Being called 'the boy who lived' has always grated on me. By all accounts of the fall of Voldemort in Godric's Hollow all those years ago, my role, as a baby, was very passive. Honestly I do not have any significant memories of the time, so I swill skip ahead a bit and discuss what happened to 'the boy who didn't die.'

My earliest memories of my childhood at 4 Privet Drive start around the age of 5. I was always getting into mischief here and there, as my Aunt and Uncle, who had taken me in after the death of my parents, were errant guardians of both myself and my cousin, Dudley, who was a year older than me. Dudley and I didn't get on that well, mainly because he was forced to share his room with me, and it was rather small and cramped, even for two small children such as we were. There were also a number of weird occurrences that took place.

While playing out in the garden, I soon learned that I could talk to snakes. They came up to me out of the blue and started having conversations. Intelligent ones in fact. One day Dudley happened on me during a heated debate with a rare coronella austriaca named Filiborn, about the merits of secrecy and its necessity. I was arguing for honesty being the best policy, and he insisted that honesty with everyone is a weakness, because it takes more effort to craft a clever lie. I was losing the argument badly, and was practically convinced, when Dudley butted in and began making fun of me for talking to a dumb snake. Filiborn was insulted by this and harmlessly nipped him on the ankle, as he had no venom, and Dudley fell over and screamed out in terror. I was able to talk Filiborn down, and convince him to accept an apology. Nevertheless, Dudley was very disturbed by me from then on, or at least he would conspicuously avoid me while in the garden.

It was at this time that I, cleverly, suggested that I could stay in the cupboard under the stairs, as it was hardly smaller than half of Dudley's room. The most important factor in this suggestion, that I kept quiet about, was that Dudley's room was down the hall from my Aunt and Uncle's room and the floorboards leading to the stairs were a bit creaky.

You see, I wanted to be able to come and go as I pleased, and as I was growing, well you do the maths. My Uncle, Vernon Dursley, was far too busy with his incredibly boring job as a sales manager for Grunnings Drill Company to put too much thought into it, and Petunia, my Aunt, liked the idea because it would make her 'ickle dudders' happy beyond compare.

My Aunt and Uncle were not really bad people, but I could tell that they felt a bit put upon with my presence, and it was a source of guilt for me. I didn't want to be living on the kindness of others.

On Privet Drive I didn't live in complete deprivation, but I was the last to get clothes or shoes and the first to get chores if you understand my meaning. There was something underneath it all of course, a kind of suburban sadism in how they treated me, mainly due to my being a little weird.

Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia had always seemed to me a bit on the strange side themselves really. They were deathly afraid of any mention of fairies or magic or vampires or anything odd in that sense. There were no books about fairy tales in the house, no Disney movies, nothing. It wasn't until I was around 9 or 10 that I began to see this as completely out of place. While at school, my teacher had made some offhanded comment about Cinderella and a pumpkin, and when I said I hadn't the foggiest notion what she was on about she quizzed me for nearly 10 minutes about fairy tales and all that. After that she began to pay a curious amount of attention to me, asking all sorts of nosy questions about my life at Privet Drive.

She seemed to be utterly convinced that Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia were some kind of abusive religious fanatics, but after a school visit from them both to discuss a small disciplinary action for a rule infraction that I was completely innocent of, she was put at ease by realizing that they were just the blandest and most uninteresting people you could imagine.

Now when I was 10 years old, my Uncle got a computer with a Pentium 200MHz processor in it, but he soon abandoned it as far too confusing. However I read the manuals that he couldn't be bothered to, and began to play around with it. Once he realized that I had some kind of useful talent that he could exploit he became much more approving of me and my activities. As long as I could make the computer do what he wanted it to do. He had become convinced that what would get him ahead at Grunnings was a website for the company, which he had intended to make himself, but which ultimately fell to me. He bought me books on all sorts of computer related topics and I managed to make my first website. It was of course the worst website that has ever been made, but it was so fancy and technical in the eyes of Uncle Vernon that I can't imagine he has ever been more pleased since.

My Uncle Vernon, at least among the family, has made a name for himself with his harebrained schemes to get ahead at work, but this one actually got him somewhere. His boss at first thought the idea hardly worth the effort and only gave a nod to the project on account of the fact that he lacked the knowledge to see it as good or bad.

He soon changed his tune when several foreign companies contacted Grunnings to make drill orders from as far away as Canada. Because Uncle Vernon was himself absolutely incapable of making any changes to his company's website, he offered me my first paid job. I got 2 quid every time I had to change or add something, and for a 10 year old, this was the equivalent of a 6 figure salary. I had been scrimping and saving every penny I found or was given up to that time, and had a nice little store of money saved up. I had planned to save until I could leave Privet Drive and strike out on my own. In fact leaving that place was constantly on my mind.

That year was the best year I ever experienced at Privet Drive, while I certainly was never treated better or equal to Dudley, and who can blame them for it, but for the first time ever, Uncle Vernon almost respected me. Unfortunately it wasn't to last.

On my 11th birthday which falls on July the 31st, I received the strangest letter. I had become accustomed to fetching the post, and was surprised to find a small letter thusly addressed:

Harry Potter
The cupboard under the stairs
4 Privet Drive
Little Whinging
Surrey

As I had never before received anything in the mail, and certainly nothing so curiously addressed; I had the presence of mind to slip it underneath my cupboard door on the way to the kitchen to hand over the post to Uncle Vernon. On this day I think I resented being the one who was always called upon to do the washing up after every meal more than ever before. Scrubbing the pans and rinsing the plates, as Aunt Petunia seemed to misunderstand the primary function of a dishwasher and insisted that they go into the thing practically clean already, seemed to take ages.

Back in my cupboard, I sat down on my small cot which had belonged to Uncle Vernon's father who was in some glorious branch of the military whose name I had never bothered to remember on account of my being 11 years old and completely uninterested in war and violence of any kind. My intrinsic lack of militaristic patriotism had earned me a number of curious looks from Uncle Vernon and Dudley on a few occasions. This had led to a frequent haranguing by Uncle Vernon for me to toughen up, and there were always threats of sending me off to Duke of York's for my secondary education, which had been recently the topic of conversation around the kitchen table, as Uncle Vernon was completely convinced I was far too soft in the body and mind to go to Smeltings, his secondary school and the one which Dudley was already put down for. This of course was all a kind of charade to conceal the fact that neither Uncle Vernon nor Aunt Petunia were interested in paying for my secondary education. Both of them were as far from spendthrifts as it was possible to get, unless it was concerning Dudley, whom they lavished with excessive gifts all year round, but most especially on his birthday. This was all mostly beneath the surface, and they often made a good show of outwardly caring for me, although my birthdays were conspicuously simple, with a few small gifts, usually second hand clothes, and broken electronics. Before you think this is so horrible, I did ask for the broken doodads on account of my hobby of taking them apart and either repairing them, or using them for spare parts.

My hobby had started at the age of 8, when I had asked for a radio but was told it was too expensive. Dudley in an unusual act of kindness gave me his, which he had broken 1 day after receiving it on his birthday last. I set about trying to fix it, which took several weeks, but with a little help from a neighbor who saw me tinkering and made some helpful suggestions I repaired my first radio, and still have it to this day, though I have substantially extended its capabilities since then.

So there I sat, letter in hand, twirling it over and over. The paper it was made of was not paper at all. I had heard of something called parchment, that is a kind of paper made from animal skin, and I guessed, correctly, that this is what it was made of. I would later learn that Wizard parchment is not really animal skin, as Johan Bilderbach an 11th century Herbologist managed to cultivate a parchment tree where the bark regrows after only a month and continues to live for hundreds of years, producing incredible amounts of parchment that is indistinguishable from the animal skin variety. There are to my knowledge several vast parchment forests in Eastern Europe where the majority of Wizard parchment is produced, or more accurately sloughed from the trees as part of their natural cycle of growth.

I delicately opened the tiny letter and began to pull out the contents. I immediately noticed something odd because as I pulled out the letter it became larger than could possibly have fit in the envelope. As soon as I had pulled out the letter, I noticed a small and thin booklet which I began to pull out and noticed that it seemed to grow in size as it left the envelope. Inside this tiny envelope was a letter, curiously written in a flowing formal calligraphic style, a small booklet with the title "For your Parent or Guardian", another small booklet titled "Welcome to Hogwarts" and several other loose leafs of paper with long lists of supplies.

At first I picked up the letter, at the top was an ornate heraldic crest featuring a lion, a snake, a badger and an eagle. Scrollwork above the crest read: Hogwarts. Below in a longer scrollwork was the school motto "draco dormiens nunquam titilandus." At the time of course, I knew almost nothing of Latin, but surmised that draco had something to do with dragons. I would later learn that this means "never tickle sleeping dragons." A motto I find rather perverse, you should always tickle sleeping dragons. If you don't, you'll never have any fun at all. Unfortunately this motto defines the Wizarding world perfectly. A more common version of this motto would be "Let sleeping dogs lie" or "Don't rock the boat."

I read the letter:

Dear Harry 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. The included guide is to be given to your parent or guardian to explain what needs to be done for you to attend school.

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

Yours Sincerely,

Minerva McGonagall
Deputy Headmistress

I am not sure I can communicate how completely odd this letter was. I didn't think someone was putting me on, the amount of effort that went into it all, the obviously handwritten calligraphy, the professionally printed guides and welcome booklet, and the odd way it had all been packed into a tiny letter told me that this was real. I believed it in the way only a child can believe.

I picked up the welcome booklet and saw the first page, a letter:

A message to new students

Dear young Witch or Wizard,

You are about to embark on the greatest journey of your lives. A magical world awaits your discovery, and in this world you will experience a new kind of reality, much different than perhaps the one you are used to. Do not be afraid, never fear the unknown or even the unknowable. Each and every person accepted to Hogwarts was accepted because we know, as deeply as it can be known, that they are up to the challenge.

Being accepted is a great honor, but you are not compelled to come. You may refuse to go on this adventure, and no one will think less of you if that is your choice. If you feel that this is not the place for you, simply chuck it all in the bin and be done with it. But if you dare, then Hogwarts is the school for those who dare.

Albus Dumbledore
Headmaster
Order of Merlin 1st Class, Grand Sorc. Chf. Warlock, Supreme Mugwump, Intl. Confed. of Wizards.

The rest of the welcome booklet, which was 34 pages long, contained a concise history of Hogwarts with suggestions for further reading on the topic. At this point I took out a small notepad I always keep in my back pocket and took some notes of the author and book names with the intent of purchasing some cheap second hand copies if at all possible. I had been able to scrounge and save somewhere around £100, so I imagined I would be able to purchase a few of the more interesting titles. Hogwarts, a history by Bathilda Bagshot and Sites of Historical Sorcery by Plotinus Polefiddle.

The booklet continued by describing things like the sorting ceremony, and the main features of each house as well as famous alumni like Uric the Oddball and Garrick Ollivander for Ravenclaw, which to me sounded like the most promising house. It seems that Albus Dumbledore, which appeared to me one of the queerest names I had ever read, was from Gryffindor. Slytherin, which would have been my other choice besides Ravenclaw was very appealing by its description. Their alumni included Merlin in the list, which is about the only Wizard I had ever heard of before reading the pamphlet.

Because it seemed both Slytherin and Ravenclaw strongly encouraged intelligence and ambition, and I was a very ambitious little boy, they seemed the most appealing. Having grown up as the least favorite, always receiving hand me downs and doing the chores, I had longed to be free of all that, to make my own way in the world, and even sometimes dreamed of having great power to affect the hearts and minds of people. I wanted them to respect me for sure, but I also wanted them to treat me and each other with kindness, which I admit was lacking in the house on Privet Drive. Ravenclaw was my first choice because it's description resonated with my tendency to be a bit of a loner. Even at muggle school, I never had any friends, and preferred to go it alone.

On the other hand, I had learned early the importance of rules, and why they must be bent or broken. Rules exist to order society as it is, not as it could be. If everyone follows the rules, then nothing changes. Slytherin seemed to me to be about change, for good or ill. And I particularly liked the fact that they fessed up to their dirty laundry, whereas none of the other houses seemed to admit any of the shameful deeds by their alumni.

After reading through the welcome booklet, I turned to the guide for parents, and read the introductory letter, written by Minerva McGonagall.

Dear Parent or Guardian,

I expect this is all a bit of a shock for you and I deeply empathize with your confusion. Your child is special, and has been chosen to attend Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry tuition free. The only cost to you is the cost of books and equipment, however; should that prove beyond your current means, our student aid program will see to it that your child is sufficiently outfitted to fully participate in our curriculum.

You may request additional and official details of our school from the Ministry of Education, Department for Children, Schools, and Families:

Attn: Nichole Wormalden
School Enquiries
Sanctuary Buildings
Great Smith Street
London

If you have any questions that are not fully answered by the guide for parents and guardians, please write them down, insert them into an envelope, and address them to:

Minerva McGonagall
Hogwarts

And give the envelope to the owl waiting outside your home. If the owl has left, or you have additional questions after sending, you may address your envelope to:

Great Britain Central Owlry
Minerva McGonagall, Hogwarts
1 Heathfield Terrace
London

Due to the number of errors and confusion in the past, and for your convenience, two addressed and stamped envelopes are attached to the end of this guide. Do not worry about the size of your letter, just insert them as if the envelopes were big enough.

Naturally, if you are uncomfortable naming the school to which your children are attending, please use the schools official alternative name: St. Paul's School for the Gifted. In this guide you will find several acceptable and time tested cover stories should you be asked too many nosy questions by pushy neighbors. You will also find a list of Frequently Asked Questions By Busy-Bodies and Friends and various successful responses.

I kindly await your questions, by Owl or Muggle Post, on or before July the 31st.

Sincerely,
Minerva McGonagall
Deputy Headmistress

This guide of about 61 pages contained all manner of information. Books were to be purchased someplace called Diagon Alley, which was reachable by public transport to the Leaky Cauldron at the address 92b Charing Cross Rd, just before The Cambridge Pub. It was important, the guide said, that their child accompany them to help navigate. Once they entered the Leaky Cauldron, they would be directed to the entrance of Diagon Alley. I would later learn that the entire guide and package was under the Credulous Charm, which made people take everything at face value, and not bother to question anything too deeply. Of course, you must understand that as a young man I had always been a bit clever, perhaps too clever. Because I experienced the world in such a different way than my school mates, or Dudley, I had gotten used to just accepting weird things and to a certain extent keeping my mouth shut about questions. If I had questions, they were never welcome on Privet Drive. So I tended to keep my own counsel.

I thumbed through the pages of the guide which contained small maps of both the London area surrounding the Leaky Cauldron and one of Diagon Alley, with certain places on the map marked with a star that appeared to be moving ever so slightly. I found that touching the star with my finger changed the image slightly, showing the name of the shop with references to the list of equipment and books needed. One star showed Madame Malkin's Robes for all Occasions, and another Flourish and Blott's, where books could be purchased. A large '£' sign floated above a central location on the map, Gringott's Bank.

A following page held a table of monetary conversion rates. Wizarding money was apparently still precious metals of Gold, Silver, and Bronze. A single Galleon, that is a coin of gold, contains an ingot of 1 gram of gold, which is roughly £4.46. Of course the exchange rates have significantly changed since 1998. A Silver Sickle, which contains 2 grams of silver is worth about £0.22. The Bronze Knut is about a penny, or £0.01.

Parents and Guardians are encouraged to open an account at Gringott's in the name of their child, as they will be "pleasantly surprised at the monetary stability to be found there" read the note appearing just after the table of conversions.

At this point, probably under the effect of the Credulous Charm, I decided to present the package to my Aunt and Uncle. With the guides and packets and letters stuffed under my arm, I triumphantly entered the kitchen where Uncle Vernon was sitting chortling at some story in the daily paper, and plopped the whole mess down.

"Guess what, I've been accepted to a school called Hogwarts, " I practically shouted the information out. The looks I received were completely unexpected. My Aunt Petunia, far from looking confused, was utterly terrified, and perhaps a little disgusted. My Uncle Vernon began to flush beet red, as if he was angry.

"Hogwarts! Not a chance, I won't have you loafing about at some nonsense pansy school, " he began to yell.

I was surprised they had even heard of it. But of course they had heard of it, explained my Aunt Petunia. She related how my mother had gotten the same kind of letter, and went off to that freak school and married my no-account father. Uncle Vernon, still angry, simply repeated what Petunia said with more volume and force. Emphasing "no-account."

"And then they went and got themselves murdered by another freak, and you left on our doorstep, when we had little dudders to care for already." She continued.

The word murdered caught my ears. Talking about my parents was generally discouraged, and I had never managed to get much of anything out of either of them on the subject, except that they had died in a car accident, and I had been with them, which is how I had the scar on my forehead. It was a strange scar, and I often looked at it, trying to imagine how I had gotten it. It was long and thin, and stretched from my hairline to just above my right eye. It was shaped like a lightning bolt, and sometimes it would hurt, very bad.

"You said they died in a car crash. Murdered? Who did it?" I screamed out, now I was flushed to the cheeks with anger.

What was said after that is all a blur, but it came down to the fact that I wasn't going to Hogwarts because they wouldn't pay. However, Uncle Vernon with a mischievous twist to his copious mustache told me that if I could pay for it, if I could get my stuff, and if I could arrange for everything, I could go.

I imagine he thought himself very clever, he hadn't said no, but he had meant it.

I returned to my cupboard to sulk a bit and try to figure out a way to go to Hogwarts with my own money. I took out the box hidden behind a loose board in the wall that contained all my worldly wealth. I counted it. £97.43. I counted it again. And again. I must have counted it a hundred times, hoping each time that it would be more.

I tried to do the figures in my head, I read and reread the guide which indicated that the costs could be upwards of £200. Then I recalled the aid program; perhaps that could help me. I took out a piece of paper and began writing a letter:

Dear Headmistress McGonagall,

Thank you for accepting me to your school, but I have some bad news. My Aunt and Uncle have refused to pay for any special schooling, and have decided they will not help me to attend Hogwarts, so I don't really know how I could go, except I heard about the aid program, and I was wondering if I could qualify. I have £97.43 and maybe the aid program can help me make up the difference, but there is also the cost of travel to and from the school, so I just don't think it's possible, and maybe you should put me down for next year, and I can try to save more.

I am sorry if you are too busy to help with my case, and I won't feel bad if you don't have time to reply.

Sincerely
H. Potter

I walked out the front door and saw a brown owl resting on the fence. I took the letter over to it which the owl seized in its claws and flew off straight away. I shuffled back into the house and stood in front of my door. I already felt bad about the letter. I was always living on peoples' charity. My Aunt and Uncle had often said as much. I tried not to. I didn't want handouts, but I was only 11, and I couldn't even get a proper job. I decided I couldn't face the Dursleys, and since it was a Sunday, I chose to go for a walk to the local park and try to be alone.

Afternoon was coming on slowly and the sun was high in the sky, partially obscured by the clouds. A cool breeze was blowing. The old park, which used to be filled with small children had fallen into disuse and disrepair. Children at that time had lost the desire or will to play outdoors, preferring the television as a form of entertainment. I however preferred being out in the world, away from the Dursleys, and honestly away from almost everyone.

I sat swinging in my favorite swing, the furthest to the left. It made a sickly squeeking sound as I rocked back and forth. The repetition soothed my mind and helped me to think. That habit, which I have kept till this day gave my Aunt Petunia a bit of an issue when she became convinced by a doctor that I was semi-autistic. The Dursleys didn't hold with anything out of the ordinary, and the doctor's prognosis seemed to confirm to them that there was something intrinsically wrong with me. My Aunt Marge, the sister of Uncle Vernon, had latched onto this idea, and whenever she visited brought it up. Aunt Marge was always drawing not-so-subtle comparisons between children and dogs, as she was a dog breeder of Rottweilers.

I don't know how much time had passed when suddenly out of nowhere an owl appeared, swooping towards me so fast I didn't have time to duck. Luckily it only dropped a small note on my lap and flapped away just as quickly as it had appeared.

I tore the envelope to shreds trying to get at the note within it, I wondered if it could be a response from McGonagall. Maybe they had accepted me to the aid program and I could go to Hogwarts after all.

Dear Mr. Potter

Thank you for your owl updating us about your situation. A representative has been dispatched to accompany you to Diagon Alley and to aid you in acquiring your supplies. An explanatory note has been sent to your Aunt and Uncle.

Please remain in the swing.

Minerva McGonagall

I looked around, and wondered how she knew where I was, or that I was in a swing. Of course I didn't know about Scrying at the time which would have allowed her to view me with ease.

I swung slowly as I re-read the note again. A representative has been dispatched. What did that mean? The school would have to be very close if they were to get here on time. No sooner than I had thought this than I noticed a large beefy man walking towards me. His swinging gait made him appear to bounce up and down, getting taller and taller as he approached. He was gigantic, tall and barrel chested in a long black coat and a broad black beard with greyed streaks in it.