"Class I want you to write a letter to someone you miss, it could be a friend that moved, or a grandparent that lives far away, just someone who you miss, this letter will be due at the end of class. We will send it to that person and they may write back, if you don't have their address don't worry, we'll find it."

Harry Potter, a raven haired boy with knobby knees taped glasses and bright green eyes and a lightning scar on his forehead, sat in the back of the room wondering who he could write to. He didn't have any grandparents, he'd never had any friends, and so he just sat and wondered. Maybe the boy who had stuck up for him that day, he'd moved away a few months ago. Than Harry realized the idea had been stupid, the boy had barely known who Harry was and would certainly not remember sticking up for Harry. He shoved the idea into the back of his head. He looked around, the other kids had all started the assignment, and he looked back down at his empty sheet of paper. 'If only I had parents they'd know who I should write to,' He mumbled. That was it, he'd write to his mum and dad.

Dear Mum and Dad,

I wish I had known you and I wish I could remember what you were like. Aunt Petunia says you died in a car crash, but there has always been this look behind her eyes that says that there is something more to the story. I am ten years old now; you died when I was one. There's a lot I could tell you about what's happened in those nine years you weren't with me but I have questions for you first. Where did my name come from? I barely even knew I had a name until I started school, I was always referred to as "Hey you," or something like that. I mean I knew I had a name and I knew what my name was it just never occurred to me as something important until I started school.

Did you love me? I know I love you Mum, I love you too Dad. It's just this sinking feeling that I never got to tell you that I loved you, and no one has ever loved me that I can remember. I've never had any friends and my cousin made sure that if anyone tried to be my friend they'd be beaten to a pulp. I know you didn't mean to leave me, I know you didn't want to get killed but why did you have to get into that car?

Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon hate me and they wish you could be here to take care of me instead. They don't let me ask questions about you, they don't approve of imagination, they lock me into my cupboard under the stairs whenever something strange happens to me, and trust me lots of strange things happen to me.

I wish you could see me Mum, Dad, I wish I could know if you'd be proud of me; well that's not true because there isn't anything to be proud of. I get awful grades; if I did any better Aunt Petunia'd cry that I did any better than Dudley. I wish I could do something that would make you proud of me. I wish I could make a sport team, impossible with my skinny figure, baggy clothes, hair that gets in my face, and the fact that even though I am fast I am not at all strong. I wish I could sing well, you could hear me from where you rest with God. I wish I could have friends that cared and that showed me they did, and you would love them as you would love me. It's silly to wonder if you would have loved me because all parents love their children, no matter how rotten, Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon prove that, but I still wonder if you would love me and want to be with me.

Mum, why did you get in the car when you knew Dad had been drinking? Why did I survive the car crash when you two were both killed instantly? Why didn't you sing me to sleep when I was little, or yell at me when I got bad grades? What do you want me to do with myself in this lifetime? Who am I supposed to be? Dad, Do I look like you? Did you play sports? Am I going to make you proud in this lifetime? Will I see you again in Heaven? Will I have done enough to make it into Heaven?

I know you'll never get this but I love you.

Your Son,

Harry Potter

Harry put his pen down and looked at his letter, then the clock that hung on the wall. Only two minutes were left until the end of class. He sincerely hoped the teacher wouldn't be reading the letters; he didn't want his teacher to know what he had written to his parents. He wished there was some way he could get this letter to his parents.

"Class," The teacher began. "Put your papers down here," She beckoned to a spot on her desk. "I will read them, grade them and tomorrow you should know the address we will be sending it too."

"Yes," The class chorused back.