Hey all! I'm back and in good shape. I have a huge new plot, on my mind, and I had to write the first chapter, alas, we have, The Story Continues. For my readers on Love, Pain, Family, don't worry, it'll be back and ready before you know it.
Chapter one
The new teacher strolled into the Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom in front of the first year students. Immediately, all sets of eyes turned to him. A silence fell over the classroom as he looked at the faces of the eleven year olds. His face was a mask. His eyes had seen a lot. Including the fall of Lord Voldemort. The children knew this. And as they stared back at him, not one of them dared to make a sound. Their eyes were filled with wonder; they had so many questions to ask him. Yet not one of them dared.
If anyone else had come into the room, they would have wondered if the classroom was full of statues, or if they really were people, and they would wonder if they were breathing.
His eyes moved from one child to the next, up and down the rows, meeting eyes with each one, before moving back to the first, and doing it once more. Then, he turned away, and wrote something on the board. He turned back, and asked the first student, "What is your name sir?" His voice was not cold, but not warm. The children still did not dare move, now even fuller of wonder, for they had the first glimpse of the scar, the scar no one had seen, in five years.
"Andrews – Jake Andrews, Sir."
The teacher stared the boy down another moment. Jake didn't flinch, didn't move, "And Jake, do you like it here?"
"Yes Sir"
The boy didn't completely understand why everyone was so quiet. It sure was strange school. Ghosts, and cats, and flying broomsticks, and moving stairs. He had heard the whispers of the kids, "The great Harry Potter is here." The whispered disbelief, the excited whispers that he was the best teacher the school could have – that was said by an older student. He didn't know why, but he knew that if he had asked who "The great Harry Potter" was, he would have been looked at in disbelief. The place was strange, for sure, but he knew another thing.
He loved it here.
The teacher blinked, and broke into a grin. "I'm glad. I do too."
He kept his gaze on the boy, and Jake gradually smiled back.
The teacher walked towards Jake, and stopped at the front of the desk. He spoke softly, so only Jake could here what he was saying. "You have no idea why it's so quiet, do you?"
Jake looked down, not wanting to meet the green eyes that were curious, and caring. "No Sir," he whispered.
"I like it that way, but I'd rather you find out the truth. You get one question."
Jake looked up into the eyes of the teacher. He thought carefully for a moment. "Who are you, and who is Lord Voldemort?"
He backed away from Jake, and looked at the whole class. "You each get one question. You can ask me whenever you want, as long as it is in this classroom. The first question was, 'Who are you, and who is Lord Voldemort?'"
Most of the children gasped. They seem to come alive then. They stared in amazement at their new teacher, and then at Jake Andrews. Then back the teacher.
The teacher studied them all. It was a great question; he himself had asked the first part to himself many times.
The teacher sat on the edge of the desk, and looked at Jake. "I can't answer the question fully. I will answer what I can."
He looked around the room. "There is a story. Of a boy, and evil. Of good and evil, of wizard and witches, that no one will ever forget. One, which children will love to hear, over and over. One, that so many love to hear. One that has given hope to so many people yet brings sadness and pain to one. The story is of the boy's life. From the day his parents were killed, until this day. The story continues even now. I am not going to lie. One day we all may be in danger again. That is what this class is for. Jake, to answer your question would take hours. But I am the boy that everyone has heard about in the story. And Lord Voldemort killed my parents, and many others. I am known because he couldn't kill me, and I killed him, when no one else seemed to be able to."
He held the class's attention. All eyes were on him. They all were amazed at the sadness and grief in his voice.
He spoke again, "I did nothing great, Jake, you see. My parents were killed when I was young, and I lived. I killed the one who did so. I should be called a murderer, right? But I am not. Instead, every one stares at me"
Every child moved their eyes off of him, embarrassed. The teacher continued, without stopping. "People think I am great, because I did what I had to. It took a lot of courage, I admit, but I was scared most of the time. Yes?"
Everyone whipped around to the girl in the back, who was wearing Ravenclaw robes. She blinked, redness coming into her cheeks. "Professor, is it true you grew up with muggles, and they locked you into a cupboard when you did magic accidentally?"
"Is that your question?"
"Yes, Sir"
"Yes Miss. Hunter, it is, very much so true. I had no idea there was such a thing a magic, but everyday, I wished someone would come. A long lost cousin or someone to get me out of my aunt and uncles home. I wanted what every child wanted."
Jake waited for the Professor to continue, when he didn't, Jake asked, "What was it Sir?"
The teacher's eyes whipped to Jake, and he thought he was going to get scolded for speaking out of turn. Instead, the Professor asked a question of his own.
"I think you know, Jake. Can you tell the others?"
Jake sat very still, the Professors words echoing in his head. I think you know, Jake. Can you tell the others? What did this man know? Who did he think he was? Jake hadn't told anyone of his past, where he came from.
"No, Sir." He spoke fast, so not to lose his nerve for telling an adult no.
The class gasped once again, and then stared at the boy. He said no to Harry Potter! They all thought.
The Professor nodded, "One day Jake, you will be able to say it proudly."
He looked at the whole class again. "For homework, I want an essay about your family. No bad words, no bad thoughts. Tell what you like about everyone in your family. Tell what is bad about them. Tell why you love them, and why you think they love you. To face evil, you must first be able to tell who is evil."
Jake sighed heavily, and leaned back in his chair. Now what was he going to do? He had nothing to write about. He was alone in the world. Sure, he could write about him mum. But his step dad had never loved him. His brother had left him two years ago, even after promising to come back.
Jake looked up suddenly, hearing his name.
The bell had rang, and everyone else was filing out of the class room. The Professor was standing next to his desk.
The Professor was looking at him curiously, and then continued. "Jake, to answer your question, plain and simple. My name is Harry Potter. Lord Voldemort killed my parents, and so, I killed him. Welcome to my class, and to Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. And, because I used you for my lesson, you don't have to do the assignment."
Jake sighed in relief, and quickly packed up his things. Something had finally rang into his head. He was positive he had heard the name before. Harry Potter. The name meant something. He was positive. He had heard his mum say it before, he was sure of it. Which was strange, because as far as he knew, his mom wasn't a witch.
At least, she had never used a wand, or spoke of anything magic. But then he remembered something. She hadn't seemed surprised when his letter came. She had simply taken it from the owl, and given it to him. She hadn't seemed happy or sad, but her face was a mask.
She had hugged him good bye before he got on the train, after convincing her husband it was to be good for her son.
He could still feel her red hair pressed against his face, and her words I love you, in his ear as if she had hugged him five seconds ago. Be a good boy, you'll love the school.
He looked up to meet the Professor's eyes. He had heard the name Harry Potter before he came to school. His mum had said the name. Now he had to find out who he really was.
My name is Harry Potter, and Lord Voldemort killed my parents, and so, I killed him.
Jake knew there was something more. His mum had known him. He was positive now. He started down the hall, to the Great Hall for lunch.
Who is Harry Potter? He thought over and over. There had to be a way to find out. That was the one thing on his mind all day. He saw the curious green eyes, messy hair that was like his own, only the Professors was jet black, and Jake's was brown. He sat through his classes in the afternoon, but it just kept coming back.
Who was Harry Potter?