A small eight year old boy sat curled up in a small space of his cupboard. His eyelids burned pinkish though he managed to prevent bitter tears from slipping out. He silently lied to himself that his stupid cousin Dudley's punches didn't hurt and that his bigoted Uncle Vernon's screams were absolutely tolerable. He desperately sought for sweet relief from the hurt, fruitlessly holding onto his self-inflicted imaginings. But, the darkness and smallness of his cupboard was suffocating.

Inhale. Exhale. Inhale. Exhale. He focused on keeping the rhythm of his breathing. The ache of his bruises dulled and faded into the background of his mind.

However, his metronome breathing missed a beat when he noticed a glowing dot in his cupboard. It appeared very distinct in the dark, and the boy was curious. Cautious yet almost entranced, he moved toward the small dot of light to see that it was a firefly. The boy wondered what this could mean.

Strangely, the firefly held out the tiniest scrap of paper, and, as if by magic, paper slightly enlarged when he held it, pinched between his thumb and index. The boy could now see that it was folded. With his curiosity heightened, he clumsily opened up the folded paper in the dim light near the glowing insect. He read a single word.

'Hello.'

He stared at the simple greeting. The handwriting was very simple. Not too neat and not too messy. It looked very average.

Excited, his mind raced with colorful thoughts as to who sent this message. Noticing that the firefly seems to be waiting for him, he fumbled around his cupboard to find an old broken pencil. He wrote sloppily in an empty space below the concise salutations.

'Hello. My name is Harry Potter. Who are you?'

Having no one to really confide in, he was immensely interested to who this stranger was. Carefully, he folded the paper back to how it was and gave it back to the waiting firefly. The paper subtly shrunk back to its previous miniature size. Soon, the tiny glow of light disappeared into one of the small cracks in his walls.

Though he tried to keep his expectations low, he couldn't help but feel a fizz of happiness at the thought of someone wanting to talk to him.

Ignoring the repulsively deafening footsteps of the Dursleys, Harry Potter laid in his compact mattress to ponder while he waited to be let out.

He waited for an indistinguishable amount of time. The feelings of isolation settled back in. Uncertain hours passed on and on as he waited to either be let out or to receive another written note. Just then, the same glow of a firefly poked its way into the room. Harry sprung up, suddenly overflowing with excitement. They actually responded, he thought happily. Again, he reached for a tiny piece of folded paper and watched it expand in his hands. The note read:

'Harry Potter? I've seen your name in a history book. Do you happen to have a lightning bolt scar on your forehead?

Anyways, I'm happy that I finally got to meet you. Even if you turn out not to be the famous Harry Potter.

I hope we can talk more. My name is-'

Obnoxious sounds and voices came from outside. It seems like it's dinner time. Harry quickly hid the note under his mattress as he heard a fat hand on the flimsy door of his cupboard. Despite being sorely disappointed from the abrupt halt in getting to know possible new friend, he hastily put together a neutral countenance for the sake of avoiding Uncle Vernon from questioning him.

Fortunately, he was released by only listening to his uncle's scolding and directions. Tonight, he was tasked with washing the dishes, both clean and dirty. He sighed but soon regretted it. Vernon shot him a nasty glare. I'd better get to work now so I can write back as soon as possible, thought Harry.

Through mindless scrubbing, he thought about the note. Although the contents of the letter were a little perplexing, he was simply glad he was able to read quickly enough to get the name of who wrote to him. [First name] [Last name]. Harry pondered the name, imagining the sound of its pronunciation. He mused over the knowledge that someone was writing to him, wanting to know about him. It made him feel like he was cared for.

The boy hurried through washing the dishes so he can finally write back. He felt pretty disappointed that he couldn't write a response sooner. But, he also felt a little worried as he headed toward his cupboard. It was already midnight, and Harry wasn't sure if the firefly was still there to deliver his message.

Anxiously, he opened up the door to his small room. Then, as if all of his problems washed away, the small dot of light floated toward him as he entered. Flicking on a dim lightbulb, Harry reached under his mattress, hoping the note was still there. Soon enough, his thin fingertips brushed against the surface of the paper. Holding it out, he faced the peculiar words addressing him.

'Do you happen to have a lightning bolt scar on your forehead?'

He lightly brushed his fingers along the zigzags of his scar. Harry thought hard, how does this stranger know this? Is it possible that he really is somehow famous? He was puzzled over the words.

He replied by writing his confused thoughts on the extra space on the note. His pencil marks appeared faded in contrast to his new friend's rich black ink.

After a while into writing, only then did he notice that the paper never seemed to run out of room.

'I'm happy to meet you too, [First name].

I wasn't aware my name was in history books. However, I do have a lightning bolt scar on my forehead. But, I don't think I'm anyone famous. Everyone at school avoids me, and my family hates me. Maybe I'm just someone who's similar to the famous Harry Potter. Who is he anyways?

Also, you said that you finally get to meet me, whoever I was. Why did you want to meet me? And, how did you know I was here?'

He began to fold the paper back up again but hesitated. It's quite late to be sending a letter to someone. It must be half past twelve by now. He glanced at the glowing firefly which was now resting on his thumb. Better late than never, Harry thought. He continued folding the paper and handed it to the luminous bug. The note shrunk back to a manageable size for the tiny flying insect and disappeared into the wall along with the bug.

Gracelessly, he let gravity pull him down to his old creaky mattress. Now too exhausted to think, his heavy eyelids lulled him away from conscious reality.


A figure was hunched over a textbook much too big for his physical stature. Despite the time being a ways past midnight, the boy unwaveringly studied as the darkness under his eyes grew heavier and heavier. Finally, the boy decided that he should take a break. He removed his stiff body away from his desk chair and left the textbook open.

As he took a step toward his bed, he caught sight of a firefly he had charmed. His eyes widened as far as his sleepiness allowed him and eagerly picked the tiny scrap of paper from the bug and sent it off. The paper grew to the size of a standard-sized printer sheet when it was unfolded. The parchment has increased in size a bit, the boy pleasantly noted.

He sat back at his desk and read the ashy pencil writing. After reading however, he was a little taken aback and unsure. Does Harry Potter not know who he is? It's very highly unlikely for a boy to have the same name and have the lightning scar on the very place where it's said to be. Also, is he not safe in his home and school environment? These thoughts ran through the boy's head in a flurry of mixed emotions. What should he do?

He took a deep breath and looked at the clock. A quarter to one. He decided he should answer Harry's questions clearly and fully. He brought out a new piece of parchment and estimated that he can probably have the letter ready in about half an hour.

Ambitious as he was, the overwhelming need for sleep took over as he spent the remains of the night using the ample pages of a textbook as a pillow. In his hand, he clutched an unfinished letter to a potentially new friend.