Reviews:

Guest: In a manner of speaking, yes and no.

bomb9245: At some point in this story, the connection Harry has and the subsequent power that comes with it will be revealed as close to canon rules but with a touch of fiction as well.

kayla56wilson: Well, I'm glad you enjoy it so far. I've written up to 5 chapters so far with drafts up to 16 already mapped out. I hope to update as soon as I can.

Disclaimer- Harry Potter is owned by J. K. Rowling and Shingki no Kyojin/Attack on Titan is owned by Hajime Isayama. I own nothing.

Chapter 2: Communication

The days following the incident at the zoo proved to be some of the longest days in Harry's short life. As punishment for his "abnormal behavior," as Uncle Vernon called it, Harry was to be locked in his cupboard with strict leave to only be allowed out when he needed to use the loo. Aside from that, dust, darkness, and cobwebs were the only company that Harry was allotted in his cell. This would be his life for the next two weeks.

Nearing the end of the fourth day, Harry feared that he actually might starve. He managed to escape his confinement by breaking the sword off of one of Dudley's old knight figures that he had swiped before it could be thrown out and using it as a makeshift pick to unlock the door. He took only what Aunt Petunia wouldn't notice from the pantry and fridge such as a few crackers and grapes along with a single slice of cheese. It would have been more than enough for a mouse and Harry found himself making due off of it.

The only seemingly upside to the whole affair seemed to be Dudley's reaction whenever Harry passed by on his allotted leave time. His larger cousin would plaster himself against the wall in a vain attempt to blend in with one of the various portraits of himself his parents had hanging around. There was no doubt that Dudley believed whatever nonsense his parents had spewed about Harry being the one to make the glass disappear back at the zoo. Sure, Dudley had never been the brightest bulb, but believing that Harry had anything to do with it was outright stupid.

Still, Harry couldn't help but wonder if this meant that Dudley would ease up on the Harry Hunting once he was allowed out again. It was a nice thought so that probably meant that it wouldn't happen. He might be safe for a while, but once Dudley got over it and wanted to show off to his friends again, the hunt would be on once again.

Even more concerning than getting into a fight with Dudley's gang was the fact that Harry had yet to come up with an explanation for how he had heard that voice speaking so clearly to him. He thought back to that morning and if he had maybe smelled something like nauseous fumes from the stove, or if he had drunk water that might have had iron in it. It sure wasn't anything that he ate as he was the one to make the food and the Dursley's surely would have complained to him if he had messed it up in any way.

The only other explanation that made sense was that he was simply going mad. Close to over ten years of living with the Dursleys had finally taken its toll on his mind and he had snapped. He had created a whole voice in his mind to talk to him for some company aside from his relatives. That was the most plausible answer.

And it scared him if it was true.

Since the end of that day and the start of his imprisonment, which had lasted two whole weeks, Harry had yet to hear the voice of that girl speak to him again. His dreams, however, became even more vivid than they were before.

Images of blood-stained fields, horses running and green cloaks billowing with the wind, the image of a carving upon a large gate of sorts, people crying in support and admiration, and a new setting; the sight of blood raining from the sky, people crying in fear as a monstrous war cry echoed through the night as pieces of a broken stage and building were sent flying to crush the people below. He was right there next to the sound of the zeppelin, right next to the tracks as the train sped past, right there as the tremors shook the earth, vibrating in his skull. By the end of it all, he could almost feel a touch. Someone was so close to him. If he could just open his weak eyes, he could see - see that person.

Harry opened his eyes.

He was back in his cupboard. He had never left.

About an hour or so later, Harry heard the sound of the bolt being undone. "Are you up?" Aunt Petunia's shrill voice called to him.

"I am," Harry tiredly replied as he wiped the crust from his eyes along with a tear. He had been crying in his sleep.

"Well come on out," she ordered. "Your punishment is over. Hurry to the kitchen now. Your uncle and cousin are waiting for breakfast."

"Of course, Aunt Petunia," Harry disguised the sarcasm with a tired morning tone. As long as he was here, his punishment would never truly be over. It would always be one task after the next. Throwing on the smallest of Dudley's old shirts and pants, Harry got ready for another day of ordinary Dursleyness.

Preparing breakfast was simple if feeding a pig and walrus was true. Both his uncle and cousin enjoyed themselves with extra helpings of bacon and omelets with sausage links on the side. Not caring if it was greasy or would leave a stain, Harry quickly snuck two pieces of bacon into his shirt pocket for later. He doubted either of his relatives noticed as they were too focused on stuffing their faces and Aunt Petunia was back in the garden spying over the fence to see if the neighbor's flowers were larger than her own.

Uncle Vernon finished off his meal with some coffee as he beckoned Harry to fill it. "Go and get the post, boy," Uncle Vernon said with his usual tone of addressing Harry. It seemed that he still blames Harry for the zoo. "I'm expecting an important letter from Marge."

Not wanting to put his uncle in a bad mood when he was on thin ice, Harry quietly nodded and went to his next task. A small stack of letters was piled on the welcome mat just below the mail slot. One was from Uncle Vernon's company Grunnings, a few looked like bills, one was clearly from Marge based on the large and imposing handwriting; coupons for Aunt Petunia and… one for him?

Harry felt his face just shift into a confused expression as he reread the writing to make sure he wasn't just seeing things.

Harry James Potter

#4 Privet Drive, Surrey, the Cupboard Under the Stairs

He wasn't. The letter had his name written on it in very neat handwriting and was sealed with a crest of a large H. It even listed his cupboard of all things. How could that even be? Not once in his entire stay with the Dursley's did he ever get anything addressed to him. No one cared about the orphaned kid of two drunks who were killed in a car crash. He had no friends, Dudley had seen to that; there was no one who would ever bother to write to him for or about anything.

And then it clicked for him. This was just a prank. Yeah, that had to be it. Uncle Vernon was still punishing him for earlier and was only building his hopes up to tear them down as soon as he came back with the post. The walrus had probably even told the postman to deliver the letter to his own house so it would be believable.

That was what he thought at first.

Uncle Vernon would never go through the trouble of sending post to his own address - the act would make him look abnormal in the eyes of the postman. And the writing was too fine to be from either of his guardians. Harry was unsure if he even blinked as he continued to stare at the envelope with his name.

Someone really had written to him.

His legs began moving back down the hall as his gaze lingered on the sole letter.

'Are you going back with that in your hand?'

She was back.

Harry froze. He knew with utmost certainty that there was nobody else in the hall - or house for that matter.

This, Harry, thought silently looking at the letter. Is this you?

'No,' she answered with sincerity. 'I'm actually just as curious as you are.' Harry could not see her, but he could almost picture a presence standing beside him to get a better look at what he had. 'Maybe hide that so they don't see you have it.'

Take the advice of a voice in my head? I thought you said that I wasn't mad?

'You're not,' she assured him. 'But you'd be a fool if you didn't hide it. Which is worse, you tell me?'

Harry felt a small sting to his pride - not that he had much to be proud of. Can you please go away?

"Hurry up, boy!" Uncle Vernon called from the kitchen. "How bloody long does it take to fetch the post?"

"Coming!" Harry called back, not wanting to dig his grave any further. But before entering the kitchen again, he paused by the cupboard door and quietly slid the letter under to be visited later.

He handed the stack of the post to Uncle Vernon who began sorting through it, picking out Marge's and opening it first. "Oh, Marge is ill! Came down with something terrible."

After that, Harry was tasked with his usual workload of cleaning up after the Dursley's ate their fill. The task was made harder with Dudley taking swats at Harry with his new Smeltings stick. From there, it was doing dishes, trimming the hedges, watering the flowers, dusting the living room, and weeding the garden. Harry set to these tasks without complaint, the prospect of opening that mysterious letter dangled on a line at the forefront of his mind. And through all of it, he never heard her voice talking to him.

When he had finally completed all of his chores, Harry was allotted a break to which he instantly sought his cupboard. The Dursley's didn't even bat an eye at the idea of Harry actually anticipating returning to the same space he had been confined to for the past two weeks.

The letter was lying on the floor exactly where Harry had slipped it in earlier. Making sure the door was completely shut behind him, Harry quietly tore the seal and pulled out a folded piece of parchment paper. He didn't know people still used parchment so if this was a prank, it certainly wasn't from the Dursleys. Wasting no more time, Harry started to read what was written.

Dear Mr. Potter,

We are pleased to inform you that you have been accepted to Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. We await your reply no later than the 31st of July. Please make your way to King's Cross Station to board Platform 9 ¾. The term begins on 1st September. We look forward to welcoming you to the newest Hogwarts generation.

Sincerely,

Minerva McGonagall

Deputy Headmistress

What?

That was the first question to pop into Harry's mind after his first reading.

This… this was not from the Dursley's. Any word even remotely synonymous with magic was banned from their household - a lesson he was familiar with. But that didn't stop this from being a prank of some kind. No one in their right mind would ever believe that this was real. But… was he in his right mind?

'A school for magic?' her voice spoke to him on point, maybe pressing her head to the side of his to try and read it herself. 'Do you believe that?'

Harry's bottom lip stuck out a bit as he furrowed his brow to a pseudo pout. Can you… be honest with me? He asked in his head.

'I wouldn't lie to you.' Maybe it bothered him how sincere she sounded.

This was you, wasn't it? Harry waved the letter in front of his face, knowing that she had some way of seeing it too. You sent this.

'Didn't you ask me that earlier? This wasn't me. Aside from talking to you right now, I don't have another way of reaching you.'

You're lying. The first time you started talking to me, the thing at the zoo happened. And when you start talking again, this letter shows up. He didn't know who or what she was, but she had to have something to do with this.

He could almost picture the frown on her face from his accusation. 'Why would I lie to you?'

Why? Why?! Harry thought, feeling angry. Why does anything happen? Why am I punished for things I don't do? Why don't I have a room of my own? Why do my relatives hate me? Why did my parents have to die and leave me an orphan?

She tried speaking to him. 'Harry, that's not-,'

Why are you even in my head?! Harry felt the anger rise higher. Why can't you just leave me alone and let me try and be normal?!

He felt the silence in his head, but he did not feel her leave. She was probably just… there, watching him, maybe afraid to say anything else to him right now. But he could almost feel a presence move beside him, a mere centimeter away from his own shoulder. When she spoke next, he could hear an understanding hurt in her voice.

'Do you want to be alone?'

Harry could not answer her right away. Just earlier he had tried convincing himself that she was just a figment of his imagination; and now, when he was holding physical proof that someone clearly knew that he existed, even if it was just some sort of prank. There had never been anybody who had cared, not a single person. Hearing her ask him that, actually sounding like she wanted to know… he found the will to answer back.

You. You're real… aren't you?

'Same as you. You might not be able to see me, but you're not alone.'

The other day, after the zoo, I had a dream. He recalled it perfectly as with all the others before and after. I saw a blonde girl of my age. She spoke to me, she said she would see me soon. Was that… you?

Her answer was simple. 'Yes.'

It wasn't too surprising, not that it was simple either. But at least now Harry could almost put a picture to her voice when she spoke. A girl of around his height with blonde hair falling just past her chin and two bangs that framed either side of her face.

And… you say you're real but you didn't send me this letter.

Once again, 'Yes.'

That doesn't really make it easy to believe you, Harry thought. Wouldn't having me go off to a school be the easiest way to see me? And if you're real, why not just come here then? Why make me confused?

'I would come to see you in person, but I don't live anywhere near where you are,' she explained. 'I guess you could say we're not even in the same country. And before you ask, no, not the country wherever this school is.' Harry was concerned she had actually read his mind. 'But you got me curious now. You asked if it would be easier if you actually went to that school. Do you actually believe that letter?'

Well having a girl from another country talking to me in my head seems a little harder to believe than a school for magic. Harry thought about street performers and magicians like Hoodini whose name was also banned in the house. They had to learn it from somewhere.

'Oh. So you trust a mysterious letter over someone you can actually talk to. I see how it is.' She sounded fake offended.

I'm not saying I believe it, Harry felt the need to defend his stance. I'm just saying it makes more sense.

'Hmph.' Harry could picture a pout in his mind.

Besides, I mean, this letter says it's awaiting my response, but it doesn't list any address. And Platform 9 ¾ I've never been to King's cross, but I'm pretty sure that doesn't exist. This probably is just one big prank. But… maybe it's not.

'Eh? Why do you say that?'

There's a girl from another country talking to me in my head. How is that possible if not magic?

'Maybe our paths are just similar.' She didn't say anything else on that matter. 'Are you going to write a reply?'

Would there be a point? I'd be worthless if this is all a hoax.

'I guess. But… if it did exist, would you want to go?'

Yes. Harry felt the answer come all too naturally to him.

'Really? What about just being normal?'

Normal seemed so far removed from him right now. I guess just wanting to be away from here is just normal to me. He did not know why he shared that with her. Maybe it was just normal to want to actually say what he meant.

'I see. If that's the case, why not write a reply? If it's just nonsense you won't lose anything. And if it is real, you'd be away from this place.' The way she said "this place" was conveyed in a tone his aunt had reserved for when he messed up in the garden.

But even Harry had to admit that even the smallest prospect of being away from Privet Drive was a very welcome one. Even if this was just a big prank. He opened his cupboard and discretely snatched a piece of paper, a pen, and an envelope from the kitchen under the guise of going to wash some of the dishes. Making his way back to his cupboard, Harry got to work on writing.

Still not having shaken the thought that this was just someone trying to mess with him, Harry wrote on the envelope, To the person who thought that this was funny. One prank deserved another or something like that. Harry continued onto the letter.

I saw that you wrote to me, you even knew exactly where my room is and that's very strange. You have a very good imagination, but I don't believe what you have to say. Magic isn't real. Harry hesitated on writing that since he had a girl talking to him in his head. But if it was, I would love to see some proof. If your school is real, I'd love to get away from this place and go to it.

He signed his name, folded it up, and sealed the envelope. It wasn't long or anything, but it really didn't have to be. As he had noticed before, there was no return address so he knew there was probably no chance of it even going anywhere, but he would play along.

Heading out to the front of the house, Harry looked it over once more and just laid it down on the front step. Since the person knew where his room was, it had to be someone in the neighborhood. They might see it and come to check it out. Looking around now, it was all quiet on Privet Drive; the only things out and about were some of Mrs. Figg's cats and strangely enough, an owl.

It was perched right on top of Uncle Vernon's car, watching him with its large eyes. No sooner had Harry laid the letter down, the owl had taken off, swooped down and snatched it with its beak before flying off.

Great, Harry thought sourly. What were even the odds?

'Don't sound so down,' she consoled him. 'Chances are it was all a prank anyway, right? You're not really losing anything.'

Yeah, I guess. Harry watched the tawny barn owl fly away, its dark shape becoming increasingly harder to see. Hey.

'Hm?'

I never even asked you your name. It was clear to him that he was beyond imagining her. She had to be real.

'I was worried you were never going to ask me that,' he could picture a teasing smile on her face. 'But since you asked, my name is Ymir.'

Three days followed since his reply letter had been snatched by the owl. Things had gotten back to normal on Privet Drive, Aunt Petunia continued to spy on the neighbors, Uncle Vernon was looking to get a promotion at Grunnings, and Harry was back to avoiding Dudley and his gang whenever he ventured outside.

His dreams were their usual state, disjointedly whole. There were zeppelins falling from the sky, the sound of thunder exploding as rain pelted down, cannons firing, a woman shouting, a forest at night, lines of people all wearing the same uniform, rocks being thrown through the air at high velocity followed by unlucky screams.

He had little interaction with the girl who called herself Ymir. She would make occasional remarks to him about the happenings of the day and she was in complete agreement about his opinion of the Dursleys. It was… comforting to know that he was not alone in believing them to be the truly abnormal ones. Of course, he wasn't either, but he would never hate someone or something just for being different.

So, Ymir, Harry asked in his head, feeling more at ease with the girl. You said before that you were in another country. Which one? I can understand you just fine and your accent isn't British. He was thinking maybe America or Canada.

'I don't think you've heard of it,' Ymir then replied.

Harry felt a little insulted by that. I'm pretty good with geography, you know. I just have to do less so Dudley looks good.

'I didn't say you were stupid, I just said you haven't heard of it,' Ymir defended.

So where are you from then?

'An island nation. The island is called Paradis.'

Alright… I haven't heard of it. Harry felt a pang of guilt over how he had sounded before. In school, they had only gone over major countries and continents, but he did know that there were some island nations out there, not that he could name all of them.

He wanted to question her some more about it as she seemed just as eager to answer his questions as he was to ask them. What stopped him was hearing the knock on the door of the Dursley's home.

"Are you expecting anyone, Tuney?" Uncle Vernon called from the living room.

"Not today," she called back from the kitchen.

Harry could hear the huff and puff of Uncle Vernon's breathing as he waddled to answer the door. "Probably a ruddy salesman." He opened the door. "Sorry. We can't be bothered with any - bbufffhuuurrg!" Uncle Vernon suddenly sputtered.

Hearing the commotion, Harry slowly peered his head into the hall from the kitchen he had been cleaning. He saw Uncle Vernon teetering about at the threshold of the door, perhaps about to fall down and shake the whole house. Standing on the other side was a tall woman with her hair pulled back in a tight bun that matched her strict expression. That seemed fitting, but Harry knew it was her style of dress that had Uncle Vernon in a fit. She was wearing robes - bright emerald robes.

"Vernon?" Aunt Petunia asked, coming to see what the fuss was about. "What's going-? Aaahh!" she shrieked, dropping the glass she had been holding.

"Good afternoon, Mr. and Mrs. Dursley," the robed woman cordially greeted. " My name is Minerva McGonagall, I'm here representing Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. May I come in?"

Harry was grateful he hadn't been holding anything like Aunt Petunia as he would have done the same. He might have thought this to be a dream, but it was too cohesive for it to be the case.

'So it was true,' Ymir spoke in his head, sounding a tad amazed herself.

From the door, Uncle Vernon continued to blunder, his great mustache rising up and down. "Wha-, who'sit… I… can't be… no. No. What is… what is the meaning of this nonsense?" he seemed to have found his voice again. "I-I haven't the slightest idea what you're talking about! I demand that you leave at once before I phone the police!"

"There won't be any need for such action, Mr. Dursley," McGonagall spoke in a tone fitting of an adult scolding a child. "I'm here to further inform your nephew about the letter he received."

"Well, you're sorely mistaken!" Uncle Vernon bullied back. "No letter ever came for anyone concerning your fraud establishment and I demand that you take your business elsewhere!" Uncle Vernon tried peering past her to make sure no neighbors were watching.

McGonagall fixed him with a stern look. "I can assure you a letter did arrive. I even have the response that was sent back asking for further proof."

Uncle Vernon was shaking his head in denial. "Impossible!"

Harry found it quite odd to see Uncle Vernon act like this in his own home. As much as his uncle would try and act, he was actually far from normal and it seemed to be showing itself in full right now. Taking the initiative, Harry stepped out into the sight of the robed visitor.

"You… actually got my letter?" he asked. McGonagall reached inside her sleeve and pulled a piece of paper that he knew to be the one he had sent as a reply.

The look on Vernon Dursley's face made Harry think the man might have just been slapped. His nonexistent neck was turning purple from anger but his face was dotted with nervous beads of sweat.

"That I did. Mr. Potter, I presume?" she observed him from behind her glasses. Harry gave a hesitant nod, feeling the respectable sternness that radiated from this woman. "Well, Mr. Potter, you seem to have inherited quite the sense of humor if your reply letter was to be considered as such. I see now it was quite foolish to believe that you would have been informed of this sooner."

Harry moved to stand fully in the hall. "Informed of - ?"

"Nonsense!" Uncle Vernon roared, redness quickly taking over his face. "There's nothing for him to be informed of! He had no right to invite you to our address. Leave my home immediately or I'll - !"

"Please, do keep your temperament in check, Mr. Dursley," McGonagall interjected with tempered professionalism. When she reached into her sleeve, the barest hint of wood could be seen.

And with that alone, Vernon Dursley was cowed into submission. Magic or not, Harry wished he knew how to do that.

"Now, as I was saying, it is time you were properly informed of your heritage, Mr. Potter. Would you and your guardians be kind enough to show me to your sitting room?"

Seeing as that his uncle was a bull statue and his aunt was on the edge of fainting, Harry led McGonagall into the living room. The two Dursleys eventually followed suit but did not sit down themselves, they stood plastered against the wall so still that they could have passed for standing pictures.

"I have a copy of your letter, Mr. Potter," McGonagall began once he had taken a seat. "You expressed a desire to attend Hogwarts this coming semester."

"Well, er… yes?" Harry phrased as a question. "Sorry if I sound unsure, but I didn't think anyone was going to come here."

McGonagall spared a glance at the fear-stricken Dursleys. "Clearly. From my understanding, you seemed to believe your letter was a hoax."

"I did. I hadn't really planned on writing back at first until…" he thought of Ymir, "until I realized I had nothing to lose."

The emerald woman sat up straighter in her seat. "Rather pessimistic but not inaccurate. Would you say that you believe in magic, Mr. Potter?"

Petunia seemed to find her voice. "You don't have to answer that-,"

"Mrs. Dursley, while your concern is duly noted, I was asking your nephew." McGonagall's eyes shone with the experience of handling disruptive children.

"I never did. Not until a few weeks ago."

"Might I ask what changed your mind?"

There was no way he was telling her about Ymir so he told the surface level of, "A glass to a snake cage disappeared when I was at the zoo. I never touched it, I just closed my eyes and it was gone. I thought that was a hoax, too."

"A case of accidental magic, hm. It is rare, but not uncommon for children to display banishing charms at your age. However, if you still doubt that magic is real, perhaps a demonstration on my end is required."

Harry said nothing, neither did Ymir in his head. He could tell she was anticipating this right alongside him.

Without uttering a word, McGonagall's form began to condense on itself, becoming smaller and more adept until finally, a tabby cat was sitting upright in a perfectly stiff imitation of how McGonagall had been just seconds prior.

"Tuney!" Vernon Dursley cried as his wife actually seemed to faint. He caught her before she hit the floor.

'That was… really something else.'

Even you sound impressed, Harry tried to picture Ymir's expression right now as he stared in wordless amazement at the tabby cat that occupied McGonagall's seat.

'I guess I'm used to people turning into something bigger,' Ymir replied rather flatly at her own words.

Harry would have asked what she meant by that had McGonagall not transformed back into her human body, demanding his full attention. "Do you consider yourself fully convinced now, Mr. Potter?" Even though she kept a neutral expression, Harry thought she was resisting the urge to smile at her own feat.

"I'd say so. Yes." He nodded along. Forgetting whatever connection he had to Ymir, he had to accept now that magic was real. "But… I didn't see you use a wand."

Reaching into her sleeve once more, McGonagall drew out a well-polished stick. Aunt Petunia, recently awoken, almost passed out again at the sight, clinging to her husband for security.

"Not all magic requires a wand, Mr. Potter; not that I would recommend trying to do so at your age." She tucked it back into place. "Seeing as that you are fully convinced, I will oblique any questions that you may have regarding Hogwarts and the education you will be receiving there."

"We haven't the money to be sending him," Vernon Dursley quickly spoke. "Our son, Dudley, is going to be attending the finest private school around. An education like that doesn't come cheap you know."

Harry knew that was a lie. Uncle Vernon made enough from his job to buy over thirty birthday gifts for Dudley. Plus, Dudley was even getting into Smeltings at a bargain because his father was an alumnus of the school.

"Finances will not be an issue, I assure you, Mr. Dursley. Before their passing, the Potters ensured that their son's tuition costs would be paid in full."

"Paid in full?" Harry parroted McGonagall's words.

"You seem surprised, Mr. Potter. While your supplies will still have to be paid separately, that should not be a problem considering the trust they left in your name."

"Money? For me?" it must have come out sounding more stupid than he had hoped, judging by the look on McGonagall's face.

"No need to sound so disbelieving, Mr. Potter. Your parents were aware of their situation and wanted to see you financially well off should anything have happened to them."

"My parents knew that they might die in a car crash?"

'That seems unlikely.' Ymir sounded matter-of-factly.

"A car crash?" Now, it was McGonagall's turn to seem confused.

"That's what I was told when I asked about them," Harry recalled his aunt's wording. "They must have been drinking when it happened."

McGonagall's gaze traveled over to the two cowering Dursley's and narrowed into a scrutinizing glare. "I see. It seems that you have been greatly misinformed." She rose from her seat to stand at her full height. "Mr. Potter, you're parents were among two of the finest students I have ever had the privilege of teaching. Your mother was considered to be the brightest witch of her age and an absolute pleasure to have in class. To imply that her end came from a drunk driving accident is nothing short of disrespect to her memory." Her penetrating stare was now directed solely on Petunia. "Surely her sister would have known better."

Despite having had passed out moments ago, Petunia seemed to have found some form of hidden courage inside of herself. "Lily was always a smart one, wasn't she? She knew full well what she was getting into when she married that Potter boy, then she went and got herself blown up because of it. How was I to react when I found out about that in nothing but a letter and an infant left alone on my doorstep? And now, you plan to drag him off to that horrible school the same as my sister. We never wanted this!"

That was the first time Harry recalled Aunt Petunia ever showing any emotion other than panic when her sister was mentioned. It was oddly cathartic seeing her act this way. But something in her words just now exposed the lie that she had instilled into Harry for these last ten years.

"Then how did my mother die?"

A phantom feeling in his mind of hair brushing against his shoulder and face indicated to him that Ymir was leaning forward with intent observation. She seemed just as eager to hear what answer McGonagall would give to clear up this lie his life had been fabricated around.

While McGonagall remained standing, her demeanor softened just a tad to offer her reply. "Both of your parents died valiantly and with courage. They gave their lives so that you might live. And had the same fate befallen your current guardians, I've no doubt they would have openly welcomed your cousin to their home and told him the truth."

Petunia was unable to meet the witch's gaze.

"They were killed," Harry didn't say it as a question, rather an epiphany. He had assumed that his orphaning was brought about by just some freak accident, nobody's fault, just something that happened by chance. Based on her words, the killing sounded intentional. "Who… who killed them, do you know?"

The frustration that McGonagall displayed receded and she took her seat. "That I do, Mr. Potter. Just about everybody in the magical community knows the story of what happened that night. Professor Dumbledore, the headmaster of my school, left a letter with you when he delivered you here explaining everything to your current guardians." She then addressed the Dursley's. "Would it be foolish of me to assume that you still have the letter?"

Petunia shamefully shook her head. "We got rid of that long ago. There was never a need for it."

"So you assumed," McGonagall did not sound too surprised. "Please understand, Mr. Potter, that the details of that night are well known, but not fully understood, and the ones that are are none too pleasant. Not even I know the full story of why, but I will do my best to recall what is known." Harry leaned forward in his seat.

"As you will see once you attend Hogwarts, there is an entire community of witches and wizards living amongst the mundane world. Not all of them always turn out good. There was one who delved so deep into the dark arts that he became unrecognizable and earned the title of You-Know-Who in fear of speaking his name that was,-" she paused, composing herself. "Voldemort."

"Voldemort?" Harry repeated, thinking that almost sounded more made-up than that long title.

'Eh?' Ymir sounded equally confused.

"It is rather taboo, I wouldn't recommend openly saying it aloud, although Dumbledore has always stated that fear of a name will only increase fear of the thing itself." She paused before continuing. "Your parents were ones who openly stood against him and his growing numbers and eventually went into hiding for their own safety. It seemed rather sudden to many of us close to them, we never knew Lily to be expecting a child. By the time you were a year old was when he came after your parents."

"Why did he kill them?" Harry had to ask. "Why didn't he kill me. I mean, I'm glad to be alive, but why didn't he?"

McGonagall shook her head. "I honestly can't begin to tell you why he came after your parents that night. As for you, he very much tried to do the same, the scar on your forehead is proof enough of that."

Harry unconsciously brushed his fingers across the scar. The lightning bolt shape had held an appeal at one point, but knowing it came from someone who tried to do him in as an infant made him feel stupid for ever thinking that.

"But what stopped him?"

"You."

"Me?"

'Eh?!' Ymir seemed to be getting increasingly confusingly frustrated.

"That is what the magical community believes as a whole," McGonagall clarified. "The curse he cast at you ended countless others before, but for some reason, he could not kill you. The curse rebounded and struck him instead. From that night forth, you became known as the Boy Who Lived."

"But… I couldn't have done anything!" Harry couldn't comprehend that. "I was just a baby, I couldn't have…" a sequence in a dream almost seemed to replay itself for Harry.

He seemed to have grown to an impossible height, his muscular arm throwing up a body that had been ripped in half. The blonde hair of that body was now dirty with blood as it fell toward his open maw as he awaited on the remains of a stage.

That didn't seem right.

He would dream of a green light whizzing toward him on occasion. It was the most coherent of the majority of his dreams and it seemed a far better fit than the one before it. That was the one that seemed more fitting simply because it was too… foreign compared to the rest.

"If you did or did not, regardless, your story is widely known throughout our community."

"That almost sounds like I'm famous."

"The darkest lord in a century was defeated and you were the sole survivor of one of the deadliest curses known to wizardkind," McGonagall surmised. "A certain amount of status is bound to emerge from that."

That bothered him.

Harry didn't consider himself to be too prideful of a person, but he did take pride in what he did. If he worked hard in school to get a good grade, he would be proud of that, he had earned that. Of course, he rarely did so because it would usually result in a confrontation with Dudley and his gang and he valued his safety over his pride. But to be known for something he really had no recollection of didn't sit right with him. For all anyone knew, it all could have been a fluke. One of his parents might have stopped that curse and died as a result. What did they think a one-year-old could do against a wizard?

"I do hope that my answer did not change your decision about attending Hogwarts," McGonagall evenly spoke, noting his troubled expression. "We would be glad to receive a young wizard such as yourself regardless of your status."

"No, I still want to go," Harry answered, leaving out the "anywhere is better than here," thought that he had wanted to say. "I guess just… thank you, for telling me about what actually happened that night."

Her expression softened. "You are very welcome, Mr. Potter." She cleared her throat. "Now, back to the matter of your education; another representative will arrive within the week to take you to get your supplies. As for King's Cross, I'm sure your relatives will be willing to drive you to London for the train." Uncle Vernon made a regretful sigh. "To get onto the platform, walk at the barrier between platforms 9 and 10, and do so before eleven o'clock."

He nodded. "What supplies do I need?"

"There was a list enclosed in your envelope," McGonagall answered. "You haven't disposed of it, have you?" she sent him a cautious look.

"No. I have it in my…" an idea had snaked its way into Harry's head just now. Even though he hardly knew McGonagall, he knew that she clearly terrified his relatives.

Hey, Ymir, are you still there?

'No. You're mad and are just hearing voices in your head.'

He fought an eye roll. You're not the biggest fan of my relatives, are you?

'I like them when they're scared and can't talk bad to you. Why?'

Just watch.

"I have it with the rest of my stuff in my room. I can show you if you'd like." Harry suppressed a smile as he stood up and walked back toward the hall, ignoring the whitening expressions on his guardians' faces as he did.

When he got to the stairs, Harry undid the latch and opened it up and went to get the Hogwarts envelope, presenting it to McGonagall.

"A rather strange place to keep your letter, but… Mr. Potter, did you say that this was your room?"

"This is where I've been the past ten years," Harry answered innocently. "I thought you knew that. The letter did have my room written on it."

The witch's demeanor seemed to shake in controlled fury. "Those are… magically written according to the ledger… ten years…" her fingers were clenching and unfurling. "Petunia! Vernon! Do come here for a moment, I have something I'd wish to discuss with you."

'I'm starting to like her.' Harry could practically picture her growing smile.

When the two Dursley's crept into the hall, they were greeted with a controlled seething form of McGonagall. "Would either of you care to explain to me why your only nephew has been living under your stairs for ten years?"

Neither seemed keen to want to answer her question first, they just started speaking together with words like, "taxing enough as is," "room for Dudley's things," "spare bedroom for when Marge visits," and "comfortable enough for the time being."

The witch would have none of it. "From my understanding, number 4 Privet Drive has at least three upstairs bedrooms, same as every other house on this street. You will see your nephew moved into one of those rooms immediately." She drew her wand and the two Dursley's nearly melted on the floor. "I may not be able to use magic on muggles, but nothing restricts me from visiting this government's child services." She tucked her wand away. "See to it that I do not have to do so. I'll be sure to have a word with Dumbledore as well. It seems he'll have to amend the blood wards."

McGonagall purposefully walked past the Dursleys and opened their front door to make her exit as professional as possible. She hardly seemed to pay any thought to what any neighbors might think of her manner of dress on a street such as Privet Drive.

"Do take care, Mr. Potter," McGonagall bid farewell. "I look forward to seeing you in attendance on September the first."

After the door closed behind her, three things of importance happened.

Firstly, Harry received a proper room for the first time in his stay with his guardians.

Second, Dudley threw a massive tantrum when he returned home that day to find all his stuff had been moved out of the second bedroom.

And third, McGonagall made sure to bring up certain conditions with the headmaster of her school.

Thank you for reading. Next chapter, a journey to Diagon Alley provides Harry with some additional information about his past, and Ymir reveals more about her life. Chapter 3: Stories and Truth.