Chapter 1: Beneath the Stairs

Harry woke to the small rays of light seeping through the gap beneath his cupboard door. The air in the cramped space was stale. A dull ache throbbed in his head, and sweat clung to his skin, the remnants of another strange, hazy dream that left him disoriented and uneasy. He pressed his fingers to his temples, willing the lingering headache to fade. There were chores to do, breakfast to make, and, most importantly, he needed to stay out of the Dursleys' way.

A sudden thud upstairs jolted Harry, followed by the heavy and hurried stomping of feet. Charlie and Dudley were racing each other to the bathroom, as they did every morning. Dudley's size made him formidable, but Charlie had long since learned how to outmaneuver his cousin with ease thanks to his smaller frame. The noise signaled the start of the morning chaos. Worst of all, it meant Harry was already late to start breakfast. And on Dudley's birthday, no less.

Harry scrambled out of the cupboard, stretching his aching limbs after another night curled into the small space he was rapidly outgrowing. The stiffness hardly mattered. What did matter was getting breakfast started before Aunt Petunia found an excuse to punish him.

By the time the others began filing into the kitchen, Harry was already at the stove, frying bacon and pretending he hadn't just scrambled to begin. He stepped aside just in time to avoid being elbowed by Charlie as he strutted past, barely preventing the scalding bacon grease from splattering onto his arm. The movement had become instinctive, honed by years of dodging similar attempts from both Charlie and Dudley, who took every opportunity to make his life harder.

A faded scar on his leg served as a painful reminder of the first and only time they had pulled off that exact move. He hadn't been able to dodge, and when he dropped the pan, it sent hot grease splashing all over his exposed skin. Uncle Vernon had locked him in the cupboard for ruining breakfast and daring to accuse Dudley of causing the burn. Vernon had ranted about Harry's whining, calling it insufferable and attention-seeking. No matter how much Harry insisted he hadn't made a fuss, the result had been the same. Vernon's angry shouts, a slammed door, and another night spent in darkness with a grumbling stomach, punished for something he had been the victim of. Aunt Petunia, in a rare moment of pity, had given him a dab of aloe for the burn and scolded him about how he should be more careful next time.

"Watch it, freak," Charlie muttered. He shot Harry a fleeting look of casual disdain before striding past and settling comfortably at the table with their aunt and uncle.

Harry bit his tongue. Retaliating wouldn't change anything. It never did. His twin brother was one of the favored children of the Dursley household. From the moment they arrived, Charlie had fit in perfectly with the happy family. He had a proper bedroom, shelves filled with toys, and the unwavering affection of their aunt and uncle. He was part of a family. Harry, on the other hand, had a cupboard and even that he had to share with the old raggedy mop.

Harry was smaller, frailer, and constantly lost in Dudley's oversized hand-me-downs. The fabric pooled around his thin frame like a child playing dress-up in clothes meant for someone twice his size. He was a forgotten shadow in the household, acknowledged only when there was something to scold or blame. His wild black hair only made him more conspicuous, a stark contrast to Charlie's neatly combed brown locks, which had the faintest hint of auburn and fit perfectly within the Dursleys' definition of normal. Even their eyes reflected the divide between them. Charlie's eyes were a plain, unremarkable brown. Meanwhile, Harry's were an unnatural, piercing green. Petunia could hardly stand to look at them. If Harry ever dared to meet her gaze, she would snap and call his eyes inhuman.

The only thing identical about the twins was the pair of thin, lightning-shaped scars on their foreheads. The Dursleys claimed they were from the car crash that had killed their parents and left them abandoned on the doorstep. They never hesitated to remind Harry that, while taking him in had been an unfortunate obligation forced upon them, Charlie was embraced wholeheartedly as a welcome blessing.

Dudley, the center of attention as always, waddled into the kitchen. His beady eyes locked onto the steaming pile of bacon just as Uncle Vernon rustled his morning newspaper. Aunt Petunia shot a sharp, disapproving glance at Harry, her lips tightening as though merely looking at him had soured her morning. Charlie might have outranked Harry in the household hierarchy, but there was never any question about who the true favorite was. Dudley reigned supreme. He was indulged and untouchable, his every whim catered to without hesitation. Charlie, despite his privileges, remained one of Dudley's lackeys, mirroring his cousin's opinions and following him eagerly.

One day, Dudley had overheard the girls at school swooning over Charlie, calling him handsome and charming. Those were words that had never once been used to describe the overweight pudgy Dudley. Dudley's jealousy simmered all day. By evening, Dudley's prized model airplane was mysteriously snapped in half. With crocodile tears brimming in his eyes, he wasted no time pointing the blame at Charlie. Vernon had erupted in fury, grounding Charlie for a week and confiscating his television privileges. Harry had seen the betrayal flicker across Charlie's face, the realization that his innocence meant nothing when Dudley decided someone else should suffer in his place. Yet, despite it all, Charlie hadn't turned on Dudley. The moment his punishment ended, Charlie fell right back in line, trailing after Dudley as if it had never happened.

"Is that all you can manage, boy? Hurry up, we don't have all morning!" Vernon barked, not bothering to look up from his newspaper.

Harry nodded quickly and placed the rest of the food-eggs, beans, toast, and a tall stack of crepes with fresh cream-on the table, carefully weaving around the brightly wrapped presents that cluttered nearly every inch of space. There had never been a place for him at the table. Charlie lounged comfortably in his chair, chatting with Dudley about a new video game. He belonged, just as he always had. Harry kept his expression neutral as he picked at his meager portion, a misshapen, burnt piece of toast. He ignored the hunger twisting in his stomach, knowing better than to expect anything more.

Harry wondered if Charlie even remembered when they were younger, before the Dursleys' words had taken root, choking out any possibility of them ever being close. Now, Charlie barely acknowledged Harry at all, except when an opportunity arose to mock him. When they were little, before Charlie had fully grasped the situation, he had wanted to play with Harry. He had knocked on the cupboard door, sneaked him a cookie on their fifth birthday, and even asked genuinely confused- why Harry wasn't allowed to sit at the table with the rest of the family. But the Dursleys had stamped that out as quickly as it had begun.

"You don't want to be like him, do you, Charlie?" Aunt Petunia had warned, her voice firm and dripping with quiet disdain. "He's not like us. He's dangerous. You're a good boy. Not like him."

Perhaps if their physical traits and personalities had been the only things setting them apart, Harry could have convinced himself that if he just tried harder, acted more like Charlie, then maybe the Dursleys would love him too. Yet there was something undeniably different about Harry. Strange, inexplicable things always seemed to happen around him. Once, when Dudley and his gang had chased him into a dead-end corner of the schoolyard, Harry had suddenly found himself on the roof, with no memory of how he had gotten there. Another time, Aunt Petunia had furiously shaved his head as punishment for being untidy, only to shriek in horror when his hair grew back overnight, just as wild as before. When his emotions flared, the world around him seemed to react. Glass shattered, objects trembled, and things broke without anyone so much as touching them.

Charlie, on the other hand, had never experienced anything remotely unusual. He fit in, never drawing unwanted attention with odd occurrences. This only seemed to reinforce the Dursleys' belief that Harry was the problem, the freak, while Charlie was the perfectly normal boy they could be proud guardians of. Petunia and Vernon made sure Charlie understood this distinction, warning him that Harry's unnaturalness was dangerous and something to be avoided at all costs. They reminded him constantly that he wouldn't want to end up like his brother.

"How many did ya get, Duds?" Charlie asked, snapping Harry out of his thoughts.

"Clear the table! Can't you see we are done eating?" Petunia screeched at his obvious inaction.

Harry scampered to clear away the empty dishes, thankful that most attention seemed to be situated on Dudley. The table was buried under a veritable mountain of brightly wrapped boxes. Dudley sat before them, struggling to count the presents that overflowed onto the table and floor. The family had long since devoured the breakfast feast while Harry tried to ignore the faint twinge in his stomach. He wouldn't get to eat again until supper, so there was no use dwelling on it. Dudley's brow furrowed as he stumbled over the numbers, huffing in annoyance before turning to his mother.

"Thirty-six!" he declared, face scrunching up.

Petunia tittered, patting his arm. "Oh, Duddikins, that's two more than last year."

Dudley, however, was not satisfied. "But last year I had thirty-eight!"

Harry kept his face steady. He distinctly remembered Dudley bragging about every single one of his 34 presents last year. Vernon chuckled indulgently, setting his paper down.

"Now, now, Dudders, we'll buy you two more when we go out today. Wouldn't want my boy thinking he's being neglected," he announced happily.

Dudley beamed at this promise as he turned back to ripping open his gifts, tossing aside toys and gadgets that only a day ago he had been clamoring for. Dudley's room was overrun with forgotten toys. They had been things he begged weeks for, only to abandon after a single day of play. Perhaps the most egregious example was the parrot he had whined about incessantly until Uncle Vernon finally caved. The novelty lasted barely two days before he lost interest and, with careless indifference, opened his window and let the bird fly away.

Charlie eagerly examined a few of the opened boxes, occasionally nodding in approval or mentioning items he wanted for his own birthday. Many of the discarded gifts would eventually find their way into Charlie's possession, as Dudley's attention was always drawn to the next flashy gadget advertised on television or displayed in store windows. Charlie always had first pick and often received brand-new toys of his own, while Harry was lucky to scavenge a few half-melted toy soldiers from Dudley's discarded pile. Those tiny, warped figures still lined the wall of his cupboard, a pitiful collection of the few things he had ever been given, alongside a yo-yo without a string and a box of broken crayons, most of the colors long gone.

The shrill ring of the phone cut through the room, making everyone look up. Petunia huffed and stood from the table, disappearing into the other room to answer it. She returned moments later, her lips pressed into a thin line of displeasure.

"Mrs. Figg has broken her leg," Petunia announced, "She won't be able to take the boy today."

"Harry could come with us," Charlie suggested. Dudley let out an indignant whine, his face rapidly turning red in outrage. As much as Harry would love to visit the zoo, he knew that going with Dudley and Charlie would turn the outing into yet another miserable experience.

"I can stay here," Harry offered, "I'll be good."

"What about Yvonne?" Vernon asked, glaring at Harry. Harry lowered his gaze to the floor, pretending to find a speck of dirt fascinating.

"She's abroad," Petunia answered.

"We'll have to take the freak then. I won't leave him here and find the house in shambles," Vernon grunted, shushing Dudley's continued protests. Harry held back a sigh as he began clearing the table. Dudley's fierce gaze promised retribution. Even worse, Piers Polkiss was also invited. He and Charlie got along well enough, but they occasionally butted heads over who was truly Dudley's right-hand man. A skinny boy with a rat-like face, Piers delighted in egging Dudley on, always eager to join in whenever there was an opportunity to torment someone weaker. More often than not that someone was Harry.

Despite offering to stay in the cupboard and even volunteering to be locked in, Harry still found himself crammed into the backseat with Piers, Dudley, and Charlie, all of whom were engrossed in a conversation about Dudley's birthday presents. He kept to himself, relieved that they were too busy catching up to bother with him. Vernon had already given him a terrifying reminder to stay silent and unseen. He was too frightened to utter a sound, even as Dudley grew bored of bragging about his gifts and took to pinching him the entire way to London, leaving red marks that would undoubtedly bruise.

Relief washed over Harry when the car finally stopped, and the boys piled out. Dudley, distracted by the sights and sounds around him, quickly found something else to focus on besides tormenting Harry. For once, it seemed like it might actually be a decent day. He had even managed to get an ice cream cone, a rare treat that felt almost too good to be true.

A rare spark of excitement flickered in Harry's chest as they stepped into the reptile house, the air thick with the earthy scent of damp stone and the quiet rustling of scales against glass. Reptiles had always fascinated him. He spent hours at the school library reading about them, escaping into pages filled with pictures of snakes and lizards from lands he could only dream of visiting. He drifted along the exhibits, staying close enough to avoid drawing attention but far enough that Dudley and his gang wouldn't suddenly decide he was more entertaining than the animals. His gaze settled on a massive snake, coiled tightly in its enclosure. It lay perfectly still, almost blending into the shadows of an artificial rock. Dudley had already abandoned it as it wasn't moving despite his cousin's efforts to disturb its peace.

The snake began to stir, its head lifting slightly as it met Harry's gaze, drawing closer as if studying him. The snake lifted its head slightly, dark eyes locking onto Harry's, its forked tongue flicking out as if tasting the air between them.

"I don't like snakes. They're slimy and creepy," Charlie said, glancing at a nearby snake enclosure, " Let's get out of here Duds, I heard there's a ferris wheel."

"Mum said we had to stay put," Dudley replied furrowing his brow.

"It'll be fine, we'll be back before they notice," Charlie persisted. Harry ignored them as they planned on how to get away and went back to observing the snake. He knew snakes were neither slimy or creepy, but he wasn't about to talk to Charlie willingly to correct him.

"I hope you're not sizing me up for a meal. I wouldn't taste very good," he told it, tilting his head. The snake gave a slow, deliberate shake of its head, as if to reassure him. Curious, Harry glanced at the nearby plaque, scanning the information.

"I wonder what Brazil is like. I bet it's warm, with huge trees and rivers. But you wouldn't know, would you? It says here you were born in captivity." he mused, glancing at the snake. It shook its head again, a slow, almost regretful motion. This time, its movement seemed tinged with sorrow. Its tongue flicked out, tasting the air, and its head swayed gently, as though longing for a place it had never known.

"Maybe I'll see it one day," Harry murmured wistfully, a distant longing creeping into his voice.

"WOAH! LOOK AT WHAT THE SNAKE'S DOING NOW!" Dudley bellowed, barreling toward Harry and shoving him aside so forcefully that he crashed onto the cold floor.

Harry winced as Dudley, giggling with delight, slammed his fists against the glass, the sharp bangs echoing through the exhibit and clearly irritating the snake. Without warning, the glass barrier simply ceased to exist, vanishing as if it had never been there at all. The massive snake uncoiled itself and slithered gracefully out of its enclosure, flicking its tongue in the air before snapping playfully at Dudley's heels. Harry barely registered Petunia reaching for both of her precious boys, to protect them from the snake. No one seemed to care that the snake was closest to Harry, but he wasn't surprised.

∿"Thankss, amigoo. Sseee you in Brazil ssomeday," ∿ the snake hissed, its voice low and almost amused as it slithered toward freedom. It flicked its tongue one last time in Harry's direction before vanishing into the growing chaos. Harry sprawled on the floor, offered it a small smile, feeling an odd sense of camaraderie. With an almost lazy elegance, it glided past stunned visitors, making its way toward the exit. Shrieks erupted throughout the reptile house as the enormous serpent weaved effortlessly between the displays. Parents grabbed their children, scrambling backward as the snake slid past, entirely uninterested in the humans cowering in its wake.

Harry barely had time to register the sheer absurdity of what had just happened-the fact that he had understood the snake, that it had spoken to him-before chaos took full hold. The shouting of zookeepers and frantic murmurs from visitors filled the air as the crowd was swiftly ushered out of the exhibit. The zoo director repeatedly apologized to Petunia and Vernon, his forehead glistening with sweat no doubt fearing a lawsuit and the publicity this would bring. Harry secretly hoped they would never find the snake, though he kept his expression carefully neutral, feigning ignorance as the staff bustled around in panic.

For a brief moment, he thought he had gone unnoticed, that no one had connected him to the bizarre disappearance of the glass. That was what he did until they were in the car, heading back to Privet Drive. Dudley, Charlie, and Piers were animatedly recounting the escape, their voices overlapping in excitement as they exaggerated details of the giant killer snake that had nearly attacked them.

"I just barely avoided its jaws! It tried to kill me!" Dudley exclaimed animatedly, "I could have died! It was poisonous!"

Harry resisted the urge to roll his eyes. The snake hadn't been poisonous for starters-it wasn't even venomous. If the snake had wanted to bite Dudley it would have been able to, but instead had only teased him before making its escape.

"Harry was talking to it, weren't cha, Harry?" Piers blurted excitedly as Dudley finished regaling the tale of the now 13-meter killer python that almost killed him.

"Snakes don't talk Piers. Harry was just reading the information on the plaque out loud," Charlie scoffed, rolling his eyes.

"But he was hissing at it! I heard him! It was like the snake actually understood whatever he was saying!" Piers protested.

Harry's stomach clenched as he glanced at Vernon, whose neck was steadily turning a dangerous shade of purple. That was never a good sign. Even Piers, with his thick head, seemed to grasp the gravity of the situation. The car was steeped in an oppressive silence. The only sound was the rhythmic breathing of its occupants, a stark contrast to the earlier excitement.

Vernon didn't utter a word until Piers had been safely dropped off, his grip tightening on the steering wheel with every passing second.

"Cupboard. Now. No meals," he finally spat, his voice low and venomous.

Petunia merely averted her eyes away from him and proceeded to the kitchen. Harry didn't dare argue or hesitate, scrambling away before Vernon's anger could boil over into something worse. He barely registered the slam of the cupboard door, only the dull sensation of his legs curling up beneath him, the familiar ache in his stomach, and the way the world blurred at the edges. Another punishment. Another silent night. He convinced himself it didn't matter.

He knew he could always sneak out for food later, once the Dursleys were asleep. A few grapes here, a couple of pieces of bread there. Just enough to quiet the hunger without raising suspicion. He couldn't take too much or someone might notice, but it wouldn't be the first time he had no idea how long he would be locked away.

The zoo incident earned him the longest punishment he could remember, days blending into dull monotony. By the time he was finally allowed out of the cupboard, summer had already settled in. He was just grateful it hadn't lasted until Christmas, as angry as Vernon had been.

The routine at Number Four, Privet Drive, gradually returned to normal, as if the disastrous zoo visit had never happened at all. Even Harry, ever wary of his relatives' moods, felt himself cautiously relax as the sweltering summer days dragged on. Vernon grumbled about work, Dudley and Charlie bickered over video games, and Petunia remained ever-obsessed with keeping the house spotless. Harry began to think the whole thing had been nothing more than a strange dream. Or so he thought.

Harry flipped the bacon with practiced ease, the sizzle filling the kitchen as the putrid scent of dye thickened the air. Across the room, Petunia stirred a bucket of lumpy, gray clothes, her expression one of tight-lipped satisfaction. He wrinkled his nose, already dreading whatever uniform she was preparing. Even though Charlie was attending the same secondary school, he was getting a brand-new set, while Harry was stuck with oversized, ill-fitting hand-me-downs, awkwardly dyed to resemble something presentable.

Meanwhile, Charlie sulked at the kitchen table. "It's not fair. Why can't I go to Smeltings like Dudley?"

Petunia let out a dramatic sigh as she scraped bacon onto a plate, as though burdened by a hardship only she could understand.

"We've been over this, Charlie. Smeltings is expensive, and only Dudley got in. He needs the environment to cultivate proper connections. You'll do just fine at Stonewall."

Harry rolled his eyes, though he kept his expression neutral. It wasn't as if Charlie would be treated the same way he would. Charlie would be popular, just like in primary school. He always fit in effortlessly.

The sound of Vernon rustling his newspaper broke through the morning routine. "Dudley, get the mail."

"Make Harry do it!" Dudley whined, not even glancing up from his half-eaten plate.

"Make Charlie do it!" Harry mimicked, dodging a swipe from Dudley's new Smeltings stick.

"Harry, get the mail," Vernon ordered, this time with none of the patience he'd used on Dudley. The sharpness in his tone left no room for argument. Harry sighed, rubbing his arm where Dudley had managed to smack him, and trudged to the front door.

Sorting through the pile of envelopes, his hands froze when he saw two thick, heavy letters among the usual bills and a postcard from Aunt Marge. His name was written in elegant emerald-green script:

Mr. H. Potter
The Cupboard Under the Stairs
4 Privet Drive
Little Whinging
Surrey

And a nearly identical one:

Mr. C. Potter
The Smallest Bedroom
4 Privet Drive
Little Whinging
Surrey

Harry's breath hitched. No one had ever written either of them before. The thick envelopes felt important-heavy, like they carried something far bigger than just words. No stamp. No return address. His fingers traced the raised emerald lettering, a strange flutter of anticipation curling in his stomach.

He hurried back inside as Vernon barked his name. He handed over the bills and Aunt Marge's letter, then passed Charlie his envelope before looking down at his own, ready to tear it open. Charlie set his letter aside without looking at it, but before Harry could read his, Dudley's whine cut through the air.

"Dad! Dad! Why did they get a letter and not me?"

Harry shot Dudley a look, silently begging him to be quiet just this once. But Dudley was already drawing Vernon's attention away from his newspaper. He

"What the devil are you talking about?" Vernon snapped, slamming down his paper. He lunged, tearing the envelopes from Harry's grasp with enough force to sting. A sharp pain cut across Harry's hand, a paper cut. He barely registered it over the thunderous look on Vernon's face.

Vernon's gaze locked onto the letters, his thick fingers tightening around them as if they might burst into flames, his face drained of color.

"P-P-Pet…"

Petunia turned, spatula in hand, her grip tightening as her gaze landed on the letters. A breath hitched in her throat. The spatula slipped from her fingers, clattering onto the floor, forgotten. Her knuckles went white as she clutched at her collar, as though she might choke on the words forming in her mind. Harry and Charlie exchanged glances. Whatever was in those letters had their aunt and uncle utterly terrified. Harry wished he could turn back time and just take the letter to his cupboard before trying to open it, he should have known better.

"Everyone to their rooms! NOW!" Petunia shrieked, her voice cracking.

All three boys tried to protest, but Vernon was already turning an alarming shade of purple. Harry knew better than to push his luck. He bolted first, hoping to eavesdrop through his cupboard door. He lay as still as possible, straining to hear their frantic voices.

"What do we do?" Petunia whispered. "It even says what bedrooms they're in!"

"They must be watching us!" Vernon hissed. "I knew the freak was no good, but the other one seemed normal. I won't have it, Pet! Not in my house."

"Should we write back? Tell them we don't want to send them?" Petunia suggested meekly.

"No. We'll ignore it. They should get the hint."

"But Vernon-"

"I won't have such things in my house. We swore we would set those two right, Pet, no matter what it took. We agreed to stamp out this dangerous nonsense."

Harry held his breath, straining to catch more, but the voices faded and muffled footsteps signaled they had moved further away. The front door slammed soon after. Vernon had left.

When the cupboard door suddenly swung open a few hours later, Harry shrank back instinctively. Vernon loomed in the doorway, the look on his face promised retribution.

"Those letters were not for either of you. They've been burned, and I don't want to hear any more about it," his voice was eerily calm, but the forced stretch of his lips made Harry's stomach churn. Harry nodded quickly, keeping his eyes low. They had clearly been for them, as they even had their individual bedrooms addressed. Not to mention, it seemed their aunt and uncle knew exactly who had sent the letters to them. Vernon's gaze swept the tiny space, nose scrunching in distaste.

"Your aunt and I have been talking. You're too big for this cupboard. We've decided to move you into Charlie's room."

Harry's stomach twisted. That was not a kindness. But he knew better than to question it. Without a word, he hurried to gather his belongings-few as they were-and carried them upstairs under Vernon's watchful eye. Charlie stood in the doorway, arms crossed as he scrutinized Harry.

Harry observed his new surroundings carefully. Charlie's old twin bed was gone. In its place stood a brand-new bunk bed, its mattress stiff and untouched, like it had been bought just for show. Harry hesitated. He had never been given something new before. It set him on edge, like stepping into a trap he couldn't see.

"I'm taking the top bunk," Charlie said offhandedly, already climbing the ladder as if it had never been up for debate.

Harry nodded, placing his things in the small, cleared-out corner he'd been given.

"And don't touch my stuff," Charlie added with a frown.

Harry lay stiffly beneath the top bunk, his body tense with unease. The mattress beneath him was too firm, the sheets too crisp-everything about this felt wrong. This wasn't kindness. It was something else, something unknown, and Harry didn't like unknowns. His heart pounded as he stared up at the underside of Charlie's bed, waiting for sleep that wouldn't come. The air felt too open, too exposed.

He waited. And waited. Only when Charlie's breathing evened into soft snores did Harry finally move. Silent as a whisper, he gathered his blanket and pillow and slipped across the room, into the closet. The darkness greeted him like an old friend. He curled into the small space, the cool wall pressing against his back. Here, the world was small, predictable. No surprises. No unknown rules.

Safe.

The next morning, two more letters arrived. The day after that, even more. Vernon had gone positively unhinged, going as far as to nail the mail slot shut, trapping them all inside as if that would stop the letters from coming. Harry had tried, more than once, to covertly grab one but every attempt ended in failure.

On Sunday morning, Vernon hummed smugly as he buttered his toast.

"No post on Sundays," he announced cheerfully, the first hint of relief he had shown in days.

He barely had time to swallow his next bite before the letters began pouring through the chimney in a tidal wave of parchment. The living room was a whirlwind of paper as letters rained down like a storm, slipping under the door, bursting through the boarded-up mail slot, and spiraling through the air. Vernon roared in fury, flailing as he tried to block the onslaught, while Petunia shrieked in horror. Dudley cowered behind his mother, and even Charlie, who had taken to sulking ever since Harry moved into his room, stared wide-eyed at the chaos.

Then Vernon snapped.

"That's it! Everyone- PACK YOUR BAGS!"

Harry barely had time to process what was happening before Vernon was tearing down the nailed-up boards. In a flurry of frantic movement, they were shoved into the car. Even Petunia, usually the voice of reason, said nothing as Vernon drove them away from Privet Drive without so much as a backward glance. They drove for hours. Every time they stopped, the letters found them. A handful at a gas station. A dozen stuffed under the hotel door. By the time they reached the remote countryside, Vernon was a man possessed, muttering feverishly under his breath as he changed direction at random, as if trying to outrun something inevitable.

Finally, as night fell, they arrived at the coast.

"Out!" Vernon barked. He led them to a rickety boat, forcing them to board. The sea was rough, the boat swaying dangerously as the wind howled around them. The final destination was a decrepit old shack, barely standing on a jagged rock in the middle of the sea. The walls groaned against the wind, and the entire structure smelled of salt and rot. Vernon looked utterly pleased with himself.

"Try delivering post here," he sneered as he secured the door.

Inside, there was hardly any room to move. The twins were given a thin, moth-eaten blanket between them. Dudley complained loudly about the state of the accommodations, but for once, Vernon ignored him. Harry didn't know why Dudley was complaining. At least he had his own decrepit blanket and didn't have to share with Charlie. He was much too close to his twin for his liking.

Charlie was seething over his ruined birthday, furious that he had been promised a trip to an amusement park. Aunt Petunia tried to soothe him, and Dudley echoed Charlie's annoyance. All of them were conveniently ignoring the fact that it was also Harry's birthday and that Harry had never been invited in the first place. Harry wasn't sure why he cared. It wasn't like the Dursleys had ever celebrated it before but there was something about the idea of turning eleven that made his chest feel hollow like it was supposed to be an important birthday.

Harry lay on the cold, damp floor, staring at the cracked ceiling. He exhaled slowly, listening to the sound of crashing waves and Dudley's grating snores. Just one more day.
Then a thunderous BOOM shook the shack.

Harry bolted upright. BOOM. The door rattled on its hinges. The Dursleys jerked awake, Dudley yelping as he scrambled backward. A pause hung heavy in the air.

CRASH!

The door was wrenched off its hinges and a massive figure ducked into the room. He was enormous- easily twice the size of an average man with wild, tangled hair and a thick beard that hid most of his face. He had to stoop slightly to avoid hitting his head on the low ceiling. Harry had never seen anyone so large. It was unnatural. Exactly the kind of thing his aunt and uncle hated.

"Harry! Charlie!" the man boomed, stepping forward with a broad grin. "There yeh are! Been lookin' all over fer yeh!"

Harry and Charlie exchanged wide-eyed glances in a rare occasion of comradery. They didn't know him, but this man was acting as if they had known him their entire life. It was a rare moment where Harry agreed with Charlie- something was odd here.

"Happy birthday to the both of yeh!" the giant continued, pulling something from his deep pockets. "Brought yeh a cake, I did. Might be a bit squashed, but it's the thought that counts."
He proudly held up a slightly crumpled, lopsided cake with

HAPPEE BIRTHDAE HARRY AND CHARLIE

written in messy icing. Charlie looked at it in disgust and fled behind Petunia away from strange man.

"Now, look here!" Vernon blustered, stepping in front of Harry. He raised a rifle, that Harry hadn't even noticed him buying, and aimed it with shaking hands. "I don't know who you are, but you're trespassing, and I'll have you know I'm armed!"

The giant barely spared him a glance. With one massive hand, he grabbed the barrel and bent it effortlessly, twisting the metal into a pretzel before tossing it aside. Vernon let out a strangled squeak.

"Be quiet, Dursley," the giant said gruffly before turning back to the twins. "Right, where are me manners? Name's Rubeus Hagrid. Keeper of Keys and Grounds at Hogwarts."

Harry barely had time to process the information before Charlie, still frozen by the fireplace, spoke up.

"Hogwarts?" he echoed, edging closer to Petunia.

Hagrid blinked, stunned.

"Blimey. Yeh mean ter tell me yeh don't know 'bout Hogwarts?" Hagrid questioned.

Harry shook his head slowly but no one else seemed to want to speak. He looked cautiously before answering.

"Er-no," he admitted.

"What have yeh been tellin' these boys?" Hagrid looked from one twin to the other before rounding on Vernon and Petunia, his face darkening.

Petunia flinched but stood her ground. Harry was mildly impressed.

"I won't have it," Vernon growled. "I won't have you infecting this family with your nonsense! We took them in to set them straight, and I'll be damned if I let you ruin that!"

Hagrid's entire body tensed, his large hands curling into fists.

"Ruin? Ruin?!" His voice boomed through the shack, making the very walls tremble. "They're wizards, same as their mum an' dad!"

Charlie let out a sharp, incredulous laugh. "You're joking. You have to be joking."

"Do I look like I'm jokin'?" Hagrid huffed.

"But- but I'm normal!" Charlie protested. "I don't make freaky things happen! That's Harry!"

"'Course yeh're a wizard too!" Hagrid said. "Got yer letter an' everythin', didn't yeh?"

Charlie's face twisted, his ears burning red.

Harry barely noticed. His gaze locked onto Petunia-her mouth a tight, trembling line, her hands gripping the hem of her shirt as if she could wring the truth out of it.

"You knew," Harry said, voice barely above a whisper.

Petunia turned to him, her eyes flashing with something unreadable. Then, she sneered.

"Knew?" she spat. "Of course we knew! How could we not, after growing up with her?" Her lips curled with venom. "Lily, the perfect witch running off to that damned school of hers while I was left behind! Our parents doted on her, celebrated her freakishness while I was ignored. And then she got herself blown up, leaving us to pick up the pieces-to raise you two!"

Silence stretched.

Charlie looked as though she had physically struck him. "I thought you said they died in a car crash," he whispered.

Hagrid exhaled sharply.

"Car crash?" His fury reignited as he rounded on Petunia and Vernon. "CAR CRASH? That's what yeh told 'em? That's how yeh explain-" He jabbed a massive finger at the scars on their foreheads. "That's how yeh explain that?"

Vernon paled. Petunia looked away.

Harry's fingers went instinctively to the scar that he had been told had been from the crash that killed their parents. He swallowed thickly, gripping the envelope Hagrid had handed him. His name was written in the same ink as before. But now, it felt heavier. Everything had changed and he wasn't sure how to feel about it.

Author's Note:

I do not support J.K. Rowling or her views.

Thank you for reading.

This is a reupload of a story with the same name and plot. Things have been heavily edited and expanded. Cross posted on a03. Please enjoy. Thank you for the reviews.