Chapter One

"Harry, darling! Happy Birthday!", Lily called through the door. "Wake up, sweetheart! Breakfast is ready and Mathilda's been asking for you!"

Right on cue, the patter of little feet could be heard on the landing outside Harry's bedroom. The high-pitched voice of his three-year-old sister squawked, "Happy bird-day, Hawry! Happy bird-day, Hawry!"

Harry Potter groaned and turned over. He wasn't ready to wake up - there was too much uncertainty lying in the day ahead. Like most young wizards growing up in Britain, Harry had been looking forward to his eleventh birthday for as long as he could remember. It was on this day that he would finally find out whether or not he had been accepted into Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. On this day, he would finally get confirmation that he belonged here in the magical world.

Of course, he had already demonstrated signs of magic. He had once caused enormous, chocolate-scented, purple mushrooms to balloon up all over Lily's garden. He had been particularly grumpy at the time, having been told that he must finish his mashed peas before pudding would be served. Much to Lily's chagrin, the mushrooms had refused to budge and, in the end, the garden had to be ploughed over, totally demolishing her geraniums.

Another time, when Mathilda was particularly colicky, Harry had miraculously managed to calm her down when he accidentally filled her nursery with pink bubbles that bounced from floor to ceiling and refused to pop. Mathilda had quieted immediately, staring in wonderment, her hazel eyes wide and her little pink mouth frozen in a tiny "Oh" of shock. Later, when James tried to imitate the effect with his wand, he was unable, and from then on Harry become the one who was called upon whenever Mathilda was seemingly was also that unfortunate incident with the cat and the exploding water dish, after which no one had had even a glimpse of the orange, bottle-brush tail for weeks.

All this to say, Harry certainly possessed the magical gift. There was no reason to doubt it, and Lily and James had never even considered the possibility that their son might be a Squib. And yet, as children are wont to do, Harry worried obsessively over the idea that he would never receive his letter, and that he would never see the magical castle that his parents had told him so much about.

Coming from a family so well-liked and respected in magical Britain came with its burdens. Harry heard from people everywhere he went how brilliant and brave both his parents where. His father, the revered and heroic auror. His mother, the kind and intelligent healer. Both of them loved for their tireless work against He Who Must Not Be Named. Coming from this background, nothing frightened Harry more than being a disappointment, an outcast. And so, on the morning of his eleventh birthday, a day most children of his kind approached with joy and anticipation, Harry James Potter woke with a looming sense of trepidation and dread.

Finally, Lily's voice broke through gnawing, worried thoughts, "Harry! Come downstairs, dear! The bacon is getting cold!"

With a resigned groan, Harry rolled out of bed and into his slippers, dragging on his bathrobe as he went.

"I'm not hungry, anyway," he grumbled to himself. Since lunch yesterday, Harry's stomach had been tied up in knots. Rubbing the sleep from his eyes, he shuffled down the stairs and into the most important day of his life so far.

As always happened on special occasions, Lily and James Potter had outdone themselves in the kitchen. James was busily frying thick slices of bacon alongside enormous omelets of cheese and ham. Lily stood next to him, orchestrating the procession of buttery scones in and out of the oven with one hand whilst regulating the chopping of strawberries with the other. Mathilda had been plopped down in her booster seat at the table, drawing a picture of something that looked quite a bit like a scarecrow with unruly black hair and a pair of round spectacles.

When Harry walked into the room, Mathilda was the first to notice his entrance. She kicked her short, chubby legs against the table leg and started giggling. Harry bounded over to her and gave her a kiss on the cheek, and then turned to be engulfed in a hug by both his mum and dad.

"Sleep well, Harry darling?" Lily inquired.

"I'll bet he was too excited to sleep!" chortled James. "I know I was at his age! It's not every day a young man turns eleven, now is it?"

Harry laughed along with his parents, but could not quite bring himself to meet his father's eye. Instead, he changed the subject, asking his mother, "What time are Uncle Sirius and Uncle Remus coming over?"

Harry had spent every birthday he could remember in the company of his father's two best friends, and was certain today would be no different.

"They'll pop over at around eleven, sweetheart. I thought I'd ask Bathilda over, too - does that sound alright to you? Augusta and Neville had to decline, unfortunately, because they're still in Wales visiting with Neville's other grandparents"

Harry nodded mutely, trying not to show his disappointment. He had been hoping to see Neville today, knowing that Neville would probably understand better than most how he was feeling about this important birthday. The Potters had received news two days ago of Neville's admittance to Hogwarts, but for the longest time no one had expected him to be accepted. Neville had always been a bit awkward and clumsy, and somehow never seemed to bounce back the way other magical children did from little coughs and scrapes. None of that mattered now, of course. Neville's place had been secured, while Harry's was still unsure.

Lily seemed to understand some of what Harry was thinking, because she quickly diverted the conversation into safer waters; "You haven't even glanced at your present yet, Harry dear!" she called out gaily.

"Go on, open it", James chimed in. "My dad gave me one just like it for my eleventh birthday!"

Harry stepped warily over to his accustomed seat at the round wooden dining table, where a small, rectangular package wrapped in pale yellow paper was sitting next to his glass of pumpkin juice. He seized it in his hands and ripped the paper off, and then stared dumbly down at what looked like a pair of plain, slightly careworn mirrors. Harry looked up at his dad quizzically, wondering what was so exciting about a pair of boring mirrors.

"It's a two way mirror," James supplied. "Uncle Sirius and I used the ones my dad gave me while we were at school. We used them to chat during holidays, and whenever we were, er, made to… spend time apart." He glanced shiftily at Lily, who was glaring at him. He supposed it wouldn't be a great time to tell Harry about the many fantastic detentions he and Sirius had shared.

"I thought you and Neville and any new friends you make might like a way to communicate once you get to school! Plus, I still have mine. So, anytime you're homesick, you can just say 'Mum!' or 'Dad!' into your mirror, and you can talk to us!

Harry was now grinning in spite of himself. It made him feel better to hear how certain his parents obviously were that he would soon be off to Hogwarts, and he couldn't wait to share his new magical artifacts with Neville. Receiving birthday gifts always made him feel a little giddy, anyway. He knew that the mirrors weren't the last surprise he should be expecting that day, and that prospect helped him to buck up considerably. How bad could a day be when his parents and uncles were all falling over themselves to give him marvelous gifts? With these thoughts in mind, Harry took a big gulp of pumpkin juice and settled into his chair. Perhaps, he thought, he was hungry after all.

The sun was setting behind the hills that surrounded Godric's Hollow when the lively dinner drew to a close. Bathilda has spun yarns enough to keep everyone fascinated all throughout the meal. Sirius had kept Mathilda giggling with a steady stream of "Swish and flick" jokes, and Remus had reassured Harry ten times over that his letter was sure to arrive "any minute now". James's excellent cooking had all been devoured; every last morsel of steak and potato, every salad leaf, tomato wedge and crust of bread. People were settling into a contented quiet, and the real business of the evening was ready to begin.

Lily was the first to stand. Green eyes glittering, she asked James coyly, "Darling, did you see anything unusual sitting in the kitchen earlier?"

"You know, Lily, I believe I did," James replied, hardly keeping the laugh out of his voice. "Shall we go investigate?" He stood as well, and began walking back into the house. Lily followed, trailing her fingers through Harry's messy hair on her way past his seat. Sirius caught Harry's eye, and winked. Bathilda chuckled knowingly, and Remus stared determinedly in the opposite direction.

"What's going on?" Harry demanded to know.

His only response was a wicked grin from Sirius and Mathilda's delighted teasing.

"Mummy and daddy said no tell! No tell! I no tell!" she called out.

Harry had only a few moments to wheedle his uncles and sister for answers before bedlam broke out. Lily's high, sweet voice had rung out only the first few bars of the "Happy Birthday" song, when she and the enormous, green-iced cake she was carrying were sent flying by a hurtling figure on a broomstick. James, zipping into the garden, had misjudged the placement the huge sycamore in the yard and was forced to dodge it at the last second, ricocheting off his wife and the gorgeous masterpiece of sugar and butter she held in her outstretched arms. To cap it all off, an enormous barn owl chose that moment to flit off the roof and land on Mathilda's high-chair, causing the little girl to break into terrified sobs. The proud owl dropped a stiff parchment envelope on the table and then stretched it's wings, flying off into the steadily darkening sky.

It was several minutes before Lily had gotten up and brushed herself off, attempting to salvage as much of the chocolate cake as she could in the process. James, apologizing profusely, went to work soothing his young daughter. In the chaos, Harry utterly failed to notice the long-awaited green-addressed letter sitting by his sister's place at the table. Finally, with some measure of order restored, Bathilda turned to Harry and asked quietly,

"What's that by the butterbeer, child?"

All eyes turned to look where she had indicated, and with a great gasp, Harry seized the parchment envelope and tore into it greedily. He read silently for a few seconds before shouting out in joy,

"Mum! Dad! Look! Look! I'm going to Hogwarts!" His face was alight with relief and excitement. "I'm actually going to Hogwarts!"

All the adults sitting at the table beamed, although none of them were the slightest bit surprised to hear the news. Mathilda reached out a plump fist, demanding to see the letter, and Harry happily complied, entirely overcome by the excellent news.

For a quarter of an hour, everyone took it in turns to hug Harry and congratulate him. Harry couldn't help himself from repeatedly reading the letter out loud - not only the offer of admission, but also the entire materials list and the contents of his Hogwart's Express ticket. After the third such recitation, James joked loudly, "If Deputy Headmistress McGonagall can make Harry this happy, perhaps we needn't bother giving him the rest of his birthday gifts?"

This quieted Harry down quickly enough. He was, after all, rather excited to see what else his parents had in store for him. He stared brightly from one adult to the next, hoping for some hint of what was coming.

Finally, James burst out, "Are you blind, lad? Didn't you see what I flew in here on, anyway?"

At this, Harry ran into the center of the yard to where the discarded broomstick lay. It was not, as he had suspected, his father's Cleansweep Seven. Rather, a gleaming new handle emblazoned in gold with the words Nimbus Two Thousand met his disbelieving eyes.

"Wicked!" He shouted, and he seized the broom with one hand while running back across the yard to bestow a huge hug on his laughing parents.

"Can I ride it now, mum? Can I? Can I please!" he begged.

"Best wait till it's light out, darling," Lily cautioned. "Then dad can join you on his broom. Oh, buck up, there, Harry!" she pealed, seeing his crestfallen face. "Moony and Padfoot still have some treats for you! And," she added in an undertone, "Bathilda and Mathilda are both looking rather tired. We must be getting them off to bed."

Harry nodded understandingly, and consented to wait until the morning. The next part of the evening was spent bundling Bathilda back to her cottage down the road, and then tucking a resistant Mathilda into bed. When Lily, James, Remus, Sirius, and Harry were the only ones left in the sitting room, the final gifts of the day were doled out. Remus and Sirius did indeed have a few more surprises up their sleeves, including a large box of Chocolate Frogs and…

"An owl!" Harry cried. "Oh, thank you! She's so beautiful!"

The large snowy female hooted softly, and nibbled Harry's fingers affectionately, clearly pleased at the praise.

"What will you call her?" Lily asked.

"Hmm… I'm not sure. I suppose I can take my time to decide, can't I?"

"Of course!" Remus reassured him. "Padfoot, of course, thinks you should name her after him. But," he glanced at his spouse affectionately, "you certainly don't have to!"

"Ha!" James laughed. "Sirius the female owl? Only you, Pads, would think of something like that."

"Harry can decide what he wants to name her" sniffed Sirius pointedly. The other three adults all guffawed at this.

"I think I'll just wait." Harry muttered diplomatically, and Lily grinned yet again at her patient son.

A few more hugs, and then it was time for Sirius and Remus to leave as well. They wished Harry a happy birthday one last time, promised to come back again soon, and then left the house. They apparated, holding hands, from the Potter's front gate.

"Alright, Harry dear," Lily murmured into her sleepy son's black hair. "Let's get you up to bed."

She half-walked, half-carried him up the stair and then helped him into his pajamas and under his blankets. James came in for a final kiss goodnight.

"We'll go for a nice, long fly tomorrow, son, alright?"

Harry nodded sleepily. He was already half asleep, his mind full of the promise of Hogwarts and his new broomstick.

It was definitely a good year to turn eleven.