Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter
Author's note: This general idea of this story is that horses replace magic (they're kind of the same thing, aren't they?) I plan to go through all the Harry Potter books in this fanfiction, trying to parallel the stories as well as possible. This is very AU, but I'm trying to stay close to character. I'm in quarantine right now, so I have more time to right and will try to update every few days.
Also, I changed the setting of Harry Potter to the South (mainly Tennessee and Georgia), mostly because I don't know much about the UK and I wanted to give Dumbledore a Southern accent. I'm not actually from the South, so feel free to correct me if I write something that ends up being completely stereotypical.
The filly's soft nose nuzzled against my cheeks as it reached over the fence, asking for treats. I picked up a handful of grass, feeling guilty that I didn't have anything to give the small palomino. When I told the Dursleys I was going for a walk, I tried to take along an apple for her, but Uncle Vernon checked my coat pockets before leaving.
"She's a pretty one, isn't she?" A voice said from behind me. I jumped and turned, seeing an old, wrinkled man with a long white beard standing behind me. He was wearing blue overalls with mud smears across them, and a tan cowboy hat with silver adornments.
"Yes, she is," I responded. The filly truly was, with a tan coat and white blaze. I had been watching her grow for a few months now, almost as soon as she was first released into the pasture. I longed to ride her as soon as she was old enough, but I knew that I would never be able to. The Dursleys would never allow it.
"Now let me get straight to the point, boy," the old man said, his face turning hard. "I've seen you out here a few times, and I know that sometimes you sneak into my fields." This was a fact, but I had been careful and generally made sure that no one was watching. My breath caught in my throat with fear of what the man might do to me. He had a kind face, but I had learned long ago to never trust a stranger.
"I'm so sorry, sir. I didn't think you would mind, and I just wanted to visit the horses." I used my best apology voice, the one I generally reserved for when the Dursley's were angry with me.
"No, no, I'm not mad," the man responded with his thick southern accent. I felt warm relief melt within me. "I know you don't hurt them, and they seem to enjoy your company. I was wondering if you ride."
"Oh, I don't ride," I said. "I just like lookin' at them."
"Really? Because from what I've seen, you have a gift," the man said. He stuck out his hand, "Albus Dumbledore. I own the farm."
"Oh, um, thank you. I'm Harry Potter," I carefully took his hand and shook it. I wondered what he could be talking about, gift-wise. All I had ever done was pet the horses.
"Well, I'll be damned," he said strangely.
"What?" I asked.
"Nothing," he responded quickly. "I want you to try riding one of my horses soon. I know a horseman when I see one, and although I don't know much of you, I have reason to believe that you could be a great rider."
"Really?" I asked. I don't think anyone had ever given me a chance like this, much less someone I had just met. "That would be amazing, Mr. Dumbledore! When should I come over?"
"Oh please, call me Al," the old man responded. "How about tomorrow? 'Bout noon good for you?"
"Yes, of course!" I said. I couldn't believe my dream of riding might happen. "Thank you!"
"No problem, son." Al smiled, and the filly nickered. "I'll see you tomorrow."
I watched Al walk off, still in shock. I turned to the filly, stroked her mane one last time, and then started jogging home. I had to be sure to finish my chores tonight so I could leave tomorrow.
I opened the wooden door when I got home and took off my light jacket. It was summer, so a heavier coat wasn't necessary.
I walked into the kitchen, saying, "Hello, Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon," as I went in.
"Harry!" Uncle Vernon said in his gruff voice. "Where have you been? Dudley has been starving for the past half hour!"
Dudley nodded his agreement from the couch, where he was stuffing his face with a bag of chips.
"I'm sorry, Uncle Vernon. I'll get to work right now," I said, bending down to grab a pot from the cupboard. I opened my recipe book and got to work.
All throughout dinner, while the Dursleys chatted about Dudley's upcoming birthday, all I could thing about was Al and the horse. I wondered who I'd ride, whether I would be on English or Western, if Al would give me a lesson.
The wait of the night and next morning were the most painstaking hours of my life. And I live with the Dursleys.
Finally, the time came where I could go visit Al. "I'm going for a walk," I told Aunt Petunia as I grabbed my hand-me-down sweatshirt.
"Wait a minute," Aunt Petunia said as I grabbed the doorknob. "I want you to make me some iced tea. The book club is coming over later, and you know how much they like it."
Let me say something. Everyone in the south love their iced tea. And women take great pride in their ability to make it, as well as their secret family recipes.
But my Aunt Petunia didn't grow up south. She grew up in Seattle with my mother, and never made a cup of iced tea in her life. But when she moved to Tennessee, she realized that everyone of her neighbors drank iced tea, and the highest classes made their iced tea with the freshest ingredients. So, she directed me to find the best iced tea recipe on the internet, and I'm the only one who knows how to make it. (She forbids me to print it out, in case one of the ladies find it.) The only issue is that it takes about an hour to finish.
"Aunt Petunia, can I please do it when I get back?" I asked pleadingly.
"Harry, do you know how important this book club is? It took me forever to get into it. I can't let the ladies down. Do you know how lucky you are that you live with us? I took you in after my dreaded sister died, and I didn't complain a bit. The least you could do is make me my iced tea."
It really did bug me when she talked about my mother like that, but I was too scared to ask her to stop. I knew that she wouldn't let me go without finishing this iced tea, so I got to mixing.
After I finally set the iced tea out in glasses, I rushed out the door without saying a word to Aunt Petunia. I was already almost an hour late to my first ride. What if Al had decided not to give me a chance because of my lack of punctuality? What if he already left the stables? I couldn't believe I might have lost my chance to ride just to make iced tea.
When I finally arrived at the stables, panting and out of breath, the only man there was very tall and wide with long, tangled brown hair falling around his shoulders. He was wearing a dusty plaid shirt and worn-out cowboy boots. I couldn't see Al anywhere, so I went up to the larger man.
"Excuse me," I asked politely. "Have you seen Al anywhere? He was supposed to give me a ride."
The large man's face broke into a smile. "So, you must be Harry, eh? I thought you would never show." He stuck out his hand. "I'm Hagrid. Al told me to get you set up on a horse."
Relief filled me. "Oh, thank you so much," I said, shaking Hagrid's giant hand. "I'm so sorry I'm late."
"Well, it's in the past now," he said, clapping me on the back. "Come on, let's get you set up."
Hagrid showed me the horse I was to ride- her name was Fang- and helped me tack up. Fang was a large, dark brown Clydesdale mix with a black mane. To my surprise, Hagrid pulled out an English saddle- I thought that I would be riding western, since I was in the south and all.
After Fang was tacked up, Hagrid led her to the dusty arena and up to the mounting block. He tightened the girth and pulled down the stirrups.
"Right then," he said, handing me the reins. "Climb on."
"Umm… Okay," I said, climbing up to the mounting block. For how long I had waited for a chance like this, I was mighty unsure.
I swung my leg onto Fang and got situated with my stirrups. I turned to Hagrid. "What now?" I asked. The horse just stood there.
"Ride her around. See what she's like. I'll come back in a bit." Hagrid turned and left, leaving me with no guide as to what I should do.
"Wait," I called out after he started to walk away, but he either didn't hear me or chose to ignore me. I turned to Fang. "We'll, I guess it's just you and me now," I said to the horse.
I had read a decent amount about horses from the books in my school library, and I once stole Dudley's copy of My Friend Flicka (he never even noticed it was gone), so I knew something about commands to make the horse listen. I gently kicked the mare with the heels of my tennis shoes, and she started a slow walk. I started to feel more comfortable on the horse, so decided to start trotting. I carefully kicked her harder until she began a bouncy gate, and automatically began to stand up and down with the horse's steps. I checked my diagonal a few times and tried to fix it when I could.
After some time, I noticed Hagrid and Al standing to the side of arena, watching me and quietly talking. I steered Fang towards them, still trotting, and stopped her right in front of them.
"Hello, Al," I said. "Thank you so much for letting me try riding."
"Oh, no problem," Al said. "Can you come down here? I want to talk to you. Hagrid will take care of Fang for you."
I secretly wished I could ride for longer, but Al and Hagrid had already given me so much, and I didn't want to seem impolite. I hopped down from the English saddle and approached Al. He led the way outside of the arena before starting to talk.
"Harry, how did your parents die?" he asked. I definitely wasn't expecting that question.
"My aunt and uncle told me that they died in a car accident," I responded automatically. "Wait, how did you know they died?"
Al stopped walking and turned towards me. "Harry, I knew your parents well. I taught them for years at my school. Your parents were murdered."
"What?" I asked. What could he have been talking about? "I don't think that's right."
"Harry, let me tell you a story." Al started. "I own a riding boarding school in Georgia. I find the best riders in the area- the ones who really have a sense for horses- and I offer them a chance at my school. Only the top riders know of this school. Your parents went there.
"James and Lily were always the best in class. They fell in love and had you. However, there was a dark murderer killing off many riders at that time. His name was Voldemort, and he was very evil. He would ride around on a midnight-black horse and kill both ponies and their riders.
"He came to your house one night, Harry, when you were just a baby. He killed both of your parents using his treasured silver dagger, but when he turned to you, he couldn't. All that was left was the scar on your forehead." I reached up to touch the zigzag scar on my head, under my bangs. "And then later that night, he disappeared. Nobody ever saw him again. We gave you to your aunt and uncle to raise but kept an eye on you.
"But Harry, horsemanship runs in blood. You are meant to be a master horseman- I can see it based on your first ride."
"But, Al- I don't understand. Your saying I'm meant to ride horses- that I have a talent? And my parents were murdered?" I couldn't believe any of this.
"I know it's a lot to take in, Harry," Al said. "But there's more."
I sighed. This day couldn't get any crazier.
"Remember that school I mentioned? Where your parents met?" I nodded. "I want you to go there. It's a boarding school called Hogwarts. I think you will find people like you there and come to your full potential as a equestrian. Hagrid will get you situated."
Umm… What? "I doubt my aunt and uncle will ever let me go," I said.
"You're actually technically in our care," Al said. "Your parents left you in the care of Hogwarts staff in the situation of their passing. I thought it would be better for you to grow up in a muggle household."
So, I didn't have to spend eleven horrid years of my life with the Dursleys? "What's a muggle?" I asked.
"Oh, that's what we call people who don't ride. Anyway, Hagrid will help you now." Hagrid put his giant hand on my shoulder, and I turned towards him. Before I could look back at Al, he was calling a white mare over and riding away.
Thank you for reading! It would make my day if you reviewed. Constructive criticism is always helpful!