Chapter Two

Owl Mail

A dream doesn't become reality through magic; it takes sweat, determination, and hard work.

~Colin Powell

James hurried along the hallway, his robes swishing around behind him as he moved. He was late to class, which wasn't good, but he had a very good reason. He'd left his dorm room with plenty of time to make it to his Transfiguration class but had gotten sidetracked by a very important mission. It couldn't be helped; he'd had to save the day. Hopefully, his professor would understand.

Luckily, James was not alone. Rushing along aside him was his partner in crime and best friend. Together, the two of them could take on the world, and could definitely withstand whatever their angry professor could throw at them. Even though their story was a totally reasonable story and excellent reason to be late so their professor shouldn't have anything to throw.

Finally, the pair burst into the classroom, about twenty minutes after they should have been there. It may have been a better idea to make a more subtle entrance, to quietly sneak in and find a seat. Then, maybe their professor wouldn't realise they were late. However, subtle James Potter was not. He didn't have a subtle bone in his body, and neither did his friend. They banged into classroom, whether they were on time or twenty minutes late.

Their loud entrance, with the door banging open and then shut, ground the class to a halt. Their professor, who had been up at the front of the room, lecturing about some property of transfiguration or the other, stopped mid-sentence and leveled the two tardy boys with a less than impressed glare. Everyone in the class turned and stared, wondering what, or who, had caused the commotion.

"Mr. Potter," the professor said. That was it, just his name. Not his friend's name. not a question about why he was late or where he had been.

"Mr. Potter," the professor said again. This time, though, the voice was higher-pitched, almost squeaky.

"Mr. Potter! It is time to wake up!" the professor's voice turned fully into the high, squeaky voice of his family's house elf. It was accompanied by a light shaking that finally dragged James' consciousness from his dream to reality. Slowly, and a little sadly, James rolled over to face the small creature.

"What time is it?" James mumbled, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes. He was not really a morning person, but this morning seemed much earlier than he normally woke up, and therefore it was much more difficult to function at that moment.

"Almost nine o'clock, Mr. Potter. Your mother was worried you'd sleep through breakfast, so she sent me to come and get you. You must hurry downstairs or it may be cold," the small house elf squeaked before backing out of James' room. Strinkly didn't wait to see whether or not James actually got out of bed. She obviously had more important things that required more of her attention than making sure James woke up and got to breakfast.

With a tired, slightly exasperated groan, James pulled himself out of bed. For a brief second, he thought about getting dressed, changing out of his pyjamas so he wouldn't have to come back upstairs after breakfast and could instead head straight out to his backyard improvised Quidditch pitch. However, if Strinkly, and by extension his mother, was so concerned that he would miss a warm breakfast that he had been woken up, he might not have time to change.

Deciding that breakfast was more important than a slight delay in Quidditch practicing, James hurried out of his bedroom and down to the large dining room. His father, almost a permanent fixture at the table during meals, was not sitting at the head of the table. James hadn't thought he'd slept that long, Strinkly had said it was only nine o'clock. That wasn't that late. And yet, James had apparently missed breakfast entirely.

There was a plate left in James' usual spot on the table, filled with delicious smelling food and kept under a faint warming spell. Overcome by the delicious smell of the food, James quickly took his usual spot and dug in. he shovelled food into his mouth, hungrier than he'd realised.

After about five minutes, the door between the dining room and the kitchen quietly squeaked open and his mother's jovial face peaked through. "Ah good, you're up!" she chimed, waving her wand around the table to tidy it up and wipe it clean of any mess.

"Yes. Sorry. I didn't realise I'd overslept," James apologized, a little sheepishly. "I was having a really good dream about the adventures I will be having once I get to Hogwarts. I must have gotten so wrapped up in it." James then continued to shovel his food into his mouth.

"Well, you'll have to be better at waking up on time once you get to school, Jamie. There won't be anyone around, except maybe your dormmates, to wake you up if you oversleep. And if you're late there, you'll miss more than a warm breakfast. You could be late for class and your professor will definitely not like that sort of behaviour. I remember I was almost late for class once because I was helping a lost first year and Professor Dumbledore, who was one of the most caring professors and is now headmaster, almost took house points away from me. So, you best be on your best behaviour." Euphemia levelled her son with a look that was meant to convey to James just how serious she was.

James definitely got it. When his mother gave him that look, her jovial, caring, matronly look disappeared, and James became a little terrified of the consequences of defying his mother. He quickly nodded his agreement to his mother and, having finished his breakfast, stood and took his plate into the kitchen. Normally, he would have left his plate for his mother or Strinkly the house elf to clean up, but that look had him doing everything he could to make sure his mother was happy with him.

He then hurried up the stairs to his room, changed into simple pants and a shirt, and headed out into the Potter's backyard to practice Quidditch. It had been quite some time, over fifty years or so, since a first year had made it on to their house Quidditch team, but James was sure that if he practiced enough, he could be the one to break that streak.

The wind whipped through his hair as he raced high above the ground, the quaffle secured under his arm. Quickly, as if it was second nature, required no forethought and very little movement and effort, he dodged a Slytherin chaser and a bludger aimed at his head almost simultaneously. He urged his broom faster and, within seconds, he was away from the rest of the pack, both Slytherin and Gryffindor players far behind him.

It was only him and the nervous looking Slytherin keeper. It was almost as if the other boy knew he was no match for the superior skill of James Potter.

With only a little effort, James sent the quaffle flying passed the keeper and into the goal post. The crowd erupted as the announcer's voice boomed over the crowd, letting them know that it was James' 100 point and that he had almost single-handedly put his team up 140 to 0.

"The crowd is going wild! James Potter is an unstoppable force! Gryffindor won the lottery when he was sorted into their house!"

A chuckle sounded from off to James' right and he carefully turned on his broom to see his father standing on the back porch. "Is that so. I'm glad my son is such an amazing Quidditch star, but I think it is a little harder when you're actually playing against another team."

James' scowled at his father, having ruined his fantasy about being the star of the Gryffindor Quidditch team. In reality, he had been flying around the grounds of his family's manor house, imaging the crowds, the teammates, and the opponents.

"Well, it will all be true! Just you wait! When I get to Hogwarts, it will all become true." James then flew off into a further off corner so that he could continue on with his fantasy.

James had been having dreams and daydreams of Hogwarts adventures more and more often as the summer months had passed on. Soon, at the midsummer mark, his Hogwarts letter would be arriving, his confirmation of his attendance at the prestigious wizarding school. James had been awaiting his time at Hogwarts since he was old enough to know what it was. His father's and mother's stories had filled his ears since he was a baby and he couldn't wait to have his own stories, his own adventures.

For James, Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry offered the endless potential for things to happen. He had an idyllic life with his parents, but it was a little boring. Rarely did exciting things happen to him in sleepy Godric's Hallow. But Hogwarts was a bigger, more magical place. He would be learning new spells that he could use to battle enemies and save the innocent from evil. He would make friends his own age that he could goof around with and help him battle those enemies and save those innocent people from evil. He couldn't wait for it all to start. Until he got his letter though, he was left with nothing more than his own imaginings to keep him going.

"You seem to have some very interesting ideas about what you'll get up to at Hogwarts, Jamie," his father, Fleamont mused one evening over dinner. There was only about a day or two until his mother figured his Hogwarts letter would arrive and James' imagination was in over drive. That afternoon his father had found him with a stick from a tree in a grove behind the house; he was using it as a wand and was in the middle of battling a great enemy. The enemy didn't have a name or a description really, but it wasn't a student. James, as an eleven-year-old inexperienced wizard was going up against a fully grown, fully trained wizard.

At the time, James' father had simply chuckled at the grandeur with which James envisioned his future at Hogwarts. Now, apparently, his father wanted to discuss it. James simply nodded at his father and forced down the large mouthful of food he had shoved in only moments before.

"Hogwarts is a place of grand adventures. That's what I'm imaging my time will be," he stated simply once he'd swallowed his food.

"I don't remember my time at Hogwarts ever involving an intense duel with a wizard way out of my league. That's an interesting thing to be imaging happening. Not to mention being a star Quidditch player in your first year, almost single-handedly winning a game for Gryffindor. You are a good Quidditch player, and you practice more than anyone else, but that's a bit of a stretch of the imagination."

James frowned at his father. He knew he wasn't trying to be cruel, but the elder Potter was doing an excellent job at dashing James' dreams. Fleamont was a very practical man; he didn't believe in getting your hopes up too high, believing in extremely unlikely things because they would most likely not come true. If James was too grandiose in his imaginings, and then his experience at Hogwarts was more on the average side, it could be devastating for the young boy who was so used to getting his own way. James knew that was what his father was doing, he'd said as much the other day when he'd caught James' pretending to hold court of seventh years who had turned to the first year for advice on how to pass their N.E.W.T.s, but that didn't mean it hurt any less.

Just then, a squawking noise sounded from the Potters' sitting room ad drew everyone's attention away from the conversation at hand and toward the source of the noise. James, having a pretty good idea of what had caused the noise, bolted from the table and rushed to the sitting room.

Resting atop James' father's favourite wing chair was a brown owl. It looked a little haughty, like it had been entrusted with an extremely important mission and it had just accomplished it in excellent fashion. On the table beside the chair, and in between the open window and the owl's current perch, was a small letter.

James rushed over to the table, his limbs going slightly akimbo in his awkward rush. His uncontrolled motions startled the owl and sent it soaring back out the window. James momentarily wondered why it had stayed in the first place -perhaps it had been expecting a treat for having completed it's task admirably. However, that was no more than a fleeting thought before his attention was brought back to the letter the owl had delivered.

Scrawled in elegant script across the front was him name, James Potter, and the address of the Potter Manor just outside Godric's Hallow. The letter was for him. James' heart began to beat faster as anticipation and excitement overtook him. His hands shook slightly as he turned the letter over and saw the wax seal that held the contents firmly within the envelope. Pressed into the wax was the Hogwarts crest.

This was it. It had finally arrived. James' Hogwarts letter was here. His adventure was finally beginning.

Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry

Headmaster: Albus Dumbledore

(Order of Merlin, First Class, Grand Sor. Chf. Warlock,

Supreme Mugwump, International Confed. of Wizards)

Dear Mr. Potter,

We are pleased to inform you that you have a place at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Please find enclosed a list of all necessary books and equipment.

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

Yours Sincerely,

Cornelius Greensleigh

Deputy Headmaster