Disclaimer:
Harry Potter and all of its characters belong to J.K. Rowling.
I own nothing but the original characters I make.
"Dialogue"
'Thoughts'
-Author notes-
Chapter 04: The Magical World
For a long time, no one said anything.
The letter lay on the kitchen table between them, its Hogwarts crest gleaming faintly in the morning light.
Harry stared at it as if it might bite him. Part of him wanted to snatch it up and tear it open, to read every word and devour every detail. Another part of him wanted to throw it into the fire and pretend it had never arrived.
Magic was real, Hogwarts was real. Everything he read about, everything he dreamed about so many times, was all real.
However, the people were wrong. For what he had learned so far, Albus Dumbledore was not the kindly grandfather with twinkling eyes and a sweet tooth.
And what about the others?. Will everyone be changed?. Would he encounter a gentle professor in Severus Snape?, and what about Ron and Hermione, the ones who were supposed to become his best friends...would they hate him instead?.
"Harry," Petunia's voice was soft but firm. She had composed herself now, though her eyes were still red-rimmed and her hands still trembled slightly. "I know what you are thinking. I can see it on your face."
"What am I thinking?" he asked.
"That you don't have to open the letter. That you can ignore it and stay here with us and pretend none of this ever happened."
He said nothing, which was answer enough. He had been considering doing that. Or perhaps looking into a different magical school.
If everything were backwards, then Durmstrang would be a lovely place to attend.
Petunia sighed. "I wish that were possible, love. I wish it more than anything, but it is not."
"Why not?" Harry asked, though he already suspected the answer.
"Because they don't give up," Vernon said. He had his arms crossed over his broad chest, and his expression was grim. "The magical folk… once they've set their sights on someone, they don't let go. If you don't open that letter, they'll send another, and another...their owls would come here in droves. They'll keep coming until you have no choice but to respond."
"And if I still refuse?" Harry pressed.
Petunia and Vernon exchanged a look, a look of concern so heavy that it made his stomach turn.
"Then they'll send someone," Petunia said quietly. "A wizard. To come and… persuade you. In person."
He thought of Hagrid, bursting through the door of the hut on the rock, giving Dudley a pig's tail, and dragging Harry off into the magical world whether he was ready or not. In the books, it had been charming and exciting. But here...it sounded like a threat.
"So I don't have a choice," he said flatly.
Petunia reached across the table and took his hand again. Her fingers were still cold, but her grip was warm. "You always have a choice, Harry. But some choices are between bad and worse. And I think… I think you need to know where you came from. Even if it's painful. Even if it's dangerous."
Dangerous, he thought. She said it was dangerous.
He looked down at the letter again. The emerald ink seemed to glow in the dim light.
"Will you stay with me?" he asked. "While I read it?"
"Of course, love," Petunia said. "Of course."
He opened the letter.
The parchment was thick and heavy, nothing like the thin, cheap paper used in the Muggle world.
The Hogwarts crest was embossed at the top. The four animals who represented the Four Founders were wrapped around that single bold letter H.
"Dear Mr. Potter," He began to read aloud, more for his own benefit than for the Dursleys'.
"We are pleased to inform you that you have been accepted at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. You will find enclosed in the envelope a list of all necessary books and equipment."
"Term begins on September 1st. We await your owl by no later than July 31st."
"Yours sincerely,"
"Minerva McGonagall,"
"Deputy Headmistress and Chief Inquisitor of Hogwarts."
When he read that last title, images of the unpleasant events that took place in the fifth book came to his mind. Chief Inquisitor was the title carried by no other than Dolores Umbridge.
Was this what he could expect to find at that school now?.
Then came the list of required books and equipment.
The Standard Book of Spells, Grade 1 by Miranda Goshawk. A History of Magic by Bathilda Bagshot. Magical Theory by Adalbert Waffling. A wand. A cauldron. A set of glass phials. A telescope. A set of brass scales.
It was all exactly as he remembered.
But at the bottom of the list, tucked away like an afterthought, was a line that made his blood run cold.
'Note: All first-year students are required to attend a preliminary interview with the Headmaster before the start of term. Date and time to be confirmed upon arrival at Hogwarts.' He did not read that part out loud.
He read it three times to make sure he wasn't imagining it.
An interview with the Headmaster. With Albus Dumbledore.
In the books, there had been no such thing. First-years arrived on the train, were sorted, and began their classes. There were no interviews or private audiences with the most powerful wizard in the country.
He had a bad feeling about this. What if they included this just for him? What if this is Dumbledore's way of getting him into a private meeting?
"What is it, Harry?" Petunia asked, noticing his sudden stillness. "What does it say?"
"Nothing," he said quickly, folding the letter and slipping it back into its envelope. "Just… the list of things I need. Books and equipment."
He did not mention the interview. He did not want to see the fear in her eyes grow any larger than it already was.
"Well, then," Vernon said, his voice heavy with resignation. "I suppose we'd better start making arrangements."
"Your birthday is one week away," Petunia said. "We'll need to take you to… to that place. The place where wizards buy their things. What if we go on that day? We could make it fun and get something to eat while we are in there."
Harry nodded. "That would be fine."
And so it was decided. They were going to be visiting Diagon Alley on his birthday.
<><><><><><><><><><><><><>
The week that followed was strange and tense.
The Durleys went about their daily lives. Vernon went to work, Petunia tended the garden, and Dudley played football with Piers.
But there was now a shadow looming over everything. A knowledge that something was approaching...something that he was powerless to stop.
Harry spent most of the week in his room, re-reading the letter until he had memorized every single word. He studied the list of books and equipment, searching for any other clues, any other differences from the world he knew.
But it was a pointless endeavour, and he knew that. The answer to his questions will come in time...he just had to wait a bit longer.
However, he was worried about finding out the answers.
He did not sleep well that week.
<><><><><><><><><><><><>
July thirty-first dawned on him. It was a nice-looking day, bright and warm, with a sky so blue it almost hurt to look at.
"Happy birthday, Harry!" Petunia exclaimed while sweeping into his bedroom with a tray of presents. Not as many as Dudley had received, but a respectable pile nonetheless.
He got a new jumper, hand-knitted in a soft blue wool.
An entire box filled with all sorts of candies. He was warned to eat in moderation.
And a book about the solar system, because she had noticed how often he read astronomy books from the library.
"Thanks, Aunt Petunia," he said, and meant it.
"Don't thank me yet," she said, her smile wavering slightly. "We've got a long day ahead of us. Vernon's getting the car ready."
That's right. Today was finally the day they were going to visit Diagon Alley.
The car was large and comfortable. Vernon had washed it the night before, and it gleamed in the morning sunlight.
By the time Harry went outside, his cousin Dudley was already in the back seat, bouncing with excitement.
"Where are we going?" Dudley asked him as he climbed inside the car.
Harry made a troubled expression, unsure of what he was supposed to say. He glanced at his aunt for help.
"You'll see," Petunia said, sliding into the passenger seat. "But you must promise not to tell anyone, Diddy. Not Piers, or anyone else. This is a family secret."
Dudley's eyes went wide. "A secret? Like spies?"
"Exactly like spies," Vernon said, starting the engine. "Now hold on tight."
The drive into London took over an hour.
He watched the suburbs give way to the city, the neat rows of houses replaced by towering buildings and crowded streets.
He had never been to London in his old life...the hospital walls had kept him confined, and despite the anxiety turning in his stomach, he could not help but feel a spark of wonder.
'This is real,' he thought. 'It's all real...the city, the car, and the magic waiting for me.'
For some reason, seeing the city for the first time had made him truly understand the reality of the situation.
Vernon parked the car in a grimy side street near a pub that looked like it had been there before cars were invented. The sign above the door was faded and cracked, but he could just make out the words: The Leaky Cauldron.
"This is it," Petunia said quietly. "I came here with Lily many decades ago. The place looks exactly the same. The entrance to Diagon Alley is through the back of this pub."
He stepped out of the car and looked at the pub. In the books, the Leaky Cauldron had been described as a warm, welcoming place, a haven for witches and wizards who needed a relaxing time, had a drink and something to eat, perhaps even a warm room to spend the night.
But the building he was now seeing looked anything but welcoming. The windows were dark and grimy. The brickwork was stained with decades of soot. And even the air around it felt different... somehow thicker and suffocating.
"This is where we are going?" Duddley asked, sounding a bit confused.
"Yes, and I want you to be well behaved, my dear..." Petunia told her son. "And dont speak to anyone while we are inside, okay?"
Duddley nodded.
"Come on," Vernon said, putting a hand on his shoulder. "Let's get this over with."
The inside of the Leaky Cauldron was worse than the outside.
The moment Harry stepped through the door, a wave of silence washed over the room.
Conversations stopped mid-sentence. Heads turned, and dozens of eyes, belonging to wizards and witches of all eyes, became fixated on him and his family, with a level of intensity that made his skin crawl.
The pub was dimly lit, with candles floating in mid-air above each table. The floor was covered in sawdust. The walls were lined with old portraits whose occupants had stopped pretending to sleep and were now staring openly at the newcomers.
"Ignore them," Petunia whispered, her hand tightly grasping Harry's arm. "Just keep walking."
But it was hard to ignore the way a witch in a pointed hat leaned over to her companion and whispered something behind her hand. Or the way an old wizard with a long white beard set down his drink and watched them pass with cold, calculating eyes.
Behind the bar stood the innkeeper, Tom.
He remembered him from the books. In the stories, Tom had been a funny and jovial burly man who always had a smile on his face.
This Tom was nothing like that.
He was tall and thin, with a sharp face and narrow eyes as dark as charcoal. His hair was grey and slicked back from his forehead, and his hands, resting on the bar, were long and pale.
"Well, well," Tom said, with a low raspy voice. "Who do we have here?, New blood going to Diagon Alley?." His black eyes were focused solely on Harry.
"That's right." Vernon stood at his side. "Would you mind opening the way for us?. We have some school shopping to get done."
"Mmm..." Tom's eyes did not move away from Harry. "What is your name, boy?. Your face feels familiar."
"Harry Potter, sir..." He responded.
Murmurs erupted in the tavern.
"Potter, you say?." Tom reacted. "Are you the son of James Potter by any chance?."
"He is." Petunia responded. "He is the son of James and Lily Potter, I am...her sister."
Harry felt like the air in the tavern had become lighter somehow.
"I see now...this is James's boy," Tom smiled for the first time. Although the smile didn't quite reach his eyes.
"Can we pass then?," Harry asked. Not wanting to remain here any longer than necessary.
He looked around and spotted many looks of approval from the other patrons. For some reason, the mention of his father had changed the mood.
"Of course. I shall not keep you. You have much to do, I suppose." Tom moved from behind the bar.
He led them to a small, walled courtyard at the back of the pub as he spoke.
"Your father was a great man, you know?," He said to Harry. Tom's eyes never left him and only spoke to him. He didn't even seem to acknowledge the existence of the rest of his family. "I was sad to hear what happened to him...what a shame."
Harry merely nodded. There was something off with this person, and he did not like to talk to him.
Tom raised his long, pale hand and tapped his wand against a certain brick.
The brick began to wiggle.
Then another.
Then another.
And then, with a grinding sound that echoed off the walls, an archway opened in the brickwork, revealing a cobbled street that twisted and turned out of sight.
Diagon Alley.
Daniel stared at the opening, his heart pounding. It was just as he imagined.
"Off you go, young Potter. Make your father proud, boy." Tom said to him as they ventured past the archway.