"I hate Maths." Harry declared as he flopped onto his bed in the dormitory. He heard a whine in response and sat up with a sigh. With a snap of his fingers, there was the sensation of soft fur in his hands and he took care to remove his guide dog's harness. The dog licked his face in thanks and jumped onto the bed with Harry, curling up on his master's pillow.

"Well, of course, you like it, Seymour, you get to sleep under the desk the whole time" Harry grumbled, laying back on the bed. It was stupid, really, that even in the summer, the Royal School For the Blind required that their students do homework three times a week. He already got enough school during the term, and he really didn't understand why he needed it during his summer holiday as well. Still, it'd been a rule for those who lived at the school for as long as he could remember.

In truth, Harry didn't mind it much. It occupied the hottest part of the day when he wouldn't be doing much anyway. For as long as he'd lived there, the summer heat had been an obstacle that Harry was a master at beating. He'd lived at the Royal School for the Blind for five years now, ever since the doctors had declared him completely blind. His first days at the school were in the center of summer when the weather was perfect and the flowers made the air thick with sweet perfume. It was that impression Harry thought of whenever he thought of his school and he decided long ago that he wouldn't want to live anywhere else. People often asked him if he missed having a family, or if he missed his eyesight, and Harry couldn't honestly say he did when it came to either of those things.

He had an aunt and uncle of course, who had taken him in when his parents died in a car crash. But he only saw them once a year at Christmas and didn't think of them much. He vaguely remembered living with Vernon and Petunia Dursley when he was small, but the memories had all blurred together into what Harry privately designated "Before." He didn't care much about what had happened "Before." All he knew is that he lived with them until he was five, then they and a social worker decided it was in the best interest of everyone if Harry went to live at the Royal School. The Dursleys already had one child to deal with, and it was too much of a hassle to deal with a second one, especially one that was blind and not really theirs to begin with. Harry didn't really care one way or another. His aunt and uncle were civil enough during the one time of year he saw them, and Harry was too wrapped up in his life at school to care much about the hows and whys of his living situation.

As for his eyesight, well, from what Harry could remember, he didn't have much of one to begin with. The doctors had called him legally blind. Things were always rather fuzzy and inconsistent anyway, and losing the remainder his eyesight wasn't that much of a big adjustment. He could make out changes in light, and could occasionally see shadows in the right conditions. He functioned just fine with that and didn't really see the point in wishing for more. He had braille and audiobooks to read, computers to do his homework, his cane and guide-dog Seymour to get around. He could make toast and ride a bike and tie a tie. For Harry Potter, the world was an open book waiting to be read.

Besides, it seemed to everyone, that Harry was just good at being blind. Things came easier for him than they did for other people. Harry could never explain how he could pour a cup of tea without slipping a finger over the edge of the cup to check the water line or find that specific green shirt in the back of his closet without having to ask anyone. Harry never tripped over the curb or missed his plate when he served himself dinner. His teachers claimed he was a prodigy in the field of orientation and mobility training. To Harry, it was just a sense he had, something in the back of his mind that made the world make sense.

In short, Harry's life at the Royal School for the Blind was good. He had friends and his dog. The school provided a good education that would eventually lead to a good job and a good life. Eventually, Harry would care about and appreciate things like having a good job and a good life. The future held no surprises and Harry didn't worry about it. There was no need to look beyond the walls of the school, never a desire for a different life. By all accounts, Harry Potter was a happy normal kid.

July was always a slow month at the school. There were only a handful of kids like Harry who lived there year round, leaving the campus absent of its usual chatter and bustle. The warm summer afternoons were sleepy and quiet, and Harry often found himself on days like these out on the grounds, riding his bike down the special bike paths designed for the blind students, or playing with Seymour, or just laying on the grass and enjoying the afternoon.

After completing his summer homework for the day, Harry only designed to lay in his bed for a few moments before venturing out onto the grounds. He decided to keep Seymour off his harness, not really seeing the point in using his guide dog. He could get around campus by memory alone at this point, and he knew there wouldn't be any obstacles in his way out on the lawn.

He brought an old tennis ball with him hoping to get in a few games of fetch with the Seymour. The dog bounced alongside him happily.

As he walked across the grass to his favorite spot, a familiar voice greeted him. "Hullo, Harry," the cheerful voice said.

Harry smiled at the sound of his friend. "Hey, Cath. How's it going?"

Catherine was two years older than Harry and lived in a different building than he did. They had become friends six months before when they both got their guide dogs out of the same litter. Harry had been the youngest one there, and Catherine had taken the younger boy under her wing.

"It's alright. I flunked maths last term, so they're making me do extra work to catch up. Bit bullocks really, but it's fine. How's Seymour?"

"He's good. How's Skywalker?"

"She's good. Bit sleepy so I left her inside today. Mam's looking for you, by the way. You've got a letter."

The idea was preposterous. Who would be sending Harry a letter? The only people he knew outside the school were his aunt and uncle and they would never be dumb enough to send him a letter, would they? If anyone inside school wanted to talk to him, they sent him an email.

"Who sends letters anymore." He joked in response.

"No idea," Catherine said. Harry could hear the shrug in her voice. He shrugged himself.

"Well, thanks. Better go get it before I get too comfortable out here. C'mon Seymour" He tapped Catherine on the shoulder as a way to say goodbye before heading back the way he came. Cool air greeted him as he stepped inside the main doors to his dormitory. "Mam?" He called out. "Cath said there's a letter for me?"

The kind old voice of Mrs. Mammon, the house mother, answered him.

"Yes, a letter came for you this morning while you were in your study session. I think it might be an advertisement of some sort." She told him.

"Well, what does it say?" Harry asked. He climbed up on the couch in front of her desk, crossing his legs expectantly.

"I haven't opened it yet, but the address was very specific that it was yours. Harry J. Potter, The Bed Near the Window, Room 6, First Floor, Perkin's Residential Hall, The Royal School for the Blind, Liverpool."

"That's… creepily specific. Could you read it to me?"

"Of course. 'Dear Mr. Potter, We are pleased to inform you that you've been accepted to Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.'" Mam laughed, "Oh Harry, I think someone's sent you a prank letter."

"Weird prank," Harry said.

"Do you want to hear the rest of it?"

"No, you can throw it away. It's probably one of those movie ad campaigns or something. I'm gonna go ride my bike I think."

"Alright dear, just be sure you're on time for dinner," Mam told him. "And stay on the path! I don't want you riding into another tree!"

"It was one time! And that was a dare!" Harry protested over his shoulder as he left. He heard Mam start to respond, but he was already out the door. He didn't have time for more warnings or joke letters. He had a summer day to enjoy. By dinnertime, he had forgotten the letter entirely.

The letters kept coming. What was at first a funny joke was now becoming an annoyance. The day after the first letter, Mrs. Mammon had discovered two more in the mailbox. Over the course of a week, the residents of the dormitory were treated to, on average, four letters a day in the mailbox. Each one had the same specific address. Someone very much wanted to get in touch with Harry.

Ten days after the first letter, Harry awoke to find a letter under his pillow. The joke was no longer funny or even annoying. This was downright unsettling. Harry didn't tell anyone except Catherine about the letter under his pillow. The mysterious letters were now becoming the talk of the dorm and he wanted to do all he could to quash the subject. Everyone seemed to want to know who was sending Harry these letters and why. From what he could gather they all said the same thing: We'd like to inform you you've been accepted to Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.

Everyone had a guess as to what Hogwarts might be: a new movie, a book, an amusement park, a secret organization, a cult. Catherine had speculated that it was a new superhero team, and they wanted a blind guy on their side. Like Daredevil, she said. Harry didn't know what Hogwarts was and didn't care to speculate. He was more concerned with why they had picked him of all people. It wasn't like Harry was the smartest in his class or the most popular. Sure, everyone seemed to like him well enough and he was the fastest runner in his grade, but other than that there wasn't any reason for someone to target him like this. Harry Potter was just a normal boy.

"Do you think someone's coming to take you away?" Catherine asked seriously when he had told her about the letter under his pillow.

"I don't know. I don't know anyone who would want to." Harry said.

"What if someone really does want to come and take you to this magic school?"

"I don't see why they would. I'm not magic. I'm not special. I'm just Harry."

"You might be a little bit magic. You always were a little bit better at finding your way around than the rest of us," Catherine said quietly. Harry reached out and squeezed her hand.

"Well, if I am magic, and they do want to come take me away from here, they'd have to go through Seymour first. Right buddy?" Harry directed the last part to the dog curled up at his feet. Seymour at that point decided to grace the children with a rather loud fart, sending the two of them into a fit of giggles. Any talk of letters was quickly forgotten by Harry.

It was not, however, forgotten by whoever was sending the letters.

The whole thing came to a head the day before Harry's eleventh birthday. The morning was quiet. Catherine had gone home for the remainder of the summer to be with her parents, and Mam was working quietly at her desk. No letters had arrived for him that morning. Relief poured over him when he heard about the lack of letters. It seemed the mystery, or rather, the ordeal of the letters from nowhere had come to a close.

It was a Saturday, which meant a lazy morning in front of the TV in his pajamas was a perfectly acceptable way to spend the day. Harry splayed out on the floor of the common room in front of the TV. Seymour acted as a pillow for him as he watched rerun after rerun of The Power Rangers. He was halfway through an episode when Mam came into the room.

He could hear the concern in her voice as she delivered the most surprising news Harry had ever received: Harry Potter had a visitor.