Along the ride, Harry learned that the name of his companion and by all rights, savior, was Mr. Hagrid. Mr. Hagrid was a half-giant, and he seemed rather uncomfortable talking about it because apparently having a giant as a mother was bad. They switched to talking about Hogwarts instead, and Mr. Hagrid seemed enamored by the school.

There were four houses at the school, called Gryffindor, Hufflepuff, Ravenclaw, and Slytherin. The brave heroes went to Gryffindor, the loyal and hardworking to Hufflepuff, the smart to Ravenclaw, and the bad wizards to Slytherin. Harry's own parents had gone to Gryffindor.

He had so many questions to ask. What were they like? How did you know them? Why did they die in a car crash? Were they really worthless? What did they do? And then questions about the houses like, Why were there bad wizards in a school? What was school like? Would he know enough? How much did it cost?

And then those questions lead to some darker musings like, "what if he failed school?" "where would he get money for tuition?" and "would he be sent back?"

Mr. Hagrid tried to assure him that the man called Headmaster Dumbledore would help him as much as he could, and that Harry would undoubtedly be a quick learner like his parents. When he inquired more about his parents, Mr. Hagrid gained that panicky look of a cornered dog and dodged around the questions. Harry let him.

As for supplies, Mr. Hagrid simply guffawed at his anxiousness and tossed him a plain black cloak, which Harry promptly fastened over his "muggle" clothing. He had been so grateful and delighted to learn that all his equipment this year would be paid by Hogwarts, as compensation for finding him so late.

"All yer supplies will be comin' from Diagon Alley," Mr. Hagrid huffed as he pointed his umbrella at his motorbike and waved it around. Soon, it shrunk, as Harry discovered from a casual peek into Mr. Hagrid's bag, to the size of a toy car.

They wandered into a deserted old alleyway and stopped in front of some bricks. The narrow route was half-shadowed and eerily silent save for the thump-thump of Mr. Hagrid's boots and the shuffle of Harry's sneakers.

"Here we are, Harry," said Mr. Hagrid, and started to tap out pattern along the bricks. First, the third brick above the cracked one, then two bricks right, four down, twice on the one diagonal, and finishing with a brick one to the left and right of the original one. He played connect-the-bricks while Hagrid flicked them, and was excited to see them shake and sink in after the sequence.

Sunlight and the happy burble of voices filled his senses.

Recklessly, he ran into the busy and brightly-lit courtyard with the elation and wonder of an adventurer upon a new world. The world was large and filled with things he couldn't yet comprehend or ever had imagined. He saw so many acts of magic—picking up dropped things ("accio, napkin!"), wiping the tables ("tergeo, table!"). He saw two children run around with broomsticks, people disappearing, a boy and girl sharing an ice cream, and customers buying books. People, young and old, big and small, jumped and called and jeered and laughed and smiled. Owls, some spotted and some pure white, flew overhead with flashes of ribbon and clutches of paper.*

"C'mon, Harry!" Mr. Hagrid gestured to a quaint little store sporting "Madame Malkin's Robes for All Occasions" in large flourishes on a sign. He followed numbly and gaped unashamedly at everything.

"Bit busy here today," Mr. Hagrid apologized. "People and their kids are all out for winter holidays."

Harry had just been introduced to and abandoned, he thought sourly, to Madame Malkins, who was now fussing over him and his thin face and scrawny arms and floppy, messy hair until Harry was thoroughly pissed. He swatted at the magical measuring stick, which had entertained him for the first five minutes and then quickly lost its appeal once he discovered that it wanted measured everything.

"Harry, dearie, do tell me about all the goodies you got for Christmas!"

Furrowing his eyebrows, he asked "Christmas? I thought that, before, witches were burned because people thought they were unholy."

Madame Malkins stopped her fussing and looked slightly baffled by this. Harry felt like he'd accidentally said something wrong, and he grew increasingly uncomfortable and wished that they could talk about something else. He was extremely gratified when Madame Malkins finally found her voice.

"Why, of course, young man, but that was then, and this is now. A little Christmas spirit doesn't harm anybody." Wisely, Harry nodded in agreement, and Madame Malkins was appeased enough to return to her fussing.

It took another hour and a half to escape from Madame Malkin's clutches. Once he saw what Mr. Hagrid had brought, Harry forgot all about his previous ire.

"An owl!" He scowled. This one looked way to similar to the other, extremely rude one that had knocked him over and was indirectly responsible for his punishment. "I can't believe you got an owl like that!"

Mr. Hagrid, obvious to Harry's unhappiness, grinned. "Aye, Harry, she be a beauty, eh?" As he set the silvery cage in front of him and waited, his smile dropped a bit and he shifted a bit on his feet. "She's all yours, Harry. D'ya like her?"

He nodded. What purpose did he have for an owl, anyways? It wasn't like his family would ever write.

"Well," Hagrid tried again. "You better name her, then. She's a good owl, and a strong one to boot."

The owl hooted and flapped her wings to demonstrate. She had to be at least two feet tall. Harry eyed her sharp talons warily and made a note to buy a stronger cage or something because the little shiny flimsy one rattled and shook in an effort to contain her.

"I'll name her later," he decided. "Can we go get the rest of the supplies now?"

Mr. Hagrid nodded and started off in the same direction a family of redheads were going. Trailing behind the burly man, Harry wondered how much baby owls sold for.

By this time, it was high noon, and Harry felt exhaustion settle into his limbs. The owl in the cage, no matter how pretty, was irritating and much too cumbersome to carry. Tall adults moved around him and Mr. Hagrid in blurs of brown and black and blue robes like they were rocks disrupting the unremitting flow of a stream. He felt sweaty, sick, and slightly claustrophobic. Mr. Hagrid had tried to keep Harry at his side, but he had quickly retreated to Mr. Hagrid's back after too much squeezing and knocking over. For the most part, he kept his head down and focused on counting the cobblestones beneath his feet while one sore arm kept the bird elevated and the other held tightly onto the back of Mr. Hagrid's robes. That was why, when Hagrid stopped abruptly, Harry rammed painfully forward, and the bird's cage clattered against the ground, eliciting an angry hoot.

"Ye okay, Harry?" Hagrid asked.

Harry pulled himself up and dusted his brand-new cloak off. "I'm fine," he answered. Looking up, he noticed that they were in front of another dusty little store, and asked "Where are we?" just as he read the sign displaying Flourish and Blotts.

"Flourish and Blotts. We'll be getting yeh books here."

"Ah, okay," he replied, before eagerly opening the doors and following Mr. Hagrid into the greatest place ever. It was much smaller than the library Aunt Petunia had taken him once to, but these were magic books. He rushed over to the most secluded aisle at the end of the store with the stubborn goal of going through all the books before the day was done, and in his haste, bumped into a man who left the store before he could apologize.

His scar flared, but he didn't care very much right now.

His eyes scanned the rows upon rows of thick tomes. The Rise and Fall of the Dark Arts, How to Protect Yourself from Dark Creatures, What You Should Know about You-Know-Who, Defense Against the Dark Arts: An Introduction, The Danger of the Dark…what were the dark arts? Turning to the two men browsing alongside him, he asked, "Excuse me, sirs, but what are the dark arts?"

Then, the strangest things happened. The brown-haired, middle aged man stuttered a bit, and then muttered something like "why, I'd never!" before giving Harry a dirty look and then leaving with Defeat the Dark under his arm. The other man, with long pale blonde hair gelled back, looked coolly down upon him in a way that made his blood boil, and simply said, "an art one of your upbringing could never dream of exploring" and left as well.

Harry was disappointed. He had hoped that this magical world would be more exciting than the Dursleys, but, just like Madame Malkins, no one would answer his questions. Maybe he should ask Mr. Hagrid.

"Harry! Harry! There ye are!" Hagrid cried. "I been fearing ye got lost, ye see."

"Mr. Hagrid, I've got a question-"

"Not now, Harry, Headmaster Dumbledore and Neville Longbottom's here! Three cheers, what ye say?" He pointed out the two new arrivals, one an old man with ample white beard, and the other just as young as Harry. The little bookstore quickly became full of reporters and fawning fans. Harry saw the proprietor of the store give a little pleased look at his store's new popularity.

Harry assumed that the old man was the headmaster, and the younger boy was Neville. While the reports barraged them with questions, the young boy answered them with practiced, impassive ease. Harry was a bit scared by his dark eyes, the dark circles on his pale skin, and dark, wavy hair. Generally, his whole demeanor was dark.

Mr. Hagrid explained about the two in hushed whispers.

Albus Piercing-Something-Something Dumbledore was the headmaster of the school, and he was like the superhero of the wizarding society. And then there was Neville Longbottom, the Chosen One, who defeated You-Know-Who when he was just one-year-old.

Harry was surprised. A baby defeated someone? Harry couldn't even defeat Dudley in a scuffle, so what if he was inept?

"What's You-Know-Who's real name?" he asked, instead. He remembered seeing that name on one of the book covers.

Mr. Hagrid gained the same uncomfortable look Harry associated his tight-lipped attitude with his parents. He pushed some more.

"Alright," Mr. Hagrid told him, "I'll tell you. But you'd better not say him name out loud, you hear, its bad luck to do so." He shivered. "Lean over here, and I'll whisper it into your ear."

Harry did so, and he heard "Voldemort."

"Voldemort," he repeated, subconsciously, under his breath. He whipped his head around and was thankful that Mr. Hagrid hadn't heard him. He turned the word around in the head, trying to imagine why it would be so terrifying. Voldemort himself had to be one scary dude, he decided, to make everyone fear his name so.

Mr. Hagrid refused to answer any more of Harry's questions until he had gotten a chance to talk to Dumbledore. Harry decided that Dumbledore was a very nice man, and that Neville was quiet, contemplative, and wanted to be sorted in Gryffindor. After their awkward meeting, Harry finally was able to ask some of his more pressing questions.

"Was You-Know-Who a Slytherin?" Harry asked, as they browsed through the store.

Mr. Hagrid's eyes gained a protective look, and he nodded. "Aye, he was, and so was Malfoy, Nott, Lestrange, Rosier, and most of the Blacks. Best not to become close with them, Harry, they all come from Death Eater families, even though many aren't convinced, yet."

Harry seemed to mull this over, and then asked bravely, "My parents didn't die in a car crash, right?"

Mr. Hagrid was startled for a moment. "Who told you your parents died in a car crash?"

Then, Harry realized, with wonderful certainty, that he would probably never see his Uncle and Aunt and cousin ever again.

Mr. Hagrid was almost as angry as a raging Vernon after Harry had told him his story. He promised that Dumbledore would find a way to keep him away from his muggle relations, and he even offered Harry a spot in his home, adding if he would like to, of course, defensively. Harry had been uncertain at first, but he didn't want to disappoint someone who had helped him so.

Plus, Mr. Hagrid knew his parents.

As it turned out, Mr. Ollivander also knew his parents. And remembered his parent's wands, Hagrid's wand, and You-Know-Who's wand, although Harry wasn't too sure how he felt about that. When he first felt the wonderful wood, specifically tune to Harry's type of magic, he'd been brimming with hope and happiness and other positive feelings, so understandably, it felt quite like betrayal when he discovered his wand's unlikely link to You-Know-Who. Hagrid had horrified him with tales of You-Know-Who's crimes. However, clutching the holly-and-phoenix feather stick, he found that he could not hate it, but neither could he dredge up the unconditional love he had felt at first.

Hagrid noticed Harry's distress and spotted something that might help.

After a great deal of embarrassment on Harry's part, they were sitting in Fortescue's Ice Cream Parlor, enjoying some sorbet. Harry was still beet red, since he'd never thought that he'd ever deserve to eat ice cream, but, boy, was it delicious. Savoring the taste, he took miniscule bites as the sun went down.

Hagrid stood up, and Harry did shortly after. It was time to head to Hogwarts.

Clutching his owl and suitcase, now heavy with his supplies, Harry trekked alongside Hagrid until they reached the motorcycle. He stood watching the bustling lights of the muggle city and could hardly believe that he'd just discovered a whole hidden civilization that he belonged to. Settling into his seat, he let the cooling afternoon breeze wash over him as Hagrid took them to Hogwarts.

Even from far away, he could see the majesty of Hogwarts.

The grand castle of Hogwarts! Harry could hardly keep himself from gaping. All he could see was the magnificence of Hogwarts, and all that he could feel was elation at the thought that he, Harry Potter, would be able to attend!

So much better than Strummings.

As they passed by foliage and grass, Harry listened to Hagrid talk about the green eyes of Lily Potter and the pranks pulled by James Potter. They seemed to him like an enchanted couple who had a beautiful life before them until the Death Eaters had struck. What would his life have been if it weren't for the Death Eaters?

Hagrid lead him up the stone steps of Hogwarts. Harry had to tilt his up way up to see the end of the door, and the massive size of the castle was starting to give him vertigo.

"Well, watcha know, we're exactly on time for dinner."

"What?" Harry, still spellbound, asked, before with a thud, Hagrid forced open the grand entrance to Hogwarts School of Magic. The rabble and chatter of students streamed out, and then immediately ceased. Harry felt extremely out of place with so many pairs of eyes glued on to him, most with curiosity, some passive, and some with irritability. His stomach flopped, and he wished that Hagrid had made his introduction less grandiose.

"Welcome back, Hagrid," said a wizened old man with purple robes dotted with starts. He sat the center of the high table and, from behind his half-moon glasses, reminded Harry of Merlin in that old storybook about knights and dragons. He smiled kindly, and had a soft, but memorable voice. "I suppose this is our new student, Harry Potter?"


Questions? Opinions? :)