A/N: Hello, and welcome back for this week's letter! Hope you enjoy!

B is for baggage

When Harry Potter was five years old, something happened to him. It was horrible, painful, made him want to cry. Something must be wrong with him. It was going to keep happening, and then he'd end up dead. Oh, there was just so much blood! And it HURT!

On the nineteenth day of April, Harry Potter experienced his body falling apart.

Harry and the Dursleys were sitting in the back of a large cab, driving to the airport. They were taking a vacation in Vancouver, it was apparently very nice there in the spring. Blue skies, and flowers everywhere! Aunt Petunia was excited about their maple tasting tour, the finest in the country, it said. Uncle Vernon and Dudley, however, were especially excited for the poutine, a traditional Canadian food.

Harry Potter, however, was eager to simply go. It was the first time he left the country, (he was pretty sure; his parents might have taken him) and it was certainly the first time the Dursleys took him anywhere. It was his first time getting on an airplane, and though he was nervous, he couldn't wait.

The drive from number 4 to the airport was almost forty minutes, a very long time for a five-year-old boy. Dudley, of course, had a video game in his hands, which was really quite loud, though the driver was oblivious to it. Harry had seen the way people look at him in the family not being treated equally, but they ignored it. Perhaps he was in trouble, and that's why he didn't get an ice cream at the store. Maybe he had a tantrum, and that's why he didn't play any games. Or maybe he didn't eat his greens, and that's why his eyes were red.

(Though Harry doubted the last one. Even a blind man could see that there was not an ounce of vegetables in Dudley.)

And like the majority of other children his age, Harry quickly got bored of the moving trees and houses and cars. So he resulted in the only other thing he could possibly do without getting into trouble: wiggling his tooth.

So when his mouth erupted with a thick, metallic taste, Harry did what was only natural to him: he cried out in pain.

Even weeks later Uncle Vernon reminded Harry how close he had been to kicking Harry out of the moving vehicle. Which has happened before. Not the threatening, the kicking. The screaming. The yelling. It was all very normal.

One thing that Harry Potter did not understand was the machine that kept buzzing in his presence. Uncle Vernon pushed him through the portal looking frame before stripping his feet, so not only were his feet were numb with the cold, but the ringing in his ears, which only just subsided from Uncle Vernon's yelling, was back.

BEEP! BEEP! BEEP! BEEP! BEEP! BEEP! BEEP!

The sound was accompanied by flashing red lights, and a man with a thick vest and badges to approach him. After the guard took him aside to check all of his clothes and even his hair, they were told to carry on with their plans, because apparently, "This is a very common misconception with machines; that they don't have anything wrong with them. We're very sorry about your delay. Have a nice trip!"

(Something Harry Potter never really understood. Why would people wish you a good day when they just did something to turn it in the opposite directions. The least they could do for Harry Potter was try to calm Uncle Vernon down. You could practically hear his outrage and indignation.)

It was surprisingly cold through the tunnel which led into the plane. That, however, hardly compared to the temperature inside the plane. The last time Harry Potter felt this cold was when he had to clean his Uncle's car four weeks ago, without a coat. (The soap water almost froze on his hands, and the car, which got Harry in very deep trouble.)

So there Harry Potter was, stuck between a tall teenager and a businessman, with a reclined seat in front of him. Harry Potter didn't bother asking his Aunt and Uncle why he couldn't sit closer to them; he already knew that answer.

After the plane finally took off and the light above his head turned off to indicate that passengers could take their seat belts off, Harry Potter got up and went to find his Aunt and Uncle. They were feeding Dudley some peanuts and biscuits while he was watching a movie.

Like a sixth sense, both Petunia and Vernon Dursley perked up when he came about a meter close to them. You could see their question clearly on their faces asking, "What do you want now?"

Harry Potter did not know how to respond. What could he say? He was hungry. He hadn't had anything to eat for almost eight hours now. His stomach was making so many noises that the teenager next to him started looking at him strangely.

His hopeless expression and complement to Aunt Petunia's shirt rewarded him a cup of orange juice. It was the most wonderful thing Harry Potter could think of.

In fact, Harry Potter felt like he died and went to heaven, and it must have shown on his face, too, because suddenly the tall person sitting next to him eyed him strangely, before saying, "Merlin, you look like you've never tasted orange juice before."

Harry clutched his styrofoam cup to his chest, looking at the boy next to him like he was about to steal it away from him. Feeling slightly possessive, he replied, "I'm sorry."

"No, no. Not a problem. I was just saying, really. Anyway, we're going to be here for the next nine and a half hours or so, so why don't we be friends?"

Harry Potter looked at him for a moment before sticking his hand out just like those random people wearing clothes that looked like bathrobes did to him. The teen, with eyebrows, slightly raised, shook his hand, and offered him a pack of crisps.

Harry immediately said no. The last time he did anything more than say hello to a stranger at one time he had to stay in the broom cupboard for almost six hours. He was already pushing the limit by shaking his neighbour's hand.

The boy simply took the bag back but did not eat any. "Alright, let me tell you a bit about myself. My name's Ashton. I love the colour green. I'm going to Vancouver to visit my parents. I like to swim. My favourite day of the week is Thursday. I hate Sundays…"

So Harry Potter listened to the boy (or Ashton, he supposed) talk about his life and his friends. It was… refreshing. It was refreshing to be looked at and talked to without any negativity. The only few people Harry Potter's met like that so far were his teacher and the person who shook his hands at the mall a few weeks ago.

Ashton looked at him expectantly but said nothing. Maybe he was looking for questions about his mini rant, or expecting one from Harry Potter himself. Seeing the eager look in his eyes, Harry said, in a timid voice, "Where's your school? Why don't you live near you parents?"

Ashton looked around him, looking like he expected an attack, or someone listening in. When he deemed the environment fit, he replied, "Can you keep a secret?" After Harry Potter's small nod and keen eyes (still fixed onto the floor), he leaned in and started whispering.

"I go to a huge school in England. They teach us magic, there. When you turn eleven, they send you a note saying you're accepted. But only a few people get in. That's what makes it so special. But you know what? I think that you're going to be accepted."

Harry Potter looked at him curiously, seemingly not believing what his new friend told him. There was, however, one thing that overpowered his disbelief: his curiosity. So Harry Potter started asking questions, and Ashton answered.

"Do you live in the school?" Yes.

"Is it hard?" Yeah… but it's also lot's of fun.

"Why do you think I can get in?" This took a moment to answer. He was one supposed to tell someone else something like this? Never in Ashton's wildest dreams would he have thought that he was going to meet Harry Potter. And never in his wildest dreams would he have thought that Harry Potter was treated this way. He already sent a letter to Dumbledore. Now all he had to do is gather as much information as possible.

Using the least amount of information as possible, he told Harry Potter that only very smart, brave, kind or cunning people get into Hogwarts, and that Harry was all of those things. Ashton knew that Harry Potter's living situation wasn't ideal. He knew that he was dragged around like dead weight or baggage.

"Harry, you know that the Dursleys' don't treat you properly, right?"

Harry Potter nodded slowly.

"You shouldn't be treated like filth or dead weight. You shouldn't be lugged around like baggage."

But Harry Potter was asleep.

When they landed and Harry Potter was forced to go back to the Dursleys, Ashton gave him a small bag. Inside the bag was a small horse made of glass. That day was when Harry Potter got a toy.

"Oh and Harry?" Ashton said. "You're a wizard, Harry. I'll see you at Hogwarts."

Harry Potter smiled.

And took the bag of crisps.

A/N: Ah, Harry's learning! Please read and review! It would mean a lot, and it makes me write faster!