A/N: Because y'all keep asking: I'm aware there was a letter left with Harry. In cannon he was left wrapped only in blankets on that porch. I've kindly given him a basket, but unfortunately the letter was left in said basket when Parker transferred Harry to her backpack. I assure you that the Dursley's had a bit of a fright when they opened their door that morning to an empty basket and a somewhat confused letter.
Disclaimer: Not mine, no profit
The alarm went off at a quarter to eight on the morning of July thirteenth. As soon as it started beeping, JP slammed it off, shot out of bed, and tore down the stairs. He was already dressed for the day, and had been lying in bed for the last half hour quivering with excitement. He rounded the corner and skidded across the linoleum floor on socked feet. Settling into his usual place at the table, he beamed at his gathered uncles and aunts.
"Good morning JP," said Uncle Nate, raising an eyebrow over his morning coffee. "You're in a bit of a hurry today."
"You usually aren't dressed until at least ten o'clock during the summer," Aunt Sophie observed, sounding surprised to see him up. "I don't think it's even eight yet."
Uncle Hardison had his head pillowed on his arms, and looked as though he hadn't even gone to bed yet. He mumbled something into his elbow, but JP couldn't tell what he was saying.
"Obviously he smelled my excellent cooking," Uncle Eliot said from where he was skillfully tending a variety of pans and griddles.
"It does smell good," Aunt Sophie admitted.
JP regarded his family with disbelief. Then he narrowed his eyes. Of course they hadn't forgotten his birthday; they were just pretending. It must be the first part of their annual Birthday Con. The tradition had started when he turned five and Uncle Nate decided he was old enough to start learning aspects of the family business. Auntie Parker had celebrated by locking his presents in a safe and refusing to tell the rest of his upset family the combination. Learning to crack that safe had been the very best present of all. Now his birthday was half game half test and always something to look forward to.
"What made you decide to cook for all of us this morning?" asked Uncle Nate. JP watched him through narrowed eyes, looking for signs of lying. His uncle was very good at this, however, and JP spotted no such tells.
"It's Harlin's birthday, Nate!" protested Auntie Parker, sounding shocked and annoyed that Uncle Nate had forgotten. JP jumped slightly, not having heard his aunt enter the room.
"Good morning Auntie Parker!" He gave her his best smile. His various types of smiles, carefully learned from Aunt Sophie, were usually wasted on Auntie Parker, so he usually just gave his favorite aunt the best he could muster. "I already figured out that Uncle Nate and Aunt Sophie were pulling my leg, but thank you."
He heard Uncle Eliot snort and a muffled laugh that was probably Uncle Hardison. Reminded, he turned back around in his seat.
"What's wrong with Uncle Hardison?"
"You are seeing the consequences of procrastination," said Aunt Sophie. It had been one of her favorite lessons to illustrate since his last report card had come home with a gentle reminder that timeliness was important in school. He rolled his eyes, wishing she would just let it go.
"During a job," Uncle Nate started, which was a sure sign he was about to initiate a guilt trip disguised as a lesson, "your team is depending on you to have the work done well, on time, and for you to be in the right spot, ready to go."
"Yes Uncle Nate," said JP at the same time as Uncle Hardison lifted his head and said, "Bite me."
They shared a grin and a high five under the table as Nate shook his head, but thankfully dropped the subject. Uncle Eliot began thumping platters of food on the table, and everyone busied themselves serving and eating. As always, the food was delicious. JP made sure to thank his uncle for the extra effort to produce all his favorite breakfast foods.
Suddenly there was a tapping at the window. JP's mouth dropped open when he saw the haggard barn owl sitting in their window box. It leaned forward and tapped on the window again. JP got the feeling that the owl had flown a very long way and was desperate to come inside and rest. He was about to jump up and open the window, but Uncle Hardison's hand around his arm kept him in his seat. Instead he watched as Uncle Eliot walked over and cautiously opened the window. The owl immediately fluttered into the room and made a beeline for the table in front of JP. He laughed in delight when he saw the letter tied to its foot. It was certainly a most creative opening for a Birthday Con.
Ignoring the surprised expressions and exclamations of his family – obviously feigned, since they must all be in on the Con - JP untied the letter and offered the owl a piece of bacon. As the owl ate the treat, JP inspected the heavier than expected envelope.
"What is it, JP?" inquired Uncle Nate, sounding a bit strained. JP sent him a look that said he wasn't buying the innocent act this time, but had decided to humor them all anyways.
"It's a letter," he announced. "Addressed to a Mr. H. Potter. That's odd. Is this con going to include fake identities? I guess Harlin Potter isn't too bad."
"We didn't send that," said Uncle Eliot, still standing between the window and the table. At some point he'd grabbed a frying pan from the drying rack, as though he expected the owl to attack or something.
JP laughed. "Of course you guys sent it," he said. "Who else would capture an owl and train it to fly straight to me with a letter on its leg?"
"No," said Aunt Sophie carefully; she had pushed her chair back, but was still sitting, gripping the table. "No, we didn't do that."
JP looked around the table. Each of his aunts and uncles were shaking their heads, denying any knowledge of the bird and the letter. He frowned. They seemed honestly shaken up by the incident; even Auntie Parker was staring at the owl with a slightly horrified expression.
"Huh," he said, stumped. "Weird." He looked back at the envelope. It was slightly battered, though it still seemed clean and the writing wasn't smudged at all. "Mr. H. Potter," he read again, "The U.S., North America. Well, that's not a very precise address at all," he complained.
"I wonder if the owl delivered it to the wrong person," said Uncle Hardison. He sounded rather appalled at the words coming out of his mouth. "And who the hell sends mail by owl? I mean, come on people. The internet has been around for ages."
"Maybe whoever sent the letter is infected by gremlins, like me," suggested JP, citing the running joke about why electronics were statistically proven to be more inclined to malfunction around him.
"Even you send email," grumbled Uncle Hardison, dismissing JP's flimsy reasoning.
"Why are they calling you H. Potter?" asked Auntie Parker around a mouthful of eggs.
"Maybe the P in my name stands for Potter?" JP looked hopefully at Uncle Hardison. Uncle Hardison just shrugged.
"It could be," mused Aunt Sophie. "That would imply this raptor trainer either knew your father or had access to records Hardison doesn't."
"Who could have records that Uncle Hardison can't access?" JP asked, eyes wide. Aunt Sophie looked equally unsure of this possibility.
"But why H. Potter?" asked Uncle Eliot with a frown. "We gave you the H."
"Well," mused Uncle Nate, leaning back and staring at JP as if he'd just become a fascinating puzzle, "maybe it's coincidence. There are only 26 letters in the alphabet, after all. It's not that impossible that his birth name starts with the same letter as Harlin."
"Ah!" said Aunt Sophie, sitting up suddenly. "Remember when we were trying to name him? When Hardison suggested we name him after your portrait, Nate, JP seemed to respond really well. Better than the other suggestions, at least," she said with a dirty look at Auntie Parker. JP loved that particular baby story.
"Maybe his birth name started with the same sound," Uncle Nate agreed, nodding. "That makes sense."
"And here I always thought I was just real good at naming," said Uncle Hardison with a wink for JP's benefit. JP grinned back.
The story as Uncle Hardison told it was that Auntie Parker had stolen him from a doorstep in London. (JP had promptly began copying Aunt Sophie's accent at this announcement, and refused to switch back until she declared him proficient. It was still his favorite accent of all the ones she'd taught him.) No one could agree why Auntie Parker had done this, though the consensus was "she's Parker." Whatever the reason – and her answer changed every time he asked, so he was pretty sure she didn't know either – he'd been brought back to their temporary HQ where he had apparently proceeded to be indispensably adorable.
At first they'd started calling him JP because they knew those were his father's initials, but they didn't have enough information to figure out what the letters stood for. Uncle Hardison always sounded very annoyed at this point in the story. When they'd finished the job and were ready to head back home to the States, they needed papers and a cover story for the newly acquired toddler. Uncle Hardison, being the one in charge of such things, obviously felt that the decision ultimately lay with him and therefore he had stood back to watch the others argue.
When Aunt Sophie told the story, she implied that Auntie Parker wasn't very good at choosing children's names. Uncle Hardison came right out and listed some of his favorites that she'd suggested: Spike, Rover, Vault, Toad (for his eyes, apparently), Jessica, and Archibald. There were a few dozen others, and of course the rest of them had their own suggestions. They'd even made a game of trying different names around him to see if he'd respond to any. Finally Uncle Hardison decided that enough was enough; he declared that JP's name was to be Harlin J. P. Leverage IV, grandson and heir to the fake founder of Leverage Corporation.
In her version, Aunt Sophie insisted that they all immediately loved the idea, especially since JP had turned his head the first time someone called him Harlin; he'd only ever done that for the name JP, and he only responded to JP after a few days of using it. Uncle Hardison claimed that everyone else – especially Uncle Nate – had hated his idea. There had even been a contest in which JP stood in the middle of the room and his aunts and uncles knelt in a circle around him calling for him by their preferred name. (Aunt Sophie denied participating, but Uncle Eliot showed him a video and she'd been calling for "Fitzwilliam.") After hearing the names he might've been stuck with, JP was very glad he'd chosen to toddle to Uncle Hardison. (Who admitted to having rigged the test by showing baby JP that his favorite type of cookies were hidden in his uncle's shirt pocket.) After that, his official identity had been created and he'd been Harlin J. P. Leverage the Fourth ever since.
JP shook himself from his memories as his aunts and uncles continued to discuss the possible source of the envelope. Curiosity reared its familiar head, and JP pulled out his pocketknife and carefully slit the seal. Inside was a folded piece of heavy cream paper. He pulled it out and stared, incredulous.
"Wow," he said, skimming the letter again, "you guys really had me going. Ha ha. Very funny. I'm not dumb enough to fall for this, you know. I'm eleven now."
The adults stopped their conversation and turned back to JP. They looked as surprised by his reaction as he was by their attempt to prank him.
"What does it say?" Uncle Nate prompted. JP narrowed his eyes, but after a moment of stiffness, decided to humor them.
"Dear Mr. Potter," he read in as extravagant a voice as he could muster, channeling Aunt Sophie's principles of stage acting into his dramatic interpretation of the text. "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 first. We await your owl by no later than July thirty-first. Yours sincerely, Minerva McGonagall, Deputy Headmistress." In a more normal tone, he added, "Would you like me to read the supply list, too?"
JP looked up to gauge the reactions of the adults. He expected veiled amusement at their little joke, for getting him to believe in the owl in the first place. He did not expect varying degrees of blankness, surprise, and confusion.
"What the," muttered Uncle Eliot, shaking his head, "give me that." He snatched the letter from JP's unresisting hands and scanned it several times. He wordlessly handed it across JP to Uncle Hardison, who gave it the same treatment, then passed it to Uncle Nate, who tilted it so Aunt Sophie and Auntie Parker could read with him.
Finally Uncle Nate shook his head. "This wasn't us, JP. It's an awful coincidence that it came on your birthday, but I promise we wouldn't pull something like this."
That matched JP's experience, so he relaxed a bit. His uncles and aunts sometimes played jokes, but they were usually aimed at teaching JP an important lesson or skill. He nodded agreement and poked at his lukewarm breakfast with his fork.
"What should we do?" asked Aunt Sophie, who was reading the letter again. "Should we… send the owl back?" The owl immediately hunkered down on the table where it had surreptitiously finished off a plate of sausage. JP stared, wondering how the animal had known they were talking about it.
"Why not?" asked Auntie Parker with a careless shrug. "Wizard school sounds fun! Can I go too?"
"No!" said everyone.
"But I think we should try sending a letter back," Uncle Nate continued. "At the very least it would help us figure out what's going on."
They finished breakfast quickly after Uncle Nate parceled out the tasks. Uncle Hardison was supposed to see what he could dig up on this Hogwarts place. Uncle Eliot would make a few phone calls. The Aunts were to make sure everything was ready for the planned festivities, since it was still JP's eleventh birthday after all. Uncle Nate took JP upstairs to write an appropriate response together.
In the end, all Uncle Hardison could find was an ugly, underutilized website that claimed Hogwarts was a private boarding school in Scotland for "the uniquely gifted." He'd grumbled about the lack of quality, wondering why someone would bother to create a website in the late 90s and then never bother to service or update it. He'd decided it must be a real website, if only because a hacker or a con man would have done a much better job. Whether or not it was actually a school of magic, however, remained to be seen. JP wondered at the fact that they were all entertaining the possibility.
Uncle Eliot came back with an odd report: he said that some of his contacts had been really nervous about his questions, and even some of his more friendly acquaintances had gotten downright hostile when questioned about magic. Eventually someone he'd worked with in Bulgaria had admitted that he knew of men who performed magic with sticks, but the informant had been quick to say how incredibly dangerous these men were. Apparently they were terrorists who were responsible for killing hundreds of innocent people throughout Europe about a decade ago.
Unfortunately, JP had already sent his letter.
Minerva McGonagall was in her office, sorting the first year response letters. She'd heard back from nearly everyone, and only a few families had declined the invitation to attend. Most purebloods and halfbloods anticipated their letter, and therefore responded immediately. Most Muggleborn students were given letters in person, to ease their inevitable assumptions of hoaxes and tricks. Over the years she'd found that the extra effort secured far more Muggleborn students.
She glanced at the student list and grimaced. There was only one reply she had yet to receive: Harry Potter's. She had sent it off with the others despite knowing that Harry Potter had never been found by his aunt and uncle and that no one had been able to determine his whereabouts since. She had peeked at the self-addressing envelopes, but his was rather vague - a phenomenon caused by moving frequently as a child.
As she thought about his location now, however, it made sense that she had yet to hear back. Owl post from Europe to the USA was made possible by a trans-Atlantic postal Floo that operated once per day between London and New York. Depending on where in the USA he lived, the owl might have a very long flight there and back. Minerva glanced at the clock and sighed. It was time to head home for the evening. Hopefully Mr. Potter's owl would arrive before the deadline – though she had a feeling Albus would be willing to stretch the rules, just this once, if necessary.
Two days passed. On the third day, as Minerva sat engrossed in her curriculum planning for the coming year, a rather droopy and exhausted owl glided into her office and stumbled to a landing on her desk. She rescued the attached letter from the spilled inkpot and vanished the mess. After a quick study of the owl's condition, she called for a house elf to carry it up to the owlry. The bird looked relieved.
Minerva turned to the letter, her heart speeding up. The envelope was carefully addressed in the Muggle style, with the addressee in the center and the return address in the upper left corner. "Deputy Headmistress McGonagall, Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, Scotland," read the address. "H.J.P. Leverage IV, Leverage & Associates, Portland OR 97203," read the return address. Minerva swallowed. It must be him; H.J.P., living in the States. She opened the envelope with trembling hands.
"Dear Deputy Headmistress," the letter began. The writing was strangely uniform and crisp, with very particular serifs. It was much neater than any printing she had ever seen outside of a book, and she wondered how it had been achieved; did the family own their own printing press?
"I recently received a letter through a most unusual method of post. I can only hope that this same method is successful in reaching you." Ah, she thought, Muggle-raised. That eased one old fear, at least, that Harry had been taken by Dark Wizards. "Your letter indicated that I have been accepted to a school I have never heard of and certainly never applied to. While I am very flattered by your rather unsubtle recruitment attempt, I cannot make a decision without more information about your institution." Minerva blinked. What an unusual response. So far it sounded like he was unfamiliar with Wizarding culture, yet he wasn't making the normal Muggleborn accusations and assumptions. In fact, he appeared to believe that Hogwarts was an educational facility worth investigating.
"In addition," the letter continued, "I am curious about the way you addressed me in your letter. In truth, my guardians and I weren't sure the letter was intended for me at all, except the owl was so insistent. I appreciate any light you can shed on this matter." Minerva paused and re-read those sentences several more times. Then she shook her head. If the owl had been insistent, then the writer must be Harry Potter, whether he knew it or not. "My guardians have given me permission to travel to Scotland and learn more about your institution and whether it will be a good fit for me. Please feel free to email me at hjp" bizarre circled 'a' symbol, "leverage. com, or call my primary caregiver, Ms. Devereaux, at 503-555-5683 so that we can set up a meeting. Sincerely," there was an inch of space filled with an illegible blue scribble, underneath which was a printed, "H. J. P. Leverage IV."
Minerva re-read the letter several times, each time making new connections and inferences, and each time feeling more puzzled about the boy who had written the letter.