Chapter 1 - The Letter

Harry awoke with a start as he heard a loud banging on his door.

"Wake up. Breakfast is waiting."

The door banged a few more times befoe Harry grumbled loudly at the door and started to roll out of bed. Outside the door, he heard someone walking away. He sat at the edge of the bed for a moment, before grabbing his robe from a nearby chair and shambling to the door.

As Harry walked out into the living room, he barely seemed to notice the apartment at all. Why should he? It looked the same as it did every morning. It was still the same small, well furnished apartment with all the fancy modern decorations and appliances that he saw every day. Granted, the large television in the corner of the room was fairly new, but in his bleary eyed daze, Harry didn't really care.

Instead, he made his way to the kitchen counter, jutting out from the wall and dividing the kitchen from the living room. Climbing onto one of the high stools surrounding the counter, he stared blankly into the kitchen. With a yawn and a lifted eyebrow, he watched his Aunt Petunia flitting about the room at a frenzied pace. She was only half dressed, her shirt only half buttoned and her blazer still hanging on the hook beside the door. Fortunately, she also wasn't wearing any shoes, or she'd probably have tripped and fallen by now, with all her rapid spinning and twisting. Finally, with a small flourish and a satisfied smile, she dropped a plate in front of Harry. It was piled high with eggs, bacon and toast, more then his still sleepy stomach felt ready to deal with. With a smile, Petunia leaned over the counter, so she was about eye level with Harry and looked him directly in the eye.

"Still sleepy?" Petunia smiled warmly and gently ruffled Harry's dark and disheveled hair. "Wake up, kiddo. I want to see you eat at least half of that before I leave." She gestured down at the plate and then back at Harry. He was now smiling tiredly and grabbed his fork, shoveling some of the eggs into his mouth.

"So, have you put any thought into what you want to do for your birthday next week?" She asked him gently, as she watched him eat.

"Hm? Not really," Harry replied. "I was thinking maybe the zoo or something. Ron says he hasn't been to the zoo before. I don't know how he couldn't have, but I thought it sounded fun."

"The zoo could work, if that's what you want, sweetie." Petunia nodded, and reached to grab a notepad from her purse by the door. She idly jotted a note down for herself, and turned back to Harry. "Were you just inviting Ron again this year? Or did you want to bring some of your friends from school?" Harry thought for a long moment before responding. "Maybe just one or two from school, I don't really have a lot of friends there." He smiled weakly, like he was trying to dismiss the fact, which only caused to Petunia to smile sadly.

"Don't worry, Harry. It's not you. They're just nervous about hanging around a celebrity." She smiled and ruffled his hair again, maintaining eye contact until he smiled weakly back at her. She jotted down another note on the pad before glancing at the small golden watch around her wrist, which caused her eyes to widen.

"Oh! I'm going to be late. Sorry, sweetie, but I have to go." She glanced down at Harry's plate. "Promise me that you will finish eating that?" She looked at him expectantly as she finished buttoning up her shirt and tucking it in.

"Fine, I promise." Harry smiled up at her. "When do you think you'll be home today?" He looked almost desperately expectant.

"Well, I have a big case today. One about a man, a muggle, out in the country arguing with some wizard about the right for us normals to own a bonded phoenix." She smiled again and slid her blazer over her shoulders as she leaned over and gave Harry a kiss on the forehead, right next to his lightning shaped scar. "Shouldn't be too late, since the trial begins this morning." She stood up and started for the door. "Remember, that Mrs. Figg is just down the hall if you need anything, and you have my phone number if anything drastic comes up. Be safe and don't get into trouble." She gave Harry one last affectionate smile before the door closed with a click.

About an hour passed before Harry was finally awake enough to get up from the counter, and he wandered back into the bedroom. He stared longingly at his bed, debating whether it was worth going back to sleep, but he decided against it. Instead he walked over to his dresser and stared into the mirror there for a moment, lifting his bangs to reveal the scar on his forehead and he softly touched the spot where his Aunt had kissed him. With a nakedly somber expression, he glanced down at the framed portrait next to his mirror. It showed a young couple affectionately holding a young baby. The couple looked affectionately out from the portrait, happily smiling and waving up at Harry. He especially looked at the young woman, with her bright green eyes watching him with raw joy to see him there. He smiled softly, heartened by the image of his mother.

He pulled out a clean pair of trousers and a t-shirt, throwing them on casually. Though he felt better, he refused to look directly at the picture again before he walked back into the living room.

He glanced around the empty apartment, wondering what to do with the rest of this lazy summer day. He considered calling Ron, but then he remembered that the entire Weasley family would be on vacation in Egypt until the weekend. Harry wished he could go on more summer holidays, but with her job, his Aunt was simply too busy most of the time. She did always remember to take the day off for his birthday, no matter how big a case was scheduled for that day, something Harry always appreciated. He then considered calling a friend from school, but most of them lived across town, and he wasn't very close to them anyways. Instead he walked over to the bookshelf in the living room and grabbed the biggest and most worn leather bound book he could find.

Most of his Aunt's books were boring legal books, in which Harry had no interest. One shelf, though, was dedicated to the old books on magic that she had collected through her life. Petunia had no magic of her own, but she had studied Potion-work when she was younger. Not to mention she had inherited most of Harry's mother's books, at least those that had survived the attack that had claimed the lives of both of his parents. Harry barely remembered anything about his parents, other then stories, but he knew that they had been attacked by Lord Voldemort on the night he was finally stopped. The history books remember the Dark Lord as the man who nearly toppled the British government, and Harry as the boy who had defeated the monster, but Harry barely cared. The whole thing only meant that his peers were nervous about the celebrity in their midst.

Today, though, Harry was going to read through his favorite book. Petunia had owned this book for decades, having recieved it from Lily, Harry's mother and Petunia's sister, shortly after she had graduated from Hogwarts, the greatest wizarding school in all of England. Petunia, having no magic, could not study there, but her sister lovingly taught her everything that required no direct magic and Petunia had excelled in Potions. Thus, when Lily was done with school, she had given Petunia her Advanced Potions books, which still bore many notes and additions from Lily herself. Harry had read through this book in particular more times then he could remember, and he sat down with it in his lap once again. He idly turned on the television, just so the noise would make the apartment seem less empty.

The television droned endlessly in the background for hours, as Harry pored over the book. He glanced up once or twice at the television in thought, barely noticing it was on, instead using as something to look at while he thought about something he had just read. At one point, he found himself sadly thinking that he would never go to Hogwarts himself. He knew it was about this time that the school started sending out letters and he hadn't gotten one yet. He had even begun to doubt that he could do magic, that he had ended up a muggle like his Aunt. It was something he knew would be okay, his Aunt was successful and happy enough, but he always wanted to follow in his parents' footsteps. He was staring somberly at the television when the images themselves started to sink in. A talkshow was about to start, and the grinning visage of Gilderoy Lockhart grinned out from the screen, the announcer gushed about the wizard's newest book and how he would be spending the next hour talking on the program. Harry quickly grabbed the remote and changed the channel in disgust. He flipped channels for a long moment, pausing temporarily on one of the sports networks when he saw them discussing the Quidditch season.

"Huh, the Cannons won last night's match. Ron must be thrilled." Harry grinned for a moment, before changing the channel again, leaving the television on a station discussing the qualifiers for the World Cup, which had just finished a few weeks ago. Harry watched it for a few minutes, before realizing they had nothing new to say, and he turned back to his book. There he sat for another hour, before his growling stomach interrupted his reading again.

With mild annoyance, Harry stood and walked into the kitchen. As he started pulling out pans and plates to make himself something to eat, he heard someone knocking at the door. Glancing at the food he was about to cook, then at the door, he goes and answers it. On the other side of the door is an older woman, who Harry recognized as Mrs. Figg from down the hall.

"Hello, Harry. Are you doing all right?" She asked.

"Yeah, I was just about to make myself something to eat." He shuffled his feet a bit, he always felt a little awkward around Mrs. Figg.

"Oh, do you need any help?"

"No, I'm fine. Just going to fry up a sandwich or something."

"Oh, okay then. I was just coming back from checking the mail and I thought I'd poke my head in and see how you are doing." She smiled awkwardly at him and held out a pile of letters. "And to bring you your mail. That way you don't have to bother yourself." "Um. Thanks, Mrs. Figg."

"No problem, dear. Are you sure you don't need any help?"

"I'm sure, thanks though." "Okay, I'll be right down the hall if you need anything." With that Mrs. Figg smiled and walked down the hallway to her apartment.

Harry shut the door and rolled his eyes. Mrs. Figg bothered him, but she was nice enough, but he was still kind of glad she had gone back to her apartment. This time, without insisting on talking about her cats. He tossed the pile of letters onto the counter and proceeded to fry himself a grilled cheese sandwich. Grabbing a bag of crisps to eat with it, he sat down at the counter and proceeded to eat. As he sat there, he idly shifted through the mail, looking for anything interesting. That's when he spotted it. His sandwich still hanging loosly from his lips, he snatched up a small parchmant envelope he gazed intently at the letter. In bright, emerald ink was printed the words:

Mr. H. Potter-Evans

63 Over Street

Apt #2A

Fulham, London, England

In his surprise, Harry's sandwich fell forgotten onto his plate, and he fumbled to get the letter open as quickly as possible. He took once glimpse at the content and his face split into an ecstatic grin before rushing off to find his Aunt's phone number. He couldn't wait to share the news.