Disclaimer: J.K. Rowling owns all these characters.

After being thoroughly questioned, probed, and even threatened by the swarm of reporters, Harry found himself back at Grimmauld place. He took the key out of his pocket, unlocking the front door and stepping inside. Though some wizards thought keys unnecessary, it had been the easiest way to lock and unlock the door while setting up protection charms and preventing Alohomora from working.

Since the Fidelius Charm had been broken, the Muggles could now see the house as well, which proved a slight inconvenience. He had to hide all traces of magic from the exterior of the house, whereas before anything past the gates remained unseen by Muggle eyes. One thing that had boggled Harry's mind was that the Muggles seemed to think they had always been able to see Number 12, Grimmauld Place. No memory charms had been put into place, as far as Harry could tell, and not a single Muggle seemed to think it out of the ordinary that a previously invisible house was now in plain sight.

Harry stepped into the entryway, took off his shoes and coat, and headed into the kitchen. The kitchen table, he found, was already laden with food. Harry sighed. Some of the Hogwarts house elves had picked up the habit of occasionally bringing him food, being able to Apparate despite all the wards. The food was always delicious, but it was a cruel reminder of Dobby that he didn't really need.

Harry pulled the next letter off the stack, and sat down at the table. He ate as he read, enchanted by his parents' words, and wondering what could have happened if only he had grown up with Sirius.

Dear Harry,

Happy birthday! It's hard to imagine you as ten years old and reading this letter. Right now, you're in your crib, napping. You don't even know that we're in hiding, really. I think you've developed a good sense of time, however, because you seem to be wondering why Sirius and Remus haven't been to visit. Ah, well, on with the story:

Remus, Peter, and Sirius came over one day, and they were all playing with you, laughing, and having a great time. I was afraid, of course, that would over-stimulate you (too much noise and movement and the like can do that to babies), but your father was pretty good at keeping control in those situations. So, I got up to make some tea, and as the water is near boiling, I hear odd noises coming from the room they were in. I went in to see what it was, and I will never forget the sight that greeted me. All four of them were bobbing on the ceiling, trying desperately to grab onto the walls and pull themselves down. And there you were, in the middle of the room, lying on your back and watching the show.

It did take us a while to get them down, and no one was quite sure as to what could possibly have triggered that reaction, but all in all, the rest of the day was fun. It was your first accidental magic, after all, and there's no time to be mad at a baby.

Love, Mum & Dad

P.S. Mum's still writing the letters. She says my handwriting is sloppy. -Dad

Harry smiled. He could almost hear his parents' laughter as they wrote these letters, reliving the memories that had never surfaced in his mind. He see Sirius, bouncing about on the ceiling of the house that Harry had once lived in. Remus, laughing as he failed to bring himself down to the ground. His father, floating in air, suspended by accidental magic. And Peter. Peter, hitting his head against the ceiling, over and over, only getting down after many hours, and then living in St. Mungo's, never being able to leave, never the Secret Keeper that betrayed his parents…

No. He couldn't think that. He couldn't wish that kind of hurt against someone else, even if they were a filthy rat. There were many fates worse than death, and he was sure one of them was to be on the brink of insanity, never quite making it to the bliss of having the mind of an infant, always striving for a little bit more, feeling as though a piece of you is missing, something that is just out of reach, as soon as you start to grab it, it moves farther away.

Besides, Pettigrew had suffered enough, forced to strangle himself with what had once been a gift. A gift from Voldemort, nevertheless, but still something he would never imagine hurting him. Of course, that didn't mean that Harry should feel sorry for the traitor, he was still just as bad as ever, and would certainly not need any more reminders.

Harry glanced at the clock, realizing that it was late and that he should go to sleep. He wanted to read the next letter, but he was determined to wait. If he had gotten these letters when he was supposed to, he would have had to wait months. Surely he could wait one night. And he wasn't going to become obsessed with these letters, either. Instead, they would be something to look forward to each day. A relief from the crazy that ensued whenever he so much as opened the front door.

Thank you so much for reading my story! In the reviews: should I write some chapters without letters? This would allow for a longer story, possibly longer chapters, and some cute/funny scenes I already have in mind. (I might make this the format for the next chapter).

j. klix, I'll try to write longer chapters, it's definitely one of my struggles as a writer, and I'm glad you're enjoying the story.