A/N New story! I was going to take some time off from my other two stories
so that I could reread the books, but I ended up writing a new one.
I realize that most of this chapter is taken from the books, but it is necessary. I promise.
Re-posted with all of the errors my wonderful beta found, fixed up all nice and pretty.
And now.
Chapter One
Albus Dumbledore, Minerva McGonagall, and Rubeus Hagrid left Privet Drive, each going their separate ways. They were saddened to abandon the tiny hero lying on the front porch of number four. They took comfort though in knowing that they would see this child again, that they would teach him, in just ten short years.
Petunia Dursley rapped sharply on the door of the small cupboard beneath the stairs, calling the sleeping boy within to the kitchen. Today was Dudley Dursley's eleventh birthday. This meant that the table was piled high with presents. Dudley and his friend Piers were bound for a day of fun, and Harry was off to the neighbor's house for the day.
As Harry was setting breakfast on the table, the phone rang. It seemed that Harry was in luck, as Mrs. Figg, the neighbor who always watched him, had been taken to the hospital earlier that morning with a broken leg. Harry's relatives were left with no choice but to take him with them.
Before leaving, Vernon Dursley took his nephew aside for a few words.
"You will behave yourself, boy," Uncle Vernon commanded.
"Yes, sir," Harry agreed.
Harry didn't understand why they always warned him to behave. He had only had the school call about him once. When he was seven Aunt Petunia got a call one morning from the principal saying that Harry had been cutting his own hair. He had shown up to class with no hair on his head longer than a quarter of an inch, except for his bangs, which were just as long as they had been the day before. The truth of the matter was that Harry hadn't touched his hair. Aunt Petunia gotten so tired of his hair sticking up in every direction even when he had just come back from having it cut that she took matters into her own hands. She cut it to look like that on purpose, leaving his bangs to hide the thin lightening bolt shaped scar on his forehead.
Dudley on the other hand had at least one teacher calling the house per week, and they never told him to behave. Harry was used to it though and found it easiest to just agree.
Harry had a great day. The beautiful animals the zoo held fascinated him like they did every kid his age. Dudley's tantrums about not getting enough ice cream, about how hot it was, and about how boring the animals were got on Harry's nerves, but it was better than spending the day looking at pictures of Mrs. Figg's cats.
They solved the problem of the heat by taking refuge in the reptile house, which Dudley deemed boring when he, Piers, and Uncle Vernon were unable to wake a huge boa constrictor by beating on the glass of its terrarium.
The others moved on, but Harry stayed and stared at the snake. It was an amazing and beautiful creature if he really looked at it, which apparently only he did.
The snake raised its head and winked at the boy in front of it, giving Harry a look as though it would like very much to give people like Harry's relatives a good hard bite. Harry apologized for their behavior. It was a habit he had picked up somewhere along the way. He talked to animals, mostly the spiders that lived in his cupboard and even inanimate object on occasion. The odd thing this time was that the snake seemed to reply, not in words exactly, but it was a bit much to be put off as coincidence. The massive reptile shook and nodded its head as though it were answering Harry's questions.
It was one of the most intelligent conversations Harry had participated in since before he could remember, but it was cut short by a shout from Piers.
"DUDLEY! MR. DURSLEY! COME AND LOOK AT THIS SNAKE! YOU WON'T BELIEVE WHAT ITS DOING!"
Dudley and Uncle Vernon immediately pushed their way over to where Harry was to see. Dudley sent Harry to the floor in an effort to get a closer look. The snake curled back up as Dudley asked what the snake had been doing.
"Harry was talking to it. Weren't you Harry?" Piers replied as the boa constrictor behind him hissed, "Ssssorry, Amigo."
Uncle Vernon rushed them all out to the car, and took Piers home early. The man was quiet the whole way home. As a matter of fact he had yet to say anything at all since he announced that they were leaving the zoo.
Harry entered the house and was quickly making his way to his cupboard when he felt himself collide with the wall. He stood for a moment trying to remember how to breathe, then looked up and saw the bright red face of his uncle staring down at him.
"How dare you," Uncle Vernon said with his teeth clenched as though his jaw had been glued together. Harry started to open his mouth and speak, but before he could make a sound he was met with the back of Vernon's hand.
Harry placed the palm of his hand on his stinging cheek. He knew he hadn't been taken in as if he were their own. His aunt and uncle never treated him fair, but they had never actually hit him. That night changed that though, and Harry would soon come to find it commonplace.
Harry spent the next half-hour, though he could have sworn it was days, curled into the smallest form he could manage, receiving blow after blow from his uncle's boots, fists, and belt. He cried out for the man to stop, for someone to save him, and eventually just cried.
Apparently satisfied that he had learned his lesson, Vernon Dursley drug his nephew by the shirt collar over to the cupboard beneath the stairs and threw him in.
Harry lay still, listening as the rest of the house prepared for bed. Silent tears made their way down his face at the injustice of it all. He felt so alone in that tiny little cupboard. He had no one. His relatives hated him. No one at school would talk to him for fear of Dudley. No one would ever come and save him, and he just had to live with it. He would just have to learn to deal with it.
He soon found it completely normal to be in pain. Vernon's beatings were sporadic, as though his only goal was to make sure something on Harry always hurt. Just when Harry was starting to heal from one beating, his uncle would find something else to hit him for.
Harry awoke one morning shortly after school had let out for the summer and was about to leave the house to avoid meeting up with his cousin or his uncle when a terrible stench from the kitchen caught his nose. Curiosity won out over the desire to be elsewhere, and Harry went in search of what was causing the strange odor.
He found a tub of gray water in the sink, which held some sort of cloth at the bottom. When he asked what it was he got a dirty look and was told that it was some of Dudley's old clothes that were being dyed gray, and that he was expected to wear them to school.
Harry had been looking forward to school this year, as Dudley wouldn't be with him. Dudley was going to a prestigious private boarding school, whereas Harry would be attending the local public school. It looked as though Harry would be escaping Dudley for once, but there was going to be no escaping the fact that he would be wearing a dull gray circus tent in lieu of an actual school uniform.
Uncle Vernon and Dudley entered the kitchen, and there was a short argument over who would go and retrieve the mail. Harry lost and got up from the table, rubbing the now throbbing knot that was forming on the back of his head where Dudley hit him with his Smeltings stick.
Harry went to the door and grabbed the handful of mail from the floor. He thumbed through it as he walked back to the kitchen. He always looked, but had yet to find even one letter addressed to him. Not that it surprised him. He didn't know anybody, so who would write to him?
Harry spent the rest of the day wandering about Little Whinging, and even joined the library after one of the women he saw there everyday found out he wasn't a member, but elsewhere...
Professor Minerva McGonagall was standing on a moving spiral staircase, awaiting the appearance of the headmaster's office door. She entered and was greeted with a smile and the offer of a lemon drop, which she refused.
"There is a terrible problem with the list of potential first years, Headmaster," Professor McGonagall stated with no preamble.
"And what might that be, my dear professor?" Professor Dumbledore asked, though by the saddened look on his face, he knew.
"Harry Potter's name wasn't on the list. I checked three times, but its just not there," she replied.
"Yes," Dumbledore said, "I noticed that too." He didn't meet her questioning eyes, but instead selected a lemon drop and popped it in his mouth.
"I don't understand," the younger witch confessed. "The list holds the names of every child of the proper age who has displayed any magical ability. He turns eleven this year. He should be on the list."
Dumbledore looked up at her with a small sad smile. "You just answered your own question, Minerva," he said softly. At her confuse look he continued. "He is turning eleven very soon, but sadly he did not fulfill the other requirement."
"You're not serious, Albus. Harry Potter isn't... He can't be a..." she couldn't continue.
"The savior of the wizarding world does not posses enough magic to be considered a wizard," the old man said, the mirthless irony cheering neither member of the conversation. "Harry Potter is a squib."
Another A/N Thanks for reading. I already have the next chapter written. All I have to do know is type it and post it. Considering how long it took to wrangle enough time on the computer to type this one, I'm not really sure when I'm going to get it up.. Hopefully soon.
Feedback would be greatly appreciated, but try to be nice.
I realize that most of this chapter is taken from the books, but it is necessary. I promise.
Re-posted with all of the errors my wonderful beta found, fixed up all nice and pretty.
And now.
Chapter One
Albus Dumbledore, Minerva McGonagall, and Rubeus Hagrid left Privet Drive, each going their separate ways. They were saddened to abandon the tiny hero lying on the front porch of number four. They took comfort though in knowing that they would see this child again, that they would teach him, in just ten short years.
Petunia Dursley rapped sharply on the door of the small cupboard beneath the stairs, calling the sleeping boy within to the kitchen. Today was Dudley Dursley's eleventh birthday. This meant that the table was piled high with presents. Dudley and his friend Piers were bound for a day of fun, and Harry was off to the neighbor's house for the day.
As Harry was setting breakfast on the table, the phone rang. It seemed that Harry was in luck, as Mrs. Figg, the neighbor who always watched him, had been taken to the hospital earlier that morning with a broken leg. Harry's relatives were left with no choice but to take him with them.
Before leaving, Vernon Dursley took his nephew aside for a few words.
"You will behave yourself, boy," Uncle Vernon commanded.
"Yes, sir," Harry agreed.
Harry didn't understand why they always warned him to behave. He had only had the school call about him once. When he was seven Aunt Petunia got a call one morning from the principal saying that Harry had been cutting his own hair. He had shown up to class with no hair on his head longer than a quarter of an inch, except for his bangs, which were just as long as they had been the day before. The truth of the matter was that Harry hadn't touched his hair. Aunt Petunia gotten so tired of his hair sticking up in every direction even when he had just come back from having it cut that she took matters into her own hands. She cut it to look like that on purpose, leaving his bangs to hide the thin lightening bolt shaped scar on his forehead.
Dudley on the other hand had at least one teacher calling the house per week, and they never told him to behave. Harry was used to it though and found it easiest to just agree.
Harry had a great day. The beautiful animals the zoo held fascinated him like they did every kid his age. Dudley's tantrums about not getting enough ice cream, about how hot it was, and about how boring the animals were got on Harry's nerves, but it was better than spending the day looking at pictures of Mrs. Figg's cats.
They solved the problem of the heat by taking refuge in the reptile house, which Dudley deemed boring when he, Piers, and Uncle Vernon were unable to wake a huge boa constrictor by beating on the glass of its terrarium.
The others moved on, but Harry stayed and stared at the snake. It was an amazing and beautiful creature if he really looked at it, which apparently only he did.
The snake raised its head and winked at the boy in front of it, giving Harry a look as though it would like very much to give people like Harry's relatives a good hard bite. Harry apologized for their behavior. It was a habit he had picked up somewhere along the way. He talked to animals, mostly the spiders that lived in his cupboard and even inanimate object on occasion. The odd thing this time was that the snake seemed to reply, not in words exactly, but it was a bit much to be put off as coincidence. The massive reptile shook and nodded its head as though it were answering Harry's questions.
It was one of the most intelligent conversations Harry had participated in since before he could remember, but it was cut short by a shout from Piers.
"DUDLEY! MR. DURSLEY! COME AND LOOK AT THIS SNAKE! YOU WON'T BELIEVE WHAT ITS DOING!"
Dudley and Uncle Vernon immediately pushed their way over to where Harry was to see. Dudley sent Harry to the floor in an effort to get a closer look. The snake curled back up as Dudley asked what the snake had been doing.
"Harry was talking to it. Weren't you Harry?" Piers replied as the boa constrictor behind him hissed, "Ssssorry, Amigo."
Uncle Vernon rushed them all out to the car, and took Piers home early. The man was quiet the whole way home. As a matter of fact he had yet to say anything at all since he announced that they were leaving the zoo.
Harry entered the house and was quickly making his way to his cupboard when he felt himself collide with the wall. He stood for a moment trying to remember how to breathe, then looked up and saw the bright red face of his uncle staring down at him.
"How dare you," Uncle Vernon said with his teeth clenched as though his jaw had been glued together. Harry started to open his mouth and speak, but before he could make a sound he was met with the back of Vernon's hand.
Harry placed the palm of his hand on his stinging cheek. He knew he hadn't been taken in as if he were their own. His aunt and uncle never treated him fair, but they had never actually hit him. That night changed that though, and Harry would soon come to find it commonplace.
Harry spent the next half-hour, though he could have sworn it was days, curled into the smallest form he could manage, receiving blow after blow from his uncle's boots, fists, and belt. He cried out for the man to stop, for someone to save him, and eventually just cried.
Apparently satisfied that he had learned his lesson, Vernon Dursley drug his nephew by the shirt collar over to the cupboard beneath the stairs and threw him in.
Harry lay still, listening as the rest of the house prepared for bed. Silent tears made their way down his face at the injustice of it all. He felt so alone in that tiny little cupboard. He had no one. His relatives hated him. No one at school would talk to him for fear of Dudley. No one would ever come and save him, and he just had to live with it. He would just have to learn to deal with it.
He soon found it completely normal to be in pain. Vernon's beatings were sporadic, as though his only goal was to make sure something on Harry always hurt. Just when Harry was starting to heal from one beating, his uncle would find something else to hit him for.
Harry awoke one morning shortly after school had let out for the summer and was about to leave the house to avoid meeting up with his cousin or his uncle when a terrible stench from the kitchen caught his nose. Curiosity won out over the desire to be elsewhere, and Harry went in search of what was causing the strange odor.
He found a tub of gray water in the sink, which held some sort of cloth at the bottom. When he asked what it was he got a dirty look and was told that it was some of Dudley's old clothes that were being dyed gray, and that he was expected to wear them to school.
Harry had been looking forward to school this year, as Dudley wouldn't be with him. Dudley was going to a prestigious private boarding school, whereas Harry would be attending the local public school. It looked as though Harry would be escaping Dudley for once, but there was going to be no escaping the fact that he would be wearing a dull gray circus tent in lieu of an actual school uniform.
Uncle Vernon and Dudley entered the kitchen, and there was a short argument over who would go and retrieve the mail. Harry lost and got up from the table, rubbing the now throbbing knot that was forming on the back of his head where Dudley hit him with his Smeltings stick.
Harry went to the door and grabbed the handful of mail from the floor. He thumbed through it as he walked back to the kitchen. He always looked, but had yet to find even one letter addressed to him. Not that it surprised him. He didn't know anybody, so who would write to him?
Harry spent the rest of the day wandering about Little Whinging, and even joined the library after one of the women he saw there everyday found out he wasn't a member, but elsewhere...
Professor Minerva McGonagall was standing on a moving spiral staircase, awaiting the appearance of the headmaster's office door. She entered and was greeted with a smile and the offer of a lemon drop, which she refused.
"There is a terrible problem with the list of potential first years, Headmaster," Professor McGonagall stated with no preamble.
"And what might that be, my dear professor?" Professor Dumbledore asked, though by the saddened look on his face, he knew.
"Harry Potter's name wasn't on the list. I checked three times, but its just not there," she replied.
"Yes," Dumbledore said, "I noticed that too." He didn't meet her questioning eyes, but instead selected a lemon drop and popped it in his mouth.
"I don't understand," the younger witch confessed. "The list holds the names of every child of the proper age who has displayed any magical ability. He turns eleven this year. He should be on the list."
Dumbledore looked up at her with a small sad smile. "You just answered your own question, Minerva," he said softly. At her confuse look he continued. "He is turning eleven very soon, but sadly he did not fulfill the other requirement."
"You're not serious, Albus. Harry Potter isn't... He can't be a..." she couldn't continue.
"The savior of the wizarding world does not posses enough magic to be considered a wizard," the old man said, the mirthless irony cheering neither member of the conversation. "Harry Potter is a squib."
Another A/N Thanks for reading. I already have the next chapter written. All I have to do know is type it and post it. Considering how long it took to wrangle enough time on the computer to type this one, I'm not really sure when I'm going to get it up.. Hopefully soon.
Feedback would be greatly appreciated, but try to be nice.