Friday, 23rd August
Harry wasn't entirely sure how he managed to do it, but Uncle Vernon had somehow convinced Hayward to register him as a student.
It didn't make any sense to Harry, since the principal had asked him for all sorts of records like his birth certificate and medical files - but to the best of his knowledge, the Dursleys didn't have either. And even if they did, Uncle Vernon had told everyone his name was Harry Evans, not Harry Potter, so wouldn't that have appeared on his birth certificate, if Vernon had actually provided a copy?
Yet Hayward said nothing to Harry about it, and two days later, his uncle was gone and he was officially a full-time student at St Brutus's Secure Centre for Boys.
Even the owls had stopped showing up, and no more letters addressed to Mr H. Potter arrived at the door. Unless, of course, they were still arriving but because Hayward thought he was Harry Evans, he wasn't giving them to him. Either way, he still didn't have a clue what had been in those envelopes.
Instead, he'd spent the past three weeks exploring the admittedly large building in addition to learning the centre's rules and meeting his future teachers.
It wasn't all bad, he reasoned, as he walked aimlessly through the halls. He still had chores to do, but they were few and far between compared to what he'd had to do at the Dursleys, and easier too. He hadn't been pushed around or slapped by any of the teachers or other adults either since he'd arrived, and thankfully, his years of running from Dudley's Harry Hunting gang had made him quick enough to avoid most of the students who stepped up to the plate too.
He even had a lot more belongings, and clothes that actually fit him for once - even if it was just his school uniform. Principal Hayward had given him two sets of trousers, white shirts, and grey jumpers which he'd have to wear once school started up at the beginning of September, but Harry found himself putting on the outfit, minus the jumper, more often than not, relishing in the feel of clothes that were actually comfortable to wear.
So all in all, Harry decided, as much as he'd rather be elsewhere, it sure as hell was still a better place to be than at the Dursleys - no matter how horrible some of his fellow students were.
"Well, well, well. Look who we've got here, boys!"
Harry felt his heart rate pick up as he spun around only to find a group of older teenagers closing in. Being quiet and small for his age made him a prime target for bullies, and at this school, the bullies were ten times worse.
"Fresh meat" the largest of the lot jeered, "I think it's about time we gave him a proper St Brutus welcome, Greg, don't you agree?"
"Right you are, Lawrence" the first boy agreed, his dark laugh echoing off the pale yellow walls, "Right you are".
Harry swallowed thickly and quickly looked around, but the rest of the corridor was empty. There was a door to his left, but given that it said "staff only", he had no doubt that it would be locked. He'd been doing so well all along in avoiding this group - a group that he'd seen on his second day here and immediately pegged as trouble - but it seemed like his luck had finally run out.
"What's the matter, runt?" Greg mocked, "You looking for your mommy to save you?"
"She obviously can't if 'e's in 'ere" someone else said, all the while advancing on him until Harry felt his back hit one of the walls and realised, horribly, that he was officially cornered.
"So what are you in here for, then?" Greg asked again, "You're a good bit younger than the rest of us. What did you do? Shoplift? Steal a chocolate bar?"
"'Course not, just look at 'im! 'e's never broken a law in his goddamn life. I bet his family just got sick of 'im".
Harry couldn't help it - he flinched, and immediately, their menacing grins grew wider as they realised they'd hit the nail on the head.
"Oh, that's it, is it?" Lawrence jeered, taking yet another step closer until they were practically toe-to-toe, "Mommy got sick of you, huh? Well if your own parents don't want you around, what makes you think that we do?"
Greg took a step forward as well, completely caging him in.
"So let's make this simple for you, runt" he hissed, grabbing Harry by the collar and hauling him up, "We'll give you ten minutes to pack your bags and run away… or else we'll make your life here a living hell!"
He slammed him back against the wall to emphasise his point, and Harry wheezed as all breath was suddenly shoved out of his lungs. His eyes darted nervously from one boy to another, all of whom stared back with menacing smirks and the same look in their eyes that Dudley had every time Harry wasn't fast enough and got caught.
"I- I, uh- I- I don't- I-"
"I, I, I" Greg taunted, shaking him for good measure, "Shut up! You don't deserve to talk. Just nod your head like a good little runt and then scram! There's too many of us here as it is; we don't need a useless freak like you taking anything else away from us!"
Harry blinked quickly as he felt his eyes burn at the all-too-familiar insult, but he refused to cry in front of these bullies. He couldn't run away, after all; he had nowhere else to go, and he sure as hell wasn't about to return to the Dursleys. No. His best option right now was to stand his ground and not give them an inch.
"I- I'm staying" he said, proud when his voice only slightly shook, "I'm not- not leaving. I'm staying here".
Greg's eyes narrowed in annoyance and his lips curled up in a snarl.
"Wrong decision, runt".
He didn't see the first punch coming, but he most certainly felt it land.
Harry doubled over with a gasp of surprise as a searing pain exploded in his stomach, robbing him of breath. Even as the sudden blow vanished, a dull ache remained, but he had no time to recover before Greg's hand tightened around his collar and he was forcibly shoved to the ground.
The standard issue black trainer caught him on the side of his jaw and the impact sent a shockwave through his head, reverberating through bone and nerves alike. The taste of copper and iron flooded his mouth as his lip burst even as the laughter above him increased and multiple kicks reigned down on him from all sides.
Harry groaned and curled up into a ball, wrapping his arms around his head as he tried desperately to make himself small - small enough to be less of a target, small enough to blend into the background and disappear completely, small enough to escape this nightmare - but still, the pain continued and he started to feel his temper rise.
He had left the Dursleys; maybe not out of choice, but he had still left and by coming here, he'd hoped that he left the violence and bloodshed behind him too. No more cuffs around the back of the head for not collecting the post quick enough, no more ducking the frying pan for accidentally burning breakfast, no more shoves and kicks and blows for simply existing.
And yet here he was, curled up on a dirty linoleum floor, being beaten up by a group of boys one and a half times his age and twice his size - all because they needed someone to take their anger out on.
Harry's own anger surged at the thought because- how dare they? How dare they make this school hell for him before school itself even started yet. How dare they taunt him and mock him and hurt him for a lack of anything better to do. How dare they take his only place of safety and steal that from him.
How. dare. they.
Harry felt a sudden warmth in his fingers and, without giving it a second thought, he channelled all of his anger towards them before lashing out at the bullies and yelling, "Stop!"
Silence.
Time seemed to slow, and for one agonising heartbeat, there was nothing but the disorienting echo of the blows - but they had stopped. Harry found himself holding his breath, both to reduce the dull ache in his ribs as well as to keep himself still; still enough that he wouldn't remind the group that he existed, even as he slowly opened his eyes to see what had made them change their mind except-
Except they weren't there.
Not directly in front of him, anyway, but as Harry cautiously sat up and looked around, he caught sight of the boys halfway down the corridor, staring right back at him in equal parts confusion and horror.
"What the…"
Greg glanced down at his feet as if expecting to suddenly find himself standing on a skateboard or rollerblades, before turning back to the boy, still sitting on the floor ten metres away, with something in his expression akin to fear.
It was only then that Harry realised his hands were still outstretched, his palms pointing directly at the group.
Had he… Had he done this? Pushed them away? Moved them halfway down the hall without even touching them? Was this another one of those… strange things that sometimes happened around him?
"You- You just-" Greg cut himself off and shook his head, unwilling - or unable - to believe it. "Just… Just stay the f*ck away from us, freak!"
And with that, he spun on his heels, grabbed Lawrence by the arm, and hightailed it out of there with the rest of the group quickly following.
Harry, equally bewildered, watched as his tormentors fled. The sense of warmth and- and power lingered in his fingertips, leaving him both awestruck and frightened. But as the adrenaline began to fade, Harry slumped back against the wall, panting and bloody and bruised.
His glasses, thankfully, had remained intact throughout the entire event, but his shoes were scuffed and his black trousers were now grey with dust and, worst of all, there were drops of red red blood on his once-white shirt.
How the hell was he going to wash that off?
Trying to stand up had him groaning in pain, the dull throb in his stomach briefly intensifying while his vision blurred. Managing to get to his hands and knees, he stayed like that for a moment as he tried desperately to catch his breath.
"Need a hand?"
Harry startled, automatically throwing himself back against the wall at the sudden voice, before groaning again as the movement caused a deep-rooted ache to pulsate across his body.
"Oh, sh*t, sorry kid! I didn't mean to scare you".
In front of him stood a boy - older than him, but not as old as Greg and his gang. He was tall for his age, with platinum blond hair and cheekbones that already looked sharp underneath the final layer of baby fat that remained. But his eyes were surprisingly warm despite his cold features, and even as Harry watched, he stepped closer, holding out a pale hand to help him up.
The younger boy immediately swatted it away with a scowl.
"I don't need your help!"
Staggering to his feet, fueled more by righteous anger than any real strength, Harry narrowed his eyes at him suspiciously, consciously aware of the blood on his chin and the bruises already starting to form on his cheek.
"You sure about that?" the teenager asked, looking somewhat amused rather than offended.
"Positive" Harry bit out in response, "Who the hell are you anyway?"
"... Rowle" he replied, his dark gaze oddly curious, "Andrew Rowle".
He seemed to be waiting for a reaction, but Harry gave him none. If that name was supposed to mean something to him, then the boy would be waiting a long time for a response.
Eventually, Rowle sighed. "Alright. And who might you be?"
"... Harry".
"Harry-?"
"... Evans" he finished reluctantly, "I'm Harry Evans".
The blond's face scrunched up slightly in thought, but what he found so interesting about Harry's name, he wasn't sure. After another moment, he shook his head, and then took a step back.
"Well then, it's nice to meet you, Harry Evans. Now come on, let's get you cleaned up".
"I can clean up myself!"
"Oh really?" He raised a solitary blond eyebrow. "And I suppose you know exactly how to get into the kitchen at this f*cking hour as well as which drawer stores the first aid kit?"
… Damn.
Harry eyed him cautiously. He didn't remember seeing the boy around the centre before, but that didn't mean anything when some of the kids here went home during the holidays and even at the weekends. Up until now, the older boys had caused nothing but trouble for him, so even though Rowle seemed nice enough so far, Harry didn't want to let his guard down just yet.
"Why are you helping me?"
"'Cause you look like you could f*cking do with it".
"I don't want your pity!"
"It's not pity, kid" Rowle replied calmly, "Greg and his lackeys are right bastards for picking on you - you're what? Nine? Ten?"
Harry jutted his chin out defiantly. "Eleven, actually!"
"Eleven then, whatever. Point is, you're still a kid and right now, you could do with someone in your corner".
The younger boy scoffed in disbelief. "What? And you thought you'd be- be perfect for the role?"
"Something like that". Rowle's eyes were strangely interested again. "And besides, there's something I want to talk to you about… You might as well get some free first aid out of me in return. Now let's go".
The harsh fluorescent light of the kitchen revealed every bruise and scrape on Harry's skin as Rowle carefully tended to his injuries. The smell of disinfectant lingered in the air, mixing with the faint aroma of leftover lunch.
Harry sat on an old wooden chair, still bristling with discomfort and suspicion even as Rowle worked with practised hands, his movements deliberate yet gentle. As he cleaned and dressed each wound, Harry couldn't help but steal glances at him. Rowle's expression was impassive, but his eyes held a quiet intensity that made him feel like he was missing something.
"What did you want to talk to me about?" Harry eventually asked, unable to contain his curiosity any longer.
Rowle paused for a moment, as if considering his words carefully.
"I didn't see the start of the fight. If I had, I would've stepped in… For all the f*cking good it would've done... But I saw the end of it".
There was something in his tone of voice that made Harry frown.
He'd seen the end of it? What did that mean? There hadn't been an end to the fight, not really. Greg and Lawrence and the others certainly hadn't won since Harry was still here, but he hadn't exactly won either since he was still here but with a bloody lip and bruised ribs. In fact, the fight had only ended after-
Oh.
The silence stretched between them, broken only by the soft sounds of the kitchen - the hum of the refrigerator and freezer, the drip drip drip from the water tap, and the occasional hiss from the gas stove.
"You're not like the others" Harry finally said, not wanting to ask just what, exactly, the boy had seen.
Rowle looked up from his work and met his gaze evenly. "Neither are you".
Taping the end of the final bandage which wrapped around a scrape on his arm, the blond carefully packed away the first aid kit in such a way that it looked as though nothing had been taken from it, and Harry distantly wondered just how often Rowle needed the bandages himself.
Placing the red box to one side, he turned back to Harry and gave him a look.
"That was some pretty serious wandless magic you did".
Harry felt his heart briefly stop.
"M-Magic?!"
"Of course magic! What, did you think it was ancient bloody runes that Locomotor-ed that lot away from you? Yes, it was magic! Though not very f*cking subtle of you, mind".
He stared at him in disbelief, mouth wide open, shocked into silence and after another moment or two, Rowle's face drained of what little colour it had.
"Oh. Oh f*ck. Oh sweet Merlin no! Don't tell me that you didn't know you're a wizard?!"
"I'm a what?"
"A wizard! Oh for Salazar's sake, how the bloody hell can you not know?!"
"How would I know?!" he exclaimed, voice rising in panic, "I only just got here!"
"You only just- This has nothing to do with where you are, Evans! You have magic so you were born a wizard! You've always been one!"
"But- But- But I can't be! You must have made a mistake. I- I can't be a wizard!"
"Kid, I literally just saw you use wandless magic on a bunch of muggles! Well, at least this explains why you did it - you're not stupid, you're just ignorant!" Rowle let out a heavy breath and then shook his head. "Not a wizard, my ass… Listen, Evans, have you never made things happen when you were angry or scared? Never done anything that you can't explain? Never wandlessly and nonverbally used Locomotor to defend yourself against a group of arrogant pricks?!"
Harry stared down at his hands - the same hands that he'd felt that weird warm tingling feeling in right before those bullies had been pushed away from him. And, now that he thought about it… every odd thing that had ever made his aunt and uncle furious with him had happened when he'd been upset or angry.
He often found himself in new places when Dudley and his gang had been chasing him, he'd made his hair grow back after Aunt Petunia had given him a hideous haircut that one time, and the very last time Dudley had hit him, in the zoo, he'd somehow set that boa constrictor on him.
Was he really a- a wizard?
No.
He shook his head.
It wasn't possible. Magic wasn't real. It couldn't be. Uncle Vernon had always hated that word and had yelled at him for hours after he'd accidentally said it once but-
But wasn't that reason enough to believe that it did exist?
Or was this all just some elaborate hoax, set up by Greg and Lawrence and Rowle, a horrible cruel prank to play on the new kid by tricking him into thinking that he was-
That he was special.
He turned back to Rowle with a defiant gaze.
"Prove it".
"What?"
"Prove it!" he repeated, "Prove to me that magic exists!"
"I- I can't. At least, not without my wand but my mother doesn't let me bring that to school so-"
"Then I don't believe you!"
"You- You don't-" A flash of annoyance came over his face. "Kid, how the hell else can you explain what you just did if it wasn't magic?!"
"... A trick!" he blurted, "A- A- A magic trick! Like- Like those fake magicians that make it look like magic is real but in reality, it's all just hidden wires and- and special lights and special compartments and- and-"
A fist swung at his head.
*BANG*
Harry flinched and slowly, ever-so-slowly, reopened his eyes, not entirely sure when he'd shut them in the first place.
He hands were raised in front of him, and directly across from him, on the other side of the room, was Rowle - half sprawled back against a stack of pots that he'd somehow crashed into when Harry had-
Had magically shoved him back.
The blond gave him a smug, if somewhat pained, grin.
"Do you believe me now?"
"But if I'm a wizard and you're a wizard, then how come I can do magic without a wand but you can't?"
They were walking quickly towards the school's library - one of the very few places in the building that was sure to be deserted right now. Rowle had been worried that the noise of the falling pots and pans would attract someone, and since neither of them were strictly allowed to be in the kitchen outside of mess duty, he'd made the executive decision for them to hightail it out of there.
"What you're doing now isn't, technically, magic" the blond answered quietly as they ducked down an empty narrow corridor to avoid having to pass the principal's office, "Well, I mean, it is, but- Look, it's called accidental magic for a reason, alright? Most kids do it when they're scared or angry or really upset about something, but it's nearly always just a form of self-defence. It's not magic that you can control".
"So how do you control magic?"
"You need a wand. Some wizards are powerful enough to do wandless magic intentionally, but it's meant to be super difficult, like really really f*cking hard. So we all just use wands instead".
Rowle shoved open the door to the library but kept the lights turned off once they were inside.
"I don't know the full theory behind it but, basically, your wand acts as a sort of… channel, I guess, for your magic to flow through. It's a lot easier to cast a spell when you have a specific point to focus your magic and intention on".
"But how do you get a wand? Do you have to make it yourself? Can you buy them? What do they look like? What are they made out of? What do you-"
"Woah, woah, woah, kid, slow down!" Rowle interrupted, leading him towards a small circular table at the very back of the room, hidden by bookshelves from anyone looking in the door, "I'll try to answer all of your questions but you've got to give me a f*cking chance here!"
Harry flushed and reluctantly nodded, sitting down across from him on a surprisingly comfortable chair.
"Alright, good. Now then; what's your first question?"
He thought carefully for a moment. As much as he wanted to know absolutely everything about wands and how he could get one himself, he knew that he needed to be more practical about this. Logically, if there was a wizarding world, then surely there had to be wizarding books, too, so he could always read those to learn about the more specific things - like wands. Right now, however, he needed to get the bigger picture of it all, and so, first things first-
"You thought that I already knew about magic" he started slowly, "In the kitchen, you… you thought that I knew I was a wizard… but how do you know that you're a wizard?"
"'Cause of my mother, of course. She homeschools me during the weekends and holidays. My dad's a muggle - a person who doesn't have any magic - but my mother is a pure-blood. A member of the Sacred Twenty-Eight, if you can believe it".
"The Sacred Twenty-Eight?" His nose scrunched up in confusion. "What's that?"
"Oh man, you really don't know anything, do you?"
He felt his cheeks flush in equal parts embarrassment and anger, but before he could lash out, Rowle raised both hands in an act of peace.
"Hey, I'm only saying kid! It's… weird that you don't know anything. If you're a muggle-born - a witch or wizard born to two non-magical parents - then a Hogwarts professor should have delivered your letter personally, but if you're not a muggle-born, then your parents should have told you all this themselves".
"My parents are dead".
"Oh". Rowle sat back in his seat. "Well... That, uh… That explains a few things. Who'd you grow up with then?"
"My relatives". He felt his mouth twist in disgust. "The Dursleys. Aunt Petunia was my mum's sister so I was sent to her and my uncle and cousin after my parents died".
"But your aunt doesn't have magic? And she never told you that your mum was a witch?"
Harry shrugged helplessly, and the older boy frowned.
"Huh… Well if your aunt doesn't have magic, then maybe your mum didn't either. Maybe it was just your dad that was a wizard; although I don't recognize your last name".
"Is that… bad?" he asked, somewhat cautiously, "That my mum wasn't a wizard but my dad was?"
Rowle looked at him for a moment before grinning and shaking his head.
"Nah. It just means you're like me, doesn't it? You're a half-blood too! Which is better than being a muggle-born, at any rate".
"What's wrong with being a muggle-born? Don't they have as much magic or something?"
"It's… complicated". Rowle suddenly looked very uncomfortable. "A lot of pure-blood families don't like muggle-borns because they think only pure-bloods should have magic - like how only pure-bloods and a few half-bloods have fancy noble titles. They call them all sorts of names and some of them even think that muggle-borns somehow stole magic because how else would they have got it? A lot of it is absolute f*cking rubbish if you ask me, but muggle-borns are still treated as… inferior, almost, by a lot of the wizarding world".
Harry distinctly remembered the time a black family had moved in across the way to Number Three - as well as the awful, horrible things that the Dursleys had said about them. His own skin, although not as dark, never lost its tan all year-round and he'd gotten his own fair share of abuse from his aunt and uncle over that too.
It wasn't until he was in year three at school that he first learned the term "racism", but based on what Rowle was saying about pure-bloods and muggle-borns, he wondered if that term could be applied to this situation too.
"I don't believe any of it, of course!" the boy quickly added when Harry remained silent, "And my mother doesn't either - I mean, she did marry a muggle after all. As for the rest of her family, however… well, she was always the outcast; that's part of the reason why they disinherited her".
"Disinherited her?!" Harry exclaimed, "All because she likes people who don't have magic?!"
"Well, that and the fact that she married one". Rowle looked, looking very unbothered by the whole thing. "They disowned her for dating my dad, but then she got pregnant with me and when she couldn't hide it anymore, they cut her off completely. Apparently, her parents thought her relationship with my dad was just a phase, but children are pretty f*cking permanent, so they disinherited her".
At his aghast expression, the blond grinned.
"It's alright, Evans, she's happier now than she ever was. She married my dad right after, and kept her own name out of spite; passed it down to me, too. The Rowles are supposedly quite an important family in the wizarding world… Not that I'd know, of course. My mother hates her parents for what they did and she's forbidden me from ever contacting them. But I'm better off, really - I don't think they'd fancy me much, being a half-blood and all".
"But- But- But you're their grandson!" Harry exploded, "You're part of their family! Why wouldn't they love you?!"
"Why don't they love my mother?" he shot back, "I know you don't know much about all of this, kid, but things like blood purity are pretty f*cking important to some magical families. But either way, it doesn't matter. I'll be eighteen in a few years, and my mother can't stop me from joining the wizarding world then, so I guess I'll see their reactions myself… But anyway, enough about me, what's your next question?"
Harry leant back in his chair and mulled over everything Rowle had told him so far. The Dursleys had certainly never told him anything about all of this, but that didn't exactly surprise him. And if his mum didn't have magic, which made sense since Aunt Petunia didn't, then that must mean that his dad had been a wizard... Unless he was a muggle-born himself.
"Why did you say I couldn't be a muggle-born?"
"Hm? Oh, yeah, uh, you see, all children born with magic are automatically enrolled at Hogwarts. It's a… boarding secondary school, of sorts, up north somewhere in Scotland, and when you turn eleven, you can go there to learn magic. But if you're a muggle-born, then obviously you don't know that it exists, so when the school sends out acceptance letters every year, they usually send a professor or other staff member to hand deliver the letter personally. That way, they can explain to the muggle-born's family all about magic and the wizarding world and Hogwarts and the rest of it… But you didn't get that visit, did you?"
"... No" he replied quietly, "I didn't".
"Well, that means that you're not a muggle-born. You also aren't a pure-blood, or you wouldn't be here - they tend to take care of their own, you know - which just leaves half-blood, and considering that your mother's family doesn't have magic, it makes sense. The Headmaster of Hogwarts probably just assumed that your relatives would tell you about magic, so he likely sent out your acceptance letter the normal way".
… Wait.
"Rowle? How are letters normally sent in the wizarding world?"
"By owl, of course" he said simply, "My mother's got one, Damocles, but he's a right bastard. Won't even give you the bloody post unless you feed him first, and don't get me started on his-"
Harry tuned him out.
By owl.
His Hogwarts acceptance letter was sent to him by owl.
Mr H. Potter, The Cupboard under the Stairs, 4 Privet Drive, Little Whinging, Surrey
The envelope, thick and heavy, with yellow parchment and emerald-green ink.
Mr H. Potter, The Smallest Bedroom, 4 Privet Drive, Little Whinging, Surrey
The purple wax seal, bearing a coat of arms; a lion, an eagle, a badger, and a snake surrounding a large letter H.
Mr H. Potter, Room 17, Railview Hotel, co*keworth
H for Hogwarts.
They knew.
The Durlseys knew.
"I promised, I- I swore that when we took him in there would be no- no- no bloody freakishness in our house! So if I can't beat it out of the boy, then we're just going to have to get rid of him!"
They knew and they had- had kept it from him! All his life, they had treated him like he was different, worthless, a freak! All because- what? His mum had married a wizard? Was that it? Was Harry's only crime his very own existence? Were the Dursleys, what? Furious? Jealous? With his mum and his dad and- and angry about the presence of magic in general?!
They had known what that first letter was the very second they'd ripped it out of his hands… but what if there was a chance that he could still get one?
"Did you get a letter?"
"'Course I did" Rowle replied, "Didn't accept my place, though. My mother wanted to keep me away from that world, and I'd already gotten in trouble with the muggle police too - nothing bad, don't worry, just some stupid f*cking graffiti, vandalism, sh*t like that. Anyway, I got caught by the cops one too many times, so I was given the option of either coming here or going to juvie - and at least here I get to go home on the weekends. So yeah, Hogwarts was never really an option for me".
"But you got a letter?" Harry pressed, "Just one?"
"Just one. I wrote back right away, so they had no reason to send out another".
"Do they send out others? If you don't answer?"
"Oh yeah. The letters are charmed with your exact location, and if, for whatever reason, you don't get the first one, they just keep sending out owls until you do… Did you get a letter?"
Harry could feel a familiar anger rising from deep within, but he quickly squashed it down. It wasn't Rowle's fault that the Dursleys were the worst people ever - and it wasn't his own fault either. Taking a deep breath, he made sure that his voice was level before answering.
"I got one a few weeks back, but my relatives didn't let me read it. They kept coming though, and they'd pop up in the weirdest of places too, but my uncle always grabbed them before I could even open the envelope… That's why I'm really here. They just… got sick of it, so Uncle Vernon packed a bag and left me here".
"That's sh*t, kid, I'm sorry. Your family shouldn't have done that to you".
"They're not my family!" he shot back, "They were never my family! And they're not here anymore, so why aren't I getting the letters now?"
Rowle looked oddly… sad.
"There's a cut-off date" he said, quietly, "July 31st. If you haven't replied by then, then Hogwarts just assumes you're not coming… You didn't accept your place in time, so now they think that you don't want to go. It's too late".
The ends of his fingers burned, and Harry quickly clenched his hands into fists, looking away before the older boy could see the tears in his eyes.
That was it, then.
The Dursleys had stopped him from replying, so now the professors at Hogwarts thought he'd rejected his place there - rejected his only chance of ever learning magic.
He'd make them pay for that, someday.
Uncle Vernon had stripped him of his heritage, of his birthright, and for what? If it really was a boarding school like Rowle had said, then the Dursleys would've been getting rid of him for most of the year anyway, and he was sure that he could convince the principal or headmaster or whatever to let him stay there during the holidays too. So what on earth did the Dursleys gain by keeping him away from Hogwarts and imprisoning him here instead?
Satisfaction? Amusem*nt? Revenge?
Well then.
Harry would just have to get his own revenge on them, now wouldn't he?
"Can you teach me magic?"
Rowle didn't exactly look surprised, but he did look somewhat wary.
"I mean… I can try, but… well, like I said, my mother won't let me bring my wand to school, and you don't even have a wand so… really, the only thing I could teach you would be theory, and you'd be better off learning that from textbooks anyway".
It wasn't a yes, but it also wasn't exactly a no.
"You said that your mum teaches you at home. Does she follow any sort of… I don't know, learning… plan?"
"You mean curriculum? Sure. She uses the same textbooks they have at Hogwarts, I think, although she definitely focuses more on Dark magic, given who her family is".
Dark magic - yet another thing he'd have to research. But first-
"You're older than me, though, so I'm guessing that you're a year or two ahead of me in school too. Do you still have your old magic textbooks? From- From first year, or whatever you call it?"
"I do". His dark gaze turned more calculating than careful. "But rule number one of the wizarding world, Evans; everything comes at a cost".
Harry frowned. A cost? Rowle wanted him to… to pay him? It made sense, he supposed, and it was only fair that the blond received something in return for his help, but Harry didn't have any money, so he had nothing to pay him with - and he said as much.
"Oh, don't worry". Rowle grinned, a flash of sharp teeth. "I'm sure we'll think of something".
