It is a light for the soul.
/
It was with a light heart that day that Harry brought his Aunt the note that Miss Lissa had given him. After dinner that night, he handed it to her. He watched as her lips pursed as she read it, and felt his heart sink. Aunt Petunia wouldn't let him go again, he was sure; it was like she had said: freaks didn't deserve anything nice, not like Dudley, not like normal people.
"Go to your cupboard!" she snapped nastily, her face sharp and unhappy, like she was sucking on a lemon. Harry hung his head and slipped into the comforting darkness of his cupboard.
He wouldn't be allowed, he just knew it.
It wasn't until his Aunt had ushered Dudley off to bed—the heavy footsteps and complaining had notified Harry of this—that he heard it.
"Vernon, think of it!"
It was his Aunt's voice.
"I won't have it, Pet, I won't have it!" his Uncle said sharply.
"But think of it—if he's focused on music, on learning to play, then we may be able to knock more of that freakishness out of him!" she hissed. His Uncle paused. "Not only that, but he can go into competitions; I've heard from the neighbors that winners can even receive money as a prize!"
There was a silence.
"Fine," his Uncle grunted. "He can learn. But I'm not buying him one or paying for lessons."
Harry pulled away from the crack of his door, a smile growing on his face. He could go! They would let him learn to play!
It was with a light and happy heart that Harry fell asleep that night.