The resounding BOOM echoed through the house like a thunderclap, causing the very walls to tremble. It was as if the force of the knocking itself could shatter the barriers between the mundane and the extraordinary. Harry's heart pounded in his chest, each beat echoing the pounding of the door. Dudley's abrupt awakening reverberated through the silence, his groggy voice laced with a hint of panic as he sought to make sense of the cacophony. "Where's the cannon? Are we being bombed?" he exclaimed, his words punctuated by the lingering echoes of the explosive noise.
In the midst of the chaos, a crash reverberated from behind, heralding the arrival of Uncle Vernon, who skidded into the room with a sense of urgency that matched the intensity of the moment. In his hands, he clutched a rifle, its gleaming barrel a stark contrast against the dimly lit room. Harry's gaze flickered from the weapon to his uncle's eyes, where he found a mixture of apprehension and determination that sent a chill down his spine. It was a look that mirrored the unyielding force behind the door, a palpable manifestation of fear and uncertainty that gripped them all in its vice-like hold.
Uncle Vernon's voice reverberated through the tense silence, his words laced with a mixture of fear and defiance. "Who's there?" he bellowed, his fingers tightening around the rifle, knuckles turning white with the strain. The weight of the weapon felt heavy in his hands, a crude symbol of his attempt to assert control over the situation. "I warn you—I'm armed! Not another damned step!" His voice quivered slightly with the effort to maintain composure as he struggled to steady the trembling gun, the metal cold and unforgiving against his sweating palms.
A pregnant pause hung in the air, thick with tension and anticipation. Then, without warning, came the deafening SMASH! The door, once a barrier between the safety of their home and the unknown, was assaulted with such ferocity that it splintered into a thousand fragments, relinquishing its hold on the entrance. Wood shattered and splintered in all directions, the sound echoing like a gunshot in the confined space of the hallway.
As the dust settled and the debris rained down, a figure emerged from the wreckage—a towering behemoth of a man, his frame imposing and formidable. His face was obscured by a mass of unkempt hair and a tangled beard that cascaded down to his chest, veiling his features in shadow. Yet, despite the concealment, his eyes gleamed with an intensity that pierced through the darkness, twin orbs of blackened steel that seemed to bore into the very soul of those who dared to meet his gaze.
The colossal figure squeezed his immense frame through the doorway, the small hut groaning under the strain of accommodating his sheer size. With a gentle touch that belied his formidable appearance, he stooped to retrieve the shattered door, effortlessly slotting it back into its splintered frame. Though the door no longer fit seamlessly, the gesture itself was a testament to the giant's unexpected grace, a stark contrast to the brutishness Harry had come to expect from his uncle.
As the giant straightened up, the low-hanging ceiling forced him to hunch over, his towering form still dominating the cramped space. His presence seemed to fill the room, a comforting bulwark against the tempest raging outside. Despite his imposing stature, there was a warmth in his gaze that softened the edges of his rough-hewn features, casting a soothing light amidst the darkness.
"Mind makin’ me a cup o' tea, could yeh? It's not been an easy journey," he rasped, his voice gravelly yet strangely reassuring. It carried with it the weight of untold tales and distant lands, a testament to the trials he had endured.
The atmosphere in the cramped living room was thick with tension as the giant's booming voice reverberated off the walls, causing the floorboards to tremble beneath his heavy footsteps. His towering form cast a long, ominous shadow over the room, enveloping everything in darkness.
With deliberate strides, the giant made his way to the worn sofa, its feeble frame creaking under his considerable weight. The furniture teetered precariously on its legs as he settled himself onto the threadbare cushions, the overstuffed fabric nearly engulfing him in their embrace. Dudley, wide-eyed with terror, recoiled at the sight of the imposing figure, scuttling away to seek refuge behind his mother's trembling form. Petunia, her usually rigid posture betraying her fear, huddled protectively behind her husband, seeking solace in the shadow of his bulk.
"An' here's Harry!" said the giant, his voice booming like distant thunder. Despite the warmth in his words, there was an underlying edge of danger that sent shivers down Harry's spine. He felt as small and insignificant as a pebble in the path of an avalanche.
Harry looked up into the fierce, wild, shadowy face and saw that the beetle eyes were crinkled in a smile. Despite the intimidating presence of the giant, there was a kindness in his eyes that spoke of untold depths of compassion.
"Las' time I saw you, you was only a baby," the giant continued, his voice rumbling like the earth itself. "Yeh look a lot like yer dad, but yeh've got yer mom's eyes."
Uncle Vernon's protests were feeble in comparison to the giant's commanding presence. His face turned an alarming shade of purple as he sputtered indignantly, but the giant paid him no mind. With a dismissive wave of his hand, he brushed aside Uncle Vernon's protests as if they were nothing more than a bothersome fly.
"I demand that you leave at once, sir!" Uncle Vernon blustered, his voice shaking with anger and fear. "You are breaking and entering!"
But the giant simply laughed, a deep, booming sound that echoed off the walls of the tiny room. "Ah, shut up, Dursley, yeh great prune," he said, his voice dripping with contempt. With a flick of his wrist, he effortlessly disarmed Uncle Vernon, plucking the gun from his trembling hands as if it were nothing more than a child's toy.
Uncle Vernon made another funny noise, like a mouse being trodden on, his face contorted with a mix of disbelief and irritation. The room seemed to shrink around him as the towering giant dominated the space, casting a long, imposing shadow over the cowering Dursleys.
"Anyway—Harry," said the giant, his voice rumbling like distant thunder, as he turned his back on the Dursleys, dismissing them with a wave of his massive hand. "A very happy birthday to yeh. Got summat fer yeh here—I mighta sat on it at some point, but it should still taste all right."
From an inside pocket of his brown-black overcoat, he pulled out a slightly squashed box, its edges frayed and worn from the journey. Harry's heart raced with anticipation as he took the box with trembling fingers, his hands barely able to contain his excitement. With a sense of wonder, he slowly peeled back the lid, revealing the contents within.
Inside was a large, sticky chocolate cake, its rich aroma filling the air with sweetness. Harry's eyes widened with delight as he beheld the cake, adorned with green icing that spelled out "Happy Birthday Harry" in elegant script. It was a simple gesture, but it meant the world to Harry, who had never experienced such kindness on his birthday before.
Harry looked up at the giant, his eyes shining with gratitude and curiosity. He meant to say thank you, but the words caught in his throat, overwhelmed by the enormity of the moment. Instead, he found himself blurting out the question that had been burning in his mind since the giant's arrival.
"Who are you?"
The giant chuckled, his deep laughter echoing off the walls of the cramped room. His jovial demeanor was infectious, a stark contrast to the tense atmosphere that had filled the space just moments before. "True, I haven't introduced meself. Rubeus Hagrid, Keeper of Keys and Grounds at Hogwarts," he announced proudly, his booming voice filling every corner of the room. With a gentle rumble, he extended an enormous hand towards Harry, enveloping the boy's arm in a firm handshake that made him feel like a twig in comparison. "What about that tea then, eh?" he continued, his expression brightening with anticipation. "I'd not say no ter summat stronger if yeh've got it, mind, but I think I should ask fer the tea first."
His keen eyes surveyed the dilapidated surroundings, taking note of the sorry state of the fireplace and the scattered debris that littered the floor. With a disapproving snort, he bent down over the cold hearth, his movements deliberate and purposeful. Hidden from view, he worked his magic, coaxing flames to life from the dormant embers. As he straightened up, a triumphant grin spread across his weather-beaten face.
Suddenly, the room was transformed by the warm glow of the roaring fire, its flickering light casting dancing shadows across the walls. The once-damp atmosphere was replaced by a comforting warmth that enveloped Harry like a cocoon, soothing his frayed nerves and washing away the lingering chill of the hut. It was as though he had stepped into a sanctuary of light and heat, a welcome reprieve from the gloom that had pervaded the room just moments before.
The giant eased himself back onto the worn sofa, its tired springs groaning in protest beneath his considerable bulk. With deft movements, he delved into the seemingly bottomless pockets of his coat, producing an eclectic array of items. A gleaming copper kettle emerged first, followed by a squishy package of sausages, a well-worn poker, a dented teapot, several mismatched mugs, and a bottle of amber liquid, from which he took a hearty swig before setting about his task of making tea. The small confines of the hut were soon filled with the comforting aroma of sizzling sausage, the tantalizing scent mingling with the crackling warmth of the fire.
Silence enveloped the room as the giant worked, his movements purposeful and efficient, yet strangely graceful for one of his size. Each sausage was expertly cooked to perfection, fat droplets sizzling and spitting as they danced upon the heated poker. Dudley, unable to contain his restlessness, shifted uncomfortably, his eyes fixed longingly on the sizzling sausages.
Uncle Vernon's voice sliced through the air, sharp and commanding. "Don't touch anything he gives you, Dudley," he admonished, his tone laced with suspicion.
The giant emitted a deep, rumbling chuckle, his laughter reverberating off the walls of the cramped hut. "I'm not cookin’ poison, Dursley," he retorted, his words carrying a hint of amusement.
With a gentle gesture, the giant passed the succulent sausages to Harry, who accepted them with eager anticipation. Starved and famished, he had never tasted anything quite so heavenly, yet his gaze remained fixed upon the towering figure before him. Unable to contain his curiosity any longer, he finally spoke up. "I'm sorry, but I still don't really know who you are," he confessed, his words tinged with a mixture of apprehension and intrigue.
The giant, now identified as Hagrid, took a hearty gulp of tea, the warmth spreading comfortingly through his immense frame. With a rough motion, he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, leaving behind a smudge of tea stains on his bushy beard.
"Call me Hagrid," he declared in a voice as deep as the earth itself, "everyone does. An' like I told yeh, I'm Keeper of Keys at Hogwarts—yeh'll know all about Hogwarts, o' course.”
"Er—no," Harry replied sheepishly, his eyes fixed nervously on Hagrid's imposing figure.
Hagrid's expression shifted from surprise to incredulity in an instant, his beetle-like eyes widening in disbelief. "Sorry," Harry stammered hastily, his voice barely above a whisper.
"Sorry?" Hagrid roared, his gaze turning to the cowering Dursleys, who shrank back into the dim recesses of the hut. "It's them that 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 yet parents learned it all?"
"All what?" Harry interjected, his confusion evident.
"ALL WHAT?" Hagrid thundered, his voice echoing off the walls of the cramped hut. In a sudden burst of anger, he rose to his full height, his massive form towering over the cowering Dursleys. "Now wait jus' one second!" he growled, his voice reverberating with barely contained fury. "Do you mean ter tell me," he bellowed, fixing his glare on the trembling Dursleys, "that this boy—this boy!—knows nothin' abou'—about ANYTHING?"
Harry thought this was going a bit far. He had been to school, after all, and his marks weren't bad. If given the space away from the Dursleys he considered himself rather apt.
"I know some things," he said. "I can, you know, do math and stuff." But Hagrid simply waved his hand and said, "About our world, I mean. Your world. My world. Yer parents' world."
"What world?"
Hagrid looked as if he was about to explode. "DURSLEY!" he boomed.
Uncle Vernon, who had gone very pale, whispered something that sounded like "Mimblewimble." Hagrid stared wildly at Harry.
"But yeh must know about yet mom and dad," he said. "I mean, they're famous. You're famous."
"What? My—my mom and dad weren't famous, were they?"
"Yeh don' know...yeh don' know..." Hagrid ran his fingers through his hair, fixing Harry with a bewildered stare. He looked about as frazzled as Uncle Vernon had now.
"Yeh don' know what yeh are?" he said finally.
Uncle Vernon, emboldened by his own sense of authority, attempted to assert control over the situation. "Stop!" he commanded, his voice quavering with a mixture of fear and false bravado. "Stop right there, sit! I forbid you to tell the boy anything!"
A braver man than Vernon Dursley would have quailed under the furious look Hagrid now gave him; when Hagrid spoke, his every syllable trembled with rage.
"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? What kind o’ terrible..."
"Kept what from me?" said Harry eagerly, his eyes wide with curiosity and anticipation.
"STOP! I FORBID YOU!" yelled Uncle Vernon in a panic, his face flushed crimson with anger and fear. His veins stood out prominently against his skin, resembling tiny rivers of wrath.
Aunt Petunia, her features contorted with horror, let out a gasp, her hand flying to her mouth as if to stifle a scream. The air in the cramped hut seemed to thicken with tension, as if the very walls were holding their breath in anticipation of what would come next.
"Ah, go boil yer heads, both of yeh," said Hagrid, waving Uncle Vernon off. He turned to Harry and bent down to his height. The look from before had returned—the big smile that emanated warmth. "You’re a wizard, Harry." There was silence inside the hut. Only the sea and the whistling wind could be heard.
"—a what?" gasped Harry.
"A wizard, o' course," said Hagrid, sitting back down on the sofa, which groaned and sank even lower, "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."
Harry stretched out his hand at last to take the yellowish envelope, addressed in emerald green to Mr. H. Potter, The Floor, Hut-on-the-Rock, The Sea. He pulled out the letter and read:
HOGWARTS SCHOOL of WITCHCRAFT and WIZARDRY
Headmaster: ALBUS DUMBLEDORE (Order of Merlin, First Class, Grand Sorcerer, Chief. Warlock, Supreme Mugwump, International Confederation of Wizards)
Dear Mr. Potter,
We are pleased to inform you that you have been accepted at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Established in the 10th Century, Hogwarts is considered to be one of the finest magical institutions in the wizarding world taking students from the United Kingdom and Ireland.
The school is located in the Highlands of Scotland although the exact location of our castle cannot be revealed for muggle security reasons. We provide extensive grounds and facilities for the children including sloping lawns, flowerbeds and vegetable patches, a loch (called the Black Lake), a large dense forest (called the Forbidden Forest), several greenhouses and other outbuildings, and a full-size Quidditch Pitch. There is also an owlery, which houses all the owls owned by the school as well as those owned by students.
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
Questions exploded inside Harry's head like fireworks and he couldn't decide which to ask first. After a few minutes he stammered, "What does it mean, they await my owl?"
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"Gallopin' Gorgons, that reminds me," said Hagrid, clapping a hand to his forehead with enough force to knock over a cart horse, and from yet another 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 that Harry could 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
Hagrid rolled up the note, gave it to the owl, which clamped it in its beak, went to the door, and threw the owl out into the storm. Then he came back and sat down as though this was as normal as talking on the telephone. Harry realized his mouth was open and closed it quickly.
"Where was I?" said Hagrid, but at that moment, Uncle Vernon, still ashen-faced but looking very angry, moved into the firelight.
"He's not going," he said.
Hagrid grunted. "I'd like ter see a great Muggle like you stop him," he said.
"A what?" said Harry, interested. He had read the word on the letter, but truth be told he hadn’t known what it meant. There were a great number of words he read that his mind seemed to gloss over.
"A Muggle," said Hagrid, "it's what we call non-magic folk like them. An' it's your bad luck you grew up in a family o' the biggest Muggles I ever laid eyes on."
"We swore when we took him in we'd put a stop to that rubbish," said Uncle Vernon, "swore we'd stamp it out of him! Wizard indeed!"
"You knew?" said Harry. "You knew I'm a—a wizard?"
"Knew!" shrieked Aunt Petunia suddenly. "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!"
She stopped to draw a deep breath and then went ranting on. It seemed she had been wanting to say all this for years.
"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!"
Harry had gone very white. As soon as he found his voice he said, "Blown up? You told me they died in a car crash!"
"CAR CRASH!" roared Hagrid, jumping up so angrily that the Dursleys scuttled back to their corner. "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.
The anger faded from Hagrid's face. He looked suddenly anxious. It was an immediate shift—one Harry recognized from his own use with the Dursley’s whenever he had accidentally said more than he intended.
"I never expected this," he said, in a low, worried voice. "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..."
He sat down, stared into the fire for a few seconds, and then said, "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?"
"Well—I don' like sayin' the name if I can help it. No one does. Carries a real bad shadow over it like poison."
“Why is that?” Harry asked. “It’s just a name.”
“Names are important, Harry. They carry a lot of weight when someone...when he...oh 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 gulped, but no words came out.
"Could you write it down?" Harry suggested.
"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.”
Harry listened intently and envisioned the dark form of one that could embody such a name...Voldemort. It was a name unlike he had ever heard. He had trouble understanding what kind of a world would have someone so evil and he know nothing of it.
"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.”
“Dumbledore? You said that name before,” Harry said. “He’s the headmaster of the school, right?”
“The greatest headmaster to ever grace the grounds of Hogwarts, I tell ye. More powerful than any witch or wizard alive—he earned You-Know-Who’s fear.”
“And...you said this…”
“You-Know-Who,” Hagrid added.
“You-Know-Who, he was the one who killed my parents?”
“Hobbledygook,” Uncle Vernon spat out, but he quieted up when Hagrid gleaned in his direction.
He turned back to Harry and sighed. "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'—" Hagrid suddenly pulled out a very dirty, 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 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?” He had pointed right at the lightning bolt shaped scar that had adorned Harry’s forehead—just under his bangs. “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."
Something very painful was going on in Harry's mind. As Hagrid's story came to a close, he saw again the blinding flash of green light, more clearly than he had ever remembered it before—and he remembered something else, for the first time in his life: a high, cold, cruel laugh.
Hagrid was watching him sadly. "Took yeh from the ruined house myself, on Dumbledore's orders. Brought yeh ter this lot..."
"Load of old tosh," said Uncle Vernon. Harry jumped; he had almost forgotten that the Dursleys were there. Uncle Vernon certainly seemed to have got back his courage. He was glaring at Hagrid and his fists were clenched.
"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 weirdos, 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—"
But at that moment, Hagrid leapt from the sofa and drew a battered pink umbrella from inside his coat. Pointing this at Uncle Vernon like a sword, he said, "I'm warning you, Dursley -I'm warning you—one more word. Threatenin’ to harm Harry here in my presence is not a wise thing to do."
In danger of being speared on the end of an umbrella by a bearded giant, Uncle Vernon's courage failed again; he flattened himself against the wall and fell silent.
"That's better," said Hagrid, breathing heavily and sitting back down on the sofa, which this time sagged right down to the floor.
Harry, meanwhile, still had questions to ask, hundreds of them.
"But what happened to Vol—, sorry—I mean, You-Know-Who? Did the police catch him?"
“Not your police,” Hagrid said. “Nor ours. Nobody found him. He vanished that night he tried to kill you. Disappeared for good. Makes yeh even more famous. That's the biggest myst'ry, see...he was gettin' more an' more powerful—why'd he go? Why were you the obstacle that was able to stop him that night? There are people that are out there to this day wondering that exact same thing.”
“I’m the reason he’s gone?” Harry asked.
“Course, there’s a load of people out there who don’t think he’s gone gone. They think he’s out there in hiding, biding his time. Dunno if he had enough human left in him to die. 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."
Hagrid looked at Harry with warmth and respect blazing in his eyes, but Harry, instead of feeling pleased and proud, felt quite sure there had been a horrible mistake. A wizard? Him? How could he possibly be? He'd spent his life being clouted by Dudley, and bullied by Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon; if he was really a wizard, why hadn't they been turned into warty toads every time they'd tried to lock him in his cupboard? If he'd once defeated the greatest sorcerer in the world, how come Dudley had always been able to kick him around like a football?
"Hagrid," he said quietly, "I think you must have made a mistake. I don't think I can be a wizard. I’m just...not able to be that kind of person you’re thinking of."
To his surprise, Hagrid chuckled. "Not a wizard, eh? Never made things happen when you was scared or angry?"
Harry looked into the fire. Now he came to think about it...every odd thing that had ever made his aunt and uncle furious with him had happened when he, Harry, had been upset or angry...chased by Dudley's gang, he had somehow found himself out of their reach...dreading going to school with that ridiculous haircut, he'd managed to make it grow back...and the very last time Dudley had hit him, hadn't he got his revenge, without even realizing he was doing it? Hadn't he set a boa constrictor on him? That glass that had vanished out of thin air?
Harry looked back at Hagrid, smiling, and saw that Hagrid was positively beaming at him.
"See?" said Hagrid. "Harry Potter, not a wizard—you wait, you'll be right famous at Hogwarts."
But Uncle Vernon wasn't going to give in without a fight. "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. "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 Uncle Vernon. But he had finally gone too far.
Hagrid seized his umbrella and whirled it over his head, "NEVER," he thundered, "INSULT ALBUS DUMBLEDORE IN FRONT OF ME!" He brought the umbrella swishing down through the air to point at Dudley—there was a flash of violet light, a sound like a firecracker, a sharp squeal, and the next second, Dudley was dancing on the spot with his hands clasped over his 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.
Uncle Vernon roared with despair, pulling Aunt Petunia and Dudley into the other room, he cast one last terrified look at Hagrid and slammed the door behind them.
Hagrid looked down at his umbrella and stroked his beard.
"Shouldn'ta lost me temper," he said ruefully, "but it didn't work anyway. Meant ter turn him full on into a pig, but I suppose he was so much like a pig anyway there wasn't much left ter do." He cast a sideways look at Harry under his bushy eyebrows. "I’d be mighty 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 by Dumbledore himself, but I’m not too sure giving out some justice would be approved under these conditions.”
“Your secret’s safe with me,” Harry said with a bright smile on his face. “Is he going to stay like that forever?”
“Oh no,” Hagrid shook off with a hand. “It’ll shrink until it was never there in the course of a few hours, but I think there’s no reason to need to deprive them of the experience of finding that one out themselves,” Hagrid winked.
Harry laughed in response.
Hagrid turned fully to Harry and bent down to one knee. “I really am sorry, Harry. I really didn’t know they had been treatin’ you this way. I was there the night Dumbledore had you sent to their doorstep—gave you a kiss right there on the head,” he pointed to Harry’s forehead—opposite side of his scar. “Little tyke so small—but so unfairly treated.” Hagrid sighed, his chest heaved a mighty sigh and Harry could see Hagrid’s beady eyes glisten with the start of tears once more.
“Hagrid...thank you,” Harry said, a warmth filling his chest. “I had always wished there would be someone who would walk through that door one day to rescue me from the Dursley’s. Over the years that dream started to fade, and I didn’t expect it to be that door,” Harry nodded to the door Hagrid had busted open. “but I still….it means everything.”
Hagrid smiled wide, a tear falling down his cheek. “An’ that’s why I took this job,” He sniffed and wiped his cheek with his lumbering arm. “It means so much ter me that I got to see you again—that I get to introduce you to the world you should have known. Thank you, Harry, fer yer kind words. It...it warms me heart.” He opened his arms and Harry found himself running toward Hagrid as if he were someone he had been waiting to meet his whole life.
“One question, Hagrid,” Harry asked, mid-hug.
“Oh well I’d be surprised if you only had one question, given the state of the Muggles,” Hagrid chuckled.
"Why aren't you supposed to do magic?" asked Harry. “You’re a wizard too, right?”
"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. Not my most favorite moment, but it was all hogwash anyway. False situation and all that you know how it is,” Hagrid nervously stood and scratched the back of his head, but then looked down to Harry and regained his composure. “Well, I guess you wouldn’t, but all the same. Dumbledore let me stay on as gamekeeper for the school. Great man, Dumbledore. I get to stay on campus and assist with various magical affairs. But since me wand had been snapped, I have to make do with this in the limited opportunities I’m given to use it,” he held up the umbrella.
“Is that a wand?” Harry asked.
“Pieces of it,” Hagrid said. “Took the bits and chunks of my wand after they snapped it an’ fixed it up to this ‘ere. Strictly speaking I’m uh...not supposed to have this either…”
Harry smiled at the mischievous giant standing before him. “Your secrets are safe with me.”
“Excellent Harry. Just excellent,” Hagrid said.
“Well, what’s next? What happens now that you’ve delivered the news?” Harry asked.
"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.”
“Oh...you’re going to be going with me?”
“Of course!” Hagrid laughed loudly, and Harry could swear the echoing sounds had elicited a shivering response from the other room from the Dursley’s. “I’m sure you don’t know where Diagon Alley is, the largest hub for wizard commerce this side of the Thames!”
Harry shook his head sheepishly. “I’ve never heard of a place like that.
“Ruddy shame,” Hagrid said. “Bloomin’ beautiful storefronts as far as the eye can gleam.” Hagrid boasted. “But in order for us to begin there we’ll need to wait out the storm, I think. Too ruddy windy out there to have your interduction to Diagon Alley in all this mess.”
Hagrid removed his thick black coat with a grunt of effort, the fabric rustling loudly as he tossed it to Harry. "You can kip under that," he said, his voice a low rumble like distant thunder. "Don' mind if it wriggles a bit, I think I still got a couple o' dormice in one o' the pockets."
He settled back onto the couch, his massive frame dwarfing the furniture beneath him. With a weary sigh, his head lolled backward, his tangled mane of hair splaying out like a dark halo against the worn upholstery. Despite his imposing size, Hagrid's breathing soon became slow and steady, his chest rising and falling with a gentle rhythm that belied his earlier ferocity.
The flickering glow of the fire cast shifting shadows across the walls of the cramped hut, painting them with dancing patterns of light and dark. Harry, still reeling from the whirlwind of revelations, found himself captivated by the interplay of shadows, his mind racing with thoughts of magic and wonder.
Beneath the shelter of Hagrid's coat, Harry felt a sense of warmth and safety wash over him, like a comforting embrace from a long-lost friend. He realized, with a surge of excitement, that he was no longer alone—that he was, in fact, a wizard. The weight of unanswered questions that had plagued him for so long now seemed to lift from his shoulders, replaced by a newfound sense of purpose and belonging.
And yet, amidst the glow of the firelight and the comforting embrace of Hagrid's coat, one name lingered in Harry's thoughts like a shadow in the night: Voldemort.
As Harry pondered the name of the dark wizard who had hunted down his family, he couldn't shake the weight of the questions that now consumed his thoughts. Voldemort—the very mention of the name sent shivers down his spine. Why had his parents been targeted? What had made him the chosen one to thwart Voldemort's plans? And what awaited him in the hidden world of magic that lay beyond the confines of his ordinary life?
Lost in a whirlwind of uncertainty, Harry sought refuge in the comforting cocoon of Hagrid's oversized jacket. The fabric, worn and weathered, carried with it the faint scent of the great outdoors—a comforting blend of earthy musk and fresh air that reminded Harry of the rugged landscapes he had only ever dreamed of exploring. As he buried himself deeper into the folds of the coat, its familiar embrace offered him a sense of security amidst the chaos of his racing thoughts.
With each breath, Harry felt himself drifting into a state of calm, the rhythmic rise and fall of Hagrid's chest lulling him into a sense of peace. Despite the weight of the unknown pressing down upon him, he found solace in the simple act of being enveloped by the warmth and protection of Hagrid's garment. In that moment, surrounded by the familiar scent and texture of the jacket, Harry felt as though he had found a sanctuary—a safe haven where the worries of the outside world could not reach him.
As he lay there, cocooned in Hagrid's jacket, Harry's mind gradually quieted, the weight of his worries easing with each passing moment. For the first time in what felt like an eternity, he drifted off to sleep with a sense of simplicity and sweetness that had eluded him for far too long.