All It Takes

Hours had passed since darkness had washed over everything, first blanketing the neighborhood and then claiming the house. The last downstairs light had lingered for what seemed like forever, but it too succumbed when Uncle Vernon turned off the news and went to bed. Harry hadn't seen or heard even the slightest movements since, but he was still afraid.

He lay flat on his back, still wearing his glasses. The yellowed envelope was laid casually on his chest as if of no importance to him. Nothing at that moment could have been farther from the truth. Harry had never been so curious about anything before. His mind asked questions nonstop, one right after another, and about once a minute his arms twitched as if they would grab the letter and tear it open.

"Just a little longer," he whispered reassuringly to himself after one such episode.

What if you've been torturing yourself all day over this letter and it's nothing? his brain wondered.

"I can't hurry it and ruin the whole thing," he responded softly, although realizing this was not an answer to the question.

The clock in the living room chimed, scaring him more than he wished to admit. One... two. Two o'clock.

"You need to calm down," he told himself. The sound of his heart pounding in his chest sounded louder than his voice. He braced himself for the sound of Uncle Vernon pounding down the stairs yelling, "Harry, what is that racket?!" and seizing his letter.

His letter. It was two, nearly three hours since everyone retired. If there was going to be a safe time, it was now. Afraid of even the tiniest creak, Harry painstakingly pushed himself into a sitting position. Drawing his legs in until he was sitting more comfortably, he breathed a silent sigh of relief that he'd produced no more noise than the slightest rustle of sheets. Advantage number three for living in a cupboard, he thought with a small smile.

Harry reached for the flashlight he'd taken from the kitchen drawer after dinner. Wanting both hands free for the all-important activity of reading his first letter, he rolled his sheet into a ball and set the flashlight down on it so it pointed down at the surface of his bed and lit a small area.

Holding the letter in the light, he gingerly peeled the wax seal from the paper trying his best not to break it. It came up easily, and he eagerly pulled out a thick sheaf of papers. Unfolding it slowly, he had to fight to keep his eyes focused on the paper, as if what he held in his hands would suddenly disintegrate if he tried to read it. Finally, stilling his heart and calming his shallow, gasping breaths, he read:

HOGWARTS SCHOOL of WHITCHCRAFT 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 September 1. We await your owl by no later that July 31.

Yours sincerely,

Minerva McGonagall,

Deputy Headmistress

For nearly three minutes, Harry sat staring blankly at the letter with his jaw agape. This really was a dream. A really odd dream. A wizard school?

"But they knew about my cupboard. My cupboard..." he murmured, at last finding his voice and with it, the will to look at the next piece of paper.

It was obviously the list mentioned on the letter. His eyes scanned over it, catching words like wand, owl, cauldron, dragon, and robes. Harry was itching to study it, but the third sheet of parchment called to him more strongly. Dropping the supplies list on top of his acceptance letter, he read:

HOGWARTS SCHOOL of WITCHCRAFT and WIZARDRY

Dear Mr. Potter,

Congratulations at being accepted to Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. We here are well aware of your situation, and desire to make your transition back into the world of magic as easy as possible.

I hope you will not mind that Headmaster Dumbledore asked me to sign you up for "Muggle Day" in Diagon Alley taking place this July 12. We realize that you have grown up in a Muggle household and will not know how to reach the Alley to buy your supplies.

Please include in your return letter if you would like to be included in this event. If not, I am sure we can arrange to have your supplies purchased and sent to you with your train ticket.

Yours sincerely,

Minerva McGonagall

Deputy Headmistress

If Harry had thought his mind was full of questions before, it was nothing compared to the new onslaught. What is a Muggle? Where is Diagon Alley? What does she mean, 'back into the world of magic?' And then with a jolt, How am I supposed to find an owl to mail my response?

"Wait a minute," he told himself in a voice, slightly louder than he'd intended. In response, his thoughts died down. Except for one. You really believe this place exists.

"Okay," he rationalized, "I got a letter without a stamp in the mail today. With my cupboard on it. From a magic school. Where they think I'm a wizard."

I can't be a wizard, can I? I've never done magic in my life, not even a stupid card trick.

Or had he? He suddenly thought about the python at the zoo, the shrunken sweater, the grown-back hair, and finding himself on the roof.

"That wasn't magic."

Well what was it then?

"Weird."

But even as he spoke it, Harry knew there was only one real way to find out. He was going to write them back.

* * * * * * *

At six, an hour before the family typically began to wake, Harry slipped out of his cupboard, making for the roll top desk across the living room. He carefully lifted it, removing an envelope before retreating to the sanctuary of his tiny living space.

After a few minutes of thought, he addressed the envelope:

Headmistress McGonagall

Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry

"Well, that's all really," he commented aloud, still vaguely wondering why he was going along with this. It could be some elaborate mail hoax, but one look around his cupboard and he was pulling out the letter he'd written.

Dear Headmistress McGonagall,

Thank you for your congratulations. I was very excited to receive my letter of acceptance. I also express my appreciation for your understanding and would very much like to be involved in Muggle Day. I look forward to July 12.

Sincerely,

Harry Potter

Short and sweet, perfect. Now for the difficult part, trying to figure out how exactly he was going to mail it. He decided he could go out and wait for the postman. If he had brought the letter with the other mail, maybe he'd know where to take it.

"We await your owl..." he read. The only problem was that Harry didn't own an owl. I've never even seen an owl before, not even at the zoo. Even if he had, he wasn't sure that giving it his letter would be a good idea.

Dubiously, he exited his cupboard again, this time heading out the front door into the early morning light. He looked up and down Privet Drive several times. No postman yet, and definitely no owls...

Suddenly, something swooped out of the sky and landed on the garden wall. He stifled a surprised yelp, throwing his free hand over his mouth. That was the last thing he needed, to be so close and have his aunt or uncle leaning out the window asking why he was out in the driveway at 6:30 in the morning, yelling because some bloody owl almost fell on his head.

"Bloody owl," he repeated with a scowl.

Suddenly realizing what he was saying, Harry turned slowly afraid that, in his shock and stupidity, it had flown away. But there it sat, a mottled brown owl on the wall, looking straight at him.

Harry suddenly felt a bit foolish. "Er... right then. I'm Harry. You're an owl... obviously. I'm trying to mail this letter to... er, Hogwarts. Have you heard of it? It said to give it to an owl... and you're an owl. We've established that."

The owl merely continued to look at him in a rather impatient way, snapping its beak several times. It gave Harry the impression that it was trying to tell him to hurry up.

"So, how do I know if you're an, er, letter owl?"

In a blur of feathers, the owl flew straight at him. Shielding himself, the boy was surprised when the bird landed on an outstretched arm, grabbed the letter with his beak, and took off into the air.

So what just happened, was that good or bad?

"Not sure," he answered himself. "But I think I'm definitely going to need some magic to explain this to them." He looked up at the bedroom window before walking inside, all the while his mind at work.

* * * * * * *

Harry had been holding his breath, in an off and on again type fashion, since he'd crawled back into the cupboard. It had been nearly a half hour; someone should be heading down to breakfast soon. Right on cue, soft footsteps Harry quickly identified as Aunt Petunia's passed over his head. She reached the bottom, turned, and walked towards the kitchen.

Pausing outside his door, she rapped sharply. "Up."

He frowned. Not only was this wakeup routine extremely annoying, but he was also apprehensive about how this plan would work out. He'd wanted to believe that as long as the owl that stole his letter made it to that McGonagall woman, someone would come and get him, but the more he thought about it, the less sure he was. The Dursleys could lock him up or claim he died when someone showed up at the door asking for him.

"Please let this work," he whispered to the ceiling as Uncle Vernon trudged down the stairs.

"Are you up yet?" he barked at the closed door.

"Yes, I'm coming."

Harry popped out of the cupboard and followed his into the kitchen.

"Mind the bacon," his aunt ordered, moving to pour her husband some tea.

Harry poked at the sizzling meat as he carefully watched his uncle sip the tea and move to pick up his newspaper.

"Petunia, what's this?" he asked, noticing the yellowed corner of Harry's envelope sticking out from under the paper.

"What's what?" She looked up from the toast she was buttering with a befuddled expression.

"This," he replied, pulling it out and looking it over. "It's an envelope with Harry's name on it, and-" His voice caught.

"And what?" She was obviously unnerved by his odd behavior.

"The cupboard."

"Let me see it," she commanded curtly, moving over to the table.

Harry now fully ignored the bacon, watching with unbridled interest.

"I don't know," his aunt was saying. "I've never seen this before." As she spoke, she'd turned the letter over in her hands. "Oh God."

Turning to Harry with a wildly fearful look in her eyes, she nearly screamed, "Bacon! Cook the bacon!"

The boy ignored her, but Petunia hadn't noticed. She was whispering to her husband who was becoming paler by the second and wringing his hands together.

Dudley stumbled into the kitchen. He looked irritably at his cousin. "Are you burning the bacon?"

"No, shut up," Harry snapped.

The blond boy's eyes gleamed meanly. "Mum, Harry's burning breakfast!"

When this did not procure a response, he looked sullenly at the table. "What's going on?"
Vernon's head shot up. With a frantic expression, he said, "Dudley, how about you go outside and play."

"Play?" he repeated incredulously.

"Ride your bike or, um, chase some birds or something."

"I haven't even had breakfast," Dudley whined.

"Just go!" his father shrieked nearly knocking over the table.

Dudley went, and Harry had to suppress his giggles at the image of his fat cousin trying to hunt down a bird and cook it.

It was easy to put and end to his mirth, however, when his uncle's finger pointed straight at him. "You," was all he could manage, in a terrifying and deadly voice.

Harry calmly turned off the stove, not even phased by the burnt bacon. He moved over to the table, feeling adrenaline releasing into his blood.

"Where are the contents of this envelope?"

He answered in a voice low and quiet. "Hidden."

The paleness of Uncle Vernon's face was quickly being overcome by a fierce, bright red. "You will give the letter to me."

Harry braced himself, preparing to be defiant. Then he had a better idea. Dropping his shoulders as if in defeat, the boy slowly pulled a single sheet of paper out of his pocket and handed it over.

His uncle read it over quickly and then ripped it up in a rage. "You will not be going anywhere except Stonewall High, do you understand?"

"I do."

"What is that supposed to mean?"

"I understand you, but I don't think you understand them," Harry stated simply.

"Who?"

"The wizards... you can't stop them. They're coming for me."