Harry glided across the floor to the front door, moving quickly to get out before the earliest risers of the Dursleys, Aunt Petunia, could wake up and stop him with the normal, obscenely long list.
Carefully stepping over the squeaky bit of floor, he froze when he landed on a bit of paper. The mail didn't arrive this early.
Stepping next to it, he picked up the mystery letter, holding it up in the dim light of morning.
Mr. H. Potter
The Spare Room
87 Ivy Street
The Forgotten City, Italy
"What on Earth-" He never had mail. Not a single scrap of a letter, in his almost eleven years of life. And even the mail he had seen wasn't written so specifically. Nothing was ever written to Mrs. P. Dursley, The Master Bedroom or whatever.
The material wasn't quite paper, he could feel. It was also written in fancy calligraphy, green ink, and sealed with wax embossed with an H.
It was the strangest bit of mail he had ever seen in the Dursley household, and it was addressed to him. It was his, regardless of the strange circumstances.
He couldn't have stopped the grin if he tried, slipping out the door so he could find a spot to read it in peace. Deciding against heading to the library for the moment - the blond would be unhappy, but something about this was private - he sprinted across the road, hiding away in one of the overgrown rose bushes his Aunt and Uncle often complained about.
He carefully picked at the wax, opening the envelope to feel the same unusual thick not-quite-paper.
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
Deputy Headmistress
Harry couldn't figure out what to think on first. Witchcraft? Wizardry? Order of Merlin? Await your owl?
So many things.
Did that mean he was a wizard? Or a witch? What was the difference?
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, with silver fastenings)
Please note that all pupil's clothes should carry name tags.
COURSE 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 Beginner's 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, if they desire, an owl OR a cat OR a toad.
PARENTS ARE REMINDED THAT FIRST YEARS
ARE NOT ALLOWED THEIR OWN BROOMSTICK
Yours sincerely,
Lucinda Thomsonicle-Pocus
Chief Attendant of Witchcraft Provisions
His brain felt rather fried, reading over the list. He was magic. He, Harry, plain little orphan Harry Potter, had magic. The very thing Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia insisted didn't exist.
But how did he get these things? He was sure they didn't sell A Standard Book of Spells in any stores he had seen.
Was there a special place for magical people to shop? Were they Italian, or British? The letter was written in English after all.
A sudden feeling of helplessness consumed him. He may be magical, his life may have the opportunity to change, but he had no way of getting any of this. Of attending this school.
He was stuck.
The dark haired boy dry heaved, nothing in his empty stomach to come up.
Such power, such knowledge, all held just out of reach. He could practically taste it.
A few wet, salty drops fell down his face. He didn't bother to wipe them away.
How could he find this place? How could he get these items?
How could he get this power?
So close. So far.
Magic. Magic. Magic.
The blonde in the library had the not-magic, the strange energy. Old Mrs. Figg, before they had moved, had something different as well, although it felt empty.
He couldn't recall anyone he had ever met who had the same energy he did, the energy apparently called magic. Not in the years he had lived with the Dursleys.
A thought crossed his mind, fleeting, but rather desperate.
What if magic ran in families?
His parents could have been magic, maybe. It almost didn't seem like it could be true - what kind of magical people would die in a car crash?
What Uncle Vernon said was a car crash.
His Aunt and Uncle had a tendency to lie, he knew. They lied to make themselves look better, to make other people look worse, to make sure no one saw Harry for Harry, and to pass off Dudley as an ideal little kid.
Could they have been lying about magic too, rather than just believing it didn't exist?
The dark haired boy rubbed the back of his hands against his cheeks, wiping away the tears. He didn't have any evidence to back it, and wasn't willing to confront either of the adults in the house.
He had the feeling it would end with him locked away in a closet even smaller than what his cupboard used to be, letter confistacted and a few broken ribs just for good measure.
It certainly wasn't worth it.
We await your owl by no later than 31 July.
We await your owl
An owl. He didn't have an owl. Or any idea if they meant an actual owl or not. Would it be a code or something?
Think Potter, think.
They required wands. Spell books. Dragon hide gloves. Owls were mentioned in the list of pets. So it was safe to assume that owls were used to… send a letter, he supposed. They didn't seem to be the type to use phones if they required robes.
Maybe he could train a bird to send the letter? Even if it wasn't an owl?
It was worth a shot.
Being careful not to be seen - he had no idea how much time had passed, and it wouldn't end well if he was spotted - he made his way around the back of the house. He had long since buried the small amount of money he did have to keep it safe from Dudley.
Digging up the dirty glass jar, he noted the overwhelming amount of British pounds in the jar. He had pinched over the years at least five hundred, although the amount he had in euros was tiny in comparison. Only fifty so far.
Good enough to buy a small finch at a pet shop. And maybe a cage, if he cut it close. He would have to steal maybe another fifty or so in order to afford food and whatever other supplies a bird needed.
Stuffing the money in his pockets, he covered the jar back with dirt. He didn't want anyone to find it if he got caught while inside. They wouldn't search his pockets, but if they found a jar outside filled with money… Well, it didn't take a genius to figure that they would be beyond mad.
He slipped back around the corner, brushing the brightly coloured flowers aside to reveal the dirt and grime covered window. It was tiny, and just barely fit him, but it was a spot where Dudley couldn't fit, unmonitored, and more importantly, undiscovered entrance to the house.
He slid down, hanging onto the edge so he wouldn't drop down too suddenly onto the ground. He had long since placed a few pillows for landing, and some old crates into a flimsy set of stairs, but it was a steep drop.
All the precautions didn't keep Harry from letting out a huff as he landed, all of the air knocked out of him.
"To my room, and they to Dudley's." He half whispered to himself. Anything of Dudley's was far less likely to be noted as missing. Even the oaf would decide he had lost it in his mess, rather than Harry stealing it.
It certainly made him grateful that the other boy was too upset by the thought of Harry touching his stuff to let him clean his room. Not even Dudley could miss the fact that Harry was the one pinching his stuff then.
He shifted the rotten old boards of the wall to the side, revealing a dim interior that if one didn't know beforehand, would assume was the dark and dank portion of the inner wall.
It wasn't though. The dust and faint smell of mildew was the inside of his wardrobe, which had been one of two pieces of furniture that had been stuffed in the old room along with a dozen rotting boxes.
He suspected it had been used for storage a long time ago. While he wasn't all that happy about the smell that keeping the window open never seemed to fix, the small knick knacks, mostly moth-spared blankets, although he had found a stash of strange cult stuff in a few of the boxes. Knives, books written in some language he didn't recognize, candles and gems. The cult stuff he had usually avoided - it seemed creepy. Knowing about magic though, it would be for the best that he came back and looked through it again later. It might have actually been magic stuff!
He had his own stuff, his own way in and out of the house, an actual bed, and his own space where he could actually walk around if he wanted too.
Yes, Harry was very pleased with his new room.
Crawling through the hole into his cupboard, he stepped out using the ever so slightly less creaky door, padding softly across the room on the worn floors. It was only through a lot of experience and previous experimenting that had kept him from causing half the house to shriek in distress with every step.
He slunk unnoticed to the upper stories, near silent in comparison to the blaring telly in the living room. Slipping carefully into Dudley's disaster of a bedroom, he picked up the wallet discarded on the desk, half buried under crumpled bags of chips. Not bothering to sort through the whole thing, he grabbed all of the money out and tossed it as well as he could under the bed.
No doubt, Dudley would assume he had just lost it after having a spending spree or something. The lump wouldn't notice as long as he wasn't caught.
"Mummy! I want my chocolate!" He heard yelled. Of course, only just after breakfast and the whale was wanting snacks. And chocolate, at that.
He didn't even have to be nearby to know what Aunt Petunia would say. She'd coo over the whining Diddy-dums, eager to placate her oversized baby. Then retrieve his chocolate from wherever he had stashed it; in the fridge, in the pantry, in his bedroom
In his bedroom.
"Uh oh" Right on top of his keyboard, a large stack of half eaten chocolate bars. That his aunt was probably already up the stairs in order to get.
"The window!" He could have cheered, sliding the old thing open. Harry did find a flaw in his plan though - the drop was straight down, from the second story. Not high enough to kill him, but landing would certainly hurt.
Deciding he would rather hang from the window and risk a fall then face the wrath of a Petunia who would be utterly convinced he was plotting something for her pig baby, Harry did his best to close the window most the way before dropping down.
He was a wizard or a witch or something, he knew, looking down at the too far ground. Surely he could do something to make the fall hurt less?
All he had to do was fall slowly. Defy the laws of science. The science that said he shouldn't be able to do what he did, even though he did it anyways.
What were the laws of the universe, when he had magic? Harry could laugh in the universe's face.
He would let go, and float down. He had to. He had magic after all.
Letting go of the ledge all at once, a small part of him expected to suddenly plummet to the ground, only to land on his head and hurt himself something good.
He didn't though. The raven haired young man floated to the ground, like a feather had been dropped instead.
Harry laughed, long and hard, verging on hysterics.
This was proof, he knew. Proof that he wasn't a freak, that he deserved to go to that school, that he had magic and he could use it.
Landing with a grin that wouldn't look out of place on his library companion's face, he left the property.
He had a bird to purchase.
BirdyBirdyBirdyBirdyBirdy
Birds, Harry decided, were expensive. While he easily had a couple hundred euros, some of the bigger and prettier birds cost double what he had.
He barely prevented himself from doing a double take when he saw the price tag on a particularly pretty parrot.
A finch would be best, he thought. From what he knew, they weren't very bright, but they were cheap. Also not something easily noticed. He could control them with his magic, or make them smarter or whatever he needed to do in order to deliver a letter.
Well, less letter, more scrap piece of paper. But Harry had no idea about how he would go about purchasing an owl. Was that even legal in Italy? He didn't think it was in Britain.
Besides, even if his aunt and uncle did find out about a finch, he figured they would be far less likely to protest then if they found him with an owl.
A finch was normal. An owl was not.
Carefully looking at the bright label on the glass cage of many tiny birds, he was pleased to note that each one of the brown and white finches cost only twenty. Although a glimpse of the care instructions taped to the cage noted that they preferred a friend. 40 euros for the birds, then.
"Ciao! Di cosa hai bisogno, ragazzo?" An acne covered teenage boy, in the shop uniform crooned. He was tall, although almost everyone was tall to Harry, with shaggy brown hair and just as brown eyes. Perfectly average.
"Do you speak any English, mister?" Harry knew some Italian, but probably not enough to figure out anything odd about the birds. He needed English for that.
"Looking for a pet, little guy?" The teenager switched languages, his English accented, but still good.
"Yeah! My aunty said I could have a little birdy!" He grinned, as bright and innocent as he could manage. He needed to pull off the idea of his distracted aunt letting him buy a bird, sending him in with a quite a bit of money. At least that way, they would be less likely to assume he stole it, and take the money away. Or just not let him buy a bird at all.
"Where is she at then? Did she leave you in here?" He nodded, wrinkling his nose a bit for effect.
"Aunt 'Tunia went shopping for unmentionables, whatever that means. I didn't want to go clothes shopping though!"
The teenager blushed, coughing a bit before he waved it off and pointed at the birds.
"That the kind of birdy you want?" Harry nodded enthusiastically, already tired of his little act.
"They need a friend, so I need two!"
"Ah, two society finches. Very nice." He unlocked the glass cage, and with a surprisingly sure hand snagged two of the little birds out, gently placing them in a cardboard box that lay, prepper beforehand.
"Need a hand getting the stuff for them?"
Harry nodded again, before giving a list. "I need a cage, some bird food, and things to go in their cage!"
Whatever that was. Apparently they needed stands and toys and mirrors and things. For such tiny creatures, they needed a lot of stuff.
"Right," The pimpled teenager said, grabbing a plastic basket, "You need cage liners, a few bird toys, food - they prefer food a hair larger then you would think- this mirror, a cage stand, a little nest, food bowls," He listed, dropping stuff in, but not before directing him at the best kind of cage for the birds.
Harry couldn't help but zone out, only keeping a half hearted count of the price. Just enough to make sure he had the money for it.
All of this, just to send a letter.
Stupid bird mail.
Can I just say, for all I should have put more in this chapter (mainly attempts to magic the bird or something), I didn't get around to it. Mainly, because it took soooo much thought to figure out how on Earth Harry could send off a reply letter, without magically realizing that Petunia and Vernon where liars this entire time, or an owl just waiting in the trees or something. There is definitely a reason everyone skips over that, adds in an extra portion to the letter, lets Harry find Diagon beforehand... Figuring out what to do here was the biggest pain.
Now that the rant is over
Ta!