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Friday 3/11/89
Dear Spencer,
Happy birthday again. I hope you had a good day.
We arrived home a week ago and returned to school. Dudley got to have an extra day off to get over his jetlag but I got sent straight back, it didn't matter I was over the jetlag anyway.
Nothing has changed here on Privet Drive or at school, it's almost like being in Vegas never happened and yet I feel differently about everything, like I'm seeing things more clearly. The Dursleys haven't threatened to kick me out again. They can't, they're too afraid of what would happen, what people would say if I suddenly went missing, or worse began sleeping in alleys around town and were seen scrounging in the bins for food. I thought about reporting the abuse to the police but I haven't made a decision yet. I realized one thing though, there is no way that the teachers and my babysitter aren't aware of my frequent injuries. I have visible bruises on my face and arms several times each term. Shouldn't one of them reported it, or the school nurse who I've had to visit several times when cuts have reopened while I'm at school or to get burns properly redressed when they started to leak through the inadequate dressings I've put on them. I wonder why nobody ever did? Surely the Dursleys can't have paid them off or something?
The flight home was fun, I sat in an empty seat in the row behind the Dursleys and they ignored me the whole way home and slept most of it. I got to eat all the food the airline gave me, and watch several movies.
I'm missing having a friend, and missing you in particular, none of the kids here is as brilliant as you are not just your intelligence but they're nowhere near as kind and generous or as interesting and brave. Nobody at school willingly talks to me, they're too afraid Dudley will bash them if he sees them being nice to me. The teacher's look at me with distain, I know it's my fault because I didn't do the homework they gave me. But how is it that not one of them realizes that Dudley does so much better with his homework than he does in class and his homework is never in his handwriting. It should be obvious that he's cheating somehow. The fat lump doesn't even bother to copy the work into his own handwriting and they don't notice or maybe they just don't care.
I miss our hideout. I wish I had a place like that here, but it wouldn't be the same without you to come and visit me in it. Still I've started looking around for a place like the hide out that I know Dudley won't be able to get to me in, just in case I get kicked out again. I hope it doesn't happen though, it's too cold here to live outside of a proper house in the winter. My cupboard is cold enough.
I haven't had anything strange happen around me since I healed your foot, and it doesn't feel like it's going to the way it did in Las Vegas. I wasn't imagining the change. I still don't know if it was being in America or your acceptance of what was happening or my instinctual fear of the Dursleys noticing something happening that made the difference but whatever it is I can feel it less here. Normally when I do something I can feel a build up of something inside me not really in any particular part of me but sort of centred in my chest and sort of not. I'm sorry, I can't explain it any clearer than that. Even when I'm not doing anything I realised while I was in Las Vegas that I could feel it sitting there waiting to be used and it used to build up sometimes stronger than other times. When it built up enough something would happen out of my control but when I was trying to make something happen it didn't seem to need to be so big. Since I've been home I've been concentrating on how that feels, trying to see if there's a reason I could do more in America, and I've noticed that it doesn't seem as strong here. The funny thing is, I can feel whatever it is getting weaker the longer I spend in the house and slowly growing again while I'm out all day. It never seems to reach the level I felt it at in America but I was a lot further away from the house and for a lot longer. It's not being in Britain it's specifically being at the Dursley's house that makes the difference. I wonder why?
I've sent you an address you can write to, as you can see it's a restaurant. I got caught trying to steal food from their bins one day after Dudley tripped me while I was carrying the pan of eggs and they went all over the floor so the Dursleys refused to let me have any food for the rest of the weekend. Anyway, instead of turning me into the police the kitchen manager has started keeping the better leftovers and scraps for me to eat, she keeps them in the fridge so even the things with meat or cream in them are still safe and good. It's not far from my school and I manage to sneak over there on my way home most days so I'm getting fed much better now and it's good clean, healthy food. She said she's happy to keep letters for me. I think she thinks I'm a street kid so I feel a bit guilty about her kindness and I hope that she isn't too angry with me if she finds out the truth. Though maybe she already knows since I always turn up after school lets out and don't have time to hang around after she feeds me, because I have to hurry home to do my chores before Vernon gets home. Anyway, she's happy to keep letters for me and for me to eat her scraps and left overs. She's a great cook even her scraps taste better than anything Petunia or me can cook and I never feel sick from her food.
I hope your Mom is well and the bullies are leaving you alone.
Your Friend
Harry.
A/N: Thank you to all those who reviewed followed or favourited this story for your support.