This is a prequel to Interesting Times. If you haven't read Interesting
Times. just click on my name and off you go! Thank-you!
DESCENT INTO DARKNESS
1: SAMUEL POTTER.
"Mum, mum, PLEASE can we go! Please!" piped up Sam's voice, as Lily hesitated.
"Oh, let them go, Lily," said their grandmother from her chair, where she sat reading a book. "They'll only be down the road a little way. It's perfectly safe."
Lily looked at her mother for a minute, and then nodded. "You're in charge, Harry," she said to her oldest son. "Now mind you look after Sam. And Sam," she turned to her youngest, "you have to do *everything* that Harry says. And neither of you go anywhere *near* the river. And it looks like rain, so if it starts, come back *straight away,* alright?"
"Yes mum," the boys chorused.
Before she could change her mind, Harry had grabbed hold of Sam's wrist and yanked him into the hall.
"Thanks, mum!" he called behind him.
"Mind you're back for tea!" Lily yelled after them.
As Harry shut the door, he heard his grandmother say, "you worry too much, Lily."
BANG.
***
The Potter family was staying for a week with Lily's parents. They lived in a small and tight-knit village in the south of England. Although they liked their grandparents, by the second day both of the boys were very, *very* bored. There were hardly any other children about for them to play with, and because the village was completely populated by Muggles, they couldn't do anything out of the ordinary at all, and neither could their parents. Finally this afternoon, after a lot of pleading and whining and the occasional bit of encouragement from Mrs Evans, their mother had consented for them to go to the woods down the road from the Evans house to play for a few hours. Harry was feeling rather important having been 'put in charge' because he was only just eight; and Sam, at five, thought that anything without parental supervision was an enormous adventure.
They ambled down the road, careful to look for any 'cars' as the Muggles called them; through a field, over a stile, and into a thick, pine-filled woodland.
They spent the next hour or so throwing pine cones at trees, chasing each other about, and generally acting like boys do.
It was starting to get very humid. When they had set out from the Evans's house there had been a cool breeze blowing, and now it was gone. Harry was feeling hot and thirsty, and had one of those annoying, dull headaches you get when you've been out in the sun too long.
"Come on, Sam," he said to his brother, "let's go home now."
Sam, who was industriously building a structure out of twigs, earth, and bits of grass, shook his head. "No."
"You have to do what I say," returned Harry, "mum put me in charge."
"I don't want to."
"Well, I've said we HAVE to. stop being stupid!" he tried to pull Sam up from where he was sitting, cross-legged on the ground, but he couldn't manage it.
"Sam!" he said exasperatedly.
Sam looked up slowly from his little endeavour with the sticks to regard his brother with solemn eyes. "Mum said to be back for tea," he answered, "it's not nearly tea yet. So we don't have to go."
"And I say we *do* have to!"
Sam didn't reply, and instead looked down again at his 'masterpiece.'
The humid weather was changing, to the atmosphere it becomes just before a storm. Harry looked up, trotted away from the safety of the trees, and saw that dark, ominous clouds were crossing the sky. A cool wind whipped round him and he shivered, clad only in a thin T-shirt and shorts. The entire scene had lost its brightness, was darker somehow. The clouds covered the sky.
"It's going to rain!" he shouted triumphantly to Sam as he walked back to where his brother was sitting. "We *have* to go home now."
"Don't want to," piped up Sam, "can't we go to the river, Harry? There's frogs and fish and all sorts in there."
"We're not allowed," said Harry, frowning slightly. In truth, he would like to go to the river; but he knew what *both* his parents would do if they found out they had. With or without Voldemort, they were rather protective of their sons.
But the thought of a nice drink and perhaps a chocolate biscuit banished any of these longings from his head. He shook his head when Sam pleaded with him. He still wouldn't budge.
"Right then, I'm leaving," he said loudly, "I'm going home, and telling mum that wouldn't do as I told you to, and you'll get in lots of trouble."
This ploy usually worked with Sam; he *was* only five, after all.
Harry began to walk away, knowing that in a few seconds, Sam was sure to follow, wailing about not leaving him. Indeed, after a moment Sam *had* stood up, *and* was wailing at him, but was certainly not following him. Instead, Sam stamped his foot, and turned away in the opposite direction.
"Fine!" Harry yelled. He felt that boiling anger that wells up overwhelmingly in you and lasts for only a little while. "FINE! I'll just leave you, then! I don't care!"
With that, Harry stormed towards home, leaving his little brother under the trees. When he was very nearly back to the cottage, the anger had subsided, leaving him pensive. He knew he would have to go back and get Sam, otherwise they would both be in a lot of trouble. He knew that Sam knew this, and was probably waiting for him to crack and go back to find him, rather than the other way around. Well, Harry was too tired to try and prove a point.
He turned back. He had just reached the main road; so he crossed over the stile again and began to walk through the field. It began to rain and Harry shivered, colder than he had been before, and rapidly getting damp.
By the time he had reached the trees, it had turned into a complete downpour. He huddled underneath this natural shelter, feeling large drops of rain splodge from above onto his neck. His glasses were steaming up; he took them off and rubbed them on his T-shirt.
"Sam!" he called, "Sam! I'm sorry, alright? Let's go home now."
But there was no answer.
Harry walked through the wood, still calling. Sam was nowhere to be seen. At first he thought he was just being punished for leaving him behind, that he had hidden himself somewhere. But twenty minutes later, Harry had to concede that Sam was not in the wood. He felt terribly nervous, somehow.
Then it occurred to him that Sam had probably gone home by himself; that was it. He was probably back at the cottage right this minute, drinking hot chocolate and talking to Gran.
Harry walked through the wood again to its opening, and then raced through the soggy field. He slipped on the wet grass and fell heavily. Harry was very grateful that Sam wasn't there to witness this; he would have never heard the end of it.
It was still pouring it down as he arrived at the house, teeth chattering, soaked to the bone. He opened the door and entered, turning into the first room on his left, where his grandmother, father and mother were sitting, staring straight at him.
Harry greatly admired his charismatic father, and wished James to be proud of him. But whenever James was there, Harry would feel awkward, and shy, and would close in on himself, thinking nothing he could say or do would be interesting enough for his big, important dad. James had noticed this gap between them, but did not know the cause of it.
James stood up as Harry walked in, looking relieved.
"Harry. your mother told you to be back as soon as the rain started. What. where's Sam?" he added suddenly.
Harry's stomach twisted painfully and fell through his shoes.
"But. but isn't he here?" he stammered, looking around at the three adults.
"What do you mean?" said James. "You didn't get separated, did you?"
Harry swallowed, the gnawing pain in his chest increasing every second. "W- well. he was being stupid and he wouldn't come. but I went back for him, and he wasn't there! It wasn't my fault!"
James sighed angrily. "For Merlin's sake, Harry, he's only five! You were supposed to look after him! If anything's happened, it's your own fault!"
Lily jumped in at this point. "James, don't frighten him," she said softly. She stood up and crossed over to Harry, putting her arms around him. "Don't worry Harry. I- I'm sure he'll be back soon."
"Boys will be boys," put in Mrs Evans comfortably.
James scowled. "Well, I'm going to go look for him," he snapped. "It's pouring it down."
"I'll come with you," said Lily quickly. "Get your coat, James. We'll be back soon," she added to Harry and her mother. James didn't say anything. Harry could tell he was really angry. He felt sick.
The sickness and the worry got stronger every minute that his parents were away. It was made worse by Mrs Evans, who drank her tea in silence, only adding now and then a "oh, I'm sure he'll turn up soon," or a "he's probably playing hide-and-seek, the little dear." Each comment made Harry's stomach jump painfully.
An hour passed- the longest of Harry's life- before his parents returned, soaked through, but with no Sam. Lily looked extremely anxious and very strained. James's mouth was bit into a thin line as he bit out, "I'm calling the police."
Harry began to cry, very quietly. He sat on the squishy sofa, hands and knees clasped together, nose itching, tears running down his face. He didn't want to sob; he didn't want anyone to notice him, and remember that this was his fault in the first place. He sniffed heavily.
Then his mother was there, sitting next to him, putting her arms around him; a little comfort. Harry leaned into her, sobbing into her thick, rough jumper, smelling of the rain.
And all the while Mrs Evans said, "he'll turn up."
***
It was getting dark when the police arrived. They asked to speak to Lily and James alone, but the door was slightly open, and Harry could see in- he saw a slit of blue, the policeman's uniform; a flash of red- his mother's hair. Muffled voices.
"I'm very sorry, Mr, Mrs Potter- I'm afraid we've found a body in the river, washed downstream a few miles. We believe- we believe that it's your son."
His mother breaking down, being supported by her husband.
And Harry all alone, sitting on the staircase, tears running down his face, whispering to himself: "it's not him, it can't be him, he's alright. he'll turn up. *he isn't dead,* he isn't. they're wrong. they're only Muggles, they don't know. he's not dead."
Then Harry gasped and stopped short, remembering Sam:
*"Can't we go to the river, Harry? There's frogs and fish and all sorts in there."* It was true. his brother was gone. *Gone.*
Harry raced up the stairs, dry heaving, slipping once, twice, bashing his head and cutting his knee open on a step, palms stinging terribly, up to his bedroom. He savagely slammed the door and lunged under the bed, where he lay, gasping and sobbing in the dark.
Crying in the dark. Completely alone.
***
More to come, showing his relationship with both Lily and James, as well as more angst. Of course! Please review!
DESCENT INTO DARKNESS
1: SAMUEL POTTER.
"Mum, mum, PLEASE can we go! Please!" piped up Sam's voice, as Lily hesitated.
"Oh, let them go, Lily," said their grandmother from her chair, where she sat reading a book. "They'll only be down the road a little way. It's perfectly safe."
Lily looked at her mother for a minute, and then nodded. "You're in charge, Harry," she said to her oldest son. "Now mind you look after Sam. And Sam," she turned to her youngest, "you have to do *everything* that Harry says. And neither of you go anywhere *near* the river. And it looks like rain, so if it starts, come back *straight away,* alright?"
"Yes mum," the boys chorused.
Before she could change her mind, Harry had grabbed hold of Sam's wrist and yanked him into the hall.
"Thanks, mum!" he called behind him.
"Mind you're back for tea!" Lily yelled after them.
As Harry shut the door, he heard his grandmother say, "you worry too much, Lily."
BANG.
***
The Potter family was staying for a week with Lily's parents. They lived in a small and tight-knit village in the south of England. Although they liked their grandparents, by the second day both of the boys were very, *very* bored. There were hardly any other children about for them to play with, and because the village was completely populated by Muggles, they couldn't do anything out of the ordinary at all, and neither could their parents. Finally this afternoon, after a lot of pleading and whining and the occasional bit of encouragement from Mrs Evans, their mother had consented for them to go to the woods down the road from the Evans house to play for a few hours. Harry was feeling rather important having been 'put in charge' because he was only just eight; and Sam, at five, thought that anything without parental supervision was an enormous adventure.
They ambled down the road, careful to look for any 'cars' as the Muggles called them; through a field, over a stile, and into a thick, pine-filled woodland.
They spent the next hour or so throwing pine cones at trees, chasing each other about, and generally acting like boys do.
It was starting to get very humid. When they had set out from the Evans's house there had been a cool breeze blowing, and now it was gone. Harry was feeling hot and thirsty, and had one of those annoying, dull headaches you get when you've been out in the sun too long.
"Come on, Sam," he said to his brother, "let's go home now."
Sam, who was industriously building a structure out of twigs, earth, and bits of grass, shook his head. "No."
"You have to do what I say," returned Harry, "mum put me in charge."
"I don't want to."
"Well, I've said we HAVE to. stop being stupid!" he tried to pull Sam up from where he was sitting, cross-legged on the ground, but he couldn't manage it.
"Sam!" he said exasperatedly.
Sam looked up slowly from his little endeavour with the sticks to regard his brother with solemn eyes. "Mum said to be back for tea," he answered, "it's not nearly tea yet. So we don't have to go."
"And I say we *do* have to!"
Sam didn't reply, and instead looked down again at his 'masterpiece.'
The humid weather was changing, to the atmosphere it becomes just before a storm. Harry looked up, trotted away from the safety of the trees, and saw that dark, ominous clouds were crossing the sky. A cool wind whipped round him and he shivered, clad only in a thin T-shirt and shorts. The entire scene had lost its brightness, was darker somehow. The clouds covered the sky.
"It's going to rain!" he shouted triumphantly to Sam as he walked back to where his brother was sitting. "We *have* to go home now."
"Don't want to," piped up Sam, "can't we go to the river, Harry? There's frogs and fish and all sorts in there."
"We're not allowed," said Harry, frowning slightly. In truth, he would like to go to the river; but he knew what *both* his parents would do if they found out they had. With or without Voldemort, they were rather protective of their sons.
But the thought of a nice drink and perhaps a chocolate biscuit banished any of these longings from his head. He shook his head when Sam pleaded with him. He still wouldn't budge.
"Right then, I'm leaving," he said loudly, "I'm going home, and telling mum that wouldn't do as I told you to, and you'll get in lots of trouble."
This ploy usually worked with Sam; he *was* only five, after all.
Harry began to walk away, knowing that in a few seconds, Sam was sure to follow, wailing about not leaving him. Indeed, after a moment Sam *had* stood up, *and* was wailing at him, but was certainly not following him. Instead, Sam stamped his foot, and turned away in the opposite direction.
"Fine!" Harry yelled. He felt that boiling anger that wells up overwhelmingly in you and lasts for only a little while. "FINE! I'll just leave you, then! I don't care!"
With that, Harry stormed towards home, leaving his little brother under the trees. When he was very nearly back to the cottage, the anger had subsided, leaving him pensive. He knew he would have to go back and get Sam, otherwise they would both be in a lot of trouble. He knew that Sam knew this, and was probably waiting for him to crack and go back to find him, rather than the other way around. Well, Harry was too tired to try and prove a point.
He turned back. He had just reached the main road; so he crossed over the stile again and began to walk through the field. It began to rain and Harry shivered, colder than he had been before, and rapidly getting damp.
By the time he had reached the trees, it had turned into a complete downpour. He huddled underneath this natural shelter, feeling large drops of rain splodge from above onto his neck. His glasses were steaming up; he took them off and rubbed them on his T-shirt.
"Sam!" he called, "Sam! I'm sorry, alright? Let's go home now."
But there was no answer.
Harry walked through the wood, still calling. Sam was nowhere to be seen. At first he thought he was just being punished for leaving him behind, that he had hidden himself somewhere. But twenty minutes later, Harry had to concede that Sam was not in the wood. He felt terribly nervous, somehow.
Then it occurred to him that Sam had probably gone home by himself; that was it. He was probably back at the cottage right this minute, drinking hot chocolate and talking to Gran.
Harry walked through the wood again to its opening, and then raced through the soggy field. He slipped on the wet grass and fell heavily. Harry was very grateful that Sam wasn't there to witness this; he would have never heard the end of it.
It was still pouring it down as he arrived at the house, teeth chattering, soaked to the bone. He opened the door and entered, turning into the first room on his left, where his grandmother, father and mother were sitting, staring straight at him.
Harry greatly admired his charismatic father, and wished James to be proud of him. But whenever James was there, Harry would feel awkward, and shy, and would close in on himself, thinking nothing he could say or do would be interesting enough for his big, important dad. James had noticed this gap between them, but did not know the cause of it.
James stood up as Harry walked in, looking relieved.
"Harry. your mother told you to be back as soon as the rain started. What. where's Sam?" he added suddenly.
Harry's stomach twisted painfully and fell through his shoes.
"But. but isn't he here?" he stammered, looking around at the three adults.
"What do you mean?" said James. "You didn't get separated, did you?"
Harry swallowed, the gnawing pain in his chest increasing every second. "W- well. he was being stupid and he wouldn't come. but I went back for him, and he wasn't there! It wasn't my fault!"
James sighed angrily. "For Merlin's sake, Harry, he's only five! You were supposed to look after him! If anything's happened, it's your own fault!"
Lily jumped in at this point. "James, don't frighten him," she said softly. She stood up and crossed over to Harry, putting her arms around him. "Don't worry Harry. I- I'm sure he'll be back soon."
"Boys will be boys," put in Mrs Evans comfortably.
James scowled. "Well, I'm going to go look for him," he snapped. "It's pouring it down."
"I'll come with you," said Lily quickly. "Get your coat, James. We'll be back soon," she added to Harry and her mother. James didn't say anything. Harry could tell he was really angry. He felt sick.
The sickness and the worry got stronger every minute that his parents were away. It was made worse by Mrs Evans, who drank her tea in silence, only adding now and then a "oh, I'm sure he'll turn up soon," or a "he's probably playing hide-and-seek, the little dear." Each comment made Harry's stomach jump painfully.
An hour passed- the longest of Harry's life- before his parents returned, soaked through, but with no Sam. Lily looked extremely anxious and very strained. James's mouth was bit into a thin line as he bit out, "I'm calling the police."
Harry began to cry, very quietly. He sat on the squishy sofa, hands and knees clasped together, nose itching, tears running down his face. He didn't want to sob; he didn't want anyone to notice him, and remember that this was his fault in the first place. He sniffed heavily.
Then his mother was there, sitting next to him, putting her arms around him; a little comfort. Harry leaned into her, sobbing into her thick, rough jumper, smelling of the rain.
And all the while Mrs Evans said, "he'll turn up."
***
It was getting dark when the police arrived. They asked to speak to Lily and James alone, but the door was slightly open, and Harry could see in- he saw a slit of blue, the policeman's uniform; a flash of red- his mother's hair. Muffled voices.
"I'm very sorry, Mr, Mrs Potter- I'm afraid we've found a body in the river, washed downstream a few miles. We believe- we believe that it's your son."
His mother breaking down, being supported by her husband.
And Harry all alone, sitting on the staircase, tears running down his face, whispering to himself: "it's not him, it can't be him, he's alright. he'll turn up. *he isn't dead,* he isn't. they're wrong. they're only Muggles, they don't know. he's not dead."
Then Harry gasped and stopped short, remembering Sam:
*"Can't we go to the river, Harry? There's frogs and fish and all sorts in there."* It was true. his brother was gone. *Gone.*
Harry raced up the stairs, dry heaving, slipping once, twice, bashing his head and cutting his knee open on a step, palms stinging terribly, up to his bedroom. He savagely slammed the door and lunged under the bed, where he lay, gasping and sobbing in the dark.
Crying in the dark. Completely alone.
***
More to come, showing his relationship with both Lily and James, as well as more angst. Of course! Please review!