A/N: Hey all, it's been a while. Yes it has. But I've dedicated today to updating ALL of my fanfics! Oh yes, this is happening. I know this is off to a slow start, we all know what happens in these chapters, but we've got to work up to that point where things start to change... lol It's coming soon, I promise. ;) But for now, please review, tell me what you like, what I should work on, and what you think will or should happen. I love to hear from you(: Enjoy!

Chapter Two

II

The Owls, the Island, and the Keeper of the Keys

The smell of half burnt bacon played in Harry's nose, making it itch and twitch. It wasn't his fault though, after all, he was only ten and he was cooking a very large amount of bacon for some very large people. The thin strips hissed and sizzled in the pan, cracking and popping here and there when it decided to ferociously spit oil at Harry's unprotected hands. Finally the eggs were done, the toast had popped, and the sausages and turned a nice golden brown and Harry was able to take all of the burning foods off the stove. As the small boy began to put plates down on the table, a click could be heard from the front door.

"Harry, get the mail." Aunt Petunia demanded, shoving Dudley into a seat that barely fit him.

As if he didn't already have enough to do... "Make Dudley do it!" He argued, setting Uncle Vernon's overloaded plate down in front of him. The man's moustache began to jerk in anticipation, as the smells of breakfast awakened his senses.

"Dudley," Uncle Vernon said, wanting everyone to quite down so he could eat and read his newspaper in peace. "Get the mail."

Dudley scowled at Harry and then put on his best whiney pig face and looked up at his mother. "Mummy, I'm hungry make Harry do it!"

As Uncle Vernon slapped down his half opened newspaper, his nephew rushed out of the room, suddenly very eager to collect the mail.

It had come through the letter box on the door as usual, and had landed in a messy pile on the floor. Envelopes of all shapes and colours lay scattered across the mat. As he began to sort through them, he was suddenly aware of one particular envelope, addressed to him! How very peculiar, he thought, that someone would write to him. The envelope was an old antique looking yellow, with a deep red wax stamp sealing it on the back.

Mr Harry Potter
Little Whining, England
4 Private Drive
the Cupboard under the Stairs

How very peculiar indeed, that someone would know that he slept in a cupboard! He was so struck by the strange letter that he hadn't even realized he'd walked back into the kitchen, and placed the rest of the mail down onto the table for Aunt Petunia to sort. Of course, his clumsiness gave him away as Dudley looked on in horror as his much smaller cousin began to tear open his letter.

"Dad! Dad look! Harry's got a letter!" The boy shouted, pointing an atrocious sausage finger at Harry's letter.

"Oh no, no he doesn't." Uncle Vernon said, face turning a darker shade of red than it usually was. He wobbled angrily to his feet and reached out his plump hand towards the letter.

Harry of course was much faster than his very round Uncle, and raced his way through the kitchen, into the hall, and into his cupboard before he could be caught. Unfortunately, his cozy little cupboard locked from the outside. Uncle Vernon had his arm inside the tiny room before Harry could so much as turn the slightly crumpled envelope over in his hand. "Oh no you don'!" The now purple faced man shouted, snatching away the envelope furiously. Grumbling, he retreated from the much too small space, and slammed the door shut, locking Harry in once more.

That wasn't the only time the strange letter arrived though. It appeared many more times after that, always being plopped onto the mat with the rest of the mail. Until one day that is, when the letters became much more fervent. It wasn't long before the whole family was finding them in all sorts of strange places! In the book shelves, inside uncracked eggs, on Uncle Vernon's car... It was as if by magic! But every time was the same. A miraculous letter would be found, and Uncle Vernon would tear it up and lock Harry in his room.

This continued for some time, until the letter sender seemed to become very cross. In fact, it seemed as if the letter sender was sending owls with the letters... It was very strange, and it must have been a very strange coincidence, but Harry was sure that for every letter that was sent to him, another owl found its way to Number Four Private Drive. Soon enough there were owls covering the house, the car, the lawn, the backyard, the fence, the road, the driveway! They were everywhere! Aunt Petunia refused to leave the house, and Uncle Vernon had a nasty time trying to get into his car to go to work every morning. He would shout and wave his arms and shoe the large birds for twenty minutes every morning until he could shift them over enough to open his door.

And the letters kept coming. Not through the mail box, as that had been shut up by the "handy skills" of Harry's uncle and not through the fireplace as they'd had that covered as well... Well, not until now of course. Now that the family was all sitting contently in the den, chewing on the snacks they were being served by their resident slave. It was a good day today. Today was a Sunday. And on Sundays, the post office did not deliver mail. It was regrettably so, that the post office was closed, but the... err... Owls were not. They had congregated outside again and were staring attentively inside the house with their round black eyes, watching, and waiting. And then it happened. A letter flew into the room, and brushed right under Uncle Vernon's nose. Everyone froze, looking around, not quite sure where that letter could have possibly come from. No one made move to grab the letter, all just sat and stared at each other, horrified. Another letter came. And then another. Suddenly a rumbling sound began and the room slowly began to panic.

"Mummy, what's going on?" Dudley cried, clutching onto his chair.

Letters began to pour into the room down the chimney, breaking through the letter box, coming in through window and every other little crevice they could find. In the chaos, Harry saw his chance and grabbed the first letter that came towards him, and he ran for his cupboard.

He was attacked though, by very large hands that grabbed him and the envelope he was holding. "No you don't!" Uncle Vernon shouted. "We're going away from here! Far away! Where they can't find us!" He had Harry by the hair, and quickly, they were all scrounging around. Vernon, running Harry out to be locked now inside the car, Aunt Petunia upstairs to pack various this and that, and Dudley to cry and run about in horror as the letters continued to pile in.

They drove for hours, long into the night and the next morning. They got a boat, and they took that boat far out to a small island with just enough room for a disheveled looking old shack.

Inside was rotting and worn, every inch of floor creaked under even the slightest footstep. A thick layer of dust coated the furniture, and the fireplace was soaked from rain pouring down the chimney. The whole place had acquired an old musty salty scent, a mixture of seaweed and mold. All in all, the place was homey. Harry's Aunt and Uncle had taken the bedroom upstairs, leaving Dudley the couch to rest on, and Harry, the floor. Not that he wasn't used to sleeping on uncomfortable surfaces (he'd had the same mattress since he was a baby, and it wasn't even new then!)

The little shack was cold at night, and it creaked all on its own. Harry was sure that soon enough though, the rain or whistling wind would put out the fire in the fire place, and he'd be left in darkness in the creep old place. He wasn't ready to sleep yet. It was 11:55 p.m, and he was drawing in the dust on the floor. He'd made a little cake shape with candles sticking out of it, with the words "Happy Birthday" scribbled inside it. In five minutes, Harry would turn eleven. 11:59 came, and Harry prepared himself. 12:00 a.m. "Make a wish Harry," he said to himself, trying to find comfort. He closed his eyes, wished, and then blew out the dust candles on the floor. 12:01 a.m. Bang!

Harry sat upright on the floor, eyes wide. Bang! Dudley was up too now, looking just as frightened as Harry did. Bang! Bang! Dust fell from the ceiling as ear splitting knocks hit the front of the shack. Harry's aunt and uncle were creeping down the stairs, hiding behind a large shot gun that Uncle Vernon most likely did not know how to use. Bang! Whoever – or whatever – was making that noise had had enough. The door was pushed it, and then slammed down to the floor, accompanied by a large cracking sound as the wood split. Screams filled the air as the family looked on, horrified by the scene playing out before them. It had gotten very dark, except for the lightning illuminating the sky in the storm. The falling door and the wind together had put out the fire.

A large shadow of what seemed like a very, very, oversized man was creeping towards the broken entrance. Harry ran and ducked behind the fireplace wall, trying to hide himself as best he could.

The large footsteps stopped, and the room was silent for a moment. "Well hello there!" A deep gruff voice boomed, making Harry jump.

"Y-y-you s-sir, are b-br-breaking and ent-entering!" Uncle Vernon stammered, pointing the long gun towards the giant man.

"Shut up Dursley," The voice boomed again. "Ya great buffoon." A charring nails on the chalkboard, forks on a plate type noise filled the air as the great man's hand reached out and effortlessly bent the gun to a ninety degree angle. Uncle Vernon made a noise that no grown man should ever make, that sounded something like a filled balloon that one lets go of, if there also happened to be a cat inside it.

"Ah, and you must be Harry!" The voice came again, and Harry tightened himself up against the wall. "You a little bigger than I'd expected, particularly around the middle." The voice was bright, cheerful.

"I... I'm not.. H-Harry..." Dudley squeaked.

"Yer not?"

"No," Harry said confidently, stepping out of his hiding place. "I am." What did he have to lose? Really, there was no worse fate that being stuck with the Dursleys.

"Well of course you are." The man said, smiling. This was the first time Harry had seen him. He was tall – if that was even the word for it. He head brushed the ceiling, even as the man stood hunched. He was also about half as wide as he was tall, with a very thick beard that went halfway down his chest, and long messy hair to match it. He wore skins, and big leather boots, and a powerful air of buoyancy. "Here you are," he started. "I brought ye something. 'Fraid I might've sat on it a little, but, I'm sure it'll taste all the same." He handed a package to Harry, which Harry took cautiously.

Inside was a pink cake – to use the word cake lightly – with the words "Happy Birthday Harry" written across it in blue and green frosting. "Thank you..." Harry said quietly, unsure of the feelings he felt stirring inside of him which ranged from blinding happiness that someone had acknowledged his birthday, to absolute fear and confusion.

"Not every day that yer young man turns eleven, now is it?" The man looked genuinely proud as he sat himself down on the couch (not to mention that he took up the whole thing), and pointed his umbrella at the fireplace. Sparks shot out the end of it and relit the fire that had gone out.

After the screams from his family subsided, Harry spoke up again. "Sorry, but uh... Who are you?"

Unchanged by the question, the man replied, "Rubeus Hagrid, Kepper of Grounds and Keys at Hogwarts."

Harry nodded, and then thought about what he'd heard. What? "What's Hogwarts?"

"Oh, right, forgot to give ye what I came 'ere for," he chuckled, pulling something out of his heavy looking leather coat. It was a letter. "Here ye are." He let Harry take the letter, gingerly, and the boy savored the moment.

While his family looked on, Harry read out his letter.

HOGWARTS SCHOOOL of WITHCRAFT 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 equiptment.
Term begins on 1 September. We await your owl by no later than 31 July.

Yours Sincerely,
Minerva McGonagall
Deputy Headmistress