Rudyard Kipling: "I keep six honest serving men, they taught me all I know, their names are what and why and when and how and where and who."
I do not own Harry Potter, because if I did own Harry Potter, I wouldn't be writing this fan fic now would I? And Dumbledore wouldn't be dead, or Sirius, but Wormtail might be though. Although I would love to be half as talented as J.K.Rowling, sadly I'm not. This is my first fan fic, so please be nice. I have tried my best to add suspense, and good vocabulary. I know how much it annoys people when characters names are spelt wrong etc. it annoys hell out of me when people haven't used proper English. Criticism is all welcome, however, a well rounded critic would be nice rather than the usual flames, I am accepting new ideas, however their wont be any romance in my storeys, I get sick of the lovey dovey stuff, sorry guys. Please correct me if I get any information wrong, name of streets etc. and I will try and regularly update, it annoys the hell out of me when other s don't update, so I will try not to be a hypocrite and I'll keep updating mine (if you all think its worth updating) however this might be hard seeing as I have lots of A level work to be getting on with. Here's a taster… I'm not really sure where this is going by the way, I'm just writing as I go along…
(P.S Sorry about the short chapters!)
Harry was running through Wisteria Walk, very out of breath. He turned around to see if he had lost them. Seeing that the coast was clear, Harry decided he was aloud to stop for a rest. He sank down into a swing in the park, gulping in the air. Harry had been chased by Dudley's gang for about an hour now, and he had only just been allowed to rest after loosing them. He doubled over, panting. He hated Dudley and his friends. Dudley was boasting that he would be world boxing champion when he was older, and he wanted to use Harry as a punch bag. Harry looked around, and realised sadly, this was where he had first seen Sirius. A pang of guilt swept through him. It had been his fault that his godfather had died. Why couldn't he have not "played the hero" and not gone after him? Why hadn't Harry had thought to ask Snape before he used Umbridges fire place? A sudden wave of anger hit him as he thought of that woman. He hated her. She along with the ministry of magic had accused him of lying about Voldemort returning. She had even given him about a dozen detentions, each one making him use his own blood to engrave in his hand "I must not tell lies" until the message stuck. He still had the scars.
"Their he is!" someone yelled. Harry shot off the swing and jumped over the park fence. He ran for Privet Drive. He could hear people running after him and laughing. As he rounded the corner a flash of red light hit him square in the chest and he fell to the ground.