Author's Note 1: Sorry it's a week late folks, but the universe decided to knock my on my ass and kick me in the teeth while I was down so I haven't had as much time to write as I would have liked. Double inner ear infection with vertigo, followed by an exam at school, followed by getting sick again doesn't inspire me to do much more than wish I could curl up in a ball and tell the world to leave me alone for a while.

Author's Note 2: This crazy site keeps eating my line breaks every time I hit save. If you have any difficulty reading this chapter please try over at Archive of Our Own instead. It's under the same title but I go by KageKitsune13.

Still irate from his fun being cut short at Plucky Pennywhistle's Dudley was unbearable in the weeks following his birthday. And to make matters worse, for Harry at least, Dudley had made sure that his cousin knew exactly who he blamed for having to leave the Pizza Playhouse early by getting his gang involved in trying to pound the point home. In addition to Piers, there was Malcolm, Dennis, and Gordon, all of whom attended St. Gorgory's Primary School with Dudley. They were all rather large and stupid boys, but as Dudley was the largest and stupidest of the lot, he was their leader – it was social Darwinism at its finest.

And so, Dudley had taken to inviting his gang around to the house every single day for a bit of Harry Hunting, which involved the lot of them trying to corner Harry and pound on him as much as possible.

Fea, for all that she was supposed to be his bodyguard, was no help. In fact, according to her it was all good practice for facing multiple opponents.

"Yeah, but I'm allowed to kill the Dead," Harry had informed her grumpily after a morning spend hiding from his cousin's gang under the hydrangea in the front garden. Never mind that if he were to give his aunt and uncle's precious Duddykins so much as a bruise there would be hell to pay.

"Exactly what make it such good practice," Fea croaked smugly. "It's always more difficult to restrain and disarm without doing it literally."

Harry received a brief reprieve towards the end of July when Aunt Petunia took Dudley to London to buy his uniform and supplies for he began at his new school in September. Dudley had been accepted at Uncle Vernon's old private school, Smeltings. Piers Polkiss was going there too and so he and his mother had accompanied the Dursleys to London as well. Harry, meanwhile, had been left at Mrs. Figg's.

Oddly enough, Mrs. Figg wasn't as bad as she usually was. Sure, her house still smelled of boiling cabbage and too many cats (soon to be even more cats if the rounded belly of Snowy was any indication), but she didn't seem as keen to drone on about them as she usually was. Apparently, as Harry soon discovered, this was on account of the fact that she had broken her leg tripping over one of them. He had a feeling that the culprit was the large silver tabby, Fiddlesticks, given the way that the tomcat was sheepishly following his mistress from room to room.

For the duration of his stay, Harry found himself pressganged into helping Mrs. Figg around the house with a few things that she couldn't manage while toddling about on her crutches. Mostly it was just a bit of tidying up and making sure that the upstairs rooms hadn't gone to rack and ruin over the past couple of weeks since Mrs. Figg hadn't been able to manage the stairs.

"They asked me at the hospital if I wanted one of those motorized chair lifts put in, but I declined," Mrs. Figg informed him over a lunch of fish-finger sandwiches. "I didn't see the point when I'll be back to business as usual soon enough."

That evening, once all of the family was back a number four, Harry had to watch his cousin parading around the living room in his brand-new uniform while Aunt Petunia took photo after photo. It was quite a sight to say the least as Smeltings' boys wore maroon tailcoats, orange knickerbockers, and flat straw hats called boaters. They also carried knobbly sticks, which Uncle Vernon informed Dudley were used for hitting each other while the teachers weren't looking. Supposedly this was good training for later in life.

The sight of Dudley in his new knickerbockers seemed to be stirring up the old pride of his alma mater in Uncle Vernon as he gruffly informed them all that seeing his son wear the old school uniform was the proudest moment in his life. Even Aunt Petunia had to set her camera aside to dab at the tears streaming from her eyes.

"I just can't believe it's my Ickle Dudleykins looking so handsome and grown-up," she croaked through her handkerchief. "It's all so sudden."

Harry on the other hand found himself hoping that the Hogwarts uniform wouldn't be quite so … colorful….

The next morning the kitchen was filled with the pungent, fishy smell of kippers when Harry and Fea came in from the back garden for breakfast. Harry was dressed in a pair of sweats and a t-shirt with a wooden practice sword slung over his shoulder while Fea followed along behind him in the form of a large, wolfish black dog.

She had been putting him through his paces on how to defend himself against the Dead that didn't posse a humanoid form. First by dive-bombing him as a raven to simulate how a Gore Crow might attack. Then she'd harried him as a wolf-dog; nipping him with her teeth whenever he wasn't able to properly block her lunge with his practice sword. In the end they were both left panting and bruised, but both in far better shape than if he had been using life steel or she had been an actual Burghest with bone shard teeth intent on ripping out his throat.

"Oh, we haven't had any fish since we got here," said Fea, shrinking as she shifted form to that of a house-cat and licking her chops.

"That's because neither Vernon nor Dudley particularly like kippers," Aunt Petunia remarked, plating the eggs she had just finished frying. "But once every now and again won't kill them. Your dish is over in the corner, by the way."

For once Fea didn't grumble over the fact that she was being made to eat out of a bowel like a common pet as she tucked into her breakfast. A nearly unprecedented occasion since she always had something to say about Uncle Vernon's rule banning those without opposable thumbs from eating at the table. A rule that always went out the window whenever his sister was visiting with one of her horrible dogs.

"And you, wash up while I go and get your uncle and cousin," Aunt Petunia barked, taking in Harry's sweaty and dirty appearance. "And give me that," she added, seizing the practice sword. "The last thing I need is Dudley seeing this and getting ideas," she muttered darkly.

Harry couldn't blame her for wishing to keep the practice sword out of Dudley's sight. His cousin was bad enough banging about with his Smelting sick, which he now carried everywhere, without giving the other boy a weapon with a bit more reach.

He had just finished up washing his hands and face at the sink when his relatives arrived in the kitchen. Both Dudley and Uncle Vernon had their noses wrinkled up even more piggishly than usual from the smell of the kippers.

Uncle Vernon eyed his plate dubiously, but said nothing as he picked up his newspaper and turn his attention to it instead. Dudley, however, didn't seem as willing to let the matter go.

"Mum, why did you fix this," he whinged, whacking his Smelting stick on the table. "Can't you make us something else instead?"

The look Aunt Petunia fixed on her son was positively frosty. "Sorry, Sweetums, but you've got to eat what's in front of you this morning," she replied in an overly bright tone. "Besides fish is good for you. It's brain food, you know."

"But I don't want 'brain food'." Dudley grumbled, but, after another sharp look from his mother, he tucked in anyway. Apparently cottoning on to the fact that since it wasn't his 'special day' he wouldn't be getting his way.

A short while later they heard the click of the letter-box, then the flop of letters on the doormat.

"Get the post, son," ordered Uncle Vernon from behind his newspaper.

"I'm still eating," said Dudley through a mouthful of egg. "Make Harry get it"

"Get the post, Harry," said Uncle Vernon, still not looking up from his paper at the same time Aunt Petunia said, "Don't talk with your mouth full, Dudley."

"Okay," said Harry, who had been looking for an excuse to leave the table early anyway.

There were three things on the Dursleys' doormat when Harry went to see what the postman had delivered: a postcard from Marge Dursley showcasing the "Eight Wonders of the Isle of Wight", a brown envelope that looked like a bill, and – a letter for Harry.

Is this it? Is it finally here, Harry wondered, his heart pounding like a base drum in his chest as he picked up the letter addressed to him so plainly in glittering emerald-green ink that they could be no mistake:

Mr. H. Potter

The Spare Bedroom

4 Privet Drive

Litte Whinging

Surrey

Furthermore, as with all wizarding correspondence, there was no stamp and the envelope was made of yellowish parchment.

As he turned the envelope over any doubt that this could be his Hogwarts letter was erased from his mind at the sight of the coat of arms that had been pressed into the purple wax that sealed the envelope: a lion, an eagle, a badger, and a snake surrounding the letter H with 'Draco dormiens nunquam titillandus' in minute script beneath it.

"Oi, boy, hurry up!" Uncle Vernon shouted from the kitchen. "What are you doing? Checking for letter bombs?"

While Uncle Vernon laughed at his own joke, Harry decided it was best to follow the Hogwarts motto and not tickle, or in this case annoy, the sleeping dragon and headed back into the kitchen with the post.

Once there he handed Uncle Vernon the bill and the postcard, then sat down and began to gently pry up the wax seal so that it wouldn't break as his opened his letter – he intended to keep this letter as a memento.

Uncle Vernon was less careful with his post. He had ripped open the bill, snorted in disgust at what he'd found inside, then cast it aside and turned his attention to the postcard from his sister.

"Marge is ill," he informed Aunt Petunia. "Ate a funny whelk she thinks…."

"Mum! Dad!" Dudley interrupted. "Harry's got something!"

Harry had been on the point of unfolding his letter, which was written on the same heavy parchment as the envelope, when he found himself empty handed as Uncle Vernon snatched it from his grasp.

"That's mine!" Harry snarled, trying to snatch it back.

"Oh really," Uncle Vernon sneered doubtfully, carelessly shaking the letter open with one hand. "Don't lie to me, boy. We all know that the only post you get is brought to you by that unnatural creature of your grandfather's and since it's here I doubt you've been getting anything from him. And there's no one else who'd write to you." He was proven wrong, however, when he finally glanced down at the letter.

Harry watched with ill-concealed pleasure as his uncle's face went from red to green faster than a set of traffic lights. And it didn't stop there, either. Within moments Uncle Vernon's face was the sickly grayish white of old porridge.

"P-P-Petunia!" he gasped, aghast.

Dudley, wishing to know what all the hullabaloo was about, tried to grab the letter to read it, but Uncle Vernon held it high out of his reach. He did, however, allow Aunt Petunia to take it when she extended her hand for the letter.

After reading the first line she rolled her eyes beseechingly towards the ceiling, refolded the letter and said, "Vernon why don't you take Dudley into the living room while Harry and I deal with this."

"B-But, Petunia!" cried Uncle Vernon, casting a jaundiced between the letter and Harry. "You're just going to give it to him!"

"Yes, Dear. Now take Dudley to the living room," she ordered.

Dudley, however, didn't seem willing to let the matter go without a fight. He tapped his father sharply on the head with his Smelting stick and said quite loudly, "I want to read that letter!"

"No, your mother's right, Dudley. Come with me into the living room while she deals with this," said Uncle Vernon rubbing the place on his head where Dudley had tapped him with the Smelting stick. "And you," he said, turning to scowl at Harry. "You're not to show your cousin that letter. I don't what him to be exposed to anymore of your unnaturalness."

Then he seized Dudley by the scruff of the neck and hauled him out of the kitchen. Slamming the door behind him as he went.

Harry could hear Dudley whacking at the walls with his Smelting stick and he pitched a fit about being denied something for probably the first time in his life.

"Here," said Aunt Petunia, shoving the letter into his hands.

There was an odd expression on her face: part fury and another unidentifiable emotion that Harry couldn't quite figure out. He tried for a moment, but the siren's song of the letter was too tantalizing to resist for long and he turned his attention to it instead. It 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 a place 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,

Deputy Headmistress

A warm fluttery feeling took up residence behind Harry's sternum at the words you have a place; it was confirmation that he really, truly was a wizard and that he would get to learn how to do magic.

But instead of saying any of this out loud, he said "I guess it's a good thing Grandad left Fea here to play owl since they want a response by my birthday?"

"And playing owl will be all I'm doing," Fea informed him, fluttering up from the floor and landing on the kitchen table, but Harry was ignoring her. He was busy extracting a second piece of parchment from the envelope that contained the list of supplies he'd need for the coming school year, which read:

HOGWARTS SCHOOL

of WITCHCRAFT and WIZARDRY

Uniform

First-year students will require:

Five shirts (white)

Five pair of slacks (black)

Three sets of plan work robes (black)

Three jumpers (grey)

One set of over-robes (tan) for Herbology

One necktie (black)

One plain pointed hat (black) for day wear

One pair of protective gloves (dragon hide or similar)

One winter cloak (black, silver fastenings)

One pair of shoes (black, leather or similar)

Please not that all pupils' clothes should carry name tags

Set Books

All students should have a copy of each of the following:

A History of Magic by Bathilda Bagshot

The Standard Book of Spells, Grade 1 by Miranda Goshawk

Magical Drafts and Potions by Arsenius Jigger

Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them by Newt Scamander

One Thousand Magical Herbs and Fungi by Phyllida Spore

A Beginners' Guide to Transfiguration by Emeric Switch

Exploring the Heavens by Estella Thoth

The Dark Forces: A Guide to Self-Protection by Quentin Trimble

Magical Theory by Adalbert Waffling

Other Equipment

1 wand

1 cauldron (pewter, standard size 2)

1 set glass or crystal phials

1 telescope

1 set brass scales

Students may also bring an owl OR a cat OR a toad.

PARENTS ARE REMINDED THAT FIRST YEARS ARE NOT ALLOWED THEIR OWN BROOMSTICKS

The fluttery feeling behind Harry's sternum faded a bit. He was pretty sure he could buy the non-wizardry part of the uniform in Little Whinging, but there was no way any muggle shop was going to carry dragon hide gloves.

"Um – Aunt Petunia – what am I going to do about the supply list?" he asked handing the piece of parchment over to her.

She looked it over then said, "Well, your uncle wouldn't stand for me to take you to London to buy spellbooks or a magic wand – never mind that I'm not even sure people like me can even get into the wizarding shopping district without help – so when you reply to your letter you'd best ask them to send a representative to escort you to pick up the things you'll need."

And so, on a piece of his aunt's stationary, Harry wrote his reply:

Dear Deputy Headmistress McGonagall,

I am writing to let you know that I am accepting my place at your school. However, at the moment I am staying with my aunt and uncle who are non-magical and I have no way go and purchase my school supplies.

My aunt says that Hogwarts often escorts Muggle-born students on their first trip to Diagon Alley in London and we were wondering if it would be possible for me to do the same?

Yours sincerely,

Harry Potter

He then rolled up his letter, tied it to Fea's scaly leg with a bit of twine, and opened the kitchen door so that she could be on her way.

After Uncle Vernon left for work Dudley spent the remainder of the day hounding Harry about who on earth would be writing to him.

"It was just my acceptance letter to secondary school," Harry finally admitted later that afternoon. "It's not a big deal," he added, not about to admit to his cousin just how important going to Hogwarts was to him.

Dudley was dumbfounded by such a simple answer.

"You mean they actually have schools for people like you?"

"Well they've got schools for people like you, so I don't see why they wouldn't be schools for everybody else," Harry remarked, then headed up to his room before Dudley could realize that he'd been insulted.

Fea didn't turn up with a reply from Hogwarts the next day, but the morning afterwards she woke Harry up by dropping a letter from Deputy Headmistress McGonagall on his head.

"I hope you're aware that it is over five hundred miles one way to Hogwarts Castle," she informed him from her perch atop the headboard. "If I were an owl I would be demanding so many treats right now."

"D'you want me to bring you breakfast so you don't have to eat out of the cat bowl in the kitchen?" he asked, breaking the wax seal on the envelope.

Fea cocked her feathery head to the side and stared at him ponderously with her pale grey eyes.

"It's a start," she conceded. "Now read your letter – quietly – while I take a nap. I was up all-night flying, you know."

While Fea settled in for her nap, Harry unfolded his letter and read:

Dear Mr. Potter,

Thank you for promptly informing me about this problem.

A representative from the school will come around to collect you from your relatives on the morning of July 31 and take you to buy your school supplies in London. Please be ready to go by no later than half past seven.

Sincerely,

Professor M. McGonagall

So I'll be going to Diagon Alley on my birthday, he thought, wondering if a week was enough time for his relatives to prepare themselves for the idea of a wizard coming to call.

The week following Harry's announcement that a representative from Hogwarts – or his new school (as Uncle Vernon had insisted any future reference to Hogwarts be made) – was tense to say the least. Uncle Vernon had been downright apoplectic when he'd learned that there would be a fully-grown wizard showing up at his home.

"What will the neighbors think seeing one of your lot turning up on our doorstep," he had been snarling all week. "I've seen the sort of stuff your lot wear. This person had better have the decency to wear some normal clothes!"

If he were honest, Harry had been a bit worried about this as well. Not because of what the Dursleys' neighbors might think, but because he was worried about how rude his uncle might be to someone who worked at his new school. He did not want his uncle ruining the person from Hogwarts's first impression of him.

He'd said as much when his aunt had allowed him to borrow her magic mirror to call his grandfather and tell him what all was going on.

"Harry it will be fine as long as you behave," Grandad informed him, his voice emerging from behind the glass of the little compact balanced on Harry's palm. "As long as you act like the sensible young man I know you are then I'm sure they won't notice that you have one relative acting like the worst sort of Muggle."

"I suppose," Harry sighed, still not completely put at ease. "By the way, how are things going in Germany," he asked, genuinely curious, but also wishing for a distraction from his own problems.

"Not so great," his grandad admitted, stroking his short-cropped beard. "I'm in Albanian now actually and the trail seems to have gone cold. The signs say that there is – or at least was – something Dead roaming these parts, but whatever it is seems to have disappeared."

"Does this mean you'll be home soon," Harry asked, a wide grin splitting across his face when his grandad nodded.

"I should be back sometime during the first week in August if I'm not delayed traveling through Yugoslavia," Grandad informed him. "You should get a room at the Leaky Cauldron when you go to Diagon Alley," he added. "We can meet up there when I'm back in the country."

Harry woke at five o'clock on his birthday and found himself far too excited and nervous to go back to sleep, so he decided to go ahead and get up. He took a slightly more thorough shower than usual and dressed in his best pair of jeans. He even briefly thought about attempting to tame his perpetually messy hair with a bit of Sleekeazy's, but changed his mind. Next, he double then triple checked that all of his belongings had been repacked into his trunk, made sure he had his Hogwarts letter and supply list tucked into one of his trouser pockets and the tiny golden key to his vault at the wizarding bank Gringotts tucked into the other, and then he set about pacing round and round the guestroom while he waited for the Dursleys to get up.

Two hours later, the other inhabitants of number four finally began to stir and Harry exited the guestroom with Fea riding along on his shoulder.

Breakfast was an oddly silent affair with Uncle Vernon fuming furiously behind his newspaper – he had taken the day off from work as he wasn't about to leave his wife and son at the mercy of some unknown freak. Aunt Petunia, meanwhile, was acting even more neurotic than usual as she spread perfectly even layers of jam across triangles of toast without eating any of them. Even Dudley seemed to have picked up on his parents' unease as he shoveled his way through his breakfast without a complaint.

"They will be driving, won't they?" Uncle Vernon barked across the table breaking the uneasy silence.

"Um," Harry began, then hesitated. The thought of how the Hogwarts representative would be getting to the Dursleys' hadn't even crossed his mind. But now that Uncle Vernon mentioned it he doubted that they would be arriving in something as ordinary as a car.

Harry wasn't even sure that all that many wizards had Muggle driving licenses. Not when there were so many ways of traveling by magic that were just faster. There were enchanted objects like portkeys and seven-league boots that could transport a person great distances in an instant, floo powder that allowed the user to travel from fireplace to fireplace along it was connected to the Floo Network, and flight, as long as the wizard was riding along on a broomstick, carpet, or beast. And then for older wizards who were of age there was Apparition, where a person just magicked themselves from placed to place why sheer concentration and magical know how alone.

"Maybe…," Harry hedged dubiously for no other reason than to keep the peace.

Uncle Vernon however seemed to see through his fib because gave a snort of disgust through his mustache and returned his beady eyes back to his paper.

At half past seven, Harry heavy trunk was brought down from the guestroom and placed in the hallway. While Harry busied himself attaching the little set of wheels to his truck that allowed it to be tipped up on one edge and moved about more easily the Dursley family had cloistered themselves in the living room.

In the days since Fea had brought Professor McGonagall's reply the living room of number four had gone from immaculate to positively sterile. The walls were still the same with their generic landscapes, one per wall, no more, no less, thank you very much. However, the mantel now only sported the formal portrait of the Dursleys flanked by silver candlesticks instead of its usual plethora photographs documenting Dudley's childhood from nappies until now. Then there was the fan of magazines on the coffee table spread just so with issues of The Economist, Country Life, National Geographic, and the like with Aunt Petunia's favorite celebrity rags suspiciously absent.

While Aunt Petunia compulsively straightened cushions, Uncle Vernon sat in his armchair now only pretending to read his paper. From his place on the sofa Harry could see that his eyes weren't moving and he felt fairly sure that his uncle was actually straining his ears for any sound that might indicate an approaching car. Dudley, on the other hand, had tuned everything out and was mindlessly punching buttons on his Gameboy as he played Dynablaster.

"They're late," Uncle Vernon growled at Harry the grandfather clock in the corner announced that it was now eight o'clock.

"Erm," said Harry nervously. "Maybe they've been delayed somehow – caught in traffic, or something…"

"Tch – no consideration at all," Uncle Vernon ranted. "That's if they're even coming. Probably mistaken the day so some such rot. I daresay your kind probably don't set much store by punctuality. Either that or they drive some tin-pot car that's broken d-"

Anything else he was about to say was cut off as the front door began to rattle in its frame from the force of a series of heavy-handed knocks.

Harry and the Dursleys went into the hallway. The light behind through the window on the door was completely blotted out by an enormous silhouette.

"Well, open the door, boy," Uncle Vernon ordered. He attempted to give Harry a shove in the direction of the door, but received a sharp peck on the hand by Fea for his trouble.

Standing on the other side of the door when Harry opened it was a colossal man who was at least twice as tall a normal person and at least three times as wide. His face, which was almost completely hidden by a long, shaggy man of hair and wild, tangle of beard, was ruddy and weathered as though he spent a lot of time out of doors. His clothes added to the look with the enormous leather boots that encased his feet and the moleskin overcoat that he wore overtop a pair of sturdy trousers. Both the overcoat and his waistcoat were covered with pockets – the contents of which Harry could only imagine.

"Hello there," said the giant, squeezing his way into the Dursleys' home, carefully stooping so that the top of his head just brushed the ceiling. His eyes, glittering like black beetle wings beneath all of his hair, looking at each one of them in turn until they finally landed on Harry.

"An' here's Harry!" he added, sounding incredibly fond. "A very happy birthday to yeh. I got summat fer yeh here – I mighta sat on it at some point, but I imagine it'll taste all right none the less."

From an inside pocket of his overcoat he pulled a slightly squashed pink box and placed it into Harry's hands. Harry opened it and found within a large, sticky chocolate cate with Happy Birthday Harry written on it in green icing.

"Baked it meself," proclaimed the giant proudly. "Letters an' all."

The giant's beetle black eyes were crinkled in a smile that Harry couldn't help but return.

"Thank you, Mister – erm." Harry began, only to trail off embarrassedly.

Instead of being insulted the giant merely chuckled.

"Sorry, I haven't introduced meself, have I. I am Rubeus Hagrid, Keeper of Keys and Grounds at Hogwarts. You can call me, Hagrid, everyone does – never mind the mister."

He held out an enormous hand and shook Harry's whole arm.

"Yeh're lookin' well, Harry," Hagrid went on. "O'course, las' time I saw you, you was only a baby. Yeh're ya dad's spitin' image, but yeh've got yer mum's eyes."

He gave a sudden sniff, his eyes going suspiciously damp. From one of his other pockets he pulled out a very dirty, spotted handkerchief and dabbed at his shining black eyes.

"Sorry," he said. "It's just that I knew yer mum an' dad, an' nicer people yeh couldn't find … Head girl an' Captain of the Quidditch team at Hogwarts in their day…. An' seein' em like I did that las' time…." He gave a full body shudder like an enormous dog trying to rid its coat of water. "I shouldn' mention it. Today's suppose ter be a happy day fer you."

"Y-you were there that night," Harry asked faintly, feeling oddly lightheaded all of a sudden.

Hagrid nodded head great shaggy head sadly.

"Yeah. I took yeh from the ruined house meself, on Dumbledore's orders. Then brought yeh here ter yer aunt an' uncle…"

"You're the one who left him here that night," Aunt Petunia snapped, coming out to stand in front of her husband and son. Her pale eyes were flashing furiously.

"O' course," said Hagrid, sounding rather confused about what might be the matter. "Dumbledore said it was the safest place for him –"

"Safe? Safe!" Aunt Petunia burst, seizing Harry by the scruff of the neck and jerking him back towards her. "He was near dead when I found him the next morning. Hypothermic from the rain. Not to mention the foul curse that had been left to fester in that horrible scar! If my father hadn't shown up when he did my nephew would most likely be dead!"

Hagrid appeared thunderstruck by Aunt Petunia's ranting, then his expression just became thunderous.

"Now, yeh listen here," he said, drawing a battered pink umbrella from within his coat. "Yeh've got it wrong, I tell yeh! Albus Dumbledore's a great man an' he'd never do anything ter endanger this boy!"

A series of multi-colored sparks shot from the tip of the umbrella causing Dudley to gasp and Uncle Vernon to make a funny rasping noise in fear, but Aunt Petunia stood firm.

"Ask your so-called 'great man' next time you see him," she challenged.

Hagrid seemed to swell with anger, "I'm warning you, Mrs. Dursley – don't insult Albus Dumbledore in front of me!"

Harry, worried that things were going to deteriorate to the point where someone was hexed or worse, burst in, "Um – Mr. Hagrid, sir – shouldn't we be going? It's – erm – quite a way to London and there's a lot to get on my supply list."

Thankfully, Hagrid took the out and the giant seemed to deflate.

"Yes, yes o' course," he said, returning his battered pink umbrella to one of his coat's inner pockets. "I'll – I'll be outside when yer ready." He squeezed himself back out the door of number four and stood waiting for Harry in the front garden.

When Harry went to follow him Aunt Petunia held him back with a firm hand upon his shoulder.

"Are you sure you want to go with him," she asked softly, her pale eyes staring into Harry brilliant green.

Touched by his aunt's rare show of concern Harry patted her boney hand with his own the moonstone in his ring glinting as he did so. "I'll be fine," he reassured her. "I'll have Fea with me after all."