The streetlamps cast eerie shadows across the immaculate lawn of Number Four, Privet Drive. Tucked away in these shadows was the barely noticeable figure of a slight boy, in pajamas several sizes too large, staring at the night sky through broken glasses.

"I know you can't hear me, but sometimes….sometimes I wish you could just let me know that you're with me. That you see what happens, and that it's not my fault. That it was never my fault."

Harry Potter, though only eight years old, had spent the majority of his life battling fierce demons of conscience, which reared their ugly heads in the forms of his Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon, or as they liked him to call them, Mr. and Mrs. Dursley. Though they provided for him in the most meager of ways, there was never a shortage of guilt and disgust thrown his way by the relatives that had taken him in when his parents died.

They didn't want to make his stay comfortable.

Pushing back his glasses with a hand barely visible underneath a sleeve six inches too long, Harry sniffled into the damp Surrey night. Oddly, it was this noise that attracted the attention of a cat, a tabby with peculiar markings around its blazing eyes. The cat padded silently toward Harry, pausing a metre away. Staring.

Harry lowered his eyes from the heavens and was startled to be met by the gaze of this serene animal. Blinking back the sting of tears, he reached his hand toward the creature, who flinched before placing a paw on top of the boy's hand.

What odd behaviour for a cat, thought Harry. It's acting almost human.

And it was.

Minerva McGonagall never understood why this boy, the boy that had saved the wizarding world, was forced to live with his Muggle relatives. Though she understood that Dumbledore had reasons and methods beyond normal men's, she could not allow herself to watch the son of Lily and James Potter withering emotionally, mentally—physically, by the sight of it—without making sure that he was at least still able to get on. Though she never told Dumbledore of her evening visits with the young wizard, she was sure the Headmaster of Hogwarts School was fully aware of Minerva's soft spot for the boy, and doubted that the visits were as clandestine as she intended.

Is the cat staring at me? Why does it have such a serious expression on its face? As though it was thinking? Harry was positively mystified by the behaviour of the cat, but was glad to finally have found a cohort for his evening adventure.

Sadly, this was all the adventure Harry had. And if the Dursleys knew that he was able to creep out of his cupboard under the stairs and sneak into the yard, they would surely find new and inventive ways of making his solitary life seem emptier, colder.

Dear, dear Harry, thought Minerva. If only the boy knew. If only I could tell him, show him. His talents lay dormant. What if, when You-Know-Who returns, Harry cannot battle him? His powers could atrophy. And then what would become of us? Despite herself she let out a soft mewl, and immediately felt a feverish tingle in her cheeks. Hmph. At least I have fur and young Harry cannot see that I am blushing.

Harry looked up at the sky again, staring intently at the constellations, trying to make sense of his life and the feeling that never left him, the feeling that something very big had happened and no one had remembered to tell him. Or bothered to tell me, thought Harry. They can only remember to point out when I missed a spot cleaning. Heaving a discouraged sigh, he whispered into the night, "please. Mum, Dad. If you can hear me, if you know I'm trying to say hullo, if you still love me, send a sign. Please."

Moved, Minerva blinked rapidly, even for a cat, as she tried to hold back very human tears. This will not do at all, having the boy think Lily and James don't still love him. He doesn't know what they did to protect him. He doesn't understand the way the wizarding world works. Twitching her tail irritably, she slowly padded to the edge of the lawn, stopping to look over at Harry, who was still watching the sky, searching the sky. Lily, James, know that I am not trying to lead him on. Know that I am sending this for you, not instead of you. With that, she swished her tail in an arc, and heard the gasp of the young wizard as he watched the shooting stars arc overhead. Until next time, dear Harry.