Harry potter The Boy Who Remembers

Oh, Harry had tried to discover if he had any hidden overpowered gift, or something similar and found absolutely nothing. He wasn't a metamorphmagus; for all his concentration and intent, his eyes remained green, his hair remained messy, and he didn't exhibit any signs of any other bloodline gifts. So, he dismissed the idea entirely, even if he was disappointed that he wasn't some sort of elemental that could shake the earth and create tsunamis without a wand. As far as he could tell, Harry Potter was simply an ordinary young wizard that isn't particularly special in any way.

Not that it would stay for long. Harry had led a life of mediocrity once. He had let the world lead his life instead of fighting for his own sake. Harrold Smith lacked ambition in a very fundamental matter. That was something he would refuse. In this world, where magic makes might, he would rise from the ashes and become someone that history would never forget.

He was a nobody, once. He will not be one again.

It was odd; a small part of him wanted to impress his parents, to preserve his legacy as a Potter and an Evans, not that Petunia made him inclined to use the name Evans. As far as he was concerned, the Evans family was dead to him, and he would do his best to forget about them as soon as he steps foot into Hogwarts.

The moment Harry had access to his vault – should there actually be a vault – he would leave the damn harpy of a woman and never return. It's a shame really, had the Dursleys acted like his family, he would have been more than happy to share whatever he inherited with his parents with them. Lucky for him, they didn't, and Harry didn't feel like he owed them anything.

The last few months were a testament to that, and Harry was starting to see the psychotic version of the Dursleys in them. They really did hate the fact that Harry had defended himself using magic, accidental as it may be. And they were furious that he had hurt Dudley with his 'freakishness'.

They kept following him everywhere. At first, they just forced him to stay in his room – when he wasn't at school that is – and locked him inside whenever he was home. They kept doing this for a month until one of the neighbours asked about him. Harry was known to take as many side jobs as possible to have any pocket money, and some of his usual customers had worried about him.

Harry didn't really mind being locked in his room. It allowed him to simply focus on his magic, and experiment as much as possible. Magic was just something new, something amazing that the young wizard wanted to figure out. It was such a curious feeling, one that reawakened the scholar in him. Harry was always a bit of an introvert, so spending some time alone wasn't really that big of a deal.

Alas, the neighbours were nosy, especially in Little Whinging, and so, Harry had been 'graciously allowed' to leave his home but was constantly watched by his aunt. He didn't know what that was supposed to achieve, really, since she knew that he would leave in a few months, but hey, Petunia Dursley was not known for her intelligence.

Now, with his birthday approaching, the woman seemed to start fidgeting even more. Petunia Dursley was the closest thing to a connection to the magical world he had, and he refused to let his feelings be tainted by the woman's bitterness. He would learn of the magical world as any normal Muggleborn would, and he would thrive in it.

However, before Harry could embark on his journey to greatness, there was one pressing matter he needed to address. All of his dreams of freedom the Dursleys were completely dependent on the idea that he would be getting a letter from Hogwarts. Oh, he knew for a fact that he was a wizard, but Hogwarts might work differently than it did in the books. He could be invited to Hogwarts when he was older, or Hogwarts might not even exist at all, and another school might take its place.

However, on this fateful day, as the month of July died, a letter appeared on the Dursleys' doorstep, signalling the momentous occasion that would change young Harry's life.

Harry had made it his mission to wake up before the Dursleys every day and sneak to the front porch to see if his letter arrived. It was summer vacation, he was still confined to his room when he wasn't working for the neighbours to keep up appearances, that it. The bastards even locked his door every night for some reason. It wasn't like he was a vampire that would drink their blood at night.

Every day since the month of July began, Harry would unlock his door using his magic and peek at the mail to see if his letter had arrived. And finally, the day arrived when a letter addressed to him, that didn't have any stamps, appeared on the Dursleys' doorstep.

Harry didn't know how much time he spent staring at the letter in question. It was proof that he didn't live a lie. That the magical world was true, and even if he knew for a fact there was still some doubt left.

Although the young wizard would admit that the scarily accurate address was unnerving, to say the least. The letter clearly said:

Mr H. Potter

The Smallest Bedroom

4 Privet Drive

Little Whinging

Surrey

The envelope itself was thick and heavy and wasn't even made of paper, but some kind of yellowish parchment. Wizards really were old school. The letter was sealed with some red wax that had what Harry assumed to be the Hogwarts coat of arms, each of the animals representing the school houses surrounding the letter 'H'.

Harry sneakily took the letter to his room and locked the door as it should have been during the night. Finally, Harry Potter opened the envelope and started to read.

HOGWARTS SCHOOL OF WITCHCRAFT AND WIZARDRY

Headmaster: Albus Dumbledore

(Order of Merlin, First Class, Grand Sorcerer, Chief Warlock, Supreme Mugwump, International Confederation of Wizards)

Dear Mr Potter,

We are pleased to inform you that you have a place at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Please find enclosed a list of all the necessary books and equipment.

The term begins on 1 September. We await your owl by no later than 31 July.

Minerva McGonagall

Deputy Headmistress

This was real. This was the final proof he needed that he wasn't insane, that the stories were true, at least partially. Hogwarts was real, Albus Dumbledore was the headmaster, and Minerva McGonagall was the deputy headmistress.

This was good, this was familiar territory. He could work with this. Harry wouldn't be thrust into a completely unknown world. Oh, there was probably a lot more to it than the story portrayed, but his stories were better than nothing after all.

Harry was so preoccupied with his dreams of studying magic that he didn't notice his aunt unlock his door and open it. He heard his aunt's horrified gasp at the sight of his letter and looked up at her pale face. Harry looked up at her, eyes expressionless, and asked her with a dead tone, "Good Morning, Aunt Petunia. I believe we have a lot to talk about, don't we?"

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