"Harry, dear could you go open the window? I expect the post owl will be along any minute."

"Sure Mum." Harry Potter was your average eleven year old wizard. He had been born in an average hospital and raised here in his average home with his average parents his entire average life.

One might argue that the acts of bravery that Lily and James Potter once did to protect the world from He- Who-Must-Not-Be-Named made them as far from average as parents could be, but Harry had grown up hearing their stories. And the stories from nearly everyone else's parents sounded almost exactly the same. Just as dangerous, just as terrifying, and all with the same ending. The Dark Lord's reign of terror was ended by Neville Longbottom. The Boy-Who-Lived.

Sometimes he wished that he, Harry, were in Neville's shoes but not at what it had cost. Poor Neville had lost both his mother and father to He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, and he received a large lighting-shaped scar right across his forehead from the curse that failed to kill him. He now lived alone with his creepy old grandmother and her stuffed vulture hat.

Every so often they'd stop by for a cup of tea and a chat but it was usually only Neville's grandmother and Harry's parents that did the chatting. Neville and Harry usually ended up in the den playing games all night while the adults drank tea and shared stories that had been told so many times that they've worn out.

Harry sighed and opened the window as he was asked, returning to the table only to be struck in the back of the head by a dusty, and rather old owl who looked like he'd been on the last flight of his life. The impact knocked his glasses to the table and he put them back on, rubbing the back of his head. Lily gasped and lifted the creature from the floor, cradling it.

"Oh my! Errol, you mangy old feather duster. Honestly I don't know why they keep using you." She carried the thing over to the windowsill and perched him there, fetching a small bowl of water for him.

"Mum, he's got a letter." Harry couldn't help but notice the crinkle of parchment when the owl collided with his skull, and as he said, there was a note rolled up and attached to his brittle, ancient leg.

"Open it for me sweetheart, while I tend to Errol." She was busy trying to get the poor creature to keep breathing, and she untied the letter, passing it to her son. Harry pulled off the ribbon and unrolled the note. It read:

Dear Lily and James,

I'm sorry if this letter doesn't go through. I'm not sure how many deliveries Errol has got left in him. But if it does, could you please send a response back with Bren?
Anyway, Percy has been made a PREFECT! Can you believe it? Second in the family! We're so proud! And Ronald's just got his acceptance letter to Hogwarts! Isn't it wonderful? Has Harry received his yet? They sent them out alphabetically in reverse this time! I swear, Dumbledore is one of the cleverest headmasters the school's ever had. But in any case, Arthur is thrilled and we're throwing a small party Friday night in celebration. Would you like to come?

Owl us back as soon as you get this letter I know how many will be attending. It'll give Arthur and me a little time to prepare everything as far as...well you know.
Waiting to hear from you!
-Molly

"Ron's got his Hogwarts letter. And Mrs. Weasley's invited us to a party tonight. Can we go, Mum?" When she'd finished with the owl, Lily turned and walked over to him, taking the letter and reading it over once for herself.

"Ron's got his letter? And Percy, a prefect? Well good for them! We'll pick something up for both of them at Diagon Alley later. And as far as the party, goodness! Tonight?! How long has Errol been falling- I mean flying? Well, trying to fly. I suppose so, but you'd better ask your father, I don't know what his plans are yet." As she was speaking another, this time, much younger and healthier-looking owl swooped in the window. It too bore a letter, but this one was addressed to:

Mr. H. Potter
Twenty-Five Meadowlark Lane
South London