Until the End

The war of our lives no one can win

“So close” Ólafur Arnalds (feat. Arnór Dan)

* * *

It was a very strange day. It started as usual with Harry Potter being woken up by Mrs. Petunia Dursley, his so-called aunt, so he could get started on cooking breakfast. In a few minutes, every member of the Dursley family gathered in the kitchen as usual and waited, and then… “Get the mail, Dudley,” said Mrs. Dursleyʼs seal of a husband, not tearing his tiny eyes from the paper when they all heard the click of the mail slot. Harry was shocked… Though, he knew better than to show any sign of it. “Make the freak get it.” What a big surprise. Ickle Pigleykins didn’t want to lift his enormous ass from the stool. No way. “Get the mail, boy.” In the old times, Harry would definitely tell those fat bastards what else he could get them, but he stopped being that foolish at least three years ago. And just to be clear, this morning Harry Potter was exactly ten years eleven months and twenty-two days old. Being let out of his latest exile to the cupboard only this morning, and not wishing to go back there just yet, Harry turned the bacon over so it won’t burn and went to get the letters, dodging the pig’s stick with the well-practiced motions. His stomach habitually ached from the lack of food during the last weeks, but there was nothing he could do right now. He would get food, all right, but not earlier than he finished his chores for the day. Grabbing the three envelopes without a spare glance (he didn’t care who could write to his 'dear family'), Harry quickly went back and without a word tossed them on the table in front of his uncle. He never talked much. Only when answering a teacher’s questions at school, but the Dursleys usually lived without hearing his voice for days, sometimes weeks or even months in a row, and every inhabitant of number 4 Privet Drive was happy with it. Besides, there wasn’t much to talk about. All conversations usually consisted of one or the other giving orders or asking if they were complete. And they were perfectly satisfied with Harry nodding in response. Harry got back to the task, listening closely to everything in the room. Not paying attention proved to be dangerous in the past, and Harry never repeated his mistakes. He heard how Vernon tore open one of the envelopes and snorted in disgust. “Must be the bill,” Harry decided. “Marge’s I’ll,” grunted the Dursley. “Ate a funny whelk…” “Dad! Look!” squealed Dudley, cutting Vernon’s sentence in the middle. Then was a rustling of paper, followed by the horrified gasp, “P-P-Petunia!”, then another moment of loud fuss, accompanied by the pig’s whining. Harry finished dishing out scrambled eggs and bacon, grabbed the two plates, and turned to the table just in time to see his aunt clutch her throat and make choking sounds while squeezing the letter with the other hand. Both Dursleys looked at each other in panic. Satisfaction filled Harry’s gut. There must be some awful news for them to be that terrified. But the feeling died very quickly. What did he care if something happened? It was not his business. Harry served the last plate on the dining table and ignoring his cousin’s howling, looked on the list of his chores pinned on the fridge, drank a glass of water, and went outside to start weeding and mowing the lawn. Harry did not see how Dudley, who for the first time in his life did not get what he wanted, made a poor attempt at eavesdropping on the important private conversation between the older Dursleys', failed spectacularly, and was sternly told off by his oaf of a father. But then again, not that he cared. It didn’t matter what his aunt and uncle tried to hide. It didn’t matter how much of a hell they turned his life into. Because Harry found his way out. He found his light at the end of this ugly tunnel. The whole universe of power and possibilities, of choices and freedom, of knowledge and mystery. Yes, Harry was ten, but he wasn’t a child. He never played games, and never had toys. But what he did have was much better… Harry Potter had a secret. A secret so tremendous and important, that everything else dimmed compared to it. So simple, yet incredibly complicated. Magic. He discovered it accidentally when he wasn’t even five. At the Dursley household strange and very funny things (like floating dishes, blowing up toys, lights that changed colours) were not a rare occurrence those days. Harry never understood any of them, but somehow his family had always held him responsible. It was so unfair! And the more they blamed him, the more funny things seemed to happen. The more things happened, the more severe Harry’s punishment was. The more severe Harry’s punishment was, the more often and strange things got. And so on and on. An endless circle. It escalated very quickly… Vernon’s displeasure became panic and fury. Shoves and slaps turned into fists and belts. Small portions of food at meals turned into a starvation diet. The occasional chore now and then turned into a ten-hours working day. Harry never felt angrier than then. Days, filled with exhaustion, almost constant pain and hunger no kid should know, nights full of horrors and fear made him bitter and hateful. Gone was a youthful spark from his eyes… It was replaced by coldness and defiant determination to stay upright. The day Vernon Dursley had beat his nephew into a bloody pulp for the first time was the day Harry’s childhood ended. And as he lay in his cupboard, unable to move a muscle without white-hot pain shooting through his entire body, and crying silently for the last time in his life, Harry swore to himself that he would never be weak again. He prayed to everyone he knew that everything Vernon always blamed him for was true. That this invisible force that surrounded him, that magic (Yes, he said it!) for once would be useful and help him through this hell. And it did. When the next morning Petunia opened the cupboard door to make sure the brat was still alive (heavens forbid, her husband got in trouble over the freak), Harry was covered in blood and dirt but slept peacefully for the first time in weeks. She woke him up, and Harry discovered with surprise that he was healed completely. But to the shower that he was allowed to take, he cautiously limped anyway. Just in case. Now, after hours and hours of practicing while locked in the cupboard or busy with some mindless task, Harry could tell with full confidence that he’s a powerful wizard and that no one ever would be allowed to wipe floors with him again. Despite Vernon and Petunia’s fear and disgust, Harry used magic all the time. It did half of the work for him, treated his wounds if needed. For example, when Harry mowed the lawn, he didn’t have to push the heavy mower, it did it all by itself. Or when he cleaned the house, the most awful stains came out without much effort. But the best part of it all was the long-waited opportunity to pay back. When Harry mastered his magic enough, one beautiful day the pig broke his leg at school. And another also amazing day Vernon got in a car crash (regretfully, he wasn’t injured as gravely as Harry would prefer, but the favorite car was sent to a junkyard). Petunia proved to be even easier prey. Several hateful glances, and she went almost insane from fear and worry for her beloved husband and son… Everything just kept falling out of her hands, and if it accidentally bruised or cut her, who’s to blame? She stopped gossiping with neighbors, she stopped doing everything, and spent days locking herself in the living room watching TV or reading magazines, but mostly just staring at one spot, sometimes murmuring something. On long nights all three of them were plagued with nightmares. Of course, it was risky… But Harry always made sure to never do things directly, staying in the deep shadow. It all lasted for over two years. Harry never missed an opportunity to have a little fun with his dear family, but eventually, it got boring. He stopped his reign of terror and the Dursleys left him be for the most part. Of course, he still worked as hard as ever, and Vernon still lost his temper occasionally, but it never got as bad as it once was. Everyone in the house learned their lesson well enough to know what would happen if they pushed him too hard. When Harry got into the house that evening after several hours of working in Petunia’s garden, he was stopped in the hall by the Dursleys. They both stood rigidly, clutching at one another with the deadliest grip, and smiling disturbingly sweetly. “Er — Harry…” the whale said through clenched teeth, “about your cupboard. Your aunt and I have been thinking… You’re really getting a bit big for it… We think it might be nice if you moved into Dudley’s second bedroom.” “Why?” asked Harry suspiciously after a very long pause. Usually, he wouldn’t bother, but this was unbelievably strange even for his standards. Not to mention that the bastards haven’t talked nicely and referred to him by his given name since… Well, never. “Don’t ask questions!” snapped Vernon. “Take your bloody freakish stuff upstairs, now!” When he realized what he said, the man paled a little, glanced for a second at his horse-faced wife, and smiled at Harry shakily. “And then you take the rest of the evening off, your aunt will make dinner tonight.” Then they both darted to the drawing-room and quickly closed the door behind them. Harry stood in the middle of the hall, scowling. What on earth was that? Whatever these fools read in the mysterious letter has to do with him, then, he supposed. Or they just finally lost what was left of their minds. “Interesting,” thought Harry, “worth checking out.” Five minutes later Harry stretched on his new bed, listening to the pig’s whining downstairs. It was the weirdest day of his life so far. And we all know how far from usual his definition of 'weird' was. How the seal didn’t choke to death while giving Harry the first evening off in years was beyond comprehension. But whatever fluke that was, it would be unbelievably foolish not to use it to his advantage. Harry closed his eyes, turned off the outside world, and focused on his own mind still debating if he really cared enough to do this. One time during his little war with the Dursleys, Harry discovered that among other things he could read minds. Can you imagine his surprise when yet another staring contest with Vernon turned out to be an extremely unpleasant journey into the depth of the man’s mind? A very useful ability, no doubt, but the process… Harry never felt this sick in his entire life and seriously considered not to do this ever again. But the temptation was too great, and the next several months he spent working on his new telepathic ability, using the family as Guinea pigs. This time he knew what to expect and trod cautiously, allowing his body to adjust to the new sensations. And eventually, he polished this skill almost to perfection. Diving into Petunia’s mind (Harry tolerated it far better than Vernon’s), he searched the top layer of the woman’s memories looking for today’s morning. As usual, there was no resistance, not that either of them had any chance in that regard anyway. All any of them could feel during the process was a slight headache, and only if Harry wasn’t very careful. If he even tried to be careful, mind you, but it was an entirely different story. The very first thing Harry learned about minds was that they all were a bunch of gigantic messes. How could anyone possibly find a damn thing in their own heads, Harry positively did not understand. Petunia wasn’t an exception from this rule, sadly enough. Reaching instinctively to the direction that felt more fearful and worrisome, Harry looked for a glimpse of the letter and tried to catch pieces of the suitable conversation between her and the whale. Since it was at the forefront of her mind all day, finding the right memory was easy. Catching it, Harry dove inside. “P-P-P-Petunia!” gasped Vernon in shock and pushed the letter into her hands. Mrs. Dursley grabbed the piece of paper and her eyes widened in sudden realization. Harry could tell, she instantly knew what that letter was, and why her husband was so horrified by it. Myriads of emotions washed through his aunt at that moment and Harry stepped closer to her. Petunia forced herself to look down and read the words. Her hands trembled, while she quickly scanned the list and her hand automatically clasped her throat. Harry leaned over to look at the 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

A magical school then… Hah. So the fools are trying to prevent him from attending a Wizarding school… Interesting. Harry ignored the still playing memory for a moment and tried to identify his own feelings about it, which wasn’t exactly easy, considering sheer panic that Petunia drowned in. Harry knew about Hogwarts for a long time, since he accidentally stumbled upon Petunia’s childhood memories. There wasn’t much to look at, really — the woman did all she could to suppress and erase them — Harry managed to see only a couple of memories, everything else was mangled beyond recognition. “Vernon,” hissed Petunia in a quivering voice, “look at the address — how could they possibly know where he sleeps? You don’t think they’re watching the house?” She paled even more. “Watching — spying — might be following us,” muttered Vernon, throwing his hands everywhere and glancing around suspiciously, as if trying to figure out where they might be hiding. Petunia pressed the hand to the place where her heart presumably was. “But what should we do, Vernon? Should we write back? Tell them we don’t want…” she trailed off. The whale’s face was covered with sweat from concentration. “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…” “Didn’t we swear when we took him in that we’d put an end to that dangerous nonsense once and for all?! We’ve barely managed to beat all that freakishness out of the brat the last time! I won’t allow this shit in my house again, Petunia! Did you forget what it was like?! He nearly killed us all!” snapped Vernon, grabbing his wife by the shoulders and shaking her. The woman only nodded in response and covered her face with her hands. “What if they come here?” she whispered. “When we found out that she was one, they came to our house to persuade my parents…” Vernon started thinking again, his purple vein pulsing dangerously. Harry opened his eyes, ceasing the memory. He had a lot to think about. Did he even want to go there? It might be a good thing to know someone as 'freakish' as himself, there was no doubt about that. And he supposedly belonged to that world…he certainly didn’t belong here. It was another good reason to go. Plus he might learn something useful there. But on the other hand… Harry was perfectly capable of teaching himself. He’d been doing it for years now. And he was sure he could find other wizards if he wanted to. But he never really needed anyone. Other people were stupid and useless for the most part, and those who weren’t could be counted with fingers on one hand. Harry stopped paying attention to anyone a long time ago. Of course, occasionally some concerned teacher or parent or lady in a shop would approach him with uncomfortable questions and pity in their eyes, but it only annoyed him. Yes, his life was awful and hard. Yes, he didn’t do anything to deserve it. There was no point in denying that. But it was his life to do as he pleased, and Harry considered it tolerable enough to continue things the way they were. The family treated him worse than shit, but they were useful for the various skill-trainings and practices. Everything Harry knew, he learned using the Dursleys as Guinea pigs. There was no way of knowing if he could continue working on his magic in the new world the way he used to here. And Harry hated it when things changed. Eventually deciding that there was no rush and he had plenty of time to wait and see how things played out before making a move, Harry drifted to a restless slumber until he was woken up by scowling Petunia who dragged him downstairs to a ‘family dinner’. The next few days Harry with secret amusement watched the Dursley-oafs ungraciously falling deeper and deeper into complete madness with the speed of light. It seemed that whoever was sending those letters was either too determined or really desperate, which did not bode well with Harry, truthfully. At first, Vernon started sleeping near the front door to prevent anyone else from receiving mail. Then he simply nailed up the mail slot. But if anything, the situation got even worse. The number of letters delivered every single day grew exponentially. They were shoved inside through every possible hole and crack, so Vernon sealed the house with Harry and the family inside. But it didn’t stop the letters from arriving… One morning Harry woke up because of Petunia’s shriek when she found them inside eggs. Suffice it to say, Harry was banned from all chores and spent most of the time in his new room reading Duddley’s books. When on Sunday morning they literally drowned the house in Harry’s letters, Vernon finally snapped and dragged everyone away in hopes to escape this parchment hell. Somehow Harry doubted it would help, though. He still couldn’t come to a decision… As funny as this little hide-and-seek with Vernon’s mental health was, the fact that those people were that persistent reduced Harry’s potential willingness to associate with them considerably. If they pursued every future student that much, they were downright crazy. If he was some sort of a special case, he had little doubts that he won’t like the reason for such treatment. And if it was someone’s idea of a joke… Well, Harry wasn’t gonna buy it. Either way, nothing good could’ve possibly come out of the whole ordeal, and the more Harry thought about it, the less he wanted to go to that damned school. “Yes, it’s probably the right choice,” thought Harry, while lying on the hard floor of what once was a cabin on a rock in the middle of the sea. The walls and windows rattled from the storm outside, it was freezing, but Harry didn’t feel any of it thanks to his magic. He was consumed by his own thoughts and plans for the nearest future. BOOM! What the hell?! BOOM! Sounded again. Someone tried to break inside and judging by the sheer volume of mere knocks, that someone was bloody big. The pig, naturally, jumped awake. “Where’s the cannon?” he squeaked, shaking. What a moron… Suddenly there was a loud crash behind them when Vernon barged in. “Who’s there?” he shouted. “I warn you — I’m armed!” There was a little pause, then the door flew into the room, torn off from the doorframe, and landed on the floor with a deafening crash. A giant man, looking more of a vagrant then the wizard (not that Harry knew how wizards supposed to look like, of course), stepped inside. And he definitely was a wizard, Harry felt it right away. The first instinct was to attack the intruder, and he concentrated his magic, preparing to give the command, but stopped himself at the last second. The giant bent down, picked up the door, and fitted it easily back into its frame. A little confused by the strange behavior, Harry decided to give him a chance and find out the purpose of the late-night visit, at the very least. He ceased trusting words a long time ago, so to save them all time and breath, Harry caught the giant’s beetle eyes and easily slipped inside his mind. “Couldn’t make us a cup o' tea, could yeh? It’s not been an easy journey…” said the giant, striding over to the sofa where Dudley sat frozen with fear. “Budge up, yeh great lump.” Dudley squeaked, but Harry ignored them all for a moment, quickly catching glimpses of thoughts and memories at the forefront of the man’s mind. Blasted letters. Couldn’t they all leave him the hell alone? “An' here’s Harry!” exclaimed the giant. Harry looked up into the fierce, wild, shadowy face that was idiotically smiling at him, and frowned. Time for a decision… “Las' time I saw you, you was only a baby,” he continued. “Yeh look a lot like yer dad, but yeh’ve got yer mom’s eyes.” “Yes, yes, bla bla bla… Poor little orphan, how tragic,” thought Harry. “I demand that you leave at once, sir!” yelled Vernon, turning purple as per usual. “You are breaking and entering!” “Man, at this speed you’ll work yourself up to a heart attack…huh, that would’ve been very nice.” “Ah, shut up, Dursley, yeh great prune,” grumbled the giant before making a quick job of turning the gun in Vernon’s hands into a pile of shapeless metal in the corner. “Yeah…cool, of course, but the whale will not be happy about it. The thing definitely wasn’t cheap, and all of the Dursleys would better choke to death than lose a penny. Guess who he's going to try and force to pay for it afterwards…” Vernon made another squeaking noise and Harry nearly snorted. “Anyway — Harry,” said the giant, turning his back on the Dursleys, “a very happy birthday to yeh. Got summat fer yeh here — I mighta sat on it at some point, but it’ll taste all right.” “How nice…” This whole time Harry still searched the man’s brain for any information that could be valuable. It turned out that Harry Potter was not just a boy… A celebrity. A savior. Blessed and worshipped. “Way to treat your saviors, guys… Dump them in a hell hole for a decade.” And while the idea did not make any sense to him (how could anyone in their right mind believe that a bloody infant could save the whole country?), Harry decided that it would be better if he played fool for now. Because if he really was that special as that giant jimbo thought, he would not be left alone even if tried, and the less everyone knew about the real him the better. He watched how the giant winked and pulled a slightly squashed box from an inside pocket, at the same time trying to put a politely enthusiastic expression on his face and not to laugh at the poorly played show in front of him. Dimwit. But like it or not, Harry needed to play his part, so he opened the box with trembling fingers. Inside was a large chocolate cake with ‘Happy Birthday Harry’ written on it in green icing. Harry very rarely was allowed any sorts of sweets or cakes, so he never held any interest in them. But the gesture was appreciated nonetheless. Harry looked up at the giant, nodding a silent ‘thank you’. “Who are you?” he asked. It was time to move on to the point, birthday or not. Who cares about birthdays anyway? The giant chuckled. “True, I haven’t introduced meself. Rubeus Hagrid, Keeper of Keys and Grounds at Hogwarts,” he said proudly and shook Harry’s whole arm. “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.” When no one replied, Hagrid eyed the grate mischievously, leaned closer to it, and mattered something. Harry felt a weak flow of magic rushing towards it, and a moment later a warm fire started in the previously empty fireplace, filling the old, damp, and dusty shack with flickering light. “Breaking the rules, aren’t we? Hm…” thought Harry, watching how Hagrid pulled various items out of his seemingly bottomless pockets, took a swig of some sort of booze, and then started cooking on the open fire. Cooking, for god’s sake. And they call him a freak… The Dursleys apparently shared Harry’s sentiment this time, which felt odd and wrong for so many reasons, and stood hiding behind each other, equally dumbfounded. Everything seemed relatively quiet at the moment, so Harry ventured back into Hagrid’s mind to look through it more thoroughly. Soon the place filled with the smell of food and Harry’s stomach started aching. He hasn’t had a bite since the morning. “Don’t touch anything he gives you, Dudley,” growled Vernon and Harry dived out of a memory, so he’d be able to pay full attention to his surroundings. The giant chuckled darkly. “Yer great puddin' of a son don' need fattenin' anymore, Dursley, don' worry,” he sneered and passed the sausages to Harry who started to get annoyed. Did he fly here to feed him? What a waste of time. Maybe a bit of probing will do some good. “I’m sorry, but I still don’t really know who you are,” he asked carefully. “Call me Hagrid,” replied the half-giant, “everyone does. An' like I told yeh, I’m Keeper of Keys at Hogwarts — yeh’ll know all about Hogwarts, o' course.” “Er — no,” lied Harry. Hagrid bulged his tiny eyes. “Sorry,” said Harry quickly, continuing to play innocent. “Sorry?!” barked Hagrid and stared at the Dursleys, who was instantly blown back into the shadows by the sound of his voice. “It’s them as should be sorry! I knew yeh weren’t gettin' yer letters but I never thought yeh wouldn’t even know abou' Hogwarts, fer cryin' out loud! Did yeh never wonder where yer parents learned it all?” “Is he fucking serious?!” “All what?” asked Harry. “ALL WHAT? Now wait jus' one second!” bellowed Hagrid, leaping to his feet and nearly destroying the almost dead couch with his sudden movement. The man’s anger was palpable in the air, and Harry was pleased to see the Dursleys trembling by the furthest wall. “Good. They should do it more often, maybe then they’ll learn their true place.” “Do you mean ter tell me,” Hagrid growled at the family, “that this boy — this boy! — knows nothin' abou' — about ANYTHING?” It seemed that leaving him with those people wasn’t enough, they just had to send the most dumb and useless person in whole Magical Britan to pick him up. That Dumbledore, who according to Hagrid’s brain was supposed to be the best of the best, seemed less and less bright to Harry. And if the best wizards were so stupid, what was the worst like? “Why… Just why on earth all the shit always happens with me and no one else?” What an idiotic question. Fine. Keep playing. “I know some things,” drawled Harry, showing his annoyance a bit. “I can, you know, do math and stuff.” He felt so stupid. Sensing someone’s eyes on him, Harry turned to the Dursleys and sent Dudley a deadly glare, warning the imbecile to keep his mouth shut. The pig instantly averted his gaze. “About our world, I mean. Your world. My world. Yer parents' world,” waved Hagrid, not noticing the silent exchange. “What world?” “DURSLEY!” exploded Hagrid, and all color drained from the faces of the family. But Hagrid didn’t pay much attention to it either, being busy staring wildly at Harry. “But yeh must know about yer mom and dad,” he said. “I mean, they’re famous. You’re famous.” “Okay, now we’re getting somewhere.” “What? My — my mom and dad weren’t famous, were they?” Harry stumbled, feigning confusion. “Yeh don' know… Yeh don' know…” Hagrid stared at Harry with his jaw dropped comically and ran fingers through the explosion on his head that was his hair. “Yeh don' know what yeh are?” he mumbled finally. “Stop!” intervened Vernon, finally finding his voice. “Stop right there, sir! I forbid you to tell the boy anything!” The righteous rage once again filled the room, and Harry felt magic stirring inside Hagrid. It was kind of sweet if you think of it. Very annoying, but sweet nonetheless. “You never told him? Never told him what was in the letter Dumbledore left fer him? I was there! I saw Dumbledore leave it, Dursley! An' you’ve kept it from him all these years?” drawled the half-giant maliciously, every syllable clear in the stunned silence. “Kept what from me?” said Harry eagerly. “Come on, we’re almost there!” “STOP! I FORBID YOU!” yelled Uncle Vernon in a state of panic, making a step forward and pushing Petunia aside, which made her gasp in horror and grasp her husband’s arm, attempting to pull him back to imaginary safety. With no success, obviously. Harry smirked inwardly at the theatrics. “Ah, go boil yer heads, both of yeh,” growled Hagrid. “Harry — yer a wizard.” “YES! FINALLY!” thought Harry. It’s official now. He didn’t know why he was so glad to hear that statement, truthfully. Not that it was any news. Maybe the joy had more to do with the fact the jimbo got to the point at long last than with the point itself. Harry allowed silence to stretch for a while, pretending to echo the Dursleys’ shock. “I’m a what?” he gasped after a while. “A wizard, o' course, 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 read yer letter,” said Hagrid, shining proudly, lowered his enormous backside on the poor couch again, and held out a painfully familiar yellowish envelope to Harry. Harry took it and flipped around, sighing deeply. He felt trapped. The address on the envelope was written in emerald-green ink, the same as the letter inside, Harry remembered. 'To Mr. H. Potter, The Floor, Hut-on-the-Rock, The Sea, ' it said. So they knew the exact spot he slept? Or was it just some magical trick? Probably the latter. Anger boiled inside Harry. Those bastards probably knew all about his ‘homelife’ and did nothing. No, it won’t help to get mad now. Harry pulled out the letter and skimmed through it for the second time while trying to calm himself down and not spoil the whole game. He’d get angry when he got to that damned school that seemed unable to continue its existence without Harry and saw the situation for himself. With his peripheral vision, Harry caught Hagrid staring at him with anticipation. Right, he was supposed to somehow react to the ‘news’. Joy? No, Harry already was feeling dumb enough, thank you very much. Confusion? Hmm, yes, that was better. “What does it mean, they await my owl?” Harry asked, deciding that an eleven-year-old boy who just found out that magic existed would definitely have quite a few questions, and started with the first one that came to mind. “Gallopin' Gorgons, that reminds me,” exclaimed Hagrid instead of a reply, smacked his own forehead, and pulled an owl (what?!), a long quill, a small bottle of black ink, and a roll of parchment from yet another pocket. He dipped his quill into ink and quickly scrabbled a note that Harry read upside down: Dear Professor Dumbledore, Given Harry his letter. Taking him to buy his things tomorrow. Weather’s horrible. Hope you’re well. Hagrid “Well, no turning back now…” Hagrid attached the small scroll to the owl, threw it out into the storm, and came back to sit on the couch as if nothing just happened. Poor bird. Harry gaped at the man like a fish for a few more seconds, just in case, and closed his mouth quickly. “Where was I?” asked Hagrid, but didn’t get to add anything more because, at that moment, still very angry Vernon made a second attempt to prove his point and moved forward again, untangling himself from Petunia. “He’s not going,” he stated as firmly as he could. “I’d like ter see a great Muggle like you stop him,” grunted Hagrid. “A what?” asked Harry, finally starting to enjoy the situation. “A Muggle. It’s what we call nonmagic folk like them. An' it’s your bad luck you grew up in a family o' the biggest Muggles I ever laid eyes on,” explained the half-giant, gesturing towards the Dursleys. Petunia and Dudley paled even more, though it was hard to tell since they both still cowered in the shadows. “We swore when we took him in we’d put a stop to that rubbish,” said the whale sternly, fiercely taping his finger down onto the invisible table, emphasizing each word. “Swore we’d stamp it out of him! Wizard indeed!” And let the show begin… “You knew?!” exclaimed Harry loudly. “You knew I’m a — a wizard?!” He prepared himself for the inevitable ‘as if you didn’t, you little freak’, but it never came. “Knew!” shrieked Petunia instead, scaring Dudley. “Knew! Of course we knew! How could you 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! Then she met that Potter at school and they left and got married and had you, and of course I knew you’d 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!” the woman screamed, not even catching her breath. No news here either. But, being in her mind countless times through the years, Harry knew the real reason for Petunia’s anger. She was simply jealous of her sister. Of everything Lily was and Petunia never came to be. Harry fixed the disheveled woman with a cold glare. “Blown up? You told me they died in a car crash!” He didn’t really care, to be completely honest, but something had to be said. “CAR CRASH!” roared Hagrid, jumping up. He looked like a wild monster about to attack. “How could a car crash kill Lily an' James Potter? It’s an outrage! A scandal! Harry Potter not knowin' his own story when every kid in our world knows his name!” “But why? What happened?” Harry asked urgently. This farce needed to be over. Harry was so used to always keeping to himself, never taking part in any conversation, that he already was tired of this one and only wished for the giant to get to the point quicker and finally leave him be. The look of anger on Hagrid’s face suddenly was replaced by sadness and anxiety. “I never expected this,” he almost whispered. “I had no idea, when Dumbledore told me there might be trouble gettin' hold of yeh, how much yeh didn’t know. Ah, Harry, 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…” While the man sat down and stared into the fire for a few seconds, preparing to tell the tale, Harry also took a place next to him and slipped back into Hagrid’s mind. He wanted to know what really happened, not the children’s version of the story. “It begins, I suppose, with — with a person called — but it’s incredible yeh don’t know his name, everyone in our world knows…” Harry only half listened, trying hard to divide his attention more or less evenly. It was not easy to do, and he constantly skipped bits of memories and words. But he only needed to remember parts of them, to be able to find the memories faster when he got the chance. “Who?” Harry prodded when Hagrid trailed off into silence. “Well — I don' like sayin' the name if I can help it. No one does.” “Why not?” “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 opened his mouth, but no words came out. It could’ve amused Harry, had he not been so busy looking through the horror images in the jimbo’s head that were associated with the name. He felt Hagrid’s emotions behind each of them — terror, pain, sadness, doom — all too familiar. “Could you write it down?” Harry suggested, turning his head to look at the man beside him. “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. 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,” he paused to take a deep breath. “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 you was all living, on Halloween ten years ago. You was just a year old. He came ter yer house an' — an'…” The images of strangers stopped, and Hagrid’s mind was filled with images of a red-haired young woman and a dark-haired man in glasses, who looked somewhat like Harry; a ruined house; a crying man with long dark hair; a blue motorbike. Enormous grieve overwhelmed him, and Harry focused on the present, trying to escape the too-intense feeling. “Sorry,” said Hagrid. “Sorry? What for?” “But it’s that sad,” the giant continued, “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 you, 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 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 you, an' that’s why yer famous, Harry. No one ever lived after he decided ter kill 'em, no one except you, an' he’d killed some o' the best witches an' wizards of the age — the McKinnons, the Bones, the Prewetts — an' you was only a baby, an' you lived.” Yes, that Harry already saw in the man’s mind. The only survival of the Killing curse. He sighed. If only he died then… Harry thought back to his earliest memories. Sometimes when he was younger he dreamed of the blinding green light, and he always wondered what that might be. Now Harry knew. It was the Killing curse that night. And while Harry thought about it, he realized that the image became more clear. And one more detail resurfaced along with it — a voice. A high, cold, cruel laugh echoed inside his mind, sending waves of goosebumps down his back. Suddenly Harry wished the bastard was alive, so he could show him what the real pain and terror were. Diving out of his murderous thoughts, he noticed that Hagrid was watching him with pity, shining in his eyes. If there was something Harry hated more than the Dursleys, it was pity. “Took yeh from the ruined house myself, on Dumbledore’s orders. Brought yeh ter this lot…” “Load of old tosh,” said Vernon from behind the couch. Harry had almost forgotten that the Dursleys were even there. A potentially fatal mistake… The whale was glaring at Hagrid with his fists clenched and trembling with tension. “Now, you listen here, boy,” he snarled, “I accept there’s something strange about you, probably nothing a good beating wouldn’t have cured — and as for all this about your parents, well, they were weirdoes, 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…” “I’m warning you, Dursley — I’m warning you — one more word…” Hagrid growled threateningly, uncharacteristically gracefully leaping from the couch and pointing a pink umbrella at the Dursley. It definitely was magical, Harry could tell. Vernon immediately shut up and glued himself to the wall. “That’s better,” said Hagrid, breathing heavily and returning to his seat. “But what happened to Vol-, sorry — I mean, You-Know-Who?” Harry pressed. “Good question, Harry. Disappeared. Vanished. Same night he tried ter kill you. 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 finished him, Harry. There was somethin' goin' on that night he hadn’t counted on — I dunno what it was, no one does — but somethin' about you stumped him, all right.” Hmm… That was rather interesting. Harry stored the information for the future. He needed to find out more later. “Hagrid,” said Harry quietly, continuing his game, “I think you must have made a mistake. I don’t think I can be a wizard.” Hagrid chuckled in response. Right choice, then. “Not a wizard, eh? Never made things happen when you was scared or angry?” Harry looked into the fire, screwing his face in false concentration, but in reality, just staring at dancing flames without a thought. After some time, he looked back at Hagrid, smiling, and saw that the giant was beaming back at him. It was so hard and uncomfortable — to smile. “See?” said Hagrid. “Harry Potter, not a wizard — you wait, you’ll be right famous at Hogwarts.” But it seemed that Vernon wasn’t going to give in without a fight. Such persistence. “Haven’t I told you he’s not going?” he hissed. “He’s going to Stonewall High and he’ll be grateful for it. I’ve read those letters and he needs all sorts of rubbish — spell books and wands and…” “If he wants ter go, a great Muggle like you won’t stop him,” growled Hagrid, moving closer to Vernon. “Stop Lily an' James Potter’s son goin' ter Hogwarts! Yer mad. His name’s been down ever since he was born. He’s 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' he’ll be under the greatest headmaster Hogwarts ever had Albus Dumbled —” “I AM NOT PAYING FOR SOME CRACKPOT OLD FOOL TO TEACH HIM MAGIC TRICKS!” yelled Vernon, starting to shake again. Harry watched the scene unfold with amused interest. Hagrid seized his umbrella and whirled it over his head, “NEVER!” he thundered, “INSULT — ALBUS — DUMBLEDORE — IN — FRONT — OF — ME!” “Yes, it would be too obvious…” Jimbo pointed his umbrella at Dudley, and after a flash of violet light, a sound like a firecracker, and a sharp squeal, 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 saw a curly pig’s tail poking through a hole in his trousers, and Harry raised an eyebrow at the sight. It seemed he wasn’t alone in considering Dudley a pig. Vernon grabbed his son and wife and, roaring like a wounded animal (even louder than Dudley), pushed them to the other room, slamming the door shut. Hagrid looked down at his umbrella and stroked his beard thoughtfully. “Shouldn’ta lost me temper,” he said ruefully. “Well, shouldn’t you have thought about it before you acted?” “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,” Hagrid added, looking at Harry from under his 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.” “Yes, I know that, you daft jimbo.” “Why aren’t you supposed to do magic?” asked Harry, though he already knew the answer. “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?” “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 to Harry, who nearly fell to the ground under the weight. “You can kip under that,” the giant said. “Don' mind if it wriggles a bit, I think I still got a couple o' doormice in one o' the pockets.” Oh, how fantastic… Harry watched the man lying down on the cold floor and almost immediately starting to snore. Just wonderful. Harry plopped on the couch, covered himself with the now weightless coat to keep up appearances, and looked at the ceiling, listening to the whining in the next room. How dramatically life had changed in less than a week. He was famous now. Fucking shit. Bloody wizarding world… Why did they have to come and ruin everything Harry built throughout the years? It was so not fair. But then again… When was anything ever fair?

* * *