ＩｄｏｎｏｔｏｗｎＨａｒｒｙＰｏｔｔｅｒｎｏｒＳｔａｒｇａｔｅ。ＨＰｂｅｌｏｎｇｓｔｏＪＫＲ。Ｓｔａｒｇａｔｅｂｅｌｏｎｇｓｔｏ。。。ｙｏｕｋｎｏｗｗｈｏｙｏｕａｒｅ。Ｔｈｅｒｅａｒｅｓｏｍｅｄｉｒｅｃｔｅｘｃｅｒｐｔｓｆｒｏｍｔｈｅｂｏｏｋ，ｂｕｔｏｎｌｙｔｈｅｌｅｔｔｅｒｓａｎｄａｌｉｎｅｈｅｒｅｏｒｔｈｅｒｅ。Credit for using Dungeons and Dragons with Harry Potter goes to DragonBard。

Chapter One – The Fantasy Emporium

Nine years.

To some it might seem like a long time. To others that amount of time might just pass in a blink of an eye. But to a resident of Number Four, Privet Drive in a town called Little Whinging, in the county area of Surrey; nine years was the amount of time he'd been living with his Aunt and Uncle. This resident was currently awake and staring out of his second floor bedroom window and was seemingly in a rather pensive mood. The resident was a boy seemingly in the very early stages of his adolescence; his shoulders was just beginning to grow wider, and it was just the previous year that he had discovered a new lump on his throat, which the library books had called his 'Adam's Apple', he had messy black hair that was trimmed on occasion but was allowed to grow long at the back till it reached his lower neck, dazzling emerald green eyes shone out of his thin face, and he had an overall slender appearance, and though you could not see it now, (due to the fact that he was curled up on the bare desk pushed in front of the window sill) he stood at a respectable five foot one inch. But the most peculiar thing about our resident teenager was a scar in the form of a lightning bolt that loomed out of his forehead, just over his left eye.

Harry James Potter did not know how he got that scar.

If he was to believe his Aunt Petunia Dursley and Uncle Vernon Dursley then he had gotten it from the car crash that had claimed the lives of both his parents, Lily and James Potter. Harry had initially been skeptical of this claim; he could not see how the sudden deceleration of car and subsequent injuries and death could cause a scar in that shape and not leave any other sort of mark. So a visit to the local library and the school library later, and Harry knew that his Aunt and Uncle were lying through their teeth.

But then his Aunt and Uncle were practiced liars, it was of course the only way they could maintain that Harry was just a normal boy with a penchant for dark clothing. Uncle Vernon was the director of a firm called Grunnings, which made drills. He was a big, beefy man with hardly any neck, although he did have a very large moustache. Aunt Petunia was thin and blonde and had nearly twice the usual amount of neck, which came in very useful as she spent so much of her time craning over garden fences, spying on the neighbors. The Dursleys also had a son called Dudley and in their opinion there was no finer boy anywhere, and Harry stood next to him like night against day. This was due to the fact that Dudley had blonde hair and seemed a miniature version of his father.

The sun was just beginning to creep over the horizon, and it caused the dew that had accumulated during the night to emit yellow shining sparkles from each of the perfectly manicured lawns, in front of each of the perfectly identical houses. Already one could hear the cars beginning to rumble in the distance as those who had to get to work early drove through the town.

Harry swiveled on the desk he was sitting on, and flung himself nimbly and landed with his feet on the floor and stretched luxuriantly, deciding it was time to get ready for the day. He surveyed his room quickly to check that there was no mess about it. It would not do to give his Aunt impetus to decide that he needed to go back to his 'other' bedroom, because he could not keep this one in a perfectly normal shape. This 'other' bedroom was the cupboard under the stairs, and it had been his until he figured out a way to blackmail his Aunt and Uncle into giving him Dudley's second bedroom (which was actually just used for storing his broken toys). He had been seven years old at the time and all it had taken was nicking a fifty pound note and the small Instamatic camera off one of the substitute teachers at the local Primary he and Dudley attended. Harry had photographed his own body after one of Dudley's beatings after school and of course the cupboard under the stairs itself; hiding a set of copies in the tool shed, he had then threatened his Aunt and Uncle to either show them to a teacher or even better…mail it to the Surrey Advertiser newspaper; effectively ruining the perfect reputation the Dursley's tried to maintain.

He walked over to his dresser and pulled out a black sleeveless shirt with a cool looking dragon on the front and black jeans and headed out of his room to the upstairs bathroom. In the shower, Harry again observed the changes he had begun notice in his body, the most surprising of which was the hair that was slowly beginning to grow between his legs. He experienced a weird thrill of satisfaction at that moment…

I'm beginning to become a man.

After toweling off and getting dressed, he headed back into his room to put on his thick-soled black leather boots (which were a gift from a good friend) and headed down the stairs. Harry's feet thudded satisfyingly on the carpeted stairs, and another thrill of satisfaction passed through him…it's as if I'm above that horrible part in my life and stepping on it like dirt, he thought.

Harry walked into the kitchen on the right, and on the table top he found all the ingredients for the breakfast. Aunt Petunia always set them out in the evening just before bed, so that he could just come down the stairs and start cooking. It was one of the compromises that Harry had agreed to when the Dursley's asked him to do chores after he had blackmailed them; before then he'd been a virtual slave to them; he would do breakfast and the evening meal, and make sure the front lawn was in good shape, and that was it.

Today, Harry was whipping up some French toast, served with bacon, and a side of a fruit salad. He'd come to enjoy preparing food…it was oddly relaxing. He was now idly mumbling a rock song as he put out single portions onto his own plate and quickly devoured the meal, and downing a glass of orange juice. He quickly washed the cutlery that he had used and then organized the breakfast setting in that perfect manner that his Aunt wanted.

Honestly, if the Dursely's were any more normal…they'd be abnormal, he thought sarcastically.

Harry glanced at his digital watch on his wrist.

"Shit! I'm going to be late," he mumbled. He rushed out of the kitchen and grabbed a single key from the key rack pinned on the wall and hurried out of the front door, locking it behind him.

It's going to be a sunny Saturday, he thought, as he walked down Privet Drive at a brisk pace.

It took fifteen minutes of walking to reach Little Whinging's only shopping mall.

"Hey the', Harry," greeted the private security guard in his green uniform from his little podium next to the main entrance of the mall.

"Hey, Eric," said Harry kindly. "Everything well?"

"Yeah, nuttin's wrong, tha'll bother ye," smiled Eric, he reached his hand out of sight on his little podium and the electric doors opened. The mall would not officially open for another hour. "In ya go."

"Thanks," waved Harry and headed into the mall. He was quite relieved that someone had decided to switch the air-conditioners on a little earlier than normal, as he wiped some sweat off his brow. He walked in the silent corridor with bright window displays from various shops around him. There was the clothing store where most of his clothes came from…there was a pet shop…a health shop…a pharmacy…and on the list went. And finally, he arrived at his destination…

A bright red flashing neon sign marked the shop called 'THE FANTASY EMPORIUM' In the window display was all sorts of posters featuring dragons, tall and busty she-elfs, roguish looking dwarfs, dashing knights in shining armor…all were renderings done from the Dungeons and Dragons role-playing phenomenon. But this was not the only thing that the shop sold…also in the display were the latest computer games, and most prominent among these was a large display, advertising 'DOOM'; a game which Harry loved playing as he imagined each demon wearing a Dudley face, as he happily blasted away with a shotgun.

The doors of this shop were already open and Harry hurried into it.

"Harry! There you are, you're almost late, and we've got a ton of stuff that needs unpacking."

The owner of this voice, who was incidentally also the owner of the shop itself, was standing behind the till counter near the door of the shop. He was a young man in his late twenties, with a tall strong build. He had slick black hair like Harry's own, but it was dyed to this color. The young man was wearing a black long sleeved shirt and black pants and both his ears were pierced with studs.

"Sorry, Daniel, lost track of time while I was cooking," replied Harry.

"Hummphh," snorted Daniel, "what will the Dursley's do when you leave them behind I wonder…starve?" He asked with a scathing grin.

"I suppose," shrugged Harry.

"I don't see why you just drop the cooking altogether Harry," said Daniel, "you've got them on a leash, they can't do a thing to you if you say no."

"I like it," said Harry nonchalantly. "And using the blackmail to get myself out of the house will not work. I'm not going to an Orphanage."

"Well, it still seems like the lesser of two evils," said Daniel with a frown. "Those relatives of yours must be made to pay for what they did to you." Harry had, of course, shared his home life with Daniel… as it was the only way to get him to be sympathetic and allow him to work in the shop, despite the fact that it was technically illegal for Daniel to employ Harry. As a result there was no mention of Harry in the books, and Daniel did not pay Harry in money, but rather in possessions…the clothes Harry wore, the watch, the good school books, and the contact lenses for Harry's short sightedness and so on. Daniel had also taught Harry a great deal.

Sometimes he would pick a Fantasy novel from the shelf in the shop and told Harry to read it and then Daniel would ask pointed questions about the morals and choices the characters had in the book. The most common question was: What would you do Harry, if you were in that situation? And why? It sometimes made Harry think that Daniel had studied philosophy at whatever Uni he had gone to, but he never elaborated much on his past.

Daniel had also had enough of Harry being late when Dudley and his gang of friends practiced their favorite sport during weekends: Harry-Hunting. (The blackmail only worked on his Aunt and Uncle, as they were the only ones to comprehend the threat of it.) So, Daniel had emptied one of the packing rooms in his shop and padded the concrete floor with a white dojo mat, and taught Harry the basics of defending oneself, Daniel was an Aikido adept (roughly translated it means: Way of Peace). It was a Japanese martial art that used the momentum and weight of your opponent against them; as such it was a favored art amongst small people and women. He also showed Harry how to hit in way so that even a fully grown man would take note and double over in pain. It amazed Harry that it was simply a matter of technique to achieve the power to properly hit someone with a hand.

"They will pay," said Harry grinning. "But not now, what proverb was it that you taught me…'All good things…ummm…'

"…come to those who wait," finished Daniel. "Yes, but don't forget about it. Now off with you…we've received new shipment of DOOM that I want you to unpack, the game is flying off the shelves."

"Sure," said Harry and walked off into the back of the shop, where no customers were allowed.

It was a rather uneventful day after that. Harry merely unpacked the boxes that 'DOOM' came shipped in and entered the bar codes into the shop computer system and placed them in the ready pile, from which Daniel could simply come and collect them. Daniel had also taught Harry how to do inventory, which took the most time to do. When that was done, Harry would always go into the small dojo room and practice his falls, rolls, and katas, and would also work lightly on one of the punching bags hanging from the ceiling. It was just before lunch, as Harry finished a kata and rolled to avoid an imaginary opponent that a clapping startled him.

Standing in the doorway was a tall teenage girl. She had long blonde hair that reached past her shoulders and hazel eyes framed with a soft heart-shaped face. She was wearing a white string top that exposed her nicely tanned shoulders and arms; it also gave Harry a good idea of the small bosom that lurked beneath, and jeans that hugged her hips that would, in a few years, be rounding into womanhood. Harry knew her age to be slightly older than he was, by a few months, but that didn't faze him.

"Hey Har," she greeted cheerfully. Harry realized abruptly that he was staring at her in a daze and blushing; due to the fact that he had taken off his shirt to stop it from getting all sticky and sweaty.

"Hi Amanda," he said, trying to be nonchalant and reached for his shirt to put it on.

"Aaaah," replied Amanda in disappointment, mock pouting. Harry showed her his middle finger but the grin on his face showed it was a teasing gesture.

"So…what's up?" asked Harry rubbing a towel over his face and through his hair, making it even messier than usual.

"Oh, I'd just thought I'd ask my on and off boyfriend to lunch," she grinned at Harry. Said Harry merely raised an eyebrow at her in consternation.

"So that's what I am now," said Harry in mock wonder. "An on and off boyfriend."

"What do you expect Harry…you're turning eleven in nine months and I'm nearly eleven, we're still spring chickens," said Amanda exasperated.

"I know…it's just that…I dunno, maybe I've read one too many romantic fantasy novel, I just didn't know what to expect when I asked you out," he huffed in annoyance. "But, oh well, let's go then." He threw the towel onto a nearby chair and he gestured with his hand, "Ladies first."

Amanda grinned and walked out, Harry following in her wake. He made his excuses to Daniel for lunch who gave him an exaggerated knowing wink. Soon Harry and Amanda were walking hand in hand in the mall towards a nice pizza restaurant on the far side of the mall. Halfway there Harry was distracted by Amanda sniffing the air around him.

"Do I stink?" asked Harry amused at her antics.

"Amazingly enough, no," said Amanda frowning. "In fact you smell normal, as if you'd not worked out at all." Harry shrugged it off. It was something he could not explain per se; perhaps he just did not have the propensity to smell awful after training like that, unlike most other people. In fact, Harry could recall many incidents during his as yet short life that was unlike what most other people experienced that could only be explained in terms of the very fantasy books that The Fantasy Emporium sold. One memorable incident occurred in only his second year of elementary school. He'd got into terrible trouble for being found on the roof of the school kitchens. Dudley's gang had been chasing him as usual when, as much to Harry's surprise as anyone else's, there he was sitting on the chimney. The Dursleys had received a very angry letter from Harry's headmistress telling them Harry had been climbing school buildings. But all he'd tried to do (as he shouted at Uncle Vernon through the locked door of his cupboard) was jump behind the big bins outside the kitchen doors.

Harry replayed those events again and again in his mind over the years and could only conclude that he'd somehow Teleported (he only had the Dungeons role-playing game as a frame of reference). This opened a huge can of worms in his head. Was magic real then? Was the ancient myths and legends that all these fantasy stories were based on, sprung from some sort of fact?

Another incident occurred when Aunt Petunia, tired of Harry coming back from the barber's looking as though he hadn't been at all, had taken a pair of kitchen scissors and cut his hair so short he was almost bald except for his fringe, which she left 'to hide that horrible scar'. Dudley had laughed himself silly at Harry, who spent a sleepless night imagining school the next day. Next morning, however, he had got up to find his hair exactly as it had been before Aunt Petunia had sheared it off.

Again, he could only relate this to the fantasy novels, where people had the power of altering their appearance at will.

Another time, Aunt Petunia had been trying to force him into a revolting old jumper of Dudley's (brown with orange bobbles; which was the final straw for him, he'd gone and stolen the teacher's camera the next day). The harder she tried to pull it over his head, the smaller it seemed to become, until finally it might have fitted a glove puppet, but certainly wouldn't fit Harry.

There was also a time just last year when Harry was doing the garden and a small brown house snake slithered through his Aunt's roses and Harry could distinctly hear a hissing muttering. "Bloody lawnmowerssss." He put this down to his own imagination at first, but the following day Harry saw the same snake passing through the roses again and thinking he was losing his mind, said, "Hello there." And to his utter surprise the snake stopped and slithered back to him and raised its little head into the air.

"Did you ssspeak to me?" asked the snake in what seemed like an amazed voice.

"Yeah," answered Harry. And before he knew it he was having a full blown conversation with the small snake.

This brought a startling realization to Harry in time. It was as if logic and something as illogical as magic just clicked in his mind. And if there was one common theme to the fantasy magic written by various authors it was about belief. You don't think you could do something, you knew you could do it.

"I'll have a Hawaii pizza and a coke…" said Harry to the patient waiter.

"…and I'll have the Regina and a coke as well," said Amanda, the waiter ticked off the selection on his writing pad and off he went.

"So how's your family?"

"Well, my mother can't wait for her pregnancy to be over, she misses her work," said Amanda, her mother worked as a Public Relations Manager of the British branch of BMW. "And father is off doing whatever he does for that Exporting Company in London." Harry had met Amanda's father only once as he came home from work and he looked as if he'd been put through the wringer. He had glanced at Harry vaguely and mumbled a hello before stomping up the stairs of their home to presumably fall asleep, even though it'd been midday.

Soon they were tucking into their pizzas and fell into an easy conversation. Discussing things like school, teachers, things that had been happening in the news, like the American ultimatum to Iraq to withdraw from Kuwait, the possibility of a war, in which the United Kingdom would surely participate. Amanda liked to discuss intellectual things of the like and she was just as much a visitor to the library as Harry was. It was one of reasons he liked her. She might be blonde, and there were girls at school that was much prettier than her, but she had a brain on her shoulders to match Harry's own and in some aspects even surpass him.

But like all good things, it had to eventually end, as such the lunch break was over and Amanda led him back to The Fantasy Emporium and back into the dojo room.

"We definitely need to grab a movie or something when you're not working," said Amanda uncertainly.

"Yes," said Harry, not seeing her brightening the instant he said it. "It'll take some doing." Harry was thinking of the problems involved, his Aunt and Uncle of course being the biggest. He was surprised though as he was abruptly hugged.

"I'll look forward it," said Amanda excitedly.

"Why the excitement?" he asked her with an amused smile returning the hug.

"Because, you dolt," said Amanda with a sigh, "it's just I was nervous you would say no. I've been worried our friendship might suffer because of the dating thing…"

"Hey, no matter what we will always be friends," stated Harry confidently.

"Oh!" said Amanda wiping a tear from her eye. And before Harry could do anything, he felt her lips on his. At first it was just a peck, but something in her eyes told Harry to kiss back, and he was doubly surprised when he felt her mouth open partially and so it was that Harry experienced his first French kiss.

He had a bit of a dopey expression on his face afterwards that Amanda giggled at, which allowed him to recover his composure.

"Bye," she grinned and ran out.

"Bye," he said absentmindedly, feeling his lips in memory.

The following day Harry was back at The Fantasy Emporium and due to it being a Sunday it was a rather slow business day. Sometimes Harry thought that Daniel opened the store on a Sunday just so he could stay there and not go back to Privet Drive during the day. Harry closed the door to the dojo room and took a deep breath, placing his hands on the door. Reaching for any memory that would send strong emotion flowing through him; he had years of anger related memories and soon enough he felt the whirlwind of anger sing through his veins at the Dursleys.

"Lock!" said Harry sharply, the door glowed briefly underneath his hands. Harry grinned in triumph. This door had no lock but as Harry tried to turn the knob to open it again…it would not budge.

"Unlock!" snapped Harry again, and he had to jump out of the way as the door swing violently on its hinges and slammed open. "Oops," grinned Harry chuckling. He closed the door again and repeated the procedure…locking it with his power. He then rubbed his hands to practice his next trick. This time it would need a lot more anger…so for almost ten seconds, but what seemed like much longer, Harry worked himself into a frenzy…he flung out both his hands towards the punching bag and pushed…he saw light began to bend as a wedge of power shot out of his hands and hit the punching bag so hard that it almost completed a full pendulum movement.

Harry leaned on his knees breathing hard. It felt as if he'd just run the hundred meter sprint. But it was much better already than it had been in the beginning. The first time he had pushed using his power he had fallen flat on his back afterward and passed out. He straightened with a groan reached out absentmindedly for his water bottle, not realizing it was actually a few meters away on the small chair…if he had been looking he would have seen the bottle soar through the air directly into his hand, as if it had been lassoed with an invisible string. Harry drunk the water and put it down next to him.

He rested for about fifteen minutes, getting his mind and body back to equilibrium.

Harry now walked to one corner of the room and would now practice his other trick. He stared at the opposite corner of the room, and let the emotions of that fateful day come back to him, the panic, desperation, the wish, to just get away…he stared at the opposite corner of the room nearly seven meters away and jumped slightly forward…a brief squeezing feeling overcame Harry…and next he felt pain as his nose bumped painfully into that same opposite corner of the room. He had only ever done the Teleport trick in the dojo room as he could not figure a way to safely practice longer distances…it would be a trifle hard to explain to anyone how a teenager could have suddenly appeared out of nowhere…

He continued practicing his Teleportation for ten minutes, and he reached a milestone that made him grin in triumph, he could now Teleport from a perfect standing start, in the past he had to do some physical movement to prompt his mind to shape his power to achieve the desired effect, no more though.

Harry decided to rest for a while. But he did not spend it idly. His brow creased in concentration and he snapped his fingers…and with a muffled pop, a thick glossy book entitled 'Dungeons and Dragons' and a thick A4 file binder appeared on the floor in front of him. The file binder was filled with hand written pages in Harry's messy scrawl. Harry affectionately called it his very own 'Book of Shadows'. It was filled with spells, invocations and incantations that he had been successful in accomplishing.

It sometimes made him wonder what the limits were to what he could do with his power…but as Daniel would say the only limits that one truly has is the ones we ourselves put there…and our imagination.

Time passed. Days turned to weeks, which turned to months. War broke out in the Persian Gulf. Harry watched with rather detached fascination on the television newscast as gun camera or missile camera footage was released by the Americans, showing how a smart bomb zoomed into its target with lethal finality and abruptly the picture would fade into static as the missile hit its target…in this case an Iraqi munitions factory. Everything had an almost surreal, almost video game feel to it, and Harry had to remind himself that every time when static blossomed on the TV screen, lives had been snuffed out.

For over two months at school, there was little else talk amongst the eldest children but the war. There were even a few whose elder brother, father, and even mother were fighting in Iraq. Such children found themselves rather reluctant celebrities, and they did not like it.

Soon though, the Persian Gulf War ended. It had taken a mere two months for Allied and Coalition forces to achieve victory. And when the Prime Minister addressed the United Kingdom on television announcing the war's end, Harry heard Uncle Vernon lambaste about it scathingly. Harry ignored his Uncle and got up from the sofa in the living room and walked back up into his room to get ready for bed.

The Gulf War had been quite a short thing as wars go, only a mere two months. World War 2 had lasted seven years and for countries like Japan and China it had went on for fourteen years. Then again, the Gulf War was about the fate of only one country and the oil wells it had, so there was no real basis for comparison, not to mention the new methods of warfare and technology.

Harry had dressed in his pajamas, when he heard his Uncle stomp past the room and enter the main bedroom and slam it hard, as he usually did when in a foul temper. Harry shrugged it off and got into bed and a gaping maw of silence descended on the house.

An hour passed and for some odd reason Harry could still not find sleep. He puffed up his pillow in frustration and turned to lie on his side. It was then that he heard an odd muttering. After a few moments listening he could only conclude that his Aunt and Uncle were speaking quite loudly, maybe even an argument. The numerous walls were muffling the sound, but it was strong enough to carry all the way to Harry's room.

Harry got out of bed slowly and grabbed the glass of water on his bedside table and quickly gulped it down. Empty glass in hand he stealthily walked out of his room, he did this by walking on the balls of his feet…as Daniel had taught him in martial arts…its best to avoid a fight altogether if possible, as such, you must be quiet when walking. As quiet as a ghost Harry passed the door to Dudley's room and went further down the hall to the last door, the master bedroom.

Harry walked past that door to the end of the hall…it would not do to turn his back on Dudley's room…and faced forward. He carefully placed the mouth of the empty glass against the wall and pushed his ear against the closed end. The arguing voices of Vernon and Petunia became intelligible, but it still had a weird hollow distortion to it.

"…I can't believe you still have that letter, should've burned it years ago," came a deep voice, which must be Vernon's.

"He's reaching the age when Lily got her letter," said Petunia, it was hard to distinguish the tone of the voice with the distortion. But Harry's heart started thumping in excitement when she mentioned 'Lily' – it was the name of his mother. Was he finally going to get some true answers about his parents and not lies? "It's only a matter of time." What letters were they talking about?

"We swore Petunia, that we'd put a stop to all that freaky nonsense," said Vernon. "That I'd beat it out of him…"

"That won't work Vernon," said Petunia. "I've told you a hundred times…it won't work. The freakishness is as much a part of him as his own body is." Harry heard Vernon snorting derisively.

"Then we'll just have to intercept the letter they send so that it won't reach him," said Vernon.

"Perhaps," was all Petunia said, "it might work. But I think that if they don't get a reply they will send someone personally to deliver it. Lily's letter was hand delivered by one of them."

"Then if things go that far…we'll just leave with him, they're bound to give up eventually; the boy is hardly worth the effort."

Harry had to pull away from the glass at that point and walk carefully down the hall and back into his room; his anger had stirred at Vernon's remark and Harry had felt his power responding to it rather alarmingly…it was almost as if a great hand had been stretching from him and was groping to throttle Vernon, it seemed it hardly mattered that there was a wall between him and Harry.

Harry breathed in deeply…in and out…in and out…as he engaged in a meditation exercise Daniel had taught him…anything to just calm down.

It took Harry a long time to fall asleep…but he was sure of one thing…whoever would be sending him a letter…he would make sure that he was away from Privet Drive to receive it.

Now with his new resolve in mind, Harry had set his alarm to wake him an hour earlier. As a result it was still dark every time he woke and prepared breakfast for the Dursley's. Then without fail he would leave the house to walk to a clump of bushes down the street near number ten Privet Drive and hide to observe any coming and goings, especially those of the postman, who without fail delivered every morning at breakfast. It took about a week to memorize the route that the elderly postman walked and eventually Harry began to casually say hello each day…then eventually had short conversations with the man…it moved onto long conversations…then one day Harry sneaked in a mention that he wouldn't mind taking the post for Number 4 Privet Drive each day and deliver it for the elderly postman. The postman was quite thankful for the company as he was widower and his was a terribly lonely profession, so he saw no reason to not hand over the post of Number four to Harry.

Harry of course, felt a little guilty preying on the man's loneliness to wheedle the post out of him…but he resolved to keep conversing with the old postman…whose name was Ted…for as long afterwards as needed.

Eventually, the summer holidays had started and Harry's efforts finally paid dividends. The Dursley's had gone to London the previous day to get Dudley's new school uniform for the same school Vernon had attended…Smeltings Comprehensive. And no doubt Aunt Petunia would want Dudley to model it…that was sure to provide a few laughs. I met Ted on Magnolia Crescent and he absentmindedly handed me the post as we talked about his favorite topic…World War 2, Ted had been a belly turret gunner on an American B-17 Flying Fortress and he told Harry fascinating true stories of his experiences in the war.

Harry lost all attention for his story when he saw the fateful letter he had been waiting for in his hands…

Ted was talking about the time when an anti-aircraft shell had hit a can of tomato soup near the pilot, drenching both pilot and co-pilot in what looked like blood…and both men had frantically asked each other if they were all right, nearly losing control of the plane in their distress…until Ted had calmly reached down and picked up the guilty can and showed it to both pilots who looked incredibly sheepish at how easily they were rattled.

…Harry stared at the letter, it was addressed:

Mr H. Potter

The Smallest Bedroom

4 Privet Drive

Little Whinging

Surrey

The envelope was thick and heavy, made of yellowish parchment, and the address was written in emerald-green ink. There was no stamp. Turning the envelope over, Harry saw a purple wax seal bearing a coat of arms; a lion, an eagle, a badger and a snake surrounding a large letter 'H'. Harry hardly spared a glance for the other two items of post: a postcard from Uncle Vernon's sister Marge, who was holidaying on the Isle of Wight, a brown envelope that looked like a bill. Ted continued his story and as they passed Number four, Harry quickly jogged up and pushed the post through the flap in the door, surreptitiously pocketing his letter and went back down to Ted and they continued on the route.

The remaining hour until Ted had to say goodbye felt like an eternity and Harry could acutely felt the weight of the letter in his pocket.

Finally, when Ted had left to go back to the Post Office, Harry ran as fast as he could to the mall and into The Fantasy Emporium, where Daniel merely raised an eyebrow at Harry's apparent hurry.

Harry closed the door to the dojo room and sat Indian style on the floor and pulled the letter out. Harry ran his hands over the parchment…he could feel the power in the letter, it was foreign to him, it didn't feel at all like his own power…but it was power nonetheless. Harry tore the ornate seal and pulled out a letter that read:

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 a place 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

Deputy Headmistress

Questions exploded inside Harry's head like fireworks. But now at least, a few were answered.

He was a wizard.

There was school for people who had power like he had.

And if there was a school, it meant that there had to be society that school served; a society of wizards and…witches.

And logically…if there was a society, then that society would have to have a government as well. Was that the Queen's government? Or was there another? Harry sincerely doubted that the Queen or the Prime Minister knew…or if they knew…then it was a big secret.

But what did We await your owl by no later than 31 July mean? Harry understood that they required some form of response, but that could only be done by a letter. But there was no return address on the envelope and no telephone number. Owl? Did they mean the nocturnal bird type owl?

Tap. Tap. Tap.

Harry was startled as he heard from the small window on the far side wall of the dojo room a distinct tapping…as if a man had knocked a finger against it.

Tap. Tap.

There was a dark oval figure distorted by the window and it bent down and sure enough…Tap. Tap. Tap. There was now a shrill impatient hoot that sounded like an owl. Curious, despite himself he took the nearby chair and stood on it to reach for the window and unlatched it. A tawny owl soared into the room and landed next to Harry's Hogwarts letter.

"You're kidding?" said Harry incredulously. "I'm supposed to give my reply to an owl…like a messenger pigeon."

The owl hooted indignantly and ruffled its feathers and blinked owlishly at Harry.

"I guess you can understand me?" said Harry sheepishly. An affirmative sounding hoot answered that question. "So you're a magic owl?" Another affirmative hoot. "Ah, well if you excuse me, I just need to go find a pen."

Harry walked out of the dojo and closed the door behind him. Then he pinched himself.

"Ouch!" he said. "OK, so not dreaming."

He rushed into the storeroom where he usually did inventory and grabbed a ballpoint pen and a piece of paper from the laser printer and hurried back.

"To go or not to go? That is the question," mumbled Harry to himself. "Go off to a school to be officially trained as a wizard…or stay with the Dursleys and go to Stonewall Comprehensive…wizard, definitely." And so Harry quickly scrawled a reply on the paper:

Dear Deputy Headmistress McGonagall,

I would indeed love to go to your fascinating sounding school and I will be there on September 1st. Once I figure out how to get there of course, not to mention how I'm going to buy my school supplies, and with what money. But other than that…expect me there!

Yours sincerely,

Harry Potter

Harry folded the letter as small as he could make it and held it out to the owl, the owl raised a leg and Harry noticed a letter carrier attached there, as soon as the letter was inside the owl hooted again and flew up and out of the window. He now turned his attention to the remaining parchments inside the envelope. The first thing he pulled out was his school supply list:

HOGWARTS SCHOOL OF WITCHCRAFT AND WIZARDRY

Uniform

First-year students will require:

1. Three sets of plain work robes (black)

2. One plain pointed hat (black) for day wear

3. One pair of protective gloves (dragon hide or similar)

4. One winter cloak (black, silver fastenings)

Please note that all pupils' clothes should carry name tags

Set Books

All students should have a copy of each of the following:

The Standard Book of Spells (Grade 1) by Miranda Goshawk

A History of Magic by Bathilda Bagshot

Magical Theory by Adalbert Waffling

A Beginners' Guide to Transfiguration by Emeric Switch

One Thousand Magical Herbs and Fungi by Phyllida Spore

Magical Drafts and Potions by Arsenius Jigger

Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them by Newt Scamander

The Dark Forces: A Guide to Self-Protection by Quentin Trimble

Other Equipment

1 wand

1 cauldron (pewter, standard size 2)

1 set glass or crystal phials

1 telescope

1 set brass scales

Students may also bring an owl OR a cat OR a toad

"Right, now where the hell am I going to get all this stuff?" said Harry aloud to himself. This was becoming more and more impossible by the minute. Harry hoped his rather unsubtle hinting towards the Deputy Headmistress would get them to send someone to help. The letter itself was extremely unhelpful and it was almost as if they assumed I would already know a lot about the comings and goings of wizards and witches. Harry's eyes darkened in anger as he recalled the overheard conversation between Vernon and Petunia…The freakishness is as much a part of him as his own body is.

They knew I was a wizard all along. Then McGonagall must've thought I knew. But I don't. It's not as if the Dursleys would've told me nor will they pay for me to go.

Harry stood. There was only one thing left to do.

Dursley bashing.

Harry arrived home in the evening with a determined glint in his eyes. He would get the truth from his relatives…even if he had to forcefully remodel their house using his power. Harry had dressed in a menacing looking biker leather jacket he had borrowed from Daniel, the usual black jeans, boots, and sleeveless shirt (this time sporting a hollow skull picture) completed the effect.

Harry walked into the kitchen and was apparently just in time to see Dudley parading about in his new uniform. It seems Smelting boys wore maroon tailcoats, orange knickerbockers and flat straw hats called boaters. They also carried knobbly sticks...probably to beat each other up silly with, Harry thought derisively. As he looked at Dudley in his new knickerbockers, Uncle Vernon said gruffly that it was the proudest moment of his life. Aunt Petunia burst into tears and said she couldn't believe it was her Ickle Dudleykins, he looked so handsome and grown-up. If Harry wasn't feeling near murderously angry he would have probably found this little scene funny.

It was at this point that Dudley spotted Harry. And he felt a thrill of satisfaction to see Dudley paling.

Guess the expression coaching Daniel gave me for this little confrontation paid off, thought Harry with an inward smirk.

Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon had by now also turned to see Harry. Petunia also paled but Vernon seemed to swell like a bullfrog.

"Get that expression off your face, boy!"

"I don't think I will, thanks," said Harry, glaring daggers at Vernon. "I suggest you send Dudley upstairs, unless you don't mind him hearing what I have to say."

"You can demand NOTHING! BOY!"

"I can," said Harry scathingly, "Daniel has the…evidence in his possession, if I do not return by…" Harry stared at his watch, "nine o' clock this evening. He'll send it to the police, Child Protection and the Surrey Advertiser."

The two adult Dursley's said nothing…Dudley just looked confused.

"I take that as a yes," said Harry. "Good, now I will begin by asking long overdue questions, and I will get truthful answers…or Daniel mails the evidence anyway." Harry now glared at Petunia, who now looked pale as well as furious. She nodded.

"Did you know that I was a wizard, all this time?"

Aunt Petunia gave a gasp of horror. Uncle Vernon turned a shade of puce. But no answer was forthcoming.

"Hello! Answer please!" said Harry pointing at his watch, reminding them that there was a deadline to this confrontation.

"Yes," said Aunt Petunia, looking like she swallowed a bug. Harry narrowed his eyes in fury.

"Well, I knew I could do stuff all along, but imagine my surprise when a letter from Hogwarts arrives for me…" A vein throbbed in Vernon's neck. "…telling me all this. Of course, I accepted to go nearly immediately, anything better than staying here." Harry relished every moment of this; it felt like he was washing his hands of this horrid place. "Now let continue with the Q shall we, times a wasting. Good. Now, next question. How did my parents really die?"

"They got themselves blown up by some or other dark freak," said Aunt Petunia derisively.

"YOU MEAN THEY WERE MURDERED AND YOU DIDN'T TELL ME!" screamed Harry feeling his emotions of anger rocket in intensity. Every single piece of fragile cutlery, picture frames and glasses in the room shattered as one. And an oppressive feeling pervaded the entire room, almost as if the gravity had been tripled.

If only she could have at least spoken with a bit more respect, thought the tiny part of Harry's rational mind that was unaffected by the emotion. Harry could be patient with many things…but insult his parents and woe betides you. Breathing heavily Harry stared at his so called family; Petunia seemed ready to faint and Uncle Vernon had jumped and screamed in fright, and Dudley screamed like a little girl and ran away up the stairs.

"Where is the letter!" growled Harry, as he forced all his emotions into the flame in his own mind, leaving him with some clarity of thought, as it was, the flame had already grew to the size of bonfire.

"What are you talking about?" managed Aunt Petunia weakly.

"The letter," said Harry with a snarl, "the letter that Vernon said you should have burned!"

This allowed Vernon to recover some of his previous composure.

"You were spying on us boy?" he shouted.

"Yeah, I was," said Harry, as if daring them to do anything about it. "You should learn to keep your little arguments more quiet. Now I want that letter!"

"You're too late," said Aunt Petunia meekly. "I burned it afterwards."

Harry's eyes burned overbright and he stated, "That letter was my legacy, it explained my heritage…and you kept it from me. You, who belittled me, who lied to me, who beat me, your own blood…" Harry pointed his finger at them both, "you both and Dudley will suffer for this."

Harry concentrated and clapped his hands together. With a muffled pop a large bag appeared at his feet. It contained every single possession he had in the house, as all he owned in the house was his clothes and hidden Dungeons and Dragons books it was not hard to focus on summoning everything he owned. He slung the bag over his shoulder and regarded his relatives with righteous anger.

The Dursleys eyes widened at the display. If Vernon had given any thought to physically restraining Harry, those thoughts were thrown out of the window when he saw his nephew simply vanish before his eyes.