There wasn't a single moment when young Harry Potter woke up and realised he was different from the other children. Instead, it was a gradual realisation, creeping over him like a slow, insidious dread. It began with small things: the ever-increasing number of chores he was assigned while his cousin Dudley was allowed to laze about.

Dudley was a stark contrast in every possible way. His cousin received everything he asked for, whether it was new clothes or the latest toy. It didn't matter if Dudley broke his things mere days after getting them; the fact he wanted them was enough for Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon.

This generous mindset, however, did not extend to Harry. To the Dursleys, he was only worthy of the cupboard under the stairs and Dudley's cast-off clothes, the ones that had somehow survived his cousin's rough treatment.

Harry quickly learned that deviating from his uncle's strict rules meant punishment, and Dudley never missed an opportunity to make his life miserable.

Harry's first day at school felt like a new beginning. Here was his chance to find someone who could relate to him. But his hopes were swiftly dashed. The other students treated him like he was mad, shocked by the idea that he lived under the stairs.

After school, Harry would watch enviously as parents lovingly greeted their children. These parents seemed to care about nothing but their children's happiness. His classmates excitedly shared their day's adventures with their parents, while Harry walked home alone, knowing he had chores to complete before he could even think about homework or rest.

Vernon Dursley took pride in claiming he had never struck his wife or nephew. Whenever the news featured someone abusive, he would turn to Harry and say, "Good thing you aren't with them. Frankly, we must be saints to have put up with you for so long."

Petunia, despite the lack of physical abuse, was hardly nurturing. She ensured Harry had enough food to survive but treated him as if he were invisible. They only acknowledged him when they needed something done, referring to him merely as "the boy."

By his seventh birthday, Harry abandoned hope that the Dursleys would ever care about him. Perfect tests and golden stars meant nothing. At best, they ignored him; at worst, he was punished for outperforming Dudley. Despite this, Harry was determined to be the top student in his class, driven by a thirst for knowledge and an unyielding will.

Harry dedicated himself to learning, dreaming of the day he could leave the Dursleys behind and forge his own path. He discovered that as long as he stayed out of sight and completed his chores, the Dursleys left him alone.

He tested this newfound freedom cautiously, trying to join his relatives in the lounge or helping Aunt Petunia in the garden. But no matter what he did, they ignored him and glared if he tried to contribute to conversations.

One day, too ill to leave his cupboard, Harry dreaded the moment the Dursleys would demand to know why he hadn't started his chores. But as hours passed, he realised they simply didn't care. While his illness was unpleasant, the peace it brought was worth it. From that day on, he spent as much time as possible in his cupboard, avoiding glares and orders, though he was numbingly bored.

Harry found the solution to his boredom at school. With summer holidays approaching, Dudley and his gang decided to chase him around. Desperate, Harry darted into the library and hid among the shelves.

A stern librarian stopped his hiding. "Excuse me," she said. "I don't mind you being here, but you must read something. This is a library, not a playground."

Panicking, Harry grabbed a book at random, hoping to avoid being thrown out to Dudley's clutches. Initially, he didn't care about the book, but as time passed and Dudley didn't appear, Harry began reading. To his surprise, he found it interesting and became engrossed until the bell signalled the end of breaktime.

For the rest of the term, Harry sought refuge in the library. The librarian never asked difficult questions or mocked his clothes and even helped him find books. Her presence kept other students at bay, making the library the most peaceful place Harry had ever known.

As summer holidays approached, Harry dreaded losing access to his sanctuary. After only a week at home, he was bored out of his mind, longing for a book to read. Desperation pushed him to ask Aunt Petunia for something that might offer an escape.

Summoning all his bravery, Harry approached Petunia, who was engrossed in her magazine. "Aunt Petunia, may I... may I get a library card? It would keep me out of your way."

"Why would you want a library card?" she asked distractedly, peering out the window at the young couple at number 9.

"So I could get books to read in my cupboard. It's very relaxing, and if I had books, I wouldn't need to leave so much. I could just go to the library and pick out a few books every so often and read quietly," Harry replied.

"Right, whatever," Petunia snapped, her eyes narrowing. But she seemed to weigh the inconvenience of Harry's request against the prospect of having him occupied elsewhere. "Fine," she said begrudgingly, "but don't think this means you can slack off your chores."

After getting that little library card, the library became Harry's refuge. Among the dusty stacks, he discovered worlds beyond the confines of Privet Drive. He devoured books on every subject, his hunger for knowledge growing with each visit. It was here that Harry stumbled upon something extraordinary—an old, tattered book on the mythology and history of magic. Although he knew better than to believe in such things, Harry couldn't help but feel a strange connection to the stories within.

If Petunia had not forgotten one major fact, she would never have let Harry have that little card. It was a simple yet undeniable fact that would eventually lead to the undoing of everything she held dear.

Children's books were often about magic, and nobody had bothered to tell Harry that there was a difference between fictional and non-fictional books.

One quiet afternoon, in the safety of his cupboard, Harry decided to test the possibilities suggested by his reading. He closed his eyes, envisioning a tiny flame dancing on his palm. He felt something building in his chest and let it spread down his arm.

His heart raced as the warmth intensified, almost to the point of bursting. Then, to his astonishment, a small flicker of fire appeared in his hand, casting a soft glow in the dark cupboard. Harry's eyes widened in disbelief and excitement. He extinguished the flame quickly, afraid someone might notice.

But when there was no angry knock on his cupboard door, he tried to summon the fire again, only for his stomach to groan painfully when he tried to focus. Despite the hunger, he tried to force through, focusing on whatever had let him create the flame. For a brief moment, he felt the energy stir, before a deep pain rocketed through him.

Over the following weeks, Harry practised his newfound abilities in secret. He discovered that the more he focused, the stronger the magic became. The sensation of wielding such power filled him with a mixture of awe and fear.

Each day brought better results, making it easier for Harry to summon and control fire. Eventually, he could sustain a small flame for several minutes, even making it dance between his palms.

One day, while gardening, Harry wondered if he could do more than just summon fire. He spotted a pebble and focused on it, imagining it rising into the air. He felt his magic welling up inside him, but there was no outlet. Thinking quickly, Harry touched the pebble, and it shot upwards faster than he anticipated. He anxiously waited for it to fall back, but it never did.

Determined to try again, he found a larger pebble and channelled a fraction of his power into it. Tentatively, he tapped it, and the stone hopped fifteen feet into the air. Harry dodged quickly to avoid the falling stone and set about understanding why his magic was so powerful.

Experimenting cautiously, he discovered that specifying the height he wanted the rock to float above his palm helped control the magic. Most of the energy was spent keeping the stone in place rather than propelling it away. He also noticed that the more instructions he gave his magic, the more energy it consumed.

Harry's new ability proved useful almost immediately. He only needed to touch a weed for it to rip itself out of the ground, roots and all. He could then move his hand over the sack and release his magic, dropping the weed. While he needed to touch an object to initiate his magic, he could maintain levitation without physical contact.

Encouraged by his success with levitation, Harry tried to find a practical use for his fire summoning. Unfortunately, he learned that while his summoned fire didn't burn him, heating a metal saucepan still hurt. He was puzzled because he was fairly sure the air around his fire was also being heated, yet he remained immune to that heat.

Harry became engrossed in teaching himself as much magic as he could. Using magic felt satisfying and right, fulfilling a desire he hadn't known he had, like the first drink of water when dehydrated. He couldn't imagine life without it.

Despite his joy in practising magic, Harry soon returned to his books, searching for any references to magic. Over the years, he spent as much time as possible reading, jotting down any interesting powers or abilities in a stolen notebook. During his numerous moments alone, he tried to replicate what he read.

Had he not been neglected and ignored his whole life, Harry might have proudly shown the Dursleys his magical abilities. But he knew they would never care about him, so he kept his studies a secret. They didn't care about his schoolwork or books, so why would they want to see his magic?

Regularly exercising and controlling his magic, Harry eventually progressed to the point where he only needed to wave his hand near an object to transfer magic. As a result, the accidental, uncontrolled magic that might have angered the Dursleys never appeared.

At school, if a teacher upset him, Harry felt his magic instinctively rise, but he held it back with his carefully earned self-control. The wise mentors in his books always advised against misusing magic. He didn't want to know what the Dursleys might do if they discovered he had used magic at school.

Between Dudley threatening anyone who spoke to him and Harry preferring the solitude of the library, no one at school tried to befriend him. He never asked if others had magical studies, not realising he was unique. He was happier reading than trying to talk to the other students, or so he told himself.

It came as no surprise then that Harry Potter, the Boy Who Lived, grew up alone with nothing but books and magic for company for four long years. Over time, he realised that no one else seemed to believe in magic, with some, like the Dursleys, vehemently denying its existence.

That had sparked an instant fear that he was alone in the world, making him one of a kind in his ability to harness magic. This fear had been exacerbated as his vision had gradually improved such that he could see magic. It was that gradual change, which happened slow enough you didn't realise it was even happening.

He only realised it had happened when he had levitated a table out of his way, only to see it shrouded by a strange vibrant green glow, a glow he soon realised was the colour of his magic. With time, he was able to see his magic move within himself, giving him a faint green outline.

At school, he was the only person to have developed such a glow, with everyone else remaining the blandness of an unenchanted object. Every so often he would spot people in the street with a similar glow to himself, more often than not they looked like they didn't quite fit in with those around them. Unfortunately, Petunia always made sure to steer Dudley and Harry clear of them so he never got the chance to speak to them, however he had noted that their glow was often brighter than his and were always a different colour or shade.

During that time, Harry had learnt that when he was obviously upset or angry Vernon would lock him in his cupboard without his books. Once, when he had stood up to Dudley and his gang, they had taken great delight in kicking him to the ground and after returning to number 4 Petunia had taken away his books for a whole week.

After that Harry kept his emotions under heavy lock and key, spending most of his school life in an emotionally neutral state. Harry just assumed that it was part of growing older to hide your emotions and only show others what you wanted them to see, after all every adult he had met did the same.

His patience was truly put to the test one day when Dudley had taken one of his library books and tore it in half. Harry's immediate impulse was to jump up and use his magic on Dudley, to hurt him enough to ensure he never hurt his books again. His magic was quite literally at his fingertips and ready to be unleashed, when he forced himself to stop and relax. He knew that if he retaliated against Dudley he'd be punished.

Instead, he sufficed with sending a dark look at his cousin and repairing the book with his magic. Later, he admitted he probably should've repaired the book in private, seeing as Dudley could've revealed Harry's use of magic. Yet, for some reason Dudley had never told his parents about the incident, he had also never tried to ruin his book, which counted as a win in Harry's book.

By the time his eleventh birthday was around the corner Harry had mastered the art of masking his emotions and his control over his magic had come along leaps and bounds as a result. It was through that control he had finally figured out how to use his magic, without requiring a physical connection.

He had quickly realised that his emotions made his magic have unpredictable results, but when he held back his emotions his magic became easier to control and direct, although at first it was harder for him to bring his magic to the surface and control it without his emotions doing the work for him.

It felt like he had nothing left to learn while he lived under the Dursleys, a lot of the magic he wanted to try would require more time and space, neither of which was available to him under the roof and demands of the Dursleys. That is until one day, a week before his eleventh birthday when a letter had arrived.

That was not to say that receiving a letter was an unusual occurrence, Harry was used to receiving letters by now, most often from the library. But this letter was not one of his normal letters, his library letters were inside thin white envelopes, this was a thick tea brown envelope, sealed with wax.

Similarly, none of his normal letters had mentioned where he slept and this letter was clearly addressed to 'Mr. H Potter, the cupboard under the stairs, 4. Privet Drive, Little Whinging, Surrey.' Despite this abnormality, he slipped the letters that were addressed to him into his cupboard and handed Vernon the rest, he then set about cooking breakfast for the Dursleys as well as his own much smaller breakfast.

After they had finished eating he washed the dishes and was allowed to return to his cupboard, once inside he opened the letter from the library first. As he had expected it informed him that he had one week left to return his current stack of books 'Great, I now have an excuse to go to the library on my birthday' Harry thought excitedly.

Putting aside that letter he then turned to the other, mysterious letter marked with 'Hogwarts' and upon breaking the seal two pages of parchment fell out. If he had any doubt left this proved it wasn't from the library, seeing as they would never have been able to afford this quality of paper. Frowning, he set about reading the letter… and paused… and read it again.

After reading both pages back to front several times he let out a happy sigh, unable to stop the grin that split his face. T, He was not alone in the world, there was a school for magic and he was going to it!

But, his hopes came crashing down when Harry realised he was going to need the Dursleys permission to go to this Hogwarts, something he doubted they would agree to. He quickly began planning what he was going to say, before quietly leaving his cupboard and passing the letter over to Petunia.

At first she only glanced at it, dismissing it as some school trip, but then after a double take she went white with shock "Vernon… Vernon, he got the 'you know what'."

"HE WHAT?! I thought we had stamped it out! They must have made a mistake, he stopped that freakishness years ago!" Vernon roared, his face bright red.

Harry was deciding between staying and trying to convince them to let him go to the school and running to safety, but before he could make a decision Vernon turned towards Harry while muttering to Petunia

"You said this Hogwarts keeps the freaks away for most of the year right?" at Petunia's hesitant nod he continued "Maybe… Just maybe this isn't all bad then, we wouldn't have to deal with him for almost nine months. No need to feed him or have him underfoot… That must be why it was built I guess, to get his lot out of the way of us normal people."

His uncle looked like he was deep in thought, to Harry it looked like a gorilla having to choose which banana to eat. Vernon had started muttering to himself, so quietly that no one in the room could hear his words, after what seemed like an age he nodded to himself.

Turning to Petunia he told her "You will take him to get whatever they want him to have tomorrow, we can't have them sending him back after all. Then we will decide how he will be getting to this 'Hogwarts.'"


Petunia had taken him to London the very next morning, giving him a chance to eagerly look through the window of every shop they passed, in the hope of spotting magical supplies. But no matter how hard he looked he couldn't see any shop selling wizarding supplies, so he turned to his aunt and asked her "Can you get all of my things in London then?"

"There is a street near here that caters expressly to your people." she replied with an ugly sneer on her face, as if it pained her to tell him. "You're looking for a sign that says 'the leaky cauldron'."

"Oh… have you been there before then?" Harry wondered

"Once." She murmured, looking lost in thought. At the terse reply Harry thought it best to leave her alone.

After a few more minutes of awkward silence, he finally noticed the sign she had mentioned. Following her instructions, he led her to the door and held her hand as he opened the door that had appeared. Instead of entering a shop like he had expected, he found himself inside a busy, but unassuming pub, although he thought the word tavern might be a more appropriate term.

Even though he had never actually seen a tavern in real life, the descriptions in his books matched this building perfectly, even the old fashioned clothes everybody was wearing. During his observation, Petunia had walked up to the counter and was speaking to the old man behind it "I'm looking for… digonally?" she asked, sounding unsure of herself.

"Ah, Muggle are ya? Diagon Alley, it's just through here if you'll follow me." he said kindly as he led them into the back and tapped a strange pattern of bricks with what was surely a magic wand.

It was clear that whatever he had entered must've been some sort of code, as the bricks parted and formed an archway big enough for Vernon and Dudley to enter side by side.

Petunia wasted no time in marching down the street, while all Harry wanted to do was stop and stare, just like the other children were doing; however, due to his aunt's pace he was forced to follow her closely.

What little he did manage to see amazed him, there were stores that sold everything from animals to broomsticks. Each shop was unique and fascinating and Harry knew if he had the choice he would never leave this magical place.

Part of this decision was because he had never seen so many magical colours before, every person glowed with their own inner light and even the shops glowed brightly. To his great excitement, he noticed that sometimes that glow even spread out onto the street itself, resulting in a kaleidoscope of colours. That many colours together should've made a mess but somehow it worked.

But when he turned back to Petunia she had already started up the steps in front of a towering marble building, which to Harry looked like it might topple over at any moment. This building was entirely coated in a harsh copper colour but this light rippled and flowed like water rather than just a stationary light, making Harry wonder if the fact the light was nearly opaque meant it was stronger than the other shops.

The creatures he saw standing guard in front of the doors reminded him of goblins from some of his books, although they looked cleaner and more humanlike. Almost every book he had read agreed that goblins were greedy, mean spirited creatures, so he felt it would be a good idea to be polite but on guard around them.

His wariness was rewarded when he saw that the entire building seemed to be staffed by goblins; Even if they weren't as evil as his book suggested, upsetting them would surely see him thrown out.

The goblins that were working behind the counters were almost identical to the goblins that were standing guard outside, the only obvious difference was that these goblins were dressed in smart suits instead of glistening armour and were counting piles of gold coins.

Despite the threat they might have been, Petunia didn't hesitate as she marched up to the closest counter and snapped at the goblin, "I wish to convert some money into your wizarding currency for my nephew."

The goblin paused his counting and leaned forward, glaring down at Harry and meeting Petunia's eyes. It was clear he was annoyed by the interruption. Harry knew that if somebody had interrupted his work to order him around, he wouldn't be in the best mood either.

"You should know the process for exchanging currency has been… adjusted," the goblin informed her, his voice careful and neutral.

Harry, feeling like an outsider in this conversation, began to look around the bank. The grandeur of the place was not lost on him. Tall marble pillars held up a domed ceiling that glowed with a dim, ever-changing light. Hundreds of goblins were sitting in their cubicles, working hard with quills, ink, and parchments.

All of whom were staring as aunt Petunia glared daggers at their goblin, her hands clenched into fists, her face growing red with frustration.


As this story is still being written you may come across mistakes, I would greatly appreciate these mistakes being pointed out so that I may fix them and improve the overall quality of the story. Any amount of feedback will always be accepted.