Tolerance.
that was the balance I struck. Anything warmer would look unnatural.
Anything colder would stir old habits of cruelty.
Each morning, as Vernon grumbled over his paper and Petunia fussed with her tea, I brushed their surface thoughts.
Passive Legilimency gave me fragments: Vernon's worries about drills, Petunia's annoyance over appearances.
Small nudges of Confundus made them overlook their old hatred and settle into weary indifference.
Food found its way onto my plate. Vernon stopped barking at me. Petunia allowed me space. Dudley… was different. He wasn't just tolerating me. He was changed.
At Smeltings' prep, I outpaced the curriculum like I am a certain Yagami, doesn't even take effort. Teachers praised me, classmates muttered, but I let it slide.
I couldn't reveal too much, Perks of been older then others.
The school library became my training ground 69. Row upon row of texts on physics, chemistry, languages.
I devoured them, sometimes brushing up over university level material I was reading before my world hopping. Latin came first, then French, German, Greek then Sanskrit.
Magical theory, I realized, was closer to advanced linguistics and physics than most wizards ever guessed.
Every night, after boxing and chores, I split my time to grind:
Journals of James and Lily → magical experimentation.
Ancestral tomes of potters-> mostly history and politics , family magic was mostly required my full time in Hogwarts, too powerful for a tiny home.
Muggle textbooks → scientific foundation.
Mindscape drills → Occlumency refinement.
Routine became ritual. Grind became second nature.
All Hail The Grind.
-----------------------------------------
The morning was ordinary enough, Vernon grumbling about the price of petrol, Petunia fussing with Dudley's packed lunch, and me quietly sipping tea chilling, already thinking about the day's training schedule.
Then the post dropped through the slot.
I almost ignored it until I noticed one envelope was thicker, heavier, and bore my name in elegant emerald-green ink:
[Mr. H. Potter
The Cupboard Under the Stairs,
4 Privet Drive, Little Whinging, Surrey.]
I blinked. Then I grinned.
"Well," I murmured, holding it up to the light, "happy almost-birthday to me."
My birthdays had never been anything worth marking. No cakes, no gifts, not even a polite word.
But this, this was better than cake. This was an invitation to the real stage.
I broke the seal.
[HOGWARTS SCHOOL of WITCHCRAFT and WIZARDRY
Dear Mr. Potter,
We are pleased to inform you that you have been accepted…]
The words blurred as I chuckled. "At last. A school letter that doesn't bore me to death."
I skimmed the supply list, quirking a brow. "Robes, cauldrons, pewter… no mention of boxing gloves, though. Shame."
Sarcasm aside, a warmth settled in my chest.
It wasn't belonging, I'd never been the boy these people thought I was. But it was opportunity. A bigger library. Real dueling partners.
And, perhaps, answers buried in the halls where James and Lily once walked.
I tucked the letter safely away. Not yet. The Dursleys didn't need to know. Not until I was ready.
-----------------------------------------
On the morning of my birthday, I slid the letter onto the breakfast table between Vernon's plate and Petunia's teacup.
Petunia froze mid-sip. Vernon looked down at the seal, went red, and nearly tore the paper in half just by glaring at it.
"What," he growled, "is the meaning of this?"
"It means," I said calmly, buttering my toast, "that I've been accepted into Hogwarts. Boarding school. Wizarding school. Full-time."
Dudley dropped his fork. "Wait—you're a—"
"Yes," I cut him off, sparing him the details. "And I'll be leaving. Which, if we're honest, is what you've wanted since the day I got dumped on your doorstep."
Petunia's lips pressed so tightly they disappeared. Vernon puffed like a kettle about to explode.
"You will not—" Vernon began.
"Actually, I will," I interrupted smoothly. "You've tolerated me this long, thanks to… circumstances. But here's the deal: once I step out for Hogwarts, I won't step back in. Not as a guest, not as family, not at all."
Petunia's eyes flicked to mine, searching. For once, I let her see a sliver of truth, not malice, just the raw edge of resolve. She flinched first.
Vernon sputtered. "And what, boy, you think we'll be sorry to see you go?" ,what an a-hole he is.
"Not at all," I said dryly. "You'll have your neat little house back, and I'll have a castle. Sounds like a win-win."
Dudley's voice was quieter than I expected. "…You won't ever come back?"
I looked at him, the only one in this house I half-cared for now. "No. Not unless you come to me. Which, to be fair, might be entertaining."
The silence stretched. Finally, Petunia exhaled sharply, almost a hiss. "Fine. Go. Don't come back. Ever."
I stood, folded the letter neatly into my pocket, and smiled. "Happy birthday to me." I said.
Then I left the table, the weight of finality pressing behind me.
'Finally!!'I thought happy to like this suffocating house , For the first time in my life, Privet Drive was no longer a cage.
It was just a place I'd outgrown.
By the time I was eleven, my body was lean and honed, my magic sharper than any child's should be, and my mind a fortress under construction.
The world outside Privet Drive had no idea how prepared I already was.
-----------------------------------------
As I sat in my room later that night, Hogwarts letter tucked safely in my trunk, I caught myself smiling.
Not at the future, though that was bright, but at a memory from just a few weeks ago.
Dudley's birthday.
The day had gone smoother than expected. Vernon had dragged us all to the zoo, Dudley waddling ahead with wide-eyed excitement at the promise of cake and exotic animals.
Normally I would have dreaded the trip, but this time, I was curious.
Because I had a question gnawing at me.
I had always believed Parseltongue, the snake language was Voldemort's gift, forced on me by the Horcrux fragment that Rob had obliterated from my soul.
By all logic, it should have died with the piece of him.
But something in me whispered otherwise.
-----------------------------------------
FLASHBACK*
The reptile house in the section of the zoo was dim, humid, glass tanks stretching along the walls.
Children pressed their noses against the glass, Dudley included. I lingered behind, my eyes drawn to a Burmese python curled in lazy coils. Its yellow eyes opened as I approached, fixing on me.
My heart thudded. I leaned close, making sure no one else was watching. Then, very softly, I whispered:
"Can you hear me?"
The snake's head lifted, tongue flicking. A sound answered me, soft hisses that slid into my ears as words:
"Yesss… I hear."
I froze. The language flowed like water, natural and instinctive. No Horcrux. No Voldemort. Me.
"…You understand me," I breathed. How the f-
"I do," the snake replied, coils shifting lazily. "Few ssspeak. You are… one of usss."
Shock prickled through me. I had prepared for failure — for silence.
Instead, the gift was alive, undeniable. It hadn't been grafted onto me by a monster. It had been mine all along.
But how?
I whispered one last question, voice shaking slightly: "Do you want me to free you?"
The snake flicked its tongue, eyes half-lidded. "No. Too many predatorsss. Too cold beyond here. I am fed, I am ssafe. Leave me."
I nodded. It wasn't a slave to pity. It was content. That was answer enough.
When Dudley tugged at my sleeve, pointing at the enclosure, I stepped back as though nothing had happened.
He never suspected. None of them did.
-----------------------------------------
The days after the zoo weighed on me. Every time I replayed that hissed conversation with the python, my thoughts tangled.
Parseltongue wasn't Voldemort's remnant. It was mine.
But what did that mean? A blood quirk? A Potter oddity? Some forgotten recessive trait? Some jujutsu type shi?
I couldn't ignore it. So, in the privacy of my warded room, I began testing.
First, I whispered the simplest incantations I knew in Parseltongue:
"Lumos." Nothing. No spark.
"Scutum Resonare." The shield shivered, but no different than usual.
"Wingardium Leviosa." The feather I was using as a test subject remained stubbornly still.
I tried variations, hissing each syllable, dragging the sibilants longer, pressing intent into the sounds. Magic didn't care.
But when I whispered experimental soothing charms, the room felt… different. A faint warmth, a softer hum in the air. Nothing measurable, nothing certain, but a suggestion.
It bothered me. I scoured Lily's journals for hints, James's too, even the ancestral Potter notes. Nothing.
No mention of Parseltongue. No mention of serpentine magic. If it had power, it was hidden deep in the cracks of magical history.
For now, it seemed useless, at least in combat or general spellwork. A curiosity. A whisper in the dark.
But I practiced anyway. Not for power, but for control. I would sit cross-legged, hiss a string of nonsense syllables, and listen to my own voice echoing like water against stone.
Awareness was important. If the gift had limits, I needed to know them.
And deep down, I suspected it wasn't as pointless as it looked.
Because power didn't survive centuries by being ornamental. It survived by hiding.
As I closed my notebook, where I had scrawled one line in the corner:
Parseltongue: latent. Potential undiscovered. Keep training.
I tucked the thought away. Hogwarts would have answers. Or opportunities. Or both.
FLASHBACK OVER*
-----------------------------------------
The Dursleys kept their word. After that breakfast argument, I was a ghost in my own house.
Petunia wouldn't look at me, Vernon buried himself in his paper, and Dudley tried once or twice to speak before being silenced with a glare. Fine by me.
In a week, their world would no longer matter. If it mattered before anyway.
That night, I penned a letter to Gringotts. The quill scratched steadily across parchment:
[To Snagrock, Senior Account Manager,
I have received my acceptance to Hogwarts. In preparation, I require supervised access to my family vaults for educational funds and, if permitted, an inspection of Potter properties relevant to my inheritance. Please advise on protocol for school supplies and any documents I will need to sign at this stage.
Respectfully,
Harry J. Potter]
The reply came swiftly, delivered by goblin courier in a silver-sealed envelope:
[To Lord Potter,
Gringotts acknowledges your acceptance. In accordance with statute, access to your Trust Vault will be granted for school supplies under supervision of an appointed representative. Snagrock will oversee. Full estate management remains restricted until statutory age, though property ledgers will be prepared for your review.
— Snagrock]
Efficient, as always.
A few days later, there was a thunderous knock on Privet Drive's front door. Vernon opened it, and his face drained of color.
"Good morning, Dursleys!" boomed a voice like rolling thunder.
Rubeus Hagrid filled the doorway, his beetle-black eyes twinkling under wild hair and beard. He carried a pink umbrella that I knew was far more than it seemed.
Petunia let out a strangled squeak. Vernon muttered something about "freakish giants." Dudley gawked.
I, meanwhile, leaned casually against the hall wall and said, "You must be Hagrid. Keeper of Keys and Grounds at Hogwarts, if I recall correctly."
The giant blinked. "Er — that's right. An'… ye are Harry Potter, o' course!"
"Last I checked." I smiled faintly. "No need for dramatics. Mrs. Figg already told me about the magical world, and I've had… prior exposure."
Hagrid looked stunned, then muttered, "Well, that makes things a bit easier."
"Much easier," I agreed. "Now, shall we?"
Behind me, Petunia hissed, "Go, then. And don't come back."
I paused at the threshold, glanced back once. "Trust me. I won't."
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