Harry doubled back, crouching down behind Dumbledore's desk to get a good look at the rather large burlap sack hidden underneath it. As he reached curiously for the bag, Fawkes let out a low, musical cry from behind him. Harry jumped, nearly banging his head on the desk in the process.
A strong sense of guilt filled him and a voice that sounded remarkably like Hermione warned him to leave before he did something he would regret later on.
Harry pulled his arm back but stopped suddenly when he read the bright red label stamped across the bag. 'Harry Potter - Letters.' Before he knew it, his trepidation had been overshadowed by his intense desire to know what was contained in the bag.
***Dear Harry Potter,
You are my hero! I know that you must have a lot of people fighting for your attention but there's no need for any of that because we are meant to be together. We have so much in common! We both are like, good, and we both don't like bad guys. You killed You-Know-Who and I killed this big spider that was going to attack my family! Isn't that a crazy coincidence?!
Eagerly awaiting your letter with information on when we can finally be together,
***Dear Harry Potter,
Roses are red,
Violets are blue.
You may have a scar,
But I still love you!
Seriously, though, could you do something about that scar? My mum thinks it's creepy for me to have a poster of a bloke with a scar on my wall.
Dear Harry Potter,
I LOVE YOU SO MUCH THAT SOMETIMES IT HURTS. My parents and friends don't understand why sometimes I don't want to do anything but sit in my room at the shrine I've constructed in your honour. They think it's strange of me because my walls are covered in 1147 pictures of you that I kiss individually before going to sleep at night. You don't think it's weird though, do you? I'm thinking of legally changing my name to Mrs. Potter but my mum won't let me. No one in my family understands me. It's okay though because I've started a club about you so I can meet people that get the real me. We're called the Birth Barfers - do you get it, Harry? It's the opposite of the Death Eaters! We meet every single day and do ritual chants over the fire. Now that you see that I am indeed perfect for you, please reply to me so we can set a date to meet. You are the most handsome man I have ever laid eyes on.
Dear Mr. Potter,
My mum says that I should be more like you. I don't even mean in the 'save the wizarding world from evil' kind of way. No. She says that I should 'clean my room like Harry Potter.' I think she's just making that bit up so that I'll do it. My brothers say she's full of it, but not when she can hear (she's a little scary). Just in case she wasn't lying though, I cleaned my room.
You're my hero, Mr. Potter. You defeated You-Know-Who and you're nice and smart and athletic (I think). One day I'm going to grow up to be just like you. I bet tons of girls like you!
Harry smiled, pleased that there had been at least one sane letter in the bunch. It was rather sweet, actually. Who was it from anyway?
His eyes darted to the bottom of the page and he read aloud, "Sincerely, Ron Weasley."
Will Harry ever recover? Will he need to spend years in therapy to get the redness from his face? WHAT WOULD HE DO IF MALFOY GOT A HOLD OF THESE LETTERS? Let me know what you think!
Don't forget to visit the blogs of my co-hosts and stay tuned for a giveaway coming up verrrry soon.