Draco Malfoy X Male Reader - Tumblr Posts

𝙈𝙚𝙩𝙖𝙣𝙤𝙞𝙖 |𝘿𝙧𝙖𝙘𝙤 𝙈𝙖𝙡𝙛𝙤𝙮 𝙭 𝙈𝙖𝙡𝙚 𝙍𝙚𝙖𝙙𝙚𝙧|

𝐌𝐞𝐭𝐚𝐧𝐨𝐢𝐚 𝐧𝐨𝐮𝐧: 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐣𝐨𝐮𝐫𝐧𝐞𝐲 𝐨𝐟 𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐨𝐧𝐞'𝐬 𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐝, 𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐭, 𝐬𝐞𝐥𝐟, 𝐨𝐫 𝐰𝐚𝐲 𝐨𝐟 𝐥𝐢𝐟𝐞

This is the story of Y/n Sirius Potter, the twin brother of Harry James Potter, and his journey of finding himself and discovering his purpose in life and becoming part of something bigger than he'd ever imagined, oh and he also might find love with a blond boy called Draco Malfoy.

𝐏𝐫𝐨𝐥𝐨𝐠𝐮𝐞: 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐁𝐨𝐲𝐬 𝐖𝐡𝐨 𝐋𝐢𝐯𝐞𝐝

𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐎𝐧𝐞: 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐕𝐚𝐧𝐢𝐬𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐆𝐥𝐚𝐬𝐬

𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐓𝐰𝐨: 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐋𝐞𝐭𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐬 𝐅𝐫𝐨𝐦 𝐍𝐨 𝐎𝐧𝐞

𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐓𝐡𝐫𝐞𝐞: 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐊𝐞𝐞𝐩𝐞𝐫 𝐨𝐟 𝐊𝐞𝐲𝐬

𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐅𝐨𝐮𝐫: 𝐃𝐢𝐚𝐠𝐨𝐧 𝐀𝐥𝐥𝐞𝐲

𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐅𝐢𝐯𝐞: 𝐆𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐨𝐭𝐭𝐬

𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐒𝐢𝐱:𝐏𝐥𝐚𝐭𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐦 𝟗¾

𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐒𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐧: 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐒𝐨𝐫𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐇𝐚𝐭

Moodboards

Inspo

Song Recs/Playlist

𝐏𝐫𝐨𝐥𝐨𝐠𝐮𝐞: 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐁𝐨𝐲𝐬 𝐖𝐡𝐨 𝐋𝐢𝐯𝐞𝐝

Next Chapter

Mr. and Mrs. Dursley, of number four, Privet Drive, were proud to say that they were perfectly normal, thank you very much. They were the last people you'd expect to be involved in anything strange or mysterious because they just didn't hold with such nonsense.

Mr. Dursley was the director of a firm called Grunnings, which made drills. He was a big, beefy man with hardly any neck, although he did have a very large mustache. Mrs. Dursley was thin and blonde and had nearly twice the usual amount of neck, which came in very useful as she spent so much of her time craning over garden fences, spying on the neighbors. The Dursleys had a small son called Dudley and in their opinion, there was no finer boy anywhere.

The Dursleys had everything they wanted, but they also had a secret, and their greatest fear was that somebody would discover it. They didn't think they could bear it if anyone found out about the Potters. Mrs. Potter was Mrs. Dursley's sister, but they hadn't met for several years; in fact, Mrs. Dursley pretended she didn't have a sister, because her sister and her good-for-nothing husband were as un-Dursleyish as it was possible to be.

The Dursleys shuddered to think what the neighbors would say if the Potters arrived in the street. The Dursleys knew that the Potters had two small sons, too, but they had never even seen the boys. They were another good reason for keeping the Potters away; they didn't want Dudley mixing with children like that.

When Mr. and Mrs. Dursley woke up on the dull, gray Tuesday our story starts, there was nothing about the cloudy sky outside to suggest that strange and mysterious things would soon be happening all over the country. Mr. Dursley hummed as he picked out his most boring tie for work and Mrs. Dursley gossiped away happily as she wrestled a screaming Dudley into his high chair.

None of them noticed a large tawny owl flutter past the window.

At half-past eight, Mr. Dursley picked up his briefcase, pecked Mrs. Dursley on the cheek, and tried to kiss Dudley goodbye but missed, because Dudley was now having a tantrum and throwing his cereal at the walls. 'Little tyke,' chortled Mr. Dursley as he left the house. He got into his car and backed out of number four's drive.

It was on the corner of the street that he noticed the first sign of something peculiar—a cat reading a map. For a second, Mr. Dursley didn't realize what he had seen—then he jerked his head around to look again. There was a tabby cat standing on the corner of Privet Drive, but there wasn't a map in sight. What could he have been thinking of? It must have been a trick of the light. Mr. Dursley blinked and stared at the cat.

It stared back. As Mr. Dursley drove around the corner and up the road, he watched the cat in his mirror. It was now reading the sign that said Privet Drive—no, looking at the sign; cats couldn't read maps or signs. Mr. Dursley gave himself a little shake and put the cat out of his mind. As he drove towards town, he thought of nothing except a large order of drills he was hoping to get that day.

But on the edge of town, drills were driven out of his mind by something else. As he sat in the usual morning traffic jam, he couldn't help noticing that there seemed to be a lot of strangely dressed people about. People in cloaks. Mr. Dursley couldn't bear people who dressed in funny clothes—the get-ups you saw on young people! He supposed this was some stupid new fashion. He drummed his fingers on the steering wheel and his eyes fell on a huddle of these weirdos standing quite close by.

They were whispering excitedly together. Mr. Dursley was enraged to see that a couple of them weren't young at all; why that man had to be older than he was, and wearing an emerald-green cloak! The nerve of him! But then it struck Mr. Dursley that this was probably some silly stunt—these people were obviously collecting for something ... yes, that would be it. The traffic moved on, and a few minutes later, Mr. Dursley arrived in the Grunnings car park, his mind back on drills.

Mr. Dursley always sat with his back to the window in his office on the ninth floor. If he hadn't, he might have found it harder to concentrate on drills that morning. He didn't see the owls swooping past in broad daylight, though people down in the street did; they pointed and gazed open-mouthed as owl after owl sped overhead.

Most of them had never seen an owl, even at night-time. Mr. Dursley, however, had a perfectly normal, owl-free morning. He yelled at five different people. He made several important telephone calls and shouted a bit more. He was in a very good mood until lunchtime, when he thought he'd stretch his legs and walk across the road to buy himself a bun from the baker's opposite.

He'd forgotten all about the people in cloaks until he passed a group of them next to the bakers. He eyed them angrily as he passed. He didn't know why, but they made him uneasy. This lot was whispering excitedly, too, and he couldn't see a single collecting tin. It was on his way back past them, clutching a large doughnut in a bag, that he caught a few words of what they were saying.

"The Potters, that's right, that's what I heard–"

"–yes, their sons, Harry and Y/n–"

Mr. Dursley stopped dead. Fear flooded him. He looked back at the whisperers as if he wanted to say something to them, but thought better of it.

He dashed back across the road, hurried up to his office, snapped at his secretary not to disturb him, seized his telephone, and had almost finished dialing his home number when he changed his mind. He put the receiver back down and stroked his mustache, thinking ... no, he was being stupid. Potter wasn't such an unusual name.

He was sure there were lots of people called Potter who had sons called Harry and Y/n. Come to think of it, he wasn't even sure his nephews were called Harry and Y/n. He'd never even seen the boys. It might have been Harvey, (similar name). Or Harold. There was no point in worrying Mrs. Dursley. She always got so upset at any mention of her sister. He didn't blame her—if he'd had a sister like that ... but all the same, those people in cloaks ...

He found it a lot harder to concentrate on drills that afternoon, and when he left the building at five o'clock, he was still so worried that he walked straight into someone just outside the door.

"Sorry," he grunted, as the tiny old man stumbled and almost fell. It was a few seconds before Mr. Dursley realized that the man was wearing a violet cloak. He didn't seem at all upset at being almost knocked to the ground. On the contrary, his face split into a wide smile and he said in a squeaky voice that made passersby stare: "Don't be sorry, my dear sir, for nothing could upset me today! Rejoice, for You-Know-Who has gone at last! Even Muggles like yourself should be celebrating this happy, happy day!"

And the old man hugged Mr. Dursley around the middle and walked off.

Mr. Dursley stood rooted to the spot. He had been hugged by a complete stranger. He also thought he had been called a Muggle, whatever that was. He was rattled. He hurried to his car and set off home, hoping he was imagining things, which he had never hoped before, because he didn't approve of imagination.

As he pulled into the driveway of number four, the first thing he saw—and it didn't improve his mood—was the tabby cat he'd spotted that morning. It was now sitting on his garden wall. He was sure it was the same one; it had the same markings around its eyes.

"Shoo!" said Mr. Dursley loudly.

The cat didn't move. It just gave him a stern look. Was this normal cat behavior, Mr. Dursley wondered. Trying to pull himself together, he let himself into the house. He was still determined not to mention anything to his wife.

Mrs. Dursley had had a nice, normal day. She told him over dinner all about Mrs. Next Door's problems with her daughter and how Dudley had learned a new word ('Shan't!'). Mr. Dursley tried to act normally. When Dudley had been put to bed, he went into the living room in time to catch the last report on the evening news:

"And finally, bird-watchers everywhere have reported that the nation's owls have been behaving very unusually today. Although owls normally hunt at night and are hardly ever seen in daylight, there have been hundreds of sightings of these birds flying in every direction since sunrise. Experts are unable to explain why the owls have suddenly changed their sleeping patterns.' The newsreader allowed himself a grin. 'Most mysterious. And now, over to Jim McGuffin with the weather. Going to be any more showers of owls tonight, Jim?"

"Well, Ted,' said the weatherman, 'I don't know about that, but it's not only the owls that have been acting oddly today. Viewers as far apart as Kent, Yorkshire and Dundee have been phoning in to tell me that instead of the rain I promised yesterday, they've had a downpour of shooting stars! Perhaps people have been celebrating Bonfire Night early—it's not until next week, folks! But I can promise a wet night tonight."

Mr. Dursley sat frozen in his armchair. Shooting stars all over Britain? Owls flying by daylight? Mysterious people in cloaks all over the place? And a whisper, a whisper about the Potters ...

Mrs. Dursley came into the living room carrying two cups of tea. It was no good. He'd have to say something to her. He cleared his throat nervously. "Er—Petunia, dear—you haven't heard from your sister lately, have you?"

As he had expected, Mrs. Dursley looked shocked and angry. After all, they normally pretended she didn't have a sister.

"No," she said sharply. "Why?"

"Funny stuff on the news," Mr. Dursley mumbled. "Owls ... shooting stars ... and there were a lot of funny-looking people in town today ..."

"So?" snapped Mrs. Dursley.

"Well, I just thought ... maybe ... it was something to do with ... you know ... her lot."

Mrs. Dursley sipped her tea through pursed lips. Mr. Dursley wondered whether he dared tell her he'd heard the name "Potter". He decided he didn't dare. Instead, he said, as casually as he could, "Their sons—they'd be about Dudley's age now, wouldn't they?"

"I suppose so," said Mrs. Dursley stiffly.

"What's their names again? Howard and (similar name), isn't it?"

"Harry and Y/n. Nasty, common names, if you ask me."

"Oh, yes," said Mr. Dursley, his heart sinking horribly. "Yes, I quite agree."

He didn't say another word on the subject as they went upstairs to bed. While Mrs. Dursley was in the bathroom, Mr. Dursley crept to the bedroom window and peered down into the front garden. The cat was still there. It was staring down Privet Drive as though it was waiting for something.

Was he imagining things? Could all this have anything to do with the Potters? If it did ... if it got out that they were related to a pair of—well, he didn't think he could bear it.

The Dursleys got into bed. Mrs. Dursley fell asleep quickly, but Mr. Dursley lay awake, turning it all over in his mind. His last, comforting thought before he fell asleep was that even if the Potters were involved, there was no reason for them to come near him and Mrs. Dursley. The Potters knew very well what he and Petunia thought about them and their kind ... He couldn't see how he and Petunia could get mixed up in anything that might be going on. He yawned and turned over. It couldn't affect them ...

How very wrong he was.

Mr. Dursley might have been drifting into an uneasy sleep, but the cat on the wall outside was showing no sign of sleepiness. It was sitting as still as a statue, its eyes fixed unblinkingly on the far corner of Privet Drive. It didn't so much as quiver when a car door slammed in the next street, nor when two owls swooped overhead. In fact, it was nearly midnight before the cat moved at all.

A man appeared on the corner the cat had been watching, appeared so suddenly and silently you'd have thought he'd just popped out of the ground. The cat's tail twitched and its eyes narrowed.

Nothing like this man had ever been seen on Privet Drive. He was tall, thin, and very old, judging by the silver of his hair and beard, which were both long enough to tuck into his belt. He was wearing long robes, a purple cloak which swept the ground, and high-heeled, buckled boots. His blue eyes were light, bright, and sparkling behind half-moon spectacles and his nose was very long and crooked, as though it had been broken at least twice. This man's name was Albus Dumbledore.

Albus Dumbledore didn't seem to realize that he had just arrived in a street where everything from his name to his boots was unwelcome.

He was busy rummaging in his cloak, looking for something. But he did seem to realize he was being watched because he looked up suddenly at the cat, which was still staring at him from the other end of the street.

For some reason, the sight of the cat seemed to amuse him. He chuckled and muttered, "I should have known."

He had found what he was looking for in his inside pocket. It seemed to be a silver cigarette lighter. He flicked it open, held it up in the air and clicked it. The nearest street lamp went out with a little pop.

He clicked it again—the next lamp flickered into darkness. Twelve times he clicked the Put-Outer until the only lights left in the whole street were two tiny pinpricks in the distance, which were the eyes of the cat watching him.

If anyone looked out of their window now, even beady-eyed Mrs. Dursley, they wouldn't be able to see anything that was happening down on the pavement.

Dumbledore slipped the Put-Outer back inside his cloak and set off down the street towards number four, where he sat down on the wall next to the cat. He didn't look at it, but after a moment, he spoke to it.

"Fancy seeing you here, Professor McGonagall."

He turned to smile at the tabby, but it had gone. Instead, he was smiling at a rather severe-looking woman who was wearing square glasses exactly the shape of the markings the cat had had around its eyes. She, too, was wearing a cloak, an emerald one. Her black hair was drawn into a tight bun. She looked distinctly ruffled.

"How did you know it was me?" she asked.

"My dear Professor, I've never seen a cat sit so stiffly."

"You'd be stiff if you'd been sitting on a brick wall all day," said Professor McGonagall.

"All day? When you could have been celebrating? I must have passed a dozen feasts and parties on my way here." Professor McGonagall sniffed angrily.

"Oh yes, everyone's celebrating, all right," she said impatiently. "You'd think they'd be a bit more careful, but no—even the Muggles have noticed something's going on. It was on their news." She jerked her head back at the Dursleys' dark living-room window. "I heard it. Flocks of owls ... shooting stars ... Well, they're not completely stupid. They were bound to notice something. Shooting stars down in Kent—I'll bet that was Dedalus Diggle. He never had much sense."

"You can't blame them," said Dumbledore gently. 'We've had precious little to celebrate for eleven years.'

"I know that," said Professor McGonagall irritably. "But that's no reason to lose our heads. People are being downright careless, out on the streets in broad daylight, not even dressed in Muggle clothes, swapping rumors."

She threw a sharp, sideways glance at Dumbledore here, as though hoping he was going to tell her something, but he didn't, so she went on: "A fine thing it would be if, on the very day You-Know-Who seems to have disappeared, at last, the Muggles found out about us all. I suppose he really has gone, Dumbledore?"

"It certainly seems so," said Dumbledore. "We have much to be thankful for. Would you care for a sherbet lemon?"

"A what?"

"A sherbet lemon. They're a kind of Muggle sweet I'm rather fond of."

"No, thank you," said Professor McGonagall coldly, as though she didn't think this was the moment for sherbet lemons. "As I say, even if You-Know-Who has gone–"

"My dear Professor, surely a sensible person like yourself can call him by his name? All this,"You-Know-Who" non-sense—for eleven years I have been trying to persuade people to call him by his proper name: Voldemort." Professor McGonagall flinched, but Dumbledore, who was unsticking two sherbet lemons, seemed not to notice. "It all gets so confusing if we keep saying,"You-Know-Who".' I have never seen any reason to be frightened of saying Voldemort's name.'

"I know you haven't," said Professor McGonagall, sounding half-exasperated, half-admiring. "But you're different. Everyone knows you're the only one You-Know—oh, all right, Voldemort—was frightened of."

"You flatter me," said Dumbledore calmly. "Voldemort had powers I will never have."

"Only because you're too—well, noble to use them."

"It's lucky it's dark. I haven't blushed so much since Madam Pomfrey told me she liked my new earmuffs."

Professor McGonagall shot a sharp look at Dumbledore and said, "The owls are nothing to the rumors that are flying around. You know what everyone's saying? About why he's disappeared? About what finally stopped him?"

It seemed that Professor McGonagall had reached the point she was most anxious to discuss, the real reason she had been waiting on a cold hard wall all day, for neither as a cat nor as a woman had she fixed Dumbledore with such a piercing stare as she did now. It was plain that whatever 'everyone' was saying, she was not going to believe it until Dumbledore told her it was true. Dumbledore, however, was choosing another sherbet lemon and did not answer.

"What they're saying," she pressed on, "is that last night Voldemort turned up in Godric's Hollow. He went to find the Potters. The rumor is that Lily and James Potter are—are—that they're—dead."

Dumbledore bowed his head. Professor McGonagall gasped.

"Lily and James ... I can't believe it ... I didn't want to believe it ... Oh, Albus ..."

Dumbledore reached out and patted her on the shoulder. "I know ... I know ..." he said heavily.

Professor McGonagall's voice trembled as she went on. "That's not all. They're saying he tried to kill the Potters' sons, Harry and Y/n. But—he couldn't. He couldn't kill those little boys. No one knows why, or how, but they're saying that when he couldn't kill Harry and Y/n Potter, Voldemort's power somehow broke—and that's why he's gone."

Dumbledore nodded glumly.

"It's—it's true?" faltered Professor McGonagall. "After all, he's done ... all the people he's killed ... he couldn't kill two little boys? It's just astounding ... of all the things to stop him ... but how in the name of heaven did Harry and Y/n survive?"

"We can only guess," said Dumbledore. "We may never know."

Professor McGonagall pulled out a lace handkerchief and dabbed at her eyes beneath her spectacles. Dumbledore gave a great sniff as he took a golden watch from his pocket and examined it. It was a very odd watch. It had twelve hands but no numbers; instead, little planets were moving around the edge. It must have made sense to Dumbledore, though, because he put it back in his pocket and said, "Hagrid's late. I suppose it was he who told you I'd be here, by the way?"

"Yes," said Professor McGonagall. "And I don't suppose you're going to tell me why you're here, of all places?"

"I've come to bring Harry and Y/n to his aunt and uncle. They're the only family they have left now."

"You don't mean—you can't mean the people who live here?" cried Professor McGonagall, jumping to her feet and pointing at number four. "Dumbledore—you can't. I've been watching them all day. You couldn't find two people who are less like us. And they've got this son—I saw him kicking his mother all the way up the street, screaming for sweets. Harry and Y/n Potter come and live here!"

"It's the best place for them," said Dumbledore firmly. "They're aunt and uncle will be able to explain everything to them when they're older. I've written them a letter."

"A letter?" repeated Professor McGonagall faintly, sitting back down on the wall. "Really, Dumbledore, you think you can explain all this in a letter? These people will never understand him! They'll be famous—a legend—I wouldn't be surprised if today was known as Harry and Y/n Potter Day in the future; there will be books written about Harry and Y/n; every child in our world will know their name!"

"Exactly," said Dumbledore, looking very seriously over the top of his half-moon glasses. "It would be enough to turn any boy's head. Famous before they can walk and talk! Famous for something they won't even remember! Can't you see how much better off they'll be, growing up away from all that until they're ready to take it?"

Professor McGonagall opened her mouth, changed her mind, swallowed and then said, "Yes—yes, you're right, of course. But how are the boys getting here, Dumbledore?" She eyed his cloak suddenly as though she thought he might be hiding Harry and Y/n underneath it.

"Hagrid's bringing them."

"You think it—wise—to trust Hagrid with something as important as this?"

"I would trust Hagrid with my life," said Dumbledore.

"I'm not saying his heart isn't in the right place," said Professor McGonagall grudgingly, "but you can't pretend he's not careless. He does tend to—what was that?"

A low rumbling sound had broken the surrounding silence. It grew steadily louder as they looked up and down the street for some sign of a headlight; it swelled to a roar as they both looked up at the sky—and a huge motorbike fell out of the air and landed on the road in front of them.

If the motorbike was huge, it was nothing to the man sitting astride it. He was almost twice as tall as a normal man and at least five times as wide. He looked simply too big to be allowed, and so wild—long tangles of bushy black hair and beard hid most of his face. He had hands the size of dustbin lids and his feet in their leather boots were like baby dolphins. In his vast, muscular arms, he was holding a bundle of blankets.

"Hagrid," said Dumbledore, sounding relieved. "At last. And where did you get that motorbike?"

"Borrowed it, Professor Dumbledore, sir," said the giant, climbing carefully off the motorbike as he spoke. "Young Sirius Black lent it to me. I've got them, sir."

"No problems, were there?"

"No, sir—the house was almost destroyed, but I got them both out all right before the Muggles started swarmin' around. They fell asleep as we was flyin' over Bristol."

Dumbledore and Professor McGonagall bent forward over the bundles of blankets. Inside, just visible, were two baby boys, fast asleep. Under a tuft of jet-black hair and h/c hair over their foreheads, they could see a curiously shaped cut, like a bolt of lightning.

"Is that where–?" whispered Professor McGonagall.

"Yes," said Dumbledore. "They'll have that scar forever."

"Couldn't you do something about it, Dumbledore?"

"Even if I could, I wouldn't. Scars can come in useful. I have one myself above my left knee, which is a perfect map of the London Underground. Well—give them here, Hagrid—we'd better get this over with."

Dumbledore took Harry and Y/n in his arms and turned towards the Dursleys' house.

"Could I—could I say goodbye to them, sir?" asked Hagrid.

He bent his great, shaggy head over Harry and Y/n and gave them what must have been a very scratchy, whiskery kiss. Then, suddenly, Hagrid let out a howl like a wounded dog.

"Shhh!" hissed Professor McGonagall. "You'll wake the Muggles!"

"S-s-sorry," sobbed Hagrid, taking out a large spotted handkerchief and burying his face in it. "But I c-c-can't stand it—Lily an' James dead—an' poor little Harry and Y/n off ter live with Muggles―"

"Yes, yes, it's all very sad, but get a grip on yourself, Hagrid, or we'll be found," Professor McGonagall whispered, patting

Hagrid gingerly on the arm as Dumbledore stepped over the low garden wall and walked to the front door. He laid Harry and Y/n gently on the doorstep, took a letter out of his cloak, tucked it inside Harry's blankets and then came back to the other two. For a full minute, the three of them stood and looked at the little bundle; Hagrid's shoulders shook, Professor McGonagall blinked furiously and the twinkling light that usually shone from Dumbledore's eyes seemed to have gone out.

"Well," said Dumbledore finally, "that's that. We've no business staying here. We may as well go and join the celebrations."

"Yeah," said Hagrid in a very muffled voice. "I'd best get this bike away. G'night, Professor McGonagall—Professor Dumbledore, sir."

Wiping his streaming eyes on his jacket sleeve, Hagrid swung himself onto the motorbike and kicked the engine into life; with a roar, it rose into the air and off into the night.

"I shall see you soon, I expect, Professor McGonagall," said Dumbledore, nodding to her. Professor McGonagall blew her nose in reply.

Dumbledore turned and walked back down the street. On the corner, he stopped and took out the silver Put-Outer. He clicked it once and twelve balls of light sped back to their street lamps so that Privet Drive glowed suddenly orange and he could make out a tabby cat slinking around the corner at the other end of the street. He could just see the bundle of blankets on the step of number four.

"Good luck, Harry and Y/n," he murmured. He turned on his heel, and with a swish of his cloak, he was gone.

A breeze ruffled the neat hedges of Privet Drive, which lay silent and tidy under the inky sky. The very last place you would expect astonishing things to happen. Harry Potter rolled over inside his blankets without waking up, while his twin wrapped his chubby little arm around him. Holding him close. In the light, you could see the tear stains on Y/n's cheeks and his little fingers wrapped around Harry, almost afraid to let him go.

One small hand closed on the letter beside Harry and the boys slept on, not knowing they were special, not knowing they were famous, not knowing they would be woken in a few hours' time by Mrs. Dursley's scream as she opened the front door to put out the milk bottles, nor that they would spend the next few weeks being prodded and pinched by their cousin Dudley ... They couldn't know that at this very moment, people meeting in secret all over the country were holding up their glasses and saying in hushed voices: "To Harry and Y/n Potter—the boy's who lived!"

𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐎𝐧𝐞: 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐕𝐚𝐧𝐢𝐬𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐆𝐥𝐚𝐬𝐬

Next Chapter

Nearly ten years had passed since the Dursleys had woken up to find their nephews on the front step, but Privet Drive had hardly changed at all. The sun rose on the same tidy front gardens and lit up the brass number four on the Dursleys' front door; it crept into their living room, which was almost exactly the same as it had been on the night when Mr. Dursley had seen that fateful news report about the owls. Only the photographs on the mantelpiece really showed how much time had passed.

Ten years ago, there had been lots of pictures of what looked like a large pink beach ball wearing different-colored bonnets ― but Dudley Dursley was no longer a baby, and now the photographs showed a large blond boy riding his first bicycle, on a carousel at the fair, playing a computer game with his father, being hugged and kissed by his mother. The room held no sign at all that two other boys lived in the house, too. Yet Harry and Y/n Potter were still there, asleep at the moment, but not for long. Their Aunt Petunia was awake, and it was her shrill voice that made the first noise of the day.

"Up! Get up! Now!"

Harry woke with a start while his twin made a groggy sound. His aunt rapped on the door again."Up!" she screeched. Harry heard her walking toward the kitchen and then the sound of the frying pan being put on the stove. He rolled onto his back and tried to remember the dream he had been having. It had been a14good one. There had been a flying motorcycle in it. He had a funny feeling he'd had the same dream before. Y/n yawned and stretched his arms above his head, yawing loudly. He ran his fingers through his hair and looked up at his twin brother, Harry.

"Morning Harry," he greeted.

"Morning Y/n, sleep well?" Harry asked. Y/n nodded. "I had a dream about mum," he whispered into the quite dusty broom cabinet. Harry smiled at his brother and opened his mouth to reply, but before he knew it, his aunt was back outside the door."Are you up yet?" she demanded. "Nearly," said Y/n and Harry."Well, get a move on, I want you two to look after the bacon. And don't you dare let it burn. I want everything perfect on Duddy's birthday."Harry and his twin groaned."What did you say?" his aunt snapped through the door. "Nothing, nothing..." said Y/n.

Dudley's birthday ― how could Y/n have forgotten? Harry got slowly out of bed and started looking for socks. He found a pair under his bed and, after pulling a spider off one of them, put them on. Y/n chuckled and pulled on his own pair of socks, and stood up. He and Harry were used to spiders, because the cupboard under the stairs was full of them, and that was where they slept.

When they were both dressed, they went down the hall into the kitchen. The table was almost hidden beneath all Dudley's birthday presents. It looked as though Dudley had gotten the new computer he wanted, not to mention the second television and the racing bike. Exactly why Dudley wanted a racing bike was a mystery to Harry and Y/n, as Dudley was very fat and hated exercise ― unless, of course, it involved punching somebody. Dudley's favorite punching bag was Harry and Y/n, but he couldn't often catch them. Harry and Y/n didn't look like it, but they were very fast. Perhaps it had something to do with living in a dark cupboard, but the boys had always been small and skinny for their age. Y/n looked even smaller and skinnier than he really was because all he and Harry had to wear were old clothes of Dudley's, and Dudley was about four times bigger than they both were.

Harry had a thin face, knobbly knees, black hair, and bright green eyes. He wore round glasses held together with a lot of Scotch tape because of all the times Dudley had punched him on the nose. While Y/n had also had knobbly knees and was thin, he had h/c hair with e/c eyes. He did/didn't were glasses. The only thing Harry and Y/n liked about their own appearance was a very thin scar on their forehead that was shaped like a bolt of lightning. Y/n had had it as long as he could remember, and the first question he could ever remember asking his Aunt Petunia was how he had gotten it.

"In the car crash when your parents died," she had said. "And don't ask questions."Don't ask questions― that was the first rule for a quiet life with the Dursleys. Uncle Vernon entered the kitchen as Harry was turning over the bacon.

"Comb your hair!" he barked at Harry and Y/n―before glaring at Y/n who was serving the coffee that was not burnt―by way of a morning greeting. About once a week, Uncle Vernon looked over the top of his newspaper and shouted that Harry and Y/n needed a haircut. Y/n must have had more haircuts than the rest of the boys in his class put together, but it made no difference, his hair simply grew that way ― all over the place.

Harry was frying eggs by the time Dudley arrived in the kitchen with his mother. Dudley looked a lot like Uncle Vernon. He had a large pink face, not much neck, small, watery blue eyes, and thick blond hair that lay smoothly on his thick, fat head. Aunt Petunia often said that Dudley looked like a baby angel―Harry and Y/n often said that Dudley looked like a pig in a wig. Harry put the plates of egg and bacon on the table, which was difficult, as there wasn't much room. Dudley, meanwhile, was counting his presents. His face fell."Thirty-six," he said, looking up at his mother and father.

"That's two less than last year."

"Darling, you haven't counted Auntie Marge's present. See, it's here under this big one from Mommy and Daddy."

"All right, thirty-seven then," said Dudley, going red in the face. Y/n, who could see a huge Dudley tantrum coming on, began wolfing down his bacon as fast as possible in case Dudley turned the table over. Aunt Petunia obviously scented danger, too, because she said quickly, "And we'll buy you another two presents while we're out today. How's that, Popkin? Two more presents. Is that all right'?" Dudley thought for a moment. It looked like hard work. Finally, he said slowly, "So I'll have thirty ... thirty..."

"Thirty-nine, sweetums," said Aunt Petunia."Oh." Dudley sat down heavily and grabbed the nearest parcel. "All right then."Uncle Vernon chuckled. "Little tyke wants his money's worth, just like his father. 'Atta boy, Dudley!" He ruffled Dudley's hair. At that moment the telephone rang and Aunt Petunia went to answer it while Harry, Y/n and Uncle Vernon watched Dudley unwrap the racing bike, a video camera, a remote control airplane, sixteen new computer games, and a VCR. He was ripping the paper off a gold wristwatch when Aunt Petunia came back from the telephone looking both angry and worried.

"Bad news, Vernon," she said. "Mrs. Figg's broken her leg. She can't take them." She jerked her head in Harry's and Y/n's direction. Dudley's mouth fell open in horror, but Y/n's heart gave a leap. Every year on Dudley's birthday, his parents took him and a friend out for the day, to adventure parks, hamburger restaurants, or the movies. Every year, Harry and Y/n were left behind with Mrs. Figg, a mad old lady who lived two streets away. Harry hated it there while Y/n enjoyed the old woman's company, even if she was a little bit bonkers. The whole house smelled of cabbage and Mrs. Figg made Harry and Y/m look at photographs of all the cats she'd ever owned."Now what?" said Aunt Petunia, looking furiously at Harry and Y/n as though they planned this. Harry knew he ought to feel sorry that Mrs. Figg had broken her leg, but it wasn't easy when he reminded himself it would be a whole year before he had to look at Tibbles, Snowy, Mr. Paws, and Tuffy again."We could phone Marge," Uncle Vernon suggested.

"Don't be silly, Vernon. She hates the boys."The Dursleys often spoke about Harry and Y/n like this, as though they weren't there ― or rather, as though he was something very nasty that couldn't understand them, like a slug.

"What about whats-her-name, your friend ― Yvonne?"

"On vacation in Majorca," snapped Aunt Petunia."You could just leave us here," Harry put in hopefully (he and Y/n would be able to watch what they wanted on television for a change and maybe even have a go on Dudley's computer). Aunt Petunia looked as though she'd just swallowed a lemon.

"And come back and find the house in ruins?" she snarled."We won't blow up the house," said Y/n, but they weren't listening. "I suppose we could take them to the zoo," said Aunt Petunia slowly, "...and leave them in the car...."

"That car's new, they are not sitting in it alone...."Dudley began to cry loudly. In fact, he wasn't really crying ― it had been years since he'd really cried ― but he knew that if he screwed up his face and wailed, his mother would give him anything he wanted."Dinky Duddydums, don't cry. Mummy won't let him spoil your special day!" she cried, flinging her arms around him."I... don't... want... them... t-t-to come!" Dudley yelled between huge, pretend sobs. "They always sp- spoils everything!" He shot Harry and Y/n a nasty grin through the gap in his mother's arms. Just then, the doorbell rang― "Oh, good Lord, they're here!" said Aunt Petunia frantically ― and a moment later, Dudley's best friend, Piers Polkiss, walked in with his mother. Piers was a scrawny boy with a face like a rat. He was usually the one who held people's arms behind their backs while Dudley hit them. Dudley stopped pretending to cry at once. Half an hour later, Harry and Y/n, who couldn't believe their luck, was sitting in the back of the Dursleys' car with (with Y/n squeezed in between Harry and Piers) Piers and Dudley, on the way to the zoo for the first time in their life.

Their aunt and uncle hadn't been able to think of anything else to do with them, but before they'd left, Uncle Vernon had taken Harry and Y/n aside. "I'm warning you," he had said, putting his large purple face right up close to Harry's and Y/n's, "I'm warning you now, boy's― any funny business, anything at all―and you'll be in that cupboard from now until Christmas."

"I'm not going to do anything," said Harry, "Honestly..." said Y/n, trying his convince his Uncle. But Uncle Vernon didn't believe them. No one ever did. The problem was, strange things often happened around Harry and Y/n and it was just no good telling the Dursleys that they didn't make them happen. Once, Aunt Petunia, tired of Harry and Y/n coming back from the barbers looking as though he hadn't been at all, had taken a pair of kitchen scissors and cut his hair so short they were almost bald except for their bangs, which she left "to hide those horrible scars." Dudley had laughed himself silly at Harry and Y/n, who spent a sleepless night imagining school the next day, where they were already laughed at for their baggy clothes and Harry's taped glasses. Next morning, however, Y/n had gotten up to find his hair exactly as it had been before Aunt Petunia had sheared it off. He and Harry had been given a week in their cupboard for this, even though they both had tried to explain that they couldn't explain how it had grown back so quickly. Another time, Aunt Petunia had been trying to force him and Harry into a revolting old sweater of Dudley's (brown with orange puff balls) ― The harder she tried to pull it over Y/n's head, the smaller it seemed to become until finally, it might have fitted a hand puppet, but certainly wouldn't fit Y/n. Aunt Petunia had decided it must have shrunk in the wash and, to his great relief, Y/n wasn't punished. On the other hand, he'd gotten into terrible trouble for being found on the roof of the school kitchens with Harry. Dudley's gang had been chasing them as usual when, as much to Harry's and Y/n's surprise as anyone else's, there they were sitting on the chimney. The Dursleys had received a very angry letter from Harry's and Y/n's headmistress, telling them Harry and his brother had been climbing school buildings. But all Y/n tried to do (as he shouted at Uncle Vernon through the locked door of his cupboard) was jump behind the big trashcans outside the kitchen doors. Y/n and Harry supposed that the wind must have caught them in mid-jump.

But today, nothing was going to go wrong. It was even worth being with Dudley and Piers to be spending the day somewhere that wasn't school, his cupboard, or Mrs. Figg's cabbage-smelling living room.

While he drove, Uncle Vernon complained to Aunt Petunia. He liked to complain about things: people at work, Harry, Y/n, the council, Harry, the bank, Y/n, and Harry were just a few of his favorite subjects. This morning, it was motorcycles.

"... roaring along like maniacs, the young hoodlums," he said, as a motorcycle overtook them. "I had a dream about a motorcycle," said Harry, remembering suddenly. Y/n turned to look at his twin, curiosity in his eyes. "It was flying."

Uncle Vernon nearly crashed into the car in front. He turned right around in his seat and yelled at Harry, his face like a gigantic beet with a mustache: "MOTORCYCLES DON'T FLY!"

Dudley and Piers sniggered. "I know they don't," said Harry. "It was only a dream."But he wished he hadn't said anything. If there was one thing the Dursleys hated even more than their asking questions, it was them talking about anything acting in a way it shouldn't, no matter if it was in a dream or even a cartoon ― they seemed to think that they might get dangerous ideas. Y/n looked at his brother and grabbed his hand and squeezed it in a comforting manner, telling his brother that he was there.

It was a very sunny Saturday, and the zoo was crowded with families. The Dursleys bought Dudley and Piers large chocolate ice creams at the entrance and then because the smiling lady in the van had asked Harry and Y/n what they wanted before they could hurry them away; they bought the boys a cheap lemon ice pop. It wasn't bad, either, Y/n thought, licking it as they watched a gorilla scratching its head who looked remarkably like Dudley, except that it wasn't blond.

"To be honest," said Y/n as he licked it. "it's not bad," Harry smiled a little at his optimistic twin. If there was one thing that separated them was Y/n's optimism and unwavering loyalty and kindness. "I agree," said Harry and Y/n smiled at him.

Harry and Y/n had the best morning they'd had in a long time. Of course, they were careful to walk a little way apart from the Dursleys so that Dudley and Piers, who were starting to get bored with the animals by lunchtime, wouldn't fall back on their favorite hobby of hitting him and Y/n. They ate in the zoo restaurant, and when Dudley had a tantrum because his knickerbocker glory didn't have enough ice cream on top, Uncle Vernon bought him another one, and Harry was allowed to finish the first. He, of course, shared with Y/n who thanked him quietly before taking back to look around at the other families. Dread and longing crept through his heart. He missed his parents, especially his mum's songs she would sing. But he was an orphan, along with his brother, and they were stuck with the worst people in the world. A sigh was all that Y/n let out before looking back at his twin.

Harry felt, afterward, that he should have known it was all too good to last. After lunch, they went to the reptile house. It was cool and dark in there, with lit windows all along the walls. Behind the glass, all sorts of lizards and snakes were crawling and slithering over bits of wood and stone. Dudley and Piers wanted to see huge, poisonous cobras and thick,man-crushing pythons. Dudley quickly found the largest snake in the place. It could have wrapped its body twice around Uncle Vernon's car and crushed it into a trash can ― but at the moment it didn't look in the mood. In fact, it was fast asleep. Dudley stood with his nose pressed against the glass, staring at the glistening brown coils."Make it move," he whined at his father. Uncle Vernon tapped on the glass, but the snake didn't budge."Do it again," Dudley ordered. "Stop it," whispered Y/n, glaring at his cousin. Couldn't the dimwit see that the snake was sleeping? Couldn't he respect its wishes to lie down and not be disturbed? Oh, he forgot, this was Dudley, a spoilt brat. Uncle Vernon rapped the glass smartly with his knuckles, but the snake just snoozed on.

"This is boring," Dudley moaned. He shuffled away. Harry and Y/n moved in front of the tank and looked intently at the snake. He wouldn't have been surprised if it had died of boredom itself ― no company except stupid people drumming their fingers on the glass, trying to disturb it all day long. It was worse than having a cupboard as a bedroom, where the only visitor was Aunt Petunia hammering on the door to wake you up; at least he got to visit the rest of the house. The snake suddenly opened its beady eyes. Slowly, very slowly, it raised its head until its eyes were on a level with Harry's and Y/n's. It winked. Harry and Y/n stared. Then Y/n looked quickly around to see if anyone was watching. They weren't. He looked back at the snake and winked, too. The snake jerked its head toward Uncle Vernon and Dudley, then raised its eyes to the ceiling. It gave Harry a look that said quite plainly: "I get that all the time." "I know," Harry murmured through the glass, though he wasn't sure the snake could hear him. "It must be really annoying," said Y/n. The snake nodded vigorously. "Where do you come from, anyway?" Harry asked. The snake jabbed its tail at a little sign next to the glass. Harry peered at it. Boa Constrictor, Brazil. "Was it nice there?" asked Harry. The boa constrictor jabbed its tail at the sign again and Y/n read on: This specimen was bred in the zoo. "Oh, I see ― so you've never been to Brazil?" As the snake shook its head, a deafening shout behind Harry and Y/n made both of them jump.

"DUDLEY! MR. DURSLEY! COME AND LOOK AT THIS SNAKE! YOU WON'T BELIEVE WHAT IT'S DOING!" Dudley came waddling toward them as fast as he could. "Out of the way, you two," he said, punching Harry in the ribs and kicking Y/n in the shins. Caught by surprise, Harry fell hard on the concrete floor while his twin leaned down to help him up. What came next happened so fast no one saw how it happened ― one second, Piers and Dudley were leaning right up close to the glass, the next, they had leaped back with howls of horror. Harry sat up and gasped; the glass front of the boa constrictor's tank had vanished. The great snake was uncoiling itself rapidly, slithering out onto the floor. People throughout the reptile house screamed and started running for the exits. Y/n just watched as the chaos unfolded and as the snake slid swiftly past him, Y/n could have sworn a low, hissing voice said, "Brazil, here I come... Thanksss, amigo." The keeper of the reptile house was in shock. "But the glass," he kept saying, "where did the glass go?" The zoo director himself made Aunt Petunia a cup of strong, sweet tea while he apologized over and over again. Piers and Dudley could only gibber. As far as Harry and Y/n had seen, the snake hadn't done anything except snap playfully at their heels as it passed, but by the time they were all back in Uncle Vernon's car, Dudley was telling them how it had nearly bitten off his leg, while Piers was swearing it had tried to squeeze him to death. But worst of all, for Harry at least, was Piers calming down enough to say, "Harry was talking to it, weren't you, Harry?" Uncle Vernon waited until Piers was safely out of the house before starting on Harry, as Y/n stayed with his brother. He was so angry he could hardly speak. He managed to say, "Go ―cupboard ― stay― no meals," before he collapsed into a chair, and Aunt Petunia had to run and get him a large brandy.

"Come on Harry," said Y/n, pulling on his twin's arm. Later, Harry and Y/n lay in their dark cupboard much later, wishing that they had a watch. Y/n didn't know what time it was and he couldn't be sure the Dursleys were asleep yet. Until they were, he couldn't risk sneaking to the kitchen for some food. Harry and Y/n lived with the Dursleys almost ten years, ten miserable years, as long as they could remember, ever since they'd been a baby and their parents had died in that car crash.

Even though Y/n couldn't remember being in the car when his parents had died. Sometimes, when he strained his memory during long hours in his cupboard, he came up with a strange vision: a blinding flash of green light and a burning pain on his forehead. This, he supposed, was the crash, though he couldn't imagine where all the green light came from. Harry couldn't remember their parents, but Y/n had small memories. He knew what his mum and dad looked like. He could remember his mother singing and someone saying 'Prongs' and 'Padfoot' but that was all.

Their aunt and uncle never spoke about them, and of course, they were forbidden to ask questions. There were no photographs of them in the house. When they had been younger, Harry and Y/n had dreamed and dreamed of some unknown relation coming to take them away, but it had never happened; the Dursleys were their only family. Yet sometimes Y/n thought (or maybe hoped)that strangers in the street seemed to know him. Very strange strangers they were, too. A tiny man in a violet top hat had bowed to him and Harry once while out shopping with Aunt Petunia and Dudley.

After asking Y/n and Harry furiously if they knew the man, Aunt Petunia had rushed them out of the shop without buying anything. A wild-looking old woman dressed all in green had waved merrily at Y/n once on a bus. A bald man in a very long purple coat had actually shaken Harry's hand in the street the other day and then walked away without a word. The weirdest thing about all these people was the way they seemed to vanish the second Harry or Y/n tried to get a closer look. At school, Harry and Y/n had no one but each other. Everybody knew that Dudley's gang hated that odd Harry and Y/n Potter in their baggy old clothes and broken glasses, and nobody liked to disagree with Dudley's gang.

𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐓𝐰𝐨: 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐋𝐞𝐭𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐬 𝐅𝐫𝐨𝐦 𝐍𝐨 𝐎𝐧𝐞

Next Chapter

The escape of the Brazilian boa constrictor earned Harry and his twin, Y/n their longest-ever punishment. By the time they were allowed out of their cupboard again, the summer holidays had started and Dudley had already broken his new video camera, crashed his remote control airplane, and, the first timeout on his racing bike, knocked down old Mrs. Figg as she crossed Privet Drive on her crutches. (Y/n wanted to strangle his dimwitted cousin at that. Could he not see the old woman who just recently broke her leg?!)

Harry was glad school was over, but there was no escaping Dudley's gang, who visited the house every single day. Piers, Dennis, Malcolm, and Gordon were all big and stupid, but as Dudley was the biggest and stupidest of the lot, he was the leader. The rest of them were all quite happy to join in Dudley's favorite sport: Harry and Y/n Hunting. This was why Y/n and Harry spent as much time as possible out of the house, wandering around and thinking about the end of the holidays, where they could see a tiny ray of hope. When September came, they both would be going off to secondary school and, for the first time in their life, they wouldn't be with Dudley. Dudley had been accepted at Uncle Vernon's old private school, Smeltings. Piers Polkiss was going there too. Harry, on the other hand, was going to Stonewall High, the local public school. Dudley thought this was very funny. "They stuff people's heads down the toilet the first day at Stonewall," he told Harry. "Want to come upstairs and practice?"

"No, thanks," said Harry. "The poor toilet's never had anything as horrible as your head down it ― it might be sick." finished Y/n, and then ran, before Dudley could work out what they'd said. One day in July, Aunt Petunia took Dudley to London to buy his Smeltings uniform, leaving Harry and Y/n at Mrs. Figg's. Mrs. Figg wasn't as bad as usual. It turned out she'd broken her leg tripping over one of her cats, and she didn't seem quite as fond of them as before, however, Y/n was still very fond of them and he continued to pet and play with them even though Harry refused to get near any of them. Mrs. Figg even let Harry and Y/n watch television and gave them a bit of chocolate cake that tasted as though she'd had it for several years.

That evening, Dudley paraded around the living room for the family in his brand-new uniform. Smeltings' boys wore maroon tailcoats, orange knickerbockers, and flat straw hats called boaters. They also carried knobbly sticks, used for hitting each other while the teachers weren't looking. This was supposed to be good training for later life. As Y/n looked at Dudley in his new knickerbockers, Uncle Vernon said gruffly that it was the proudest moment of his life. Aunt Petunia burst into tears and said she couldn't believe it was her Ickle Dudleykins. He looked so handsome and grown-up. Y/n wanted to laugh, he thought two of his ribs might already have cracked from trying not to laugh.

There was a horrible smell in the kitchen the next morning when Harry and Y/n went in for breakfast. It seemed to be coming from a large metal tub in the sink. They went to have a look. The tub was full of what looked like dirty rags swimming in gray water. "What's this?" Y/n asked Aunt Petunia. Her lips tightened as they always did if he or Harry dared to ask a question. "Your new school uniform," she said. Y/n looked in the bowl again. "Oh," he said, "I didn't realize it had to be so wet."

"Don't be stupid," snapped Aunt Petunia. "I'm dyeing some of Dudley's old things gray for you both. It'll look just like everyone else's when I've finished." Y/n and Harry seriously doubted this, but thought it best not to argue. They sat down at the table and tried not to think about how they were going to look on his first day at Stonewall High ― like they were wearing bits of old elephant skin, probably. Dudley and Uncle Vernon came in, both with wrinkled noses because of the smell from Harry's and Y/n's new uniform. Uncle Vernon opened his newspaper as usual and Dudley banged his Smelting stick, which he carried everywhere, on the table. They heard the click of the mail slot and flop of letters on the doormat.

"Get the mail, Dudley," said Uncle Vernon from behind his paper.

"Make Harry and Y/n get it."

"Get the mail, Harry."

"Make Dudley get it."

"Poke them with your Smelting stick, Dudley." Harry and Y/n dodged the Smelting stick and went to get the mail. Three things lay on the doormat: a postcard from Uncle Vernon's sister Marge, who was vacationing on the Isle of Wight, a brown envelope that looked like a bill, and ― a letter for Harry and Y/n. Harry picked them up, and he handed Y/n his letter before he stared at it. Y/n's heart twanging like a giant elastic band. No one, ever, in his whole life, had written to him. Who would? He and Harry had no friends, no other relatives ― he and Harry didn't belong to the library, so they'd never even got rude notes asking for books back.

Yet there it was, a letter addressed so plainly there could be no mistake: Mr. Y/I. Potter The Cupboard under the Stairs 4 Privet Drive Little Whinging Surrey.

The envelope was thick and heavy, made of yellowish parchment, and the address was written in emerald-green ink. There was no stamp. Turning the envelope over, Y/n's hand trembling, Harry and Y/n saw a purple wax seal bearing a coat of arms; a lion, an eagle, a badger, and a snake surrounding a large letter H.

"Hurry up, boys!" shouted Uncle Vernon from the kitchen. "What are you doing, checking for letter bombs?" He chuckled at his own joke. Harry and Y/n went back to the kitchen, still staring at their letter. They handed Uncle Vernon the bill and the postcard, then Y/n sat down, and slowly began to open the yellow envelope. Uncle Vernon ripped open the bill, snorted in disgust, and flipped over the postcard.

"Marge's ill," he informed Aunt Petunia. "Ate a funny whelk―."

"Dad!" said Dudley suddenly. "Dad, Harry, and Y/n got something!" Y/n and Harry were on the point of unfolding their letter, which was written on the same heavy parchment as the envelope when it was jerked sharply out of their hands by Uncle Vernon."That's ours!" said Harry and Y/n, trying to snatch it back.

"Who'd be writing to you two?" sneered Uncle Vernon, shaking the letter's open with one hand and glancing at it. His face went from red to green faster than a set of traffic lights. And it didn't stop there. Within the second set was the grayish white of old porridge."P-P-Petunia!" he gasped. Dudley tried to grab the letters to read them, but Uncle Vernon held them high out of his reach. Aunt Petunia took them curiously and read the first line. For a moment, it looked as though she might faint. She clutched her throat and made a choking noise.

"Vernon! Oh my goodness ― Vernon!" They stared at each other, seeming to have forgotten that Harry, Y/n, and Dudley were still in the room. Dudley wasn't used to being ignored. He gave his father a sharp tap on the head with his Smelting stick.

"I want to read those letters," he said loudly.

"I want to read it," said Harry furiously, "as it's mine."

"Get out, all of you," croaked Uncle Vernon, stuffing the letters back inside its envelope. Harry didn't move, while Y/n glared at his aunt and uncle furiously. "I WANT MY LETTER!" Harry shouted. "Let me see it!" demanded Dudley.

"OUT!" roared Uncle Vernon, and he took both Harry and Dudley by the scruffs of their necks and threw them into the hall and grabbed Y/n by his arm and shoved him into his twin brother, then slammed the kitchen door behind them. Harry and Dudley promptly had a furious but silent fight over who would listen at the keyhole; Dudley won, so Harry, his glasses dangling from one ear, lay flat on his stomach to listen at the crack between door and floor, while Y/n pushed Dudley over to look into the keyhole (the two of them ended up pushing the other out of the way for a while until Dudley decided to place his head on top of Y/n's, but he didn't care, he was too busy trying to listen to his aunt and uncle).

"Vernon," Aunt Petunia was saying in a quivering voice, "look at the address ― how could they possibly know where they sleep? You don't think they're watching the house?"

"Watching ― spying ― might be following us," muttered Uncle Vernon wildly. "But what should we do, Vernon? Should we write back? Tell them we don't want ―" Harry could see Uncle Vernon's shiny black shoes pacing up and down the kitchen.

"No," he said finally. "No, we'll ignore it. If they don't get an answer... Yes, that's best... we won't do anything....,"

"But ―"

"I'm not having one in the house, Petunia! Didn't we swear when we took them in we'd stamp out that dangerous nonsense?" That evening when he got back from work, Uncle Vernon did something he'd never done before; he visited Harry and Y/n in their cupboard. "Where's my letter?" said Harry, the moment Uncle Vernon had squeezed through the door. "Who's writing to me?" asked Y/n, his arms were crossed over his chest.

"No one. It was addressed to you, by mistake," said Uncle Vernon shortly. "I have burned it."

"It was not a mistake," said Harry angrily. "It had our cupboard on it."

"SILENCE!" yelled Uncle Vernon, and a couple of spiders fell from the ceiling. He took a few deep breaths and then forced his face into a smile, which looked quite painful.

"Er ― yes, Harry, Y/n ― about this cupboard. Your aunt and I have been thinking... you both are really getting a bit big for it... we think it might be nice if you guys moved into Dudley's second bedroom."

"Why?" said Harry.

"Don't ask questions!" snapped his uncle. "Take this stuff upstairs, now."

The Dursleys' house had four bedrooms: one for Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia, one for visitors (usually Uncle Vernon's sister, Marge), one where Dudley slept, and one where Dudley kept all the toys and things that wouldn't fit into his first bedroom.

It only took Harry and Y/n one trip upstairs to move everything they owned from the cupboard to this room. Y/n sat down on the bed and stared around him as Harry put their stuff away. Nearly everything in here 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 (which Y/n was happy about). They were the only things in the room that looked as though they'd never been touched. From downstairs came the sound of Dudley bawling at his mother, "I don't want them in there... I need that room... make them get out...." Harry sighed and Y/n stretched out on the bed. Yesterday, they'd have given anything to be up here. Today, they'd rather be back in their cupboard with that letter than up here without it.

"G'night Harry," mumbled Y/n, he closed his eyes and curled up to sleep. Harry looked at his twin, smiling. "Good night Y/n,"

The next morning at breakfast, everyone was rather quiet. Dudley was in shock. He'd screamed, whacked his father with his Smelting stick, been sick on purpose, kicked his mother, and thrown his tortoise through the greenhouse roof, and he still didn't have his room back. Harry was thinking about this time yesterday and bitterly wishing he'd opened the letter in the hall, while Y/n watched his cousin throwing a tantrum in amusement.

Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia kept looking at each other darkly. When the mail arrived, Uncle Vernon, who seemed to be trying to be nice to Harry and Y/n, made Dudley go and get it. They heard him banging things with his Smelting stick all the way down the hall. Then he shouted,

"There's another one! 'Mr. H. Potter and Mr. Y/I Potter, The Smallest Bedroom, 4 Privet Drive ―'"

With a strangled cry, Uncle Vernon leaped from his seat and ran down the hall, Harry and Y/n right behind him. Uncle Vernon had to wrestle Dudley to the ground to get the letter from him, which was made difficult by the fact that Harry had grabbed Uncle Vernon around the neck from behind while Y/n was on his arms, trying to get the fat man to stay still.

After a minute of confused fighting, in which everyone got hit a lot by the Smelting stick, Uncle Vernon straightened up, gasping for breath, with Harry's and Y/n's letter clutched in his hand.

"Go to your cupboard ― I mean, your bedroom," he wheezed at the boys.

"Dudley ― go ― just go."

Harry walked round and round his new room with Y/n right behind him. Someone knew Y/n and Harry had moved out of their cupboard and they seemed to know they hadn't received their first letter. Surely that meant they'd try again? And this time, Harry will make sure they didn't fail.

He had a plan. The repaired alarm clock rang at six o'clock the next morning. Harry turned it off quickly and dressed silently. He mustn't wake the Dursleys. "Harry? What are you doing?" asked Y/n. He rose up from the bed, sleep still in his e/c eyes. "I'm going to go get our letters," he said. Y/n looked at his brother.

"But -"

"No, no buts. You stay here." Y/n tried to object, but Harry strode out of the small bedroom. He stole downstairs without turning on any of the lights. He was going to wait for the postman on the corner of Privet Drive and get the letters for number four first. His heart hammered as he crept across the dark hall toward the front door― Harry leapt into the air; he'd trodden on something big and squashy on the doormat—something alive!

Lights clicked on upstairs and to his horror, Harry realized that the big, squashy something had been his uncle's face. Uncle Vernon had been lying at the foot of the front door in a sleeping bag, clearly making sure that Harry didn't do exactly what he'd been trying to do. He shouted at Harry for about half an hour and then told him to go and make a cup of tea. Harry shuffled miserably off into the kitchen and by the time he got back, the mail had arrived, right into Uncle Vernon's lap. Y/n looked at his brother and shook his head. He was awoken by his uncle shouting at Harry and he dragged himself out of bed to help his brother make breakfast.

Harry could see three letters addressed in green ink. "I want―" he began, but Uncle Vernon was tearing the letters into pieces before his eyes. Uncle Vernon didn't go to work that day. He stayed at home and nailed up the mail slot.

"See," he explained to Aunt Petunia through a mouthful of nails, "if they can't deliver them, they'll just give up."

"I'm not sure that'll work, Vernon."

"Oh, these people's minds work in strange ways, Petunia. They're not like you and me," said Uncle Vernon, trying to knock in a nail with the piece of fruitcake Aunt Petunia had just brought him.

On Friday, no less than twelve letters arrived for Harry and Y/n. As they couldn't go through the mail slot, they had been pushed under the door, slotted through the sides, and a few even forced through the small window in the downstairs bathroom. Uncle Vernon stayed at home again. After burning all the letters, he got out a hammer and nails and boarded up the cracks around the front and back doors so no one could go out. He hummed "Tiptoe Through the Tulips" as he worked and jumped at small noises. On Saturday, things began to get out of hand. Twenty-four letters to Harry and Y/n found their way into the house, rolled up and hidden inside each of the two dozen eggs that their very confused milkman had handed Aunt Petunia through the living room window.

While Uncle Vernon made furious telephone calls to the post office and the dairy trying to find someone to complain to, Aunt Petunia shredded the letters in her food processor.

"Who on earth wants to talk to you this badly?" Dudley asked Harry and Y/n in amazement. On Sunday morning, Uncle Vernon sat down at the breakfast table looking tired and rather ill, but happy.

"No post on Sundays," he reminded them cheerfully as he spread marmalade on his newspapers. "no damn letters today ―"

Something came whizzing down the kitchen chimney as he spoke and caught him sharply on the back of the head. The next moment, thirty or forty letters came pelting out of the fireplace like bullets. The Dursleys ducked, but Harry leapt into the air trying to catch one, while Y/n rolled his eyes at his brother and picked one up from the floor, tearing it open in seconds.

"Out! OUT!"

Uncle Vernon seized Harry around the waist and grabbed Y/n by his arm, ripping the now open letter out of his hands before Y/n could even read the cursive ink writing, and threw them into the hall. When Aunt Petunia and Dudley had run out with their arms over their faces, Uncle Vernon slammed the door shut. They could hear the letters still streaming into the room, bouncing off the walls and floor.

"That does it," said Uncle Vernon, trying to speak calmly but pulling great tufts out of his mustache at the same time. "I want you all back here in five minutes, ready to leave. We're going away. Just pack some clothes. No arguments!" He looked so dangerous, with half his mustache missing, that no one dared argue. Ten minutes later, they had wrenched their way through the boarded-up doors and were in the car, speeding toward the highway.

Dudley was sniffling in the back seat; his father had hit him round the head for holding them up while he tried to pack his television, VCR, and computer in his sports bag. They drove. And they drove. Even Aunt Petunia didn't dare ask where they were going. Now and then, Uncle Vernon would take a sharp turn and drive in the opposite direction for a while. "Shake'em off... shake 'emoff," he would mutter whenever he did this.

They didn't stop to eat or drink all day. By nightfall, Dudley was howling. He'd never had such a bad day in his life. He was hungry. He'd missed five television programs he'd wanted to see, and he'd never gone so long without blowing up an alien on his computer. Uncle Vernon stopped at last outside a gloomy-looking hotel on the outskirts of a big city. Dudley, Harry, and Y/n shared a room with twin beds and damp, musty sheets. Dudley snored, but Harry and Y/n stayed awake, sitting on the windowsill, staring down at the lights of passing cars and wondering ... They ate stale cornflakes and cold tinned tomatoes on toast for breakfast the next day.

They had just finished when the owner of the hotel came over to their table."'Scuse me, but is one of you Mr. H. Potter and Mr. Y/n. Potter? Only I got about an 'undred of these at the front desk." She held up a letter so they could read the green ink address:

Mr. H. Potter and Mr. Y/I. Potter.

Room 17

Railview Hotel Cokeworth.

Harry and Y/n made a grab for the letter, but Uncle Vernon knocked their hands out of the way. The woman stared. "I'll take them," said Uncle Vernon, standing up quickly and following her from the dining room.

"Wouldn't it be better just to go home, dear?" Aunt Petunia suggested timidly, hours later, but Uncle Vernon didn't seem to hear her. Exactly what he was looking for. None of them knew. He drove them into the middle of a forest, got out, looked around, shook his head, got back in the car, and off they went again.

The same thing happened in the middle of a plowed field, halfway across a suspension bridge, and at the top of a multilevel parking garage.

"Daddy's gone mad, hasn't he?" Dudley asked Aunt Petunia dully late that afternoon. Uncle Vernon had parked at the coast, locked them all inside the car, and disappeared. It started to rain. Great drops beat on the roof of the car. Dudley sniveled.

"It's Monday," he told his mother. "The Great Humberto's on tonight. I want to stay somewhere with a television."

Monday. This reminded Harry of something. If it was Monday ― and you could usually count on Dudley to know the days of the week, because of television ― then tomorrow, Tuesday, was Harry's and Y/n's eleventh birthday.

Of course, their birthdays were never exactly fun ― last year, the Dursleys had given Harry a coat hanger and a pair of Uncle Vernon's old socks and Y/n got a moth-eaten pair of socks with some string. Still, you weren't eleven every day.

Uncle Vernon was back, and he was smiling. He was also carrying a long, thin package and didn't answer Aunt Petunia when she asked what he'd bought.

"Found the perfect place!" he said. "Come on! Everyone out!" It was very cold outside the car. Uncle Vernon was pointing at what looked like a large rock way out at sea. Perched on top of the rock was the most miserable little shack you could imagine. One thing was certain, there was no television in there.

"Storm forecast for tonight!" said Uncle Vernon gleefully, clapping his hands together. "And this gentleman's kindly agreed to lend us his boat!" A toothless old man came ambling up to them, pointing, with a rather wicked grin, at an old rowboat bobbing in the iron-gray water below them. "I've already got us some rations," said Uncle Vernon. "so all aboard!"

It was freezing in the boat. Icy sea spray and rain crept down their necks and a chilly wind whipped their faces. After what seemed like hours, they reached the rock, where Uncle Vernon, slipping and sliding, led the way to the broken-down house. The inside was horrible; it smelled strongly of seaweed; the wind whistled through the gaps in the wooden walls, and the fireplace was damp and empty. There were only two rooms. Uncle Vernon's rations turned out to be a bag of chips each and four bananas. He tried to start a fire, but the empty chip bags just smoked and shriveled up.

"Could do with some of those letters now, eh?" he said cheerfully. He was in a very good mood. Obviously, he thought nobody stood a chance of reaching them here in a storm to deliver mail. Harry and Y/n privately agreed; though the thought didn't cheer them up at all.

As night fell, the promised storm blew up around them. Spray from the high waves splattered the walls of the hut and a fierce wind rattled the filthy windows. Aunt Petunia found a few moldy blankets in the second room and made up a bed for Dudley on the moth-eaten sofa. She and Uncle Vernon went off to the lumpy bed next door, while Harry and Y/n were left to find the softest bit of floor they could and to curl up under the thinnest, most ragged blanket.

The storm raged more and more ferociously as the night went on. Harry couldn't sleep. He shivered and turned over, trying to get comfortable, his stomach rumbling with hunger. Y/n was sitting up, his knees brought to his chest as he shivered. Dudley's snores were drowned by the low rolls of thunder that started near midnight. The lighted dial of Dudley's watch, which was dangling over the edge of the sofa on his fat wrist, told Harry and Y/n they'd be eleven in ten minutes' time. Harry laid and watched his birthday tick nearer, wondering if the Dursleys would remember at all, wondering where the letter writer was now.

Five minutes to go.

Y/n heard something creak outside. He hoped the roof wasn't going to fall in, although he might be warmer if it did.

Four minutes to go.

Maybe the house on Privet Drive would be so full of letters when they got back that he'd be able to steal one somehow.

Three minutes to go.

Was that the sea, slapping hard on the rock like that?

And (two minutes to go) what was that funny crunching noise? Was the rock crumbling into the sea?

One minute to go and he and Harry would be eleven.

Thirty seconds... twenty ... ten...nine ― maybe he'd wake Dudley up, just to annoy him ― three... two...one...BOOM.

The whole shack shivered and Harry sat bolt upright and Y/n shot up, his eyes wide and staring at the door.

Someone was outside. Knocking to come in.

Metanoia’s Draco Abraxas Malfoy “The Sliver Prince”.

𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐓𝐡𝐫𝐞𝐞: 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐊𝐞𝐞𝐩𝐞𝐫 𝐨𝐟 𝐊𝐞𝐲𝐬

Next Chapter

BOOM.

They knocked again.

Dudley jerked awake. "Where's the cannon?" he said stupidly.

There was a crash behind Harry and Y/n and Uncle Vernon came skidding into the room. He was holding a rifle in his hands — now Y/n knew what had been in the long, thin package he had brought with them.

"Who's there?" he shouted. "I warn you — I'm armed!"

There was a pause. Then —

SMASH!

The door was hit with such force that it swung clean off its hinges and with a deafening crash landed flat on the floor. A giant of a man was standing in the doorway. His face was almost completely hidden by a long, shaggy mane of hair and a wild, tangled beard, but you could make out his eyes, glinting like black beetles under all the hair. The giant squeezed his way into the hut, stooping so that his head just brushed the ceiling. He bent down, picked up the door, and fitted it easily back into its frame. The noise of the storm outside dropped a little. He turned to look at them all.

"Couldn't make us a cup o' tea, could yeh? It's not been an easy journey. . . ." He strode over to the sofa where Dudley sat frozen with fear. "Budge up, yeh great lump," said the stranger.

Dudley squeaked and ran to hide behind his mother, who was crouching, terrified, behind Uncle Vernon.

"An' here ya are Harry, Y/n!" said the giant. Harry and Y/n looked up into the fierce, wild, shadowy face and saw that the beetle eyes were crinkled in a smile. "Las' time I saw you both, you was only a baby," said the giant. "Harry, yeh look a lot like yer dad, but yeh've got yer mum's eyes." The giant turned his attention Y/n and tears welled up. "And yeh, Y/n, yeh got yer mum's smile and nose. Oh, an' yer dad's chin!"

Uncle Vernon made a funny rasping noise. "I demand that you leave at once, sir!" he said. "You are breaking and entering!"

"Ah, shut up, Dursley, yeh great prune," said the giant; he reached over the back of the sofa, jerked the gun out of Uncle Vernon's hands, bent it into a knot as easily as if it had been made of rubber, and threw it into a corner of the room.

Uncle Vernon made another funny noise, like a mouse being trodden on.

"Anyway — Harry, Y/n," said the giant, turning his back on the Dursleys, "a very happy birthday to yeh both. Got summat fer yeh here — I mighta sat on it at some point, but it'll taste all right."

From an inside pocket of his black overcoat, he pulled a slightly squashed box. Harry opened it with trembling fingers, while Y/n watched his twin with curious eyes. Inside was a large, sticky chocolate cake with 'Happy Birthday Harry & Y/n' written on it in green icing.

Harry and Y/n looked up at the giant. "Thank you . . . sir?" said Y/n, a smile blooming on his face while his brother stared at the giant man.

Harry meant to say thank you, but the words got lost on the way to his mouth, and what he said instead was, "Who are you?"

The giant chuckled. "True, I haven't introduced meself. Rubeus Hagrid, Keeper of Keys and Grounds at Hogwarts." He held out an enormous hand and shook Harry's whole arm, before taking Y/n's and giving his arm the same treatment.

"What about that tea then, eh?" he said, rubbing his hands together. "I'd not say no ter summat stronger if yeh've got it, mind." His eyes fell on the empty grate with the shriveled chip bags in it and he snorted. He bent down over the fireplace; they couldn't see what he was doing, but when he drew back a second later, there was a roaring fire there. It filled the whole damp hut with flickering light and Harry felt the warmth wash over him as though he'd sunk into a hot bath.

The giant sat back down on the sofa, which sagged under his weight, and began taking all sorts of things out of the pockets of his coat: a copper kettle, a squashy package of sausages, a poker, a teapot, several chipped mugs, and a bottle of some amber liquid that he took a swig from before starting to make tea.

Soon the hut was full of the sound and smell of sizzling sausage. Nobody said a thing while the giant was working, but as he slid the first six fat, juicy, slightly burnt sausages from the poker, Dudley fidgeted a little. Uncle Vernon said sharply, "Don't touch anything he gives you, Dudley."

The giant chuckled darkly.

"Yer great puddin' of a son don' need fattenin' anymore, Dursley, don' worry." He passed the sausages to Harry and Y/n, who were so hungry they had never tasted anything so wonderful, but they still couldn't take their eyes off the giant. Finally, as nobody seemed about to explain anything, Harry said, "I'm sorry, but we still don't really know who you are." The giant took a gulp of tea and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.

"Call me Hagrid," he said, "everyone does. An' like I told yeh, I'm Keeper of Keys at Hogwarts — yeh'll know all about Hogwarts, o' course."

Y/n shared a look with his twin before answering. "Er — no," Hagrid looked shocked.

"Sorry," Harry said quickly, trying to cover up what his brother said, hoping that this giant of a man didn't hurt him or Harry. "Sorry?" barked Hagrid, turning to stare at the Dursleys, who shrank back into the shadows.

"It's them as should be sorry! I knew yeh both weren't gettin' yer letters, but I never thought yeh both wouldn't even know abou' Hogwarts, fer cryin' out loud! Did yeh never wonder where yer parents learned it all?"

"All what?" Harry asked this time, confusion clouding his features.

"ALL WHAT?" Hagrid thundered. "Now wait jus' one second!" He had leapt to his feet. In his anger, he seemed to fill the whole hut. The Dursleys were cowering against the wall. "Do you mean ter tell me," he growled at the Dursleys, "that these boys —these boys! — knows nothin' abou'— about ANYTHING?"

Harry thought this was going a bit far. He and Y/n had been to school, after all, and his marks weren't bad, although Y/n did do a bit better on their exams.

"We know some things," he said. "We 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?" asked Y/n, his arms folding nervously. 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 both must know about yer mum and dad," he said. "I mean, they're famous. You're famous."

"What? My — my mum and dad weren't famous, were they?" asked Harry, his attention to his cowering aunt and uncle. "Yeh don' know . .. yeh don' know . . ." Hagrid ran his fingers through his hair, fixing Harry and Y/n with a bewildered stare. "Yeh don' know what yeh both are?" he said finally. Uncle Vernon suddenly found his voice. "Stop!" he commanded. "Stop right there, sir! I forbid you to tell them 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 them? Never told them what was in the letter Dumbledore left fer them both? I was there! I saw Dumbledore leave it, Dursley! An' you've kept it from them all these years?"

"Kept what from me?" said Harry eagerly, making Y/n swat his brother on the arm. Harry turned his head glared at his twin before turning his attention back to his panicking uncle.

"STOP! I FORBID YOU!" yelled Uncle Vernon in panic. Aunt Petunia gave a gasp of horror.

"Ah, go boil yer heads, both of yeh," said Hagrid.

"Harry, Y/n — yer a wizard."

There was silence inside the hut. Only the sea and the whistling wind could be heard.

"We're 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 both read yer letters."

Harry and Y/n stretched out their hands at last to take the yellowish envelope, addressed in emerald green to Mr. H. Potter and Mr. Y/I Potter, The Floor, Hut-on-the-Rock, The Sea. Y/n pulled out his letter and read:

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

Questions exploded inside Y/n'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?" Harry nodded his head, as if he had the same question in his green eyes.

"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 and Y/n could read upside down:

Dear Professor Dumbledore,

Given Harry and Y/n their letters.

Taking them both to buy their 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. "They're not going," he said. Hagrid grunted. "I'd like ter see a great Muggle like you stop them," he said.

"A what?" asked Y/n, interested. "A Muggle," said Hagrid, "it's what we call non-magic folk like them. An' it's your bad luck you and your brother grew up in a family o' the biggest Muggles I ever laid eyes on."

"We swore when we took them in we'd put a stop to that rubbish," said Uncle Vernon, "swore we'd stamp it out of them! Wizard indeed!"

"You knew?" said Harry. "You knew I'm―We're― a wizard?"

"Knew!" shrieked Aunt Petunia suddenly. "Knew! Of course we knew! How could you and your brother 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 both, and of course I knew both of you would 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 two!"

Harry and Y/n had gone very white. As soon as Y/n 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 and Y/n Potter not knowin' their own story when every kid in our world knows their name!"

"But why? What happened?" Harry asked urgently. The anger faded from Hagrid's face. He looked suddenly anxious. "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 both, how much yeh didn't know. Ah, Harry, Y/n, 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?" asked Harry.

"Well — I don' like sayin' the name if I can help it. No one does."

"Why not?" he asked again.

"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?" Y/n suggested, sweetly.

"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, Y/n. 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.

"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.

"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 yer both was all living, on Halloween ten years ago. Yeh both 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 yeh both, 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 and Y/n got that mark on yer forehead? 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 yeh both, an' that's why yer famous, Harry, Y/n. No one ever lived after he decided ter kill 'em, no one except you two, an' he'd killed some o' the best witches an' wizards of the age — the McKinnons, the Bones, the Prewetts — an' you two was only a baby, an' you lived."

Something very painful was going on in Harry's and Y/n's mind. As Hagrid's story came to a close, both boys saw again the blinding flash of green light, more clearly than they had ever remembered it before — and Y/n remembered something else, for the first time in his life: a high, cold, cruel laugh that sent shivers down Y/n's spine.

Hagrid was watching him sadly.

"Took the two of 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. Y/n however, glared at hit fat uncle, fury in his e/c eyes.

Uncle Vernon certainly seemed to have got back his courage, thought Y/n as he watched his uncle. He was glaring at Hagrid and his fists were clenched.

"Now, you listen here, boys," he snarled, "I accept there's something strange about the two of 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 leaped 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 . . ."

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 and Y/n, meanwhile, still had questions to ask, hundreds of them.

"But what happened to Vol-, sorry — I mean, You-Know-Who?"

"Good question, Harry. Disappeared. Vanished. Same night he tried ter kill you both. Makes yeh even more famous. That's the biggest myst'ry, see . . . he was gettin' more an' more powerful — why'd he go?

"Some say he died. Codswallop, in my opinion. Dunno if he had enough human left in him to die. Some say he's still out there, bidin' his time, like, but I don' believe it. 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 both finished him, Harry, Y/n. There was somethin' goin' on that night he hadn't counted on — I dunno what it was, no one does — but somethin' about you two stumped him, all right."

Hagrid looked at the twins with warmth and respect blazing in his eyes, but Harry and Y/n, instead of feeling pleased and proud, felt quite sure there had been a horrible mistake. A wizard? Them? How could they possibly be? They'd spent their life being clouted by Dudley and bullied by Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon; if they were really wizards, why hadn't they been turned into warty toads every time they'd tried to lock him and Harry in their cupboard? If they'd once defeated the greatest sorcerer in the world, how come Dudley had always been able to kick them around like a football?

"Hagrid," said Harry quietly, "I think you must have made a mistake. I don't think we can be wizards." To his and Y/n's surprise, Hagrid chuckled. "Not a wizard, eh? Never made things happen when you was scared or angry?"

Y/n's brows furrowed on his forehead as he thought about all the unexplained things he and Harry did in their life. While Y/n was thinking, his eyes glued to his feet, 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 and Y/n had happened when they, Harry and Y/n, had been upset or angry . . . chased by Dudley's gang, they had somehow found himself out of their reach . . . dreading going to school with that ridiculous haircut, they'd managed to make it grow back . . . and the very last time Dudley had hit him and Y/n, hadn't they got their revenge, without even realizing they were doing it? Hadn't he set a boa constrictor on him?

Harry looked at his brother and saw that Y/n had a small smile forming on his face. He gave his twin a smile and Y/n's smile became wider and they looked back at Hagrid, smiling, and saw that Hagrid was positively beaming at them both.

"See?" said Hagrid. "Harry and Y/n 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 they're not going?" he hissed. "They're going to Stonewall High and they'll be grateful for it. I've read those letters and they both need all sorts of rubbish — spell books and wands and —"

"If they wants ter go, a great Muggle like you won't stop them," growled Hagrid. "Stop Lily an' James Potter's son's goin' ter Hogwarts! Yer mad. Their name's been down ever since they was born. They're 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' they'll be under the greatest headmaster Hogwarts ever had, Albus Dumbled —"

"I AM NOT PAYING FOR SOME CRACKPOT OLD FOOL TO TEACH THEM 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 fat bottom, howling in pain. When he turned his back on them, Harry and Y/n saw a curly pig's tail poking through a hole in his trousers. Uncle Vernon roared. 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 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 the boys under his bushy eyebrows.

"Be 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 — one o' the reasons I was so keen ter take on the job —"

"Why aren't you supposed to do magic?" asked Harry, making Y/n elbow his brother in the rips. Harry gave his twin a glare, but he wasn't looking at Harry. No, Y/n was staring at Hagrid.

"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. But Dumbledore let me stay on as gamekeeper. Great man, Dumbledore."

"Why were you expelled?" asked Y/n, curiosity getting the better of him.

"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."

He took off his thick black coat and threw it at Harry.

"You both can kip under that," he said. "Don' mind if it wriggles a bit, I think I still got a couple o' dormice in one o' the pockets."

Once they were settled down for bed, with the loud sores of Hagrid occupying the hut, Harry and Y/n laid next to one another with Hagrid's coat over them. Y/n's left arm was bent and behind his head as he looked up at the ceiling. Thoughts filled his head, thoughts about his parents, this magic school called Hogwarts, how he and his twin were wizards. It was all so overwhelming, yet exciting at the same time.

"Harry?" he whispered into the night. Harry grunted, letting Y/n know that he was awake. "Are you okay?" he asked. Harry sighed and shrugged his shoulders. "I honestly don't know, Y/n. It's all so crazy, yet fantastic at the same time. But what Hagrid said about Voldemort killing mum and dad frightens me. What if he's still out there?"

"I don't know Harry. But I do know that I'll always be there for you. By your side. Always."

Harry turned his head to look at Y/n with a smile on his face. "Thank you Y/n." he closed his eyes and mumbled: "Night," and Y/n smiled at his twin before replying quietly. "Night, Harry," the eleven-year-old boy closed his eyes and fell into a deep sleep, dreaming of a woman with red hair and green eyes singing softly into the dead of night.

𝙈𝙚𝙩𝙖𝙣𝙤𝙞𝙖 |𝘿𝙧𝙖𝙘𝙤 𝙈𝙖𝙡𝙛𝙤𝙮 𝙭 𝙈𝙖𝙡𝙚 𝙍𝙚𝙖𝙙𝙚𝙧|

𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐅𝐢𝐯𝐞: 𝐆𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐨𝐭𝐭𝐬

Y/n couldn't think or speak. The magic of Diagon Alley overwhelmed him as he stared at the shops. Once the archway appeared Hagrid led him and his brother through before the archway shrunk instantly back into a solid wall. Y/n turned his head away from the now solid wall, letting his eyes wander all over the Alley. The sun shone brightly on a stack of cauldrons outside the nearest shop. Cauldrons—All Sizes—Copper, Brass, Pewter, Silver—Self-Stirring—Collapsible, said a sign hanging over them.

"Yeah, you'll be needin' one," said Hagrid, noticing Y/n and Harry staring at the nearest shop, "but we gotta get yer money first."

Y/n and Harry wished they had about eight more eyes. He and Harry turned their heads in every direction as they walked up the street, trying to look at everything at once: the shops, the things outside them, the people doing their shopping.

A plump woman outside an Apothecary was shaking her head as they passed, saying, "Dragon liver, sixteen Sickles an ounce, they're mad. . . ."

A low, soft hooting came from a dark shop with a sign saying Eeylops Owl Emporium—Tawny, Screech, Barn, Brown, and Snowy. Several boys of about Harry's and Y/n's age had their noses pressed against a window with broomsticks in it.

"Look," the boys heard one of them say, "the new Nimbus Two Thousand—fastest ever—"

There were shops selling robes, shops selling telescopes and strange silver instruments Y/n had never seen before, windows stacked with barrels of bat spleens and eels' eyes, tottering piles of spell books, quills, and rolls of parchment, potion bottles, globes of the moon . . .

"Gringotts," said Hagrid. They had reached a snowy white building that towered over the other little shops. Standing beside its burnished bronze doors, wearing a uniform of scarlet and gold, was—

"Yeah, that's a goblin," said Hagrid quietly as they walked up the white stone steps toward him. The goblin was about a head shorter than Harry and Y/n. He had a swarthy, clever face, a pointed beard and, Y/n noticed, very long fingers and feet. He bowed as they walked inside. Now they were facing a second pair of doors, silver this time, with words engraved upon them:

Enter, stranger, but take heed

Of what awaits the sin of greed,

For those who take, but do not earn,

Must pay most dearly in their turn.

So if you seek beneath our floors

A treasure that was never yours,

Thief, you have been warned, beware

Of finding more than treasure there.

"Like I said, yeh'd be mad ter try an' rob it," said Hagrid as Y/n studied the text, a lump forming in his throat. "Uh-huh,"

A pair of goblins bowed them through the silver doors and they were in a vast marble hall. About a hundred more goblins were sitting on high stools behind a long counter, scribbling in large ledgers, weighing coins in brass scales, examining precious stones through eyeglasses. There were too many doors to count leading off the hall, and yet more goblins were showing people in and out of these. Hagrid, Harry, and Y/n made for the counter.

"Morning," said Hagrid to a free goblin. "We've come ter take some money outta Mr. Harry and Y/n Potter's safe."

"You have his key, sir?"

"Got it here somewhere," said Hagrid, and he started emptying his pockets onto the counter, scattering a handful of moldy dog biscuits over the goblin's book of numbers. The goblin wrinkled his nose. Harry and Y/n watched the goblin on their right weighing a pile of rubies as big as glowing coals.

"Got it," said Hagrid at last, holding up a tiny golden key.

The goblin looked at it closely.

"That seems to be in order."

"An' I've also got a letter here from Professor Dumbledore," said Hagrid importantly, throwing out his chest. "It's about the You-Know-What in vault seven hundred and thirteen."

The goblin read the letter carefully.

"Very well," he said, handing it back to Hagrid, "I will have someone take you down to both vaults. Griphook!"

Griphook was yet another goblin. Once Hagrid had crammed all the dog biscuits back inside his pockets, he, Harry, and Y/n followed Griphook toward one of the doors leading off the hall.

"What's the You-Know-What in vault seven hundred and thirteen?" Harry asked suspiciously. "Can't tell yeh that," said Hagrid mysteriously. "Very secret. Hogwarts business. Dumbledore's trusted me. More'n my job's worth ter tell yeh that."

Griphook held the door open for them. Y/n, who had expected more marble, was surprised. They were in a narrow stone passageway lit with flaming torches. It sloped steeply downward and there were little railway tracks on the floor. Griphook whistled and a small cart came hurtling up the tracks toward them. They climbed in—Hagrid with some difficulty—and were off.

At first, they just hurtled through a maze of twisting passages. "Blimey," muttered Y/n. Blimey is right, thought Harry as he tried to remember, left, right, right, left, middle fork, right, left, but it was impossible. The rattling cart seemed to know its own way because Griphook wasn't steering.

Harry's and Y/n's eyes stung as the cold air rushed past them, but Harry kept them wide open, while Y/n squeezed his eyes tight, disliking the cold air whipping around his face and hair.

Once, Harry thought he saw a burst of fire at the end of a passage and twisted around to see if it was a dragon, but too late—they plunged even deeper, passing an underground lake where huge stalactites and stalagmites grew from the ceiling and floor.

"I never know," Harry called to Hagrid over the noise of the cart, "what's the difference between a stalagmite and a stalactite?"

"Stalagmite's got an 'm' in it," said Hagrid. "An' don' ask me questions just now, I think I'm gonna be sick."

He did look very green, and when the cart stopped at last beside a small door in the passage wall, Hagrid got out and had to lean against the wall to stop his knees from trembling.

Harry turned his head to Y/n and elbowed him in the ribs. "Oh!" his eyes popped open. "Bloody Hell, Harry," he muttered angrily as he rubbed his bruised ribs. Harry rolled his eyes and climbed out of the cart with Y/n behind him muttering about Harry's bony elbows as if he didn't have bony elbows as well.

Griphook unlocked the door. The door creaked open, drawing Y/n's attention as a lot of green smoke came billowing out, and as it cleared, both Harry and Y/n gasped simultaneously. Inside were mounds of gold coins. Columns of silver. Heaps of little bronze Knuts.

"Are-are those . . .?" he couldn't get the words out properly, shock took over his body as his eyes traveled from each mountain and heap of the magical currency.

"All yours," confirmed Hagrid, a giant smile on his face.

All his. And Harry's. It was bloody incredible. The Dursleys couldn't have known about this or they'd have had it from them faster than blinking. How often had they complained how much Harry and Y/n cost them to keep? And all the time there had been a small fortune belonging to them, buried deep under London.

"Well? Come on then!" Y/n dragged his brother closer to the vault as he scooped up some of the money as Hagrid gave them a velvet pouch with a wand embroidered on it. "How does this work? The currency I mean," said Y/n as he picked up a gold coin.

"Well, that one there is a Galleons," he explained. "Seventeen silver Sickles to a Galleon and twenty-nine Knuts to a Sickle, it's easy enough." Harry and Y/n nodded as they scooped a pile of the coins into the bag. "Right, that should be enough fer a couple o' terms, we'll keep the rest safe for yeh." mused Hagrid as Y/n pulled the leather strings of the bag, closing it.

Hagrid turned to Griphook. "Vault seven hundred and thirteen now, please, and can we go more slowly?" Y/n had to agree with Hagrid, he did not enjoy the ride down here in that blasted cart. "One speed only," said Griphook with a sneer. Y/n never glared harder in his life.

The three of them climbed back into the cart, Y/n scowling at the goblin as the cart started moving. It gained speed quickly and Harry felt the adrenaline pumping in his veins. They were going even deeper now and gathering speed. The air became colder and colder as they hurtled around tight corners. They went rattling over an underground ravine, and Harry leaned over the side to try to see what was down at the dark bottom, but Hagrid groaned and pulled him back by the scruff of his neck. "What yeh think you're doin'??!" he shouted over the wind. "I just wanted to have a look―"

"Are you MAD?!" shrieked Y/n as he stared at his twin in shock. "You could've fallen over! You could've DIED!? What were you thinking?!" Harry looked at his twin, then to Hagrid, both shared looks of shock, anger and worry. For some strange reason, their reactions―especially Hagrid's―made him happy, content, and brought him to tears. No one, besides Y/n, had ever cared for Harry as did Hagrid at this moment. He was a complete stranger to this giant, yet he gazed at Harry like he was his own.

Vault seven hundred and thirteen had no keyhole. This confused Harry as much as it did Y/n. How was Hagrid supposed to retrieve something within this vault if it had no key hole? Griphook answered the question before they asked.

"Stand back," said Griphook importantly. He stroked the door gently with one of his long fingers and it simply melted away. "Woah!" whispered Y/n, awe shimmering in his eyes.

Griphook smirked. "If anyone but a Gringotts goblin tried that, they'd be sucked through the door and trapped in there,"

"How often do you check to see if anyone's inside?" Harry asked.

"About once every ten years," said Griphook with a rather nasty grin. Y/n shared a look with his brother and visibly gulped in fear. Note to self, he thought, never mess with goblins.

"Something really extraordinary has to be inside this top security vault," whispered Harry. Y/n nodded in agreement. As the vault door opened, both he and Harry leaned forward eagerly, expecting to see fabulous jewels at the very least . . . nothing. There was nothing in there. It was empty.

Y/n sighed aloud and rolled his shoulders. "Well, that was a waste of a trip now was it?" Before Harry or Hagrid could retort back to him, he noticed a grubby little package wrapped up in brown paper lying on the floor. Hagrid picked it up and tucked it deep inside his coat. Both Harry and Y/n longed to know what it was, but knew better than to ask.

"Come on, back in this infernal cart, and don't talk to me on the way back, it's best if I keep me mouth shut," said Hagrid, which drew a smile from Y/n. One wild cart ride later, they stood blinking in the sunlight outside Gringotts. Neither Harry nor Y/n knew where to run first now that they had a bag full of money. They didn't have to know how many Galleons there were to a pound to know that he was holding more money than they'd had in their whole life—more money than even Dudley had ever had.

"Wish Dudley could see us now," smirked Y/n. "Thirty-six??! That's two less than last year, Mummy!! Ohh poor me, I only have thirty-six presents for my birthday!! Waahh!" Harry laughed at Y/n's impression of their cousin, tears streamed down his face while Hagrid looked at them, confused.

"Inside joke Hagrid," explained Y/n. Hagrid nodded. "Ohh, always wanted ter be in one," he said. "Anyway, might as well get yer uniform," Hagrid nodded his head towards a shop called: Madam Malkin's Robes for All Occasions. "Listen, Harry,Y/n, would yeh mind if I slipped off fer a pick-me-up in the Leaky Cauldron? I hate them Gringotts carts." He did still look a bit sick, so Harry and Y/n said their goodbyes to Hagrid and wished him well before entering Madam Malkin's shop.

𝙈𝙚𝙩𝙖𝙣𝙤𝙞𝙖 |𝘿𝙧𝙖𝙘𝙤 𝙈𝙖𝙡𝙛𝙤𝙮 𝙭 𝙈𝙖𝙡𝙚 𝙍𝙚𝙖𝙙𝙚𝙧|𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐒𝐢𝐱: 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐁𝐨𝐲 𝐚𝐭 𝐌𝐚𝐝𝐚𝐦 𝐌𝐚𝐥𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐬

Y/n pushed open the glass door and took a deep breath as a bell chimed, letting the owner know that she/he/they had a customer. Harry turned his head to look at Y/n - who was not looking at his brother, but in fact staring at all the clothes, dress robes, cloaks, and people in the quaint little shop.

Y/n’s eyes travelled up the small flight of stairs in the back, leading to a loft area where teens were shifting through the racks of clothes. The young eleven-year-old boy smiled at the sight. His aunt never let him or Harry browse through high-end cloth shops, only taking them to discount and thrift stores. Apparently, she didn’t want to run into anyone she personally knew and tarnish her (already low) reputation. A smile played at Y/n’s lips as he looked around.

A large group of elderly women were crowded around a rack of amethyst and emerald cloaks with a sign above it saying: “DISCOUNT CLOAKS―LINE WITH CHIMAERA SKIN/FUR”. A few of the old crones were speaking in hushed whispers while others were taking out each cloak and holding it up.

“Hogwarts, dears??” Y/n tore his eyes away from the group of old women and saw a squat woman with greying black hair in a tight bun on her head, with round spectacles that sat on the bridge of her nose. She had a kind smile on her face with crow's feet in the corner of her eyes, as if she lived a happy life and found something daily to smile about. She wore a floor-length mauve a-line skirt that flared out at her hips, with a white long sleeve with puffed sleeves that were cinched at the wrists, and a black apron tied around her full waist.

“Um yes―” started Harry before being interrupted by the lady.

“Got the lot here—another young man being fitted up just now, in fact.” She sighed before continuing. “Well, come on, let’s get you two fitted, shall we?”

Y/n turned his head to Harry―who shrugged his shoulders―before both of the boys were ushered over to the back of the shop, where a boy with a pale, pointed face was standing on a footstool while a second witch pinned up his long black robes.

“Excuse me, but are you Madam Malkin?” asked Y/n as the witch stood Harry on a stool next to the boy. “Well, yes dear!” she smiled at him before pointing to the other witch next to her. “And that right there is my apprentice, Vanessa Snape,” Y/n turned his head towards the other witch.

Vanessa had long black hair with a sharp pointed nose with thin lips and pale skin. Like Madam Malkin, she wore a floor length a-line skirt that too flared out at her hips, but emerald green with the same white long puffed sleeves and a black apron tied around her waist.

Miss. Snape was pinning a few pins in a long black robe in the other boy’s robe when Y/n finally registered that there was another person there.

“Hello,” said the boy, “Hogwarts, too?”

“Yes,” said Harry (rather rudely).

“My father’s next door buying my books and Mother’s up the street looking at wands,” said the boy. He had a bored, drawling voice that would make anyone around him hang onto his every word. Y/n’s brows furrowed at his statement, but continued to watch and listen to him.

“Then I’m going to drag them off to look at racing brooms. I don’t see why first years can’t have their own. I think I’ll bully father into getting me one, and I’ll smuggle it in somehow.” Harry rolled his eyes as the boy turned his attention to Y/n, his cold grey eyes meeting his warm e/c. “You’re going to bully him? Forgive me if I’m wrong, but wouldn’t it be more effective to just ask him politely instead of forcing him?” asked Y/n, a confused expression on his face.

For eleven years, he’d watch Dudley bully his parents into getting him what he wanted, and it always worked, but look how that got Dudley. He’s a spoiled little pig, bullying and picking on the weak. (But to be frank, Aunt Petunia and Uncle Dursely were nitwits anyway, so it was no surprise that they were dimwitted enough to even listen to Dudley, let alone his whining.) But in Y/n’s mind, parents were supposed to be caring and nice, and when their children asked them for something politely, they most likely said yes.

The boy just stared at Y/n, a curious look on his face, before turning his head back to Harry.

“Have you got your own broom?” the boy went on.

“No,” said Harry.

“Play Quidditch at all?”

“No,” Harry said again, sharing a look with Y/n. Both were wondering what on earth Quidditch could be.

“I do—Father says it’s a crime if I’m not picked to play for my House, and I must say, I agree. Know what house you’ll be in yet?”

“Um . . . No,” said Harry, feeling more stupid by the minute, while Y/n shook his head.

“Well, no one really knows until they get there, do they, but I know I’ll be in Slytherin. All our family have been—imagine being in Hufflepuff, I think I’d leave, wouldn’t you?”

“Mmm,” said Harry (wishing he could say something a bit more interesting). Y/n noticed that Miss. Snape rolled her eyes at the boy’s remark before making a few notes on her loose bit of parchment.

“I say, look at that man!” said the boy suddenly, nodding toward the front window. Hagrid was standing there, grinning at Harry and Y/n, pointing at two large ice creams to show he couldn’t come in. Y/n smiled at Hagrid, who smiled back at him. A flush appeared on his cheeks as passing witches and wizards were staring at him.

“That’s Hagrid,” said Harry, who sounded pleased to know something the boy didn’t.

“He works at Hogwarts.” piped in Y/n as Madam Malkin urshed Harry off the podium and nodded to Y/n to step up. She smiled at Y/n as he lifted his arms and she placed some black robes over him and started pinning at the right measurements.

“Oh,” said the boy, “I’ve heard of him. He’s a sort of servant, isn’t he?”

“He’s the gamekeeper,” scowled Harry. He liked the boy less and less every second.

“Yes, exactly. I heard he’s a sort of savage—lives in a hut on the school grounds and every now and then he gets drunk, tries to do magic, and ends up setting fire to his bed.”

“We think he’s brilliant,” said Harry coldly, as he glared at the boy, ignoring the glare his twin sent him.

“Do you?” said the boy with a slight sneer. “Why is he with you? Where are your parents?”

“They’re dead,” said Harry and Y/n, shortly. Harry didn’t feel much like going into the matter with this boy.

“They died when we were very young,” explained Y/n as the boy shot him a confused look. A flicker of emotion passed through his grey eyes before reverting back to the empty and cold look he kept up through their conversation.

“Oh, sorry,” said the boy, not sounding sorry at all. “But they were our kind, weren’t they?”

“They were a witch and wizard, if that’s what you mean,” said Harry, a scowl permanently on his face, his scrawny arms crossed over his chest.

“I really don’t think they should let the other sort in, do you? They’re just not the same, they’ve never been brought up to know our ways.” the blond turned his head to stare at Y/n. “You know, some of them have never even heard of Hogwarts until they get the letter, imagine.” Y/n’s brows furrowed together as he thought about what the boy said.

There are others who didn’t know they were magical? We weren’t the only ones?

“I think they should keep it in the old wizarding families. What’s your surname, anyway?”

“Pott―”

“That’s you done, my dear,” interrupted Madam Malkin, and Y/n hopped down from the footstool. As he did this, Y/n noticed how both the boy and Miss. Snape was watching him, Miss. Snape held a curious gaze as she ranked him down with her eyes. He gave her a bashful smile and her eyes widened, almost in . . . recognition?

“Well, I’ll see you at Hogwarts, I suppose,” said the blond boy.

“See you at Hogwarts,” said Y/n and gave him a smile. After he turned around, the blond boy had a ghost of a smile on his face.

(Notes: Hi!! So I've literally packed this story full of OC's and Vanessa Snape is one of them! She's our lovely grumpy asshole's little sister—aka the light and the insanity of his life. I do hope you enjoyed this chapter and I am still working on the tag list for this story, so if you wish to be part of the tag list let me know and I'll add you to my list once I find the time to make it lol.)

𝙈𝙚𝙩𝙖𝙣𝙤𝙞𝙖 |𝘿𝙧𝙖𝙘𝙤 𝙈𝙖𝙡𝙛𝙤𝙮 𝙭 𝙈𝙖𝙡𝙚 𝙍𝙚𝙖𝙙𝙚𝙧|𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐒𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐧: 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐃𝐢𝐬𝐚𝐩𝐩𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐇𝐚𝐥𝐟-𝐆𝐢𝐚𝐧𝐭

Hagrid immediately noticed that something was wrong with the twins. For one, they were rather quiet. Nothing like their usual selves this morning, asking question after question about the Wizarding World. Secondly, Y/n was staring off into the distance with a faraway look in his eyes with a flush creeping up his neck to the tips of his ears, while Harry was eating his ice cream solemnly when he should’ve been more enthusiastic about the ice cream since he never had any at his Aunt and Uncle’s, due to Dudley eating the pint in a day. 

“Alright, ‘tat’s enough,” muttered Hagrid before clearing his throat and looking at the twins with a cornered gaze. “What’s up?” Y/n snapped out of his trance and noticed his cone of ice cream was melting, getting chocolate and raspberry with chopped nuts all over the ice cream parlor’s tables. 

“Nothing,” Harry lied. “Yeah, it’s nothing Hagrid.” piped in Y/n, as he wiped up the ice-cream mess. “We’re just a little overwhelmed, that’s all.” Harry nodded his head in agreement, thankful that his twin piped in because the look in Hagrid’s eye told him that he didn’t believe Harry when he said nothing was wrong. “Alright, but if somethin’s the ‘atter, you can tell me.” 

“We well Hagrid, thank you,” Y/n gave the giant and smile before licking a stripe of his ice cream, moaning in delight at the flavor. “Oh, this is excellent. Thank you, Hagrid. Tis delicious,” Hagrid smiled before sniffling and wiped his eyes with the sleeve of his shirt. 

Once they finished their ice cream, they stopped to buy parchment and quills. Harry cheered up a bit when he found a bottle of ink that changed color as you wrote, while Y/n almost bought out the entire shop―color changing ink, rainbow ink, pastel ink, feather quills, peacock quills, raven quills, thick parchment, a pack of different color parchment, thin parchment, stationary cups and holders, and a quill/ink cleaning kit―and Harry had to drag him out of there before he could spend more. 

When they had left the shop, Harry asked, “Hagrid, what’s Quidditch?”. Y/n looked up from his purchases and looked at Hagrid, his eyes lighting up in curiosity. Hagrid looked at Harry with an aghast face before shaking his head and mumbling: “Blimey, Harry, Y/n, I keep forgettin’ how little yeh know — not knowin’ about Quidditch!” He shook his head once more that reminded Y/n of a wet dog.  

“Don’t make me feel worse,” mumbled Harry before He and Y/n told Hagrid about the pale boy in Madam Malkin’s. 

“— and he said people from Muggle families shouldn’t even be allowed in —” exclaimed Y/n, with a slight shake of his head. “Yer not from a Muggle family. If he’d known who yeh both were,” Hagrid made a gesture with his hands before continuing. “— he’s grown up knowin’ both of yer names, if his parents are wizardin’ folk. You saw what everyone in the Leaky Cauldron was like when they saw yeh.” The memory alone made Y/n blush in embarrassment. 

“Anyway, what does he know about it, some o’ the best I ever saw were the only ones with magic in ’em in a long line o’ Muggles — look at yer mum! Look what she had fer a sister!” At the mention of their Mother, Y/n and Harry exchanged a look of sadness. A flash of green eyes and red-hair flashed before Y/n’s eyes, making his heart clench. 

“So what is Quidditch?” asked Harry, his curiosity finally getting the better of him. 

“It’s our sport. Wizard sport. It’s like — like soccer in the Muggle world — everyone follows Quidditch — played up in the air on broomsticks and there’s four balls — sorta hard ter explain the rules.” Harry nodded his head, the wheels in his head turning. 

“And what are Slytherin and Hufflepuff?” asked Y/n, his eyebrows were drawn together on his forehead as his (e/c) watched the giant. 

“School Houses.” Hagrid and the twins walked around a large company of witches sporting matching jumpers with a crest on their left breast. The crest, Y/n noted, had a wand raised up with a vial, with the words: “Sanitatem, Cinium, Herbis.”. Below the crest was: St. Mungo Witch's Institution, written in a fancy script. 

“There’s four. Everyone says Hufflepuff are a lot o’ duffers, but —”

“I bet I’m in Hufflepuff,” said Harry gloomily, making Y/n glare at his brother. 

“Better Hufflepuff than Slytherin,” said Hagrid darkly. “There’s not a single witch or wizard who went bad who wasn’t in Slytherin. You-Know- Who was one.” Y/n narrowed his eyes in suspicion as Harry spoke. 

“Vol-, sorry — You-Know-Who was at Hogwarts?”

“Years an’ years ago,” said Hagrid with a shake of his head. 

“So anyone could potentially be a bad witch or wizard? Regardless of their house?” asked Y/n as they walked down the cobblestone street. “Well, er, I suppose so. But ‘tat would be ‘ery unlikely,” 

“Why would that be unlikely, Hagrid? I believe everyone has the potential to be “evil”, even the best of us can be turned to the dark side. To be tempted by it.” Hagrid blinked at the eleven-year-old boy, shocked by his words. Harry gave his twin a glare before returning his gaze back to Hagrid. 

“Where to next Hagrid?” he asked. 

Together, all three went to buy Harry’s and Y/n’s school books in a shop called Flourish and Blotts where the shelves were stacked to the ceiling with books as large as paving stones bound in leather; books the size of postage stamps in covers of silk; books full of peculiar symbols and a few books with nothing in them at all. 

Y/n was in heaven at the magical creature section of the bookstore. He bought several books about dragons and other magical creatures. Poor Harry had to drag his twin away from the aisle before the (h/c) boy had a heart attack. Even Dudley, who never read anything, would have been wild to get his hands on some of these, though Harry as he dragged his twin away from the fully stacked shelves. Later, Hagrid almost had to drag Harry away from Curses and Counter-curses (Bewitch Your Friends and Befuddle Your Enemies with the Latest Revenges: Hair Loss, Jelly-Legs, Tongue-Tying and Much, Much More) by Professor Vindictus Viridian, while Y/n looked on in awe. 

“I was trying to find out how to curse Dudley.” Harry tried to explain as Hagrid sent him a disapproving glare. “I’m not sayin’ that’s not a good idea, but yer not ter use magic in the Muggle world except in very special circumstances.” Harry looked away, his bottom lip slightly out in a pout. “An’ anyway, yeh couldn’ work any of them curses yet, yeh’ll need a lot more study before yeh get ter that level.” 

Hagrid wouldn’t let Harry buy a solid gold cauldron, either (“It says pewter on yer list”), but they got a nice set of scales for weighing potion ingredients and a collapsible brass telescope (Y/n was extremely excited about the telescope and shouted “I’m a pirate of the seven seas!!” in the store, which caused them to get many funny looks in the store.).  

Then they visited the Apothecary, which was fascinating enough to make up for its horrible smell, a mixture of bad eggs and rotted cabbages. Barrels of slimy stuff stood on the floor; jars of herbs, dried roots, and bright powders lined the walls; bundles of feathers, strings of fangs, and snarled claws hung from the ceiling. Harry wasn’t fond of this store at all, while his twin was giddy; rocking back and forth with a smile on his face as his eyes were lit up with so many questions and awe. 

While Hagrid asked the man behind the counter for a supply of some basic potion ingredients for the twins, Harry himself examined silver unicorn horns at twenty-one Galleons each and minuscule, glittery-black beetle eyes (five Knuts a scoop).

All while Y/n was right by Hagrid, asking the wizard behind the counter question after question about the different herbs and items they sold. 

Outside the Apothecary, Hagrid checked Harry’s and Y/n’s list again.

“Just both of yer wands left — oh yeah, an’ I still haven’t got yeh a birthday present.” 

Y/n and Harry felt themselves go red.

“You don’t have to —” started Harry but was interrupted by Hagrid. 

“I know I don’t have to. Tell yeh what, I’ll get yer both an animal. Not a toad,

toads went outta fashion years ago, yeh’d be laughed at — an’ I don’ like cats, they make me sneeze. I’ll get yer an owl. All the kids want owls, they’re dead useful, carry yer mail an’ everythin’.” 

Twenty minutes later, they left Eeylops Owl Emporium, which had been

dark and full of rustling and flickering, jewel-bright eyes. Harry now carried a large cage that held a beautiful snowy owl, fast asleep with her head under her wing. He couldn’t stop stammering his thanks, sounding just like Professor Quirrell. Although Y/n was a bit bummed that cats made Hagrid sneeze, he was extremely happy with his choice of owl. Y/n carried a cage that housed a sleeping barn owl, its face was white with deep brown eyes that carried wisdom and curiosity. It’s feathers on its body were brown with little spots of grey and other shades of brown. His name was Patroclus. 

“T-t-thank you s-s-so much H-h-hagrid!” stuttered Harry as he looked at the giant with gratitude in his eyes. “Don’ mention it,” said Hagrid gruffly. “Don’ expect you’ve had a lotta presents from them Dursleys.” Hagrid gave the twins a smile of his own, and in his eyes, you could see the joy brimming in them. He was happy. Happy to give them their owls. 

The giant cleared his throat before speaking again. 

“Just Ollivanders left now — only place fer wands, Ollivanders, and yeh gotta have the best wand.”

A magic wand . . . this was what the twins had been really looking forward to.

The last shop was narrow and shabby. Peeling gold letters over the door read Ollivanders: Makers of Fine Wands since 382 B.C. A single wand lay on a faded purple cushion in the dusty window. 

A tinkling bell rang somewhere in the depths of the shop as they stepped inside. It was a tiny place, empty except for a single, spindly chair that Hagrid sat on to wait. Y/n felt strangely as though he had entered a very strict library; he swallowed a lot of new questions that had just occurred to him and looked instead at the thousands of narrow boxes piled neatly right up to the ceiling. For some reason, the back of his neck prickled. The very dust and silence in here seemed to tingle with some secret magic.

“Good afternoon,” said a soft voice. Both Harry and Y/n jumped. Hagrid must have jumped, too, because there was a loud crunching noise and he got quickly off the spindly chair.

An old man was standing before them, his wide, pale eyes shining like moons through the gloom of the shop.

“Er -- hi,” greeted Y/n, he lifted his hand and gave a little awkward wave, as he sat Patroclus in his cage down. 

“Hello,” said Harry. He too was extremely awkward. His eyes drifted to his brother for a second, before following suit and placing his own owl down as well. 

“Ah yes,” said the man. “Yes, yes. I thought I’d be seeing you two very soon. Harry and Y/n Potter.” It wasn’t a question. “You have your mother’s eyes, Harry. It seems only yesterday she was in here herself, buying her first wand. Ten and a quarter inches long, swishy, made of willow. Nice wand for charm work.”

Mr. Ollivander moved closer to Harry. Y/n watched as the old man looked at his brother, and he wished the old man would blink. Those silvery eyes were a bit creepy.

Finally Mr. Ollivander tore his silvery eyes away and placed them upon Y/n, chilling him to the very bone with his blank stare. 

“You, on the other hand, have your father’s statue . . . and his eyes . . . but you have your mother’s curiosity . . .” Mr. Ollivander trailed off, as he stared into Y/n’s e/c eyes. Y/n did not know what to think about the man in front of him. He had his father’s eyes?? No one -- not even his aunt and uncle had told him that. Although, they never spoke about their parents. Not until yesterday. 

“Your father, on the other hand,” said Mr. Ollivander, who finally snapped out of his stupor and turned to look at Harry; his eyes never leaving Y/n’s twin. “--favored a mahogany wand. Eleven inches. Pliable. A little more power and excellent for transfiguration. Well, I say your father favored it — it’s really the wand that chooses the wizard, of course.” As he spoke, Mr. Ollivander had started leaning his face close to Harry once more, and he had come so close that he and Harry were almost nose to nose. 

This man . . . (or was he really a man at all?) scared Y/n. 

“And that’s where . . .” Mr. Ollivander touched the lightning scar on Harry’s forehead with a long, white finger. Before turning to Y/n and doing the same to his forehead, making him flinch. 

“I’m sorry to say I sold the wand that did it . . . to both of you,” he said softly. “Thirteen-and- a-half inches. Yew. Powerful wand, very powerful, and in the wrong hands . . . well, if I’d known what that wand was going out into the world to do. . . .”

He shook his head and then, to both Harry’s and Y/n’s relief, spotted Hagrid.

“Rubeus! Rubeus Hagrid! How nice to see you again. . . . Oak, sixteen inches, rather bendy, wasn’t it?”

“It was, sir, yes,” said Hagrid.

“Good wand, that one. But I suppose they snapped it in half when you got expelled?” said Mr. Ollivander, suddenly stern.

“Er — yes, they did, yes,” said Hagrid, shuffling his feet. “I’ve still got the pieces, though,” he added brightly.

“But you don’t use them?” said Mr. Ollivander sharply.

“Oh, no, sir,” said Hagrid quickly. Harry noticed he gripped his pink umbrella very tightly as he spoke.

“Hmmm,” said Mr. Ollivander, giving Hagrid a piercing look. “Well, now — Mr. Potter. Let me see.” He pulled a long tape measure with silver markings out of his pocket. “Which is your wand arm?” He said looking directly at Harry. 

“Er — well, I’m right-handed,” said Harry.

“Hold out your arm. That’s it.” He measured Harry from shoulder to finger, then wrist to elbow, shoulder to floor, knee to armpit and round his head. As he measured, he said, “Every Ollivander wand has a core of a powerful magical substance, Mr. Potter. We use unicorn hairs, phoenix tail feathers, and the heartstrings of dragons. No two Ollivander wands are the same, just as no two unicorns, dragons, or phoenixes are quite the same. And of course, you will never get such good results with another wizard’s wand.”

As he said this, Harry suddenly realized that the tape measure, which was measuring between his nostrils, was doing this on its own, all while Y/n watched in awe at the sight of more magic being done. Mr. Ollivander was flitting around the shelves, taking down boxes. “That will do,” he said, and the tape measure crumpled into a heap on the floor. 

“Right then, Mr. Potter. Try this one. Beechwood and dragon heartstring. Nine inches. Nice and flexible. Just take it and give it a wave.” Harry took the wand and waved it around a bit, but Mr. Ollivander snatched it out of his hand almost at once.

“Maple and phoenix feather. Seven inches. Quite whippy. Try —” Harry tried — but he had hardly raised the wand when it, too, was snatched back by Mr. Ollivander.

“No, no — here, ebony and unicorn hair, eight and a half inches, springy. Go on, go on, try it out.” Harry tried. And tried. Y/n had no idea what Mr. Ollivander was waiting for. 

The pile of tried wands was mounting higher and higher on the spindly chair, but the more wands Mr. Ollivander pulled from the shelves, the happier he seemed to become.

“Tricky customer, eh? Not to worry, we’ll find the perfect match here somewhere — I wonder, now — yes, why not — unusual combination — holly and phoenix feather, eleven inches, nice and supple.” 

Harry took the wand. He raised the wand above his head, brought it swishing down through the dusty air and a stream of red and gold sparks shot from the end like a firework, throwing dancing spots of light on to the walls. Hagrid whooped and clapped, as Y/n cheered and hugged his brother. Harry made a oof sound before smiling and wrapping his arms around his brother. 

Mr. Ollivander cried, “Oh, bravo! Yes, indeed, oh, very good. Well, well, well . . . how curious . . . how very curious . . .” He put Harry’s wand back into its box and wrapped it in brown paper, still muttering, “Curious . . . curious . . .” Y/n’s eyebrows knitted together in confusion at the mutterings of the old wizard.

 “Sorry,” said Harry, “but what’s curious?” 

Mr. Ollivander fixed Harry with his pale stare. “I remember every wand I’ve ever sold, Mr. Potter. Every single wand. It so happens that the phoenix whose tail feather is in your wand, gave another feather — just one other. It is very curious indeed that you should be destined for this wand when its brother — why, its brother gave you and your very own brother that scar.” Harry and Y/n swallowed. Y/n’s stomach curdled at that relation. 

“Yes, thirteen-and-a-half inches. Yew. Curious indeed how these things happen. The wand chooses the wizard, remember. . . . I think we must expect great things from you, Mr. Potter. . . . After all, He-Who-Must-Not-Be- Named did great things — terrible, yes, but great.” Y/n shivered. He wasn’t sure he liked Mr. Ollivander too much. Harry paid seven gold Galleons for his wand, before Mr. Ollivander turned his sights onto Y/n. 

“Hold out your wand arm,” said Mr. Ollivander. Y/n held out his arm as the tape in the old wizard’s hand began to measure him like it did with Harry. Once Mr. Ollivander received his measurements, he started digging around in the many boxes for a wand. 

Mr. Ollivander turned on his heel and placed a couple of boxes down on the counter. A spark was lit in his eyes. “If you’re anything like your brother, Mr. Potter, you too will probably be a tricky customer.” He opened one of the lids and pulled out a wand. 

“Here’s a nine-and-a-half inches, maple wood, and a dragon heartstring core. Slightly springy.” He handed the wand to Y/n and he gripped it firmly in his hands. Y/n tried to give it a wave but the magic that burst out of it was not pretty indeed. A gust of wind blew out from it, making a stack of papers sitting on the far corner of the counter spill onto the floor. Mr. Ollivander hummed, snatched the wand out of Y/n’s hands and used his own to place the papers back on the counter. 

“No . . . that’s not it. How about . . .” he grabbed another wand from the stack. “Here, ten inches, Yew wood, and a unicorn hair core.” Y/n barely had a grip on the wand when Mr. Ollivander snatched it away . . . again. Muttering under his breath, Mr. Ollivander finally pulled another wand out. 

“Here, Mr. Potter, try this one. Fourteen-and-a-half-inches, hawthorn wood, with a phoenix feather core -- like your brother -- and it’s slightly springy and flexible.” Y/n turned to look back at Harry, his eyes wide with nervousness. Harry gave him a small nod of encouragement and Y/n took a deep breath before wrapping his hand around the wand’s handle, gripping it tightly. 

He felt a sudden warmth in his fingers. And a bright, glowing light spewed out from the tip of the wand. Y/n gasped in amazement as the light lit up the dusty and dark shop. Y/n could feel a connection, a spark, between him and the wand. As if the wand laid a claim on him. As if it chose him. 

Once the light dimmed down, Harry and Hagrid clapped joyously. “Bravo Y/n!!” said Hagrid, as Harry smiled brightly at his twin. Y/n’s cheeks redden in embarrassment. 

“Yes, excellent Mr. Potter.” Mr. Ollivander plucked the wand from Y/n’s hand and examined it. “It appears you and your brother have a close connection with the phoenix.” His grey eyes twinkled before he placed his wand back in its box and handed it to Y/n. 

Y/n paid Mr. Ollivander eight gold Galleons, all while smiling and thanking him for his help. “Oh . . . you’re welcome . . .” he looked startled, as if no one had ever thanked him before. But Y/n continued smiling at him, even as they all walked towards the door (of course not before picking up Patroclus’s cage and reminding Harry to take his owl as well) and Mr. Ollivander bowed as they left his shop, with a smile on his old ancient face.

The late afternoon sun hung low in the sky as Y/n,Harry and Hagrid made their way back down Diagon Alley, back through the wall, back through the Leaky Cauldron, now empty. Y/n was happy as ever, a smile was still glued on his face as he talked and babbled to Hagrid, speaking of all the things he couldn’t wait to see. Patroclus even looked as if he too was listening and understanding what his new owner was saying. 

While Y/n was excitedly talking, Harry didn’t speak at all as they walked down the road; he didn’t even notice how much people were gawking at them on the Underground, laden as they were with all their funny-shaped packages, with the snowy owl asleep in its cage on Harry’s lap, and Patroclus asleep in his own cage on Y/n’s lap. Up another escalator, out into Paddington station; Harry only realized where they were when Hagrid tapped him on the shoulder. 

“Got time fer a bite to eat before yer train leaves,” he said. 

He bought Y/n and Harry a hamburger and they sat down on plastic seats to eat them. Harry kept looking around, while Y/n ate his burger in content. To Harry, everything looked so strange, somehow. 

“You all right, Harry? Yer very quiet,” asked Hagrid, concern dripping his gruff tone. Y/n even turned to look at his twin, worry in his e/c eyes. Harry wasn’t sure he could explain. He’d just had the best birthday of his life — and yet — he chewed his hamburger, trying to find the words.

“Everyone thinks I’m -- we’re --- special,” he said at last. “All those people in the Leaky Cauldron, Professor Quirrell, Mr. Ollivander . . . but Y/n and I  don’t know anything about magic at all. How can they expect great things? We’re famous and we can’t even remember what we’re famous for. We don’t know what happened when Vol --, sorry — I mean, the night our parents died.” 

Y/n’s mood immediately changed and his shoulders slumped. He didn’t realize that his brother had all this on his mind. He didn’t realize that Harry was right. They weren’t special. All they had was cool scars on their foreheads and they somehow killed a dark wizard (okay that is pretty cool, but that’s not the point). So why was everyone thinking that they were indeed special. They acted like he and Harry were King Arthur and the Knights of the Round Table. But they weren't. They were just two orphan boys whose parents had died and by some magical reason they survived a dark wizard attacking them. 

Hagrid leaned across the table. Behind the wild beard and eyebrows he wore a very kind smile. “Don’ you worry, Harry. You and Y/n will learn fast enough. Everyone starts at the beginning at Hogwarts, you’ll be just fine. Just be yerself. I know it’s hard. Yeh’ve been singled out, an’ that’s always hard. But yeh’ll both have a great time at Hogwarts — I did — still do, ’smatter of fact.” Y/n gave Hagrid a weak smile, but his mind was still raging with thoughts. How could they be special?? 

Hagrid helped Harry and Y/n on to the train that would take them back to the Dursleys, then handed him and Harry an envelope.

“Yer tickets fer Hogwarts,” he said. “First o’ September — King’s Cross — it’s all on yer tickets. Any problems with the Dursleys, send me a letter with one of yer owls, they’ll know where to find me. . . . See yeh soon, Harry, Y/n.”

The train pulled out of the station. Y/n and Harry wanted to watch Hagrid until he was out of sight; they rose in their seat and each pressed their face against the glass of the window, their hot breath making it fogging and their noses were against the window -- which wasn’t the best feeling in the world --, but Y/n blinked and Hagrid had gone.

Well, hello there! It's been a while, hasn't it? Sorry I haven't updated in a bit. I've been busy with life (projects, holy crap), and hadn't had the time to write for this story. I've been writing my own original stories while consuming all the fanfiction and manga I can get. But I'm here! I'm still active and will update, but for the meantime, due to my muse being a bitch---updates will be whenever I get the vibe. However, I am excited about this series and I can't wait to show you all the oc puffs I've created to be (y/n)'s friends!! I love you all and please take care of yourselves! Also!!! Please respond to this post to be added to the taglist i'm creating!! Thx!

𝙈𝙚𝙩𝙖𝙣𝙤𝙞𝙖 |𝘿𝙧𝙖𝙘𝙤 𝙈𝙖𝙡𝙛𝙤𝙮 𝙭 𝙈𝙖𝙡𝙚 𝙍𝙚𝙖𝙙𝙚𝙧|𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐄𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭: 𝐇𝐨𝐠𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐭𝐬 𝐂𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐥𝐞

Y/n’s last month with the Dursleys wasn’t fun. True, Dudley was now so scared of him and Harry he wouldn’t stay in the same room, while Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon didn’t shut Y/n or Harry in their cupboard, force them to do anything, or even shout at them — in fact, they didn’t speak to Y/n or Harry at all. Half terrified, half furious, they acted as though any chair with either Y/n or Harry in it were empty. 

Although this was an improvement in many ways, it did become a bit depressing after a while. Y/n and Harry kept to their room, with their new owls for company. After a while, Harry kept calling her owl, Y/n had enough, and they spent one afternoon coming up with names for the owl. Finally, Harry had decided to call her Hedwig, a name he had found in A History of Magic. 

Their school books were very interesting. Most of July was taken up with Y/n laying on his bed, reading his books — especially Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find them by Newt Scamander and his dragon books he bought at Flourish and Blotts. His potions book was also interesting along with his herbology textbook, but Harry wasn’t all that thrilled about either of them. He was more transfixed on his Defense against the Dark Arts and Transfiguration textbook. Y/n laid on his bed reading late into the night, with Patroclus and Hedwig swooping in and out of the open window as they pleased. It was lucky that Aunt Petunia didn’t come into vacuum anymore, because Hedwig and Patrcolus kept bringing back dead mice. 

Every night before he went to sleep, both he and Harry ticked off another day on the piece of paper they had pinned to the wall, counting down to September the first. And every night, Y/n dreamt of strange and magical things awaiting him at Hogwarts. 

On the last day of August Y/n thought they’d better speak to their aunt and uncle about getting to King’s Cross station the next day, so after convincing Harry, they both went down to the living room where they were watching a quiz show on television. Harry cleared his throat to let them know he and Y/n were there, and Dudley screamed and ran from the room. Y/n had to fight the smirk that was threatening to form on his face. 

“Er — Uncle Vernon?” 

Uncle Vernon grunted to show he was listening.

“Er — we need to be at King’s Cross tomorrow to — to go to Hogwarts.” Uncle Vernon grunted again. 

“Would it be all right if you gave us a lift?”

Grunt. Harry and Y/n supposed that meant yes. 

“Thank you.” 

They were about to go back upstairs when Uncle Vernon actually spoke. “Funny way to get to a wizards’ school, the train. Magic carpets all got punctures, have they?” Harry or Y/n didn’t say anything. 

“Where is this school, anyway?”

“I don’t know,” said Harry, realizing this for the first time. Y/n pulled the ticket Hagrid had given him out of his pocket and handed it to Harry.

“I just take the train from platform nine and three-quarters at eleven o’clock,” Harry read.

His aunt and uncle stared at him. 

“Platform what?” Uncle Vernon asked. 

“Nine and three-quarters.” said Harry, cautiously. 

“Don’t talk rubbish,” said Uncle Vernon. “There is no platform nine and Three-quarters.”

“It’s on our tickets.” said Y/n, speaking up for the first time. He was getting irritated with his uncle. 

“Barking,” said Uncle Vernon, “howling mad, the lot of them. You’ll see. You just wait. All right, we’ll take you to King’s Cross. We’re going up to London tomorrow anyway, or I wouldn’t bother.” 

“Why are you going to London?” Harry asked, trying to keep things friendly. 

“Taking Dudley to the hospital,” growled Uncle Vernon. “Got to have that ruddy tail removed before he goes to Smeltings.”

Y/n had to run out of the living room before he either laughed or screamed at Uncle Vernon. 

✧✧✧

Y/n and Harry woke at five o’clock the next morning. Both boys were too excited and nervous to go back to sleep. They spent the next hour speaking in hushed tones about Hogwarts and how excited they were to finally see the school where their parents had met and learned magic. 

Finally, both boys got up and pulled on their trousers because Y/n pointed out that he didn’t want to walk into the station in his wizard’s robes — he’d change on the train. Harry agreed with his twins and pulled on his own pair of trousers as Y/n wore a worn out blue flannel he got from his aunt. It was one of Dudley's old shirts that he couldn’t wear anymore. However, the shirt was too baggy, and the sleeves were too long on Y/n. So, he rolled up the sleeves to make them fit on his arms, and he tucked the bottom half of his shirt into his trousers and wore his belt around his waist to keep the trousers from falling off him. Harry wore a similar outfit, except the shirt was a short-sleeve and he didn’t tuck in his shirt in his trousers. 

Y/n and Harry checked their Hogwarts list yet again to make sure they had everything they needed, saw that Hedwig and Patroclus were shut safely in their cages, and then Harry paced the room, waiting for the Dursleys to get up, while Y/n read Hogwarts: A History. 

Two hours later, Harry’s and Y/n’s huge, heavy trunk had been loaded into the Dursleys’ car, and both of the boys were sitting in the back seat with their owls sitting on their laps while Aunt Petunia had talked Dudley into sitting next to Y/n and Harry. Then they had set off. 

They reached King’s Cross at half past ten. Uncle Vernon dumped Harry’s and Y/n’s trunk and owl cage onto a cart for both of them, and wheeled it into the station for them. Harry thought this was strangely kind — while Y/n did not trust their uncle, not one bit and glared at him suspiciously until Uncle Vernon stopped dead, facing the platforms with a nasty grin on his face.

“Well, there you are, boys. Platform nine — platform ten. Your platform should be somewhere in the middle, but they don’t seem to have built it yet, do they?” 

He was quite right, of course. There was a big plastic number nine over one platform and a big plastic number ten over the one next to it, and in the middle, nothing at all.

“Have a good term,” said Uncle Vernon with an even nastier smile. He left without another word. Y/n and Harry turned and saw the Dursleys drive away. All three of them were laughing. Harry’s mouth went rather dry, while Y/n was looking like a pot ready to boil over. His face was red and if this were one of Dudley’s cartoons, he would’ve had steam shooting out of his ears. 

What on earth was he and Y/n going to do? They were starting to attract a lot of funny looks, because of Hedwig and Patroclus. They’d have to ask someone. Harry stopped a passing guard, but didn’t dare mention platform nine and three-quarters. The guard had never heard of Hogwarts and when Harry couldn’t even tell him what part of the country it was in, he started to get annoyed, as though Harry was being stupid on purpose. 

Y/n was ready to give him a piece of his mind, but Harry placed his hand on Y/n’s shoulder and shook his head. Sighing, Y/n let it go, but crossed his arms over his chest and started tapping his foot. 

Getting desperate, Harry asked for the train that left at eleven o’clock, but the guard said there wasn’t one. In the end, the guard strode away, muttering about time wasters. Harry and Y/n were now trying hard not to panic. According to the large clock over the arrivals board, they had ten minutes left to get on the train to Hogwarts and neither had no idea how to do it; they were stranded in the middle of a station with a trunk they could hardly lift, pockets full of wizard money, and two very large owls.

Hagrid must have forgotten to tell them something you had to do, like tapping the third brick on the left to get into Diagon Alley. Y/n wondered if he should get out his wand and start tapping the ticket inspector’s stand between platforms nine and ten.

However, at that moment, a group of people passed just behind him and he caught a few words of what they were saying.

“— packed with Muggles, of course —”

Both Y/n and Harry swung round. The speaker was a plump woman who was talking to four boys, all with flaming red hair. Each of them was pushing a trunk like Harry’s and Y/n’s in front of him — and they had an owl.

Heart hammering, Y/n and Harry pushed their cart after them. They stopped and so did Y/n and Harry, just near enough to hear what they were saying.

“Now, what’s the platform number?” said the boys’ mother. “Nine and three-quarters!” piped a small boy, also red-headed, who was holding her hand, “Mom, can’t I go…”

“You’re not old enough, Gwaine, now be quiet. All right, Percy, you go first.”

What looked like the oldest boy marched toward platforms nine and ten.

Both Harry and Y/n watched, careful not to blink in case they missed it — but just as the boy reached the dividing barrier between the two platforms, a large crowd of tourists came swarming in front of him and by the time the last backpack had cleared away, the boy had vanished.

Y/n cursed under his breath.

“Fred, you next,” the plump woman said.

“I’m not Fred, I’m George,” said the boy. “Honestly, woman, you call yourself our mother? Can’t you tell I’m George?”

“Sorry, George, dear.”

“Only joking, I am Fred,” said the boy, and off he went. His twin called after him to hurry up, and he must have done so, because a second later, he had gone — but how had he done it? Now the third brother was walking briskly toward the barrier he was almost there — and then, quite suddenly, he wasn’t anywhere. There was nothing else for it.

“Excuse me,” Harry said to the plump woman. The woman turned around and gave Harry and Y/n a friendly smile. “Hello, dears,” she said. “First time at Hogwarts? Ron’s new, too.” She pointed at the second youngest of her sons. He was tall, thin, and gangling, with freckles, big hands and feet, and a long nose.

“Yes,” said Harry. “The thing is — the thing is, my brother and I don’t know how to —”

“How to get onto the platform?” she said kindly, and Harry and Y/n nodded.

“Not to worry,” she said. “All you have to do is walk straight at the barrier between platforms nine and ten. Don’t stop and don’t be scared you’ll crash into it, that’s very important. Best do it at a bit of a run if you’re nervous. Go on, go now before Ron.”

“Er — okay,” said Harry. Y/n looked at him with wide eyes, and Harry shrugged his shoulders before he started to push his trolley around and stared at the barrier. It looked very solid. He started to walk toward it. People jostled him on their way to platforms nine and ten. Harry walked more quickly. He was going to smash right into that barrier and then he’d be in trouble — leaning forward on his cart, he broke into a heavy run. Y/n watched as Harry ran into the brick wall, but instead of crashing like he thought Harry was going to, he vanished. Y/n gasped and looked up at the woman.

“Okay dear, now your turn.” she said sweetly to Y/n. Y/n took a deep breath before muttering a small prayer to whatever deity that was out there. He started pushing his cart, and he closed his eyes as the barrier was coming nearer and nearer — he wouldn’t be able to stop — the cart was out of control, he was a foot away, he closed his eyes tighter ready for the crash — It didn’t come . . . he kept on running . . . he opened his eyes.

A scarlet steam engine was waiting next to a platform packed with people. A sign overhead said Hogwarts’ Express, eleven o’clock. Y/n looked behind him and saw a wrought-iron archway where the barrier had been. With the words Platform Nine and Three-Quarters on it, He had done it.

“Y/n?” Y/n tore his eyes away from the archway and turned his head towards the crowd. In front of him stood Harry. A smile on his face. “We did it.” he said. “We did it.” Y/n repeated, a smile also on his face.

Together, they walked through the crowd. Smoke from the engine drifted over the heads of the chattering crowd, while cats of every color wound here and there between their legs. Owls hooted to one another in a disgruntled sort of way over the babble and the scraping of heavy trunks.

The first few carriages were already packed with students, some hanging out of the window to talk to their families, some fighting over seats.

Harry and Y/n pushed their carts off down the platform in search of empty seats. They passed a round-faced boy who was saying, “Gran, I’ve lost my toad again.” “Oh, Neville,” he heard the old woman sigh. Y/n felt bad for the boy.

A boy with dreadlocks was surrounded by a small crowd. “Give us a look, Lee, go on.” The boy lifted the lid of a box in his arms, and the people around him shrieked and yelled as something inside poked out a long, hairy leg. Y/n jumped and ran past the crowd, leaving Harry to fend for himself. He hated spiders, hated them.

Once Harry reached his twin, together, they pressed on through the crowd until they found an empty compartment near the end of the train. Y/n opened the door, let Harry go inside first as he put Hedwig and Patroclus inside. Then they started to shove and heave their trunks toward the train door. Both Harry and Y/n tried to lift it up the steps but could hardly raise one end and twice Y/n dropped it painfully on his foot.

“Want a hand?” It was one of the red-haired twins he’d followed through the barrier. “Oh! Yes, please,” Y/n panted, he wiped the sweat streaming from his brow as the red-haired boy shouted: “Oy, Fred! C’mere and help!”

With the twins’ help, Harry’s and Y/n’s trunk was at last tucked away in a corner of their compartment. “Thanks,” said Harry, pushing his sweaty hair out of his eyes. “Yes, thank you. I don’t think we’d be able to push them up here if it weren’t for you two.” Y/n said as he wiped his forehead, making his h/c locks uncover the scar.

“What’s that?” said one of the twins suddenly, pointing at Harry’s and Y/n’s lightning scars.

“Blimey,” said the other twin. “Are you two —?”

“They are,” said the first twin. “Aren’t you?” he added to Harry and Y/n.

“What?” said Harry, confusion laced in his tone.

“Harry and Y/n Potter.” chorused the twins.

“Oh, them,” said Harry. “I mean, yes, we are.” The two boys gawked at them, and both boys felt themselves turning red. Then, to Y/n’s relief, a voice came floating in through the train’s open door.

“Fred? George? Are you there?” “Coming, Mom.” With a last look at Harry and Y/n, the twins hopped off the train.

Y/n blew a sigh of relief and sat down, his shoulders slumped. Harry sat down next to the window where, half hidden, he could watch the red-haired family on the platform and hear what they were saying. Their mother had just taken out her handkerchief.

“Ron, you’ve got something on your nose.” The youngest boy tried to jerk out of the way, but she grabbed him and began rubbing the end of his nose. “Mom — geroff” He wriggled free. “Aaah, has ickle Ronnie got somefink on his nosie?” said one of the twins. “Shut up,” said Ron. “Where’s Percy?” said their mother. “He’s coming now.”

“Harry what are you doing?” asked Y/n. “Shhh!” he snapped, before tilting his head towards the window and placed his finger over his lips. Y/n’s eyes widened before nodding and he too slid over to the window. He watched as the oldest boy came striding into sight. He had already changed into his billowing black Hogwarts robes, and Harry and Y/n noticed a shiny silver badge on his chest with the letter P on it.

“Can’t stay long, Mother,” he said. “I’m up front. The prefects have got two compartments to themselves —”

“Oh, are you a prefect, Percy?” said one of the twins, with an air of great surprise. “You should have said something. We had no idea.” “Hang on, I think I remember him saying something about it,” said the other twin.

“Once —” “Or twice —” “A minute —” “All summer —”

“Oh, shut up,” said Percy the Prefect. “How come Percy gets new robes, anyway?” said one of the twins. “Because he’s a prefect,” said their mother fondly. “All right, dear, well, have a good term — send me an owl when you get there.” She kissed Percy on the cheek and he left. Then she turned to the twins. “Now, you two — this year, you behave yourselves. If I get one more owl telling me you’ve — you’ve blown up a toilet or —”

“Blown up a toilet? We’ve never blown up a toilet.” “Great idea though, thanks, Mom.”

“It’s not funny! And look after Ron.” “Don’t worry, ickle Ronniekins is safe with us.” “Shut up,” said Ron again. He was almost as tall as the twins already and his nose was still pink where his mother had rubbed it. “Hey, Mom, guess what? Guess who we just met on the train?” Y/n and Harry leaned back quickly so they couldn’t see them looking.

“You know that black-haired boy who was near us in the station, and the h/c boy with him? Know who they are?”

“Who?” asked their mother. “Harry and Y/n Potter!” Harry heard the little boy’s voice. “Oh, Mom, can I go on the train and see them, Mom, eh please….” “You’ve already seen them, Gwaine, and the poor boy’s aren’t something you goggle at in a zoo. Are they really, Fred? How do you know?”

“Asked them. Saw their scars. It’s really there — like lightning.” “Poor dear’s — no wonder they were alone, I wondered. They were ever so polite when they asked how to get onto the platform.”

“Never mind that, do you think they remember what You-Know-Who looks like?”

Their mother suddenly became very stern. “I forbid you to ask them, Fred. No, don’t you dare. As though they need reminding of that on their first day at school.”

“All right, keep your hair on.”

A whistle sounded. “Hurry up!” their mother said, and the three boys clambered onto the train. They leaned out of the window for her to kiss them good-bye, and their younger brother began to cry.

“Don’t, Gwaine, we’ll send you loads of owls.” “We’ll send you a Hogwarts’ toilet seat.” “George!” “Only joking, Mom.”

The train began to move and Y/n saw the boys’ mother waving and their brother, half laughing, half crying, running to keep up with the train until it gathered too much speed. Then he fell back and waved. Both Harry and Y/n watched the boy and her mother disappear as the train rounded the corner. Houses flashed past the window, and Y/n felt a great leap of excitement. He didn’t know what he was going to do — but it had to be better than what he was leaving behind.

Y/n tore his face from the window and looked at Harry. Harry felt his twin’s eyes and turned to look at him. Y/n smiled and he smiled back. They were finally free from the Dursleys. They were free. And they were together.

The door of the compartment slid open, making both boys snap their heads towards the compartment doors. They watched as the youngest redheaded boy came in. “Anyone sitting there?” he asked, pointing at the seat opposite Harry.

“Everywhere else is full.” he quickly explained, his face tinted red. Harry shook his head and the boy sat down. He glanced at Harry then at Y/n, before he looked quickly out of the window, pretending he hadn’t looked. Y/n saw he still had a black mark on his nose. The doors to the compartment slid open once more.

“Hey, Ron.” The twins were back, each had a smirk on their identical faces. “Listen, we’re going down the middle of the train — Lee Jordan’s got a giant tarantula down there.” Y/n felt a shiver run down his spine at the mention of the spider. And if he was correct, the redhead boy in front of him did as well.

“Right,” mumbled “Ron”.

“Harry, Y/n” said the other twin, “did we introduce ourselves? Sorry about that. Fred and George Weasley. And this is Ron, our brother. See you later, then.” “Bye,” said Harry, Y/n and Ron. The twins slid the compartment door shut behind them.

“Are you really Harry and Y/n Potter?” Ron blurted out. Harry and Y/n nodded. “Oh — well, I thought it might be one of Fred and George’s jokes,” said Ron. “And have you really got — you know…” He pointed at his own forehead. Both Harry and Y/n pulled back their bangs to show the lightning scar.

Ron stared at them. “So that’s where You-Know-Who —?” “Yes,” said Harry and Y/n, rather quickly. “But I — we --- can’t remember it.” finished Harry. “Nothing?” said Ron eagerly. “Well — I remember a lot of green light, but nothing else.” Harry looked down at his hands. “I remember somebody laughing and green light as well, but that’s it.” commented Y/n as he looked at Ron. “Wow,” said Ron. He sat and stared at Harry and Y/n for a few moments, then, as though he had suddenly realized what he was doing, he looked quickly out of the window again. Y/n giggled under his breath.

“Are all your family wizards?” asked Harry, who found Ron just as interesting as Ron found him and his brother. “Er — Yes, I think so,” said Ron. “I think Mom’s got a second cousin who’s an accountant, but we never talk about him.”

“So you must know loads of magic already.” Y/n piped up. The Weasleys were clearly one of those old wizarding families the pale boy in Diagon Alley had talked about.

“I heard you went to live with Muggles,” said Ron, his eyes flickering back and forth between Y/n and Harry. “What are they like?” “Horrible — well, not all of them. Our aunt and uncle and cousin are.” Y/n remarked. “Wish I had three wizard brothers,” said Harry. Y/n glared at him. “What am I? Chop liver??” Harry smiled amusedly at his twin. “No. But you know what I mean.”

“Five,” said Ron, all suddenly. For some reason, he was looking gloomy.

“I’m the sixth in our family to go to Hogwarts. You could say I’ve got a lot to live up to. Bill and Charlie have already left — Bill was head boy and Charlie was captain of Quidditch. Now Percy’s a prefect. Fred and George mess around a lot, but they still get really good marks and everyone thinks they’re really funny. Everyone expects me to do as well as the others, but if I do, it’s no big deal, because they did it first. You never get anything new, either, with five brothers. I’ve got Bill’s old robes, Charlie’s old wand, and Percy’s old rat.”

Ron reached inside his jacket and pulled out a fat gray rat, which was asleep.

“His name’s Scabbers and he’s useless, he hardly ever wakes up. Percy got an owl from my dad for being made a prefect, but they couldn’t aff — I mean, I got Scabbers instead.” Ron’s ears went pink. He seemed to think he’d said too much, because he went back to staring out of the window.

Both Y/n and Harry didn’t think there was anything wrong with not being able to afford an owl. After all, they’d never had any money in their life until a month ago, and so, Harry and Y/n told Ron all about having to wear Dudley’s old clothes and never getting proper birthday presents. This seemed to cheer Ron up.

“ . . . and until Hagrid told us, We didn’t know anything about being a wizard or about my parents or Voldemort —”

Ron gasped, effectively interrupting Harry. “What?” said Harry, he was confused. “You said You-Know-Who’s name!” said Ron, sounding both shocked and impressed. “I’d have thought you, of all people —”

“I’m not trying to be brave or anything, saying the name,” said Harry,

“I just never knew you shouldn’t. See what I mean? Y/n and I got loads to learn . . . I bet,” he added, voicing for the first time something that had been worrying him a lot lately, “I bet we’ll be the worst in the class.”

“You won’t be. There’s loads of people who come from Muggle families and they learn quick enough.” reassured Ron. Y/n smiled at that and gave Harry a look. “See? We’ll be okay, Harry. Just try not to get on any professor’s bad sides.” joked Y/n.

While they had been talking, the train had carried them out of London. Now they were speeding past fields full of cows and sheep. They were quiet for a time, watching the fields and lanes flick past.

Around this time, Y/n had brought out one of his textbooks. He was reading vigorously when around half past twelve there was a great clattering outside in the corridor and a smiling, dimpled woman slid back their door and said, “Anything off the cart, dears?”

Y/n looked up from his book and smiled at the woman. He and Harry hadn’t had any breakfast, so both boys leapt to their feet, but Ron’s ears went pink again and he muttered that he’d brought sandwiches. Harry and Y/n went out into the corridor. Y/n had gasped at the sight of the candy and sugary sweets. He had never had any money for candy with the Dursleys, and now that he and Harry had pockets rattling with gold and silver they were ready to buy as many Mars Bars as they could carry — but the woman didn’t have Mars Bars.

What she did have were Bettie Bott’s Every Flavor Beans, Drooble’s Best Blowing Gum, Chocolate Frogs. Pumpkin Pasties, Cauldron Cakes, Licorice Wands, and a number of other strange things Y/n and Harry had never seen in their life. Not wanting to miss anything, they got some of everything and paid the woman each eleven silver Sickles and seven bronze Knuts.

Ron was staring as Harry and Y/n brought their sugar back into the compartment and tipped it onto an empty seat.

“Hungry, are you?” he asked. “Starving,” said Harry, taking a large bite out of a pumpkin pasty. Y/n had chosen a Cauldron Cake and moaned in delight at the taste.

Ron had taken out a lumpy package and unwrapped it. There were four sandwiches inside. He pulled one of them apart and said, “She always forgets I don’t like corned beef . . .”

“Swap you for one of these,” said Harry, holding up a pasty. “Go on —” “You don’t want this, it’s all dry,” said Ron. “She hasn’t got much time,” he added quickly, “you know, with five of us.”

“Go on, have a pasty,” said Harry, who had never had anything to share before or, indeed, anyone to share it with -- besides his brother. It was a nice feeling, sitting there with Ron, and Y/n eating their way through all Harry’s and Y/n’s pasties, cakes, and candies (the sandwiches lay forgotten).

“What are these?” Harry asked Ron, holding up a pack of Chocolate Frogs. “They’re not really frogs, are they?” He was starting to feel that nothing would surprise him. “Oh God I hope not.” Y/n said as he looked in disgust.

“No,” said Ron. “But see what the card is. I’m missing Agrippa.” “What?” asked Harry. Y/n was looking at Ron strangely.

“Oh, of course, you wouldn’t know — Chocolate Frogs have cards, inside them, you know, to collect — famous witches and wizards. I’ve got about five hundred, but I haven’t got Agrippa or Ptolemy.”

Harry unwrapped his Chocolate Frog and picked up the card. It showed a man’s face. He wore half-moon glasses, had a long, crooked nose, and flowing silver hair, beard, and mustache. Underneath the picture was the name Albus Dumbledore.

“So this is Dumbledore!” said Harry as he turned the card over to show Y/n the picture of the man. “Don’t tell me you’d never heard of Dumbledore!” said Ron. “Can I have a frog? I might get Agrippa — thanks —”

“No problem,” said Y/n as he watched Harry read his card before handing it over to him.

He turned over the card and read: ALBUS DUMBLEDORE CURRENTLY HEADMASTER OF HOGWARTS Considered by many the greatest wizard of modern times, Dumbledore is particularly famous for his defeat of the dark wizard Grindelwald in 1945, for the discovery of the twelve uses of dragon’s blood, and his work on alchemy with his partner, Nicolas Flamel. Professor Dumbledore enjoys chamber music and tenpin bowling.

Y/n turned the card back over and saw, to his astonishment, that Dumbledore’s face had disappeared.

“He’s gone!” exclaimed Y/n, drawing both Harry’s and Ron’s attention. “Well, you can’t expect him to hang around all day,” said Ron. “He’ll be back. No, I’ve got Morgana again and I’ve got about six of her . . . do you want it? You can start collecting.” Harry took the card with a thankful smile as Ron’s eyes strayed to the pile of Chocolate Frogs waiting to be unwrapped.

“Help yourself,” said Harry. “But in, you know, the Muggle world, people just stay put in photos.”

“Do they? What, they don’t move at all?” Ron sounded amazed. He turned to look at Y/n who nodded. “Yep. They’re rather boring if you ask me.” “Weird!” Ron exclaimed.

Y/n smiled at Ron once more before he looked back down and stared as Dumbledore sidled back into the picture on his card and gave him a small smile. Ron was more interested in eating the frogs than looking at the Famous Witches and Wizards cards, but Y/n and Harry couldn’t keep their eyes off them. Soon, each had not only Dumbledore and Morgana, but Hengist of Woodcroft, Alberic Grunnion, Circe, Paracelsus, and Merlin.

“Circe?” questioned Y/n, looking down at the card of the beautiful witch on his card. “But she’s a minor goddess in greek mythology. Why is she --?”

Ron looked up at Y/n and gave him a strange look. “Greek mythology? What’s that?” Y/n gave him a horrified look before he delved deep into the complicated ins and outs of the Greeks and their mythology and myths. By the time Y/n was done explaining Ron was giving him a blank stare.

“So . . . they married each other’s brothers and sisters?? And Kronos ate his children except for the one kid, Zuke --”

“Zeus.” corrected Y/n.

“Right, er, why are you??” Y/n could immediately tell that Ron was lost for words and Y/n sighed and waved his hand. “Never mind.” He said and quickly made a mental note to look up Circe at the library Hogwarts had -- Hogwarts: A History is an extremely helpful book and Y/n’s tried to get his brother to read it but his attempts were for nothing -- before he was distracted by Harry.

Harry finally tore his eyes away from the Druidess Cliodna card -- who was scratching her nose -- to open a bag of Bertie Bott’s Every Flavor Beans.

“You want to be careful with those,” Ron warned Harry. “When they say every flavor, they mean every flavor — you know, you get all the ordinary ones like chocolate and peppermint and marmalade, but then you can get spinach and liver and tripe. George reckons he had a booger-flavored one once.”

Y/n gave him a disgusted look. Ron picked up a green bean, looked at it carefully, and bit into a corner. “Bleaaargh — see? Sprouts.”

Harry and Ron had a good time eating the Every Flavor Beans. Harry got toast, coconut, baked bean, strawberry, curry, grass, coffee, sardine, and was even brave enough to nibble the end off a funny gray one Ron wouldn’t touch, which turned out to be pepper. All while Y/n watched and passed judgment on them and complained about the beans (he finally gathered the courage to try one and instead of getting kiwi he got boogie).

The countryside now flying past the window was becoming wilder. The neat fields had gone. Now there were woods, twisting rivers, and dark green hills. There was a knock on the door of their compartment and the round-faced boy Harry and Y/n had passed on platform nine and three-quarters came in. He looked tearful. “Sorry,” he said, “but have you seen a toad at all?” When they shook their heads, he wailed, “I’ve lost him! He keeps getting away from me!” “He’ll turn up,” said Harry, trying to sound upbeat. “Yes,” said the boy miserably. “Well, if you see him…” “We’ll let you know,” smiled Y/n. The round faced boy gave him a small tearful smile before he left.

“Don’t know why he’s so bothered,” said Ron. “If I’d brought a toad I’d lose it as quick as I could. Mind you, I brought Scabbers, so I can’t talk.” The rat was still snoozing on Ron’s lap. Y/n glared at Ron as he made fun of the poor boy. “He might have died and you wouldn’t know the difference,” said Ron in disgust. “I tried to turn him yellow yesterday to make him more interesting, but the spell didn’t work. I’ll show you, look…”

He rummaged around in his trunk and pulled out a very battered-looking wand. It was chipped in places and something white was glinting at the end.

“Unicorn hair’s nearly poking out. Anyway —” He had just raised his wand when the compartment door slid open again. The toadless boy was back, but this time he had a girl with him. She was already wearing her new Hogwarts robes.

“Has anyone seen a toad? Neville’s lost one,” she said. She had a bossy sort of voice, lots of bushy brown hair, and rather large front teeth. Y/n instantly liked her. “We’ve already told him we haven’t seen it,” said Ron, but the girl wasn’t listening, she was looking at the wand in his hand. “Oh, are you doing magic? Let’s see it, then.” She sat down next to Y/n. Ron looked taken aback.

“Er — all right.” He cleared his throat. “Sunshine, daisies, butter mellow, Turn this stupid, fat rat yellow.” He waved his wand, but nothing happened. Scabbers stayed gray and fast asleep.

“Are you sure that’s a real spell?” said the girl. “Well, it’s not very good, is it? I’ve tried a few simple spells just for practice, and it’s all worked for me. Nobody in my family’s magic at all, it was ever such a surprise when I got my letter, but I was ever so pleased, of course, I mean, it’s the very best school of witchcraft there is, I’ve heard — I’ve learned all our course books by heart, of course, I just hope it will be enough — I’m Hermione Granger, by the way, who are you?” She said all this very fast.

Y/n was smiling in delight at the girl. She was a joy to be around.

“I’m Ron Weasley,” Ron muttered. “I’m Harry Potter,” said Harry.

“And I’m Y/n Potter. And I must say that it is excellent that you’ve already tried a few spells! Ever since my brother and I got back from Diagon Alley, I’ve been reading up on all of Hogwarts and magic. I can’t wait to try out all that I've learned and memorized with our professors.”

Hermione looked at Y/n with admiration in her eyes. “Are you really?” said Hermione. “I know all about you and your brother, of course — I got a few extra books, for background reading, and you’re in Modern Magical History and The Rise and Fall of the Dark Arts and Great Wizarding Events of the Twentieth Century.”

“Am I?” said Harry, feeling dazed. “We are?” asked Y/n.

“Goodness, didn’t you know, I’d have found out everything I could if it was me,” said Hermione. “Do either of you know what house you’ll be in? I’ve been asking around, and I hope I’m in Gryffindor. It sounds by far the best; I hear Dumbledore himself was in it, but I suppose Ravenclaw wouldn’t be too bad . . .”

“I hope to be either in Ravenclaw or Gryffindor as well!” said Y/n, while smiling at Hermione. “Really?” Hermione gave Y/n a toothy smile before clearing her throat and standing. “Anyway, we’d better go and look for Neville’s toad. You three had better change, you know, I expect we’ll be there soon.”

“See you later Hermione!” called out Y/n as she left, taking the toadless boy with her, all while waving in goodbye.

“Whatever house I’m in, I hope she’s not in it,” said Ron. Y/n snapped his head towards Ron. He was starting to not like him.

Ron threw his wand back into his trunk. “Stupid spell — George gave it to me, bet he knew it was a dud.”

“What house are your brothers in?” asked Harry. “Gryffindor,” said Ron. Gloom seemed to be settling on him again. “Mom and Dad were in it, too. I don’t know what they’ll say if I’m not. I don’t suppose Ravenclaw would be too bad, but imagine if they put me in Slytherin.”

“That’s the house Vol-, I mean, You-Know-Who was in?” said Harry. “Yeah,” said Ron. He flopped back into his seat, looking depressed. “You know, I think the ends of Scabbers’ whiskers are a bit lighter,” said Harry, trying to take Ron’s mind off houses. “So what do your oldest brothers do now that they’ve left, anyway?” asked Y/n. He was wondering what a wizard did once he’d finished school. “Charlie’s in Romania studying dragons, and Bill’s in Africa doing something for Gringotts,” said Ron. Y/n had perked up at the part about dragons. But Ron didn’t seem to notice. “Did you hear about Gringotts? It’s been all over the Daily Prophet, but I don’t suppose you get that with the Muggles — someone tried to rob a high security vault.” Harry stared. “Really? What happened to them?”

“Nothing, that’s why it’s such big news. They haven’t been caught. My dad says it must’ve been a powerful Dark wizard to get round Gringotts, but they don’t think they took anything. That’s what’s odd. ’Course, everyone gets scared when something like this happens in case You-Know-Who’s behind it.”

Harry and Y/n turned this news over in their mind. Both were starting to get a prickle of fear every time You-Know-Who was mentioned. Y/n supposed this was all part of entering the magical world, but it had been a lot more comfortable saying “Voldemort” without worrying.

“What’s your Quidditch team?” Ron asked, wanting to change the subject. “Er — we don’t know any.” Harry confessed. “What!” Ron looked dumbfounded. “Oh, you wait, it’s the best game in the world —” And he was off, explaining all about the four balls and the positions of the seven players, describing famous games he’d been to with his brothers and the broomstick he’d like to get if he had the money. He was just taking Harry and Y/n through the finer points of the game when the compartment door slid open yet again, but it wasn’t Neville, the toadless boy, or Hermione Granger this time.

Three boys entered, and Y/n recognized the middle one at once: it was the pale boy from Madam Malkin’s robe shop. He was looking at both Y/n and Harry with a lot more interest than he’d shown back in Diagon Alley.

“Is it true?” he said. “They’re saying all down the train that Harry and Y/n Potter is in this compartment.” His grey eyes were switching back and forth between Harry and Y/n, before landing on Y/n. “So it’s you two, isn’t it?”

“Yes,” said Harry. He was looking at the other boys. Both of them were thickset and looked extremely mean. Standing on either side of the pale boy, they looked like bodyguards. “Oh, this is Crabbe and this is Goyle,” said the pale boy carelessly, noticing where Harry was looking. “And my name’s Malfoy, Draco Malfoy.”

Ron gave a slight cough, which might have been hiding a snigger. Draco Malfoy looked at him.

“Think my name’s funny, do you? No need to ask who you are. My father told me all the Weasleys have red hair, freckles, and more children than they can afford.” Ron had shut up immediately.

He turned back to Harry and Y/n. “You’ll soon find out some wizarding families are much better than others, Potter’s. You don’t want to go making friends with the wrong sort. I can help you there.” He held out his hand to shake Harry’s, but Harry didn’t take it. “I think I can tell who the wrong sort are for myself, thanks,” he said Coolly.

Draco Malfoy didn’t go red, but a pink tinge appeared in his pale cheeks. He glared at Harry before turning his attention to Y/n. “And you?” he asked. His hand was still out and in front of Y/n. It looked cold and inviting. Y/n was torn between his brother and the boy before him.

“Y/n can also tell who is the wrong sort for himself.” snapped Harry as he pulled Y/n closer to himself. Malfoy’s eyes narrowed. “I’d be careful if I were you, Potter,” he said slowly. “Unless you’re a bit politer you’ll go the same way as your parents. They didn’t know what was good for them, either. You hang around with riffraff like the Weasleys and that Hagrid, and it’ll rub off on you.”

Both Harry, Y/n, and Ron stood up. “Say that again,” Ron threatened, his face as red as his hair. “Oh, you’re going to fight us, are you?” Malfoy sneered. “Unless you get out now,” said Harry, more bravely than he felt, because Crabbe and Goyle were a lot bigger than him or Ron. “But we don’t feel like leaving, do we, boys? We’ve eaten all our food and you still seem to have some.” Goyle reached toward the Chocolate Frogs next to Ron — Ron leapt forward, but before he’d so much as touched Goyle, Goyle let out a horrible yell. Scabbers the rat was hanging off his finger, sharp little teeth sunk deep into Goyle’s knuckle — Crabbe and Malfoy backed away as Goyle swung Scabbers round and round, howling, and when Scabbers finally flew off and hit the window, all three of them disappeared at once. Perhaps they thought there were more rats lurking among the sweets, or perhaps they’d heard footsteps, because a second later, Hermione Granger had come in. “What has been going on?” she said, looking at the sweets all over the floor and Ron picking up Scabbers by his tail. “I think he’s been knocked out,” Ron said to Harry. He looked closer at Scabbers. “No — I don’t believe it — he’s gone back to sleep.” And so he had.

“You’ve met Malfoy before?”

Harry explained about their meeting in Diagon Alley. “I’ve heard of his family,” said Ron darkly. “They were some of the first to come back to our side after You-Know-Who disappeared. Said they’d been bewitched. My dad doesn’t believe it. He says Malfoy’s father didn’t need an excuse to go over to the Dark Side.” He turned to Hermione. “Can we help you with something?”

For the hundredth time, Y/n glared at how rude Ron was today.

“You’d better hurry up and put your robes on, I’ve just been up to the front to ask the conductor, and he says we’re nearly there. You haven’t been fighting, have you? You’ll be in trouble before we even get there!” “Scabbers has been fighting, not us,” said Ron, scowling at her. “Would you mind leaving while we change?” “All right — I only came in here because people outside are behaving very childishly, racing up and down the corridors,” said Hermione in a sniffy voice. “And you’ve got dirt on your nose, by the way, did you know?” Ron glared at her as she left. Harry and Y/n peered out of the window. It was getting dark. They could see mountains and forests under a deep purple sky. The train did seem to be slowing down. He, Harry and Ron took off their jackets and pulled on their long black robes. Ron’s were a bit short for him, you could see his sneakers underneath them.

A voice echoed through the train: “We will be reaching Hogwarts in five minutes’ time. Please leave your luggage on the train, it will be taken to the school separately.”

Y/n’s stomach lurched with nerves and Ron, he saw, looked pale under his freckles. They crammed their pockets with the last of the sweets and joined the crowd thronging the corridor. The train slowed right down and finally stopped. People pushed their way toward the door and out on to a tiny, dark platform. Harry shivered in the cold night air. Then a lamp came bobbing over the heads of the students, and Y/n and Harry heard a familiar voice: “Firs’ years! Firs’ years over here! All right there, Y/n, Harry?” Hagrid’s big hairy face beamed over the sea of heads.

“C’mon, follow me — any more firs’ years? Mind yer step, now! Firs’ years follow me!” Slipping and stumbling, they followed Hagrid down what seemed to be a steep, narrow path. It was so dark on either side of them that Y/n and Harry thought there must be thick trees there. Nobody spoke much. Neville, the boy who kept losing his toad, sniffed once or twice.

“Yeh’ll get yer firs’ sight o’ Hogwarts in a sec,” Hagrid called over his shoulder, “jus’ round this bend here.” There was a loud “Oooooh!” The narrow path had opened suddenly onto the edge of a great black lake. Perched atop a high mountain on the other side, its windows sparkling in the starry sky, was a vast castle with many turrets and towers. “No more’n four to a boat!” Hagrid called, pointing to a fleet of little boats sitting in the water by the shore. Harry and Ron were followed into their boat by Neville and Hermione, and Y/n had to find a boat for himself. He sighed and climbed into a boat with a short chubby girl with red hair, a tall lanky girl with blonde hair, and a boy with brunette hair.

“Everyone in?” shouted Hagrid, who had a boat to himself. “Right then— FORWARD!”

And the fleet of little boats moved off all at once, gliding across the lake, which was as smooth as glass. Everyone was silent, staring up at the great castle overhead. It towered over them as they sailed nearer and nearer to the cliff on which it stood. “Heads down!” yelled Hagrid as the first boats reached the cliff; they all bent their heads and the little boats carried them through a curtain of ivy that hid a wide opening in the cliff face. They were carried along a dark tunnel, which seemed to be taking them right underneath the castle, until they reached a kind of underground harbor, where they clambered out onto rocks and pebbles.

“Oy, you there! Is this your toad?” said Hagrid, who was checking the boats as people climbed out of them. “Trevor!” cried Neville blissfully, holding out his hands. Then they clambered up a passageway in the rock after Hagrid’s lamp, coming out at last onto smooth, damp grass right in the shadow of the castle. They walked up a flight of stone steps and crowded around the huge oak front door. “Everyone here? You there, still got yer toad?” Hagrid raised a gigantic fist and knocked three times on the castle door.

Authors Note:

Hello everyone! I don't know if you noticed, but I decided to write Ginny as trans, so her old name is Gwaine and she'll start her transition from male-to-female during her third/fourth year. I won't be going so in-to detail about her transition because as a cis-female and asexual I don't want to make mistakes with writing her journey.

If you would like to be tagged in future stories, please respond to this post!!

𝙈𝙚𝙩𝙖𝙣𝙤𝙞𝙖 |𝘿𝙧𝙖𝙘𝙤 𝙈𝙖𝙡𝙛𝙤𝙮 𝙭 𝙈𝙖𝙡𝙚 𝙍𝙚𝙖𝙙𝙚𝙧|𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐍𝐢𝐧𝐞: 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐒𝐨𝐫𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐇𝐚𝐭

The door swung open at once. A tall, black-haired witch in emerald-green robes stood there. She had a very stern face, and Harry’s first thought was that this was not someone to cross. Yet she sported a warm gaze in her hard eyes. When her eyes landed on a few of the first years, her posture softened before turning back into a statue. Y/n knew from that moment he liked her. 

“The firs’ years, Professor McGonagall,” said Hagrid, his voice a bit gruff.

“Thank you, Hagrid. I will take them from here.” She pulled the door wide. Y/n gasped and took in the surroundings. The entrance hall was so big you could have fit the whole of the Dursleys’ house in it. The stone walls were lit with flaming torches, like the ones at Gringotts, the ceiling was too high to make out, and a magnificent marble staircase facing them led to the upper floors. 

They followed Professor McGonagall across the flagged stone floor, their footsteps echoed, and Y/n smiled. He could hear the drone of hundreds of voices from a doorway to the right — the rest of the school must already be here — but Professor McGonagall showed the first years into a small, empty chamber off the hall. They crowded in, standing rather closer together than they would usually have done, peering about nervously.

“Welcome to Hogwarts,” said Professor McGonagall. “The start-of-term banquet will begin shortly, but before you take your seats in the Great Hall, you will be sorted into your Houses. The Sorting is a very important ceremony because, while you are here, your House will be something like your family within Hogwarts. You will have classes with the rest of your House, sleep in your House dormitory, and spend free time in your House common room.”

“The four Houses are called Gryffindor, Hufflepuff, Ravenclaw, and Slytherin. Each House has its own noble history and each has produced outstanding witches and wizards. While you are at Hogwarts, your triumphs will earn your House points, while any rule-breaking will lose House points. At the end of the year, the House with the most points is awarded the House Cup, a great honor. I hope each of you will be a credit to whichever House becomes yours.” “The Sorting Ceremony will take place in a few minutes in front of the rest of the school. I suggest you all smarten yourselves up as much as you can while you are waiting.”

Her eyes lingered for a moment on Neville’s cloak, which was fastened under his left ear, and on Ron’s smudged nose, and a young chubby red-headed girl’s messy hair. Y/n and Harry shared a glance and then nervously tried to flatten their hair.

“I shall return when we are ready for you,” said Professor McGonagall. “Please wait quietly.” She left the chamber. Harry swallowed. “How exactly do they sort us into Houses?” he asked Ron. “Some sort of test, I think. Fred said it hurts a lot, but I think he was joking.” Y/n’s heart gave a horrible jolt. A test? In front of the whole school? But he or Harry didn’t know any magic yet — what on earth would they have to do? He hadn’t expected something like this the moment they arrived. He looked around anxiously and saw that everyone else looked terrified, too. No one was talking much except Hermione Granger, who was whispering very fast about all the spells she’d learned and wondering which one she’d need.

Harry tried hard not to listen to her, while Y/n also went over what spells he might need and tried to remember the wand movement, but did it in his head. He’d never been more nervous, never, not even when he’d had to take a school report home to the Dursleys saying that he’d somehow turned his teacher’s wig blue. He kept his eyes fixed on the door. Any second now, Professor McGonagall would come back and lead him and his brother to his doom.

Then something happened that made him jump about a foot in the air — several people behind him screamed.

“What the — ?” He gasped. So did the people around him. About twenty ghosts had just streamed through the back wall. Pearly-white and slightly transparent, they glided across the room talking to one another and hardly glancing at the first years. Y/n jumped into Harry, trying to avoid the ghosts that seemed to be arguing. 

What looked like a fat little monk was saying: “Forgive and forget, I say, we ought to give him a second chance —”

“My dear Friar, haven’t we given Peeves all the chances he deserves? He gives us all a bad name and you know, he’s not really even a ghost — I say, what are you all doing here?”

A ghost wearing a ruff and tights had suddenly noticed the first years. Nobody answered. “New students!” said the Fat Friar, smiling around at them. “About to be Sorted, I suppose?” A few people nodded mutely.

“Hope to see you in Hufflepuff!” said Friar. “My old House, you know.” Y/n smiled at the ghost as the Friar winked at him. 

“Move along now,” said a sharp voice. “The Sorting Ceremony is about to start.” Professor McGonagall had returned. One by one, the ghosts floated away through the opposite wall.

“Now, form a line,” Professor McGonagall told the first years, “and follow me.”

Feeling oddly as though his legs had turned to lead, Y/n got into line behind a boy with brown hair with the girl with auburn-hair behind him, and Ron was in front of him, and Harry was in front of Ron, behind a boy with sandy hair, and they walked out of the chamber, back across the hall, and through a pair of double doors into the Great Hall.

Y/n had never even imagined such a strange and splendid place. It was lit by thousands and thousands of candles that were floating in midair over four long tables, where the rest of the students were sitting. These tables were laid with glittering golden plates and goblets. At the top of the hall was another long table where the teachers were sitting. Professor McGonagall led the first years up here, so that they came to a halt in a line facing the other students, with the teachers behind them. The hundreds of faces staring at them looked like pale lanterns in the flickering candlelight. Dotted here and there among the students, the ghosts shone misty silver. Mainly to avoid all the staring eyes, Y/n looked upward and saw a velvety black ceiling dotted with stars. He smiled and he heard Hermione whisper, “It’s bewitched to look like the sky outside. I read about it in Hogwarts: A History.”

It was hard to believe there was a ceiling there at all, and that the Great Hall didn’t simply open on to the heavens.

Y/n quickly looked down again as Professor McGonagall silently placed a four-legged stool in front of the first years. On top of the stool she put a pointed wizard’s hat. This hat was patched and frayed and extremely dirty. Aunt Petunia wouldn’t have let it in the house.

Maybe they had to try and get a rabbit out of it, Y/n thought wildly, that seemed the sort of thing — noticing that everyone in the hall was now staring at the hat, he stared at it, too. For a few seconds, there was complete silence. 

Then the hat twitched. A rip near the brim opened wide like a mouth — and the hat began to sing:

“Oh, you may not think I’m pretty, 

But don’t judge on what you see, I’ll eat myself if you can find 

A smarter hat than me. You can keep your bowlers black, Your top hats sleek and tall, For I’m the Hogwarts Sorting Hat And I can cap them all. 

There’s nothing hidden in your head The Sorting Hat can’t see, So try me on and I will tell you Where you ought to be. 

You might belong in Gryffindor, Where dwell the brave at heart,

Their daring, nerve, and chivalry Set Gryffindors apart; 

You might belong in Hufflepuff, 

Where they are just and loyal, 

Those patient Hufflepuffs are true 

And unafraid of toil;

Or yet in wise old Ravenclaw,

 If you’ve a ready mind, 

Where those of wit and learning, 

Will always find their kind;

Or perhaps in Slytherin

You’ll make your real friends,

Those cunning folk use any means

To achieve their ends.

So put me on! Don’t be afraid!

And don’t get in a flap!

You’re in safe hands (though I have none) For I’m a Thinking Cap!”

The whole hall burst into applause as the hat finished its song. It bowed to each of the four tables and then became quite still again.

“So we’ve just got to try on the hat!” Y/n heard Ron whisper to Harry. “I’ll kill Fred, he was going on about wrestling a troll.”

Y/n smiled weakly. Yes, trying on the hat was a lot better than having to do a spell, but he did wish they could have tried it on without everyone watching. The hat seemed to be asking rather a lot; Y/n didn’t feel brave or quick-witted or any of it at the moment. If only the hat had mentioned a House for people who felt a bit queasy, that would have been the one for him.

Professor McGonagall now stepped forward holding a long roll of parchment.

“When I call your name, you will put on the hat and sit on the stool to be sorted,” she said. “Abbott, Hannah!” A pink-faced girl with blonde pigtails stumbled out of line, put on the hat, which fell right down over her eyes, and sat down. A moment’s pause — “HUFFLEPUFF!” shouted the hat.

The table on the right cheered and clapped as Hannah went to sit down at the Hufflepuff table. Y/n saw the ghost of the Fat Friar waving merrily at her, and Y/n watched as older Hufflepuffs greeted and welcomed the girl.

“Bones, Susan!”

“HUFFLEPUFF!” shouted the hat again, and Susan scuttled off to sit next to Hannah, and just like Hannah, the Hufflepuffs greeted and welcomed her as well. Throughout the ceremony, with each sorting of Hufflepuff, they would greet and welcome their new housemate. 

“Boot, Terry!”

“RAVENCLAW!”

The table second from the left clapped this time; several Ravenclaws stood up to shake hands with Terry as he joined them.  “Brocklehurst, Mandy” went to Ravenclaw too, but 

“Brown, Lavender” became the first new Gryffindor, and the table on the far left exploded with cheers; Harry could see Ron’s twin brothers catcalling.

“Bulstrode, Millicent” then became a Slytherin. And Y/n watched as a few Slytherin’s greeted the girl and welcomed her to their house. Although some of the older students did look a bit unpleasant and bored. 

Y/n was starting to feel definitely sick now. He remembered how he and Harry were picked for teams during gym at his old school. And they’d always been last to be chosen, not because they were no good, but because no one wanted Dudley to think they liked them.

“Douglas, Charlie,” 

The brunette boy Y/n shared a boat and walked out from the crowd of first years. He looked nervous and glanced at the hat and gulped. He sat on the stool and Professor McGonagall placed the hat on his head and he jumped slightly, and his green eyes became wide. 

“SLYTHERIN!” 

The boy looked relieved and his shoulder relaxed and he smiled at the Slytherin table, he looked pleased and walked over to them. 

“Finch-Fletchley, Justin!”

“HUFFLEPUFF!”

Sometimes, Y/n noticed, the hat shouted out the House at once, but at others it took a little while to decide. “Finnigan, Seamus,” the sandy-haired boy next to Harry in the line, sat on the stool for almost a whole minute before the hat declared him a Gryffindor.

“Fawcett, Sarah,” 

A girl with tawny brown hair and eyes, strode up to the stool and sat down. 

“RAVENCLAW!!” Cheers from the Ravenclaw table sounded and she smiled widely before she jumped off the chair. 

“Granger, Hermione!”

Hermione almost ran to the stool and jammed the hat eagerly on her head. “GRYFFINDOR!” shouted the hat. Ron groaned. Y/n clapped for her and gave her an encouraging smile. She smiled at him, before striding over to the Gryffindor table and sitting down next to a boy with the same ginger hair as Ron and his twin brothers. 

A horrible thought struck Y/n, as horrible thoughts always do when you’re very nervous. What if he wasn’t chosen at all? What if he just sat there with the hat over his eyes for ages, until Professor McGonagall jerked it off his head and said there had obviously been a mistake and he’d better get back on the train?

When Neville Longbottom, the boy who kept losing his toad, was called, he fell over on his way to the stool. The hat took a long time to decide with Neville. When it finally shouted, “GRYFFINDOR,” Neville ran off still wearing it, and had to jog back amid gales of laughter to give it to: “Malfoy, Draco,” 

Malfoy swaggered forward when his name was called and got his wish at once: the hat had barely touched his head when it screamed, “SLYTHERIN!” Malfoy went to join his friends Crabbe and Goyle, looking pleased with himself.

There weren’t many people left now.

“Moon, Aurora,” . . . , “Nott, Theodore,” . . . , “Parkinson, Pansy,” . . . , then a pair of twin girls, “Patil, Padama” and “Patil, Parvarti,” . . . , then “Perks, Sally-Anne” . . . , and then, at last —

“Potter, Harry!” As Harry stepped forward, whispers suddenly broke out like little hissing fires all over the hall. 

“Potter, did she say?”

“The Harry Potter?”

“Where’s his brother, Y/n Potter?” 

“The Potter twins?” 

Y/n’s cheeks became inflamed as eyes in the Hall eyed his twin and started looking for him. There were only a few students after him and soon he would be sorted. Y/n watched as Harry shuffled over to the stole and the hat. He watched his brother speak to the hat for a few minutes before the hat shouted: “GRYFFINDOR!!” 

The Gryffindor table exploded in cheers as Harry smiled widely. He looked happy and relieved that he was put in Gryffindor, and he slipped the hat off his head and walked over to the table as the Gyffindor’s cheered and the Weasley twins shouted: “We got Potter!! We got Potter!!” and Harry had his hand shaken by a Weasley. 

“Potter, Y/n,” 

The hall became quiet again, and everyone’s eyes were trained on his form as Y/n gulped and walked off to the stool. He sat on the four-legged stool and blushed at the eyes that were on him. Professor McGongall sat the hat down on his head and he jumped at the voice that he heard in his head. 

“Ah! Potter! Unlike your brother, who would’ve done well in Slytherin, you do not. No, I see a heart full of loyalty, bravery, honesty . . . a heart of gold, eh? Kindness is flowing through your veins, just like your mother,” 

Y/n perked up at the mention of his mother and he felt his heart become heavy. 

“Yes, though you’ll do good in Gryffindor, I see more . . . . yes, that’s where I’ll put you,”  This time the hat spoke aloud and shouted: “HUFFLEPUFF!!!”

Authors Note:

I hope you enjoyed it though!! I was a bit offline for a bit due to me on vacation with zero internet access and I write on my chromebook, but I do have a few chapters already written and working on more!

I hope you enjoyed it though!! I was a bit offline for a bit due to me on vacation with zero internet access and I write on my chromebook, but I do have a few chapters already written and working on more!

if you want to be part of the tag list, please respond to this post!

taglist:

@officialsaturn

@mysticanxy

𝙈𝙚𝙩𝙖𝙣𝙤𝙞𝙖 |𝘿𝙧𝙖𝙘𝙤 𝙈𝙖𝙡𝙛𝙤𝙮 𝙭 𝙈𝙖𝙡𝙚 𝙍𝙚𝙖𝙙𝙚𝙧|𝘾𝙝𝙖𝙥𝙩𝙚𝙧 𝙏𝙚𝙣: 𝙒𝙚𝙡𝙘𝙤𝙢𝙚 𝙩𝙤 𝙃𝙪𝙛𝙛𝙡𝙚𝙥𝙪𝙛𝙛 𝙃𝙤𝙪𝙨𝙚

The hall was silent; everyone stared for a brief moment until Professor McGonagall started clapping. Slowly, the other professors at the high table on the raised dais joined in. Y/n didn’t know what to do. He was frozen—at a standstill. While the table under the yellow banner with a badger applauded and cheered with smiles, he never felt so unwelcome. 

Y/n didn’t notice that the stern professor had removed the old raggedy hat until she urged him off the rickety chair. He didn’t notice his legs moving on their own. Poor Y/n couldn’t hear anything. It was all muffled. As if someone was cupping his ears, shutting him out from the world into a plain of silence. His e/c eyes were glued on Harry. His twin was staring at him with a pained expression. Of course he was sad, thought Y/n bitterly. Why didn’t that talking hat put me in Gryffindor? 

Ever so slowly, Y/n started moving towards the table of his new house. Eyes from the Gryffindor table watched his movements as he slunked towards the long rectangular table. Behind him, Professor McGonagall continued to call out names for each new student to be sorted. Once he reached the table, many eyes and faces greeted him with smiles. They were happy; he realised. Happy to have snatched one of the Potters. Though they did not boast about it like Harry’s house, you could see the joy each one had. 

Before Y/n could sit down, a tall boy with black wavy hair and sky-blue eyes stood up, drawing attention temporarily from Y/n but in the end winded back to being on the young Potter. The boy stopped in front of Y/n and he watched with a terrified expression on his face. 

“‘Ello Potter! The name’s Oliver Benedict, and I’m the seventh year Prefect of Hufflepuff House. If you need anything at all, please come straight towards me. And welcome to Hufflepuff.” Y/n watched in silence as he smiled and gestured to the table behind him. The tall creature smiled too much, which made shivers climb up his spine. Y/n wanted to say hello or nice to meet you, or possibly anything. But alas, all he said was: “Um… w-where d-do I-sit at?” His e/c eyes wandered over the table, trying to figure out where he was supposed to go. He knew from primary school that each table had a group. And he was able to figure out which group was friendly and which one was not. However, there were no multiple tables for Hufflepuff. Just one long rectangular table that had a handful of students. 

“Oh, right!” Oliver cleared his throat and pointed to a small group at the end of the table. “You can sit there with the other first years, or—” He pointed to the front. “You sit with us, seventh and sixth years.” 

Y/n pointed to the rest of the first years. “I think I’ll sit with them; the other first years.” He said shyly. His eyes flickered down to his hands as he fiddled with the black robes of his uniform. 

“Of course, of course.” Oliver chuckled. “Remember now, if you need anything—and I mean anything at all, please come to me and I shall be glad to help you.” With one last friendly smile, Oliver went back to his original seat before Y/n sluggishly walked up to the group of first years. 

He quickly took a seat next to a girl with auburn hair. The girl turned her head to look at him. Her eyes were crystal blue, and she took in Y/n. He smiled, awkwardly. She returned the sentiment and tucked a copper strand of hair behind her ear. 

“Hullo, I’m Rosemary.” She had a bit of an Irish accent, but it wasn’t so prominent. Rosemary held out her hand. “And you are??” 

Y/n took her hand in his. 

“I’m—” 

“That Y/n Potter, that is!” exclaimed a boy with blond hair. He was leaning across the table, staring at Y/n closely. His brown eyes were glued to his scar, making Y/n want to cover it up with his hair. 

“If you don’t know who he is, you must be daft!” 

Rosemary glared at the boy. “And you must be rude to interrupt our conversation, y’know!” She spat venomously. 

The boy next to the rude one simply stared at Y/n. 

“I don’t know who you are.” He said quietly. “I’m Justin Finch-Fletchy.” He held his hand out. Y/n took it. “I’m Y/n Potter.” 

“How is it you don’t know who he is, Justin??” cried out the blond. “You muggle-born or somethin’?” Justin blushed, his cheeks were the colour of beets. 

“Yes. I-I am. Do you have a problem with that?” Justin’s voice quivered slightly. 

“No! ‘Course not! Just cause I’m a pureblood doesn’t mean I believe all that rubbish!” 

Rosemary rolled her eyes. 

“Anyway, I’m Ernie. Ernie Macmallin. Nice to meet you, Justin. Potter.” Ernie purposefully left out Rosemary to goad her, and she knew it too. Glaring at the blond pimple, she scoffed before introducing herself to Justin. 

Y/n watched as Professor McGonagall rolled up her scroll and took the sorting hat after a boy named “Zabini” was the last one to be sorted. Soon the hall grew quiet around Y/n as the man sitting at the high table on the raised dais stood up, raising his hands to draw everyone’s attention. 

“Welcome new and returning students!” His voice was soft yet strong at the same time, plus his long white beard reminded Y/n of Father Time. He, like the rest of wizards and witches apparently, wore bright purple robes with blue and burgundy embellishments and embroidery in the fabric. On his head seemed to be an overly large nightcap. “Before we start feasting, I would like to say a few words: Nitwit! Blubber! Oddment! Tweak!” 

Laughter boomed through the hall, and Y/n looked around the hall as he said those odd words. His brows were furrowed, confusion laced in his eyes. Was he supposed to laugh? If so, those words weren’t funny. In fact, they were rather strange. Strange word choice. He didn’t like the way the old wizard’s eyes twinkled. It made him shudder. 

“He’s a bit loony, huh?” questioned Rosemary. “My mum thinks so,” whispered a girl with blonde pig-tails. “Dumbledore, loony? Reckon you’re loony if you think the best wizard in the world is loony himself!” claimed Ernie. 

“Thank you, and have a wonderful feast!” He raised a hand and suddenly, dishes appeared. A plate and silverware and goblet materialised in front of him, making Y/n gasp and stare wide-eyed. 

“Whoa,” he whispered. Food started being passed around and lively chatter filled the hall. Soon, food was piled on his plate, drawing some looks from other Hufflepuffs—though Y/n did not care. He was busy eating. He never, in his entire eleven-years of life, has ever seen this much food that he could eat! Harry would be lucky to see him tomorrow and not nursing a food-coma. 

As he shovelled food into his mouth, Y/n missed the glances he received from others. A few Ravenclaws whispered behind their hands, a few Hufflepuffs elbowed each other and pointed, while some Slytherins watched on. Gryffindor house was the only ones that did not notice, for they were too busy being occupied by their new member. 

“Y/n, would you like some potatoes?” He looked up and nodded. “Thanks, Rosemary,” she smiled in return. “No problem,” She brushed her red locks behind her ear. 

“So, Potter, did you and your brother really kill You-Know-Who?” The table became silent. The only ones who spoke were the 7th and 6th years who were far down and didn’t hear. Y/n froze and hesitantly looked up from his plate. His housemates were either staring at him, waiting for his answer, or they were sending glares at Macmillian—Rosemary was in the latter, her fists clenched—and a tense silence was cast on the table. 

Before Y/n could give his answer, someone interrupted him. 

“Oh, shut your trap Macmillian, ye old geezer!” snapped a voice full of a Scottish burr. “The next time a hear any incentive thing comin’ outta yer mouth, a’ll kick yer arse maself!” A tall and muscular girl gripped the rude blond boy by the ear, yanking on him as her eyes, full of fury, was directed on him. “Shame on you for bein’ an old cocker!” Giggles and snorts were heard all around Y/n, as his new housemates laughed at Macmillian. 

“Mary!! Put me down!!” he whined. The giant of a woman sneered and Y/n realised then that somewhere in between her telling him off, she picked Macmillian up by his robes and held him close to her face, a few feet off the ground. The giant—Mary—plopped the scrambling boy down onto the bench and gave him one last glare, before she turned her fiery amber gaze onto Y/n. 

“Am Mary Fraiser, this little twat,” she nudged Macmillian. “--is ma cousin! He’s a shite, ignore ‘im,” Fraiser reached over and held out her hand. Y/n took it gingerly before being yanked a bit as she gripped it and shook. “Nice ta meet you!” 

The Y/n gave her a friendly smile, hoping that she’ll stop shaking his bones with her strength. “I’m Y/n Potter. Nice to meet you as well.” 

The brawley girl barked out a laugh. “Aye we know ye, Potter.” She chuckled before giving Macmillan one last glare before she went to sit further down at the table. 

The rest of the meal, Macmillan ignored Y/n, only talking—more like yelling—with Justin about the wizard sport, Quidditch. It looked like Justin didn’t get it, but nodded along for Macmillan’s sake.  

As Y/n reached for a jug full of pumpkin juice, an arm went straight through the jug, making the Potter boy scream and jerk back. His eyes blown wide, he watched as a fat man wearing a grey frock with a rope tied at the waist flew through the table, moaning as he gazed at the juice longingly. 

“Oh phooey,” he sighed. “I forgot,” 

A few older Hufflepuffs looked on at the ghost with pity. 

“Y-Y-ou’re the Fat Friar,” Y/n said, his eyes watching the ghost with a strange fascination. The ghost turned to look at him, a smile on his face. 

“Indeed, I am Mister Potter! Oh! I heard you were able to be sorted into my old House!! Oh, dear, I hope you’ll enjoy it. We have a celebrity! I cannot wait to rub it in Old Baron's face! Ha!” The Friar flew off towards the Slytherin table. Y/n turned his head to watch. He noticed how the ghost called the Bloody Baron was sitting next to the blond-haired boy—Draco Malfoy. Shaking his head, Y/n went back to his food. 

“What class are you excited for most, Potter?” asked Rosemary, her blue eyes full of curiosity. Before he could answer her, Rosemary interrupted. “I’m very excited for Herbology! My mum is a herbalist, it’s what drew my dad to her, y’know!” 

“I really like Charms, but also I’m very excited about Potions.” 

Someone chuckled. “I thought so too until I knew who was to be our Professor.” Y/n turned his head to look at the voice. He had short black hair and brown slender eyes and a round face. He looked nervous, yet confident at the same time. 

“Snape, that fellow right there,” He pointed to the raised dais where the high table was, and pointed at a man with a hooked nose, shoulder-length black hair and black eyes that were staring at his brother, Harry. 

“He’s a nasty bloke I’ll tell ya,” Y/n watched as “Snape” nodded his head as the professor from Diagon Alley, Professor Quirill, spoke with the black-haired professor. 

“He hates anyone that isn't in his house. It makes Potions dreadful. He’s always hovering and when you make a simple mistake, he takes away so many house points and calls you names.” Y/n and Rosemary gasped. 

“How cruel!” 

“Can he do that?” 

Cried Y/n and Rosemary at the same time, their eyes wide with shock and fury. 

“No one stops him, not even Dumbledore. Tcch.” The boy crossed his arms, his eyes rolling. Realising that he didn't introduce himself, he sighed and offered his hand. “Nakamura Hiroshi, second year.” 

“Y/n Potter,” He gripped Nakamura’s hand. “Rosemary Thorn, nice to meet you,” she smiled and shook his hand. 

“Nice to meet you both,” Nakamura nodded his head in greeting. “Welcome to Hufflepuff House,” 

The Hall fell silent after dessert as Professor Dumbledore stood up from his chair. 

“Ahem — just a few more words now that we are all fed and watered. I have a few start-of-term notices to give you.” A few Hufflepuff’s rolled their eyes. “First years should note that the forest on the grounds is forbidden to all pupils. And a few of our older students would do well to remember that as well.” 

“I have also been asked by Mr. Filch, the caretaker, to remind you all that no magic should be used between classes in the corridors.” Rosemary leaned over to whisper to an older Hufflepuff. 

 “Quidditch trials will be held in the second week of the term. Anyone interested in playing for their house teams should contact Madam Hooch.” Madam Hooch stood up from the High table. “And finally, I must tell you that this year, the third-floor corridor on the right-hand side is out of bounds to everyone who does not wish to die a very painful death.” Only a few people laughed, Harry being one of them, along with Justin, who looked around at the worried eyes of their new housemates looking grim. 

“He’s… he’s not joking?” asked Justin, his voice wavering. “Nah, he ain’t. A jus’ wanna know wat it is,'' spoke Mary a few seats down. 

“Usually Dumbledore gives us a reason,” murmured another student. 

“And now, before we go to bed, let us sing the school song!” cried Dumbledore. Y/n noticed that the other teachers’ smiles had become rather fixed. Oh, no. Nakamura and Mary firmly placed their hands over their ears. Dumbledore gave his wand a little flick, as if he was trying to get a fly off the end, and a long golden ribbon flew out of it, which rose high above the tables and twisted itself, snakelike, into words.

 “Everyone please your their favorite tune,” said Dumbledore, “and off we go!”

 And the school bellowed:

 “Hogwarts, Hogwarts, Hoggy Warty Hogwarts,

Teach us something please,

 Whether we be old and bald

Or young with scabby knees,

 Our heads could do with filling

 With some interesting stuff,

 For now they’re bare and full of air,

 Dead flies and bits of fluff,

 So teach us things worth knowing,

 Bring back what we’ve forgot,

 just do your best, we’ll do the rest,

 And learn until our brains all rot.”

The noise was painful. Y/n had placed his hands over his ears when it first started. “Ah, music,” he said, wiping his eyes. Rosemary whispered to Y/n. “Was that really music?” He chuckled, smirking at the auburn-haired girl. “A magic beyond all we do here!” 

“And now, bedtime. Off you trot!” Prefects, Oliver and a girl with short blue hair and green eyes, stood up with a bunch of other students from the three other tables, calling out: “First year Ravenclaws, follow us,” “First year Slytherins, follow us,” “First year Gryffindors, with me.” 

Y/n watched with sad eyes as he and Harry were split from each other, one wearing red and gold and the other yellow and black. 

Oliver and the witch led Harry and his fellow first years through the corridors of Hogwarts. Y/n watched as the other students, red and gold, blue and bronze, climbed the grand and moving staircase—thanks to Hogwarts: A History—that Y/n couldn’t wait to explore. While he and the rest of the first years followed their Prefects. Rosemary stuck close by him, pointing to the portraits that lined the cobblestone walls. 

“Our common room is in the basement?” whispered Justin. Macmillan nodded. 

“Yeah, it’s near the kitchens,” a smirk formed on his face. 

They climbed down the non-moving staircase and they felt a slight chill in the air. Rosemary stuck close by Y/n, pointing to the fruit themed portraits that lined the cobblestone walls. They passed a portrait of a bowl of fruit—that reminded Y/n of the bowl of fruit that muggle art teachers would have their students paint or draw—and Y/n could hear a slight commotion happening behind the portrait. Frowning, he looked at Rosemary, seeing if she had any clue as to what it was. Her face was marred in confusion. So she didn’t know what it was then, mused Y/n. 

“If you need a map of Hogwarts, please let us know, myself and Oliver shall provide you with one.” Commented the female perfect, a friendly smile on her face. 

The group stopped together at a nook, hidden by… barrels? Y/n looked at it in confusion. 

“Unlike the other houses where they need a password or need to answer a riddle, for us, we need to tap on these barrels to a rhythm, our House Founder’s song’s rhythm. We will teach you the rhythm tomorrow after your classes. So until then, stick together in a group and we’ll assign an older student to let you in and out of the common room.” Oliver smiled at the first years. “Now, Ethel, will you do the honours?” Ethel—the other prefect—nodded her head. She approached the barrels and tapped two from the bottom, and two in the middle row, and one in the top row. A soft melody played from the barrels, and the door of the nook opened. 

Y/n peered into the doorway along with the other first years. The ceiling was low; the room was round and had two small platforms with a staircase leading up to a door. One said Gents, the other Ladies. It must be the dorms, Y/n thought to himself. There was a sense of warmth and welcoming to the room. The smell of vanilla and sunflowers reached Y/n’s nose. It brought a sense of homeliness to the common room. It made him want to cuddle up in a blanket and read one of the books about dragons by the fireplace and drink some hot chocolate with marshmallows. It temporarily made him forget about his dread and his sadness. It made him forget that Harry wasn’t with him. His heart winced at the thought. 

“Welcome,” Oliver smiled. “To Hufflepuff House,” 

Authors Note:

Happy birthday Harry, Y/n Potter! Hope you enjoyed this weekends chapter! I don't know when the next one will be, hopefully soon, but this Monday I'm starting my last semester at school, so wish me luck! A lot of the characters that'll be showin' up will most likely be OC's, so I'm plannin' on doing an introduction to Hufflepuff house students of Hogwarts soon so you'll get a feel of them when they get older! Thanks for reading! xx

Taglist:

@officialsaturn

@mysticanxy

what fandoms do you write for?

I have no specific fandoms that I don’t write for plus I’m in to many to list so please just send any requests :D