Our Father's Sons // HP

Chapter One

The letter came in early July.

Harry, as usual, got the mail. And, as usual, he looked through it before handing it to Uncle Vernon. It was nothing but his idle curiosity getting the better of him. He never stole mail, or opened it. But he couldn't help reading what he could. It was in his nature. Though, of course, he never got mail himself.

So he didn't expect the letter. It was addressed to him, Harry Potter, The Cupboard Under the Stairs, Number 4 Privet Drive, Little Whinging, Surrey. There was no mistake. It was so specific, there couldn't be.

Harry bit his lip. The Dursley's surely wouldn't approve of him getting mail. They'd take it from him, like the took everything else. And he was still in trouble from the incident at the zoo. So he quickly stuffed the letter in the waistband of his trousers, covering it with his oversize shirt. He would read it later.

The rest of the day went as normal. He cooked, he cleaned, and he did his best to ignore the Dursley's.

Finally, he was able to go to bed, to his cupboard. He waited until the Dursley's had gone upstairs, until he knew he wouldn't be disturbed, and turned on the light, before ripping the letter open eagerly.

"Dear Mr. Potter, We are pleased to inform you that you have been accepted at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry..." he read aloud in a whisper, his eyes widening. Could it be real? Could he be a wizard? He skimmed the entire letter, then took out the list of required books.

It was certainly a long way to go for a simple prank. And the Dursley's wouldn't do anything like that. They weren't creative enough, for one. And for the second, they hated anything to do with magic, even on tv. There was no way they'd even pretend he might have magic. It might give him ideas, to their thinking. And as he had no other friends, this just had to be real.

But what to do about it? There was no number, no return address. Just the instructions to return his reply "by owl." What did that mean? Did they use owls for their mail, somehow?

Shrugging slightly, and yawning, Harry decided there was nothing to be done about it that night. After all, he couldn't very well go find an owl outside, could he? He'd wake the Dursley's, if nothing else, wandering around Privet Drive in the middle of the night. No, best leave it until morning.

Harry turned the light off, got under his thin blanket, and closed his eyes.

The next morning, Harry stashed his letter under his mattress, and headed out of the cupboard. As usual, he made breakfast. And, as usual, he was left with far little to eat. Uncle Vernon and Dudley both left the kitchen, and Harry turned to his Aunt Petunia.

"Have you ever heard of Hogwarts?" he asked impulsively. He had no reason to think that she would have ever heard of wizards before, but then again, she might have. And Harry had no other leads, and no way to reply to the letter.

Petunia dropped the glass she was holding.

"How did you hear that name?" she whispered.

"I got a letter," Harry said, more bravely than he felt. He knew his aunt wasn't afraid to give him a smack if she thought he was misbehaving, or lock him in his cupboard for days or more, without food. But this seemed too important to ignore. If he really was a wizard, he wanted to know. He wanted to go to Hogwarts.

"You got a letter," Aunt Petunia repeated faintly. Then she seemed to rally herself, a faint gleam of anger in her eyes. "Of course you got a letter! Just like the one your mother got, I would wager. Full of nonsense. Cauldrons and robes and- and magic wands!"

"My mother?" Harry repeated. So Aunt Petunia had known about Hogwarts. And his mother had been, what, a witch? "She was a witch?"

"Of course she was, her and that man she married. Fools, the both of them, leaving you here with us. They assured us that you would be normal, that you would fit right in - hah! I knew your were just like them the moment I set eyes one you! But Lily wouldn't listen to me, no, of course not. What would I know? They told us it was best you thought you were an orphan. But I knew, oh yes. I knew that one day you would get one of those!"

It seemed as if she had been waiting years to get that all off her chest. But Harry was stuck on one particular turn of phrase. He was silent for a moment, taking it all in.

"Does that mean my parents didn't die in a car crash?" he asked carefully.

"No they didn't, boy. But we thought it was a kindness, to say they died, rather than abandoned you here. But they can have you back now, I dare say! I told Lily, I wouldn't have on of her kind in my house!"

Harry's hands trembled.

"They left me here?" he asked, his voice soft. "With you? But why?" he asked, his voice breaking, eyes filling with tears. He wiped them away furiously, not wanting Petunia to see him cry.

"They thought you were a squib. Non-magical. It would have been a blessing, I daresay, if you were. But we knew. We tried to tell them! I even wrote Lily a letter when you were three, telling her you had levitated my poor Dudley's toys! But we never heard back from them. Not a peep, until now. And don't you think I'll forget, boy, that you were going through the mail!"

The light bulb over the sink shattered.

Petunia shrieked, flinching.

"Get out! Just get out, boy!"

Harry turned, and fled. He ran outside, to the back yard, and sat among the flowers that he had planted, doing his best not to cry. His parents were alive.

And they had left him at the Dursley's. Just because they didn't think he was magic.

Well, he was. He thought of all the strange things that had happened to him, from turning his teacher's hair blue to growing his hair back overnight, to the lightbulb that had exploded just a few minutes ago. All of that had been him, not just coincidence.

His parents were alive, and they were wrong. He did have magic.

But what kind of parents were they, to leave him to think they were dead? Over something like that. He was sure Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia would never abandon Dudley, no matter what, no matter how they treated Harry. They might not be good parents, but they weren't that low.

The Potter's, apparently, were.

Harry shook his head. He must be in a really bad state if he was thinking kindly of his Aunt and Uncle.

What would he do now? He was determined to go to Hogwarts. He would prove his parents wrong.

But he would never forgive them.

Never.

* * *

Eventually, it started to grow dark, and Harry ventured into the house. His aunt, apparently pitying him for the first time, didn't say anything to Vernon about the lightbulb, only changing it herself without complaint. Apparently even she could understand what kind of blow he had suffered.

He ate dinner in silence, all the while thinking of how he could reply to Hogwarts. Later, as he was helping his Aunt with the dishes, he asked.

"You're going, are you?" she sniffed. "I suppose it's for the best. You'll be gone most of the year, that way. Just address it to the school and mail it, and it will get there. They know that normal people have no way of replying otherwise. Don't tell your Uncle. I'll talk to him."

It was probably the nicest thing she had ever done for him, and Harry was properly grateful, too. He thanked her, and headed back to his cupboard, where he kept a notebook and some pens.

Carefully, in his best handwriting, he addressed the letter, and wrote:

Professor McGonagall,
I would be pleased to accept my place at Hogwarts. Only, your letter doesn't tell me how to get my supplies, or how to get to the school. If you could please send a reply with instructions, I would be grateful
Yours Sincerely,
Harry J. Potter

The next day Harry stole an envelope and a stamp from his Uncle, reasoning that Vernon would be grateful that Harry would be gone and so would likely not mind, and sent the letter.

Now, only to wait.