Chapter Text
22 July 1991
Petunia Dursley
Petunia managed to convince Vernon to let Harry go to school the next day. Thankfully, Vernon had been three brandies deep when the letter arrived saying that Piers and the zookeeper had been dealt with, and she’d managed to read and burn it without him noticing. She’d managed to convince him that maybe it wasn’t Harry this time, and when she’d pointed out that the school might send someone around if he was off again, he had reluctantly agreed that Harry could leave his cupboard for school, and twice a day - four times at weekends - to go to the bathroom. Vernon hadn’t even complained when she’d given Harry a few books that Dudley had been using for target practice with his Super Soaker and started replacing his bread and water with proper meals.
To her relief, Vernon agreed to lift Harry’s restrictions completely when the school holidays arrived. Dudley insisted on having Piers over almost every day, and since Piers didn’t remember what had happened at the zoo, he was more than happy to join Dudley in rapping on Harry’s door and jumping up and down on the stairs. It was far less stressful to have Harry out of the house when Piers was there than to worry what he might do if they pushed too far. She knew telling Dudley to leave his cousin alone would only cause another argument with Vernon, who maintained that if Harry was so dangerous Dudley couldn’t tease him a bit then he was too dangerous to have in the house.
As she dyed some of Dudley’s old clothes Stonewall grey in the sink, Petunia found herself wondering if he might actually have to wear them. She hadn’t bothered buying a real uniform because it was painfully obvious that Harry had the abilities she had so desperately hoped he wouldn’t, but it was two years since she’d last heard from Professor Dumbledore, and she was certain Lily had known she was going to Hogwarts several months before she started.
She looked down at the contents of the tub and sighed. Perhaps she would have to write to Professor Dumbledore to ask him to release some more of Harry’s funds. The boy couldn’t go off to school wearing this.
Harry had come into the kitchen for breakfast and was peering into the tub. “What’s this?”
“Your new school uniform,” snapped Petunia.
“Oh,” said Harry. “I didn’t realise it had to be so wet.”
Petunia fought the urge to slap him and settled for telling him not to be stupid. It was hardly a lie to say his clothes would look just like everyone else’s; she’d seen the state of the Stonewall kids who had terrorised the coffee shop by the bus stop so badly it had closed down. Perhaps she should have returned a school selection form after all.
A few minutes later, Petunia took Vernon a mug of coffee to wash down his breakfast. She vaguely registered that Harry had kept a single envelope when he handed Vernon the post. It was only when Dudley shouted “Dad! Harry’s got something!” that she realised this was unusual. Her relief was chased away by the pallid look of horror on Vernon’s face as he read the letter he had seized from Harry.
“P-P-Petunia!” gasped Vernon.
Petunia took the letter before Dudley could grab it, and read it quickly. She was very confused when it said precisely what she had expected. It took only a moment for her to realise that Vernon had actually hoped the letter would never come, and that she had perhaps been a little too effective in keeping the extent of Harry’s abilities from him. They hadn’t discussed Harry going to Hogwarts, of course. She hated thinking about him going to that awful place, and the only times Vernon liked to talk about Harry was to complain about him.
“Vernon!” said Petunia, clutching her throat. She’d never dreamed they might argue about this. “Oh my goodness - Vernon!”
“I want to read that letter,” said Dudley, hitting Vernon on the head with his Smeltings stick.
“I want to read it, as it’s mine,” Harry protested.
“Get out, both of you,” croaked Vernon, stuffing the letter back inside its envelope.
“I WANT MY LETTER!” Harry shouted, staying where he was.
“Let me see it!” demanded Dudley, also refusing to move.
“OUT!” roared Vernon, manhandling the two boys into the hall and slamming the door behind them.
Petunia picked up the envelope and stared at the address:
Mr H. Potter
The Cupboard under the Stairs
4 Privet Drive
Little Whinging
Surrey
“Vernon,” she said quietly, “look at the address - how could they possibly know where he sleeps? You don’t think they’re watching the house?”
The idea that Professor Dumbledore knew where Harry slept made her feel sick. She knew, of course, that the cupboard under the stairs wasn’t a suitable bedroom, but Vernon had refused to back down and she’d stopped begging years ago.
“Watching - spying - might be following us,” Vernon muttered wildly. He began to pace.
“But what should we do, Vernon? Should we write back?” She knew Vernon hated her writing to Dumbledore. “Tell them we don’t want—”
“No, no, we’ll ignore it,” said Vernon. “If they don’t get an answer… yes, that’s best… we won’t do anything…”
Petunia stared at him. That wasn’t what she’d meant at all. The Ministry had sent someone to Lily to explain things long before she’d received her letter from Hogwarts, but apparently they’d assumed she would have explained things to Harry. She didn’t have the first idea how to break the news to him.
“But—”
“I’m not having one in the house, Petunia! Didn’t we swear when we took him in we’d stamp out that dangerous nonsense?”
Petunia bit her lip. Surely Vernon realised they already had one in the house, and that he’d spend a lot less time there if they let him go off to Hogwarts. She knew better than to argue with Vernon when he was like this, however. She decided to give it a couple of days for his temper to calm down, and then slowly bring him round to seeing that things would be much better if Harry went to Hogwarts.
When Vernon got home from work, he complained that his sandwiches had been stale and sent Petunia to the shops to get a fresh loaf of bread. When she got back, she was astonished to learn that Harry had moved his things into Dudley’s second bedroom. She discovered this fact from Dudley bawling at her, “I don’t want him in there… I need that room… make him get out…”
Vernon said nothing to her about the move, even when Dudley threw a terrible tantrum at breakfast the next morning. She shot her husband dirty looks over the table, but she didn’t want to say anything in case he changed his mind. If he was worried what Professor Dumbledore thought about Harry having spent the last ten years living in a cupboard, perhaps he’d be more willing to let the boy go to school.
Unfortunately, any hopes Petunia had that Vernon would calm day in a day or two evaporated when Dudley, who had been sent to get the post, shouted from the hall, “There’s another one! Mr HJ Potter, The Smallest Bedroom, 4 Privet Drive—”
With a strangled cry, Vernon leapt from his seat and ran down the hall. He wrestled the letter off Dudley, taking several hits from Dudley’s Smelting stick and after a minute of confused fighting, wheezed, “Go to your cupboard - I mean, your bedroom,” at Harry. “Dudley - go - just go.”
Vernon was still in too foul a mood when he returned from work for her to even consider trying to discuss the topic, and when he went to bed, he set his alarm clock for five o’clock.
“Got to beat the brat to his letter,” he snarled when she opened her mouth to ask what he was doing.
When the alarm clock went off, Petunia watched Vernon pick up a sleeping bag from beside his bed and tiptoe out of the room. She rolled her eyes and went back to sleep, but was woken a little over an hour later by horrible shout. She hurried downstairs to find Vernon bellowing at Harry, who had apparently snuck out of his cupboard to wait for the postman.
Vernon didn’t go to work that day. He stayed at home and nailed up the letter-box.
“See,” he explained to her through a mouthful of nails, “if they can’t deliver them they’ll just give up.”
“I’m not sure that’ll work, Vernon,” said Petunia, hoping her letter to Professor Dumbledore wouldn’t take too long to arrive. She handed Vernon a slice of fruit cake.
“Oh, these people’s minds work in strange ways, Petunia, they’re not like you and me,” said Vernon, trying to knock in a nail with the cake she’d just given him.
On Thursday, no letters arrived for Harry, but when Petunia opened the front door to collect the milk, an envelope was nestled between the two bottles on the doorstep, addressed to her. She slipped it into her pocket and carried the milk inside.
When Vernon had left for work, whistling happily, Petunia pulled out the letter and opened it. It read:
Dear Petunia,
I must confess to some disappointment that you have neglected to inform Harry he is a wizard. However, I agree that it makes sense for someone to explain things to him before he reads his invitation.
I can assure you that Harry’s outbursts of magic will be far less frequent once he has learned to control his powers. Harry and your son will both be safer if he takes up his place at Hogwarts.
Kindly let me know via the usual method when is convenient for someone to attend your house.I am, yours sincerely,
Albus Dumbledore
Petunia hastily pulled a sheet from her writing pad and wrote a reply.
Dear Professor Dumbledore,
There’s no need to send anyone to the house. I’ll bring Harry to the Seedelwood Park playground playground on Monday evening.
Thank you
Petunia Dursley
She spent the rest of the day muttering resentfully about people who dumped babies on strangers and then judged the way they raised them, to distract herself from the gnawing guilt in her stomach.
Professor Dumbledore’s agreement came on Saturday, and Petunia spent the day deciding how to broach the topic with her husband.
“Vernon, dear, do you remember me saying that Hog— Lily’s school was a boarding school?”
Vernon glared at her. “Preposterous!” he growled, which she took as confirmation that he didn’t remember.
“Well… I was thinking… Dudley’s going to be away a lot, and it would be lovely to have some more time to ourselves…”
Vernon watched her shimmy out of her dress and licked his lips. She gave him a nervous smile as she pulled on her laciest nightgown.
“It’s almost a pity they’ve stopped writing to the brat,” said Vernon, “but I suppose we could ask Mrs Figg to take him overnight occasionally.”
“I had a letter today,” said Petunia. “From Professor Dumbledore.” Vernon’s glare returned, but Petunia continued, “He said Harry won’t be as - odd - if he goes to that school. He’d only be here during the holidays, and we wouldn’t have to pay a penny for his tuition.”
She paused to give Vernon time to object, but he seemed to be considering the idea.
“I’m not sure he’ll accept no as an answer,” she said cautiously. She didn’t want to get Vernon’s back up too much, but if he was going to become angry, she would rather it was directed at Dumbledore than her. “If they know where Harry sleeps, surely they can find us anywhere. Maybe we should just give them what they want. Let Harry go to that school, and enjoy finally having some peace and quiet about the house.”
“I’m not having another bloody freak come to the house to tell him about that nonsense,” said Vernon.
“Neither am I!” Petunia said quickly. “I could meet them somewhere nearby - somewhere nobody would recognise us. And you could take Dudley to see Marge, seeing as she’s not coming to us this summer.”
Petunia had been there when the Ministry representative had told Lily what she was, and there was no way she was going to let Dudley be there when it happened to Harry.
“Right,” said Vernon.
She rolled over and stroked a hand over his chest.
“So… what do you think?”
“I - er…” Vernon was staring at the gap down the front of her nightgown. “I suppose…”
29 July
Greater Whinging, Surrey
Harry Potter
Harry felt very nervous when Aunt Petunia parked on Seedelwood Road. They were in a part of Greater Whinging that his aunt and uncle usually avoided, and Aunt Petunia hadn’t said a word to him on the drive here. He could see in the rear view mirror that her lips were drawn into a tight line.
“Why are we here?” he asked, after several long moments had elapsed without her moving.
“We’re meeting someone,” snapped Aunt Petunia.
Harry’s eyes widened and he looked around. They were parked near the sagging gate to a children’s playground, from which hung a bicycle frame which had been relieved of both of its wheels. On the other side of the road, several teenagers were skateboarding on a couple of graffitied ramps.
“Here?” asked Harry.
Aunt Petunia sniffed and unbuckled her seatbelt. Harry gaped at the gleaming motorcycle which stood proudly on the other side of the broken gate, wondering who in their right mind would leave something like that here. He supposed they’d taken Aunt Petunia’s rather worn old car out of the garage in the hopes it wouldn’t meet the same fate as the bicycle. They crossed the deserted playground, which consisted of a couple of broken swings and a rusty old seesaw, heading for a picnic area.
Harry barely had time to register the figure on one side of a picnic bench as a person before a wide mouth opened in the middle of a mass of shaggy black hair, and bellowed, “Harry! There yeh are!”
Harry stared at the speaker. He couldn’t help it; he had never seen so enormous a man before in his life. The picnic bench was leaning precariously to one side under the giant’s weight, despite the fact that a slender woman was sitting on the other side. She was wearing a very old-fashioned looking dress, and leaped up to hurry towards them. The bench tipped a little further in her absence.
To Harry’s great surprise, the woman stopped when she reached him and Aunt Petunia, and bowed. Aunt Petunia looked furious.
“Mr Potter, it’s an honour to meet you.”
“Er, is it?” asked Harry.
“But of course!” said the woman, who looked shocked at the question.
“I’m Harry’s aunt,” Aunt Petunia said irritably. “Can we get this over with?”
The woman’s smile faltered, then she offered another, smaller bow. “Of course, Mrs Dursley. Come and sit down, Mr Potter, and we’ll fill in the gaps, answer any questions your aunt hasn’t been able to.”
Harry gaped at her. Only his teachers had ever invited questions from him before. It was no surprise to him that Aunt Petunia looked even more irritated.
“I’m Maud Mercer,” said the woman, as they approached the bench. “I’m in First Contact at the DME. And this is Rubeus Hagrid, Keeper of the Keys at Hogwarts.”
Rubeus Hagrid beamed at Harry as he squeezed onto the bench between Maud Mercer and Aunt Petunia. The bench creaked and settled into an almost upright position. Before Harry could tell Maud Mercer that had no idea what the DME or Hogwarts were, the giant opened his fat caterpillar-like lips.
“Las’ time I saw yeh, yeh was only a baby,” said Rubeus Hagrid. “Yeh look a lot like yer dad, but yeh’ve got yer mum’s eyes.”
Harry knew he was staring again, but he couldn’t seem to make his voice work. He wanted to ask how this giant knew his parents - he’d never met anyone who knew his parents before. He didn’t think he could be any more shocked, until Aunt Petunia said stiffly, “Pleased to see you again, Mr Hagrid.”
“It’s an honour, Harry,” said Rubeus Hagrid, “ter be the one ter bring yeh yer letter. Couldn’ say no when Dumbledore asked me. Great man, Dumbledore.”
Harry was no longer looking at Hagrid. He was staring at his aunt, wondering if the giant had something to do with the letters his uncle had done everything in his power to stop him opening.
“Who’s Professor Dumbledore?” asked Harry, still looking at Aunt Petunia. “And what’s Hogwarts?”
Maud Mercer let out a small sigh. When Harry looked at Rubeus Hagrid, he looked shocked.
“Sorry,” Harry said quickly. Beside him, he could have sworn he felt Aunt Petunia wince. He bit his lip.
“Sorry?” barked Rubeus Hagrid. “It’s them as should be sorry! Yer aunt said yeh didn’ know everythin’, but I never thought yeh wouldn’t even know abou’ Hogwarts, fer cryin’ out loud! Did yeh never wonder where yer parents learnt it all?”
“All what?” asked Harry.
“ALL WHAT?” Rubeus Hagrid thundered. “Now wait jus’ one second!”
Hagrid leapt to his feet, which threw the other side of the picnic bench into the ground with such force that Harry’s jaws snapped together.
“Do you mean ter tell me,” Rubeus Hagrid growled at Aunt Petunia, before she could interject, “that this boy - this boy! - knows nothin’ abou’—”
“Perhaps I should start at the beginning,” Maud Mercer said quickly. “Hagrid, Mrs Dursley did say Mr Potter would need a full explanation. That’s why Professor Dumbledore asked—”
“But I didn’ think he’d know NOTHIN’!” roared Rubeus Hagrid.
“I know some things,” Harry said indignantly. He still had no idea what was going on, but he wasn’t a total idiot. “I can, you know, do maths and stuff.”
“We know,” said Maud Mercer. “You won’t need to take the English and maths assessments before starting at Hogwarts. If you choose to go to Hogwarts, of course. You’re within the catchment for three Ministry schools, and it would save you a lot of money if you— not that you need to worry about that.”
Harry blinked. Hogwarts was a school? But he was supposed to be going to Stonewall High. He looked at Aunt Petunia again, who was staring at Maud Mercer with a rather disgusted expression.
“Ah, yes, of course,” said Maud Mercer, seeming rather flustered. “The basics. Mr Potter, you are— hold on, where’s the other boy?”
“Dudley?” Aunt Petunia asked breathlessly. “You mean… he’s one, too?”
A look of elation had come over her face. It vanished as Maud Mercer laughed.
“No, of course not! But it’s much easier to tell the whole family at once.”
“I’ll tell Dudley,” Aunt Petunia said coldly.
“But—”
“I’ll tell Dudley.”
There was an uncomfortable silence.
“Tell him what?” asked Harry, who wished someone would just explain what was happening.
“Mr Potter, you are extraordinarily gifted,” said Maud Mercer. “I mean, extra-extraordinarily, in your case. The world around you is much more than it seems, and I am honoured beyond words to invite you to explore it, when you are old enough to purchase your first wand.”
“My first what?” asked Harry, certain he’d misheard her.
“Wand, Mr Potter,” Maud Mercer repeated. “Your first wand, with which you will be able to perform magic at will, rather than in the haphazard manner you have done so far.”
“Magic?” asked Harry. If Aunt Petunia didn’t disapprove of pranks, he might have looked around for the hidden cameras. Slowly, things were clicking into place, and yet the places they settled made no sense. “It’s magic, what I can do?”
“O’ course,” said Rubeus Hagrid, his booming voice drowning out whatever his companion had said. “An’ yeh’ll be able to do much more, I’d say, once yeh’ve been trained up a bit. At Hogwarts. Yer mum an’ dad wouldn’ wan’ yeh to go anywhere else.”
“As I said, you’ve got a choice of three Ministry schools as well, Mr Potter,” said Maud Mercer. “The headmistress of Rosebells is a close friend of mine. I’d be happy to arrange a tour of the—”
“My mum and dad went to this Hogwarts?” Harry asked Rubeus Hagrid.
The giant beamed at him. “They did.”
“Then I want to go there,” said Harry.
He heard Aunt Petunia let out a small sigh, but he didn’t turn to see whether she looked relieved or exasperated, because Rubeus Hagrid had reached into his coat. He pulled out a yellowish envelope from inside his coat, and handed it to Harry. It looked just like the ones that had been sent to Privet Drive.
Harry unfolded the letter and read in small emerald green ink:
HOGWARTS SCHOOL OF WICCHENCRAFT
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 a place at Hogwarts School of Wicchencraft. Please find enclosed a list of all necessary books and equipment.
Term begins on 2 September. We await your owl by no later than 30 June.
Yours sincerely,
Minerva McGonagall
Deputy Headmistress
Harry’s hands were trembling by the time he finished reading. He pinched his arm. Then he squeezed his eyes tightly shut, counted to three, and opened them again. He was still sitting on the picnic bench opposite a giant, holding an invitation to attend a magic school, and Aunt Petunia, when he turned to look at her, looked… pleased?
“What does it mean, they await my owl?” asked Harry.
“Gallopin’ Gorgons, that reminds me,” said Rubeus Hagrid, clapping a hand to his forehead with enough force to knock over a cart horse, and from a 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 which Harry read upside-down:
Dear Mr Dumbledore,
Given Harry his letter. Hope you’re well.
Hagrid
The giant rolled up the note, gave it to the owl, which clamped it in its beak, and threw it into the air.
“There will be certain ground rules, of course,” said Aunt Petunia, as Harry gaped at the receding owl. “If you are going to go to… that school.”
“What rules?” asked Harry, who was willing to spend every minute until the second of September in his cupboard with only bread and water if that was what was needed.
“You will not use… anything you learn in my house. You will not talk… about… what you are.”
“So I’m just going to pretend like you did?” Harry asked indignantly, as realisation suddenly came over him. “You knew!”
Aunt Petunia flinched.
“Of course I knew! I hoped if you didn’t know anything about your parents, maybe you wouldn’t turn out the same way. I thought if you never heard of… that stuff… you’d be normal. But you’ve never been normal, and Dumbledore says you won’t learn how to control your… control yourself, without going to school. Look what happened at the zoo! If you’re going to continue living under our roof, you will learn how to act like you’re normal.”
“Act like a Muggle,” said Rubeus Hagrid, as though this was the most ridiculous idea he’d heard.
“A what?” asked Harry.
“A Muggle,” said Hagrid. “It’s what we call non-magic folk like her.”
Harry wasn’t sure if he imagined that Aunt Petunia flinched again. Her mouth was in that sucked-a-lemon shape again, and the look in her eyes would usually fill him with dread.
“And it’s the law,” said Maud Mercer firmly. Harry turned to look at her, and the strict expression on her face suddenly became nervous for some reason. “Mr Potter, the Statute of Secrecy requires all wicchen - that is, witches and wizards - to take steps to ensure that Muggles do not learn of our existence. The exceptions are the cohabiting relatives of underage wicchen”— she nodded towards Aunt Petunia —“and the spouses or anticipated spouses of adult wicchen. The Ministry of Magic has intervened in your uncontrolled use of magic on eight occasions.”
Harry gaped at her, realising that must explain why nobody but the Dursleys ever seemed to remember the strange things that happened around him.
“Since you were both ignorant of your abilities, and too young to control them, you were not at fault,” Maud Mercer continued. “And since your guardian is incapable of preventing your use of magic from being witnessed by uninitiated Muggles, neither is she.”
Aunt Petunia was glaring at the woman again, but she didn’t seem to notice. It sounded like she was reciting from memory, as she carried on, “You must not tell any Muggle that you are a wizard. Once you begin your education, you must not use magic outside the school grounds or the supervision of an approved Ministry educator. Any illegal use of underage magic will be—”
“Ah, come on,” said Rubeus Hagrid. “This is Harry Potter! Nobody’s goin’ ter mind if he gets a bit overexcited now an’ then when he’s not at school.”
“What do you mean?” asked Harry.
The giant stared at him. “I’m not sure I’m the right person ter tell yeh - but someone’s gotta,” he shot Aunt Petunia a pointed look. “Yeh can’t go off to Hogwarts not knowin’. Well, it’s best yeh know as much as I can tell yeh - mind, I can’t tell yeh eveythin’, it’s a great mystery, parts of it… 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?”
Rubeus Hagrid looked at Maud Mercer, as though asking for her help, but the woman - the witch, Harry realised with a start - looked utterly bewildered.
“Gulpin’ gargoyles, Harry, people are still scared,” said Rubeus Hagrid. “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…”
Rubeus Hagrid gulped, but no words came out.
“Could you write it down?” Harry suggested.
“I can’t spell it. Can you?” Rubeus Hagrid asked Maud Mercer.
“Voldemort,” Aunt Petunia said flatly.
Maud Mercer squeaked and covered her mouth with a trembling hand.
“Voldemort?” Harry repeated.
“Shh!” hissed Rubeus Hagrid. “Yeah, tha’s it,” he continued, when he’d composed himself. “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’ 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’ 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 mystery is why You-Know-Who never tried ter get ’em on his side before… probably knew they were too close ter Dumbledore ter want anythin’ ter do with the Dark Side”
Harry and Maud Mercer were both listening raptly. Even Aunt Petunia was leaning forward slightly on the bench, her sour expression softening slightly.
“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 Sam— er, Hallowe’en - ten years ago. You was just a year old. He came ter yer house an’ - an’ -”
Rubeus Hagrid suddenly pulled out a very dirt, 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 mystery 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 yeh’re 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 Boneses, the Prewetts - an’ you was only a baby, an’ you lived.”
Rubeus Hagrid reached over the table and offered his enormous spotted handkerchief to Aunt Petunia. Harry was astonished when she took it, and blew her nose into it. She kept her eyes lowered as the giant resumed talking.
“Took yeh from the ruined house myself, on Dumbledore’s orders. Brought yeh ter yer aunt’s house, where Dumbledore’d explained everythin’ an’ was waiting for yeh. An’ so that’s what happened, Harry,” Rubeus Hagrid continued loudly. “Then You-Know-Who vanished, the same night he tried ter kill yeh. Makes yeh even more famous. That’s the biggest mystery, 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”— Aunt Petunia and Maud Mercer both shivered —“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.”
Rubeus Hagrid looked at Harry with warmth and respect blazing in his eyes. Harry, whose eyes were wet with tears, wondered if there had been some sort of mistake. He could believe that he was a wizard, but he couldn’t possibly live up to the expectation in Rubeus Hagrid’s gaze.
“Yeh’ll love Hogwarts,” said Rubeus Hagrid. “Yeh’ll be right famous.”
That didn’t make Harry feel much better. As he imagined how Uncle Vernon would sneer at the idea of him being famous, he realised something.
“I can’t go to Hogwarts,” he said in a small voice. “Thank you, Mr Hagrid. I’m really grateful for the offer, but I can’t afford to—”
“Yes, you can,” Aunt Petunia said quickly.
“Yer parents paid yer first two years of fees as soon as yeh were born, ter secure yer place,” rumbled Rubeus Hagrid. “An’ yeh’ll be able ter use the money they left yeh ter pay the rest.”
Harry stared at the giant in delight. He didn’t know how much school fees actually cost, but the way Dudley had boasted about going to Smeltings, he was sure his parents must have left him a lot of money if he could afford seven years at Hogwarts. Assuming wizard schools ran for seven years, he supposed.
“Well, that’s sorted then,” Maud Mercer said, somewhat reluctantly. “Mr Potter, when do you want me to escort you to buy your school supplies? You won’t be able to buy a wand for a couple more days as you need to be—”
“Don’ worry about it,” said Rubeus Hagrid. “I’ll take him shoppin’ on his birthday.”
Harry pulled a second page out of the envelope and read:
HOGWARTS SCHOOL OF WICCHENCRAFT
First-year students will require:
Uniform
1. Three sets of plain work robes (black)
2. One plain pointed hat (black) for ceremonial 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 tagsSet Books
The Standard Book of Spells (Grade 1) by Miranda Goshawk
A History of Magic by Bathilda Bagshot
Magical Theory by Adalbert Waffling
One Thousand Magical Herbs and Fungi by Phyllida Spore
Magical Drafts and Potions by Arsenius Jigger
The Dark Forces: A Guide to Self-Protection by Quentin TrimbleOther Equipment
1 wand
1 cauldron (pewter, standard size 2)
1 set glass or crystal phials
1 telescope
1 set brass scalesStudents may also bring an owl OR a cat OR a toad
PARENTS ARE REMINDED THAT FIRST-YEARS ARE NOT ALLOWED THEIR OWN BROOMSTICKS
“Where can we get all of this?” Harry wondered aloud.
“In London,” said Rubeus Hagrid. “Yeh jus’ need ter know where ter go.” He looked at Aunt Petunia, and asked, “Can yeh find the Leaky Cauldron?”
Aunt Petunia nodded stiffly.
“Great,” said Rubeus Hagrid. “I’ll meet yeh outside the Leaky Cauldron at ten o’clock on yer birthday, Harry.”
“Hagrid, I really think Mr Potter should be accom—”
“Who d’yeh want ter go with, Harry?”
Harry looked from the woman beside him to the enormous man opposite.
“Thank you, Mrs Mercer, but I’d like to go with Mr Hagrid.”
The woman sniffed.
Rubeus Hagrid beamed. He reached over the table and squeezed both of Harry’s hands in one of his own. “Well, I’ll see yeh then, Harry. I best be off or I’ll be flyin’ the last hundred miles in the dark.”
Petunia hurried him out of the park before Harry could overcome his awe at the idea of flying. He turned and gave the witch and the giant a little wave when they reached the gate. Then he got into Aunt Petunia’s car, wondering how he had been so lucky.