glancing at the closed door, "I'm not really allowed to do magic under normal circumstances. See, I meant to turn him into a pig, but I have to work hard just to get an Engorgement Charm out nowadays. Although, he might have been too much of a pig to start with, so there wasn't much ter do with.
"I was only allowed ter do a little bit ter follow yeh an' get yer letters to yeh an' stuff – one o' the reasons I was so eager to accept the task," said Hagrid.
"Why aren't you allowed to do magic?" asked Harry.
"Oh, well – I was at Hogwarts meself, but I – er – got expelled, ter tell yeh the truth. In my third year. The snapped me wand in half an' everythin'. Dumbledore helped me stay on as gamekeeper. O' course Dippet didn't wan' me ter stay, but Dumbledore insisted. An' Dippet always trusted Dumbledore, jus' like almost everybody else does," said Hagrid, swallowing. "Look Harry, it's a painful subject and I'd appreciate it if yeh could hold the questions."
"Oh, I understand," said Harry, feeling guilty about even asking the question. "Sorry, but why were you expelled?"
"It's gettin' late and we've got lots ter do tomorrow," said Hagrid, apparently turning a deaf ear to the question. "Gotta go ter London to register you, then we've got ter get up ter Diagon Alley to get all yer books an' that."
He tossed his large coat at Harry.
"You can keep yourself warm under that," said Hagrid. "I hope you don't mind if it wriggles a bit. I think that I've still got a couple o' dormice in the pockets." With that, Hagrid extinguished the glowing fire, leaving Harry to lie awake in a shroud of unfeeling darkness.
Review Section
SFW – Okay, here's the next one? (XD)
Nocturnal007 – I saw it and I thought it was pretty good. I haven't seen such an interesting view into Cedric Diggory's home life before.
FantasyFreak4Life – Yeah, it is great, isn't it?
WolfbainKohaku – Yeah, that would be a nasty thought. The blood protection placed on Harry would have failed if he had been away from the Dursleys, unfortunately. So, yeah. . . .
Moonblaze Starfire – Yes, he actually was Remus Lupin. Harry could just vaguely recognize him.
Kuramasgal – Yeah, thanks for understanding.
Well, since marching season has already started, I probably won't be able to update as often. I'll try to get at least a paragraph or so done each night. That is why I put two chapters into one. Until next update . . .
Signing off.
