Dear Harry,
I'm not sure why I'm writing this. The counsellor at school told me years ago that it would help me stop bullying, and I never pulled up the courage to write it until now. She thought that I have some feelings bottled up.
I think she's right.
You may be able to call these feelings jealousy, but don't tell Dad I said that. I'm jealous that you're popular and famous without having to bully people into believing you. I'm jealous that you can be brave enough to fight someone so much more skilled than you, and have the nerve to beat him. I guess you could say I'm jealous that you don't have to get up and go to the kitchen to get the biscuit tin, and you didn't have to revise for the Algebra test in year nine. I'm jealous that you can choose what you want to do in the future instead of just inheriting Dad's Drilling Company. Mum would call me a freak if I said I wanted to be an Author when I grow up. I guess being a Freak gets you off all the expectations that a normal person has to conform to. Nobody is surprised when a Freak does something not-normal. See, there are some perks.
When I went through your room during your meeting with that Black man downstairs before you left for good, I found a weird cloak. It looked like one of Aunt Marge's carpets from the outside, and I tried it on. Don't ask me why. I've already explained that I'm a secret freak. But then I turned invisible. A note fell out of the hood. It read:
"Your Father left this in my possession when he died; it is time it was returned to you.
Merry Christmas ~ "
I wish I could have been there on Christmas morning with you, and that I could say: Harry, Come and look at all your presents! I wish I could try and figure out who gave it to you over the holidays and solve all the other mysteries and plots you had at Hogwarts with you. I know you had loads of adventures. Professor McGonagall told me. I write to her quite regularly. She tells me everything you do, and explains why whenever you come home you're covered in cuts, and bruises and more scars, but I wish it could've been you. I remember when I came home like that. Caught up in the little school gangs and scraps from when 'the big D' underestimated someone and was too fat to run away. I've lost that weight now, and I have got rid of the stupid haircut and embarrassing double chin. I think I look OK. It was too bad for you that you only ever saw me when I had just beaten up someone six years younger than myself. I remember that one time just before sixth year when we met in the park at I told everyone about that Cedric person you had nightmares about. Did the person who killed your parents kill him too? With you watching? That's horrific. I wish I could have helped you there, or when you were still at Hogwarts preparing for the Triwizard cup thingy, or anything there.
That is another thing. I wish that once, just once we could have talked about Hogwarts. I wish that you could tell me what it is like to spend Friday afternoons turning toads into teapots and back, rather that learning how to say "Pass the cake" in French. I wish that you could have introduced me to Ron and Hermione, or teach me how to reply to Hedwig's messages. I wish you could teach me to play Quidditch, if I showed you the best boxing technique, or told me why Hagrid can do magic with a pink umbrella, or who Sirius Black is, or what this Voldemort bloke is like. I wish I could see the little house elf, Dobby again. That's right, I've met him before. I saw him levitating that Violet sponge over Dad's work colleagues, and didn't you ever wonder where he kept those letters from your friends just before you went back to your second year at Hogwarts? They were in my Underwear drawer. I caught him putting them in there. He told me he worked at some manor that belonged to the 'Malfoys'. I thought that was some theme park or something, but then I read your letters and found out about that prat, Draco Malfoy. I wish I could have been your friend then to give you support and help stand up to him. I always respected you, even though I was too scared to admit it. I'm sorry I blamed you for the dementor attack, Professor McGonagall explained afterwards what it was, but I wasn't in my right mind, and I couldn't see them, because I'm... well, I'm a muggle. I want you to know that I was trying to be nice when I left that cup of tea outside your door before you left- I had no idea that you would cut yourself on it. And I hope you know that I meant it when I said that I didn't think you were a waste of space. I thought you were excellent, and I wish you could have stayed with us for longer.
Once I heard you say something to yourself. You said 'I'm not going home. Not really.' When we picked you up from the train station. I'm sorry that I wasn't nice enough for you to feel welcome at home, and that it wasn't a home enough for you. I think you should know something, though. You were always welcome. By Mum at least... I overheard her talking to Dad. She said you had Lily's eyes- Lily's your Mum isn't she? Well, she said that they weren't' going to take you in, but then you opened your eyes, and they were the same eyes that Mum had loved all through her childhood, that she had unforgivably hurt with her taunting, and that had closed forever before mum ever had a chance to Apologise to. 21. That's all the time Auntie Lily had alive, only a year older than we are at the moment, and yet she had enough time to make everyone love her, and marry Uncle James.
I can't do that, but I didn't really mind until recently. Now I'm trying to make amends for my childish behaviour. See, I can't make everyone love me, but I can manage one. Her name's Fern, Fern Bailey, and she's perfect. Mum and Dad don't think so, though. They think she's a freak too. She wears retro t-shirts and tight denim dungarees, and she wears her long blond hair down and wavy and it's dark at the bottom and she has Blue eyes. They are blue like the periwinkles that Mum has growing up the side of number four. She has three freckles by her right ear in the shape of a triangle and she can raise her left eyebrow completely on its own. I think I love her. She is completely her own person, and she doesn't care what anyone thinks. She's an artist. We've been together since the summer after I left school and she had a Saturday job in the cafe nearest my office, that's nearly three years. She lives with me in my flat, and I'm thinking of proposing to her. I heard you proposed to your girlfriend, so you'll have to give me tips. I'd like to meet Ginny, she sounds like a lovely person.
I guess you're wondering how Mum and Dad agreed to all this. The answer is- they didn't. It may surprise you that 'little duddy boy' walked away from his mummy. Up until a few months ago, I was working at Dad's drilling company, and living at number four, and not telling them about Fern. A few months ago I decided to tell them about Fern, and brought her to meet them. Well, you can guess how that went... Mum called her a freak, dad forbid me to see her again. I forbid them to talk to me if they were going to disrespect Fern like that, and told them that if they didn't apologise to her, then I would just walk out. They didn't believe me, so I hired a van collected my things and demanded my inheritance. Then I took the money, changed my PIN number so they couldn't access it, and rented a flat off a wealthy friend. I changed my job as well, and started teacher training, although I wanted to be an Author, I needed the money. I haven't spoken to them since.
So I guess what I'm really trying to say is... Maybe we could meet again? Maybe we could start again aside from the foul teenager you knew me as. I really need someone to be my family, as I walked away from Mum and Dad, and my cousin would be a nice place to start. Don't think me soppy for saying this, but we were raised together, and I think we could be closer than that. I'd love to have a brother.
But aside from all that, I realise something needs to be said to move on, and I think I've known what it is for a long time.
The word is sorry.
From Dudley.