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moment of peace

𝐏𝐫𝐨𝐥𝐨𝐠𝐮𝐞: 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐁𝐨𝐲𝐬 𝐖𝐡𝐨 𝐋𝐢𝐯𝐞𝐝

Next Chapter

Mr. and Mrs. Dursley, of number four, Privet Drive, were proud to say that they were perfectly normal, thank you very much. They were the last people you'd expect to be involved in anything strange or mysterious because they just didn't hold with such nonsense.

Mr. Dursley was the director of a firm called Grunnings, which made drills. He was a big, beefy man with hardly any neck, although he did have a very large mustache. Mrs. Dursley was thin and blonde and had nearly twice the usual amount of neck, which came in very useful as she spent so much of her time craning over garden fences, spying on the neighbors. The Dursleys had a small son called Dudley and in their opinion, there was no finer boy anywhere.

The Dursleys had everything they wanted, but they also had a secret, and their greatest fear was that somebody would discover it. They didn't think they could bear it if anyone found out about the Potters. Mrs. Potter was Mrs. Dursley's sister, but they hadn't met for several years; in fact, Mrs. Dursley pretended she didn't have a sister, because her sister and her good-for-nothing husband were as un-Dursleyish as it was possible to be.

The Dursleys shuddered to think what the neighbors would say if the Potters arrived in the street. The Dursleys knew that the Potters had two small sons, too, but they had never even seen the boys. They were another good reason for keeping the Potters away; they didn't want Dudley mixing with children like that.

When Mr. and Mrs. Dursley woke up on the dull, gray Tuesday our story starts, there was nothing about the cloudy sky outside to suggest that strange and mysterious things would soon be happening all over the country. Mr. Dursley hummed as he picked out his most boring tie for work and Mrs. Dursley gossiped away happily as she wrestled a screaming Dudley into his high chair.

None of them noticed a large tawny owl flutter past the window.

At half-past eight, Mr. Dursley picked up his briefcase, pecked Mrs. Dursley on the cheek, and tried to kiss Dudley goodbye but missed, because Dudley was now having a tantrum and throwing his cereal at the walls. 'Little tyke,' chortled Mr. Dursley as he left the house. He got into his car and backed out of number four's drive.

It was on the corner of the street that he noticed the first sign of something peculiar—a cat reading a map. For a second, Mr. Dursley didn't realize what he had seen—then he jerked his head around to look again. There was a tabby cat standing on the corner of Privet Drive, but there wasn't a map in sight. What could he have been thinking of? It must have been a trick of the light. Mr. Dursley blinked and stared at the cat.

It stared back. As Mr. Dursley drove around the corner and up the road, he watched the cat in his mirror. It was now reading the sign that said Privet Drive—no, looking at the sign; cats couldn't read maps or signs. Mr. Dursley gave himself a little shake and put the cat out of his mind. As he drove towards town, he thought of nothing except a large order of drills he was hoping to get that day.

But on the edge of town, drills were driven out of his mind by something else. As he sat in the usual morning traffic jam, he couldn't help noticing that there seemed to be a lot of strangely dressed people about. People in cloaks. Mr. Dursley couldn't bear people who dressed in funny clothes—the get-ups you saw on young people! He supposed this was some stupid new fashion. He drummed his fingers on the steering wheel and his eyes fell on a huddle of these weirdos standing quite close by.

They were whispering excitedly together. Mr. Dursley was enraged to see that a couple of them weren't young at all; why that man had to be older than he was, and wearing an emerald-green cloak! The nerve of him! But then it struck Mr. Dursley that this was probably some silly stunt—these people were obviously collecting for something ... yes, that would be it. The traffic moved on, and a few minutes later, Mr. Dursley arrived in the Grunnings car park, his mind back on drills.

Mr. Dursley always sat with his back to the window in his office on the ninth floor. If he hadn't, he might have found it harder to concentrate on drills that morning. He didn't see the owls swooping past in broad daylight, though people down in the street did; they pointed and gazed open-mouthed as owl after owl sped overhead.

Most of them had never seen an owl, even at night-time. Mr. Dursley, however, had a perfectly normal, owl-free morning. He yelled at five different people. He made several important telephone calls and shouted a bit more. He was in a very good mood until lunchtime, when he thought he'd stretch his legs and walk across the road to buy himself a bun from the baker's opposite.

He'd forgotten all about the people in cloaks until he passed a group of them next to the bakers. He eyed them angrily as he passed. He didn't know why, but they made him uneasy. This lot was whispering excitedly, too, and he couldn't see a single collecting tin. It was on his way back past them, clutching a large doughnut in a bag, that he caught a few words of what they were saying.

"The Potters, that's right, that's what I heard–"

"–yes, their sons, Harry and Y/n–"

Mr. Dursley stopped dead. Fear flooded him. He looked back at the whisperers as if he wanted to say something to them, but thought better of it.

He dashed back across the road, hurried up to his office, snapped at his secretary not to disturb him, seized his telephone, and had almost finished dialing his home number when he changed his mind. He put the receiver back down and stroked his mustache, thinking ... no, he was being stupid. Potter wasn't such an unusual name.

He was sure there were lots of people called Potter who had sons called Harry and Y/n. Come to think of it, he wasn't even sure his nephews were called Harry and Y/n. He'd never even seen the boys. It might have been Harvey, (similar name). Or Harold. There was no point in worrying Mrs. Dursley. She always got so upset at any mention of her sister. He didn't blame her—if he'd had a sister like that ... but all the same, those people in cloaks ...

He found it a lot harder to concentrate on drills that afternoon, and when he left the building at five o'clock, he was still so worried that he walked straight into someone just outside the door.

"Sorry," he grunted, as the tiny old man stumbled and almost fell. It was a few seconds before Mr. Dursley realized that the man was wearing a violet cloak. He didn't seem at all upset at being almost knocked to the ground. On the contrary, his face split into a wide smile and he said in a squeaky voice that made passersby stare: "Don't be sorry, my dear sir, for nothing could upset me today! Rejoice, for You-Know-Who has gone at last! Even Muggles like yourself should be celebrating this happy, happy day!"

And the old man hugged Mr. Dursley around the middle and walked off.

Mr. Dursley stood rooted to the spot. He had been hugged by a complete stranger. He also thought he had been called a Muggle, whatever that was. He was rattled. He hurried to his car and set off home, hoping he was imagining things, which he had never hoped before, because he didn't approve of imagination.

As he pulled into the driveway of number four, the first thing he saw—and it didn't improve his mood—was the tabby cat he'd spotted that morning. It was now sitting on his garden wall. He was sure it was the same one; it had the same markings around its eyes.

"Shoo!" said Mr. Dursley loudly.

The cat didn't move. It just gave him a stern look. Was this normal cat behavior, Mr. Dursley wondered. Trying to pull himself together, he let himself into the house. He was still determined not to mention anything to his wife.

Mrs. Dursley had had a nice, normal day. She told him over dinner all about Mrs. Next Door's problems with her daughter and how Dudley had learned a new word ('Shan't!'). Mr. Dursley tried to act normally. When Dudley had been put to bed, he went into the living room in time to catch the last report on the evening news:

"And finally, bird-watchers everywhere have reported that the nation's owls have been behaving very unusually today. Although owls normally hunt at night and are hardly ever seen in daylight, there have been hundreds of sightings of these birds flying in every direction since sunrise. Experts are unable to explain why the owls have suddenly changed their sleeping patterns.' The newsreader allowed himself a grin. 'Most mysterious. And now, over to Jim McGuffin with the weather. Going to be any more showers of owls tonight, Jim?"

"Well, Ted,' said the weatherman, 'I don't know about that, but it's not only the owls that have been acting oddly today. Viewers as far apart as Kent, Yorkshire and Dundee have been phoning in to tell me that instead of the rain I promised yesterday, they've had a downpour of shooting stars! Perhaps people have been celebrating Bonfire Night early—it's not until next week, folks! But I can promise a wet night tonight."

Mr. Dursley sat frozen in his armchair. Shooting stars all over Britain? Owls flying by daylight? Mysterious people in cloaks all over the place? And a whisper, a whisper about the Potters ...

Mrs. Dursley came into the living room carrying two cups of tea. It was no good. He'd have to say something to her. He cleared his throat nervously. "Er—Petunia, dear—you haven't heard from your sister lately, have you?"

As he had expected, Mrs. Dursley looked shocked and angry. After all, they normally pretended she didn't have a sister.

"No," she said sharply. "Why?"

"Funny stuff on the news," Mr. Dursley mumbled. "Owls ... shooting stars ... and there were a lot of funny-looking people in town today ..."

"So?" snapped Mrs. Dursley.

"Well, I just thought ... maybe ... it was something to do with ... you know ... her lot."

Mrs. Dursley sipped her tea through pursed lips. Mr. Dursley wondered whether he dared tell her he'd heard the name "Potter". He decided he didn't dare. Instead, he said, as casually as he could, "Their sons—they'd be about Dudley's age now, wouldn't they?"

"I suppose so," said Mrs. Dursley stiffly.

"What's their names again? Howard and (similar name), isn't it?"

"Harry and Y/n. Nasty, common names, if you ask me."

"Oh, yes," said Mr. Dursley, his heart sinking horribly. "Yes, I quite agree."

He didn't say another word on the subject as they went upstairs to bed. While Mrs. Dursley was in the bathroom, Mr. Dursley crept to the bedroom window and peered down into the front garden. The cat was still there. It was staring down Privet Drive as though it was waiting for something.

Was he imagining things? Could all this have anything to do with the Potters? If it did ... if it got out that they were related to a pair of—well, he didn't think he could bear it.

The Dursleys got into bed. Mrs. Dursley fell asleep quickly, but Mr. Dursley lay awake, turning it all over in his mind. His last, comforting thought before he fell asleep was that even if the Potters were involved, there was no reason for them to come near him and Mrs. Dursley. The Potters knew very well what he and Petunia thought about them and their kind ... He couldn't see how he and Petunia could get mixed up in anything that might be going on. He yawned and turned over. It couldn't affect them ...

How very wrong he was.

Mr. Dursley might have been drifting into an uneasy sleep, but the cat on the wall outside was showing no sign of sleepiness. It was sitting as still as a statue, its eyes fixed unblinkingly on the far corner of Privet Drive. It didn't so much as quiver when a car door slammed in the next street, nor when two owls swooped overhead. In fact, it was nearly midnight before the cat moved at all.

A man appeared on the corner the cat had been watching, appeared so suddenly and silently you'd have thought he'd just popped out of the ground. The cat's tail twitched and its eyes narrowed.

Nothing like this man had ever been seen on Privet Drive. He was tall, thin, and very old, judging by the silver of his hair and beard, which were both long enough to tuck into his belt. He was wearing long robes, a purple cloak which swept the ground, and high-heeled, buckled boots. His blue eyes were light, bright, and sparkling behind half-moon spectacles and his nose was very long and crooked, as though it had been broken at least twice. This man's name was Albus Dumbledore.

Albus Dumbledore didn't seem to realize that he had just arrived in a street where everything from his name to his boots was unwelcome.

He was busy rummaging in his cloak, looking for something. But he did seem to realize he was being watched because he looked up suddenly at the cat, which was still staring at him from the other end of the street.

For some reason, the sight of the cat seemed to amuse him. He chuckled and muttered, "I should have known."

He had found what he was looking for in his inside pocket. It seemed to be a silver cigarette lighter. He flicked it open, held it up in the air and clicked it. The nearest street lamp went out with a little pop.

He clicked it again—the next lamp flickered into darkness. Twelve times he clicked the Put-Outer until the only lights left in the whole street were two tiny pinpricks in the distance, which were the eyes of the cat watching him.

If anyone looked out of their window now, even beady-eyed Mrs. Dursley, they wouldn't be able to see anything that was happening down on the pavement.

Dumbledore slipped the Put-Outer back inside his cloak and set off down the street towards number four, where he sat down on the wall next to the cat. He didn't look at it, but after a moment, he spoke to it.

"Fancy seeing you here, Professor McGonagall."

He turned to smile at the tabby, but it had gone. Instead, he was smiling at a rather severe-looking woman who was wearing square glasses exactly the shape of the markings the cat had had around its eyes. She, too, was wearing a cloak, an emerald one. Her black hair was drawn into a tight bun. She looked distinctly ruffled.

"How did you know it was me?" she asked.

"My dear Professor, I've never seen a cat sit so stiffly."

"You'd be stiff if you'd been sitting on a brick wall all day," said Professor McGonagall.

"All day? When you could have been celebrating? I must have passed a dozen feasts and parties on my way here." Professor McGonagall sniffed angrily.

"Oh yes, everyone's celebrating, all right," she said impatiently. "You'd think they'd be a bit more careful, but no—even the Muggles have noticed something's going on. It was on their news." She jerked her head back at the Dursleys' dark living-room window. "I heard it. Flocks of owls ... shooting stars ... Well, they're not completely stupid. They were bound to notice something. Shooting stars down in Kent—I'll bet that was Dedalus Diggle. He never had much sense."

"You can't blame them," said Dumbledore gently. 'We've had precious little to celebrate for eleven years.'

"I know that," said Professor McGonagall irritably. "But that's no reason to lose our heads. People are being downright careless, out on the streets in broad daylight, not even dressed in Muggle clothes, swapping rumors."

She threw a sharp, sideways glance at Dumbledore here, as though hoping he was going to tell her something, but he didn't, so she went on: "A fine thing it would be if, on the very day You-Know-Who seems to have disappeared, at last, the Muggles found out about us all. I suppose he really has gone, Dumbledore?"

"It certainly seems so," said Dumbledore. "We have much to be thankful for. Would you care for a sherbet lemon?"

"A what?"

"A sherbet lemon. They're a kind of Muggle sweet I'm rather fond of."

"No, thank you," said Professor McGonagall coldly, as though she didn't think this was the moment for sherbet lemons. "As I say, even if You-Know-Who has gone–"

"My dear Professor, surely a sensible person like yourself can call him by his name? All this,"You-Know-Who" non-sense—for eleven years I have been trying to persuade people to call him by his proper name: Voldemort." Professor McGonagall flinched, but Dumbledore, who was unsticking two sherbet lemons, seemed not to notice. "It all gets so confusing if we keep saying,"You-Know-Who".' I have never seen any reason to be frightened of saying Voldemort's name.'

"I know you haven't," said Professor McGonagall, sounding half-exasperated, half-admiring. "But you're different. Everyone knows you're the only one You-Know—oh, all right, Voldemort—was frightened of."

"You flatter me," said Dumbledore calmly. "Voldemort had powers I will never have."

"Only because you're too—well, noble to use them."

"It's lucky it's dark. I haven't blushed so much since Madam Pomfrey told me she liked my new earmuffs."

Professor McGonagall shot a sharp look at Dumbledore and said, "The owls are nothing to the rumors that are flying around. You know what everyone's saying? About why he's disappeared? About what finally stopped him?"

It seemed that Professor McGonagall had reached the point she was most anxious to discuss, the real reason she had been waiting on a cold hard wall all day, for neither as a cat nor as a woman had she fixed Dumbledore with such a piercing stare as she did now. It was plain that whatever 'everyone' was saying, she was not going to believe it until Dumbledore told her it was true. Dumbledore, however, was choosing another sherbet lemon and did not answer.

"What they're saying," she pressed on, "is that last night Voldemort turned up in Godric's Hollow. He went to find the Potters. The rumor is that Lily and James Potter are—are—that they're—dead."

Dumbledore bowed his head. Professor McGonagall gasped.

"Lily and James ... I can't believe it ... I didn't want to believe it ... Oh, Albus ..."

Dumbledore reached out and patted her on the shoulder. "I know ... I know ..." he said heavily.

Professor McGonagall's voice trembled as she went on. "That's not all. They're saying he tried to kill the Potters' sons, Harry and Y/n. But—he couldn't. He couldn't kill those little boys. No one knows why, or how, but they're saying that when he couldn't kill Harry and Y/n Potter, Voldemort's power somehow broke—and that's why he's gone."

Dumbledore nodded glumly.

"It's—it's true?" faltered Professor McGonagall. "After all, he's done ... all the people he's killed ... he couldn't kill two little boys? It's just astounding ... of all the things to stop him ... but how in the name of heaven did Harry and Y/n survive?"

"We can only guess," said Dumbledore. "We may never know."

Professor McGonagall pulled out a lace handkerchief and dabbed at her eyes beneath her spectacles. Dumbledore gave a great sniff as he took a golden watch from his pocket and examined it. It was a very odd watch. It had twelve hands but no numbers; instead, little planets were moving around the edge. It must have made sense to Dumbledore, though, because he put it back in his pocket and said, "Hagrid's late. I suppose it was he who told you I'd be here, by the way?"

"Yes," said Professor McGonagall. "And I don't suppose you're going to tell me why you're here, of all places?"

"I've come to bring Harry and Y/n to his aunt and uncle. They're the only family they have left now."

"You don't mean—you can't mean the people who live here?" cried Professor McGonagall, jumping to her feet and pointing at number four. "Dumbledore—you can't. I've been watching them all day. You couldn't find two people who are less like us. And they've got this son—I saw him kicking his mother all the way up the street, screaming for sweets. Harry and Y/n Potter come and live here!"

"It's the best place for them," said Dumbledore firmly. "They're aunt and uncle will be able to explain everything to them when they're older. I've written them a letter."

"A letter?" repeated Professor McGonagall faintly, sitting back down on the wall. "Really, Dumbledore, you think you can explain all this in a letter? These people will never understand him! They'll be famous—a legend—I wouldn't be surprised if today was known as Harry and Y/n Potter Day in the future; there will be books written about Harry and Y/n; every child in our world will know their name!"

"Exactly," said Dumbledore, looking very seriously over the top of his half-moon glasses. "It would be enough to turn any boy's head. Famous before they can walk and talk! Famous for something they won't even remember! Can't you see how much better off they'll be, growing up away from all that until they're ready to take it?"

Professor McGonagall opened her mouth, changed her mind, swallowed and then said, "Yes—yes, you're right, of course. But how are the boys getting here, Dumbledore?" She eyed his cloak suddenly as though she thought he might be hiding Harry and Y/n underneath it.

"Hagrid's bringing them."

"You think it—wise—to trust Hagrid with something as important as this?"

"I would trust Hagrid with my life," said Dumbledore.

"I'm not saying his heart isn't in the right place," said Professor McGonagall grudgingly, "but you can't pretend he's not careless. He does tend to—what was that?"

A low rumbling sound had broken the surrounding silence. It grew steadily louder as they looked up and down the street for some sign of a headlight; it swelled to a roar as they both looked up at the sky—and a huge motorbike fell out of the air and landed on the road in front of them.

If the motorbike was huge, it was nothing to the man sitting astride it. He was almost twice as tall as a normal man and at least five times as wide. He looked simply too big to be allowed, and so wild—long tangles of bushy black hair and beard hid most of his face. He had hands the size of dustbin lids and his feet in their leather boots were like baby dolphins. In his vast, muscular arms, he was holding a bundle of blankets.

"Hagrid," said Dumbledore, sounding relieved. "At last. And where did you get that motorbike?"

"Borrowed it, Professor Dumbledore, sir," said the giant, climbing carefully off the motorbike as he spoke. "Young Sirius Black lent it to me. I've got them, sir."

"No problems, were there?"

"No, sir—the house was almost destroyed, but I got them both out all right before the Muggles started swarmin' around. They fell asleep as we was flyin' over Bristol."

Dumbledore and Professor McGonagall bent forward over the bundles of blankets. Inside, just visible, were two baby boys, fast asleep. Under a tuft of jet-black hair and h/c hair over their foreheads, they could see a curiously shaped cut, like a bolt of lightning.

"Is that where–?" whispered Professor McGonagall.

"Yes," said Dumbledore. "They'll have that scar forever."

"Couldn't you do something about it, Dumbledore?"

"Even if I could, I wouldn't. Scars can come in useful. I have one myself above my left knee, which is a perfect map of the London Underground. Well—give them here, Hagrid—we'd better get this over with."

Dumbledore took Harry and Y/n in his arms and turned towards the Dursleys' house.

"Could I—could I say goodbye to them, sir?" asked Hagrid.

He bent his great, shaggy head over Harry and Y/n and gave them what must have been a very scratchy, whiskery kiss. Then, suddenly, Hagrid let out a howl like a wounded dog.

"Shhh!" hissed Professor McGonagall. "You'll wake the Muggles!"

"S-s-sorry," sobbed Hagrid, taking out a large spotted handkerchief and burying his face in it. "But I c-c-can't stand it—Lily an' James dead—an' poor little Harry and Y/n off ter live with Muggles―"

"Yes, yes, it's all very sad, but get a grip on yourself, Hagrid, or we'll be found," Professor McGonagall whispered, patting

Hagrid gingerly on the arm as Dumbledore stepped over the low garden wall and walked to the front door. He laid Harry and Y/n gently on the doorstep, took a letter out of his cloak, tucked it inside Harry's blankets and then came back to the other two. For a full minute, the three of them stood and looked at the little bundle; Hagrid's shoulders shook, Professor McGonagall blinked furiously and the twinkling light that usually shone from Dumbledore's eyes seemed to have gone out.

"Well," said Dumbledore finally, "that's that. We've no business staying here. We may as well go and join the celebrations."

"Yeah," said Hagrid in a very muffled voice. "I'd best get this bike away. G'night, Professor McGonagall—Professor Dumbledore, sir."

Wiping his streaming eyes on his jacket sleeve, Hagrid swung himself onto the motorbike and kicked the engine into life; with a roar, it rose into the air and off into the night.

"I shall see you soon, I expect, Professor McGonagall," said Dumbledore, nodding to her. Professor McGonagall blew her nose in reply.

Dumbledore turned and walked back down the street. On the corner, he stopped and took out the silver Put-Outer. He clicked it once and twelve balls of light sped back to their street lamps so that Privet Drive glowed suddenly orange and he could make out a tabby cat slinking around the corner at the other end of the street. He could just see the bundle of blankets on the step of number four.

"Good luck, Harry and Y/n," he murmured. He turned on his heel, and with a swish of his cloak, he was gone.

A breeze ruffled the neat hedges of Privet Drive, which lay silent and tidy under the inky sky. The very last place you would expect astonishing things to happen. Harry Potter rolled over inside his blankets without waking up, while his twin wrapped his chubby little arm around him. Holding him close. In the light, you could see the tear stains on Y/n's cheeks and his little fingers wrapped around Harry, almost afraid to let him go.

One small hand closed on the letter beside Harry and the boys slept on, not knowing they were special, not knowing they were famous, not knowing they would be woken in a few hours' time by Mrs. Dursley's scream as she opened the front door to put out the milk bottles, nor that they would spend the next few weeks being prodded and pinched by their cousin Dudley ... They couldn't know that at this very moment, people meeting in secret all over the country were holding up their glasses and saying in hushed voices: "To Harry and Y/n Potter—the boy's who lived!"

𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐎𝐧𝐞: 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐕𝐚𝐧𝐢𝐬𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐆𝐥𝐚𝐬𝐬

Next Chapter

Nearly ten years had passed since the Dursleys had woken up to find their nephews on the front step, but Privet Drive had hardly changed at all. The sun rose on the same tidy front gardens and lit up the brass number four on the Dursleys' front door; it crept into their living room, which was almost exactly the same as it had been on the night when Mr. Dursley had seen that fateful news report about the owls. Only the photographs on the mantelpiece really showed how much time had passed.

Ten years ago, there had been lots of pictures of what looked like a large pink beach ball wearing different-colored bonnets ― but Dudley Dursley was no longer a baby, and now the photographs showed a large blond boy riding his first bicycle, on a carousel at the fair, playing a computer game with his father, being hugged and kissed by his mother. The room held no sign at all that two other boys lived in the house, too. Yet Harry and Y/n Potter were still there, asleep at the moment, but not for long. Their Aunt Petunia was awake, and it was her shrill voice that made the first noise of the day.

"Up! Get up! Now!"

Harry woke with a start while his twin made a groggy sound. His aunt rapped on the door again."Up!" she screeched. Harry heard her walking toward the kitchen and then the sound of the frying pan being put on the stove. He rolled onto his back and tried to remember the dream he had been having. It had been a14good one. There had been a flying motorcycle in it. He had a funny feeling he'd had the same dream before. Y/n yawned and stretched his arms above his head, yawing loudly. He ran his fingers through his hair and looked up at his twin brother, Harry.

"Morning Harry," he greeted.

"Morning Y/n, sleep well?" Harry asked. Y/n nodded. "I had a dream about mum," he whispered into the quite dusty broom cabinet. Harry smiled at his brother and opened his mouth to reply, but before he knew it, his aunt was back outside the door."Are you up yet?" she demanded. "Nearly," said Y/n and Harry."Well, get a move on, I want you two to look after the bacon. And don't you dare let it burn. I want everything perfect on Duddy's birthday."Harry and his twin groaned."What did you say?" his aunt snapped through the door. "Nothing, nothing..." said Y/n.

Dudley's birthday ― how could Y/n have forgotten? Harry got slowly out of bed and started looking for socks. He found a pair under his bed and, after pulling a spider off one of them, put them on. Y/n chuckled and pulled on his own pair of socks, and stood up. He and Harry were used to spiders, because the cupboard under the stairs was full of them, and that was where they slept.

When they were both dressed, they went down the hall into the kitchen. The table was almost hidden beneath all Dudley's birthday presents. It looked as though Dudley had gotten the new computer he wanted, not to mention the second television and the racing bike. Exactly why Dudley wanted a racing bike was a mystery to Harry and Y/n, as Dudley was very fat and hated exercise ― unless, of course, it involved punching somebody. Dudley's favorite punching bag was Harry and Y/n, but he couldn't often catch them. Harry and Y/n didn't look like it, but they were very fast. Perhaps it had something to do with living in a dark cupboard, but the boys had always been small and skinny for their age. Y/n looked even smaller and skinnier than he really was because all he and Harry had to wear were old clothes of Dudley's, and Dudley was about four times bigger than they both were.

Harry had a thin face, knobbly knees, black hair, and bright green eyes. He wore round glasses held together with a lot of Scotch tape because of all the times Dudley had punched him on the nose. While Y/n had also had knobbly knees and was thin, he had h/c hair with e/c eyes. He did/didn't were glasses. The only thing Harry and Y/n liked about their own appearance was a very thin scar on their forehead that was shaped like a bolt of lightning. Y/n had had it as long as he could remember, and the first question he could ever remember asking his Aunt Petunia was how he had gotten it.

"In the car crash when your parents died," she had said. "And don't ask questions."Don't ask questions― that was the first rule for a quiet life with the Dursleys. Uncle Vernon entered the kitchen as Harry was turning over the bacon.

"Comb your hair!" he barked at Harry and Y/n―before glaring at Y/n who was serving the coffee that was not burnt―by way of a morning greeting. About once a week, Uncle Vernon looked over the top of his newspaper and shouted that Harry and Y/n needed a haircut. Y/n must have had more haircuts than the rest of the boys in his class put together, but it made no difference, his hair simply grew that way ― all over the place.

Harry was frying eggs by the time Dudley arrived in the kitchen with his mother. Dudley looked a lot like Uncle Vernon. He had a large pink face, not much neck, small, watery blue eyes, and thick blond hair that lay smoothly on his thick, fat head. Aunt Petunia often said that Dudley looked like a baby angel―Harry and Y/n often said that Dudley looked like a pig in a wig. Harry put the plates of egg and bacon on the table, which was difficult, as there wasn't much room. Dudley, meanwhile, was counting his presents. His face fell."Thirty-six," he said, looking up at his mother and father.

"That's two less than last year."

"Darling, you haven't counted Auntie Marge's present. See, it's here under this big one from Mommy and Daddy."

"All right, thirty-seven then," said Dudley, going red in the face. Y/n, who could see a huge Dudley tantrum coming on, began wolfing down his bacon as fast as possible in case Dudley turned the table over. Aunt Petunia obviously scented danger, too, because she said quickly, "And we'll buy you another two presents while we're out today. How's that, Popkin? Two more presents. Is that all right'?" Dudley thought for a moment. It looked like hard work. Finally, he said slowly, "So I'll have thirty ... thirty..."

"Thirty-nine, sweetums," said Aunt Petunia."Oh." Dudley sat down heavily and grabbed the nearest parcel. "All right then."Uncle Vernon chuckled. "Little tyke wants his money's worth, just like his father. 'Atta boy, Dudley!" He ruffled Dudley's hair. At that moment the telephone rang and Aunt Petunia went to answer it while Harry, Y/n and Uncle Vernon watched Dudley unwrap the racing bike, a video camera, a remote control airplane, sixteen new computer games, and a VCR. He was ripping the paper off a gold wristwatch when Aunt Petunia came back from the telephone looking both angry and worried.

"Bad news, Vernon," she said. "Mrs. Figg's broken her leg. She can't take them." She jerked her head in Harry's and Y/n's direction. Dudley's mouth fell open in horror, but Y/n's heart gave a leap. Every year on Dudley's birthday, his parents took him and a friend out for the day, to adventure parks, hamburger restaurants, or the movies. Every year, Harry and Y/n were left behind with Mrs. Figg, a mad old lady who lived two streets away. Harry hated it there while Y/n enjoyed the old woman's company, even if she was a little bit bonkers. The whole house smelled of cabbage and Mrs. Figg made Harry and Y/m look at photographs of all the cats she'd ever owned."Now what?" said Aunt Petunia, looking furiously at Harry and Y/n as though they planned this. Harry knew he ought to feel sorry that Mrs. Figg had broken her leg, but it wasn't easy when he reminded himself it would be a whole year before he had to look at Tibbles, Snowy, Mr. Paws, and Tuffy again."We could phone Marge," Uncle Vernon suggested.

"Don't be silly, Vernon. She hates the boys."The Dursleys often spoke about Harry and Y/n like this, as though they weren't there ― or rather, as though he was something very nasty that couldn't understand them, like a slug.

"What about whats-her-name, your friend ― Yvonne?"

"On vacation in Majorca," snapped Aunt Petunia."You could just leave us here," Harry put in hopefully (he and Y/n would be able to watch what they wanted on television for a change and maybe even have a go on Dudley's computer). Aunt Petunia looked as though she'd just swallowed a lemon.

"And come back and find the house in ruins?" she snarled."We won't blow up the house," said Y/n, but they weren't listening. "I suppose we could take them to the zoo," said Aunt Petunia slowly, "...and leave them in the car...."

"That car's new, they are not sitting in it alone...."Dudley began to cry loudly. In fact, he wasn't really crying ― it had been years since he'd really cried ― but he knew that if he screwed up his face and wailed, his mother would give him anything he wanted."Dinky Duddydums, don't cry. Mummy won't let him spoil your special day!" she cried, flinging her arms around him."I... don't... want... them... t-t-to come!" Dudley yelled between huge, pretend sobs. "They always sp- spoils everything!" He shot Harry and Y/n a nasty grin through the gap in his mother's arms. Just then, the doorbell rang― "Oh, good Lord, they're here!" said Aunt Petunia frantically ― and a moment later, Dudley's best friend, Piers Polkiss, walked in with his mother. Piers was a scrawny boy with a face like a rat. He was usually the one who held people's arms behind their backs while Dudley hit them. Dudley stopped pretending to cry at once. Half an hour later, Harry and Y/n, who couldn't believe their luck, was sitting in the back of the Dursleys' car with (with Y/n squeezed in between Harry and Piers) Piers and Dudley, on the way to the zoo for the first time in their life.

Their aunt and uncle hadn't been able to think of anything else to do with them, but before they'd left, Uncle Vernon had taken Harry and Y/n aside. "I'm warning you," he had said, putting his large purple face right up close to Harry's and Y/n's, "I'm warning you now, boy's― any funny business, anything at all―and you'll be in that cupboard from now until Christmas."

"I'm not going to do anything," said Harry, "Honestly..." said Y/n, trying his convince his Uncle. But Uncle Vernon didn't believe them. No one ever did. The problem was, strange things often happened around Harry and Y/n and it was just no good telling the Dursleys that they didn't make them happen. Once, Aunt Petunia, tired of Harry and Y/n coming back from the barbers looking as though he hadn't been at all, had taken a pair of kitchen scissors and cut his hair so short they were almost bald except for their bangs, which she left "to hide those horrible scars." Dudley had laughed himself silly at Harry and Y/n, who spent a sleepless night imagining school the next day, where they were already laughed at for their baggy clothes and Harry's taped glasses. Next morning, however, Y/n had gotten up to find his hair exactly as it had been before Aunt Petunia had sheared it off. He and Harry had been given a week in their cupboard for this, even though they both had tried to explain that they couldn't explain how it had grown back so quickly. Another time, Aunt Petunia had been trying to force him and Harry into a revolting old sweater of Dudley's (brown with orange puff balls) ― The harder she tried to pull it over Y/n's head, the smaller it seemed to become until finally, it might have fitted a hand puppet, but certainly wouldn't fit Y/n. Aunt Petunia had decided it must have shrunk in the wash and, to his great relief, Y/n wasn't punished. On the other hand, he'd gotten into terrible trouble for being found on the roof of the school kitchens with Harry. Dudley's gang had been chasing them as usual when, as much to Harry's and Y/n's surprise as anyone else's, there they were sitting on the chimney. The Dursleys had received a very angry letter from Harry's and Y/n's headmistress, telling them Harry and his brother had been climbing school buildings. But all Y/n tried to do (as he shouted at Uncle Vernon through the locked door of his cupboard) was jump behind the big trashcans outside the kitchen doors. Y/n and Harry supposed that the wind must have caught them in mid-jump.

But today, nothing was going to go wrong. It was even worth being with Dudley and Piers to be spending the day somewhere that wasn't school, his cupboard, or Mrs. Figg's cabbage-smelling living room.

While he drove, Uncle Vernon complained to Aunt Petunia. He liked to complain about things: people at work, Harry, Y/n, the council, Harry, the bank, Y/n, and Harry were just a few of his favorite subjects. This morning, it was motorcycles.

"... roaring along like maniacs, the young hoodlums," he said, as a motorcycle overtook them. "I had a dream about a motorcycle," said Harry, remembering suddenly. Y/n turned to look at his twin, curiosity in his eyes. "It was flying."

Uncle Vernon nearly crashed into the car in front. He turned right around in his seat and yelled at Harry, his face like a gigantic beet with a mustache: "MOTORCYCLES DON'T FLY!"

Dudley and Piers sniggered. "I know they don't," said Harry. "It was only a dream."But he wished he hadn't said anything. If there was one thing the Dursleys hated even more than their asking questions, it was them talking about anything acting in a way it shouldn't, no matter if it was in a dream or even a cartoon ― they seemed to think that they might get dangerous ideas. Y/n looked at his brother and grabbed his hand and squeezed it in a comforting manner, telling his brother that he was there.

It was a very sunny Saturday, and the zoo was crowded with families. The Dursleys bought Dudley and Piers large chocolate ice creams at the entrance and then because the smiling lady in the van had asked Harry and Y/n what they wanted before they could hurry them away; they bought the boys a cheap lemon ice pop. It wasn't bad, either, Y/n thought, licking it as they watched a gorilla scratching its head who looked remarkably like Dudley, except that it wasn't blond.

"To be honest," said Y/n as he licked it. "it's not bad," Harry smiled a little at his optimistic twin. If there was one thing that separated them was Y/n's optimism and unwavering loyalty and kindness. "I agree," said Harry and Y/n smiled at him.

Harry and Y/n had the best morning they'd had in a long time. Of course, they were careful to walk a little way apart from the Dursleys so that Dudley and Piers, who were starting to get bored with the animals by lunchtime, wouldn't fall back on their favorite hobby of hitting him and Y/n. They ate in the zoo restaurant, and when Dudley had a tantrum because his knickerbocker glory didn't have enough ice cream on top, Uncle Vernon bought him another one, and Harry was allowed to finish the first. He, of course, shared with Y/n who thanked him quietly before taking back to look around at the other families. Dread and longing crept through his heart. He missed his parents, especially his mum's songs she would sing. But he was an orphan, along with his brother, and they were stuck with the worst people in the world. A sigh was all that Y/n let out before looking back at his twin.

Harry felt, afterward, that he should have known it was all too good to last. After lunch, they went to the reptile house. It was cool and dark in there, with lit windows all along the walls. Behind the glass, all sorts of lizards and snakes were crawling and slithering over bits of wood and stone. Dudley and Piers wanted to see huge, poisonous cobras and thick,man-crushing pythons. Dudley quickly found the largest snake in the place. It could have wrapped its body twice around Uncle Vernon's car and crushed it into a trash can ― but at the moment it didn't look in the mood. In fact, it was fast asleep. Dudley stood with his nose pressed against the glass, staring at the glistening brown coils."Make it move," he whined at his father. Uncle Vernon tapped on the glass, but the snake didn't budge."Do it again," Dudley ordered. "Stop it," whispered Y/n, glaring at his cousin. Couldn't the dimwit see that the snake was sleeping? Couldn't he respect its wishes to lie down and not be disturbed? Oh, he forgot, this was Dudley, a spoilt brat. Uncle Vernon rapped the glass smartly with his knuckles, but the snake just snoozed on.

"This is boring," Dudley moaned. He shuffled away. Harry and Y/n moved in front of the tank and looked intently at the snake. He wouldn't have been surprised if it had died of boredom itself ― no company except stupid people drumming their fingers on the glass, trying to disturb it all day long. It was worse than having a cupboard as a bedroom, where the only visitor was Aunt Petunia hammering on the door to wake you up; at least he got to visit the rest of the house. The snake suddenly opened its beady eyes. Slowly, very slowly, it raised its head until its eyes were on a level with Harry's and Y/n's. It winked. Harry and Y/n stared. Then Y/n looked quickly around to see if anyone was watching. They weren't. He looked back at the snake and winked, too. The snake jerked its head toward Uncle Vernon and Dudley, then raised its eyes to the ceiling. It gave Harry a look that said quite plainly: "I get that all the time." "I know," Harry murmured through the glass, though he wasn't sure the snake could hear him. "It must be really annoying," said Y/n. The snake nodded vigorously. "Where do you come from, anyway?" Harry asked. The snake jabbed its tail at a little sign next to the glass. Harry peered at it. Boa Constrictor, Brazil. "Was it nice there?" asked Harry. The boa constrictor jabbed its tail at the sign again and Y/n read on: This specimen was bred in the zoo. "Oh, I see ― so you've never been to Brazil?" As the snake shook its head, a deafening shout behind Harry and Y/n made both of them jump.

"DUDLEY! MR. DURSLEY! COME AND LOOK AT THIS SNAKE! YOU WON'T BELIEVE WHAT IT'S DOING!" Dudley came waddling toward them as fast as he could. "Out of the way, you two," he said, punching Harry in the ribs and kicking Y/n in the shins. Caught by surprise, Harry fell hard on the concrete floor while his twin leaned down to help him up. What came next happened so fast no one saw how it happened ― one second, Piers and Dudley were leaning right up close to the glass, the next, they had leaped back with howls of horror. Harry sat up and gasped; the glass front of the boa constrictor's tank had vanished. The great snake was uncoiling itself rapidly, slithering out onto the floor. People throughout the reptile house screamed and started running for the exits. Y/n just watched as the chaos unfolded and as the snake slid swiftly past him, Y/n could have sworn a low, hissing voice said, "Brazil, here I come... Thanksss, amigo." The keeper of the reptile house was in shock. "But the glass," he kept saying, "where did the glass go?" The zoo director himself made Aunt Petunia a cup of strong, sweet tea while he apologized over and over again. Piers and Dudley could only gibber. As far as Harry and Y/n had seen, the snake hadn't done anything except snap playfully at their heels as it passed, but by the time they were all back in Uncle Vernon's car, Dudley was telling them how it had nearly bitten off his leg, while Piers was swearing it had tried to squeeze him to death. But worst of all, for Harry at least, was Piers calming down enough to say, "Harry was talking to it, weren't you, Harry?" Uncle Vernon waited until Piers was safely out of the house before starting on Harry, as Y/n stayed with his brother. He was so angry he could hardly speak. He managed to say, "Go ―cupboard ― stay― no meals," before he collapsed into a chair, and Aunt Petunia had to run and get him a large brandy.

"Come on Harry," said Y/n, pulling on his twin's arm. Later, Harry and Y/n lay in their dark cupboard much later, wishing that they had a watch. Y/n didn't know what time it was and he couldn't be sure the Dursleys were asleep yet. Until they were, he couldn't risk sneaking to the kitchen for some food. Harry and Y/n lived with the Dursleys almost ten years, ten miserable years, as long as they could remember, ever since they'd been a baby and their parents had died in that car crash.

Even though Y/n couldn't remember being in the car when his parents had died. Sometimes, when he strained his memory during long hours in his cupboard, he came up with a strange vision: a blinding flash of green light and a burning pain on his forehead. This, he supposed, was the crash, though he couldn't imagine where all the green light came from. Harry couldn't remember their parents, but Y/n had small memories. He knew what his mum and dad looked like. He could remember his mother singing and someone saying 'Prongs' and 'Padfoot' but that was all.

Their aunt and uncle never spoke about them, and of course, they were forbidden to ask questions. There were no photographs of them in the house. When they had been younger, Harry and Y/n had dreamed and dreamed of some unknown relation coming to take them away, but it had never happened; the Dursleys were their only family. Yet sometimes Y/n thought (or maybe hoped)that strangers in the street seemed to know him. Very strange strangers they were, too. A tiny man in a violet top hat had bowed to him and Harry once while out shopping with Aunt Petunia and Dudley.

After asking Y/n and Harry furiously if they knew the man, Aunt Petunia had rushed them out of the shop without buying anything. A wild-looking old woman dressed all in green had waved merrily at Y/n once on a bus. A bald man in a very long purple coat had actually shaken Harry's hand in the street the other day and then walked away without a word. The weirdest thing about all these people was the way they seemed to vanish the second Harry or Y/n tried to get a closer look. At school, Harry and Y/n had no one but each other. Everybody knew that Dudley's gang hated that odd Harry and Y/n Potter in their baggy old clothes and broken glasses, and nobody liked to disagree with Dudley's gang.

𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐓𝐰𝐨: 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐋𝐞𝐭𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐬 𝐅𝐫𝐨𝐦 𝐍𝐨 𝐎𝐧𝐞

Next Chapter

The escape of the Brazilian boa constrictor earned Harry and his twin, Y/n their longest-ever punishment. By the time they were allowed out of their cupboard again, the summer holidays had started and Dudley had already broken his new video camera, crashed his remote control airplane, and, the first timeout on his racing bike, knocked down old Mrs. Figg as she crossed Privet Drive on her crutches. (Y/n wanted to strangle his dimwitted cousin at that. Could he not see the old woman who just recently broke her leg?!)

Harry was glad school was over, but there was no escaping Dudley's gang, who visited the house every single day. Piers, Dennis, Malcolm, and Gordon were all big and stupid, but as Dudley was the biggest and stupidest of the lot, he was the leader. The rest of them were all quite happy to join in Dudley's favorite sport: Harry and Y/n Hunting. This was why Y/n and Harry spent as much time as possible out of the house, wandering around and thinking about the end of the holidays, where they could see a tiny ray of hope. When September came, they both would be going off to secondary school and, for the first time in their life, they wouldn't be with Dudley. Dudley had been accepted at Uncle Vernon's old private school, Smeltings. Piers Polkiss was going there too. Harry, on the other hand, was going to Stonewall High, the local public school. Dudley thought this was very funny. "They stuff people's heads down the toilet the first day at Stonewall," he told Harry. "Want to come upstairs and practice?"

"No, thanks," said Harry. "The poor toilet's never had anything as horrible as your head down it ― it might be sick." finished Y/n, and then ran, before Dudley could work out what they'd said. One day in July, Aunt Petunia took Dudley to London to buy his Smeltings uniform, leaving Harry and Y/n at Mrs. Figg's. Mrs. Figg wasn't as bad as usual. It turned out she'd broken her leg tripping over one of her cats, and she didn't seem quite as fond of them as before, however, Y/n was still very fond of them and he continued to pet and play with them even though Harry refused to get near any of them. Mrs. Figg even let Harry and Y/n watch television and gave them a bit of chocolate cake that tasted as though she'd had it for several years.

That evening, Dudley paraded around the living room for the family in his brand-new uniform. Smeltings' boys wore maroon tailcoats, orange knickerbockers, and flat straw hats called boaters. They also carried knobbly sticks, used for hitting each other while the teachers weren't looking. This was supposed to be good training for later life. As Y/n looked at Dudley in his new knickerbockers, Uncle Vernon said gruffly that it was the proudest moment of his life. Aunt Petunia burst into tears and said she couldn't believe it was her Ickle Dudleykins. He looked so handsome and grown-up. Y/n wanted to laugh, he thought two of his ribs might already have cracked from trying not to laugh.

There was a horrible smell in the kitchen the next morning when Harry and Y/n went in for breakfast. It seemed to be coming from a large metal tub in the sink. They went to have a look. The tub was full of what looked like dirty rags swimming in gray water. "What's this?" Y/n asked Aunt Petunia. Her lips tightened as they always did if he or Harry dared to ask a question. "Your new school uniform," she said. Y/n looked in the bowl again. "Oh," he said, "I didn't realize it had to be so wet."

"Don't be stupid," snapped Aunt Petunia. "I'm dyeing some of Dudley's old things gray for you both. It'll look just like everyone else's when I've finished." Y/n and Harry seriously doubted this, but thought it best not to argue. They sat down at the table and tried not to think about how they were going to look on his first day at Stonewall High ― like they were wearing bits of old elephant skin, probably. Dudley and Uncle Vernon came in, both with wrinkled noses because of the smell from Harry's and Y/n's new uniform. Uncle Vernon opened his newspaper as usual and Dudley banged his Smelting stick, which he carried everywhere, on the table. They heard the click of the mail slot and flop of letters on the doormat.

"Get the mail, Dudley," said Uncle Vernon from behind his paper.

"Make Harry and Y/n get it."

"Get the mail, Harry."

"Make Dudley get it."

"Poke them with your Smelting stick, Dudley." Harry and Y/n dodged the Smelting stick and went to get the mail. Three things lay on the doormat: a postcard from Uncle Vernon's sister Marge, who was vacationing on the Isle of Wight, a brown envelope that looked like a bill, and ― a letter for Harry and Y/n. Harry picked them up, and he handed Y/n his letter before he stared at it. Y/n's heart twanging like a giant elastic band. No one, ever, in his whole life, had written to him. Who would? He and Harry had no friends, no other relatives ― he and Harry didn't belong to the library, so they'd never even got rude notes asking for books back.

Yet there it was, a letter addressed so plainly there could be no mistake: Mr. Y/I. Potter The Cupboard under the Stairs 4 Privet Drive Little Whinging Surrey.

The envelope was thick and heavy, made of yellowish parchment, and the address was written in emerald-green ink. There was no stamp. Turning the envelope over, Y/n's hand trembling, Harry and Y/n saw a purple wax seal bearing a coat of arms; a lion, an eagle, a badger, and a snake surrounding a large letter H.

"Hurry up, boys!" shouted Uncle Vernon from the kitchen. "What are you doing, checking for letter bombs?" He chuckled at his own joke. Harry and Y/n went back to the kitchen, still staring at their letter. They handed Uncle Vernon the bill and the postcard, then Y/n sat down, and slowly began to open the yellow envelope. Uncle Vernon ripped open the bill, snorted in disgust, and flipped over the postcard.

"Marge's ill," he informed Aunt Petunia. "Ate a funny whelk―."

"Dad!" said Dudley suddenly. "Dad, Harry, and Y/n got something!" Y/n and Harry were on the point of unfolding their letter, which was written on the same heavy parchment as the envelope when it was jerked sharply out of their hands by Uncle Vernon."That's ours!" said Harry and Y/n, trying to snatch it back.

"Who'd be writing to you two?" sneered Uncle Vernon, shaking the letter's open with one hand and glancing at it. His face went from red to green faster than a set of traffic lights. And it didn't stop there. Within the second set was the grayish white of old porridge."P-P-Petunia!" he gasped. Dudley tried to grab the letters to read them, but Uncle Vernon held them high out of his reach. Aunt Petunia took them curiously and read the first line. For a moment, it looked as though she might faint. She clutched her throat and made a choking noise.

"Vernon! Oh my goodness ― Vernon!" They stared at each other, seeming to have forgotten that Harry, Y/n, and Dudley were still in the room. Dudley wasn't used to being ignored. He gave his father a sharp tap on the head with his Smelting stick.

"I want to read those letters," he said loudly.

"I want to read it," said Harry furiously, "as it's mine."

"Get out, all of you," croaked Uncle Vernon, stuffing the letters back inside its envelope. Harry didn't move, while Y/n glared at his aunt and uncle furiously. "I WANT MY LETTER!" Harry shouted. "Let me see it!" demanded Dudley.

"OUT!" roared Uncle Vernon, and he took both Harry and Dudley by the scruffs of their necks and threw them into the hall and grabbed Y/n by his arm and shoved him into his twin brother, then slammed the kitchen door behind them. Harry and Dudley promptly had a furious but silent fight over who would listen at the keyhole; Dudley won, so Harry, his glasses dangling from one ear, lay flat on his stomach to listen at the crack between door and floor, while Y/n pushed Dudley over to look into the keyhole (the two of them ended up pushing the other out of the way for a while until Dudley decided to place his head on top of Y/n's, but he didn't care, he was too busy trying to listen to his aunt and uncle).

"Vernon," Aunt Petunia was saying in a quivering voice, "look at the address ― how could they possibly know where they sleep? You don't think they're watching the house?"

"Watching ― spying ― might be following us," muttered Uncle Vernon wildly. "But what should we do, Vernon? Should we write back? Tell them we don't want ―" Harry could see Uncle Vernon's shiny black shoes pacing up and down the kitchen.

"No," he said finally. "No, we'll ignore it. If they don't get an answer... Yes, that's best... we won't do anything....,"

"But ―"

"I'm not having one in the house, Petunia! Didn't we swear when we took them in we'd stamp out that dangerous nonsense?" That evening when he got back from work, Uncle Vernon did something he'd never done before; he visited Harry and Y/n in their cupboard. "Where's my letter?" said Harry, the moment Uncle Vernon had squeezed through the door. "Who's writing to me?" asked Y/n, his arms were crossed over his chest.

"No one. It was addressed to you, by mistake," said Uncle Vernon shortly. "I have burned it."

"It was not a mistake," said Harry angrily. "It had our cupboard on it."

"SILENCE!" yelled Uncle Vernon, and a couple of spiders fell from the ceiling. He took a few deep breaths and then forced his face into a smile, which looked quite painful.

"Er ― yes, Harry, Y/n ― about this cupboard. Your aunt and I have been thinking... you both are really getting a bit big for it... we think it might be nice if you guys moved into Dudley's second bedroom."

"Why?" said Harry.

"Don't ask questions!" snapped his uncle. "Take this stuff upstairs, now."

The Dursleys' house had four bedrooms: one for Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia, one for visitors (usually Uncle Vernon's sister, Marge), one where Dudley slept, and one where Dudley kept all the toys and things that wouldn't fit into his first bedroom.

It only took Harry and Y/n one trip upstairs to move everything they owned from the cupboard to this room. Y/n sat down on the bed and stared around him as Harry put their stuff away. Nearly everything in here was broken. The month-old video camera was lying on top of a small, working tank Dudley had once driven over the next-door neighbor's dog; in the corner was Dudley's first-ever television set, which he'd put his foot through when his favorite program had been canceled; there was a large birdcage, which had once held a parrot that Dudley had swapped at school for a real air rifle, which was up on a shelf with the end-all bent because Dudley had sat on it.

Other shelves were full of books (which Y/n was happy about). They were the only things in the room that looked as though they'd never been touched. From downstairs came the sound of Dudley bawling at his mother, "I don't want them in there... I need that room... make them get out...." Harry sighed and Y/n stretched out on the bed. Yesterday, they'd have given anything to be up here. Today, they'd rather be back in their cupboard with that letter than up here without it.

"G'night Harry," mumbled Y/n, he closed his eyes and curled up to sleep. Harry looked at his twin, smiling. "Good night Y/n,"

The next morning at breakfast, everyone was rather quiet. Dudley was in shock. He'd screamed, whacked his father with his Smelting stick, been sick on purpose, kicked his mother, and thrown his tortoise through the greenhouse roof, and he still didn't have his room back. Harry was thinking about this time yesterday and bitterly wishing he'd opened the letter in the hall, while Y/n watched his cousin throwing a tantrum in amusement.

Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia kept looking at each other darkly. When the mail arrived, Uncle Vernon, who seemed to be trying to be nice to Harry and Y/n, made Dudley go and get it. They heard him banging things with his Smelting stick all the way down the hall. Then he shouted,

"There's another one! 'Mr. H. Potter and Mr. Y/I Potter, The Smallest Bedroom, 4 Privet Drive ―'"

With a strangled cry, Uncle Vernon leaped from his seat and ran down the hall, Harry and Y/n right behind him. Uncle Vernon had to wrestle Dudley to the ground to get the letter from him, which was made difficult by the fact that Harry had grabbed Uncle Vernon around the neck from behind while Y/n was on his arms, trying to get the fat man to stay still.

After a minute of confused fighting, in which everyone got hit a lot by the Smelting stick, Uncle Vernon straightened up, gasping for breath, with Harry's and Y/n's letter clutched in his hand.

"Go to your cupboard ― I mean, your bedroom," he wheezed at the boys.

"Dudley ― go ― just go."

Harry walked round and round his new room with Y/n right behind him. Someone knew Y/n and Harry had moved out of their cupboard and they seemed to know they hadn't received their first letter. Surely that meant they'd try again? And this time, Harry will make sure they didn't fail.

He had a plan. The repaired alarm clock rang at six o'clock the next morning. Harry turned it off quickly and dressed silently. He mustn't wake the Dursleys. "Harry? What are you doing?" asked Y/n. He rose up from the bed, sleep still in his e/c eyes. "I'm going to go get our letters," he said. Y/n looked at his brother.

"But -"

"No, no buts. You stay here." Y/n tried to object, but Harry strode out of the small bedroom. He stole downstairs without turning on any of the lights. He was going to wait for the postman on the corner of Privet Drive and get the letters for number four first. His heart hammered as he crept across the dark hall toward the front door― Harry leapt into the air; he'd trodden on something big and squashy on the doormat—something alive!

Lights clicked on upstairs and to his horror, Harry realized that the big, squashy something had been his uncle's face. Uncle Vernon had been lying at the foot of the front door in a sleeping bag, clearly making sure that Harry didn't do exactly what he'd been trying to do. He shouted at Harry for about half an hour and then told him to go and make a cup of tea. Harry shuffled miserably off into the kitchen and by the time he got back, the mail had arrived, right into Uncle Vernon's lap. Y/n looked at his brother and shook his head. He was awoken by his uncle shouting at Harry and he dragged himself out of bed to help his brother make breakfast.

Harry could see three letters addressed in green ink. "I want―" he began, but Uncle Vernon was tearing the letters into pieces before his eyes. Uncle Vernon didn't go to work that day. He stayed at home and nailed up the mail slot.

"See," he explained to Aunt Petunia through a mouthful of nails, "if they can't deliver them, they'll just give up."

"I'm not sure that'll work, Vernon."

"Oh, these people's minds work in strange ways, Petunia. They're not like you and me," said Uncle Vernon, trying to knock in a nail with the piece of fruitcake Aunt Petunia had just brought him.

On Friday, no less than twelve letters arrived for Harry and Y/n. As they couldn't go through the mail slot, they had been pushed under the door, slotted through the sides, and a few even forced through the small window in the downstairs bathroom. Uncle Vernon stayed at home again. After burning all the letters, he got out a hammer and nails and boarded up the cracks around the front and back doors so no one could go out. He hummed "Tiptoe Through the Tulips" as he worked and jumped at small noises. On Saturday, things began to get out of hand. Twenty-four letters to Harry and Y/n found their way into the house, rolled up and hidden inside each of the two dozen eggs that their very confused milkman had handed Aunt Petunia through the living room window.

While Uncle Vernon made furious telephone calls to the post office and the dairy trying to find someone to complain to, Aunt Petunia shredded the letters in her food processor.

"Who on earth wants to talk to you this badly?" Dudley asked Harry and Y/n in amazement. On Sunday morning, Uncle Vernon sat down at the breakfast table looking tired and rather ill, but happy.

"No post on Sundays," he reminded them cheerfully as he spread marmalade on his newspapers. "no damn letters today ―"

Something came whizzing down the kitchen chimney as he spoke and caught him sharply on the back of the head. The next moment, thirty or forty letters came pelting out of the fireplace like bullets. The Dursleys ducked, but Harry leapt into the air trying to catch one, while Y/n rolled his eyes at his brother and picked one up from the floor, tearing it open in seconds.

"Out! OUT!"

Uncle Vernon seized Harry around the waist and grabbed Y/n by his arm, ripping the now open letter out of his hands before Y/n could even read the cursive ink writing, and threw them into the hall. When Aunt Petunia and Dudley had run out with their arms over their faces, Uncle Vernon slammed the door shut. They could hear the letters still streaming into the room, bouncing off the walls and floor.

"That does it," said Uncle Vernon, trying to speak calmly but pulling great tufts out of his mustache at the same time. "I want you all back here in five minutes, ready to leave. We're going away. Just pack some clothes. No arguments!" He looked so dangerous, with half his mustache missing, that no one dared argue. Ten minutes later, they had wrenched their way through the boarded-up doors and were in the car, speeding toward the highway.

Dudley was sniffling in the back seat; his father had hit him round the head for holding them up while he tried to pack his television, VCR, and computer in his sports bag. They drove. And they drove. Even Aunt Petunia didn't dare ask where they were going. Now and then, Uncle Vernon would take a sharp turn and drive in the opposite direction for a while. "Shake'em off... shake 'emoff," he would mutter whenever he did this.

They didn't stop to eat or drink all day. By nightfall, Dudley was howling. He'd never had such a bad day in his life. He was hungry. He'd missed five television programs he'd wanted to see, and he'd never gone so long without blowing up an alien on his computer. Uncle Vernon stopped at last outside a gloomy-looking hotel on the outskirts of a big city. Dudley, Harry, and Y/n shared a room with twin beds and damp, musty sheets. Dudley snored, but Harry and Y/n stayed awake, sitting on the windowsill, staring down at the lights of passing cars and wondering ... They ate stale cornflakes and cold tinned tomatoes on toast for breakfast the next day.

They had just finished when the owner of the hotel came over to their table."'Scuse me, but is one of you Mr. H. Potter and Mr. Y/n. Potter? Only I got about an 'undred of these at the front desk." She held up a letter so they could read the green ink address:

Mr. H. Potter and Mr. Y/I. Potter.

Room 17

Railview Hotel Cokeworth.

Harry and Y/n made a grab for the letter, but Uncle Vernon knocked their hands out of the way. The woman stared. "I'll take them," said Uncle Vernon, standing up quickly and following her from the dining room.

"Wouldn't it be better just to go home, dear?" Aunt Petunia suggested timidly, hours later, but Uncle Vernon didn't seem to hear her. Exactly what he was looking for. None of them knew. He drove them into the middle of a forest, got out, looked around, shook his head, got back in the car, and off they went again.

The same thing happened in the middle of a plowed field, halfway across a suspension bridge, and at the top of a multilevel parking garage.

"Daddy's gone mad, hasn't he?" Dudley asked Aunt Petunia dully late that afternoon. Uncle Vernon had parked at the coast, locked them all inside the car, and disappeared. It started to rain. Great drops beat on the roof of the car. Dudley sniveled.

"It's Monday," he told his mother. "The Great Humberto's on tonight. I want to stay somewhere with a television."

Monday. This reminded Harry of something. If it was Monday ― and you could usually count on Dudley to know the days of the week, because of television ― then tomorrow, Tuesday, was Harry's and Y/n's eleventh birthday.

Of course, their birthdays were never exactly fun ― last year, the Dursleys had given Harry a coat hanger and a pair of Uncle Vernon's old socks and Y/n got a moth-eaten pair of socks with some string. Still, you weren't eleven every day.

Uncle Vernon was back, and he was smiling. He was also carrying a long, thin package and didn't answer Aunt Petunia when she asked what he'd bought.

"Found the perfect place!" he said. "Come on! Everyone out!" It was very cold outside the car. Uncle Vernon was pointing at what looked like a large rock way out at sea. Perched on top of the rock was the most miserable little shack you could imagine. One thing was certain, there was no television in there.

"Storm forecast for tonight!" said Uncle Vernon gleefully, clapping his hands together. "And this gentleman's kindly agreed to lend us his boat!" A toothless old man came ambling up to them, pointing, with a rather wicked grin, at an old rowboat bobbing in the iron-gray water below them. "I've already got us some rations," said Uncle Vernon. "so all aboard!"

It was freezing in the boat. Icy sea spray and rain crept down their necks and a chilly wind whipped their faces. After what seemed like hours, they reached the rock, where Uncle Vernon, slipping and sliding, led the way to the broken-down house. The inside was horrible; it smelled strongly of seaweed; the wind whistled through the gaps in the wooden walls, and the fireplace was damp and empty. There were only two rooms. Uncle Vernon's rations turned out to be a bag of chips each and four bananas. He tried to start a fire, but the empty chip bags just smoked and shriveled up.

"Could do with some of those letters now, eh?" he said cheerfully. He was in a very good mood. Obviously, he thought nobody stood a chance of reaching them here in a storm to deliver mail. Harry and Y/n privately agreed; though the thought didn't cheer them up at all.

As night fell, the promised storm blew up around them. Spray from the high waves splattered the walls of the hut and a fierce wind rattled the filthy windows. Aunt Petunia found a few moldy blankets in the second room and made up a bed for Dudley on the moth-eaten sofa. She and Uncle Vernon went off to the lumpy bed next door, while Harry and Y/n were left to find the softest bit of floor they could and to curl up under the thinnest, most ragged blanket.

The storm raged more and more ferociously as the night went on. Harry couldn't sleep. He shivered and turned over, trying to get comfortable, his stomach rumbling with hunger. Y/n was sitting up, his knees brought to his chest as he shivered. Dudley's snores were drowned by the low rolls of thunder that started near midnight. The lighted dial of Dudley's watch, which was dangling over the edge of the sofa on his fat wrist, told Harry and Y/n they'd be eleven in ten minutes' time. Harry laid and watched his birthday tick nearer, wondering if the Dursleys would remember at all, wondering where the letter writer was now.

Five minutes to go.

Y/n heard something creak outside. He hoped the roof wasn't going to fall in, although he might be warmer if it did.

Four minutes to go.

Maybe the house on Privet Drive would be so full of letters when they got back that he'd be able to steal one somehow.

Three minutes to go.

Was that the sea, slapping hard on the rock like that?

And (two minutes to go) what was that funny crunching noise? Was the rock crumbling into the sea?

One minute to go and he and Harry would be eleven.

Thirty seconds... twenty ... ten...nine ― maybe he'd wake Dudley up, just to annoy him ― three... two...one...BOOM.

The whole shack shivered and Harry sat bolt upright and Y/n shot up, his eyes wide and staring at the door.

Someone was outside. Knocking to come in.

Metanoia’s Draco Abraxas Malfoy “The Sliver Prince”.

Metanoia’s (Y/n) Sirius Potter “The Protector”.

Moodboards

Metanoia’s (Y/n) Sirius Potter “The Protector”.

Metanoia’s Draco Abraxas Malfoy “The Sliver Prince”.

𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐓𝐡𝐫𝐞𝐞: 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐊𝐞𝐞𝐩𝐞𝐫 𝐨𝐟 𝐊𝐞𝐲𝐬

Next Chapter

BOOM.

They knocked again.

Dudley jerked awake. "Where's the cannon?" he said stupidly.

There was a crash behind Harry and Y/n and Uncle Vernon came skidding into the room. He was holding a rifle in his hands — now Y/n knew what had been in the long, thin package he had brought with them.

"Who's there?" he shouted. "I warn you — I'm armed!"

There was a pause. Then —

SMASH!

The door was hit with such force that it swung clean off its hinges and with a deafening crash landed flat on the floor. A giant of a man was standing in the doorway. His face was almost completely hidden by a long, shaggy mane of hair and a wild, tangled beard, but you could make out his eyes, glinting like black beetles under all the hair. The giant squeezed his way into the hut, stooping so that his head just brushed the ceiling. He bent down, picked up the door, and fitted it easily back into its frame. The noise of the storm outside dropped a little. He turned to look at them all.

"Couldn't make us a cup o' tea, could yeh? It's not been an easy journey. . . ." He strode over to the sofa where Dudley sat frozen with fear. "Budge up, yeh great lump," said the stranger.

Dudley squeaked and ran to hide behind his mother, who was crouching, terrified, behind Uncle Vernon.

"An' here ya are Harry, Y/n!" said the giant. Harry and Y/n looked up into the fierce, wild, shadowy face and saw that the beetle eyes were crinkled in a smile. "Las' time I saw you both, you was only a baby," said the giant. "Harry, yeh look a lot like yer dad, but yeh've got yer mum's eyes." The giant turned his attention Y/n and tears welled up. "And yeh, Y/n, yeh got yer mum's smile and nose. Oh, an' yer dad's chin!"

Uncle Vernon made a funny rasping noise. "I demand that you leave at once, sir!" he said. "You are breaking and entering!"

"Ah, shut up, Dursley, yeh great prune," said the giant; he reached over the back of the sofa, jerked the gun out of Uncle Vernon's hands, bent it into a knot as easily as if it had been made of rubber, and threw it into a corner of the room.

Uncle Vernon made another funny noise, like a mouse being trodden on.

"Anyway — Harry, Y/n," said the giant, turning his back on the Dursleys, "a very happy birthday to yeh both. Got summat fer yeh here — I mighta sat on it at some point, but it'll taste all right."

From an inside pocket of his black overcoat, he pulled a slightly squashed box. Harry opened it with trembling fingers, while Y/n watched his twin with curious eyes. Inside was a large, sticky chocolate cake with 'Happy Birthday Harry & Y/n' written on it in green icing.

Harry and Y/n looked up at the giant. "Thank you . . . sir?" said Y/n, a smile blooming on his face while his brother stared at the giant man.

Harry meant to say thank you, but the words got lost on the way to his mouth, and what he said instead was, "Who are you?"

The giant chuckled. "True, I haven't introduced meself. Rubeus Hagrid, Keeper of Keys and Grounds at Hogwarts." He held out an enormous hand and shook Harry's whole arm, before taking Y/n's and giving his arm the same treatment.

"What about that tea then, eh?" he said, rubbing his hands together. "I'd not say no ter summat stronger if yeh've got it, mind." His eyes fell on the empty grate with the shriveled chip bags in it and he snorted. He bent down over the fireplace; they couldn't see what he was doing, but when he drew back a second later, there was a roaring fire there. It filled the whole damp hut with flickering light and Harry felt the warmth wash over him as though he'd sunk into a hot bath.

The giant sat back down on the sofa, which sagged under his weight, and began taking all sorts of things out of the pockets of his coat: a copper kettle, a squashy package of sausages, a poker, a teapot, several chipped mugs, and a bottle of some amber liquid that he took a swig from before starting to make tea.

Soon the hut was full of the sound and smell of sizzling sausage. Nobody said a thing while the giant was working, but as he slid the first six fat, juicy, slightly burnt sausages from the poker, Dudley fidgeted a little. Uncle Vernon said sharply, "Don't touch anything he gives you, Dudley."

The giant chuckled darkly.

"Yer great puddin' of a son don' need fattenin' anymore, Dursley, don' worry." He passed the sausages to Harry and Y/n, who were so hungry they had never tasted anything so wonderful, but they still couldn't take their eyes off the giant. Finally, as nobody seemed about to explain anything, Harry said, "I'm sorry, but we still don't really know who you are." The giant took a gulp of tea and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.

"Call me Hagrid," he said, "everyone does. An' like I told yeh, I'm Keeper of Keys at Hogwarts — yeh'll know all about Hogwarts, o' course."

Y/n shared a look with his twin before answering. "Er — no," Hagrid looked shocked.

"Sorry," Harry said quickly, trying to cover up what his brother said, hoping that this giant of a man didn't hurt him or Harry. "Sorry?" barked Hagrid, turning to stare at the Dursleys, who shrank back into the shadows.

"It's them as should be sorry! I knew yeh both weren't gettin' yer letters, but I never thought yeh both wouldn't even know abou' Hogwarts, fer cryin' out loud! Did yeh never wonder where yer parents learned it all?"

"All what?" Harry asked this time, confusion clouding his features.

"ALL WHAT?" Hagrid thundered. "Now wait jus' one second!" He had leapt to his feet. In his anger, he seemed to fill the whole hut. The Dursleys were cowering against the wall. "Do you mean ter tell me," he growled at the Dursleys, "that these boys —these boys! — knows nothin' abou'— about ANYTHING?"

Harry thought this was going a bit far. He and Y/n had been to school, after all, and his marks weren't bad, although Y/n did do a bit better on their exams.

"We know some things," he said. "We can, you know, do math and stuff." But Hagrid simply waved his hand and said, "About our world, I mean. Your world. My world. Yer parents' world."

"What world?" asked Y/n, his arms folding nervously. Hagrid looked as if he was about to explode.

"DURSLEY!" he boomed. Uncle Vernon, who had gone very pale, whispered something that sounded like "Mimblewimble." Hagrid stared wildly at Harry. "But yeh both must know about yer mum and dad," he said. "I mean, they're famous. You're famous."

"What? My — my mum and dad weren't famous, were they?" asked Harry, his attention to his cowering aunt and uncle. "Yeh don' know . .. yeh don' know . . ." Hagrid ran his fingers through his hair, fixing Harry and Y/n with a bewildered stare. "Yeh don' know what yeh both are?" he said finally. Uncle Vernon suddenly found his voice. "Stop!" he commanded. "Stop right there, sir! I forbid you to tell them anything!"

A braver man than Vernon Dursley would have quailed under the furious look Hagrid now gave him; when Hagrid spoke, his every syllable trembled with rage.

"You never told them? Never told them what was in the letter Dumbledore left fer them both? I was there! I saw Dumbledore leave it, Dursley! An' you've kept it from them all these years?"

"Kept what from me?" said Harry eagerly, making Y/n swat his brother on the arm. Harry turned his head glared at his twin before turning his attention back to his panicking uncle.

"STOP! I FORBID YOU!" yelled Uncle Vernon in panic. Aunt Petunia gave a gasp of horror.

"Ah, go boil yer heads, both of yeh," said Hagrid.

"Harry, Y/n — yer a wizard."

There was silence inside the hut. Only the sea and the whistling wind could be heard.

"We're a what?" gasped Harry.

"A wizard, o' course," said Hagrid, sitting back down on the sofa, which groaned and sank even lower, "an' a thumpin' good'un, I'd say, once yeh've been trained up a bit. With a mum an' dad like yours, what else would yeh be? An' I reckon it's abou' time yeh both read yer letters."

Harry and Y/n stretched out their hands at last to take the yellowish envelope, addressed in emerald green to Mr. H. Potter and Mr. Y/I Potter, The Floor, Hut-on-the-Rock, The Sea. Y/n pulled out his letter and read:

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

Yours sincerely,

Minerva McGonagall,

Deputy Headmistress

Questions exploded inside Y/n's head like fireworks and he couldn't decide which to ask first. After a few minutes, he stammered, "What does it mean, they await my owl?" Harry nodded his head, as if he had the same question in his green eyes.

"Gallopin' Gorgons, that reminds me," said Hagrid, clapping a hand to his forehead with enough force to knock over a cart-horse, and from yet another pocket inside his overcoat, he pulled an owl — a real, live, rather ruffled- looking owl — a long quill, and a roll of parchment. With his tongue between his teeth he scribbled a note that Harry and Y/n could read upside down:

Dear Professor Dumbledore,

Given Harry and Y/n their letters.

Taking them both to buy their things tomorrow.

Weather's horrible. Hope you're well.

Hagrid

Hagrid rolled up the note, gave it to the owl, which clamped it in its beak, went to the door, and threw the owl out into the storm. Then he came back and sat down as though this was as normal as talking on the telephone. Harry realized his mouth was open and closed it quickly.

"Where was I?" said Hagrid, but at that moment, Uncle Vernon, still ashen-faced but looking very angry, moved into the firelight. "They're not going," he said. Hagrid grunted. "I'd like ter see a great Muggle like you stop them," he said.

"A what?" asked Y/n, interested. "A Muggle," said Hagrid, "it's what we call non-magic folk like them. An' it's your bad luck you and your brother grew up in a family o' the biggest Muggles I ever laid eyes on."

"We swore when we took them in we'd put a stop to that rubbish," said Uncle Vernon, "swore we'd stamp it out of them! Wizard indeed!"

"You knew?" said Harry. "You knew I'm―We're― a wizard?"

"Knew!" shrieked Aunt Petunia suddenly. "Knew! Of course we knew! How could you and your brother not be, my dratted sister being what she was? Oh, she got a letter just like that and disappeared off to that — that school — and came home every vacation with her pockets full of frog spawn, turning teacups into rats. I was the only one who saw her for what she was — a freak! But for my mother and father, oh no, it was Lily this and Lily that. They were proud of having a witch in the family!" She stopped to draw a deep breath and then went ranting on. It seemed she had been wanting to say all this for years.

"Then she met that Potter at school and they left and got married and had you both, and of course I knew both of you would be just the same, just as strange, just as — as — abnormal; and then, if you please, she went and got herself blown up and we got landed with you two!"

Harry and Y/n had gone very white. As soon as Y/n found his voice, he said, "Blown up? You told me they died in a car crash!"

"CAR CRASH!" roared Hagrid, jumping up so angrily that the Dursleys scuttled back to their corner. "How could a car crash kill Lily an' James Potter? It's an outrage! A scandal! Harry and Y/n Potter not knowin' their own story when every kid in our world knows their name!"

"But why? What happened?" Harry asked urgently. The anger faded from Hagrid's face. He looked suddenly anxious. "I never expected this," he said in a low, worried voice. "I had no idea, when Dumbledore told me there might be trouble gettin' hold of yeh both, how much yeh didn't know. Ah, Harry, Y/n, I don' know if I'm the right person ter tell yeh — but someone's gotta — yeh can't go off ter Hogwarts not knowin'." He threw a dirty look at the Dursleys.

"Well, it's best yeh know as much as I can tell yeh — mind, I can't tell yeh everythin', it's a great myst'ry, parts of it. . . ." He sat down, stared into the fire for a few seconds, and then said, "It begins, I suppose, with — with a person called — but it's incredible yeh don't know his name, everyone in our world knows —"

"Who?" asked Harry.

"Well — I don' like sayin' the name if I can help it. No one does."

"Why not?" he asked again.

"Gulpin' gargoyles, Harry, people are still scared. Blimey, this is difficult. See, there was this wizard who went . . . bad. As bad as you could go. Worse. Worse than worse. His name was . . ." Hagrid gulped, but no words came out.

"Could you write it down?" Y/n suggested, sweetly.

"Nah — can't spell it. All right — Voldemort." Hagrid shuddered.

"Don' make me say it again. Anyway, this — this wizard, about twenty years ago now, started lookin' fer followers. Got 'em, too — some were afraid, some just wanted a bit o' his power, 'cause he was gettin' himself power, all right. Dark days, Harry, Y/n. Didn't know who ter trust, didn't dare get friendly with strange wizards or witches . . . terrible things happened. He was takin' over. 'Course, some stood up to him — an' he killed 'em. Horribly. One o' the only safe places left was Hogwarts. Reckon Dumbledore's the only one You- Know-Who was afraid of. Didn't dare try takin' the school, not jus' then, anyway.

"Now, yer mum an' dad were as good a witch an' wizard as I ever knew. Head boy an' girl at Hogwarts in their day! Suppose the myst'ry is why You- Know-Who never tried to get 'em on his side before . . . probably knew they were too close ter Dumbledore ter want anythin' ter do with the Dark Side.

"Maybe he thought he could persuade 'em . . . maybe he just wanted 'em outta the way. All anyone knows is, he turned up in the village where yer both was all living, on Halloween ten years ago. Yeh both was just a year old. He came ter yer house an'— an'— "

Hagrid suddenly pulled out a very dirty, spotted handkerchief and blew his nose with a sound like a foghorn.

"Sorry," he said. "But it's that sad — knew yer mum an' dad, an' nicer people yeh couldn't find — anyway . . .

"You-Know-Who killed 'em. An' then — an' this is the real myst'ry of the thing — he tried to kill yeh both, too. Wanted ter make a clean job of it, I suppose, or maybe he just liked killin' by then. But he couldn't do it. Never wondered how you and Y/n got that mark on yer forehead? That was no ordinary cut. That's what yeh get when a powerful, evil curse touches yeh — took care of yer mum an' dad an' yer house, even — but it didn't work on yeh both, an' that's why yer famous, Harry, Y/n. No one ever lived after he decided ter kill 'em, no one except you two, an' he'd killed some o' the best witches an' wizards of the age — the McKinnons, the Bones, the Prewetts — an' you two was only a baby, an' you lived."

Something very painful was going on in Harry's and Y/n's mind. As Hagrid's story came to a close, both boys saw again the blinding flash of green light, more clearly than they had ever remembered it before — and Y/n remembered something else, for the first time in his life: a high, cold, cruel laugh that sent shivers down Y/n's spine.

Hagrid was watching him sadly.

"Took the two of yeh from the ruined house myself, on Dumbledore's orders. Brought yeh ter this lot . . ."

"Load of old tosh," said Uncle Vernon. Harry jumped; he had almost forgotten that the Dursleys were there. Y/n however, glared at hit fat uncle, fury in his e/c eyes.

Uncle Vernon certainly seemed to have got back his courage, thought Y/n as he watched his uncle. He was glaring at Hagrid and his fists were clenched.

"Now, you listen here, boys," he snarled, "I accept there's something strange about the two of you, probably nothing a good beating wouldn't have cured — and as for all this about your parents, well, they were weirdos, no denying it, and the world's better off without them in my opinion — asked for all they got, getting mixed up with these wizarding types; just what I expected, always knew they'd come to a sticky end —"

But at that moment, Hagrid leaped from the sofa and drew a battered pink umbrella from inside his coat. Pointing this at Uncle Vernon like a sword, he said, "I'm warning you, Dursley — I'm warning you — one more word . . ."

In danger of being speared on the end of an umbrella by a bearded giant, Uncle Vernon's courage failed again; he flattened himself against the wall and fell silent.

"That's better," said Hagrid, breathing heavily and sitting back down on the sofa, which this time sagged right down to the floor.

Harry and Y/n, meanwhile, still had questions to ask, hundreds of them.

"But what happened to Vol-, sorry — I mean, You-Know-Who?"

"Good question, Harry. Disappeared. Vanished. Same night he tried ter kill you both. Makes yeh even more famous. That's the biggest myst'ry, see . . . he was gettin' more an' more powerful — why'd he go?

"Some say he died. Codswallop, in my opinion. Dunno if he had enough human left in him to die. Some say he's still out there, bidin' his time, like, but I don' believe it. People who was on his side came back ter ours. Some of 'em came outta kinda trances. Don' reckon they could've done if he was comin' back.

"Most of us reckon he's still out there somewhere but lost his powers. Too weak to carry on. 'Cause somethin' about you both finished him, Harry, Y/n. There was somethin' goin' on that night he hadn't counted on — I dunno what it was, no one does — but somethin' about you two stumped him, all right."

Hagrid looked at the twins with warmth and respect blazing in his eyes, but Harry and Y/n, instead of feeling pleased and proud, felt quite sure there had been a horrible mistake. A wizard? Them? How could they possibly be? They'd spent their life being clouted by Dudley and bullied by Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon; if they were really wizards, why hadn't they been turned into warty toads every time they'd tried to lock him and Harry in their cupboard? If they'd once defeated the greatest sorcerer in the world, how come Dudley had always been able to kick them around like a football?

"Hagrid," said Harry quietly, "I think you must have made a mistake. I don't think we can be wizards." To his and Y/n's surprise, Hagrid chuckled. "Not a wizard, eh? Never made things happen when you was scared or angry?"

Y/n's brows furrowed on his forehead as he thought about all the unexplained things he and Harry did in their life. While Y/n was thinking, his eyes glued to his feet, Harry looked into the fire. Now he came to think about it . . . every odd thing that had ever made his aunt and uncle furious with him and Y/n had happened when they, Harry and Y/n, had been upset or angry . . . chased by Dudley's gang, they had somehow found himself out of their reach . . . dreading going to school with that ridiculous haircut, they'd managed to make it grow back . . . and the very last time Dudley had hit him and Y/n, hadn't they got their revenge, without even realizing they were doing it? Hadn't he set a boa constrictor on him?

Harry looked at his brother and saw that Y/n had a small smile forming on his face. He gave his twin a smile and Y/n's smile became wider and they looked back at Hagrid, smiling, and saw that Hagrid was positively beaming at them both.

"See?" said Hagrid. "Harry and Y/n Potter, not a wizard — you wait, you'll be right famous at Hogwarts."

But Uncle Vernon wasn't going to give in without a fight.

"Haven't I told you they're not going?" he hissed. "They're going to Stonewall High and they'll be grateful for it. I've read those letters and they both need all sorts of rubbish — spell books and wands and —"

"If they wants ter go, a great Muggle like you won't stop them," growled Hagrid. "Stop Lily an' James Potter's son's goin' ter Hogwarts! Yer mad. Their name's been down ever since they was born. They're off ter the finest school of witchcraft and wizardry in the world. Seven years there and he won't know himself. He'll be with youngsters of his own sort, fer a change, an' they'll be under the greatest headmaster Hogwarts ever had, Albus Dumbled —"

"I AM NOT PAYING FOR SOME CRACKPOT OLD FOOL TO TEACH THEM MAGIC TRICKS!" yelled Uncle Vernon.

But he had finally gone too far. Hagrid seized his umbrella and whirled it over his head, "NEVER —" he thundered, "—INSULT—ALBUS—DUMBLEDORE—IN—FRONT—OF—ME!"

He brought the umbrella swishing down through the air to point at Dudley — there was a flash of violet light, a sound like a firecracker, a sharp squeal, and the next second, Dudley was dancing on the spot with his hands clasped over his fat bottom, howling in pain. When he turned his back on them, Harry and Y/n saw a curly pig's tail poking through a hole in his trousers. Uncle Vernon roared. Pulling Aunt Petunia and Dudley into the other room, he cast one last terrified look at Hagrid and slammed the door behind them.

Hagrid looked down at his umbrella and stroked his beard.

"Shouldn'ta lost me temper," he said ruefully. "But it didn't work, anyway. Meant ter turn him into a pig, but I suppose he was so much like a pig anyway, there wasn't much left ter do." He cast a sideways look at the boys under his bushy eyebrows.

"Be grateful if yeh didn't mention that ter anyone at Hogwarts," he said. "I'm — er — not supposed ter do magic, strictly speakin'. I was allowed ter do a bit ter follow yeh an' get yer letters to yeh an' stuff — one o' the reasons I was so keen ter take on the job —"

"Why aren't you supposed to do magic?" asked Harry, making Y/n elbow his brother in the rips. Harry gave his twin a glare, but he wasn't looking at Harry. No, Y/n was staring at Hagrid.

"Oh, well — I was at Hogwarts meself but I — er — got expelled, ter tell yeh the truth. In me third year. They snapped me wand in half an' everything. But Dumbledore let me stay on as gamekeeper. Great man, Dumbledore."

"Why were you expelled?" asked Y/n, curiosity getting the better of him.

"It's gettin' late and we've got lots ter do tomorrow," said Hagrid loudly. "Gotta get up ter town, get all yer books an' that."

He took off his thick black coat and threw it at Harry.

"You both can kip under that," he said. "Don' mind if it wriggles a bit, I think I still got a couple o' dormice in one o' the pockets."

Once they were settled down for bed, with the loud sores of Hagrid occupying the hut, Harry and Y/n laid next to one another with Hagrid's coat over them. Y/n's left arm was bent and behind his head as he looked up at the ceiling. Thoughts filled his head, thoughts about his parents, this magic school called Hogwarts, how he and his twin were wizards. It was all so overwhelming, yet exciting at the same time.

"Harry?" he whispered into the night. Harry grunted, letting Y/n know that he was awake. "Are you okay?" he asked. Harry sighed and shrugged his shoulders. "I honestly don't know, Y/n. It's all so crazy, yet fantastic at the same time. But what Hagrid said about Voldemort killing mum and dad frightens me. What if he's still out there?"

"I don't know Harry. But I do know that I'll always be there for you. By your side. Always."

Harry turned his head to look at Y/n with a smile on his face. "Thank you Y/n." he closed his eyes and mumbled: "Night," and Y/n smiled at his twin before replying quietly. "Night, Harry," the eleven-year-old boy closed his eyes and fell into a deep sleep, dreaming of a woman with red hair and green eyes singing softly into the dead of night.

𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐅𝐨𝐮𝐫: 𝐃𝐢𝐚𝐠𝐨𝐧 𝐀𝐥𝐥𝐞𝐲

Y/n woke early the next morning. Although he could tell it was daylight, he kept his eyes shut tight. The rays of sunshine flickered in the hut, shining down upon Y/n, making the boy groan. Y/n was never a morning person, he preferred to spend his days lying about in his lumpy bed, with the blankets tightly wrapped around his body as he snoozed on. (Harry often told him that he was like a cat.)

There was a sudden loud tapping noise. Y/n groaned once again, cracking his eyes open, greeting the morning. He rubbed his eyes before sitting up, the coat Hagrid lent him and his brother fell from his body as he looked around. The giant was sleeping on the lumpy couch, snoring loudly.

Tap. Tap. Tap.

"All right," Harry mumbled, "I'm getting up." Y/n looked over at his brother and smiled. Harry looked over at him and saw that Y/n was pointing at the window, where an owl was rapping its claw on the window, a newspaper held in its beak.

Harry gasped and scrambled to his feet, so happy he felt as though a large balloon was swelling inside him. He went straight to the window and jerked it open. The owl swooped in and dropped the newspaper on top of Hagrid, who didn't wake up. The owl then fluttered onto the floor and began to attack Hagrid's coat.

"Don't do that." said Harry as Y/n got up and went over to his twin. They tried to wave the owl out of the way, but it snapped its beak fiercely at him and carried on savaging the coat.

"Hagrid!" said Harry loudly. "There's an owl —"

"Pay him," Hagrid grunted into the sofa. "What?" asked Y/n, confused.

"He wants payin' fer deliverin' the paper. Look in the pockets."

Hagrid's coat seemed to be made of nothing but pockets — bunches of keys, slug pellets, balls of string, peppermint humbugs, tea bags... finally, Harry pulled out a handful of strange-looking coins.

"Give him five Knuts," said Hagrid sleepily.

"Knuts?" questioned Y/n, taking (more like yanking in Harry's opinion) Harry's hand and inspecting it for himself.

"The little bronze ones."

Y/n―still holding Harry's hand―counted out five little bronze coins, and the owl held out his leg so Y/n could put the money into a small leather pouch tied to it. Then he flew off through the open window.

Hagrid yawned loudly, sat up, and stretched. "Best be off, Harry, Y/n, lots ter do today, gotta get up ter London an' buy all yer stuff fer school."

Harry―who yanked his hand away from his twin's strong grip―was turning over the wizard coins and looking at them. He had just thought of something that made him feel as though the happy balloon inside him had got a puncture.

"Um — Hagrid?"

"Mm?" said Hagrid, who was pulling on his huge boots.

"We haven't got any money — and you heard Uncle Vernon last night... he won't pay for Y/n and I to go and learn magic."

"Don't worry about that," said Hagrid, standing up and scratching his head. "D'yeh think yer parents didn't leave yeh anything?"

"But if their house was destroyed —"

"They didn' keep their gold in the house, boy! Nah, first stop fer us is Gringotts. Wizards' bank. Have a sausage, they're not bad cold — an' I wouldn' say no teh a bit o' yer birthday cake, neither."

"Wizards have banks?" asked Y/n, looking at the giant curiously while holding his sausage.

"Just the one. Gringotts. Run by goblins."

Harry dropped the bit of sausage he was holding.

"Goblins?" he asked as Y/n bit into his sausage, savouring the taste.

"Yeah — so yeh'd be mad ter try an' rob it, I'll tell yeh that. Never mess with goblins, Harry, Y/n. Gringotts is the safest place in the world fer anything yeh want ter keep safe —'cept maybe Hogwarts. As a matter o' fact, I gotta visit Gringotts anyway. Fer Dumbledore. Hogwarts business." Hagrid drew himself up proudly while Y/n got up and had a slice of his and Harry's birthday cake. "He usually gets me ter do important stuff fer him. Fetchin' you — gettin' things from Gringotts — knows he can trust me, see."

"Got everythin'? Come on, then."

Harry and Y/n followed Hagrid out onto the rock. The sky was quite clear now, and the sea gleamed in the sunlight. The boat Uncle Vernon had hired was still there, with a lot of water in the bottom after the storm.

"How did you get here?" Harry asked, looking around for another boat. "Flew," said Hagrid. "Flew?" asked Y/n, awe visible in his voice.

"Yeah — but we'll go back in this. Not s'pposed ter use magic now I've got yeh."

They settled down in the boat, Harry still staring at Hagrid, trying to imagine him flying, with Y/n bouncing in excitement.

"Seems a shame ter row, though," said Hagrid, giving Harry and Y/n another of his sideways looks. "If I was ter — er — speed things up a bit, would yeh mind not mentionin' it at Hogwarts?"

"Of course not," said Harry and Y/n, eager to see more magic. Hagrid pulled out the pink umbrella again, tapped it twice on the side of the boat, and they sped off toward land.

"Why would you be mad to try and rob Gringotts?" Harry asked, clearly interested.

"Spells — enchantments," said Hagrid, unfolding his newspaper as he spoke. "They say there's dragons guardin' the high-security vaults―"

"―DRAGONS?!" squealed Y/n, making Hagrid jump back a bit, in shock at Y/n's outburst, while Harry just looked amused and shook his head at his twin. It was not a secret that Y/n loved dragons. Whenever they went to the library, Y/n would be taking out book after book about dragons and he practically memorized everything there was about them.

"Er, yeah," said Hagrid, clearing his voice before continuing. "And then yeh gotta find yer way — Gringotts is hundreds of miles under London, see. Deep under the Underground. Yeh'd die of hunger tryin' ter get out, even if yeh did manage ter get yer hands on summat."

Harry sat, watching Hagrid read his newspaper, the Daily Prophet, and turned his head towards his twin (who was still in awe at the mention of dragons). He learned early on from his Uncle that people liked to be left alone while they read their paper, so he tried to start a conversation with his brother when Hagrid muttered: "Ministry o' Magic messin' things up as usual," and turned the page.

"There's a Ministry of Magic?" Harry asked, curiosity laced in his voice.

"'Course," said Hagrid. "They wanted Dumbledore fer Minister, o' course, but he'd never leave Hogwarts, so old Cornelius Fudge got the job. Bungler if ever there was one. So he pelts Dumbledore with owls every morning, askin' fer advice."

"But what does a Ministry of Magic do?" piped up Y/n, his brows furrowing on his forehead.

"Well, their main job is to keep it from the Muggles that there's still witches an' wizards up an' down the country." Explained the giant.

"Why?" asked Harry.

"Why? Blimey, Harry, everyone'd be wantin' magic solutions to their problems. Nah, we're best left alone."

At this moment, the boat bumped gently into the harbor wall. Hagrid folded up his newspaper, and they clambered up the stone steps onto the street.

Passersby stared a lot at Hagrid as they walked through the little town to the station. Y/n couldn't blame them. Not only was Hagrid twice as tall as anyone else, he kept pointing at perfectly ordinary things like parking meters and saying loudly, "See that, Harry, Y/n? Things these Muggles dream up, eh?"

"Hagrid," said Y/n, panting a bit as he ran to keep up, with Harry trailing behind him. "did you say there are dragons at Gringotts?" he asked, wanting to make sure that Hagrid wasn't lying about the subject. Ever since Y/n saw a book about Dragons at the library, they frequented, he always wanted one.

"Well, so they say," said Hagrid. "Crikey, I'd like a dragon."

"You'd like one? Me too!" Hagrid turned his bushy head and smiled down at Y/n before answering. "Wanted one ever since I was a kid — here we go."

They had reached the station. There was a train to London in five minutes.' time. Hagrid, who didn't understand "Muggle money," as he called it, gave the bills to Harry and Y/n so they could buy their tickets. People stared more than ever on the train. Hagrid took up two seats and sat knitting what looked like a canary-yellow circus tent.

"Still got yer letters, Harry, Y/n?" he asked as he counted stitches.

Harry took the parchment envelope out of his pocket and handed Y/n his - who waved the parchment happily.

"Good," said Hagrid. "There's a list there of everything yeh need."

"I know, I read it last night," said Y/n as his brother unfolded a second piece of paper he hadn't noticed the night before, and read:

HOGWARTS SCHOOL of WITCHCRAFT and WIZARDRY

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, silver fastenings)

Please note that all pupils' 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 Beginners' Guide to Transfiguration by Emeric Switch One Thousand Magical Herbs and Fungi by Phyllida Spore Magical Draughts 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 an owl OR a cat OR a toad

PARENTS ARE REMINDED THAT FIRST YEARS ARE NOT ALLOWED THEIR OWN BROOMSTICKS!!

"Can we buy all this in London?" Harry wondered aloud. "If yeh know where to go," said Hagrid. Y/n shared a look with Harry, who shrugged his shoulders.

Y/n and Harry had never been to London before. Although Hagrid seemed to know where he was going, he was obviously not used to getting there in an ordinary way. He got stuck in the ticket barrier on the Underground, and complained loudly that the seats were too small and the trains too slow.

"I don't know how the Muggles manage without magic," he said as they climbed a broken-down escalator that led up to a bustling road lined with shops.

Hagrid was so huge that he parted the crowd easily; all Harry and Y/n had to do was keep close behind him. They passed book shops and music stores, hamburger restaurants and cinemas, but nowhere that looked as if it could sell you a magic wand. This was just an ordinary street full of ordinary people. Could there really be piles of wizard gold buried miles beneath them? Were there really shops that sold spell books and broomsticks? Might this not all be some huge joke that the Dursleys had cooked up? If Y/n and Harry hadn't known that the Dursleys had no sense of humor, they might have thought so; yet somehow, even though everything Hagrid had told them so far was unbelievable, and they couldn't help trusting him.

"This is it," said Hagrid, coming to a halt, "the Leaky Cauldron. It's a famous place."

It was a tiny, grubby-looking pub. If Hagrid hadn't pointed it out, Harry or Y/n wouldn't have noticed it was there. The people hurrying by didn't glance at it. Their eyes slid from the big book shop on one side to the record shop on the other as if they couldn't see the Leaky Cauldron at all. In fact, both Harry and Y/n had the most peculiar feeling that only they and Hagrid could see it. Before either of them could mention this, Hagrid had steered them inside.

For a famous place, it was very dark and shabby. Y/n's eyes took it all in. His feet were itching to run around the pub, a small smile spread across his lips - this place was amazing. His eyes landed on a few old women who were sitting in a corner, drinking tiny glasses of sherry. One of them was smoking a long pipe. A little man in a top hat was talking to the old bartender, who was quite bald and looked like a toothless walnut. The low buzz of chatter stopped when they walked in.

Everyone seemed to know Hagrid; they waved and smiled at him, and the bartender reached for a glass, saying, "The usual, Hagrid?"

"Can't, Tom, I'm on Hogwarts business," said Hagrid, clapping his great hand on Harry's shoulder and making Harry's knees buckle, while Y/n was still taking it all in.

"Good Lord," said the bartender, peering at Harry and Y/n, "is this — can this be —?"

The Leaky Cauldron had suddenly gone completely still and silent, (finally) drawing Y/n's attention back to the present. His brows were furrowed in confusion and he turned his head to look at his brother, trying to figure out why all these people were staring at him and his twin.

"Bless my soul," whispered the old bartender, "Harry and Y/n Potter. .. what an honor."

He hurried out from behind the bar, rushed toward Harry and seized his hand, tears in his eyes, making Y/n recoil back.

"Welcome back, Mister. Potter's welcome back."

Harry and Y/n didn't know what to say. Everyone was looking at them, making Y/n a tad bit uncomfortable. The old woman with the pipe was puffing on it without realizing it had gone out, while Hagrid was beaming.

Then there was a great scraping of chairs and the next moment, Harry and Y/n found themselves shaking hands with everyone in the Leaky Cauldron.

"Doris Crockford, Mr. Potter's. Can't believe I'm meeting you at last."

"So proud, Mr. Potter's. I'm just so proud."

"Always wanted to shake your hand — I'm all of a flutter."

"Delighted, Mr. Potter's, just can't tell you, Diggle's the name, Dedalus Diggle."

"I've seen you before!" said Harry, as Dedalus Diggle's top hat fell off in his excitement. Y/n looked over at the man and squinted his eyes in concentration, trying to figure out where he and Harry had seen him before.

"You bowed to me and Y/n once in a shop." The realization slapped Y/n in the face and he nodded his head. "That's right! I knew I remembered that top hat - very nice," he complimented, making Dedalus Diggle blush a bright red. "They remember!" cried Dedalus Diggle, looking around at everyone. "Did you hear that? Harry and Y/n Potter remember me! And dear Y/n Potter complimented my top hat - take that Doris!"

Harry and Y/n shook hands again and again — Doris Crockford kept coming back for more. A pale young man made his way forward, very nervously. One of his eyes was twitching.

"Professor Quirrell!" said Hagrid. "Harry, Y/n, Professor Quirrell will be one of your teachers at Hogwarts."

"P-P-Potter's," stammered Professor Quirrell, grasping Harry's hand, "c- can't t-tell you how p-pleased I am to meet you." he said before grasping Y/n's hand, making Y/n look at the man with curiosity.

"What sort of magic do you teach, Professor Quirrell?" he asked, smiling at the man.

"D-Defense Against the D-D-Dark Arts," muttered Professor Quirrell, as though he'd rather not think about it. "N-not that you n-need it, eh, P-P- Potter's?" He laughed nervously. "You'll be g-getting all your equipment, I suppose? I've g-got to p-pick up a new b-book on vampires, m-myself." He looked terrified at the very thought.

But the others wouldn't let Professor Quirrell keep Harry and Y/n to himself. It took almost ten minutes to get away from them all. At last, Hagrid managed to make himself heard over the babble.

"Must get on — lots ter buy. Come on, Harry, Y/n."

Doris Crockford shook Harry's hand one last time, making Y/n's eyes dance with mirth, and Hagrid led them through the bar and out into a small, walled courtyard, where there was nothing but a trash can and a few weeds.

Hagrid grinned at Harry and Y/n.

"Told yeh, didn't I? Told yeh both you was famous. Even Professor Quirrell was tremblin' ter meet yeh — mind you, he's usually tremblin'." That made Y/n sad for the poor professor. When he was younger, Y/n also had a terrible stutter that made him a target for bullies - mostly his cousin Dudley and their gang - and no one except Harry would stick up for him.

"Is he always that nervous?" he asked, a frown on his face.

"Oh, yeah. Poor bloke. Brilliant mind. He was fine while he was studyin' outta books but then he took a year off ter get some first-hand experience. . . . They say he met vampires in the Black Forest, and there was a nasty bit o' trouble with a hag — never been the same since. Scared of the students, scared of his own subject — now, where's me umbrella?"

"Vampires? Hags? Cool." thought Y/n.

Hagrid, meanwhile, was counting bricks in the wall above the trash can.

"Three up . . . two across . . ." he muttered. "Right, stand back, Harry." Y/n grabbed Harry's arm and pulled him back as Hagrid tapped the wall three times with the point of his umbrella. The brick he had touched quivered — it wriggled — in the middle, a small hole appeared—it grew wider and wider—a second later they were facing an archway large enough even for Hagrid, an archway onto a cobbled street that twisted and turned out of sight.

"Welcome," said Hagrid, "to Diagon Alley."

𝙈𝙚𝙩𝙖𝙣𝙤𝙞𝙖 |𝘿𝙧𝙖𝙘𝙤 𝙈𝙖𝙡𝙛𝙤𝙮 𝙭 𝙈𝙖𝙡𝙚 𝙍𝙚𝙖𝙙𝙚𝙧|

𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐅𝐢𝐯𝐞: 𝐆𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐨𝐭𝐭𝐬

Y/n couldn't think or speak. The magic of Diagon Alley overwhelmed him as he stared at the shops. Once the archway appeared Hagrid led him and his brother through before the archway shrunk instantly back into a solid wall. Y/n turned his head away from the now solid wall, letting his eyes wander all over the Alley. The sun shone brightly on a stack of cauldrons outside the nearest shop. Cauldrons—All Sizes—Copper, Brass, Pewter, Silver—Self-Stirring—Collapsible, said a sign hanging over them.

"Yeah, you'll be needin' one," said Hagrid, noticing Y/n and Harry staring at the nearest shop, "but we gotta get yer money first."

Y/n and Harry wished they had about eight more eyes. He and Harry turned their heads in every direction as they walked up the street, trying to look at everything at once: the shops, the things outside them, the people doing their shopping.

A plump woman outside an Apothecary was shaking her head as they passed, saying, "Dragon liver, sixteen Sickles an ounce, they're mad. . . ."

A low, soft hooting came from a dark shop with a sign saying Eeylops Owl Emporium—Tawny, Screech, Barn, Brown, and Snowy. Several boys of about Harry's and Y/n's age had their noses pressed against a window with broomsticks in it.

"Look," the boys heard one of them say, "the new Nimbus Two Thousand—fastest ever—"

There were shops selling robes, shops selling telescopes and strange silver instruments Y/n had never seen before, windows stacked with barrels of bat spleens and eels' eyes, tottering piles of spell books, quills, and rolls of parchment, potion bottles, globes of the moon . . .

"Gringotts," said Hagrid. They had reached a snowy white building that towered over the other little shops. Standing beside its burnished bronze doors, wearing a uniform of scarlet and gold, was—

"Yeah, that's a goblin," said Hagrid quietly as they walked up the white stone steps toward him. The goblin was about a head shorter than Harry and Y/n. He had a swarthy, clever face, a pointed beard and, Y/n noticed, very long fingers and feet. He bowed as they walked inside. Now they were facing a second pair of doors, silver this time, with words engraved upon them:

Enter, stranger, but take heed

Of what awaits the sin of greed,

For those who take, but do not earn,

Must pay most dearly in their turn.

So if you seek beneath our floors

A treasure that was never yours,

Thief, you have been warned, beware

Of finding more than treasure there.

"Like I said, yeh'd be mad ter try an' rob it," said Hagrid as Y/n studied the text, a lump forming in his throat. "Uh-huh,"

A pair of goblins bowed them through the silver doors and they were in a vast marble hall. About a hundred more goblins were sitting on high stools behind a long counter, scribbling in large ledgers, weighing coins in brass scales, examining precious stones through eyeglasses. There were too many doors to count leading off the hall, and yet more goblins were showing people in and out of these. Hagrid, Harry, and Y/n made for the counter.

"Morning," said Hagrid to a free goblin. "We've come ter take some money outta Mr. Harry and Y/n Potter's safe."

"You have his key, sir?"

"Got it here somewhere," said Hagrid, and he started emptying his pockets onto the counter, scattering a handful of moldy dog biscuits over the goblin's book of numbers. The goblin wrinkled his nose. Harry and Y/n watched the goblin on their right weighing a pile of rubies as big as glowing coals.

"Got it," said Hagrid at last, holding up a tiny golden key.

The goblin looked at it closely.

"That seems to be in order."

"An' I've also got a letter here from Professor Dumbledore," said Hagrid importantly, throwing out his chest. "It's about the You-Know-What in vault seven hundred and thirteen."

The goblin read the letter carefully.

"Very well," he said, handing it back to Hagrid, "I will have someone take you down to both vaults. Griphook!"

Griphook was yet another goblin. Once Hagrid had crammed all the dog biscuits back inside his pockets, he, Harry, and Y/n followed Griphook toward one of the doors leading off the hall.

"What's the You-Know-What in vault seven hundred and thirteen?" Harry asked suspiciously. "Can't tell yeh that," said Hagrid mysteriously. "Very secret. Hogwarts business. Dumbledore's trusted me. More'n my job's worth ter tell yeh that."

Griphook held the door open for them. Y/n, who had expected more marble, was surprised. They were in a narrow stone passageway lit with flaming torches. It sloped steeply downward and there were little railway tracks on the floor. Griphook whistled and a small cart came hurtling up the tracks toward them. They climbed in—Hagrid with some difficulty—and were off.

At first, they just hurtled through a maze of twisting passages. "Blimey," muttered Y/n. Blimey is right, thought Harry as he tried to remember, left, right, right, left, middle fork, right, left, but it was impossible. The rattling cart seemed to know its own way because Griphook wasn't steering.

Harry's and Y/n's eyes stung as the cold air rushed past them, but Harry kept them wide open, while Y/n squeezed his eyes tight, disliking the cold air whipping around his face and hair.

Once, Harry thought he saw a burst of fire at the end of a passage and twisted around to see if it was a dragon, but too late—they plunged even deeper, passing an underground lake where huge stalactites and stalagmites grew from the ceiling and floor.

"I never know," Harry called to Hagrid over the noise of the cart, "what's the difference between a stalagmite and a stalactite?"

"Stalagmite's got an 'm' in it," said Hagrid. "An' don' ask me questions just now, I think I'm gonna be sick."

He did look very green, and when the cart stopped at last beside a small door in the passage wall, Hagrid got out and had to lean against the wall to stop his knees from trembling.

Harry turned his head to Y/n and elbowed him in the ribs. "Oh!" his eyes popped open. "Bloody Hell, Harry," he muttered angrily as he rubbed his bruised ribs. Harry rolled his eyes and climbed out of the cart with Y/n behind him muttering about Harry's bony elbows as if he didn't have bony elbows as well.

Griphook unlocked the door. The door creaked open, drawing Y/n's attention as a lot of green smoke came billowing out, and as it cleared, both Harry and Y/n gasped simultaneously. Inside were mounds of gold coins. Columns of silver. Heaps of little bronze Knuts.

"Are-are those . . .?" he couldn't get the words out properly, shock took over his body as his eyes traveled from each mountain and heap of the magical currency.

"All yours," confirmed Hagrid, a giant smile on his face.

All his. And Harry's. It was bloody incredible. The Dursleys couldn't have known about this or they'd have had it from them faster than blinking. How often had they complained how much Harry and Y/n cost them to keep? And all the time there had been a small fortune belonging to them, buried deep under London.

"Well? Come on then!" Y/n dragged his brother closer to the vault as he scooped up some of the money as Hagrid gave them a velvet pouch with a wand embroidered on it. "How does this work? The currency I mean," said Y/n as he picked up a gold coin.

"Well, that one there is a Galleons," he explained. "Seventeen silver Sickles to a Galleon and twenty-nine Knuts to a Sickle, it's easy enough." Harry and Y/n nodded as they scooped a pile of the coins into the bag. "Right, that should be enough fer a couple o' terms, we'll keep the rest safe for yeh." mused Hagrid as Y/n pulled the leather strings of the bag, closing it.

Hagrid turned to Griphook. "Vault seven hundred and thirteen now, please, and can we go more slowly?" Y/n had to agree with Hagrid, he did not enjoy the ride down here in that blasted cart. "One speed only," said Griphook with a sneer. Y/n never glared harder in his life.

The three of them climbed back into the cart, Y/n scowling at the goblin as the cart started moving. It gained speed quickly and Harry felt the adrenaline pumping in his veins. They were going even deeper now and gathering speed. The air became colder and colder as they hurtled around tight corners. They went rattling over an underground ravine, and Harry leaned over the side to try to see what was down at the dark bottom, but Hagrid groaned and pulled him back by the scruff of his neck. "What yeh think you're doin'??!" he shouted over the wind. "I just wanted to have a look―"

"Are you MAD?!" shrieked Y/n as he stared at his twin in shock. "You could've fallen over! You could've DIED!? What were you thinking?!" Harry looked at his twin, then to Hagrid, both shared looks of shock, anger and worry. For some strange reason, their reactions―especially Hagrid's―made him happy, content, and brought him to tears. No one, besides Y/n, had ever cared for Harry as did Hagrid at this moment. He was a complete stranger to this giant, yet he gazed at Harry like he was his own.

Vault seven hundred and thirteen had no keyhole. This confused Harry as much as it did Y/n. How was Hagrid supposed to retrieve something within this vault if it had no key hole? Griphook answered the question before they asked.

"Stand back," said Griphook importantly. He stroked the door gently with one of his long fingers and it simply melted away. "Woah!" whispered Y/n, awe shimmering in his eyes.

Griphook smirked. "If anyone but a Gringotts goblin tried that, they'd be sucked through the door and trapped in there,"

"How often do you check to see if anyone's inside?" Harry asked.

"About once every ten years," said Griphook with a rather nasty grin. Y/n shared a look with his brother and visibly gulped in fear. Note to self, he thought, never mess with goblins.

"Something really extraordinary has to be inside this top security vault," whispered Harry. Y/n nodded in agreement. As the vault door opened, both he and Harry leaned forward eagerly, expecting to see fabulous jewels at the very least . . . nothing. There was nothing in there. It was empty.

Y/n sighed aloud and rolled his shoulders. "Well, that was a waste of a trip now was it?" Before Harry or Hagrid could retort back to him, he noticed a grubby little package wrapped up in brown paper lying on the floor. Hagrid picked it up and tucked it deep inside his coat. Both Harry and Y/n longed to know what it was, but knew better than to ask.

"Come on, back in this infernal cart, and don't talk to me on the way back, it's best if I keep me mouth shut," said Hagrid, which drew a smile from Y/n. One wild cart ride later, they stood blinking in the sunlight outside Gringotts. Neither Harry nor Y/n knew where to run first now that they had a bag full of money. They didn't have to know how many Galleons there were to a pound to know that he was holding more money than they'd had in their whole life—more money than even Dudley had ever had.

"Wish Dudley could see us now," smirked Y/n. "Thirty-six??! That's two less than last year, Mummy!! Ohh poor me, I only have thirty-six presents for my birthday!! Waahh!" Harry laughed at Y/n's impression of their cousin, tears streamed down his face while Hagrid looked at them, confused.

"Inside joke Hagrid," explained Y/n. Hagrid nodded. "Ohh, always wanted ter be in one," he said. "Anyway, might as well get yer uniform," Hagrid nodded his head towards a shop called: Madam Malkin's Robes for All Occasions. "Listen, Harry,Y/n, would yeh mind if I slipped off fer a pick-me-up in the Leaky Cauldron? I hate them Gringotts carts." He did still look a bit sick, so Harry and Y/n said their goodbyes to Hagrid and wished him well before entering Madam Malkin's shop.

𝙈𝙚𝙩𝙖𝙣𝙤𝙞𝙖 |𝘿𝙧𝙖𝙘𝙤 𝙈𝙖𝙡𝙛𝙤𝙮 𝙭 𝙈𝙖𝙡𝙚 𝙍𝙚𝙖𝙙𝙚𝙧|𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐒𝐢𝐱: 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐁𝐨𝐲 𝐚𝐭 𝐌𝐚𝐝𝐚𝐦 𝐌𝐚𝐥𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐬

Y/n pushed open the glass door and took a deep breath as a bell chimed, letting the owner know that she/he/they had a customer. Harry turned his head to look at Y/n - who was not looking at his brother, but in fact staring at all the clothes, dress robes, cloaks, and people in the quaint little shop.

Y/n’s eyes travelled up the small flight of stairs in the back, leading to a loft area where teens were shifting through the racks of clothes. The young eleven-year-old boy smiled at the sight. His aunt never let him or Harry browse through high-end cloth shops, only taking them to discount and thrift stores. Apparently, she didn’t want to run into anyone she personally knew and tarnish her (already low) reputation. A smile played at Y/n’s lips as he looked around.

A large group of elderly women were crowded around a rack of amethyst and emerald cloaks with a sign above it saying: “DISCOUNT CLOAKS―LINE WITH CHIMAERA SKIN/FUR”. A few of the old crones were speaking in hushed whispers while others were taking out each cloak and holding it up.

“Hogwarts, dears??” Y/n tore his eyes away from the group of old women and saw a squat woman with greying black hair in a tight bun on her head, with round spectacles that sat on the bridge of her nose. She had a kind smile on her face with crow's feet in the corner of her eyes, as if she lived a happy life and found something daily to smile about. She wore a floor-length mauve a-line skirt that flared out at her hips, with a white long sleeve with puffed sleeves that were cinched at the wrists, and a black apron tied around her full waist.

“Um yes―” started Harry before being interrupted by the lady.

“Got the lot here—another young man being fitted up just now, in fact.” She sighed before continuing. “Well, come on, let’s get you two fitted, shall we?”

Y/n turned his head to Harry―who shrugged his shoulders―before both of the boys were ushered over to the back of the shop, where a boy with a pale, pointed face was standing on a footstool while a second witch pinned up his long black robes.

“Excuse me, but are you Madam Malkin?” asked Y/n as the witch stood Harry on a stool next to the boy. “Well, yes dear!” she smiled at him before pointing to the other witch next to her. “And that right there is my apprentice, Vanessa Snape,” Y/n turned his head towards the other witch.

Vanessa had long black hair with a sharp pointed nose with thin lips and pale skin. Like Madam Malkin, she wore a floor length a-line skirt that too flared out at her hips, but emerald green with the same white long puffed sleeves and a black apron tied around her waist.

Miss. Snape was pinning a few pins in a long black robe in the other boy’s robe when Y/n finally registered that there was another person there.

“Hello,” said the boy, “Hogwarts, too?”

“Yes,” said Harry (rather rudely).

“My father’s next door buying my books and Mother’s up the street looking at wands,” said the boy. He had a bored, drawling voice that would make anyone around him hang onto his every word. Y/n’s brows furrowed at his statement, but continued to watch and listen to him.

“Then I’m going to drag them off to look at racing brooms. I don’t see why first years can’t have their own. I think I’ll bully father into getting me one, and I’ll smuggle it in somehow.” Harry rolled his eyes as the boy turned his attention to Y/n, his cold grey eyes meeting his warm e/c. “You’re going to bully him? Forgive me if I’m wrong, but wouldn’t it be more effective to just ask him politely instead of forcing him?” asked Y/n, a confused expression on his face.

For eleven years, he’d watch Dudley bully his parents into getting him what he wanted, and it always worked, but look how that got Dudley. He’s a spoiled little pig, bullying and picking on the weak. (But to be frank, Aunt Petunia and Uncle Dursely were nitwits anyway, so it was no surprise that they were dimwitted enough to even listen to Dudley, let alone his whining.) But in Y/n’s mind, parents were supposed to be caring and nice, and when their children asked them for something politely, they most likely said yes.

The boy just stared at Y/n, a curious look on his face, before turning his head back to Harry.

“Have you got your own broom?” the boy went on.

“No,” said Harry.

“Play Quidditch at all?”

“No,” Harry said again, sharing a look with Y/n. Both were wondering what on earth Quidditch could be.

“I do—Father says it’s a crime if I’m not picked to play for my House, and I must say, I agree. Know what house you’ll be in yet?”

“Um . . . No,” said Harry, feeling more stupid by the minute, while Y/n shook his head.

“Well, no one really knows until they get there, do they, but I know I’ll be in Slytherin. All our family have been—imagine being in Hufflepuff, I think I’d leave, wouldn’t you?”

“Mmm,” said Harry (wishing he could say something a bit more interesting). Y/n noticed that Miss. Snape rolled her eyes at the boy’s remark before making a few notes on her loose bit of parchment.

“I say, look at that man!” said the boy suddenly, nodding toward the front window. Hagrid was standing there, grinning at Harry and Y/n, pointing at two large ice creams to show he couldn’t come in. Y/n smiled at Hagrid, who smiled back at him. A flush appeared on his cheeks as passing witches and wizards were staring at him.

“That’s Hagrid,” said Harry, who sounded pleased to know something the boy didn’t.

“He works at Hogwarts.” piped in Y/n as Madam Malkin urshed Harry off the podium and nodded to Y/n to step up. She smiled at Y/n as he lifted his arms and she placed some black robes over him and started pinning at the right measurements.

“Oh,” said the boy, “I’ve heard of him. He’s a sort of servant, isn’t he?”

“He’s the gamekeeper,” scowled Harry. He liked the boy less and less every second.

“Yes, exactly. I heard he’s a sort of savage—lives in a hut on the school grounds and every now and then he gets drunk, tries to do magic, and ends up setting fire to his bed.”

“We think he’s brilliant,” said Harry coldly, as he glared at the boy, ignoring the glare his twin sent him.

“Do you?” said the boy with a slight sneer. “Why is he with you? Where are your parents?”

“They’re dead,” said Harry and Y/n, shortly. Harry didn’t feel much like going into the matter with this boy.

“They died when we were very young,” explained Y/n as the boy shot him a confused look. A flicker of emotion passed through his grey eyes before reverting back to the empty and cold look he kept up through their conversation.

“Oh, sorry,” said the boy, not sounding sorry at all. “But they were our kind, weren’t they?”

“They were a witch and wizard, if that’s what you mean,” said Harry, a scowl permanently on his face, his scrawny arms crossed over his chest.

“I really don’t think they should let the other sort in, do you? They’re just not the same, they’ve never been brought up to know our ways.” the blond turned his head to stare at Y/n. “You know, some of them have never even heard of Hogwarts until they get the letter, imagine.” Y/n’s brows furrowed together as he thought about what the boy said.

There are others who didn’t know they were magical? We weren’t the only ones?

“I think they should keep it in the old wizarding families. What’s your surname, anyway?”

“Pott―”

“That’s you done, my dear,” interrupted Madam Malkin, and Y/n hopped down from the footstool. As he did this, Y/n noticed how both the boy and Miss. Snape was watching him, Miss. Snape held a curious gaze as she ranked him down with her eyes. He gave her a bashful smile and her eyes widened, almost in . . . recognition?

“Well, I’ll see you at Hogwarts, I suppose,” said the blond boy.

“See you at Hogwarts,” said Y/n and gave him a smile. After he turned around, the blond boy had a ghost of a smile on his face.

(Notes: Hi!! So I've literally packed this story full of OC's and Vanessa Snape is one of them! She's our lovely grumpy asshole's little sister—aka the light and the insanity of his life. I do hope you enjoyed this chapter and I am still working on the tag list for this story, so if you wish to be part of the tag list let me know and I'll add you to my list once I find the time to make it lol.)