A/N: Hello friends, This is My first attempt at Harry Potter Fanfiction. Please review and let me know if I should continue.

I don't own Harry Potter or any of the characters created by J. K. Rowling.


Mr. and Mrs. Dursley, of number four, Privet Drive, were proud to say that they were perfectly normal, thank you very much. They were the last people you'd expect to be involved in anything strange or mysterious, because they just didn't hold with such nonsense.

Mr. Dursley was the director of a firm called Grunnings, which made drills. He was a big, beefy man with hardly any neck, although he did have a very large mustache. Mrs. Dursley was thin and blonde and had nearly twice the usual amount of neck, which came in very useful as she spent so much of her time craning over garden fences, spying on the neighbors. The Dursleys had a small son called Dudley and in their opinion there was no finer boy anywhere.

The Dursleys had everything they wanted, but they also had a secret, and their greatest fear was that somebody would discover it. They didn't think they could bear it if anyone found out about the Potters. Mrs. Potter was Mrs. Dursley's sister, but they hadn't met for several years; in fact, Mrs. Dursley pretended she didn't have a sister, because her sister and her good-for-nothing husband were as unDursleyish as it was possible to be. The Dursleys shuddered to think what the neighbors would say if the Potters arrived in the street. The Dursleys knew that the Potters had a small son, too, but they had never even seen him. This boy was another good reason for keeping the Potters away; they didn't want Dudley mixing with a child like that.

But of course even the perfectly normal Dursleys could not have everything they want. For one fine early morning they discovered fifteen month old Harry Potter sleeping in their doorstep, tucked in a hamper along with a note from one Albus Dumbledore, requesting Petunia Dursley to take him in as her own.

This morning found little scrawny Harry Potter getting up sleepily at his bedroom, the cupboard under the stairs with a screech from Aunt Petunia.

He'd lived with the Dursleys almost ten years, ten miserable years, as long as he could remember, ever since he'd been a baby and his parents had died in that car crash. He couldn't remember being in the car when his parents had died. Sometimes, when he strained his memory during long hours in his cupboard, he came up with a strange vision: a blinding flash of green light and a burning pain on his forehead. This, he supposed, was the crash, though he couldn't imagine where all the green light came from. He couldn't remember his parents at all. His aunt and uncle never spoke about them, and of course he was forbidden to ask questions. There were no photographs of them in the house.

This morning Harry was cooking breakfast as usual when the mail came and he of course had to get them for his Uncle.

Three things lay on the doormat: a postcard from Uncle Vernon's sister Marge, who was vacationing on the Isle of Wight, a brown envelope that looked like a bill and— a letter for Harry.

Harry picked it up and stared at it, his heart twanging like a giant elastic band. No one, ever, in his whole life, had written to him. Who would? He had no friends, no other relatives — he didn't belong to the library, so he'd never even got rude notes asking for books back. Yet here it was, a letter, addressed so plainly there could be no mistake:

Mr. H. Potter

The Cupboard under the Stairs

4 Privet Drive

Little Whinging


The envelope was thick and heavy, made of yellowish parchment, and the address was written in emerald-green ink. There was no stamp.

Turning the envelope over, his hand trembling, Harry saw a purple wax seal bearing a coat of arms; a lion, an eagle, a badger, and a snake surrounding a large letter H.

"Hurry up, boy!" shouted Uncle Vernon from the kitchen. "What are you doing, checking for letter bombs?" He chuckled at his own joke.

Harry's brain worked furiously. They didn't let asking questions, so maybe they didn't want him to know about other people who might know him. Maybe he shouldn't let them see his letter, it's his after all. So he shoved the letter through his cupboard ventilation and entered the kitchen to deliver his uncle's letters.

Later at night, when the Dursleys retired to bed, Harry began to read the mysterious letter.



(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

Questions exploded inside Harry's head like fireworks 'What does it mean, they await my owl?'

Then 'Wait, witchcraft and wizardry? Aren't they all fantasy stuff? Is this a practical joke? But the letter sounded quite formal. And how could anyone know about his cupboard apart from the Dursleys? But of course they hate magic, sometimes to the point of terror' Harry thought. So it's quite a mystery. But how to reply them? Normal post doesn't mention cupboards, do they? They said they'd wait for owls. But he had never seen owls carrying letters. But he had hardly seen owls aside from the Zoo trip on Dudley's birthday. After a minute of hesitation he dug out a paper, an ordinary one and a small pencil.

Albus Dumbledore


Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry

Dear Sir,

I didn't know anything like witchcraft and wizardry was there. Is this a joke? If not, then you must have made a mistake. I don't really know anything about it. Besides my family Uncle and Aunt dislike magic. So even if you are right, I won't be able to attend. I hate to miss the chance though.

Yours sincerely

Harry Potter

Harry regretted missing the chance to go to a different school. He wasn't really excited about going to Stonewell School. But of course they won't let him go to any other school, let alone pay the fees. With that thought, he stuffed his letter with the Hogwarts letter in the envelop and went to sleep, wishing there was really magic and he could run away from the Dursleys using magic.