Chapter 2 - The Visit

It was a sunny morning in July on Privet Drive. At number 4, Harry Potter woke up in his
bedroom, followed by a series of taps on his door.
“Breakfast, Harry!” said his aunt Petunia from behind the door, before going back
downstairs. Harry got up and put on his glasses from the nightstand, mindful of the slight headache
he was sporting. He had dreams last night, dreams of flying, of old men with strange beards, of
motorcycles and green lights. He had them for a while, but he could not make sense of it all. It was
possible that he was remembering the night his parents were killed, but Harry had no idea how it
all came together. He knew someone came in their house and attacked his parents and that only he
lived, but not much else. His aunt and uncle did not like to talk about it, because his aunt got sad
whenever he mentioned her sister and his uncle tried to change topics by that point.
The boy went to the bathroom to brush his teeth and try in vain to settle his unruly hair.
While most of the time he was fine with the way he looked, today it just wouldn’t stay the way he
liked, unless he took a shower first. But Harry’s stomach protested the notion, grumbling loudly
for the breakfast aunt Petunia promised. The smell of bacon coming from downstairs didn’t help
matters at all.
“Happy birthday, darling!” smiled aunt Petunia at him from the stove, before giving him
a peck on his cheek. His uncle smiled at him from his chair and pulled him into a one arm hug,
kissing the top of his head affectionately. Harry beamed at them and sat down at the table. He
looked around, and saw some presents on the couch. He was anxious to open them, but he figured
it was best to wait until after eating.
“Where is Dudley?” Harry asked, looking for his cousin.
“Well, he should be –“started aunt Petunia, but was interrupted by her son entering the
kitchen, with a blanket on his shoulders, moving at a slow pace and groaning. He was wearing his
pyjamas with ducklings and his hair was sticking out in all sorts of directions, worse than Harry at
this point.
“G’morning.” he said nasally. “Happy birthday, Harry.” Dudley continued in a strained
smile and a weak voice, before sitting down opposite of his father at the table. Harry could swear
he saw his uncle lifting the newspaper higher and shaking. Truly, it was a sight, but Harry had to
remember how Dudley got sick in the first place.
“Here you go!” said Petunia, setting down the plates in front of Harry and Vernon. “Don’t
worry, Dudders, I made something for you to help with the cold.” she said, as she put a bowl of
hot soup in front of him.
“I hate being sick.” he sniffed loudly. Harry shot him a look of sympathy.
 “Well, you should have thought of that before you both went out in the rain to play, without
your coats.” chastised Petunia both of her boys, before joining her family at the table.
“It’s not his fault,” said Dudley, looking at his bowl, “he brought an umbrella.” he
continued weakly. Harry smiled, remembering how Dudley insisted that he would be fine in the
rain and that he didn’t need Harry’s umbrella.
“Well, at least one of you is sensible.” remarked Petunia, before mouthing a ‘Thank you’
at his nephew. Harry thought is was a ‘thank you for trying’ in reality, but only nodded in response.
After breakfast, Harry washed his dishes before anyone could protest and went straight to
the living room, to open his gifts. Before he could do that, however, his uncle placed a hand on his
shoulder without looking from his newspaper, stopping the boy in his tracks.
“Ah-ah-ah,” he said, “not so fast kid. You don’t get to open those until later today.”
“Then why are they on the couch?” he retorted.
“Good question.” said his aunt evenly, taking a sip of her coffee and shooting a glance at
her husband.
“Well, I...” started Vernon, but could not begin to explain how he had forgotten to hide
them before Harry came downstairs.
“Fine...” the boy huffed in annoyance. “I’ll wait. When do I get to open them?” he asked,
turning to his family.
“I told you, later today.” explained Vernon, letting go of his nephew and continuing to
read.
“Why?” asked Harry, narrowing his eyes, knowing something was up.
Before there could be another response, however, Dudley started coughing. Unfortunately,
he was eating soup at the time, which meant he sprayed some of it on to the table. Petunia procured
a glass of water and handed it to her son, while Harry looked for the cloth they used for cleaning
and gave it to his uncle. Harry wanted to question them further, but he thought that their attention
would be aimed at Dudley for the time being. Minutes later, after the mess was no more, Vernon
bid goodbye to his family, saying he will be back by noon. Even though he took his briefcase,
Harry got the feeling that is was just for show, but couldn’t understand why.
His aunt was giving medicine to her son, who started to look less like a ghost and more
like a zombie, Harry thought. It was an improvement at least.
“Could you bring me the tissue box, Harry?” his aunt asked.
Harry went to the far side of the kitchen to fulfil his request, but on his way back he noticed
something peculiar on top of one of the cabinets. He said nothing of it when he handed the tissues
to his aunt, who replied a ‘Thanks’ before returning to Dudley, who felt a little smothered by the
attention his mother was giving him. Petunia steered Dudley to take him upstairs for a bath, telling
Harry to mind himself for a few minutes until she got back.
 Harry opted to take a better look at the thing on the cabinet. Standing somewhere he could
see it better, he realised it was a white coloured object, most likely a circle.
‘Cake!’ he suddenly thought. ‘It’s my birthday cake!’
The bespectacled boy was giddy with joy. He knew his aunt and uncle would have a cake
for him, as they did for Dudley a month earlier, but he didn’t know where they put it. Now, curious
beyond measure, as any boy his age would be at the prospect of sweets, he wanted to take a close
look at it. Trouble was, there was no way he could reach it. He looked around, thinking he could
use the chairs to reach the cake. He dragged one of them to the counter underneath his target, and
climbed up. Unfortunately, it was still too high. His relatives put it away well, he could barely
reach the top of the cabinet’s handle.
He climbed down, frowning. He lift up the chair on to the counter, but didn’t have any
room to place it properly. The back rest was too tall for the space in between. Resigned in his fate,
Harry put the chair back in its place and stared in frustration at his cake, so far out of his reach. He
just wanted a peek, just a small one, before the cake was served. For a moment, he just wanted the
delicious sweet to be closer to him.
What Harry witnessed next gave him pause. The cake actually moved closer to the edge by
an inch or so. Harry took a step back in surprise and let out a gasp. It couldn’t have moved by
itself, couldn’t it? It couldn’t have been the wind, the windows were closed, and the thing looked
heavy. The only explanation was that Harry somehow made it move. But that was just silly. You
couldn’t move things without touching them. And yet, Harry knew what he saw.
He tried it again, closing his eyes and concentrating on moving the cake again. But when
he opened his eyes, nothing was different. It was standing there, just as it did a few seconds ago.
“Harry, you in the kitchen?” Harry heard his aunt calling for him from the stairs.
“Yes, aunt Petunia!” he answered, still eying the cake warily.
“Could you grab me my cell?” she asked.
Harry found the slider phone on the table and went upstairs to his aunt, trying to put the
incident out of his mind. It was weird, to say the least, but Harry had to conclude that he imagined
it. There was no other explanation, really. Still, there was a part of him that was unsettled that it
could have been real. But as to how that was that possible, Harry couldn’t explain.
Harry spent the next few hours in his room, tidying up and doing some of his summer
homework. With Dudley being sick, he had no one to play with, so he thought it best to finish up
on his school work. That is, until he heard his uncle pull up in the driveway. When he looked out
the window, he saw that there were more cars parked on their street than usual. There was a group
of adults and their children being led to the Dursley’s front door, most of whom Harry recognised.
His jaw hit the floor in realisation and went downstairs, where his relatives along with what few
people managed to get in were waiting for him.
 “Happy birthday!” they shouted in unison. Vernon and Petunia looked particularly pleased
with themselves, as they hid the surprise until the very last second.
Harry was ecstatic, considering he hadn’t thought he was going to have a party. But, like
any young boy, any excuse to play with his friends and eat loads of tasty food his aunt made was
a happy occasion.
What few classmates he got along with at school were suddenly invading the Dursley
household, taking Harry along with them, away from the boring adults. The Dursleys went in the
backyard to put up the decorations and the food table, leaving Harry with his peers. After a minute,
Harry noticed that his cousin was absent, for some reason. He made some excuse to his friends
and got away from the loud children to find his aunt and uncle.
“Thank you, thank you, thank you!” he said, grabbing them both in a hug, as best he could.
“It’s not everyday you turn seven, Harry.” his uncle told him, while patting him on his
shoulder.
“Where is Dudley?” he asked, suddenly reminding himself of his mission.
“I’m afraid he is still to sick to play with the other children, so he’s upstairs.” responded
his aunt.
“But he didn’t have a birthday party when he turned seven!” Harry tried to reason. “He
should be here!”
“Darling, Dudley didn’t want a party, he wanted to go to the beach that week, remember?”
Petunia said, hoping to still the waters. It was unfair, of course, but she didn’t want the other
children catching a cold.
“Okay.” said Harry in a defeated tone, looking at his feet.
“Chin up, kiddo!” tried uncle Vernon. “Look, your aunt made some tarts, why don’t you
have some?”
The distraction proved successful, as Harry momentarily forgot about his cousin and took
a tart from the table and went where the other kids were currently trying to decide on a game.
Petunia watched her nephew laugh happily with the other kids and a small pang of sadness hit her.
“She should be here.” said Petunia, still looking at Harry. “She should be the one who made
the cake and the tarts, she should be the one who made his special breakfast today, not I.” she
continued, feeling sadder by the minute. Vernon went it and held her by the shoulders, not knowing
what to say to comfort her. They knew they could never replace the boy’s parents, he could never
call them mother and father, because to do so made Petunia think that she was making Harry forget
about Lily and James. She tried, really, to tell the boy about his mother and father, but it was hard,
trying to avoid the usage of the words that would undoubtedly spark more questions from the boy,
questions that she was in no way prepared to answer. But, she reminded herself, Harry knew the
kind of people his parents were, their kindness and bravery, he knew about how great a person
Lily was, and that was what mattered right now.
 “She would have stomped and huffed just like him, if I was missing her birthday party.”
she said a bit more steadily. Vernon just smiled and pecked her cheek. Petunia turned to look at
the window in Dudley’s bedroom and saw him sitting on the windowsill, looking dejected at the
party he couldn’t attend. It was a heart-breaking sight for Petunia, as she never wanted to see any
of her boys sad.
“I should bring up some food for Dudley. Check up on him.” she said, sniffing slightly.
“I think someone is ahead of you.” Vernon laughed lightly and pointed his head somewhere
beside Petunia. As the latter turned in the direction her husband supplied, she saw Harry putting
two portions of each kind of food on a large platter, with a determined expression on his face. He
then promptly went back to the house, with a pile at least half his size in his hands. Somehow, he
managed to balance it all and open the backdoor at the same time. Harry was nothing if not
resourceful, remarked Petunia.
Dudley heard a knock on his door a few moments later. Opening it, he was greeted by the
sight of his cousin carrying what seemed like his weight in food.
“Thought you might be hungry.” Harry said, as he set down the platter on Dudley’s desk.
“Thanks. You didn’t have to, you know.” said Dudley, sounding slightly better than he did
that morning. “What if you get sick?” asked, eating some chips Harry brought.
“Don’t care.” replied Harry, taking a bite out of a tart.
“If you say so. So, what did you get?” Dudley continued.
“I have no idea. Haven’t opened any presents yet.” replied Harry. “I want to open them
with you, you know, so that you could pick one for yourself, like we do with all our birthdays.”
“Ah, yeah.” remembered Dudley.
They sat like that for a time, watching the kids run around and play, and the adults mingling
and talking with each other. The food platter was not even dented, when Harry and Dudley felt
stuffed. There was a knock on the door for the second time in the last two hours. Petunia snuck her
head in and called for Harry to come back outside to blow the candles. Harry promised Dudley to
save him a piece, which brightened his cousin’s face a little.
Surrounded by the party guests, Harry blew the seven candles placed on his vanilla cake,
making a wish to always be with his family. He still eyed the cake strangely, but ate it happily
nonetheless. He made sure uncle Vernon would give Dudley a piece, which made the man chuckle
and ruffle his already wild hair.
“Let’s play a game!” said Anna, one of Harry’s friends at school. “We should play hide-
and-seek!”
“That’s boooring!” complained a boy named Neilan. “We should play ‘Hunting’ instead!”
“What’s that?” asked Harry, curious.
 “It’s like hide-and-seek, but better!” he exclaimed. “If you are found, you have to help the
person searching catch the others! The last one to be found wins!”
Harry felt like it was simply another variation of hide-and-seek, but he agreed with the
others on the nature of the game.
As each kid found their hiding spot, Harry managed to hide in one of the bushes in the
garden. It was one of the places Harry used when he played with Dudley. He watched as almost
everyone was found by Neilan, save for him and Anna, who Harry had no idea where she was. He
was certain he was going to win, but the latest person Neilan found was slightly put out that he
lost and pointed somewhere in Harry’s direction, in an action that suggested he was not happy that
the boy managed to escape so far.
Neilan took his advice and soon almost every one was coming directly towards Harry, who
didn’t have anywhere else to go without being caught. Thinking that it was unfair that he should
be the one to lose when that boy revealed his hiding spot, he wanted very badly to be somewhere
else, somewhere hidden, where they couldn’t find him. He closed his eyes, feeling suddenly
strangely, like he was being dragged through a tube of some kind. The sounds of the party suddenly
were muted and far away, and Harry didn’t feel the grass under him, but floorboards instead.
When he opened his eyes, Harry could not see anything. It was dark, everywhere he looked.
He began to panic, thinking something was very wrong. He tried to move, but found there was not
that much space for him to go. There were walls everywhere and things that were knocked down
or hit him when he moved too fast. There was something crawling on him. Harry screamed and
tried to get it off. In the process, something else wound up touching him, at the base of his neck,
something wet and with a lot of fingers that felt like wool.
“Help! HELP ME!” he screamed and screamed, but no one came. He began pounding the
walls, whichever one proved to be the exit, in hopes someone would come for him. “Aunt Petunia!
Uncle Vernon! Dudley! HELP!”
Tears were now falling from his face, as Harry felt completely helpless for the first time in
his life. He was in an unknown place, all alone, with no one to help him, with the walls coming
down on him and with things crawling all over his skin. All he could do was bang on the walls and
hope that someone will hear him.
“Vernon, a word?” asked Petunia. Her husband excused himself from the conversation he
was having with some of the parents at the boys’ school and went with Petunia. “Have you seen
Harry?” she asked in a concerned voice.
“Not since he asked me to make sure Dudley had a piece of cake. Why?” he responded,
frowning.
“I can’t find him. He was playing hide-and-seek with the kids and now he is nowhere to be
seen.” Petunia said.
Vernon looked around. Indeed, the kids were calling to Harry and searched every nook and
cranny for him. None of the other adults seemed to catch on.
 “Maybe he’s upstairs with Dudley?” Vernon supplied.
“Maybe.” said his wife.” I’ll go check.”
“I’ll come with.” said Vernon, but his wife stopped him.
“No, wait here and see to the guests. I don’t want to cause a panic.” she said thoughtfully.
When Petunia went inside, a series of sounds stopped her in her tracks. There were shouts
and loud noises, like someone was hitting a door, somewhere in her house. But the thing that
sprung her into action was the sound of someone screaming their heart out.
“Please! Anyone! Help!”
Petunia ran, as fast as she could in high heels, to the entrance hall, where the sounds could
be heard. The cupboard’s door was being hit repeatedly, as if someone was behind it. She unlocked
it and then she got an armful of her nephew, followed by a mop that fell with him. Harry shook
and gasped loudly for breath, terrified out of his wits, as he clung to his aunt and kicked the mop
away with his feet.
“HARRY!” she intoned. “Harry, what happened?!” she demanded worriedly, but the boy
could only cling to her and whimper. “Oh, my dear sweet boy! It’s alright, I’ve got you.” she tried
to sooth her nephew, but to no avail.
Petunia then realised that although Harry somehow got in the cupboard, the door was
locked on the outside, meaning someone must’ve closed it. But all the other guests were outside
and she severely doubted that Dudley would do something like that to his cousin. She reached out
in the pocket of her sundress and took out her phone.
“Vernon?” she said when the other line picked up.
“Petunia, is everything alright?” said Vernon on the phone.
“I found him.” she said, looking at Harry, who couldn’t stop shaking. “But we have to send
everyone else home. Say he got the flu from Dudley, or something.”
“Pet, what – “
“Vernon, please.” she begged.
“Alright.” he said, before hanging up.
Petunia managed to get Harry upstairs in his room, somehow. She sat with him on the bed
and held his head resting against her.
“Harry, I know you’re scared, but I need you to tell me exactly how you got there.”
Harry sniffed, taking in long amounts of breath, apparently a lot calmer than he was before.
“I-I d-don’t know.” he stuttered. “I-I was in the yard, b-behind the bushes, a-and then... And then
I wasn’t!” he finished, looking scared at his aunt, fearing he did something wrong.
 “Harry...” she tried.
“Please! You have to believe me, aunt Petunia! I don’t know how it happened, but it did!”
he pleaded.
“Harry, I know, I believe you.” she said, adamant to get her point across.
“I am so sorry, aunt Petunia!” he cried. “I – “
“Have nothing to be sorry about, Harry.” she said determined. “You did nothing wrong. It
was an accident.”
Petunia held her nephew a little while longer, while all the guests got in their cars and left.
Ten minutes after the incident, Vernon knocked on the door.
“Harry, are you alright?” he asked his nephew.
“Darling, why don’t you go and play some video games in the living room?” offered
Petunia.
“Can you come with me downstairs? Please?” he asked.
“Of course.” she said, as Vernon made room for them to exit. “Look, there’s nothing to be
afraid of.” Petunia argued when they reached the bottom of the stairs. “I’ll leave the door to the
cupboard unlocked from now on, okay? No one will lock it again.” she promised.
Harry looked slightly unconvinced, but managed to get into the living room safely,
although he didn’t let go of his aunt’s hand until then.
Petunia turned to Vernon, deciding she kept him out of the loop long enough, and took him
aside in the kitchen, while maintaining Harry in their visual field.
“Vernon, I think he used magic again.” she whispered, still looking at Harry, worriedly.
“How?” he asked, looking from his wife to his nephew and back again,
“I think he...” Petunia said, “Apparated. You know, sort of like teleporting from one place
to another.” she explained. “Unfortunately, he Apparated in the cupboard and got scared, because
he had no idea where he was. Vernon, he was in there for almost fifteen minutes.” she said,
miserably.
“But I thought the protection from your sister made sure that no one could just wind up
here by magic.” Vernon replied in a low tone.
“No,” Petunia shook her head, “remember what Dumbledore said after we sent him that
letter. He said that the protection is only against those who would wish him harm, not against
himself. He was in no actual danger, just got scared.”
Petunia looked at her nephew, who was holding the controller and looking at the screen.
He seemed loads better than before, possibly because he was trying to distract himself from the
incident.
 “What do we do now?” asked Vernon.
“We call the school.” she said, sitting down at the table, sighing. “We have to tell him the
truth.”
“Now?” whispered Vernon. “Isn’t it a little too soon for that? He’s barely seven, for God’s
sakes!”
“He knows something is up.” Petunia argued. “There is no way we can hide it any longer.
Now or in four years isn’t that much of a difference.”
“You’re right, of course.” sighed Vernon. “We have to tell him.” he said, looking at his
little nephew, hoping that he will not resent them when it all came to light. “I’ll get a pen and
paper.” he concluded, as he made a move to the drawer were the items in question were kept.
“There’s no need.” said Petunia evenly, as she took her phone and searched in her contacts,
until she found the one she needed. She pressed dial and waited.
“Hello, Professor Dumbledore?” said Petunia into her phone, ignoring the questioning look
her husband was sending her. “It’s Petunia Dursley. I hope I’m not disturbing you. It’s about Harry.
He’s fine, if a little shaken up. He Apparated and he got scared. No, no he is fine, he is on the
couch. Is just that we feel it’s time. Yes, it would be appreciated. Thank you. Have good evening.”
Petunia finished with her call.
“Aren’t electronic devices supposed to not be working at that school?” Vernon finally
asked his wife, curiosity getting the better of him.
“Apparently, they got around it a few years back.” his wife responded simply, as she got
up to make tea.
“And here I thought they were going to be in the Dark Ages forever.” Vernon drawled out
as he took out the cups from their cabinet. In truth, the image of the aging wizard, that he only
knew from description, with something like a flip phone, made him laugh.
The next day, Harry woke up, still feeling shaken about yesterday’s events. His aunt and
uncle promised him they would talk the next day, so he put it out of his mind momentarily. His
dreams were still terrifying him, even more so today, but he put on a brave face, as much as he
could, and got ready for the day. He missed breakfast, having slept in late. Even so, he didn’t feel
hungry in the least.
As he got downstairs, pointedly ignoring that awful cupboard. Passing the living room he
didn’t notice its occupants.
“Good morning, Harry.” said his aunt. Harry turned around and saw two of his relatives,
along with another woman he did not know. She was imposing, to say the least. She wore a white
blouse, blue cardigan and long skirt, wore glasses with cords and had her auburn hair tucked neatly
into a high bun. Harry was suddenly reminded of a school teacher for a moment, or a very posh
grandma, for that matter.
 “Good morning, Mr Potter.” the lady said. “I am Professor Minerva McGonagall. Please,
do have a seat, we have much to discuss.” she continued in a Scottish accent.
“I’m not crazy.” he said to his aunt and uncle, who were already sitting down.
“What? No, Harry, nobody is saying that you are crazy.” his aunt reassured him.
“Mr Potter,” said Professor McGonagall, “I can promise you than you are as sane as I.
Now, please, have a seat.”
Harry complied, but mostly because she used that tone all the teachers use when they want
to make students obey them. Harry swore that he would find out how they did it. As he sat down
frowning, opposite of his relatives, thinking the worst, Professor McGonagall in the arm chair to
Harry’s right and took a cup of hot tea from the coffee table. Harry had a nagging feeling that the
tea was cold before he sat down.
“Now, Mr Potter,” said McGonagall after a few moments, “I understand that something
happened to you recently that you couldn’t explain.”
Harry shot a look at his relatives, who were suddenly very interested in their cups of tea.
“One minute you were somewhere then, unexpectedly, you where somewhere else.” she
continued. “Am I correct?”
Harry debated with having to answer her. He knew that if he told the truth he wouldn’t be
taken seriously, but if he lied then he had no explanation for the event. He did find himself behind
a closed door, somehow. He glanced at his aunt, who looked at him and gave a small nod of her
head.
“Yes.” said Harry to Professor McGonagall.
“And did you, say, felt a sensation as if being ‘grabbed though a tube’, of sorts?” she asked
knowingly.
Harry’s eyes widen. He hadn’t told his relatives that. He only now remembered it because
McGonagall mentioned it.
“How did you – “he tried to find the words.
“As I thought.” McGonagall continued. “Now, I’m quite sure that this was not the only
such incident, just the latest and the most noticeable.”
“I don’t know what you mean.” Harry said weakly.
“Really?” she raised an eyebrow and smiled out of the corner of her mouth. “You can’t
think of any other time when something strange occurred when you felt something very strongly?”
Harry wanted to tell her ‘No’, but is was like someone was flashing images right before his
eyes. There were moments that he could not explain, like the one with the cake from yesterday.
His least favourite teacher’s turning three shades of blue in class, that time he fell from the tree but
somehow gracefully managed to land, Dudley’s blocks falling when no one touched them that time
he was angry with his cousin for not sharing the toys and something about cookies, but Harry
couldn’t figure the last one.
Harry turned to look at McGonagall, who was watching him amused. Harry himself
thought that this was all some joke, but a part of him felt like it was real. What he could do was
real, and this woman was about to give him answers.
“I see.” she said, when he regarded her with a look of realisation. “There is an explanation
for these out of the ordinary episodes. You see, you are part of a group of people with special
abilities that most do not possess.”
Harry regarded her carefully. Surely, she would not say it?
“What I mean is that you are able to do magic, Mr Potter.” she said, finally.
At first, Harry wanted to laugh. To hear an adult speak so seriously about silly things like
magic was immensely funny to him. But then he remembered the incidents that he went through,
and took consideration of the woman’s tone. This was real, magic was real! And Harry... could do
magic.
But then Harry remembered the other people in the room.
“Did you knew?” he asked them. When they didn’t answer he continued: “You knew!” he
shouted angrily. “You knew and you never told me!”
“Normally,” said McGonagall a little more nervous than before, “we wait for a child to
turn eleven before letting them know, but this is a rather special case.”
“Harry, you have to understand,” said his aunt Petunia, finally, “that this is much more than
us. It has to do with your mother and father, and how they died.”
Harry had a bad feeling all of a sudden. Not once, in his life, had his relatives told him the
full extent of how they died, save for the fact that it was a crime.
“Your parents, Mr Potter,” said Professor McGonagall, trying to salvage what little she
could, “were my students at school. After they graduated they got married and then they had you.
Back then,” she started telling, but Harry was so desperate for more he wanted to tell her to hurry
it up, “there was a wizard, a bad one, who used magic for awful things and thought that there was
no place in the world for muggles, that is non-magical people, and those that were of magical
talent, but were born out of muggles, like your mother was. She and your father both fought this
bad wizard, but they lost, I’m afraid.”
Harry got that he was a wizard, at least in general terms, but his parents? Though it would
make sense, that if both of his parents were magical then he should be too.
“Six years ago,” continued McGonagall, concentrating on Harry, “this man came into your
house and... killed your parents. But when he tried to kill you, he failed. Somehow, he vanished
and the only reminder that you have now is the scar on your forehead.”
 Harry’s hand went automatically to where the scar was. He asked about it once, where did
it came from. His relatives said that it was probably from the night his parents died, but didn’t
knew how he got it. He supposed that was at least true, seeing their faces of almost surprise at
McGonagall’s tale.
“We found you on our doorstep the next day.” spoke uncle Vernon for the first time since
Harry came downstairs. “We were told what happened and we decided to take you in. We,” he
said with a small glance at his wife, “thought it was best until you were older to know the truth.”
Harry thought he could understand. After all, he was older now, having started first grade
already.
“Your relatives’ decision is sound, but there is one other matter.” said McGonagall. “The
only ones who may know of your magical abilities and that you are a wizard are your immediate
family. Meaning only your uncle, aunt and cousin can now. Any other non magical not already
aware of wizards must not discover who you are.”
“Why?” asked Harry, truly curious.
“Well, you would be breaking the law, for one.” she said unimpressed. “There is a
government for witches and wizards in Britain that dictates our laws. One of them is that we remain
a secret from the general population. The reason for that are numerous and we do not have all day.”
“But I have so many questions!” Harry could not believe the woman.
“And you will have your answers, but not at this point, seeing as I’m late enough as it is.
Does he have access to email?” McGonagall asked the two Dursleys.
“We can make him an account. It will be supervised, of course, until he is older.” said uncle
Vernon.
“Very well. I will send some things that he may be interested in via email, then.” said
Professor McGonagall. “I must take my leave soon, but I still have a few minutes left.” she
continued, turning to Harry. “You should know that you have your place at Hogwarts School of
Witchcraft and Wizardry, a most prestigious school of magic in Europe. It was where your parents
learned how to control their magic and it is where it teach.” she concluded.
“What will I learn?” he asked, but McGonagall barley had time to open her mouth, as he
fired another series of questions at her “When will I start? Do I need anything in particular to learn
magic? Do I get to fly?” he basically roared the last one in his excitement.
The Durlseys wisely let McGonagall deal with the very enthusiastic boy, letting him know
that he will start at Hogwarts when he will be eleven, that yes, he will need certain items at that
time and he will be helped in their purchase, that he may fly, on a broomstick even, and so it went
on, with every answer the Professor offered, Harry two more questions ready for her.
“Will Dudley come with me?” Harry asked hopefully.
 “I am afraid your cousin is not a wizard, thus he cannot attend Hogwarts when the time
comes.” McGonagall shook her head.
“Can’t you make him one?” he pleaded, not seeing the way his aunt was looking at him.
“No, I’m afraid not. You are either born a witch or wizard, or you are not. Your cousin, as
it stands, is a muggle.” explained McGonagall, but gave a meaningful glance in Petunia’s direction.
“Well, I’m afraid that’s all of the time I have today.” she looked at the clock and then stood up to
bid farewell to the Dursleys. “Thank you for welcoming me into your lovely home, Mr and Mrs
Dursley.” she said with a small bow of her head. “Mr Potter, I will see you September 1st in four
years. Until then, I will send you some reading material with information regarding the wizarding
world that would interest you.” she said with a smile.
She then walked to the door, Durlseys behind her, when Harry suddenly remembered.
“Professor? You never said what you taught at Hogwarts.” he said
McGonagall stopped for a moment in her tracks with a small smile on her lips. “Well, now
wouldn’t it be better if you figured it out on your own?” she said, giving Harry a look, and with
that she left the house, leaving a confused Harry behind.
As the boy turned his attention to the tray on the table he saw that the cup that she drank
from earlier was now in the shape of a miniature dragon.
If Harry had any doubts about magic before, he certainly didn’t now. He figured aunt
Petunia wouldn’t be too upset about one of the cups in her set.