Benedict the disclaimer guy: OK guys, move along…no attempts of plagiarism being committed here…Miss E. Chicks does not claim to own any of the characters that otherwise belong to JK Rowling. So if you'll all move on please, and have a nice day! Hey you punk kid! Get your ass back here with my pimpcane! (Just so you all know, Benedict is a biology skeleton who enjoys wearing strange items of clothing).
A sixteen year old Harry Potter sat at the long kitchen table in number twelve, Grimmauld Place. He sighed, his cheek pressed against the wood as he stared down the length of the table, rolling a butterbeer cork around in a small circle. The kitchen wasn't particularly nice. It was damp, musty, and the tiny windows let in minimal light, their view being the pavement.
It was a late summer afternoon, the heat in the house just above average. Harry was wearing a blue tee-shirt and baggy black jeans; for once they were a pair he had bought himself, and the bagginess was purely out of choice. He sighed again - he had nothing better to do than sit around feeling miserable, so why should he make the effort?
Harry was contemplating another early night, when the door to the kitchen slowly creaked open, its expensive oak façade dragging against the flagstones, creating an annoying grating sound. An amber eye, with a faded scar running through it, peered around the door nervously. Remus Lupin shuffled into the room, flashing Harry a quick, false, smile.
"Hey Moony." Harry was the first to attempt another awkward conversation.
"Hello Harry," Lupin nodded to him, opening a drawer, shutting it, then opening another. He frowned slightly, and muttered something under his breath.
"What is it you're looking for?" Harry asked, flicking the cork harder than he intended, causing it to fall onto the floor with a soft thud. "Sirius never was tidy, was he?" Remus asked, turning to Harry from the drawer, completely ignoring his question. Harry winced at the mention of his name. He had yet to cope with hearing it without feeling a rush of memories. Of course, it was ten times worse for Moony. Harry hadn't known him that long, after all.
"I wouldn't know. I didn't know him that long."