A/N So I guess it's me again, little ole moi. Firstly I want to thank all
and every single one of you who reviewed the first chappie. I love you
all! Secondly, to Snidget, you know your story isn't half that bad; it only
needs to be beta read ;-) And thirdly, Kristopher if you ever get to read
this, then please review here, there's a little box at the bottom of the
page that says "SUBMIT REVIEW" , I know you won't miss it. Oh and one last
thing, Mr. Sir (you know I mean you Mr. C. Oliver) as a matter of fact I
liked the Eiffel Tower but I'm not obsessed with it, I didn't ask for all
those photos, now leave me be; and have a good day (you know I don't
actually mean to annoy teachers). Plus, another thing, those who are in
Upper School, I wish you all a good week and luck with upcoming test,
assignments, and homeworks; but I wish myself most luck because my teachers
are clearly insane and get overly excited with schoolwork.
Disclaimer: Harry Potter, names, characters, places, situations and related issues belong to J.K. Rowling, Warner Bros, Blumsboory Books, Scholastic Inc, and Raincoast Books.
The young woman stared blankly back at him through the static T.V., clearly thinking it wasn't her turn to speak yet. She finally opened her mouth after what seemed like ages, speaking in a drowsy and bored voice, "Thank you Stan. I'm standing outside the gates of the once respectable monument of the St. Bernard Hospital, which now lies in ashes." She stopped talking and blinked once, almost as though she was expecting them to take a good look at the burned landscape. "According to witness Carl Cloving, a local neighbor, he saw through his window smoke emanating from the Hospital's roof around 3 o' clock. He has lived in this neighborhood since childhood and even visited the building at a young age. He comments that never he had seen smoke coming from any of the chimneys and certainly not at this time in July. Most witness saw with astonishment how the ancient building started to burn and merely crumpled down after a few minutes. Is this an act of vandalism or something much worse?" She gave something that looked remotely like a smile. "We might never know, but feedback just arrived that the fire actually didn't start inside the Hospital, but rather something seemed to have provoked it from the outdoors. There is a theory that a telephone post might have had a high charge and one of the cables snapped, then it might have fallen on the roof. This theory however, may have some truth in it; witness say the saw red sparks, which might have been produced by the cables. Experts continue to investigate the source of this incident. Without farther ado, this is Vivian Cárdenas reporting for the CNN news. Back to you Stan" The image of the girl was replaced by one of a wizened, rather moldy looking man, who instantly started rambling about the Hospital case.
A boy around 16 looked at the T.V. from his seat at the bar. He had the look of someone that hadn't sleep in a long time and the state of his clothes matched the mood of the grubby looking pub he was in. His hair had an untidy appearance and his glasses looked as though they had been smashed several times, being hold together with a bunch of scotch tape. His head was resting on his arms, his eyes looking up at the television. He sighed and tore his gaze away from the screen, picking up his glass and taking drink from it. The bar tender was looking at him sulkily from his place behind the bar where he was wiping a glass with a rag, "Are you drinkin' anything else, boy?" he grunted, "You have been here at least three hours and you've only taken water. I don't ha' time to be messin' up with woes like yourselves"
The young form looked up from his glass and glared at the man. He fished through his pockets and threw a couple of coins at him, then turned back his attention on the glass. So there was another one who had called him "boy". He gave a snort and shook his head; everyone thought about him as a child, someone that needed to be protected from the vast, cruel world. His smiled bitterly. No one thought him of being capable of defending himself, no one had an idea how much older he was, no one even bothered to give him a chance to prove he was worth something. No one gave him a single, bloody chance. Ha, as far as they where concerned he was still an eleven year old, little Harry Potter, a tragic young hero. The Boy Who Lived. He gave another snort of dislike, attracting a few glances from rest of the pub but he didn't care. He had stopped caring a long while ago. What would they do anyway if he continued snorting? Accused him with his Aunt and Uncle? As if he actually mind. In fact, the mere thought that someone told them he had been in a pub was worth every piece of grounding he might get. Nah, the only reason they will bothered to scream at him was for the plain pleasure of screaming at him. They didn't care that he had been in a pub, not at all. If someone would have cared he had been away from his house at late hours of night, he must have certainly paid to see them. Not that anyone ever bothered for his sake, there was always Mrs. Weasley worrying about him as if he was one of her own sons. "But maybe", he thought, "maybe that's the reason I'm out in the dead of the night in the middle of nowhere". He shook his head and suppressed the urge to punch something. Mrs. Weasley always thought of him as her son, but he wasn't. No, he was an orphan, meaning no parents, meaning that there wasn't anyone welcoming back home when he arrived, meaning that love didn't have quite a definition in his mind. Anger, yes, lots of it; hate, of course; but not love. That word always seemed strange and distant when he came to think of it. His parents had loved him, which was something he was sure they had done. But who else? Who else had loved him in that way? His heart gave a jolt as a sudden thought crossed his mind. Sirius. Sirius had loved him in a way a godfather will love his godson. Where was he now? Harry looked around the pub, expecting him to burst out of nowhere, with a lopsided smile, his doggy lopsided smile. Reality suddenly dawned on him like a light that had been flicked on after being in darkness for so much time. Dead. Sirius Black was dead. So that was the reason he, Harry, had been outside in a pub with a television so he could watch the news without being disturbed. So he could see if from a Muggle point of view. The Hospital thing had been something he had been expecting all the while; Death Eaters having fun killing off innocent people in a Muggle Hospital, Death Eaters like Lestrange, Death Eaters who destroyed families, Death Eaters who had no feelings. Ha, they had taken all the family he had left, the only one person he had. He smiled down at his empty glass and jerked his head when he heard tapping. The old bar tender was standing in front of him, glaring "Look boy, leave now, go home, you parents must be waiting for you. Besides we are going to close" He yanked the glass out of Harry's grasp and pointed to the door. He gave one last look at the T.V., which had been turned off, and dragged his feet to the exit. As soon as he was outside, the cool night air lapped at his face, making him feel as though he was beside the ocean. He closed his eyes enjoying the sensation for a few moments before starting to walk. The dark deserted street matched his mood perfectly, he enjoyed the loneliness more than ever this days. The sky was dotted with a few tiny pinpricks here and there, twinkling down at him. He stopped beside the park walls and leaned back against the stone. He looked, up staring at the firmament expressionless until something caught his eye. A dog, there was a dog in the sky. He shook his head and looked up again. There it was, so plainly drawn with dotted star lines that it was impossible not to notice it. A silhouette of a large, shaggy dog was twinkling in the night sky. He stared at it for an eternity, then, so suddenly he thought he might have imagined it, it winked at him. He scrambled to find his balance and fell face down on the pavement. He raised his eyes up to the constellation which shook softly as though it was laughing, He turned on his back and laugh along with it too, shaking with laughing cries until he was out of breathe. He propped himself up with his elbows and stare up at the dog, twinkling brightly down at him. He didn't know how much time had passed before he heard a beeping noise that brought him back to reality. He looked down at his wristwatch which marked 5:30 a.m. His panic alarm went off at full speed as he scrambled to his feet and made a mad dash towards Privet Dive. He jumped over trashcans and rushed through shrubs and trees, barely looking up at the sky. He didn't stop until he arrived at #5 panting and clutching his side. He wasn't about to enter through the front door, nor the kitchen one. He circled the house until he was beneath his own bedroom window and griped the ivy growing on that side of the wall. It was thick enough to hold and climb up to his room. When he rolled inside through the window and ha stood up, his eyes searched the sky for the familiar dog form. It wasn't there. He leaned against the window looking up at the heavens. Angry, yes; hate, probably, love.He grinned, closing the window and laying down on the bed. Love, definitely.
Disclaimer: Harry Potter, names, characters, places, situations and related issues belong to J.K. Rowling, Warner Bros, Blumsboory Books, Scholastic Inc, and Raincoast Books.
The young woman stared blankly back at him through the static T.V., clearly thinking it wasn't her turn to speak yet. She finally opened her mouth after what seemed like ages, speaking in a drowsy and bored voice, "Thank you Stan. I'm standing outside the gates of the once respectable monument of the St. Bernard Hospital, which now lies in ashes." She stopped talking and blinked once, almost as though she was expecting them to take a good look at the burned landscape. "According to witness Carl Cloving, a local neighbor, he saw through his window smoke emanating from the Hospital's roof around 3 o' clock. He has lived in this neighborhood since childhood and even visited the building at a young age. He comments that never he had seen smoke coming from any of the chimneys and certainly not at this time in July. Most witness saw with astonishment how the ancient building started to burn and merely crumpled down after a few minutes. Is this an act of vandalism or something much worse?" She gave something that looked remotely like a smile. "We might never know, but feedback just arrived that the fire actually didn't start inside the Hospital, but rather something seemed to have provoked it from the outdoors. There is a theory that a telephone post might have had a high charge and one of the cables snapped, then it might have fallen on the roof. This theory however, may have some truth in it; witness say the saw red sparks, which might have been produced by the cables. Experts continue to investigate the source of this incident. Without farther ado, this is Vivian Cárdenas reporting for the CNN news. Back to you Stan" The image of the girl was replaced by one of a wizened, rather moldy looking man, who instantly started rambling about the Hospital case.
A boy around 16 looked at the T.V. from his seat at the bar. He had the look of someone that hadn't sleep in a long time and the state of his clothes matched the mood of the grubby looking pub he was in. His hair had an untidy appearance and his glasses looked as though they had been smashed several times, being hold together with a bunch of scotch tape. His head was resting on his arms, his eyes looking up at the television. He sighed and tore his gaze away from the screen, picking up his glass and taking drink from it. The bar tender was looking at him sulkily from his place behind the bar where he was wiping a glass with a rag, "Are you drinkin' anything else, boy?" he grunted, "You have been here at least three hours and you've only taken water. I don't ha' time to be messin' up with woes like yourselves"
The young form looked up from his glass and glared at the man. He fished through his pockets and threw a couple of coins at him, then turned back his attention on the glass. So there was another one who had called him "boy". He gave a snort and shook his head; everyone thought about him as a child, someone that needed to be protected from the vast, cruel world. His smiled bitterly. No one thought him of being capable of defending himself, no one had an idea how much older he was, no one even bothered to give him a chance to prove he was worth something. No one gave him a single, bloody chance. Ha, as far as they where concerned he was still an eleven year old, little Harry Potter, a tragic young hero. The Boy Who Lived. He gave another snort of dislike, attracting a few glances from rest of the pub but he didn't care. He had stopped caring a long while ago. What would they do anyway if he continued snorting? Accused him with his Aunt and Uncle? As if he actually mind. In fact, the mere thought that someone told them he had been in a pub was worth every piece of grounding he might get. Nah, the only reason they will bothered to scream at him was for the plain pleasure of screaming at him. They didn't care that he had been in a pub, not at all. If someone would have cared he had been away from his house at late hours of night, he must have certainly paid to see them. Not that anyone ever bothered for his sake, there was always Mrs. Weasley worrying about him as if he was one of her own sons. "But maybe", he thought, "maybe that's the reason I'm out in the dead of the night in the middle of nowhere". He shook his head and suppressed the urge to punch something. Mrs. Weasley always thought of him as her son, but he wasn't. No, he was an orphan, meaning no parents, meaning that there wasn't anyone welcoming back home when he arrived, meaning that love didn't have quite a definition in his mind. Anger, yes, lots of it; hate, of course; but not love. That word always seemed strange and distant when he came to think of it. His parents had loved him, which was something he was sure they had done. But who else? Who else had loved him in that way? His heart gave a jolt as a sudden thought crossed his mind. Sirius. Sirius had loved him in a way a godfather will love his godson. Where was he now? Harry looked around the pub, expecting him to burst out of nowhere, with a lopsided smile, his doggy lopsided smile. Reality suddenly dawned on him like a light that had been flicked on after being in darkness for so much time. Dead. Sirius Black was dead. So that was the reason he, Harry, had been outside in a pub with a television so he could watch the news without being disturbed. So he could see if from a Muggle point of view. The Hospital thing had been something he had been expecting all the while; Death Eaters having fun killing off innocent people in a Muggle Hospital, Death Eaters like Lestrange, Death Eaters who destroyed families, Death Eaters who had no feelings. Ha, they had taken all the family he had left, the only one person he had. He smiled down at his empty glass and jerked his head when he heard tapping. The old bar tender was standing in front of him, glaring "Look boy, leave now, go home, you parents must be waiting for you. Besides we are going to close" He yanked the glass out of Harry's grasp and pointed to the door. He gave one last look at the T.V., which had been turned off, and dragged his feet to the exit. As soon as he was outside, the cool night air lapped at his face, making him feel as though he was beside the ocean. He closed his eyes enjoying the sensation for a few moments before starting to walk. The dark deserted street matched his mood perfectly, he enjoyed the loneliness more than ever this days. The sky was dotted with a few tiny pinpricks here and there, twinkling down at him. He stopped beside the park walls and leaned back against the stone. He looked, up staring at the firmament expressionless until something caught his eye. A dog, there was a dog in the sky. He shook his head and looked up again. There it was, so plainly drawn with dotted star lines that it was impossible not to notice it. A silhouette of a large, shaggy dog was twinkling in the night sky. He stared at it for an eternity, then, so suddenly he thought he might have imagined it, it winked at him. He scrambled to find his balance and fell face down on the pavement. He raised his eyes up to the constellation which shook softly as though it was laughing, He turned on his back and laugh along with it too, shaking with laughing cries until he was out of breathe. He propped himself up with his elbows and stare up at the dog, twinkling brightly down at him. He didn't know how much time had passed before he heard a beeping noise that brought him back to reality. He looked down at his wristwatch which marked 5:30 a.m. His panic alarm went off at full speed as he scrambled to his feet and made a mad dash towards Privet Dive. He jumped over trashcans and rushed through shrubs and trees, barely looking up at the sky. He didn't stop until he arrived at #5 panting and clutching his side. He wasn't about to enter through the front door, nor the kitchen one. He circled the house until he was beneath his own bedroom window and griped the ivy growing on that side of the wall. It was thick enough to hold and climb up to his room. When he rolled inside through the window and ha stood up, his eyes searched the sky for the familiar dog form. It wasn't there. He leaned against the window looking up at the heavens. Angry, yes; hate, probably, love.He grinned, closing the window and laying down on the bed. Love, definitely.
