To summarize where I was mentally on the eve of my eleventh birthday: I'd become unrecognizable as the person I'd been just before the accident.
It was to be expected, I guess. I had no memory of what my life as 'boy' had been up until that point. Not beyond the strange habits and instinctive reactions to stimuli. It was basically impossible for me to maintain who I remembered being as a middle aged adult.
Other children approaching me now led to me immediately thinking of ways to make them leave me alone. Any attention paid to me was always assumed to be a bad thing. Adults, be they teachers or neighbours or strangers, were to be tolerated but not trusted. Nothing I said could counter their negative impressions of me, so I no longer tried.
I didn't like this new me, but it was necessary. If I wanted to survive until I was legally able to leave the abusive home, I needed to do whatever it took to survive. I'd long since pushed aside the strange similarities to the fictional book series I read a decade ago and dedicated myself to just living through each day.
Many months after my 'accident', on the day of my eleventh birthday, I was busy making breakfast as usual. Of course I only knew thanks to my 'cousin' bragging how I wouldn't be getting any presents. But otherwise the day was nothing special to me. And it didn't seem to be to my relatives either.
As soon as Uncle Vernon came in and sat at the table, it was my job to go get the morning paper and the mail, while Aunt Petunia served him his morning coffee. I had no reason to suspect that today would be any different.
However, when I opened the door and picked everything up something strange caught my eye. On top of the pile, in an envelope sealed in wax, was a letter to me. I walked back into the kitchen, debating if I should hide it from them. What if it was a caseworker finally contacting me about getting out of this house?
But I knew that couldn't be what it was. They would have sent their letter in a normal envelope.
And they certainly wouldn't have addressed it to the cupboard under the stairs.
I dumped the paper and the mail next to Uncle Vernon and walked back to the oven, strange envelope in hand. After quickly flipping the bacon I broke the wax seal, hands shaking for some strange reason.
I barely had time to read the words 'Hogwarts' before the letter was ripped from my limp grip.
"Where did you get this!?" Aunt Petunia screeched.
"It's for me." I forced myself to say, numb.
What followed were some of the strangest moments in my many months of living here. My aunt and uncle seemed genuinely afraid. And not just at the fact that the letter was addressed to where I slept. Though I later overheard them worrying about it. No, they were afraid of what the people who'd written the letter would do to them.
It was mind boggling. And easier to focus on than the fancy crest and school name I'd seen at the top of the letter. It had to be a prank, right?
Though two things they said made me start to think that there was more to the letter than I wanted to admit.
"But he hasn't done anything freakish in months!"
"I thought the concussion had knocked the freakishness right out of him!"
I never saw the rest of that letter, and didn't know what happened to it. Instead I tried to forget I'd ever seen it. In fact, if the following days had remained normal, I might have succeeded in convincing myself it had all been a hallucination.
Instead, more and more letters arrived.
By owl.
Owls hanging out in the neighbourhood trees in broad daylight, even. The crazy cat lady who lived down the lane even came to visit one afternoon asking if everything was alright.
All of this led to me asking one morning over pancakes. "Am I… a wizard?"
I didn't want it to be true. I wanted it to be a mistake. I'd been trapped in this life for too long and had long since dismissed the coma theory. But these events were making me reassess once again.
They freaked out of course.
"There's no such thing!" They screamed and punished me for asking. A child would probably have interpreted it as anger. But all I saw was fear.
Of course they never bothered to explain any of what was going on, so it was hard to be sure. Or maybe it was because they didn't explain. Had they tried I would have of course assumed they were lying. But the fact that they refused to speak about it made it feel more and more real.
By now the letters had been arriving in a deluge. The neighbours were starting to notice something was going on. And just the other day I'd caught Vernon looking up cheap vacations to the countryside.
"If you don't answer, are they going to send someone in person next?" I asked a few days later over morning breakfast. I was mostly just thinking out loud, trying to remember what came next. Whatever it was, I was dreading it.
The letters for the last few days had been addressed to 'the third largest bedroom.' They'd stopped locking me in the cupboard and had even given me Dudley's room of broken toys. They were currently aggressively pretending everything was normal so I was back to making breakfast. Though I was no longer allowed to get the mail.
The question made Vernon and Petunia pause.
"Who are you talking about, boy?" Vernon gruffly ruffled his newspaper, pretending to be engrossed in it.
"These people are getting very persistent. Do you really want to see what happens when they give up on the mail and send someone instead?"
Just this morning a veritable mountain of letters had been waiting on the doorstep. And that wasn't taking into account the stacks left on every window sill, at the back door, and even somehow in the fireplace.
My complete lack of interest in the letters had thankfully stopped my relatives from trying to hide them from me. Though my reluctance to open one stemmed from dread, not from anything silly like obeying their orders.
"Maybe…" Petunia hesitated, looking queasy at the idea of a crazy stranger coming to visit, like I knew she would. "Maybe it would be a good idea Vernon."
Vernon harrumphed. I stuffed a piece of bacon in my mouth while everyone was busy staring at him. The burned tongue was worth it.
"But how do we even reply!" He slammed his paper down on the table, almost knocking over his fresh cup of coffee.
An insistent tapping on the kitchen window, plus Dudley's squeal of excitement made me look over and see the small owl perched on the window sill.
"Maybe they'll deliver it." I pointed to the owl.
I'm not sure what it was that made them decide to answer. If it was the belief that someone coming to our home when the letters failed was the worst possible option. Or if it was the enticing idea that the letters would stop once they replied. But maybe it was also my own calm and understated reaction to the letters.
I wasn't really calm of course. I was actually freaking the fuck out.
I'd accepted the idea of reincarnation in the past as the most likely reason for my current situation. But these letters were proving that the similarities to a fictional world were more than just the names and circumstances.
What was even more worrying was that neither Vernon nor Petunia were that surprised by the letters. They treated them as a real threat from the very beginning. And when they replied and all the letters stopped, they breathed a sigh of relief.
In fact, beyond shoving one of the unopened letters in my hands and saying it was my responsibility now, they didn't bring up the episode ever again. For the rest of the summer they zealously pretended like that whole week never happened.
I almost wished I could do the same.
One thing that did change was that Petunia and Vernon started to look at me differently. They started complaining again about how expensive it was to clothe and feed me. I immediately started stashing food in the usual places in preparation.
I also read the letter… eventually. I can admit that I avoided reading it for so long out of a deep sense of dread. I pushed it to the back of my mind and told myself I'd read it tomorrow.
I did this for weeks.
The end of summer came far too soon. I passed most of it in a haze of disbelief, constantly wondering every night if the next time I woke up I'd be back in the real world. I couldn't possibly be where I thought I was. Could I?
One small detail, my lack of preparedness for school, eventually pulled me out of my head enough to talk to Petunia. For some reason I had expected someone to come take me to get my supplies. Subconsciously I had probably been waiting for them.
Instead, no one came.
"So… how am I supposed to get this stuff?" I asked Petunia, showing her the list of books and equipment that came with the letter.
"And why should I know?" She snapped in a tone I've become very familiar with. It meant she didn't want to talk but she wasn't angry enough to punish me for speaking out of turn... yet.
"It says here," I pointed out a sentence in the full letter, "that I need to come to school with all of this stuff."
She sniffed, raising her nose in that way where she thinks it makes her look superior. "We are not spending one cent of our hard earned money on your school. They should have thought of this before they made us take you in. We had a good school lined up for you already." Her eyes gained a hard glint, "you wanted to go to the school, you figure it out."
"But-" I try to explain my dilemma. Also, when had I said that I wanted to go?
"Have you finished your chores for the day?" She ignored me, changing the subject.
"Are you gonna at least drive me to the train station?" I made myself ask. I could probably figure out how to get there on my own, but it would look very suspicious for a small eleven year old to go that distance on their own.
"I'll make a list. If you finish it before school starts, then yes."
I sighed and complied, not willing to fight her on it. All the complaining about how expensive it was to clothe and feed me ringing in my ears. I knew they wouldn't help me buy anything now.
In the end, Vernon dropped me off at the train station and drove off before I'd barely even finished closing the car door. On my back rested one of Dudley's old backpacks. Inside it was a few changes of clothes but not much else. Basically I was carrying my whole life in the thing.
I had no school supplies beyond a half used notebook and some broken pencils I had scrounged from the house. I couldn't bring myself to care, too worried about other things. And a large part of me was still expecting to either find out this was all a huge prank, or to wake up back in a hospital in the real world.
So with the letter clutched in hand and my heart beating wildly, I entered the train station.
It was bustling with people rushing to get to their trains and others unhurriedly making their way along, dragging large suitcases behind them.
I reached the platform between station 9 and 10, just like it said in the letter. I even consulted it one more time to be sure. When I look around, it just looks like a regular station platform. There's a train sitting on platform 9, its doors closed. A few people were sitting in benches facing the train, probably waiting to be allowed to board.
A surge of panic hit me and rooted me in place. What if I'd gotten it all wrong?
Also, how the hell was I supposed to tell which pillar between the stations was the entrance?
The urge to turn around and forget I ever received the fantastical letter was strong. Of course, the fact that my uncle basically stranded me leaves me with no other alternative.
I wandered up and down the platform, gripping the straps of my backpack and trying not to look suspicious. Instead, I tried to keep a sharp eye out for people disappearing into pillars.
For some reason, even with all the people milling about, no one asked if I needed help. Unlike the rest of the train station, no one even glanced in my direction.
It was weird.
Thankfully, a loud family caught my attention. They were all dressed like someone took a random mix of clothes from the donation bin and threw on whatever fit. It was because I was looking at them and creeping closer that I heard the only adult of the bunch of six yell the word, "Hogwarts".
I followed them, watching as they headed towards the pillar at the far end of the platform.
When the first child ran headfirst into the pillar I couldn't stop myself from gasping loudly at the sight. I was close enough and loud enough that the little girl clinging to her mother's sweater looked over at me. She smiled and put a finger to her lips.
I lingered behind the family, waiting for my chance to follow them through. The little girl looked up at her mother when the older woman grabbed her hand.
"Don't let go Ginny dear." The woman said.
I can't believe I'm about to do this. I must really be going crazy... Still. I've gotten this far. I might as well see this to the end.
I followed on the heels of the woman while she pushed her cart toward the pillar. I was so close to her, I could reach out and touch her if I wanted. I followed so close because I didn't want to see the brick wall approaching. I was afraid I'd hesitate and lose my nerve.
A strange tingle rippled across my body and my ears popped.
The relative quiet of the platform between 9 and 10 was replaced with a noisy and bustling platform with an old-fashioned steam train sitting on the tracks. Birds in cages cried out while young kids yelled goodbye's to their parents.
I was so busy looking around in shock I almost didn't notice the little red haired girl yelling, "hey, you're not supposed to be here. Mom! A muggle boy followed us!"
The cry jolted me out of my head. Unfortunately the whole family turned to look at me before I could disappear into the crowd.
"What? A muggle boy?" The mother looked down at me in clear shock.
And now I've been mistaken for a muggle. Well... fuck me.
A/N: Thanks for reading! I've got a few more potential scenes planned out now, so I'll probably add more. Writing this is a good break from my other stories as well as a good change of pace by having the perspective be in first person.
There will be some swearing as well as some discussion of adult themes as the mind in Harry is an adult, but it will be minor. Just an fyi.