POTTY WEE POTTER
(A/N : This is my 8th Harry Potter fic. I do not own Harry Potter. )
Chapter 6
Harry Potter stepped forward slowly. He had done this only once before and he was not really ready to experience it again. The giant double doors moved slowly open, the carving up and down them glittering in the blinding light that came from the doorway. Harry took a deep breath. Last time he had walked through these doors the prophet had told him he would kill Voldemort on the night of the end of school ball. Sure Voldemort died that night, but he didn't do it.
"Enter young Potter, Changer of the destinies !" The voice from the light boomed. Harry had always preferred that nickname to the boy who lived. It had more kick to it. He entered slowly the light blasting him in the face like a tidal wave that couldn't be surfed. What was his so called destiny this time ?
He walked through the light for what seemed like hours before it faded revealing the man on the chair he had spoken to all those years ago. It was just as he remembered it. A small green room with the chair in the centre. Not a particularly interesting chair, it was made of plain wood and it gave Harry a kind of homey feeling. He had seen one like it before. And on the chair sat a man. A man no more than three feet high. His feet, unlike his great long silver beard, could not reach the ground and his podgy fingers clutched a copy of the daily prophet. How appropriate, Harry thought, a prophet reading that paper.
Harry approached him slowly, the smell of tobacco and mint sweets hit his nostrils and he could now see every detail on the old man's face. But the prophet didn't move. He continued to read and then when he came to a certain point the said, with out looking up from his paper, "Only three of you are secluded to die." He said in a causal voice, "but then it could be less or more, what with your disregard for destiny."
Harry sat in front of the man, cross legged although it was painful, and waited. The longer you stayed, the more information you usually got.
"Did you know that Hogwarts school has just appointed Severus Snape as the headmaster." Harry did not know that, and as interested as he would have been at any other time, his friends were now in mortal danger and he felt the subject rather irrelevant. He waited for more. "They say he's reopened six of the new dungeons for extra potions lessons. And he's cancelled the Quiditch tournament." Harry could not hold his tongue.
"I do not care about current affairs," he shouted, well, a sort of half shout, "Which of my friends are scheduled to die ?" The man looked up from his paper for the first time. His eyes were a brilliant shade of light blue that, along with the silver beard, reminded him of Dumbledore.
"I do not know," He said calmly, "But everything I say is relevant young potter." And at that he went back to his paper and they sat in silence. Minutes past, possible hours, Harry lost count of time.
Finally he muttered, "Is there anything else I should know prophet ?" The Prophet continued to read his paper some more before putting it down and picking up his pipe.
"I have only one more thing to say," The prophet began as he filled his pipe with fresh tobacco. "The Red head holds the power." And at that Harry went back to the hallway confused and yet informed. At least he had a idea of what to do and where to stay.
(A/N : This is my 8th Harry Potter fic. I do not own Harry Potter. )
Chapter 6
Harry Potter stepped forward slowly. He had done this only once before and he was not really ready to experience it again. The giant double doors moved slowly open, the carving up and down them glittering in the blinding light that came from the doorway. Harry took a deep breath. Last time he had walked through these doors the prophet had told him he would kill Voldemort on the night of the end of school ball. Sure Voldemort died that night, but he didn't do it.
"Enter young Potter, Changer of the destinies !" The voice from the light boomed. Harry had always preferred that nickname to the boy who lived. It had more kick to it. He entered slowly the light blasting him in the face like a tidal wave that couldn't be surfed. What was his so called destiny this time ?
He walked through the light for what seemed like hours before it faded revealing the man on the chair he had spoken to all those years ago. It was just as he remembered it. A small green room with the chair in the centre. Not a particularly interesting chair, it was made of plain wood and it gave Harry a kind of homey feeling. He had seen one like it before. And on the chair sat a man. A man no more than three feet high. His feet, unlike his great long silver beard, could not reach the ground and his podgy fingers clutched a copy of the daily prophet. How appropriate, Harry thought, a prophet reading that paper.
Harry approached him slowly, the smell of tobacco and mint sweets hit his nostrils and he could now see every detail on the old man's face. But the prophet didn't move. He continued to read and then when he came to a certain point the said, with out looking up from his paper, "Only three of you are secluded to die." He said in a causal voice, "but then it could be less or more, what with your disregard for destiny."
Harry sat in front of the man, cross legged although it was painful, and waited. The longer you stayed, the more information you usually got.
"Did you know that Hogwarts school has just appointed Severus Snape as the headmaster." Harry did not know that, and as interested as he would have been at any other time, his friends were now in mortal danger and he felt the subject rather irrelevant. He waited for more. "They say he's reopened six of the new dungeons for extra potions lessons. And he's cancelled the Quiditch tournament." Harry could not hold his tongue.
"I do not care about current affairs," he shouted, well, a sort of half shout, "Which of my friends are scheduled to die ?" The man looked up from his paper for the first time. His eyes were a brilliant shade of light blue that, along with the silver beard, reminded him of Dumbledore.
"I do not know," He said calmly, "But everything I say is relevant young potter." And at that he went back to his paper and they sat in silence. Minutes past, possible hours, Harry lost count of time.
Finally he muttered, "Is there anything else I should know prophet ?" The Prophet continued to read his paper some more before putting it down and picking up his pipe.
"I have only one more thing to say," The prophet began as he filled his pipe with fresh tobacco. "The Red head holds the power." And at that Harry went back to the hallway confused and yet informed. At least he had a idea of what to do and where to stay.