A letter from the unknown
Harry's first memory of life was warmth.
He remembered laying in a regal green crib, surrounded by a mass of blankets and toys. The smiling face of an oddly familiar woman gazing down at him with all the love and happiness she could muster. She was beautiful. There was no doubt in that. Her curly black hair tied in a ponytail and her dark blue eyes so full of life.
A man stood next to her. His messy brown hair brushed back and his eyes a comforting brown. His expression tender and his lips curved into a bright smile as he reached down and gently grabbed baby Harry's small fist in his hands and caressed it with such delicacy and care.
He'd often imagine they were his parents. But then he'd awake and stare at himself in the mirror and realise he looked nothing like them. And he'd stare at the image of his mother in his file and sit with disappointment because it wasn't who he'd expected.
But in those moment, as he lay at night replaying the scene in his head till it was etched in his memory and when he closed his eyes, it'd be all he'd see, Harry couldn't help but sigh with content.
Some one loved him once.
For now, that was enough.
7:37am. July 31st 1991
He'd been let in early in the morning.
His body shaking and shivering with the cold, his teeth chattering and his fingers numb as he sat in the corner, picking at the stale piece of bread and staring at the watery soup he was handed.
But he had gobbled it up without a complaint, feeling to feverish with hunger and hoarse with thirst.
It didn't feel like his birthday.
Then again it never did.
There was no special event or giving of presents, no cake or endless wishes.
Just silence and normality.
He was turning 11 today.
And yet, no one seemed to care.
Until an old man came stumbling along with the opportunity of lifetime.
Albus Dumbledore was a man of great age and wisdom.
He stood out as the brightest among the great and at an age of 110, still lived a fulfilling life as the headmaster of the ever prestigious Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.
He was at an all time high and nothing, absolutely nothing could come in the way.
Till among the directory of new first years, the name Harry Potter nee Hadrian Salazar Riddle appeared in bold capitals.
Only then did he realise the spiralling cycle of his mistakes.
9:54am. July 31st 1991. Group Home 3115.
An eccentric man had knocked on the door. His clothes light blue matted with odd patterns and colours appearing to be more like bath robes than a respectable suit. His eyes twinkled oddly and his beard was white and wispy reaching down to his stomach, shaking when he walked and talked.
All the children had hid, nervously peeking from the top of the stairs attempting to decipher the conversation taking place between the owners and the odd man.
When Harry had been called down, they had all gasped staring at him with sympathy and hints of jealousy in their eyes. A home was a home after all. To some, it didn't matter where it came from.
"Ahh..Mr Potter! My, my how you've grown, I must say." Albus Dumbledore was an odd man. His hair was white and wispy as it reached down to his waist. His beard was no better, curled and pruned neatly yet still odd and out of place. His eyes were cold. Icy and foggy yet they appeared warm. There was a twinkle to them, a twinkle that seemed fake and out of place.
"You-you knew me when I was younger?" Harry stammered frantically trying to place in his memory whether he had ever seen the man before. The eyes. They seemed familiar. Like some icy backlash from the past.
"Oh yes! I was dear friends with your parents. Such good souls, its a pity that they had to leave so soon." Albus sighed mournfully closing his eyes and glancing up before looking down once more into the emerald eyes he had wished to never see again.
"R-really? How..how did you know them?"
"Well, I was their headmaster when they went to school. The same school you will be attending soon."
"Uhh...Lets not jump to conclusions...I-"
"You're a wizard Harry."
"What?"