If Harry hadn't forsaken logic

Introduction: (the story begins down below, if you wish to skip ahead be my guest, the paragraph below merely explains the reasoning behind Harry's character and the other major characters). As a warning, the story is initially slow paced since I will be explaining Harry's thought process and character, but the pace will balance out after a while, and from the next chapter, accelerate significantly.

If we were to assess the character and behavior of Harry, a boy who had been clinically abused for 10 years, gotten used to living life like a survivor in a camp full of hostiles, a child who was clever, resourceful and capable of extracting revenge from Dudley through subtle one liners and successfully hiding his life as a slave and stress reliever for the Dursleys from his teachers and well meaning strangers, then there is no rational explanation for his insane behavior ever since Hagrid showed up. You could say that the sheer happiness of being saved from a mundane, Dursley dominated existence washed away the callouses that had become a part of Harry's soul, restoring him to the kind, gentle hearted and naïve child he would have been had the Dursleys not decided otherwise. But for those who refuse to acknowledge this, let's entertain the notion that for some asinine reason Harry's character is what it should be and J.K hadn't looked over basic psychology over her love for the story and desire to keep writing a story young kids could love and relate to without looking too closely, hint Hermione actually marries Ron. Then shouldn't Harry have gotten over his complete character reversal when he realized, just some 9 months later that the people who had apparently saved him from his personal hell, were now sending him back with vague, nonsensical claims of "love protecting him" and "his only living relatives serving as protection". A person like Harry would have called bullshit, or at the very least been very skeptical, the Dursleys loved screwing him over, not him. Not only that but these people were the ones who had sent him there in the first place so he would not have grown up to be arrogant and drunk off his own glory. Let me pulverize any such notions of Harry letting fame get to his head, what child would feel arrogant at losing his parents and stopping a man he did not even know, unless his caretakers narrated the incident to him in such a way? With the contacts Dumbledore had, a family could easily have been found that would have raised Harry to be humble while protecting him. Also who is Dumbledore to decide how Harry should live his life? Who is Dumbledore to decide that 10 years of rigorous physical and mental abuse is worth him not getting a swollen head, (which is also an extremely unlikely prediction as mentioned above)? He was only Harry's magical guardian because a will was something an extremely smart witch such as Lily Potter forgot to write when being hunted down by the most feared dark lord alive, sure that makes sense. Harry should have at least thought of this, yet he nodded his head and agreed that Dumbledore's crap was the Bible. Although to be clear, I respect J.K for her work, I just can't get over this farce. Moving on to Dumbledore, while all evidence proves that he is an evil manipulative bastard, Phoenixes do not choose such people to be their familiars, which means that Dumbledore is a deluded, ignorant manipulative old fool, but not evil. Thus with one change, which is giving Harry the character he should have been given, I've managed to change a lot, maybe too much.

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Disclaimer: I own the system upon which I write, not Harry Potter

Chapter 1: Broken Beliefs

Harry Potter. He let the name roll of his tongue like a delicacy savored behind the eyes of envious viewers. That was his name, no matter how many times he wished otherwise, well it was certainly better than freak. Sitting on a swing nearly as abused, jaded and damaged as his 10 year old body, in a park in Little Whinging, sat the freak. Well not since I first went to school, he chastened himself, since then I've been Harry Potter he thought, as if it made a difference. His thoughts drifted back to the name, Potter eh? That's the name of the drunk that got himself and my mother killed in a car crash? I'm almost happy. Who knows how they would have treated me if they could have done something so rash while knowing they had a child.

A part of him rebelled at the blunt dismissal of his parents, urging him to reconsider, reminding him of the faint, distorted dreams where he was but an infant, covered from view by a woman he assumed to be his mother, fire for hair and eyes the same emerald hue as his. The cold high voice of the perpetrator, commanding his mother to move aside and save herself. His mother's love transcending the basic human desire to survive. A bolt of malicious green striking her down where she stood. Orbs filled with hate, and colored a vicious red, gazing into his own, the invocation of Avada Kedavra, followed by hellish screams of agony and then darkness.

Indeed, his mother must have smoked enough pot that it affected his subconscious to the point where he was forced to endure nightmares consisting of a bald freak waving a stick. Harry grimaced in disgust, thanks to his uncle's tendency of letting loose barrages of surprisingly creative insults and descriptions of drug addicts and alcoholics, any stereotypical addiction he deemed disgusting really, whenever he managed to infuriate him, he was now very well versed in the art of vulgarity and the indulgences of depressed teens and adults. He smiled in remembrance of one of uncle Vernon's more innovative snubs,

"You goat shagging weed pilfering deviant! Your parents bathed in heroin and that devilry screwed over your head worse than an autistic groupie!" Indeed Vernon could certainly curse with ingenuity. With this Harry's thoughts drifted to the times when he had still been too naïve and incapable of weathering and working with the Dursley's ritual abuse. Up until three years ago he hadn't been able to properly mask his emotions and had still struggled with the enormity of the daily tasks he was assigned. This resulted in regular diatribes delivered by both his aunt and uncle, and if he managed to piss them off enough beatings. 3 years ago he had also received a particularly harsh beating. Leaving him sobbing in agony and grief in his cupboard. That was the night when he had sworn to never again show weakness, allow others a chance to hurt him and to stop holding on to fantastical dreams of his aunt and uncle ever treating him with the love he had always craved.

Shaken out of his more morose thoughts by the sound of a plane rumbling past, Harry's thoughts returned to that of all of the unexplainable mysteries in his life. He wasn't deluded enough to believe in magic, or whatever the hell it was. And yet again his inner church going Christian rebelled in self righteous indignation. Reminding him of the instances where he had seemingly teleported in order to escape the violent whims of his cousin Dudley. When his hair had grown back to full strength after being shaved off by his temperamental aunt, Petunia. This was the crux of his issues. Dare he believe there was a truth greater than the ordinary life humans thrived in, a power that allowed him to avoid situations where his desperation had peaked? A hidden mystery which not only redeemed his dead parents but proved to him that they had sacrificed themselves for him? Or was it just the hallucinations caused by a childhood as barbaric as his, after all his uncle did claim he was a freak. He just wished another adult would show him magic, Harry rolled his eyes as his brain took a sudden jump in the gutter, damn you Vernon, in order to quell his doubts or just prove to him that these really were just figments of his imagination.

His ruminations wandered to the times where after being thrown into his cupboard bodily by his enraged uncle Vernon, he had ended up with fractures. Only to wake up feeling as healthy as ever. This was another enigma, was there really a force healing him or was the shock at being mistreated coercing his imagination into aggravating his conceptions about his injuries, only to be washed away after a night's rest? The frustration at not knowing which built up until Harry took a deep breath, reminding himself of the pointlessness of driving himself spare with his thoughts. His gaze fell at the subpar watch he had pilfered from Dudley's numerous discarded gifts. His frame was wiry, malnourished and sickly and his arms skin and bone, thus allowing him to fasten the watch a bit higher up on his arm. Additionally he was clothed in one of Dudley's hand downs, a particularly large light blue hoodie under which his bony shoulders appeared as indentations within the mass of cotton. Keeping the watch out of sight yet still giving him the liberty to check the time when he wished to. His jeans were also one such gift from Dudley. Coloured a fading grey and meant for a waist at least twice as wide as his, they would have fallen off if not for the shabby belt holding it in place. It was nearing noon. He had already mowed and watered the garden that was his aunt and uncle's pride and joy, thus most of the garden work was taken care of, so if he messed up the timing of his return he would only have a few more tasks to do. He hadn't thought Aunt Petunia would have gotten tired enough to take a nap, but she had and he had taken the opportunity to race to the local park. A place of solitude and rest. Where he could think and relax without fear.

Peaceful pondering for the day finished, Harry got up, the swing lightly shaking in the wake of his sudden departure. As he made his way out of the dilapidated park, scantily covered with patches of grass, worn and rusted swings and benches, the Sun shone with a sudden vindictiveness that accelerated his walk home. Home, he scoffed in disgust. Home was a safe place, where he was supposed to be, ideally, surrounded by his loved ones and safe, not a reenactment of a torture cell where his every weakness was preyed viciously upon and all of his hopes crushed. As he headed back, strolling through the well kept and maintained streets of Privet Drive, he wondered why he hadn't given up already, why the disappointment of having to return to his personal hell hadn't broken his spirit. Why he still persevered in futile hopes of his aunt and uncle ever deciding to forgo their hellacious treatment of him. He was deluded to even imagine that the Dursleys would ever treat him like a fellow human being, but he was just a hopeful ten year old, despite of the lessons he'd learned through his trials at Privet drive, he still hoped and wished that one day he and the Dursleys would reconcile their differences and he at the very least would be treated as a respected cousin, if not being given the love and affection he had always yearned for. Since to Harry, there was nothing more he wanted than to be loved, to be cared for, to be told he mattered and to have a family that was there for him. Most of all Harry wanted someone to love as well. One would wonder as to why Harry's spirit hadn't been crushed already. But Harry had a spirit held together by fire and steel, a decade of abuse had sharpened his wits, scrubbed him of most of his naivety and granted him the cunning most would expect from conspirators well older than him. He had long ago decided to never give up. He would prove the Dursleys wrong, make a name for himself and form a family. He was still plagued by doubts, but they were expressions of his frustration and went only as far as temporary distractions, his resolve was unyielding. He had finally reached the porch of the source of all his troubles. Number four privet drive was as well kept as any other on the street and boasted a garden well maintained enough to rival any in Surrey. Which of course was thanks to Harry yet again. He had toiled for countless hours in the dirt, fearing his aunt's displeasure. From where he was standing Harry could see through the windows which allowed Petunia to spy upon him whenever she wished to check if he was hard at work or not. This time it served Harry, he could see her stirring from her nap on the chair she had fallen into unconsciousness on. Her neck lolled on her bony shoulders and Harry knew she was about to wake up, and would consequently check for his presence. With a great leap Harry crossed over the hedges and landed safely in the garden, barely avoiding the fresh plantation of tomato seeds. Sighing in relief, Harry bent down and started pulling out a few weeds he had purposefully missed before, with the expertise of a childhood spent cultivating a remarkable garden, just as he did so, Petunia woke up and immediately after rubbing away her lingering fatigue, locked eyes on Harry.

She immediately screeched, "Aren't you done with the saplings yet freak? How dare you take so long? If you're not done in the next ten minutes and working on your next chores, you'll get no lunch!"

Predictably taking her ire at falling asleep unexpectedly out on Harry, who smiled in acceptance of her rash and negligent attitude. He'd gotten used to such rants and he had learned to be in control of his emotions. As he continued eliminating the last few pests in the garden, his thoughts fell to the events of Dudley's birthday party, which had been yesterday. After having cooked and served the Dursleys breakfast, he had witnessed yet again Dudley getting showered with expensive gifts. Following which he had accompanied the happy family and Dudley's best friend Piers to the zoo. That, Harry decided, was why he had been thinking about the existence of magic all day long. When he had reached the reptile house at the zoo, he had decided to wander to the back and avoid Dudley as he fawned over a massive boa constrictor since this was a chance to explore, not risk inciting Dudley's anger. He had then seen a beautiful snake, colored a startling silver, the name of which was out of his knowledge and managed to talk to it. Even now it confused him, he actually had a conversation with a honest to god frickin snake. There had been no one else around to witness his discussion thus he was still perplexed and uncertain of the authenticity of the experience and he refused to acknowledge it as such, regardless of how much his emotions and guts rebelled.

"I had no idea snakes could look so pretty." Harry had murmured more to himself.

"Thank you speaker, but I daresay many of my kind would feel slighted at that comment" the amused voice emanating from the snake had shocked Harry.

"What's going on, am I really talking to a snake?!" Harry's volume had increased drastically and he was questioning himself, thus he nearly missed the response originating from the same snake.

"You are indeed speaker, I take it you have no knowledge of the ability?" Before Harry could muster up his currently haywire state of mind into order, he heard Dudley's cry

"Oi freak, who are you talking to so loudly?" It appeared he had heard Harry's earlier outburst and was making his way to the back where Harry was. Not in the mood to be confronted by him, Harry moved away and was unable to finish the conversation, not that he would have been able to, considering the chaos his mind had been in. It had taken him quite a while to calm down.

The memory reminded him of how he had spent the past few months attempting to replicate the feat. Harry blushed in embarrassment of the lengths he had gone to, only feeling dumber at the idiocy he had strived to replicate.

He had tried to speak to any and every reptile he could find. To his relief he could not talk to any other reptile than a snake. He nearly groaned in mortification at the happenings of one the experiments. He had captured a frog and proceeded to ask the following question.

"Can you understand me?" The frog had treated him to a look of disdain and pity he didn't think a reptile could imitate. It had then lept over him, startling him enough to make him fall flat on his ass. Bringing himself back to snakes, he remembered his conquest. In all his time spent searching for a snake amongst the gardens in privet drive, he had only encountered one. Which was a testament to the paranoia of the Dursleys against any creature they deemed unsightly and dangerous for their dear Dudley. They had hired an exterminator to carry out routine checks every month. Thus when Harry did get his hands on the snake he had grabbed it, such was his excitement that he forgot that one merely does not "pick up a snake and run" and rushed to the nearest secluded corner he could find. Once he did he had begun its interrogation.

"Can you understand me?" He had questioned feeling foolish.

"I can indeed speaker, ask of me what you will." The shock at receiving an answer had nearly made him consider pinching himself or seeking medical help. Yet he had searched too long to just label himself a lunatic and he persevered

"How can I speak to you? And can others do so as well? Is there such a thing as magic?" He had eagerly rattled off the most pressing and hopefully informative questions he had, only to be severely disappointed.

"You can speak to me since you are a speaker, you are the first to talk to me and I believe other speakers can as well, I know not what magic is or if it exists, only that which I have experienced in my time in this place." The response hadn't told him much asides from the existence of "speakers" who apparently, could talk to snakes just as he could. So he decided to further that line of questioning

"What qualities allow someone to become a speaker? And why am I one?" Harry had asked.

"I am unaware, all I know is that you are a speaker because I can understand you and you me." The rather blunt response had left him angry and disappointed, he still did not know if he had been hallucinating the discussion since it was just such a surreal event. The only way he would know for sure was if another sane human witnessed his speaking to snakes and attesting to its authenticity. Fat chance of that he thought. He had no friends to ask, since anyone associated with the "freak" would instantly be targeted by Dudley and his gang. His family would rather jump off a cliff then help him.

There was however one final phenomenon. One that truly made his faith in his tendency to hallucinate shatter and crumble apart. The only reason he still was fumbling for even the slightest hint of a reason to disprove it was because he couldn't handle his views being pulverized after believing for a decade that his parents were decadent drunks and stoners who left him with a couple hell bent on torturing him, just because they had felt like driving when drunk. But now, he was doubting his belief of magic only being a fantasy. This morning as he had been serving breakfast to the Dursleys, the postman had completed his ritual delivery and Harry had been delegated the task of collecting the letters from an unwilling Dudley. He had trudged down to the door and collected them from the slot. As he had done so he had started looking through the letters and subsequently nearly been rendered catatonic at the person and location that one of them was addressing. Lying in between a post card from uncle Vernon's sister Marge, who was currently vacationing on the Isle of Wright and what seemed to be a bill was a letter for him. Harry would have been immensely shocked at just that, since he had no other family or friends to write to him, but he would have held on to a cool rational mindset thanks to his rather unique upbringing. Thus what had left him speechless was the address written in emerald green ink

Mr. H. Potter

The cupboard under the stairs

4 Privet Drive

Little Whinging

Surrey

Harry had been stunned at the accuracy of the address, a kind which could only be achieved through insane levels of tracking and surveillance, made harder by how careful the Dursleys were in keeping their treatment of him hidden from the world. The shock had quickly faded away to a bitter ice cold fury that had frozen all his other thoughts and nearly made him lose control and start screaming in frustration. How? How could people know where he was forced to live and the torment he had to endure and still ignore it for so long? How could they be so negligent and harsh? He had sworn to himself that he would find the person behind his being left to rot and make them pay. He had taken a few deep breaths to regain control and then hidden the letter in one of the hoodie's overly large pockets, ignored his childish urge to take that shit, drop the rest and cut like a bitch till he was safe and could read it. He had sighed, uncle Vernon's filthy impulses were settling in and he hated being anything like him. He quickly made his way back to the kitchen. He had adopted his usual subservient expression that he put to use whenever he was around the Dursleys, he dutifully handed the letters to uncle Vernon and continued eating his breakfast. Which was what was left after the Dursleys had claimed the dishes they preferred.

That had occurred 3 hours ago. Harry had not known he would have been able to sneak away during his gardening duties and had thus not brought the letter with him. Now he was itching to get done with his chores, lock himself in his cupboard, he smiled at that, how times change, and read the contents. With a determined look, he got back to his chores with a silent fury.

It was 3 hours later, after having been given lunch that Harry was allowed to do whatever he wished. He had known that if he randomly decided to lock himself in his room, Dudley at the very least, would have been suspicious. Thus he faked spraining his ankle and after receiving a couple of dirty looks from aunt Petunia, he now made his way to his cupboard, limping as he did so for extra effect. Closing it as soon as he entered, Harry crouched in the corner with his back to the door, in case aunt Petunia decided to spring a random "check on the freak". Fingers trembling with anticipation and his heart beating steadily faster, he pulled it out from underneath his bundle of clothes. A pile aunt Petunia would never touch. Now that he was alone and with ample time, he looked it over. The envelope was thick and heavy, made of yellowish parchment without any stamp. There was however a purple wax seal bearing a coat of arms; a lion, a badger, an eagle and a snake, ironic Harry mused, all surrounding a large letter H. Harry smiled, was this intentional? Regardless he pulled the letter out and began to read its contents

HOGWARTS SCHOOL of WITCHCRAFT and WIZARDRY

Headmaster: ALBUS DUMBLEDORE

(Order of Merlin, First Class, Grand Sorc., Chf. Warlock, Supreme Mugwump, International Confed. of Wizards)

Dear Mr. Potter, We are pleased to inform you that you have been accepted at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Please find enclosed a list of all necessary books and equipment. Term begins on September 1. We await your owl by no later than July 31.

Yours sincerely,

Minerva McGonagall,

Deputy Headmistress

And that was the end of Harry's iron clamp over his emotions. Shoving his face in his pillow, he screamed and screamed. He yelled his heart out and cried bitter angry tears of frustration and disappointment. His parents hadn't been two thrill seeking stoners. The letter proved the existence of magic, after all Hogwarts did appear to be a school of witchcraft and wizardry. Which subsequently verified the times he had talked to snakes. Yet most importantly, his dreams about his mother sacrificing herself for him didn't seem like hallucinations any more. Tears of anger changed to that of relief, the knowledge that his parents had cared for him and had given up their lives for him giving Harry the dose of love and happiness he had always craved. Only to change again to that of sadness and anger once more. He would find the bald prick who had killed his parents and make him pay. With that thought Harry's young adolescent brain was nearly overwhelmed with a fresh assault of questions. How would he respond to Hogwarts? Would the postman even be able to deliver it? Would he be stopped by his aunt and uncle? Would the pitifully meager sum of coins he had scavenged throughout the years cover the cost? Why had Hogwarts and the two senior figures Albus Dumbledore and Minerva McGonagall refrained from approaching him for all these years when they clearly knew where he lived? Why had he never been checked upon? If his parents had any friends whatsoever, why did they never come to check up on him? He couldn't keep up his with his steadily growing pile of questions, thus he decided to compile a mental list and go through each one at a time, which would allow him to make rational logical conclusions while still answering his doubts, at least to what extent he could. First of all, now that he strongly believed his parents had given up their lives for him, he wondered why his aunt and uncle had always remained firm in their preaching of the car crash incident. Although that was rather easily explained, they had always vehemently denied the existence of anything supernatural, and the one time he had grown back his hair in an entire night he had been locked up in his cupboard again. Plus he had spent enough time with the Dursleys to know when they were faking their feelings for something. So he guessed their attempt hide and deny anything weird or unexplainable was reasonable. That lead him to why they had agreed to take him in, and if they had had any contact with the school. Since aunt Petunia would almost certainly have known about the existence of magic through her sister. Which meant that he had been handed off to the Dursleys by whoever used to be in contact with his parents, although that did not necessarily mean it was the Hogwarts faculty. The only fact that suggested otherwise was their knowledge of where he lived and for all he knew they could be using magic to track every future student they had. Regardless whoever it was, they had probably been close to his parents or the legal authority and they must have forced him upon his aunt and uncle. It was pretty simple to him, they both hated anything supernatural and now he knew magic existed, so why would they have consented to raising a child so closely linked to the very phenomenon they despised? Whatever it was, it must have been a strong bargaining chip. Or, the innocent, gentle part of Harry's soul spoke up, they care about you and it is only their hatred of the supernatural that makes them treat you so. The thought shook his conviction. He desperately wanted to be cared for, and if all it took was casting away the magical part of him, was it really that bad to try? After all, the Hogwarts faculty had known all along what he had been going through, or at the very least had a good idea, and still done nothing. Was it worth making a decision which would burn down any future chances of having a peaceful relationship with his only family for an institution that didn't even bother to send someone to explain all of this? Harry slapped himself angrily, pissed at himself for letting his desire to have a family make him consider abandoning the chance to learn about magic and his parents. The Dursleys were the ones to blame for his miserable childhood. Yes the Hogwarts faculty could be blamed for gross negligence and leaving him to suffer but they weren't the ones who actually hurt him. That honour went to his family. He couldn't decide what he felt towards Hogwarts and leaving all chances of ever being cared for by the Durselys so he left the final decision to the explanation he would demand from Hogwarts. If it was satisfactory, he would attend, if not, to hell with them. Although he did want to learn about magic. He wanted that power at his fingertips, the power he was sure would give him independence and freedom. His childish hopes and desires still craved some form of affection from the Dursleys but deep down Harry knew it was all just semantics.

He let out a groan of frustration. All the time Harry had spent alone, constantly attempting to stay vigilant and aware of the antics all 3 Dursleys got up to had messed with his mental development. He was unaware however, of how severely his psyche had been affected. All he knew was that being by himself and always having to lookout for himself had done a lot to change his character in terms of his maturity. Unlike most 10 year olds who were rash and immature most of the time, with brief instances of wisdom and patience revealing themselves in extreme or serious occasions, Harry was mostly quiet, calm and mature. With only immense emotional turbulence would his childish, prone to reacting at emotions stirred side show up. It was far more than that. For years he had been telling himself to be cautious and wary, and while this had the intended effect, the perpetual desire and intent to be ready and capable of handling any further abuse the Dursleys could throw on him had made his magic work as well. Since magic worked on intent and imagination, and Harry endlessly imagined himself being an example of fortitude and intelligence. His magic had responded and both accelerated his mental development while expanding the level of control Harry could have exerted over himself. It had, essentially, made him smarter, more emotionally in control of himself and adaptive to change than he ever would have been without the tempering he had received.

Noticing one of the many spiders in his cupboard springing its trap on an unsuspecting fly, capturing it within its intricately woven web, Harry was reminded of the games adults played with others, just like how aunt Petunia did to make uncle Vernon concede to her wishes. Although Dudley did so too, albeit in a more limited and obvious manner, he would throw his weight around, combined with his gang and made sure no child ever dared to befriend, or even help Harry. Thus he wondered how he could switch the situation around to his advantage. Keeping the small, yet steadily germinating seed, which was his plan at the back of his head, he brought his attention back to the other questions on the list. Questions such as why he had never been approached by or checked upon by any of the Hogwarts faculty or his parents' friends could only be given concrete answers by someone who had complete knowledge of the entire situation. A person whom he would find out about by the meeting he was thinking he would have to schedule with either Professor McGonagall or, hopefully, if the man in charge deemed him important enough to spend time on he thought bitterly, Albus Dumbledore. Although how would he do that? Did the letter specify? Yes it did Harry remembered, it said "we await your owl by no later than July 31", what did that mean though? How was he supposed to send a letter with an owl? He did remember seeing a tawny noble bird circling around privet drive earlier in the morning when he had gone to the park. Was that the mentioned owl? If so he'd write his response and find some way to give it to the owl. A part of him marveled at how readily his beliefs had been altered to the point where he was planning out a course of action he would have deemed insane and demented a day ago. But Harry knew that while he had always doubted the existence of magic he had desperately looked for any concrete sign which made it clear that yes it did exist. He now finally had it, explaining why he was accepting and adapting to such ludicrous events so eagerly and rationally. Smiling at the rapid polarization of his dogmas, Harry got back to planning.

If for some reason, he was unable to send a letter via owl (the logistics of which were still perplexing, how would the owl know to accept his letter and make it all the way back?) he would have to wake up early and somehow talk to the postman and get him to deliver his response. If all else failed and he got desperate enough, he would attempt to blackmail his aunt and uncle into telling him how to do so by threatening to tell social services of their treatment of him. It was a last resort and something he desperately wished he wouldn't have to do. He couldn't answer his questions about the financial aspect of attending Hogwarts, thus he would include those queries in his letter as well. For now all he could do was continue reading the letter and then get to writing his letter. His face tightening in determination, Harry unfolded another piece of parchment attached to the letter and began reading.

HOGWARTS SCHOOL o f WITCHCRAFT and WIZARDRY

UNIFORM

First-year students will require:

1. Three sets of plain work robes (black)

2. One plain pointed hat (black) for day 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 tags

COURSE BOOKS

All students should have a copy of each of the following:

The Standard Book of Spells (Grade 1) by Miranda Goshawk

A History of Magic by Bathilda Bagshot

Magical Theory by Adalbert Waffling

A Beginners' Guide to Transfiguration by Emeric Switch

One Thousand Magical Herbs and Fungi by Phyllida Spore

Magical Drafts and Potions by Arsenius Jigger

Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them by Newt Scamander

The Dark Forces: A Guide to Self-Protection by Quentin Trimble

OTHER EQUIPMENT

1 wand

1 cauldron (pewter, standard size 2)

1 set of glass or crystal phials

1 telescope set

1 brass scales

Students may also bring an owl OR a cat OR a toad

PARENTS ARE REMINDED THAT FIRST YEARS ARE NOT ALLOWED THEIR OWN BROOMSTICKS

All of this detail was baffling, although Harry's attention was captured by 4 things on the list, firstly a wand. Which was disappointing since if it meant wizards depended on wands to do magic Harry's hopes of freedom and independence could easily be robbed if he lost his wand. Although he was intrigued by how they worked. The second object of interest was the list of books and equipment, Harry desperately wanted to read the titles on magical theory, spells and transfiguration and he had always been good at cooking so he wanted to figure out how potions worked. Thirdly he was fascinated with the idea of a broom, did that mean wizards could fly on brooms? He'd read about the idea in some of the fantasy books he'd read in the school's library and the idea sounded rather daft to him. Anyone could fall off a broom rather easily and break their neck, unless there was some magical safeguard. Lastly he was worried as to how he would get his hands on all of the different books, clothes and apparatus. He had no idea where one could purchase magical items, and if shops that dealt in such merchandise existed, they were obviously hidden. Additionally where would he get the money to buy all of the items from? Did his parents have money hidden away in an emergency account somewhere? If not was there some concession the faculty could provide for him? He sighed in acceptance of having to write a rather long letter, unless, he had a sudden brainstorm of an idea. He could use these reasons to add a sense of emergency to his letter requesting to meet one of the faculty. He could ask them to come and tell him about the specifics of where to buy his school requirements from and where to get the money from. He absently wondered why a teacher hadn't been sent to him in the first place, had they assumed his aunt and uncle would have told him everything? They were either deluded, ignorant or purposefully making him suffer. The truth of which he planned on unveiling when he got his meeting. He now had to somehow find a piece of paper and a pen. Which would have been easy if he could tear out a page or two from his school journals. Unfortunately uncle Vernon checked his school supplies religiously, in his words "to make sure the freak wasn't wasting any of his hard earned money by ruining school books". He would have to sneak in to Dudley's room at night and use one of his discarded notebooks and pens. Luckily he hardly ever used them and slept heavily enough to make Harry glad he slept in the cupboard, where the sound of Dudley's snoring had a muffled effect. Curling up in his bed, waiting for supper time to arrive, Harry plotted his heist.

It was 10pm. The house was asleep, the crickets in the garden were uproarious in their chants and Harry was tiptoeing his way upstairs. He thanked God he was so light, otherwise he would have tripped the alarm, which was the lone creaky step in the staircase. Heart in his mouth and lifting each foot ever so gently, setting it down precariously, as if stepping on glass, only to repeat the cycle, Harry finally made his way to the first floor. In front of him was Dudley's first room where he slept, next to it was the end of Harry's tunnel vision, Dudley's second room , the one where Dudley kept all the toys and things that wouldn't fit into his first bedroom. It was perfect for Harry's plan as Dudley's gifts included books, items he would never touch. Thus Harry could easily rip out a page, he was sure Dudley had gotten a register at some point in time, and use it for his letter. Stealthily creeping over to the door, Harry turned the doorknob, wishing mentally with all his heart as he did so "please let there be no noise" repeatedly like a mantra, somehow incredibly there was no sound and Harry slipped inside like a shadow. Fortunately for him, the window had been left open and the moon laminated the room well enough for Harry to observe his surroundings. Unsurprisingly nearly everything in it was broken. The month-old video camera was lying on top of a small, working tank Dudley had once driven over the next door neighbor's dog; in the corner was Dudley's first-ever television set, which he'd put his foot through when his favorite program had been canceled; there was a large birdcage, which had once held a parrot that Dudley had swapped at school for a real air rifle, which was up on a shelf with the end all bent because Dudley had sat on it. Other shelves were full of books. They were the only things in the room that looked as though they'd never been touched, just as Harry had suspected. He immediately walked over to the shelves, being careful to not step on anything that would make noise and ruin his scheme. Spotting a register amongst a trifecta of educational reads, its telltale logo visible on the spine, Harry carefully, painstakingly inched it out of the shelf and messed. His fingers fumbled and instead of sliding the register out it fell to him. He desperately got his hands up to catch it nearly fell over with the unexpected weight being almost too much for his weak frame. Scowling bitterly Harry cursed the Durselys for never giving him the nutrition he needed. Still, if all went well he'd soon be out of this hell, well most of the time at least. With that pleasant thought, Harry gently set the register down and pulled out a pen and began to write.

"Dear Deputy Headmistress McGonagall

I hope this letter finds you in good health, I just recently got your letter and I must say, it was quite the shock…."

Aided by the moon's welcome luminescence, Harry kept writing for half an hour. At 10:45pm he finally looked at his watch. Satisfied with his work, he capped his pen, and bit by bit tore off the pages he had written on. Desperately wishing yet again for no noise to reach any of the three Dursley's ears. Somehow his plea worked and none of the Dursleys stirred, from what he could hear. Finally done and miraculously safe, Harry place the register back in its place, folded his letter up and crept out back down to his cupboard. Now with his task more than partially complete he was a lot less careful and hurriedly got back down to his cupboard. Once inside Harry yelled in delight, in as low a volume he could muster. Grinning contentedly, he let himself drift into the realm of Morpheus. His letter nestled securely within the pile of clothes aunt Petunia had sworn to never touch directly.

The first few rays of dawn crept in through the window that looked out to the garden and crept all the way to Harry's cupboard and breached the door by slipping in through the cracks. Finally falling on his face. Maybe it was his excitement for today, maybe his sub consciousness primed for his plan for today, or maybe it was just plain magic. Because as soon as the rays hit his face, Harry woke up and smiled. Today was the day where he would effectively put into motion the plan that would eventually free him of the Dursleys, provide the answers he had been looking for and have him extract revenge from the people that had abandoned him, if they so deserved it. With the last thought Harry's smile morphed into a grim look. He checked his watch, it was 7am. The Dursleys would rather give him dessert then wake up at such an ungodly hour on a Saturday. Pleased at how early he'd woken up, Harry smiled. This will certainly speed up my plans he thought happily. He had previously decided to go out later in the day and find the owl, but now he could do so right now, a part of him was skeptical considering owls were nocturnal, but then again, owls didn't normally deliver letters to magical institutions. Additionally if for some reason the owl wasn't there, he could wait for the postman to show up and talk to him about his letter without fear of being caught by the Dursleys. Indeed, this was a great stroke of luck. Getting up and pulling out his letter from the pile of clothes he'd placed them under, Harry thought about how he would attach the letter to the owl. I could take a piece of string and tie it to the owl, maybe that would work? But would that hold for the entirety of the journey? What if the weather worsens and it gets damaged and falls off? Troubled by these thoughts, Harry wondered what to do. I know I can't plan for every possibility but this is still mortifying, this letter is extremely vital to my plans, I suppose all I can do is attach it as well as possible for me and hope there is some magical backup. Nodding to himself Harry pulled out the piece of string he kept with him from his small drawer, which he used to tie up plants that had been damaged by Dudley's antics. It was one of the rare few luxuries he was allowed.

Silently leaving his cupboard, Harry made his way to the front door. Praying to God furiously that just like the last two times, no noise was made, Harry gently opened the door, to his growing shock at every time the miracle reoccurred, there was no sound. Smiling in relief Harry and made his way outside. The sun was shining in all its glory and Harry was awestruck for a minute. The bright yet currently gentle light illuminating everything around him. With that Harry slightly altered what type of person he was going to become. He would mold himself to be the person that radiated warmth, hope and safety, making all those in his presence feel secure, at peace and happy. Damn, what is up with all of my treehugging hippie thoughts these days, am I going around the bend? Harry questioned himself. Unsure whether the brunt of his childhood was making him loopy or if it was something related to magic. Little did he know, it was. He walked towards the garden, hoping against all hope the owl would be there. To his great disappointment he couldn't see the owl, or any bird for that matter. Well shit, what am I going to do now? I'm not sure if I can afford to pay the postman to deliver my letter and without the owl I have no other option. Lost in his increasingly depressing thoughts, he was given quite the surprise when a handsome tawny owl flew out from one of the neighboring garden's trees.

"Holy shit you owls love going against logic don't you? Sleeping during the day, choosing to live as couriers and freaking people out when you could just wait in plain sight?" Harry said startled, half angry, half relieved. The owl just hooted in what Harry swore was amusement and held out its beak. What the hell? I thought I was supposed to tie it to its feet? As if sensing his bewilderment, the owl hooted in what he thought was exasperation and again brought its beak forward, this time pointing towards it with its leg for extra effect. Well if that's how it wants to do things, who am I to complain? With that thought Harry pulled out his letter, tied together the pages with his string and placed it within the owl's beak. It instantly took off. Well that was melodramatic. Although he was glad it was over, now all that was left was working on the persona he would need to assume when he got his meeting. That is if he got hi s meeting, Harry chided himself. Still in high spirits, Harry watched as the owl flew further and further away in the distance until it was merely a speck in the sky. Smiling at the success of part one of his plan, Harry quietly made his way back inside.

A week later

Minerva McGonagall was going through the list of students set to join Hogwarts in a few months in her office. The fireplace was silent as the weather was too warm for such commodities. She was keeping herself fresh through the use of a couple of mild cooling charms. Gryffindor scarlet hues dyed her office a striking shade, yet they were surprisingly not irritating to the eyes, courtesy of a bit of clever wand work on her part. As she looked over the names of the soon to be students, her gaze fell on one particular name, a name that had challenged her conscience for 10 long years. Harry Potter. Reading it made her take a hearty swig of her firewhisky, groaning in delight as the liquid burned its way down her throat, quelling her negative emotions and numbing the moral stings. She did not need any more reminders of the decision she would label as a mistake if not for her unshakeable trust in Albus. As she wondered how young Harry was doing, he'd probably be nearing 11 at this time, an owl flew in through the window designed specifically for owls. It looked haggard but determined. She recognized the brown coloured owl immediately and stretched out her hand for the visibly exhausted owl to rest upon.

"Here now Alfred, you've done a good job, you can go rest now." Taking the multiple letters out from his beak, to which Alfred hooted in pleasure, she allowed him rest and he took off towards the school owlery. She began going through the various responses from parents, most just simple acknowledgements of parents whose children had been accepted, asides from the occasional letter asking for clarifications on school policies and required items. She had resigned herself to an ordinary day spent answering letters and compiling the list of confirmed students when she saw a letter that stunned her speechless. It was addressed to her and underneath her name was written Hogawarts School of witchcraft and wizardry, however below it was the name of the sender, which had currently shocked her, although it wasn't the incorrect formatting which it had induced such a reaction from the normally calm, in control deputy headmistress. Harry Potter written in clear neat handwriting were the words that had done so. Speak of the devil, but why has he written to me? Albus had assured me that the Dursleys would explain everything to him, so why should he feel the need to write? Unless, panic gripped her. The initial suspicions she had held about the Dursleys were brewing up again. She hurriedly opened up the letter and began reading. Steadily the features on her face went from slightly worried, to shocked, enraged and after 10 minutes of furious reading and rechecking, her countenance held the visage of a woman out for blood. With the name of a rather eccentric old man on her lips, along with a lot more endearments, the kindest of which being "meddling , treacherous old shit", and fire in her eyes, Minerva rushed out of her room, heading straight towards the mentioned old man's office.

Thousands of miles away, in surrey, little did Harry know that thanks to his actions, an old man was about to get royally fucked.

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Solid criticism and support is valued, negative feedback without any rational reasoning to it will be treated with the same importance as Percy in Heroes of Olympus. I'm extremely grateful to Noodelhammer for his advice in how to structure this and work "For love of magic", both have which inspired and helped me while writing.

The next chapter will take at least a week, unless I get struck with a bolt of inspiration and energy. Quarantine has done things to my sleep schedule and this will impact the speed of my updates.