Chapter I: the mysterious letter
Once again, Harry was back at number 4, Privet Drive. Although he knew (even if only in the back of his mind) that this summer would be a lot more favorable than the last, he still couldn’t help but feel a little bit depressed. Harry’s bleak summer was brightened only by the thought of the members of the Order Apparating in every week or so to “check on him”. He could barely conceal a smile at the thought Aunt Petunia’s dismay of someone like Alastor Moody, Nymphadora Tonks, or Remus Lupin popping into her kitchen.
Although Dudley was bigger and more powerful than ever (his boxing training at Smeltings had been continued over the past school term), even he seemed apprehensive at the thought of more contact with grown wizards. Harry could only imagine the memory of his piggy tail was still running strong though it was years later. When the car finally arrived home, Uncle Vernon made it perfectly clear to his nephew upon their arrival home exactly what would happen if those “blasted strangers” made a ruckus in his neighborhood.
“One thing of unnormal activity on this street, and I swear to you boy, I will kill that ruddy bird of yours with my own two hands! I don’t want those weird friends of yours stopping by either! You write them and tell them that the only time they are to come here is when they take you with them!” Harry’s uncle spitted, his face turning more and more purple with every syllable.
This threat didn’t have nearly the effect on Harry that his uncle had hopes. Sick of year after year of Uncle Vernon’s threats, Harry finally had had enough.
“Look, Uncle Vernon. They don’t want to be around you any more than you do them. I’ll be gone soon enough, and believe me; I wish I didn’t have to come back here either. Here’s my offer- you leave me alone this summer, and I’ll make sure that more Dementors don’t turn up and REALLY suck out Dudley’s soul this summer."
Uncle Vernon began to spit with rage, but Harry wasn't about to stop now that he ahd gotten started.
"Yeah. That’s right, you heard me. Stay out of my business, and I’ll make sure that all those powerful wizards you met at King’s Cross don’t show up here any sooner than they have to.”
“FINE!” Uncle Vernon yelled. “You just keep those Dementy-whatsits away from my family!”
Although Harry knew that there was really no chance of any more Dementors showing up in Little Whinging, he thought it wouldn’t hurt to put Dudley in what his Uncle would see as extreme danger. He couldn’t help but smile to himself as he brought his trunk up to his room, because he could hear Uncle Vernon’s incoherent stuttering all the way up the stairs. Harry put Hedwig’s cage on the desk, and opened both her door and his window so she could come and go as she pleased. He knew all too well that Uncle Vernon would never imagine objecting; for fear of what dastardly things those “wizard folk” (not to mention the “Dementy-whatsits”) would come and do to him and his family.
Harry sighed, and thought about plopping down on his bed for a good long nap, but decided against it. He was far too exhausted to have to deal with more dreams of Sirius falling through the veil in the Department of Mysteries. The horrid memory of what had happened in the department of mysteries was still fresh in his mind, although it had happened weeks ago. Deciding it was best to keep his mind occupied, as an alternative, Harry began to unpack his trunk. All sorts of interesting things came out of this magically expanded trunk: he, along with Ron and Hermione, his best friends, had all performed the Expanding charm on their trunks, because they found that the longer they were at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, the more things they acquired.
Out of the school trunk came a large assortment of things, including a cauldron (pewter, standard size 2), random spell books (including the biting Monster Book of Monsters Harry’s professor and friend, Hagrid had given him as a birthday present before his third year), parchment, ink (some of which were color changing as you wrote) quills, and a broomstick.
Harry’s broomstick wasn’t just any old broom: it was a Firebolt. The Firebolt had a high value to Harry not only because it was the best broom gold could buy, but also because it had been given to him as a birthday gift from his Godfather, Sirius Black. Although Harry was very fond of his broom, the sentimental value of it being associated with his now late Godfather was, at this point, too much for him to bear. He hastily shut it away in the closet of his room. As much as it depressed Harry to unpack his school trunk, he knew that it would at least keep him occupied for a while. He placed everything neatly away, so he would be able to leave at a moments notice when he received an owl from someone in the Order, saying they would be picking him up.
Another sigh escaped Harry Potter’s lips, as he continued to unpack his trunk. As he hung up his robes in the closet, he realized that he was reaching the bottom of his trunk. Looking in, he saw the shattered remains of the mirror his Godfather had given him. He had never told anyone about the magical two-way mirror. Not even Ron and Hermione.
‘How could I have been so STUPID? I can’t believe I fell for Voldemort’s tricks. God, am I an idiot.’ he thought angrily to himself, ‘Hermione was right. I really DO have a ‘saving people thing’. I should really listen to her more often. Every time, she’s always right about everything. I really am lucky she’s still my friend even though I can be such a git sometimes."
Harry kicked the lid of his trunk closed with his foot, and was quite surprised with himself at how pleasing the angry “THUD!” sound was to his ears. Harry looked around the floor, to make sure he hadn’t forgotten anything, when a small piece of parchment caught his eye. ‘What’s this?’ he asked himself, picking up the yellowing fragment of paper. He concluded that it must have fallen out of a fold in his robes when he hung them in the closet. Harry’s green eyes contracted with confusion, and he took the piece of parchment over to his desk and unfolded it.
His breath caught in his throat, as he began to read:
Dear Harry,
I didn’t exactly know how to tell you this, and so I thought I would nip it into your trunk while you weren’t looking on the train. I know that you’ve been through a lot, not only this year, but in your entire life, and so you’re probably thinking ‘where does this person get off, giving me advice?’ but I just couldn’t sit there and let you suffer alone. I have to tell you.
Harry Potter, the thought of you sitting with your Muggle relatives treating you awfully all summer is almost too much for me to bear. I want you to know that you can confide in me. I’ve always been there for you, whether you realized it or not, and I will continue to always be there. I know that you only think of me as a friend, as I do you, and you keep many things secret and to yourself, but I want you to know that I can see right through it. You’re hurting, and you need to let it out.
Please, Harry… think of me as a diary. Tell me how you feel, and I will tell you everything I can, and try to make it better. I know that you’ve always been told, “never to trust anything that you can’t see where it keeps its brain”, but I want you to know that I AM a real person- and you do know me, even if I won’t disclose my name here.
I cared very much about Sirius, too, and if there is anything I can do to help… please don’t hesitate to send me an owl. Hedwig will know where to find me.
Love From,
…a friend
Harry read and reread his mysterious letter. It was written not actually by the person, but whoever it was had used a spell to make it look as if it were typed by a Muggle computer. Obviously, the person thought Harry would recognize their handwriting, and went to very lengthy attempts to disguise it. Who in the world would contact him in such a form? Even more to that, was it a girl of a boy? The letter was written in such a form that it could be either… and how could this person know that he would be apprehensive about trusting a magical object that he ‘couldn’t see where it kept its brain’? The even bigger question: Should he reply? He wasn’t entirely sure. Harry personally thought it was quite rude of this person (whomever it was) to just butt into his business.
And still… he DID want an outlet. Strange as it was, it seemed as if this person had almost read his mind- he HAD been thinking about starting a diary, but as he couldn’t do magic at the Dursley’s to keep it private, he was debating. ‘Hmm…’ he thought. ‘Maybe when I go to Diagon Alley this summer I’ll buy a pensieve of my own’. He knew that such an amazing and obviously powerful object had to cost about a hundred galleons, but he didn’t care. His parents had left him quite a nice little fortune, and he figured a pensieve would be worth it’s weight in gold if it heped calm his mind, and possibly (he hoped) end some of his nightmares. In the meantime… you know, he had nothing to lose at this point. He would write a short reply, and try to figure out who this person was. He had some suspicions, but he couldn’t really be sure unless he could get another letter. A little mystery… yes, it seemed to brighten up the summer. At least now he would have something to devote his mind to.
Harry put the letter away under the loose floorboard in his bedroom, and barely gave it a thought for over an entire week. But, with so little contact from the wizarding world, and letters that he knew he would have to write to the members of the Order, so they would know he was still alive, it began to creep into his mind. Finally, he gave into temptation. From underneath the floorboard, he pulled out several sheets of parchment, his Eagle feather quill he had gotten as a Christmas present from Hermione years before, and began to draft his letters. He wrote not only to Lupin, but Moody as well, and then letters to Hermione and Ron telling him how Dudley had finally gotten beaten in a boxing match, and was put on bed rest while his broken arm and leg healed. Harry couldn’t help but be pleased that the Muggle doctors weren’t nearly as good at healing broken bones as Madam Pomfrey. Since Dudley was bedridden, he couldn’t hassle Harry nearly as much, and he also kept Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia out of his way by constantly yelling for pillow fluffs and sweets. Really, the only thing that disrupted Harry’s quiet life at Privet Drive this summer were Dudley’s pitiful whines and his mother’s frantic “Coming, Diddy-dums!” replies.
Finally, after finishing the letters, which almost seemed chore like, he settled himself down to write to his “mystery friend”. He dipped his quill into his inkbottle, thought, and finally began:
Dear ‘friend’,
Seems a little eerie that you would write me, as I was really considering starting a diary of my own. And you know, I don’t feel much like talking about Sirius, but I keep hearing things about him, and what will happen with Gri… um, his house.
So what is it that makes you so keen to dive into my mind? I’m sure I know you, but I won’t be making any guesses any time soon. The Muggles are fine- Dudley broke his leg, so he isn’t nearly as terrible as normal. What about you? Aren’t you anxious to get back to Hogwarts? I’m sure the girls in your year miss you very much… that is, assuming you are a girl. Why don’t you give me a clue, and we’ll see if I cant figure out who you are.
Till next time, then.
H.P.
Harry reread his letter. It didn’t seem too bad. In fact, it was really quite silly. But, if this “mystery person” wanted to play games, he would play right back. As a matter of fact, Harry felt quite insulted at his ‘friend’s’ lack of confidence in him. ‘She probably thinks I’m sitting here crying my eyes out about Sirius’ he thought. No matter though… he had his mystery friend’s number now. He knew it wouldn’t be long before Hedwig came back with another letter.