Check first chapter for summary, disclaimer, and other warnings.

Chapter 10 – Revelations
posted August 8th, 2006

Dear Diary,

You will never believe what I just learnt! (of course you won't)

Let me tell you what happened today: the day started as usual, with John playing the cello with a refreshing music – he sure learnt other melodies than the moody ones I first heard him play; some from Vivaldi, even. It was a good way to awaken and we spent the morning at the orphanage.

I went to Ottery St. Catchpole with Charlie afterwards and we discussed about the year. Something strange had happened, and, to tell the truth, I don't know what to make of it. A few times during the year, I found myself with died hair. It started lightly, with a few lighter touches, but it recently reached a peak, and I would awaken with hair as red as Charlie's. At first, I thought that it was a prank from the twins (I was ready to prank them back, or worse... tell on them – after all, you don't prank your partners in crime, you just don't; although you don't tell on them either) but they assured me that it wasn't their doing. Since it had happened again during the vacation, it couldn't be a prank from another student, and Charlie and I discussed about it today. He came to the conclusion that I should ask Madam Pomfrey about it – even if I didn't like the woman (she's gentle and all, but she's also a bit overprotective towards students in her wing – I know... trust me on this).

This entry isn't about my problems, though.

This afternoon, (today being a Wednesday) the children were entertained by some local circus artists and dad returned home. Since John wasn't able to see the artists perform, dad took him too. Me? I wasn't going to stay. Once at home, we were treated to a particularly unwelcome sight.

Professor Trelawney was there.

I took Divination (and got a A, last year) but the way the old bat teaches it, I've never liked it. Nor her. Her permanently clouded classroom is the only one I can't stand physically, and her gloomy attitude mixed with the fact that she only convinced herself that she was a true Seer, got her on my wrong side.

I guess I'm more pragmatic than anything.

But, foregoing this bit of introspection on my part, let's get back to the story.

She was here with a letter. And a key. In her usual aloof attitude, she started to declaim nonsense about her third eye asking her to be there today, and she handed both items to me before leaving.

The first thing we did, dad and I, was to open windows to allow fresh air to enter – the loony had burned incense in our house!

I thought that the letter was about my results, or about a possible Head Girl badge (hey, a girl can dream), or, worse, a discipline action for what I did with Charlie's twin brothers to help them in their nefarious plans (pranking the Slytherins, mostly) – although I was never caught, I'm sure that Dumbledore knows something. I didn't know what to think about the key.

When I looked at the letter itself, though, I dropped it in shock. Let me tell you what the addressee was:

Harry Potter-Tonks,
Second bedroom on the right,
Liberty Street, Lambeth
London

That particular combination of envelope, writing, and ink... that looked like an acceptance letter! For Harry Potter? For Harry Potter-Tonks?

Dad only said "Well, we now know your proper name, son."

Me? I fainted.

Really.

After all, given where I'm schooled, I would know more about Harry Potter than dad.

And, to think that Harry Potter, the Boy-Who-Lived and the defeater of Voldemort, was my brother? Not only that, but – and my mind still reels – he's invalid, for Merlin's sake! I don't spit on him or whatever (Merlin knows I don't: I pushed dad to adopt him). But Hogwarts isn't up to par with the muggle governments' regulations concerning the disabled students. I really don't see John... Harry... pushing his wheelchair up the stairs. And he's blind!

There was something else, too: the scar, the infamous lightning-bolt-shaped scar Harry Potter was due to have on display on his forehead... it was hidden under a network of scars from the freak "accident" my mother had been involved in.

Finally, due to the delivery date, we also learnt something interesting: today, July the 31st, it's Harry Potter's 11th birthday!

On an unrelated parallel, I've read about steps in mourning – dad bought a couple books a few days after mum died – and I know a word perfectly describing my current state of mind:

I'm in denial.

To be continued in next chapter: Introductions...