Chapter 2: Admission Notice

Harry had held back for a long time, but in the end, he couldn't suppress it. Sitting on what could barely be called a "bed," he burst out laughing.

By Merlin's bowtie—Principal Black, he’s dead!

Phineas Black was undoubtedly the most despised headmaster the school had ever seen.

How disliked was he? Two students who didn’t even know each other could instantly bond like brothers over their shared disdain for him.

There was even a saying at Hogwarts back then: "If you hate Principal Black, we’re practically family."

Shaking his head to dismiss the memory, Harry turned his attention back to the letter.

Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry

Headmaster: Albus Dumbledore

(President of the International Confederation of Wizards, Supreme Mugwump of the Wizengamot, First-Class Order of Merlin)

Dear Mr. Potter,

We are pleased to inform you that you have been accepted at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Enclosed is a list of required books and equipment.

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

Yours sincerely,

Minerva McGonagall, Deputy Headmistress

An owl reply?

Harry instinctively rubbed the letter between his fingers. At this point in his life, he hadn’t encountered the wizarding world, let alone owned an owl.

If he went to Diagon Alley to buy one now, he couldn’t afford it—he was penniless and came from a poor family.

He flipped through the appended list of supplies. The textbooks were numerous and far beyond his means. And then there was the wand…

A century ago, when he first attended school, it was Deputy Headmistress Mathilda Weasley who had kindly paid for his expenses and helped him apply for Hogwarts’ scholarship fund.

Harry removed his glasses and rubbed his eyes.

Maybe… borrow some money from the Dark Wizards?

In the wizarding world a hundred years ago, Dark Wizards were rampant. Thanks to them, Harry often ended up practicing spells on them—and borrowing quite a few Galleons afterward.

Well then, he thought, Uncle Vernon can drive me to the Leaky Cauldron.

But Dark Wizards…

It seemed that his parents were killed by a powerful Dark Wizard.

Harry’s hand clenched the letter tightly.

Judging by Aunt Petunia’s behavior, she didn’t seem to know much. After all, the Statute of Secrecy ensured that Muggles knowing about wizards was already a stretch.

He didn’t plan to ask Aunt Petunia, a Muggle with limited knowledge of the magical world. He would have to ask the wizards themselves.

At that moment, he heard a knock at the door.

Opening it, he was met with Aunt Petunia’s conflicted expression.

“What’s wrong, Aunt?” Harry asked politely.

“When I opened the door earlier, there was an owl—yes, an owl—on the mailbox,” Aunt Petunia said irritably. However, Harry sensed that her irritation was masking another emotion.

“I think it delivered your letter. Back when Lily—your mother—was around, she used owls to send letters to her friends. You might need it to send a reply.”

“Thank you, Aunt. Could you prepare some food for it?” Harry smiled faintly.

Aunt Petunia’s expression soured but she turned and left.

Once she was gone, Harry pulled out a pen and paper from under the bed and wrote a carefully worded reply.

Stepping out of his small room, Harry was surprised to find a bowl of sliced sausages and another of water placed near the door.

Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.

“Thank you,” he said softly to Aunt Petunia, who was tidying up nearby. He picked up the plate and casually stuffed two slices of sausage into his mouth.

The owl wouldn’t mind, he thought, carrying the food outside.

The owl was perched on the Dursleys’ mailbox, one leg tucked under its fluffy feathers, looking like a perfectly balanced golden statue.

“Hello,” Harry greeted. “Are you my postman?”

“Hoo hoo,” the owl replied.

“Thank you for your hard work. If you don’t mind, have some water and food first.” Harry reached out to pat the owl’s head.

The owl lowered its foot and eyed the sausages in Harry’s hand with an expression of disdain so human-like it almost made Harry laugh.

Then, ignoring the sausages, it sipped some water from the other bowl, flapped its wings, and hooted twice.

“I see,” Harry said with a shrug. “But these Cumberland sausages are excellent. You’re missing out.”

The owl hooted again, grabbed the reply letter, and flew off, leaving behind the Dursleys’ sausage-free yard.

“Picky eater,” Harry muttered with a shrug, finishing the rest of the sausages himself.

Returning to his room, Harry busied himself in the kitchen, conjuring a small wooden stool to stand on as he cleaned the dishes. He neatly put them away before retreating back to his little space.

It wasn’t long before someone from Hogwarts came to fetch him—just as they had a century ago, when Deputy Headmistress Mathilda Weasley first introduced him to the wizarding world.

“Someone’s here for you! Freak—”

Aunt Petunia’s sharp voice rang out, banging on the small cupboard door under the stairs. She was about to hurl the insult, but then remembered her husband’s humiliating experience earlier that day when he was briefly levitated into the air.

She swallowed her words at the last second but didn’t bother hiding her annoyance.

However, before she could walk away, the cupboard door opened, and Petunia saw Harry’s face again.

The face was a near-perfect replica of the one from more than ten years ago—arrogant and self-assured.

Petunia’s anger reignited, her earlier hesitation evaporating.

“Freak!” she spat venomously before stomping off to the study without looking back.

Harry blinked, confused but not surprised. He had come to expect this behavior from his aunt and her family.

Muggles, he sighed internally.

Muggles a century ago had been even worse when faced with wizards.

At the door stood a large, furry head nearly filling the entire doorway.

“Oh, Harry…”

The owner of the head blinked at him, and tears immediately welled up in its eyes. Large, glistening drops rolled down its cheeks.

“The last time I saw you, you were just a baby… I’m sorry, I’m a bit too big to fit through this door…”

The figure’s deep voice trembled with emotion, and Harry could detect a hint of a sob.

Despite the overwhelming size of this stranger, Harry felt no threat. On the contrary, there was an undeniable warmth and sincerity emanating from him.

“Hello, I’m Harry—Harry Potter. Do you know me?” Harry asked politely.

“Ah, of course I do!” The man wiped his eyes with his sleeve. “I’m Rubeus Hagrid. It was me who brought you here all those years ago.”

Hagrid’s gaze fell on Harry again, and his nose twitched.

“Goodness, you look just like your dad… And those eyes—you’ve got your mum’s eyes…”