Disclaimer: Never understood the point of these – just states the obvious. Whatever belongs to J.K. Rowling belongs to J.K. Rowling. There.

AN: Thanks for getting past the first chapter without running in the opposite direction :)
And yes, I know, the letter comes too early, but it worked out so nicely…
Shorter chapter this time…it's transitory, merging with cannon…sort of.

Chapter 2: Of Plans and Parchment

By the time his eleventh birthday was nearing, Harry was quite comfortable with his well-established routine. It had taken a great deal of ingenious planning and clever subterfuge, but he had worked out all the kinks, and was quite pleased with himself.

The idea had sprung to mind after the third time he had visited the secret room in the isolated old alley way, which he had dubbed 'Jean's Hollow.' He had, once again, found the room abandoned, yet with the record player still projecting Robert Plants' voice. Harry had been bewildered as to how the Jean's Hollow remained undisturbed and undiscovered with the music playing continuously – he also wondered how the record player was still running after days. But then struck him – Jean had somehow magicked the place, and left it for him. Following this gleeful catharsis, Harry postulated that he could remain hidden there as long as he liked. At first, the prospect of running away from the Dursleys seemed quite appealing, but held some irreconcilable complications, such as how he would survive on his own without any money, so he scrapped that plan and resolved to make the hollow his very own 'Fortress of Solitude' - a retreat, but not a home.

The next stage of his plan took some time to implement. Upon discovering his 'wizardness,' Harry began to try to make his magical accidents a little less accidental. He started by stealing spoons and playing with them in his cupboard; ignoring the cliché, he started with bending spoons, and after weeks of what at first seemed like futile effort, levitating them. He had been positively ecstatic when he first succeeded, and after a few more (meaning, of course, several hundred) tries, moved on to bigger things, like moving the rickety table in the hollow, or floating the broken glass. At first, his efforts were sorely taxing (especially considering that he was always in a rush to get back to Number 4 Privet lest his absence be noted), leaving him exhausted and sleepy – but his fatigue was quickly overcome with thrill. It was similar to when he had first touched the Tarot cards, he realized – an earthy, ancient energy coursing through his veins, swirling around him at command; it was intoxicating, and left him wanting more. However, Harry learnt the hard way that it was far too easy to get lost in the feeling, when he blacked out during his practice time and was left with a nasty bump on his head. He worked diligently on control after that, and within a little less than half a year, he felt he was showing stellar progress.

Which led him to the next stage – in order to spend more time in Jean's Hollow, he would need a valid excuse, but the Dursleys never believed anything he said, much like he never believed anything they said. But the three Dursleys listened to each other; he would need to find one of them to cover for him. Vernon was out of the question, period. Petunia was far too neurotic and irrational to work with. Which left Dudley, who had been wary around Harry ever since the incident in the school yard. All it took was a brief demonstration of his new skills, and Dudley fearfully accepted the task of covering for his cousin. Harry felt bad threatening the poor boy, he really did – Dudley may have been an unintelligent bully, but he was family, and, for that matter, human – but it had to be done. Having several afternoons a week to do as he pleased, Harry set out to the library, immediately taking out as many books as he could find on Divination, France, and the Pythia, along with several other selections that caught his eye, and storing them in Jean's Hollow.

Whilst learning a small amount of French, Harry was fascinated to find that the Pythia were once an order of oracle priestesses in Delphi, Greece. People would come from miles around to hear their words – farmers, merchants, philosophers, and even kings. According to legend, they were the oracles of the god Apollo – the god of the sun, light, truth, prophecy, healing, the arts, and many, many, more things. The guy certainly got around. And one of his symbols was the Python, a great dragon he slew as a child – apparently, his ability to speak with snakes had something to do with that. It did not take long for Harry to connect the dots and postulate that Apollo's power was gifted to the oracles, and to avoid spreading it among men, the Pythia were forbidden from copulating during their term as priestesses. So that was what Jean meant by 'doing the dirty' – Harry still wasn't clear on the specifics, but after listening to 'Black Dog' play a few times on Jean's record player, he had a vague notion. The specifics were later filled in, in between much blushing and sputtering, by an encyclopedia.

Harry also did a great deal of research on Cartomancy, and other forms of divination – but Jean was right, the cards were most fun. After learning to shuffle properly, and memorizing the meanings of the cards and some interesting spreads, Harry started using the Minor Arcana to try and predict little things about his day. At first, he was quite unsuccessful – he couldn't make sense of what he found – but just as he was about to lose hope a little voice in the back of his head began to whisper. It was soft, distant, and smooth, almost singing, soothing in a way that could only be heavenly. He could not clearly hear what was said, but suddenly, he knew how interpret the cards, and much to his glee – though jumping up and shouting victoriously in class didn't go over well with the teacher – he predicted (well sort of…he knew it would surprising, disappointing, and difficult) that there would be a pop geography quiz. It took some time, but he felt that he was starting to get the hang of it.

That was why Harry was not at all surprised at the events closely preceding his eleventh birthday. Starting in June, he had begun to find strange readings, most taking on a warning tone, saying that he should be prepared. At the cards' urgings, he eventually connected this to what Jean had said about the 'Wheel of Fortune.' Something big was coming – what he didn't know, was that it would arrive in the form of a letter.

The morning was bright and crisp, pleasantly cool for July, as the smell of garden herbs and summer flowers drifted down Privet Drive. Being forced to wake did not dampen Harry's mood, neither did the fact that it was Dudley's birthday, as he skipped into the kitchen, cracking some eggs and retrieving some bacon to fry while humming 'Houses of the Holy.' At Vernon's irritated shout, he shut up quickly, but a smile remained plastered on his face – the sun was shining, and Apollo was happy. That day was special, the cards said so.

Setting down some eggs and bacon on the table, mostly ignored for his cousin, who was nearly preening in all the attention Petunia was showering him with, Harry felt quite self-satisfied with the fact that he managed not to cringe at his aunt's screeching of praises for her fat lump of a son.

After he had served breakfast to the Dursleys, Harry was ordered to get the mail. Vernon glared at him suspiciously when he happily acquiesced, but simply shook his head and muttered something about 'freaks,' turning his eyes back to Dudley, his face transforming into one of satisfaction and pride – an expression he had never once pointed toward Harry, but that was about the furthest thing from what was on Harry's mind.

Harry's heart had begun thumping as he started to make his way to the door, causing him to frown in confusion – was something going to happen? Since he started practicing with his cards, he would occasionally predict something without any assistance at all; but this was different, this wasn't just a vague feeling, a hidden instinct – it was raw, overwhelming anticipation. And Harry liked it.

Reaching down, he picked up the pile of letters, idly sorting through them, until he came to one that caused him to stop and gasp. It was not the soft parchment, the seal binding it, or the calligraphic long hand that shocked him – it was who it was addressed to: one Harry James Potter….in the cupboard under the stairs.

"BOY!"

"Coming!" Hurriedly, he stuffed the letter down his over-sized grey shirt, scurrying into the kitchen where Aunt Petunia was still doting on Dudley, 'Diddykins the birthday boy,' as he handed the remaining post to Vernon.

Vernon eyed him suspiciously. "What took you so long, boy?"

"Maybe your exceptionally large mass caused a relativistic time warp between the kitchen and the hallway." He didn't need any cards to know that that comment would cause more trouble than it was worth, so he settled on, "I tripped. Quietly."

Vernon sneered at him, but didn't say anything more.

Whilst Vernon and Petunia were occupied consoling Dudley over his decreased number of birthday presents, Harry resisted scoffing and instead sneaked off, creeping back into his cupboard. Once inside, he sat down on his bed, hand shaking slightly as he turned on his bedside light and opened the letter, reading:

'Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry

Headmaster: Albus Dumbledore (Order of Merlin, First Class, Grand Sorc., Chf. Warlock, Supreme Mugwump, International Confed. of Wizards)…

"What the bloody hell is a Mugwump?" Was it important? Probably not - why would anyone name something important a Mugwump? But then again, it was supreme...

'…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.'

Harry stared at the page, outraged. "I don't have an owl! What's wrong with plain old post!" He let out a sigh of relief when the voice in his head told him not to worry about it, and then the realization hit him: "I'm going to magic school! There's a school for magic, and I've been invited!" He was hard pressed not to leap up and shout. Of course, the thought of a school for magic had crossed his mind once or twice after Jean had told him that there was a whole world of wizards – but now, it was real, he knew that there really was a school full of kids with magic, just like him, and he was invited. Grinning, he looked down to read the next page:

'Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry

UNIFORM
First-year students will require:
sets of plain work robes (black)
plain pointed hat (black) for day wear
pair of protective gloves (dragon hide or similar)
winter cloak (black, with silver fastenings)
Please note that all pupil's clothes should carry name tags.'

"You've got to be joking." A pointed hat?

'COURSE BOOKS
All students should have a copy of each of the following:

The Standard Book of Spells (Grade 1) by Miranda Goshawk

A History of Magic by Bathilda Bagshot

Magical Theory by Adalbert Waffling

A Beginner's Guide to Transfiguration by Emeric Switch

One Thousand Magical Herbs and Fungi by Phyllida Spore

Magical Drafts and Potions by Arsenius Jigger

Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them by Newt Scamander

The Dark Forces: A Guide to Self-Protection by Quentin Trimble'

"What the hell kind of names are those? Bathilda Bagshot? It's straight out of the Lord of the Rings!"

'OTHER EQUIPMENT

1 wand
1 cauldron (pewter, standard size 2)
1 set glass or crystal phials
1 telescope
1 set brass scales

Students may also bring an owl OR a cat OR a toad.'

Harry was halfway between grimacing and cackling when he put the letter down. He settled for sighing, and scratched the lightning shaped scar on his head. A year ago he had recognized it as resembling a Sigel (also known as Sowilo), or the Sun rune, symbolizing light, happiness, divine secrets, and general all-around good luck. Fat lot of good it did him.

He was thrilled, on one hand, that other wizards had finally found him. "It's about bloody time!" But on the other, the letter was weird. For one, it was hand-written on parchment, let alone the contents. These people have gone to magic school, could they not even use a word processor? He shook his head. Either way, he was accepted to magic school – an event nearly as unexpected as his impromptu meeting with Jean. It was an opportunity he had to take. Hastily reaching onto the shelf beside his bed, he pulled out a sheet of blank paper and a pencil, and began to write his reply, keeping in mind the formal tone of the letter:

'Dear Deputy Headmistress,

'I am honoured to accept your invitation to Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. I am very excited for the start of term…'

He briefly considered asking where on the face of the earth he was supposed to find spell books, cauldrons, and dragon hide gloves, but dismissed the thought, assuring himself that he would be able to find them with a bit of creative divination. However, there was one matter he was baffled on:

'However, there is the matter of actually getting to school – you did not mention an address, and so I am unsure of how to get there.

Thank you,

Harry James Potter.'

It was simple, short, and rather sweet. Harry nodded and folded the paper into a makeshift envelope, writing Minerva McGonagall's name on the back, along with the name of the school. He bit his lip as he considered how he would find an owl – did wizards have specially trained owls? How did they expect average British citizens to get their hands on one? Suddenly, the thought struck him: the letter must have arrived somehow, mostly likely in the same mode as the expected response. Holding onto that thought hopefully, he stealthily rushed outside, pleased to find a brown owl perched on the Dursley's car, blinking expectantly at him. Harry cautiously approached it, holding out the letter to the owl, causing it to look at the folded paper curiously, plucking it out of his hand. With a gesture eerily similar to nodding, the bird ruffled its feathers, and promptly flew off down the street.

Harry smiled victoriously, his expression morphing into a grin as he burst out vociferously,

"I'm going to magic school!"

Gleefully taking in the neighbours' shocked and slightly disturbed faces, he marched back into the house with confidence, cheerily interrupting the Dursleys as they were discussing Dudley's birthday trip to the London Zoo.

"Excuse me, but would you mind dropping me in London on your way? I have some freakish business to take care of, you see."

So, what do you think?