They came in dozens.
Letters poured through the mail slot, under the door, down the chimney. Vernon's face turned purple with rage as he hammered boards across the mail slot. Petunia shrieked and gathered them up to burn.
Harry watched from the corner, arms crossed, a small smirk playing at his lips.
They were terrified. For the first time in his life, the Dursleys feared something more than they hated him. And whatever was in those letters, whatever they were trying to keep from him - it was power.
"We're leaving," Vernon announced on Saturday morning. "Packing up. Going somewhere they can't find us."
"But Daddy, it's my birthday!" Dudley wailed.
"WE'RE LEAVING!"
Harry said nothing as they drove for hours, ending up at a dreary hotel. Nothing on Sunday. Monday, more driving. Tuesday, a rental house on the outskirts of London. Letters found them every time.
Vernon was unraveling, and Harry drank it in. The man who'd made his childhood hell was running scared.
On Tuesday night, Vernon drove them to the coast, rented a boat from a toothless old man, and rowed them through a storm to a rock in the middle of the sea. A shack perched on it, barely standing.
"They'll never find us here," Vernon panted, looking slightly manic.
Harry surveyed the shack with disgust. This was beneath him. But he could wait. Warriors knew patience.
They settled in - if you could call it that. Dudley got the moth-eaten sofa. Vernon and Petunia took the bedroom. Harry got the floor, as always.
He drew a watch face in the dust with his finger. Eleven hours until midnight. Eleven hours until his birthday.
Eleven hours until he turned eleven years old.
Whatever was coming, he would be ready.
Harry lay on the hard floor, watching the luminous watch hands he'd drawn tick closer to midnight. The shack creaked in the wind. Waves crashed against the rock. Dudley snored on the sofa.
Ten minutes.
Five.
One.
BOOM.
The door exploded inward with a crash that shook the entire shack. Dudley tumbled off the sofa with a squeal. Vernon came thundering out of the bedroom, shotgun in hand.
In the doorway stood a giant.
Easily twice as tall as a normal man, shoulders so broad they barely fit through the frame. Wild, tangled black hair and beard, beetle-black eyes that gleamed with surprising warmth. He wore a massive moleskin overcoat, and in one enormous hand, he carried what looked like a pink umbrella.
"Couldn't make us a cup o' tea, could yeh? It's not been an easy journey."
Harry stood slowly, studying the giant. No fear. Just assessment. This man had torn through Vernon's defenses like they were nothing.
"Who are you?" Harry asked, his voice level.
The giant's eyes found him, and his craggy face broke into a smile. "Blimey, Harry! Las' time I saw you, you was only a baby. Yeh look a lot like yer dad, but yeh've got yer mum's eyes."
Vernon aimed the shotgun with shaking hands. "I'M WARNING YOU - I'M ARMED!"
"Oh, shut up, Dursley, yeh great prune," the giant said dismissively. With a flick of his umbrella, the shotgun barrel bent upward like rubber, and Vernon dropped it with a yelp.
The giant turned back to Harry, reaching into his coat. "Got summat fer yeh here. Mighta sat on it at some point, but it'll taste all right."
He pulled out a slightly squashed box, which he opened to reveal a birthday cake with Happy Birthday Harry written in green icing.
Harry stared at it. A cake. For him. Made by someone who didn't even know him.
He locked that flicker of emotion down immediately. Sentiment was weakness.
"You haven't answered my question," Harry said. "Who are you, and what do you want?"
The giant blinked, seeming taken aback by the cold tone. "Name's Rubeus Hagrid, Keeper of Keys and Grounds at Hogwarts. And as fer what I want - well, I'm here ter take yeh ter Hogwarts, o' course. Yeh start in September."
"Hogwarts?"
"Yeh don't know?" Hagrid's face darkened as he turned to the Dursleys. "Yeh don't know about Hogwarts? Didn't yeh ever wonder where yer parents learned it all?"
"Learned what?" Harry demanded, stepping forward.
"STOP! I FORBID YOU TO TELL HIM!" Petunia shrieked.
"Ah, go boil yer heads, both of yeh," Hagrid said. "Harry - yer a wizard."
Silence.
Harry felt something slot into place in his chest. A wizard. Magic. Power.
Of course.
"I knew it," he said quietly. "I always knew I was meant for more."
Hagrid beamed. "That's right! Yer famous, Harry! Everyone knows yer name in our world—"
"Famous?" Harry's eyes sharpened. "Why?"
Hagrid's smile faded. "Yeh don't know… about You-Know-Who?"
"I know nothing," Harry said coldly, shooting a venomous glance at the Dursleys. "They made sure of that."
So Hagrid told him.
About the wizarding world. About Voldemort, the Dark wizard who'd murdered countless people. About the night his parents died protecting him. About how he, a baby, had somehow survived the Killing Curse and destroyed the Dark Lord.
The Boy Who Lived.
Harry absorbed it all, his face impassive. Inside, his mind raced.
His parents hadn't died in a car crash. They'd been murdered by a powerful wizard. And he'd defeated that wizard as an infant.
Which meant he had power. Real power. Not just the strange things that happened around him when he was angry - but actual, trainable, surpassable power.
"So I'm famous for surviving," Harry said flatly.
"Well, yeah, but—"
"Surviving isn't a skill. It's luck." Harry's voice was sharp. "I need to become stronger than surviving. I need to surpass everyone who thinks they know what I am."
Hagrid looked uncomfortable. "Yeh don't need ter worry about all that yet, Harry. Yer just a boy—"
"I'm a wizard," Harry corrected. "And if this Voldemort could kill my parents, then there are others out there just as strong. Maybe stronger." His jaw set with determination. "I won't be weak like them. I won't die because I wasn't strong enough."
"Yer parents weren't weak!" Hagrid said, looking shocked. "James and Lily Potter were as brave as they come—"
"Then they weren't strong enough. Bravery doesn't matter if you lose." Harry met Hagrid's eyes. "When do we leave for this Hogwarts?"
Hagrid seemed at a loss for words. Finally, he said, "Tomorrow. We'll go ter Diagon Alley, get yer school things."
"Good." Harry turned back to his spot on the floor, ignoring the cake entirely. "I suggest you rest. You look exhausted."
As Hagrid settled into the corner, looking troubled, Harry lay back down and closed his eyes.
A wizard. Famous. And completely untrained.
Unacceptable.
He would change that. He would learn everything, master everything, become stronger than everyone who came before him.
Starting tomorrow, Harry Potter's real training would begin.
And he would bow to no one.