First of all, the universe was out to get him.
First the snake incident at the zoo, now this forsaken letter with hisname on it. It was also very clearly marked 'cupboard under the stairs' which was frankly just rude, as if the person who'd written this letter was wholly aware and did in fact not care that the person he was writing to lived in a cupboard. Perhaps he was just particularly touchy about it given his growing (don't say hatred, don't say hatred, don't say hatred)… dislike of the place of his residence, but whatever the reason it hit his pride and self-respecting points dead on, at every level.
Who do they think they are? He scowled to himself, before quickly clearing his expression. He turned like nothing had happened and shoved it through the slot on his cupboard as he passed by its door without missing a step, returning to the kitchen and placing the mail in his uncle's open hand as he bypassed the table and quickly resumed tending the cooking breakfast before someone got impatient. Given that Dudley was already at the table, he had able two minutes before he started complaining—maybe less really—and he wanted them on their good sides for the time being.
Now was a very, very bad time to be causing trouble, and a letter written to him from a stranger would only cause trouble. It was only a letter and Harry doubted it was anything important but even so, any small hiccup was not appreciated at this moment.
It'd only been a week ago that what he dubbed the snake incident had occurred.
Truth be told when he'd realized he'd actually be allowed to go to the Zoo, even if it was for Dudley's birthday, he'd been ecstatic. Besides neighbors' dogs briefly and the distant cat, he'd never been able to interact with any kind of animal aside from frogs and garden snakes he'd sometimes stumble across in gardening. He'd read about a lot of them and heard some more from his cupboard while the Dursleys were watching TV, but to actually get to see them in real life had sent his heart aflutter. It was something new and out there from this stable, day-to-day survival game he played. He was going to see something out in the world and that had been totally worth it even knowing that deviating from his routine introduced countless ways for him to get into trouble with his relatives, or just trouble in general. He'd been on his most perfect behavior possible, and even the lies and fake obedience couldn't bother him as they went out for the day to the zoo.
He's seen all sorts of sights, not just the animals, that he'd never seen before. People, foods, landscape. It was a bigger taste of freedom than he was familiar with and it was exhilarating, and quite possibly the best day he'd had in a long time—if not his life.
But, as mentioned, the universe ws out to get him.
He was aware of the strange things that could sometimes happen to him, but nothing like that had happened since he'd gotten his act together and started playing the Dursleys for fiddles. He thought, in hindsight, that maybe his control of his emotions and his general state of existence meant he was somehow controlling the weird things too. And that's why, as he got too excited with the sights and sounds of a day out at the zoo, something had slipped his control.
He had had a very pleasant conversation with a boa constrictor which seemed to understand him somehow (it did not occur to him at the time that talking to a snake that was nodding back to him was weird, but again, hindsight being 20-20 it was most definitely a weird event) when Dudley had caught sight of its lifted head and came running back to shove Harry out of the way.
Have entirely expected this he managed to keep his footing and just stand to the side as Dudley tapped harshly at the glass, the snake somehow looking less pleased with this other human. Somehow. If snakes could have expressions, Harry was getting the vibe it didn't like Dudley much, and hey the feeling was mutual. It was a rough day when he was sympathizing with a snake whose living quarters were… hold up a second, was this enclosure bigger than his cupboard? For some reason that really annoyed him.
The snake turned its head to look him in the eye and yeah, Harry could sympathize. He wanted… more than anything, to be free. And so it seemed did the snake.
It was that moment that the glass of the boa constrictor exhibit entirely disappeared.
It was a bloody miracle Harry's reflex when Dudley went flailing forward was to snap his hand out and fist into the back of his shirt, roughly pulling him back before he could fall in. He did not want to imagine how badly he'd get punished if Dudley were somehow to fall into a snake enclosure and the glass freaking disappearing in what he could only imagine was another weird event was somehow blamed on him.
After that had been chaos—Dudley screamed and Harry dragged him back just as the snake got the idea that he was free. Harry didn't want to say he was jealous of a snake, but he was definitely jealous of a snake as it slumped its huge body out of the enclosure with haste and started slithering away to its freedom.
"Thanksss amigo," he thought he heard it say as it slithered between the ankles of now-panicking and fleeing tourists, and Harry had to force himself not to grin as he grabbed Dudley's hand and pulled him in the opposite direction that the snake was headed.
Good luck, he thought silently instead, hoping it miraculously did somehow manage to make it back to Brazil.
Be it that his aunt and uncle ran up to them (or aggressively waddle, in Vernon's case) and Harry was pulling Dudley away from the danger or that he feigned a terrified expression in such a believable way, his acting skills just so darn impressive that as he cried crocodile tears and whimpered in the back seat of their car on the way home, whatever the reason they perhaps thought he'd been punished enough without having to inflict any damage themselves. Even as Piers, Dudley's friend, had made the devastating jump to say Harry had made the glass disappear, he was yelled at on the drive home and then ordered to make dinner fit for a king to make Dudley feel better after that shock on his birthday.
He hadn't been ordered to his cupboard though, which was a key distinction. His aunt and uncle, a full week later, were being twice as nasty as they usually were, but their words meant nothing to him anymore and he wasn't locked in his cupboard until further notice. He thought the combination of Dudley not actually having been hurt, them not actually having witnessed the snake and only going of Dudley's and Piers' words, that he'd gotten Dudley out of there, and acted sufficiently traumatized meant that he'd just barely gotten out of that one no worse for the wear. Dudley had already forgotten and eventually his aunt and uncle would return to their normal amount of hating him instead of remembering they hated him for any particular reason, which would be for the best.
Of course then just as things were about to start settling down for real, a letter came, addressed to him.
What an absurd thing, first of all—who in their right mind was writing to him of all people? Secondly, if they knew the Dursleys at all they definitely hated him by trying that nonsense. Thirdly, the address of 'cupboard under the stairs' very much bothered him. It ticked him off in two parts: first in that they clearly knew where he slept and didn't seem to care (if they cared they'd address it in the letter, not on the front of the bloody envelop where the mail man and literally everyone else could see that—how horribly humiliating) and secondly that they had such terrible timing as to risk one of the Dursleys seeing that when he was in the middle of trying to get them back on their good sides—Vernon sometimes came down late and picked the mail up on his way to the kitchen, what if it'd been one of those days!? That forsaken letter could've messed everything up.
With a silent sigh he pushed it from his mind and went about the rest of the day—school, chores, dinner, chores, cupboard. Like every other day, especially now that he was trying to avoid trouble, doubly so until the snake incident was put from their minds.
It was after dinner and his last minutes chores were done that he got back to his cupboard, the Dursleys watching TV and Dudley undoubtedly breaking another video game upstairs. He found the letter and shuffled up into a sitting position with a sigh to get it over with, his curiosity finally coming back to the surface now that he had an opportunity to quench it. It was a thick piece of paper, a kind he'd never seen before, and sealed with a chunk of melted wax, an "H" stamped into it. Even more curious he opened it and read…
000
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 no later than July 31.
Yours Sincerely,
Minerva McGonagall
Deputy Headmistress
000
Harry stopped, blinked, and then re-read it. Rinse and repeat about four times.
This had to be a joke, right? Witches and wizards and things… then again, the snake incident, ending up on a roof, his teacher's wig… not to mention he could 100% imagine this is why the Dursleys hated him for no apparent reason since as long as he could remember. They hated Halloween even more than they hated him, surprisingly enough, so if they'd somehow known he was… what was it, a wizard? If they'd known that all along it would make a lot of sense than that they just literally hate their own nephew for no good reason. They're stupid, and cruel, but they're not smart enough to have held a grudge for what amounts to a decade over stupid little things like the fact they "put clothes on his back" or "feed him". They were terrible people but if they were going to hate him constantly for ten years then it's because of something that hasn't changed in all of those ten years. Him being not normal would explain a great deal and fit pretty well into what he already knew of his relatives—and he knew quite a lot given he'd spent the past two years learning to manipulate them into allowing his continued, unimpeded existence.
Besides, as he read through the included equipment and books list, they were… very detailed. If it was a joke then someone had even less of a life than Harry himself did in taking the time to come up with some of this stuff just to prank people with.
His mind said yeah, it was a joke. How could it not be?
But that side of him that's been wanting nothing more out of life than to be free whispered… hey, maybe it wasn't. Wouldn't it be grand if it were real? That old, reoccurring dream of him flying on a motorbike… that could very well be real too if witches and wizards and magic truly did exist. That silent wish he'd had when he was younger and miserable in his dark little closet, of someone appearing to take him away… even if this were just a cruel, cruel joke, that tiny spark of something inside of him that hadn't quite given in to being a realist and a child wanted this to be true more than anything he'd ever wanted anything in his life.
If magic were real, and he got to go to a school away from the Dursleys and learn things like flying on a motor bike and… glancing at the list, reading things like potions and broomsticks, he felt his imagine itch to be let free and just picture himself over a big cauldron of some crazy concoction or flying through the air on a broomstick like a real witch from picture books…
…he couldn't quite bring himself to believe this. But… he didn't give up hope either.
There was only one way to figure this out for certain, and so he made a plan. Until he knew either way, he wasn't going to get his hopes up (more than they already were, gosh darn it… if this was a joke he was going to kill someone, he swore), but he also wasn't going to pass this opportunity up just quite yet. The disappearing glass and the jumping onto the roof… that wasn't in his head, he knew that, and that meant he had one concrete reason not to dismiss this just yet. He didn't have an owl or whatever that meant, so he'd send it by normal post tomorrow—there was a blue mail box outside the school that would work so the Dursleys didn't catch him. He also didn't have any spare paper, but he did have a pen stashed away for notes somewhere in here, so he shifted around until he found one, and then flipped the thick paper over to write his response.
000
Dear Deputy Headmistress,
I wasn't aware magic was real and that there was a school for it, and I'd like a confirmation this isn't a joke first. If it is, you're a cruel person.
I also have several questions about the way this letter was written and delivered as it caused quite a bit of trouble.
Strangers and letters are not welcome at this address, however to respond please send to the address listed below marked with 'hold for Harry Potter' and I will retrieve it.
Sincerely,
Harry Potter
P.S—why are first years not allowed brooms?
000
He re-read and it and thought it was fine, there was just too much to ask in his first letter and he wanted to hear what they'd say. If their story was too convoluted or they avoided answering questions, then it was probably fake, but if it sounded legitimate…
He pressed his lips into a thin line considering that, but pushed it aside for now and added the address to the public library nearby to the bottom of the missive—it was on his way home from school if he took one of his longer running routes and figured it was a safer bet than here. He'd seen some people receive letters this way for one reason or another, and although it clearly annoyed the librarian she'd never had a problem with him coming in at odd times to sit quietly in a corner and read, and figured he could get away with it just for a couple letters.
He folded the letter back over so his response was on the inside and wrapped it in spare notebook paper, pinning it down with the wax seal he'd picked off the original letter and applying enough pressure that it stuck well enough and wrote "Miverva McGonagall—Hogwarts" on the front. It was sketchy as heck and yet another reason this was absolutely going to be just a joke and nothing more but… honestly, what did he have to lose?
He slept very poorly that night, trying to clear his mind of thoughts and just enjoy rest while he had it because he had to wake up early as always, but the stupid cupboard he was trying very hard not to actively hate was driving him up the wall more than usual. Images of broomsticks and magic wands and magic in general kept trying to take over and he wanted desperate to just let go and believe in it but he couldn't.
His cynical side was already preparing himself mentally to put up his masks for the Dursleys when this inevitably turned out to be a very poor joke and the little hope that had blossomed in his chest was squashed out entirely. He couldn't just give in and start dreaming nonsense without proof that it wasn't going to turn right around and bite him on the behind as soon as his got a response to this letter and that tiny bit of hope went out like a snuffed candle. His life here was only bearable because he knew what to expect and how to handle it; he'd already braced himself against the Dursley's hateful words and now they could skate off his skin like water. If he got his hopes up… and it didn't turn out…
His heart clenched in the darkness—the house long since quiet as the rest of its inhabitants went off to sleep while he lie there thinking troublesome thoughts.
He both wished that this letter were true and that it had never shown up in today's mail to give him hope.Because if that hope go crushed… that tiny part of himself that was still a child who believed in things like magic and promises and goodness in people would die, right then and there. He wasn't sure he was ready for that, and he was afraid.
He hadn't been this afraid in a long time, not since he'd gotten a handle on things in his life. He could only lie there and helplessly, pathetically desperately pray to anyone who was listening that this wasn't going to hurt him more than life already did.