5 Chapter 5: The Letter

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28th July 1991, Privet Drive, Surrey

He almost felt like he was there, scared of being hurt, and with that emotion, he felt something stir inside him.

A small warmth spread all over his body, and the sheet of paper levitated a few inches in the air. Well, that was easier than he expected.

Well, that was a fucking lie.

It didn't take long for Harry to figure out that his preconceptions about magic were completely false. For all his immediate success in moving things with his mind, his efforts stayed imprecise and relatively weak.

Calling it telekinesis would be a bit of a stretch, considering that the heaviest object he could lift with his magic was his English textbook. Anything heavier than this, and the magic would simply not work. As for the activity itself, it wasn't too strenuous. He didn't feel drained when he attempted something that was above his capabilities, but he did feel slightly sore when he was done as if he had somehow been exercising all day. Although Harry chose not to do anything drastic without the proper knowledge first, and so did not make theories about how magic truly worked. Older and more experienced wizards and witches have probably made their own research on how magic truly worked, and it wasn't like an eleven-year-old orphan who barely even knows that magic exists could come up with something they haven't.

As for the magic itself, Harry mostly focused on his telekinesis, deeming any additional magic to be too dangerous to try out without the proper instructions. Even a book on the subject would be better than trying out things blindly.

And the worst thing was how inconsistent accidental magic was. Oh, he could move his magic, mould it to fulfil his intent, but he was rarely able to replicate the same thing again. He tried to recreate the locking and unlocking charms, which are spells that a first year muggleborn should be able to cast a month into the term. Hermione Granger was an intelligent young girl in the books, but she was not a remarkably powerful witch, only a knowledgeable one, at least compared to the average wizard. Harry had no intention of being average at all.

When Harry tried to open or close the lock on his bedroom door, he was met with various results even when he replicates his exact actions, emotions, and intent. The results were just too chaotic every time. Sometimes the door would lock, sometimes it would open only the lock. Sometimes, it would unlock the door and open it. Sometimes, the lock just jammed, and the young wizard would keep sending more unlocking magic at it until would unjam.

The same happened when the young boy tried to replicate the Reparo charm. The spell was supposed to repair objects, and Harry had an abundance of Dudley's broken toys to experiment with. Similarly, to the unlocking charm, sometimes the toys would be fixed, and a few times it would be a partial thing – which tended to happen when the toys were complex. Magic was as wonderful as it was confusing.

Honestly, if Harry could guess about Voldemort's circumstances, he would come to the conclusion that the heir of Slytherin was able to direct his intent – which tended to be malicious – and hoped for the best. He probably came to the same conclusion about the weak telekinesis and chose to channel his anger to cast primitive curses on his bullies.

Tom Riddle was, without a doubt, an exceptional wizard in the books, but unless his portrayal from the books was false, he was a terrible dark lord. Harry didn't know if it was because of the Horcruxes, or if the man was just mad, but he didn't seem to have a goal in the matter. He definitely didn't believe in pureblood supremacy, since he was living proof that it was a lie, and probably thought that it was the best cause to support in order to secure his rise to power.

His actual goals and motivations are a complete mystery because a man hungry for nothing but power without a clear purpose would be a complete fool. Tom Riddle did not strike me as a complete fool. But that's assuming that Lord Voldemort existed in the first place. Even if the dark lord did exist, should Harry be completely out of the chessboard that represented Dumbledore's spat with Voldemort, he would not put himself on it. Harry would learn magic and nothing else, as he had been trying to experiment for the last few months.

Oh, Harry had tried to discover if he had any hidden overpowered gift, or something similar and found absolutely nothing. He wasn't a metamorphmagus; for all his concentration and intent, his eyes remained green, his hair remained messy, and he didn't exhibit any signs of any other bloodline gifts. So, he dismissed the idea entirely, even if he was disappointed that he wasn't some sort of elemental that could shake the earth and create tsunamis without a wand. As far as he could tell, Harry Potter was simply an ordinary young wizard that isn't particularly special in any way.

Not that it would stay for long. Harry had led a life of mediocrity once. He had let the world lead his life instead of fighting for his own sake. Harrold Smith lacked ambition in a very fundamental matter. That was something he would refuse. In this world, where magic makes might, he would rise from the ashes and become someone that history would never forget.

He was a nobody, once. He will not be one again.

It was odd; a small part of him wanted to impress his parents, to preserve his legacy as a Potter and an Evans, not that Petunia made him inclined to use the name Evans. As far as he was concerned, the Evans family was dead to him, and he would do his best to forget about them as soon as he steps foot into Hogwarts.

The moment Harry had access to his vault – should there actually be a vault – he would leave the damn harpy of a woman and never return. It's a shame really, had the Dursleys acted like his family, he would have been more than happy to share whatever he inherited with his parents with them. Lucky for him, they didn't, and Harry didn't feel like he owed them anything.

The last few months were a testament to that, and Harry was starting to see the psychotic version of the Dursleys in them. They really did hate the fact that Harry had defended himself using magic, accidental as it may be. And they were furious that he had hurt Dudley with his 'freakishness'.

They kept following him everywhere. At first, they just forced him to stay in his room – when he wasn't at school that is – and locked him inside whenever he was home. They kept doing this for a month until one of the neighbours asked about him. Harry was known to take as many side jobs as possible to have any pocket money, and some of his usual customers had worried about him.

Harry didn't really mind being locked in his room. It allowed him to simply focus on his magic, and experiment as much as possible. Magic was just something new, something amazing that the young wizard wanted to figure out. It was such a curious feeling, one that reawakened the scholar in him. Harry was always a bit of an introvert, so spending some time alone wasn't really that big of a deal.

Alas, the neighbours were nosy, especially in Little Whinging, and so, Harry had been 'graciously allowed' to leave his home but was constantly watched by his aunt. He didn't know what that was supposed to achieve, really, since she knew that he would leave in a few months, but hey, Petunia Dursley was not known for her intelligence.

Now, with his birthday approaching, the woman seemed to start fidgeting even more. Petunia Dursley was the closest thing to a connection to the magical world he had, and he refused to let his feelings be tainted by the woman's bitterness. He would learn of the magical world as any normal Muggleborn would, and he would thrive in it.

However, before Harry could embark on his journey to greatness, there was one pressing matter he needed to address. All of his dreams of freedom the Dursleys were completely dependent on the idea that he would be getting a letter from Hogwarts. Oh, he knew for a fact that he was a wizard, but Hogwarts might work differently than it did in the books. He could be invited to Hogwarts when he was older, or Hogwarts might not even exist at all, and another school might take its place.

However, on this fateful day, as the month of July died, a letter appeared on the Dursleys' doorstep, signalling the momentous occasion that would change young Harry's life.

Harry had made it his mission to wake up before the Dursleys every day and sneak to the front porch to see if his letter arrived. It was summer vacation, he was still confined to his room when he wasn't working for the neighbours to keep up appearances, that it. The bastards even locked his door every night for some reason. It wasn't like he was a vampire that would drink their blood at night.

Every day since the month of July began, Harry would unlock his door using his magic and peek at the mail to see if his letter had arrived. And finally, the day arrived when a letter addressed to him, that didn't have any stamps, appeared on the Dursleys' doorstep.

Harry didn't know how much time he spent staring at the letter in question. It was proof that he didn't live a lie. That the magical world was true, and even if he knew for a fact there was still some doubt left.

Although the young wizard would admit that the scarily accurate address was unnerving, to say the least. The letter clearly said:

Mr H. Potter

The Smallest Bedroom

4 Privet Drive

Little Whinging

Surrey

The envelope itself was thick and heavy and wasn't even made of paper, but some kind of yellowish parchment. Wizards really were old school. The letter was sealed with some red wax that had what Harry assumed to be the Hogwarts coat of arms, each of the animals representing the school houses surrounding the letter 'H'.

Harry sneakily took the letter to his room and locked the door as it should have been during the night. Finally, Harry Potter opened the envelope and started to read.

HOGWARTS SCHOOL OF WITCHCRAFT AND WIZARDRY

Headmaster: Albus Dumbledore

(Order of Merlin, First Class, Grand Sorcerer, Chief Warlock, Supreme Mugwump, International Confederation 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 the necessary books and equipment.

The term begins on 1 September. We await your owl by no later than 31 July.

Minerva McGonagall

Deputy Headmistress

This was real. This was the final proof he needed that he wasn't insane, that the stories were true, at least partially. Hogwarts was real, Albus Dumbledore was the headmaster, and Minerva McGonagall was the deputy headmistress.

This was good, this was familiar territory. He could work with this. Harry wouldn't be thrust into a completely unknown world. Oh, there was probably a lot more to it than the story portrayed, but his stories were better than nothing after all.

Harry was so preoccupied with his dreams of studying magic that he didn't notice his aunt unlock his door and open it. He heard his aunt's horrified gasp at the sight of his letter and looked up at her pale face. Harry looked up at her, eyes expressionless, and asked her with a dead tone, "Good Morning, Aunt Petunia. I believe we have a lot to talk about, don't we?"

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Thank you guys for your support in these hard times.