Of Aerials and Back flips
Written by: Knight Honor
Beta: no one, unless you count my dog
E-mail: Harry stayed with the Dursley's for only a few minutes. Adopted by a Yank family, Harry lives in Missouri with his family and friends. A track star, Harry or Michael, is comfortable with his life. But when his older sister loses a cheerleader on the varsity squad, Michael 'tries' out unknowingly and slightly unwillingly. When the varsity cheer squad wins at States, the coach rewards them with a trip to the good ol' United Kingdom. So who's this James Potter clone walking around downtown London? To the desperate wizarding world and Order of the Phoenix, this is nothing but a god-send miracle.
Disclaimer: The characters of Harry Potter belong to J.K. Rowling, the amazing literary genius. Any unidentifiable characters are of my own creation and belong to me. The idea for this story belongs to me as well. I do not take plagiarism well.
A/N: This story was an idea I had pop into my brain one day. My dad has been nagging me to do something besides read fanfiction and actually write something. So here I am. I would appreciate reviews and constructive criticism and feedback. Flames and reviews are welcome. I am here to write and to entertain. Thank you for reading this.
Anon!
Chapter One
In Where We Meet The-Boy-Who-Lived
October 31, 1989. A house lay destroyed, a family dead with no chance to raise the child they had, and a murderer gone. Godric's Hollow lay empty and quiet, its few inhabitants unaware of the death and destruction that had happened around them. All that remained of the quiet little cottage that had contained a small family raising their one child was ash and blackened brick.
Two bodies lay dead within, a man whose dark raven hair matched perfectly with the household and a woman with bright red hair that contrasted deeply with the blackness. Their eyes were open in horror, testament to the murderer's dark deeds.
Not a sound was heard throughout the remains of the cottage and not a whisper of wind dared to disturb this household that had become a graveyard. Death was among the ruins and echoed over the silence. A faint glowing green mark decorated the sky above the cottage, evil emitting from its very countenance. A skull's maw opened to allow a poisonous serpent of eerie green light to crawl through and around. The serpent's tongue poked in and out of its mouth, poison dripping from its fangs, the same way its real life counterpart would have done.
It was a mark of evil, and any who saw it would remember it forever, the mark branded in their minds as they tried to escape the horrors of the murder. Yet, throughout the years that would follow, the family would slowly fade from their mind, and no one in the tiny hamlet of Godric's Hollow would remember a family by the name of Potter.
The sky began to lighten slightly, the grey dawn slowly appearing. The star's lights were dimming, and slowly the serpent began to fade as well. The tiny town was awakening, but would soon stop in horror at the destruction of the tiny little cottage and the murder of the couple.
James Potter was a friendly man who loved children and teaching said children the best ways to prank someone. A tall, thin man, with his dark hair and mischievous brown eyes, he had all the small town's young women swooning over him. There were only two things that stopped the girls from swarming over the poor young man: a marriage band and Lily Potter, late of the Evans family.
Lily Potter was a fiery redhead with a short fuse to a long temper. Her brilliant green eyes and bright red hair was a dead giveaway in the village of brunettes and blondes. Her cookies and sweets were famous among the children, and their was always a child hanging around the place with a sticky face or fingers.
It was very much obvious the two were in love. Lily's eyes would light up every time James came into the conversation and her husband would stare dreamily into the distance when his wife's name was mentioned. The young couple had a child, but people rarely saw him. What was his name…..Harrison? Harold? Harley? Not that it mattered any more; the family was dead and so was the boy.
Gravel crunched underfoot and the silence was broken. The stars were disappearing one by one and the dawn was nearer. Sobs broke the silence as a giant of a man walked the steps up to the door……..what was left of the door.
A large and grizzled man, his black beard hid all but two beetle-black eyes which glittered as brightly as the stars with unshed tears. He sniffled them back as best he could but two shining trails made their ways down his face.
His approach to the door was stalled as he stopped, pulled a large spotted handkerchief out of his pocket, blew his nose with the sound of a sick trumpet and stuffed back into his pocket. His name was Rubeus Hagrid.
He bit back a howl of sadness as he entered the ruined household and took in the destruction. The small cottage was almost entirely destroyed, a small standing portion of the second floor and a bit of the stairs were all that was left of the top floor. Black ash and brick littered what had been a wood floor; scorches scattered across the walls. The furniture had been broken in what appeared to be a fight and what had started a small fire. Hot ashes still burned slightly near James's…….body.
The lower floor mostly destroyed, the second floor didn't fair well either. Moaning slightly, the giant turned to the stairs. Shuffled footsteps groaned across the weak floorboards while the giant hurried up the steps, wary of falling through. He turned the corner and stopped all thoughts of the Potter family dead gone from his mind.
Lily lay there, her body crumpled and broken, like a rag doll that could be thrown carelessly down, heedless of its life. Her red hair fanned around her and emerald eyes stared blankly at the sky. Even in death, she was beautiful, but beauty could do nothing to diminish the look of grief, horror, and pain across her face.
Behind her, a black robe was crumpled and stained; apparently all that was left of the murderer. Gray ash sprinkled the robes: all that was left of the body. An ebony wand lay on the floor next to the robes, cracked and broken into two. A red feather appeared to be glimmering in the remains of the wand.
But that was not stopped Hagrid. He had been told there were probably no survivors yet he had come out of loyalty. Lily Potter, who was once called Lily Evans, had been a treasured friend. When the two had first met in Lily's first year, he a groundskeeper and she an excited and adventurous first year; the two had immediately clicked and she had visited him every weekend. She had come less and less as she had grown older and began to date, but they stayed the best of friends.
Loyal to a fault, with an Irish temper and bloody good right hook, it was no wonder she had stuck to her friends and defended those in her school house with fists or blackmail. A ruthless defender, she was not one to cross. She had made him promise that if anything happened to her or James, he would come and rescue Harry. Hagrid had refused, saying nothing would happen. But when Lily broke down into tears, pleading with her heart on her sleeve, he could do nothing but promise he would IF anything did happen.
He had kept that promise and had come. Just a few feet away from his mum's body, little Harry Potter waved his fist in the air from his bassinet, cooing at the visitor. Tears shed uncontrolled down the giant's face as he took in the baby's smiling face. Stepping over his mother's body, Hagrid bent over the red and gold crib, (Gryffindor colors; how like James and Lily, he would have smiled if not for the situation.) and looked at the child.
One year old Harry Potter was an exact replica of his father. The same rumpled black hair that always stuck up in the back, the sparkling eyes, and he already had the infamous 'Marauders' grin. The only difference was he had his mother's eyes, the bright emerald green that had captivated James Potter eight years ago when he first met his future wife on the Hogwarts Express.
Shaking horribly, the giant placed his hands around the child's body and lifted, careful to keep one hand underneath the head. A dark green blanket was wrapped around the child, the same color as his eyes.
Hagrid moved to leave the room when he stopped. Breath hitched in his throat as black eyes stared at the boy's forehead.
A lightning bolt. Bloody and still fresh, a lightning bolt had been carved onto his forehead. By what? The giant wondered but there were more pressing things to worry about. Daylight was rising soon and the muggles would awaken and would be crawling over the ruins and he needed little Harry Potter out of Godric's Hollow to Professor Dumbledore as soon as possible.
With a last teary look, Rubeus Hagrid whispered good-bye and left the household, crumbling in his wake. A sound like a shotgun rose out of the silence and to the bewilderment of many night birds and the few morning birds awake, a motorcycle rose off the ground and into the dawn sky.
Around the world, unbeknownst to the little boy that fell asleep over Bristol on the flying motorcycle, witches and wizards raised their glasses high and toasted Harry Potter, The-Boy-Who-Lived.
Albus Dumbledore stood at the entry sign of Privet Drive, very patiently for one who had been standing their for an hour. It had been a chilly night and the grey dawn was not pleasant.
Privet Drive was a muggle neighborhood, muggle meaning a person with no magical ability and is not a witch or wizard. Why would the greatest wizard of the century be standing in a muggle neighborhood at five in the morning, no knew why. And no one cared to ask why. Everyone was still asleep. Yet the question could simply be answered with, "For Harry Potter."
As it was, Dumbledore was indeed waiting for Harry Potter, but how Harry Potter would arrive there would be the true question. Indeed, Harry was just a baby. How would he arrive to a muggle neighborhood near the outstretches of London at five in the morning with no transportation available to the child?
Simple. Hagrid was bringing him. A normal person would shrug and move on; it wasn't any of their business why should they care. For anyone associated with Dumbledore or the wizarding world would flinch and try to nod and smile. Rubeus Hagrid was reliable, Dumbledore trusted him with his life, but he was a bumbling, clumsy, lovable, giant who still needed to be taught how to keep secrets.
A long purple cloak swirled in the breeze. Dressed outlandishly, even for a wizard, Albus Dumbledore did not fit in. High heeled buckled boots, long purple robes with bell like sleeves, and a long silver beard that could be tucked into his belt. Twinkling blue eyes hid behind the cover of glasses and a hood was pulled up over his silver-white hair. An abnormal fetish for muggle sweets, the smell of lemon drops was heavy on his breath.
Said twinkling eyes were twinkling even more madly at tabby pussy cat that was currently sitting on a brick wall to his left. Grey and orange with black spots around its eyes in the shapes of squares, a parody of the square glasses the woman wore in real life. The tabby narrowed its eyes and twitched its tail angrily. Stone cold, a freezing morning, a stakeout that had been lasting a few hours longer than planned, and no morning coffee; this was not a happy woman.
Minerva McGonagall was an animagus with a tabby cat form. An animagus was a wizard folk who had the ability and power to change themselves into an animal form that reflected their habits and personality. A stiff woman and even more strict as a teacher, Minerva had no clue why Dumbledore insisted on her being present for this event. Surely he could handle this himself. Albus was a grown wizard and the greatest of the century since Voldemort had been destroyed by Harry Potter just last night, and lost his parents in the process.
The tabby mewed softly and sadly. Lily and James had been two of her favorite students. Hiding behind a façade of discipline and stern anger, Minerva had laughed until tears came into her eyes every time James and his friends, the infamous 'Marauders', had pranked the Slytherin house or one of the teachers. When he had become infatuated with Lily and she turned him down every time, Minerva had to turn around to hide giggles.
Lily had turned out be a miniature clone of Minerva with an eagerness to learn about magic that seemed to walk the thin line of obsession. The teachers had been happy to help her but the repercussions had been great for her eagerness. The Marauders had begun to prank her for showing them up in class and the Slytherins' were all over for being a 'mudblood'. Just thinking about the insult made her blood boil. Lily had almost crumbled once or twice under the strain of her classmates and her overworking, but with a push or two in the right direction from herself and Nurse Pompfrey who dispensed valuable wisdom when she was asked, Lily had made quite a few miraculous comebacks.
The whole fight between her and James had cleared up as soon as she came back from summer after fifth year. Apparently, the Irish witch had gone through a late growth spurt and puberty at the same time. No longer the small witch with big dreams in a small body, Lily Evans had come back as a fiery vixen with quite a few 'assets' that had many of the boys, including a few in Slytherin, that had made themselves fools the first few days until they had learned the rule that would protect them from quite a few nasty hexes she had studied over the summer: don't touch me, don't talk to me, don't bother me.
As soon as Lily had stumbled across James' compartment, he had fallen head over heels over the girl. The poor boy didn't know what hit him as she had left him broken to pick up the pieces of his heart. Soon after, James had sworn in front of everyone at dinner in the Great Hall that he would one day have Lily Evans as his girlfriend and later his future wife. Many girls swooned over how romantic that was, but Lily just sat their as cool as you could be without batting an eyelash and turned quietly to her neighbor and asked them to please pass the potatoes; as if this was just a daily occurrence. James was crushed.
Minerva's whiskers drooped. The two had finally had become a couple in middle of seventh year when they had become Head Boy and Head Girl and had to (were forced to by Albus when they had started a duel in the middle of the Great Hall over some insignificant thing) live in a private Head dorm room.
She would miss them so much. Her stern brown eyes turned back to Albus who seemed to be staring at the sky for some strange reason. Turning her eyes to the heavens, Minerva saw nothing out of the ordinary. Grey clouds darkened the horizon and dawn had come, turning the sky into lovely shades of rose and gold; nothing wrong with a seemingly innocent sky. While she couldn't see anything and she doubted Albus could either, she heard something: a faint roaring noise niggling in the back of her ears.
She twitched a few times; irritated that Albus hadn't announced anything. Narrowing brown eyes, Minerva shifted and in the place of the tabby, a stern looking woman dressed in grey-green robes sat on the cold stone, clearly upset and unhappy. She smoothed her robes into place, and refastened a brooch that decorated her collar. Stern brown eyes were hid by the square glasses that had been imitated in her cat form. A pursed mouth and drawn brows showed that Minerva McGonagall was not a happy woman. Nor a happy witch.
Which was exactly what she was. Minerva was a witch and Albus was a wizard. The two belonged to a secret society of wizards and witches that hid themselves from muggles, non-magical folk, and lived their own lives separate from them. She was a teacher at a magical school and taught Transfiguration, a wizarding ability that was accomplished with the help of a wand that allowed the user to transform objects or people into different forms. Albus Dumbledore was the headmaster of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, the school that Minerva taught at.
The sound grew louder still and Minerva became worried. What if the muggles woke up before they should? What then? How would they be able to explain to a neighborhood of muggles that they were merely leaving a small one year old boy on the doorsteps of complete strangers in hopes that they will raise him and give him back at the age of eleven while in the mean time, raise the boy like a son and tell him of his past and about his parents and give him what little information they knew about his world? She snorted. Not even the Marauders would be able to come with an excuse for that one—and she had heard plenty of them in the seven years that she had taught them.
Minerva turned her head back to Albus and the growing sound. "Er, Albus," she paused, unnerved at the way her voice seemed to echo in the somewhat silence. "What is that sound?" she waited for an answer and was surprised to receive one. The headmaster was infamous for keeping information silent only to spring it out when you least expect it.
"Why my dear Minerva," he said in a patronizing tone, like one would use with a little child when the something was obvious. She bristled; she was a child no longer and had not been one for over…..well, many years. He continued on, oblivious to the glare he was receiving from his staff member. "I would think it would be obvious." His eyes reached an all time high twinkling. "Hagrid has arrived."
And true enough, Hagrid had indeed arrived. Wide brown eyes betrayed a usually calm woman with shock and fear in them. From the sky were the sound had been growing louder for the past few minutes, Rubeus Hagrid was on a flying motorcycle with a bundle of cloth in the crook of his arm. Minerva could only guess that the bundle was Harry Potter.
Albus strode forward, grinning madly as Hagrid began to descend, his beard flying in the breeze the motorcycle was generating. The giant lowered to the ground, the noise unbearably loud. Minerva had her ears covered and shot a look of fear at the houses, but not one of them showed the signs of waking muggles. Trust Dumbledore to think of everything: a Silencio spell had been cast when she was not paying attention. At the moment, the inhabitants were still asleep and had not heard any of the commotion that was currently happening in the block below.
Turning back to the commotion, Minerva hurried to the giant and the wizard who carried a most precious burden. "'E fell asleep o' Bristol, 'eadmaster." Hagrid was telling the ancient wizard, " No one was awake when we left." The shaggy giant looked at the precious burden he held in his arms and reluctantly handed the boy over to the headmaster.
The headmaster nodded as if he was listening, "Good, that's good Hagrid." He muttered and turned his eyes to the babe. Blue eyes stopped twinkling and stared at the sleeping child in his arms. Torn from his parents so young and in such a horrible way; grief ripped through his soul but there was nothing he could do here.
"Minerva," his voice was loud enough for the two to hear but not much. "Is the letter ready?" The transfiguration teacher gulped visibly and held up a parchment envelope in shaky fingers.
The ancient wizard shook his head. "Not much time. Hagrid will you hold onto him for a moment? Thank you. Minerva, over here please, I'll need your assistance for this spell." Robotic like, the woman moved over to Hagrid and Albus, in slight disbelief that this ordinary looking boy had vanquished the Dark Lord that had terrorized the wizarding world for who knew how many years. If someone had told her yesterday morning that Voldemort would be killed by a one year old boy, she would have laughed herself sick and then sent that person to Madame Pomfrey to be checked over. Killed indeed! And by a one year old child.
Minerva shook her head mournfully. Poor child, growing up with no parents and these muggles who knew nothing of the wizarding world; he would live a hard life. "Albus, are you sure we should be doing this? There's plenty of other family's out there who would be willing to adopt him-," she was cut off as the wise man shook his head. "No Minerva, it has to be this way. Now if you would please hand me your wand." Minerva didn't argue and handed over her wand. The headmaster turned and stared at the boy held, rather possessively, in Hagrids arms.
The giant looked suspicious at the wand the Headmaster held but didn't speak of it. Headmaster Dumbledore was a great man and his motives didn't need to be questioned.
Albus stared at the boy. This was it. In one spell, his life would be changed and he would grow up another nameless muggle, never knowing his past or parents, never knowing how he received that scar. That scar. Just a simple lighting bolt, made with a simple cut but it would hold more meaning to the wizarding world than any one would ever know. He frowned; dried blood surrounded the cut on the boy's forehead and the scar itself had healed slightly into a dark angry red. Hagrid seemed to know the focus of the headmasters frown. "Sorry Professor, tried to clean it off best I could," Albus shook his head. "It's quite alright Hagrid. It won't interfere with the spell." Reaching into his robes, he drew out his own wand. A wand in each hand, the greatest wizard of the age began a complicated spell that if done incorrectly would………..have drastic consequences to say the least.
Muttered words and complicated gestures left shining runes and sigils over the boys head. Minerva and Hagrid tensed. Whatever magic Albus Dumbledore was using was not something they were familiar with. The glowing symbols came faster and more often. Sweat beaded the forehead of the ancient wizard as the wand moved faster and faster, binding the boy to something, some force. Then, as if by some unheard command, Dumbledore stopped and moved away, breathing heavily from the exertion.
Ancient runes floated over the boy until they gently faded into his skin. They glowed briefly, like accepting their fate was to be inside the boy's body. Albus sighed with relief. To get one rune wrong, to move at the incorrect time, not only would they have all died but the surrounding neighborhoods for at least three miles would have been destroyed by the potency of the magic.
Hagrid and Minerva looked fearfully at him, worried at his health. His face was gray and beads of sweat littered it. He swayed fearfully before Minerva caught him and held him upright.
"Thank you my dear, I must have overexerted myself." He said politely before straitening himself. Minerva was furious. "Overexerted yourself!" she exploded, and none too quietly. "Albus your magic levels are near nothing and you look half dead! Just wait till Poppy gets to yo-"
"Minerva enough." Albus said firmly, "We must be leaving and this is not the time or place to be giving me a lecture." The wizard looked at the half-giant before him who carried little Harry Potter gently as if he was a china figurine. He almost seemed to be with pale skin inherited from Lily and the messy black mop of hair that Albus predicted would never lie straight he received from his father. The witch's mouth shut with a snap but he received a withering glare that promised him a speech he would never forget.
He sighed heavily. "Please Minerva, not now. Hagrid, give me Harry." His arms reached out expectantly. Hagrid handed him over reluctantly, giving the boy one last hug and caress. White hot tears welled up as he watched the headmaster wrap Harry more securely and tuck the letter with the babe. He couldn't help it; Harry was the last bit of Lily left in this world and here he was being sentenced to a life living with those….muggles and wouldn't be able to see him till he got his letter….he howled.
"Poor 'Ar-ar-ary, living with those mu-ggg-lesss and alone in the world without his Mum or D-a-a-ad," he sobbed heavily. Minerva patted his arm sympathetically and held a handkerchief for the poor man to use. The giant took it gratefully; wiping his eyes and then blew his nose with a sound akin to a fog horn.
"Hagrid enough," Dumbledore ordered and making his way up the perfect walkways of Number Four Privet Drive, sealed Harry Potter's destiny till his eleventh birthday. Reaching the door-painted a rather garish dark pink, but then again were so all the other clone houses- Albus Dumbledore laid Harry on the doorstep, careful not to awaken the sleeping boy. He stood up and straightened himself with a small groan. Minerva had been right(not that he would ever tell her that to her face), and right now, all Albus wanted to do was to return to Hogwarts, eat a few lemon drops, have a nice hot pot of Earl Grey tea, and then sleep for a millennia or two. Maybe three, he would have to decide that after eating his lemon drops.
Moving back, Albus took one last look at the neighborhood before loosening the spell. Trim green yards with rigid flowerbeds and bushes that had been trimmed at a perfect 90 degree angle decorated the front. Each and every house was the same, a duplicate to its neighbor, a clone to one across the street. Painted off-white with the same garish pink the door was as the shutters and trim, each house looked like some sort of china decoration that had been plopped down haphazardly on a bit of green tissue paper.
It gave Albus the collywobbles to see nothing different. Maybe he would put on his favorite ducky-yellow robes as soon as he got to Hogwarts, the ones that Arthur Weasley had gotten him for Christmas a few years ago. Deciding he liked that idea, Albus turned and walked back to the tiny group without looking back.
"Albus, what was that spell?" Minerva whispered; she seemed fearful of someone overhearing which was quite unlikely as no one was on the street and everyone was still asleep.
"A blood-warding spell. He will be safe from anything under these wards which are keyed to his aunt's blood. As long as she lives, he will live also." He neglected to mention that he had cast another spell. On the boys sixteenth birthday, no matter where he was in the world, he would be summoned to the doorstep of Four Privet Drive by an impromptu portkey: his blood. The spell would be canceled out if he was on the house grounds or on Hogwarts itself. Maybe it was an extra precaution; maybe it was something in his subconscious that told him to cast the spell. Whatever it was, Harry now had an extra precaution from any Death Eaters that were trying to gain revenge on the young boy from killing their master.
"But are you sure it is safe? For one so young to have such heavy magic on him could kill him. Are you sure you cast it correctly?" Minerva pressed, anxious to know what Albus could be hiding from them.
"Minerva, if I had cast it incorrectly, we would be dead. He is able to hold the magic, I made sure of it. He has his father's raw power but his mother's skill. Did you see the way the runes were absorbed into his skin? That would not have happened if he was not powerful enough to withstand the magic." He said tiredly. Maybe three millennia was not enough, probably four or five. A dull pounding in the back of his head signified the coming of a migraine. "Now if we may? Hagrid," he turned to the half-giant. "Return to Hogwarts, you've done well tonight."
The giant nodded, not trusting himself to speak. He turned, mounted the motorcycle, and fled into the sky. The wizard turned to his companion. "Minerva, I need you to summon the old crowd for a meeting tonight. No exceptions are allowed, usual time, usual place."
Minerva nodded, turning to leave but swiftly turned around once more. "Albus, will you be alright?" Piercing brown eyes were filled with deep worry and fear for the man she loved but could never have.
The old man nodded tiredly. "I will be fine Minerva. Now please, do what I have asked." he whispered. His face was turned away from the witch. He felt horrible for lying to her but there was some unfinished business he needed to attend to and if she knew what was going on, she would stop him with an immobilizing spell faster than he could say "Lemon Drop."
"Alright Albus. Good-bye." she whispered and turned to disappear in a shift of color. Signing with almost relief but more from exhaustion, Albus turned to look once more at the Dursley home.
He felt the stirring of guilt as he stared at the small bundle on the porch. There was plenty of wizarding families that were willing to adopt Harry--many of them good but quite a few were followers of the Dark Arts-- but something told him in his soul that if he didn't put Harry here, not only would the wizarding world would suffer the repercussions of this act, but the muggle world would feel the wrath of, well, Albus didn't know.
One last look around, and Albus reached into his pocket and withdrew his wand. Waving it in the general direction of the neighborhood, he removed the Silencio spell and a sleep spell. Shifting, he turned to the sunrise. Grey clouds had disappeared allowing the sun its full brightness. Due to the sleep spell, the inhabitants of the neighborhood were behind the times and when woken would believe it was the same time they had fallen asleep and would probably continue to sleep and run late.
With one last wave of his wand, Albus Dumbledore shifted and was gone, leaving Privet Drive empty with only the milkman driving down the road, slightly confused at how late it was in the day when he had just barely begun to put the milk out.
James Bradiarch was a normal ordinary man. He had wife, three kids, and house that he still needed to pay a mortgage on. His youngest daughter needed braces, his wife had bought new parlor furniture set beyond his means to afford it, and his only son had just wrecked the car.
He had a little job with the local milk factory and worked the early shift that no one would take. He had a few side jobs that brought in the extra money needed to cover small things but one thing was clear: he was close to filing bankruptcy if he didn't find $10,000 by the end of the week.
Turning the corner, James parked the small little milk truck and grabbed the racks that held the milk bottles. He slammed the door in the back and made his way to his first stop of the day: 4 Privet Drive.
Making his way up the walk, James paused. The cars were still here, parked in every drive way. It was 7:30 in the morning; shouldn't they be gone by now to work or wherever they went? He shrugged and continued his way; wasn't his business; all he did was deliver the milk.
He continued his way up, ready to retrieve the empty bottles and replace them with fresh, cold milk. What he saw on the doorstep, made him stop in shock. A little baby was wrapped in a blanket sleeping on the 'Welcome' rug.
"Where did you come from little tyke?" he muttered. Dropping the racks on the porch, he leant over and picked up the baby, careful not to jostle it into a noisy, wakeful state. Black tufts of hair poked out from underneath the green blanket. A bloody scar made its way down the babes face, fresh and new. James's blood boiled at the sight. Who would dare hurt a sweet innocent boy? Or girl. He didn't know and would rather not investigate a nappy.
Turning, he stared at the truck and then the door respectively. His job or the tyke's well-being? It was hard choice to make, one that could cost his family their home and life, or to make sure this babe got into the hands of someone who would take care of him.
Turning, James walked out off the doorstep leaving the racks on the porch and probably his job. He couldn't do it; he wasn't that heartless.
James dropped the small boy off at an orphanage and left his name and number where he could be contacted. The lady who ran the orphanage seemed unsurprised at the sight of him carrying a baby he didn't the name of. It was a regular thing, she told him, and taking the babe, turned and dismissed him.
He arrived at the small milk factory ready to collect his belongings and leave as they fired him. It surprised him when the manager had told him that all the milk was to be recalled; apparently the milk had not been fully 'cleaned' and still contained some harmful bacteria. He had been trying to get in contact with James but apparently his radio was out and they had not been able to contact him.
Luck was with him as James was allowed to keep his job and was able to pay off his debt that weekend. Lady Luck continued to stay with him through out his life and James rose through the ranks of middle class. A few bets here and there, a lottery ticket, and James Bradiarch was no longer part of the middle class with a mortgage and bills to pay; he was a millionaire.
Not once however, did he forget the boy he found on the doorstep of that house. Fifteen years later, he would come to regret that decision.
So I totally redid this chapter after I had posted it for the first time. I only received one review and had like 70 people read it. Kind of strange don't you think? So I kind of redid my story slightly in the fact that I went over parts that I thought didn't flow that well. Hopefully this made a great improvement.
I could really use a beta reader. I would prefer for you to have at least some experience writing, if not, a person whose already a beta that would not mind taking on another story. I'm willing to be someone's beta or to read someone's story; I'm just not the greatest in the world at grammar or anything.
Ideas, criticism, or just a plain flame would be most welcome. I however, will not be like those authors who won't update unless they receive a certain amount of reviews. I will update when I have the ability, time, and well, when I'm not being a lazy slob. Thanks for reading this though!
Ta, my loves!
Honor