Disclaimer: Not mine.

A/N: So, asking all that have finished the last book, does anyone else feel incredibly elated at the outcome and at the same time, wanting more? I have this strange . . . incomplete feeling in the pit of my stomach, which I suppose is why I hopped on the computer to update. Don't get me wrong, I'm not saying the book wasn't good. It was magnificent. I just . . . I'm craving, I suppose. Anyway, enjoy the update. I guess, seeing as how I've already had this story slightly planned out, that some of my original ideas will be the same but other than that, I'll try to stick with the book as much as I can with a slight creative license on my own part. So, this is the sequel to Dear Harry. . . . I hope you all enjoy. Thanks for reading.

You ever feel as if your every move is being watched?

I get it everyday. The feeling that I'm under a spotlight that never turns off, so that everyone can see what I'm doing, wonder what I'm going to do next.

I mean, I understand this feeling when I'm dancing and people are watching, waiting to see what I'll do, but I hate getting it when I'm around my friends.

I've had this feeling since after I stopped writing the letters to Harry. Hermione made me buy a 'tellyphone' and she gives me a ring everyday to make sure I'm okay, as if I'm going to slit my throat the one time she does not call. Often, if she doesn't call, and even sometimes when she does, she come over to my new apartment. Ron will often accompany her on these trips and sometimes he'd come alone, just to 'hang out'. And Mrs. Weasley . . . oh boy, do I dread the Weasley dinners at times. She drags me into the house, enveloping me with hugs before plopping me down at the table and almost forcing food on me. 'You look peaky, dear,' she says. 'Haven't you been eating, dear?'

Because of course it is my first ambition in life to starve myself to death when no ones watching.

I know they care. I'd be truly worried if they didn't worry, but still . . . you've got to admit that it's pretty creepy that whenever I feel just the tad bit depressed, Hermione or Ron give me a ring or pop up . . . as if they're watching me.

I suppose they're one of the reasons I started running every morning. I had to get out of the house, away from the worrying gazes and voices. That and I had to get away from my thoughts about . . . him.

It's been a year since Harry died. I'm nineteen now and he would have been too but I suppose some things just don't work out the way their supposed to. . . .

So I started running, soon after I finished writing. It took me a while to get used to it, but finally I had a steady pace, a beat almost. And it was while I was running that I found a building. It didn't have a name, but when I peered through the window, it looked like a dance studio. You know, with the bar across the mirrors, the slick wooden floor, and a weird radio thing in the corner.

I pushed open the door, walking inside, hoping that this couldn't be considered trespassing, seeing as how it was open. Walking over to the radio I pressed play. A circular disc thingy started spinning in the top and music began to play. It wasn't like any wireless I had ever seen.

The music was fast and upbeat but I could hear the sound of violins and flutes and things like that. Classical mixed with pop. I liked it.

Taking off my running jacket and shoes, I went to the bar, stretching out my already tired limbs. You see, I dance. No one has every known that except Harry. I do all sorts of dance, but mostly ballet. It's fun, it takes me away.

I started dancing when I was five after my Gran Gran took me to see a Muggle play called the Nutcracker. It was so beautiful and I told gran that I wanted to be up there, I wanted to be little Clara. And so, I started taking lessons, with Muggles because Gran wasn't sure if we'd find a Wizarding dance studio.

And the music played on in that studio and I danced, twirling across the floor, balancing on my toes, leaping. A calm smile came to my face and I closed my eyes in the peaceful.

"You're very good."

I fell.

Someone chuckled and I heard footsteps hurrying across the wooden floor towards me. "Sorry," the man said in a soft Irish accent. "I really didn't mean to scare you."

He gently took my arm and pulled me to my feet where I was faced by a bright, beautiful pair of brown eyes, cute (very cute) face, and an incredibly nice body. He smiled at me, sticking his hand out to me as he looked me up and down also. "Nathanial Jenkins," he said.

I took his hand and shook it. "Katrina Spoths. Nice to meet you."

"Same."

And that is how I met Nathan and how I became apart of the Wild Fire Dance Troupe along with Nathan, Ashley, Barty, Samantha, and Marshall. I've been apart of it for a year now, since I had stopped writing the letters. A year since Harry had died. But it's helped me a lot to move on . . . Nathan's helped me a lot (though I don't think I'll ever think of him as more than a friend which really irks Hermione).

And I'm actually smiling.

Maybe the spotlight isn't so bad at times.