Mentality

Nevertheless, when Harry got back to the Dursleys' house - as such a place could never be thought of as his home - he should have known better than to expect the expected. It always did hurt worse when he knew he had definitely been in the wrong, and had a very fine grasp on what would occur next.

Several minutes later, he was nursing his mental and physical wounds from the severe verbal lashing and spanking he had earned for himself.

'Hopefully I will not have to stay inside for more than a few days,' he thought to himself, clutching his soft dragon doll to himself.

He winced as his thin, cotton pajamas rubbed against his sore buttocks. 'I hope they don't stain. Uncle Vernon was angry enough that he didn't tell me to go clean the blood off...'

Thankfully, as he dozed off, unconsciously ignoring the slowly ebbing pain, he didn't have any dreams except for flying...

Several days later, or at least what felt like it, Harry was finally off his punishment. Used to long days without anything much sustaining, aside from the many foods he sneaked out just for circumstances similar, he knew he would need to take it slow for a bit.

Hearing the doorbell ring from his place at the kitchen table, Harry looked towards his Aunt and Uncle.

With a grunt, his Uncle ordered Harry to bring them mail over to him.

"Yes, Uncle Vernon," Harry nodded, standing up before heading towards the door. Bending over, he quickly snatched up the letters, making his way slowly back to the table. His curiosity grew every step, and he finally gave in to it.

He studied the three letters in his hands: a letter from Aunt Marge, some sort of bill, and a letter addressed to a Mr. H. Potter.

Blinking twice, Harry peered at the last letter again.

Mr. H. Potter

The Cupboard Under the Stairs

4, Privet Drive

Little Whinging

Surrey

Being careful not to show any outward emotion, or any sign of his rapidly beating heart, Harry stuffed the letter in his pocket and walked into the kitchen.

"What took you so damn long?" Vernon grumbled, cleaning his hands off with a cloth at the sink.

"I'm sorry, Uncle Vernon," Harry ducked his head, inwardly just about bursting with excitement. He felt his lips twitch slightly upwards.

"Never mind, boy," he said irritably, "Just give me the mail."

Nodding his head, Harry handed the mail to his uncle, and waited patiently for further instruction.

Glancing up from the letter from his sister, Vernon noticed the stupid runt was still there.

"Go wash the dishes."

Sighing mentally, Harry resigned himself to working for the rest of the day.

Later on at dinner

Harry tried not to squirm in his seat as Dudley hit him with his stupid stick again.

"Stop moving, Potter," the larger boy growled at his target. "I need to practice using my stick."

Harry made a face, tensing again as he felt the dull object hit his knee at an awkward angle. He was considering just giving up on eating, when his Aunt Petunia made a noise at the back of her throat.

"Duddy-kins," Petunia scolded lightly, expression soft. "Eat first."

"Please, mummy?" Dudley pouted. Harry had to cover up his snort with a cough. He couldn't help the reaction, though; Dudley looked ridiculous with his lower lip stick out, cheeks puffed.

"You better not be catching a cold," Uncle Vernon snapped at the boy. "We aren't wasting more money than we need to on you. And we aren't tolerating you getting Dudley sick, either."

Harry nodded quickly, and nearly clutched his head in shock. He was feeling awfully light-headed. The raven-haired boy grudgingly accepted that he would need to eat a larger part than he usually ate, if only to appease his empty stomach and floating head.

Shifting in such a way that the letter in his pocket wouldn't be visible - who knows what would happen if they saw it - Harry dealt with the offhand insults and the constant prods of Dudley's stick. Why Smeltings Academy would ever allow an idiot like him acceptance was beyond Harry. 'Oh, wait. Apparently there were others like him there, if the required stick was any sort of hint.'

He shuddered at the image of over a thousand Dudley Dursleys in a single school. His thoughts then turned to the school he would be attending this year.

As Dudley told Harry of the millions of ways he would suffer at Stonewall High, he awaited the time when he would be alone, in his cupboard, reading the letter he had barely managed to look at.

An hour later, after Harry had cleaned up the kitchen, he crawled on to his small - and rather flat - mattress and hoped that the Dursleys would turn in at an early time.

As luck was never on his side, Harry was genuinely surprised when he heard, and felt, the three pairs of footsteps on the stairs and vague murmurs of what he could only discern as good nights.

Frozen in his bed, Harry closed his eyes and counted up to five minutes.

'Two hundred and ninety-six, two hundred and ninety-seven, two hundred and ninety-eight, two hundred and ninety-nine, three hundred!'

Crawling up, Harry's feet touched the cold floor and he shivered slightly, bringing up the old blanket with him up and around his shoulders.

He stood up and reached for the light bulb's little chain, on his tip-toes, pulling it down once with a click and automatically closing his eyes in response to the blinding light.

It didn't take long for him to pull the letter, addressed to him, out and check the seal: a snake, lion, badger, and eagle surrounding a H. He ran his fingers over it, feeling the bumps and ridges of the oddly familiar image.

Holding his breath, Harry carefully opened the envelope, wincing at every audible sound the ripping paper made in the semi-quiet house.

When he had removed the oddly coloured papers, Harry let out the breath he hadn't been aware of holding.

He quickly read, re-read, and re-re-read - even if that wasn't an actual word - what was sent to him.

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 no later than 31 July.

Yours sincerely,

Minerva McGonagall

Deputy Headmistress

Slumping down on to his cot, Harry was in a shocked state. Either it was some sort of weird cult, or Harry had just been admitted to a school of magic.

Still confused, he tucked his feet under him and read the second page.

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 pupils' 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

Magical Beasts and Where to Find Them

by Newt Scamander

The Dark Forces: A Guide to 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.

Sincerely,

Lucinda Thomsonicle-Pocus

Chief Attendant of Witchcraft Provisions

Harry gasped as he realized what the Dursleys would do if they ever caught sight of this letter. They detested magic, and Harry was magical.

Plain old Harry was a wizard, a person capable of magic. It explained so much, yet left him with so many unanswered questions.

Was his mum magical? His dad? If so, did they really die the way his Aunt and Uncle had said they had? Surely, if Aunt Petunia knew, she'd tell him. Did he have other family?

How had his mum gone to school, if he assumed his Aunt Petunia knew nothing about it?

A startled gasp escaped from his lips when he heard the familiar sound of footsteps outside his cupboard.

His breathing grew laboured, and he bent over in a sudden coughing fit. He felt unable to catch his breath, knowing he was about to get caught doing more wrong than he ever had before.

He could hear someone puttering outside the cupboard. A few seconds later, the doorknob turned slowly.

Snapping out of his brief panic attack, Harry scrambled within his small cupboard, trying to locate a good hiding place for his letter; however, it proved to be a waste of time. Within seconds, his Aunt had reached inside and taken it from him.

Seeing her face grow paler and paler - hitting a shade of blue - would've been funny had Harry not have been so unbelievably terrified.

Her eyes flickered over to him, before she made a small noise and stood, beckoning Harry out of the cupboard.

It was with trepidation that he followed his aunt into the living room, trembling in anticipation as to what would happen next.