Harry Potter and the Dice Roll

Dudley loved it when there were many gifts. Dudley loved it when the gifts were expensive. Dudley loved games. It didn’t matter to Dudley what he was given, as long as it was abundant, expensive, and could be broken. Dudley’s parents had enough money and a lack of common sense when it came to their beloved son. So, shortly before Dudley’s birthday, when a large, oversized box with the inscription “Dungeons & Dragons, Third Edition, the most complete and expanded” appeared in the largest London board game store, Vernon, without hesitation, bought the game as a gift for Dudley, spending a tidy sum on it. On the cover, a noble knight fought a dragon, an elf showered the monster with arrows from a bow, and a beautiful princess cheerfully waved her fists. Vernon liked the cover. He assumed it was probably a beautiful medieval adventure game, and Dudley would like it. But, in reality, when Dudley unwrapped this gift, Dudley Jr. went into uncontrollable hysteria. The main volume of the box (Vernon even puffed, bringing the gift into the house) was occupied by BOOKS. Two huge, thick books, labeled “Basic Rules of the Game” and “D&D Encyclopedia.” The basic rules alone spanned more than two hundred pages. There were also some white sheets of graph paper, resembling a school board, a handful of various dice, markers, circles with some incomprehensible symbols… And nothing else! The box was thrown into the closet less than 10 minutes after unpacking. It was Dudley’s personal record. However, the abandoned box didn’t stay there for long. The closet had an inhabitant who reached it. Slyly looking around at the slightly open kitchen door, behind which the cousin continued to tear apart gifts, he picked up the rulebook, opened it, and began to read. He loved reading. Unfortunately, he rarely came across books other than school textbooks. He couldn’t even sign up for the library because the Dursleys would never pay for a subscription for their disliked nephew. The book began like this: “D&D is a game of your imagination, in which you participate as the hero, a character created by you, in dizzying adventures and dangerous missions.” The closet inhabitant closed his eyes with pleasure, holding the thick volume to himself. He loved adventures. Especially imaginary ones. They didn’t hurt him. All evening, while Dudley stuffed himself with cake and played with his new remote-controlled tank, the closet inhabitant spent on reading. When the Dursleys were going to bed, he was still reading. He read until Aunt Petunia’s alarm clock rang, signaling the morning. Only then did the closet inhabitant realize that he had gotten a little carried away, put the Dungeon Encyclopedia under his pillow, and went to wash up. Auntie disapprovingly looked at her nephew and muttered: “What were you doing there, boy? Your eyes are redder than a rabbit’s!” Harry — that was the real name of the closet inhabitant — knew that Auntie wouldn’t like the answer “reading.” Most likely, those wonderful books would be thrown into Dudley’s room on the second floor, where all of Dudley’s junk was stored, just so they wouldn’t fall into the boy’s hands. Therefore, the clever Harry rubbed his eyes, pouted his lips, and turned away. “Nothing, Aunt,” he replied in an intentionally sulky voice. “Just… Why does Dudley get so many gifts? He throws them away anyway! I wish I could play with at least one toy…” For this statement, he naturally received a slap on the back of his head, but Auntie decided that her nephew was sobbing in his closet out of envy, not reading.

***

Over the summer, Harry memorized all the Dungeons & Dragons books almost by heart. He longed to play so badly that it made his teeth ache — but he couldn’t possibly invite Dudley on a journey through the Sword Coast! And playing alone wasn’t much fun. Out of boredom, Harry came up with his own original adventures based on the Dungeon Master’s Guide. Dragons, monsters, and poisoned wells swirled in his mind and were recorded in a thick notebook, securely hidden in a hiding spot under the floorboard (where the dice bag, map grids, tokens, and Dungeon Master’s books were also stashed). But everything eventually comes to an end. Summer ended, and Harry, along with his cousin, headed into the fourth grade. Three more years of schooling awaited him. And to Harry, it seemed like these would be just as torturous and hopeless as all the other years he had spent in the cupboard under the stairs of his relative’s house. He felt indifferent about the big break, during which he chose to stay in the classroom, under the supervision of the teacher. Dudley, now grown and watchful, dared not bother his cousin and went off to play, while Harry looked around. A few new kids, transferred from another school (they seemed to be somewhat distant relatives to each other), also chose to stay. Shifting chairs and heads, they argued over some book. Intrigued, Harry quietly approached them and… It was her! The PLAYER’S HANDBOOK OF DUNGEONS & DRAGONS! “You couldn’t use your rage yesterday! It requires dealing damage, and you missed with your axe!” hissed the charming long-nosed boy with dark hair. “Oh, but I could! The opponent took damage from my vines, which entwined and pierced him! So, he did take damage!” the irritated red-haired girl, so freckled that her skin seemed to glow, retorted. “Well, calm down, calm down… Magda said she could, so she can,” the chubby boy in glasses reassured in a soothing tone. “Actually, on page twenty-nine of the rules, it’s stated that a barbarian can’t maintain concentration-based spells while in a rage, so the vines should have disappeared,” Harry guiltily inserted his remark. All three abruptly turned to him. Under Potter’s gaze, it became uncomfortable, and he was starting to regret joining this conversation. But at that moment, the girl snorted derisively and explained: “Actually, concentration ends at the end of the turn, and my turn hadn’t ended at that point! And after the turn, the vines withered away.” “Well, fair enough,” Harry shrugged. He didn’t want to argue with the girl. The red-haired one glanced at her friends with a sense of superiority and extended her hand first: “Martha MacMillan.” “Harry Potter,” the boy replied, shaking hands. The red-haired one nudged her friends, who were watching the new acquaintance with interest. They also introduced themselves. The cute brunette was named Stanley Whitkins, and the chubby one was James Horner. They had a common great-grandmother, so as not to get confused with kinship degrees, they called each other cousins. “Now, we need to properly introduce ourselves!” Martha declared arrogantly, put her foot on a chair, tilted her nose up, and proclaimed, “Tremble, commoner, for before you stands the brave adventurer, the dwarf barbarian Gunnloda Battle Hammer!” “And her voice of reason,” snorted the chubby boy. “Half-elf druid, always ready to heal the souls and bodies of his friends, Ivor Silver Wind.” “And do not dare forget about me, the cunning and sly rogue tiefling, who will cut your purse strings on the go, Melek of the Thieves' Guild of Neverwinter,” Stanley concluded the procedure. “And who are you?” “I’m Harry… Just Harry,” Potter felt awkward. “No way!” Martha raised her fist. “There’s no 'Just Harry' in our company! After classes today, we’re waiting for…” “Wizard Garrett,” Potter blurted out randomly. “Didn’t we agree to meet at the tavern?” James was already scribbling something in his notebook. “I think you could be an expelled student from the mage Nemerlich, drowning your sorrows in beer… That’s how we’ll find you.” The bell for class rang — but was that really important? Wizard Garrett was already born.