Revised: June 8, 2021

Welcome to yet another (for those that have been here from the beginning) revised first chapter. I am already liking the change, and I hope you do, too.

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Eight-year-old Harry Potter trudged up to the attic, wondering why dust had to exist. It didn't seem to serve any purpose except to make life more difficult, especially for those who had allergies.

He let out a sneeze. Maybe he should check to see if he had any himself. Although neither his Uncle Vernon nor his Aunt Petunia would take him to a doctor. Taking care of Dudley was a handful in of itself.

Harry shook off these thoughts and began pushing things aside so he could get them cleaned. A thump sounded inside a worn-down box, making him pause. He peered at it uncertainly, wondering why he felt as curious as he did. After a moment, he gave in.

The contents in the box weren't particularly impressive. A few picture photographs, some books, and an unopened card. Harry reached in and pulled out one of the photos. He didn't recognize the man or the woman smiling up at him, but the man had the same black hair that stuck out in the back. And the baby in their arms...

That's me, Harry thought with a jolt. So those must be his parents. Aunt Petunia had grudgingly told him they had been drunks that had gotten killed in a car crash. And while Harry did not have any knowledge on how a drunk person looked or acted, he had a feeling she hadn't been truthful.

He then grabbed the small books and opened one.

Dear Fleamont,

As what James begged me to call you since diary was too boring. Anyway, Harry just did his first accidental magic. Poor Sirius looked like he was about to cry and faint at the same time...

As Harry read on, his eyes grew wider and wider until they nearly bulged out of his head. Magic... So he wasn't a freak. He wasn't worthless. There were other people like him. For the first time since he could remember, Harry felt something he couldn't quite place at first: hope.

The sound of a voice raised in a whine snapped him back to reality all too soon. None of them were to know, Harry thought. If they knew he knew, they'd punish him most severely. Quickly, Harry stuffed the journals into his oversized shirt — which used to be Dudley's — and got on with the cleaning.

Mr. H. Potter

The Cupboard under the Stairs

4 Privet Drive

Little Whinging

Surrey

Harry stared at the emerald-green ink with a mixture of excitement and confusion. It was here at last. But how did they know where he slept?

"Hurry up, boy!" shouted Uncle Vernon from the kitchen. "What are you doing, checking for letter bombs?" He chuckled at his own joke, although what was so funny about that Harry did not know.

Harry stuffed the letter into his pocket and gave Uncle Vernon the rest of the mail.

"Took you long enough, boy," was the predictable response. "Go to your room."

For once, Harry gladly obeyed. He climbed into the cupboard and took out the letter.

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 September 1. We await your owl by no later than July 31. Yours sincerely,

Minerva McGonagall, Deputy Headmistress

Hogwarts. The very same school his parents had gone to. He was finally going to see what the magical world had to offer.

Looking back at the letter, Harry wondered how he was supposed to reply. Shifting around in the cupboard, he found a piece of paper and some pens and wrote down his response.

"Now how am I supposed to send this?" Harry whispered. He reread the letter. It said, We await your owl... And I'm supposed to find an owl where?

He received his answer later that day. His aunt had ordered him that morning to water the flowerbed, and as he was working, a tawny owl landed on the mailbox. "You here for my letter?" Harry asked it. It hooted in reply. "Do you carry it or...?"

The owl held out a leg. Harry clumsily tied his letter to it, and then the owl was gone.

When a giant man by the name of Rubeus Hagrid came to take Harry to Diagon Alley, both Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia went into a state a panic.

"I'm Keeper of Keys at Hogwarts — yeh'll know all about Hogwarts, o' course."

"I know some," Harry said with a shrug.

"What?!" Aunt Petunia screeched. "But how? We never told you —" She broke off, but Hagrid had heard enough.

"Never told yeh!" he boomed. "Then how do yeh know 'bout Hogwarts?"

Harry didn't want his relatives to know about his parents' journals, so he just shook his head slightly.

Thankfully, Hagrid seemed to understand. "Well, I suppose that doesn't matter right now. Let's go, Harry."

"Bless my soul," whispered the old bartender, "Harry Potter... what an honor."

How Harry wished he had disguised himself somehow. He nearly jumped when the bartender grabbed his hands. "Welcome back, Mr. Potter. Welcome back."

"Um, hi..." Harry actually did flinch when several people crowded him.

"Doris Crockford, Mr. Potter, can't believe I'm meeting you at last."

"So proud, Mr. Potter, I'm just so proud."

"Always wanted to shake your hand — I'm all of a flutter."

"Delighted, Mr. Potter, just can't tell you, Diggle's the name, Dedalus Diggle."

Harry recognized the man, but didn't say so. Instead, he smiled politely, secretly wishing Hagrid would stop standing there beaming and do something!

"Professor Quirrell!" said Hagrid to a pale, shaky man. "Harry, Professor Quirrell will be one of your teachers at Hogwarts."

"P-P-Potter," stammered Professor Quirrell, grasping Harry's hand, "c-can't t-tell you how p-pleased I am to meet you."

"What sort of magic do you teach, Professor Quirrell?" Harry asked.

"D-Defense Against the D-D-Dark Arts," muttered Professor Quirrell. "N-not that you n-need it, eh, P-P-Potter? You'll be g-getting all your equipment, I suppose? I've g-got to p-pick up a new b-book on vampires, m-myself." He looked terrified at the very thought.

To his relief, Hagrid announced that he ought to be going. "Told yeh, didn't I? Told yeh you was famous. Even Professor Quirrell was tremblin' ter meet yeh — mind you, he's usually tremblin'."

"I didn't like it," Harry muttered.

"Wha'? Whaddya mean?"

"Too many people touching me." The only physical contact Harry had received was when Uncle Vernon hit him.

Hagrid looked taken aback. "Why didn't ya say anythin'?"

"Didn't want to be rude."

"Well, I'm sorry I didn't realize, Harry. I'd flatten your hair if I were you. That scar is a dead giveaway."

Harry did so, thankful when it didn't automatically stick right back up.

They stopped at Gringotts, where Hagrid showed off his terrible acting skills and subtlety as he removed a small, deceivingly bland package from Vault 713.

He still looked greenish from the cart ride when they came out, so he sent Harry into Madam Malkin's alone. Another boy was already there, standing on a footstool.

Harry thought he made decent company, although he strongly of him of Dudley.

"I really don't think they should let the other sort in, do you?" the boy said. "They're just not the same, they've never been brought up to know our ways. Some of them have never even heard of Hogwarts until they get the letter, imagine. I think they should keep it in the old wizarding families. What's your surname, anyway?"

"That's you done, my dear," Madam Malkin said before Harry could answer.

Harry thanked her before turning back to the blond boy. "You can't blame them for being ignorant of the wizarding world," he pointed out. "It's not like they can control their blood status."

The blond boy pondered over his words. "You have a point," he conceded. "Well, I'll see you at Hogwarts, I suppose."

Harry nodded once before rejoining Hagrid.

The only major change here was a sort of prologue. I didn't really like how it just jumped right into getting the letter.