Disclaimer: Sadly I do not own the HP world….
Authors note: Sooo….. I was wondering if anyone had a preference as too longer chapters with a longer time between updates or shorter chapters with a shorter time.
Chapter 3
The face residing on his fathers head was an interesting combination of pride, excitement, and a malicious intent. This look bringing an image of a child about to steel his brother's sweets came to Roble's mind. Maybe Roble would finally find out what it was that had had his father on edge for the past week.
As they descended further into the labyrinth of a maze that was their lair, a damp and numbing cold swept into Roble's heart. A feeling so dark that it was like nothing good would ever happen again.
"Dementors, father?" he asked.
The only response was the smirk that grew on his fathers face. Whatever could the beasts be good for? The only reason Roble could think of was that a high priority prisoner was being held. And if that was true, than who was the poor soul about to feel his fathers wrath?
The unanswered but heard questions became unnecessary as they rounded a corner and caught sight of a man, if it could be called that anymore.
The thing was curled in a ball as if to escape from his tormentors. The smell of fear being secreted was overwhelming in its stench. The pungent odor of rotten eggs making Roble's eyes water.
The man did not make a sound when Roble nudged him with his foot. Only roll over and flop onto his back like an overturned rolly polly. Eyes as dark as coal opened slowly and blinked at the painfully bright light. The mouth breaking its enclosing crust in order to rasp out, "Harry?"
Who was this man to call him by that name? A name that was never meant to be associated with him. The traitors to magic had named him that the day he was born. The orphanage had never had a name for him. Roble was simply called "that boy" by the nurses. Roble had many names but only one face.
The gaunt looking man suddenly reached out for Roble and the world spun as Lord Voldemort tried to grasp Roble's robes. Feeling the satin slip through his fingers as the heir to the dark throne was wrenched away.
A dizzying moment passed before Roble and his kidnapper landed in a tangle of limbs. The once almost dead man looking as lively as the day he was born. Quickly pinning the smaller body down beneath his own, Sirius Black clawed through the boys pockets searching for an ordinary wand resembling a stick one could find in any sort of wooded area. A stunning spell was launched from nearby their landing site and Roble was locked in the position he was in.