Summary:
What if Harry had taken just a few more minutes to explore his vault when Hagrid took him to Gringotts? What if James Potter had left behind something even more valuable than gold for his son?
This story focuses on the summer before Hogwarts—the month that changed everything for Harry. From discovering hidden truths about his parents to experiencing the kind of love and guidance he never knew, Harry's world is forever altered before he even steps foot in the Great Hall. Love, Dad follows Harry through those pivotal weeks leading up to—but not beyond—his Sorting.
AN Note: I do not own Harry Potter, alas that honor belongs to JK Rowling.
Chapter 1: To Harry with Love
Harry stood frozen, wide-eyed, in awe of the mounds of gold, silver, and bronze coins glittering inside the vault. It was hard to wrap his mind around it. All of this was supposed to be his? It seemed impossible—like a dream. He half-expected someone to appear from the shadows, laughing, and tell him it was all a mistake.
But the coins didn't vanish. They stayed, gleaming in the dim torchlight.
Taking a deep breath, Harry stepped further into the vault, his footsteps echoing off the stone floor. His heart pounded in his chest, not from the wealth around him, but from the overwhelming sense of disbelief. He had never seen so much money in his life—especially not for him.
Something at the back of the vault caught his eye, distracting him from the piles of coins. A large, antique bookshelf was nestled against the far wall. It stood in stark contrast to the wealth scattered around the room, as though it was far more important than gold or silver.
Drawn by curiosity, Harry walked toward the bookshelf, his steps slow and hesitant, ignoring the want to hurry due to the impatient scowl of the goblin or Hagrids ill demeanor. The shelf was large, made of dark, polished wood, gleaming as though someone had just wiped it down. The shelves were lined with books, small boxes, and notebooks, each neatly labeled with brass plaques. The plaques read: First Year, Second Year, Third Year, all the way up to Seventh Year.
He wasn't sure what to make of it. First-year what? School? It didn't make sense.
His gaze fell to the bottom shelf, where a plain cardboard box sat with a small cream-colored envelope taped to the top. The envelope was addressed to him: 'To Harry' written in elegant, flowing cursive.
Harry's throat tightened. His name—written carefully by someone who had known him, maybe his parents? He lifted the envelope with trembling hands, running his fingers over the fancy script. He had never received a letter before. Not a real one. His heart pounded in his ears as he turned the envelope over. It was sealed with a wax stamp, a flaming bird embossed in the wax, forming the letter "P."
A phoenix? He wasn't sure. He stared at the letter for a long moment, almost afraid to open it. He wanted to take his time, to savor whatever message lay inside, so he carefully slipped it into his pocket.
His attention turned to the box beneath the envelope. It was an ordinary cardboard box, old and a bit worn. He picked it up and was surprised by how light it was. Curious, he opened it, expecting to find some important treasures or keepsakes.
Instead, he found... nothing. The inside of the box was pitch black, so dark he couldn't see the bottom.
Frowning, Harry peered into the box more closely. It was impossible to see anything within. He put the box down and reached his hand inside, figuring it was just too dark to see. But his arm sank further than he expected—much further. He felt nothing. No bottom. No sides.
Before he could process what was happening, the box seemed to pull him forward. He stumbled, and with a gasp, Harry tumbled headfirst into the dark void.
For a moment, everything was spinning. He fell, his heart racing, until he landed with a soft thud. He wasn't in the vault anymore. He sat up, dazed, blinking in confusion.
The room around him was spacious, though not massive. It was larger than Dudley's second bedroom—where the spoiled brat kept his broken toys—but it wasn't overly grand. The first thing that struck Harry was how... polished everything looked. The wooden furniture gleamed as though freshly cleaned, and the room had an air of quiet luxury, though it was simple.
A bunk bed stood against one wall, and a desk was tucked in the corner. The walls were lined with shelves, every inch of wood shining under the soft light. Red and gold accents ran throughout the room, giving it a regal yet cozy feel. Harry felt an odd sense of familiarity, though he couldn't place why. The room seemed to resemble something, but he didn't know what.
For a moment, Harry just stared, bewildered. Where was he? What was this place? He had never seen a room like this in his life. It felt... like it was made for him, though how could that be?
His gaze wandered to the polished shelves, but his rising panic quickly overrode his curiosity. How had he gotten here? More importantly, how was he going to get out?
His eyes scanned the room until they landed on a ladder in the corner, almost hidden in the shadows. Without thinking, Harry rushed over to it, his hands shaking as he grabbed the rungs. He didn't want to be trapped here—wherever 'here' was. He needed to get out.
Harry quickly scrambled up the ladder His breath came in quick, shallow gasps, fear driving him upward. Finally, after what felt like an eternity, his hand grasped the familiar cold stone of the vault floor. With a final heave, Harry scrambled out of the box and onto the ground, panting, his heart pounding in his ears.
"Harry! Yeh alright?" Hagrid's voice boomed from the vault entrance, concerned.
Harry looked up, still catching his breath. Hagrid and the goblin stood by the door, both watching him with a mix of curiosity and impatience. Neither of them seemed to have noticed what had just happened.
"Yeah, I'm fine," Harry said, his voice shaky.
"Yeh took yer time," Hagrid said with a grin. "Come on, we've got more ter do."
Harry nodded, standing on unsteady legs. He quickly stuffed his bag with as much gold as he could carry, glancing nervously at the box. Whatever it was, he wasn't leaving it behind. He carefully cradled it in his arms as he followed Hagrid and the goblin out of the vault.
They climbed back into the cart, the goblin's smirk widening as he sped them along the winding tracks. Hagrid groaned with every sharp turn, clearly not enjoying the ride, while the goblin seemed to take pleasure in making him uncomfortable.
Harry, on the other hand, was too distracted to care about the wild ride. His mind was spinning with questions—about the box, the strange room, and the letter in his pocket.
But for now, he was back in Diagon Alley, surrounded by bustling shops and magic he didn't yet understand. It was enough to pull him out of his thoughts, at least for a while. The day wasn't over yet, and there was still plenty to see.
"Let's get yeh sorted with yer school things, eh?" Hagrid said cheerfully, stretching his back as they stepped onto the cobblestone streets.
Harry nodded, cradling the mysterious box a little tighter. There would be time for answers later. For now, he had a world to explore.
Harry couldn't remember the last time he'd felt this overwhelmed. The day had been long and full of strange, magical experiences—wand shopping, getting a pet owl, and learning he was famous—but none of that compared to what he was holding now.
The letter.
He sat in Dudley's second bedroom, surrounded by broken toys and old furniture, yet somehow, it all felt different tonight. The box, now tucked beneath his bed, held wonders he hadn't yet explored, and Hedwig, his new snowy owl, perched quietly in her cage, watching him with bright, intelligent eyes. Vernon, begrudgingly, had allowed her into the house on the condition she stayed silent.
But none of that mattered right now. Harry's hands trembled slightly as he unfolded the letter from his father, smoothing out the crinkled parchment as best as he could. The wax seal with the flaming bird was now broken, but he had been careful to preserve the image.
He took a deep breath and began to read.
Son,
You are eleven years old if you are reading this letter. Right now, as I write this, you are six months old but already a very powerful young wizard. You have successfully turned my hair pink. At six months old! I'm watching your mother rock you to sleep right now, and I can honestly say that I have never been happier, or more terrified. I hope I don't mess up.
There's a lot I want to teach you and show you. Not just about magic, or about pranking, but about being a good person, a good friend, and living an honorable life. And of course, pranking!
I have been worried lately, though, because our community is currently embroiled in a civil war. There are some pretty bad wizards running amok, and sometimes I get a feeling… Well, I worry. My job is to protect you and your mum, and to that end, I've started gathering some things just in case things go pear-shaped.
Your mum says that the Boy Scout motto (some kind of Muggle organization) is 'Always Be Prepared.' So, I've prepared a few things for you.
Harry paused, blinking rapidly as his vision blurred with tears. He felt a sharp tug in his chest—a mix of longing and sadness. His dad. His dad had written this. A real person, someone who had cared about him, worried about him, and wanted to protect him.
He continued reading.
As you probably noticed, the box has some expansion charms on it. If you tap the box with your wand and say, 'Prongs is the Best,' it will shrink to fit in your pocket. Otherwise, it's just the right size to fit in a school trunk.
The Marauders thought this would be a great hiding place and maybe a bolthole in case of emergencies.
Hogwarts is a great place to learn, Harry. Do your best, and your mum and I will be proud of you no matter how many OWLs you get.
I hope you follow more closely to your mother's example than my own regarding your education. I spent too much time goofing off and getting into trouble. There's nothing wrong with having fun, but I wish I had spent more time making friends instead of pranking enemies. With your mum's influence, I doubt you'll be the bully I was.
Harry's brow furrowed. His father had been a bully? It didn't sound like the man in the letter. But the honesty, the regret in his dad's words, made Harry respect him even more.
I also hope you choose to make friends in all the houses. Yes, even Slytherin has its virtues. I wish I had known that sooner. So, in case you don't sort into Gryffindor like your mum and I did, just know we are still proud of you and will always love you. No matter what, Harry, you will always be our son.
Have a great first year at Hogwarts.
Love, Dad
Harry wiped at his eyes, but it didn't stop the tears from falling. His dad's love, his pride, his advice—it was all here, in this simple, heartfelt letter. A letter written years ago, by a man who had no idea how much his son would need these words.
The last line—Love, Dad—hit Harry the hardest. He'd never seen those words before, not directed at him. He held the letter to his chest, clutching it as if it could somehow bring his parents back, even for just a moment.
For the first time in his life, Harry felt a deep, powerful connection to his family. They weren't just names on some gravestone somewhere, or epitaphs on his aunt and uncle's lips; they were people who had loved him, planned for him, and wanted him to succeed. He fell asleep like that, tears drying on his cheeks, the letter cradled against his heart.
In the darkness of Dudley's second bedroom, as the Dursleys snored down the hall, Harry dreamed of a world where he wasn't alone—a world where he had a family. And though he didn't know it yet, the words 'Love, Dad' would one day fuel the most powerful magic he would ever cast.
AN Note: Enjoy the newly edited chapter 1 as of Sept. 2024.