Content warning: Child abuse, panic, isolation, gender dysphoria, panic attacks, misgendering, transphobia, homophobia, use of homophobic and transphobic slurs, bullying

As with the previous chapter, a specific reiteration of the standing warning for child abuse, homophobia, transphobia and assault here.

BOOM.

Whoever was outside knocked again, and then there was silence. In that silence, Harry shrank back against the wall as Uncle Vernon staggered away from her, his hands curled into fists at his sides as he strode, stiff-legged and square-shouldered like a bulldog, from the room. Harry trailed helplessly after, muffling a shriek of pain as she stood and stayed, leaning against her door-frame now as she took in the great shadow that showed through the glass of the front door.

With an ugly crash, the door was shunted from its hinges and fell, to lie with its’ glass in ruins on the floor at the intruder’s feet. “Who’s there?” snarled Uncle Vernon with rather more bravado than the quiver in his raised arms showed. He snatched up a vase that rested on a table nearby and brandished it at the intruder. “I warn you, I’m armed!”

The giant – for there was no other way to describe him – stooped his head and stepped through the doorway, casting an appraising eye around before clearly settling on Uncle Vernon. His lower face was hidden by a wild tangle of beard and his hair was no tidier, crowding the edges of his face. Harry crept closer, finding a spot in the corner of the upstairs landing to watch from as the stranger dusted himself off, though peculiarly one hand was occupied with a pink floral umbrella that he held closed at his side as one might hold a sword at ready.

“Ah, Dursley ya great prat. Put that down before you hurt yerself.” The giant remarked, and Harry thought she could detect derision in his heavy brogue – not the tone one ordinarily took with Uncle Vernon. His face – well, what she could see of it – took on that searching quality again and Harry fought the urge to shrink back into the shadows of the railing. It was no use anyway, the giant had spotted her.

“An’ here’s Harry!” The giant crowed, clearly delighted. Harry was perplexed and, again stifling her body’s complaints, hauled herself upright against the railing.

“Las’ time I saw you, you was just a baby.” he continued, still smiling. “You’ve still got your mum’s eyes. Why don’t you come on down, let’s have a proper look at ya.”

Harry began to make her way down the stairs, and that was enough for Uncle Vernon. He made a strange rasping noise, as if he couldn’t quite make his voice work. “I demand that you leave, at once! You are breaking and entering”

The giant threw him a disdainful glare. “Aw Dursley, shut up, and let Harry down.” he responded, clearly un-intimidated by Uncle Vernon’s threats. As Uncle Vernon stood shocked in the wake of this unfamiliar show of complete nonchalance, Harry was able to slip past and make her way – still clutching her faded backpack – downstairs, looking up at the giant with wide eyes.

“Anyway, Harry. Got somethin’ for you. It’s a bit early, thought I was going to have to chase you lot all over the country but... here.” he said, fishing in his pockets – of which there were many – to eventually withdraw a slightly dented box. He gestured for Harry to take it and, not knowing what else to do, she did, opening it as if expecting its’ contents to bite her. Instead, inside was a large and sticky chocolate cake with jam spilling from between its’ two layers and chocolate icing smudged all over the box. Some had got on Harry’s fingers as she opened and and, idly, she licked them. Not bad – but she’d never had cake before and certainly never been given one like this. Tears welled in her eyes and she bit them back as she processed the rest of it for, scrawled across the cake in green piped icing were the words ‘Happy Birthday, Harry’.

Harry looked up at the giant, her lip trembling. “Like I said, ‘s a day early,” he apologised gruffly, rubbing the back of his neck with one hand. Harry opened her mouth and closed it again, she meant to say thank-you – wanted, to say thank-you – but the words got lost somewhere in her throat. “I... who are you?”

The giant chuckled, and a wry smile crossed his broad face. “Ah, true, haven’t introduced meself. Shoulda maybe done that before I put the door... there.” he commented, gesturing vaguely at the shattered glass and twisted wood that had once been the Dursleys’ front door. “I’m Rubeus Hagrid, Keeper of Keys and Grounds at Hogwarts.”

Hogwarts, as in, the Hogwarts in Harry’s letter. She cast a fearful glance back at Uncle Vernon even as the giant – Rubeus Hagrid – addressed her. “Well, seems awful rude to keep standin’ around in the door. Le’s all go an’ sit.” He said, with a pointed look at Uncle Vernon. Mutely, Harry went first and the giant – and the Dursleys, for all three had been summoned now – followed her through the inside door to the living room. Rubeus Hagrid had to stoop even lower than for the front door, almost taking a knee in his effort to avoid knocking his head. “Houses built for dolls,” he muttered, and Harry shared a shy smile with him as they all took places around the living room – the giant taking up an entire couch to himself while the Dursleys all huddled on another, and Harry perched on the edge of a solitary chair with the air of a blackbird ready to fly at any sudden threat.

“So, Harry, you’d know all about Hogwarts then.” the giant started, and Harry shook her head, again casting a sideways look in the Dursleys’ direction. “I... there was a letter in my bag, but it didn’t make much sense.”

Her fearful glance was not unnoticed by the giant, and he scowled at Uncle Vernon. “Well. Call me Hagrid, everyone does.” he said, before turning the full weight of his glare on the cowering Dursleys. “What’s this, eh? You taught the kid nothing?” he growled, and Harry felt the need to defend herself. “Well, I know some stuff. Maths, and I can read and -”

Hagrid simply waved, his scowl deepening. “Nah, not that. I meant about our world. You know, your world. Yer parents’ world.”

Harry shook her head, all this talk of other worlds only added to her confusion. “What... world?” she asked. Hagrid’s brows drew together like very angry, very wiry caterpillars. “DURSLEY!” he thundered, gesturing at Uncle Vernon with his floral umbrella. He turned a slightly desperate gaze on Harry, who withered under it. “But you must know about yer mum and dad. They’re famous. You’re famous.”

Harry was speechless, opening her mouth and gasping for air, trying to scramble together some semblance of speech before shaking her head and seeming to shrink in on herself. Hagrid’s growing fury didn’t seem directed at her, but it felt as if he’d expected something of her and she wasn’t meeting that. Usually when Harry failed to meet expectations it meant either detention or a spell in her cupboard.

“You... don’t know what you are?” Hagrid asked finally, running his hands through his wild hair – clearly an anxious habit, as there was certainly no chance of taming it – as he stared at Harry in abject bewilderment.

Uncle Vernon seemed to find his voice then, having previously been only able to stutter and squeak. “Stop right there! I forbid you to tell the boy anything!”

Far braver men than Vernon Dursley would have cowered under the weight of the fury Hagrid now leveled on him, and Uncle Vernon was a bully – they are never brave. When Hagrid spoke next, every syllable quivered with rage and every phrase was thick with disgust.

“You never told him? Never said what was in the letter Dumbledore left for him? I was there, Dursley! I saw Dumbledore leave it, tucked in his blanket. You, ya great prune, you felt you had the right to keep it from him all these years?”

“Kept what from me?” Harry piped up, Hagrid seemed to be an ally – if an unexpected one.

“STOP! I FORBID YOU!” Uncle Vernon shrieked, his voice rising with panic.

“Ah, go boil yer heads, the three of you. Harry, you’ve got magic.”

The house fell silent, even the echo of Hagrid’s words was left only in the minds of those listening. Wind whistled through the hole left by the front door, and somewhere outside an owl cried out mournfully.

Harry took a deep breath, ready to dismiss the notion outright, when she remembered the contents of the letter. School of magic. All the times her hair had grown out when Aunt Petunia hacked it off, the many impractical ways she’d escaped over the years from Dudley and his gang, the – the vanishing glass. Panic and excitement rose in her, each warring for dominance as she turned this new revelation and it’s gendered connotations over and over in her head.

Hagrid saw her expression and nodded. “A lot to take in, right? I was expectin’ you’d know a bit more but... if you read the letter, at least you have some idea.” he said, and Harry wasn’t sure but she thought she could hear kindness in his rough voice. “W-what does it mean, they await an owl? My owl?” she asked finally, and Hagrid smacked his palm against his forehead. Harry was reminded of her own familiar mannerism, but she never did so with quite such force as Hagrid. “Ah, knuts,” he muttered and, from one of his many pockets he withdrew an owl. A live owl, disgruntled and sleepy with a few feathers out of place. From another he found a small scrap of parchment, a stained clay bottle of ink and a long quill with the feathery end all ruffled and bent. He scrawled a quick letter and blew on it to dry, then passed it to the owl who took it imporantly and winged its’ way off through the front doorway into the night.

Hagrid dusted off his hands, wiping them on his coat. “Now, where was I,” he muttered. Uncle Vernon spoke up again now, though with far more trepidation than the last time. “The boy’s not going,” he interjected hoarsely. Hagrid laughed, though it was a humourless and hollow sound. “I’d like to see you stop him.” he snapped, turning back to Harry. “Now, we have school supplies to get. Let’s be off, yeah?” he suggested, offering a hand to Harry. Hesitantly she took it, and they stepped around the Dursleys and broken glass on their way out of the house. Their departure was sped by Aunt Petunia’s semi-coherent shrieks and Uncle Vernon’s threats, but Harry’s steps were buoyant as for the first time it seemed she had somewhere real, somewhere the Dursleys couldn’t follow.

They seemed to be away free, when out of nowhere Dudley rushed up, grasping Harry around the waist with one arm – she hissed and then shrieked in pain, the sound cut off. “Freak,” he hissed, kicking her bag from her limp hand and knocking the cake box from the other. “Knew you were a fag freak, now you’re a magic tranny freak. Know why they’re taking you to a special school out who knows where? It’s cos none of us normal people want freaks around.”

Harry’s heart hammered in her chest, she whimpered and fought back a scream as she shifted in Dudley’s grip and he crushed her tighter. Suddenly, through her haze of pain, Hagrid was there. Wild-maned and furious, he grasped Dudley’s shoulder firmly, thumb digging into the joint and weakening his grip on Harry. She slid free, and Dudley drew back his leg and kicked her viciously in her already-damaged ribs.

“You’re a right piece of work, Dursley boy,” Hagrid snarled, shoving Dudley backwards and drawing his pink umbrella. Derision showed in Dudley’s watery eyes at the thoroughly non-threatening item being thrust at him like a weapon, and Hagrid barked something out – probably a curse, but in Harry’s pained state she had no real idea what was said. A jet of yellow light flashed from the end of the umbrella and struck Dudley, sending him staggering a few paces back before turning tail and fleeing. Harry wasn’t sure, but she thought she saw a tail peeking over the top of his drooping pyjama bottoms.

Gently – though she still had to bite back a cry – Hagrid lifted her, as if she were weightless. She slipped in and out of consciousness but had a vague sensation of rushing and purple, and then they were moving up, stairs? She couldn’t tell. Hagrid’s voice was hazy and he sounded concerned, then someone was propping her up on a narrow bed. Harry felt a vaguely cold sensation, then burning in her ribs and then, finally, a cessation of pain. Her eyelids fluttered weakly, and Hagrid’s now familiar voice resonated beside her.

“Don’t worry, lad, the Knight Bus keeps a healer on board. Travel for the stranded witch or wizard sometimes means an injured witch or wizard.” he murmured, and Harry nodded vaguely as if she understood anything he was saying. She blinked, and forced her eyes open – then wished she hadn’t. Sights flashed by outside faster than Harry could process them and she felt a vague wave of nausea rise before she wrenched her gaze away, focusing on Hagrid as the solid presence on what he’d said was a bus. Clearly it was meant for long-distance travel, as Harry was propped up in a narrow bed against one wall and she could see others in rows down the impossibly long aisle. Hagrid was seated across from her on a bed of his own, though it was too small for him to use as anything but a chair.

Harry blinked wearily, and Hagrid’s smile grew understanding. “You rest, lad. While you rest, let me talk. I’ll tell you about your parents, and where we’re going.” he murmured, leaning forward and resting his forearms on his knees. Harry thought dazedly he looked like he was ready to tell her a bedtime story and a shy smile spread across her thin face as she settled better in her bed, turned on one side to listen to Hagrid as he talked. His story was dark and words halting, but his voice was steady and reassuring and she found herself slowly, gradually, drifting off to sleep.