Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, nor am I using its name and affiliations to make money. All rights go to J. K. Rowling.

AN: This is the rewritten version of my incomplete story, Harry Potter: Courage. I scrapped several plot points from the first version so for any who've read the original few chapters, expect major differences.

Please read, enjoy, and review!

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"Speaking"

'Thinking'

Writing

- Line Break -

In the Deputy Headmistress' office at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, countless pieces of parchment were floating in orderly lines in midair, landing on the desk in three separate stacks. Sitting behind the desk, sorting through even more papers, was the Transfiguration Professor Minerva McGonagall.

She was currently sorting and sealing letters to each incoming first year. Each wizardborn eleven year old needed their acceptance letter and course list, and each muggleborn needed the additional directions to Diagon Alley. If there was a way for each letter to be prepared automatically she wouldn't be sitting here nursing a headache as she sorted through wizardborn and muggleborn students, signing each letter with an increasingly cramped hand.

So it was not an entirely unwelcome interruption when a loud crash and a shriek cut through the silence of the hall outside her office door.

Swiftly she stood up, accidentally knocking over a stack of half open letters as she did so, and moved to the doorway. She wouldn't reenter the office for fifteen minutes - it taking that long to fix the suit of armor Peeves had dropped in front of the new applicant for the Defense Against the Dark Arts job and reassure the terrified and stuttering man that the poltergeist was not trying to kill him.

When she retook her seat to continue sorting letters, she scooped up the pages that had fallen on the floor, glancing through them before waving her wand and tucking them neatly back in their envelopes.

She didn't notice the extra paper that joined the other two in the envelope addressed to Harry Potter.

- Line Break -

A bright Tuesday morning dawned over the houses of Privet Drive, accompanied by the morning's usual melody of engines starting, lawnmowers whirring, and windows being thrown open. It was June, and that meant summer was in full swing and the residents of Privet Drive were enjoying the lazy warmth that summer brought. In the spotless dining room of Number 4, a family of three sat around the table, heartily enjoying a breakfast of eggs, bacon, and muffins.

On one side of the table sat a blond boy of about eleven, and so fat it was a miracle he could roll out of bed every morning. He was avidly experimenting with the size of his mouth, attempting to discover how many muffins he could cram into it at once. Crumbs rained down over his many chins, landing in a mess on the table and floor.

Across the table the boy's mother smiled fondly at him as his mouth finally reached full capacity: four muffins. The mother was tall and thin, with fingers that moved continuously; tapping on the tablecloth, fussily straightening the napkin on her lap, moving her fork in jerky movements as she ate minuscule bites of her meal.

At the head of the table a newspaper presided, opened to the business section, and nearly concealing the massive man behind it. The man's sheer bulk, so like his son's, was straining the chair beneath him to its limits.

This family's name was Dursley. Vernon Dursley worked at a perfectly normal drill company, called Grunnings, while Petunia Dursley made it her life's mission to live as ordinary a life as possible. They had one son, Dudley, and in their eyes he could do no wrong. If anyone inquired about this family, they would quickly be assured that the Dursleys were perfectly ordinary folk, with no connection to anything strange, weird, or abnormal.

This, of course, was an downright lie.

Sitting on the floor behind the kitchen counter was something so abnormal and different from the ordinary life the Dursleys claimed, that they had spent ten years trying to stuff it out of sight. This oddity was a small, even tiny, boy named Harry Potter.

The nearly eleven year old was strange for many reasons, but the main one was the fact that strange and inexplicable things often happened around Harry Potter. Things that could be called magical. And magical freakishness, the Dursleys had beaten into Harry, had no place in the world. It was an abomination that should be stamped out, and the Dursleys did their best to do just that.

Currently, Harry was holding a wet cloth to a large burn on his forearm where Aunt Petunia had hit him with the still hot frying pan. He hadn't cried, something that drove the Dursleys mad, even as it confirmed their belief that the boy was a freak. He simply took whatever punishment they delivered in stoic silence.

Out in the hall, the mail slot clicked and there was a light smack as several letters hit the floor. Quickly and silently, Harry slid out of the kitchen and scooped up the letters by the door. He turned to take the stack to Uncle Vernon, glancing at the letters as he did so.

He froze.

In his hand was a thick, heavy, yellow envelope addressed, unmistakably, to him.

Mr. H, Potter

The Cupboard under the Stairs

4 Privet Drive

Little Whinging

Surrey

For several long moments, Harry simply stared. Who would be writing to him? And how did they know about his cupboard? Were they watching the house? Was it someone he knew?

"Boy!"

He jumped, heart racing furiously, and frantically shoved his letter into the waistband of his baggy pants. Hurrying back to the kitchen, he carefully set the rest of the letters at his uncle's elbow, then backed quickly toward the doorway and out of reach. After a moment's hesitation it became clear that the Dursleys weren't going to acknowledge his presence, so he carefully slipped back to the hall and shut himself in his cupboard.

In the darkness of the cramped space, Harry breathed a sigh of relief. Though the cupboard was used as a punishment as well as his bedroom, he always found the quiet darkness soothing. In his cupboard, no one could sneak up on him, and none of the Dursleys could even fit in here. It was his safe place.

Pulling the letter - his letter - from his waistband, he stared greedily at his name written in green ink. He'd never been more grateful for his unnatural ability to see in the dark, as it allowed him to read the words that had been written for him. With trembling hands, he broke the intricate wax seal on the back of the envelope and pulled out three sheets of heavy paper. As he read he could feel his heart pounding against his rib cage, as if it was some wild animal trying to break free.

HOGWARTS SCHOOL of WITCHCRAFT and WIZARDRY

Headmaster: Albus Dumbledore (Order of Merlin, First Class, Grand Sorc., Chf. Warlock, Supreme Mugwump, International Confed. of Wizards)

Dear Mr. Potter

We are pleased to inform you that you have been accepted into Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Please find enclosed a list of all necessary books and equipment. Term begins on the 1st of September. We await your owl by no later than July 31st.

Yours sincerely,

Minerva McGonagall

Deputy Headmistress

Harry blinked, nonplussed. Witchcraft and wizardry? Hogwarts? Owl? He scanned the next paper, hoping it would help him make some sense of the first.

First-year students will require:

Uniform

Three Sets of Plain Work Robes (Black)

One Plain Pointed Hat (Black) for day wear

One Pair of Protective Gloves (dragon hide or similar)

One Winter Cloak (Black, silver fastenings)

- Please note that all student's clothes should carry name-tags at all times.

Books

The Standard Book of Spells, Grade 1 by Miranda Goshawk

A History of Magic by Bathilda Bagshot

Magical Theory by Adalbert Waffling

A Beginner's Guide to Transfiguration by Emeric Switch

One Thousand Magical Herbs and Fungi by Phyllida Spore

Magical Drafts and Potions by Arsenius Jigger

Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them by Newt Scamander

The Dark Forces: A Guide to Self-Protection by Quentin Trimble

Other Equipment

1 Wand

1 Cauldron (pewter, standard size 2)

1 set of glass or crystal phials

1 telescope

1 set of brass scales

Students may also bring an Owl, a Cat or a Toad.

PARENTS ARE REMINDED THAT FIRST YEARS ARE NOT ALLOWED THEIR OWN BROOMSTICKS.

That made no more sense than the first letter. Harry re-read the list, wondering if someone had sent it as a laugh. The elation he'd felt at the letter's arrival was swiftly crushed by disappointed resignation. Of course, it couldn't be real. A school for witches and wizards, magic wands, and spellbooks - everyone knew magic wasn't real.

Frustrated anger followed this thought. He'd been so stupid! He was a freak and a worthless burden to his aunt and uncle. No one was going to just appear and take him away to a world of magic. That was the sort of childish nonsense that would get him locked in his cupboard if he even mentioned it.

Refusing to acknowledge the hard lump in his throat, Harry folded up the letters and put them back in the envelope. He picked up the third piece of paper to set it with the others, but found himself reading through it desperately.

For Muggleborn first year students:

Books and equipment can be purchased in Diagon Alley, London. The entrance to Diagon Alley is through the back door of the pub the Leaky Cauldron, found at 42 1/2 Leadenhall Market. Know also that the Leaky Cauldron is magically concealed from the muggle world so only magicals will be able to see it.

You may exchange muggle money for wizarding currency at Gringotts Bank in Diagon Alley.

Harry looked again at the address. 42 and one half Leadenhall Market. He knew the market was real - Dudley had gloated endlessly after his parents had taken him and not Harry to the market for Christmas shopping last year. Was it possible that there was a pub called the Leaky Cauldron there?

"Boy!"

For the second time that day Harry jumped, heart racing. He scrambled to hide his letter under his threadbare blanket in the far corner of his cupboard. Shaking slightly with a mixture of fear and guilt, Harry left the relative safety of his cupboard and found his aunt, uncle, and cousin by the front door.

"We're going to Majorca for a few weeks." His uncle announced, grinning horribly while Aunt Petunia simpered next to him.

Of course. Uncle Vernon had won a two week vacation through his work at Grunnings, and their flight was leaving today. Harry had spent the last three days cleaning the house and packing the Dursleys' bags, and had been looking forward to today for a month, but the letter had driven it out of his mind.

"Food for you is on the table. Chores are listed there as well. If anything happens to this house while we're gone..." His uncle's horrible grin became downright malicious. He clearly wanted Harry to mess up the house, just to punish him.

Suppressing a shudder, Harry just nodded twice, eyes on his uncle's boots.

'Just leave... please...'

"Come on, Vernon. Our flight leaves in an hour."

'Thank you, Aunt Petunia.'

"Right."

Head still down, Harry watched the Dursleys' feet march out the door before it slammed closed. He remained where he was, holding perfectly still, until he heard Uncle Vernon's car pull out of the drive and down the street. Only then did he allow himself to relax a bit.

In the kitchen he found a loaf of bread, several apples and oranges, and four tins of tomato soup, but no can opener. Lifting his head, Harry gazed out the window above the sink. The sky was a clear blue, not a cloud in sight.

The Dursleys would be gone for two whole weeks.

There might be a pub called the Leaky Cauldron in Leadenhall Market.

The letter with his name and cupboard on it might not be a prank.

Deep in his heart, the hope he'd spent his whole life ignoring stirred.