Hello everyone! This is my first FanFiction in about two years and my first on my new account!
Harry stared out the blackened backseat windows that he was sitting in. He hadn't spoken a word since getting up this morning, in fact he had spoken minimally for the last 3 weeks since his parents died in a plane crash. They were only supposed to be gone for a day in Scotland for a conference, but they hadn't come back when they were supposed to.
He had come home from his friend's house after staying the night, put the dinner in the oven and went upstairs to his room to play on GTA V for the entirety of the night until they returned at 'around sixish' as he Mum said. But six came and went, as did seven and eight. Harry didn't think anything of it. Instead of worrying, he just placed the dinner in the microwave so that his parents could heat it up when they got home. He had been on enough planes to know that delays were very common, especially with the cheap airline that his parents were booked with, and he also knew that coming back from Heathrow airport at rush hour meant that you were bound to run into traffic that could last hours. In fact when he was six and they were stuck in traffic coming back from their summer holiday in Spain he completed his first Pokémon. But at around nine thirty, he heard the door knock. Assuming it would be his parents, he opened the door. He never usually opened the door to anyone when he was home alone, not because he was scared or anything, just because it was usually somebody that he didn't know and sometimes it was annoying charity workers who just don't leave you alone. But this time it was a police officer.
At first Harry thought that there had been a robbery down the road, and him being the only person under the age of thirty-five living in Heatherside Avenue, was going to be the main culprit. It wouldn't be the first time. When he and his parents first moved in, Mrs Garret across the road constantly complained to the council about smelling cannabis and was sure that it was coming from his bedroom window and that Harry would ride his bike down the road late at night and through her flower beds. Of course none of it was true, when he smoked weed he smoked it in the local park with everyone else, and she did eventually realise that maybe Harry wasn't a typical hooded teenager to fear. However she still didn't like the idea of teenager living her beloved avenue so he was pretty sure that this was just one of her ways to get him to move out.
But the police officer wasn't here to talk to him about anything like that. He was there to tell him that his parents were dead.
Dead.
His parents were dead.
The police explained everything that happened, at around 4:45 in the afternoon, the 4:30 flight from Scotland had gone down. They had explained why but it wasn't a normal reason that he could understand. And there were only four survivors, and among those four were neither of his parents. That night he was taken to a group home to stay the night whilst they looked for a more temporary situation for him to live and decided it was better for Harry to get a decent nights sleep to digest the news before going through paperwork and details.
It turned out Harry didn't have much where else to go. He had friends, but not friends that he was so close to that he could just move in with them forever more. And then his Mum's parents were both dead before Harry was even born, they both died due to smoking related cancers when they were in their early fifties and His Dad's parents were not in any state to look after a teenager, even if they did love him. His grandparents were both eighty and they had just lost their son so shoving Harry on top of them in their one bedroom bungalow didn't seem like a fair option for anybody. His Mum had one sister who lived in New Zealand and Harry had only met her a couple of times. So Moving Harry to the other side of the earth to live with almost complete strangers seemed unnecessary. Also Harry was pretty sure that the police had asked her to take him and she had said no.
So Harry was kept at the group home for what felt like forever, having meetings with social workers. Them deciding things for him. Deciding that it was probably best for him to not go back to his old family home and pick his stuff up. Deciding that it was probably the best for him to go to therapy twice a week for the next six months. Deciding that it was best for him to not stay at the group home for a long period and look for a foster placement as soon as possible.
That last one he agreed with. The kids in the group home were angry and bitter so he stayed out of their way for as long as possible, as much as possible.
Sure enough, a foster placement arrived for him two weeks later.
He was told that it was a lovely couple in their fifties who had never been able to have children of their own, so they had been fostering for years. They apparently lived around an hour away and already were fostering three boys his age, so it seemed like the perfect placement for him. Deciding that a distance and a new school would stop any recurring memories of his parents, Harry agreed. And any home was better than the group home he was currently staying in.
And here he was, on his way to suburban London with his small case of belongings and a social worker.
"Harry, You can get out now. We're here." Harry sat up straighter, unbuckled his seat belt and opened the door. He squinted his eyes trying to adjust them to the light. The neighborhood didn't look too bad, the road was reasonably long. Well longer than Heatherside Avenue which only contained six houses. But the houses here were smaller and closer together than he was used to. Not letting the size put him off, he stepped out and walked round to the front door where the social worker was standing, holding Harry's suitcase.
Knocking on the door, the social worker looked at Harry, who was looking at the floor. "Don't be nervous."
"I'm not nervous." Harry said blankly, not looking up from his feet.
The door opened, revealing a woman. She was shorter than Harry and had creases around her brown eyes. She was very slim with thinning light brown hair that was slightly grey. "Hello Mike," She said. "Hello Harry." She turned to Harry and smile, Harry smiled back out of politeness. He may not be enthusiastic about living here with strangers but this woman was allowing Harry to live in her home out of being purely good-natured.
"Hello Diane." The social worker said walking into the house, Harry following closely behind.
"I've sent the other three up for the time being, they are lovely boys but meeting them all at once can sometimes be a bit," She paused for a moment. "Full on. Especially when they are excited about having somebody joining us." She smiled again, closing the door and walking into the sitting room.
The sitting room was fairly large, a dining table at one end and a couple of brown couches facing a television at the other. It was all painted a neutral cream colour. Harry didn't dislike it, it smelt nice and felt welcoming unlike the group home. But it felt like somebody else home, rather than his own.
"It's fine Diane." the social worker sat down at the dining room table and Harry slumped down next to him, this house had the same table-cloth as his friend at school. "This is Harry Judd, his parents died three weeks ago in a plane crash." Diane gave a sympathetic look at Harry, it was a look that he was used to now. People had been giving him it for the past three weeks.
Harry zoned out of the conversation pretty much, He had heard it all before, "Sees a Psychiatrist every twice week." "Has been taken out of his old school and will attend the local one here from next week." "Stuff will be dropped here at a later date, in case the placement doesn't work out." There was nothing new to hear and he didn't particularly want to hear the ins and outs of his life being told by somebody he had known for a matter of days.
"Diane, I'm hungry!" A voice called out from behind the closed-door before opening it loudly. "Can I have some food."
"Danny, how many times do I have to tell you not to just barge in, it's incredibly rude." Diane said. "I'm trying to talk to Harry and Mike here."
"But I'm hungry." Danny frowned, "And so is Tom and Dougie."
"Don't bring us into this Dan!"
"Yeah!"
"We've been upstairs for hours, Diane. Please can we have food?" Danny asked again, placing his hands together as if he was praying.
"It has barely been an hour, Danny. Go make you and the others some sandwiches in the kitchen." Danny grinned at Diane.
"Thanks Diane." Danny raced back out the room and slammed the door behind him. He heard Danny shout out to some others something like "She said we could have sandwiches" After a couple of seconds Danny reappeared. "Do you want one?" Danny asked, looking at Harry.
Harry didn't know how to answer, he was hungry but he felt rude intruding on these people. "Go on Harry, I've got more things to talk to Mike about so you may as well go and meet them." Harry looked from Diane to Danny, who was staring blankly into space.
"Okay then." Harry nodded, and stood up. Meeting the other three boys was probably better than whatever Mike and Diane was going to talk about.
Danny walked through the house and into the kitchen with Harry following very closely behind. "I'm Danny by the way." Harry nodded and walked into the kitchen. It was much smaller than anything Harry was used to. At his home, he had a state of the art modernized kitchen with every gadget imaginable. This was small and simple with small counters which had two boys sitting on. Harry would never have dreamed of sitting on top of his kitchen counter at home, let alone at somebody elses house. It was just strange. And unhygienic.
"That's Tom and Dougie." Danny said, pointing to the two blonds sitting on the counter.
Harry nodded. He wasn't sure about this place yet.