Tom looked around him, he was in another memory, and he saw young Harry bent down to get the mail. He saw one particular letter; it was from Hogwarts. Young Harry walked to the kitchen and gave the letters, except the one for him, to his uncle. He was about to read what was written when his cousin snatched the letter from him.
“Dad!” said Dudley suddenly. “Dad, Harry’s got something!”
“That’s mine!” said Harry, trying to snatch it back.
“Who’d be writing to you?” sneered Vernon, shaking the letter open with one hand and glancing at it. His face went from red to green faster than a set of traffic lights. And it didn’t stop there. Within seconds it was the grayish white of old porridge.
“P-P-Petunia!” he gasped.
Dudley tried to grab the letter to read it, but Vernon held it high out of his reach. Aunt Petunia took it curiously and read the first line. For a moment it looked as though she might faint. She clutched her throat and made a choking noise.
“Vernon! Oh my goodness — Vernon!”
They stared at each other, seeming to have forgotten that Harry and Dudley were still in the room. Dudley, clearly, wasn’t used to being ignored. He gave his father a sharp tap on the head with his Smelting stick.
“I want to read that letter,” he said loudly.
“I want to read it,” said Harry furiously, “as it’s mine.”
“Get out, both of you,” croaked Vernon, stuffing the letter back inside its envelope.
Harry didn’t move.
“I WANT MY LETTER!” he shouted.
“Let me see it!” demanded Dudley.
“OUT!” roared Vernon, and he took both Harry and Dudley by the scruffs of their necks and threw them into the hall, slamming the kitchen door behind them. Harry and Dudley promptly had a furious but silent fight over who would listen at the keyhole; Dudley won, so Harry, his glasses dangling from one ear, lay flat on his stomach to listen at the crack between door and floor.
The memory changed. Harry was at his cupboard, but his uncle was talking to him.
“Where’s my letter?” said Harry, the moment Vernon had squeezed through the door. “Who’s writing to me?”
“No one. It was addressed to you by mistake,” said Vernon shortly. “I have burned it.”
“It was not a mistake,” said Harry angrily, “it had my cupboard on it.”
“SILENCE!” yelled Vernon, and a couple of spiders fell from the ceiling. He took a few deep breaths and then forced his face into a smile, which looked quite painful.
“Er — yes, Harry — about this cupboard. Your aunt and I have been thinking … you’re really getting a bit big for it … we think it might be nice if you moved into Dudley’s second bedroom.”
“Why?” said Harry.
“Don’t ask questions!” snapped his uncle. “Take this stuff upstairs, now.”
The bedroom was small, filled with broken toys. The memory changed. Harry quickly silenced the alarm clock and silently walked down the stairs, but suddenly, he screamed. The lights went on, and lying on the floor was his Uncle.
“I want —” he began, but Vernon was tearing the letters into pieces before his eyes.
Vernon didn’t go to work that day. He stayed at home and nailed up the mail slot.
“See,” he explained to Aunt Petunia through a mouthful of nails, “if they can’t deliver them they’ll just give up.”
“I’m not sure that’ll work, Vernon.”
“Oh, these peoples’ minds work in strange ways, Petunia, they’re not like you and me,” said Vernon, trying to knock in a nail with the piece of fruitcake Aunt Petunia had just brought him.
The memory changed every minute or so. Allowing Tom to see how many letters that day Harry get, but never able to read. Finally, Vernon had enough and took them to a hut-on-the-rock. It was near midnight and Harry was trying hard to sleep on the floor. The storm was hard, and so was the knocking on the door. Then, the door was smashed open, and Rubeus Hagrid entered.
“Couldn’t make us a cup o’ tea, could yeh? It’s not been an easy journey. …”
He strode over to the sofa where Dudley sat frozen with fear.
“Budge up, yeh great lump,” said the stranger.
Dudley squeaked and ran to hide behind his mother, who was crouching, terrified, behind Vernon.
“An’ here’s Harry!” said the giant.
Harry looked up into the fierce, wild, shadowy face and saw that the beetle eyes were crinkled in a smile.
“Las’ time I saw you, you was only a baby,” said the giant. “Yeh look a lot like yer dad, but yeh’ve got yer mom’s eyes.”
Vernon made a funny rasping noise.
“I demand that you leave at once, sir!” he said. “You are breaking and entering!”
“Ah, shut up, Dursley, yeh great prune,” said the giant; he reached over the back of the sofa, jerked the gun out of Vernon’s hands, bent it into a knot as easily as if it had been made of rubber, and threw it into a corner of the room.
Vernon made another funny noise, like a mouse being trodden on.
“Anyway — Harry,” said the giant, turning his back on the Dursleys, “a very happy birthday to yeh. Got summat fer yeh here — I mighta sat on it at some point, but it’ll taste all right.”
From an inside pocket of his black overcoat he pulled a slightly squashed box. Harry opened it with trembling fingers. Inside was a large, sticky chocolate cake with Happy Birthday Harry written on it in green icing.
Harry looked up at the giant. He meant to say thank you, but the words got lost on the way to his mouth, and what he said instead was, “Who are you?”
The giant chuckled.
“True, I haven’t introduced meself. Rubeus Hagrid, Keeper of Keys and Grounds at Hogwarts.”
He held out an enormous hand and shook Harry’s whole arm.
“What about that tea then, eh?” he said, rubbing his hands together. “I’d not say no ter summat stronger if yeh’ve got it, mind.”
His eyes fell on the empty grate with the shriveled chip bags in it and he snorted. He bent down over the fireplace; they couldn’t see what he was doing but when he drew back a second later, there was a roaring fire there. It filled the whole damp hut with flickering light.
The giant sat back down on the sofa, which sagged under his weight, and began taking all sorts of things out of the pockets of his coat: a copper kettle, a squashy package of sausages, a poker, a teapot, several chipped mugs, and a bottle of some amber liquid that he took a swig from before starting to make tea. Soon the hut was full of the sound and smell of sizzling sausage. Nobody said a thing while the giant was working, but as he slid the first six fat, juicy, slightly burnt sausages from the poker, Dudley fidgeted a little. Vernon said sharply, “Don’t touch anything he gives you, Dudley.”
The giant chuckled darkly.
“Yer great puddin’ of a son don’ need fattenin’ anymore, Dursley, don’ worry.”
He passed the sausages to Harry but he still couldn’t take his eyes off the giant. Finally, as nobody seemed about to explain anything, he said, “I’m sorry, but I still don’t really know who you are.”
The giant took a gulp of tea and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.
“Call me Hagrid,” he said, “everyone does. An’ like I told yeh, I’m Keeper of Keys at Hogwarts — yeh’ll know all about Hogwarts, o’ course.”
“Er — no,” said Harry.
Hagrid looked shocked.
“Sorry,” Harry said quickly.
“Sorry?” barked Hagrid, turning to stare at the Dursleys, who shrank back into the shadows. “It’s them as should be sorry! I knew yeh weren’t gettin’ yer letters but I never thought yeh wouldn’t even know abou’ Hogwarts, fer cryin’ out loud! Did yeh never wonder where yer parents learned it all?”
“All what?” asked Harry.
“ALL WHAT?” Hagrid thundered. “Now wait jus’ one second!”
He had leapt to his feet. In his anger he seemed to fill the whole hut. The Dursleys were cowering against the wall.
“Do you mean ter tell me,” he growled at the Dursleys, “that this boy — this boy! — knows nothin’ abou’ — about ANYTHING?”
“I know some things,” he said. “I can, you know, do math and stuff.”
But Hagrid simply waved his hand and said, “About our world, I mean. Your world. My world. Yer parents’ world.”
“What world?”
Hagrid looked as if he was about to explode.
“DURSLEY!” he boomed.
Vernon, who had gone very pale, whispered something that sounded like “Mimblewimble.” Hagrid stared wildly at Harry.
“But yeh must know about yer mom and dad,” he said. “I mean, they’re famous. You’re famous.”
“What? My — my mom and dad weren’t famous, were they?”
“Yeh don’ know … yeh don’ know …” Hagrid ran his fingers through his hair, fixing Harry with a bewildered stare.
“Yeh don’ know what yeh are?” he said finally.
Vernon suddenly found his voice.
“Stop!” he commanded. “Stop right there, sir! I forbid you to tell the boy anything!”
“You never told him? Never told him what was in the letter Dumbledore left fer him? I was there! I saw Dumbledore leave it, Dursley! An’ you’ve kept it from him all these years?”
“Kept what from me?” said Harry eagerly.
“STOP! I FORBID YOU!” yelled Vernon in panic.
Aunt Petunia gave a gasp of horror.
“Ah, go boil yer heads, both of yeh,” said Hagrid. “Harry — yer a wizard.”
Tom watched as the seen unraveled. He saw the shocked on Harry’s face when Hagrid told him all about the wizarding world, much to the Dursleys’ anger. Then, he saw the sadness on Harry’s eyes when Hagrid told him about his parents. Tom felt guilt, which he never felt this strong before.
The memory changed, they were at Diagon Alley, at Ollivanders.
“Ah yes,” said the man. “Yes, yes. I thought I’d be seeing you soon. Harry Potter.” It wasn’t a question. “You have your mother’s eyes. It seems only yesterday she was in here herself, buying her first wand. Ten and a quarter inches long, swishy, made of willow. Nice wand for charm work.”
Mr. Ollivander moved closer to Harry.
“Your father, on the other hand, favored a mahogany wand. Eleven inches. Pliable. A little more power and excellent for transfiguration. Well, I say your father favored it — it’s really the wand that chooses the wizard, of course.”
Mr. Ollivander had come so close that he and Harry were almost nose to nose.
“And that’s where …”
Mr. Ollivander touched the lightning scar on Harry’s forehead with a long, white finger.
“I’m sorry to say I sold the wand that did it,” he said softly. “Thirteen-and-a-half inches. Yew. Powerful wand, very powerful, and in the wrong hands … well, if I’d known what that wand was going out into the world to do. …”
He shook his head and then, spotted Hagrid.
“Rubeus! Rubeus Hagrid! How nice to see you again. … Oak, sixteen inches, rather bendy, wasn’t it?”
“It was, sir, yes,” said Hagrid.
“Good wand, that one. But I suppose they snapped it in half when you got expelled?” said Mr. Ollivander, suddenly stern.
“Er — yes, they did, yes,” said Hagrid, shuffling his feet. “I’ve still got the pieces, though,” he added brightly.
“But you don’t use them?” said Mr. Ollivander sharply.
“Oh, no, sir,” said Hagrid quickly. Harry noticed, and also Tom noticed he gripped his pink umbrella very tightly as he spoke.
“Hmmm,” said Mr. Ollivander, giving Hagrid a piercing look. “Well, now — Mr. Potter. Let me see.” He pulled a long tape measure with silver markings out of his pocket. “Which is your wand arm?”
“Er — well, I’m right-handed,” said Harry.
“Hold out your arm. That’s it.” He measured Harry from shoulder to finger, then wrist to elbow, shoulder to floor, knee to armpit and round his head. As he measured, he said, “Every Ollivander wand has a core of a powerful magical substance, Mr. Potter. We use unicorn hairs, phoenix tail feathers, and the heartstrings of dragons. No two Ollivander wands are the same, just as no two unicorns, dragons, or phoenixes are quite the same. And of course, you will never get such good results with another wizard’s wand.”
“That will do,” he said, and the tape measure crumpled into a heap on the floor. “Right then, Mr. Potter. Try this one. Beech-wood and dragon heartstring. Nine inches. Nice and flexible. Just take it and give it a wave.”
Harry took the wand and waved it around a bit, but Mr. Ollivander snatched it out of his hand almost at once.
“Maple and phoenix feather. Seven inches. Quite whippy. Try —”
Harry tried — but he had hardly raised the wand when it, too, was snatched back by Mr. Ollivander.
“No, no — here, ebony and unicorn hair, eight and a half inches, springy. Go on, go on, try it out.”
Harry tried. And tried.
The pile of tried wands was mounting higher and higher on the spindly chair, but the more wands Mr. Ollivander pulled from the shelves, the happier he seemed to become.
“Tricky customer, eh? Not to worry, we’ll find the perfect match here somewhere — I wonder, now — yes, why not — unusual combination — holly and phoenix feather, eleven inches, nice and supple.”
He raised the wand above his head, brought it swishing down through the dusty air and a stream of red and gold sparks shot from the end like a firework, throwing dancing spots of light on to the walls. Hagrid whooped and clapped and Mr. Ollivander cried, “Oh, bravo! Yes, indeed, oh, very good. Well, well, well … how curious … how very curious …”
He put Harry’s wand back into its box and wrapped it in brown paper, still muttering, “Curious … curious …”
“Sorry,” said Harry, “but what’s curious?”
Mr. Ollivander fixed Harry with his pale stare.
“I remember every wand I’ve ever sold, Mr. Potter. Every single wand. It so happens that the phoenix whose tail feather is in your wand, gave another feather — just one other. It is very curious indeed that you should be destined for this wand when its brother — why, its brother gave you that scar.”
Harry swallowed.
“Yes, thirteen-and-a-half inches. Yew. Curious indeed how these things happen. The wand chooses the wizard, remember. … I think we must expect great things from you, Mr. Potter. … After all, He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named did great things — terrible, yes, but great.”