James
A boy with a rather small frame for his age stared at himself in the mirror, looking rather sulky as his mother attacked his messy jet-black hair with a wet comb.
“Honestly, James, your hair just won’t lie flat!” the mother said, shaking her head.
“Well, don’t comb it,” said James, crossing his arms. “We aren’t attending anything important, anyway.”
“Nonsense,” his mother said, “we’re going to your father’s colleague’s house for dinner. You want to look your best, don’t you?”
“No, I don’t,” said James. “I don’t even want to attend this stupid dinner anyway. It’s not going to be fun.”
“That’s also rubbish. Some of your father’s colleagues are bringing along their families, too. There’s even a boy your age.”
“So who’re the families?” asked James, looking superbly unconvinced.
“Well, there are the Prewetts, the Fawcetts, the Spinnets, and the Malfoys, to name a few.”
“The Spinnets?” James perked up a little. “Is Gemma coming?”
“Yes, she is. Oh, before I forget”beware the Malfoys, the hosts. They’ve not a very good reputation.”
“What’d they do?” asked James curiously.
“They are mostly pure-blood extremists,” said his mother. “And they’re not very nice people, really. Watch yourself around their son, you don’t want to make ””
But James had suddenly run to the window. “Look, there’s an owl, Mum!”
Sure enough, a tawny owl flew into the room, and landed on James’s outstretched finger.
“It’s from Hogwarts!” James shrieked, undoing the letter from the owl. “Look, Mr. James Potter, Third-Floor Bedroom, Number Eighteen, Listhwaite Place, Darby Road, Third-Floor Bedroom, Pillswork.” The owl hooted and flew off. He ripped open the letter with trembling fingers and read the contents rapidly:
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 been accepted at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Please find enclosed a list of all the necessary books and equipment.
Term begins on September 1st. We await your owl by no later than July 31.
Yours sincerely,
Minerva McGonagall,
Deputy Headmistress
“Yeeeeesssss!” James punched the air. “I’m iiiiinnnn Hooooggggwwaaarrrts, I’m iiiiinnnn Hooooggggwwaaarrrts!”
Mrs. Potter chuckled as she watched her son fly about the room, clutching the letter in one small hand.
“Calm down, James!” she called after her son.
“When are we going to Diagon Alley to get my stuff?” asked James eagerly, his cheeks pink with excitement as he obediently returned to his mother.
“Soon, James,” smiled Mrs. Potter. “Soon. Now sit down again, I have to comb your hair.”
James groaned, but the letter enclosed in his hand kept the smile on his face and the twinkle in his hazel eyes.
Sirius
A boy stood in front of a woman. His head was slightly bowed, yet in his grey eyes there was no sign of remorse as the woman lashed out at him repeatedly with vicious words. In fact he was no older than eleven, but because of his aristocrat nose and slightly long dark hair that fell into his eyes rather elegantly, he achieved the look of a handsome thirteen-year-old.
“We’ve told you a thousand times never to talk to Muggles on the streets. Yet you choose to disobey us repeatedly. When will you learn, boy?” She raised her hand as if to strike the boy’s face. The boy winced, but otherwise kept his ground.
Just then, a small creature with huge ears and eyes knocked on the door. “Excuse me, Mistress,” it said, addressing the woman. “Kreacher has an owl here, addressed to Master Sirius. It seems like it is from Hogwarts, ma’am.”
The boy who the lady had been reprimanding earlier straightened up and took a few strides towards the creature. “Give it here, Kreacher.”
“Master Sirius’ mother hasn’t told Kreacher to do anything,” said Kreacher, with a nasty grin at Sirius Black.
“I said give it here! It’s my letter!” said Sirius, louder.
Kreacher looked imploringly at Sirius’ mother.
“Sirius, stand back. I shall take it,” said the lady, with an imperious glare at the boy. A shadow flashed across his grey eyes, but he stepped back obediently. The woman took the letter from Kreacher. “You may leave.”
“Kreacher will escort himself out, Mistress,” said the house-elf. He edged out, throwing Sirius a dirty glare. Sirius retaliated by kicking the house-elf in the behind, carefully covering this by taking a swift step to the right.
Mrs. Black took her own time opening the envelope. Sirius clenched and unclenched his fists, waiting impatiently as his mother read his letter.
“Well?” he demanded after a minute or two.
“It seems that you’ve been accepted into Hogwarts,” his mother said in a bored tone, holding out the letter towards him. Sirius snatched it and rapidly read it. A ghost of a grin flitted across his face for a while, and then it was gone.
“Now, Sirius, I want you to have a bath, seeing that you were in such close contact to filth,” said Mrs. Black, and she wrinkled her nose, as though a garbage bin had just been placed under her nose. “Then I want you to dress in your best robes. We are going to the Malfoys’ manor for dinner.”
Sirius grabbed his letter, and fled upstairs to his room, but not before his younger brother Regulus caught him by the robes and pulled him into his room. “Sirius, did she hit you?”
“No,” said Sirius impatiently.
“What’s that in your hand? A letter? From Hogwarts?”
Sirius nodded.
“You’ve a place?”
Sirius nodded again. Not enough air in his throat for speech. A bubble of joy was welling up inside him, squeezing the air out of his lungs.
“You look happy, Sirius. Really happy.”
“Of course I’m happy, Regulus. I’m free from this house at last.”
Lily
“Severus, I got my letter!” Lily Evans whispered to her friend in delight. “Professor McGonagall came to my house and explained everything. Oh my God, I can’t wait!”
Severus Snape smiled widely, too. “I can’t wait, either. I want to Apparate to Hogwarts now!”
“Come again? ‘Apparate’?” Lily asked, puzzled.
“It means to instantaneously travel,” Severus explained. “You know, you think about a certain place, and then you focus and do a little twirl, and you end up there in a matter of seconds. At least, that’s what my Mum told me.”
“Interesting,” Lily said, smiling slightly at this new piece of information. “So when are you getting your stuff? Can I get it with you?”
“Of course,” Severus said, beaming. “Of course.”
Lily Evans flashed a grateful grin at him and then turned her head away to examine the letter in her hands once more.
She did not catch the affectionate look her friend gave her.
Remus
“Ouch!” a boy with light brown hair gasped in pain as his mother dabbed lightly on a gash on the side of his arm. He was only eleven, but his face was scarred and his arms had muscles that suggested he went regularly to the gym to work out. In truth, he was a lycanthrope: a werewolf.
“Sorry, poppet,” his mother said. She wrapped bandages around his wound. “How does it feel now, Remus?”
“Much better,” said the boy, smiling at his mother. “Though it still hurts if I do this”” he raised his arms in the air.
“Well, don’t do it, then,” his mother said, dropping a kiss on his head as she bustled about the room, putting away the ointment. “Try not to move around much for a few days.”
“I’ll try,” promised Remus. “When’s Dad coming home?”
“He’s Apparating back here as soon as his meeting with Dumbledore ends,” said Mrs. Lupin, sighing. “I do hope you can go Hogwarts.”
“So do I,” said Remus quietly. Mrs. Lupin sat down beside him and pulled him carefully into her arms, and they sat in this position, mother and son, for a long while till they heard a pop that signified Remus’s father’s Apparating home. They rushed out of the room, Remus not really caring about his injuries at the moment.
“How was it?” asked Remus eagerly.
Mr. Lupin replied, his back turned, “I did my best.”
Remus’s shoulders sagged. It was the worst answer his father could’ve given. And then his father turned around, with a letter held out to Remus.
“Congrats, my boy. You’re in.”
His son’s face broke into a huge smile.
Peter
A small boy who looked no bigger than eight was sitting by the table. He had mousy brown hair, and in fact, was eleven, not eight. His mother bustled in and said, “Peter, sweetie, watch out for your Hogwarts letter today. It’s around this time that letters arrive.”
The boy ate the cheese off his pizza” he was half-blood” and nodded. “I’ll keep an eye for the owl,” he promised.
Peter wondered idly which house he’d go to at Hogwarts. His mother had told him all about Hogwarts, and so far Peter felt that he wasn’t brave” at least, he didn’t feel brave, he wasn’t smart, he wasn’t really hardworking or loyal, for that matter, and he wasn’t evil.
So as far as he could see, he didn’t belong to any house. Excellent. Not.
But Peter knew indeed that he had magic, because one day back in kindergarten, the playground bully was just aiming a punch at him when some force made the bully fly halfway across the playground. Peter had had to write lines, but his mother had been delighted.
Maybe I’ll be in Hufflepuff, mused Peter. After all, Mum was in that house too.
His thoughts were interrupted by a brown owl that had just landed into his glass of juice. The envelope stained orange. Peter cursed and undid the envelope excitedly.
He confirmed the Hogwarts stamp and yelled gleefully, “Mum, I’m in!”
A/N: See that little box down there? :D