– CHAPTER FOUR –

The Cursed Child

The enormous man stepped as carefully as he could over the door he had just knocked over. He then lifted it up to free Uncle Vernon from its weight, but Mr Dursley was so petrified by the experience he remained on the floor regardless. The Dursley's unexpected guest was around eleven feet tall and almost as wide, barely able to even fit through the front corridor as he made his way into the living room.

'Who are you?' demanded Aunt Petunia. 'Get out of my house this instant!'

'And 'allo to you too, Petunia,' said the man with a vague sense of familiarity. 'Your sister didn't speak often of ya. I understand now why.'

The visitor was about to take another step forward, but stopped himself when he realised he was about to tread on Harry's already busted glasses. He picked up the pieces and started rummaging around in his coat pocket.

'Sorry, Harry,' he said. 'I know there's a spell for this, but I'll probably only muck it up. Some Spellotape will have to do for now.'

The man pulled out of his coat what seemed like just a regular roll of sticky tape, much like the kind Harry already used to patch together his spectacles every time Dudley or one of his mates knocked them off their face. The man inelegantly stuck together the various fragments back together, before handing the glasses back to Harry. To their surprise, they felt about as sturdy in their hands as a brand-new pair, and as soon as they put them on, they finally got a good look at their guest.

Now in focus, the man seemed just as big and shaggy as he had been when blurry, but now he could see the puppy dog underneath. He had ginormous arms covered in an odd array of tattoos, hair that stretched to his waist on both the front and back of his body, and thumping great boots that looked like they could squash a watermelon with ease, but all Harry could focus on were the kind eyes and infectious smile that peeked through his beard.

'There, that's better now,' he said as he ushered Harry over to the living room and sat them down on the couch. 'Would you like a cup of tea or summin'?'

'Excuse me, this is my house,' objected Aunt Petunia. 'You're just going to help yourself to my tea?'

'Why, yes I am, donna,' snapped back the giant. 'Why, you want a cuppa too?'

Petunia didn't care to respond and simply made way for their guest to start boiling up some water. It was at this moment that the man realised the perpetually-gawking face of Dudley staring at him from the living room.

'What are you looking at, Dursley Junior?' he asked. 'Never seen a half-giant before? You don't look too far off a baby one yourself.'

Once the tea was finally hot and ready, the man handed Harry a mug and took a seat next to them on the couch, surprisingly not breaking it from his sheer size and weight, taking up at least three-quarters of the settee all by himself.

After taking a few sips, Harry finally felt at ease enough to begin to question the bizarre situation they found themselves in.

'Who are you?' they asked the colossal stranger.

'Rubeus Hagrid,' he said proudly. 'A few friends call me Rubes. Queens and dolls call me Ruby when I get sassy. Most everyone else just call me Hagrid. I'm the Keeper of Keys and Grounds at Hogwarts. To be honest, I was quite worried when I read your reply to Professor McGonagall.'

'You…you got my letter?' enquired Harry, surprised it had gotten to someone so quickly.

'So you did send one!' butted in Aunt Petunia. 'How did – ?'

'Quiet your pipes!' Hagrid barked back. 'Yes, Harry. McGonagall writes them acceptance letters, but I'm entrusted to make sure everyone gets sent them. Sorry if ol' Barnaby scared you there. He can be a right stubborn git when he don't get a response quick.'

'So it's true then,' said Harry as it truly dawned on them. 'I…I'm a wizard? Magic is…is real?'

Hagrid smiled, gave Harry a supportive hug, and said plainly, 'Of course you are.'

Harry had never received a hug from another person in their entire life, at least not one they could remember, and for their first time it was certainly a good one. Hagrid's tree-trunk of a body meant they couldn't wrap their arms even halfway around the torso, but his thick skin and warm, pudgy belly made him almost as comfy to hold as their beloved Katy.

The only downside: Hagrid smelt like plant soil mixed with an ashtray. To put it bluntly, it was clear he was a man who spent way too much time outside.

This moment of calm was sadly cut short by the re-emergence of Uncle Vernon, who had finally picked himself off the carpet and burst into the living room with reinvigorated fury.

'He's not going anywhere!' he yelled. 'That boy is a menace enough on his own without bloody magic tricks up his sleeve! When you and that blasted old coot left him on our doorstep, we took him in on the condition that he would have nothing to do with your sick, ungodly ways, and that is not changing now!'

'You…you knew?' said Harry, looking to Aunt Petunia. 'You knew and didn't tell me?'

'Of course we did,' she replied. 'Your mother, my sister, Lily…she was just like you. Weird, different, yet…so powerful. She was always my parents' favourite, but the day she got her letter from that infernal school? She only got worse.

'Every summer, she'd come back with some new spell to flaunt over me. Then, she started bringing back the boy who became your father, and he was even worse.

'I knew those two being together, looking after you, would lead to trouble. I just didn't think they'd get themselves murdered over you.'

Harry's heart dropped hard. Despite all of the abnormal and magical events of that day, that revelation was the most shocking of all.

'Murdered? You…you said they died in a car crash.'

'A car crash?' bellowed Hagrid in disbelief. 'James and Lily Potter died heroes, sacrificing themselves for not just their child, but for the good of all wizardkind, and you tell Harry they died in a car crash?'

'They weren't heroes,' said Vernon. 'They were imbeciles. If you ask me, they got what they deserved. Self-righteous freaks.'

'You're hardly one to talk,' said Hagrid matter-of-factly.

'Who killed my parents?' asked Harry. 'Why did they?'

'Look, Harry, I'd love to answer all yer questions and I know you got plenty, but we need to get you out of here first,' reasoned Hagrid. 'I'm not letting you spend a minute longer in this place than you have to.'

'You can't take him!' pleaded Aunt Petunia. 'We are his legal guardians! Who are you to take him from his home and send him to your crackpot school without our permission? The letter from your boss never said anything about this!'

'In fact, it did, if you'd bothered to read it right!' snapped back Hagrid. 'It also specified that you were to keep Harry safe, and what have you done? Kept 'em in a closet, deprived 'em of food and comfort, and beaten 'em. You lot aren't just bad parents. You're outright child abusers, and I won't stand for it.'

Mrs Dursley's anger receded from her face and instead became overwhelmed by regret; a state of ennui that enraptured her as she realised the depths of her actions.

Mr Dursley, however, wasn't going to give up without a fight. He raised the splintered remains of his Smeltings stick, pointed its jagged end right in Hagrid's face, and said, 'and what are you going to do about it?'

Hagrid chuckled to himself, not at all intimidated by Vernon's withering staff. He reached inside his jacket pocket and pulled out a large, hot pink umbrella. It was so large, in fact, that it clearly wouldn't have fit inside a coat even as long and heavy as Hagrid's, but Harry was quick to assume magic was involved somehow. With his brandished weapon, Hagrid swatted Vernon's stick from his hands and stuck the tip of his own implement back in the moustachioed face of his opponent.

'Word to the wise, Dursley,' said Hagrid. 'Don't bring a twig to a wand fight.'

Vernon laughed, trying to overcompensate for the fearful sweat that was starting to drench his face. 'You call that oversized cocktail stick a wand? Of course a bum boy like you would –'

SCHOOM! A burst of light shot from the end of Hagrid's umbrella and hit Vernon like a bolt of lightning. Almost immediately, he toppled over and hit the shag carpeting of the living room like a sack of bricks. Aunt Petunia, still stuck in her fugue state, barely even reacted. Dudley, though, stared at the petrified body of his father on the floor and started cowering, afraid the giant would do the same to him.

'Don't fret, big man,' Hagrid assured the boy. 'Yer da's not dead, but to paraphrase the twit: he got what he deserved. Now come on, Harry.'

Harry hesitated for a moment. For the first time they could ever remember, they actually had a choice. They could stay in the only home they had ever known with the only blood relatives they had left, or leave all that behind to go with a giant they had just met to attend a magic school they knew absolutely nothing about.

It was undoubtedly a hard choice for a ten-year-old to make, but Harry was certain of one thing: they knew where the end of the road on Privet Drive led, and it wasn't anywhere good. That alone basically made the choice for them.

It took less than five minutes to pack all of Harry's belongings, for what little they actually owned could all fit in one plastic shopping bag. All they had were a few changes of clothes, some adventure novels Dudley had never bothered to read and abandoned in the cupboard, and of course their beloved Katy the Shark.

Harry attempted to say goodbye to Aunt Petunia, but she remained in shock and offered them little more than a faint wave. Dudley simply glowered at Harry, a mixture of disgust and jealousy on his face; the only reason he'd have to sad about their departure would be he'd be without his favourite punching bag. Uncle Vernon remained unconscious for the moment, but even if he had been awake, Harry had nothing else to say for him. At least he was glad that his aunt and cousin had finally seen him for the monster they always knew he was.

Harry stepped out of Number Four for what they hoped would be the last time to find Hagrid awaiting with something quite literally out of their dreams. It was a large, old-fashioned motorcycle with a sidecar attachment that Harry fit quite snugly into.

'This is the very bike I brought you here in ten years ago, Harry,' said Hagrid. 'Only makes sense to take you away in it. Mind though, the sun's still out and this thing don't have an invisibility booster, so we won't be able to take to the skies just the now.'

'It…your bike flies?' said Harry.

'Oh, it's not my bike. I'm just holding onto for…you know what, that's a story for 'nother time. But it doesn't just fly, Harry. It soars like a Nimbus from Hell! I'll give you a proper ride on it some other time. For now though, strap in. It's about an hour to London.'

With the blaring sound of the sputtering bike engine, the horns and shouts of the passing traffic, and the perpetual whooshing of the wind in their ears as they zoomed along the M25, Harry couldn't hold much of a conversation with Hagrid and instead spent the journey in their own thoughts. Everything they had known about their life up until that moment had been a lie in some form or another. As eager as they were to learn the truth of their past, and the path that lied ahead of them, Harry was more focused on themselves in that moment.

The Dursleys had carefully controlled everything in Harry's life to be what they wanted it to be, batting away any expression of individuality and variance from what they deemed normal. Now out of their grasp, Harry was free to be themselves. That autonomy, however, scared Harry as much as it excited them. Deep down, they still didn't really know who they were. Over the course of that ride, with the space and time to finally think about it without fear of judgement, Harry started to envision the person they wanted to be.

Before long, their bike ride took them off the hectic motorways and into the even more chaotic streets of Central London. As they and Hagrid weaved through the traffic as much as they could, passers-by stared at Hagrid's sheer size; some even laughed at how it just made their motorbike look that much smaller. Hagrid would occasionally shout back at them to mind their own business, or sometimes something that Harry would dare not repeat in front of the Dursleys.

They eventually pulled off of Charing Cross Road, and parked up their bike in one of the back alleys behind the busy shops and bars of the frenzied tourist hotspot. Hagrid led Harry to the back entrance of what looked like the oldest and grimiest pub they had even seen; it seemed as if the building could have easily stood there for centuries. Harry noticed a small sign above the back door: THE LEAKY CAULDRON – Employees Only.

Hagrid banged on the door several times before they got an answer. A middle-aged man with a furrowed brow and a distinctive bald spot peered his head out, immediately recognising the goliath that stood before him and yet was clearly surprised to see him.

'Hagrid? Didn't think you'd be popping by for another week or so. What's the cackle?'

'Been a bit of a change of plans, Tom,' he replied. 'Do you have a room you can put young Harry and myself up in for a few nights? Woulda brought 'em through the front but…the tyke's had enough commotion for today. Rather avoid the spotlight the now.'

Tom looked down and now only noticed Harry peeking out from behind Hagrid's waist. Upon seeing their scar peeking out from behind their fringe, the innkeeper's face immediately lit up.

'Bless my spirits! The Boy who Lived himself! Of course, c'mon in. I think Room 13 should do nicely.'

Tom led Harry and Hagrid inside and carefully led them up the squeaky and narrow service corridors of the inn. Through its thin walls, Harry could hear the chatter and music of the pub floor; it sounded a lot more jovial and livelier than the few pubs Harry had been in, which tended to be full of souls just as miserable as Uncle Vernon.

They soon found themselves in the upper accommodation area, where Harry was gobsmacked to see a floating broom sweeping up the corridor all on its own at one end, and a wet sponge wiping itself up and down the creaking floorboards at the other.

'Is that normal?' asked Harry.

'Nah, not really,' shrugged Tom. 'We don't normally start cleaning up here until the pub shuts, but we decided to get ahead tonight.'

Tom unlocked the door to Room 13 and opened it before handing Hagrid the key. It was a modest twin room with two single beds, a small desk in the corner, a fireplace, an ancient-looking but functional ensuite bathroom, and a window that looked out onto Charing Cross Road below. It wasn't much, but compared to the dingy closet Harry was used to, it might as well have been a luxury suite at a five-star hotel.

'I'll have some dinner sent up for the both of you,' said Tom as he made his exit. 'It's on the house. Great to have you back, Mr Potter.'

As soon as they were alone with Hagrid, Harry felt like they could finally relax. The pent-up stress and trauma of the entire day could at last be let loose as they collapsed upon their bed and just laid there trying to comprehend it all.

Hagrid pulled Barnaby the owl out of his seemingly-cavernous coat and placed him down on the desk. After writing up a quick letter, he handed it to his avian companion, who then flew off with it out the open window.

'Are you OK, Harry?' asked Hagrid gently as he sat down on his tiny adjacent bed. 'Was just letting Dumbledore know what's going on. I knew something was up when he told me getting a hold of you might be tricky, but that…that was a lot for anyone to handle. I know it don't mean much now, but…I'm sorry you had to go through that. We'll do our best to make up for it. I swear my life on it.'

Harry didn't respond. They just stared up at the ceiling, their face blank and their body as loose as jelly. Harry didn't mean to be rude or disrespectful to Hagrid. If anything, they appreciated the support. They were simply too exhausted, and yet also so relieved, to be out of that nightmare house, that their body and brain were still struggling to catch up to each other.

Hagrid seemed to get the message. 'I get it. I'd be pretty shattered too. I'll let you get yourself settled, but if you have any questions –'

'How'd my parents die?' asked Harry out of the blue.

Hagrid was taken aback a bit. 'What's that?'

'You said you'd explain. I want to know. What happened to my mum and dad? Who murdered them?'

Hagrid took a deep breath and settled themselves in for a long story. 'Best get cosy first,' they said as they unsheathed their umbrella from their coat, pointed it at the fireplace, and lit the logs inside it with a swish of his finger. Harry curled themselves up in their duvet for comfort and listened in closely.

'I'm not much of a storyteller, Harry, and even if I were I haven't got the whole truth. We're still figuring out what the bloomin' hell happened, but there was this fella called…well, we don't say his name –'

'Why?' Harry interrupted like the curious child they were. Harry usually had a lot of questions but the Dursleys had taught them to keep almost all of them to themselves. Without them around, they were now free and keen to inquire.

'Because he was a very evil man, Harry,' said Hagrid frankly. 'Folk are convinced if you even whisper his name, he'll hear what you're saying about him. Most of us just call him "You-Know-Who", or "He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named" if you want to get all fancy 'bout it, just to be on the safe side.'

'But it's not true, is it?'

'Nah, it's probably codswallop, but it's still not a name you say lightly –'

'What is it then?'

Hagrid sighed, the first time he'd shown any hint of frustration with Harry, though it was clearly more directed at himself. Harry could tell Hagrid really didn't want to say it, his lips quivering and tense just from trying to get the words out.

'Lord Voldemort,' he spat with disgust. 'The darkest and foulest wizard the world has ever seen. He's the prick who killed your family. Don't make me say his name again.

'About twenty years ago now, when you were just barely walking, You-Know-Who was building up his army to try and take over wizardkind, see? Some served him out of loyalty, a lot of others just 'cos they were scared of him. He tended to kill anyone who told him to bugger off with his fascist crap. It was dark times, Harry; even darker than now, if you can imagine. Witches and wizards could barely trust each other as he started amassing his followers. Only place it was safe to be one in them days was Hogwarts, 'cos even a nasty piece of work like You-Know-Who was afraid of the big man: Albus Dumbledore.

'So yer mum and dad were some of the brightest sorcerers of their generation, they were. Even made Head Girl and Boy in their final year at Hogwarts. Ended up being quite a pain in the backside to You-Know-Who when he started gathering up his crew. They were Aurors, you see; they're kinda like the magic police. Then one night, for reasons at least I'm not privy to, the mad bastard showed up at your parents' digs and…and…he did them in. Right there and then, and then…he tried to kill you.

'Thing was, he couldn't. He zapped you with the same Killing Curse that offed your folks and every other witch or wizard that even looked at him funny…but for whatever reason, it didn't work. You lived, with nothing but a funky scar on your head to show for it. Soon as Dumbledore heard what had gone down, he dispatched me to pick you up before the Muggle fuzz got to the scene.'

'Muggle?' asked Harry.

Hagrid shrugged 'It's just what we call folk who aren't magic in any way.'

'Is that a bad thing? Sounds a bit like a rude word.'

'Nah, it's what we all call them. You'll be saying it often yourself soon enough. So anyway, I got you from your folks' place and was told to bring you to your aunt and uncle and…well, you know the rest better than me.'

'What happened to You-Know-Who?'

'We don't really know. The sod did an Irish goodbye out of reality that night, and most of his mates quickly packed it in before they could get nicked by the Aurors. A lot of folk think he died, like the spell he tried to kill you with bounced back and he obliterated himself. I don't buy it though. Even if he's just a ghost or summin' now, I bet he's out there somewhere. As much as I hate the prick, a wizard that powerful don't go down so easy.'

Despite the excessive amount of casual slang in Hagrid's speech, struggling to discern which bits were magical terminology and which others were just West Country idioms, Harry at last could piece together the fragments of their pre-memory life, but there was still something missing.

They thought maybe understanding how they came to be might have filled the hole in their heart they had always felt; that undying sense that something was wrong with how their life was supposed to be. Undeniably, understanding their wizard heritage and the true fate of their parents helped, but it wasn't enough.

Tom the innkeeper soon arrived back with some food for Harry and Hagrid to tuck into. Harry's steak-and-kidney pie dinner was heartier and more delicious than anything they'd ever been served by the Dursleys, but even their sizable portion looked like a side dish compared to the amount of food Hagrid had to consume to satisfy his body's needs; he quite literally had to eat for ten men. Harry had long finished their meal and tucked themselves back into bed as Hagrid finally finished his and collapsed back onto his own.

'I know it seems like your life has been nothing but death and misery, Harry,' he said, 'but it does get better. Before you know it, you'll be off to Hogwarts and you'll forget all about your troubles. They say time heals all wounds, but magic certainly helps too.'

Harry stammered to get the words out as tears started streaming down their face. 'Can it…can it fix me?'

Hagrid jumped up out of bed, nearly hitting his head against the low ceiling as he did. 'What is there to fix about you?' he said with concern. 'You're a perfect wee angel inside and out, Harry, and don't let that utter dung beetle of a man you call your uncle make you think yourself otherwise.'

Despite his kind words, Harry continued to cry even more, and Hagrid didn't hesitate to reach out and give them another of his trademark warm but pongy hugs.

'Hagrid,' Harry asked through their sniffles, 'you think…you think maybe when You-Know-Who gave me this scar, he…he cursed me?'

'No,' said Hagrid supportively. 'No, you aren't cursed. The night we picked you up, we all made sure there was no kind of hex or anything of the sort on you. You're a perfectly healthy and normal young wizard, Harry.'

'Then why…'

Harry's throat suddenly seized up. They were still unsure whether they could even utter it. In that moment, they felt like they'd rather say "Voldemort" a thousand times than put to words what they had deep down always known.

They never thought they'd first say it to someone who was a relative stranger like Hagrid, but for as brief a time as they had known him, they trusted that half-giant more than anyone else in the world in that moment.

'Then why am I a boy…when I know I am a girl?'

There was a long silence. Hagrid was completely unresponsive. Immediately, Harry regretted saying it. They almost wished that entire day had just been a dream, that they would wake back up in the torturous clutches of Uncle Vernon, just to save themselves the embarrassment and torment of admitting what they knew was a crazy and impossible idea.

In that moment, they thought maybe being a wizard had something to do with it, or it's something that magic could fix somehow. Harry had always felt broken in some way even before the trauma of living with the Dursleys had set in, but now they feared they had alienated the first person to show them anything but misery.

The silence broke. Harry heard weeping, but it wasn't their own. They dug their face out of Hagrid's soft belly and looked up to see the giant himself sobbing his eyes out like a proud parent. He held onto Harry even tighter and tried his best to pull himself together.

'I know exactly how you feel,' he said. 'You're not broken, Harry. There's nothing to fix about you, but…if there's any way we can make you more comfortable in your own skin, anything we can do to make sure you're the best version of yourself you can possibly be…then we're going to do it; magic be damned if it can't.'

Harry found themselves unable to speak again, but rather than out of fear, it was from sheer euphoria. Yet again, so many questions burst into their mind to the point their brain felt like it was about to burst, but they were too tired and overwhelmed to even think about them in that moment. They simply took the joy and validation in knowing they weren't broken, that they were worthy of love, and that they weren't alone in how they felt.

Right there in Hagrid's arms, Harry Potter fell into slumber and, for the first time in over ten years, she slept peacefully.