Soon enough, Harry received his Hogwarts letter.
But the Dursleys, after years of bottling up resentment and fear, made one final attempt to shut it all down. Determined to keep him from attending the magical school, they packed up and fled to a weathered two-story hut perched on a remote, storm-beaten island.
Yet as the clock struck midnight on Harry's eleventh birthday, the door burst open with a deafening crash.
A towering figure filled the doorway—wild hair, beetle-black eyes, and an air of power that made Vernon and Petunia freeze in terror. It was Rubeus Hagrid.
To Harry's astonishment—and the Dursleys' horror—Hagrid declared that Harry was a wizard. He handed over a slightly squashed birthday cake and Harry's official acceptance letter to Hogwarts.
When Vernon opened his mouth to insult Dumbledore, Hagrid's expression darkened. Without hesitation, he raised his pink umbrella and cursed Dudley, sprouting a curly pig's tail from the boy's backside. Harry laughed, outwardly amused, but inside, he remained watchful.
He kept up appearances—wide-eyed, amazed, playing the curious, naive boy they all expected.
By morning, Hagrid was escorting Harry to Diagon Alley to shop for school supplies. Hidden behind the Leaky Cauldron, the cobbled street burst with color, movement, and the hum of magic. It should have overwhelmed him.
But Harry stayed sharp.
At Gringotts, he met the goblins. When they brought him to his vault, he realized something immediately: the account was tightly monitored—under Dumbledore's control.
So he asked a few careful, innocent-sounding questions. Subtle, but pointed.
He learned that a small stipend had been sent regularly to the Dursleys. That annoyed him—though he knew the Dursleys were now terrified of Klaus and unlikely to ever cross him again.
More concerning was a transaction from his vault to another account under the alias Phoenix.
Harry didn't need long to guess: likely funding for the so-called Order of the Phoenix.
Still, the goblins informed him this was only his student account—a limited vault, set up to avoid reckless spending. The full Potter estate remained sealed off for now.
Before leaving the bank, Harry was presented with something else: the House of Potter Heir's Ring. A silver band inlaid with the family crest, laced with protective enchantments and bloodline recognition.
Hagrid, ever loyal but blissfully unaware, handed it to him without understanding its full significance.
Just as he was unaware of three crucial things:
That Dumbledore had instructed him to take only a portion of gold from Harry's vault.
That the Philosopher's Stone was already in play.
And that his real task—unspoken but carefully timed—was to deliver Harry to train station quickly, after purchasing... before anyone else could get involved.
After collecting his books and robes, the last stop on Harry's list was Ollivanders.
The wand he received surprised him—a phoenix feather core, eleven inches, holly. But it wasn't the wand itself that troubled him.
It was what Mr. Ollivander said: "Curious... very curious. You see, the phoenix whose feather resides in your wand gave another... just one other. It is curious that you should be destined for this wand when its brother gave you that scar."
Voldemort's wand.
Harry left the shop with a swirl of emotions—uneasy, thoughtful, unsure what to make of it. Was it fate? Coincidence? Or another one of Dumbledore's so-called plans?
Before he could dwell too long, Hagrid beamed and handed him a small cage.
"Happy Birthday, Harry."
Inside was a snowy owl—regal, intelligent, already watching Harry with calm, amber eyes. The first birthday gift he could remember receiving.
He thanked Hagrid with genuine warmth, but the questions still lingered in his mind.
Later that evening, lying in bed at the Leaky Cauldron with his wand beside him and the owl perched quietly near the window, Harry stared up at the ceiling and muttered to himself:
"Just like Uncle Klaus said… Dumbledore's setting up a test."
He pieced the puzzle together bit by bit. Hagrid's mysterious mission. It all felt orchestrated.
"It must be to lead me there…" he murmured.
The memory of Klaus and Elijah's conversation echoed in his mind.
Flashback
Klaus had leaned back with his usual smirk, sharp eyes focused on Harry.
"Dumbledore's a control freak, Harry. He won't leave you unsupervised—not when you're the Boy Who Lived. He'll plant someone nearby. Probably a family close to him, one he trusts implicitly."
Elijah sighed, clearly tired of Klaus's obsession with control dynamics. But he didn't argue.
Klaus continued, his tone serious. "You need to be cautious. Your name carries weight. Power. People will want to shape you, use you. Not everyone who smiles at you is your friend."
Harry nodded quietly.
Elijah finally spoke, more composed. "And whoever he sends to guide you? They'll reach out first. He won't risk you getting influenced by... less favorable elements."
They never told him who it would be.
Because they didn't want him spoon-fed answers.
They wanted him aware.
To notice.
Flashback ends
Harry sat up slightly in bed, the shadows from the owl's wings flickering across the room.
"So… who's it going to be?" he muttered under his breath.
He didn't have many people he could trust. Not yet.
But Neville… Neville was real. Kind. Honest. Not caught in any games.
And maybe Susan Bones. He remembered Uncle Klaus, how her aunt—Amelia Bones—was one of the few in the Ministry not bought or blinded.
Everyone else?
Harry would watch them closely.
Just like Uncle Klaus taught him.
[A/N:I am not huge fan of Ron Weasley and Molly Weasley. I mean there are too many coincidences in there first meeting.The train meeting was totally suspicious.]