It's a slow start, but bear with it. It'll be worth it.

A Fairytale

The inability to see. If only he could accompany it with the inability to hear. Then he wouldn't have to put up with Dudley's insistent wailing and Aunt Petunia's torrential verbal abuse. It was all his fault, after all.

Harry lay in his dingy, dusty cupboard, glasses firmly planted on his face, but still as blind as a bat; Uncle Vernon had removed the light bulb as punishment for ruining Dudley's special day.

He really had not meant for all of this commotion, even if it was quite amusing. It was Dudley who had squashed his chubby face against the glass and ordered the snake to 'Move.'

So the snake did. It left its cage and was replaced with a toppling fat boy, which was probably more of a spectacle.

So Harry lay in his little room, pondering how he had made the glass vanish into thin air. It was all a bit freaky. He chuckled at that. Aunt Petunia loved that word. But Harry knew he wasn't a 'freak'. All his life he had been different - he just didn't quite understand it yet.

The next month felt longer than usual, mostly because the Dursleys felt the need to punish Harry's abnormality. Aunt Petunia had him working ten times harder than he'd like, for far too little food. The days were tedious, completing chores such as clipping the already pristine bushes, or cleaning Dudley's second room just for him to wreck all over again; the interruption of lunch was lovely, usually some fruit and a glass of water; and then, in the evening, he would be serving dinner to his adoring family, surviving on scraps of leftovers. If he was lucky, Uncle Vernon would forget to lock his cupboard and he would sneak out at night to raid the fridge. Harry wondered if it was possible for him to become any thinner.

It was a blazing July morning, and Harry was licking his fingers for mouldy crumbs. Uncle Vernon was in the middle of describing his incredibly boring business strategies. Petunia was asking questions to make it seem like she was interested. Dudley was playing with his toast. The slap of the post falling through the door attracted Harry's attention. With everyone preoccupied, Harry slipped away to the front door. He flicked through the envelopes, hoping for a food voucher. There was a postcard from his dear Aunt Marge, a couple of insurance notes, and something rather odd. One of the insurance notes, which were usually white and plain, had instead been sealed with a blood red crest. He turned it over, and to his surprise the letter had been addressed to:

Mr H. Potter,

The Cupboard under the Stairs,

4, Privet Drive,

Little Whinging,

Surrey

It probably wasn't an insurance note.

Harry had never received a letter before, and how anyone could know he lived under the stairs was beyond him. Cautiously, he tiptoed into his cupboard, the envelope still in his hand. He broke the seal and pulled out the letter, using a small torch to read the words written upon the yellowed parchment.

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 been accepted at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Please find enclosed a list of all necessary books and equipment.

Term begins on 1 September. We await your owl by no later than 31 July.

Yours sincerely,

Minerva McGonagall

Deputy Headmistress

Harry stared at the words on the parchment blankly. He read them again. And again. And again. Eventually, they would sink in. Or maybe it was just some sort of joke. Something for the Dursleys to laugh about. But if it was true…

He pulled out a second piece of parchment from the envelope.

UNIFORM

First-year students will require:

1. Three sets of plain work robes (black)

2. One plain pointed hat (black) for day wear

3. One pair of protective gloves (dragon hide or similar)

4. One winter cloak (black, with silver fastenings)

Please note that all pupil's clothes should carry name tags.

COURSE BOOKS

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

The Standard Book of Spells (Grade 1)

By Miranda Goshawk

A History of Magic

By Bathilda Bagshot

Magical Theory

By Adalbert Waffling

A Beginner's Guide to Transfiguration

By Emeric Switch

One Thousand Magical Herbs and Fungi

By Phyllida Spore

Magical Drafts and Potions

By Arsenius Jigger

Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them

By Newt Scamander

The Dark Forces: A Guide to Self-Protection

By Quentin Trimble

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, if they desire, an owl OR a cat OR a toad.

PARENTS ARE REMINDED THAT FIRST YEARS

ARE NOT ALLOWED THEIR OWN BROOMSTICK

Yours sincerely,

Lucinda Thomsonicle-Pocus

Chief Attendant of Witchcraft Provisions

"Boy!" came Uncle Vernon's gruff voice. "Where are you hiding? Petunia wants you to clean the dishes!"

Hastily, Harry shoved the letter under his pillow and emerged from his cupboard. He had no idea what to think.

Harry spent the rest of the day sweating over the lawnmower in the backyard. Normally, he would have found the spirit to complete the task by cursing the Dursleys under his breath, but today was different. Today, he kept his mind focused on a letter, addressed to him, accepting him to a school of magic. It was quite absurd. Hogwarts, apparently. It sounded like a disease. And he wasn't allowed a broomstick, because he would have had so much fun sweeping the floor. Besides, where would he find all of the books he needed? What on earth was a wand?

A loud squawking caught Harry's attention. Gliding overhead was a large, black bird. Was it a raven? No. It must have been a very large crow.

By the end of the day, once Harry had been imprisoned in his cupboard, he had come to the conclusion that Hogwarts just couldn't be real. It had to be a stupid joke from Dudley in retaliation for ruining his birthday. The letter hadn't given an address for the school, and somehow he was meant to reply with a bloody owl. He dug for the parchment under his pillow and searched for something more: a hint that Hogwarts could actually be a genuine place. But no. All it told him was that he was in, accepted to a school he had never even applied for.

Frustrated, he scrunched the parchment into a ball and chucked it angrily, watching it ricochet off the wall into his feet. He would no longer entertain this.

Him, Harry Potter, a wizard… The world wasn't a fairy-tale.

THUD. THUD. THUD.

Harry awoke with a start.

THUD. THUD. THUD.

It sounded like someone was trying to break the door in.

"WHAT THE BLOODY HELL IS THAT?" roared Uncle Vernon, plonking himself down the stairs. "WHAT DO YOU THINK YOU'RE-" but he stopped abruptly. Harry thought he heard a whimper. "Petunia," he squeaked. "Get down. Now."

"What is it Vernon?" she called, followed by a large, dramatic gasp.

"I'm here to collect Harry," came a rough, rural voice.

"Harry?" asked Uncle Vernon, his voice considerably squeakier.

"Harry Potter of course. He lives 'ere, doesn't he?" It was more of a statement than a question. "Where is he?" There was a slight pause where no one said anything.

"Why are yeh pointin' at that cupboard?"

"He's in there," whispered Uncle Vernon.

There was a scurrying of footsteps as the whole house seemed to shake.

"Yer a dead man, Dursley," he growled. The cupboard door was wrenched open, breaking off its hinges.

Hurriedly, Harry reached for his glasses. He stabbed them onto his face and allowed his eyes to adjust.

At first, all he could see was a pair of torn leather boots and the gangly ends of a brown, blemished coat. The man then bent down to reveal the rest of his body; his coat was scattered with pockets, zips and buttons of all sorts, and his red, plum-like face was almost completely hidden by his bushy beard and tangles of black hair. Given the circumstances, Harry thought he should have been a lot more afraid.

"Blimey Harry, yer still so small- and yeh look just like yer father. But yer eyes, those are yer mother's eyes." His tone was much friendlier now. The giant man reached into the cupboard and cupped Harry's waist in one of his hands, gently lifting him out and putting him onto his feet. He looked down at Harry with tears in his eyes, as if they were old friends. "If I were yeh, I'd 'ave some breakfast. Long day ahead of us, yeh see."

Harry stared back amusedly. "Who are you?" he asked.

The giant looked like he had prepared for that question. "Rubeus Hagrid, Keeper of Keys and Grounds a' Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Yeh got yer letter didn't yeh."

Harry nodded, causing his uncle to jerk violently. Hagrid turned to Vernon, who immediately seemed to deflate. "Behave yer self Dursley," he warned.

Harry, meanwhile, couldn't wipe the smile from his face. His legs were wobbly and his stomach had become host to a butterfly party. It had been a week since Harry had received his acceptance letter. A week spent erasing the fantasy from his mind. But now he was discovering that the fantasy was reality… That wizards and witches and magic and cauldrons were all genuine, not the fabricated fallacy that he had convinced himself it was. It was all happening a little too quickly.

Hagrid turned back to Harry. "Well, yeh'll 'ave seen the list then, for everything yeh'll need for Hogwarts, and I bet yeh were wondering how yeh were going to get everything."

Harry nodded.

"Well that's why I'm 'ere. Dumbledore trusted me to take yeh to Diagon Alley, and that's where yeh'll get yer stuff."

"Hang on a second!" exclaimed Vernon, who had apparently plucked up some courage. "You can't just take the boy off to buy all of this bollocks for your wacky school! We chose not to send him there. We chose to stamp it out of him. If he sleeps under my roof and eats from my table he will not be learning how to become a madcap magician!"

Hagrid's face had scrunched up, and he was gripping his pink umbrella rather ferociously. He looked Vernon straight in the eyes.

"This is Harry Potter. Every witch and wizard in the whole ruddy country knows his name. When he was a child, a little baby, he stopped You-Know-Who and ended the whole bloody war. If anyone deserves to go to Hogwarts and learn how to do magic, it's him, and if yeh think a great muggle like yer self is going to keep him locked up in this little cupboard, yer a bigger fool than I thought."

There was a pause as Vernon's brain seemingly ticked away, trying to figure out the best possible move. Meanwhile, Petunia was looking pale enough to be presumed dead.

Vernon turned to his wife. "What do we do?" he wailed pleadingly.

"Let him go," she spat venomously. "He was always just like them: strange, like he didn't belong. Let him get blown up like my sister and that Potter. A freak."

"Blown up? You said my parents died in a car crash!"

Harry felt a deep anger rise. He wanted to yell at Petunia for being such an awful aunt and an even worse sister to his mother, but he did not want to look at that ghastly face any longer. Vernon just looked like he was trying to impersonate a tomato with his colouring.

"A car crash kill Lily and James Potter? It's an outrage!"

"I think we should leave," Harry told Hagrid. "Don't worry about breakfast, I'm not feeling very hungry."

Hagrid gave a grunt. "Sooner out of 'ere the better."

The giant let Harry in front of him, escorting him out of the house. As the door was slamming shut, Vernon yelled, "BUT WAI-"

Hagrid shook his head, muttering some foul words under his breath. Harry pinched himself to make sure he wasn't dreaming. They walked underneath the inky sky as it slowly diluted into a pale blue, the stars fading into nothingness, and soon they found themselves boarding a train into London.

The few morning passengers stared at Hagrid as politely as possible, which was rather difficult. Harry was bubbling with questions to ask, but was too nervous to say anything. According to Hagrid, he was famous for ending a war. He didn't think it to be true though; it was probably just something he said to convince the Dursleys to let him go.

Hagrid glanced at Harry before reaching inside his cluttered coat, pulling out a chocolate-chip cookie.

"Yeh need some food down yeh," he said. "Here, eat this."

He handed Harry the biscuit, which had looked quite ordinary in Hagrid's hands, but as soon as it was in Harry's palms he discovered that it was in reality the size of his head. Hungrily, he bit into the cookie, but it was so hard that Harry was sure his teeth had sunk into his gums.

They left the train and stepped onto London Victoria, Harry handing the cookie back to Hagrid having barely made a dent on it.

"Come on," Hagrid said. "I wanna get there before the muggles are up and about."

"Muggles?" Harry asked.

"Non-wizarding folk, like yer aunt an' uncle."

They waded through the people and workers of London, many stopping in their tracks in an attempt to figure out whether the giant was actually a stunt of some sort. Hagrid just ignored them, constantly stopping and searching, seemingly trying to remember the right direction through the big streets. Harry thought they had been moving back and forth for an hour before Hagrid came to a sudden halt, letting out a sigh of delight.

"The Leaky Cauldron," he said, staring at the bend between two streets. He walked up to the dark corner, pushing open a door Harry didn't even realise was there. They entered, a strong whiff of alcohol and cigars filling Harry's nostrils. Though it was morning, the place was bustling. People were talking and choking on smoke over their breakfasts, laughter and chatter spiralling through the sooty bar.

"Hello Tom," Hagrid greeted the barman, a cheery-looking man covered in wisps of greying hair.

"Hello Hagrid," the barman greeted back. "The usual then?"

"No, no, sorry Tom. Can't stop today. Here on Hogwarts' business, yeh see," he replied, eyeing Harry.

One man had paused his smoking, choosing to gawk instead. He stepped a little closer. "Blimey, is that Harry Potter?"

For a split second, the chatter continued as normal, but the flame was quickly put out by a sudden gust of shock. Everyone turned around, first to look at Hagrid, then to ogle at Harry, and before he knew it Harry was shaking the hand of every witch and wizard in the bar, accepting a great deal of gratitude he thought was much undeserved.

"Alright, alright. That's enough now, we really must be on our way." The excitable crowd heeded Hagrid's words and shrunk back, allowing the pair to exit through the back door.

Harry looked up at Hagrid oddly. "Did I really end a war?" he asked.

Hagrid made his way over to a brick wall in front of them, observing it for a moment. "That's right, yeh did," he said, tapping the wall almost rhythmically with his umbrella. "I'll tell yeh about it later, now's not the time for that."

The giant stepped back as the wall split into two, the bricks folding inside of each other impossibly, moving apart to form an entrance.

"Welcome to Diagon Alley, Harry. It's here we'll get all of yer stuff," Hagrid said, looking down at him happily. He patted Harry on the back, propelling him forwards a couple feet too far.

Harry was unable to believe what he was seeing. There were shops selling everything the imagination could possibly think of: bubbling potions, custom robes, armour made from dragon skin, barrels with frothing beer, totems of manticore hairs, books with endless chapters, bubbles that never popped, quills that wrote themselves… It was never-ending.

Everything he set eyes on seemed worth purchasing, but that presented a new issue: the Dursleys never gave him an allowance.

"We need to go to Gringotts," Hagrid said.

"What's that?"

"The bank, yer not gonna be able to buy anything without no money, are yeh?"

"Hagrid, I have no money."

Hagrid stopped to look at Harry funnily. "I forget, yeh really dunno anything."

"No, I really don't."

"Harry, yer family - the Potters - are an old one. Pureblood-"

"Pureblood?"

"No muggle blood, purely magical. Anyway, with all that power, there comes a lot of money as well."

"So all that money… It's mine?"

"That's right. Yeh have a trust fund though, until yer of age."

Harry nodded. He wouldn't know what to do with all that money. Maybe buy a Nintendo or something, to make Dudley jealous. But then Dudley would just break it.

They walked down the alley, Hagrid buying Harry a jam doughnut to make up for his poor excuse of a breakfast. He noticed the wizarding folk dressed very differently to muggles, wearing robes and hats and garments of all sorts. A wardrobe update was needed. And a wardrobe on top of that.

You could see and tell Gringotts from a mile away, even for someone who didn't know what it looked like, such as Harry. The marble building was tall and wonky, but stood proudly over the other smaller shops. Perched on the roof was a statue of a large dragon; it appeared to be roaring over everyone in quite an intimidating fashion.

"The goblins are the ones yeh should be scared of," said Hagrid, completely restoring Harry's confidence.

They walked up the set of white stairs leading to the entrance, passing through the burnished bronze doors. Inside, they found a long marble hall, with polished counters extending down its length. Sitting behind these counters were the goblins Hagrid spoke of. They were short creatures, with long, pointed noses and each wearing a curiously devilish grin. Their dress sense was very muggle-like, sporting tailored suits with bow-ties; Uncle Vernon would have been impressed, if he were to get over the goblin aspect.

"Stay behind me and don't say anything," Hagrid said. "Yeh don't want to mess with this lot."

They walked up to a free goblin who was cleaning its talons with what looked like a file.

"I would like to take Harry Potter here to his vault to collect some money," Hagrid announced.

The goblin looked up, first at Hagrid, then darting its eyes at Harry, lingering on his forehead for a second.

After a moment, it spoke. "Key."

"Of course," Hagrid said, as he began to fumble at his pockets. Hastily, after a few failed attempts, he managed to find the key, placing it on the counter.

"Very well," the goblin said. "Griphook, take Mr Potter and his…"

The goblin paused, looking Hagrid up and down. "…companion here to his vault."

Another goblin, whom Harry presumed to be Griphook, emerged and took the key. "Follow me," it said.

They walked past a door leading to one of the many vault passageways. Griphook grabbed a flaming torch from the wall to ward off the darkness ahead, though their trip remained cold. Soon, they reached a cart, the track it was on seeming to head deep into the caves beneath.

"In," ordered Griphook.

They complied, Hagrid's size making it a tight squeeze. Without warning, they whizzed off along the track, the twisting and turning almost knocking Harry out of the cart. The journey didn't take much time, though it was long enough for Hagrid's face to change shade to a sickly green.

"Never gets better," he croaked.

They got off the cart and approached a large vault, the metal was patterned in carvings and symbols.

"Runes," Hagrid explained. "Makes this place practically impenetrable. Nowhere safer to keep something I'd say, apart from Hogwarts of course."

Griphook unlocked the vault with the key, running his hand along the stone as he did so. The goblin dragged it open, revealing stacks upon stacks of gold, silver and bronze coins, glimmering magnificently at Harry.

Griphook handed him a pouch. "Take what you wish."

"Thank you," Harry said, giving the goblin a disbelieving grin. Unable to help himself, he dived headfirst into the money. His money. If only the Dursleys could see him now.

The diving was a mistake. His head hurt. Oh well. He grabbed at the coins, pouring them into the pouch. It was after a couple fistfuls that Harry realised the pouch wasn't getting any heavier, nor did it look like he was running out of space. Tentatively, he reached into it, his hand sinking far deeper than he expected, but he could feel the coins at the bottom. This was magic. Harry didn't remember smiling so much in his life.

He pulled his hand back out and plunged it back into the money. However, this time, instead of grabbing a fistful of coins, he gripped something entirely different. It felt large and rough. He dragged it out and looked at it interestedly. It was a book. Aged and dusty. Upon it, written in golden words, was the title:

My Heir ~ The Bravest Of Heart

"Hagrid," Harry called. "Look at this book."

"What book?" Hagrid asked.

"This one," Harry said, holding it up for Hagrid to see.

The giant looked at Harry oddly. "That ride must have done yeh head funny as well, I keep telling them it's no good. Come on, I need to collect a package. Then we can get yer stuff."

Harry looked back down at the book, on which a crest was printed, red and gold with a lion standing proudly in the middle. Beneath it read the name: Gryffindor.

He opened the book to its first page. 'Only you can see.'

He flicked through the rest of the book, but the pages were blank. So only he could see an empty book. Great. A mystery. He put it in his pouch with the money, now feeling inclined to solve it. What a good choice that would turn out to be.