The date was November 1, 1981. Mr. and Mrs. Dursley at number four, Privet Drive would happily tell anyone who asked them that they were perfectly normal. Model and upstanding members of the community with a perfectly manicured lawn, pristine white house, and trimmed and well maintained bushes.
Mr. Dursley was the director of a small company that made drills. He was a large man, his belly almost bursting from his shirt, and had a large mustache that twitched violently whenever he got angered.
Mrs. Dursley was blonde and thin, always spying on the neighbors and gossiping about their smallest habits to those in her weekly knitting group. She just couldn’t resist sharing all the juicy gossip she had seen. When she saw anything. If she saw anything.
At the current moment, their son little Dudley was sitting at the counter flailing and screaming as he refused to eat his vegetables. He threw his baby fork to the floor with a jerk of his arm. Just as Mrs. Dursley leaned over to pick it up, the doorbell suddenly rang. Mr. Dursley looked up from his food, frowning.
“Who the blazes are ringing the doorbell at this hour?”
With a grunt, he stood and made his way to the door as Mrs. Dursley wiped some food off Dudley’s face. As soon as she finished, she turned with a burning curiosity to see what it was. Her mouth turned into a perfect O as she saw a basket with a baby inside. The baby had a lightning scar on its forehead, and it was asleep. Mr. Dursley was staring at it in shock. He leaned down and picked up a letter sitting on top of the sleeping child and opened it. Mrs. Dursley rushed forward and snatched it from his hands impatiently as soon as he finished reading it a few seconds later. “Vernon, hand it over.” She began to read it aloud.
“Mr. and Mrs. Dursley. I regret to inform you of the tragic deaths of your sister Lily Potter and her husband James Potter yesterday evening. I leave you her one year old son in hopes you will raise him well… I apologize for the suddenness of this, but protections must be established before anything untoward can happen given recent events… Personal visit when the situation is more stable to discuss…
Sincerely, Headmaster Dumbledore”
The two glanced between each other and the silent baby. Without a word, Mr. Dursley picked up the basket and carried the baby inside. Mrs. Dursley clutched the letter. To think those two freaks were dead. The two people that she never spoke about, even to Vernon. That she pretended didn’t exist. This was an extraordinary event, and the Dursleys would have been much happier if events had just remained perfectly ordinary.
— — —
Harry Potter opened his eyes in the cupboard under the stairs at number four, Privet Drive, and stared upward. He was ten years old now. Dust fell from the ceiling as Harry reached up and turned on the dangling and exposed lightbulb that hung above him.
It seemed he had slept in more than normal today. An indulgence for a Saturday. There was a sharp rapping of knuckles on the door and a second later it opened to reveal Aunt Petunia standing there looking impatient. She opened her mouth to reprimand him, but he stood and brushed past her. He would have to work efficiently if he was to finish breakfast in the allotted time as was his duty.
As always, Aunt Petunia looked faintly put out by Harry’s nonchalance. Harry still couldn’t figure out why she enjoyed yelling at him so much. One time when she had felt down he had requested she yell at him some more and she had declined. Why wouldn’t she if it made her feel better? But Harry did not clarify further as his attempt to help only seemed to have made the woman feel worse.
Uncle Vernon was sitting at the breakfast table, reading a newspaper. He looked over the top of it at Harry.
“Boy! You’re up late. Throw some bacon and eggs on, will you.”
Harry nodded. A useful gesture. “Certainly, Uncle. Extra crispy on the bacon as usual?”
“Of course. When have I had it any other way, boy?”
Harry cocked his head to the side and considered.
“Seven months, and three days ago you requested that the bacon not be crispy and you were upset when it did not meet your standards.”
Uncle Vernon looked up and surprise flashed across his face. “You’ve been asking me this whole time because of that? Because I wanted it different one bloody time?”
Harry felt confused. “Of course. Otherwise, how would I know which to make? That and other instances also broke the longstanding pattern of crispy bacon in an irregular pattern so I have to be vigilant of any additional anomalies…”
Aunt Petunia came in and glanced suspiciously between the two.
“Shut it, boy. I’ve had enough of your strangeness. How the bloody hell do you even overcomplicate breakfast? Just get to it already.”
“Of course Uncle, it should take between fourteen and sixteen minutes to be ready.”
“Hmph. To think a boy with a brain as good as yours manages to be so bad at school.”
It took almost exactly fifteen minutes for the eggs and bacon to be fully cooked and spread out onto the four plates. One time Aunt Petunia had tried to take away Harry’s meal and feed him less for some perceived slight. It was the first time they saw him truly angry in years. His display of emotion seemed to have shocked her and Uncle Vernon into compliance. That was good. Harry was well fed after that, even if he had to make the food for himself most of the time. He made the best food anyway much to Aunt Petunia's displeasure.
Dudley walked in and his eyes lit up when he saw the food. He sat down as Harry distributed the plates to everyone’s seats.
“Great as always, Harry! I still can’t believe a freak like you can make such great food.”
Harry nodded, a versatile gesture. “You know how passionate I am about my meals.”
Love this novel? Read it on Royal Road to ensure the author gets credit.
Dudley and the others went a little green as they remembered his emotional outburst two years, five months, and four days ago. But it was true. Harry was eating this too after all. After a moment of awkward silence, the others followed Harry’s lead and began digging into the food with gusto.
— — —
Harry stared down at the test. Writing was so hard.
So was math.
And history.
All of his subjects were difficult. Pure memorization could only help him so much on these. Even Dudley somehow managed to get better grades than Harry. Something just wouldn’t click when he tried to transcribe his thoughts onto paper or when he tried reading the written word.
The process of reading or writing was slow and difficult. It always had been. He couldn’t do it anywhere fast enough for the tests he was given. Not even with all the practice he had done. The teachers in his school did not care about him, snatching the tests from his hands before he was finished each time.
Only once did a teacher allow him to take the test at his own pace. But Harry still took over double the allotted time to take the test even then. He had to plan to answer each question in as few words as possible to even have a chance to finish. And his word choice was so poor on that test that the teacher could barely read it, so it was for nothing anyway.
It was odd that his writing was so impaired while his speech was not. He could speak and express himself well verbally when he had to, but when it had to be written down somewhere he faltered.
Back to the present. Before he knew it, his current test was snatched from his desk by the impatient teacher. Everyone else had already left for the next class. Harry hoped he had managed a passing grade this time. Or better to cushion his past failures.
Harry stood and made it to recess. “Hey, freak...”
Harry glanced over at Dudley. He was standing there with his two buddies, holding a basketball. “...Catch.”
Dudley threw the ball full force, and Harry wasn’t able to react before it hit him squarely in the face. Harry blinked and felt his cheek. It was hot and stung. Would it form a bruise again? Dudley stared at Harry for a moment as he stood there, hand still on his cheek. Harry put his hand down and stared back at Dudley blankly. What else did he want?
One of Dudley’s friends whispered to Dudley loudly. A stage whisper meant to be heard by the slowly gathering crowd of other kids around them. “He’s such a robot. I bet if you opened him up there’d be gears and wires in there.”
Harry blinked, “That would be a very inefficient design. How would gears be useful…”
“Shut up freak,” Dudley spat out and Harry did. The three boys watched Harry for another moment. One tugged Dudley’s sleeve. “C’mon Dudley. You know he’s not gonna do anything. He uses big words, but we know he’s just stupid ‘cause he’s failing all those tests. Let’s just play, recess is almost over.”
Harry watched as the three boys retrieved the basketball and left. What an interesting encounter. He turned and began walking back into the building. He should find an ice pack to reduce the swelling on his face. He often went to the nurse for such things so she shouldn’t be too hard to convince, even for Harry.
— — —
Harry blinked as something slid through the mail slot and onto the floor inside. He picked it up and saw the envelope had a strange address. ‘Harry Potter of Number Four Privet Drive, The Cupboard under the Stairs.’
Harry had thought mailing addresses stopped at the location on the street. Harry walked into the kitchen where Uncle Vernon sat. He liked it when Harry came to him on these things. It gave him plenty of opportunity to call him stupid, but Harry still received the information he wanted. Aunt Petunia would just start yelling at him and may never end up answering the original question.
“Uncle Vernon. I have received the mail. Is it usual for letters to be addressed to specific rooms?”
Uncle Vernon scoffed. “You? You have mail. Who would send mail to…”
Seeing the envelope in Harry’s hand he snatched it up and opened it up and read it. His face turned beet red and the letter crumpled in his hand. He slipped it into his jacket. Harry looked at him.
“Can I have my mail?”
“No! Go do your chores. Clean your room, vacuum the house. Something. Now.”
Harry nodded. It seems he wouldn’t be getting any new information. “Sure.”
So Harry did that. And the house was clean again after he was finally done.
— — —
The next day another letter came through the door again. This time, Uncle Vernon was there and snatched it before Harry could pick it up.
“Are you taking my mail again, Uncle Vernon?”
Vernon looked a little ashamed at Harry’s words but rallied after a moment.
“Yes, boy. Downright strange for folks to send mail to a boy like you. Improper I say. Best if you don’t read them.”
“Okay. I’m hungry, I think I’ll make myself a snack.”
Uncle Vernon looked after him as Harry left. He heard him whisper under his breath. “Still can’t believe how much that boy eats.”
— — —
More and more letters had come over the coming days, and Uncle Vernon seemed determined to intercept them all. Harry had been curious when he saw an owl delivering one onto the windowsill in front of him. Did people train owls to do such things? Harry had never heard of anything like that before. Somehow Uncle Vernon appeared and stole that letter too. Harry had never seen him so dedicated to one task before. How odd it would be to prevent Harry from obtaining something.
— — —
It was Sunday, and Uncle Vernon looked overworked. He had burned up quite the sweat running back and forth around the house to take away Harry’s mail. “Sunday. Blessed Sunday. You know the best part of Sunday is, boy?”
Harry considered. “Not having to work?”
Uncle Vernon opened his mouth to reflexively yell at Harry but then closed it.
“Hm. Yes. But more importantly, there is no mail on Sundays! Peace from all this blasted mail coming in.”
The floor rumbled and the two stared at the empty chimney. Then in a massive wave of paper a massive flood of envelopes shot out of the fireplace and scattered around filling the room in a massive storm. While Uncle Vernon was still recovering from his surprise, Harry snatched one of the letters from the air and quickly began to open it. Just because he was following the established rules didn’t mean he wasn’t curious about their contents.
Harry slid out the piece of paper and there was an elaborate seal divided into four segments with each one holding a different animal. There were words below. Harry leaned in, peered closely, and slowly began to read the words. “Hog-warts. School of. Witchcraft. And… Wizardry?”
Before Harry could translate more, Uncle Vernon snatched it from his hands. “That’s ENOUGH. Don’t read that. PETUNIA!”
Aunt Petunia’s feet sounded out upstairs and she leaned over the stairway banister. Her eyes widened as she saw the hundreds of letters covering every surface in the room. “Vernon? What is…”
“We’re going on vacation. Now. Help Dudley pack, I’ll arrange things with work.”
Harry glanced between Uncle Vernon and the letters on the floor. Vernon returned Harry’s look, “You too boy. Pack your things. We’re leaving soon.”
“Alright Uncle.”
Harry opened the door to his cupboard and began to put his clothes and other supplies in a bag for travel. Uncle Vernon was his guardian after all. He should follow his rules even if they seemed strange to Harry’s perception. Harry knew he wasn’t normal, so best not to risk messing things up again like he always did. Going by his own instincts had never worked out very well.