A Letter - Yet Again

A letter - yet again

(by Bilius-the-Weasel)

Dear Aunt Petunia, dear Uncle Vernon,

I know you might not be expecting a letter from me, after I have been away from Privet Drive for nearly two years by now. You might not want to read it - go ahead then, throw it into the bin, or burn it by all means.

To be honest, I don't really know why I am writing, but somehow it seemed the right thing to do. Although you'll agree with my opinion that we were not really the best friends with each other over the years, we somehow got along. We all lived after all. Frankly I'm glad to be out of your house and your presence, as you're no doubt as well, don't even try to deny it, it's fine with me. I am living at my late godfather's house now - he left it to me by his will. I'm not bothering giving you the address, you would be shocked anyway, given your attitude towards wizardkind. If - which would surprise me - you would like to meet me some time, just send word through Mrs Figg, she's got the means to let me know, and then we could arrange for somewhere on neutral ground.

Anyway, despite hard feelings no doubt both you and me will have built up against one another, there is still a lot I have to thank you for. Yes, you read this correctly, there's nothing wrong with your eyes. I don't know whether you, Aunt Petunia, got along well with my mum, or my dad, for that matter (although that quite remarkable bit of screaming you did out there on the hut when Hagrid came to rescue me a couple of years ago gave me some idea about it). But despite everything that could have prevented you from deliberately seeking any social contact to them you took me in. After my parents' death, when Professor Dumbledore asked you in his letter. Grudgingly perhaps, but you still took me in. You confined me to that cupboard under the stairs for the best part of my life before Hogwarts, but still you let me stay at your home - gave me a home at your home. Had it not been for you taking me in, I wouldn't have lived the day to write this letter - not that it might matter to you, but still, thank you.

I know I was not the sort of - what should I call it, son? hardly so - relative to get along with well all the time, given my nature, sort of. My presence was somehow forced upon you, which will not have been the perfect means to endear me to you much. Then there were those occasions on which, despite all your attempts to beat it out of me, my magic talent (or my freakiness, to put it your way) showed through - certainly no way to make my being part of your life more attractive. I somehow understand your view of things, even if I don't approve of it, because it wasn't my fault. Looking at it now, I don't see any point in arguing it, though, as the source of all that trouble is gone for good.

Yes, Tom Riddle, alias Lord Voldemort, is dead. I killed him last year, almost ten months ago by now. Fulfilled that blasted prophecy you might have heard about through Professor Dumbledore. If not, fine by me, I'm not going to elaborate. It's past, and I want to leave it there. I'm moving on now.

Speaking of moving on, I'm going to get married in a few weeks. It's Ginny Weasley, you might know her fleetingly, she's my friend Ron's younger sister. We're expecting, by the way; it's going to be a son - got that bit of information already, because I dragged her along to see a Muggle gynaecologist, although she was a bit reluctant about it at first. So it'll be Mr Harry James Potter and Mrs Ginevra Molly Weasley Potter in a bit, and - hoping all goes well - we'll be joined by young James Albus Potter around the end of August. I can almost hear your thundering, Uncle Vernon, something alike 'See those freaks? Not quite out of diapers, and already getting hooked up and knocked up themselves - that's how I expected it to be all along.' Did I catch it alright? Tell you what: stuff it! I'm not discussing my future life with you, or anybody of your kind. This is my own life I'm building up just now, and you are no longer part of it.

Right now, I'm sitting at my desk at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. I'm teaching Defence Against the Dark Arts - always had that dull feeling I'd somehow end up here. But it's okay - even fun at times.

Times I probably wouldn't have lived to see, hadn't it been for you taking me into your house. If for nothing else, that I have to be grateful for, as I mentioned above. I didn't want to miss telling you that. I know it sounds odd, but believe me, I hold no grudge against any of you. I'm glad to be moving on now, and being given the opportunity to reach that age, I thank you again. Even if I meant it, saying you being no longer part of my life, that does not mean I would reject you if you - unlikely though - should choose to make contact one day. Just as I said, tell Mrs Figg, she'll let me know, and then we can meet somewhere.

I'll leave you to it now. My fiancée will be with me any moment now, we're going to have a pleasant evening together with Ron and Hermione (they're engaged, too), and Professors Dumbledore and McGonagall. Sharing the latest gossip and preparing for another summer holiday, I think.

Feel free to give a response to Hedwig; if not, fine with me. Don't worry, this will probably be the last letter sent by owl on my behalf.

Bye,

Harry