The Admission Letter

Harry endured for quite a while, but in the end he could not hold it in and burst out laughing as he sat on the wooden plank that could barely be called a "bed."

Merlin's bow tie, Headmaster Black was dead!

Phineas Black had been the most hated headmaster in the entire school.

Just how hated was he? Two classmates who did not know each other could bring up Headmaster Black and immediately chat like blood brothers.

At the time, a saying was popular at Hogwarts: as long as you hate Headmaster Black, we are brothers.

Shaking his head to interrupt his memories, Harry looked over the letter again.

Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry

Headmaster: Albus Dumbledore

(President of the International Confederation of Wizards, First Class Order of Merlin, Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot)

Dear Mr. Potter:

We are pleased to inform you that you have been accepted to attend Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. A list of required books and equipment is enclosed.

Term begins on September 1st. We await your owl's reply by July 31st.

Deputy Headmistress

Minerva McGonagall

A reply by owl?

Harry unconsciously rubbed the letter between his fingers. At this point in time, he had yet to come into contact with the Magical World, so naturally he did not have an owl.

If he went to Diagon Alley to buy one now, he had no money and his poor family could not afford it.

He flipped through the appendix at the back. There were so many textbooks listed that they were completely beyond what he could afford, not to mention buying a wand...

When he had attended school a hundred years ago, Deputy Headmistress Matilda Weasley had kindly advanced the money for him and helped him apply for Hogwarts financial aid.

Harry took off his glasses and rubbed his eyelids.

How about... borrowing some money from a Dark Wizard?

In the Wizarding World over a hundred years ago, Dark Wizards had been extremely rampant. Thanks to them, after practicing spells with them, Harry could always borrow quite a few Galleons.

Then Uncle Vernon could drive him to The Leaky Cauldron, Harry thought.

But Dark Wizards...

It seemed that his father and mother had been killed by a powerful Dark Wizard.

Harry's hand clenched tight without him realizing it.

From the way his aunt acted, she did not seem to know much either. After all, with the Secrecy Statute in place, it was already the limit for a Muggle to know that wizards existed.

He had no intention of questioning a Muggle like Aunt Petunia, who knew nothing about the Magical World. He would have to ask wizards about this matter.

Just then, he heard a knock on the door.

When he opened it, he found Aunt Petunia standing there with a complicated expression on her face.

"What is it, Aunt?" Harry remained polite.

"When I opened the door just now, I saw an owl on the mailbox outside—I mean, an owl."

Aunt Petunia sounded somewhat impatient, but Harry keenly sensed that her impatience seemed to be concealing some other emotion.

"I think it was the one that delivered your letter. Back then, Lily—your mother, that is—used owls to send letters to her friends. Perhaps you'll need it to deliver your reply."

"Thank you, Aunt. I understand—could I trouble you to prepare some food for it?"

Harry smiled faintly.

Aunt Petunia did not look pleased, but she still turned and left.

Once his aunt had gone, Harry pulled out paper and a pen from beneath the bed and wrote a politely worded reply.

When he stepped out of the small cupboard, Harry was surprised to find a bowl of sliced sausage and another bowl of water by the door.

"Thank you," he said softly to Aunt Petunia, who was cleaning the room. Then he picked up the plate and casually stuffed two slices of sausage into his mouth.

The owl probably would not mind, he thought as he carried the food out the door.

The owl stood on the Dursley family's mailbox, one leg tucked beneath the fluff on its belly, balanced in an impressive one-legged stance.

"Hello."

Harry walked over. "Are you my postman?"

"Whoo-whoo—" the owl hooted twice.

"You've worked hard. If you don't mind, please have some water and something to eat first." Harry reached out and stroked the owl's head.

The owl lowered its raised foot and stretched out its neck, first catching sight of the sausage in Harry's left hand. A remarkably human expression appeared in its eyes.

Disgust, in capital letters...

Then it drank some water from the other bowl, spread its wings, and hooted twice.

Harry understood what it meant. Shrugging, he said, "Such fine Cumberland Sausage—it would really be a shame not to eat it."

The owl hooted twice, snatched up the letter, and flapped away from the Dursley family, that miserable place where it could never get anything good to eat.

"A picky eater doesn't make a good owl." Harry shrugged, holding the plate in one hand as he elegantly stuffed the owl's sausage into his own mouth slice by slice.

Back inside, Harry made his way to the kitchen with practiced ease. With a snap of his fingers, he turned the empty basin beneath the sink into a wooden stool. He stepped onto it, washed the dishes, arranged them neatly, and returned to his own little cubby.

Harry did not have to wait long. That very afternoon, someone sent by Hogwarts arrived to fetch him, just as Deputy Headmaster Matilda Weasley had done when she led him into the magical world a hundred years ago.

"Someone's looking for you! Freak—"

Aunt Petunia pounded viciously on the little door beneath the stairs. She had originally meant to spit out the word "freak," but then remembered what had happened to her husband that morning, when he had been left hanging in midair.

She had already stopped herself, but then the cubby door opened, and Aunt Petunia saw Harry's face again.

It was exactly like that arrogant, conceited face from more than ten years ago!

Aunt Petunia's fury flared up again in an instant.

"Freak!" she snarled before turning and heading for the study without looking back.

Harry was somewhat baffled, but he knew that was simply how his aunt's family was.

Muggles, sigh.

The Muggles from over a hundred years ago had resisted wizards far more fiercely than his uncle and aunt had.

He walked to the door and was met with a furry head that seemed almost wedged into the doorframe.

"Oh, Harry..."

The furry-headed man's eyes instantly welled up when he saw Harry, and tears as large as beans rolled down from them.

"The last time I saw you, you were still just a little baby... Sorry, I'm a bit too tall. I can't squeeze through this door..."

His voice even carried a hint of a sob as he spoke.

Harry could feel the man's heartfelt kindness. His first impression of this excessively large man was not a bad one.

"Hello, I'm Harry. Harry Potter. May I ask if you know me?" he introduced himself politely.

"Ah, of course I know you." The man reached out and wiped his hands on his clothes. "I'm Rubeus Hagrid. I was the one who brought you here back then."

Hagrid looked at Harry's face again, and his nose twitched.

"My goodness, you look almost exactly like your father. And those eyes—you have your mother's eyes..."