Auror Philza Craft
The darkness blanketed every inch of the mouldy wooden walls, and a sense of dampness hung in the air. No wonder; the storm was raging heavily outside, and it seemed as if the shack was about to collapse the next gust of wind that came.
It was only a few days ago the letters first came. It started small, just a few in the post addressed to Harry Potter, Little Winging, number 4 Privet Drive, the cupboard under the stairs.
At first, he was confused; there was no one he knew who could have possibly bothered to send him post. He never had many friends anyways.
But his uncle and aunt seemed to know something he didn’t, so when they saw the letter, they snatched it away from his hands.
It made him livid. That was his letter, not theirs. And he never got anything, so why did they take away the one thing that was given to him?
But then the letters kept coming. More and more of them, dozens shooting out from the letter box, until the floor was covered. But they never let him pick up a single one, and instead locked him in the cupboard until it ended.
It got to a point where his uncle was so paranoid of him reading a letter that they had moved in hopes that they would stop coming.
That’s how they ended up here, isolated in a dingy shack in the middle of nowhere, hiding like ostriches with their heads buried in sand.
It was Harry’s birthday today. Well, it was about to be, according to the little digital clock that he kept with him to keep track of the time; it was the only light source here.
It was always his blasted cousin that got showered in attention at all times—that was why he got the couch and not Harry. That’s why Harry’s birthday was forgotten entirely, leaving him to draw a pathetic birthday cake in the dirt as consolation.
The clock beeped 12:00, and it really was Harry's birthday now.
He sighed unhappily and blew out the candles, watching the grains of dirt scatter. "Happy birthday, Harry."
A clap of thunder and a flash of light filled the room, and the door swing open. He could hear his uncle cursing from the other room.
Startled, Harry sat up; it must've just been the wind, right?
But the silhouette of a man stood outside. It was not the silhouette of a giant, no; it was of a man with wings as black as the night.
He gracefully strode across the room, wings laying limply behind him, heading towards where Harry was sitting.
Uncle appeared from behind the man with a rifle pointed at his neck, face red as beet with anger; but the man smiled.
He flicked a stick of sorts at him, and with a flash of light, the gun went flying to the other side of the room.
“Now,” the man boomed in a low voice, and Harry noticed a white cardboard box he held in his arm. “I believe introductions are in order. I am Auror Philza Craft of the Department Of Magical Law Enforcement, and I’m here to discuss with you about your Hogwarts invitation letters. But first,”
He carefully presented the white box to Harry, opening it and revealing a small cake with ‘Happy Birthday’ written in neat cursive.
“Happy birthday!” He smiled warmly.
Shocked but delighted, Harry awkwardly thanked the man. “But…what’s Hogwarts?”
The man’s smile faltered. “Hogwarts School Of Witchcraft and Wizardry—didn’t your uncle and aunt tell you about it?”
“Harry is not about to go to that nonsense school anytime soon, Craft!” his aunt shouted.
The man continued to smile, but his eyes were full of anger.
“I apologise miss Dursley, but it is not your place to decide such whether or not he goes. Now, Harry, is it your desire to learn wizardry at Hogwarts?”
“B-but I don’t understand, wizardry? I thought that was only in fairytales….”
“No, Harry—it’s very much the opposite. Listen, mate—you’re a wizard, Harry.”
Harry blinked. Again.
“—what?”
“I said you’re a wizard! How else do you think your parents died? At the hands of some old muggle fool?”
“M-muggle? But my parents died in a car crash.”
Craft laughed, a loud, booming sound. His uncle and aunt were skittish now, and his cousin continued to stare at the man’s wings dumbly.
“A car crash? A car crash killed the great Lily and James Potter? Son, it would take a bit more than that to kill of such a formidable pair of wizards.”
Harry turned to his uncle and aunt, who stared down Craft with anger and fear. “You lied to me.”
“Well one way or another, Harry will not be going to that wretched school as long as I’m involved!” His uncle shouted, face turning redder by the minute.
“But see, Mr. Dursley, you are not involved with this. It is Harry’s choice and Harry’s choice alone to decide if he wants to go or not.”
Harry didn’t take a second. “I do. Want to go, I mean. Anywhere but here.”
Craft grinned. “Well then, I’ll take you to Diagon Alley to get your school supplies; how’s that?”