Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter. I do, however, own the Visions
characters- Zak, Rachel, Paris, Terra, the twins, Kisike, and all the
others characters that I'm too lazy to list. ^_^ They're all mine! *huggles
her characters*
WARNING! Spoilers for the 5th book! ________________________
The afternoon sunlight twirled in patterns across the floor as it streamed in through the open French doors. Rachel sat at the kitchen table, slowly leafing through a book. Half a dozen others sat stacked on the table in front of her.
She brushed a strand of blonde hair behind her ear and sighed as a baby's wail suddenly shattered the calm silence.
"Zak?" she called. No one answered. "Zak?" she tried again. When no one answered the second time, she set her book down and stood, climbing the stairs until she reached her bedroom.
The two month old baby lay gurgling in her crib, reaching toward the window. There, an owl sat outside, clutching several letters in its beak, all addressed in emerald green ink.
Rachel blinked at the owl as she picked up the baby.
"What in the world.?"
When she opened the window, the owl dropped the letters, hooted, and flew away. Slightly irked, Rachel picked up the thick envelopes and retreated back downstairs, the baby on her hip.
When she reached the living room, she found Zak sitting on the couch. He looked up when she entered the room and smiled standing and walking over to meet her.
"Hey 'Chel; I just got back." He leaned down to plant a light kiss on her cheek, and took the baby into his arms. "And hello to you, sweetie. How's daddy's girl?"
"Loud," Rachel answered for her, plopping gracelessly onto the couch. "She distracted me from my research; Didn't you, Paris?" The baby gurgled in reply, bouncing happily on her father's knee.
"Poor girl," Zak teased. "Paris, did you keep mommy from doing all that work? I'm sure she's furious."
Rachel snorted next to him, then shoved one of the envelopes under his nose. "Someone's sent you a letter via an owl. I've got one too. Any idea who it might be from?"
Zak frowned, shifting the baby in his grasp to take the letter and open it with one hand. "No, no one that I can think of. What's this?" He scanned the letter; it was nearly identical to Rachel's. He read it aloud for the two of them.
"Dear Mr. Etana
We are happy to announce that you have been accepted at Hogwarts school of witchcraft and wizardry."
He blinked and looked to Rachel. She was frowning.
"Hogwarts? Witchcraft? What-?"
"It says that we're an exception to some rule. most kids get in when they're eleven, but they're contacting us now because we've only recently shown great potential with magic-" at this, Rachel snorted loudly.
"Only that they've detected at least. It's been what, five years?"
"Hush. There's more. They want us to leave immediately. For England, it seems. Seems the Headmaster wants us to help look after some kid; Harry Potter. Here- yours is different. He wants you to predict for this kid's future. Guess they know about your visions."
Rachel bristled. "Predict his future?! I'm not some cheap fortune teller! And it doesn't work that way, besides!"
"'Chel, hun, calm down. I'm sure they understand." He was biting his lip to keep from chuckling at the fuming girl. It wouldn't do to have her hit him in front of their daughter.
"Whatever. What else does it say?" she leaned against him to read along, her arms crossed in irritation over her chest.
"Only something about a third person to help protect the Potter kid. It doesn't say who it is, though."
"Hmph."
"What do you think about this? Should we go?"
Rachel frowned and took the two letters. "I'm not sure." she thought in silence for awhile, with Zak bouncing the baby on his knees. Paris gurgled, then laughed. After scanning the letters for a long minute, Rachel sighed and shook her head. "I don't think we should go. This is a boarding school for kids; what would we do with Paris?"
Nodding his agreement, Zak spoke. "True. We can't leave poor Paris here all by herself, now can we?" He held her above his head, grinning, and Paris shrieked with laughter.
They were interrupted when the front door banged open loudly, and a voice bellowed, "Hey guys! I'm going to England to study magic!"
Harry never believed that his hatred for the Dursleys could increase; but over the summer holidays, it had amplified tenfold. Most of the blisteringly hot days had been spent alone in his room, speaking to no one, staring listlessly at the ceiling, twirling his wand between his fingers.
He hated everything. He hated the Dursleys for making his life a living, breathing hell. He hated the world for taking Sirius from him, the only family (he felt) he had left. He hated Dumbledore for letting it happen. at least he wanted to hate Dumbledore. Somehow, he found, he just couldn't bring himself to truly, deeply, hate the headmaster. Anger? Yes. Anger he could do. Hate, no.
He rolled over, facing the wall opposite the lone window in his room as Hedwig returned on ghostly silent wings and fluttered to her cage. He didn't want to see her just now.
Harry had received numerous letters from Ron and Hermione and Hagrid; even Remus wrote to him regularly. Most lay unopened, along with his birthday presents, shoved into an empty drawer on his bedside table. He'd written back once to each of them saying not to write to him again, and that he wouldn't answer (though he did remember to send a letter to Remus every two or three days that consisted entirely of the words 'I'm fine,' and his signature). They hadn't listened, so Harry had simply given up on telling them to stop. He was returning to Hogwarts again tomorrow, anyway. It didn't really matter. Nothing seemed to matter now.
Sirius was gone.
He squeezed his green eyes shut, gritting his teeth at the familiar tearing pain. Hatred, the kind that no boy of sixteen years should possibly have to know, coursed hotly through his veins. Voldemort. Bellatrix. They had taken everything from him! Everything he loved and cared for and needed! His family! They were gone because Voldemort had killed them and framed Sirius. And then, when he finally had Sirius back, Bellatrix stole him away.
Everyone close to me dies.
The rage crested and Harry lashed out with a curled fist. The thin sheetrock of the wall gave way and 'the boy who lived' suddenly found his hand stuck inside the wall, his anger fast fading. Hedwig hooted in alarm at the noise.
Dammit. He thought without real menace. At least I should have hit some wiring. But no, he chided himself, half in guilt and half in disgust. Then who would fulfill the prophecy and kill Voldemort?
Or be killed by him, a nasty little part of his mind added.
He gingerly pulled his bleeding hand from the wall, ignoring the last thought and examining his crimson knuckles. They hurt. A lot. Though it served him right, he supposed.
A sigh escaped his lips as he turned to stare again at the ceiling. He flinched slightly at the distant shrill of his aunt's voice as the doorbell rang.
Who'd be stopping at this hour? He wondered briefly, before realization set in and Harry leapt to his feet, heart thudding madly in his chest. Glimpses of the fight with Voldemort and the Deatheaters in the graveyard, and more recently, the Ministry of Magic flashed before his eyes.
They can't be here, they can't. His mind cried as he took the stairs three at a time, something immovable stuck in his throat. He stopped dead at the landing, emerald eyes wide as he stared at Remus J. Lupin standing in the foyer.
The familiar scarlet steam engine sat idly at Platform 9 ¾, a billowing cloud of smoke lazing along behind it. Harry felt a pang looking at it, the memories of the dementor's arrival that fateful third year, as well as Pigwidgeon's delivery to Ron flickering through his mind. He clutched tightly to Hedwig's cage, his knuckles now cleaned and bandaged as Mad-Eye Moody, Remus, Tonks, and Kingsley walked along beside him, chatting happily. Harry was silent as he scanned the crowd, quickly spotting the familiar blaze of red that was Ron's hair, accompanied by a furiously waving Hermione.
Sheepishly, he raised an arm to wave back, but by then his two best friends had shoved their way through the milling crowd and swept him into a rib-cracking hug that nearly bore him to the ground. "Oh, Harry, we've been so worried! Why didn't you return our owls? Remus said you were writing to him to say you were fine, but we never got anything. Are you ok? Ron, get off! You're crushing me!" Harry couldn't help but laugh, his voice sounding scratchy from disuse. He didn't realize that it was the first time he'd laughed since the end of school the previous year. "Sorry, I'm sorry," he rasped, still chuckling. "I didn't want. I just need to be alone." He sighed. Remus and the others greeted Ron and Hermione, then hurried the trio safely onto the Hogwarts express and said their goodbyes. Making their way to the back of the train, where it was likely the only empty compartments were going to be, Harry listened with a grin as his friends happily chattered to him about their summer vacations. At least they could keep themselves occupied from the war with Voldemort... He laughed as Ron reenacted, with much arm flailing, the effects of Fred and George's newest joke shop item, and pushed all thoughts of Voldemort from his mind. When they finally did find a compartment that was empty, it took perhaps ten minutes for Ron to shove his baggage away, and then help Hermione to heft an overly heavy suitcase (no doubt loaded with books) into the overhead compartment. Harry turned away with a hidden smile as Ron and Hermione's hands accidentally brushed, and they both turned red and started to stutter apologies. His smile quickly faded as voices from the next compartment reached his ears, the door slightly ajar. His brows drew together in a frown as he leaned closer to ensure that he had not heard incorrectly; the voices were unfamiliar, and had an American accent. "-Godfather died before the summer last year. They were really close." The voice was male. "That's so sad," a young female voice sympathized. "And he's only 16? He's been through so much, poor boy. Too bad." The rest was unintelligible. Harry felt a bit irked at being addressed as a child by someone who sounded much younger than himself; it was obvious these unknown people were talking about him. He snapped out of his bout of irritation to find that he'd almost missed the next thing said, this by a different voice than the other two. "-ell, I say 'big whoop'. Has this Potter kid killed the guy who did it yet?" Harry felt himself stiffen at these words. How could someone talk so callously about his family's death?! "No." The male voice was clearly irritated. "Why do you think we're here?" ".Because we needed a vacation?" Harry could hear the smirk in the irritating girl's voice, and set his jaw so as to not make a sound. "Hush," said the other girl. "You two shouldn't fight. Act your age. for once." She added. "Harry?" Ron was standing beside Harry, looking concerned. "What's wrong, mate?" Harry quickly shushed him and gestured at the door; however, the irritating female voice and the male voice were apparently arguing in hushed tones, because neither of them could hear the next things said. Through the frosted window pane to Harry's left and Ron's right, they both suddenly saw a dark object being hurled in their direction and dove across the corridor to the safety of their own compartment. The door of the Americans' compartment snapped shut with the sound of a shotgun, and uproarious laughter could be heard soon after from that direction.
TBC
WARNING! Spoilers for the 5th book! ________________________
The afternoon sunlight twirled in patterns across the floor as it streamed in through the open French doors. Rachel sat at the kitchen table, slowly leafing through a book. Half a dozen others sat stacked on the table in front of her.
She brushed a strand of blonde hair behind her ear and sighed as a baby's wail suddenly shattered the calm silence.
"Zak?" she called. No one answered. "Zak?" she tried again. When no one answered the second time, she set her book down and stood, climbing the stairs until she reached her bedroom.
The two month old baby lay gurgling in her crib, reaching toward the window. There, an owl sat outside, clutching several letters in its beak, all addressed in emerald green ink.
Rachel blinked at the owl as she picked up the baby.
"What in the world.?"
When she opened the window, the owl dropped the letters, hooted, and flew away. Slightly irked, Rachel picked up the thick envelopes and retreated back downstairs, the baby on her hip.
When she reached the living room, she found Zak sitting on the couch. He looked up when she entered the room and smiled standing and walking over to meet her.
"Hey 'Chel; I just got back." He leaned down to plant a light kiss on her cheek, and took the baby into his arms. "And hello to you, sweetie. How's daddy's girl?"
"Loud," Rachel answered for her, plopping gracelessly onto the couch. "She distracted me from my research; Didn't you, Paris?" The baby gurgled in reply, bouncing happily on her father's knee.
"Poor girl," Zak teased. "Paris, did you keep mommy from doing all that work? I'm sure she's furious."
Rachel snorted next to him, then shoved one of the envelopes under his nose. "Someone's sent you a letter via an owl. I've got one too. Any idea who it might be from?"
Zak frowned, shifting the baby in his grasp to take the letter and open it with one hand. "No, no one that I can think of. What's this?" He scanned the letter; it was nearly identical to Rachel's. He read it aloud for the two of them.
"Dear Mr. Etana
We are happy to announce that you have been accepted at Hogwarts school of witchcraft and wizardry."
He blinked and looked to Rachel. She was frowning.
"Hogwarts? Witchcraft? What-?"
"It says that we're an exception to some rule. most kids get in when they're eleven, but they're contacting us now because we've only recently shown great potential with magic-" at this, Rachel snorted loudly.
"Only that they've detected at least. It's been what, five years?"
"Hush. There's more. They want us to leave immediately. For England, it seems. Seems the Headmaster wants us to help look after some kid; Harry Potter. Here- yours is different. He wants you to predict for this kid's future. Guess they know about your visions."
Rachel bristled. "Predict his future?! I'm not some cheap fortune teller! And it doesn't work that way, besides!"
"'Chel, hun, calm down. I'm sure they understand." He was biting his lip to keep from chuckling at the fuming girl. It wouldn't do to have her hit him in front of their daughter.
"Whatever. What else does it say?" she leaned against him to read along, her arms crossed in irritation over her chest.
"Only something about a third person to help protect the Potter kid. It doesn't say who it is, though."
"Hmph."
"What do you think about this? Should we go?"
Rachel frowned and took the two letters. "I'm not sure." she thought in silence for awhile, with Zak bouncing the baby on his knees. Paris gurgled, then laughed. After scanning the letters for a long minute, Rachel sighed and shook her head. "I don't think we should go. This is a boarding school for kids; what would we do with Paris?"
Nodding his agreement, Zak spoke. "True. We can't leave poor Paris here all by herself, now can we?" He held her above his head, grinning, and Paris shrieked with laughter.
They were interrupted when the front door banged open loudly, and a voice bellowed, "Hey guys! I'm going to England to study magic!"
Harry never believed that his hatred for the Dursleys could increase; but over the summer holidays, it had amplified tenfold. Most of the blisteringly hot days had been spent alone in his room, speaking to no one, staring listlessly at the ceiling, twirling his wand between his fingers.
He hated everything. He hated the Dursleys for making his life a living, breathing hell. He hated the world for taking Sirius from him, the only family (he felt) he had left. He hated Dumbledore for letting it happen. at least he wanted to hate Dumbledore. Somehow, he found, he just couldn't bring himself to truly, deeply, hate the headmaster. Anger? Yes. Anger he could do. Hate, no.
He rolled over, facing the wall opposite the lone window in his room as Hedwig returned on ghostly silent wings and fluttered to her cage. He didn't want to see her just now.
Harry had received numerous letters from Ron and Hermione and Hagrid; even Remus wrote to him regularly. Most lay unopened, along with his birthday presents, shoved into an empty drawer on his bedside table. He'd written back once to each of them saying not to write to him again, and that he wouldn't answer (though he did remember to send a letter to Remus every two or three days that consisted entirely of the words 'I'm fine,' and his signature). They hadn't listened, so Harry had simply given up on telling them to stop. He was returning to Hogwarts again tomorrow, anyway. It didn't really matter. Nothing seemed to matter now.
Sirius was gone.
He squeezed his green eyes shut, gritting his teeth at the familiar tearing pain. Hatred, the kind that no boy of sixteen years should possibly have to know, coursed hotly through his veins. Voldemort. Bellatrix. They had taken everything from him! Everything he loved and cared for and needed! His family! They were gone because Voldemort had killed them and framed Sirius. And then, when he finally had Sirius back, Bellatrix stole him away.
Everyone close to me dies.
The rage crested and Harry lashed out with a curled fist. The thin sheetrock of the wall gave way and 'the boy who lived' suddenly found his hand stuck inside the wall, his anger fast fading. Hedwig hooted in alarm at the noise.
Dammit. He thought without real menace. At least I should have hit some wiring. But no, he chided himself, half in guilt and half in disgust. Then who would fulfill the prophecy and kill Voldemort?
Or be killed by him, a nasty little part of his mind added.
He gingerly pulled his bleeding hand from the wall, ignoring the last thought and examining his crimson knuckles. They hurt. A lot. Though it served him right, he supposed.
A sigh escaped his lips as he turned to stare again at the ceiling. He flinched slightly at the distant shrill of his aunt's voice as the doorbell rang.
Who'd be stopping at this hour? He wondered briefly, before realization set in and Harry leapt to his feet, heart thudding madly in his chest. Glimpses of the fight with Voldemort and the Deatheaters in the graveyard, and more recently, the Ministry of Magic flashed before his eyes.
They can't be here, they can't. His mind cried as he took the stairs three at a time, something immovable stuck in his throat. He stopped dead at the landing, emerald eyes wide as he stared at Remus J. Lupin standing in the foyer.
The familiar scarlet steam engine sat idly at Platform 9 ¾, a billowing cloud of smoke lazing along behind it. Harry felt a pang looking at it, the memories of the dementor's arrival that fateful third year, as well as Pigwidgeon's delivery to Ron flickering through his mind. He clutched tightly to Hedwig's cage, his knuckles now cleaned and bandaged as Mad-Eye Moody, Remus, Tonks, and Kingsley walked along beside him, chatting happily. Harry was silent as he scanned the crowd, quickly spotting the familiar blaze of red that was Ron's hair, accompanied by a furiously waving Hermione.
Sheepishly, he raised an arm to wave back, but by then his two best friends had shoved their way through the milling crowd and swept him into a rib-cracking hug that nearly bore him to the ground. "Oh, Harry, we've been so worried! Why didn't you return our owls? Remus said you were writing to him to say you were fine, but we never got anything. Are you ok? Ron, get off! You're crushing me!" Harry couldn't help but laugh, his voice sounding scratchy from disuse. He didn't realize that it was the first time he'd laughed since the end of school the previous year. "Sorry, I'm sorry," he rasped, still chuckling. "I didn't want. I just need to be alone." He sighed. Remus and the others greeted Ron and Hermione, then hurried the trio safely onto the Hogwarts express and said their goodbyes. Making their way to the back of the train, where it was likely the only empty compartments were going to be, Harry listened with a grin as his friends happily chattered to him about their summer vacations. At least they could keep themselves occupied from the war with Voldemort... He laughed as Ron reenacted, with much arm flailing, the effects of Fred and George's newest joke shop item, and pushed all thoughts of Voldemort from his mind. When they finally did find a compartment that was empty, it took perhaps ten minutes for Ron to shove his baggage away, and then help Hermione to heft an overly heavy suitcase (no doubt loaded with books) into the overhead compartment. Harry turned away with a hidden smile as Ron and Hermione's hands accidentally brushed, and they both turned red and started to stutter apologies. His smile quickly faded as voices from the next compartment reached his ears, the door slightly ajar. His brows drew together in a frown as he leaned closer to ensure that he had not heard incorrectly; the voices were unfamiliar, and had an American accent. "-Godfather died before the summer last year. They were really close." The voice was male. "That's so sad," a young female voice sympathized. "And he's only 16? He's been through so much, poor boy. Too bad." The rest was unintelligible. Harry felt a bit irked at being addressed as a child by someone who sounded much younger than himself; it was obvious these unknown people were talking about him. He snapped out of his bout of irritation to find that he'd almost missed the next thing said, this by a different voice than the other two. "-ell, I say 'big whoop'. Has this Potter kid killed the guy who did it yet?" Harry felt himself stiffen at these words. How could someone talk so callously about his family's death?! "No." The male voice was clearly irritated. "Why do you think we're here?" ".Because we needed a vacation?" Harry could hear the smirk in the irritating girl's voice, and set his jaw so as to not make a sound. "Hush," said the other girl. "You two shouldn't fight. Act your age. for once." She added. "Harry?" Ron was standing beside Harry, looking concerned. "What's wrong, mate?" Harry quickly shushed him and gestured at the door; however, the irritating female voice and the male voice were apparently arguing in hushed tones, because neither of them could hear the next things said. Through the frosted window pane to Harry's left and Ron's right, they both suddenly saw a dark object being hurled in their direction and dove across the corridor to the safety of their own compartment. The door of the Americans' compartment snapped shut with the sound of a shotgun, and uproarious laughter could be heard soon after from that direction.
TBC