MONDAY, JULY 1, 1991 :
HARRY POV
After all of the reading, I've done to advance my knowledge and reach the level of students in years 12 and 13, sitting in year 6 and listening to the teacher's lesson is sheer boredom. We have our SATs next week, and the teachers are working hard to get at least some material into these idiots' heads by then. I would have liked it if they had been teaching advanced algebra instead of the introductory algebra class they are now taking.
I can't simply ignore the teacher and focus on my own work. It would be problematic if he called me out and sent a letter home. Trying to solve higher-power trigonometric equations without writing them down would be difficult. Maybe it's about time I try and learn it. It would be difficult, but nothing worth learning is ever simple to learn.
MONDAY, JULY 8, 1991 :
HARRY POV
After completing the daily morning routine of jogging and cooking breakfast, I'm on my way to school. We are taking our SATs today. I've been debating how I should do on my SATs for quite some time. We are taking our SATs today. I've never taken a test seriously before, always receiving lower scores than Dudley to appease my relative's ego that their son is better than me. This time, I can't let that happen. Regardless of his performance today, Dudley would be admitted to Smeltings Academy. Vernon has an acquaintance who works in the administration department over there; he would assist in getting Dudley in there. I, on the other hand, do not have this privilege. I would get admitted to a secondary school entirely on the basis of my SAT scores.
Should I give it my all? If I did, I'd be able to top it. My relative's wrath would be worthwhile if I could get into a good secondary school or be placed in an advanced program. Now, that would be impressive. So, for now, I'll do my best and deal with the repercussions afterward.
TUESDAY, JULY 16, 1991 :
HARRY POV
The results of the SATs would be out today. After reviewing the paper, I am certain that I will receive a full score of 120. After all, I tried my level best. I arrive at school with those ideas racing through my mind. In class, our marks were being read aloud by the teacher, one by one. She paused for a second before reading my score when she got to my name.
"Harry Potter — 120." Her expression indicated she couldn't fathom how I got such a good score, and my classmates couldn't either, judging by all the whispering going on. The teacher can't even accuse me of cheating, because I was the only one with a perfect score in our school. She soon got a grip on herself and continued giving out the other's scores.
Dudley, from the look on his face, didn't like me scoring higher than him. He was sure to go complaint to his parents about how I cheated. Can I persuade him otherwise? Not that it would matter as my relatives would find out from the report card.
When we arrived home, as I expected he would, the first thing Dudley did was go complaint about how I cheated on the SATs and earned more marks than him.
"Is this true, Boy?" Vernon said when Dudley had concluded his rant.
"Yes, Uncle Vernon." I'm not admitting the cheating aspect, but I am accepting the fact that I outscored Dudley. But, according to my relatives, if one of them occurs, the other is inevitable; one cannot occur without the other. So there was no use in reasoning with them because they had already made up their minds.
"Didn't I warn you not to cheat on your tests, boy?" He inquires.
"Yes, Uncle Vernon." I say, wondering how he'll "discipline me" this time.
"You cheated on the test to get into Smeltings, didn't you, boy?" It appears that he has formed some crazy assumptions and thinks them to be true. I had no intention whatsoever of accompanying Dudley to Smeltings Academy. I did however intend to acquire a scholarship from Guildford Boarding School, which is a few miles away and one of the best in the area. Why would he believe that with a score like mine, I'd want to go to Smeltings?
"I've punished you before, but you never change, boy, do you? This time there will be no beating or locking you. Oh no, none of that this time." He was never much of a planner when it came to disciplining me, so it seems strange.
"Your punishment this time would be to attend Stonewall High High for your year 7." Nothing he said before had evoked a response from me, but this did. I anticipated him to lock me up for a few days and then forget about it. This was absolutely unexpected on his behalf and posed a serious challenge to my plans.
"You cheated because you wanted to go to a school which you don't deserve, therefore this will teach you not to cheat anymore." Stonewall High has a reputation for being one of the worst schools in the area, with academics being the least important concern of anyone who attends. Though he didn't get the school right, Vernon knew exactly what my goal was.
"But, Uncle, some of the other institutions would give me a scholarship based on my score if I went there." Vernon was a greedy man. Being able to spend less money on me would undoubtedly please him.
"That will be your punishment for cheating, money isn't important this time, do you understand?" he asked smugly. Not only he, but Dudley also has the same expression on his face. Aunt Petunia, on the other hand, seemed indifferent to the whole scenario. They appear to have made up their minds about this.
"Yes, Uncle Vernon" Are they under the delusion that by doing so, they can shatter my dreams? Break my willpower? It would take much more than sending me to their chosen school to break me. Attending Guildford High was not my dream or anything of that kind; certainly, it would have been better if I could have gone to a school of my choice, but it's not like I cared much if I couldn't. Plus there would be no Dudley at Stonewall High, therefore there would be no bullying and also no reason to hold back.
"Good. Now go get supper ready." I nod and leave the living room and proceed to the kitchen.
FRIDAY, JULY 19 :
HARRY POV
Our summer break has begun and most of my time during the day is spent in the library. Even now I was in there holed up in my usual corner reading on theoretical physics. I can't even go practice martial arts as Master Kaito is on a tour somewhere.
My relatives have started making plans to send me to Stonewall High. Instead of purchasing a school uniform, my aunt has decided to make one for me. She is trying to dye an old dress of Dudley's to match its color to Stonewall High's uniform. I had to assist her in dying it because she was working "so hard" for me. It is not a field in which I would look for work.
Maybe I should go back to London, find some criminals, rob them, and use the money to buy myself a new dress? That is an excellent method for making some quick dollars. I still have some money from the Italians, but not nearly enough. Those sports shoes and casual clothing I purchased were pricey, else I would have had more money. Not that they are of much use as I can't wear them in front of my relatives without being asked too many questions.
I should concentrate and finish this topic if I want to go home and prepare dinner on time. I can't just sit around and be cooking fantasies that wouldn't fill my stomach.
SATURDAY, JULY 20, 1991 :
THIRD PERSON POV
A big majestic castle stood on the edge of a lake alongside a forest, far north of Number 4, Privet Drive, surrounded by mountains in the distance.
In one of the castle's numerous rooms, a woman sat at a desk, writing with what appeared to be a feather. Not only was it odd, but the assortment of items on the woman's desk was also peculiar.
On one side of the desk, there was another feather similar to the one she was using, but the most notable feature of this feather was that it was writing on its own. As though someone unseen was holding it and writing on the page underneath it using its tip.
After about a minute, the feather stopped writing and settled itself on the desk next to the paper on which it was writing. The woman removed the paper and replaced it with another. She then placed the written paper in an envelope along with another one from a pile on her desk and sealed it with a wax seal. While she was doing this, the feather began to compose again on the fresh paper.
The lady fastened the sealed mail to the leg of an owl that flew through one of the room's windows. The owl quickly flew out the window through which it had entered. The woman returned to her own letter-writing. This process was repeated several more times. She took the paper written by self-writing feather once more, but this time she didn't send it out like the others she had before. This time, as soon as she examined the paper, her face indicated that she was astonished by whatever was written on it.
She rose from her chair, still holding the paper, and dashed out of the room. She walked quickly through the castle and came to halt in front of a stone gargoyle statue.
''Acid Pops'' Hearing this phrase, the stone gargoyle vanished, and a circular stairway appeared in its place. The woman started climbing the stairs. It didn't take long for the woman to reach the top of the steps since the stairs themselves moved like an escalator.
A big wooden door with intricate patterns carved on it stood at the top of the steps. The woman pushed open the doors without knocking and entered.
This room too had a desk, and at it sat an elderly man with a long white beard. His desk had even more bizarre objects than the woman's desk. The room itself seemed unusual.
" Ah! Minerva, to what do I owe this pleasure? I still believe that knocking before entering a room is the polite approach to bother someone." Minerva is addressed by the old guy.
"The lecture on my manners will have to wait, Albus; have a look at this." She handed Albus the paper she had brought with her.
"Seeing as you're in such a rush, it must be rather something." Albus read the letter that was presented to him. He, too, seemed surprised, although not as much as the woman.
"You knew it was a possibility, yet you can't bring yourself to believe it?" Albus questioned Minerva.
"Did you also read the address on it?" Minerva inquired right away.
"No, I haven't; what makes the address so crucial?" He couldn't fathom it.
" Read it please." Minerva said, not amused. Albus read it as he was told.
" Oh my! This isn't looking good."
" Albus, what should we do now?" Minerva was still staring at the letter he was holding. Without responding to her queries, Albus rose from his desk and walked over to the room's fireplace. He grabbed a handful of green powder from a jar on the mantel shelf. He threw the powder into the fireplace, which instantly began burning with flames, brilliant green in color.
" Who is it you are calling? " Minerva was keeping a careful eye on him. Instead of responding, he just kept doing what he was doing.
Albus then thrust his head into the blazing flames and pulled it out a few seconds later. He returned to his desk and sat in his chair.
" Have a seat Minerva" He offered her.
"Who exactly are we waiting for?" After taking a seat, she questioned. Albus, for his part, didn't respond, as if he hadn't even heard her. Perhaps he didn't because he was deeply immersed in contemplation.
" Albus?" Minerva tried once more.
" Yes?" As he questioned this, the fireplace flashed green, drawing the attention of both occupants of the room. A tall man with hazel eyes and unruly black hair that stuck up in the back stood near the fireplace dusting himself. After dusting himself, he turned his attention to Minerva and Albus.
"Welcome back to Hogwarts, James, have a seat," Albus greeted the newcomer, James, as he walked to take a seat near Minerva at the table.
"Good evening, Professors Dumbledore and McGonagall. You said anything urgent, Professor?" After greeting each of them, James inquired.
"Urgent and critical. Read it thoroughly." Dumbledore stated this while passing on the letter McGonagall had given him to James. He also took the letter and read it.
"Oh, shit! If Lily finds this, she will kill me." He said this with a terrified expression on his face.
"Language Potter" McGonagall chastised him.
The cause of all of their worries was the letter currently lying on the table. A letter addressed to :
Mr. Harry Potter,
The broom cupboard under the stairs,
4 Privet Drive,
Little Whining,
Surrey.
" What shall we do now, Professor Dumbledore?" James inquired, resigned to his predicament.
" I'm not quite sure myself, my boy."
They sat in silence, each engrossed in their own thoughts.
WEDNESDAY, JULY 24, 1991 :
HARRY POV
I'm excited to go to the library and look through the new books that arrived today. I'll be over there as soon as I finish doing these dishes. The doorbell rang as I was tidying up the kitchen after lunch. Who could it possibly be right now? Is Mrs. Figg back again to ask for my help with her kittens? No, she was paying a visit to a family member. So, who?
Dudley is in his room playing video games, Aunt Petunia is upstairs napping, and Vernon left for the office just after lunch, which meant I would have to answer the door as well. When I open the door on the other side, I see a tall man with wild black hair that sticks out on all sides and circular metal frame glasses. Something about this dude makes me uneasy.
"Hello, Harry. My name is James Potter, and I'm... I'm your father." I doubt I'd be able to go to the library today. I was really looking forward to it.
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