Disclaimer: ok ok...I know that: Harry Potter, names, characters and
related indicia are copyright and trademark Warner Bros. But don't sue me,
I'm not doing this for money I'm doing this just so that my mom can yell at
me that I should torn of the computer and do my homework. I know very well
that J.K. Rowling is the one that created the characters I'm just borrowing
them to see what I can do with them.
Also I have used lyrics that also don't belong to me so don't sue for that
either.
Evanescence-Going Under, The Rasmus-In the Shadows, Him- Heartache Every
Moment.
And Supercalifragilisticexpialidocious from Marry Poppins.
Quinn of Chaos
CHAPTER I Summer at the Dursleys
It was a normal summer day; actually a normal summer night. All the houses on Privet Drive had their lights turned off. Everybody was sleeping except, a 15-16 year old boy, in the dormitory of house number 4. His name was Harry Potter.
He was a tall boy, thin, on the verge of being extremely skinny. His black hair was ruffled with no chance of ever taming up. Through his glasses (repaired more than once by his best friend Hermione Granger, who, more than once, suspected of being his lover, although it wasn't true) were bright green eyes (everybody said were just like his mothers, unlike the rest of his features, that were obviously those of his father).
Less than a year ago, the likeness to his father would have made him very proud, but now he wasn't so sure. After finding out certain things about his fathers past, specifically when he was 16, just like Harry had been for the last five or six minutes or so. But still found he could not think badly of his father. After all, both his parents had sacrificed their lives for him in an attempt to save him from Lord Voldemort, an attempt that, against all odds ,actually worked.
Harry was still here, unlike so many others that had faced the Dark Lord; he was The-Boy-Who-Lived. But this encounter had left traces on him, the most visible being the scar on his forehead, now masked by his messy hair but it wasn't the only one. There were wounds that were deeper than that, and that only recently, with the Dark Lords' revival, were coming to the surface.
But in this house he was protected from all that, in more than one way. Voldemort could not get him here; in exchange he could not get any information of real use from his friends. Even after Dudley's little encounter with the dementors, wizards still didn't exist, according to his uncle and the neighbours, excepting Mrs. Figg; the lightning bolt scar was from the car crush in which his parents, supposable drunk, had died. This theory kept ringing in his head, especially after all the times Aunt Marge had said it in the last past week during her visit. Thank goodness she was leaving tomorrow. Harry thought it was about the best birthday present he had ever received from the Dursley.
He was sitting by the window, looking at the monotonous rows of houses outside. He was sixteen now. Only about a month more and he would be back to school. In the past this used to brighten him up, but now Hogwarts seemed to have lost all its charm on him.
Far in the horizon he could see a strange shape moving straight towards him. When it got close enough he was able to recognize it as his owl, Hedwig. She was bringing him mail. This had a slightly cheering effect on him. Although he was used to sending a letter to the members of the Order almost daily, and would talk to Mrs. Figg regularly, he did not receive as many letters as he sent. The last letter he had received, in fact, was the one from Hogwarts with his OWL results; it had been surprisingly cheerful.
He had gotten passing marks at everything, excepting Divination, where he miserably failed. And if this wasn't enough, the 'O' in potions had to top it all; he could not even think what McGonagall had have to do to make sure he would be able to follow Auror training after leaving the Hogwarts. Although, now that he thought about it, he wasn't so glad; after all, this meant that he had to endure two more years of Snapes' sarcasm, which he did not think humanly possible.
The owl flew through the window and landed on the window ledge. Harry took the package attached to her foot and after gave her a treat before putting her in her cage. He opened the note attached to the parcel. The paper was covered in Hermiones tiny neat handwriting.
Dear Harry, Happy birthday! (hope it's not too early). Can't wait to see you. And if you are already fuming and would like to send me a howler, I want to tell you that I'm not there, only Ron is. And I know you don't like books but the potions book I send you will help you a lot.
Best wishes,
Hermione
The mention of potions made him more than reluctant to open the package, but still, it was a gift, so he tore the package with little enthusiastism. As he looked at the book's cover, he found it wasn't a potions book, but a Quidditch one. What was the world heading for? Hermione joking?
He was awakened back to reality by a thud on the window and a greyish feathery thingy landing on the floor in a mess. When was this old thing going to die, Harry muttered. It looked like a big grey zombie. He placed the still unconscious Errol next to Hedwig and picked up Ron's mail.
Harry mate, Hope you're still ok. Don't know when they're rescuing you, but hang on, it's not like they'll leave you there all summer. Things are strange lately; don't know what else to say. Can't wait to see you and Hermione. Hope you'll like the present. Although be careful, it's a new invention of my brothers, you'd better wait till you get here otherwise you might have problems with magic use again.
Till soon,
Ron
Typically Ron, send him a present that he couldn't use. Well this was all; no more letters or notes, not even a cake. Lousy birthday, just like every year. He finally got into bed; it was late, and he still had to get up at some time tomorrow. Maybe if he was lucky Aunt Marge would be gone already when he got up. He only hoped that at least on his birthday his nightmares would stop hunting him. He closed his eyes and fell asleep.
Quinn of Chaos
CHAPTER I Summer at the Dursleys
It was a normal summer day; actually a normal summer night. All the houses on Privet Drive had their lights turned off. Everybody was sleeping except, a 15-16 year old boy, in the dormitory of house number 4. His name was Harry Potter.
He was a tall boy, thin, on the verge of being extremely skinny. His black hair was ruffled with no chance of ever taming up. Through his glasses (repaired more than once by his best friend Hermione Granger, who, more than once, suspected of being his lover, although it wasn't true) were bright green eyes (everybody said were just like his mothers, unlike the rest of his features, that were obviously those of his father).
Less than a year ago, the likeness to his father would have made him very proud, but now he wasn't so sure. After finding out certain things about his fathers past, specifically when he was 16, just like Harry had been for the last five or six minutes or so. But still found he could not think badly of his father. After all, both his parents had sacrificed their lives for him in an attempt to save him from Lord Voldemort, an attempt that, against all odds ,actually worked.
Harry was still here, unlike so many others that had faced the Dark Lord; he was The-Boy-Who-Lived. But this encounter had left traces on him, the most visible being the scar on his forehead, now masked by his messy hair but it wasn't the only one. There were wounds that were deeper than that, and that only recently, with the Dark Lords' revival, were coming to the surface.
But in this house he was protected from all that, in more than one way. Voldemort could not get him here; in exchange he could not get any information of real use from his friends. Even after Dudley's little encounter with the dementors, wizards still didn't exist, according to his uncle and the neighbours, excepting Mrs. Figg; the lightning bolt scar was from the car crush in which his parents, supposable drunk, had died. This theory kept ringing in his head, especially after all the times Aunt Marge had said it in the last past week during her visit. Thank goodness she was leaving tomorrow. Harry thought it was about the best birthday present he had ever received from the Dursley.
He was sitting by the window, looking at the monotonous rows of houses outside. He was sixteen now. Only about a month more and he would be back to school. In the past this used to brighten him up, but now Hogwarts seemed to have lost all its charm on him.
Far in the horizon he could see a strange shape moving straight towards him. When it got close enough he was able to recognize it as his owl, Hedwig. She was bringing him mail. This had a slightly cheering effect on him. Although he was used to sending a letter to the members of the Order almost daily, and would talk to Mrs. Figg regularly, he did not receive as many letters as he sent. The last letter he had received, in fact, was the one from Hogwarts with his OWL results; it had been surprisingly cheerful.
He had gotten passing marks at everything, excepting Divination, where he miserably failed. And if this wasn't enough, the 'O' in potions had to top it all; he could not even think what McGonagall had have to do to make sure he would be able to follow Auror training after leaving the Hogwarts. Although, now that he thought about it, he wasn't so glad; after all, this meant that he had to endure two more years of Snapes' sarcasm, which he did not think humanly possible.
The owl flew through the window and landed on the window ledge. Harry took the package attached to her foot and after gave her a treat before putting her in her cage. He opened the note attached to the parcel. The paper was covered in Hermiones tiny neat handwriting.
Dear Harry, Happy birthday! (hope it's not too early). Can't wait to see you. And if you are already fuming and would like to send me a howler, I want to tell you that I'm not there, only Ron is. And I know you don't like books but the potions book I send you will help you a lot.
Best wishes,
Hermione
The mention of potions made him more than reluctant to open the package, but still, it was a gift, so he tore the package with little enthusiastism. As he looked at the book's cover, he found it wasn't a potions book, but a Quidditch one. What was the world heading for? Hermione joking?
He was awakened back to reality by a thud on the window and a greyish feathery thingy landing on the floor in a mess. When was this old thing going to die, Harry muttered. It looked like a big grey zombie. He placed the still unconscious Errol next to Hedwig and picked up Ron's mail.
Harry mate, Hope you're still ok. Don't know when they're rescuing you, but hang on, it's not like they'll leave you there all summer. Things are strange lately; don't know what else to say. Can't wait to see you and Hermione. Hope you'll like the present. Although be careful, it's a new invention of my brothers, you'd better wait till you get here otherwise you might have problems with magic use again.
Till soon,
Ron
Typically Ron, send him a present that he couldn't use. Well this was all; no more letters or notes, not even a cake. Lousy birthday, just like every year. He finally got into bed; it was late, and he still had to get up at some time tomorrow. Maybe if he was lucky Aunt Marge would be gone already when he got up. He only hoped that at least on his birthday his nightmares would stop hunting him. He closed his eyes and fell asleep.