Heather Potter

The Letters for Heather

The Letters for Heather

As the days and weeks went by, Harry endured relentless bullying from Dudley and his gang. They mocked him for his ragged clothes, his skinny frame, and his overgrown hair. They'd chase him after school, pelting him with stones, sticks, and whatever else they could find to chuck at him. Despite the torment, Harry kept his head down, trying to avoid drawing further attention to himself. The cupboard beneath the stairs became his only refuge, a place where he could escape from the cruel world outside.

During the dreary spring months, the weight of Harry's loneliness grew heavier each day. The isolation and despair he felt became almost unbearable, a constant ache in his chest that refused to fade. He found himself lying on his thin, lumpy mattress, staring at the dim light seeping through the cracks of the cupboard door, wondering what his life could have been like if his parents were still alive.

One evening, after a particularly long and difficult day, Harry couldn't take it anymore. As Petunia slid a tray of stale bread and cold soup under the cupboard door, he blurted out, "Why won't you tell me their names? My parents, I mean… it's not fair that I don't even know who they were."

Petunia's face turned a deep shade of red, her eyes narrowing in anger as she glared at Harry. "You have some nerve asking about them, you ungrateful little wretch!" she spat at him like it was venom, her voice quaking with contempt.

Harry, fueled by frustration, retorted, "I have the right to know who my parents were, don't I?! You're my only connection to them, and you keep them a secret like I'm not even allowed to know they existed!"

For a moment, Petunia hesitated. The anger in her eyes was replaced by something else – perhaps guilt or sadness. But she quickly pushed it away, returning her glare to Harry. "Lily was a freak just like you, and neither of you deserve anything because you both just ruin everyone else's hard work!" she snapped, her voice trembling with fury and rage.

The words slipped out before she could stop herself, and Petunia's eyes widened in horror. She hadn't intended to reveal her sister's name, but it was too late now. Harry's heart raced and face glowed in a way that absolutely infuriated her, the name echoing in his head—Lily.

Realizing her mistake, Petunia hurried to the cupboard door, slamming it shut. She fussed with the chains, tightening them up and locking the multiple locks adorning the door. As she did so, she thought of even crueler things to shout at Harry, but decided against it, her anger still boiling within her. With a final huff, she stormed off to bed, leaving Harry in stunned silence.

He now had a name, a connection to his mother—Lily. Whispering her name to himself, he felt a sense of warmth and connection to someone who had loved him and who had been taken away from him far too soon.

That night, as Harry lay on his hard mattress, his mind swirled with questions about his mother and father. He yearned to know more, to understand who they were and what they were like. But he knew that the Dursleys would never willingly tell him anything. A determination to discover the truth about his parents filled him, fueling his desire to find a way out of his miserable existence with the Dursleys.

As the days continued to pass, Harry clung tightly to the name of his mother like a lifeline, a secret treasure that gave him strength and hope. And while the Dursleys remained as cruel and unloving as ever, he found that with each passing day, his resolve to escape their grasp grew stronger.

One night, as Harry lay locked in their cupboard, a question arose in his mind that stirred something deep inside him. Through the darkness, he whispered to himself, "What name would she have given me if I was named after her? Boys' names aren't flower... It would be a different type of flower than a Lily or... a girl's name like... Heather… "

The name seemed to resonate within them, and tears welled up in their eyes as they repeated it softly to themselves, "Heather... Heather Potter." As they spoke the name, they felt a strange connection to it, as if it held a special meaning that they couldn't quite grasp.

In that moment, as Harry... or Heather, allowed themself to think about having always been a girl their whole life, their throat tightened, as if their body was resisting the thought, trying to silence the yearning within them.

They closed their eyes, picturing their mother Lily holding them close, her beautiful smile lighting up the room as she whispered words of love and encouragement in their ear. In this imagined life, they were surrounded by love and laughter, free from the cruelty and misery that filled their days with the Dursleys.

But reality was always waiting for them, and as they lay in the darkness, the weight of their situation began to press down on them once more. The tears continued to fall, soaking the thin pillow beneath their head as the enormity of their longing for a different life overwhelmed them.

In the depths of their despair, they whispered a plea into the darkness, their voice strained and barely audible through their crying, "Please... just let me be Heather. I don't want to be Harry anymore. I want to be free from this life, from the pain and the loneliness. I want to know my mother, Lily, and the father I never knew. Please... just let me be Heather."

The words hung in the air, a desperate cry for a chance at a different life, a life where they could be true to themself and be free from the increasingly unbearable torment they endured each day.

But as the night gave way to morning, and the rattling chains signaled the start of another day, Harry... or Heather, knew that the life they longed for was nothing more than a dream. With a heavy heart, they pushed the thoughts of Heather Potter to the back of their mind and prepared to face the harsh reality of their existence, hoping against hope that one day, they might find a way to make that dream a reality.

One night, as Harry lay locked in their cupboard, a question arose in their mind that stirred something deep inside them. Through the darkness, they whispered to themself, "What name would she have given me if I was named after her? Boys' names aren't... It would be a different type of flower... a girl's name like... Heather."

The name seemed to resonate within them, and tears welled up in their eyes as they repeated it softly to themselves, "Heather... Heather Potter." As they spoke the name, they felt a strange connection to it, as if it held a special meaning that they couldn't quite grasp.

In that moment, as Harry... or Heather, allowed themself to think about having always been a girl their whole life, their throat tightened, as if their body was resisting the thought, trying to silence the yearning within them.

They closed their eyes, picturing their mother Lily holding them close, her beautiful smile lighting up the room as she whispered words of love and encouragement in their ear. In this imagined life, Harry... or Heather, was surrounded by love and laughter, free from the cruelty and misery that filled their days with the Dursleys.

But reality was always waiting for them, and as they lay in the darkness, the weight of their situation began to press down on them once more. The tears continued to fall, soaking the thin pillow beneath their head as the enormity of their longing for a different life overwhelmed them.

In the depths of their despair, Harry... or Heather, whispered a plea into the darkness, their voice strained and barely audible, "Please... just let me be Heather. I don't want to be Harry anymore. I want to be free from this life, from the pain and the loneliness. I want to know my mother, Lily, and the father I never knew. Please... just let me be Heather."

The words hung in the air, a desperate cry for a chance at a different life, a life where they could be true to themself and be free from the torment they endured each day.

But as the night gave way to morning, and the rattling chains signaled the start of another day, they knew that the life they longed for was nothing more than a dream. With a heavy heart, they pushed the thoughts of Heather Potter to the back of their mind and prepared to face the harsh reality of their existence, hoping against hope that one day, they might find a way to make that dream a reality.

As the summer sun warmed the air, the name Heather lingered like a melody in their head, providing a small comfort amidst the daily torment inflicted by the Dursleys. They found solace in the moments when they could explore their own innate grace and beauty, whether it was the way their hair fell softly around their face or the way they moved with a quiet elegance that seemed to defy their harsh surroundings.

School had come to a close for the summer, and with it came even more opportunities for the Dursleys to embarrass and overwork Harry... or Heather. On one particularly trying day, the Dursleys had assigned an endless list of chores, all while mocking and belittling them at every opportunity.

In the midst of their work sweeping the inside of the Dursley’s soot-filled chimney, the sound of the mail slot clattering interrupted the stream of demeaning comments and contempt being directed at them. 

"Harry! Get the mail, and be quick about it boy!" Vernon barked, his voice filled with impatience.

Their face and hands were covered in soot from their current chore, but they hurried to the front door. As they picked up the letters, one envelope caught their attention. The heavy parchment and the emerald green ink stood out among the other mundane letters, and to their amazement, it was addressed to "Harry (Heather) Potter, The Cupboard Under the Stairs."

Heather's heart raced as they stared at the letter, wondering who could have possibly known about the name they held so dear. They were unable to focus on the world around them as Vernon noticed the light shining in Heather's eyes and barked an order at Harry. Heather, lost in thought, didn't respond right away, which only angered Vernon more.

"Harry!" Vernon stormed up to them, snatching the letter from Heather's hands. "What's this rubbish? Who sent you this?" He ripped the envelope open and started to read the contents, his face turning a deep shade of red. However, Vernon didn't reveal anything about the letter's contents, focusing solely on the name in parenthesis: "Heather."

"What's the meaning of this?" Vernon demanded, glaring down at Heather. "Explain the name in the parenthesis!" His tone indicated that he didn't even want to say the name directly.

Heather looked up at her furious uncle, her heart pounding even faster. "It's a... special name to me... Uncle Vernon," she whispered, her voice barely audible. "It's like... my mum's name... Lily..."

At the mention of Lily, Vernon's fury boiled over, cutting Heather off mid-sentence. "How dare you!" he roared. "You're not even supposed to know your mother's name, let alone speak it so proudly in this house!" He towered over Heather, his hands clenching and unclenching as if he were itching to grab her.

Vernon's face reddened, his anger boiling over as he continued his interrogation, his fingers digging painfully into Heather's arm. "Who have you been speaking to, huh?" he demanded, his voice filled with venom.

Heather, emotionally overwhelmed, struggled to find the words to respond. Tears clouded her vision as she tried to speak. "I... I haven't... spoken to anyone... about it," she stammered, her voice barely audible, her heart pounding in her chest.

Vernon's eyes narrowed, not believing her answer. He gave her a rough shake that made her head swim. "And who told you that you could ever be anything other than Harry, the blight on the perfect Dursley family name?" he snarled, his breath hot against her face.

Heather's throat tightened, and she found it difficult to speak. "No one... I just... I thought..." she trailed off, unable to finish her sentence, her tears streaming down her cheeks. Vernon's grip on her arm tightened even more, causing her to wince in pain.

This seemed to enrage Vernon even more. His face contorted in fury as he shoved her against the wall. "Is this all a game to you?" he hissed, the menace in his voice palpable.

Heather, trembling and struggling to keep her composure, shook her head. "No, Uncle Vernon, I swear..." she managed, her voice barely above a whisper.

Vernon's face twisted in rage, and he pressed her harder against the wall. "Are you trying to bring down my career?" he bellowed, his eyes wild with anger. Heather's tears continued to stream down her face, making it nearly impossible for her to speak.

Her silence only served to trigger Vernon's rage further, and he screamed the words "ANSWER ME!" as loud as he could into her face. The sound seemed to echo through the room, magnifying the terror she felt.

Heather's chest tightened, her breath coming in short gasps as she struggled to form words through her sobs. She knew she had to say something, anything, to try and placate Vernon's wrath. "I-I swear, Uncle Vernon, I d-didn't," she stammered, her voice barely audible.

Vernon's eyes narrowed, not convinced by her response. His grip on her arms tightened, causing Heather to wince in pain as her body was pressed against the wall. "Did you put someone else up to this, just to torment us?" he asked menacingly, his face mere inches from hers.

"No, no, I didn't," Heather sobbed, shaking her head vigorously, desperate for him to believe her. Her heart pounded in her chest, her body tensing as she braced herself for any further escalation of his anger. The fear and pain she felt were almost unbearable, but she clung to the small shred of hope that the name Heather Potter provided her.

In a burst of rage, Vernon demanded, "Do you think it's wrong for someone to send you a letter with that name on it?"

Heather's eyes widened, and she hesitated for a moment. She knew that agreeing with Vernon might calm him down, but something deep within her refused to let her deny the name that felt so right. Swallowing hard, she finally managed to choke out a response, her voice trembling with fear and emotion.

"I... I don't think it's wrong," she whispered, her gaze unwavering despite the tears streaming down her face. "It's who I am."

Vernon sneered at Heather's response, his fury boiling over. In an act of malice, he began to rip the letter into shreds right before Heather's tear-filled eyes. Each tear of the paper felt like a dagger to her heart. The letter, her beacon of hope, was being destroyed before her very eyes.

With a sudden, violent grab, Vernon seized Heather by the arm and started dragging her towards the cupboard. Heather tried to resist, her heart pounding in her chest as she struggled to pull away from his grip. Her feeble attempt at resistance only seemed to enrage Vernon further, and he yanked her more forcefully towards the cupboard.

"You rotten, ungrateful brat!" he bellowed, his voice shaking the walls. "You have no idea what's right or wrong!"

He flung Heather into the small, dark space, her body hitting the hard surface of her bed with a painful thud. Desperation and fear coursed through her veins, but she couldn't escape the reality of her situation. Vernon slammed the cupboard door shut, his heavy breathing audible from behind the door.

"If you ever, ever bring up that name again," he warned, his voice low and dangerous, "you'll wish you'd never been born!"

Heather was already wishing she had never been born as she heard the sound of chains being tightened and multiple locks being secured on the door. She was left alone in the darkness, the sound of Vernon's footsteps fading away. Heather curled up on the cold, hard bed, her body wracked with sobs. The pain of losing her precious letter was unbearable, but the small spark of hope it ignited within her refused to be extinguished. Heather knew deep down, despite the horrors she faced, that her story was far from over.

Heather lay in her cupboard, her tears gradually subsiding as she strained to listen to the muffled voices outside. Dudley's voice drifted through the door, sounding both curious and concerned.

"What was that letter for Harry about, Dad?" he asked tentatively.

"Go to your room, Dudley!" Vernon barked, his voice filled with rage. "This is none of your concern!"

Dudley must have scurried off obediently, as the sound of his footsteps faded away. Heather pressed her ear against the door, trying to catch any fragments of the conversation between Petunia and Vernon.

At first, the voices seemed muffled and indistinct, but as Heather concentrated on their words, it was almost like magic, their conversation suddenly became clear.

"...can't believe the letter found its way into our home," Vernon's strained voice came through, anger barely contained. "And now, not only do we have to deal with Lily’s freakish nonsense again, but also with that name and...and his mentally deranged confusion!"

Heather's heart raced at the mention of her mother's name. She tried to focus on the conversation, even though their voices were growing fainter.

"We can't let anyone find out," Petunia whispered urgently. "Our reputations would be destroyed! We've worked so hard to keep this family respectable."

Vernon grunted in agreement. "We need to find a way to stop these letters and make sure that...that Harry understands the consequences if he persists in this... this delusion."

Heather's heart sank, feeling the weight of their words. The Dursleys were determined to suppress not only her connection to an outside world but also any sign that even reminds them of Lily inside of her. They would do whatever it took to maintain their reputation and image, even if it meant taking away any semblance of her own freedom which was nothing but a worthless inconvenience to them.

Heather sat on the floor of the cramped cupboard, feeling the cold seep into her bones as she replayed the conversation she had just overheard. The words were like barbs, their sting lingering long after they had been spoken. The Dursleys' dismissal of her true self weighed heavily on her, as if they were trying to smother her very essence and deny her the right to be who she knew she was deep down.

Clutching her knees to her chest, Heather fought back tears, the pain and isolation threatening to swallow her whole. Her aunt and uncle's relentless efforts to suppress her connection to the enigmatic world alluded to in the letter, as well as her authentic self, felt like a vice grip on her heart.

But amidst the hurt and confusion, a flicker of hope ignited within her. That someone out there knew her as Heather and had attempted to reach out to her with the letter meant that there was someone who recognized her for who she truly was. And if there was one person, there might be others. Perhaps, just perhaps, there was a chance for her to find a place where she would be accepted and loved as Heather.

The first letter's arrival was met with a sense of disbelief mixed with derision. The Dursleys, upon noticing the peculiar parchment envelope with emerald ink and a wax seal, merely looked at it as an eccentric prank. The parchment was promptly thrown into the fireplace, where it was devoured by the hungry flames, leaving behind only a trail of soot.

However, as the days progressed, more letters began to materialize in the oddest of places. They found them nestled amidst the eggs in the fridge, neatly folded within the crisp pages of Vernon's morning newspaper, and even daringly slipped between the narrow slats of their Venetian blinds. With each new letter, the Dursleys' distress escalated, their irritation evident in the harsh tones of their voices and the increasingly frequent squabbles.

Heather, confined to her cupboard, was an unseen observer of the unfolding drama. Every rustle of parchment, every sharp word exchanged, sent a rush of adrenaline coursing through her veins. She understood, in some deep, instinctive part of her, that the letters were meant for her. She longed to hold one in her hands, to break the seal and read the words written in emerald ink. But she also knew better than to voice her suspicions or desires.

The Dursleys, desperate to maintain their semblance of a normal life, tried to ignore the unending stream of letters. They stopped collecting the mail, yet the letters found their way inside. They sealed the letterbox, only to have the letters slip under the door. A bonfire was made in the backyard, a desperate attempt by Vernon to burn away the problem, but the letters remained untouched by the flames.

As a week passed, the Dursleys' desperation peaked. Heather overheard Vernon's voice, more agitated than ever. "That's it! I've had enough of these blasted letters! We're leaving this house, and we're going to find a place where they can't reach us!"

Heather's heart raced at the prospect of escape from her cramped prison, even if it was under the Dursleys' control. The following morning, she was unceremoniously yanked from the cupboard, her eyes squinting in the sudden brightness. She was given a few moments to gather her belongings before the family piled into the car, driving away in search of sanctuary from the relentless letters.

As they traveled from place to place, the letters seemed to follow them, appearing in the most improbable locations. They found letters folded into the pages of the morning newspaper, tucked between slices of bread in a sandwich, and even floating down from the sky like leaves in the wind. Heather watched in awe as the Dursleys' desperation grew, their determination to escape the letters driving them further and further away from their once-perfect life. And as the Dursleys' grip on normalcy slipped, Heather felt a glimmer of hope that the truth she longed to uncover was finally within reach.

Heather was crammed into the back of the van along with Dudley and an assortment of luggage, her limbs aching from the uncomfortable position. The Dursleys had hastily packed their belongings, attempting to outrun the relentless barrage of letters.

Dudley, who had been mostly oblivious to the events surrounding Heather, occupied himself by complaining loudly about the disruption to his routine and the lack of his favorite snacks. "Ugh, I can't believe we have to leave because of stupid Harry!" Dudley whined, glaring at Heather, who sat quietly in the corner. "What did you even do this time? What's with all those stupid letters?"

Heather opened her mouth to say something, but before she could even speak, Petunia sharply cut her off. "Silence, Harry! You shall not speak," she snarled.

Vernon, gripping the steering wheel with white knuckles, muttered, "That's right. We won't let whatever ridiculousness Harry's brought upon us ruin our lives. I bet it's those online activists. They're trying to make us look horrible, and they're using Harry's twisted delusions as a weapon!"

As the Dursleys sped down winding roads and through unfamiliar towns, Heather found herself watching the world pass by through the van's windows. The sudden change in their lives left her feeling overwhelmed, but she couldn't help but cling to the hope that there was at least one person out there who recognized her true self and understood her struggles.

The journey seemed to stretch on endlessly, as Vernon desperately searched for a location where the letters couldn't find them. Finally, after what felt like an eternity, they arrived. The desolate location they arrived at was a remote AirBNB, far removed from the bustling life they had left behind. It was a squat, gray cottage that seemed to crouch low against the wind, nestled between barren hills and windswept moorlands. There was a sense of age and decay that clung to the small building, as though it had witnessed countless years of isolation and hardship.

The garden surrounding the cottage was overgrown with weeds and thistles, and the skeletal branches of long-dead trees reached out towards the sky like twisted fingers. A sense of abandonment and disrepair hung heavily over the entire property, as if it had been forgotten by time itself.

Vernon, determined to shield his family from the relentless stream of letters and the potential harassment from so-called online activists, had arranged for his company to cover the costs of their stay. He reasoned that it was the least they could do, given the trouble they were facing, and he hoped that the remote location would deter any further attempts to contact them.

As the Dursleys unpacked their belongings and began to settle into their temporary refuge, the oppressive atmosphere of the cottage seemed to seep into their bones. The cold, drafty rooms offered little comfort, and the absence of familiar surroundings only served to heighten their unease.

Heather, too, felt the weight of their new environment, as she was once again locked away in a small, windowless room. Despite the darkness and despair that seemed to pervade every corner of the cottage, she clung to the hope that the person who had sent those letters was still out there, waiting for the right moment to reach out and offer her a chance at a new life – a life where she could finally be seen and understood for who she truly was.

Heather was confined to a reclining chair in the main living room, where the entire family had gathered due to the weather. The storm continued to rage outside, preventing anyone from getting a good night's sleep. As the Dursleys vented their frustrations, they couldn't help but direct some of their venom at Heather.

"Just look at him," Vernon snarled, glaring at Heather. "Still thinks he's special. It's his fault we're in this mess in the first place."

Heather shrank back into her chair, trying to make herself as small as possible. She prayed silently that none of the Dursleys would remember her birthday was approaching.

Petunia sniffed disdainfully. "Well, he won't be getting any special treatment from us, no matter what those... those people think."

The oppressive atmosphere in the shack was periodically interrupted by Dudley's wails of discontent. Used to the cozy comforts of Privet Drive, the damp, tiny shack was a sharp contrast and didn't sit well with him.

"But I want to watch my shows!" Dudley's whine pierced the tense silence, his chunky fingers rubbing at his eyes. "It's Robot Rampage night!"

Vernon and Petunia exchanged exasperated glances, their nerves already frayed from the week's strange occurrences.

"There's no television here, Dudders," Petunia tried to soothe, her voice trembling. "We'll be back home soon, and you can watch all the Robot Rampage you want."

But Dudley was far from done. He pouted, his lower lip quivering dangerously. "I want my eclair! You promised!"

The desperation in Dudley's voice was a familiar one, not unlike the desperate tones the Dursleys had adopted over the past week. His demands were met with a silence that stretched thin across the room. The promise of a chocolate eclair was a luxury they couldn't afford in their current circumstances, yet another reminder of the normalcy they'd left behind.

Vernon let out a sigh, running a hand over his thinning hair. "There's no eclair, Dudley. We don't have much food here. You'll have to make do."

Dudley's face turned a ghastly red, his tantrum echoing in the cramped shack. Amidst his cries, Heather sat quietly in her corner, her green eyes wide and curious as she took in the scene unfolding before her.

As the minutes ticked by, Heather glanced at the clock on the wall, watching the hands inch closer to midnight. As the time approached, she began to count down in her head, dreading and anticipating the arrival of her birthday.

The storm outside intensified, lightning striking down nearby and causing the entire house to shake. Thunder rumbled loudly, barely audible beneath the relentless torrential rain. The atmosphere inside the house grew increasingly unbearable as the Dursleys became more agitated.

"I can't believe we're stuck in this wretched place because of him!" Petunia spat, glaring at Heather.

"If it weren't for his delusions, we'd be at home, safe and dry!" Vernon added, his face reddening with anger.

Heather struggled to focus on the countdown in her head, desperately trying to tune out the harsh words and complaints that filled the room. The pressure and tension were mounting, and she felt as if she were being suffocated by the weight of it all. In her heart, she longed to scream at the top of her lungs, to somehow make everything that was happening to her just stop.

As the clock ticked closer to midnight, Heather clenched her fists, trying to hold on to the last shred of hope "5... 4... 3... 2... 1..." Heather silently counted down in her head, the weight of her circumstances settling heavily upon her.

Just as the clock struck midnight, a loud, booming knock echoed through the house, drowning out the sound of the storm outside. The Dursleys jumped in surprise, their eyes wide with shock and confusion.

"Who on earth could that be?" Petunia whispered, her face pale with fear.

"We're not opening the door without knowing who's there!" Vernon barked, his face turning an alarming shade of red.

The knocking grew even louder and more insistent, shaking the entire house. The voice on the other side bellowed, "Open up! I've come for Heather Potter! And let me tell you, a door won't stop me!" 

The pounding on the door intensified, each blow threatening to bring the door crashing down. Vernon looked around nervously. His hands trembled as he grabbed his shotgun by the door and then with a reddened face he bellowed out, “Get away from this family and return back to where you came from!”

The Girl Who Lived

Unearth the peculiar world of the Dursleys, a "normal" family with a secret disdain for anything unordinary. Especially the child of Lily and Jane Potter...

The Disappearing Glass

Trapped in the body of a bullied boy, Heather grapples with a misunderstood identity. Yet an uncanny incident at the zoo foreshadows a magical twist in her life.

The Letters for Heather

Letters start appearing, uncannily addressed to 'Heather'. Seeing her chosen name triggers a surge of anticipation and an air of mystery. Who knows her secret, and how?

The Knight of the Witch

A thunderous knock. Hagrid, the knight of the witch, has arrived, bringing revelations that dramatically shift Heather's world and marks the dawn of her transformative journey.

The Girl She Always Was

Venturing beyond Dursleys, Heather's journey of self-affirmation takes flight. She meets wizards, explores spellbound shops, finally learning to embrace her true self.

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Disclaimer: "Heather Potter" is a transformative work of literary critique, satire, and educational content, presented under the Fair Use doctrine. Our content is not endorsed or affiliated with any entity associated with the original "Harry Potter" series. If any profits are made, they are generated purely from the transformative, original aspects of our work. Views expressed herein are solely those of the author. Any coincidental references to real persons, living or deceased, or actual events, is purely coincidental. Always remember, this work is for enjoyment, education, and constructive conversation.