A Change of Feeling

The Letter

Pain, pain everywhere. Laying on an old, blood-stained bed was a little boy. Not little in the sense of innocent or juvenile, but small. It was the fifteen-year-old Harry Potter. He groaned as he turned slowly from his left side, onto the right. His breath came with hoarse coughs.

'Pathetic, Potter, truly.' He thinks. He started his favorite solitary and sarcastic game: 'What would Granger do'.

"Oh Harry, you know, if only you would listen to professor Dumbledore, you would realize that your family loves you. They simply don't know how to show it. Just be patient and behave yourself. This makes me think about our second year when you snapped at Ron and me when we wanted to help you with your dark ability. I think I read somewhere in 'Hogwarts a History'....."

Harry grimaced, he didn't give a flying fuck what 'Hogwarts a History' says, but knowing Hermione, there must be hidden life lessons in that big and heavy book.

Thinking about his 'friends' didn't lighten his current mood. After weeks of living in solitude and in the dark, his rage was building just by thinking about them. His birthday came and went. No cards, no food - it was not like he actually needed sustenance! How was a cup of milk and a plain and dry toast supposed to be enough? - no fucking sign of life. Hedwig flew to them dutifully, twice a week, but always returned empty-handed. His loyal companion always returned to him, even without any owl treat to give. Yes, she was kind of snobbish when her feathers got dirty when Harry petted her, but hey; negative attention was still attention. It's a big win in Harry's book.

After wallowing in his own misery, Harry tried to sit up. This proves to be difficult. His lungs were still screaming and his ribs were painful to the touch. Vernon did not use only his fists and belt on him yesterday, but his feet as well. He didn't think anything was broken, but he wasn't a Healer.

'Baby steps, Harry. Just sit up. Just wriggle up. Inch for inch. That's it.'

Sitting up, he assessed his injuries. His legs were strained, baby-makers... check. Still functioning, not swollen, blue, or god forbid, absent. Looking himself up, the damage was more...noticeable. Blue, green and yellow bruises were scattered on his upper body. His arms are bruised and swollen. Breathing hurts. Yep, enough said.

Tap, Tap, Tap

Harry looks at his window. A Blakiston Fish-Owl was looking through the glass. Harry slowly dragged himself out of bed and walked carefully to the window. After opening it, the eagle owl just stretched its leg for Harry to take what was attached. After taking the letter, the owl hooted once and flew away into the night. Harry shuffled back to the bed, let gravity do its work, and let himself fall on the old mattress. Slight tremors in his hands showed the strain Harry was in. He was just. so. tired.

Harry looked at the letter. The handwriting was neat.

'That rules Ron out', Harry thought darkly.

After looking for anything malicious; and yes, Harry did know a thing or two about curses or compulsion charms. Well, not how to disable them per se, but he was good at detecting them. He came empty-handed and so, opened the letter.

Dear Mr. Potter,

A belated happy birthday to you. I do hope that you had a fulfilling day. Though we are not acquainted, I find myself drawn to you. You see, you are an enigma. You are a wizard from a prominent family, although my father told me that you haven't partaken in any season, Light or Dark. I haven't heard a whisper of a simple Yule celebration, not even with a light-orientated family such as the Abbott's or, do I dare say, the Longbottoms. On the other hand, I hear tales of a second and third, miraculous, escape from the greatest wizard in the world. Yes, I dare say greatest, for while his conduct must be (for a light wizard as yourself) appalling, he is powerful. Do you see my problem? While everything points at a mediocre, juvenile, light wizard; nothing more than a Blood Traitor, your very actions show a powerful young wizard. Why is it that one such as yourself lives with muggles? Is the love for this family so powerful that you forsake your magical heritage? I can't wrap my head around it.