The morning sky was still dark. The eastern horizon glowed faintly red, while the stars above Harry's head left only faint traces in the dim sky.
As always, Harry had started his day with a morning run.
By the time he returned, he saw the postman delivering mail to the Dursleys' house.
Harry's heart skipped a beat.
"Could it be here?"
A strange mixture of excitement, disbelief, and even a hint of fear surged through him.
"Come on, it's just a letter," Harry muttered to himself.
But the way his hand trembled slightly as he reached for the mailbox completely betrayed his nervousness.
Who could blame him?
He had waited ten years for this moment.
Harry pulled out the mail.
There were three envelopes in total:
A postcard from Vernon's sister.A letter that looked like a bill.And the last one…
A letter addressed to him—
Harry Potter.
A rush of heat surged through Harry's body, making him momentarily forget to breathe.
After what felt like an eternity, he exhaled slowly and looked at the unmistakable address written in emerald-green ink:
Mr. H. PotterThe Smallest Bedroom4 Privet DriveLittle Whinging, Surrey
The envelope was made of thick parchment.
On the back, a wax seal bore a coat of arms—a large letter "H" surrounded by a lion, an eagle, a badger, and a serpent.
Hogwarts.
Harry immediately tucked the letter against his chest and glanced around suspiciously, as if afraid someone might snatch it away.
He looked so shifty that if a police officer had seen him at that moment, they would have instantly thought:
"That kid is definitely up to no good."
Walking into the house, Harry tossed the other two letters onto the table, then quietly slipped upstairs, locked the door, and flopped onto his bed.
Staring at the envelope, he grinned like an idiot.
Then, unable to help himself, he pressed the letter to his lips and kissed it.
"Hehehehehehe..."
Congratulations, Harry!
Winner of this year's "Most Suspicious Laughter" Award!
Taking a deep breath—
No, that wasn't enough.
He took another deep breath.
Still not enough?
Another.
Finally, his blood cooled and his heart calmed down.
With great care, Harry tore open the envelope and pulled out the letter.
And then, he read:
HOGWARTS SCHOOL of WITCHCRAFT and WIZARDRYHeadmaster: Albus Dumbledore(Order of Merlin, First Class, Grand Sorc., Chief 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 necessary books and equipment.
The term begins on September 1st.
We await your owl no later than July 31st.
Yours sincerely,Minerva McGonagallDeputy Headmistress
As Harry finished reading, a folded piece of parchment slipped from the letter—it was a list of school supplies:
Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and WizardryUniform
First-year students will require:
Three sets of plain black work robesOne plain black pointed hat (for daytime wear)One pair of protective gloves (dragon hide or similar)One winter cloak (black, with silver fastenings)
Please note: All student clothing must bear name tags.
Course Books
All students should have a copy of each of the following:
The Standard Book of Spells (Grade 1)A History of MagicMagical TheoryA Beginner's Guide to TransfigurationOne Thousand Magical Herbs and FungiMagical Drafts and PotionsFantastic Beasts and Where to Find ThemThe Dark Forces: A Guide to Self-ProtectionOther Equipment1 wand1 cauldron (pewter, standard size 2)1 set of glass or crystal phials1 telescope1 set of brass scales
Students may bring an owl, a cat, or a toad.
First-years are NOT permitted to bring their own broomsticks.
Harry's eyes sparkled as he read through the list.
His magical journey was about to begin.
As Harry stared at the letter in his hands, he could already feel it—the mysterious, shadowy aura of the wizarding world.
Just then, a soft flapping sound came from outside his window.
Harry looked up.
A barn owl was hovering outside, carrying a small leather pouch tied to its leg.
"Who is it from?"
Harry quickly opened the window and retrieved the letter.
The note read:
Dear Harry,
I assume you've already received your Hogwarts acceptance letter.
I will be coming to pick you up tonight to take you to Diagon Alley for your school supplies.
Hagrid
"Tonight? Already?!"
Harry muttered to himself, feeling a thrill of excitement.
"Wow, this is moving fast... But I like it."
He grinned and immediately started packing his things.
As the owl prepared to fly away, Harry suddenly remembered something.
"Wait!"
The owl circled back and landed on the windowsill.
"So they really can understand human speech, huh?"
Harry hesitated for a moment before asking, "Can you deliver a letter to Professor McGonagall for me?"
The owl tilted its head, then spun it in circles like an unhinged wind-up toy.
"⊙﹏⊙b ... What the hell? What's with the head-spinning?!"
"You're not saying anything, so I'll just assume that means yes."
Sitting at his desk, Harry pulled out a blank sheet of parchment and a black pen.
At first, he started writing:
"Respected Miss McGonagall..."
Then, after a brief pause, he crumpled the paper into a ball.
Grabbing a new sheet, he wrote instead:
"To my dearest, most revered, and deeply admired Miss McGonagall,"
Harry nodded in satisfaction at the opening line.
"What? Someone called me shameless?"
"Well, thank you for the compliment," Harry said modestly.
He continued writing:
"I have received your letter and am honored to attend Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. I am certain that under your wise and patient guidance, I will grow to become an upstanding, ambitious, highly cultured, and well-disciplined young wizard."
"Yours sincerely,Harry Potter"
Harry folded the letter neatly and tucked it into the owl's pouch.
With a quick flap of its wings, the owl soared into the night.
Harry, meanwhile, turned back to his room to finish packing.
Books? He left most of them behind—he wouldn't need them anymore.
Clothes? He packed whatever still fit.
Sentimental keepsakes? He made sure to bring a few.
After rummaging through every corner of his room, Harry managed to fill two large bags and a suitcase.
Before leaving, he wrote a letter to Aunt Petunia, explaining his departure.
After all, if he vanished without a word, she might assume he had run away or been kidnapped and call the police—and that would be a nightmare to deal with.
At Lunch...
Petunia suddenly narrowed her eyes at Harry.
"Is there something you're not telling me?" she asked suspiciously.
Harry, who had been daydreaming about all the fun he was going to have at Hogwarts, almost blurted out a curse.
"What the hell?!"
"What's going on? Can I just say this is a woman's intuition at work?"
Suppressing his inner panic, Harry channeled his inner Oscar-winning actor and put on a perfectly innocent expression.
Raising his eyebrows slightly, he tilted his head in confusion and asked, "What do you mean? Nothing's going on."
"...You just seem a bit off today."
"Oh, maybe it's because I'm worried about Dudley's grades."
"..."
Petunia gritted her teeth.
That Afternoon Passed Uneventfully.
As night fell, the city gradually quieted.
People drifted into sleep—
Except for a very special person.
Harry Potter.
Lying in bed, he couldn't sleep at all.
He was waiting.
Then, at a certain moment—
A deep, rumbling roar echoed outside.
Harry's room suddenly lit up like daylight, flickered twice, and then plunged back into darkness.
Immediately, Harry sprang out of bed and rushed to the window.
Down on the street, a gigantic motorcycle was parked in front of the Dursleys' house.
Seated on the massive bike was an even bigger man.
The motorcycle's headlight switched off, and the enormous figure waved enthusiastically at Harry.
Harry stepped away from the window, pulled a letter from under his pillow, and placed it on his desk.
Then, grabbing his luggage, he silently slipped out of his room, carefully descended the stairs, and opened the front door.
Just as he was about to step outside, he hesitated.
Turning around, he stared into the darkness of the house he had spent ten years in.
He knew every inch of it.
It was a place filled with memories—both good and bad.
For some reason, a strange sense of reluctance and loneliness rose in his chest.
"Come on, I'm not some melancholic poet. Getting sentimental doesn't suit me."
With a self-deprecating chuckle, he shook off the feeling.
Then, without looking back, he stepped out of No. 4 Privet Drive.
"HARRY!"
Like a giant bear, Hagrid scooped Harry into a bone-crushing hug.
"Oh, Harry, it's been so long! I mean, I held you when you were just a baby—"
Hagrid was so wide that it felt like several grown men standing together.
And once he had Harry in his arms, well—
Harry was completely swallowed up in the embrace.
"I swear, I need to convince Hagrid to take a bath."
This was the only thought running through Harry's mind as he was trapped in Hagrid's bear hug.
The smell was absolutely unbearable.
When he was finally released, Harry gasped for fresh air like a drowning man.
Without Hagrid's unique fragrance assaulting his senses, even the polluted city air smelled wonderful.
Forcing a smile, he said, "Yeah… It's been a while, Hagrid."
Hagrid picked up Harry's heavy luggage with one hand—as if it were as light as cotton—and tossed it onto the motorcycle's rear seat.
Then, he handed Harry a pair of goggles.
"Put these on, or the wind'll blind ya."
Harry took the goggles.
"Are we really riding a motorcycle all the way to London?" he asked curiously.
In the original story, so many letters had failed to reach him that Hagrid had ended up delivering the acceptance letter in person—and they had taken a train to London.
"That's right," Hagrid confirmed.
"With the motorcycle's speed, we should be there by dawn. These days, with so many new students getting their school supplies, Diagon Alley's gonna be packed."
"Oh, you probably don't know about Diagon Alley yet," Hagrid added with a grin. "But trust me, you'll love it."
He swung a leg over the bike, then lifted Harry effortlessly onto the seat.
"You ready? Let's go!"
The motorcycle engine roared to life—
And then, they shot into the sky.
Harry held his breath.
He was flying.
.
.
.
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