The Dursleys, proud owners of Grunnings, a drill company, were an ordinary British family who lived for normalcy. To their misfortune, strange occurrences plagued their lives, earning them a reputation among neighbors as an odd household.
Vernon's social standing as a company president and Petunia's tireless efforts to fit in with local housewives kept their relations with the neighborhood cordial, despite the whispers. But their attempts to maintain this facade were undermined by their harsh treatment of their nephew, Harry Potter, and the inexplicable events surrounding him—snakes escaping from zoos, Harry inexplicably moving from the playground to the school roof. To the neighbors, the Dursleys were just a bit off.
And the boy at the center of it all, Harry Potter, felt the weight of it.
This treatment is unfair, he thought constantly, though he could never voice it. The cold, disdainful glares from Vernon and Petunia, his foster parents, stifled him, trapping him in a life of quiet resentment.
Harry found a strange thrill in the odd events around him. When a snake escaped at the zoo, watching his bullying cousin Dudley collapse in fear was oddly satisfying. But the punishment—locked in the cupboard under the stairs, his only escape studying disrupted by Dudley's mindless interference—quickly snuffed out any joy, leaving him steeped in misery.
"Be normal, Vernon says," Harry muttered to himself. "But how?"
When the snake escaped or when he fled Dudley, he'd wished for those things to happen. But wishing didn't make things real. Or did it?
Harry knew he should be grateful to Vernon and Petunia for raising him. He accepted wearing Dudley's hand-me-downs, having no allowance, and doing chores as part of his lot. His thin frame came from meager meals, but that was just life. Yet, children sense the truth, no matter how much they try to ignore it. Vernon and Petunia didn't love him, and that hurt more than anything.
They'd told him his real parents died in a car crash. True or not, Vernon and Petunia were the only parents he knew. But to them, he was just a burdensome relative they were obligated to keep.
It was Dudley's birthday, and Harry was in the kitchen, preparing porridge and scrambling eggs perfectly—a chore he'd grown used to, though it ate into his study time. He was set to attend a public school soon, a chance to escape this life through academic success. But Dudley's antics stole his time, widening the gap between them. Dudley, a spoiled bully who preferred playing with friends over studying, seemed to resent Harry's focus on schoolwork.
Maybe Harry should've played more, like Dudley. But when Dudley's "play" turned to violence against anyone he disliked, Harry couldn't stomach joining him. Telling Dudley to stop only redirected the bullying to Harry himself. They were irreconcilable enemies, both certain reconciliation was impossible.
Then, a turning point arrived.
For the first time, a letter addressed to Harry came. The Dursleys' reaction was staggering—Vernon's panic was so intense he abandoned his precious company to keep Harry from seeing it, eventually locking him in a dilapidated shack on a remote island.
They're insane, Harry thought, unsure if he meant Vernon or the relentless flood of letters. Am I really not normal?
Huddled in the drafty shack without a blanket, Harry forgot it was his own birthday. But a gift came nonetheless.
The shack's door burst open with a thunderous crash, revealing a giant of a man—taller and broader than anyone Harry had seen. His obsidian eyes gleamed with childlike sincerity, a stark contrast to Harry's dull, emerald gaze.
Not normal, Harry thought, staring with a mix of excitement and resignation. Yet, he instantly felt a connection to the man, though he didn't know why. Then came the bombshell.
"Harry, yer a wizard!" the giant declared. "An' not just any wizard. Yer the son of James an' Lily, some o' the finest wizards there ever were!"
Vernon's desperate attempt to drive the man off with a rifle failed. The truth hit Harry like a tidal wave: Vernon and Petunia had lied to him his whole life, slandering his heroic parents who'd faced a dark wizard.
I won't forgive them!
In that moment, Harry was certain the Dursleys never loved him. The gratitude he'd clung to dissolved into rage, erupting in a burst of accidental magic that blasted part of the shack apart.
Seeing the terror in Vernon and Petunia's eyes, Harry regretted it instantly.
It's over…
He'd crossed a line. Looking back, he'd always regret going too far. He should've apologized, but he was too overwhelmed. The giant, Hagrid, soothed him with kind words, haphazardly repairing the shack with a wave of his umbrella (clearly magic) before whisking Harry away.
Even meeting Hagrid, his first friend, couldn't erase the resignation Harry felt toward the Dursleys.
"Sorry, Harry," Hagrid said as they rode a flying motorcycle. "I should've noticed sooner. Never thought the Dursleys'd treat ya like that."
Harry, warmed by Hagrid's concern despite the ruined shack, clung to his back. "It's okay," he said.
"Hey, Hagrid," Harry ventured. "Can I learn to control this… magic?"
"Course ya can!" Hagrid replied. "What ya did back there? Happens to every young wizard. Don't worry 'bout it."
Hagrid's rough pat on the head, shaking Harry's thoughts, calmed him slightly.
That was a mistake…
If he did something like that at the wizarding school, he'd never make friends. He needed to control his magic.
"You'll do fine!" Hagrid boomed. "With a wand from Ollivander's, you'll be a proper wizard. Best wands in Britain, they got!"
At Garrick Ollivander's shop, the old man's sales pitch was captivating. When he revealed Harry's wand was the twin of the century's darkest wizard's, Harry felt a spark of hope—he could be a special wizard.
I can't go back to the Muggle world.
If that was true, he'd become a great wizard like his parents. The expectant gazes in the wizarding world fueled his resolve.
The idea that he, as a baby, defeated a dark wizard was unthinkable. His parents must've fought heroically to protect him. He'd make them proud.
"Say, Harry, it's yer birthday, ain't it?" Hagrid said.
"Yeah," Harry replied, puzzled why it mattered.
"I wanna get ya somethin'. I'd pick a cool magical creature, but what d'ya want?"
"Aren't pets against school rules?" Harry asked, glancing at his acceptance letter. None of the allowed animals—owls, cats, toads—appealed to him. An owl was useless without anyone to write to, and the Dursleys would hate it.
"If it don't bother no one, the professors an' caretaker won't mind," Hagrid said. "Whaddaya want?"
"Then… a snake," Harry said. "A small one, something that'll live a long time."
He remembered the zoo, how he'd almost heard the snake's voice. Caring for a pet was new, but if he could talk to it, maybe he could manage. Above all, he couldn't bear the thought of no one to talk to until Hogwarts.
"Snakes, eh? Good choice!" Hagrid grinned. "Snakes are reptiles, like dragons an' salamanders, an' magical ones live long. I'll find ya a good'un!"
While Hagrid fetched a foreign krait snake, Harry passed time at Madam Malkin's robe shop. There, he met a blond boy his age, exuding wealth and privilege. Unlike Harry, clad in Dudley's shabby hand-me-downs, the boy seemed untroubled by want. Harry didn't warm to his condescending air, but when he shared his parents' death and his life with Muggles, the boy was incensed.
"Muggles are no good!" the boy said. "If you get into Slytherin at Hogwarts, I'll have your back."
The boy, from a pure-blood wizarding family, clearly despised non-magical people. Their shared disdain for Muggles bridged the gap slightly. Harry, desperate for a friend, confided his resentment toward Vernon, Petunia, and Dudley, despite his unease.
Loneliness festers in the heart. Sometimes, you just need someone to listen.
"But isn't Slytherin only for pure-bloods?" Harry asked.
The boy boasted about his family and Slytherin, the house that produced great wizards like Merlin. Only pure-bloods—those born to wizard parents—could join, he said.
"Know your place, and Slytherin will welcome you," the boy said. "I could back you up. By the way, what's your name? I might forget. I'm a pure-blood from a top family, busy with lessons my parents insist on."
Maybe Draco's not just a jerk, Harry thought, his initial dislike softening. Draco had approached him first, showing more social ease than the reserved Harry.
"I'm Harry Potter," he said. "See you at Hogwarts, Draco. Hopefully in Slytherin."
Harry didn't fully buy Draco's words, but Slytherin's reputation for greatness stuck with him.
Unaware of Draco's stunned reaction, Harry left Madam Malkin's and met the krait Hagrid brought. He introduced himself.
"Hello, snake," Harry said, staring into its eyes. "I'm, uh, Harry Potter. If it's okay with you… wanna be friends?"
He felt, somehow, that it understood.
After a pause, the snake replied.
"…Huh. A human who speaks my tongue? Fine, I'll let you keep me. You'd better give me a good name."
"What? Don't all wizards talk to snakes?" Harry asked, glancing at Hagrid.
Hagrid's expression was complex—nostalgic, as if seeing something beyond Harry.
"Harry, yer a Parselmouth?" Hagrid asked.
"What's that mean?"
"Was that bad?"
Hagrid laughed off Harry's worry. "No need to fret! Parseltongue's rare—only top wizards like Dumbledore or his pal Crouch have it. Talkin' to snakes'll make carin' for 'em easier. Wish I could do it!"
"But," Hagrid added, "the most famous Parselmouth in Britain… was the worst dark wizard. Gives it a bad rap."
"You mean… Voldemort? Like me?" Harry asked.
"Don't say that name!" Hagrid snapped.
"Sorry, Hagrid."
"Nah, I shouldn't've shouted. Just… don't flaunt Parseltongue. These days, it's got a bad stigma."
Harry named the krait Asclepius and decided to keep it. Hagrid's words implied dark wizards were often Parselmouths.
Then… where do I belong?
In that moment, Harry was certain of the house he was meant for.