Onya had no concept of just how long she had been passed out, but by the time her eyes slowly peeled open, the sun was just begining to peak out over the houses. She sat up and massaged her neck. She looked around at the livingroom, not recalling why she had gone to sleep in her bed, and was now on the floor. "Ugh. I walked in my sleep again." she said heaving herself up with the assistance of the couch armrest.
The house looked normal when she stood. The clock ticked calmly to a nice steady rhythm. She sighed and turned to ascend the stairs, when the rhythm changed. She heard extra ticks. Surely the clock was not capable of adding random beats. She whipped around and was suddenly overburdened with the rememberance of the events that took place the previous evening. The strirred ash now lay, making a thick gray carpet around the fireplace. She clutched onto a nearby beam, and watched the entry of the fireplace with horror. There was a person in her fireplace last night, and whoever it was, is surely still there now. Onya didn't make another sound. She only gripped the beam tightly until her knuckles turned white.
The person was tapping around at the bricks, and muttering words that only came out as gibberish. Every now and then a spark would flash, and Onya would flinch, but she dare not make a peep. She looked behind her and seized a brass lamp base. She crept into the livingroom, making a point not to step where the wood usually creeked. As she got closer, she could have sworn she heard the name "Wong", and perhaps a few "hello?"'s.
She raised the brass lamp over her head, ready to bang the head of the intruder. "Alright you scum-bag! Get out of my fireplace now, or I'll beat you senseless!" She howled, arms shaking from the lamps' weight.
"Wait! No, please!" said a panicked voice. "I didn't mean to come to your fireplace," the voice continued. The person speaking was obviously young, and male. Onya held the brass lamp determinedly, ready to strike. She trembled and stumbled backwards as the boy from the fireplace made his way slowly out, showing that he had nothing in his hands but a thin sliver of wood.
"Drop your stick!" screamed Onya. The boy did what she asked and dropped it. It clicked lightly against the ash covered floor, and the boy showed his empty hands.
"Please, if you could just tell me how to get back," the boy started.
"Show yourself!" Onya demanded, now holding the lamp as if it were a baseball bat about to be swung over her shoulder.
The boy slipped a little on the slippery ash and wood. Onya could see the boy was wearing what would be a black, but now covered in gray ash, cloak. She could see his black shoes, and black pants, and his red sweater only peaking through his cloak around his wrists. He had dark hair, and she could make out small, broken glasses on his face.
Onya gasped and fell backwards onto the floor. The brass lamp rolled along the floor and hit the coffee table. She clutched the base of her neck, desperately trying to slow her breathing.
"But... you're... you're..." she stuttered. "Er.." said the boy. "But I can't be!" said Onya, flaberghasted. "You're a... a..." she looked around the room, thinking maybe she wasn't in her house. She could have been taken somewhere while she was unconcious. Thats it! She shook the unlikely thoughts from her mind and focused in on the boy again.
The boy cleared his throat uneasily, and said"Yeah, I'm H-"
"You're Daniel Radcliffe." said Onya, now looking thouroughly amazed that a famous person was meddling in HER fireplace.
"Um, no... I'm sorry, you have me confused with someone else." said the boy. "What?" said Onya, standing and wiping the ash from her pajama bottoms. She walked cautiously to him, as if he were a holigram bound to disapear at any moment.
"My name's not Daniel." said the boy. Onya laughed a little. "Oh, right. So then, who are you if you're not Daniel?" she asked sarcastically.
"I'm Harry. Harry Potter." said the boy.
They both stood silent for a moment. Then Onya bust out laughing. Harry stared at her, obviously not getting the joke she got.
"Oh, okay. Then, if you're Harry, I suppose you have the 'lightning shaped scar', right?" she said between laughs.
"Er, yes. I do actually." said Harry. Onya stopped laughing but kept her smile. "Okay then. Show me." she said with her hands on her hips.
Harry shrugged and held back the hair that covered his forehead. Onya steped in closer to take a look. Sure enough, there was a scar dancing down his forehead to resemble the shape of a lightning bolt.
"Heh, nice make-up job you had done there. It almost looks real in person too." she said, still not giving in to his roll-playing.
"Make-up job?" asked Harry. "Yeah, you know. When you're on your big expensive sets. They put all that fancy make-up on you. Give you the fake scar, and you get 'channeled' when there's going to be danger from Lord Voldemort." she spouted effortlessly, crossing her arms.
"Y, you know about Lord Voldemort?" Harry asked amazed, walking closer to Onya. "Oh sure I do. Everyone does, don't they?" she replied. Harry shook his head. "Well... wizards do..." he started. "Oh yes, but I'm a 'muggle' so I wouldn't know about Hogwarts and all that junk, right?" she said effortless again. Harry didn't say anything. He looked around the house, back at the fireplace, and then at Onya who had gone to pick up the brass lamp and put it back on its table. He followed her to the table, looked at her and had the look of just realizing something.
"What is it?" she asked, getting a good look at his expression. "You don't believe me, do you?" asked Harry. Onya sighed. "You're still on about being Harry Potter? Alright, alright. I'll bite. You're Harry. Now what?" she asked tiredly. Harry didn't respond. He simply took Onya's hand, and placed it on his forehead so that her fingertips were touching his scar. She gasped, and her eyes widened. Harry held her by her wrist, as she slowly ran her fingers over the scar.
"That's a... a.." she said searching for the words that lingered on the tip of her tongue. "A really good make-up job." said Harry.
The house looked normal when she stood. The clock ticked calmly to a nice steady rhythm. She sighed and turned to ascend the stairs, when the rhythm changed. She heard extra ticks. Surely the clock was not capable of adding random beats. She whipped around and was suddenly overburdened with the rememberance of the events that took place the previous evening. The strirred ash now lay, making a thick gray carpet around the fireplace. She clutched onto a nearby beam, and watched the entry of the fireplace with horror. There was a person in her fireplace last night, and whoever it was, is surely still there now. Onya didn't make another sound. She only gripped the beam tightly until her knuckles turned white.
The person was tapping around at the bricks, and muttering words that only came out as gibberish. Every now and then a spark would flash, and Onya would flinch, but she dare not make a peep. She looked behind her and seized a brass lamp base. She crept into the livingroom, making a point not to step where the wood usually creeked. As she got closer, she could have sworn she heard the name "Wong", and perhaps a few "hello?"'s.
She raised the brass lamp over her head, ready to bang the head of the intruder. "Alright you scum-bag! Get out of my fireplace now, or I'll beat you senseless!" She howled, arms shaking from the lamps' weight.
"Wait! No, please!" said a panicked voice. "I didn't mean to come to your fireplace," the voice continued. The person speaking was obviously young, and male. Onya held the brass lamp determinedly, ready to strike. She trembled and stumbled backwards as the boy from the fireplace made his way slowly out, showing that he had nothing in his hands but a thin sliver of wood.
"Drop your stick!" screamed Onya. The boy did what she asked and dropped it. It clicked lightly against the ash covered floor, and the boy showed his empty hands.
"Please, if you could just tell me how to get back," the boy started.
"Show yourself!" Onya demanded, now holding the lamp as if it were a baseball bat about to be swung over her shoulder.
The boy slipped a little on the slippery ash and wood. Onya could see the boy was wearing what would be a black, but now covered in gray ash, cloak. She could see his black shoes, and black pants, and his red sweater only peaking through his cloak around his wrists. He had dark hair, and she could make out small, broken glasses on his face.
Onya gasped and fell backwards onto the floor. The brass lamp rolled along the floor and hit the coffee table. She clutched the base of her neck, desperately trying to slow her breathing.
"But... you're... you're..." she stuttered. "Er.." said the boy. "But I can't be!" said Onya, flaberghasted. "You're a... a..." she looked around the room, thinking maybe she wasn't in her house. She could have been taken somewhere while she was unconcious. Thats it! She shook the unlikely thoughts from her mind and focused in on the boy again.
The boy cleared his throat uneasily, and said"Yeah, I'm H-"
"You're Daniel Radcliffe." said Onya, now looking thouroughly amazed that a famous person was meddling in HER fireplace.
"Um, no... I'm sorry, you have me confused with someone else." said the boy. "What?" said Onya, standing and wiping the ash from her pajama bottoms. She walked cautiously to him, as if he were a holigram bound to disapear at any moment.
"My name's not Daniel." said the boy. Onya laughed a little. "Oh, right. So then, who are you if you're not Daniel?" she asked sarcastically.
"I'm Harry. Harry Potter." said the boy.
They both stood silent for a moment. Then Onya bust out laughing. Harry stared at her, obviously not getting the joke she got.
"Oh, okay. Then, if you're Harry, I suppose you have the 'lightning shaped scar', right?" she said between laughs.
"Er, yes. I do actually." said Harry. Onya stopped laughing but kept her smile. "Okay then. Show me." she said with her hands on her hips.
Harry shrugged and held back the hair that covered his forehead. Onya steped in closer to take a look. Sure enough, there was a scar dancing down his forehead to resemble the shape of a lightning bolt.
"Heh, nice make-up job you had done there. It almost looks real in person too." she said, still not giving in to his roll-playing.
"Make-up job?" asked Harry. "Yeah, you know. When you're on your big expensive sets. They put all that fancy make-up on you. Give you the fake scar, and you get 'channeled' when there's going to be danger from Lord Voldemort." she spouted effortlessly, crossing her arms.
"Y, you know about Lord Voldemort?" Harry asked amazed, walking closer to Onya. "Oh sure I do. Everyone does, don't they?" she replied. Harry shook his head. "Well... wizards do..." he started. "Oh yes, but I'm a 'muggle' so I wouldn't know about Hogwarts and all that junk, right?" she said effortless again. Harry didn't say anything. He looked around the house, back at the fireplace, and then at Onya who had gone to pick up the brass lamp and put it back on its table. He followed her to the table, looked at her and had the look of just realizing something.
"What is it?" she asked, getting a good look at his expression. "You don't believe me, do you?" asked Harry. Onya sighed. "You're still on about being Harry Potter? Alright, alright. I'll bite. You're Harry. Now what?" she asked tiredly. Harry didn't respond. He simply took Onya's hand, and placed it on his forehead so that her fingertips were touching his scar. She gasped, and her eyes widened. Harry held her by her wrist, as she slowly ran her fingers over the scar.
"That's a... a.." she said searching for the words that lingered on the tip of her tongue. "A really good make-up job." said Harry.