Chapter Text
Little Whinging, Surrey.
The cupboard under the stairs was cold, damp, and just big enough for a small child to curl up inside. Harry Potter had lived there for as long as he could remember. It was his prison, his refuge, his world. The spiders that scurried along the wooden beams were his only company, their silent movements a welcome contrast to the sharp, angry voices of the Dursleys outside.
The house at Number Four, Privet Drive, was pristine. Aunt Petunia made sure of that. Everything had its place, its purpose—except Harry. He was an unwanted shadow, an inconvenience to be hidden away when visitors came, a servant when there was work to be done.
“Boy!” Vernon Dursley’s voice boomed through the house. “Breakfast!”
Harry scrambled out of his cupboard and hurried to the kitchen. Dudley was already seated at the table, shoveling bacon and eggs into his mouth with the enthusiasm of a pig at a trough. Harry’s stomach rumbled, but he knew better than to ask for more than the single slice of toast and watery tea that Petunia set in front of him.
"Make yourself useful," she snapped, handing him a sponge and gesturing toward the sink full of dishes.
Harry obeyed, as he always did. But as he scrubbed, his mind wandered. He had always been different. Strange things happened around him—things he couldn’t explain. Like the time Dudley pushed him at school, and somehow, Harry ended up on the roof. Or when Aunt Petunia cut his hair short, only for it to grow back overnight.
“Freak,” Dudley muttered under his breath as he walked by, elbowing Harry in the ribs.
Harry bit his lip and kept scrubbing. He was used to it. This was life. And yet, deep down, he felt there had to be something more.
That night, as he lay curled up on his thin mattress in the cupboard, he dreamed of something impossible: a home where he was wanted.
The letter arrived three days before his eleventh birthday.
It was a plain envelope, thick parchment, sealed with red wax. His name was written in emerald-green ink:
Mr. H. Potter
The Cupboard Under the Stairs
4 Privet Drive
Little Whinging, Surrey
Harry stared at it. No one had ever written to him before.
But before he could open it, Uncle Vernon snatched it away. “No letters for you, boy.”
He tore it apart.
The next day, another letter came. And another. And another. Until a storm of letters rained down upon the house, flooding the floor, slipping through every crack.
And for the first time in his life, Harry felt a spark of something unfamiliar.
Hope.
London.
The orphanage was always cold. Not just in the winter, but all year round. The stone walls seemed to drink in warmth, leaving behind a dull, lifeless chill. Athena Taylor had spent nearly her entire life there, and she had learned to live in the cold.
She didn’t cry. She had stopped long ago. Tears didn’t change anything. Complaints didn’t bring comfort. No one came for the children at Wool’s Orphanage.
She was different from the others. Smarter. Sharper. She read faster, understood things quicker. The other children didn’t like that. They called her names, whispered about her in the hallways.
“She’s not right.”
“She’s a freak.”
“Stay away from her.”
Athena didn’t care. Or at least, she told herself she didn’t.
She spent her days in the library, surrounded by books that never mocked her. She devoured them, memorized them. It was easy—too easy. Words stuck in her mind like they were carved into stone. Numbers danced in perfect order. Facts and figures arranged themselves effortlessly, like pieces of a puzzle she had already solved.
But the strange things went beyond her mind. Sometimes, when she was angry, things happened. Light bulbs flickered. Books flew off shelves. Once, when another girl tried to cut her hair as a cruel joke, the scissors melted in her hand.
The adults didn’t know what to do with her.
“She’s not normal,” Miss Harrison whispered one evening.
“She’s dangerous,” another caretaker muttered.
“She just needs discipline.”
Athena heard them all. But she kept her head down, her thoughts locked away.
Then, one rainy afternoon, it happened.
She was sitting on her cot, reading, when a knock came at the door. Miss Harrison entered, looking uneasy.
“A letter for you,” she said, handing Athena an envelope made of thick parchment.
Athena frowned. No one wrote to her. No one cared enough to.
Her name was written in green ink.
Miss A. Taylor
The Little Attic
Wool’s Orphanage
London
She opened it.
And for the first time in her life, Athena Taylor felt something stir inside her—something warm, something that didn’t feel like the cold, empty halls of the orphanage.
A spark. A possibility.
A future.
Little Whinging, Surrey.
The letters came every day. First, they were simple envelopes—then packages wrapped in brown paper, as if the house had been flooded with some mysterious force that would not be denied. Vernon Dursley was losing his mind. He sealed up the letterbox, boarded up the fireplace, and even tried to escape to a houseboat. But every time they tried to escape, the letters followed.
“THAT’S IT!” Vernon yelled one morning. He grabbed Harry’s arm and dragged him into the car. “We’re going away! We’re going somewhere they can’t find us.”
Harry’s heart pounded. He had no idea what was going on, but he knew—something was happening. Something that would change everything.
The family drove for hours, down dusty roads and through the mist, but somehow, they always found them. Vernon was on edge, sweating, eyes darting from side to side. But Harry only felt the pull of something beyond this world, beyond his understanding.
That night, the family ended up in a tiny shack on a rock in the middle of nowhere. The sea churned below them, waves crashing violently against the cliffs. It was the perfect place to hide. Or so they thought.
As Harry sat on the hard, damp floor, he heard a noise at the door. A knock.
A knock so loud it shook the very walls.
Vernon froze. Petunia gasped.
The door flew open with a gust of wind, and standing in the doorway was a giant—he was easily twice the size of any man Harry had ever seen. A mountain of muscle with a wild, unkempt beard, dressed in strange, weathered clothing.
“You’re a wizard, Harry,” the giant said. His voice was deep and gravelly, but kind.
“Wha—what?” Harry asked, blinking in disbelief.
“I said, you’re a wizard,” the man repeated, smiling. “Hagrid, Keeper of Keys and Grounds at Hogwarts. And I’ve come to take you to Diagon Alley to buy your school supplies.”
Harry was stunned. Hogwarts? School supplies? Magic?
“Yer parents left this for ya,” Hagrid said, handing him a small bundle wrapped in twine. Harry opened it to find a stack of letters, each sealed with the same green ink.
“I’ll explain everything on the way, Harry. No more hiding. You’re going to Hogwarts—whether you want to or not.”
As the wind howled outside, Harry felt something stir inside him—a sense of purpose. The world he had lived in for so long, the world of the Dursleys, was gone. This... this was something else. Something new.
The ride to Diagon Alley would be the beginning of everything he had ever wanted.
London.
The letter wasn’t the only surprise. Inside the envelope was a list—a list of supplies for school. The words blurred in front of Athena’s eyes, her pulse quickening as she looked at everything they asked for. There was no way she could afford all of it.
She didn’t have a family to fall back on. She had no one. The orphanage had been her only home, and now, with her mysterious new future unfolding in front of her, she was left with nothing but a name and a magic she barely understood.
For a moment, Athena considered tossing the letter aside. It seemed impossible, too strange to be true. Maybe she didn’t belong there. Maybe it was a mistake. Maybe she was just meant to live the rest of her life as she always had—hidden in the shadows.
But the words on the letter kept pulling at her. Something in her couldn’t resist. Something told her to go.
She would have to find a way.
Athena stood in the small, cold room that had been her entire world, and she made a decision.
She would go to Diagon Alley. She would find a way to make this work.
There was no one to help her. No one to guide her. But Athena had always been good at figuring things out on her own. The streets of London would be her map, the list of supplies her guide.
With the envelope in her hand, she walked out of the orphanage that morning, slipping quietly through the back gate, her heart pounding. The list felt heavy in her pocket, but there was no turning back now.
She had no idea how to reach Diagon Alley, but Athena was used to forging her own path.
At the train station, she studied the map, carefully tracing her finger across the pages. Her only lead was a strange place called “Leaky Cauldron.” The name itself sounded like something from a dream, but there it was, printed in clear black ink on the parchment.
She walked through the city, her heart racing as she turned down alleyways, crossing streets, always trying to find that place, that hidden entrance. She passed by an old bookstore, and then—there it was. A small pub, tucked between two tall buildings, with the sign of a cauldron hanging above the door.
The Leaky Cauldron.
Her heart skipped a beat. She had found it.
She stepped inside, and the door closed softly behind her. The warmth from the fire didn’t reach her immediately. The voices of the pub’s patrons swirled around her, loud and confident, but she kept her head down.
The people inside didn’t seem to notice her—none of them spoke to her, none of them offered help, even though she stood uncertainly at the threshold. She tried to keep herself as small as possible, clinging to the edges of the room.
Her eyes skimmed over the bustling crowd, all familiar with the place, moving with ease. She felt out of place, like a shadow at the edge of the light, hoping no one would notice her. But they didn’t.
Athena didn’t ask anyone for help. She didn’t know how. She didn’t trust them, and she didn’t trust herself.
The man behind the counter didn’t look up as she stood there, barely visible in the corner of the room. She fidgeted nervously with the letter in her hand. The sound of her own heartbeat seemed too loud in her ears.
She took a deep breath. This was her choice, her decision. She would find the way on her own.
The pub didn’t seem to care that she was there. It wasn’t interested in offering her guidance. It didn’t make space for her, not like it did for the others. The magic in the air felt heavy, like a promise of something more, but the people here didn’t want to get involved.
And so, Athena simply stood there, a quiet observer in a world she barely understood, trying to figure out what to do next.
She didn’t know where to go from here, but she wasn’t about to turn back. She had a place in this world, even if she didn’t yet know where it was.
She just had to find it.