Weird happenings
By the time Harry was finally allowed to leave the cupboard again, school was out and the summer holidays had begun. Part of him wondered just how the Dursleys had explained away his absence at school, but he wasn't surprised that no one had bothered to question it. After all, the Dursleys were upstanding members of society.
That phrase alone left a sour taste in Harry's mouth.
Still, he didn't exactly mind his punishment, for once. While he didn't quite fancy having to sneak out at night and steal just a bit of food and drink so that he wouldn't starve, or having to wait to do these things until uncle Vernon was at work, Dudley was terrorizing school and the neighbourhood and aunt Petunia was doing... whatever she did during the day when she wasn't at the house (Tom liked to claim that aunt Petunia was having an affair, which Harry did not want to know the meaning of), it was a nice change of pace to not be on the receiving end of Dursley hospitality. He did feel somewhat bad for whoever had to face Dudley's antics now, but considering no one ever bothered to stand up for him, his sympathy was limited.
The relative quiet also gave him much opportunity to talk with Tom, and his recent revelations. Truth be told, Harry still had his doubts that he could be a wizard, but if he was honest with himself, it was the only thing that truly made sense. The more he thought on all the weird stuff that had happened around him - that tended to happen around him - the more he was convinced that he did have what Tom called 'higher powers'. Harry didn't quite agree with the term his friend had chosen, but he could see where it came from, and it was somewhat comforting to know that even he, the butt of so many jokes, had something greater to set him apart from others.
The fact that Harry was a wizard was also comforting in that it provided some level of explanation as to what Tom was - another wizard, one whose soul had somehow ended up in Harry's body without driving his own soul out. Unfortunately, Tom did not seem to know just how that had happened, though he did have a few theories. 'It likely was some sort of accident', he explained at one point. 'I have taken the liberty of going through your nightmares of what you were led to believe was a car crash, and it does seem like what actually killed your parents may well have been a spell or ritual gone wrong. It is possible that I was present at the house when that happened, and that the accident led to a fragment of my soul attaching itself to the only living thing in the building - you.'
'A fragment of your soul? Not your whole soul?', Harry had asked. 'Is such a thing even possible?'
He could picture Tom nodding. 'To answer your second question first, it very much is', he'd answered. 'There were wizards who attempted to live forever by splitting their souls and placing the pieces in inanimate objects to anchor themselves to this world - Horcruxes, I believe these anchors were called. It is therefore not impossible for a semi-conscious soul fragment to try and attach itself to something living, though I do not think I've ever heard of something like that happening before. To adress your first question, I believe that I am just a part of myself because there's just too much missing from my memories for me to be complete. Much of what I now know had been jumbled by whatever happened that night, but there are even bigger gaps which I cannot for the life of us fill - like what I was even doing at your parents house.'
Harry had then suggested a theory of his own. 'Could it be that you're some sort of ancestor of mine, and that my parents tried to contact your spirit to find out something they needed? I mean, you are pretty old, if you were a teenager during the Blitz, so it's possible that you were a grandparent of mine or of my parents, right?'
Tom was skeptical of that. 'I don't want to discount this possibility, but I think it unlikely, simply because a part of my memory has me entering a building just before it all goes to shambles, and I suspect that it was your parents house. Still, it is possible that we are somewhat related, and I don't want to discount the chance that it was a resurrection ritual gone awry. I simply don't think that I was the soul to be resurrected.'
Harry's questions then turned towards a different subject. 'But if my parents died in some kind of magical accident, why would the Dursleys tell me they died in a drunken car crash?', he wondered.
Tom likely shrugged at that. 'It's possible that they didn't know the truth of the matter', he plainly stated. 'Or, just as likely, they simply wanted to destroy your picture of your parents and your own sense of self worth early on. Considering I have never heard the mare utter one good word about your mother, I suspect some family drama that happened between them.' He snorted. 'You know, that sort of nonsense almost makes me glad I was an orphan.'
'So you really think that I am related to aunt Petunia?', Harry asked skeptically.
'Like it or not, there is some minor similarity in your respective noses', Tom answered. 'And remember that picture she threw out a few years back, the one of her parents? Both her mother and the redhead in the picture have the same eyes like you. Much as I hate to tell you, it does seem like you are related to her and Piggy by blood.' Harry slumped in disappointment at that.
'Do you think it's possible that they know about... magic?', he whisper-asked (though he knew that there was no way the Dursleys could hear him, as the entire conversation took place inside his head).
Tom was quiet for a while, before answering: 'I think it is an unfortunate possibility, and it may just explain their hatred for you. After all, humanity's oldest and most primal of emotions is fear, and no fear is greater than the fear what is unknown and incomprehensive. If your mother was a witch - which I suspect she was - and your aunt is not, it may explain the ill will she harbours for the dead, and it would explain why she loathes you the way she does. Fear breeds irrationality, after all, and if the mare was envious of her sister... Such combinations are a recipe for disaster, and I fear that when you came into her 'care', she made it her mission to ensure that magic would not be yours to wield, either.'
This then turned their conversation towards the practicing of magic, and the urgency of Harry beginning sooner rather than later. 'If magic is repressed, it can have terrible consequences for everyone involved, especially for the mage in question. In a way, it's a good thing that the Dursleys seem to be to frightened to even acknowledge its existence, if they even know of it, but it's best to not test your luck.'
And so began Harry's training under Tom. It proved to be somewhat mixed; Harry managed to vanish a number of cobwebs in the cupboard, but he failed to make them reappear. Similarly, he managed to pull one sock towards him when he willed it, but failed to move the second even by an inch. He did manage to 'apparate' (Tom's word, not his) from the cupboard to the kitchen, but he did so with such a loud bang that it roused the Dursleys, sending them flying down the stairs - fortunately, he somehow managed to make the journey back into his cupboard through the same means. He did not test this particular magic trick until after the summer holidays had started and he spent most of his time outside, far away from most people.
Still, mishaps nonwithstanding, Harry did manage to gain some level of control over some spells. He could somewhat successfully make his fingertips glow with a Lumos, he could somewhat successfully summon objects with an Accio, and he even managed to slice a few leaves with a Diffindo on three different occasions. His teleporation - apparation, as Tom called it - was also somewhat successful, though Harry always had a hard time landing on his feet and always felt dizzy, and could do nothing against the loud banging sound that always occured whenever he attempted it - though according to Tom, that was perfectly normal.
His attempts at magic were not always successful, though. Harry's attempt at levitating a branch in a forest using a Wingardium Leviosa only worked once, and neither he nor Tom could figure out why it kept failing. His Aguamenti only resulted in wet fingertips, and his Purgatio cleaning charm only made more of a mess - a pity, as that one would've helped his chores at Privet Drive 4 quite a bit. Saddest of all were his attempts at casting an Imperio, which would've allowed him to take control of another person's mind - one of Tom's favourite spells, as Harry soon found out. He himself wasn't quite certain he liked the idea of such a spell, though it would've admittedly been fun to see the Dursleys dance like puppets at his command for a change.
Part of the problem, by his own admission, was that Tom himself was not the greatest teacher in the world. True, he certainly had a decent understanding of many aspects of magic, and seemed an expert in some of these aspects, but most of it was deeply theoretical, with much of it being a jumble, and his fragmented state did not quite help matters. In addition, the things in which Tom clearly knew what he was talking about were almost stupidly advanced and abstract, and thus of no immediate help to Harry. The other big issue according to his teacher was the lack of a proper wand, which according to Tom served as an amplifying tool for the users intent and made the spell easier to cast and stronger in its effect. When Harry cheekily suggested he use a branch then, Tom went on a whole sermon on just how special wands were in their use and how insulting Harry's suggestion had been to wizards and witches in the whole civilized world.
Fortunately, it seemed as though Harry would not need to put up with both issues for much longer. According to him, at age eleven, he would receive word that he was to go to a school entirely dedicated to magic. 'Hogwarts, I believe it's called', he explained. 'That's the scottisch boarding school to which I had been sent, after a wizard told me I was magic myself. Supposedly the best place in the world to learn magic, and it certainly was quite good back in my day. I wonder how it holds up nowadays...'
'So, do I have to wait for an old man in a bathrobe with a stick to tell me I'm magic, or how am I notified that I'm to attend Hogwash?', Harry asked.
'Hogwarts', Tom immediately corrected. 'And prospective students are usually notified via letter. I was simply told otherwise because the matron of that damned orphanage kept tossing the letters in the bin, and because I didn't grow up in a magical environment to begin with.'
'But if my parents were wizards...', Harry began, but was cut short by his friend.
'Note my wording', he stated. 'True, it does seem like your parents were both mages, but you clearly grew up in an environment where magic is neither present nor wanted. So yes, I suspect that an old man in a bathrobe with a stick will come knocking soon, to go with your surprisingly apt description of most wizards.'
While Harry didn't know whether or not he was excited to be around old men in bathrobes, Hogwarts would likely beat Stonewall High, where the Dursleys had arranged for him to be sent. Dudley, likely to scare him, had told him that students there had their heads plunged down a toilet on their first day - Harry had considered vanishing him, but had elected against it due to his hit-and-miss results during his training with Tom. He did however successfully vanish what aunt Petunia intended to be his future school uniform for Stonewall, and fortunately, she didn't even notice he had done it, and simply assumed someone had mistaken it for trash - a likely conclusion - and taken it out.
Still, it also beat going to Dudley's new school, Smeltings - uncle Vernon's old school, as the walrus was prone to boast. When Dudley had come home wearing his future uniform, Harry had been glad for the very first time in his life that the Dursleys loathed him as much as they did, because the Smeltings uniform looked absolutely horrible - though it may simply have been Dudley's figure ruining it.
However, as summer went on and aunt Petunia's attempts to force Harry to wear what looked like pieces of elephant's skin to Stonewall kept failing - much to Harry's and Tom's amusement, as she seemingly did not figure out what was happening to the rags - things got... weird. For starters, Harry was no longer allowed to grab the mail during breakfast, something which either uncle Vernon or aunt Petunia now did. In general, the two of them seemed to grow increasingly paranoid about letters getting to the house, something which confused Dudley and Harry.
Tom had a possible explanation for that. 'I think they try to keep you from getting your Hogwarts letter', he figured, something which filled Harry with rage. After all they had done, they now wanted to keep him from what was arguably the most amazing thing in the world, all because aunt Petunia was probably jealous and too stupid to comprehend it all?
Things reached the first climax when one day, uncle Vernon staggered into the kitchen, clutching a stack of letters, showing the topmost to aunt Petunia, who turned paler than flour at the sight, before the two of them yelled at Harry and Dudley - surprisingly enough - to get out. Eventually, both of them did just that, though they also chose to listen at the door.
As it turned out, both elder Dursleys were concerned about someone seemingly spying on them, as said someone clearly knew where someone else - likely Harry - slept, and were debating on how to act going forward, eventually concluding that doing nothing would be enough. 'Laughable', Tom commented, and neither he nor Harry could wait to see what would happen next.
As it turned out, what happened next was Harry getting Dudley's second bedroom, as apparently, he was at risk of outgrowing the cupboard, and for the first time in his life, Dudley did not get his way when he demanded that Harry move out of said room. He reacted about as well as one would expect, but the elder Dursleys did not budge. Still, the weird mail-related behaviour continued, much to Harry's amusement, while he waited for the situation to reach its climax and wondered just what would happen then.
And apparently, whatever the Dursleys did, the letters just kept coming in, though Harry was never quick enough to snatch one. Uncle Vernon nailed the post slit shut? The letters were slid through under the door, stuck between said door and doorframe, or were entered through the ground floor toilet's window - Harry's personal favourite at that point. Uncle Vernon nailed every single gap and hole shut? The letters came packed in the eggs for breakfast - though again Harry did not quite manage to sneak one away, partly because he had been too busy laughing at the sheer absurdity of it all.
'You'd think the walrus would wise up by now', Tom commented.
The climax Harry and Tom had been waiting for came on sunday, just after uncle Vernon elatedly stated that there was no mail on sundays - just to be hit in the back of the head by a letter slipping through the chimney. Said letter did not come alone; in fact, it was followed by a veritable flood of letters, and Harry was finally able to sneak one under his t-shirt amidst the chaos. Unfortunately, he did not get a chance to read one, because as soon as uncle Vernon had managed fight his way through the utter madness, he essentially grabbed the whole family, threw them in the car and drove off, seemingly intent on getting away from the letters.
The drive was about as comfortable as one would imagine, with Dudley crying and yelling over the whole situation, uncle Vernon fuming visibly and vocally, and aunt Petunia seemingly gazing three thousand feet into dead space while being as pale as a bedsheet. Harry meanwhile had to fight to keep his grin off his face and to not whip out the letter under his t-shirt and read it immediately, as such a thing might just have caused uncle Vernon to crash the car.
In the end, the attempt to get away from the flood of letters ended in a cabin on a remote island - after some mishaps over the few days, including a stint at a dingy hotel, where a hundred letters were already waiting - just a day prior to Harry's eleventh birthday. It was only in that night, when he knew for sure that everyone was asleep, that he dared to pull the letter from beneath his clothes and examine it.
It looked... old. The material it was made off wasn't paper, of that much Harry was certain, and it was sealed with wax. 'Hogwarts still is stuck in the victorian era, it seems', he heard Tom muse, as Harry turned it over. Sure enough, it was adressed to him, with an odd specification as to the location, it being 'the smallest bedroom, Privet Drive 4, Little Whinging, Surrey'.
'Are they alway so specific?', Harry asked Tom.
'I believe so', he answered. 'Though I did not receive such a letter, remember?'
'Right...', Harry replied sheepishly as he broke the seal and began reading the letter itself.
HOGWARTS SCHOOL of WITCHCRAFT and WIZARDRY
Headmaster: Albus Dumbledore
(Order of Merlin, First Class, Grand Sorc., Chf. Warlock,
Supreme Mugwump, International Confed. of Wizards)
'They forgot to add 'Great Hypocrite' and 'narrow-minded fool' in there', Tom snarked.
'You know this Dumbledore?', Harry asked, having assumed most people from Tom's school days were dead or in retirement.
'Mhmph', Tom grumbled in affirmation. 'Old teacher of mine. He's the one who introduced me to the magical world, actually. Always looked at me like I was some sort of ticking bomb. Always questioning my interests, while having all kinds of skeletons in his own backyard.'
'Another upstanding member of society?', Harry half-jokingly asked.
'To many the prime example of what members of society ought to look like', Tom answered. 'Still, I can see why he rose so high in the world. Man's quite brilliant, especially at self-advertising, even if he's a right arse.'
'I like him already', Harry snarked as he continued reading.
Dear Mr. Potter,
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
Tom chuckled. 'Should've known Minnie McGonagall would end up teaching there', he commented.
'Friend of yours?', Harry teased.
'Not quite, no. She was in her fifth year when I started my first term, but we did spend a bit of time in similar circles for a bit before she graduated. She's brilliant at Transfiguration, I imagine that that's what she's teaching these days. Can be a bit of a battle-axe, though, at least if she's still anything like she was back then.'
'That can either be good or bad', Harry commented, before realizing something. 'Tom, it says here they expect my owl by tomorrow! How will I get--'
'Calm down, Harry', Tom interrupted. 'If the storm of letters was any indication, they'll have noticed by now that something is awry, and I imagine they'll send someone to get you.'
Harry was just about to ask how he figured that, when the entire cabin shook as someone began knocking on the door.
'Any further questions?', Tom asked.