Harry Potter blinked and blinked again. "Happy birthday," Hagrid had said. And Harry Potter, the poor orphan boy, found himself presented with an owl. As a pet - and a familiar (great, yet more terms that he didn't know what to do with). Harry had known that Hagrid was a bit of a dull knife, but this was getting ridiculous. How in the world was he supposed to keep an owl at the Dursleys? Harry found himself wondering if he could just set the bird free, or something. After all, if it was clever enough to come back - well, maybe he'd love it then, as the old saying went. If you love something, set it free...
Harry went through the rest of the shopping without incident, although his stop in the bookstore became more lengthy than Hagrid had expected, and resulted in enough books that even Hagrid had trouble lifting them all. Well and good, Harry thought, if I can't have a trustworthy narrator, I'll take them all. Maybe between all of them he'd come up with a decent reconstruction of what in the blue blazes was going on with the Wizarding World. Mostly histories, some fiction, a few primers on the world itself (meant for muggleborns), and of course the first year textbooks. Harry was already plotting how to wrangle more advanced textbooks out of older students (plans were decent fun even if he decided not to go), but he figured he'd have his hands full trying to fit a full year's worth of study into one month.
Hagrid walked Harry to his door, setting him down outside as Harry hurriedly shooed the imposing figure away. He didn't need his Aunt or Uncle taking offense to yet more strangeness. Taking a deep breath and schooling his face to impassivity, Harry picked up the side of his chest and knocked on the door. Aunt Petunia answered, for once smiling at him. "Well, what are you doing out there? You can fix lunch while I watch the tellie." Harry didn't speak, but looked significantly at the chest beside him.
"Oh, your trunk?" Aunt Petunia said, calling out to her son, "Dudley!" He came down the stairs with a gallumphing gait, vibrating the bannister like an earthshake.
"Yes, Mum?" He said, paling visibly when he looked at Harry, before grinning maniacally, "Oh! Harry's back!" in a tone that Harry could just tell that he'd be in for it, once Aunt Petunia wasn't looking.
"Prove to me how big and strong you are - move this to the Cupboard under the stairs. It should just fit." Aunt Petunia said, and for once, Dudley didn't complain. He flexed his arms - eyes glittering meanly at Harry, and lifted the trunk (he really was quite strong).
Harry quickly moved inside, starting a bit of oil in the pan for lunch, before rifling through the fridge, looking for - there! some chipped beef! Shit on a Shingle it was today. Harry always quite liked the dish, and not simply because of the name. Harry was bending down to start the oven, when Aunt Petunia (who had quietly stepped into the kitchen) said his name, softly with a little lilt, "Harry." Harry had straightened at this, bumping his head into the exhaust fan (luckily he wasn't bleeding - this time). He turned to Aunt Petunia, his manner indicating interested, respectful silence. "I suspect you have some questions."
Harry shook his head, quickly, saying, "Not yet."
Aunt Petunia tilted her head sideways, for a long moment, before nodding, "When you do..." And that was the most profound conversation Harry Potter had ever had with his Aunt.
[a/n: Write a review! Do you want me to get rid of his owl? Should he set it free? (right now it's in his trunk, and hooting rather balefully)]