An note: this is my first story, it is a test on many levels, it will probably never be finished.Unless I decide to go on writing and you guys like the idea and support it.Rating is to have the freedom to write anything, and for safety.J. K. Rowling owns Harry Potter, I own nothing.Chapter 1 : IntroductionAn old man in colorful robes was seated in an office that could only be described as busy, or living, in a way.
Massive shelves filled the walls of the room, on the shelves many gadgets and tricky objects were placed randomly one next to the other, in the few spots were the walls were left bare, paintings with people, moving people, went on their life, each looking busy doing something.
The desk in front of the man also was full of stuff.
Even more so now than usual, for many sheets of paper were laid wherever they could, and some even places that they couldn't be.
Add to that the fact that said old man was very focused on a particularly old, nasty looking book, and one can imagine how a little ball having stopped floating, went unnoticed, even when it started glowing, before eventually resuming to float and stop emanating light.
The wards on 4 privet drive, little whinging where disabled and renabled without no one knowing anything about it.
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Harry woke up, as usual, to the sound of someone knocking rudely on his fragile wodden door, but was surprised when no screaming came, just silence.
Almost too much silence.
Puzzled, Harry got up quietly, lightly pushed the door open and peeked out of it.
And found no one.
" Well ", he thought, " might as well start preparing breakfast, maybe I will be lucky enough to not get screamed at for not handling the pan properly, for this morning".
He sluggishly made his way to the kitchen, wiping his eyes along the way, and got to the fridge, getting out an egg and some oil to start cooking, when a feeling of... Dread?, Cold?, well, something came over him, making him freeze, he slowly turned around to see something very black, very close to his nose, than he saw nothing.
The last thing he heard, other than the frushing of a cloak, was a faint voice coming from upstairs, " oblivi...".
Half an hour later, across the street, one Arabella Fogg woke up feeling something at the back of her head, nagging her, but ignored it and went on with her life, not once looking out the window, or in the top drawer of her desk, where she kept her rune tablet connected to the very blood of a little boy, that was long forgotten to her.
Will update this chapter before posting the next one, I think.I want to explain who were the kidnapper and a bit of why they kidnapped him, of course I am also just testing all the features of this app.See you very soon.
Bye.