A storm raged outside, the wind howling against the fragile walls of the rickety hut in the middle of the sea. Inside, Harry Potter sat on the cold floor, the rough wood biting into his skin, watching as the gigantic man who had just burst through the door loomed over him.
"Harry, you're a wizard."
The words hung in the air like an enchantment, something so impossible yet so right that Harry could do nothing but stare. A part of him wanted to laugh, to cry, to scream in frustration that he had been lied to for so long. But instead, a slow, creeping grin stretched across his face. The Dursleys had tried to keep this from him, tried to shackle him to their dull, gray world.
But magic would not escape him now.
"So," Hagrid rumbled, peering down at the scrawny boy. "Will yeh come with me, or stay with these Muggle parents of yers?"
Harry didn't hesitate. "I'm coming with you."
The fire crackled as Hagrid beamed at him. "Knew yeh would, Harry. Knew yeh would."
Diagon Alley:
The next morning, the two of them made their way to London. As they walked through the bustling streets, Hagrid led him through a small, unassuming pub—The Leaky Cauldron. It was filled with cloaked figures, chatting in hushed tones, and Harry felt an odd sense of belonging.
Tom, the toothless bartender, greeted them with enthusiasm. "Bless my soul, it's Harry Potter!"
The room fell silent. People turned to stare, murmuring his name in awe. Harry, overwhelmed, shifted uncomfortably, but Hagrid placed a reassuring hand on his shoulder and steered him toward the back.
"Best ignore it for now," he muttered. "Come on, we got business."
With a tap of Hagrid's pink umbrella, the bricks parted, revealing Diagon Alley—a bustling, magical street filled with wonder. Harry's eyes widened as he took in the sight of owls hooting in shop windows, cauldrons stacked high, and the smell of fresh parchment filling the air. He could hardly believe it.
"First stop, Gringotts!" Hagrid declared. "We need ter get yeh some of that munyun."
Inside the towering marble building, goblins regarded him with sharp eyes. Hagrid presented a key, and they descended deep underground in a rattling cart. When the doors to his vault swung open, Harry gawked at the piles of gold, silver, and bronze. He had never seen so much money in his life.
Hagrid chuckled. "Yeh're richer than yeh thought, eh?"
As they scooped some gold into a pouch, an idea sparked in Harry's mind. "Hagrid, how much would I need to get extra books on magic?"
Hagrid blinked, scratching his beard. "Eh? Well, depends. Basic stuff ain't too much, but advanced books can cost a fair bit. Why?"
Harry grinned. "I want to learn more."
Hagrid looked at him approvingly. "Yer mum and dad would be proud. Alright then, let's get yer things."
After getting his robes, cauldron, and an absurd number of books—including extras on Potions, Transfiguration, and wand theory—they finally arrived at Ollivanders.
The shop smelled of wood and dust, and an elderly man with ghostly pale eyes emerged from the darkness. "Ah, Mr. Potter... I have been expecting you."
Wands flew off shelves as Harry tried various ones, each failing to respond properly. Then Ollivander stopped, staring at a particular box on the highest shelf. Slowly, he retrieved it and opened it.
"Curious... very curious..." he murmured. "Elder wood, thirteen inches, with a core of phoenix feather—the same phoenix that gave another feather... to Voldemort's wand."
Harry's breath caught. He reached out—and the moment his fingers touched the handle, a shiver ran down his spine. A chilling sense of authority and power settled over him, a whisper of something ancient. This wand did not serve—it commanded.
A thin smile spread across Ollivander's lips. "You, Mr. Potter, have chosen a wand with an affinity for death."
Harry tightened his grip. "Good."
They left the shop, and Hagrid insisted on getting him an owl. At Eeylops Owl Emporium, a snowy owl caught his eye, her amber gaze sharp and intelligent.
"She's beautiful," Harry murmured.
Hagrid grinned. "A birthday present from me. What'll yeh name her?"
Harry thought for a moment before smiling. "Hedwig."
As they exited the shop, a bushy-haired girl and her parents were scanning a bookstore window. She was reading a book titled A Beginner's Guide to Transfiguration with intense focus, her fingers tapping against the spine.
Something about her curiosity struck a chord with Harry.
"Excuse me," he said, stepping forward. "Are you going to Hogwarts too?"
The girl snapped her head up, eyes bright with excitement. "Yes! You are too? I'm Hermione Granger!"
"Harry Potter."
Her eyes widened slightly, but instead of fawning over his name like everyone else, she immediately launched into a flurry of questions. "Did you read Hogwarts: A History yet? Do you know what subjects you're most excited for? Have you practiced any spells yet?"
Harry grinned, delighted. "Not yet, but I've been reading ahead. I just bought extra books on Potions and Transfiguration."
Her face lit up. "Really?! I did too! It's fascinating, isn't it? The theory behind wand movements is particularly—"
Her father cleared his throat, and she stopped, looking sheepish. "Sorry. I ramble sometimes."
Harry laughed. "I don't mind."
She beamed, and for the first time, Harry felt like he had truly found a kindred spirit.
That night, Harry settled into his small room at the Leaky Cauldron, books stacked high on the bedside table.
Hogwarts was still weeks away, but he wasn't going to waste a second. He opened Magical Theory and began reading, practicing wand movements carefully. The trace wouldn't pick up magic in a place so saturated with it.
He was going to be ready to become a great Wizard.
As he traced a spell's pattern in the air, his fingers tingled, a shiver of power running through him. Magic was real. It was his now. And nothing—not the Dursleys, not Voldemort, not even fate itself—was going to keep it from him.
A slow, satisfied grin spread across his face.