Chapter 5
That night, as the storm howled outside, Harry lay wide awake on the cold floor of the hut, his mind racing. He knew what was coming—tomorrow, Hagrid would arrive. The anticipation of it had kept him alert despite the exhaustion from the day's events.
He glanced over at Dudley, who was snoring loudly, wrapped tightly in his coat, shivering as the cold wind seeped through the cracks in the walls. In the other room, Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon were huddled together on a small, uncomfortable bed, their silhouettes just visible through the gaps in the makeshift door.
An odd sense of calm began to settle over Harry. In just a few hours, everything would change. Hagrid would come, and with him, the key to the magical world that had been waiting for Harry. But this time, it wouldn’t be just as it had been in the books. Slowly, carefully, Harry would make small changes. He had spent months preparing for this moment—knowing he couldn't raise suspicion until the time was right.
Harry stared at the glowing numbers on the electric clock. According to the books, Hagrid was supposed to arrive at midnight. The time inched closer, and Harry’s heartbeat quickened in anticipation. Every moment felt charged, like the calm before a storm.
Finally, Harry heard it—the sound he had been waiting for. There was a loud bang, and the door to the hut burst open with such force that it fell off its hinges. The wind howled as rain lashed into the room, but none of that mattered, because there, standing in the doorway, was Hagrid. He looked exactly as the books had described him—though, in person, he was somehow even larger and more imposing than Harry had imagined.
His wild hair and beard framed a face that was kind but formidable, his enormous coat dripping from the rainstorm outside. Hagrid’s presence filled the small, cramped room, making everything else feel smaller by comparison.
“Sorry 'bout that," Hagrid grunted, stepping inside and righting the door with surprising ease. “Should’ve been more careful.”
Harry felt a surge of excitement, but he knew he had to remain calm, just as he’d planned. For now, he needed to act exactly like his book self—curious but cautious. He couldn’t raise any questions that might make the Dursleys suspicious. He knew he’d be returning to them after his trip to Diagon Alley, and the last thing he wanted was to give them any reason to be more hostile than they already were.
Hagrid’s eyes found him, and a smile spread across his face.
“And here is our Harry, the last time i saw you…” he spoke warmly as if greeting an old friend
Just like in book Harry smiled back, grateful for the cake Hagrid handed him, even though it was a little squashed. He glanced quickly at Uncle Vernon, whose face was slowly turning purple with barely contained fury. Aunt Petunia and Dudley were frozen in shock, staring at Hagrid as if he were some kind of dangerous beast.
“Who—who are you?” Uncle Vernon spluttered, trying to stand his ground but clearly shaken by the sight of Hagrid.
“Rubeus Hagrid," Hagrid said gruffly, straightening up to his full height. "Keeper of Keys and Grounds at Hogwarts."
Then talk continued till Harry heard “You are a wizard Harry.”
Even though Harry knew this was coming, hearing it in real life—hearing those exact words—sent a thrill through him. He kept his expression in check, though, and asked, just as his book self had, "A what?"
Hagrid smiled fondly, clearly expecting the confusion. He began to explain, just as in the book, how Harry was a wizard, about his parents, and Hogwarts. Vernon tried to interrupt a few times, but each attempt was brushed aside by Hagrid’s commanding presence.
As the conversation continued, Harry felt a strange sense of duality—he was living out the scene exactly as it had been written, yet all the while, he was thinking ahead..
He needed to tread carefully until he was alone with Hagrid, away from the Dursleys. For now, he would stick to the script.
Eventually, after several heated exchanges with Vernon and Petunia—who tried in vain to refuse Harry’s acceptance into Hogwarts—Hagrid had had enough. "Enough o' this," he growled, pulling out his pink umbrella. A moment later, Dudley’s large backside had grown a curly pig’s tail, just as Harry remembered from the books.
Harry couldn’t help the grin that spread across his face. Book Dudley was somehow bearable in the last book so Harry was thinking about stopping Hagrid but finally decided against it. After all bullying Harry endured over the years it was finally time for Dudley to taste his own medicine. So despite the tension in the room, the moment felt triumphant. Dudley screamed and ran to his parents, and Vernon and Petunia backed away in horror.
“Well, that settles it,” Hagrid said, grabbing Harry’s things. “We’ll be off ter Diagon Alley in the mornin'."
As the storm raged outside, Hagrid’s presence felt like a protective shield, offering warmth and security against the cold, oppressive life Harry had endured with the Dursleys. But as Harry lay back down that night, trying to sleep despite the excitement buzzing through him, his thoughts began to shift. This was just the beginning, yes—but something about it all felt strange.
He had followed the script perfectly so far, every word and action playing out as it had in the books. But now, as he thought about everything, a new sense of suspicion crept into his mind.
Why had Dumbledore kept sending letters, knowing full well that Harry wasn’t receiving them? The Dursleys clearly hadn’t let him read a single one, and surely Dumbledore must have known that. If the headmaster was as powerful and all-knowing as the books suggested, why hadn’t he simply sent someone—an adult wizard—to explain things to Harry sooner? Small voice in his head was saying: Why had Dumbledore let things drag on for so long?
Harry frowned at the thought. He understood now that Dumbledore liked to test people, push them to certain outcomes without intervening directly. But why? What did he gain by watching from a distance instead of stepping in? The letters had been piling up, creating chaos in Harry’s life, all while Dumbledore could have sent someone days earlier and stop his Uncle and Aunt madness.
Then there was Hagrid.
As much as Harry liked Hagrid, he couldn’t help but wonder why he had been sent. Hagrid wasn’t supposed to use magic—his wand had been broken by the Ministry when he was expelled from Hogwarts. And yet, here he was, using magic to give Dudley a pig’s tail, without any concern for the rules. Can Dumbledore as Hogwart headmaster be more important than Minitry?
The more Harry thought about it, the more questions arose. What kind of power did Dumbledore really have? Sure, the books had always portrayed him as a kind of untouchable figure, someone who could get away with bending the rules. But Harry couldn’t shake the feeling that there was more going on. Dumbledore seemed to have a lot of influence, even over things like Ministry regulations. Did that mean Dumbledore could manipulate things at will? Or did he have a hidden agenda?
Harry felt a shiver run through him, but not from the cold. For the first time, he realized just how much control Dumbledore might have had over his life—decisions made from behind the scenes, manipulating events to suit his plans. If Dumbledore had that kind of reach, how much of what was happening now had been engineered by him? How much freedom did Harry truly have, even with the knowledge from the books?
Tomorrow, the magical world would open up to him, just as it had in the books. But now, with this growing awareness he felt somehow uneasy about it.
He had the knowledge, and now, more than ever, he needed to use it wisely. He’d make small changes, subtle shifts in the course of events—just enough to stay one step ahead.
With that, Harry closed his eyes, the storm still howling outside and prepared for the next chapter of his journey. Tomorrow, Diagon Alley awaited him, but this time, he’d face it with his eyes wide open.
…
Harry felt a surge of nervousness as he and Hagrid approached the Leaky Cauldron. This wasn’t just his first venture into the wizarding world—it was also his first encounter with Professor Quirrell, who, as Harry knew from the books, was hiding Voldemort under his turban at this very moment.
Holding his nerves in check, Harry crossed the threshold of the Leaky Cauldron. Although he had read about the wizards’ reactions to seeing him, nothing could have prepared him for his own reaction when so many people began crowding around, eager to meet the Boy Who Lived.
He didn’t have to fake his embarrassment or shyness as he repeated the lines he had memorized from the books. When Dedalus Diggle came forward and greeted him, Harry responded just as described, but now, with new knowledge, he realized Dedalus wasn’t just an eccentric wizard he’d met in his childhood—he was a member of the Order of the Phoenix.
Then came the moment Harry had been dreading: meeting Professor Quirrell. The professor looked as nervous as ever, stammering through his introduction. But Harry now knew that the stuttering was just an act, a way to mask the presence of Voldemort, who was hiding under his turban.
As they shook hands, Harry was hit by the strong odor of garlic clinging to Quirrell, and a strange thought struck him. Did Voldemort have to endure that smell all the time? At this point, Voldemort still had a nose, didn’t he? The absurdity of the idea made Harry feel a little less anxious, even as he shook Quirrell’s hand. He forced himself to smile politely, but inside, his mind was racing.
And then it hit him. He had just shaken hands with Quirrell, the very vessel carrying Voldemort—and nothing had happened. The books had made it clear that his touch would burn Voldemort during their final confrontation at the end of the year. So why hadn’t anything happened now?