AN; this is my first Harry Potter Fic. Be nice. I'm sort of continuing the story after OOTP. Not much romance, more of an adventure. Reviews welcome, and flames too if they're justified.
Little Whinging in Surrey was a quiet town. The birds and the bees sung and buzzed, Mrs Figg's cats wandered their territory and children played at the park. Everything was quiet and peaceful. That is, until number four Privet Drive blew up. Mrs. Figg and her cats watched in horror as the huge fireball rose from the house. The explosion seemed to come from the kitchen. She could see red flashes that she knew were not part of the fire. She told Dumbledore immediately, of course. In the grey light of the morning wizards searched the building, they found the Durlsey's, curiously unharmed, but remembering nothing of their ordeal, but of the teenage boy with black hair and glassesand odd scar, there was no sign.
He ran, his legs pumping hard and churning up the ground behind him, he ran not knowing where he was going, or whom he was running from. Not knowing who he was, not caring. But there was something behind him that made him run. It was dark, he noticed, and he was in an urban area. But he kept running, knowing that somewhere behind him was something horrible and evil, and it was looking for him. He ran on and on, and out of sight, and out of his mind.
Three months speed by...
They missed him, all the others. They missed his laugh and his smile and his bright green eyes. Many believed him dead. Those that mattered knew better. There was no body in the charred remains of number 4 Privet Drive. They knew that Voldemort wouldn't have taken the body if Harry had been killed. Dumbledore and McGonagall knew that Harry was alive. They just didn't know where. As the months past, they got more and more worried.
He was hungry; ravenously so, he hadn't eaten properly for days, he knew because his stomach growled. It was raining. Every step he took got him a little wetter, and watered dripped of his over sized t-shirt. He still didn't know who he was. He knew he had run from something, but what that something was had long eluded him and he didn't bother about it anymore. He was in a street somewhere in London. He knew because he saw the sign at the city entrance as he had stalked invisibly past, his helpful cloak doing its job, as always. He didn't want to sleep. Sleeping meant he would dream, and the dreams weren't pleasant. Red and green flashes and evil laughter filled his sleep.
He kept wandering, tired and needing sleep. He didn't stop. He knew that soon his body would get used to the lack of sleep and it would become numb and unfeeling. His foot slipped on the curb and he grabbed a pole to steady himself. He heaved a sigh of relief the glanced up at the pole and his blood went icy.
Grimauld Place.
He knew it. He remembered. Sirius. Dumbledore. Mcgonagall. The Dursleys. Hermione. Ron. All his friends. Qudditch. Hogwarts. HOGWARTS!
He knew who he was. He was the boy who lived. He was Harry Potter. And he was close to the headquarters of the Order of the Phoenix.
AN; tell me wat u thnk!
Little Whinging in Surrey was a quiet town. The birds and the bees sung and buzzed, Mrs Figg's cats wandered their territory and children played at the park. Everything was quiet and peaceful. That is, until number four Privet Drive blew up. Mrs. Figg and her cats watched in horror as the huge fireball rose from the house. The explosion seemed to come from the kitchen. She could see red flashes that she knew were not part of the fire. She told Dumbledore immediately, of course. In the grey light of the morning wizards searched the building, they found the Durlsey's, curiously unharmed, but remembering nothing of their ordeal, but of the teenage boy with black hair and glassesand odd scar, there was no sign.
He ran, his legs pumping hard and churning up the ground behind him, he ran not knowing where he was going, or whom he was running from. Not knowing who he was, not caring. But there was something behind him that made him run. It was dark, he noticed, and he was in an urban area. But he kept running, knowing that somewhere behind him was something horrible and evil, and it was looking for him. He ran on and on, and out of sight, and out of his mind.
Three months speed by...
They missed him, all the others. They missed his laugh and his smile and his bright green eyes. Many believed him dead. Those that mattered knew better. There was no body in the charred remains of number 4 Privet Drive. They knew that Voldemort wouldn't have taken the body if Harry had been killed. Dumbledore and McGonagall knew that Harry was alive. They just didn't know where. As the months past, they got more and more worried.
He was hungry; ravenously so, he hadn't eaten properly for days, he knew because his stomach growled. It was raining. Every step he took got him a little wetter, and watered dripped of his over sized t-shirt. He still didn't know who he was. He knew he had run from something, but what that something was had long eluded him and he didn't bother about it anymore. He was in a street somewhere in London. He knew because he saw the sign at the city entrance as he had stalked invisibly past, his helpful cloak doing its job, as always. He didn't want to sleep. Sleeping meant he would dream, and the dreams weren't pleasant. Red and green flashes and evil laughter filled his sleep.
He kept wandering, tired and needing sleep. He didn't stop. He knew that soon his body would get used to the lack of sleep and it would become numb and unfeeling. His foot slipped on the curb and he grabbed a pole to steady himself. He heaved a sigh of relief the glanced up at the pole and his blood went icy.
Grimauld Place.
He knew it. He remembered. Sirius. Dumbledore. Mcgonagall. The Dursleys. Hermione. Ron. All his friends. Qudditch. Hogwarts. HOGWARTS!
He knew who he was. He was the boy who lived. He was Harry Potter. And he was close to the headquarters of the Order of the Phoenix.
AN; tell me wat u thnk!