So this is my diary. I’ve never kept one before, so bare with me. I never wanted to write down my thoughts and feelings just in case Dudley had the half-intelligence to find the diary and show it to his parents, my aunt and uncle. Hermione suggested I keep a diary this summer, however, after ‘bottling my feelings up’ created problems last year. I wasn’t going to do it, but I’ve been here two days and, apart from my chores, there’s really nothing to do. It couldn’t hurt, I suppose. It’s enchanted so that it can only be opened by me. Hermione’s smart to get one like that. Having to share a bedroom with four other girls will do that to you I guess. I’ll just write down whatever pops into my head. I’m still not sure what good it will be. It might make some interesting reading years from now, perhaps. Years from now! That all depends on if I’m still alive years from now, really, doesn’t it? Oh well, shouldn’t get too morbid in my first entry should I? Where should I start then? What should I say? Told you I was new at this. The closest I’ve ever got to keeping a diary before was predicting my death and analysing my dreams for Divination and that old bat Trelawney. And the only diary I’ve ever actually held before was possessed by the memory of a wizard who tried to kill me. So you’ll forgive my loss of appropriate diary etiquette. I suppose I should start from the beginning.

This morning I was awoken to the words, “Wake up, freak!� and opened my eyes to see the extremely close, extremely ugly, face of Dudley Dursley, (my annoying half-wit bullyboy cousin), two inches from my own. If that wasn’t nice enough, his breath smelled like a bog dwelling troll. He ordered me to get up for breakfast whilst pinning my shoulder to the bed. I’d have cursed him but I’m not allowed to do magic outside of Hogwarts. I can’t wait until I’m of age. I’d still probably get in trouble if I turned him into a pincushion, though, wouldn’t I? I got up, showered and got ready and went downstairs. Aunt Petunia barked at me to keep watch on the bacon while she set out the plates. I did this, feeling intensely hungry. When it was ready I did as told and served everybody two eggs, bacon, fried tomato and toast, making sure I only got the smallest sliver of bacon. Dudley is supposed to be on a diet, but having lost the amount of weight his school nurse insisted on, he’s allowed to have ‘three tasty square meals’ but no snacks. Funny how he always manages to be eating some such thing at all hours of the day. I sat down and started to eat my sliver of bacon and piece of cold toast when Aunt Petunia loomed over me. “Would you like some tea?� she asked. I almost choked. I was so surprised I couldn’t speak for a moment. I replied, “Yes, please,� and was positively relieved when she spat, “Well, go make it you lousy boy,� at me. If she hadn’t I think I might have had a coronary. I wonder if wizards can have heart attacks? Must make sure I look that up next time I have access to my books.

Uncle Vernon was in a particularly bad mood. I have a feeling it has something to do with me being back at his house for the holidays. He grunted as he read the newspaper and complained that the bacon wasn’t crisp enough. He didn’t look at me, though. He left the house without having looked at me once, actually. The only time he’s been able to do that before was when he locked and bolted me in my room. After breakfast I did the washing up, and the vacuuming and dusting and was given the rest of the morning before lunch to myself.

Unfortunately, I’m not actually allowed to watch the big screen TV like Dudley, or listen to music on any of Dudley’s four CD players. I’m positively forbidden to do any of my schoolwork. I’m also not allowed to be seen lurking about the house, or be holed up in my room for any period of time. That is why I am currently writing to you from the tree in the back garden. After I’d read the newspaper (no news) I went for a walk. I wandered around for a while, wishing I had some money to go see a film or something, but, unfortunately, I only had a galleon and a couple sickles and I’m fairly sure my Wizarding money wouldn’t be accepted at the local Odeon. So I spent a few hours window shopping (checking out the TV news in the electronic stores, but still no news) and basically just wished I was at Hogwarts before I decided to go back in time to make lunch.

I wouldn’t have, ordinarily, but I really couldn’t think of anything else to do, so I figured I might as well occupy myself with something. Aunt Petunia was on the telephone with one of her committees and I quietly made the sandwiches. Three triple-decker ham, cheese, tomato, lettuce, egg and mayonnaise sandwiches for Dudley, two cucumber and salmon sandwiches for Aunt Petunia and a cheese sandwich for myself. Dudley whacked me around the head because I didn’t put enough mayonnaise in his, and Aunt Petunia scowled at me for not having asked her what she wanted. The woman only ever eats salmon and cucumber in her sandwiches. Was she suddenly going to be adventurous and request salmon only? Having eaten my sandwich I did the washing up again and cleared the kitchen down. I asked Aunt Petunia if she wanted the gutters cleaned out or something but she said I should wait until I was asked to do something and not be so presumptuous. I went upstairs, got this diary and here I am in the tree, writing. I feel so restless. I want to be doing something. I want to be with my friends. I want to be at Hogwarts. Hang on… Aunt Petunia is screaming for me. I’ll probably be back later to pour my heart out.

Entry Two

A new entry, a new day. Sorry I didn’t come back and write more yesterday but it turned out that the gutters did need clearing, and the garden needed weeding, and the windows needed cleaning, and after that I had to assist to make dinner and the dessert I wasn’t allowed any of and I was just so tired I flopped onto my bed and slept. I should be used to it by now, but you know what? It’s not something you can easily get used to. Sometimes I even wish I was doing detention at Hogwarts instead of the tedious household chores, but then I remember what my last detention was like and I realise I’m being stupid. This morning I was changed, ready and awake before Dudley stormed in. He was a bit annoyed and slammed me into the wall because of it. Ever since I remember, pushing me around has been Dudley’s favourite past-time. Even when we were toddlers, four at the most, Dudley’s games consisted of waddling after me, sitting on me and banging my head into the floor. He’s never been nice to me, and his parents encouraged it from the earliest age. I used to sleep in the cupboard under the stairs you know! Of course you know, you’re me, right?

I can’t get used to this diary thing. I’m essentially writing to myself. I’m supposed to be writing how I feel, aren’t I? Supposed to be telling you my deepest darkest secrets because apparently it will make me feel better. But I don’t think it will, you see. I think that if I tell you how I’m really feeling, I won’t be able to stop thinking about it. And for the moment I’d really rather not think about it, if you don’t mind. I’d rather not replay history in my mind. No, I think I’ll just stay away from those matters, for the moment at least. So, I finished preparing the breakfast like Aunt Petunia asked (ordered) and spent another morning without Uncle Vernon’s usually watchful gaze. Last night he didn’t look at me either. It’s odd! Usually he’d be poking his beady little eyes into everything I do, checking out my every movement, but Aunt Petunia and Dudley have to do that for him. I think he’s afraid that if he looks at me his eyes will pop out or something. He’s always been afraid of me. I realise that now. When I was younger I just thought he didn’t like me because I wasn’t his son, but I know now that it was because he was afraid I’d be a Wizard like my father. The worst muggles you could find, blinded by bigotry, and I just had to be related to them. He was right, though, I am a Wizard, and how many times have I thought of the ideal hex? Anyway, the rest of the day was spent much like yesterday so you probably don’t want to read all about that again, do you? Do I? Oh, you know what I mean. You mean. Okay, I’ll stop. I was thinking of maybe writing some stories if this restlessness continues, and I can’t think of anything else to write.

Entry Three

Once upon a time, there was a teenage boy with a scar. His name was Harry Potter. He had to spend his summer with his truly hideous muggle Aunt, Uncle and Cousin but when he went to school he went to a Wizard’s school. Unfortunately for Harry there was this evil dark Wizard who wanted to kill him called Lord Voldemort, and so Harry spent most of his waking hours in fear and his sleeping hours in terror.

Somehow I don’t think it will be on the best-seller list. That is sadly the story of my life. Occasionally, I just wish I was normal, like Ron or Hermione. But then I remember all the things they have to contend with too, and I feel slightly better. I just have to remember the stuff that happens to me is not my fault and I’ll be fine. There are some things you can’t control, and the havoc that is the life of Harry Potter is just one of them. I sometimes wonder about having such a normal sounding name. Not even Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon can go psycho over me sounding like a Wizard. I mean, there’s Miranda Goshawk, Gilderoy Lockhart, Albus Dumbledore, even Hermione Granger and then – Harry Potter. Oh well, it’s easy enough to remember. And Ron Weasley isn’t the world’s strangest name either, and his is one of the oldest Wizarding families. I keep expecting him to turn around and tell me Ron isn’t really short for “Ronald� but “Ronatitius� or something, though. Maybe Harry is short for Harrius? Or Haromino. Haromino Potter, now there’s a Wizarding name for you.

I apologise for the above drivel. It’s been two days since I last wrote in you, diary (I’ve decided that’s who I’m writing to), and nothing much has happened in my life so far. I wanted to stop writing, realising that most of what I’ve written is mush, but I’m really quite bored, and can’t think of anything else to do. Besides, it’s kind of fun just writing whatever I’m thinking at this current moment in time down. I hate having nothing constructive to do. I almost can’t believe I wish for peace and quiet when I’m at school. I’d give anything to have Quidditch practice, three large essays that I was allowed to do, and some sort of mystery to solve. I’m in my room at the moment. Dudley has gone out with a minion of his, Aunt Petunia has a friend over, and I’ve been instructed to stay in my room and be quiet. Fine by me, I’m naturally quiet anyway. I always have been. I’m not sure if it’s because of the years of torture or if because I’m just supposed to be that way.

Aunt Petunia has no idea Dudley’s new friend isn’t a friend at all. I overheard Dudders on the phone, ordering this child to turn up at his house in the morning so that they could go and plan an attack on some other poor unsuspecting soul. Good luck to them, I say. As long as Duddykins isn’t disturbing me, I’m alright with him terrorising the neighbourhood. That might sound coldhearted and callous but it’s with due reason, believe me. The kids around us have never tried to befriend me, they simply believed Dudley when he said I was insane and mentally disabled. No-one even tried to find out if it was true. Primary school was especially enjoyable having the kids either ignore me or stare at me. Of course, they’ve been known to do that at Hogwarts too, but then they had a reason. I reckon half the kids still think I'm not quite right in the head and have murdered a fellow classmate. Better not get into that right now. Now, what else was it that I wanted to write about?

Oh yeah, I remember now, there was something I wanted to tell you, although I’m not entirely sure you want to know. You may be as disturbed as I no doubt will be from this. Last night I found myself witness to a truly hideous sight. Believe me when I say this. I have seen some horrible things in my time. A troll, a three headed dog, a girl half transformed into a cat, just to name a few. But none quite take the cake compared to the awfulness of this revelation. I was attempting to creep down and get my spell books so that I could do my homework but as I passed the sitting room I was mesmerised by the sight I had the misfortune of seeing. Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon were kissing in the middle of the sitting room. Uncle Vernon had his great big fat arms around Aunt Petunia’s thin and frail body, and their lips were locked. It was absolutely revolting. Now, this may sound stupid, obvious Dudley had to come from somewhere, but never in my darkest nightmares had I imagined those two... oh it's too revolting to even contemplate. Rest assured I am wholly disturbed, and have done my best to avoid looking at Aunt Petunia almost as fixedly as Uncle Vernon has avoided looking at me. Excuse me while I go be sick after that visual image.

Entry Four

Right, Voldie, come get me. I’m waiting for you here at 4 Privet Drive. End it quickly because I think I’m going to go insane. Oh, and make sure you get those awful muggle relatives of mine first. I want to die happy.

I am so unbelieveably angry! I just want to start throwing curses around. Where’s your wand when you need it? Oh yeah, locked in the cupboard under the stairs that just happens to be your former bedroom. It is times like these that I wish the Cruciatus curse wasn’t an unforgiveable curse. Or that there was a restriction on performing magic outside of school. Why am I so angry you ask? Why do birds fly south for the winter? Why is the sky blue? Why do I have to endure the whole summer with the Dursleys? The day started brightly enough. The sun was streaming in through the window. A few birds happened to be gracing us with their heartfelt morning song. It being the weekend, a neighbour was mowing his lawn. I got up and ready, as is my wont, in time to go help with the breakfast as per usual, but when I go downstairs I get met with a frosty glare.

“You didn’t put the trash out last night.�

“Oh, I’m sorry Aunt Petunia, I don’t remember you asking me.�

“I shouldn’t have to ask you, you should remember to do it yourself you wretched freak. The garbage disposal men didn’t dispose of our garbage because it was not out and ready. Consequently, we have bags of filth littering our lovely garden. You are to take the bags to the dump, now!�

“But Aunt Petunia, it’s seven in the morning and the dump is a mile away.�

“If you want to continue living in this house you will obey orders.�

So what do I do? I do as I am told. The bags wreaked, it was truly foul. They contained all sorts of disgusting things; vegetable peelings, old cans, a piece of molding cake Dudley had finally deemed ready to chuck out of his room (into my doorway, I might add, I had to throw it into the bin myself). The Dursleys don’t know anything about Recycling, or Compost, so the bags were loaded. I carried the Dursleys’ disgusting rubbish all the way to the garbage depot, and guess what? The garbage disposal men are supposed to come tomorrow, not this morning. Oh, this is trivial to you is it? I’m blowing up over nothing? Yeah well, you try and take a whole heap of detritus a mile and lets see you look all happy and rosey. For Merlin’s sake, I have at least four mortal enemies, have been through a set of rigourous tests (with aid of friends), killed a basilisk, been near a werewolf (well, he’s my friend but that’s beside the point), have had an escapee from Azkaban after me (well, he’s my godfather but that’s also beside the point), done another set of rigourous tests (with less aid from friends), I’ve faced death several times in my life, from various different sources, and they expect me to take care of their trash.

To add insult to injury I wasn’t allowed to make up breakfast, or have any lunch, unless I completed all of my chores for the day, and when I did have lunch it consisted of some thin broth and stale bread, whilst Dudley, Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia have dined on stew with dumplings. Even sitting there alone, in the kitchen, them all discussing the film they might go and see this evening, I could just feel their hatred oozing from the sitting room to where I sat. Dudley’s voice was raised as he categorically went through the films he didn’t want to see because of certain arcane and magical references. Oh the things I could do if I didn’t have a conscience, and a fear of getting expelled.

Entry Five

Another day, another entry, another plea for civilisation. I take consolation in the fact that it is now officially a new week. Just take it week by week, Harry, week by week. That’s what Lupin said in his letter last night, anyway. I was just drifting off to sleep when the medium sized tawny brown owl tapped at my window pane. I fed it and let it have a kip in Hedwig’s cage (she’s off sending a message to Ron). Lupin says he knows what I’m going through, and I suppose I should believe him, but it’s hard to sometimes. Sure, he’s a werewolf, he knows what it’s like to be shunned by society. But the Dursleys aren’t society, they’re something much, much worse. I know what it’s like to dread what you might become. I thought I was the heir of slytherin for a while, now that wasn’t nice. At least Lupin knows what he has to do to survive. I’m not saying I’ve had it worse than Lupin, but I don’t think he can quite know what I go through every summer with the Dursleys. I just want to be among my friends. I just want to know what is really happening. I just want to be as far away from the Dursleys as possible. Things are going okay so far in the Wizarding world, apparently. I have a feeling he’s saying that just to make me feel better, but I’ll pretend I believe him in my reply. I wish Ron would reply quickly. And where’s Hermione? Bet they’re swapping letters as I write.

Don’t really need to ask me how the Dursleys are, do you? They’re being their same spiteful selves, if you must know. Dudley even more so than usual. He attempted to dunk my head in the toilet this morning. How juvenile can you get? He hasn’t tried to do that since I started at Hogwarts. Aunt Petunia told me off for provoking Dudley into the act. Uncle Vernon was already at work. He leaves really early these days. They enjoyed their movie last night. I would have enjoyed them being out the whole evening too, if I hadn’t been locked in my room. I could do with a lock picking set. Or a sledge-hammer. Same result. Uncle Vernon has started looking at me, now. At least, this morning he did, as he stepped on my foot. It hurt quite a bit, but what’s a boy to do? Promise to get some flavourful deflating fudge from Fred and George next he sees them, to plant in the evil man’s food? Oh yes. Hang on, let me note that down. Oh, I already have. What do you know? This diary idea of Hermione’s was a great thought! I’ll have to apologise for refusing point blank to use it. Uncle Vernon insisted I do more housework today, so I polished his golf clubs, cleaned out the kitchen cupboards and pruned the hedge.

I don’t know why I have to stay here, I work harder than a house elf, and command half the respect! Maybe I can request Hermione campaign for me as part of SPEW? Dumbledore says its for my own good that I am with relatives, but why wouldn’t Voldemort strike here? If I were an evil dark lord I’d be jumping up and down for joy that my nemesis lived with a bunch of morons who couldn’t defend him if he were Merlin himself. What is it about the Dursleys that makes them good protection? They certainly don’t seem like they’re especially good at anything but whining and torturing me. It has to be something to do with Aunt Petunia, I think. I suppose Dumbledore will explain it all eventually, but I wish he’d do it sooner. I sometimes forget that Petunia was (is?) my mother’s sister. You’d think she’d have more compassion. Okay, so she hated her sister for being a witch, but by the sounds of it my grandparents were thrilled, so how did she turn out so bad? What is it that makes some people kind, considerate and open-minded, and others the complete opposite? I don’t think I’ll ever understand this world. Perhaps I’ll never have to. Right. I took a nice break to write this up, I’ve got to go shopping for all the groceries now. Oh well, it’ll alleviate the boredom if I have something to do.

Entry Six

Hey Diary! It’s late afternoon and I’m in the tree again. Quite a handy little tree this would have been for a Treehouse if Dudley had been able to climb it with his massive weight and I’d been allowed to play outside. I’ve done all my chores for the day, and have finally been able to sneak outside. For some reason Aunt Petunia wants me only to go out when I’m doing gardening work or shopping. Before, she never wanted me in!

I had this really great dream last night, which for me is a rarity. Usually I have nightmares about the basilisk, or the graveyard, or lately, Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia kissing. But this was a dream, and I remember every detail clearly. It was strange because it wasn’t like I was in myself. I could see myself, like from outside my body. I was looking at myself standing in front of the Mirror of Erised, and the family I’ve never had were smiling at me. Then the me I was looking at stepped through the mirror, and before I knew what was happening, the room filled with people. There were balloons at the top of the room and streamers, and everything was full of light. Music was playing from somewhere, and people were standing around chatting, dancing and eating cake. It was so strange. I felt so happy and content, and couldn’t help smiling. I moved further into the crowd, to try and understand what was happening, and as I moved in I saw a giant banner. It said “Potter Family Reunion�. I started to look for my parents, and when I came upon them, the other Harry was there and they were patting him on the head and hugging him. At first I felt a bit sad, but then they saw me too, and brought me towards them, and hugged me as well. And then we spent the next couple of hours just enjoying ourselves, eating, joking, laughing.

As I said, it was really odd. Not at all usual for my nightly forays into my subconscious. Of course, it’s clear what it means. I want a family, a real family, who care for me. And possibly an identical twin brother? Anyway, when I woke up this morning I felt really great. That was soon dispelled by Dudley pushing me into the staircase banister of course, but still, I’ve been inordinately cheery all day. I’ve been so pleasantly cheerful, in fact, that it started to disconcert Aunt Petunia during the morning and she ordered me to sulk like usual. I made sure I was smiling broadly when I did all the tasks she set me for the day. Knowing I was angering her made it all the sweeter. I’ve sent the tawny Owl back to Lupin and expect to get his reply soon. Hedwig still isn’t back with that letter from Ron, I wonder what’s taking him so long? Life would be a lot easier if Ron just had a telephone, but considering he still insists on calling it a ‘fellytone’ that’s not going to happen any time soon. I keep forgetting to ask Hermione what her phone number is. I’ll have to remember in my next letter. Well, I think I probably have to set the table for dinner now, I wish they’d just let me eat dinner in my room like when I was locked up.

Entry Seven

I finally got a letter from Ron! I didn’t think it was happening today, either, but there was Hedwig tapping at the window just an hour ago! It’s 9pm at the moment and I’m seeing what I’m doing via Dudley’s stolen torch. There’s something liberating about knowing that I am going against my imposed curfew. Hedwig is sleeping in her cage right now, but I made sure I gave her lots of snacks. She looked really tired when she came, and I know why. I not only got a letter from Ron, but I got one each from Fred and George (which is odd in itself), one from Mrs. Weasley, and one from Hermione! Consequently, Hedwig was carrying an awful lot of parchment with her and I think the strain has taken a lot out of her. I’ve decided to write up one long letter to all of them, since no-one asked me anything too private.

Getting letters from Fred and George was really cool, I never thought those two did anything apart! Fred tells me they’ve come up with an even better range of products than before, you have to commend them on that. George’s letter was a bit more subdued than Fred’s, but he still mostly went into the same kinds of things. Mrs. Weasley has said that she’s hoping to gain permission to have me stay with her not next week but the week after. I don’t know exactly who she has to gain permission from, all I know is that I fervently wish she gets it. I can’t think of anything better than spending a portion of the holidays with the Weasleys. And Hermione too! She’s spending some of the summer with Ginny because her parents are going to an Oral Hygiene convention (yes, I think it’s strange too). Mostly Hermione’s letter consisted of well wishes, and pep talks for my spending time with the Dursleys, but she was also complaining about Ron. Guess what Ron’s letter consisted of? He mentioned Quidditch briefly, and school, and the possibilty of me staying over too, though.

I really hope Mrs. Weasley gets permission, I really, really do. Today would have been unbearable if I hadn’t got those letters. I felt absolutely terrible until I heard Hedwig’s tapping. Yesterday, after I wrote, I spent the evening listening to a veritable sermon given by Uncle Vernon on why I was such a horrible, terrible person, and why Dudley was a model citizen. I thought he’d given up on these sorts of lectures years ago, but apparently not. Time and time again I could feel the urge to explain that his model citizen of a child spent most of the time creating the havoc and disorder that I was supposed to originate. Time and time again I could feel my fingers itching for my wand. I really have to learn to keep my anger under wraps. Still, the future prospect of blissful, delightful freedom is sure to make that a lot easier from now on.

I was hoping to have another dream last night, but it was replaced by those same old nightmares again. Every night a new outcome, every night the desperate urge to scream and cry, and knowing I can’t. Bloody Dudley knew about me having nightmares though. I think I must cry in my sleep or something. I saw the smirk on his face as I handed him his plate of breakfast. The jerk asked me if I’d had too much trouble making it or if I’d been resorted to sniffles. Just you wait, Dudley Dursley, just you wait. You’ll see who has to resort to sniffles when I’m through with you. It astonishes me he even knows such a complex phrase. Must be learning something from his little minions. Aunt Petunia made me scrub down the kitchen floor twice instead of mopping it like usual, apparently because some ‘idiot’ had spilt honey when making toast. The ‘idiot’ I’m assuming was supposed to be me, but since I didn’t do that, not usually able to get to the honey before breakfast has been finished, I’ll have to presume the word was really referring to Uncle Vernon or Dudley.

Dudley decided to stay home today and laugh at me whilst I was doing my work And he also delighted in walking through my newly cleaned floor and making himself drinks and snacks. Whilst the old bat was barking orders at me, and Dudley was stepping on my hand, I kept imagining what it would be like to use the Imperius curse and get all three Dursleys to scrub the kitchen floor, over and over again. Is that terrible of me? Yes? Well I don’t care. For once I’m going to relish in my cruel fantasies. I’d never really do anything like that, anyway, would I? No, I’m the good guy. Would you believe it took me three hours to scrub that floor? Well it did, and when I was finished, I had to make lunch. When I passed Dudley his lunch he pretended he hadn’t a firm grip of it and it fell to the floor. The baked potatoes, the cold meats, the hard boiled eggs, the coleslaw, the potato salad, the beetroot. Another scrubbing.

After that I went and did the shopping (still no news, but then, I would have heard in my letters later anyway), and spent my afternoon washing the curtains. I swear, if I got paid by the hour I’d have the equivalent of my Wizard money in Muggle money. I then spent the whole of dinner being stared at by Uncle Vernon, who looked tempted to start his lecture on what a bane of society I am. I wish he still thought his eyes would pop out by looking at me. It’s incredibly uncomfortable trying to eat with his beady little eyes watching my every movement. It’s bad enough that I’m made to feel like I don’t deserve the food I’m getting, even if I’ve just done all the housework and am starving, without having his determined gaze. If only I had some kind of potion I could put in his food to make his eyes feel like they’re bulging, ever so slightly. Yeah, so after that I just retired to bed and attempted to sleep, but didn’t quite succeed. You can see why I was so delighted to finally get the letters in the evening. They’ve given me new hope. Anyway, it’s late and I am tired. I’ll just have to write that letter tomorrow.

Entry Eight

It’s been three days! Three long oppressive days since I wrote in you, Diary. I apologise, honestly I do. I may not mean it, but I apologise all the same. I would have written in you before, but I couldn’t. It’s just that it’s really hard to rant on whenever I want to. Actually, no, it’s not hard to rant on whenever I want to, it’s just hard to do it in this diary, because you’re often locked in my drawer when I want to write something. Usually all I’d write would be “bollocks� or “I hate the Dursleys�, though, so you haven’t missed much. In fact, you’ve probably missed nothing. I’ve read through what I’ve written and I have to admit, it’s a load of codswallop. I’m about as eloquent as Dudley sometimes, but you don’t care much do you?

What has happened in the last three days? Nothing much of note, to tell the truth. I sent off my letter the day after I last wrote, and am expecting a reply soon. Poor Hedwig looked at me most upset when she saw how big the letter I wanted to send with her was. It ended up being five feet long! I might as well have sent several small letters. I gave her a friendly stroke though, and whilst she nipped my finger slightly harder than she had to, she still flew off quite happy. Something else that happened was that I listened in on a program on the television that Dudley was sort of watching, whilst he listened to his discman with his headphones. It was all about how most myths are based upon truth, and went into mythology surrounding the Unicorn and the Centaur. It was quite riveting stuff, but I had to make sure Aunt Petunia didn’t find me listening in sitting on the stairs. Some of the information they had I knew to be false, but some of it was really quite close, and it made me wonder if a Witch or a Wizard had been involved. I wonder why there isn’t a Wizarding television station? There’s Wizard radio, why not t.v too? I mean… I don’t necessarily crave it or anything, Merlin knows I’ve usually got enough on my plate as it is when I’m at Hogwarts, but I’m still curious. I’ll have to remember to ask Ron or Hermione when I write next. I didn’t ask Hermione for her phone number this time because she’s at the Weasleys’, but I’ll have to remember to ask that too. Of course, by the time I can actually use it, I might be at the Weasleys’ as well!

So right now I’m hiding from Uncle Vernon, who has some hairbrained idea that I’ve been bullying Dudley and threatening him with physical violence. I would if I could, but I’m the first to admit that I can’t do anything of the sort. Dudley is twice my size and twice my weight, and as much as I’d like to, I don’t think I could get away with threatening him with physical violence before he squashed me to death. Anyway, he ordered me out of his house, but Aunt Petunia intervened and said she didn’t want ‘my sort of riff raff’ out on the streets, so I was sent to my room instead. At least I don’t have to do any more household chores for another couple of hours. I hate housework. I think I’ll deliberately have a pigsty of a house when I’m older, just to rebel against the years of housework I did when I was younger. It’ll be a large, rambling estate with secret passages, clutter everywhere and a large space big enough to play Quidditch in! I miss Quidditch so much. I miss flying. I miss my real life.

Entry Nine

The way I am feeling right about now can’t be expressed in the exact way I want to express it because there’s a young diary present. It goes along the lines of $%@* the world! &*%$#@%&*! &%$ # @$#% %#%$! Right. Now that’s over, you might want to know why this page is covered in thinly guised expletives. I got my letter back today. Mrs. Weasley did not gain permission to have me stay. Whoever it was she asked said I have to stay here until the week before I go to Hogwarts. That’s ages away! I might have gone insane by then, I might have tried to run away by then, I might have done something terrible to the Dursleys by then (well that wouldn’t be too bad! Why? Why? WHYYYYYYY? What the bloody hell did I do to deserve this, eh? What was it about me that made the fates say “okay, so first of all we’ll orphan the boy, then we’ll give him to the worst muggle people you could find, then we’ll allow the dark lord to come back and attempt to kill him whenever he can, oh and make sure the boy has to spend every long summer with the evil muggles, just to make his teenage years as turbulent as possible�. If I ever get my hands on the fates I’ll forget about supposedly being a ‘good guy’ and kill them!