Harry sighed, bored out of his mind. He’d only spent eight days at Kinselton, but it already felt like weeks, possibly months. Everyday, it was the same. Harry felt like screaming at his teachers, or at his classmates, or even at his aunt and uncle, because he did not want to stay where he was. He hated Kinselton, with its incredibly strict teachers, and it’s incredibly large amounts of homework.
Of course, he never told anyone these thoughts, other than Trevor. Over the past days, he and Trevor had become close friends. He’d transferred to Kinselton during the middle of the last year, and he only had three friends other than Harry. John Weathers, Will Evers, and Tim Anderson all welcomed Harry into their “social group” with open arms. John was a small boy with short blond hair and big feet. Will looked big and tough, but he was really sensitive and he cried often. Tim was the youngest of all of them, and he was extremely smart, and a straight A student.
Harry’s aunt and uncle treated him with every time he got home from school. Luckily for them, Harry had so much homework that he had to disappear into his cupboard to do it directly after supper. It took him so long that, by the time he finished, it was long past midnight.
It didn’t matter, though. Harry almost always got the answers wrong when he was supposed to write them on the board. He just didn’t understand the complex problems that were required.
His teachers were appalled at his lack of participation and knowledge of the schoolwork. Ms. Minerva even threatened to hold him back a grade until he pulled his grades back up.
Harry continued to fall behind, until Uncle Vernon cornered him during dinner, Harry’s first semester report card in his hand.
“Do you care to explain this?” he asked, glaring at Harry.
Harry didn’t understand why his uncle was so worried over Harry’s failing grades. Dudley had barely even passed kindergarten.
“Sorry,” muttered Harry, his face burning as Dudley snickered.
“Why are you so far behind your classmates?” Uncle Vernon grumbled.
Harry didn’t know what to say. He didn’t want to tell any of his relatives about his memory problem for fear of thinking that he was any more trouble than he already thought he was.
Uncle Vernon had now caught the attention of Aunt Petunia, and they were both looking at him expectantly. Harry swallowed, and pushed his glasses up on his nose.
“I…I,” stuttered Harry. “I just have a hard time, er, keeping up.”
Uncle Vernon raised his left eyebrow. “Keeping up?” he mouthed at Aunt Petunia in surprise.
Harry ignored both of them, snatched up the report card full of large red D’s, and walked out of the kitchen.
It was only when he was back in his cupboard did he stop to consider why his uncle was suddenly so interesting in his failing grades. Harry felt his brain twitch, and the sickly voice sunk into his thought for the first time in a while.
“Your uncle does not care about you, or your pitiful grades,” sneered the voice with unnecessary harshness.
Harry’s real thoughts began to argue against this strange voice, and Harry began to develop a headache. He rubbed his scar in pain
“Math is important to everyday life because…” Ms. Minerva lectured, oblivious to the fact that most of her class was ignoring her.
Harry wasn’t even paying attention. He’d realized days ago that all of Ms. Minerva’s lectures followed the same plot: they were all about the importance of math in everyday life.
Instead, his mind was circulating around his lost memories. There were a couple of words and names that seemed to leak into his mind from somewhere else, and some of his many classmates and teachers reminded him…of others. As soon as he had these thoughts, Harry heard the voice begin to speak.
“There is nothing familiar about any of them. You are hallucinating about you past.” sneered the voice.
“No I’m not!” Harry cried aloud, arguing against the voice.
Harry waited for a response, but it was not the voice that answered.
“Excuse me, Mr. Potter?”
Harry looked up and saw Ms. Minerva standing almost directly above his desk. She gave him questioning glance.
“Never mind,” he muttered hastily. “I was just thinking,”
She nodded, and walked back to her desk. She pulled out a sheet of paper and scribbled furiously on it. She returned to Harry’s desk and tossed the paper at him. Harry opened it slowly.
I am disappointed in your poor behavior. I expect you in my office at three o’clock sharp to serve a detention. I am also meeting with the headmaster about your poor grades. We do not tolerate slackers at Kinselton.
Harry sighed, and crumpled the note in his hand. Now, the voice was not only tormenting his brain, but it was now hurting his schoolwork as well.
When the final bell rang at two thirty, Harry knew that he was not going to go to see Ms. Minerva. In fact, he didn’t care anymore that she probably hated him, and he didn’t care that he was slowly becoming one of the worst students at Kinselton (Tim would be appalled).
He bypassed her office at a walk, than began to run. He ran and ran until he was out of Kinselton, out of the neighborhood, and far away from Ms. Minerva and the Dursley’s. Admittedly, he’d never been the fastest runner during elementary school gym, but he’d never been the slowest either. After fifteen minutes of running, Harry slowed down to a walk. He walked for a few more minutes until he reached an abandoned playground. Harry stopped and sat on one of the swings, unsure of what to do next. He felt himself drift off to sleep.
He was surrounded by an unfamiliar wood. A large, toadlike woman with an ugly wide smile walked behind him, brandishing a long stick towards him. In front of him was a girl with bushy brown hair, who was walking with an air of confidence. Behind him, the ugly woman jabbed him in the back with her stick, and he scowled at her.
Harry felt himself awaken. He was drenched in sweat again, and his neck felt sore from sitting on the swing. It was very late at night. The moon shone brightly above him, and stars twinkled like little jewels in the sky. Harry got up off the swing and walked into the street, looking both ways to see if he recognized anything. He didn’t, but he knew that he still had time to escape, as the Dursleys were probably unworried about his absence.
Without warning, Harry was thrown onto his back as a large bus appeared out of nowhere in front of him. It was bright purple, and upon its arrival, a man jumped out.
“Welcome aboard the Knight Bus.” He said, puffing his chest out.
Harry stood up and looked around. The bus seemed to have just appeared, like magic.
The man coughed impatiently. “Please sir, if you have any luggage, set it here. If you don’t, then kindly board the bus.”
“Thanks,” said Harry awkwardly as he stepped onto the bus.