*Disclaimer: I do not own Harry, Ron, Hermione, or any other character from JK Rowling's Harry Potter series

Harry Potter: Lost Memories
By Lena

One

The Lady and the Mirror

It was yet another dreary summer's day at number four Privet Drive. Harry Potter, a skinny, black-haired, nine-year-old boy, yawned and sat up in bed. At that very instant, the bedroom door was forced open with a violent bang, to reveal his Aunt Petunia standing with her hands on her hips. "Harry!" she thundered. "Go downstairs and fetch Dudley at once! Tell the dear that I have a splendid surprise for him." Harry thought for a moment and reached the conclusion that Aunt Petunia had less a mind than a tadpole. She had obviously been downstairs before she woke Harry. Therefore, it would've been a much easier task to fetch Dudley himself. For a nine-year-old, Harry was quite intuitive.
If Harry had been older, he probably would have said something like Do it yourself, or Go to Hell! But because he was only seven and mortified of his aunt, he said "Yes, Aunt Petunia," in resignation and unwillingly marched from the room. It's not like he wanted to live with his nosy aunt, self-centered uncle, and his overweight bully of a cousin, Dudley, but, in fact, they were the only family he had left. When he was very young, his parents had died in a car crash. Luckily, he had escaped with only a lightning-shaped scar on his forehead, and was sent to live with the Dursley's. There was no mention of his parents in the Dursley household, and if he ever did try to ask about them, Uncle Vernon's face would contort with horror and Harry would be sent to his room. Dudley was no help either. At nine years old, Dudley was already over 100 pounds and not showing any sign of losing weight. From the moment, he could walk, Dudley was always bullying Harry; pulling his hair, stealing his toys, eating his food. and Mr. and Mrs. Dursley would always reward Dudley for being so mean to his cousin. Dudley was found, perched on a stool in the kitchen, gobbling down what looked to be the raspberry tart that Aunt Petunia was saving for dinner. "You're gonna get in trouble for eating that," Harry taunted. "Your mum was saving it for dinner tonight." Dudley grinned and let out a loud belch. "Oh, sorry," he said, not sounding sorry at all. "Whaddaya want, anyways? If it's some of this tart." "Your mum sent me down here so I could tell you to go up there." "I'm eating." "She says she has a surprise of some sort, although I really have no idea." As soon as the word 'surprise' escaped Harry's lips, Dudley launched himself out of his chair and bounded up the stairs, causing a sort of earthquake in the kitchen. Keen to find out what the 'surprise' was, Harry followed. He thought that surprise probably meant that Aunt Petunia was doing something bad to him, (the last one landed him two months without leaving his bedroom) and it was better to find out what it was sooner rather than later. "Mum?" Dudley simpered, "you wanted to see me?" He could hardly contain his glee. "Yes, Duddums," replied Aunt Petunia, "Anne is coming over later." "Anne!" shouted Dudley, dancing (well, at least trying to dance) around the room. "She's coming! Anne is coming!" Anne was a lady who came over every several months to discuss cooking with Aunt Petunia; You know-- which pies are most popular, how if you separate eggs into white and yolk, you can make delicious sunny-side-ups; the usual, boring facts. The only reason Dudley liked Anne is because she was rich; Each time she came over, she'd bring fresh, crisp, money for him if he joined in their conversations. Would Dudley pass up money? Never. Though he was stuck talking about sugar and spices for several hours, he always ended up with fifty or more pounds added to his account. Anne visiting also provided Harry with lots of opportunity to hear Dudley make a fool of himself. Though he ate practically every waking moment of his life, Dudley Dursley did not know a thing about cooking. And with Uncle Vernon on a business trip in London, this would be a perfect time to spy on their conversation. Harry couldn't wait.
* * * At six-o-clock that evening, Aunt Petunia sent Harry to his room and instructed him that if he dared to even open a drawer, he would be so severely punished that he would wish to be thrown from the roof. Harry was used to threats and quickly ignored this one. Though the Dursleys gave him sinister chores and time-outs at least five times a week, they had never actually hurt him. Harry stood outside his room and closed the door so Aunt Petunia would think he had gone in. "Now, don't move!" bellowed Aunt Petunia. No later had she said that when there was a sharp knock at the door, a creaking noise, and a cry of joy. "Dinky Duddums!" Cried Anne when she came in. "How's my sweet, lovey Dudley today? And Petunia! I haven't seen you in months. You know, I was thinking of buying a dress just like yours, but when I got to the store they were all sold out! And I thought to myself 'now, how many people do you really think like shocking pink dresses?' And that's when I realized."
Harry heard Aunt Petunia, Dudley, and Anne moving into the den. He stealthily stole downstairs and sat on the bottom step. 'Now the fun begins,' he thought. First the trio discussed after dinner mints ("Oh yes," said Dudley, "I only like the creamy ones.") Then they spent about half-an- hour complimenting a new chicken pie recipe that Aunt Petunia found in the paper ("My favorite!" said Dudley, beaming.) They were about to start talking about ice cream when.
"Petunia, dear, I'm sorry, but I must take a stop at the lavatory."
"Oh, that's perfectly all right, dear, but the one downstairs is leaking. The other one is upstairs to your right.
Hearing this, Harry realized that Anne would be heading straight at him! He couldn't scamper up the stairs, for he would be heard, and the only other way out was toward the den, where Aunt Petunia and Dudley were. So his only hope was to tiptoe quietly upstairs. No sooner had he begun, though, than Anne appeared at the bottom of the steps and clasped a hand over her mouth in surprise. Harry turned around to face her, and see her face go from surprised to in shock in about one second. She put a finger to her mouth and began up the stairs.
Harry was confused. If anyone else saw a boy they'd never seen before in their best friend's house, they would scream and maybe even phone the police. Anne grabbed Harry's arm, pulled him into the bathroom, and shut the door behind her. "H-h-harry Potter?" she stammered.
Ok, this was too weird. Now she knew his name. "How do you know me?"
Anne looked at him, like he was stupid. "Everyone knows you. You're Harry Potter!"
"Everyone? Knows me? I don't know how they could. You see, I've been cooped up inside this house for six years. I've never even been outside, much less met anybody-" "You mean, you don't know, Harry?"
"Know what?"
"Listen, Harry, have these muggles told you anything?"
These what? "Muggles?"
Anne shook her head. "Meet me at your bedroom window at nine tonight." She whispered, so as not to disturb the Dursleys downstairs. "There is some very important information--"
Aunt Petunia was heard from downstairs. "ANNE?! You've been upstairs ten minutes now."
"Oh, coming, dear!" Anne called. She smiled again at Harry, and then she left him in the bathroom, muttering to herself. "Dumbledore. said he knew. why is he here? I'll have to have a word."
Harry stood in disbelief, looking at himself in the mirror, thinking. How in the world did this woman know me? She's never seen me before, or she would've told the Dursleys. What was that she called the Dursleys? Muggles? What on earth is a muggle? Who's Dumbledore? And most of all, why does she want to meet me at nine? I don't trust her that much.
As Harry tried to flatten his hair, something happened that had never happened before: his reflection winked at him! Harry quickly shut the bathroom door. "What!" he gasped.
"I'm sorry," the reflection said lazily, but I couldn't help overhear that conversation you had with Anne. "I believe I can clarify some stuff for you, that is, if you want me to."
Harry stared openmouthed at the mirror, dumbstruck. "Um. excuse me, but how can I be talking to my reflection?"
"You were always capable of talking to me before," his mirror said calmly, "but you've never believed you could before now."
"Well, sorry, but I still don't believe I can."
"You obviously do," persisted the mirror, "or else you wouldn't be talking to me now. That meeting with Anne you just had opened up new beliefs inside you. She gave you a taste of the unknown, and you are curious to find out more. So you believe her. And that's where I come in. I'm only capable of talking to those who can believe in me. You, Harry Potter, do believe in me. Harry, your aunt will be coming soon, so you'd better get back to your room. But if you ever want to have a nice conversation with 'yourself'." the mirror chuckled at his joke, "feel free to come back and talk to me. But what I needed to tell you most is very important. I probably shouldn't be telling you; I probably should have left that up to Anne, but I can't resist. Harry. you're a wizard."
Harry just stood there, trying to comprehend what the mirror had just told him. He didn't 'believe' in talking mirrors. but there he was, talking to one. And if he was not mistaken, he had just been told that he was a wizard. "A what!?" He said in surprise.
"A wizard," explained the mirror. "Now go! You're aunt's coming and you don't want to be caught! See ya around, Harry!"
And with that, Harry ran to his room, lay on his bed, and pretended to have been there the whole time.