Disclaimer: I own nothing, but the plot.
The Diary
A Mind is its own place, and in itself can make a Heaven of Hell, a Hell of Heaven.
- from Milton's "Paradise Lost"
Chapter One Hello. My Name Is.
Andrew Ford was actually trying to hide from the Slytherins when he found a door that led to a room that hadn't been there previously.
He hurriedly yanked the door open and shut it, leaning against it, his heart thumping like crazy. He tried to breathe slowly, his sharp ear listening for the sounds of footsteps that thundered past the room he was in. He breathed out a sigh of relief when he did hear the shouts that yelled out his name. He shivered but it passed quickly.
When he was finally sure that they did not seem to notice the door he had ran in too, he slid down the door and finally saw the room for what it was.
It looked exactly like home.
It was comfy, and cluttered with books and magazines, but that was how a lived home would be like. Not a spick and span house with no indication of anyone living there. Here, there was a feeling of being alive, a wisp of human breath, and Andrew smiled.
He was an orphan and in his dreams, home looked like and felt like this. Not that crowded orphanage he was forced to reside in. In which he was always invisible. No one saw him; no one truly remembered his name. He was the kid with the freaky glasses, and the odd tendency to disappear to strange places. And then he was found. He was a wizard. And it was as if that explained all his eccentric ways. But he followed that person here. To Hogwarts. He still went back though, but he preferred Hogwarts. There was magic here. But magic didn't help did it? Andrew shook his head, and concentrated on this even more magical place.
This home was beautiful. It had a bed, messed up and looked thoroughly slept in. Comfy and warm, Andrew thought as he slowly moved towards it and sat on it. There was a chair by the fireplace that burned warm. And the table by the window, surprisingly showed fields and fields of green that stretched to nowhere. The walls were sky blue, and suddenly something whizzed past his head. Perhaps a Ravenclaw owns this room.
Andrew immediately ducked and covered his head. Trembling as he screamed silently in his head. Knew it! Knew it! Not safe. Everywhere's not safe. Not for me. Shouldn't have hoped, shouldn't have dream..
After a long while, Andrew finally cocked his head up, confused and searching for that something that had nearly killed him.
What he saw made him groan. It was only a snitch. That golden ball used in Quidditch. He watched it fly around the room, and wondered if the owner of the room loved Quidditch. He supposed it was a fairly okay game. He hasn't tried playing, he didn't dare, but it seemed like fun. At the thought of the room having an owner, Andrew immediately wanted to dash out, but he was partly afraid that the Slytherin jerks would come back to torment him, and partly because he didn't want to leave home.
He slowly wandered to the table which had many quills lying about and scrolls and parchment strewn about messily. Andrew smiled wryly, the owner must be a pretty messy person. He tidied it up. Stacking the papers neatly, and the quills. He noticed a few ball pens and thanked his lucky stars for no Slytherin would use a muggle contraption.
He opened the drawer and a black book caught his eye. It seemed like a normal black book. Beautifully bound. The overwhelming curiosity to open the book made Andrew bite his lips hard. He stretched out his hand and touched the book gently with only his fingertips. It was leather and smooth.
Andrew turned suddenly, the irrational fear of someone watching him was back.
He grabbed the book and ran out the room. Slamming the door in the process and running up to the dormitory.
"Harping Mermaids."
The instant he got through, the noise pounded his ears. He winced but quickened his strides. He wasn't quick enough.
"Oi! Stupid. Came out from your hidey hole already? Heard them Slithers were finding for you! Didn't go out and have some fun with your fellow mates?" Kane called out from across the room.
"Shut up West! They're not my mates!" Andrew shouted back before bounding up the stairs. A hatred fired through his veins. Kane picked on him all the time, despite being in the same house. He hated that Kane West. Overbearing, annoying, arrogant jerk. He immediately regretted coming back here.
But he knew that he would be left alone in his room. He hadn't any other room mates after all. He was the one left out. The extra that had no place with the others. But that hadn't mattered. He liked the solitude. It only got a little creepy at night. All alone in that big room for four. And shadows.
Andrew jumped on his bed and starred at the book. He hadn't meant to steal it. He didn't! He was going to return it. He will. It was just so beautiful and it compelled him to open it.
He did.
It was empty. Andrew didn't know why, but disappointment crashed onto him. He flipped through the pages. But there was nothing. Nothing at all.
Andrew sighed and threw the book down on the floor, a sudden anger consuming him but like all his emotions, he locked it up and sent it to a dark corner of his mind that he usually ignored. He hugged his pillow. His eyes drifted to the book again. There was just something about it..
He leaned down and grabbed it. The pages were brown with age. It wasn't too old that dust bloomed from the pages, but it definitely wasn't that new. Probably more than twelve years of age, this book.
It was empty, but Andrew had that unshakable feeling that there was something more behind the blankness of the pages. There had to be.
He wondered about home. Should he return to that room and return the book? What if the owner was raging about missing his book? Regardless, it was empty, but it was still a book worthy of being filled. Maybe he shouldn't return it. Maybe he should just, use it himself! Yes, he deserved something, didn't he? After suffering, being alone, for so long, this was a gift wasn't it? He found the book after all. Finders keepers. And the losers weep. That was how the world revolved.
Andrew smiled satisfied. He got up and quickly riffled through his bag for a quill and the ink pots. Then he decided against it and whipped out a ball pen.
He sat back down and placed the solid thick book on his lap. He hesitated for a moment before plunging down and writing. Andrew Ford. He smiled at his neat and steady handwriting. He stooped to write further but he stopped short.
To his surprise and disbelief, the blue ink that shone with promise disappeared steadily and the page was blank once again.
But in another moment, before Andrew could even get up and throw the book down in fear, splotches appeared.
Another messy scrawl appeared, black ink that seeped through the pages, a writing that was not his wrote itself through the blank pages.
Hello. The scrawl said. My name is Harry Potter.
xxx
