You have made it to the second chapter of this ridiculous story! Congradulations!
My hand groped in the dark, but it was only a few seconds before I found a light. I clicked it on.
There was a very large, very creepy, and very spidery spider in front of my face.
A very high pitched scream permeated the house. My own. I scrambled toward the only thing that looked like a door, wrenched it open.
The first thing I noticed was that everything was much larger than I rememered.
The second was that this was not my house.
I looked down the hallway and saw a door; to my relief, it was a bathroom. I looked in the mirror. I was presented with my face, but from when I was about 11 years old, but I also had a very strange, lightning-shaped scar on my forehead. Everything else, however, was the same. Same brown hair, same hazel eyes, same gorgeous face... with 11 year old pudginess, of course.
I was still Michael, the 16-turned-11 ladykiller. Well, boy that a more than normal amount of girls fawned over, at least.
"BOY!" Came the startling shout. My head hit the doorframe.
Rubbing my head, I yelled back at whoever that was, "What?! What do want?"
Apparently the wrong answer, however, as massive thumps came down the stairs, and the massive man who appeared grabbed my shirt collar and pulled my face right up to his.
Bad move. I knew marshall arts, and did not like people getting in my face.
The fat man with no neck cradled his wrist, having removed it from my person as I delivered pain unto it.
I smorked at the man, before I realized something.
I was now eleven, with a fat british man with no neck in front of me, and most importantly...
I had a lightning scar on my forehead.
Whaaaaaaaaaaaat?! I'm Harry Potter?!
Vernon, who I now assumed that is who that was, took the startled realization on my face as regret and reached for me again.
With a thought, he flew across the hall. So accidental magic does respond to will. Not so accidental, then.
I smirked, harder, and more evilly at Vernon, who was now looking very scared indeed.
My fist lit up as it was engulfed in flashes of lightning, though they didn't spread and my hand didn't burn up.
I gave the disgusting man a little shock, then spoke.
"Am I Harry James Potter?"
For a second, he had a dumbfounded look on his face, not expecting that specific question; but upon a throeatening step from myself, he nodded, an expression of mixed hate and fear on his face.
Well, that sorted that.
"Stay where you are," I commanded, then turned to look in what I now knew to be the cupboard.
I was shocked to find my old school backpack there. It was black, with white seams and corners, the same as when I last had it, but when I opened the main pouch, it was much larger on the inside. It haso had steps leading down into a well-lit living room-like area. Closing that pouch, not quite sure of what I had just seen, I opened the the next, medium sized pouch. It was bottomless, and I couldn't see anything except for a small 2 inch by 3 inch booklet. Opening it, it explained that if I focused will on having something while sticking my hand in the pouch, it would come- except for food. Closing the Bottomless pouch, even more confused, I opened the third and smallest pouch, much like the medium, except it summoned food.
Closing and putting on the impossible backpack, I discovered that underneath the sleeping bag, there was a large burn mark that looked like a person.
Satified with my search, I pulled my head out of the cupboard, when I head the mailman come by and put the mail in the door through the flap.
That must be the acceptance letter, I thought. Sure enough, when I looked, there was the letter, addresed to Harry James Potter, Number 4, Privet drive, cupboard under the stairs.
I walked out the door, not looking back.
XxXxX
Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbldore was very busy.
Now, this was not the stressful kind of busy, nor the unpleasant kind; in fact, he was rather enjoying it; for he was preparing the castle to be habitable, again. It was a nice distraction from the troubles in life. There was much to do; remove dust from the many floors, disloging any nasties that had taken up residence in the unused common rooms; stocking the kitchens, and getting the next DADA teacher settled in. He had just taken a small break in his office, when Poppy came in informing him one of the teachers had recieved a doxie bite.
However, when his Amanctovambular started gives off red smoke, he had to ask her to leave and take care of it, because that meant the wards around Privet Drive, 4, had collapsed.
Then his habneptable started exploding. Someone had managed to somehow make it past the anti-aparation wards.
And an 11 year old boy with a lightning scar appeared.
XxXxX
Being able to teleport was certainly coming in handy. Especially when you can even teleport past the Hogwarts wards. So much fun!
The look on the Headmaster's face was priceless, too. So priceless, I pulled a camera from the bag, and snapped a picture.
I had come to make sure Dumbldore didn't make the mistake of thinking I was, actually, Harry Potter; rather, I wanted to sort out the horcruxes nice and snappy. I had already taken care of the part in... my... scar, but I hadn't gotten the others. I decided the easiest way was to simply take care of the horcruxes, but I didn't want to give the old man a heart attack.
I simply took all seven books from my backpack, set them on his desk, and teleported (not disaparated) out of Hogwarts.
XxXxX
Apologies for the shortness of the chapter! They will, hopefully, get longer after chapter four.
