1991
Harry woke up with a start.
"Up. Get up. Now." The knocking on the door got him out of his sleep.
He groaned. His aunt Petunia was truly a witch. He seized his glasses and sat in his bed, then... nothing happened. Something was wrong. He wasn't in the cupboard under the stairs...
Harry groaned again, placing his fist against his forehead. What an idiot he was. He had just made a dream. Well, more a nightmare than a dream. He was living with his uncle and aunt Vernon and Petunia Dursley, and with his cousin Dudley, and they forced him to sleep in a cupboard filled with spiders and to wear ragged old clothes of his cousin. And the dream had continued in his mind when he woke up. But it wasn't his aunt who woke him up, and he didn't sleep in a cupboard. He was in his own chamber, in a little apartment of Northampton, and the voice who just took him out of sleep was way kinder and softer than that of his aunt.
Harry looked at the alarm clock on the bedside. He must have forgotten to set it up yesterday. He stood up and put aside the book on which he had fallen asleep last night. It was probably the reason why it was harder to wake up this morning. Still, he quickly dressed and went to the kitchen. A good smell of bacon, eggs and toasts filled the place, all of them were being prepared by a tall woman with dark red hair falling on her shoulders, her back turned to Harry.
"Let me guess." She spoke on a tone meant to be rebuking, but Harry also perceived the small hint of sarcasm and tease in it. "You fell asleep while reading under your blanket. Again."
She knew him too well. "Perhaps you should not have allowed Aunt Petunia tell me how you did it."
He knew her too well too. His mother sighed in false exasperation and looked at him, a hand still on the handle of the stove. Her almond-shaped, bright green eyes bore on him. "Don't try this. Your aunt is already despised by more than enough people. She doesn't need me too. Now, take care of the stove. I'll get the fruits and the juice."
"Yes, Mom."
She left the place to him. This was like this most of the mornings. They would prepare breakfast together, then share it before they left, his mother for work, Harry for school. But today, Harry was on vacation. His last year at elementary school had been about three weeks ago. Ever since, Harry watched his mother leave early in the morning for work every day of the week, and then he would try to occupy his day the best he could. But most of the time, he just waited. He waited for the letter to finally arrive.
"I hope you still slept well, my dear," she asked.
"Well, I made a strange dream. I was living with Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon, and they forced me to sleep in their cupboard under the stairs."
"You call this a dream? I'd say it was a nightmare." On that, they agreed.
"And you're telling not to say something bad about Aunt Petunia after that?"
"It's not something bad about her. It's something bad about living with her," she said, a smug smile on her face that Harry instantly returned. "But I defend you from ever repeating this to her."
"You have my word, Mom."
"I don't know if I must feel reassured or worried."
Harry laughed. Such banter was usual between him and his mother, especially at breakfast. It helped to relax the atmosphere before the day began. They ate together, Harry telling his mother what he was planning to do today. He didn't have much planned. He would probably walk alone, like he often did recently, and read some of the books his mother bought for him, but aside from that, it was total free time.
His mother left only after a few minutes, having eaten everything in her plate quickly.
"I may come back a little late tonight. If it happens, you know what to do. The meat is thawing in the fridge, and the vegetables..."
"I know, Mom. You can rely on me."
"I don't know what I would do without you. Have a good day, my little boy."
She opened the door and left the house. Harry heard the sound of her high heels hitting the outside stairs as she went down for a few steps before they vanished. He finished his breakfast slowly, then went to the bathroom to brush his teeth. On the passage, he looked at the bottom of their entrance door, like he always did when he happened by it since school was over.
The apartment he shared with his mother was small, but convenient. The hall was very small, but included a wardrobe that was sufficient to place their shoes, boots, coats, cloaks, hats and everything needed for the outside. They had a living room, which also served as a small dining room, a tiny kitchen, a bathroom with both shower and bath, and two rooms were left, one for Harry and one for his mother. They had windows for every room, except for the bathroom, which made the apartment very enlightened, curtains to draw for the night, and a small balcony that gave them a view on the nearby park. This was no palace, but it was a good place to live. Harry had always liked it. It had everything they needed. But still, Harry was eager to leave this place.
Today was July 15, 1991. Harry looked below the door again, but there was still nothing. His letter for Hogwarts was supposed to arrive during the month of July, before his eleventh birthday. But for now, there was nothing. Harry sighed in impatience and left the house, being careful to bring his keys with him when he walked out. He went down the stairs, crossed the street under the morning sun and entered the park where he would stroll for long portions of the day.
Harry spent a lot of time outside. People in the neighborhood were used to seeing him walk around the park and the streets. At least, they had been ever since school had ended. Harry had been born on July 31, 1980, and as far as he could remember, he and his mother always lived in this little apartment together. He had a comfortable, though somewhat reclusive childhood. His mother didn't see many people. Their main visitors were Harry's godfather, Sirius Black, and another friend of his father, Remus Lupin. He had always liked them, both attentive and always ready to help Harry and his mother. At school, Harry didn't make many friends. His appearance didn't encourage people to spend a lot of time with him. Small and skinny, with a thin face and knobbly knees, along with a pair of round glasses and a strange scar in the shape of a bolt of lightning on his forehead, Harry was easily put aside, sometimes even bullied by more popular students.
Still, Harry considered himself lucky. His mother was his best friend. They did all kinds of activities together, and she made sure Harry never lacked of anything. As long as he had his mother, nothing else mattered to Harry. That is, until he learned the truth, not long after he turned nine.
Something else that made other children of his age stay away from Harry were the strange events that often happened around him. These were minor incidents, nothing much to worry about, until one day, when he was nine-years-old, his mother received an angry letter from the headmaster of the school, telling her Harry had been climbing school buildings. He had explained to his mother that he was being chased by a gang of other students during lunch time, and that when he tried to jump behind the big bins outside the school kitchen doors, he found himself sitting on the chimney. Harry first supposed the wind had caught him during his jump, but his mother, when he told her so, just burst into laughs. Harry had run to his chambers, crying because he believed his mother was making fun of him, like so many other children at school. She had followed him, and after apologizing for laughing at his face, she had told him the truth.
Harry was a wizard. Magic existed, and he could use it. But at his age, his powers manifested themselves without him actually wanting it when he was particularly angry or scared. This was why so many strange things took place all around him. First, Harry didn't want to believe her. He and his mother made jokes whenever they wanted to loosen the atmosphere, but he didn't find it funny this time. Then she took something inside her jacket that Harry first mistook for a tree branch, but looking more closely, it was far too smooth and perfectly round. She had moved what Harry would soon learn was a magic wand and said a word he didn't understand, and a great source of light had appeared at the tip of the wand, illuminating all his chamber. Harry had first believed this was a new toy, or some new kind of flashlight. But then she used it to produce red, green and purple sparks. Harry had no choice but to believe her after she pointed the piece of wood on him and made him levitate over his own bed.
Her mother had spent the whole night telling him every truth she ever hid him. Magic existed, and there was a world of wizards and witches, hidden to Muggles (non-magic people), who lived across the world. Both she and his father were wizards. They had met at Hogwarts, a school were young wizards and witches of eleven to eighteen-years-old studied before they entered the world of wizards.
Harry took a left turn in the park, passing by a playground for children, the same where his mother brought him more times than he could count. He had been so angry with her after she told him the truth that he refused to come there with her the next day. But his mother kept explaining him other things over the days that followed. Both Sirius and Remus were wizards as well. And his father didn't die in a car accident like she always pretended. His parents were part of a secret organization called the Order of the Phoenix, a group of powerful magicians who fought against the servants of dark magic and their master, Lord Voldemort. This Voldemort believed that wizards and witches were superior to Muggles, and that wizards of pure blood, those without Muggles in their family or among their ancestors, were even more superior. He was getting more powerful every day, and he tried to recruit his parents to his cause when they left school. They refused, and they joined the fight against Voldemort later. They soon became targets for him, and they went into hiding, but someone betrayed them and told Voldemort where they lived. His father died trying to protect them. As for his mother, she was gravely injured and barely survived. It was when Voldemort turned his want on Harry and tried to kill him that something no one could have expected happened. When Voldemort tried to kill him, his spell bounced back and struck him instead. Harry had earned his scar on that day, while Voldemort disappeared after that night, and wasn't seen again afterwards.
It took time for Harry to truly understand everything his mother told him. A whole world of magic, with its own ministry, a dark lord who tried to kill him when he was only a baby, and a scar that was the result of a deadly spell he somehow miraculously survived... His mother tried to explain the best she could, but each piece of truth led to more questions from Harry. She finally showed him a heavy book of the sort he never saw before. It was a book on the history of magic. His name was in it, along with his mother's and his father's, summarizing the story his mother told him. Harry had to concede it, magic did exist.
It was hard, first, learning that all this time he was wizard and he didn't know it. Even harder was the fact his mother had lied to him for so long. Why didn't she tell him before? Her mother said she wanted him to have a normal childhood like she did. She herself was born in a family of Muggles. Neither her parents nor her sister were wizards. She was the only one. And apparently, she and Harry were famous, especially Harry. Voldemort had terrorized the world of magic for so long, killed so many people that when he disappeared, Harry's name became a legend. She didn't want him exposed to this as he grew up.
Harry had to concede that his mother was right about one thing: he was famous. After her revelations, she didn't bring him to see any wizard, or to visit any magical place, but she did give him books so he may learn more about this world, and she also showed him a few spells. And in the history books Harry read, he was indeed mentioned quite often, even celebrated as a hero, for something he didn't remember.
Now Harry, as he made a last turn to return home, only wanted one thing: go to Hogwarts. The life he led with his mother hadn't changed much after he learned the truth. With time, he stopped being angry at her, especially after he screamed at her for not telling him all this sooner and she burst into tears. Harry didn't like to see his mother cry.
Still, he wanted to know more about magic and everything related to it. One of the things he was passionate about the most was Quidditch. His mother had given him a book titled Quidditch Through the Ages, telling him this was the most popular sport among wizards, and that his father himself was a champion at it. Harry loved the idea of a sport where you flew on a broom, getting through other players and balls trying to knock you out to score points through rings or catch an almost invisible golden ball. After begging his mother, she brought him somewhere and taught him to fly, something Harry mastered very quickly.
Sadly, he couldn't fly much often. His mother always brought him in an isolated place, far from the town, then threw all kinds of sorts to make sure no one would see him, and Harry couldn't fly too far away, in case he would get through the spells and be noticed by someone.
That was why Harry began to play football, or soccer as the Americans called it. He couldn't fly enough, and it was impossible to play Quidditch with only two people, especially when his mother mostly threw him balls for him to catch. Football wasn't as funny as Quidditch seemed, but it was similar. Harry integrated the school's team and quickly became one of the best players. He was the quickest player in the school, and thanks to his small frame, he was very hard to catch. One of his main talents was to be able to take the ball from the other team no matter the circumstances. With time, as his comrades saw him excel at this sport, the others stopped bullying him. He didn't become popular. He was still the weird boy in town, the one who seemed out of place, but at least they didn't bother him anymore.
Harry climbed the stairs and went back into the apartment. Again, he could only see that the letter had not arrived yet. He went into his room, closing the door, and started to read his books on magic.
The day passed, with him alternating between reading and doing walks, getting bored. He also played on their computer and watched television a little, but it didn't interest him very much. He was glad when his mother came back from work in the evening.
"You spent a good day, my dear."
"Yes. It was fine," he replied as she removed her high heels. His mother might be a witch, but she worked like a normal person, as a secretary for a small company in the region. She once explained to Harry why she still needed to work despite all she could do with her powers, but Harry never truly understood it. There were things she could not make appear out of thin air, like food, something like that.
Harry had already prepared dinner. It was a rule between them that the first to arrive home had to prepare the supper, and the other would help once he was there. They ate delicious pork chops, with potatoes and carrots covered with butter and bread, and Harry could take ice cream for dessert. He was about to leave the table and start washing the dishes when his mother stopped him.
"Wait a minute." With a swift movement, she took her wand. One movement and all the curtains shut together. A few other movements and all lights in the house went on, and the dishes started washing themselves.
Harry watched his mother with surprise. She always told him to be careful to not use his powers in public, and she herself seldom used them, so their neighbors wouldn't notice who they were. They always washed the dishes together, talking about their day and exchanging jokes.
His mother was looking at him with a smug smile. She took something else in her jacket. "I found this on my desk when I arrived at the office this morning."
She put a letter before him. Harry's heart began to pound against his chest. The envelope was made of yellow parchment, with a purple wax seal displaying a coat of arms: a lion, an eagle, a badger and a snake surrounding the letter H. He took the letter. His hand was trembling so much that he could barely read the emerald-green writing on the other side of the thick envelope.
Mr H. Potter
26 Elm Street
Northampton
Northamptonshire
Harry couldn't believe his eyes. Here it was, finally, after all this time.
"Don't you think you've waited long enough?" His mother's word brought him back to reality. "Open it."
With feverish gestures, he unsealed the envelope. Two pieces of paper fell from it. The first to fall on the table, which he looked closer to, was a list school supplies, from books to robes and cauldrons and a wand. But it was the other one that interested him the most. After the heading indicating the name of the school and the titles of its headmaster, the most important part followed.
Dear Mr. Potter,
We are pleased to inform you that you have a place at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Please find enclosed 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
When he looked away from the letter, his mother was smiling at him like she never did. "Congratulations, my dear. I'm so proud of you."
She didn't have time to say more, as Harry threw himself in her arms. They celebrated the whole evening. Harry never saw his mother use magic so often like she did that night. When Harry went to bed, he was happy. No nightmares haunted him this night.