I don't own Harry Potter.
A/N Since you all had to wait so long for chapter four, I thought I would be nice and give you chapter five as soon as I had it done, and not even try to wait for Erfa.
Chapter 5
Harry and June met up with Izzy as they entered the gymnasium. They took seats in the bleachers as they were instructed to, and chatted amongst themselves until Mr. Wash announced their plans for the day. "When I call you name come down here and grab you gym uniform."
They continued talking though out class, each leaving momentarily when their name was called, and returning with a gray T-shirt and dark blue shorts. Harry snorted slightly at the first set of clothes he had ever owned that actually fit. The other two murmured or nodded their agreement, though Harry was fairly sure they didn't fully understand what they were agreeing with.
There were only a few minutes left in class by the time everyone had been called so they were released early. The three of them said their good- byes, even eliciting a few words from June, and they left in separate directions.
Harry entered the art room and sat at a table near the back. He took out "Of Mice and Men" and began to read. It was the book Mr. Platt had assigned as homework that night, and Harry was hoping to get a head start on it.
A few moments later, after all of the desks had been filled, Mrs. Torres walked into the room. The bell rang, and she immediately began to speak.
"Clear your tables. Keep your things under your chairs, when you have accomplished this look at me, nothing and no one else. Do not speak while I am speaking." She paused for them to comply. "Good. When I call your name you will say 'here' in a voice I can both hear and understand. You will raise one hand, and only put it down when I have called the next name. Adair, Jeremy." The boy in the seat beside Harry complied with her orders. "Blake, Roger," the list went on, each student replying as they were told to. When she reached the bottom of the list, she put away the notebook and stood once again in front of the class.
"I want to see who in this class possesses talent, and who will be wasting my time. When I tell you to begin Miss Staite," she pointed to a dark headed girl on the front row, "will pass out a single sheet of paper to each of you. You will take out one number two pencil and I will set an object set a small object on your desk. You will spend the rest of the class period drawing the object to the best of your ability. If you have any questions raise your hand. If you would like help with your drawing, too bad. I will not be assisting you today. There is a pencil sharpener on my desk, feel free to use it. Begin."
Everyone got out a pencil, and Mrs. Torres handed the girl from the front of the room a small stack of blank paper. As the girl made her way around the room Mrs. Torres retrieved a sack from behind her desk. She followed in the girl's wake handing out a variety of items. She gave out such things as an empty picture frame, a skeleton key, a candlestick, and an empty ice tray, before reaching Harry's seat at the back of the room. Mrs. Torres lowered her entire arm into the sack, feeling along the bottom for the next item, and came up with a single screw, which she laid upon the table in front of Harry.
Harry had resigned himself to simply try, and he would just have to deal with whatever grade he was give. This was based on talent, and Harry was fairly sure he didn't have any. As a matter of fact, he hadn't even tried to draw anything since he was in the first grade. He had brought home a picture of a moose so that the Dursleys would hang it on the fridge with Dudley's doodles, and Uncle Vernon had lit it on fire instead.
The boy next to him, Jeremy, growled quietly in frustration as the subject of his artwork, a small rubber ball, rolled down the table. Harry caught it and handed it back, only to have it make another escape attempt a few seconds later. After the third time he had to catch the ball for the other boy, Harry grabbed the ball as it went rolling past and placed it in a small groove in the table, just in front of Jeremy's paper. The other boy flashed a sheepish grin, and returned to his paper.
The bell rang signaling the end of the day, and the halls were flooded with noise. Harry stood and surveyed his work. It looked like a screw to him, so at least he probably wouldn't fail.
Jeremy looked over Harry's shoulder as Harry stooped to pick up his bag. "Wow," the brown-haired boy said, "you're pretty good at that."
Harry stood back up and shrugged. As he was collecting his things Jeremy continued. "Mine just sort of looks like a circle."
Harry laughed slightly as he noticed the truth to the boy's statement. He gave a short, "Um. well. see you later, I guess," before walking to the front of the classroom to give Mrs. Torres his sketch and screw.
Five minutes after fleeing the school building Harry ended his short jog in front of the library. He entered and sat at his regular table near the back.
Hours later a loud speaker announced that the library was closing. Harry stood and stretched. He was quite satisfied with the amount of work he had accomplished. He had read the book Mr. Platt had assigned and written a one-page commentary on it. All of his civics for the week had been completed, and he had finished and returned his library book.
After taking his next selection up to the circulation desk, he began the trek home. Harry was very much looking forward to sleeping, as it was getting quite late.
Upon entering the house Harry was promptly thrown against the wall. He was sure if Uncle Vernon kept doing this the wall beside the front door would end up with a permanent dent in the shape of his body. He would probably get beat for damaging the wall.
Harry lay for an indefinite period of time in the fetal position with his hands over his head as his uncle brought a belt down over his body time and time again. Strips of flesh and cloth were ripped off with each snap of the belt.
Harry stayed quiet as his muscles were slowly exposed to the outside world. He was oddly removed from the scene. He thought about Izzy and June, safely tucked away in their beds as their father kisses their foreheads and bids them goodnight. He thought about Jeremy lying in his bed watching television, as his mother comes in and reminds him its time for bed. He imagined being anywhere but where he was. Why couldn't he have stayed with Remus? Remus. He knew that name.
Harry was picked up by the collar of his shirt and dumped unceremoniously in his cupboard. He laid his head upon his thin pillow, and was immediately lost in sleep.
-_-*-_-*-_-*-_-*-_-
Harry came home from his first day at Stonewall High to find his mother in the kitchen transferring mashed potatoes from the pan to the serving bowl. He dropped his bag on the table and walked over to her.
"Can I lick the beaters?" he asked, giving her a hug around the waist.
"After you wash up, Harry-bear," she replied, her bright blue eyes smiling at the dirty look she received for the pet name, "and take your bag up to your room as you go."
Harry smiled and bounded up the stairs. He opened the door with the plaque that read 'Hairy's Room' on it, and entered the cavernous room. He tossed his bag onto the window seat and kicked his shoes off in the corner next to his computer desk. He leaped over the pile of comic books lying in the middle of his floor and charged down the hall to the bathroom. He ran back down the stairs, jumping the last four, and into the kitchen.
"I wish you would stop jumping the stairs," his mother said, handing over the beaters she had used on the potatoes. "Garrison is a bad influence on you," she continued, referring to Harry's father's best friend.
"Uncle Gary isn't a bad influence," Harry argued, licking at the beaters as though they were made of pure sugar. Garrison Bronte was his father's best friend growing up, which was surprising considering how straight-laced Harry's father was.
"You know, most kids only like to lick the beaters when there is chocolate involved," Harry's mother commented, tucking a strand of her jet-black hair behind her ear.
"I like potatoes," Harry shrugged. "When is Dad going to be home?"
"Soon I believe," she answered as she put the serving plate full of roast onto the table. "Would you set the table for me, Harry?"
He nodded and put the beaters in the sink. The table was nearly full when they heard the front door.
"Burning up out there," Harry's father stated as he walked into the kitchen running a hand trough his short blonde hair.
"Dad!" Harry cried, hugging his father tightly.
"Hey, kiddo!" he shouted, his bright eyes sparkling down into Harry's identical green orbs. Harry let go of the man, who then put down his briefcase and pecked his wife on the cheek.
They all sat down, and dug into the delicious food set before them. The discussion at dinner varied from Harry's first day at school, to his mother and father's days, to their weekend plans, and Harry's new bike that he rode to school. He had gotten it for his birthday, and Robby, Harry's best friend since the first grade, was completely jealous of because of it.
Just as Harry's mother set a rather large slice of lemon pie in front of him for desert Harry awoke.
A/N I wasn't sure about the dream, but I think it will all work out fine. Thank you to everyone who reviewed, and please do it again.
A/N Since you all had to wait so long for chapter four, I thought I would be nice and give you chapter five as soon as I had it done, and not even try to wait for Erfa.
Chapter 5
Harry and June met up with Izzy as they entered the gymnasium. They took seats in the bleachers as they were instructed to, and chatted amongst themselves until Mr. Wash announced their plans for the day. "When I call you name come down here and grab you gym uniform."
They continued talking though out class, each leaving momentarily when their name was called, and returning with a gray T-shirt and dark blue shorts. Harry snorted slightly at the first set of clothes he had ever owned that actually fit. The other two murmured or nodded their agreement, though Harry was fairly sure they didn't fully understand what they were agreeing with.
There were only a few minutes left in class by the time everyone had been called so they were released early. The three of them said their good- byes, even eliciting a few words from June, and they left in separate directions.
Harry entered the art room and sat at a table near the back. He took out "Of Mice and Men" and began to read. It was the book Mr. Platt had assigned as homework that night, and Harry was hoping to get a head start on it.
A few moments later, after all of the desks had been filled, Mrs. Torres walked into the room. The bell rang, and she immediately began to speak.
"Clear your tables. Keep your things under your chairs, when you have accomplished this look at me, nothing and no one else. Do not speak while I am speaking." She paused for them to comply. "Good. When I call your name you will say 'here' in a voice I can both hear and understand. You will raise one hand, and only put it down when I have called the next name. Adair, Jeremy." The boy in the seat beside Harry complied with her orders. "Blake, Roger," the list went on, each student replying as they were told to. When she reached the bottom of the list, she put away the notebook and stood once again in front of the class.
"I want to see who in this class possesses talent, and who will be wasting my time. When I tell you to begin Miss Staite," she pointed to a dark headed girl on the front row, "will pass out a single sheet of paper to each of you. You will take out one number two pencil and I will set an object set a small object on your desk. You will spend the rest of the class period drawing the object to the best of your ability. If you have any questions raise your hand. If you would like help with your drawing, too bad. I will not be assisting you today. There is a pencil sharpener on my desk, feel free to use it. Begin."
Everyone got out a pencil, and Mrs. Torres handed the girl from the front of the room a small stack of blank paper. As the girl made her way around the room Mrs. Torres retrieved a sack from behind her desk. She followed in the girl's wake handing out a variety of items. She gave out such things as an empty picture frame, a skeleton key, a candlestick, and an empty ice tray, before reaching Harry's seat at the back of the room. Mrs. Torres lowered her entire arm into the sack, feeling along the bottom for the next item, and came up with a single screw, which she laid upon the table in front of Harry.
Harry had resigned himself to simply try, and he would just have to deal with whatever grade he was give. This was based on talent, and Harry was fairly sure he didn't have any. As a matter of fact, he hadn't even tried to draw anything since he was in the first grade. He had brought home a picture of a moose so that the Dursleys would hang it on the fridge with Dudley's doodles, and Uncle Vernon had lit it on fire instead.
The boy next to him, Jeremy, growled quietly in frustration as the subject of his artwork, a small rubber ball, rolled down the table. Harry caught it and handed it back, only to have it make another escape attempt a few seconds later. After the third time he had to catch the ball for the other boy, Harry grabbed the ball as it went rolling past and placed it in a small groove in the table, just in front of Jeremy's paper. The other boy flashed a sheepish grin, and returned to his paper.
The bell rang signaling the end of the day, and the halls were flooded with noise. Harry stood and surveyed his work. It looked like a screw to him, so at least he probably wouldn't fail.
Jeremy looked over Harry's shoulder as Harry stooped to pick up his bag. "Wow," the brown-haired boy said, "you're pretty good at that."
Harry stood back up and shrugged. As he was collecting his things Jeremy continued. "Mine just sort of looks like a circle."
Harry laughed slightly as he noticed the truth to the boy's statement. He gave a short, "Um. well. see you later, I guess," before walking to the front of the classroom to give Mrs. Torres his sketch and screw.
Five minutes after fleeing the school building Harry ended his short jog in front of the library. He entered and sat at his regular table near the back.
Hours later a loud speaker announced that the library was closing. Harry stood and stretched. He was quite satisfied with the amount of work he had accomplished. He had read the book Mr. Platt had assigned and written a one-page commentary on it. All of his civics for the week had been completed, and he had finished and returned his library book.
After taking his next selection up to the circulation desk, he began the trek home. Harry was very much looking forward to sleeping, as it was getting quite late.
Upon entering the house Harry was promptly thrown against the wall. He was sure if Uncle Vernon kept doing this the wall beside the front door would end up with a permanent dent in the shape of his body. He would probably get beat for damaging the wall.
Harry lay for an indefinite period of time in the fetal position with his hands over his head as his uncle brought a belt down over his body time and time again. Strips of flesh and cloth were ripped off with each snap of the belt.
Harry stayed quiet as his muscles were slowly exposed to the outside world. He was oddly removed from the scene. He thought about Izzy and June, safely tucked away in their beds as their father kisses their foreheads and bids them goodnight. He thought about Jeremy lying in his bed watching television, as his mother comes in and reminds him its time for bed. He imagined being anywhere but where he was. Why couldn't he have stayed with Remus? Remus. He knew that name.
Harry was picked up by the collar of his shirt and dumped unceremoniously in his cupboard. He laid his head upon his thin pillow, and was immediately lost in sleep.
-_-*-_-*-_-*-_-*-_-
Harry came home from his first day at Stonewall High to find his mother in the kitchen transferring mashed potatoes from the pan to the serving bowl. He dropped his bag on the table and walked over to her.
"Can I lick the beaters?" he asked, giving her a hug around the waist.
"After you wash up, Harry-bear," she replied, her bright blue eyes smiling at the dirty look she received for the pet name, "and take your bag up to your room as you go."
Harry smiled and bounded up the stairs. He opened the door with the plaque that read 'Hairy's Room' on it, and entered the cavernous room. He tossed his bag onto the window seat and kicked his shoes off in the corner next to his computer desk. He leaped over the pile of comic books lying in the middle of his floor and charged down the hall to the bathroom. He ran back down the stairs, jumping the last four, and into the kitchen.
"I wish you would stop jumping the stairs," his mother said, handing over the beaters she had used on the potatoes. "Garrison is a bad influence on you," she continued, referring to Harry's father's best friend.
"Uncle Gary isn't a bad influence," Harry argued, licking at the beaters as though they were made of pure sugar. Garrison Bronte was his father's best friend growing up, which was surprising considering how straight-laced Harry's father was.
"You know, most kids only like to lick the beaters when there is chocolate involved," Harry's mother commented, tucking a strand of her jet-black hair behind her ear.
"I like potatoes," Harry shrugged. "When is Dad going to be home?"
"Soon I believe," she answered as she put the serving plate full of roast onto the table. "Would you set the table for me, Harry?"
He nodded and put the beaters in the sink. The table was nearly full when they heard the front door.
"Burning up out there," Harry's father stated as he walked into the kitchen running a hand trough his short blonde hair.
"Dad!" Harry cried, hugging his father tightly.
"Hey, kiddo!" he shouted, his bright eyes sparkling down into Harry's identical green orbs. Harry let go of the man, who then put down his briefcase and pecked his wife on the cheek.
They all sat down, and dug into the delicious food set before them. The discussion at dinner varied from Harry's first day at school, to his mother and father's days, to their weekend plans, and Harry's new bike that he rode to school. He had gotten it for his birthday, and Robby, Harry's best friend since the first grade, was completely jealous of because of it.
Just as Harry's mother set a rather large slice of lemon pie in front of him for desert Harry awoke.
A/N I wasn't sure about the dream, but I think it will all work out fine. Thank you to everyone who reviewed, and please do it again.
