Eagle's Flight // Frarry

Year 1.1*

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)