So...this is my HP fanfiction. I'm doing this just to get rid of some boredom, and work off some steam of frustrations—for some reason, I am currently unable to put into words what I want to say for my AE fanfic. (In other words, don't panic, Sic—I'll get around to updating...eventually...)
Disclaimers: Harry Potter and all characters you recognize are not my property, they are the brilliant J.K. Rowling's. Dee is mine (y'all find out who she is), and so is Sean (y'all'll find out about him, too). BTW, this is not likely to be finished, so please don't be disappointed if nothing much comes of this, or even if this is the only chapter I get out. If you don't like it, please don't tell me b/c I don't really care that much. If you do like it, hey, that's grand, but again, it's not likely to be completed.
That's all I have to say for now, so here's the prologue (and first chapter):
Prologue
Everything was cold—colder than snow, colder than ice, colder than outer space. It was the chill of death that permeated his skin and bones, a chill so cold that he could even feel it in his hair.
And there wasn't anything. Just gray in all directions. Gray and ghosts, people long dead and newly dead staring at him from lidless eyes, brushing against his skin, chilling him even further. He could hear their pitiful cries, for mercy, for forgiveness, for help, for information about the living world.
He couldn't answer any of them. All he could do was move away, try and push through them, though his hands passed through them.
All except one.
He looked at that ghost...but she wasn't a ghost.
She wasn't a ghost.
She wasn't a ghost...
She smiled.
Chapter the First
The sound of sirens awoke Harry Potter from his sleep out under the summer sun. It jolted him from dreams filled with flashes of red light and soundless screams, small balding men and evil laughter. Dreams—or rather, nightmares—of his past school year: the school year when he had lost one of his dearest friends and godfather, Sirius Black, an innocent man convicted of murdering thirteen people with one curse and betraying Harry's parents, to their death...
He shook off those melancholy thoughts and sat up, blinking away the last remnants of sleep. The sirens continued, and underneath that he could hear the familiar sound of his cousin's laughter.
Harry sighed and began to lay back down when a door slammed and a woman shouted; she sounded awfully close. The sirens abruptly stopped, and he heard the footsteps of his cousin and friends running away. And then the woman yelled loud enough to wake the dead.
"WHO THE HELL DID THIS??"
Now Harry leapt to his feet. A spurt of excitement went through him; he had a feeling that Dudley and Pals were about to get what they've been asking for. For two years now, the group had been roaming the neighborhood, terrorizing the children and elderly, smoking, drinking, and being royal pains in the ass. Lately they had taken to graffitiing houses and cars; the cops had been called a few times, but for the most part everybody left well enough alone, just stoically going out and washing out or painting over whatever crude words the gang had written. But unless Harry was very much mistaken, the neighborhood's hero had just announced herself.
Eager and curious to see what they had done now, Harry bounded over toward the privacy fence surrounding the Dursley's backyard and hauled himself up in order to see over.
A slightly-smaller-than-average woman, slim as a willow with curly, fiery hair pulled into a ponytail, was literally prowling around what Harry assumed was her yellow Beetle Volkswagon car. She was wearing a sleeveless button-up shirt and well-worn shorts, both showing off pale skin and sleek muscles just defined enough to show that she was no stranger to hard work. Before her bare feet disappeared around the other side of the car, he noticed that her toenails were painted a bright pink. Then her face came into view.
Her lips were pursed together in a look that reminded Harry of his Transfiguration teacher Professor McGonagall, and two spots of red on her pale cheeks showed just how furious she was, and Harry couldn't really blame her. In green, blue, purple, and red spray paint, Dudley and his gang had written incredibly rude words and phrases all over her car.
As if aware that he was studying her and her car, the woman raised her head and met Harry's eyes over the expanse of the car roof and the wooden fence. Her green eyes meet his green eyes, but while his held a kind of fascination, hers were firing sparks of anger.
"I don't suppose by any chance," she asked in a deadly calm voice, "that you know who did this?"
"Probably my cousin Dudley," Harry managed to say.
"And where might he live?" she demanded softly.
"Right here," Harry replied, lifting one hand so she could see him pointing to the house behind him.
Without another word, she whirled and Harry quickly jumped off the fence and went in through the back door, not wanting to miss this for anything. One thing was for sure, she was fast. Harry had barely made it halfway across the kitchen when he heard the doorbell ringing. He stopped in the kitchen doorway, so that he would have a good view down the hallway of the front door. He was unable to help the grin as he saw the red outline of the woman's hair through the glass panels of the door.
She continued to ring the doorbell, and Harry figured she had her finger pressed firmly against the button. Only a few moments later, Harry's Uncle Vernon came hustling out of the living room, shot a snarl in Harry direction—probably for not getting the door—and yanked it open, Harry's Aunt Petunia following and stopping in the living room doorway.
"What the devil is the meaning of this?" Uncle Vernon barked, glaring at the woman standing there.
"You'd better keep a better rein on your son," she said calmly, meeting his gaze without flinching or backing off an inch. "And you tell him I'm expecting him and all his little friends tomorrow morning at seven o'clock sharp, and they'd better be there prepared to scrub off every last fleck of paint they put on my car. And if they don't show up by seven oh one, then by God I'll show up on your doorstep every day at seven oh one until they get that shit off my car."
Aunt Petunia gasped in the doorway. The woman's gaze briefly flicked over her, and then back to Vernon, who seemed to be temporarily speechless. When he finally found his voice, just as she was turning away, it came out in a snarl that slowly turned her around. Harry had the distinct impression she was holding on to her temper by a thread.
"What do you mean, my son?"
"I mean your son, as in the flesh of your body," she eyed that body with barely curbed contempt as she spoke coldly, "who happened to write the words 'goddamn bitch' and 'fucking cunt' on my car."
Aunt Petunia gasped even louder this time and visibly paled, one hand going over her heart and the other flailing about for the doorway. Uncle Vernon's reaction was far different.
"HOW DARE YOU!" he roared, advancing from the doorway. The woman began backing up, allowing Vernon to stride ahead, and Harry darted forward to keep them in sight.
"HOW DARE YOU ACCUSE MY SON OF THAT!"
She began to circle in the front yard, either unconcerned about the neighbors that had popped out to see what all the commotion was about or unaware of them.
"MY SON IS A FINE UPSTANDING GENTLEMAN! JUST WHO DO YOU THINK YOU ARE?!"
As he finished with that statement, he took a swing at the lithe woman, something that made everybody watching drop their jaws in surprise, including Harry.
"Vernon!" Petunia shrieked.
Harry just stared in amazement as the woman in the yard easily ducked the fist. She dropped to the ground in a crouch and spun, one foot shooting out and catching the off-balance Vernon behind the knee and sending him to the ground, just like the karate people sometimes did in the movies. She was rising over him even as he hit the ground, staring down at him coldly.
"I am Desiree McKnight," she said grimly, "Law enforcement."
Disclaimers: Harry Potter and all characters you recognize are not my property, they are the brilliant J.K. Rowling's. Dee is mine (y'all find out who she is), and so is Sean (y'all'll find out about him, too). BTW, this is not likely to be finished, so please don't be disappointed if nothing much comes of this, or even if this is the only chapter I get out. If you don't like it, please don't tell me b/c I don't really care that much. If you do like it, hey, that's grand, but again, it's not likely to be completed.
That's all I have to say for now, so here's the prologue (and first chapter):
Prologue
Everything was cold—colder than snow, colder than ice, colder than outer space. It was the chill of death that permeated his skin and bones, a chill so cold that he could even feel it in his hair.
And there wasn't anything. Just gray in all directions. Gray and ghosts, people long dead and newly dead staring at him from lidless eyes, brushing against his skin, chilling him even further. He could hear their pitiful cries, for mercy, for forgiveness, for help, for information about the living world.
He couldn't answer any of them. All he could do was move away, try and push through them, though his hands passed through them.
All except one.
He looked at that ghost...but she wasn't a ghost.
She wasn't a ghost.
She wasn't a ghost...
She smiled.
Chapter the First
The sound of sirens awoke Harry Potter from his sleep out under the summer sun. It jolted him from dreams filled with flashes of red light and soundless screams, small balding men and evil laughter. Dreams—or rather, nightmares—of his past school year: the school year when he had lost one of his dearest friends and godfather, Sirius Black, an innocent man convicted of murdering thirteen people with one curse and betraying Harry's parents, to their death...
He shook off those melancholy thoughts and sat up, blinking away the last remnants of sleep. The sirens continued, and underneath that he could hear the familiar sound of his cousin's laughter.
Harry sighed and began to lay back down when a door slammed and a woman shouted; she sounded awfully close. The sirens abruptly stopped, and he heard the footsteps of his cousin and friends running away. And then the woman yelled loud enough to wake the dead.
"WHO THE HELL DID THIS??"
Now Harry leapt to his feet. A spurt of excitement went through him; he had a feeling that Dudley and Pals were about to get what they've been asking for. For two years now, the group had been roaming the neighborhood, terrorizing the children and elderly, smoking, drinking, and being royal pains in the ass. Lately they had taken to graffitiing houses and cars; the cops had been called a few times, but for the most part everybody left well enough alone, just stoically going out and washing out or painting over whatever crude words the gang had written. But unless Harry was very much mistaken, the neighborhood's hero had just announced herself.
Eager and curious to see what they had done now, Harry bounded over toward the privacy fence surrounding the Dursley's backyard and hauled himself up in order to see over.
A slightly-smaller-than-average woman, slim as a willow with curly, fiery hair pulled into a ponytail, was literally prowling around what Harry assumed was her yellow Beetle Volkswagon car. She was wearing a sleeveless button-up shirt and well-worn shorts, both showing off pale skin and sleek muscles just defined enough to show that she was no stranger to hard work. Before her bare feet disappeared around the other side of the car, he noticed that her toenails were painted a bright pink. Then her face came into view.
Her lips were pursed together in a look that reminded Harry of his Transfiguration teacher Professor McGonagall, and two spots of red on her pale cheeks showed just how furious she was, and Harry couldn't really blame her. In green, blue, purple, and red spray paint, Dudley and his gang had written incredibly rude words and phrases all over her car.
As if aware that he was studying her and her car, the woman raised her head and met Harry's eyes over the expanse of the car roof and the wooden fence. Her green eyes meet his green eyes, but while his held a kind of fascination, hers were firing sparks of anger.
"I don't suppose by any chance," she asked in a deadly calm voice, "that you know who did this?"
"Probably my cousin Dudley," Harry managed to say.
"And where might he live?" she demanded softly.
"Right here," Harry replied, lifting one hand so she could see him pointing to the house behind him.
Without another word, she whirled and Harry quickly jumped off the fence and went in through the back door, not wanting to miss this for anything. One thing was for sure, she was fast. Harry had barely made it halfway across the kitchen when he heard the doorbell ringing. He stopped in the kitchen doorway, so that he would have a good view down the hallway of the front door. He was unable to help the grin as he saw the red outline of the woman's hair through the glass panels of the door.
She continued to ring the doorbell, and Harry figured she had her finger pressed firmly against the button. Only a few moments later, Harry's Uncle Vernon came hustling out of the living room, shot a snarl in Harry direction—probably for not getting the door—and yanked it open, Harry's Aunt Petunia following and stopping in the living room doorway.
"What the devil is the meaning of this?" Uncle Vernon barked, glaring at the woman standing there.
"You'd better keep a better rein on your son," she said calmly, meeting his gaze without flinching or backing off an inch. "And you tell him I'm expecting him and all his little friends tomorrow morning at seven o'clock sharp, and they'd better be there prepared to scrub off every last fleck of paint they put on my car. And if they don't show up by seven oh one, then by God I'll show up on your doorstep every day at seven oh one until they get that shit off my car."
Aunt Petunia gasped in the doorway. The woman's gaze briefly flicked over her, and then back to Vernon, who seemed to be temporarily speechless. When he finally found his voice, just as she was turning away, it came out in a snarl that slowly turned her around. Harry had the distinct impression she was holding on to her temper by a thread.
"What do you mean, my son?"
"I mean your son, as in the flesh of your body," she eyed that body with barely curbed contempt as she spoke coldly, "who happened to write the words 'goddamn bitch' and 'fucking cunt' on my car."
Aunt Petunia gasped even louder this time and visibly paled, one hand going over her heart and the other flailing about for the doorway. Uncle Vernon's reaction was far different.
"HOW DARE YOU!" he roared, advancing from the doorway. The woman began backing up, allowing Vernon to stride ahead, and Harry darted forward to keep them in sight.
"HOW DARE YOU ACCUSE MY SON OF THAT!"
She began to circle in the front yard, either unconcerned about the neighbors that had popped out to see what all the commotion was about or unaware of them.
"MY SON IS A FINE UPSTANDING GENTLEMAN! JUST WHO DO YOU THINK YOU ARE?!"
As he finished with that statement, he took a swing at the lithe woman, something that made everybody watching drop their jaws in surprise, including Harry.
"Vernon!" Petunia shrieked.
Harry just stared in amazement as the woman in the yard easily ducked the fist. She dropped to the ground in a crouch and spun, one foot shooting out and catching the off-balance Vernon behind the knee and sending him to the ground, just like the karate people sometimes did in the movies. She was rising over him even as he hit the ground, staring down at him coldly.
"I am Desiree McKnight," she said grimly, "Law enforcement."