Making Decisions.
This is my story about Harry's sixth year at Hogwarts. I don't speak English as my mother language, but I will try my best. –And please say if I make mistakes. I will try to update every day. Please Read and Review. Nothing Is My Own
Harry Potter, a fifteen years old boy (sixteen in a few hours), were laying in his bed thinking about how unfair life was. It was now only a few months ago, his Godfather had died. He just lay in his bed all day, thinking about Sirius. He had gotten several owls from his best friends Hermione and Ron, saying that everything will be fine. But how could it be fine? He hadn't written back to any of their letters. Ron had said to him in every letter that it wouldn't take long before they would come and pick him up. But Harry wouldn't return to the magical world. He would rather stay at the Dursley's, where he could be all alone. But then, as he lay there in his bed, a tiny little owl came into the room, it zoomed round in circles and hooted. After watching Pig for a minute and Petunia yelling to stop the owl, Harry managed to get up and take the letter attached to the owl's leg. He opened it, and could see it was from Hermione, by the neat handwriting. It said:
'Dear Harry, Why haven't you written back? I and Ron are worried about you! You need to talk to somebody, and remember, we are always there to talk, I personally wish you would come soon; I can't take a second more of Ron. He is driving me mad; I think he needs some "boy talk." By the way, Ron' father is saying that some people from the ministry is coming to pick you up tomorrow, so be ready. I can't wait to see you. About your birthday present, you will get it when you're here. I don't think there is more news to tell. With love, Hermione'
Harry didn't even consider writing back; he just put the letter on the desk, where all the other letters he had gotten from Ron and Hermione were. He threw himself onto the bed, he needed some rest. He had only just closed his eyes, before falling asleep.
When he woke up, he were all covered in sweat, he had had a nightmare. It was something about Voldemort, but he couldn't remember exactly what he had been dreaming. His dinner was on the floor, next to his bed. He hadn't heard Petunia coming in with it. It was three pieces of toast, some cheese and fruit. He gave Hedwig the fruit and started eating the toast. Then he suddenly realized it, he had been sixteen for twenty minutes now. "Happy birthday, Harry." He said to himself, remembering his eleventh birthday, when Hagrid, the giant, had had smashed the door open, of the little house on that island, telling him, he was a wizard, one of the most powerful in the world. A few tears found their way down his cheek. 'Powerful?' Harry whispered to himself, 'Not powerful enough to save my Godfather or Cedric!' he closed his eyes, when he had said that, willing himself to sleep.
But he couldn't. The first night at the age of sixteen, he didn't get any sleep. He just thought about all his Godfather had done for him. Why couldn't he have done anything back, like saving his life? Or helped him to prove, he was innocent? Then maybe he wouldn't have been at The Ministry Of Magic! As the late hours of the night passed, his hatred to Belastrix Lestrange and Voldemort grew and grew.
At last he slammed his fist at the wall and started to cry uncontrollably. Why couldn't he have been dead instead of Sirius? 'Why is everyone dying?' he thought. His parents, Cedric Diggory and his Godfather. He hated the Wizarding world. Maybe if he didn't return, his hatred and sorrow would disappear. He stopped crying. Yes, he wouldn't return, he would never return to Grimauld Place or the Burrow. Not even return to Hogwarts again, ever. Hogwarts would never feel like home again. He had now made a choice. Everyone is allowed to make their own choices. So Harry had made this. And for the first time since Sirius had died, he felt better.
He then felt his eyes getting heavy, he understood why, because the time was five thirty in the morning. And for the first time at the age of sixteen, he saw the sun. But he only saw a few seconds of it, before he fell into the land of dreams.
This is my story about Harry's sixth year at Hogwarts. I don't speak English as my mother language, but I will try my best. –And please say if I make mistakes. I will try to update every day. Please Read and Review. Nothing Is My Own
Harry Potter, a fifteen years old boy (sixteen in a few hours), were laying in his bed thinking about how unfair life was. It was now only a few months ago, his Godfather had died. He just lay in his bed all day, thinking about Sirius. He had gotten several owls from his best friends Hermione and Ron, saying that everything will be fine. But how could it be fine? He hadn't written back to any of their letters. Ron had said to him in every letter that it wouldn't take long before they would come and pick him up. But Harry wouldn't return to the magical world. He would rather stay at the Dursley's, where he could be all alone. But then, as he lay there in his bed, a tiny little owl came into the room, it zoomed round in circles and hooted. After watching Pig for a minute and Petunia yelling to stop the owl, Harry managed to get up and take the letter attached to the owl's leg. He opened it, and could see it was from Hermione, by the neat handwriting. It said:
'Dear Harry, Why haven't you written back? I and Ron are worried about you! You need to talk to somebody, and remember, we are always there to talk, I personally wish you would come soon; I can't take a second more of Ron. He is driving me mad; I think he needs some "boy talk." By the way, Ron' father is saying that some people from the ministry is coming to pick you up tomorrow, so be ready. I can't wait to see you. About your birthday present, you will get it when you're here. I don't think there is more news to tell. With love, Hermione'
Harry didn't even consider writing back; he just put the letter on the desk, where all the other letters he had gotten from Ron and Hermione were. He threw himself onto the bed, he needed some rest. He had only just closed his eyes, before falling asleep.
When he woke up, he were all covered in sweat, he had had a nightmare. It was something about Voldemort, but he couldn't remember exactly what he had been dreaming. His dinner was on the floor, next to his bed. He hadn't heard Petunia coming in with it. It was three pieces of toast, some cheese and fruit. He gave Hedwig the fruit and started eating the toast. Then he suddenly realized it, he had been sixteen for twenty minutes now. "Happy birthday, Harry." He said to himself, remembering his eleventh birthday, when Hagrid, the giant, had had smashed the door open, of the little house on that island, telling him, he was a wizard, one of the most powerful in the world. A few tears found their way down his cheek. 'Powerful?' Harry whispered to himself, 'Not powerful enough to save my Godfather or Cedric!' he closed his eyes, when he had said that, willing himself to sleep.
But he couldn't. The first night at the age of sixteen, he didn't get any sleep. He just thought about all his Godfather had done for him. Why couldn't he have done anything back, like saving his life? Or helped him to prove, he was innocent? Then maybe he wouldn't have been at The Ministry Of Magic! As the late hours of the night passed, his hatred to Belastrix Lestrange and Voldemort grew and grew.
At last he slammed his fist at the wall and started to cry uncontrollably. Why couldn't he have been dead instead of Sirius? 'Why is everyone dying?' he thought. His parents, Cedric Diggory and his Godfather. He hated the Wizarding world. Maybe if he didn't return, his hatred and sorrow would disappear. He stopped crying. Yes, he wouldn't return, he would never return to Grimauld Place or the Burrow. Not even return to Hogwarts again, ever. Hogwarts would never feel like home again. He had now made a choice. Everyone is allowed to make their own choices. So Harry had made this. And for the first time since Sirius had died, he felt better.
He then felt his eyes getting heavy, he understood why, because the time was five thirty in the morning. And for the first time at the age of sixteen, he saw the sun. But he only saw a few seconds of it, before he fell into the land of dreams.