A/N: Ah, crap, I noticed I made a fair amount of mistakes in the previous
chapter, but..just ignore those. I forgot to put "a troublemaker". It just
says "..a , nor was he one who followed the rules." But, well, yeah,
no big deal. Weh. To my latest reviewers, I know it's weird so far,
and.yeah it's going to be weird the whole way through. Er, this isn't
exactly suppose to be anywhere NEAR serious, but I promise you, it WILL
relate to Harry Potter. Honest to Lupin.
Five years.
Yes, it has been five years.
In this time a young boy has grown to be a respectably respectable young man.
In this time more hair has been sprouted from flesh and teeth have fallen out from their homes.
In this time, things have been learnt, and things have been lost.
It's been five years since his brother ran away.
Timothy slowly made his way across his bedroom, to the stairs, down them, and past his mother, to the table.
"What's.for supper tonight?" the 15 year old teenager asked.
"Taco salad."
".Oh yeah. Stupid question."
"That's alright."
.......yes. Yes it was. And I know fanfiction.net will change the "dot dot dot"s to one dot. BUT IT IS MORE THAN ONE DOT.
Whisper, whisper, whisper.
Converse.
And the lot.
"But-oh you dolt! How could Dumbledore EVER trust a DOLT like you? Dolt!"
"Blightuh, it wasn't my fault we went to the wrong house, you were given the directions!"
"SHUT THE BLOODY HELL UP, SOMEONE'S COMING!"
"LOWER YOUR VOICE, DOLT."
Sulking along the street at 9:30 pm was Timothy, a rather troubled boy considering he's never seen his brother in five years. With blonde-ish hair shining under the street lamp, and eyelids lowered over irises of hazel, he continued to ponder on other depressing thoughts such as losing his pet clam (how do you lose a clam?) and trying to figure out why he didn't belong.
He didn't belong. He was different. He knew that. His mother knew that. But she always lied and said he was as normal as any other boys in school who were 15 with bushy blonde hair and bore a long nose and cracked an object with their minds when they were angry.
And didn't like talking to people.
And hated people to talk to.
And hated the "surprise" of the cafeteria's soup being the liquid remains of yesterday's expensive meal.
(The expensive meal wasn't soup).
It's not really that the soup tasted like shit was what made him sigh, but it was the fact that so many people said it was good when, really, it tasted like shit. So he asks someone what the soup tastes like and they reply "Oh, it's good!" and he goes and buys it but regrets it afterwards. He promises himself he will never try the soup again and will find a better way to waste his money. A few weeks later he finds himself asking how the soup is and they reply "It's really good this time, I swear, better than that other shit I had a few weeks ago," but they lie. It wasn't any better than the shit they served a few weeks ago.
"Is that him?"
"That's him, alright."
"Hey, hehe, isn't it ironic how 'Silence' is usually said so loudly?"
"[dot dot dot]"
Tim craned his neck to see what lingered beneath the bushes. From their poor attempt in hiding he could tell that there were two of them (people, he assumed), wearing fairly odd clothes. One of them seemed to be holding a flashlight, though, it was a very thin, wooden looking one.
"Damn, he saw us."
"Of course I can see you! Who in God's name are you and what the hell are you doing out here?"
"Uh..erm."
Tim felt no fear whatsoever. Normally he'd be slightly intimidated by two grown men hiding in the bushes talking about him, but these two immediately gave off the impression much to something as 'I'm too stupid to harm you, you might as well just leave danger at home and set it loose in the kitchen.'
"Come out, I know you're there! I'm not scared, you know! I.I KNOW SOME MAD KUNG-FU SKILLZ."
"No, kid, don't worry!" spoke one of the men, "We don't mean ya any harm!"
"Then what are you doing there?"
"We.have to tell you.something."
"Oh?"
"Yeah," replied the same voice of the same man.
"Listen my house is RIGHT THERE and I could just get the police on you right now."
They whispered, in which little bursts of anger occurred momentarily, and the two of them finally walked out from the bushes infront of Tim.
The taller of the two had a head of dark brown, scruffy hair and looked like he didn't bother to eat much. His eyes were wide, which gave him a constant look of worry, and with his fingers moving a certain nervous way it didn't help much with making him look any less worried. The shorter, not exactly stout or anything, walked closer to Tim. With long, scraggly red hair, instantly presuming this man was insane was a very good presumption, indeed. A sense of energy seemed to emanate from him, gleaming off of his personality and shrouded the less gleaming stars with shame. Even though gleaming isn't really the right word for it, more like "shining" but I hate that word.
Our 15 year old friend was getting a bit frightened now.
"Hi. We, er, erm, we." started the red-haired person.
"We have come to tell you, that, well." explained the lankier man, shifting his eyes about.
"To.to inform you of." continued the shorter one.
"Say.to say.well there's not really.any easy way to say this." he stuck a finger in his ear.
"Have arrived to give you the message of-"
"PLEASE, TELL ME," shouted Timothy.
"YOU'RE A WIZARD." They both seemed to exclaim this at once.
Silence.
Dot dot dot.
The teenager began to speak.
He stopped.
He began to speak again.
He stopped.
Someone coughed.
He looked towards the ground for a bit.
Then he looked up.
"Is this some kind of a joke?"
"Ehh, no."
"Er."
"Hi. My name is Fesker," said the brown-haired one, with a nod. "This here, is Rum."
"I'm Rum!" he held out a hand which looked like it could shake someone's arm clean off. His mismanaged strands of orange conformed to every move he made, every twist of neck. "Pleased in meeting you. That's Fesker."
"Er, yeah, he knows."
"Right."
Still confused and feeling like hitting something, Tim exhaled and asked what this was all about.
"Oh, well, you see, there's this whole other world involving magic and the such, and you were suppose to know about it a fair amount of years ago."
Tim asked if this was realistic.
"Oh yes, indeed."
Tim asked if they were going to kidnap him.
With a defensive waving of hands, Fesker blurted out "Oh no no no, nothing like that, we just have to take you away from your home and put you somewhere different for a year or so."
"Ah, of course," replied Tim.
"Oh---lovely job Fesk, now you got him thinking that we ARE kidnapping him."
"Well I suppose it IS pretty much kidnapping, you see." Setting his fingers on his chin and looking down for a moment to think, Fesker only built more annoyance for Timothy to be annoyed by, not to mention a bucket of confusion.
"Ah, well, we're going to have to speak to your mother first. So it's not really kidnapping."
"Honestly, what's this all about?"
Timothy was not a happy teenager. Timothy didn't like not knowing what the bloody hell was going on (an unfortunate trait in the family). Timothy would go and come back with knife if he not get happy soon.
"You're a wizard."
"I need proof."
"Well, I'm not really allowed to do this in muggle territory, but if it's the only way."
Fesker shifted his eyes to Rum. Rum shrugged. Fesker brandished his .what appears to be a.wand.said some funny words, and the light on the end of it disappeared.
"Pphhht."
"Not impressed? Alright then. Rum, stand there."
"What?"
Some more funny words were said and Rum fell to the ground, inexorably unconscious.
"..Whoa."
"Yes."
Everything was starting to make a little more sense. Everything fell into place a little more. Being a wizard would explain why the corner of his desk split off when he was taunted by the normal boys. Being a wizard would explain the anomalies that occurred with the ball when he couldn't throw it right. Being a wizard would explain why his mother never talked about his dad and how he died when that railing bent to the side on that amusement park ride way back when the son of that dad was being scolded for something he didn't do.
"Hmmm. Do you tell all of the kids who are secretly wizards the same way you told me? You know, creeping me out with glowering at me from the bushes and all."
"Oh, no, an owl is sent to them with a message in it's beak."
"How come I never got an owl?"
"Weird thing. It died on us, we found a spork jutted up in its stomach. Could never figure that one out."
Timothy coughed.
Five years.
Yes, it has been five years.
In this time a young boy has grown to be a respectably respectable young man.
In this time more hair has been sprouted from flesh and teeth have fallen out from their homes.
In this time, things have been learnt, and things have been lost.
It's been five years since his brother ran away.
Timothy slowly made his way across his bedroom, to the stairs, down them, and past his mother, to the table.
"What's.for supper tonight?" the 15 year old teenager asked.
"Taco salad."
".Oh yeah. Stupid question."
"That's alright."
.......yes. Yes it was. And I know fanfiction.net will change the "dot dot dot"s to one dot. BUT IT IS MORE THAN ONE DOT.
Whisper, whisper, whisper.
Converse.
And the lot.
"But-oh you dolt! How could Dumbledore EVER trust a DOLT like you? Dolt!"
"Blightuh, it wasn't my fault we went to the wrong house, you were given the directions!"
"SHUT THE BLOODY HELL UP, SOMEONE'S COMING!"
"LOWER YOUR VOICE, DOLT."
Sulking along the street at 9:30 pm was Timothy, a rather troubled boy considering he's never seen his brother in five years. With blonde-ish hair shining under the street lamp, and eyelids lowered over irises of hazel, he continued to ponder on other depressing thoughts such as losing his pet clam (how do you lose a clam?) and trying to figure out why he didn't belong.
He didn't belong. He was different. He knew that. His mother knew that. But she always lied and said he was as normal as any other boys in school who were 15 with bushy blonde hair and bore a long nose and cracked an object with their minds when they were angry.
And didn't like talking to people.
And hated people to talk to.
And hated the "surprise" of the cafeteria's soup being the liquid remains of yesterday's expensive meal.
(The expensive meal wasn't soup).
It's not really that the soup tasted like shit was what made him sigh, but it was the fact that so many people said it was good when, really, it tasted like shit. So he asks someone what the soup tastes like and they reply "Oh, it's good!" and he goes and buys it but regrets it afterwards. He promises himself he will never try the soup again and will find a better way to waste his money. A few weeks later he finds himself asking how the soup is and they reply "It's really good this time, I swear, better than that other shit I had a few weeks ago," but they lie. It wasn't any better than the shit they served a few weeks ago.
"Is that him?"
"That's him, alright."
"Hey, hehe, isn't it ironic how 'Silence' is usually said so loudly?"
"[dot dot dot]"
Tim craned his neck to see what lingered beneath the bushes. From their poor attempt in hiding he could tell that there were two of them (people, he assumed), wearing fairly odd clothes. One of them seemed to be holding a flashlight, though, it was a very thin, wooden looking one.
"Damn, he saw us."
"Of course I can see you! Who in God's name are you and what the hell are you doing out here?"
"Uh..erm."
Tim felt no fear whatsoever. Normally he'd be slightly intimidated by two grown men hiding in the bushes talking about him, but these two immediately gave off the impression much to something as 'I'm too stupid to harm you, you might as well just leave danger at home and set it loose in the kitchen.'
"Come out, I know you're there! I'm not scared, you know! I.I KNOW SOME MAD KUNG-FU SKILLZ."
"No, kid, don't worry!" spoke one of the men, "We don't mean ya any harm!"
"Then what are you doing there?"
"We.have to tell you.something."
"Oh?"
"Yeah," replied the same voice of the same man.
"Listen my house is RIGHT THERE and I could just get the police on you right now."
They whispered, in which little bursts of anger occurred momentarily, and the two of them finally walked out from the bushes infront of Tim.
The taller of the two had a head of dark brown, scruffy hair and looked like he didn't bother to eat much. His eyes were wide, which gave him a constant look of worry, and with his fingers moving a certain nervous way it didn't help much with making him look any less worried. The shorter, not exactly stout or anything, walked closer to Tim. With long, scraggly red hair, instantly presuming this man was insane was a very good presumption, indeed. A sense of energy seemed to emanate from him, gleaming off of his personality and shrouded the less gleaming stars with shame. Even though gleaming isn't really the right word for it, more like "shining" but I hate that word.
Our 15 year old friend was getting a bit frightened now.
"Hi. We, er, erm, we." started the red-haired person.
"We have come to tell you, that, well." explained the lankier man, shifting his eyes about.
"To.to inform you of." continued the shorter one.
"Say.to say.well there's not really.any easy way to say this." he stuck a finger in his ear.
"Have arrived to give you the message of-"
"PLEASE, TELL ME," shouted Timothy.
"YOU'RE A WIZARD." They both seemed to exclaim this at once.
Silence.
Dot dot dot.
The teenager began to speak.
He stopped.
He began to speak again.
He stopped.
Someone coughed.
He looked towards the ground for a bit.
Then he looked up.
"Is this some kind of a joke?"
"Ehh, no."
"Er."
"Hi. My name is Fesker," said the brown-haired one, with a nod. "This here, is Rum."
"I'm Rum!" he held out a hand which looked like it could shake someone's arm clean off. His mismanaged strands of orange conformed to every move he made, every twist of neck. "Pleased in meeting you. That's Fesker."
"Er, yeah, he knows."
"Right."
Still confused and feeling like hitting something, Tim exhaled and asked what this was all about.
"Oh, well, you see, there's this whole other world involving magic and the such, and you were suppose to know about it a fair amount of years ago."
Tim asked if this was realistic.
"Oh yes, indeed."
Tim asked if they were going to kidnap him.
With a defensive waving of hands, Fesker blurted out "Oh no no no, nothing like that, we just have to take you away from your home and put you somewhere different for a year or so."
"Ah, of course," replied Tim.
"Oh---lovely job Fesk, now you got him thinking that we ARE kidnapping him."
"Well I suppose it IS pretty much kidnapping, you see." Setting his fingers on his chin and looking down for a moment to think, Fesker only built more annoyance for Timothy to be annoyed by, not to mention a bucket of confusion.
"Ah, well, we're going to have to speak to your mother first. So it's not really kidnapping."
"Honestly, what's this all about?"
Timothy was not a happy teenager. Timothy didn't like not knowing what the bloody hell was going on (an unfortunate trait in the family). Timothy would go and come back with knife if he not get happy soon.
"You're a wizard."
"I need proof."
"Well, I'm not really allowed to do this in muggle territory, but if it's the only way."
Fesker shifted his eyes to Rum. Rum shrugged. Fesker brandished his .what appears to be a.wand.said some funny words, and the light on the end of it disappeared.
"Pphhht."
"Not impressed? Alright then. Rum, stand there."
"What?"
Some more funny words were said and Rum fell to the ground, inexorably unconscious.
"..Whoa."
"Yes."
Everything was starting to make a little more sense. Everything fell into place a little more. Being a wizard would explain why the corner of his desk split off when he was taunted by the normal boys. Being a wizard would explain the anomalies that occurred with the ball when he couldn't throw it right. Being a wizard would explain why his mother never talked about his dad and how he died when that railing bent to the side on that amusement park ride way back when the son of that dad was being scolded for something he didn't do.
"Hmmm. Do you tell all of the kids who are secretly wizards the same way you told me? You know, creeping me out with glowering at me from the bushes and all."
"Oh, no, an owl is sent to them with a message in it's beak."
"How come I never got an owl?"
"Weird thing. It died on us, we found a spork jutted up in its stomach. Could never figure that one out."
Timothy coughed.