Sixteen Candles : Chapter Ten
The next morning, I awoke as sunlight coming from my window hit my face, forcing me to close my eyes the moment I tried to open them. Slowly, the memory of the day before seeped into my mind, and I quickly reasoned with myself, knowing it had to be a dream.
Your parents are dead, Harry… No one's going to come and save you. Sirius is still a fugitive, you're at the Weasley's with Ron, and it's August 1st. Peter Pettigrew's a rat, Voldemort's threatening to take over the world, and you live with Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon.
You KNOW nothing's going to change that… It was just a dream.
A moment later, a sharp rap on the door jolted me out of my semi-conscious state and forced me to open my eyes, showing the lavish bedroom I was quite positive I had merely dreamed.
"Harry, darling, it's time to get up! Breakfast in ten minutes, and your friends are coming over around eleven o'clock – be ready!"
My heart started pumping hard and fast, as if it was trying to break free of the ribs confining the organ. Realization dawned on me as I took a closer look around the room and realized there was a small picture of Draco and I sitting on my desk.
It wasn't a dream.
I groped over to the right of me, where I knew my bed table to be, before I realized I was reaching out into thin air. With a smirk, I turned to the left and grabbed my now-silver framed spectacles, smiling as the room around me slipped into focus.
I didn't wish to waste too much time simply staring at my belongings, so I dressed in haste, slipping on the same pair of trousers I wore the day before and dug around my wardrobe for a simple black shirt. Stepping over the mirror on the wall, I smiled to myself, excitement starting to take over my stomach.
"Welcome to your life, Harry."
Without a glace back, I dashed out of the room and down the hall, following a set of stairs down into another hall, and quickly found my way to the kitchen, where Mum was standing over a sizzling pan of bacon.
"Good morning, Mum!" I smiled widely, walking over to her and kissing her cheek. She grinned and reached out to hug me, holding me a bit firmer than the night before.
"I see you still haven't regain your memory," she commented, releasing me as the bacon began to sizzle more fiercely.
I looked down at her – I was quite a few inches taller than her at this point – with a quizzical expression upon my face.
"And how exactly did you know that?"
She turned back towards me and smiled secretively, "I'm your mother, Harry, and for the past sixteen years you have never greeted a morning with a smile, nor have you ever kissed me on the cheek."
I coloured slightly, "Oh, sorry."
She waved her hand dismissively and grinned, "Don't worry about it. I rather like the change, to be honest. Now, go to the dinning room and I'll be right there with your breakfast."
"Don't you need help?" I asked, motioning towards the three plates off on one of the counters, assumedly used for breakfast.
She shook her head sadly, "Dear boy… I hate to think of what my sister and her dreaded husband must have planted into that mind of yours, what with all this volunteering to help."
I blinked, rather startled, "Sorry?"
She smiled once more and shook her head, "Go sit down, Harry, I'm sure I can manage."
I obliged, moving into the dinning room where I had first started this life, where Dad was sitting, eyes glued to the Daily Prophet. He looked up when I walked into the room, however, and a smile broke the solemn look across his face.
"Harry! Good morning, son. Sleep well?"
"Good morning, Dad," I grinned and walked over to hug him – something he obviously wasn't used to. "I slept quite well, and yourself?"
He clucked his tongue and shook his head, "That's a new answer – usually all I get is a grunt."
I smiled and shrugged, "I seem to be doing a lot of things wrong this morning. I still haven't my memory, as I'm sure you've realized by now."
He nodded, "Yes, I'm quite aware of that, but Harry, why so formal?"
I shrugged, "Sorry, I didn't realize I was being so."
He stared at me, leaning in a bit closer as if he had the intention to making sure I didn't smell like dung, "Yes… We are your parents, Harry, you don't have to mentally add a 'sir' and 'ma'am' to the end of each sentence."
I grinned sheepishly, "I'll try harder in the future not to do so."
He rolled his eyes in a humourous manner and threw up his hands, once of which still slung tightly to the Daily Prophet.
"There you go again! We're going to have to do something about there abominable manners of yours, Son."
I looked at him with an expression of mock horror, "Abominable?! I learned these manners at quite a young age, may I remind you. Muggles are experts in that field."
He shook his head disapprovingly, "Well, I guess we'll just have to fix that, won't we then?"
The next morning, I awoke as sunlight coming from my window hit my face, forcing me to close my eyes the moment I tried to open them. Slowly, the memory of the day before seeped into my mind, and I quickly reasoned with myself, knowing it had to be a dream.
Your parents are dead, Harry… No one's going to come and save you. Sirius is still a fugitive, you're at the Weasley's with Ron, and it's August 1st. Peter Pettigrew's a rat, Voldemort's threatening to take over the world, and you live with Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon.
You KNOW nothing's going to change that… It was just a dream.
A moment later, a sharp rap on the door jolted me out of my semi-conscious state and forced me to open my eyes, showing the lavish bedroom I was quite positive I had merely dreamed.
"Harry, darling, it's time to get up! Breakfast in ten minutes, and your friends are coming over around eleven o'clock – be ready!"
My heart started pumping hard and fast, as if it was trying to break free of the ribs confining the organ. Realization dawned on me as I took a closer look around the room and realized there was a small picture of Draco and I sitting on my desk.
It wasn't a dream.
I groped over to the right of me, where I knew my bed table to be, before I realized I was reaching out into thin air. With a smirk, I turned to the left and grabbed my now-silver framed spectacles, smiling as the room around me slipped into focus.
I didn't wish to waste too much time simply staring at my belongings, so I dressed in haste, slipping on the same pair of trousers I wore the day before and dug around my wardrobe for a simple black shirt. Stepping over the mirror on the wall, I smiled to myself, excitement starting to take over my stomach.
"Welcome to your life, Harry."
Without a glace back, I dashed out of the room and down the hall, following a set of stairs down into another hall, and quickly found my way to the kitchen, where Mum was standing over a sizzling pan of bacon.
"Good morning, Mum!" I smiled widely, walking over to her and kissing her cheek. She grinned and reached out to hug me, holding me a bit firmer than the night before.
"I see you still haven't regain your memory," she commented, releasing me as the bacon began to sizzle more fiercely.
I looked down at her – I was quite a few inches taller than her at this point – with a quizzical expression upon my face.
"And how exactly did you know that?"
She turned back towards me and smiled secretively, "I'm your mother, Harry, and for the past sixteen years you have never greeted a morning with a smile, nor have you ever kissed me on the cheek."
I coloured slightly, "Oh, sorry."
She waved her hand dismissively and grinned, "Don't worry about it. I rather like the change, to be honest. Now, go to the dinning room and I'll be right there with your breakfast."
"Don't you need help?" I asked, motioning towards the three plates off on one of the counters, assumedly used for breakfast.
She shook her head sadly, "Dear boy… I hate to think of what my sister and her dreaded husband must have planted into that mind of yours, what with all this volunteering to help."
I blinked, rather startled, "Sorry?"
She smiled once more and shook her head, "Go sit down, Harry, I'm sure I can manage."
I obliged, moving into the dinning room where I had first started this life, where Dad was sitting, eyes glued to the Daily Prophet. He looked up when I walked into the room, however, and a smile broke the solemn look across his face.
"Harry! Good morning, son. Sleep well?"
"Good morning, Dad," I grinned and walked over to hug him – something he obviously wasn't used to. "I slept quite well, and yourself?"
He clucked his tongue and shook his head, "That's a new answer – usually all I get is a grunt."
I smiled and shrugged, "I seem to be doing a lot of things wrong this morning. I still haven't my memory, as I'm sure you've realized by now."
He nodded, "Yes, I'm quite aware of that, but Harry, why so formal?"
I shrugged, "Sorry, I didn't realize I was being so."
He stared at me, leaning in a bit closer as if he had the intention to making sure I didn't smell like dung, "Yes… We are your parents, Harry, you don't have to mentally add a 'sir' and 'ma'am' to the end of each sentence."
I grinned sheepishly, "I'll try harder in the future not to do so."
He rolled his eyes in a humourous manner and threw up his hands, once of which still slung tightly to the Daily Prophet.
"There you go again! We're going to have to do something about there abominable manners of yours, Son."
I looked at him with an expression of mock horror, "Abominable?! I learned these manners at quite a young age, may I remind you. Muggles are experts in that field."
He shook his head disapprovingly, "Well, I guess we'll just have to fix that, won't we then?"