Note: Hi! Been a couple of years since I've written anything other than research or analysis papers. Hopefully, this is of acceptable reading quality. Please let me know what you think with a review. Again, it has been a very long time, and I'm sure my writing needs quite a bit of work, so if you have any constructive criticism I'd very much love to hear it.
Also- I know this chapter is super short and has basically nothing new or interesting. Give me a bit of time and I hope to create something more unique.
Chapter 1
Alone but for the spiders in the dark confines of the cupboard under the stairs at Number 4 Privet Drive, Harry Potter woke with a start.
He'd had that dream again - murky darkness, pleading wails, a high voice, a flash of green.
He knew there had to be some significance to it - some deeper meaning and purpose he desperately wanted to grasp and understand - but past the flash of light he always woke, and the words he had heard blurred together, the brief image of a tall figure dulled into shadow, and the vivid green light dimmed and faded altogether.
Reaching around for his glasses and shaking his head to clear his mind, Harry idly remembered that today was a special day - his eleventh birthday.
He frowned.
Surely, he thought, Aunt Petunia would be calling me to cook breakfast by now.
Opening the door to his cupboard hesitantly, Harry crept towards the kitchen.
"Aunt Petunia? I'm sorry I woke up late. I can start breakfast now, and it'll be ready soon, I promise."
Blinking at the silence that followed, Harry curiously made his way upstairs toward his relatives' rooms, trying desperately to quell the inkling of hope that perhaps they were still asleep, and that he wouldn't be in trouble. He creaked Dudley's door open, knowing his large cousin was a deep sleeper, and stole a glance towards Dudley's bed.
Empty.
Suspicious and slightly worried, Harry walked over to check his aunt and uncle's room, gently cracking the door open.
"Aunt Petunia? Uncle Vernon?"
There was no reply.
He pushed open the door all the way. Even from his position at the door, he could see the room was, like Dudley's, completely empty.
He began to panic - should he call the police? Ask his neighbors?
He bit back a scoff at the second thought, a fog of calm descending onto his mind. Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon had made sure none of the neighbors would ever believe anything he said. To them, he was a ruthless delinquent - a crazed and possibly violently insane child to be avoided at all cost.
As far as the world knew, he was Harry Potter the lunatic, the lone stain on an otherwise lovely family. His cruel relatives were gone - inexplicably, yes - but was this really something to worry over? Just for once in his life, perhaps he could enjoy his birthday without menial tasks assigned by his aunt, or a beating with Dudley's stick of choice.
He idly walked back down to the kitchen, intending to make himself some breakfast, and spotted a note on the counter.
We've taken Dudley to the zoo.
Weed the garden. Don't touch the telly.
Have dinner ready when we get home.
Ah. That explained quite a bit. Sighing, Harry prepared to make himself a measly sandwich when he heard a rap at the door.
Are they back already? Maybe the zoo was closed.
Harry trudged over to the front door, dreading the purple-faced man on the other side who was sure to ruin his day.
He opened the door, preparing an apology for anything he may have done that could have displeased his uncle-
"Mr. Potter?"
He blinked and peered up.
It was not his beefy and perpetually vexed uncle, but a tall and rather thin-looking woman clutching a letter.
"Yes, that's me. Are you here to talk to my aunt or uncle?" Harry asked, curiously noticing that there was no car in or near the driveway of the house - whoever this woman was, she must've walked here.
"My name is Minerva McGonagall," she said quietly, "And considering your rather unique circumstances, I thought it was best to deliver this myself."
She held the letter out to him.
He did not take it.
"I'm sorry," he said, "Whoever sent this, I don't think it's for me - I'm a nobody, and I doubt anyone is writing to me."
The woman - McGonagall - swelled with an air of incredulity.
"A nobody? Why - if James and Lily were here-"
"You knew my parents?"
She blinked.
"Of course. James was the finest transfiguration student I ever had, and Lily - well, she was the brightest witch of her generation."
"Witch?" Harry frowned.
He had no idea who this Minerva McGonagall was, but she had just called his mother a witch. He pushed the door, intending to close it on the rude woman and leave to enjoy what he could of his birthday, but she held the door open with a hand.
"Harry," she said, softly, "What do you know of your parents?"
A burst of anger welled up inside him at the intrusive question - but was quickly quelled by a well of shame. What did he know about his parents?
That they had been, according to the Dursleys, useless and stupid?
That they had died in a car crash?
That they had left him parentless to grow up in a cupboard under the stairs?
Minerva McGonagall must've seen something in his face, for her expression softened and her eyes became sad.
"Would you mind if I came in? It appears I have much to tell you."
Harry knew it couldn't be a good idea - she was a stranger, and Uncle Vernon would surely punish him if he found out - but a little voice inside his head told him to trust her, that she would reveal something greater than anything he had ever known.
He silently opened the door all the way.