Dear Ginny,
I am really sorry I haven't written in so long. But circumstances were… A little out of my control. Let me just tell you.
If I ever told you that the Dursley's could never get any stupider, I was incredibly, terribly wrong. Because what they have just (well, actually this took place about a week ago, when I stopped writing) done takes the cake.
They bought a dog.
You may say: What, pray tell, is the matter with that? But this is the Dursleys we're talking about. THE DURSLEYS!
Which makes it a really, really, really dumb thing to do.
It's one of those awkward sort of dogs- the kind that looks tough and people are naïve enough to believe they can use them as guard dogs when in reality they are scared of their own shadow. Dudley decided he wanted one for his birthday. Probably in an attempt to find a new way to terrorize me, I don't know.
So I guess they go out to buy one that's already been trained and all. But of course none of them are vicious, they are all sweet and docile and generally the kind of dog a human being would want. This is the part where I introduce the theory that Dudley is an alien.
After fighting with a guy who is selling these dogs for Merlin knows how long, they get to the point of the matter and discover the age old mantra, 'You can't teach an old dog new tricks.' The only logical way to get around this is, of course, to simply realize that you are stuck with an old dog, and that you never really wanted the devil-reincarnate as a dog in the first place.
Unless you are the Dursleys.
If you happen to be the Dursleys, you will buy a brand new baby puppy that has barely even opened up its eyes and wouldn't know the difference between someone's hand and a piece of its own crap if they both spontaneously started tangoing right in front of its nose.
The first thing it did when it got in the house was piss all over the brand new carpet they had installed two weeks ago. I think Aunt Petunia started having muscle spasms or something because she started screaming her head off and (I think) she may have told Dudley he was a stupid moron for the first time ever in his pathetic little life.
And so I suddenly found myself with a brand new inhabitant in my room. Dear Auntie shoved him in and slammed the door, screaming that on no condition was I allowed to take him out of the room, with the exception of taking him outside to do his business. So I was stuck.
The very first thing he tried to do was eat Hedwig, which accounts for the lack of letters. No, he didn't succeed, but Hedwig was furious and flew away. I had no idea where she had gone. So I was left on my own, with only Dog for company (Yes, aren't the Dursley's creative. Dog is the name of the dog.).
The next few days were spent trying to a number of hopeless things, such as convincing Dog that my bedroom floor was, believe or not, NOT a toilet, or convincing Dog that my various belongings were somewhat less than nutritious and therefore he should not eat them, or convincing Dog that I am not a chew toy, so on and so forth.
On the third day Dumbledore showed up, worried because I hadn't written. I explained the situation to him, and though I'm sure he was trying not to be rude or anything, he laughed so hard that the tea he had been drinking came out of his nose. Now that is something you most definitely don't see every day.
He arranged to have one of the school owls fly in every day to make sure I was okay and to allow me to send letters. Every time one came into the room Dog tried to eat it, and I only just managed to tie on a letter to Dumbledore telling him I was alive before it freaked out and flew away. Sometimes I didn't even manage that. There were a whole big bunch of letters sitting on my desk waiting to be sent that never went anywhere because the owls were stupid.
So today when the Dursley's went out shopping I tied Dog up outside, much to the horror of the neighbors (They took an instant dislike to him after he so pleasantly ripped out their flower beds). And the owl remained calm enough for me to tie on the twenty or so letters that needed sending.
So. Here is your letter. If you see Hedwig PLEASE PLEASE try to convince her to come back. I've almost worked out a way to keep Dog away from her side of the room.
-Harry
Dear Harry,
Come on. I'm not quite THAT gullible. That can't honestly be the reason you haven't written in so long.
Can it?
I mean… A dog. Or, rather, Dog. No. No, I refuse to believe this pathetic little attempt to make me laugh or whatever it was.
Which, admittedly, it did. NO! I am believing you! AGAIN!
This must stop. Tell me what really happened.
Ginny
P.S. No sign of Hedwig.
P.P.S. DAMN! I JUST DID IT AGAIN!
Dear Ginny,
How can you not believe me? That really is what happened, and I'm not lying to you or anything. I would never lie to you.
Besides, you know you believed me. BECAUSE IT WAS TRUE!
I mean, when have I ever lied to you? I'll tell you when.
NEVER.
-Harry
Dear Harry,
You have too lied to me.
I just can't think of any times right now. But I'm sure you have. So don't try to deny it. Because I am right. I am always right. As opposed to you.
Ginny
Dear Ginny,
What is that supposed to mean? Are you saying I'm always wrong?
Because I'm not.
Most of the time I'm right. Except, of course, on the rare occasions when I'm left.
-Harry
Dear Harry,
That is the lamest joke I have ever heard ever. And living with six brothers I have had every occasion to really really bad jokes.
But that was definitely the worst.
And I still don't believe you.
Ginny
Dear Ginny,
Here you go. I have proof. I stole Vernon's old Polaroid and took a picture of me and Dog. The big peachish blob with a black blob on the top is me, and the brown and white blob is Dog.
I'm er… Not very good at holding the camera still.
Though as a point in my favor Dog was trying to eat my glasses while I was taking this.
So there you have it.
-Harry
Dear Harry,
Fine. I believe you.
But the moment you get to the Burrow I am teaching you how to hold a camera. I mean, that is really pathetic.
And it's called a self-timer.
Unless they don't have those on Polaroids…?
Well, that's beside the point. You, Harry Potter, are the world's worst photographer.
Ginny
P.S. Dog looks really cute. He can't honestly be that bad.
Dear Ginny,
I'm not that bad at taking pictures. It's just really hard to take them of yourself. But look, I took another one, minus Dog, and it came out fine.
Mostly.
Let's just see YOU take a picture of yourself. You probably can't do any better.
-Harry
Dear Harry,
That was GOOD? You can't see it, but you are receiving an incredibly incredulous look right about now.
And I did take a picture of myself. See how it's not blurry? And how my entire face is in the picture? And how my finger is not blocking half of my face out?
That's generally what good pictures look like.
But, you know, only sometimes.
Unless you have developed a completely new art form where this isn't the norm. I'm sure this is the case.
Ginny
Dear Ginny,
Hahahahaha. Very funny. So you're much better at taking pictures than I am. You don't have to rub it in my face.
Did you cut your hair? Because it looks a lot different. Good different. I like it.
-Harry
Dear Harry,
Thanks. I was getting sick of my hair being long, so I just sort of chopped a bunch off. Mum was furious. She somehow convinced herself it was all Bill's fault. Crazy, no?
Anyways, I think you'll be able to come over in a week or two. It'll be great. Can't wait to see you.
Ginny
A/N: Sorry it took so long to update. I've been really busy with track- there've been meets every other night. REVIEW!