Hi! This is my very first fanfic, so pleeeze read and review! It would mean a lot to me if you would! It's only the first chapter of what I think will be a series, so I would love some constructive criticism. Trust me, this WILL have to do with Harry Potter books eventually, just be patient. Thank you! Oh and Cringe at the title, I can't think of anything better and don't have the time to - I wrote it all tonight and I want to go to bed.
Lupin's Lair series part I - The Mystery Tramper
Tramping boots thudded stoically on the loose metal road, with loose gravel scrunching underfoot and then rudely flicked out behind the footsteps in the hot summer sun.
One red-and-green bootlace was slowly unraveling from the tight knot around the wearer's ankles, snapping around like a worm in the sun, contrasting against the burnt brown of the leather, the dull brown of the mud, smeared all over the boots and packed into the soles.
The wearer swore, and unceremoniously dumping her pack on the side of the little road as if it was a load of hot potatoes, crouched down, muscles screaming, and fumbled with hot, sticky and uncooperative fingers with a very unwilling lace.
After a very trying few minutes with the bootlace, the walker looked up and briefly considered staying exactly in that position for the next few hours.
Years perhaps.
The task of getting up and heaving the pack onto her back was unbearable to think of.
But commonsense soon took over and she realized that if a car came tearing up the road she would look very silly indeed, crouching on the side of the road with her bum poked out like a very sad duck impersonation.
Taking the easy way out, she flopped onto the road and, arms and legs flailing, rolled over and then pulled herself to her feet, looking, she thought ruefully, like a foal taking it's first ungainly steps. Now back on her feet, she was feeling tired, thirsty and the first pangs of worry. Unzipping her pack and pulling out of it a sipper bottle, she sucked on it thirstily and surveyed the landscape while pushing sweaty strands of hair from her face.
The surroundings were the same as they had been for the past 5 hours - the winding country land, with hedges and empty pasture rolling over slight hills dotted with sheep far into the distance, and with ocean-blue sky beaming above strewn with stringy clouds.
"Cliché rural Europe" she said miserably.
With the first pangs of worry came the first pangs of fire funning through her lower legs after so much exercise and suddenly stopping, so the walker reluctantly put away her bottle and, with much effort, hoisted her pack onto her back. She turned and faced the little road ahead, the heat playing across the loose gravel surface and placed a booted foot back on the road.
After another hour of solid walking, the pangs of worry had turned into a steady ache.
She had seen nothing that had resembled civilization in the last half hour, no cars, no farmers, no houses, just sheep, but she was used to them. Their presence indicated that there was life around here somewhere, and that was comforting, but her water bottle was nearly empty and the ditch water wasn't appealing.
Still, there was that consistent buzz in her head that told her that yes, this was the right way, her goal was right ahead - well... not right ahead, a little to the west a bit more, but with this winding little road that didn't really matter - but she was on the right track. So with the anxious ache in her gut matching the hungry ache in her stomach, she plodded on.
You see, the trouble was that she knew that she was on the right road, but she had no idea of how much longer it was going to take her to reach her goal, or where her goal was, or even what it looked like.
Just that little buzz inside her head that told her to keep walking dammit!
After another half an hour the anxious ache had settled into a nice lead weight in the pit of her stomach, negating any feelings of hunger.
Looking frantically around, trying to find any sign of what this bloody goal that was driving her was, she could only spot more hills, hedges and dammed sheep, she began wondering what she was doing. She was in the middle of the English countryside miles from any real road, without a tent, water or food, not knowing exactly what she was looking for, not knowing the culture or customs, or even the exchange rate. She was friendless, phoneless, sweaty, tired, hungry, footsore, and with only her pack, three pounds and a pile of coinage in her cargo shorts pockets to call her own. She was, she suddenly realized, on the other side of the planet from home, sunset was in a few hours, something hard in her pack was jabbing her in the back with each step, and she was completely and utterly lost.
That was too much for the jet-lagged tramper, who at that last revelation, gave up. She collapsed in a sprawling heap on the ground and began to cry silent tears of exhaustion and self-pity, while cursing that little part of her head that kept yelling at her to keep walking on you stupid idiot why are you stopping?
She was so taken up by all these things that she almost missed the movement at the top of the hill.
Luckily, the setting sun was behind the animal so its silhouette was clearly visible on the washed-out oranges and pinks of the sunset. The lost tramper caught the movement out of the corner of her tear-filled eye, and quickly sat up straight and wiped her face on her arm. This did not make much difference as her arm was already wet from sweat, but she felt more composed as she tried to scramble to her feet, only to be brought up short by the sheer weight of her pack anchoring her to the ground. Angrily slipping out of her pack and standing up, she raised a hand to shield her eyes from the setting sun and looked for the source of movement.
There it was, sitting on the top of the hill. It looked like a large dog - longhaired, the girl thought.
A very large dog, actually.
Bigger than a Rottie, a bit too big for a sheepdog, about as big as a ... Doberman...? Oh hell.
But who cares, a dog means a kennel and a kennel means a house and a house means there is life out here!
She hoisted her pack onto her back and quickly started walking towards the top of the hill and the dog.
The buzz in her head finally stopped yelling at her and had a smug sort of feel to it as she power-walked off. That is, if buzzes in your head can have personalities and emotions, the girl thought.
She kept her eyes on the dog as if it was some sort of mirage that would suddenly disappear if she took her eyes off it. And as she approached it, it almost did. It turned tail and loped off down the road.
"Hey! Oi! Doggie! Cm'ere! Ummmm... get in behind!!" She yelled frantically.
But the dog took no notice whatsoever and kept running.
The tramper was suddenly scared. Her only lifeline was speeding away on four padded little feet.
She broke into a run, skidding on the loose gravel, and her pack bouncing and jolting, hindering her running. Breaths coming in gasps, sweat running into her eyes and leg muscles burning, she chased the dog over another hill before it stopped and sat in the middle of the road facing her with it's head cocked to one side.
Plodding slowly up to the dog, the girl wheezed and tried to recover breath, while whispering
"Good doggy, good boy c'mere boy, c'mon..." in an encouraging sort of way.
The dog, she thought, looked confused.
That is, she ruefully reminded herself again, if dogs could look confused.
Maybe it had a sense of humor instead, she thought hysterically, that's why it ran away. A very sadistic sense of humor, at that. It ran just to see the comical sight of me scurrying after it.
She also noticed that it was a big dog, had no collar and was jet black. Still, it was well cared for with a gleaming coat and a smooth, lean body. Maybe it was one of those dogs that watched the sheep at night and fought off wolves, she thought.
Then she checked herself; there are no wolves in Britain nowadays. She gave a little laugh at the irony of that.
The dog looked her over, up and down and seemed to be thinking very hard.
That was it, the girl now was sure that she had sweated out too much essential salts and she was hallucinating -
"Dogs just don't look people up and down, they smell people's crotches." she thought out loud.
"And I smell enough for him to know me intimately by now just from standing upwind." She said, sniffing at her armpits and wrinkling up her nose at the smell.
The dog grinned - no, dogs can't grin, the girl thought, frustrated with her own mind, and mentally telling the buzz to get stuffed, it was more annoying than ever, telling her just a bit more to the right...
The dog seemed to come to some sort of conclusion, as it got up and started trotting down the road. The tramper stood still, too tired to go on any further bellowed hoarsely and desperately
"Hey! Don't leave me! I can't jog anymore you stupid mutt!"
And suddenly burst into tears again.
The dog stopped, looked back over his shoulder, and ran back to the girl bawling in the middle of the road. He ran straight up to her, looked her in the eye, turned around and started walking solemnly down the road once again, tail held high.
The girl, too tired to argue with her own mind and point out that this was totally stupid, took this as some sort of sign and, too exhausted to even cry anymore, trudged after the dog. (Much to the pleasure of the buzz in her mind, which was now doing the Can-can)
So yes, there is obviously more to come, and I would really really appreciate some reviews pleeze! Really, even just a few words!
Lupin's Lair series part I - The Mystery Tramper
Tramping boots thudded stoically on the loose metal road, with loose gravel scrunching underfoot and then rudely flicked out behind the footsteps in the hot summer sun.
One red-and-green bootlace was slowly unraveling from the tight knot around the wearer's ankles, snapping around like a worm in the sun, contrasting against the burnt brown of the leather, the dull brown of the mud, smeared all over the boots and packed into the soles.
The wearer swore, and unceremoniously dumping her pack on the side of the little road as if it was a load of hot potatoes, crouched down, muscles screaming, and fumbled with hot, sticky and uncooperative fingers with a very unwilling lace.
After a very trying few minutes with the bootlace, the walker looked up and briefly considered staying exactly in that position for the next few hours.
Years perhaps.
The task of getting up and heaving the pack onto her back was unbearable to think of.
But commonsense soon took over and she realized that if a car came tearing up the road she would look very silly indeed, crouching on the side of the road with her bum poked out like a very sad duck impersonation.
Taking the easy way out, she flopped onto the road and, arms and legs flailing, rolled over and then pulled herself to her feet, looking, she thought ruefully, like a foal taking it's first ungainly steps. Now back on her feet, she was feeling tired, thirsty and the first pangs of worry. Unzipping her pack and pulling out of it a sipper bottle, she sucked on it thirstily and surveyed the landscape while pushing sweaty strands of hair from her face.
The surroundings were the same as they had been for the past 5 hours - the winding country land, with hedges and empty pasture rolling over slight hills dotted with sheep far into the distance, and with ocean-blue sky beaming above strewn with stringy clouds.
"Cliché rural Europe" she said miserably.
With the first pangs of worry came the first pangs of fire funning through her lower legs after so much exercise and suddenly stopping, so the walker reluctantly put away her bottle and, with much effort, hoisted her pack onto her back. She turned and faced the little road ahead, the heat playing across the loose gravel surface and placed a booted foot back on the road.
After another hour of solid walking, the pangs of worry had turned into a steady ache.
She had seen nothing that had resembled civilization in the last half hour, no cars, no farmers, no houses, just sheep, but she was used to them. Their presence indicated that there was life around here somewhere, and that was comforting, but her water bottle was nearly empty and the ditch water wasn't appealing.
Still, there was that consistent buzz in her head that told her that yes, this was the right way, her goal was right ahead - well... not right ahead, a little to the west a bit more, but with this winding little road that didn't really matter - but she was on the right track. So with the anxious ache in her gut matching the hungry ache in her stomach, she plodded on.
You see, the trouble was that she knew that she was on the right road, but she had no idea of how much longer it was going to take her to reach her goal, or where her goal was, or even what it looked like.
Just that little buzz inside her head that told her to keep walking dammit!
After another half an hour the anxious ache had settled into a nice lead weight in the pit of her stomach, negating any feelings of hunger.
Looking frantically around, trying to find any sign of what this bloody goal that was driving her was, she could only spot more hills, hedges and dammed sheep, she began wondering what she was doing. She was in the middle of the English countryside miles from any real road, without a tent, water or food, not knowing exactly what she was looking for, not knowing the culture or customs, or even the exchange rate. She was friendless, phoneless, sweaty, tired, hungry, footsore, and with only her pack, three pounds and a pile of coinage in her cargo shorts pockets to call her own. She was, she suddenly realized, on the other side of the planet from home, sunset was in a few hours, something hard in her pack was jabbing her in the back with each step, and she was completely and utterly lost.
That was too much for the jet-lagged tramper, who at that last revelation, gave up. She collapsed in a sprawling heap on the ground and began to cry silent tears of exhaustion and self-pity, while cursing that little part of her head that kept yelling at her to keep walking on you stupid idiot why are you stopping?
She was so taken up by all these things that she almost missed the movement at the top of the hill.
Luckily, the setting sun was behind the animal so its silhouette was clearly visible on the washed-out oranges and pinks of the sunset. The lost tramper caught the movement out of the corner of her tear-filled eye, and quickly sat up straight and wiped her face on her arm. This did not make much difference as her arm was already wet from sweat, but she felt more composed as she tried to scramble to her feet, only to be brought up short by the sheer weight of her pack anchoring her to the ground. Angrily slipping out of her pack and standing up, she raised a hand to shield her eyes from the setting sun and looked for the source of movement.
There it was, sitting on the top of the hill. It looked like a large dog - longhaired, the girl thought.
A very large dog, actually.
Bigger than a Rottie, a bit too big for a sheepdog, about as big as a ... Doberman...? Oh hell.
But who cares, a dog means a kennel and a kennel means a house and a house means there is life out here!
She hoisted her pack onto her back and quickly started walking towards the top of the hill and the dog.
The buzz in her head finally stopped yelling at her and had a smug sort of feel to it as she power-walked off. That is, if buzzes in your head can have personalities and emotions, the girl thought.
She kept her eyes on the dog as if it was some sort of mirage that would suddenly disappear if she took her eyes off it. And as she approached it, it almost did. It turned tail and loped off down the road.
"Hey! Oi! Doggie! Cm'ere! Ummmm... get in behind!!" She yelled frantically.
But the dog took no notice whatsoever and kept running.
The tramper was suddenly scared. Her only lifeline was speeding away on four padded little feet.
She broke into a run, skidding on the loose gravel, and her pack bouncing and jolting, hindering her running. Breaths coming in gasps, sweat running into her eyes and leg muscles burning, she chased the dog over another hill before it stopped and sat in the middle of the road facing her with it's head cocked to one side.
Plodding slowly up to the dog, the girl wheezed and tried to recover breath, while whispering
"Good doggy, good boy c'mere boy, c'mon..." in an encouraging sort of way.
The dog, she thought, looked confused.
That is, she ruefully reminded herself again, if dogs could look confused.
Maybe it had a sense of humor instead, she thought hysterically, that's why it ran away. A very sadistic sense of humor, at that. It ran just to see the comical sight of me scurrying after it.
She also noticed that it was a big dog, had no collar and was jet black. Still, it was well cared for with a gleaming coat and a smooth, lean body. Maybe it was one of those dogs that watched the sheep at night and fought off wolves, she thought.
Then she checked herself; there are no wolves in Britain nowadays. She gave a little laugh at the irony of that.
The dog looked her over, up and down and seemed to be thinking very hard.
That was it, the girl now was sure that she had sweated out too much essential salts and she was hallucinating -
"Dogs just don't look people up and down, they smell people's crotches." she thought out loud.
"And I smell enough for him to know me intimately by now just from standing upwind." She said, sniffing at her armpits and wrinkling up her nose at the smell.
The dog grinned - no, dogs can't grin, the girl thought, frustrated with her own mind, and mentally telling the buzz to get stuffed, it was more annoying than ever, telling her just a bit more to the right...
The dog seemed to come to some sort of conclusion, as it got up and started trotting down the road. The tramper stood still, too tired to go on any further bellowed hoarsely and desperately
"Hey! Don't leave me! I can't jog anymore you stupid mutt!"
And suddenly burst into tears again.
The dog stopped, looked back over his shoulder, and ran back to the girl bawling in the middle of the road. He ran straight up to her, looked her in the eye, turned around and started walking solemnly down the road once again, tail held high.
The girl, too tired to argue with her own mind and point out that this was totally stupid, took this as some sort of sign and, too exhausted to even cry anymore, trudged after the dog. (Much to the pleasure of the buzz in her mind, which was now doing the Can-can)
So yes, there is obviously more to come, and I would really really appreciate some reviews pleeze! Really, even just a few words!