Desist, Insist, Exist
Hehe I am not really into writing fanfics, but since I don't really have much to do, I shall give writing a chance. Haha. Might as well put my account to good use. ) And well, I don't own Harry Potter.
The Weasleys pulled up to the dilapidated house in their flying car, and slowly landed with a big puff of smoke. Naturally, even when they had made a din the magnitude of a circus troupe, the anti-Muggle magic would ensure that the people nearby could still hear a pin drop.
As always, Hedwig was very obedient in his cage, nuzzling Harry once in a while, but Ron's own owl was restlessly flapping her wings. Ron was sneezing so badly it almost seemed that his freckles were jumping out of his face.
'Dad! Could we not have used floo powder? This stupid owl is making me sneeze like a-a-a…' He never got to finish his sentence as he let out another earth-splitting sneeze. Pigwidgeon seemed to understand what his master had said, and that made it flap its wings even more. Ron grumbled and mumbled as he fumbled his way out of the car. He could not wait to get away from that irritating pet. Besides, all it did was to deliver Howlers from his mother.
In front of them was a big house. In fact, it was no ordinary house. It was something Harry inherited from his godfather: 12 Grimmauld Place. In reality, it really was 'grim-old' place. He pushed open the creaky door that defined the prominent façade of the house, and it was really Black. The house had been constructed from this special type of wood that could only be found in the outer reaches of the world, and heated with the breath of dragons before allowing it to cool. It was definitely grand in its heyday, but well, this was just way past its glorious past. It now just looked like any other cabin that you could find in the woods, just that it looked much more gloomy.
The portrait of his godfather was hanging by the window sill, and light streamed in from the half-drawn curtains. The floorboards rang out like an ensemble whenever you took a step, and the creaking resonated through the house to give the impression of a haunted house. Dust plagued the furniture like it was their playground, and spiders marked their territory as the left their trail shimmering everywhere. Portraits of the whole Black family, trophies, jewellery, they were all there in their virgin state. Harry shuddered as he walked through the house – nothing seemed to feel right. Apparently, it was as plain as day that the house hadn't been lived in for very long, and his uncle was probably telling the truth when he told him he was on the run from He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named.
The Death Eaters eventually caught up with him though, just like Voldemort did with him. As Harry thought of all the time he had spent with his godfather, his scar hurt. It hurt like a red-hot poker was being branded on him again. It throbbed really hard, like there was another living thing in his head.
He was in no mood at all to look at his new property after this. He missed his godfather too much, since he was the only person he could trust. His parents died way too early for his liking, and the Dursleys wouldn't exactly be called treating him well by locking him in closets as and when they like.
He was also far too tired for that. After the term had ended, so much had happened at Hogwarts. Malfoy's weird forays into forbidden places in the school, disappearance of rare reagents from Snape's cupboard (and Snape put him in detention for the whole holidays just because of that), the disappearance of the Golden Snitch, and lastly McGonagall.
And of course, no one really gave a damn except for him. In fact, all the students cheered when McGonagall was gone because that meant free periods for a short time. Hogwarts was seriously understaffed, and Dumbledore did not want to hire any replacement teacher in such a dire situation. He could not risk another of Voldemort's lackeys infiltrating the school.
Actually, he didn't give a damn too. He just happened to be in the right place at the right time. He was cursing himself for being so lucky, but since fate had dealt him a bad hand, he might as well play through it and see what happens.
As it turned out, it was no game at all. In fact, it was like a nightmare. Big time. Harry continued to recall about all the mysterious incidents happening to him and the school, and his chain of thoughts had this mystical effect on him. His scar blazed a bright orange, although he did not feel it, and soon he was sucked into another dimension altogether. He did not even realize this, but the Weasleys back at Grimmauld Place were now staring at his hollow shell slumped on the ground…
To be continued…
A/N: Haha its my first attempt at writing fanfiction. Please review. ) Thanks!