Title Pending

Friday,

August 22, 1996

There was something so wonderfully and peacefully serene about driving the hills of Monterey in the middle of the morning. He didn't need a destination exactly, just driving around in circles to clear his mind suited perfectly to settle the hounds of his imagination down. The heater in the car was broken but in the summer morning it was hardly needed. The old Japanese coupe was in need terribly of a paint job to cover the different rusted scratches and blemishes. The engine could do with a good cleaning as the layers of grime looked as if they belonged on the engine instead of being delinquent foreigners. Nonetheless, the car still ran well, if the trouble starting it weren't so bothersome then all matters would be solved.

As Harry neared the gates to the Laguna Seca raceway, he slowed. How he wanted to barge on through the locked gates and take the racetrack a good few times around. The wind would be in his hair and smell of dead grass and burning rubber. The engine might blow up but he could coast down the dreaded S with no problem. Nobody would cheer of course. The stands would be as empty and serene as the coast on a violent day. But there would be no booing. He didn't mind that fact that nobody celebrated his win so long as nobody desecrated his follies.

Harry remembered the wonderful afternoons spent sitting in the stands himself with Sharon and Mr. Mori. The engines would pitch and froth a high whiny sound and he would get terribly excited. He would cheer until his throat was dry and cracked all the while never quite knowing exactly whom he was cheering for. He was swept up in the moment. Sharon was by his side and cheering all the more. She understood the different schematics. To Harry, all it was, was crazy drivers speeding around in circles. Sharon would argue differently.

Mr. Mori would always let them stay until the sun would set into the hills. They would watch as the racers packed away their vestibules of death in big cramped trucks. The crewmembers would congratulate the winners and the stands would empty. The trophy would always be polished and primed right for the winner and the bottles of Gatorade would be quenching and refreshing for the driver. Any driver.

Harry kept on driving, past the gates of the raceway. His track was the highway, 68, and his destination was no silver and gold covered cup but the endless amounts of highway that he could traverse. The hills were dead there, a few trees would swagger with life but no rain meant no water and where no water was, there was death. Grasses of every type would sway too and fro with the wind and bake under the heavyset sun in the day. Harry knew soon he would exit the hills. Soon he would enter the valley of lettuce and cabbage. There would be the rich smell of animal waste and irrigated fields. The Salinas River would not relent in its journey towards the ocean, even if weary farms never relented in their selfish water gathering.

Where the 68 highway met the 101, Harry would have to make his choice. He could go down and into the south where the sun always shined and the movie stars lived. Or perhaps not make it that far and end up in the beautiful seaside community of Santa Barbara. He could perhaps visit Pismo beach where a bay existed so much like his own.

But then he had the choice of going north into the woods. He could visit the complex and intuitive city of San Francisco where he could walk the hilly streets and own the sidewalk. He could traverse to Sacramento, his state's capital. Litigation and the whole state's financial well being went down there, shouldn't commoners be allowed to see its magnificence?

And when Harry could not decide he turned straight around and made his way back to Monterey. He knew no greater joy.

***

When Harry returned he told Sharon exactly what his father had told him two days past. She sat down heavily in the upholstered chair in her living room. Sweat beads crowded on Harry's brow and his left hand was trembling with anxiety. Harry wanted to reach out and grip his friend's hand in his but was too weak and scared at what she might think, to proceed. There was a very fine silence that passed between the two only interrupted briefly by a car flying by outside with its radio turned much too high.

"Are you sure it's true?" Sharon spoke.

"Positive. I used it," Harry said.

"How'd you know what to do?"

"I just concentrated really hard. I moved the table, not very far though."

"And does your dad know?"

"No."

"Are you going to tell him?"

"I wonder."

There was a pregnant silence again. The two friends paused to reassume their wits.

"Are you going to go with him? It's tomorrow..."

"I have to."

"You said he was erasing everyone's minds of you, him and your brother. Why hasn't he gotten to me yet?"

"I told him not to erase your mind."

"And he trusts me? I find that hard to believe. I never really got along well with the guy, you know? I mean, he's always just been your dad. I've never thought of him as anything else. Not really a friend."

"He said it was the only wish he'd grant me."

"Did your brother get a wish?"

"No, Jake didn't care. He wanted to leave."

"I don't get it though, why wouldn't he take Andrew too? And your mom, what about her?"

"He says they aren't important and they'd be too much work to erase."

"I guess...but I can't believe he'd just leave them like that. Did you ever know he was so cold-hearted?"

"No, but I never knew I was a wizard until two days ago."

"That's right. I got you."

He looked deep within her face and found it wrought with worry. There was something so profoundly devastating about seeing his best friend's face in such a state. It broke his heart perhaps more than it broke his heart that he would be leaving his brother and mother.

"Why can't you cure Andrew at least? That seems very unfair that your dad is just going to leave him with your mom."

"I would die."

"So Jake was right then? About it being dangerous. I guess that makes sense though, sorta...no, actually it doesn't. Explain it to me."

"Dad says that it's a gene passed through the Potter bloodline but that it hasn't been seen for three generations. Basically every time I heal I assume the injury of the person I'm healing, unless I'm healing myself then it's negated. The reason I don't' feel the pain is because of the healing power invested within me. There's something in my blood that doesn't let me get...well...hurt permanently. Death is a whole new matter. If I were to cure Andrew, I'd take the disease along with me. Given enough time, I could fight it off. But Andrew's disease is much too strong now."

"So there's nothing you can do without endangering yourself. That's horrible."

"I guess."

"What do you mean you guess? You love your brother. You can't say that you could just drop him off the face of the planet like that and just...leave!"

"I have to."

"No you don't. Just tell your dad that you won't. Come on, what about before, you never used to just bend to your dad's will. You were always the strong one that didn't give a rat's ass. He's the fucktard, use that against him, he shouldn't have kept it a secret for so long."

"It's difficult."

"Why? Why is it so difficult?"

"He threatened to erase my mind of Andrew altogether if I tried."

"How's he going to know?"

"He'll find out, he has ways."

"That's fucked. I used to have at least a shred of respect for that man. Now look at what he's done to your family."

"I know."

Harry found himself a seat on the floor in front of Sharon's chair. His back was leaned against her feet and she made room for him to scoot back and relax between her legs. His mind was abuzz with different possibilities and probable disasters. His mouth hankered for the sweet taste of apple cider and his mind drifted from the chaos that had suddenly become his life and instead focused on sweeter days of years gone by

"Can you call me? You know, when you get over there and all. I don't want to lose you Harry."

"I don't think I can call you. I can write you."

"Why can't you call me?"

"Physics against magic."

"Oh, right, opposite equals. Shoulda' known. But...how can you write me? Do the wizard people have a post office?"

"Owl. It's basic Wizard communication."

"Oh, right, owls. So...but wait, does that mean I'll have to wait for you to send me a letter to write back to you? That seems...harsh?"

"I wonder."

"Maybe you can get me an owl. You know, since your family has all that money."

"Sure. I can do that."

"Yeah."

"I'm going to miss you."

"I'm going to miss you too. You know, we should do something today, like old times sake. Wanna go to Frisco?"

"Nah."

"How about the coast? You wanna go there and you know...watch the waves?"

"I dunno."

"Let's just stay here then?"

"Let's."

"Yeah, that sounds good."

***

James Potter was busy gathering materials and shrinking them. His work had been hard and laborious. Thankfully, his presence for the past fifteen years had not been one of over abundance. His sons were a different matter. There was only so much one could do to make a hoard of school children forget one of their classmates. James however, was ingenious with his charms. Thinking for quite some time, he absolved to go to the school and charm the announcement board at the front of the school (that cheerfully announced the end of summer vacation) to make the person who merely glanced at it forget Harry and Jake. He repeated this carefully on every place that he knew his sons frequented choosing the most obvious and boisterous objects he could find. In truth, it was a stroke of genius inspired by his late wife that brought upon this line of obliviation, but anybody who knew the Potters of years past, knew that she was always the brains of the family.

He moved about in his room quietly not trying to disturb his wife. He wondered briefly what to take and then absolved to taking all the pictures that had him, Jake or Harry.

The first one he grabbed was of Jake. He was donned in a soccer uniform, his long white legs blindingly apparent coming out of the blue soccer shorts he wore. His hair was waving in the air (long at this point) and golden to the touch. James longed for the picture to move so that he could see his child smiling.

As he thought of his son Jake, he thought of how peculiar it had been that he had turned out to be a wizard as well. James had tested Jake on a whim; he'd also tested Andrew but found no evidence there. James had known it was highly possible. If muggles could become wizards and witches then surely a muggle with half wizard blood could become a wizard. Had James thought it would happen? No. James thought, blissfully ignorant, that only his son Harry would be a wizard. But James did not have qualms with Jake being a wizard. In fact, he welcomed it, to an extent. His son Jake was the easiest to handle. His opinions were very much so that of James' opinions, so keeping the child tamed would be no hard matter. James also thought of the fact that bringing Jake along would help calm Harry. James knew that Harry would be and was very angry at being uprooted. James also knew that by bringing Jake along, he would be bringing a piece of home along.

James knew the fates had been on his side somehow.

*****

Saturday,

August 23, 1996

The phone sprang to life next to his head and his shoulders jumped from their slumbering state. His hand reached out instinctually and grasped the phone from its cradle bringing it to his ear with the kind of malevolence one would show to an enemy or a hated criminal. The phone was a criminal, in the middle of the night, it awoke him from his drowse.

"Mmm...'lo?" he spoke quite loudly into the phone with his eyes still shut.

"I've got it. I know how you can do it."

He waited patiently for her to tell him and when she did not he chided her, sleepily, "do what?"

"You just woke up?" she paused, "My watch says its only ten thirty, why are you asleep already?"

Harry grumpily opened his eyes and turned his head to look at the alarm clock next to his head on the nightstand. "Sharon, it's three in the middle of the mother fuckin' morning," Harry said, thoroughly irritated.

"What the hell?" Sharon asked. "My watch says...oh god, I can't believe I didn't notice the second hand wasn't moving, all this time, I'm such a dipshit, I don't even know when it stopped!"

"Ten thirty maybe?"

"Well, yes, maybe, but AM? What day did it stop on? It could have been stopped like this for days, weeks even, I can't believe I haven't noticed it."

"Sharon."

"What? What? You're not going to call me an idiot now are you Harry? I've been up for a long time, and I'm really stressed, I think I'd fall apart if you-- "

"Sharon, do what!" Harry said, his voice spiking to try to regain some sanity in their conversation.

"Harry who the fuck are you talking to?" Jake's sleepy voice sad from across the room.

Harry covered the receiver with his hand and said to Jake, 'nobody, go to sleep,' in all hopes that his brother might actually go to sleep. Alas, he did not, instead he was piqued and his head emerged from under the covers and he assumed a sitting position.

"Harry? Harry are you listening?" Sharon's voice rang out from the telephone. Harry quickly placed the receiver to his ear and putting his finger to his mouth to signal his brother be quite before pointing out the window towards Sharon's house. Jake got the picture.

"Yeah, what?"

"I was saying that I know what you can do," Sharon said.

"Do for what?"

"For your brother!" Sharon said exasperatedly.

"Okay, okay, hold on. Start over."

"Harry, put it on speaker phone, I want to hear too!" Jake piped up standing from his bed. Harry motioned with his hand dismissively hoping his brother would take the hint and shut up.

"Who was that?" Sharon asked.

"Nobody. My brother. Just get on with it."

"Oh...Oh! Put me on speaker phone, he should hear this too." Harry grumbled at this but reluctantly put the speaker phone on to its lowest settings so as not to wake anyone in the house. Jake kneeled down next to the phone so as to hear and Harry peeled the covers off of himself to sit upright in his bed.

"You're on," Harry said.

"I am? Oh, there we go, I can hear the feedback. Anyways, I know what you can do so that you don't have to go and so that you don't have to let Andrew die alone."

"Whoa, wait a minute here. Who says we didn't want to go?" Jake said cautiously.

"I said we didn't want to go," Harry said.

"Well I want to go. Who says you get to decide for the both of us?"

"I do."

"You know what Harry, you've got some nerve," Jake said, pointing a threatening finger at his brother. "I could kick your ass in a second if I had to."

"You know what little brother, I'd like to see you try."

"Oh I'll show you mother fucking little--"

"Guys, shut the hell up for a minute," Sharon said. Harry looked away from his brother and back to the speakerphone. "Good, now let me just tell you the plan. You can decide if you want to go through with it or not later on, ok? Jake? Just listen alright?"

"Yeah, yeah," Jake said.

"Alright, here's the plan. I say, I go down to the police station right this very second and tell them all about your dad. Trust me on this, I can make them believe that he's a lunatic, I mean, what person wouldn't believe me right? If I'm telling them about a man that thinks he's a wizard. They don't have to know that he actually is one, but well, that's where the fun part comes in. Anyway, once they know, I'll try to convince them to go pick him up, if they aren't already inclined. Then he'll be out of your hair and you won't have to leave!"

There was a pregnant pause before Jake snorted rudely and said, "That's it? That's your great plan? That's pure genius! Oh yes, I can see it now. They'll haul him away in the police car and lock him up in prison or maybe they'll put him in an insane asylum and he'll rot the rest of his life away..." Jake shook his head. "You're a fucking idiot sometimes Sharon, as if bars and police men could keep my dad locked up. He's a fucking wizard for crying out loud. He can do magic, he'd be able to get out of there in no time. You're just so--"

Harry plowed his hand through his brother's chest pushing the boy back into his own bed.

"Jake, shut up."

"Fuck you Harry. I don't have to do what you tell me. You're just acting stupid. I mean, do you hear what she says? Think about it!" Jake said, tapping his middle and index fingers to his temple violently.

"Hey, listen, I thought about that for a long time. And I think it can work, ok? You just have to take his wand. He can't do magic without his wand," Sharon said over the phone.

"But the problem would be to find the wand in the first place. He doesn't just keep it out you know," Jake said knowingly.

"Actually, he keeps it in the freezer," Harry said.

Jake's face screwed up with confusion, "The freezer?"

"Yeah," Harry nodded.

"Why the freezer?"

"I dunno, like a battery maybe."

"Hmm..."

"So you see Jake, it is that easy. Just sneak down to the kitchen and get the wand from the freezer and then I can call the cops on him. He won't be able to do a thing," Sharon said.

"Wait a minute, who says we're going to do it anyway? And besides, I'm sure he can do some magic without using his wand. Harry can. You know, the whole heal thingy."

"You're right Jake," Sharon said. "He probably can do some magic without his wand but think about it, he'd have to use a lot of magic to get out of some insane asylum: unlocking the doors, distracting the guards and the nurses, short-circuiting the cameras, turning off the alarms, making people forget he was even there. That's a lot of shit even with his wand."

"Yeah well, if there's anybody that can do it, it's dad," Jake said.

"Why are you defending him?" Sharon asked. "This is the man that is just going to leave your dying brother and mother all alone here. How can you have any remorse for him?"

"I don't know..." Jake said, his face perplexed. "It's strange...but I can't think wrong of the man right now..."

"How can you not thing wrong about the man?" she said.

"I don't know. I don't know! I just can't and we're not going through with it," he said throwing up his arms.

"Ye--" Harry fell silent, his vocal chords locking up.

"Harry?" Sharon asked.

"My voice suddenly locked," Harry said.

"He's got you two under some kind of spell!" Sharon exclaimed. "He's made it so that you can't jeopardize whatever he's got planned, that devious fucking pig fucker! He's got himself lodged so far up your ass that you can't even fart!"

"Thanks for that image," Jake shivered.

"You're probably right Sharon," Harry said.

"Fine, I'll just go do it myself, if you two aren't going to do it," she said.

"No you aren't. I'm going to lock the door," Jake said.

"I've got a key shithead," she retorted.

"I'll sit in front of the door so that you can't open it," Jake said.

"Ugh, that spell has got a hold of you. Harry, you can fight it can't you? You agree with me don't you?"

Harry sat deliberating internally for quite some time before he slowly said, "Just let it go Sharon. It's got to happen,"

"I can't believe it...it's really just going to be like that...your brother Harry...your mom..."

"I know Sharon, I know, but I can't do anything," Harry said. "I'm sorry."

Harry pressed a button on the phone and the line disconnected. He was painfully unsure of himself as he sat on the edge of his mattress and looked down at his feet--un-socked and very white. He wanted to march to the freezer, snap his father's wand and then run over to Sharon's house and tell her to go ahead with her plan but there was a strange feeling in the back of his mind. Like a hook had dug itself in and the barb was preventing it's clean exit; he could risk some torn tissue but the hook was much too deeply lodged.

"You think she was right about Dad controlling us?" Jake wondered.

"I dunno."

"I don't feel any different, not physically, not really. I just can't think bad thoughts about dad, god, maybe he is controlling us," Jake scratched at the base of his head trying to firmly dislodge his own hook.

"We should get to sleep," Harry said, his voice bland and dull. Jake turned over into his bed and got under the covers. Seconds after, he turned over again to face his brother a questioning look on his face. Harry, for his part, did a good job at not noticing his brother's look and closed his eyes. As such, they sat in silence for a few good minutes, Harry nearly falling asleep.

"Harry I can't sleep," Jake whined, waking up his brother.

"Just close your eyes," Harry said, turning and lying on his stomach with a hand under his pillow and his head turned to the side.

"Harry wake up, I can't sleep. I don't think I want to go tomorrow."

Harry groaned inwardly and loudly. He lay still for a moment and then propped himself up with his hands and shook his face like a dog spreading the water away from his fur. "Alright, what do you want?"

"Well, I don't know. I just don't want to go, all of the sudden, you know, I was just thinking and then I didn't want to go."

"It's today. We leave today." Jake looked quickly at the alarm clock with its glowing numbers and groaned a groan that nearly matched Harry's earlier groan in pitch and audibility.

"What time's the plane leave? I haven't even started to pack, do you know what we need to bring?"

"First we drive to San Francisco, then we fly. The flights at..." he stopped, thinking, "Six O' Clock I think. Dad said to pack nothing but our most prized possessions."

"What the hell? So what, we're going to live with the clothes on our backs while we are over there?"

"He said there would be plenty of clothes."

Jake ran a hand through his hair, disgruntled. "What are we going over there for anyway, he never told me."

Harry sighed, biting his lip. There was too much to explain to his brother, too much going on. "It's where we live now Jake. It's where the Potter family has lived since the middle of the fifteen hundreds. We're going over there because dad says it's where we belong and where we should have been."

"Why does he get to decide that?" Jake shook his head. "Why don't we get to decide if we want to stay here or not? What if I don't want to be a Potter?"

"You have no choice."

"Well, he can't keep controlling us you know. I mean, look at right now," Jake motioned in the air with his hands. "Look at us, we're talking about him and how we don't want to go, that spell's probably worn off."

Harry pondered the new information for a moment before he said, "I think we can because we know we aren't going to do anything with our words."

"What? How'd you get that?" Jake said, perplexed. "How do you know we aren't going to march up there and...I dunno, kill him."

"Try it," Harry whispered staring straight into his brother's eyes. He watched as his brother got up from his bed, his face screwed up in indignation and his hands clenched. His steps were quickly at first, towards the door but the closer he got the slower he went until he stopped three feet from the door and not close enough to reach the doorknob. Harry watched as Jake jerked from side to side as if he were trying in frustration to take another step. His frustrations were quickly ended when his shoulders sagged and he began to step backwards again, into his bed.

"What happened?" Harry asked his brother.

"I couldn't do it. There was some kind of hook in the back of my brain pulling me back and I couldn't do it." Jake said.

"Funny, I felt the same," Harry said.

"But you didn't get up and try to open the door..." Jake said.

"Earlier. I couldn't even get myself to get up," Harry said.

Jake smiled, "So what? I'm stronger than you?"

"I doubt it, he probably put a stronger spell on me," Harry said.

"Right, right, that's what you say. I think, dear brother, that I'm merely just stronger than you. That's really sad, not only am I taller, better looking, smarter and in better shape than you, but I'm also more magically sound than you. You really got the short end of mom and dad's stick, eh?"

Harry blanched at this brother's comment. "Nobody told you?"

Jake frowned, "Nobody told me what?"

"We're not really..." Harry sighed. "Our mothers are different."

"What? How can that be?"

"Jake, look at us, you're blonde, and my hair's black. You're much taller than me and I'm four years older than you. My eyes are green, your eyes are just brown, what similarities can you see?"

"Well, maybe you just took more of dad's side of the family. You don't know, maybe dad's mom and dad could have had green eyes. Maybe they were shorter and...and...dad's hair is black. Maybe I got all of mom's genes and you got all of Dad's."

"No Jake, I wish it were that way. But dad told me, my mother died a year after I was born. She was murdered. Didn't dad tell you any of this?"

"No, he just did that test on me, told me I was coming with you and him to England and then that was it really. But this can't...be true. I mean, come on Harry, you've got to be my brother."

"I am your brother, just not fully. My mother was a witch too."

"So what, you're stronger than me?" Jake asked.

"I don't know."

Jake sighed, relaxed into his bed and said, "You probably are. You always get everything better than me. It's not fair sometimes, but at least I'm taller."

"Yeah, you are, and you're faster, and a lot stronger," Harry said, also settling back in to his bed. His muscles were aching and the back of his skull was giving him a steady pounding pressure.

"And I got a bigger dick," Jake said, closing his eyes, a smile appearing on his face.

Harry snorted, hurting his head, and said, "Right, and I'm sure your hand appreciates that plenty."

"Fuck you," Jake said and rolled over.

***

August 23, 1996

My mother has given me you for one sole purpose, to extinguish all of my glowing passions. Now, I say glowing passions but I don't mean happy feelings that have amassed in my body. No, I mean my travesties and grief for I have much of those. There is no easy way for me to speak to a human being about my problems so instead I turn to you, diary made of paper. You are a book and I know books; I've lived in them all my life and intend never to let them out of my grasp. Already, I believe, I've made progress for I have never been able to speak clearly my thoughts to anything. Now of course, I realize that you are simply a diary and unless I put a charm on you to make you speak back to me, then you cannot nor will you understand all that I am writing, but none the less, I have decided that what my mother thinks is best, actually is best. That, in its self is a marvel achievement and I intend to make due with it for years on end.

Let's us first begin with my standing as of now. I am Hermione Jane Granger and I am sixth year prefect attending the noble academy of Hogwarts, a school bred entirely for the teaching of wizardry and witchcraft. As you are simply paper, I can assume that you are not entirely surprised because have no feelings, but as this is helping me assuage my feelings I shall pretend that you do have feelings and will assume that you have reacted in a just, shocked manner. I did say it; I attend a school that teaches the fine arts of being a wizard, or, in my case, a witch. I suppose I used to take offence to being called a witch, when I first begun my studies over five years ago. Now I've taken it as an utter and utmost compliment. I am a witch because I have power instilled in me that allows me to function outside the normal boundaries of physics and the muggle world. I suppose you mean to ask me, what is a muggle? Well, a muggle is a person with no magical powers, for short. I grew up a muggle, having known nothing of my heritage and outcome. I grew up with muggle parents, you see, I knew nothing because they knew nothing. When I was eleven years old, I received a letter via owl (yes, owl) stating that I was a witch and that I would (if I wanted to) attend a prestigious academy to train my talents. I signed up as soon as I could, with my parent's consent.

I suppose I should have known I was something different as a child. I did have properties to myself that I should have seen as strange or out of this world. In essence, they were out of that world, but in my new world, the magical world, it is completely in the world. I have a wand that allows me to channel my magical might and utilize various spells, jinxes and hexes along with some very strategically wonderful charms. Now you ask, why would they be strategically wonder charms? To put it bluntly, the magical world is one of revolving chaos that cannot seem to be tamed. It is said that evil can only exist when good men (and women) do nothing. The magical world is filled with good people but they lack the inspiration to do anything or fear they cannot. Evil presides simply because there are not enough people willing to get up and fight. I have chosen to fight; even if this magical world was not the world I was born into I still feel that it is the world I have grown to love. Obviously, it need not be said that since I do feel that this world is worth dying for, that I absolutely love it and it is true. There are many reasons why:

It is a new world that is fully at my will to explore. The muggle world has nothing like the adventures of the magical world. The books are in an abundance because the magical world perfected a sort of printing press centuries before the muggle world aptly making justice for the bibliophilic world I have been introduced to. Another reason why I assume books are in such great quantity is that computers and electronics cannot work in the magical world rendering any computers capable of accessing the Internet useless.

Myths I used to believe have come to life in this magical world. Unicorns and werewolves both exist along with centaurs and giants. Things I never dreamed could have existed, do exist and frolic freely in the minds and forests of ordinary magical people who know of their existence and think nothing peculiar about them.

Most importantly, I believe, is that I can actually fit in, in this magical world. I was always left out and abandoned in the muggle world: either I was too snobbish, to smart, too weird or I did some outlandishly strange thing that deterred anybody from becoming too close to me. I can't pretend that everyone in the magical world isn't snobbish or smart, or weird...but they all do create outlandishly strange occurrences on a regular basis that allows me to fit in like a tree in a giant forest. I am a sapling willow growing my way to the opening above me and none of the other trees have taken it upon themselves to shroud my sun because of my differences...or rather, I suppose I cannot say that.

The smile that was just on my face as I wrote that has disappeared, I felt that was important to write down. You see diary, O book of paper, I am a muggle-born witch. There is a difference; I am different.

Along with acceptance of many things such as: myths that muggles think fake, and prophecies that muggles ignore...the magical world is inherently racist in a way only magical people could be. I dare say racist because they people who are of a different, "race" can only identify my muggle-born, "race" as that. It is a travesty that pure-bloods think themselves higher and mightier that I and my muggle-born brethren. I am not just a muggle-born to the pure-bloods, nay, I am something called a mudblood. Being of muggle origin I could not distinguish just how bad an offence this word was in the magical world the first time I was called it. Within time though, I began to take offence and I cannot tell you how much I would like to go back and dissuade myself that this word is a bad word to me. Essentially it is not, but because the society I now dwell in, the magical society, has decided to make it something offensive then I've no choice but to follow the example and be offended. You see the magical world is very, very old. While many cultures have risen and fallen in the muggle world, the magical world has stayed steady for many centuries. It has been constant and weary, as it needed to stay strong. You see, the persecutions that came against them by the muggles begged them into hiding. Ever since, the muggles have known nothing of the magical world and it has taken that wonderful cohesion in the magical world, to bring that.

I am a muggle-born witch and a mudblood.

As such, that I am treated poorly, I have begun to coexist with only a select crowd of people that will accept me for who I am and not look down upon me as some ill-reputable whore that means to infect society. Surprisingly, this task of finding kind-hearted people has come fairly easy by my expertise. I know whom to pick out in a crowd and I know when someone is truthful and kind. In my five years of attending Hogwarts academy I have chosen and kept faithful to three very good friends.

First however, I should take a moment to explain the house system in Hogwarts, as you diary, know nothing about it. There are four houses, Ravenclaw, Hufflepuff, Gryffindor and Slytherin. I am in Ravenclaw but the sorting hat (yes, a hat sorted us) gave me a choice between Ravenclaw and Gryffindor. I suppose it gives choices to everyone but I have yet to inquire about that. For the most part, oh book of paper, the houses stay to themselves; rarely do they ever venture into other house territory. You see, the four houses prize their own unique talents. Ravenclaw, prizes intelligence; Hufflepuff, compassion and hard work; Slytherin, prizes wit and cunning; Gryffindor, prizes lack-luster courage. There is a book, Hogwarts, A History that thoroughly explained this all to me (along with a lot of other information) as I journeyed the train to Hogwarts. Justly, I believe I made the right choice. Ravenclaw has a passion for learning that I feel I fit, perfectly. The people are very helpful and intelligent. There is no lack of tutoring and on average we consummate the best grades in all of the school.

Now then, diary, I have explained the houses so I believe I should explain my three friends. Two of them are not of my house. That being said, I have to point out how terribly unusual it is that I have even one friend outside of my house, let alone two. There is one, a Gryffindor that is very sporadic and bouncy. She is Ginny Weasley. Her whole family is Gryffindor, so naturally she was in it too. I personally believe she would have made a better Ravenclaw. Ginny Weasley is a pure-blood although, one of a less noble stature. Her family does not command the same astute fear and power that other pure-blood families exemplify with brash easiness. Nonetheless, she is my friend and a very good one at that. It is difficult to reach her at times, as she's also a year younger, but we still meet any chance we get. I've kept a regular correspondence with her over the summer.

My second friend is one of disparaging nature to my fellow housemates and, I suppose, to his housemates as well. He is a Slytherin and a half-blood, his mother a muggle-born and his father a pure-blood. He is Blaise Zabini and he and I briefly carried on a half-hearty tryst in the year past. It did not seem to work well, I believe we were too good of friends. He is my year, so more easily accessible than Ginny is. He is devilishly handsome, and very smart.

Because I forgot to say before, I have to add, Ginny is also very smart as is my last friend, Lisa Turpin. She is a Ravenclaw, tremendously bright and studious and is in my year. She is very easily accessible and I rarely have to search for her before she is at my side chatting animatedly. I suppose that because I see her so often, we have grown into a steady monogamous good acquaintance relationship. What I mean is, we fluctuate as friends. One week she can be a very good friend, and the next, she can be a complete stranger. She is very hard to coexist with but nonetheless, she is a valuable resource in my studies and the healthy competition we share has propelled me to become the top student...although, inherently, I come in second at times. She and I are both the sixth year prefects for Ravenclaw, this being but the third time in the last century that such a thing has happened, two females as prefects. It is sad to say, but the sixth year Ravenclaw boys are pitiless and squandering fools.

That being said, my new diary, I have sat here much too long writing. I dare say, I might not keep such the regular occupation with you. I am innately busy with schoolwork but for the rarest occasions in which case, I promise, I shall take the time to update you on my life and goings in prime.

Thus said, it was a pleasure to meet you, O.B.O.P.; it was a pleasure.

Hermione Granger

***

He sat folding the edges of the page he was reading in the perfectly cooled airport terminal. His attention was completely saturated by the book in his hands as the crowds walked past him staring obliquely from the book to his face. His tongue poked out invitingly in the corner of his mouth and his eyebrows were wrought with concentration. His right index finger languidly stroked the edge of the book and it brought a gentle soothing sensation through his hand and into his brain that calmed him and served to quench the hoards of butterflies that had taken their homes into his stomach. His ears pricked courteously at the sounds of airplanes taking off and landing safely and his breath inhaled the icy cool air that was pumped continuously by the massive air conditioning units above his head, hiding, mysteriously.

Jake pounced into his own seat next to Harry with wet hands and scared, sanctioned eyes. Harry could nearly feel the anxiety and distress welling form his brother next to him and he nearly felt sorry for his minor breach in monotony; his never ending fearlessness.

They were both reveling in a deep pit of angst at having to leave their brother and mother and struggling in a vat of nervousness at the impeding ten hour, non-stop flight to London. Their mother and brother's "death" of course, troubled them most. Jake tried to hide his sorrow by walking up and down the terminals of the San Francisco international airport. There was an infinite amount of things to do and the shops were all very enticing. People from many different countries swarmed like locusts, staying together in their own family units but branching out and feeding on the new and different culture that was San Francisco.

James was nowhere to be found. He'd disappeared the moment they had arrived at their gate and neither Jake nor Harry had seen him since.

"Harry what the hell are you reading?" Jake said inconspicuously breaking the tender mood. His blatant disregard for peace went well however in the very crowded airport. The fact that it did go well though, did nothing to assuage the feeling of being torn from a good book for Harry.

Harry quickly held up the books cover for his brother to read and said, "Cannery Row."

"Like back at home? What are you interested in that for? And why does that book look so old? Did you steal it from the library?"

"No, it was on the foot of my bed this morning," Harry said. It had been a grand surprise to find a well worn, dog-eared and generally beaten book at the foot of his bed. The title caught his attention directly and quickly. There was a distinct chill that spread throughout him when he first laid his hands on the book--as if the book were meaning to speak to him but did not have the energy.

"Well, is it about back home?" Jake asked.

"Steinbeck wrote it," Harry answered, as if it were the answer to any of Jakes questions.

"So yes?"

"Yes, it's about back home." Harry ran a hand through his hair and peered down the terminal for any sign of his father. The plane had already arrived and they were due to be seated at any moment.

"Where's dad?" Jake read his thoughts.

"I dunno. Go check." Harry said to his brother. Jake wordlessly set off to go find his father as Harry settled uneasily back into his seat a nervous sweat climbing up his back and neck, saturating the lower hair of his scalp.

Jake had been gone for five minutes when suddenly all of the people that had been nosily staring his way, turned their heads. The occupants of the seats next to him got up and walked a few aisles down and reclaimed a seat. Curious, Harry looked around the airport terminal and found that absolutely nobody was looking at him. Before he could inquire more, James appeared right before him with the lifting of a coat causing Harry to jump in his seat. The coat's glossy sheen was like nothing Harry had ever seen. James had a grin like that of a great white shark, menacing and at the same time elated at having done well on a hunt.

"You like what you see?" James asked his son.

"What exactly did I see?" Harry asked.

"If I've taught you anything, it's that you never answer a question with a question. Nonetheless, I will answer you. What you see around you is a basic muggle repelling charm. Whenever they care to glance over at us, they'll think that there's something more interesting elsewhere, effectively rendering us invisible to the muggles."

"What about the invisible thing?" Harry said, gesturing to the cloak.

James raised it up and give it a good sniff then held it out to his son, "This?"

Harry tentatively reached up and took hold of the material. His hands caressed the material gently, fearing it would break. When he cared to look beyond his fingers, he noticed his thighs and legs had disappeared beneath the robe and it rendered him stupid.

"It's an invisibility cloak. Whenever you have it on, nobody can see you, muggle or wizard...well, unless they've got special magic on them, but rarely does anybody care to do that, it's rather painful. Back to my point however, my father gave it to me when I began to attend Hogwarts and even though you won't be attending until we get things smoothed over for our return...I thought you'd like to have it."

Harry was shocked at the sincerity his father showed him. So shocked in fact, that he did not know what to do with it and he quickly assumed that there was something vile and wicked about the cloak. He quickly shoveled it off his lap and onto the ground, kicking it away from him and letting the material gather dust. Harry crossed his arms quickly across his chest and shook his head softly, looking very childish.

What Harry expected his father to do next was lash out. He expected his father to strike him across the face or thrust the cloak back into his own pockets and stock away, leaving a couple of foul words for him. Instead James smiled, bent over to pick up the cloak and held it out a second time to his son.

"Harry, I know. I know this has all been a lot to you lately, but I'd like to make amends. This world we're going to, you can't imagine how wonderful it is. This cloak is your first step into seeing that wonder. Please take it."

At this Harry shot up from his seat, stuffed the book into his back pocket and started to walk down the aisle staring aghast over his shoulder at his father. Jake so happened to be looking around the terminal taking first notice of the effects of the magic so that he and Harry collided falling to the ground.

"Ow, watch where you're going!" Jake said, rubbing his right shoulder.

At the very moment the flight attendant called for their flight and all of the people in their gate started to rustle their luggage.

"Jake, can you get my stuff?" Harry said, standing at the edge of the aisle staring at his father. James was busy tending to his own things and stuffing the cloak inside his carry-on backpack. Jake momentarily stared from Harry to where Harry's stuff was and then back at Harry.

"Why can't you get your own stuff?" Jake inquired, an incredulous look on his face.

"Because dad's next to it," Harry said.

"And?" Jake asked.

"Look, Jake, can you just get my stuff? I don't want to go near dad right now," Harry said, scratching at his dry elbow.

"But...you have to sit next to him on the plane...it's the way our tickets go. You said you wanted the window."

"Oh fuck. Fine," Harry said and stalked over to where his own backpack was, right next to where James was waiting patiently for his two boys. Harry bent over, inspected his backpack quickly and then reached into his back pocket to put the book away.

Before he could actually place it into the bag though, James said, "So you found the book."

Harry looked up at his father and then finished putting the book away. "It would have been hard not to find it."

"Your mother loved to read I tell you," James said.

"I know she did," Harry said, hoisting the backpack onto his shoulders and sliding down the straps so that it fit snuggly on his shoulders.

"No, your real mother. She loved to read. That was her favorite book too. I put it on your bed so that you could read it and love exactly what she loved," James said.

Harry contemplated the new information. It was not that he did not like the woman that was his real mother, it was more that he was stubborn and would not accept that the woman that had reared him was not his real mother. It was difficult to accept that someone had died so that he could live and that person was a mystery for fifteen years. He was curious about her, Lily, but he did not want to ask his father about her. He would not ask him about her.

Harry Brumnder...Potter shirked his father off, reached into his pocket and presented his ticket to the flight attendant. He was ready to go to England; to find the side of himself that had been missing for fifteen years.