Authors Note: Well, I'm a lot more satisfied with this chapter than I was with the last, this one was really fun to write, and opened the plot hole for the drunk Lupin and Voldemort part. Although I might change Voldemort to Snape, let me know what you guys think on the matter. Hopefully I'll be getting the next chapter up sooner. I mean I would say I'd get it up by next week, but I think those of you who have been with this story for the last few chapters know that it really isn't a realistic expectation. But reviews make me write faster, and I would really like to hear what some of you would like to see in the next chapters. But I'm working on the next chapter as we speak, so hopefully the updates will become more regular. I'm out, -Crouchingbunny.
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Dudley opened the back door to the ice rink, after finding the front entrance locked he had ran around to the back exit. His first impression was of being surrounded by darkness. He sucked in air and looked around, eyes adjusting slightly to the lack of light. He walked on down the purple carpeted hallway, confetti walls rising steeply on each side. Where is she? He thought, heart jumping, panic making his ears roar. What if something was wrong? What if something had… gotten her?
As he entered the shoeing area, the blue glow of the ice cast a slight light on his surroundings. He stopped and looked around, shivering slightly with the cold, as a white mist rose off of the ice and floated over to him. A slight rasp, as of something sickly breathing in through phlegm coated lungs. He cringed a little, remembering all of the many horror films he had watched. This was the part where he saw the half dead friend, before they told him 'We're, not alone.' Dudley squelched the insane notion and continued on. Swallowing deeply, and going against his prominent instinct of getting the hell out of there, he scanned the floor. He saw a mass lying on the floor of the refreshment area, a few feet from the ice. On the other side of the rink. He recognized the pink scarf trailing from the neck.
"Suzannah!" he yelled and ran across the ice. Slipping and sliding on the icy floor, he finally made it across. Needless to say with a few cuts and bruises, but the need to see his girlfriend alive prevailed his aching elbows and bruised knees.
He skidded to a halt, falling once again, he picked himself up and crawled the rest of the way to his girlfriend's body. Her wheezing breath sending a pathetic blue cloud from her slightly parted lips, he picked her up in his arms. Her long blonde hair spilling over the side of his arm.
"Suzannah?" he asked as hewiped a wisp of hair from her face and hugged her against his chest, she was so cold. When Dudley heard her suck in a raspy breath, he tilted her head up. She opened her eyelids, revealing unfocused bloodshot eyes.
"Du-u-udley?" she asked in a shaky voice, she coughed into his shoulder when he nodded. Who could have done this? he thought staring warily around the refreshment area. Sets of empty tables and the glow of the menu were little consolation to the growing dread in the pit of his stomach. "I'm," she coughed again, "cold." Her teeth began to chatter, a faint sound magnified by the empty cavernous space around them.
"Shh," he whispered and stood, scooping Suzannah up simultaneously. "Let's get you out of here." Suzannah nodded, then nestled closer to his chest.
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"WHAT! What do you mean FIVE MINUTES?" Larissa Piper yelled into her cell phone. She couldn't believe it! Out of all of the days that her husband would choose to go golfing at the country club, this had to be the day. And the woman working at the receptionist desk was being painfully unsatisfactory.
"Mam, I'm so sorry. But it takes a while for Josh, our course manager to find-"
"QUIET! I don't have time for your little problems! My daughter is in the hospital! I can't believe this incompetence! Mr. Aaron will hear about this!"
"I am sorry Mrs. Piper we- here he is!" The receptionist practically flung the phone at Mr. Piper.
"Larissa? What on earth is wrong?" Mr. Piper asked, pressing his ear to the phone.
"Wrong Clyde? Our daughter is in the hospital! That's what is WRONG!" Larissa screeched into her cell. Lisa sighed and looked at her watch. It was going on five thirty, and she hadn't had anything to eat since that afternoon when she had accidentally swallowed her gum. Her Aunt Larissa screeching into the phone like a mad woman wasn't helping a beginnning headache.Twice a nurse had to come in the waiting room and tell her to be quiet. Needless to say, Larissa Piper regarded the rules, and general quiet nature of the waiting room, as beneath her.
Lisa resisted the urge to yawn and stared solemnly at the floor, she would have to wait until her parents got to the hospital for someone to take her home. Granted, she could have taken the cab, but Suzannah was her cousin. And she was tapped out for the moment, the ride here had cost her. Dudley had left with the police woman after giving his statement, and someway or another Harry had managedto gethome. She briefly remembered him seeing a red haired man in the street, examining a soda can, left on the side walk. After that it was a little fuzzy, as if Harry had waved goodbye and disappeared. Of course she could have just not been paying attention.
"But what are you going to do Clyde? Our little girl has been assaulted by- alright dear. You're first rate." Lisa glanced up at her aunt.
"Well?" she asked. Larissa put the cell phone in her handbag, andupon snapping it shut, smiled and looked at her niece.
"He's going to buy Suzie a car, that pink convertible she has had her eye on." Lisa smiled along with her aunt, Oh great, Suzie gets another car. Oh joy, Lisa grumbled inwardly and stared at the floor again.
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"Yeah, I'm okay," Harry said into the Dursley's home phone. Hermione had called to check up on him, fortunately none of the Dursley's were home, and she didn't have to pretend to be a saleswoman.
"Just checking. Listen, I have to go. Promise you'll write?" Hermione said.
"Sure, bye," he said and hung up. Harry scratched his head and looked at the clock. 6:07 pm. He groaned and stretched out on the couch. The recent events played lazily through his mind, as he rested his head on a pillow. Looked like he was spending the evening alone in the Dursley home.
He closed his eyes and tried for a nap. Sure, the last few hours had been tiring, he had jumped out of Dudley's car, and helped Dudley put Suzannah in the back seat. Lisa and Harry had taken a cab to the Hospital, well Lisa had gotten out at the hospital and paid the cab to take him home. Or wherever. Try as he might he couldn't get Suzannah's pale face and raspy breath out of his head. He sat up and turned the television on. A high speed chase took the place of the usual evening programs. He groaned and turned it off. The phone rang, and Harry hastily picked it up.
"Hello?" he said.
"Dudley?" It was Aunt Petunia.
"Harry."
"Oh, it's you," Petunia sounded less than thrilled.
"Yeah."
"Well? Where's Dudley?" Harry fiddled with the frilly border of a pillow and rolled his eyes.
"He's at the hospital with his girlfriend," he said, surprised that Dudley hadn't called Mama to dish.
"Suzannah? What's… wrong?" Petunia's voice took on an entirely different tone, as if hearing something that could potentially change the course of history. Harry bit his lip and looked out the window. Had he seen someone?
"She, um…" Harry got up off of the couch and looked out into the empty street. A piece of trash floated lazily down the sidewalk, propelled by a stiff wind. He patted his front pocket, checking for his wand. He grabbed it and went to the door.
"Well? What's going on?" Petunia asked again.
"Ice skating, we went skating. And she went to get her purse. When she didn't come back, Dudley went in after her…" he thought he heard something on the other side of the door. He caught his breath and looked through the peephole.
"Dudley went in an abandoned ice rink after that little," Petunia paused and took a deep breath,"go on."
"And he came back with her and, and they went to the hospital."
"…yes?" Surprisingly enough, Petunia was trying very hard to remain calm. Very.
"And that's it," Harry saw nothing through the peephole, as soon as he got off the phone he would go outside and investigate. He felt as if he were being watched, even scrutinized, through the peephole, or he could just beparanoid. He had been feeling a little that way lately. Paranoid.He broke away from the door and walked back into the living room.
"And where is Dudley now?" Petunia's shrill voice broke through his reverie.
"He's at the hospital with his, Suzannah." He coughed hastily and wiped his forehead. Maybe he would go and look outside after all. Just to be sure.
"Which hospital?" Petunia asked.
"Um, I don't know. St. Meredith's Presbyterians?" He really didn't know, he hadn't been paying enough attention, when Dudley yelled out the window of his Mercedes to, "Take a cab! I've gotta get her to the hosp-" at that moment the he turned the corner, and wind whipped his words away.
"All right," Petunia said andhung up the phone. Harry threw the phone on the couch and opened the front door. He stepped outside onto the porch, wand at the ready. He couldn't shake the sensation of being watched. If there was anything from his night at the department of mysteries, it was to be prepared. Stay prepared.
The wind ruffled his hair as he stepped out onto the Dursley's lawn after standing there for a moment the sensation of being watched dissipated, and he relaxed slightly. He put his wand in the back pocket of his jeans and surveyed his surroundings. Nothing but an otherwise empty street, with blank windows staring out at him from the neighboring houses, and the light of the Crewman's television coming from a side window. He could just make out the news lady, from inbetween the curtains.
The clouds on the not too distant horizon were a dull navy blue, the wind was hot and humid. Weighing thick in his lungs, it was only early evening but the sky was already dark. After casting a last searching look around Privet Drive, he walked back into the house and locked the door.
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"Hee ya go mista Duhsley," the bar maid said as she set the glass, filled to the brim with brandy, on the bar in front of Vernon. Even as it clunked on the dark wood of the bar, the liquid frothed over the side and made a small wet ringlet around the glass. The woman sauntered off pausing to give the bartender a wink. Vernon yawned, and took a healthy swig. He set the now half empty glass on the counter, and rubbed at his forehead.
Even if that slip of a barmaid, with a southern accent butchered his name, she served a fine brandy. He was in the bar of the hotel they were staying at. Five star, no less. The bar wasn't very well lit, as most bars are wont to be, and except for the occasional flash of fluorescent light, or stray beam from the disco ball of the dance enclosure, it was the perfect place for a man down on his luck in the love department to ponder the mysteries of life with the bottom of awine bottle.
Vernon sat at a stool, a few spots away from the bartender, a man in his late twenties wearing a black apron. The bar wasn't full, but neither was it empty. A man in black clothing, face obscured by the sheer volume of gray streaked brown hair hanging in front of it, sat slumped over the bar, half empty drink clutched in his outstretched hand. Vernon suspected him homeless, but it was a bar open to the public if they so wished to grace it with their presence. A few other people occupied the surrounding seats, but Vernon chose to ignore them and seek the answers to his questions from the bottom of his brandy glass.
"Drinks on me Chett!" A boisterous middle aged man, with a shockingly full head of blonde hair, Vernon touched the bald patch at the back of his head in shame. A small crowd followed him from the dance enclosure. The bartender looked up from a glass he had been cleaning and grinned.
"Another promotion?" he asked, setting the glass down and stepped up to the drink refrigerator to get the martini mix.
"Nope! I'm getting married!" The man said plopping down onto the seat in front of the bartender, three spots from Vernon.
"Well congratulations! Who's the lucky lady?" The bartender made conversation as he prepped the drinks.
"Charlene," the man said as Chett set a lime green drink in front of him. He downed it in one gulp and smiled.
"Lucky dog," Chett said and continued making the drinks. Vernon waited for his own drink at the expense of the laughing blonde man. He saw the homeless man at the end of the bar, grab the slender stalk of the glass and drink it slowly. He wiped the hair away from his face revealing eye bags to rival the ones Vernon had hosted during his SRD slump. Vernon got up from his seat and moved to the one beside the man, Vernon no longer thought him homeless, although he did smell odd.
"Buck up chap," Vernon said clapping the man on the back. He couldn't be sure but had he heard a growl? No, that was absurd. Of course not. The man coughed and pulled the glass closer to him. "You've got to get lucky sooner or later."
"Thank you," he said and licked his lips. Vernon laughed and patted him on the back again. The man nearly capsized until he grabbed the side of the bar to steady himself.
"Don't mention it, we men," Vernon took a swig of his drink, complements of the engaged gentleman down the bar, "in bars, have a connection. Almost primitive, of suffering fools down on their pluck. Luck." He corrected, and blinked. The man nodded.
"Primitive…" he whispered, and stared into the bottom of his glass. "You know what?" he said looking up, his pallid features brightening.
"Yeah?" Vernon asked. The man chucked his glass behind him, and it landed two feet short of the trash can, breaking into a couple of rounded pieces. The man seemed not to notice, but continued on in a drunken speech.
"I'm right… you're right. And I," he paused and searched the room, several people were looking at him, stares attracted by the crash. He looked down at his hands, curled into claws, he relaxed them and took a deep breath. "Need another drink." A chorus of approval echoed in the room. He slapped his hand on the surface of the bar. Attracting the bartenders attention.
"Yes Mr. Moony?" The bartender asked.
"I need another frink, order another frink for all who wants it!" Moony shouted, raising another chorus of agreement, and raised glasses. Vernon smiled happily and clapped Moony on the back.
"You know what Moony? You're all right. You're all right."
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"Oh Joanna, it's so wonderful," Petunia said into the phone of her hotel suite. A large bedroom with a king size bed, large mahogany dresser in front of the room, complete with big screen television and entertainment system. A large door lead into a master bathroom fit for a queen. Complete with jacuzzi and walk in shower. The right side of the room was a large window sliding door,leading out to a balcony that looked downat the pool. And a glorious view of the sunset, however today the view was obstructed by a mass of dark clouds. She disregarded the slight imperfection and looked up at the ceiling, which was a giant mirror. Petunia lay on the large bed looking up at herself, she looked just like a teenager again, she thought. Twirling the cord of the phone between her fingers, leg bouncing on her knee. The only difference being, she didn't have acne.
"Of course Dear," Joanna said on the other end.
"I know isn't it?" Petunia said and giggled. Joanna had just informed Petunia of a near brush with death Harry had had, with a bolt of lightening. Pure fantasy, of course, but anything to get Petunia into a good mood. Then push her off her pedestal and watch her fall. No really.
"So, heard anything interesting from Dudley lately?" She asked.
"Well, no I haven't been able to get in touch with him. But I talked with the boy and he said he was at the hospital with his little girlfriend. I hope nothing is," she paused and narrowed her eyes, "wrong."
"Yes it would be terrible, wouldn't it? Well I have got to fix Frank his supper, he's a little bound up, so I guess I'll have to fix some greens for him."
"Oh yes, that's… nice Joanna. Tell him to drink some hot tea, and sprinkle a little fiber in it," Petunia sat up and scooted backwards to the dresser on the side of her bed.
"Well, have fun at the Spa."
"Of course, don't forget what I said about the tea. It will fix Frank right up, bye."
"Er, right," Joanna hung up the phone and set it on the hook. And began rummaging in the cabinet for the chili mix.
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"I don't even know if we should be doing this, it doesn't feel right," Alicia said then sighed and let her hand drop from Stanley's shoulder, as he gave her a hurt look.
"It's my parents, my family. Sure we had a falling out, but I still love them." Stanley smiled, flashing a smile that showed the wicked dimples that Alicia had fallen for.
"Your mother still hates me, I mean we can't change that," she said and looked out the window of the car. Stanley still insisted on the muggle transportation, he claimed that apparating made him dizzy.
"Well, your father hates me, so I guess that makes us even." Alicia looked into Stanley's brown eyes and started laughing. After they stopped, sobering, she pushed the hair out of her face.
"Let's get this over with," she said. Stanley patted her arm affectionately -if not reassuringly- and stepped out of the car. Alicia sighed and messed with the cuff of her jacket, it wasn't as if she didn't want Stanley's family at the wedding. She just didn't want to have to see them, it wasn't exactly a secret that Stanley's mother and stepfather hated her.
As soon as Stanley knocked on the door, his stepfather opened it. His ice blue eyes blared out athim like hot coals in a fire place, his pallid face falling as if someone had given him sardines when he'd been expecting cherries.
"It's you," his gaze roved from Stanley and settled on Alicia, "and you."
"Hi Mason," Stanley said smiling brightly, as if nothing was wrong and his family hadn't been ignoring his phone calls for the passed year and a half. Alicia could tell differently judging from how hard his hand was gripping hers.
"Mason who is it?" Alicia heard Stanley's mother say from inside of the house. Mr. Owen glanced once over his shoulder before glaring back at his step son and his fiancé.
"No one dear," he yelled. To Stanley and Alicia a heated whisper, "Go away. You know you aren't welcome here any longer." He attempted to close the door. Stanley put his foot in it, and from the sound it made as the door bounced off of it, it probably didn't feel too pleasant. Alicia winced.
"Come on Dad," Stanley said keeping the door open a little. Mr. Owen glared at his stepson, face screwed up, trying to keep the door from going open anymore.
"Mason? Is everything all right?" Mrs. Owen again.
"Yes! We don't want anything you're selling!" Mr. Owen tried closing the door again. Stanley groaned and forced it open. Mr. Owen fell backwards, catching himself on the door knob. Stanley took a step into his old home, pulling Alicia in after him. At this moment Mrs. Owen, Stanley's mother walked into the living room.
"Mum, hi," Stanley said, a little shyness creeping into his voice. Alicia let go of his hand, even though she would have rather done anything else. Mrs. Owen stood for a second, taking in her husband -only now righting himself, and jerking his shirt sleeve from the door handle-, and her son and his fiancé standing in the doorway.
"Stanley!" Violet Owen launched herself at her son. Alicia, having seen the Gryffindor girls applying similar tactics in fights over Oliver Wood, put a hand to her heart, or her wand, which was in the front pocket of her shirt. Stanley caught his mother, and hugged her around the shoulders.
"Mom, how've you been?" he asked. Alicia relaxed her arm, slightly, not trusting that Mr. Owen wouldn't tackle her from behind if she let her guard down.
"Oh Stanley fine! Why haven't you called? Why haven't you answered any of my calls? I've been so worried!" She sobbed into her son's shoulder. Alicia glanced at Stanley's step father who swallowed and glared back at her, weasel bright eyes filled with malice and… what was it? Guilt?
"Mom! I have called! Every time I do you either don't answer, or Mason says you're away!" Mrs. Owen broke away from her son, and stood, hands on hips staring at her husband.
"Is this true Mason?" she asked. Mr. Owen, glanced at Alicia.
"The boy is lying Violet. He's never called." Violet also glanced at Alicia, smile quavering a bit.
"He's called Mrs. Owen," she said. Violet disregarded Alicia's remark and turned to look at her son.
"Have you really called Stanley? You aren't lying?" Alicia watched several different emotions race over Stanley's face.
"I'm not lying Mother," he said exasperatedly, "we came to personally invite you to our wedding." Mr. Owen gasped and rolled his eyes.
"You know what Stanley, I believe you," she looked at her husband, "and I forgive you. I know what you did it for, but that still gives you no excuse. Stanley is my son."
"Violet, you can't be serious-"
"We accept, now come in and get some tea. I've just brewed a fresh pot. And supper is in the oven. Baked chicken. Your favorite, Stanley."
"But Violet, you can't let her lot into this house! I… I forbid it!"
"Coming Stanley? … and Alicia?" Violet said over Mr. Owens's ravings. Stanley looked back at Alicia, she shrugged.
"Yes," he said. Stanley grabbed her hand and whispered, "Well?" Alicia hesitated, remembering the pure and unadulterated hate radiating from Mr. Owens eyes. She cleared her throat.
"It went better than I expected."
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"More sauce Alicia dear?" Mrs. Owen said, now begging Alicia to call her Mum, asked her daughter-in-law to be.
"No thank you, Mrs.… Mum," she said. Mrs. Owen smiled and set the sauce bowl back on the table. "Excuse me," Alicia said and got up from her chair wincing as it screeched on the flawless wood floor of the Owens's kitchen.
"Of course dear," Mrs. Owens said and began cutting another large slice from the chicken to slap on Stanley's plate. Mr. Owens sat eating quietly, abnormally quiet in Alicia's opinion. She sighed and went out to the car, feigning checking her 'cell phone'. She didn't even have a cell phone, although she had heard of them from her advanced Muggle Studies class from school, and Stanley had one too.
She opened the door and walked out into the driveway of number 14 Privet Drive. Navy blue clouds hung still on the horizon, and the air was a tad more humid than when they had first arrived. She opened the car door and slipped into the passenger seat.
Nope, she thought, I am not out here just to get away from my in laws. She cringed, remembering the way Mr. Owen glanced in her direction every time someone said 'which' in a sentence, or the way Mrs. Owen was sicklypleasant to her. She almost preferred cold indifference as opposed to the sickening falseness of the whole charade. She heard a door slam across the street. She turned her head and looked toward the noise.
A guy, a little younger than she, stood on a lawn surveying the neighborhood. A head of black hair graced his headalong with the glasses. Alicia was vaguely reminded of someone. She squinted her eyes, scrutinizing the boy. He kind of looked like Harry Potter, the seeker from her old Quidditch team. No, she thought, He's too old to be Harry. Still, if she wasn't getting married… She looked away promptly and began digging in her purse, looking for the Madame McLain's Headache Salve she kept at the bottom. She had a feeling she was going to need it.
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Oh yes, and by the way, if you don't mind, tell me what you want to see in the following chapters. Knowing what you guys want to read is a real big helper! I just HAD to throw in that bit with Alicia Spinnet, we have the same first name. grin-CB.
