Que Sera Sera

Summer in Privet Drive, after Harry's sixth year:

Harry sat in his room at number four Privet Drive, wondering whom he could write to about his current, rather disagreeable state. He was, as usual, cooped up in his accursed room, though since receiving his O.W.L.s and becoming free to use magic outside school, he had the option of free movement inside the house (outside was a no-no as he would be vulnerable to attack). But the nights were his own private nightmare, with no one to wake him when the visions - of the past, present and future - forged their way into his defenceless mind. Consequently in the daytime, The Boy who Lived was little more than an irritable, lonely brat with nothing to do. The fact that his Potions homework remained nearly untouched was another matter altogether.

He had begun several letters to his friends. "Hey Ron, how're you doing, mate? I'm pretty much intact except that I split my knuckles on a wall while using it as a punching-bag" "Dear Hermione, I hope you and your loved ones are in the best of health and spirits. I'm practically through with my homework, so now it's incredibly boring over here..." Harry swore at himself, God and the world in general. For Heaven's sake, he had begun these letters so many times that he seemed to have forgotten what came after the stereotyped introductions! What could he do to get himself out of this conventional mess?!

As his mind searched through the range of unconventional things he could get away with here at Privet Drive(other than letting off a string of muttered curses), his thoughts flitted towards one extremely unconventional person whom he surprisingly had not thought of writing to earlier. He tossed aside the various scribbled introductions and began afresh.

Hi.

I wondered if you had returned from your trip to the Sahara, but decided that even if you hadn't, Hedwig would find you anyway. So, did you catch any Blibbering Humdingers there? Even a sighting should be good enough for a cover story of the next Quibbler, shouldn't it?

Don't ask about my hellish life, even if you're curious, which I doubt you will be. Not unless it were a matter of life and death, which - for the moment - it isn't. Not even my cousin Dudley is trying to kill me at the moment, so I consider myself safe till our favourite Dark Lord Voldemort realises I'm pretty much a sitting duck here. Who cares? As the song goes, "Que será será. What will be, will be."

Have you finished your homework? Hermione keeps badgering me about it, and I'm sure she's doing the same to Ginny. Has Gin said anything about it yet? I gather she's writing to you regularly, though so far she's only sent me a P.S. in one of Ron's letters. It was that which told me you were in the Sahara.

Pen hovered over paper - Harry thought the ball-point much more convenient than any quill - as Harry wondered what else to write, trying not to reveal that the tip on Luna's whereabouts was pretty much all he could remember of the letters he had received.

It's been a long time since we last talked were at school, and I'm missing you everyone like crazy. Do write, won't you? It's nice to know there's a world outside.

Lo Best,

Harry.

Rereading the letter, he grinned as he realised how like Luna his letter was. It fits, he thought. Both nutcases. The thought did not bother him overly much. Hedwig hooted in eagerness as he let her out of her cage and tied the letter to her outstretched leg.

Harry smiled as he watched her hoot in response to his caress, then take off into the midnight sky.