A/N: So, this is my first attempt at writing something, and hopefully it won't go too bad. I'd like to think I'm a pretty good writer, but then again, I've only ever written essays for school and those are very different from writing fantasy or any other kind of story-telling type of writing. I'd appreciate constructive criticism, especially when it comes to pacing and if you leave flames then oh well, I'll still sleep well at night. With that said let's get started I guess…
*Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, and seeing as I have been reading on this site for close to 10 years, if I have stolen an idea from someone it is not intentional, I mean at this point we are all just remixing the dictionary anyway am I right?
"Up! Get up!" Harry woke with a start, Aunt Petunia's voice still grating on his ears as she pounded on the door of his cupboard. "It's Dudley's birthday and everything must be perfect! Get to the bacon, and don't you dare burn it!" Harry groaned, how could he have forgotten Dudley's birthday? It had been almost 10 years since he had been left on the Dursley's doorstep and in that time, Harry had been expected to earn his keep. Slowly rolling out of bed he fumbled in the dim light for some socks and after picking off a spider from one, put them on along with his glasses.
Now dressed, he left his cupboard quietly, heading down the hall into the kitchen only to be immediately assaulted by the garishly bright colors of giftwrap as the table was littered in presents. As he set about fixing breakfast Harry eyed the presents, taking note of the new bike Dudley had gotten for his birthday. Why anyone would gift his fat cousin a bike Harry would never know, not that Harry really had the right to judge someone for their appearance. Looking down at himself he could only sigh. Harry was thin and small, with bright green eyes and hair that went in nearly every direction. His glasses were broken, held together by tape at the bridge, and much too large for his slim face. The only thing about his appearance Harry found to be of interest was his scar, in the shape of a lightning bolt, that was a relic from the car crash his parents had supposedly died in.
Not that appearance mattered much to Harry. His time with the Dursley's had taught him that there were more important things, namely his education. At first, earning grades higher than Dudley's were a quick ticket to his cupboard for a week with no meals, but as he soon realized, if he didn't bother to show his report card, well his supposed family had nothing to punish him for. It was a gamble, but Harry knew he wanted more than what life currently had to offer and to get there, he needed to be as far away from the Dursley's as possible. With good grades came a good university with a scholarship to take him far away from Privet Drive and the scorn of his aunt and uncle, it didn't hurt that the library was the one place Dudley and his little gang of friends had yet to find him.
Ignoring Dudley's whining about how he'd received two presents less than last year, Harry quickly swiped pancakes into the over-sized pockets of his hand-me-down jeans. With relatives that loved to punish him with lost meals, food was a commodity to be treasured. Just as he secured the last pancake, the phone rang, and Aunt Petunia answered while Uncle Vernon watched Dudley unwrap his new bike. Silently in the corner Harry waited, only for his heart to drop when Aunt Petunia came back looking angry and scared. "Vernon," she started. "Mrs. Figg's broken her leg, she can't take him." She jerked her head in Harry's direction.
Dudley's mouth fell open in horror and Harry couldn't help but agree with him. Every year the Dursley's took their son and a friend out for his birthday and Harry was left in the care of Mrs. Figg, a crazy old cat lady who meant well enough, even if she did make him listen to stories about her cats. Usually she fed him well though and she always went down for a nap, leaving Harry to his books and the TV on the odd occasion he felt like watching the brain rotting screen.
"What should we do?" asked Aunt Petunia, looking furious as though Harry had been the reason Mrs. Figg broke her leg.
"We could phone Marge," Uncle Vernon suggested.
"Don't be silly, Vernon, she hates the boy.
Harry held back a snort at those words, because it wasn't as if the Dursley's held any great love for him. Looking out the window he tuned them out. The Dursley's tended to speak as though Harry wasn't there or as if he couldn't understand him, much preferring to bark commands as if he were one of Marge's dogs. Part of him wanted to suggest he be left behind, but he knew better, with his luck the house would probably explode.
All his life, Harry had strange occurrences around him. A science teacher he didn't like having their hair turned blue, his hair growing overnight after a particularly nasty haircut from Aunt Petunia. Once, while running away from Dudley and his gang of bullies, Harry suddenly found himself on the roof with no recollection of how he got there. No amount of explanation that Harry had no clue how those things happened could ever convince the Dursley's that he wasn't to blame.
The sound of the doorbell brought Harry back to reality. "Oh! They're here!" cried Aunt Petunia. Smoothing her dress she took Dudley to the door to greet their guests, leaving Harry alone with Uncle Vernon.
"Listen here, boy," Uncle Vernon's fat finger wagging in Harry's face as he addressed him. "You're coming with us because we have no choice. There will be no funny business today, understand?"
Harry looked squarely at the floor. "Understood"
Hearing his Uncle's footsteps go towards the door, Harry closed his eyes and sighed, something told him today was not going to go well for him.
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That night Harry lay in his cupboard thinking on the events of the day. Surprisingly much of the day had gone well. Being with the Dursley's in public meant they had to keep up appearances, so Harry got fed well and even managed to get an ice cream out of the day. Things all went down south when they journeyed into the reptile house. As usual, Harry was walking about 5 steps behind the others and got particularly interested in a snake Dudley had bypassed for being too boring. A little coaxing and some gentle words had the snake raising its head and interacting, which immediately brought Dudley and his friend back to the snake, pushing Harry out of the way and onto the ground. Not a second after Harry managed to calm himself down did Dudley manage to fall into the enclosure, which had previously been protected by glass. As the boa constrictor slithered away Harry swore he could have heard a hissed "Thanksss" from the snake.
As usual, the instant they entered Number 4 Vernon was quick to send Harry to his cupboard with no meals. Turning, Harry reached for the tin where he kept his small stockpile of food. This was his life, punishments, cooking, cleaning and general punching bag for the Dursley family. Harry finished one of the pancakes from that morning and opened his school bag, with only about a month and a half, final exams would be coming up soon. Harry knew he was smart, and more perceptive than most kids. Living with the Dursley's meant always having one eye open for opportunity and trouble. Harry could only hope that something changed soon. He was wearing thin and as it stood, Harry might not have the strength to make it to college and away from the Dursley's.
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By the time Harry was let back out of his cupboard, the school year had ended, and summer holiday had begun. As usual, Harry spent whatever free time he had outside of the house in the library, away from Dudley and his gang, who were constantly chasing him down for their favorite game of Harry Hunting. Harry, however, was excited. He'd done well on his final exams, getting into gifted classes at Stonewall High and Dudley had somehow been accepted at Smeltings, a private school. As far as the Dursley's knew, he'd be just another student at a less prestigious school, performing far below their precious Dudleykins because there was no way Harry could ever be smarter than Dudley. But for Harry, it was proof he was on the right path. A few years of school Dudley free would be just what Harry needed to make his escape.
For the first month of the summer Harry prepared himself for his advanced classes as best as he could, not even seeing Aunt Petunia dyeing more hand-me-downs gray for his school uniform could crush Harry's rekindled spirit. Of course, Dudley was still as annoying as ever, especially once they got his Smeltings uniform in London. Smeltings boys all carried a knobbed cane or stick, known as a smelting stick. The boys would hit each other when the teachers weren't looking, a method said to build character. Dudley, of course, couldn't wait to try it out on Harry and it was one such morning that yet another weird occurrence began.
Harry woke up and prepared breakfast as usual when the sound of the mail being slipped through echoed into the kitchen.
"Get the mail, Dudley," said Uncle Vernon from behind his morning paper.
"Make Harry get it."
"Get the mail, boy!"
Dodging a swing from Dudley and muttering a quiet "Yes, Uncle Vernon" Harry walked to the door. In a pile on the floor were a magazine, the paper, what looked to be a bill addressed to Uncle Vernon and a letter, addressed to Harry, written in bright green ink.
Mr. H. Potter
The Cupboard under the Stairs
# 4 Privet Drive
Little Whinging, Surrey
The envelope was made of a thick parchment and held no stamp. Running his finger over the flowery handwriting Harry could feel the address had been hand written. Who could be writing to him?
"Hurry up, boy!" shouted Uncle Vernon from the kitchen. "What are you doing? Checking for letter-bombs?" Harry could hear him chuckle at his own joke.
Looking down at the letter Harry resolved to figure it out at another time, stuffing the envelope into his pockets, once again finding himself thankful for the huge size of his cousin's old clothes Harry dutifully carried the mail back into the kitchen. As Harry went about his chores and Uncle Vernon grouched about the bill under his breath, Harry was distinctly aware of the letter resting against his leg in his pocket.
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HOGWARTS SCHOOL OF WITCHCRAFT and WIZARDRY
Headmaster: ALBUS DUMBLEDORE
(Order of Merlin, First Class, Grand Sore., 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 September 1. We await your owl by no later than July 31.
Yours sincerely,
Minerva McGonagall
Deputy Headmistress
Harry couldn't help but stare at the letter in shock, it was a short while later and Harry had opened the letter in the safety and privacy of his cupboard whilst Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon were busy doting on Dudley as he modeled his Smeltings uniform for them for a second time. Looking through the rest of the pages Harry held back laughter.
'Was this a joke?' he thought to himself. 'A prank by my cousin? Honestly, a cauldron, really? And who sends letters by owl?' Annoyed and fed up Harry gathered the supposed acceptance letter and left his cupboard, going into the living room.
"Nice joke Dudley" Harry began.
"What?"
Harry rolled his eyes at how thick his cousin was and thrust the letter out for all to see. "I mean really? I know you think I'm stupid but an acceptance letter to a fake magic school-"
Harry was cut off by a gasp from his Aunt and what sounded like a wheeze from his Uncle. Harry looked at them, confused by their pale faces.
"Wh-Where did you get that?!" cried Aunt Petunia to Harry's confusion.
"Give it here boy!" Uncle Vernon chimed in. His large, meaty hands snatched the letter right out of Harry's hand. Reading it, with Aunt Petunia right over his shoulder, Uncle Vernon's face paled, then shifted to red.
"I wanna read that letter!" Dudley was mad that the attention had been diverted from him and Harry simply watched on in confusion.
"Out! Out the both of you!" Dudley protested Uncle Vernon's cry and in a shuffle of hands, feet and a smelting stick Uncle Vernon promptly threw both Harry and Dudley out of the living room before turning back, locking the door behind him.
What ensued was a quick scramble to see who could listen at the door and Harry, for all his speed and small frame, could not stop his older cousin from manhandling him out of the way, leaving Harry to listen at the door.
"How could they know?" Aunt Petunia was whispering "They have it addressed to his cupboard, do you think they're watching the house? What shall we do Vernon?! I won't have him go to that freak school I won't!"
"Calm down, Pet" Harry could hear Uncle Vernon's heavy steps as he paced the living room. "We swore as soon as his freakishness began that we'd stomp it out of him, and that's exactly what we'll do! If there's no reply, well they can't very well force him to come, can they? Ignore it and we'll carry on just as we have"
Harry pulled back from the door. It didn't make any sense. They were treating the letter as though it were real, but it can't be. Magic doesn't exist, the Dursleys had always been clear about that. Any reference to the fantasy genre was met with a swift sentence to the cupboard and missed meals. Still, Harry's gut told him there was more to this, and his mind told him that his Aunt and Uncle would not have reacted if there was nothing to fear.
At the click of the door unlocking Harry looked up. "Where's my letter?" Uncle Vernon looked down at Harry.
"I burned it, it was addressed to the wrong person."
In a rare show of anger Harry retorted "It was addressed to MY cupboard, and unless you've suddenly started telling people you keep your nephew in a storage space meant for seasonal clothing, it was meant for me"
Uncle Vernon went red in the face. "To your cupboard now! You like it there so much?! You can bloody well stay there!"
Harry instantly scurried off to his cupboard, berating himself for losing his temper. Harry sat on his bed, his mind stuck on that letter.
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That night, Harry snuck out of his cupboard, silently thanking his luck that in his rage Uncle Vernon had forgotten to lock Harry into his cupboard. Advancing to the door, Harry clutched the letter he had written in his hand. It was a long shot, and Harry was tempted to call himself crazy, but something about Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon's reactions shook him to the core. If this was real, and if there really was a school out there for magic, Harry wanted, no, needed it to be true.
Stepping out into the night, Harry instantly spotted a brown owl, resting upon one of the power lines the crisscrossed Privet Drive. Making eye contact the bird swooped down, its large yellow eyes settling on the letter in Harry's hand.
"Letter for Hogwarts?" Harry half asked and stated, trying to ignore the slight quiver in his voice. The owl let out a small hoot, as if sensing his nervousness and held out his leg. Harry looked at the letter in his hand, realizing he had no way to secure it. Looking down at the hem of his shirt, Harry supposed he had thread to spare. He ripped a strip of cloth from the shirt and with shaky hands tied the letter to the owl's leg.
"Umm, it's for Deputy Headmistress Minerva McGonagall. Uh, thank you?" Harry sheepishly scratched the back of his head, a nervous tick he didn't quite have control over. The ow hooted and was off. As Harry watched the owl fly away, he couldn't help but feel like something was seriously about to change.
So that was the first chapter, I'm still figuring things out, so forgive me if formatting is a bit weird. Thanks so much and reviews are always welcome!