“Harry, where are you spending all of your time these days?”

The boy in question looked up sharply, greatly surprised by the gentle use of his first name coming out of his wretched aunt’s mouth. He narrowed his eyes, confused. “What do you mean?”

Her eyes assessed him strangely, her face not displaying the usual signs of disgust when she normally looked at him. It made him uncomfortable.

“Dudley says you don’t visit the park anymore, but you are going out for long periods of time… where are you going?”

Harry immediately felt defensive. “What does it matter? I’m not doing anything bad!”

“Harry…” She used his name without scorn again and Harry felt his nerves fraying.

“I’m not mad at you,” she continued. Well, that was a first. “It.. it occurs to me that I’ve never really talked to you about stranger danger,” she murmured.

“Yeah, well save it,” Harry snapped. “I can take care of myself.”

Aunt Petunia sighed. “Fine. I was just concerned, that's all.”

“Why? You’ve never cared before,” Harry stated dully.

She looked slightly guilty and just a bit stricken for about a second before lifting her nose up in the air. “You’re right, I don’t.”

Harry felt that annoying little sting in his heart again but turned back to the dishes. It didn’t matter. It really didn’t.

“But,” Aunt Petunia interrupted his melancholy moment, apparently not finished with bothering him just yet, “if you’re going to keep coming home with stains on your clothing, you’re going to need to take over laundry duty. I have no patience to deal with such things.”

Harry paused in his scrubbing, feeling his cheeks heating up. He resumed his task after a moment and made an effort not to look up from the sink until he heard his aunt exit the room.

He stopped moving the sponge again, leaning heavily against the countertop as he stared at the kitchen tiles. She knew, then. She knew and didn’t care. Not really.

He wasn’t sure why it bothered him. It wasn’t as though the… the situation bothered him. It had been uncomfortable at first, sure, but… he only wanted to make Gary happy, and he had adjusted to the changes in their relationship fairly easily. It was fine. Really. It was. Because Gary cared about him, and it was fine.

It had started with the photos all those months ago, and then it just…

Harry turned back to his scrubbing. The dishes certainly weren’t going to do themselves. Although, a few times before they had done just that but that was beside the point.

It was July again, and Harry was nearing eleven. Gary had promised to bake him a cake for the oh so special day and he should be really happy about it. And he was. Really, he was.

He just wondered why he had to try so hard to convince himself of things, lately.

***

Harry drug the wet clothes out of the washer and heaved them into the dryer. Geez, wet clothes could be heavy. He turned the knobs on the dryer and remained there for a moment, watching and listening as the clothes were thrown around inside the machine. He would have to keep an eye on it as he preferred to fold the clothes when they were fresh out of the dryer, warm, though still a bit staticky…

“Boy!” Harry jumped at the sound of his uncle’s voice bellowing. “Get the mail!”

Harry sighed and walked out of the washroom, going over to the front door and bending down to collect the mail that had been pushed through the slot. It was the usual, bills, coupons and junk, a magazine and a letter. A letter addressed to Harry?

He stared down at it. There was no mistaking it, for the address was very precise. Mr. H. Potter, The Cupboard under the Stairs 4, Privet Drive, Little Whinging, Surrey… strange, very strange. How many people knew where he slept, and would address a letter there? And who would send him a letter in any case?

Oh, God, Harry hoped Gary hadn’t been foolish enough to send him something… surely he couldn’t be that stupid. He knew how the Dursleys were…

Still… Harry slid it through the crack in his cupboard door. He would read it later in private, just in case.

All throughout cooking dinner, Harry thought about the letter. As he grated the cheese and chopped the onions, he wondered who it was from and why…

Once he was finally done with the cooking and had been sent to his cupboard for the night, he made a grab for the letter. He stared at the wax seal. Such a dramatic flair for this day and age, he thought to himself… He peeled it up slowly and opened the envelope, taking out very thick paper.

HOGWARTS SCHOOL of WITCHCRAFT and WIZARDRY

Headmaster: Albus Dumbledore (Order of Merlin, First Class, Grand Sorc., Chf. Warlock, Supreme Mugwump, International Confed. Of Wizards)

School of witchcraft and wizardry? What on earth? Such things like that did not exist, everybody knew that. Harry rolled his eyes at the weird sort of prank but continued on with reading the parchment.

Dear Mr. Potter, it read,

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 1 September. We await your owl by no later than 31 July.

Yours sincerely,

Minerva McGonagall
Deputy Headmistress

Oh, this was beyond ridiculous. Well thought out, maybe, as the prankster really did include a list of school supplies, but the items it listed only made the whole thing even more unbelievable. Robes, dragon hide gloves, a pointed hat, books he had never heard of, a cauldron, a wand. It even mentioned that first years were not allowed their own broomstick.

Who on earth would fall for such a thing? And who was the mysterious sender? He looked at the envelope again. No return address, but also no stamp. It was likely Dudley, then. He could have easily slid in the mail slot just after the post had been delivered.

Stupid, immature Dudley, Harry thought, huffing. He slid the letter under his bed, intending to throw it away in the morning. M-word did not exist. Even stupid people like Dudley knew that, mostly because it had been drilled into both his and Harry’s minds their whole lives. There was absolutely nothing in the world Uncle Vernon hated more than imagination, (well, other than perhaps Harry) as it could lead to dangerous ideas. Like the belief in the existence of schools for witchcraft and wizardry.

Did Dudley expect him to go running to Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon and ask them if he could go to a school for m-word? He was likely to give Aunt Petunia a heart attack. Harry almost wanted to tattle on his cousin, but he knew the blame would come back to him as always, so the next morning he ripped the letter up into tiny little pieces and threw it away in the trash bin, forgetting it.

There was no school for witchcraft and wizardry, and even if there were, Harry Potter certainly wouldn’t be attending it.

***

“Did he hit you?”

Harry’s cheek stung painfully and looked absolutely horrid to match. Uncle Vernon had rarely hit him, and had never left such a visible mark before. He had no way to hide it short of applying makeup and Aunt Petunia wasn’t in the sharing mood.

Harry had wondered why he was so worried about it, anyway. It’s not like anyone would care. Except for Gary, maybe. But then… maybe he would see it and decide to take Harry away from his relatives? Could he do that? Would he do that?

Couldn’t hurt. And so that was why he had walked over to Magnolia Crescent to see Gary, who was holding his chin in a grasp so tender that it almost hurt in a completely different way than he had ever experienced before.

Harry nodded, tears in his eyes. Maybe he was milking it just a bit, but maybe it would work.

“That oaf!” Gary exclaimed, pulling Harry into a hug. “I’m so sorry, bud, you don’t deserve that.”

Harry nodded against his chest. He knew that he didn’t deserve it, really. He wasn’t even sure what he had done this time to make his uncle believe that he did deserve it, but he knew that it wasn’t warranted. The question was what was Gary going to do about it?

“Gary,” Harry started, “can… couldn’t I just live with you?” He felt Gary’s body stiffen and his heart dropped to his stomach.

Gary pulled back a bit and looked him in the eye. “Harry… it’s not that I wouldn’t want you to…”

Harry shrugged out of his grasp, feeling far more let down than he had a right to. “It’s alright. I understand.”

Gary ruffled his hair. “Maybe someday.”

Harry held onto that small flicker of hope. Someday, maybe.

***

A few days later, Harry was walking back from Gary’s house, feeling exhausted. He wanted to make Gary happy, but that didn’t necessarily mean that he enjoyed it. He didn’t understand what all the fuss was about, really.

But it was his birthday, and the cake had been nice. He hadn’t had much cake before, besides Mrs. Figg stale offerings, and he had never had one baked with just him in mind. He was at risk of becoming spoiled at this point.

Harry stopped dead in his tracks as he looked up to see a tall dark figure standing in the Dursley’s drive.

He stared at the stranger for a moment, wondering if he should just turn around and go back to Gary’s, when the man spotted him and his eyes narrowed.

Harry’s eyes widened in turn and he wanted to make a run for it but as the stranger approached Harry found that he couldn’t seem to get his limbs to move.

“Harry Potter?” the silky voice stated more than asked and Harry found himself slowly nodding in response to his inquiry.

The man looked him up and down, still narrowed eyes accessing him before speaking again. “May I ask why you decided not to respond to your acceptance letter?”

“A-uh-acceptance letter?” Harry asked dumbly. The man glared.

“Yes, your acceptance letter. To Hogwarts, I’m sure you’ve heard of it?”

Harry shook his head, although he had seen the name on that letter once a few weeks ago, but surely that had been a joke!

The man stared. “You have not heard of Hogwarts?”

Harry shook his head again. “I, I, I got a letter a few weeks ago but I, I thought it was a prank, I, I mean, m-ma,” Harry swallowed thickly as he struggled to say the forbidden word out loud. “M-magic isn’t real,” he whispered.

The man’s eyes were no longer narrowed, they couldn’t be described as wide exactly but he definitely did look surprised. “Magic is-” he stopped, pinching the bridge of his nose and asking instead, “Where are your relatives?”

“Erm,” Harry tried to remember where they had said they were going this time. He wasn’t invited to come along so it’s not as though he cared where they decided to travel without him. “They’re on vacation, somewhere.”

His eyebrows drew together. “They went on vacation, leaving their ten-year-old nephew alone at home?”

Harry shrugged. “Yeah, they’ve done it before. Mrs. Figg, my neighbor, checks up on me when she remembers. And I’m eleven,” he added as an afterthought, a bit proudly as any child on their birthday might.

The man closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose. “Yes. It is your birthday, isn’t it? They left you alone to go on vacation without you on your birthday,” he muttered.

Harry shrugged again. It really wasn’t a big deal. He was rather glad they were gone, honestly. He’d much rather spent his birthday with Gary, anyway.

The man became quiet, seemingly lost in thought. Harry spoke up after a few moments.

“Sir?” he began tentatively, continuing when he looked down at him, “are you saying that m-magic… that magic is real?”

The man sighed, running a hand through greasy hair. “I never,” he muttered before shaking his head. “Yes, child, magic is most certainly real. Not only that, but you happen to possess it. You are a wizard.”

Harry stared before shaking his head in denial. “No, I… I can’t be a wizard. I’m Harry. Just Harry…”

The man smiled a sad kind of smile. “I assure you, you are not just Harry in any world…”

“But…” Harry licked his lips. “How do you know?”

The man snorted. “Everybody knows.” At Harry’s confused look, he rolled his eyes. “Tell me, has it ever seemed like odd things just happen around you? Particularly when your emotions are out of the normal range of control?”

Harry nodded vehemently. Odd things happened around him all the time.

The man smirked. “That is called accidental magic. It is triggered by your emotions. You are most certainly a wizard.”

“Oh,” Harry said quietly, sitting down on the front stoop as he suddenly felt very dizzy. After a moment the man sat down beside him.

“I must say, I am quite surprised you are unaware of your heritage.”

“Why wouldn’t I be? It’s not as though there have been any wizards around to tell me! And the weird things happening just made my aunt and uncle upset. But maybe if they’d known it was an accident...”

The man frowned. “Your aunt knows all about this.”

“She does?” Harry asked, feeling a bit hurt by this although he had promised himself that he would stop feeling hurt by anything Aunt Petunia threw at him. Figuratively and literally.

The man nodded. “Your mother was a witch, so of course she knew it was likely for you to be a wizard. I suppose I shouldn’t be so shocked, however, I remember that your aunt was not a very nice little girl…”

Harry's breath caught in his throat. “You know my aunt? You- you knew my mother?” he asked softly.

A flash of something Harry easily recognized as pain flickered across the man’s expression. It was a moment before he responded. “Yes, I knew your mother. And your dreadful aunt,” he sneered.

Before Harry could ask if his mother was truly dreadful as well, the man stood and changed the subject. “I was tasked to take you to Diagon Alley to shop for your school supplies but I did not foresee this change in events and it is getting late. We will go tomorrow if you are amenable.”

Harry had no clue what he meant by taking him diagonally, but he understood “school supplies” well enough. “You mean… I’ve really been accepted into a magic school?”

The man smiled just a bit, not quite as sad as the last one but still not something one would describe as happy. “Yes, you have.” He glanced at the house. “Despite your oh so responsible relative’s consent, I do not feel comfortable leaving an eleven-year-old home alone, left to his own devices. Is there a neighbor you can stay with for the night?”

Harry’s thoughts immediately went to Gary, but he thought that he probably shouldn’t mention that option, for some reason. He sighed. “Uh, yeah, I stay with Mrs. Figg sometimes. She’d probably be okay with it.”

“Go grab your things, then.”

Harry ran into the house, taking note of the man trailing behind him. He probably shouldn’t let near-strangers who talked of wizards and witches and magic come into the house, but well. Things happened.

Harry went into the kitchen first and grabbed a plastic bag from the supermarket out of a cabinet before going to his cupboard to retrieve some clothing. He was rifling through his things when the man bent down below the door frame. “What on earth are you doing?”

“I’m just getting my things like you said, sir,” Harry responded, and the man looked around the space for a moment before saying anything more.

“Oh, you can not be serious,” he muttered. Harry looked at him, confused.

“What?”

“You sleep in a cupboard?”

“Oh,” Harry said, flushing. “Erm, yeah.”

He rubbed his eyes wearily. “This is… I can’t even…”

Harry giggled, he had only met the man a few minutes ago but somehow he got the feeling that he rarely became flustered like this.

The man glared. “Surely you don’t find child abuse humorous-”

Now it was Harry’s turn to glare. “It’s hardly child abuse. I like my cupboard!” he defended. For the most part, anyway. He didn’t like the stairs being the ceiling, and he really didn’t like being locked in it. But when he was free to come and go as he pleased, it wasn’t so bad. Really.

The man just stared at him before shaking his head. “This is… just get your things,” he sighed.

“I was planning on it,” Harry muttered under his breath. He stuffed his teddy bear from Gary in with his clothing before exiting the cupboard.

The man narrowed his eyes on his bag but turned and beckoned Harry to follow him out of the house and down Little Whinging, seemingly knowing where Mrs. Figg lived without directions.

Harry was skipping a bit along the way, thinking about all the wonderful spells he was going to learn at this magic school. Spells were probably real, right? If magic was real, then it was presumable that a lot of things he hadn’t believed in before were likely to exist as well.

“Surely you can’t like living there, in a cupboard,” his companion said suddenly, and Harry noticed that he seemed to be studying his bouncing.

Harry slowed his steps, feeling deflated. “No... I guess not. I used to want more than anything for someone to just take me away from the Dursleys, but I’m not a baby anymore. I know nobody will come.” Even Gary wouldn’t really come to his rescue. He was supportive, but he made no attempt to help Harry out of his situation.

The man was quiet for a while before responding. “You never know. I plan to speak to the headmaster of Hogwarts about it.”

Harry furrowed his brow. “What does the headmaster have to do with it? Isn’t it like a social worker thing?”

“Unfortunately, no. The headmaster is your guardian of sorts in the magical world and has control over where you live and with whom you live.”

“If he’s my guardian, why haven’t I ever met him?”

The man sighed. “For that, Mr. Potter, I have no answer.”

Harry was about to ask another question when they reached Mrs. Figg’s house. The man knocked on her door and explained the situation. The complete situation. She didn’t seem surprised about Harry being left alone or Harry being a wizard, much less by the man explaining these things.

“You knew I was a wizard?” Harry asked.

Mrs. Figg nodded. “Yes, dear, I knew. I was under strict orders not to tell you.”

“Why?”

“I’d like to know just as much as you. Now, come on in and put your things away. You have a big day ahead of you in Diagon Alley tomorrow.”

Harry stepped over the threshold and the man turned to go, that weird cloak-like thing billowing beneath him.

“Wait!” said Harry. The man turned back around, eyebrows raised.

“What’s your name?” Harry asked. “You never said.”

The man paused a moment before answering. “Professor Snape. Severus Snape.”

Harry smiled, waving a little as he called, “I’ll see you tomorrow, Professor Snape!”

Professor Snape nodded before seemingly disappearing into thin air. Who knew, maybe he did. Magic was real, after all.