Title: The Call of Hogwarts*
The attic was dusty and oppressive, a perfect reflection of Harry Potter's life with the Dursleys. On a sweltering summer's day, the six-year-old boy was banished to the musty space above the living room, a punishment, not for anything he had done, but simply for being himself—the boy who had no notion of the true world awaiting him. He was trapped with stale bread to sustain him, shunned by those who were supposed to care.
As he sorted through the clutter of forgotten memories and neglected belongings, his heart sank deeper into despair. An endless list of chores from his aunt had pinned him down tighter than any rope could. But it was as if fate had conspired for him that day. After laboring for hours, Harry stumbled upon a pair of trunks that seemed to pulse with a familiarity that sent shivers down his spine. The initials etched onto one of the lids—LJE and JHP—spoke to him, stirring the air with a sign he couldn't quite explain.
Something deep within him urged him on; he could not resist. As he opened the trunk marked LJE, his breath caught. Inside were more books than he had ever seen, strange apparatuses, and clothing that shimmered in the weak light filtering through the attic window. Then, his fingers brushed against a glossy cover of a familiar-looking book: *Hogwarts History: Rules and Guidelines*.
A sense of destiny washed over him as he opened the book and found a sealed envelope. The crest emblazoned on the wax imprint felt alive beneath his fingertips, yet it was the name written in delicate script that truly captured his attention: Harry. With trembling hands, he peeled back the wax and unfolded the letter.
"My dearest Harry," it began, and as he read, his heart raced. The words bled concern and love, a message from a mother he barely knew. She spoke of the magical world and the truth of his existence—things that had haunted him in silence. "If you ever find yourself in trouble, call for Hogwarts…"
As he read, he felt the urge to cry—hot tears streamed down his cheeks as memories surged back: unexplainable things that had happened when he had been angry or scared. It was true; magic was real, and it was part of him.
But the reality of his situation crashed over him in waves when he remembered just how little time he had before his relatives returned. With a panicked energy, he hastily shoved the books back in the trunk, desperate to hide the most precious pieces of knowledge he had ever encountered. Yet the remnants of his mother's letter echoed in his heart, urging him to remember he was more than a boy trapped in a cupboard.
When the Dursleys returned, Harry was unprepared. His uncle, furious at the state of the attic, unleashed a torrent of rage upon him. Pain enveloped Harry like a suffocating blanket, darkness smothering his consciousness as he was thrown into the cupboard, his body wracked with injuries. Each thud against the floor vibrated with a cruelty he could hardly comprehend, pushing him beyond the edge of pain into the shadows of despair.
Fading in and out of consciousness, the echo of his mother's voice urged him forward. "Call for Hogwarts," she had said. It became his mantra as he slipped into darkness. "Hogwarts!" He whispered, voice barely a breath. "Hogwarts! Help me…"