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.