Disclaimer: I do not own Annie or Harry Potter. No, this is not a crossover. AN on bottom.
"Oh, tomorrow, tomorrow, I love ya, tomorrow, you're always a DAY A-WAY...Oh TOMORROW, TOMORROW.."
"You know, Aurthur, I really am loving these new muggle devices...whatdoyoucallem...telle...tello...telephones? No...that's not it.." Molly Weasley flushed and smiled at her husband.
"Teleportations, sweetie," He answers, not really sure of the answer himself.
"Televisions. They're called televisions; a form of entertainment for muggles. Teleportation is a muggle term, often used in Science Fiction-" Percy, sitting in the corner, deeply immersed in a deeply boring book, From Prefect to Perfect: How to Become Successful in 30 days, speaks up from the corner, before being interrupted by the notorious Weasley twins.
"Perce," George starts.
"Perfect Percy," Bill says.
"PERFECT Percy,"
"PURRRFECT Percy,"
"Perfect Idiot!" Ginny comes around the corner and proceeds in attempting to throttle Bill.
Molly frowned, about to say something, though inside she was smiling. It was nice to see the family back together. It was nice to know some things never change, even if those things were teasing her third-oldest son. However, her thoughts were interrupted by Ron.
"MUM! Mum! 'Mione needs 'a hamburger', and I have no idea what the heck that is," He said. Molly smiled at her youngest son. He was about to be a father, and was giving himself near panic-attacks every time Hermione, his wife, got morning sickness, cramps, or cravings.
"Just give her some leftover steak and bread; that should be good," she responds, and leans back into the comfortable couch.
"It's always a DAY A-WAYYYY!"
Sniffle. Sob.
Turning to see who was hurt, Molly immediately finds little James Sirius Potter, Harry and Ginny's firstborn boy, crying. Why is he crying - it was such a happy movie, Molly wonders.
"Gamma?" The normally-energetic four year old asks.
"Yes, darling?" Molly enfolds his slight form in a tight embrace.
"W...what happen' to...the o'fer chil'ren?" He whispers, his voice barley audible.
"What other children?" If Molly Weasley knew anything about little children, it was that they had to talk their problems out.
"The ones...who don'...get adopted?" He hugs Molly tighter, and collapses into another fit of tears. Molly was stunned. What did happen to those kids?
"Well, my grandmother once told me when I was a little girl.." James's luminescent brown orbs were fixed on her. "That hardships can make a sword or break a sword. Though there's a chance of it breaking, if it survives, it comes back stronger. I bet some of those kids who didn't get adopted became some of the greatest wizards ever."
"Thanks, Gamma!" James, once again a little ball of optimism, leaped off the couch and ran to Harry.
An image flashes through Molly's mind.
A young boy, no more than 10, sat on a sagging mattress atop a broken, rusty bed frame. The air smells slightly of smoke, and menacing shadows play on the walls, so scary that most likely even Harry would be a bit on edge. Shouts ring through the air. Devil! Freak! Crazy! Freaky, Crazy Devil! The words fade into the darkness. This is no more than a memory...perhaps even of someone who is past on.
The boy's clothes are old, frayed, and dirty, but creaseless. He wears them like a king wears his robes. His eyes are blue, but with a tint of red - and are dark, not in color, but in essence. They are framed by beautiful eyelashes, but the beauty of them is lost because of the giant, purple-black bags - telltale signs of insomnia. His dark hair is brushed, not a speck out of place. Orphanage, something tells Molly. This is an orphanage.
"One day," the boy whispers, seemingly to the shadows in the room. "One day."
Molly is jolted back into reality. She wasn't even sure what happened.
Epilogue (The part that you don't have to read):
Molly went on with her life. She got more darling grandchildren - Molly, Lucy, Albus, Lily, Victoire, Domonique, Louis, Fred, Roxanne, Hugo, and Rose. She loved them all dearly, and spent as much time with them, as well as her own children and husband.
However, the haunting image of the 'little orphan boy' (as she'd taken to calling him) followed her wherever she went, and Molly couldn't help but wonder:
Who is (er - was) this child, and, like a sword, did he become great or broken - or both?
Voldemort did terrible things, yes, but also great, great things.
She wondered why she always dreamt of that.
She dismissed it as a bit of Post-Traumatic Stress from the war.
And life went on.
I'm going to be very honest: the only reason I came up with this story is because I watched Annie recently and was throughly annoyed about how they portrayed orphans (Siriusly, people!) and started thinking about orphans with bad lives (Started with Charles Dickens, moved on to those orphans that developed emotional problems from not being held enough as babies, and then went to...our dear Tommy Riddle), and then I made a NASA worthy discovery:
Tomorrow..
Tomorrow
TOM IS PART OF THE WORD TOMORROW.
*Brain Explodes*
(That was all sarcasm, by the way)
Now, moving on...
Please review. I really like flames (NO, I am not using reverse psych, WHY would you think that?!)
ANYWAY, I know you're reading this. Please be that person to review. You can make a difference in someone's life...it's only a click away to helping others. (I'm starting to sound like an advertisement.)
I was also wondering how old you guys think I am. I AM NOT GOING TO TELL YOU MY AGE. HOWEVER, I think it would inprove my writing skills to know how old you think I am so I can mature as a person and a writer from there. Thank you. You are amazing. Yes, you.
Feel free to PM me with...anything.
Also...for you people who don't read this...
GO BACK AND READ IT BECAUSE I'M A SLOW TYPER AND THIS TOOK FOREVER.
Also, I put it all at the end, for your connivence (and so you wouldn't get annoyed.)
I'm going to go before this becomes longer than my actual story.
WOTM OUT!