Hi, I'm quite new to fanfiction.net (I've been on for about a month or so),
and this is my first fanfic story. I would really like some CONSTRUCTIVE
(nice is fine, and you could say the negative stuff if you tell me how to
improve) comments about the story. I didn't quite realize that it would
look as short on the actual thing as it's about two whole sheets of A4 on
Word.
The Dog Star
Three swings swayed gently to and fro as the night breeze blew past, lightly, ordinary. The metal slide gleamed in the bright full moonlight, reflecting moving trees as it rustled in the wind.
It was a clear night, calm and peaceful, and no clouds crowded the speckled sky. The village of Little Whinging was still; its villagers probably fast asleep in their beds, with nothing to worry about but overdue payments, dried flowerbeds and whether or not their football team won the match. Simple, uncomplicated Muggle worries.
This was all true, except for one inhabitant, lying on his back in the village park, his ebony black hair crumpled as his head rested on the grass. His bottle green eyes, framed in their spectacles, were deep, troubled eyes that had seen more than his almost sixteen years. His mouth was thin, and he had barely smiled for days, and had seldom talked. But most peculiar of all was the scar on his forehead, telling of his past. The Boy Who Lived.
Harry Potter's eyes reflected the night sky, but he was barely seeing it, and was instead seeing his own thoughts rather than the many jumbled yet organized stars. However, he did notice a large star, larger and brighter than the rest and he stared straight at it. Sirius, the Dog Star.
Earlier that evening, Harry had crept out of 4 Privet Drive, the place he was to spend part of, if not all of his summer. Although he now knew the reason why he had to be there, it still did not make facing Uncle Vernon's purple face, Aunt Petunia's horsy teeth and the Southern England Heavy- weight Boxing Champion (Dudley Dursley)'s complaints about a broken arm and leg any easier. But after the incident involving Mad-Eye Moody's magical eye and a trolley at platform 9 3/4, the Dursley family had taken to ignoring Harry, only feeding him overcooked peas for supper and providing him the basic essentials.
He came out each night to be free from the morbid Muggle world, and to reflect upon things he could not during the never ending hustle and bustle of the daytime. Harry always had his invisibility cloak hidden underneath Dudley's oversized T-shirt which he wore, so that he could prevent himself from being spotted by unsuspecting Muggle policemen, patrolling the area, hoping to catch some poor youngster out one minute after the curfew. Strictly speaking, Harry still had three days to go until his sixteenth birthday, but no one dared approach him anyway, as the rumours of him being mentally disturbed and attended St. Brutus' Secure Centre for Incurably Criminal Boys had spread far and wide throughout the years.
A random passer-by would wonder why this boy is out in the park so late at night. Does no one care about him? The truth was, Harry Potter was a wizard, and the only person known to have survived from Voldemort's killing curse. On the fateful night he lost his parents, Lily and James Potter, he had gained his scar. Since then, Harry had been placed under the care of the wonderful Mr. and Mrs. Dursley, until he was brought to Hogwarts when he was eleven. In his third year, he discovered that he had a godfather, Sirius Black, his father's best friend and innocent convicted murderer and thought he had at last found someone he could rely on. But all this came down to a black veil which was hidden in the depths of the Department of Mysteries, swaying eerily to the voices behind it.
Harry stared straight at the bright star; so much that it became a blur of multicoloured light, as he thought of Sirius: the handsome best man waving at him out of a photograph of his parents' wedding, the large ragged black dog watching him from Magnolia Crescent, the escaped convict of Azkaban prison and a grinning head amidst emerald flames. He then remembered number 12 Grimmauld Place, London, the headquarters of the Order of the Phoenix and the house of Sirius, the last of the Blacks.
A sudden movement nearby startled him. It came from a nearby bush, and rapid footsteps followed it closely behind. Harry quickly reached for his Invisibility cloak, but before he even had the time to put it over himself, there was a large CRACK, and a muttered curse.
He heard a growling voice of "Lumos" and tried hurriedly to hide himself. But underneath his cloak, he realized there was actually no point in doing so, as a frustrated Mad-Eye Moody approached him, his revolving magical eye already seeing through his Invisibility Cloak.
"Come out boy," he heard Mad-Eye say, his wand pointed directly into Harry's face, blinding him, "Come out now, there's no point hiding, I can see you anyway."
Harry pulled the cloak off and shielded the light from his eyes. He walked apprehensively towards Mad-Eye and frowned at him.
"I'm still being followed," he said angrily, "Wasn't that last year's stuff? Are mad ministry officials going to send Dementors after me again? Can't you just leave me alone for a bit?"
Mad-Eye lowered his head slightly and looked into Harry's eyes, "No, not any more, because Lord Voldemort will."
The Dog Star
Three swings swayed gently to and fro as the night breeze blew past, lightly, ordinary. The metal slide gleamed in the bright full moonlight, reflecting moving trees as it rustled in the wind.
It was a clear night, calm and peaceful, and no clouds crowded the speckled sky. The village of Little Whinging was still; its villagers probably fast asleep in their beds, with nothing to worry about but overdue payments, dried flowerbeds and whether or not their football team won the match. Simple, uncomplicated Muggle worries.
This was all true, except for one inhabitant, lying on his back in the village park, his ebony black hair crumpled as his head rested on the grass. His bottle green eyes, framed in their spectacles, were deep, troubled eyes that had seen more than his almost sixteen years. His mouth was thin, and he had barely smiled for days, and had seldom talked. But most peculiar of all was the scar on his forehead, telling of his past. The Boy Who Lived.
Harry Potter's eyes reflected the night sky, but he was barely seeing it, and was instead seeing his own thoughts rather than the many jumbled yet organized stars. However, he did notice a large star, larger and brighter than the rest and he stared straight at it. Sirius, the Dog Star.
Earlier that evening, Harry had crept out of 4 Privet Drive, the place he was to spend part of, if not all of his summer. Although he now knew the reason why he had to be there, it still did not make facing Uncle Vernon's purple face, Aunt Petunia's horsy teeth and the Southern England Heavy- weight Boxing Champion (Dudley Dursley)'s complaints about a broken arm and leg any easier. But after the incident involving Mad-Eye Moody's magical eye and a trolley at platform 9 3/4, the Dursley family had taken to ignoring Harry, only feeding him overcooked peas for supper and providing him the basic essentials.
He came out each night to be free from the morbid Muggle world, and to reflect upon things he could not during the never ending hustle and bustle of the daytime. Harry always had his invisibility cloak hidden underneath Dudley's oversized T-shirt which he wore, so that he could prevent himself from being spotted by unsuspecting Muggle policemen, patrolling the area, hoping to catch some poor youngster out one minute after the curfew. Strictly speaking, Harry still had three days to go until his sixteenth birthday, but no one dared approach him anyway, as the rumours of him being mentally disturbed and attended St. Brutus' Secure Centre for Incurably Criminal Boys had spread far and wide throughout the years.
A random passer-by would wonder why this boy is out in the park so late at night. Does no one care about him? The truth was, Harry Potter was a wizard, and the only person known to have survived from Voldemort's killing curse. On the fateful night he lost his parents, Lily and James Potter, he had gained his scar. Since then, Harry had been placed under the care of the wonderful Mr. and Mrs. Dursley, until he was brought to Hogwarts when he was eleven. In his third year, he discovered that he had a godfather, Sirius Black, his father's best friend and innocent convicted murderer and thought he had at last found someone he could rely on. But all this came down to a black veil which was hidden in the depths of the Department of Mysteries, swaying eerily to the voices behind it.
Harry stared straight at the bright star; so much that it became a blur of multicoloured light, as he thought of Sirius: the handsome best man waving at him out of a photograph of his parents' wedding, the large ragged black dog watching him from Magnolia Crescent, the escaped convict of Azkaban prison and a grinning head amidst emerald flames. He then remembered number 12 Grimmauld Place, London, the headquarters of the Order of the Phoenix and the house of Sirius, the last of the Blacks.
A sudden movement nearby startled him. It came from a nearby bush, and rapid footsteps followed it closely behind. Harry quickly reached for his Invisibility cloak, but before he even had the time to put it over himself, there was a large CRACK, and a muttered curse.
He heard a growling voice of "Lumos" and tried hurriedly to hide himself. But underneath his cloak, he realized there was actually no point in doing so, as a frustrated Mad-Eye Moody approached him, his revolving magical eye already seeing through his Invisibility Cloak.
"Come out boy," he heard Mad-Eye say, his wand pointed directly into Harry's face, blinding him, "Come out now, there's no point hiding, I can see you anyway."
Harry pulled the cloak off and shielded the light from his eyes. He walked apprehensively towards Mad-Eye and frowned at him.
"I'm still being followed," he said angrily, "Wasn't that last year's stuff? Are mad ministry officials going to send Dementors after me again? Can't you just leave me alone for a bit?"
Mad-Eye lowered his head slightly and looked into Harry's eyes, "No, not any more, because Lord Voldemort will."