Chapter Two

Dear Diary,

I'm sorry if my introduction to you was a little rushed—if not all out sloppy--, but you wouldn't be too attentive to details if you had a grievance to spill (getting holed up in the school infirmary was not the end of the affair—but I'll fill you up on that after I patch up the holes in yesterday's introduction).

Never mind, it's too complicated—I left out details everywhere so I'll just start from the beginning. Right, I was born on the twentieth of October, year 1989 (which makes me fifteen this year), in a state hospital in Southern India. My family made a living through farming and we lived in the poorest part of the town because we barely owned any land or livestock. I continued living there until I was six--that was when my family migrated to Britain after receiving a letter from a relative who had moved here years before us (I'll quote part of the letter). It said that 'all the people are rich and fat from having so much to eat' and that 'all was joyous and prosperous' and that we would all be 'happy forever'.

Ha, famous last words! The minute we got there, we were absolutely appalled at the place that relative got us—it was a total dump, and we only manage to get that awful roof over our heads because the last occupant died of an illness and no one else wanted the place.

We had nothing, it was even worse than before we came because the airfare wiped out nearly all our savings and my dad took months to get a job as a factory worker (the pay was terrible). Worse still, that winter, we nearly froze in that squalid little room, the heating wasn't working and there were cracks in the walls and windows. One day, my mother just got fed up and headed out with all of us to the City Council to make a complaint. I still remember, she was holding me on her left and my baby brother cradled in her right arm when we crossed the road, it was raining that day—very foggy—and out of the blue, this car just came speeding along and ran my mother over.

She died instantly—Bang! And gone, dead—and the driver just went screeching off into the distance. I was just left bleeding from the head on the street with my brother who was wailing and covered in my mother's blood as well as his own. There was a crowd gathered round the scene just staring at my dead mum like it was something freakish out of the circus or something. It was only after half an hour that the ambulance arrived and by that time, the blood on the street was beginning to blacken and stink. The rest is all mired in a sea of confused dreams, dad told me I was unconscious for days and by the time I woke up, my mother's funeral was over and she had been cremated so I didn't even get to see her for the last time. From then on, it was only my dad, my brother and myself.

Life changed a lot when I was eleven. That was when I got my letter from Hogwarts, my dad was pretty mystified when he first saw the letter, but after reading it like for ten times to 'make sure it was real', he was happy in a sort-of way. He was like 'Wonderful! This is so portentous!' and he's been supportive ever since.

I guess I'll start on today's incidents now, since this morning, I've been doing filing and mailing of letters to all the fifth years to inform them about their O.W.L results. My back and tongue are sore (I licked the flaps of the envelopes instead of using the water the house-elf gave me). The only consolation from this punishment is that I now know everyone's O.W.L results and I am pleased to announce that the Malfoy fellow who got me into all this trouble failed more than half his subjects. Somebody's father isn't going to be very happy. Another thing that puts a smile on my face is that I came close to topping Transfiguration—third in the level—but for all the written subjects with the exception of Arithmancy—I got an A in that—I did pretty badly. And the top in the level would, of course, be Hermione Granger, that's for the fifth year in a row.

Another thing that happened today was that I received this terrible letter from my dad—he's demanding how I got myself into such a situation—and he says he can't pick me up just yet, so I'll have to wait. I wonder if his not being able to fetch me too soon has something to do with his being furious for all the trouble I've gotten myself into, but I wrote back to him anyway to tell him my O.W.L results, I hope he's happy.

That's all for today, I suppose.

S. Sundarya

1st July 2004

Dear Diary,

Sorry for not having written for so long, but that's because I was dreadfully exhausted. Yesterday and the day before that, I was forced to 'assist' old Filch with scrubbing the Great Hall till it shone. He was ever so sanctimonious, I tell you. It was awful, and that cat of his—Mrs Norris?—was tagging along behind me wherever I went like she was spying or something. Today, I had to clean out the girl's bathrooms and listen to old Myrtle-the-Pain relate her life story, she told it practically in real time, so you can guess just how boring and draggy it was. I've just finished up and am now sleeping in a camp bed in the Great Hall as all the dorms have been locked up for the holiday. It's strange, you know, sleeping here, out under the sky.

Another thing—dad has not arrived! I am in total despair because of that, I fear I've been left here to rot or otherwise be turned into a house-elf. Somebody GET-ME-OUT-OF-HERE!!!!!!!!

S. Sundarya

4th July 2004

Dear Diary,

Godhelpme Godhelpme Godhelpme Godhelpme Godhelpme Godhelpme Godhelpme Godhelpme

GOD HELP ME!!!!!!

Bad news: Dad still has not arrived. I think I'll go mad if they keep me here another day. Just today, I've been forced to tidy up the teacher's offices for the summer. My dust allergy acted up and my face is all RED and my nose is swollen and sore from sneezing. It is bedlam here. I feel awful, it's already three in the morning and I still can't sleep so I'm writing here and gazing up at the ceiling. It's all dark, just like the sky outside.

S. Sundarya

5th July 2004

Dear Diary,

My father just sent me a letter today. He says he'll be here by the 8th, he's been held up by work and he hasn't really abandoned me—in fact, he's really pleased with my results and says that my brother topped his third grade class and will be skipping two grades so that he'll be in sixth grade by the time he's ten. I'm so happy.

I've already exhausted all my House teacher's ideas for punishments so I'm free for the rest of my time here. Right now it's night-time and I'm sitting all alone in the lawn. The lake is this great, dark glimmering skin of darkness and the entire sky is an inky picture of serenity. I think I might just get to love this place.

S. Sundarya

6th July 2004