"That's right," Vicki smiled.
"Come on, let's go back," Harry said, smiling assuredly.
Vicki nodded and led the way back to the kitchen, holding Harry's
hand.
As they entered, Ginny eyed Vicki testily. She got up and went over
to Harry, as he had already seated himself, swinging her voluptuous body
with all she had.
She finally reached him, she reached over Harry, revealing quite a
lot of cleavage.
Harry looked up at Ginny and immediately saw the exposed crest of her
breasts and turned away quickly. As tempting as the feast behind him was,
it was Ron's little sister and his girlfriend was sitting right next to
him. Harry was glad Ginny was returning to boarding school next week, then
his attention would be back on Vicki and he could ignore the amounting
physical attraction towards Ginny.
No girl he'd ever seen had such an hourglass figure as Ginny . . .
Vicki didn't have curvy hips and those large, milky br --- . . .
His thoughts were interrupted when Mrs. Weasley asked, "So, my
darling Ginny, are you looking forward to attending Hogwarts?"
Panic overcame Harry . . . who knew what Ginny might try to pull?
She smiled seductively at Harry and said, "Absolutely thrilled . . ."
Harry was nothing short of positively aroused. The way those words
rolled off her tongue was so seducing and desirable. Harry wanted her . .
. and badly.
Harry seemed to have come to his sense though as he realized that
Ginny was nothing like Vicki. He had such a special friendship and bond
with her that he'd never developed with Ginny. He just loved her in a
sisterly way, and maybe not even that . . .
"Anything wrong, Harry?" Vicki asked tersely.
Harry looked back at her, smiled, and said, "No, nothing at all."
They went through the meal without a single thought of Ginny, until
they heard a tapping at the window. It was an owl he didn't recognize. It
looked somewhat similar to the one that had . . .
It'd been days since Harry had thought even ONCE about Sirius. He
had surely missed the cremation or burial by now.
"I wonder who it could be for?" Ron asked quietly across the table
towards Harry. Hermione raised her eyebrows, as if asking, "You two are
talking again?"
"I think I know exactly who it's for . . ."
And he was right.
The owl flew straight towards Harry and landed on his arm. "I really
don't need another person that died, right now," Harry thought quietly to
himself.
The owl quickly dropped the letter on his lap and flew swiftly out
the window again. They all watched it silently until it was nothing but a
mere speck in the distance.
"Well, go on, open it Harry," said Ron quietly, "who knows, it could
be from Sirius."
As he had not listened to the news in several days, Harry guessed
they hadn't released the news of his death, yet. But, all the same, he
picked up the letter and began to unstuck thee seal.
He finally got the letter open and unfolded it hesitantly. It read:
Dear Mr. Potter: The funeral of a Mr. Sirius Alan Black will be held at George's Funeral Home in his hometown in Durham, England. Someone will be along to take you and any other persons you wish to bring along on the 28th of August. Sincerely, Nancy Kirkland Office of Deaths and Notices MoM
As sadness overcame him, he was still relieved his other friends or anyone he cared about weren't hurt . . . "What's up, Harry?" Ron asked curiously. Harry shook his head. He couldn't bring himself to say it. That would mean he'd actually have to come to terms with the fact that the one father figure he'd had in his life was truthfully . . . dead. He didn't want to have to face that kind of hurt. He quietly stood up, crumpled the letter in his hand and walked out of the room. He continued up the several staircases and straight into his room. He sat down at his bureau and looked into the mirror. The face staring back at him was extremely pale, with dark circles around his eyes. He was beyond tears at this point. Harry didn't know if he could go to this funeral. He didn't want to face it alone. Thinking of Sirius in that casket was too much to bear . . . seeing his scars were he hurt himself . . . the lacerations from the noose . . . the pain was too strong to carry on by himself, but he decided that he must continue on in this journey and life. And if that meant facing the funeral alone, then so be it. Harry walked over to his bed and collapsed onto it, falling quickly into a drunken sleep, longing to forget this day forever. Harry woke to a bright and sunny day, light pouring through the window. He shielded his yes and got out of bed. Harry jumped backwards in panic. His desk calendar read, "August 28th." Today was the funeral! He directed his attention to his clock, which read, "7:39." Durham was quite a bit of ways from Ottery St. Catchpole, and if they were driving, would take a good three hours. He figured he'd better get a move on. He got a shower, and not sure what to wear, threw on a pair of black trousers, a black sweater, and a plain black Hogwarts cloak. By now it was around 8:45, and sure enough, just as he was fastening his cloak, there came a ring at the doorbell. Someone had apparently answered it, and hoping it was not Mrs. Weasley, flew down the stairs at a lightning speed. To his misfortune, it was Mrs. Weasley who had opened the door. She had heard Harry's feet hit the landing and turned around, looking at Harry sternly. "Harry, do you know this man? He says he's looking for you." "No time to explain, Mrs. Weasley, but I'll be back around seven tonight." And with that, he ran out the door and into the car, before Mrs. Weasley had the chance to throw any questions at him. The man that had summoned him at the door was now climbing into the car. He was also dressed in all black. He had reddish hair and a toothbrush mustache. He looked very nice indeed. When he was fully in the car (he was very tall), he turned to Harry, held out his hand, and said, "Mundungus Fletcher . . . glad to be at your acquaintance, Mr. Potter . . . Sirius was a very dear friend of mine." As he blabbered on about his relationship with Sirius, Harry couldn't help but stare at a rather large yellow gem, on a black necklace hanging around hi neck. He wondered where he'd gotten such an elegant piece of jewelry. Mr. Fletcher seemed to have noticed he wasn't listening and staring at his necklace. He shifted rather uncomfortably and tucked the gem inside his sweater. The rest of the ride was ridden in silence, which can grow very dull when you're sitting in a car with a man you barely know for three hours.
Dear Mr. Potter: The funeral of a Mr. Sirius Alan Black will be held at George's Funeral Home in his hometown in Durham, England. Someone will be along to take you and any other persons you wish to bring along on the 28th of August. Sincerely, Nancy Kirkland Office of Deaths and Notices MoM
As sadness overcame him, he was still relieved his other friends or anyone he cared about weren't hurt . . . "What's up, Harry?" Ron asked curiously. Harry shook his head. He couldn't bring himself to say it. That would mean he'd actually have to come to terms with the fact that the one father figure he'd had in his life was truthfully . . . dead. He didn't want to have to face that kind of hurt. He quietly stood up, crumpled the letter in his hand and walked out of the room. He continued up the several staircases and straight into his room. He sat down at his bureau and looked into the mirror. The face staring back at him was extremely pale, with dark circles around his eyes. He was beyond tears at this point. Harry didn't know if he could go to this funeral. He didn't want to face it alone. Thinking of Sirius in that casket was too much to bear . . . seeing his scars were he hurt himself . . . the lacerations from the noose . . . the pain was too strong to carry on by himself, but he decided that he must continue on in this journey and life. And if that meant facing the funeral alone, then so be it. Harry walked over to his bed and collapsed onto it, falling quickly into a drunken sleep, longing to forget this day forever. Harry woke to a bright and sunny day, light pouring through the window. He shielded his yes and got out of bed. Harry jumped backwards in panic. His desk calendar read, "August 28th." Today was the funeral! He directed his attention to his clock, which read, "7:39." Durham was quite a bit of ways from Ottery St. Catchpole, and if they were driving, would take a good three hours. He figured he'd better get a move on. He got a shower, and not sure what to wear, threw on a pair of black trousers, a black sweater, and a plain black Hogwarts cloak. By now it was around 8:45, and sure enough, just as he was fastening his cloak, there came a ring at the doorbell. Someone had apparently answered it, and hoping it was not Mrs. Weasley, flew down the stairs at a lightning speed. To his misfortune, it was Mrs. Weasley who had opened the door. She had heard Harry's feet hit the landing and turned around, looking at Harry sternly. "Harry, do you know this man? He says he's looking for you." "No time to explain, Mrs. Weasley, but I'll be back around seven tonight." And with that, he ran out the door and into the car, before Mrs. Weasley had the chance to throw any questions at him. The man that had summoned him at the door was now climbing into the car. He was also dressed in all black. He had reddish hair and a toothbrush mustache. He looked very nice indeed. When he was fully in the car (he was very tall), he turned to Harry, held out his hand, and said, "Mundungus Fletcher . . . glad to be at your acquaintance, Mr. Potter . . . Sirius was a very dear friend of mine." As he blabbered on about his relationship with Sirius, Harry couldn't help but stare at a rather large yellow gem, on a black necklace hanging around hi neck. He wondered where he'd gotten such an elegant piece of jewelry. Mr. Fletcher seemed to have noticed he wasn't listening and staring at his necklace. He shifted rather uncomfortably and tucked the gem inside his sweater. The rest of the ride was ridden in silence, which can grow very dull when you're sitting in a car with a man you barely know for three hours.