Hogwarts. That was the only thought. The cupboard was cramped as usual, with his small bed, a light bulb, a few broken toys and things. He heard his own heart beating harder than normal.

The morning, Dudley was jumping around the house with his new Smelting uniform. It was an awful thing by itself with maroon tailcoats, orange knickerbockers and flat straw hats called boaters but it became worse with Dudley in it. And Uncle Vernon looked very proud of him. And with Aunt Petunia showering kisses on his cheek, forehead and double chin, Harry wanted to throw up all his breakfast.

That was when they heard the mail slot click along with the flop of letters on the doormat. Uncle Vernon stopped admiring Dudley and scowled at him, saying, 'Get the letters, boy.' He stood, washed his hands and his plate quickly and went to the main door. Four letters in all. He quickly scanned the addresses: one from Uncle Vernon's office, one from his sister Fat Marge (only he calls her that anyway), one was addressed to Aunt Petunia, and another . . . for . . . himself. A letter for me?

Harry was about to take them to the dining hall when a thought came to him: What if Uncle Vernon doesn't let me see it? But if I open it here, Dudley can come snatch it away. So he slowly, on his tiptoes, walked to his cupboard, opened it and hid the letter under the bed. He knew what exactly the Dursleys do if they knew there was a letter addressed to him. No letter was addressed to him. His parents died long ago when he was only a baby, in a car crash. That's when he got the scar on his forehead. A lightning shaped scar. That was when the Dursleys took him in. The envelope had only one word written on it in beautiful cursive: Hogwarts. Later.

He then quickly ran to the dining room with all the three letters dropped at the door.

He handed them over to Uncle Vernon who said, 'Ah, Marge snt me a letter! And looks like Catherine sent one to you my dear,' giving it to her. They read their letters happily while Harry just sat there. Dudley looked at him and said, 'Why are you still here? Want another beating?' waving his clenched fist in the air.

'No but thanks for asking,' Harry said as he slowly stood. He then turned around, exiting the door and running to his cupboard. That fat pig! He hated the beating and everything about Dudley in general. But he hated the beating more.

He locked himself up. Then he read the letter. All of it, over and over until it fixed itself as clear as a photograph in his mind. Hogwarts. That was the only thought. The paper was odd. He didn't see that anywhere. The ink was black and the strokes sharp. Normal pens don't write like this. Must be something . . . magical. He read the letter yet again.

HOGWARTS SCHOOL of WITCHCRAFT and WIZARDRY

Headmaster: ALBUS DUMBLEDORE

(Order of Merlin, First Class, Grand Sorc., Chf. Warlock, Supreme Mugwump, International Confed. of Wizards)

Dear Mr. 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.

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

Yours sincerely,

Minerva McGonagall,

Deputy Headmistress

And indeed there was a list of books with odd sounding names. Should I really think this is a prank? They even got my address right. Only the Dursleys knew he lived under the cupboard being the ones to put him there in the first place. He glanced once again at his address on the letter:

Mr. H. Potter

The Cupboard under the Stairs

4 Privet Drive

Little Whinging

Surrey

A wizard. Him. utterly unbelievable but not at all impossible. He always knew there was something about himself, a feeling. So that was magic? He thought, the Reptile House Incident, the Haircut Incident, the Dropping Teacup Incident and a bunch of others where everything he felt was beyond his control. Ironically, he always felt he was the one to start it or more correctly his anger towards his uncle, aunt and cousin.

He sighed and hid the letter safely under the pillow and then just stayed awake staring at his cupboard's ceiling while many thoughts crossed his mind.

Rest of the day wasn't much. He had his lunch and dinner and been in the cupboard the whole Sunday. Who wears a uniform at home, on Sunday? Only an idiot like Dudley. And what about his mom and dad proud at him?

.

He didn't know when he fell asleep but the dreams came quickly. He was being beaten up by Dudley. He ran from the hall, body aching. But Dudley ran with him. That made it clear that it was just a dream. Dudley never runs. Usually his thin friends he boss over do. At school, they'd run after him and catch him while Dudley walked lazily upto him and punches him in the stomach. Harry swiftly opened the main door and ran out shutting it in Dudley's face. He heard him scream in pain. Harry couldn't help but laugh. At least in a dream, he was able to beat Dudley!

Then he turned around not to see the road but a rocky land. The land was uneven with many rocks. The rocks and the land itself was black, not like normal black stones but like the whole place was burnt badly. It must have been very long before this place was burnt down because Harry felt cold seeping into his clothes. He shivered. He couldn't see much of the landscape because of the white mist that hung in the air. Then he slowly pit a foot forward. Nothing happened. He felt like walking and walking he did. Far into the mist he walked, shivering still. He walked until he saw something. Something dark and huge. There was sound too. Water. A big river maybe. Not that he knew much about rivers. The only time he saw a roaring river was when the Dursleys went to camping and were forced to bring him with them. It was a peaceful sound, keeping Dudley's shouting aside.

He neared the river. It wasn't water. It looked like milk. He suddenly wanted to taste it. Sweet milk. Cold sweet milk. Nothing else mattered. He walked on to the rocky bank and squatted. Then he looked at the milk. It flowed softly. It was almost like a tune. Like the river flowed to a musical tune. He was about to dip his hands into it when he heard a voice say, 'I would suggest not doing that.' He whirled around to see a small figure near the dark and huge thing. He slowly walked to him. The man was tall but thin and wore a long black tailcoat with buttons that shone like gold. He had messy black hair, dark eyes, a slightly uptupturned nose and a smile. Harry stood and said, 'Who are you?'

He let out a small chuckle. 'Don't worry, Harry, I won't hurt you.' He came up to him and that's when Harry noticed his polished white formal shoes. Uncle Vernon wouldn't agree with that outfit. He'd sneer and comment about it, at least in private. After all, he hates everything that doesn't fit in with his vision of a good person.

'But who are you?' Harry asked again.

'A friend, actually,' he said, smiling as he wrapped his arm around Harry's shoulders. 'Now let's walk. We can talk along the way and you can ask me anything you want.' The man's smile didn't waver a bit as he led him towards the huge dark thing.

'What should I call you at least?' he asked. Harry didn't trust this stranger a bit but he walked along still.

The man chuckled. 'Call me anything you want.'

'Fine,' Harry retorted. 'Tell me, Mr Gentleman, where are you taking me?' He didn't know why, but he decided to call the man that.

He burst out laughing. 'Of all the names I have been called, this is the most decent!'

'Then what did the others call you?'

The man stopped laughing. He merely narrowed his face and smiled again, 'Again, I like this name. Don't want to ruin it by telling those.'

'Fine. At least tell me where are you dragging me to?'

'Dragging? Seriously, Harry?' he sounded genuinely surprised. 'You are walking by yourself. And, that's a cave.'

It was as if on cue: The moment Mr Gentleman said cave, the mist lifted off the air and Harry could see everything clearly. It was still dark but the only light was the milky river's glow. And in its glow, he saw a huge cave and he could see nothing beyond the cave except darkness. The river's glow wasn't enough beyond the cave, I don't know.

'Yes. You don't know anything,' Mr Gentleman said. What? He can . . . no . . . he can't possibly . . .

'Of course I can read your thoughts just fine!' he laughed. 'You are in my home after all and I'd like to know what you think about it!' as he took him inside the cave.

The cave was dimly lit with the river's glow. Harry turned to him and asked, 'What river is this? Why didn't you let me take a sip? What's this place? Who the hell are you?'

'Ooh. A lot of questions. Trust me you'll find the answets before that fat pig wakes you up,' he chirped away,' he said.

Oh. I am still in a dream. Why did I forget that?

'Funny you talk about forgetting something in my home. Anyway, yes. You are still in a dream. You have always wondered why dreams are vivid and you remember them correctly mostly?' he said. Harry had nothing to say. He seemed to know everything about Harry.

'Not all things. Most of the things.' Harry started to hate him. But Mr Gentleman said, 'Hate me all you want but let me tell you: You are a wizard. Yes, magic do exist and I know you know that too. Since you are a wizard, you can see dreams vividly and remember them correctly,' he paused and finished, 'mostly.'

The cave and the man started spinning around him. All his past dreams came to him: about that green light and a scream, about that officer and prisoner and many dreams. 'The river is a boon to start a new life. Or a curse if you forget everyone and everything you loved. That is why I stopped you from touching it.'

The images blurred and Harry's head felt like bursting. 'The cave is, as I said, my home. And I, as you called me, am Mr Gentleman! And this won't be the last time we see each other, sorcerer!'

.

Harry's head thumped hard and he woke up in cold sweat. This was the worst dream I ever had!