Harry Potter lies awake in his bed in the cupboard under the stairs, his green eyes fixed on the ceiling.
He had been pondering every memory he could recollect.
From the moment he opened his eyes as a baby, Harry could remember everything.
Every smile, every word spoken around him, the sensation of his mother's arms around him, the sudden cold when she was taken away.
His hyperthymesia was both a blessing and a curse.
Harry had never experienced the world the same way as other children.
He could recall his parents' faces clearly, the sound of his father's laughter, and how his mother's comforting voice had soothed him before the incident that changed everything.
With his parents gone and the opponent suddenly disappearing after his attempt to kill him backfired, he knew who had sent him to the Dursleys.
He remembered three voices at the moment he was sent there: a large weeping man, an elderly woman, and an old-beared man, the very same person who would stand in front of him years later and look down at him with those twinkling, sometimes inscrutable, eyes.
Harry wasn't sure why this man had made that choice, but one thing was clear: this old-beared man was responsible for his years of misery at the Dursleys.
Even the elderly woman warned him about how they're the "worst sort of Muggles," but he didn't listen.
He remembered every detail—the shock of losing his parents, the warmth of the familiar voices in the room during his first moments of life, and even the heartbreaking farewell of his parents.
But Harry's mind also kept the memories of something far more confusing: the existence of magic.
He became self-aware of how he would perform magic accidentally based on emotions, so he attempted to control it to prevent further incidents, and it worked.
He wasn't sure how long he'd kept it a secret, but he knew someone would tell him about it someday.
"Boy! Get the mail!"
Harry obeyed his uncle's orders as he headed to the hallway and picked up his letters, one of which had his name on it and his address of where he slept.
Mr. H. Potter
The Cupboard Under the Stairs
No. 4, Privet Drive
Little Whinging, Surrey
Harry knew better than to expose that letter to them.
He hides his letter in his pocket and returns to the dining area to hand the other letters to Vernon.
As Harry walks away, he can hear his uncle exclaim over his sister's postcard.
"Oh, Marge is ill! Ate a funny whelk."
Later that evening, once everyone hit the hay, Harry lies on his bed as he opens the letter to read the content.
He is surprised to learn what it was about.
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.
The term begins on 1 September. We await your owl by no later than 31 July.
Yours sincerely,
Minerva McGonagall
Deputy Headmistress
Harry scoffed at the thought of anyone who would send letters to Muggle-raised children like him who believe to be aware of being magical.
He takes out a clean sheet of used paper and a broken pencil, and then writes his response.
Dear Professor McGonagall,
I am writing this response to warn you that my relatives, the Dursleys, would not let me to your school because they wanted to become as normal as possible, and this also means my uncle has to beat the magic out of me—which won't work unless I am born from a magical family but have no magic of my own.
So, please, would you mind if you sent a representative, or a teacher, to tell me more about Hogwarts than it's houses like Gryffindor since I'm not biased to this propaganda? I have a condition known as hyperthymesia, which made me remember every detail in my life, like the time my mother sang me Lavender's Blue.
Signed,
Harry James Potter
P.S. You were right about the Dursleys being the worst sort of Muggles.
Once Harry folded his letter and wrote the address to Hogwarts, he looked up to the locked door and had an idea.
So, he channeled his core and said, "Alohomora," causing the door to be unlocked.
He sneaks to the front door and heads outside, where the owl is perched, awaiting the reply.
"Please, give this to Professor McGonagall," Harry said, handing his letter to the owl, who took it with its beak and flew off into the night.
"Only a few more days until my birthday," Harry thought as he headed back inside and went to bed as if nothing happened.