A/N: Thank you to everyone who reviewed! As promised, things will start to make a bit more sense. Hedwig's arrival will be explained (though there is still much to write about concerning her), and there are even more hints dropped. I'm developing this twist a lot more than I originally planned. There's more to this story than meets the eye. I have it all planned out, so if something seems like it won't work, it will. Trust me. Just hang in there while everything comes together.

Acquainted with the Night

By Riddikulus

Chapter IV: Of Letters to No One

"And now we wish ----

Ha! ha! What does we wish?"

-The Two Towers by JRR Tolkien

The alarm clock buzzer sliced the still morning air, and jolted Harry awake. He swiped at the clock a few times, each time more unsuccessful than the last, until he realized that this wasn't working, and sat up, punching the snooze button forcefully

He groped around the bedside table for his glasses, and when his hands made contact with the cold metal frames, he picked them up and put them on. The world came sharply into focus, and he had to blink against the sunlight filtering through the blinds. Harry let go of a jaw-popping yawn, and stretched. He was reluctant to push back the covers, as the air was cold around him, and his bed was so warm…

But the thought of having to walk to school forced Harry to step from the cocoon of blankets. He yawned again and leapt onto the floor. It was like ice, and jolted Harry even further. He darted to his wardrobe, yanked out a pair of jeans, a t-shirt and some socks, and ran back to his bed. The floor was much to cold to stand on, and it jarred his senses painfully.

Dressing while standing on the bed was not an easy task, and Harry found himself wobbling precariously as he tried to pull on his new jeans. The wall was his steady guide until he had to sit down and put socks on. Those would help to relieve the chill of the floor, Harry thought as he pulled them on.

Breakfast was out of the question. He would just grab something from a vending machine between first and second period, and that would tide him over. He had a very scanty appetite, and this seemed to worry both of his guardians.

"You're a growing boy! You need your strength," they would say to him nearly every day. Harry had decided that he'd stopped growing at around twelve, but he couldn't remember what he was like at twelve, so he usually just kept his mouth shut.

As Harry gathered his school things and shoved them haphazardly into his backpack, he realized that he hadn't done anything about the letter he had intended to write, other than set out a piece of printer paper and a pen on his desk. That would be good enough for now. He could write it after finishing homework.

He flung his heavy bag onto the bed, and left his room in order to brush his teeth. He'd been up for no more than ten minutes, but he was already running very, very late. He barely touched his teeth with the tired bristles of the brush, and bypassed the comb, figuring that he didn't need it, and that Nadia had one he could use if he wanted to. But he didn't, so it was okay for now.

Charging back into his room, Harry was able to put on his nicer pair of sneakers just as Dora called from downstairs.

"I'm GOING!"

Harry pulled his bag off of his bed, yanked his jacket off of the floor (where it had been lying since after his check up) and charged down the immense flight of stairs, following Dora out of the back door to the garage. He had made it, which was good.

"What did you do, oversleep?"

'Good morning to you, too,' Harry thought to himself.

Dora had been in an exceptionally foul mood as the weekend came to a close. It seemed that her ordinarily sub par good humour had dissipated completely after the check up. It was almost as though she had been rooting for Harry to be coming down with some sort of life threatening ailment, and was thoroughly disappointed when he came away healthy; still no memories of his past, but healthy.

Harry shoved his hands into his jacket pockets as they entered the overly leatherized vehicle (which still reeked of that new car smell). Dora started the ignition, and they were out of the front gates in a hurry. She seemed to be rushing.

Harry sighed and slumped back into the hard leather seat, but as he did so, he felt something in his pocket. That note! The one that the doctor had given him! Of course! He'd forgotten about it (though he couldn't figure out why). He still thought that Dora didn't like the fact that Dr. Fletchley had given Harry some sort of secret document, so he took his hands out of his jack pockets, and folded them across his chest. No sense in reading it where Dora could see it.

"You'll have to ride the bus home, Harry. Rick and I have a very urgent meeting," she stopped and scratched her arm. "So we might not be back today. You know how to order pizza. I've left a few twenties on the counter for you,"

Harry nodded and yawned again. It was still raining. The weather was beginning to make him tired. Or was it the weather? Harry had had another dream, but he couldn't remember it any more. He'd awoken at two AM covered in cold sweat. His scar had been burning more so than usual since then, and he rubbed it gingerly as they drove down the almost deserted highway.

"Is your scar bothering you?" Harry put his hand down quickly as Dora began to prod.

He shook his head, letting his messy bangs fall across his forehead.

"Are you sure?" She sounded tense.

"Yeah. Don't worry about it," he said, turning to look out the passenger window.

The hairs on his neck prickled. Harry felt as though Dora were watching him, but when he turned back, she was watching the road.

Harry always felt like Dora had some sort of radar that picked up on everything Harry didn't want her too. That's another reason why she made him so uncomfortable. She didn't really like being left out of Harry's secrets, so it always seemed as though she were watching him. Always. Harry hugged himself tighter, and rested his forehead against the moist, cold glass of the window, willing the pain of the scar to just go away.

To go away and leave him alone.

Even though isolation scared him more than anything (except maybe rats – he'd never liked rats), he always wanted to be left alone. Then again, being left alone was something he'd just grown accustomed to over the past year, so maybe he was just used to it. Maybe he didn't really crave it. And yet, he did.

Some of his greatest desires included having a real family. Maybe not blood relations, but someone who could be a father, or someone who could be a mother. This startled Harry, as he had two people who were supposed to represent those things to him, but when you're forced into believing that, the mind usually refuses. It's not as though Rick and Dora were helping.

Being alone caused Harry to be more self reliant than anything else, but it also allowed him time to dwell in a past that he imagined he must have had at some point. Rick and Dora (mostly Dora) never liked it when he'd ask them. They didn't know, they'd always say. Why ask them?

They told him what little they knew: He was found, unconscious, in a small town in Northern England. He had a bump on the head which was severe enough to cause him to lose his memories, but the doctors (Harry remembered this – Dora and Rick never told him) had said that the memory loss wasn't permanent, and every time he used to go in for check ups, the doctors were surprised that the memories hadn't been recovered. They then decided that it may take years for any to come back. Time enough for Harry to begin a new life, and not even need the old one.

But he would always need it.

"Out," called Dora's voice from Harry's left. He had been daydreaming again.

Opening the door, he climbed outside, his bag in hand. Dora didn't say anything as Harry shut the door again, and proceeded up to the front entrance to his school.

There weren't too many people outside on a day like this. A group of seniors were huddled near the dumpsters, smoking and laughing. The smoke teased Harry's lungs, and he coughed as he entered the school. He was way too sensitive for his own good, sometimes.

"Harry!" shouted a familiar voice from the commons. It was Nadia flanked by Tristan, who was looking a bit under the weather.

"Hey," said Harry, shifting his backpack.

"You look just peachy," Nadia said, joining Harry as they traipsed to their first class.

"And I feel just like I look,"

Nadia raised an eyebrow, but said nothing. Tristan, on the other hand, was not as smart as this, and blurted out, "Why? What's wrong with you?"

Harry didn't really know how to phrase 'I can't remember any of my life, and it's making me depressed' into something that wouldn't worry his friends, so he just shrugged, and shoved his hands back into his jacket pockets.

The note!

The three friends walked on in silence for a while, until, "Did you study?"

Harry froze. "Study?"

Nadia cracked a wicked grin. "HA! You should see the look on your face! You need to lighten up, my man!"

Harry felt his insides unclench, and narrowed his eyes menacingly.

"That was cruel," he said, beginning to smile.

"Well, it got you to finally smile," Tristan added.

"So, did you do anything interesting this weekend? Once again, we couldn't get a hold of you, though it really wasn't for lack of trying," Nadia said, throwing Tristan a playful glare.

"I only called four times!"

Nadia huffed. "Only four times an hour EVERY single fucking hour!"

Tristan stopped walking. "Why do you do that?"

"Do what?" Nadia said, visibly confused as she stopped to stare at Tristan.

"Cuss like that," he said, staring his shoes.

"Why do I fucking cuss? Because I fucking want to you fucking –"

"Okay, we get the idea, Nadia. Thanks," Harry said, cutting in before Tristan broke out into tears. "Tristan and I will support you in any decision that you wish to make, while not necessarily joining in ourselves. Isn't that right, Stan ole buddy ole pal?" Harry elbowed Tristan, who had begun to blanch.

"Don't call me Stan!" Tristan looked up suddenly, a kind of indignant glare spreading across his face.

"You know, Stan, sometimes I'm surprised that you play soccer. You seem more suited for ballet,"

"Shut up!"

"Okay, that's enough Nadia. TRIstan. Can we please stop before one of us is mutilated? Because I have a feeling that it's going to be me," Harry said, pushing between Nadia and Tristan as they prepared to duke it out in the middle of the hall.

"Honestly, can't you two go just one day – ONE DAY – without attempted murder on each other? It'd make things so much easier for me, to not have to worry about being a witness to a murder," Harry began to hurry up a flight of stairs to their first class of the day; Science.

"Well gee, you're no fun!" said Nadia as she pretended to pout.

Harry didn't say anything. He couldn't say anything. His scar had begun to burn, and he afraid. It pulsed and throbbed like raw fire, coursing through his skull with the intensity of a jack hammer, pressing against brain, and sending him reeling in agony.

"Harry? Harry? Are you okay?" Nadia whispered, grabbing Harry's shoulders. He had shut his eyes as tight as they could go, and was pressing his fist into his forehead, willing, no, demanding that the pain leave. He couldn't concentrate on school while feeling like his skull was about to explode.

Harry was only vaguely aware of being pushed into the science lab, and flopping down in one of the cold, blue chairs. The lesson had started, though the professor's voice was distant and echoing in Harry's head, and it reverberated inside of him like a drum.

Then, as suddenly as it had started, it was gone. The world suddenly came sharply back into focus; the colours blinded him, and he had to squint to keep out the harsh fluorescent lighting.

Harry felt someone nudging him, and he turned around to face Nadia, who was looking positively beside herself with worry.

"You okay?" she mouthed.

Harry only nodded slightly, as the movement still slightly jarred him, and he turned back around to grasp the rest of the lecture that he had so conveniently missed.

The day went by slowly, and by lunch, Harry could barely wait to read that slip of paper the doctor had given him. It could explain everything, or nothing what-so-ever, and he could take it either way. What had the note been about? Curse scars? After reading his old books, he had decided that nothing was too out of the ordinary for curse scars not to exist. Then again, what was a curse scar?

"Harry? Woo hoo! Earth to Harry! Calling Harry Potter-Evans!" Harry realized that Nadia was sitting directly in front of him, her hands cupped around her mouth like a megaphone, and a general concern in eyes, though her demeanour certainly spoke otherwise.

Harry batted one hand lazily at her, and she got the point and sat back next to him, continuing to chew on a sandwich.

"What was up with you this morning?" Nadia said as Tristan elbowed her in the side.

"Nothing. My scar hurt a little,"

"A little? God Harry, you looked like you were going to fu—pass out," she said, catching Tristan's glare just in time.

Harry shrugged.

"You know what I've always wanted to be able to do?" Tristan cut in.

Nadia set down her sandwich in a disgusted sort of way, and glared at her friend.

"I don't know, and I don't care,"

Tristan chose not to acknowledge her comment, and Harry thought that this was very wise of him to do. Nadia looked not to be in the mood.

"Fly,"

Harry choked on his pop, sending carbonation painfully up his nose.

"What?"

"Fly! I've always wanted to fly," Tristan continued, a dreamy look gracing his features as he stared at no one in particular.

"Weird. Sometimes I have dreams where I'm flying on a broomstick," Harry added, mostly to himself.

Nadia looked at him sharply. Up until now, she had remained rather silent. "You're a freak, Harry. I've said it every day, and I'll continue to say it as long as I live. You're. A. Freak."

"Thanks. I'll remember that," he said, and bit into his own sandwich, making a face at how bitter the cheese was.

"I think this cheese is old," he said, swallowing heavily and shoving the sandwich back in the bag. "Someone really ought to teach Dora to cook."

"You mean, she made you that?" Nadia looked absolutely sceptical.

"For once," Harry said, taking another swig of his pop in an attempt to drown out the horrible tasting cheese.

"And you trusted her enough to actually BITE it?" Nadia's mouth curled down at the edges, making her look as though she had just bitten into a lemon.

Harry looked at her brusquely. "Of course. Why?" he raised an eyebrow.

Now it was Nadia's turn to shrug. "She just doesn't cook. Remember last month when we were over at your place for dinner? She nearly poisoned us! It was absolutely and without a doubt, the worst food that I have every eaten in my life,"

"You didn't even finish it!" Harry protested in an effort to defend his guardian. He didn't like her cooking either, so he didn't really understand why he felt it was worthy enough to be defended. It really wasn't.

"Yeah, because afterwards my ears felt weird," she said crossly, folding her arms.

"Your EARS felt weird? And I'm the freak?" Harry raised both of his eyebrows quickly.

"We're all equally freakish, now calm down," came Tristan's reply from Nadia's right.

Harry subconsciously rubbed his scar; his mind once again wandered to the note in his pocket.

"Where do you think you got that scar?" whispered Nadia.

Harry shrugged again. He was really beginning to get irritated at all of his unanswerable questions.

"The doctors said it's old. Probably hit my head when I was young or something," the scary thing was, Harry figured that this was probably true.

"Yeah, but why does it hurt?"

Again, Harry shrugged.

"You should really find out, you know," Nadia added, putting her lunch away.

"Yeah, I know. I was going to right a letter or something," said Harry slowly, and then, when he saw the look of terror on Tristan's face and the look of scepticism on Nadia's he quickly added, "Not mail it or anything. Just to get out the questions that I have, you know?"

Nadia nodded slowly, and looked quickly at Tristan, who was still rather shaken, and seemingly about to protest, but stopped when he caught Nadia's stare.

"Generally, stupid idea," Nadia said. "Mailing would be pointless. If it were that easy to find out everything, you could have done it ages ago. Write it, but don't mail it," she said, then added, leaning in so that Tristan couldn't hear, "Tristan would have kittens if you did, anyway."

Harry raised an inquisitive eyebrow, but said nothing. The image of Tristan having kittens was too weird. He needed a moment of recovery.

As promised, neither Rick nor Dora was home when Harry walked into the deserted kitchen after school that after noon. He had expected it, of course he had. This was the usual routine. But expecting it didn't make him feel any better. He decided that now was as good a time as any, and he walked upstairs to his room, fingering the folded note still resting in his jacket pocket

Once he had reached the privacy of his room (which was rather pathetic, as no one was home), Harry threw his backpack unceremoniously onto the floor, all of his attention directed toward the note that he was now clutching in his hands.

He made his way over to his ancient computer desk. It wasn't really a computer desk, being that it looked as though it was over a century old, but that was the purpose it served when the computer wasn't crashing and being repaired.

Harry hastily sat down, and pushed aside the paper and pen he'd pulled out for writing that letter. He'd do it after reading this. This was much more important. It could have some sort of clue. But then again, Dr. Fletchley had said that it was humorous, depending on how he wished to look at it. He'd try not to look at it in a humorous way, if possible.

He unfolded it, took a deep breath, and began to read.

"Curse Scar: An incurable abnormality, documented only once in history. The Curse Scar is caused when the victim of the Killing Curse or other Unforgivable repels the curse. The mark is the lasting record of surviving such an event, and is shaped (usually, though only documented once) in the form of a lightning bolt. It is also plausible then, that connections are held through the mark between the cursed and the potential victim. Again, little is known due to the lack of documentation."

Harry's heart was racing. This was as far from humorous as it could possibly be. This was too real to be funny in any way. Maybe he'd been knocked unconscious because of this? No. He was a baby when he'd received this scar.

He wondered who the only documented case belonged to, and made a mental note to find out, though he really didn't know how he could.

Now, more than ever, he was determined to write that letter. It really wouldn't make much of a difference, but it could help him to settle his mind for now. He needed to settle his mind.

Picking up the pen, Harry stared blankly at the equally blank page sitting before him. What could he write? He supposed that his name would be a good place to start. He could go from there.

"My name is Harry Potter-Evans."

No, scratch that. He wasn't Harry Potter-Evans. He was Harry Potter. Or was he? That name was in his books, so he figured that's who he was, but he never really felt positive about it. Perhaps someone would know.

He took some white out and took off –Evans from his name.

"My name is Harry Potter."

Alright. Now what?

Well, he thought, what did he want to know? That was too broad. He wanted to know everything. He wanted to know who certain people were (Sirius, Ron, Hermione, Hagrid? Who were they?); he wanted to know who his parents were; he wanted to know if he even had family.

So, who was he, really? That's a good question.

"My name is Harry Potter.

I don't know who I am."

Good for you, Harry. Did you want a gold star? He thought to himself. Time to add more questions, and these he had been wracking his brain to come up with, for the past year.

"I don't know who I am, what I am,"

Harry paused. What he was? He was a human. Still, he decided to keep that question in the letter. Perhaps he was an alien from Mars. That would certainly explain everything about him, other than his ability to breathe oxygen.

"I don't know who I am, what I am, where I come from,"

Well, he did know that. But Nadia's voice echoed in his ears, "Specifics!" Okay then. Specifics.

"…where I come from (other than England, though as my friend Nadia tells me, I should really find out more specifics)."

Nadia would be proud to know that she was mentioned in this letter. But Harry needed more.

"… and if I have family."

Yes. Family was the most important thing to mention. To be completely frank, Harry wanted to write why he was even writing this letter. He didn't know why, but perhaps it would hold the letter together if he would explain why he came to write it.

"I don't know why I'm writing this,"

He really didn't.

 "…and I'm certainly not going to mail it,"

Well, he wasn't.

"… but if I should ever need to resort to mailing a letter to no one, the letter is here and waiting."

A letter to no one. That sounded almost deep.

Harry folded the letter once, and placed it on his window sill as he opened the window to let in the breeze. He stood at the open window for awhile, letting the breeze play with his hair and soothe his stinging scar. He took a deep breath of the rain cleaned air. It felt really good, and Harry would have stayed at the window until Dora came home, but he saw something that caught his eye.

It was a bird. And, as Harry watched it fly hurriedly in his direction, he saw it was a large white bird. And, as it flew nearer still, he saw that was an owl. Harry backed away from the window just in time, as the owl flew right inside and landed on Harry's bed, visibly winded, but looking…happy?

Harry's eyes were wide with fear. If Dora found out there was an owl in his room…
Nevermind Dora! Harry's mind shouted. There is an owl in your bedroom! Do something! But he didn't know what to do. There wasn't much he could do.

"Shoo!" Harry hissed at it.

The owl took this opportunity to fly at Harry. He ducked, but not in time. She landed on his shoulder and pecked his cheek in what seemed like an affectionate kind of way, and fluttered over to his desk, seemingly searching for something. Harry shook his head. The owl seemed to know exactly what it was doing. But owls can't think like that, can they? Evidently, this one could, because she flew across Harry's room and sat on his bookshelf, once again searching for something.

"Um, go away?" Harry asked it meekly. He had figured that it wouldn't work.

The owl seemed to spot Harry's letter, which was still on the window sill, and she flew across the room to grab it.

"Hey! What are you doing? Get out of here!" Harry shouted. The owl was trying to take his letter!

The owl looked oddly…confused. Or was it hurt? There was no other way to describe the look that it seemed to give Harry before it took the letter in its sharp talons. It flew back to Harry, gave him another affectionate nip, and took off out the open window again, though it was with much less enthusiasm than it had arrived with.

Harry rushed over to the window, panic flooding through him. Why would an owl take his letter? That was weird. Too weird. He felt inundated, and sat down on his bed, his head swimming painfully.

A/N again: I've discovered that this fic is getting a bit more mysterious than I had originally planned. Everything I address will be explained eventually, and Harry's disappearance will be explained towards the end (the real reason he disappeared, anyway).

About Hedwig: She had actually been surveying the area where Harry was for some time, and when he opened the window, she spotted him, and took that opportunity to fly in. You'll find out why she was there in a later chapter.