Harry Potter's eyes shot open. He remained perfectly still on the threadbare cot in the cupboard under the stairs of #4 Privet Drive while he waited for the memories of his classmates screams to fade. Nightmares were nothing new to him, and he knew that the irrational hysteria would pass.
They wouldn't get him. Couldn't get him, not in here at least.
Ironic, he thought as he pulled himself up in the dark, tiny space, that at one point I thought that this hole was the worst hell there was.
He knew better now.
Shaking off his depressing train of thought, he waited patiently for his aunt to come "wake him up". Despite the fact that he was always already awake, she still felt the need to bang on the door every morning and demand that he get up in her shrill, obnoxious voice. His relatives' casual hatred for him didn't faze him anymore, but he was always mildly impressed by the effort they put into trying to make him uncomfortable. He already quietly did all the chores his aunt asked of him, and, with a little bit of "help", he was often much more efficient than she was.
Harry grinned as he let his power uncoil and stretch like a contented cat, invisible except for a slight heat shimmer in the air. He felt every nook and cranny of his little closet before inhaling, pulling it back and letting it settle comfortably under his skin. He felt any remaining aches from last night disappear as it crackled through him. The dusty cupboard lit up with a dim green glow he knew was emanating from his eyes; he had to be careful to keep his power restrained to avoid any awkward questions.
I wonder why it's always green.
He heard the stairs start to creak above him and sure enough-
BANG BANG BANG
"Wake up boy, you need to dye your school uniform. UP!"
His aunt Petunia continued on to the kitchen after unlocking his cupboard. Harry quickly went to the bathroom and got dressed before he hurried to the kitchen. He briefly wrinkled his nose at the noxious fumes emanating from the large pot on the stove before sighing and started to stir the soaking grey clothes while his aunt moved on to start breakfast for his uncle Vernon and cousin Dudley.
The potful of rotting rhinoceros hide was actually a collection of Dudley's old cast-offs which, according to his aunt, would make a suitable substitute for the uniform he would need when he started at the local public school in the autumn. A small part of him was annoyed at the prospect of showing up for his first day at a new school wearing boiled rat droppings, but he was more or less resigned to his role as a social pariah at this point. Besides, it's not like it mattered what the other children thought of him; he had more pressing concerns.
"Mind those eggs," Aunt Petunia barked at him.
Turning away from the clothes, he heard the rumble from upstairs that foretold his cousin's arrival. Dudley was impressively overweight, which was convenient because it meant Harry didn't have to expend very much effort escaping his cousin's attempts at bullying. By the time Dudley and Uncle Vernon made it downstairs, breakfast was finished, and Harry was allowed to leave his post by the stove to go have a small bit of whatever food the Dursleys didn't want. Just as he finished, he heard the click of the mail slot from down the hallway.
"Get the mail, boy" Vernon grunted at him from behind his newspaper.
Harry went to fetch today's post and luckily glanced down at the letters before returning to the kitchen. Under a letter from Aunt Marge was an unusually heavy letter in a rough paper envelope and addressed in thick green ink. The most unusual part, however, was that it was addressed to him.
Mr H. Potter
The Cupboard Under the Stairs
4 Privet Drive
Little Whinging
Surrey
Shoving away the unease at the idea of someone knowing exactly where he slept, Harry's mind raced through his options. His relatives wouldn't let him read it, let alone keep it. Quickly deciding on the best course of action, he slid the letter under the door to his cupboard before hurrying back to the kitchen.
...
The rest of the day, Harry was fidgety and nervous. His aunt had a long list of chores for him to do after he finished dying his uniform, and he never had a break long enough to escape back to his cupboard. He was so distracted that he even knocked one of the photos of Dudley off the mantle while he was dusting, but luckily, he reacted instinctively.
He didn't even have to wave his hand like he used to; a quick glance at the falling portrait and it froze mid-air, cradled by his power. He quickly looked around, but luckily his aunt was in the dining room, and he had time to pull the heavy, gilded frame to his hand and reset it before she returned. Harry took a deep breath before he continued; today was the last day he wanted to get in trouble.
It was midafternoon before Aunt Petunia finally ran out of tasks for him and he was sent back to his cupboard. He was breathless as she locked the door behind him. He turned on the single naked bulb on the ceiling.
His letter was still there, sitting innocently on the floor.
He sat down on his cot and picked it up. Turning it over, he saw a strange wax seal on the back featuring a lion, an eagle, a badger, and a snake. He carefully pried the letter open and pulled out the multiple folded sheets of parchment within.
HOGWARTS SCHOOL of WITCHCRAFT and WIZARDRY
Headmaster: Albus Dumbledore
(Order of Merlin, First Class, Grand Sorc., Chf. Warlock,
Supreme Mugwump, International Confed. of Wizards)
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 1 September. We await your owl by no later than 31 July.
Yours sincerely,
Minerva McGonagall
Harry reread the letter. Twice. He numbly shifted the heavy pages and glanced over the supply list on the second page. He reread it again.
Magic.
Was that what he could do? Obviously, it must be. This could be a very elaborate hoax, but it was too much of a coincidence that a very official looking letter from a school of witchcraft arrived for a school aged child who possessed unnatural abilities. Plus, something about the letter rang true with Harry.
He was a wizard. He could use magic.
His thoughts whirled in frantic circles, rarely reaching any sound conclusions. There were more people like him? How many of them were there? There were obviously enough of them to have an education system, and the titles that the headmaster boasted seemed to be defined positions. Was there a whole society of magic users? Could they do more than what he could do with his power?
He knew that his power - his magic - was more than just a weapon. It healed him if he let it infuse his body, and sometimes it would do inexplicable things when he wanted it badly enough. He had turned his teacher's hair blue once by accident. He had learned to use it to move things, although it wasn't precise. His power had kept him alive all these years and was a reminder that he was special; that there was more to Harry Potter than just the battered, scrawny rat under the stairs.
But he had never expected this.
Slowly, his thoughts calmed, and his heart rate returned to normal. He had to think about this logically. There were more magic users. They wanted him to attend their school.
Do I want to attend their school?
Maybe the monsters won't find me there.
He crushed that hope before it could hurt him, like it did every time he thought he was rid of his demons.
However, that did raise an interesting question. Did all wizards have monsters of every kind lying in wait for them to step out their front door? Had all the young wizards at Hogwarts gone through the same crucible as Harry? He couldn't imagine a society of witches and wizards ignoring constant, horrifying attacks on children. It was terrible to think that magical children less fortunate or weaker than Harry were left to be ripped to shreds like his classmates. Maybe they had magical parents to protect them? Or were the monsters still his to fight alone?
Regardless, Harry made up his mind. He would go to this Hogwarts if it was real. This was his ticket out, his opportunity to break the cycle. He wouldn't cower in his cupboard anymore; he wouldn't spend his life looking over his shoulder and hoping that this time they wouldn't find him. He would learn the answers to all of his questions.
Harry took a deep breath and folded the letters back into the envelope. Did his relatives know about magic? He knew that his mother was Aunt Petunia's sister, but both of his parents had died in a car crash when he was one year old. The accident had left him as a burden to his poor relatives, as well as the scar on his forehead. The scar that burned anytime a monster drew near. Did his parents know about magic? He decided that it was time to stop keeping his head down and appeasing the Dursleys. He would ask his questions, and they would tell him what they knew.
He let his power stretch, just a small tendril that poked its way into the metal padlock on his cupboard door. The door swung open, and he stepped out into the light, feeling more alive than he had in years. He made his way towards the sounds of his aunt watching telly in the sitting room.
Aunt Petunia jumped when he entered. "What are you doing out of your room?" she demanded.
Harry leveled her with a calm look. "Have you heard of Hogwarts?" he asked.
The blood drained from her face and her eyes widened dramatically. That's a yes, then, Harry thought.
"What kind of rubbish are you on about?"
"Why didn't you tell me that magic was real?" Harry demanded.
"Magic?" She shrieked. "Don't be ridiculous, boy. There's no such thing as magic!"
She wasn't a very good liar.
Harry released his power like a shockwave, the air in the room growing hot and heavy with energy. The telly abruptly fizzled and went silent. He let the warmth flow through his body, feeling the magic infuse his being down to the bones. Crackles and snaps of bright green electricity leapt down his arms and around his fingers.
I wonder if all magic is green.
He grinned up at his aunt's horror-stricken face, eyes shining with emerald power.
"Would you like to change your answer?"
Notes:
I do not own Harry Potter. First attempt at writing anything, will edit existing chapters as my standards and skills improve. Feedback and criticism welcome. Thanks!
