Author's Note:

This is my first fic, so be gentle while ripping it apart, thanks.

Inspired by the sheer endless amount of neutral!Harry/dark!Harry/smart!Harry/generally-using-his-brain!Harry fics out there.
In the end, this is just my little thought experiment on how it could have been, if Harry was just a little more skeptical and a little less trusting.

There might be a bit of Dumbledore/Weasley bashing up in here, but I'll attempt to keep it reasonable.

Disclaimer: I do not own the Harry Potter Series or any of its characters. If I did, Harry would have been considerably less stupid. This is a non-profit work of fiction.

Chapter 1: Q.E.D.

"Yer a wizard, Harry!"

"I'm a what?"
"A wizard, Harry. Yer a wizard."

"Like, the stick-waving, pointy hat, star-spangled robes kind?" A young voice asked incredulously, as green eyes narrowed suspiciously at the mountain of a man.

"I s'pose, though the stars are optional. Most wizards nowadays go with more modern robe patterns," the giant man in front of Harry replied, a confused edge to his voice. This was not the reaction he had expected when the Great Albus Dumbledore - Headmaster of Hogwarts, School of Witchcraft and Wizardry - had sent him out to collect little Harry for school shopping and to deliver his acceptance letter personally. Well, neither had he expected to fly half across England in an effort to find Harry on a dreary little island on the coast of bumblefuck nowhere. That, he could have chalked up to general muggle-weirdness.

Harry Potter's thoughts, on the other hand, had come to a screeching halt when the huge man - who had introduced himself as Hagrid - had launched into an explanation on the finer points of wizard attire. This man was evidently either completely and utterly stark raving mad, or had suffered severe intracranial trauma. Seeing as the guy didn't seem to have any sort of head wound (although with the mass of hair on his head it was really not all that easy to be sure), Harry settled on the first option. This was clearly an insane person. An immensely huge and scary-looking insane person. His first instinct at this realization was to get as far away as possible from this potentially dangerous individual. He might only be an eleven-year-old boy, but he certainly wasn't a stupid child. He had listened very carefully when his grade school teacher had explained to the class how to behave around strange adults.

Unfortunately, seeing as he was currently stuck on an island in the middle of the ocean, his escape options were severely limited. No thanks to his lovely uncle Vernon, who was not far behind in the questionably-sane-department in his personal opinion. After all, it had only taken a few letters delivered by owls for the man to pile the entire family into a car and go on a mad quest all across England to outrun mail. Without even packing anything! Granted, the sheer amount of letters had been strange and maybe even a tad concerning, but Harry felt that this whole thing could have been avoided had uncle Vernon just let Harry read the damn letter. It had been addressed to him, after all.

Apropos letter.

Harry was ripped out of his contemplation by a meaty hand waving one of the aforementioned letters in front of his face, while Hagrid prattled on about pigs with warts and double doors or something. Seeing as escape seemed impossible for now, Harry settled on accepting the letter and humoring the insane person.

HOGWARTS SCHOOL of WITCHCRAFT and WIZARDRY

Headmaster: Albus Dumbledore

(Order of Merlin, First Class, Grand Sorc., Chf. Warlock,

Supreme Mugwump, International Confed. of Wizards)

Dear Mr. Potter,

We are pleased to inform you that you have been accepted at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Please find enclosed a list of all necessary books and equipment.

Term begins on 1 September. We await your owl by no later than 31 July.

Yours sincerely,

Minerva McGonagall

Deputy Headmistress

The letter was penned on expensive looking parchment and with the intricate crest adorning the top of the sheet, it was quite official-looking. So Harry decided to give this whole situation the benefit of the doubt. After all, he didn't really have any other options, seeing as this Hagrid person had single-handedly bent the barrel of uncle Vernon's gun as if it were putty... and he didn't peg the very rough-looking man in front of him as the type who could produce something quite as professional and elegant as this letter. So either there was a whole cult of crazy people after him (which seemed unlikely, since he was just Harry, a nobody), or this man was somehow speaking the truth. Not one to trust easily - a lesson drilled into him quite effectively by his lovely relatives - Harry put on his best innocently trusting face, and demanded proof. It wouldn't do to escalate a potentially dangerous situation - he was very attached to staying alive, after all.

"So, Hagrid, was it? Can you maybe show me some magic, then?" Harry asked, blinking his extra wide green doe eyes, complete with a blush and a shy smile. He knew from experience that this particular expression worked really well on pretty much any adult who wasn't a Dursley. Hagrid seemed to be no exception, if the way his face lit up like a christmas tree was any indication.

"I'm not s'posed ta do any magic, but maybe jus' somethin' small. Eh, Harry?" He boomed happily while waving around his peculiar pink umbrella. Harry wondered briefly what kind of moron would send a representative of a magic school who wasn't even allowed to do any magic to introduce a potential student to the concept, but was soon distracted from his musings by the positively delightful and terrified shrieks of his cousin Dudley, who now sported a neat pig's tail and ears that complemented his already astounding resemblance to the animal. The word 'furry' came to mind.

Well, that certainly shattered any and all of Harry's perceptions of reality. He was torn between vindictive pleasure at his cousin's unfortunate situation and going into shock because, well, magic! After a while of open-mouthed gaping, he settled on a combination of the two and Hagrid was treated to the sight (and aural experience) of a madly cackling Harry.

It took Harry a while to get his bearings and afterwards he smiled up at Hagrid brightly and much more genuinely than before. A person who did something like that to his whale of a cousin was definitely preferable company to the Dursley's in his opinion. Actually, now that he thought about it, anyone would be better company than those horrid creatures. This Hagrid started to look a lot like a feasible ticket out of the hell that was living with his relatives. And he'd do pretty much anything to get away from his living arrangement and the ...creative...interpretation of 'care' his relatives employed. Even follow a madman. Hagrid didn't seem like he wanted to hurt Harry, which was not something that could be said about his uncle, judging by the quite alarming shade of puce his face was turning.

"So, what happens now?" Harry asked tentatively. Hagrid waved his hands animatedly (almost hitting aunt Petunia in the face several times) while explaining how they would immediately fly (fly!) over to a place called 'Diagon Alley' and spend the night in 'The Leaky Cauldron' (An inn, apparently), in order to get Harry's school shopping done first thing in the morning. Apparently even Hagrid, who didn't seem like the sharpest tool in the shed, had taken note of the general disdain for their nephew and overall horrible personality of the Dursley's. He didn't seem too keen on spending longer than necessary in their presence - which might have something to do with the fact that he had just moments ago (illegally, apparently) used magic on Dudley in a less than friendly fashion, Harry assumed. The positively delightful color changes his uncle's face was currently running through probably didn't do much to assure Hagrid of their safety, either. So off they went, out of the empty doorframe of the dangerously creaking shack and towards a motorcycle, leaving a bunch of speechless whales and a fainted horse in their wake.

Harry was quite pleased at this sudden change in direction his life was taking. Although he grew quite nervous at the prospect of a flying motorcycle without seatbelts. Wizards didn't seem too concerned with general safety and this whole not-dying-business, as it seemed, and he had to wonder if this quite frankly alarming lack of common sense might just be a wide-spread thing in the wizarding population. At least 'death by flying motorcycle' would be a much more dramatic way to go than 'beaten and/or starved to death by an angry relative' could ever be.

He just hoped he didn't have to see the Dursley's ever again. If he had to come back to them after this stunt he (or rather Hagrid) just pulled, the nuclear fallout of his uncle's rage might just level the entirety of England.

"Here's to hoping," he mumbled under his breath, before clinging to Hagrid's bedsheet of a coat for dear life as the motorcycle zoomed into the night sky at breakneck speed.