AN:

To my surprise I've decided to continue this story. I finally had some ideas that would give the story more definition going forward without completely retconning the first chapter.

I wanted to apologize for the inaccuracy in any future use of BSL. As I don't know sign language despite being very deaf, I don't know the grammar rules for it, so use of it will be structured as a spoken language would, rather than a signed language. That being said, I'm going to be challenging myself by trying to keep spoken dialogue to a minimum throughout the story.

o-o-o-o

The forbidden forest, while foreboding in its own right, was not terribly dangerous on its outskirts. While it became thick, murky, and undeniably risky rather quickly, there were certain spots on the outskirts that were clear and bright enough to be welcoming to a 10 year old, but still affording a certain amount of privacy.

One such spot, Harry's current favorite, was out on the far south-east side of the grounds, opposite the longest portion of the Black Lake. Here, the trees were spread thin, and the ground was thick and rich with grass and flowers, most unrecognizable and of unusual shades and shapes, but each beautiful in their own distinct manner. It was July 30th and it was balmy for Scotland, breezy but slow and gentle. The unusual flowers swayed in unusual, slightly rhythmic ways, almost like they were dancing in the soft sunlight.

Harry sat in his preferred comfy spot, one of many against his preferred rock, and sketched the flowers. Later he would compare the sketches to those in the neatly illustrated books in the library.

He was bored more often than not, and for once he was in a place where he could actually sate his curiosity, free from distractions, free from hindrances. Not to say that Hogwarts was perfect, or that he got along with it perfectly, but to be perfectly honest, he found happiness easier to achieve here than anywhere before.

With such a thought, he remembered the cucumber and cream cheese sandwich the elves had made for his picnic, and eagerly took as large a bite as his small mouth could handle. A bit of honey as well. Chewing noisily, he returned to his sketching, wiping off the stray crumb from where it had fallen on his notepad.

The castle was large, and for the most part empty. Only a few of the professors stayed for the summer, with the rest either traveling, visiting family, or taking sabbatical. Those who did remain were of a similar mindset to Harry himself, preferring to stay in their own company. Harry had spotted the potions master once or twice while exploring the dungeons. The fumes from his experiments tended to get stuck in the poorly ventilated castle, and while curiosity inducing, were not enough to warrant actually approaching the man creating said potions. Instead, books regarding the matter tended towards a preferred temperament.

People were still not Harry's strong suit. It seemed that their words slipped from his ears as easy as water. He did not miss them, nor he was overly interested in why they were no longer there for him. Harry was a curious child, but often we are least curious about ourselves, choosing to instead continue living the same as one always does, with one day at a time, and the days were plenty long.

Harry took another bite out of the sandwich. He liked the crunchiness of the cucumber, and he hoped to one day find a way to repay the house elves for all of their kindness.

It was, however, with the thought of kindness, that he began the first few lines of that day's report. While Headmaster Dumbledore might not have time every day for him, he still wanted to know about how Harry was getting on, his exchange for letting Harry live at Hogwarts in the summer, at least until other, more suitable, arrangements could be made. Headmaster Dumbledore was all too aware that Harry was not likely to fit in with other children due to his peculiar deafness, his isolationism, and his ability to do harm.

The white rings that had brought such a violent end to his time at the Dursleys had not gone away. They barely attempted to hide themselves, in fact. Where before 6 rings had gone down his arm like 6 floating bracelets, they stood now under his skin as some sort of shifting tattoo. The rings wandered his body in his boredom, looking almost like large cheerios, floating against the milkiness of his skin, although it was beginning to pick up the slightest of tans. Just like Harry, the rings pushed back attempts to intrude upon his solitude, with the slightest touch being returned by a nasty shock. Kids, inquisitive as they are, tend to be rather free with their touch, and Headmaster Dumbledore was sure that, until Harry could control himself, placing him among other children was sure to cause trouble, in one form or another, and for all involved.

The report for today featured presses and sketches of three new plants that Harry recognized from his compendium on magical fauna. The third was particularly curious, as it had very recently sprouted up in the meadow and was spreading quickly. A lovely shade of deep violet, Harry's sketch of it was attached on a separate page.

As the hours dripped by, and the sun came lower, Harry began to pack up, setting his notepads and pencils neatly into the compartments of his tote-bag. As he withdrew his hand, the inside of the pack reshaped itself so that each item was held snugly, not to jostle around in the deceptively large inside of his bag.

Right as he began to leave, he saw a verdant green snake slither away from a spot on the rock right above where his head had just been. Smiling and thinking of the snake sharing the sunlight with him, he finished packing up and exited the clearing.

With his pack slung over his shoulder, Harry made his way back to the castle entrance, trotting off on long green grass, and around the lake, glittering in the mid-evening sun.

The wind began to pick up, cool air giving Harry motivation and energy to his movements.

o-o-o-o

Harry tickled the pear, and darted past the giggling painting of the fruit bowl into the kitchens.

The house elves of Hogwarts were always dreadfully bored in the summer, with little to do to prepare even with the Hogwarts school term quickly approaching. As such, on Harry's entrance the kitchen burst into a controlled but joyful hubbub, and with little other prompting, immediately set upon him a hearty bowl of stew, a glass of warm, fizzy apple juice, some freshly baked bread, and some butter. Harry ate with gusto as he always did when given the elves cooking, kind and terrific cooks they were. To them, Harry's deafness meant little, after all, he enjoyed their cooking, he let them clean up after him, and despite not speaking, always managed to be polite and proper. Little else mattered to a house elf.

Harry finished the stew and the bread quickly, and sat about the kitchen, happily drinking his juice, and thinking of the flowers he saw in the meadow today.

The matter of the Dursleys was, for the apparent present, inconsequential. They were far away, with the specificity of their distance being unknown, but presumed to be large by Harry's still developing mind. Hogwarts was large, full of secrets, and welcomed his exploration of them, given proper care and caution. That being said, he knew he couldn't remain here forever.

The fact of the matter was that Hogwarts was a school. It was a school for children with their full range of hearing, and its Professors did not have the experience or knowledge to adjust their entire curriculum to a single student. In addition, the full nature of Harry's disability was currently unquantifiable. Although sometimes it seemed as if he could hear just as well as anyone, most often he was unresponsive to words alone. Headmaster Dumbledore had a theory that statements of alarm or warning could cut through, as they did when Harry had first tried to wander off into the Forbidden Forest.

While all that was explained to Harry in his written correspondence with the Headmaster, the thing that Harry really took away was that his situation was different, because he was different, and so he needed a different education. He was, as the Dursleys repeatedly informed him, weird. Among the weird, he still felt weird.

With Hogwarts not a suitable long-term solution, the Headmaster had told him that he would be looking for other arrangements, what those arrangements might be, however, were still a mystery.

With the last few drops of his apple juice gone, Harry plopped off his stool and slowly, being rather full, he tapped on the lid of a barrel in the back of the kitchen. It swung open and he crawled through into the Hufflepuff common room. It was just warm enough here to make him even more drowsy, and he made his way to the room they had given him, fit with a golden orange carpet that comforted his now bare feet. He dropped off his daily report for the Headmaster on the large wooden desk by the door, and, despite how tired he was, neatly stacked his books from his book bag, bottled and stored his newly picked fauna, and placed his pencils and loose paper in the center of his desk. Finally he let himself collapse in his large, comfortable bed, briefly registering that when he woke up, it would be his 11th birthday.

o-o-o-o

Harry was woken by the unique combination of the sun rising into his eyes from his low-placed window, which was opened sometime in the early morning, judging by the warmth of his room, and by the rustling of feathers. Sitting on the windowsill was a snowy-white owl, and sitting on Harry's desk were two letters, the first of which he opened quickly with the energy that youth gives in the morning.

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.

Due to your unique situation, also enclosed is a personal letter from the Headmaster with certain details concerning your education.

Yours Sincerely,
Minerva McGonagall
Deputy Headmistress

Behind that, lay the other letter.

Dear Harry,

I do not doubt that the above letter might be a tad confounding, given our previous correspondence indicating the low likelihood of Hogwarts being equipped to give you the best quality education possible. However, recently, I have had the most marvelous idea!

Should you choose to accept, I would like you to be the first to enroll in a new, Hogwarts-based self-study program, While the environment of Hogwarts may not fit your needs, the curriculum still might, and many of the professors on staff have already volunteered to guide your study through lesson plans and active correspondence. In addition, I have been personally searching for a private tutor capable of aiding you and have several promising candidates in mind. Attached below are their names such that you might research them yourself. In addition to this, I would very much like to continue our letters and meetings.

I strongly encourage you to take this opportunity, Harry. Your situation is not unique, but it could provide you with unique opportunities, should you choose to discover them and take them. I know you will succeed.

P,S, The beautiful snowy-white owl on the windowsill is a gift from our groundskeeper Hagrid, who hopes you come around again for tea, and hopes that she proves to be a good companion.

Yours Sincerely,
Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore
Headmaster of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry

And finally, tucked behind the two letters was a small scrap of parchment with four names on it.

Miranda Goshawk
Blodwyn Bludd
Donaghan Tremlett
Newton Scamander

Harry only recognized the last name from his text on magical animals, a favorite of his that he often consulted regarding creatures that lived in and around the edges of the Forest. However, he trusted the Headmaster, and he trusted in the fact that any instruction to do with magic is better than nothing. As such, he began to write back his acceptance, dipping his quill in the ink-well on his desk, and hoping not to overly smudge the letters.