Harry Potter and the Stone with Two Names
«.:^:.:^:.: Chapter Two .:^:.:^:.:»
About ten years later, nothing much had changed at number 4 Privet Drive. The Dursleys were still undoubtably boring, as was their house, yard, car, clothing, meals, shampoo, fabric softener... the list could go on. The only thing that had seemed to change in the decade was the age and weight of their incredibly fat son. Oh, and that they'd acquired the services of a house-elf.
It was an odd, short and skinny creature who seemed to own no clothing of it's own. It did most of the cooking and cleaning, and in return lived in the cupboard under the stairs. It's name was Harry, though they called it a number of other things. On this particular morning, it was neglecting its duties of 24/7 servitude to sleep.
'Get up!!!' Screeched Petunia Dursley, pounding on the door with as much force as an 80 lb woman could.
Startled out of his wits, Harry sat bolt up-right, only to fall back into bed after cracking his head on the underside of a stair. Rubbing his forehead, he smiled with the small hope of gaining another lightening-bolt shaped scar. Checking a small mirror that hung on one of the stairs across from him, he frowned. 'Will I ever sport a matching set?' He wondered.
'Up, up up!' His aunt yelled again, slamming a fist on the door one last time before going to check on a meal she had remarkably began to cook on her own. Staring glumly into the mirror at his singly-scarred forehead, Harry tried to cheer himself up by remembering his dream. He'd been on a flying motorbike, and was sure he'd had that dream before. No, now he was thinking of the one with the flying monkeys on tricycles.
'Are you up yet?!' Demanded his aunt Petunia again from the other side of the door. 'You have to make Duddy an extra special meal this morning, it's his birthday so everything has to be perfect!' It seemed the woman had already begun the meal as already, the boy could smell it burning as he dug under his little, cupboard-shaped bed until he found some clothing, still mourning his non-existent second scar. The outfit was the size of a tent and covered in cobwebs and dust. Thus, all his clothing was grey, or soon became so. Noticing a large dust-bunny stuck to his pants, he plucked it off and set it on the floor.
'Run free little rabbit!' Harry cried and the dust floated back under the bed in the breeze he created with his breath. 'Run free! At least one of us can.' With that, he changed, pried himself out of the cupboard and went to salvage breakfast.
Dudley, his extremely wide cousin, was counting his birthday presents as best he could, which wasn't well as he had failed math countless times, pardon the pun. 'There are only 63!' He shouted, when finally he'd finished. 'That's less than last year! That's-' He seemed to be trying to do the math in his head, but quickly gave up. 'Far less!' His face was going bright red and he began to wail. This caused all the dogs in the neighbourhood to bark, as they mistook him for an emergency vehicle.
'Calm down Duddy,' Aunt Petunia insisted, seeing the beginnings of either a tantrum or a fine for disturbing the peace. 'It's not less than last year, everyone know 63 is four more than 89!' It was a cruel trick to play with his head like that, and Harry noted she was likely part to blame for his failing math, but it did work in calming him down.
'Oh, okay.' He nodded and ripped open all 63 presents in under 20 minutes flat. By this time, Harry had finished cooking a twelve-course breakfast, and actually managed to eat something before Dudley and his father, Harry's Uncle Vernon, polished off everything on the table. And these two, Harry noted, were probably part to blame for his being so short and thin, even for a ten year old. He wore broken glasses that were taped together from all the times he'd fell on his face after tripping on his extra baggy clothes. The glasses framed his eyes which were bright green. It was a pity, too, as Harry- for no apparent reason- hated the colour green and all it stood for. His hair was dark and always a mess no matter how often he washed, brushed, cut, gelled or tied bows in it. Harry had been deep in contemplation of which bow to use today, when he realized the Dursleys were once again talking about him like he wasn't there.
'A broken leg is no reason not to take him!' Uncle Vernon protested, looking at the boy as if he was something that had been sent down the garbage disposal and somehow came back up. 'They just have tea and look at photos, don't they?!' And sadly enough, they did. Harry could recall one particularly long afternoon where she had shown him pictures of ever cat she'd ever owned, and her mother's before her, and her mother's before her. He could rhyme them all off like a poem. Peter, Augustus, Alonso or James... Someone should really write a poem about that, he thought.
'It seems she keeps the albums under her couch and can't reach them with the broken leg.' Aunt Petunia explained. The pair thought of all the people they knew they could pass him off onto while Harry daydreamed about going on Dudley's birthday visit to the zoo. Such a deep, and vivid daydream in fact, he actually believed he was there.
'Hello Mr. Penguin,' Said Harry, waving to a piece of toast and smiling broadly. Being burnt and buttered as it was, on an island of white plate, it did sort of, if you squinted, look a litt- who are we kidding? It was toast. 'Maybe I could sneak you home, and you could be my friend.' The toast did not wave back.
'What's he doing now?!' Demanded a flushed Uncle Vernon while Dudley loudly proclaimed him to be a nutter before punching him. This brought the scrawny boy back to reality and he blinked a few times, seeing the toast now for what it was, but still sad it could never be.
'Now we have to take him with us!' Aunt Petunia snapped, and so they did. Dudley had, of course, protested but that was quickly put to an end when Harry shouted 'Don't leave yet! We haven't seen the lions!' on there way out the door, pointing first to the shrubs, then finally to a rather hairy neighbor. It clearly wouldn't be safe for their reputation to leave him unattended. Harry's mind, speeding along as it was, had thought the drive there had been the drive back. Perhaps that was why he'd felt it safe to say what he did next.
'I had a dream about a motorbike.' Said the boy, foolishly for although his mind was still ahead, he clearly could not predict the outcome of the discussion. 'Not really about the bike. It was about my parents, but then they were killed by an evil, magical, wizard overlord who then tried to kill me but failed, leaving this scar on my head, and then this giant man came a dug me out and then we got on the flying motorbike and he left me here.'
Uncle Vernon's already red face reddened until it wasn't so much red anymore as a nice burgundy shade. He slammed on the breaks, avoiding a collision himself but causing a multi-car pileup behind. Turning around in his seat, he made sure he was but a few inches away from Harry's face before yelling. 'MOTORBIKES DO NOT FLY!'
Harry, dreams once again dashed, nodded and looked out the window. A motorbike promptly flew past, but the boy said nothing.
The trip to the zoo was, for the most part, enjoyable for Harry though a living hell for the Dursleys who tried to look like every other happy family out for the day. Which isn't saying much. The day passed without event until they went to visit the reptiles. Harry, loathing the colour green as he did, decided to stay near the boa constrictor as it was the least green of the lot.
When Dudley had finished tormenting all the other snakes, he realized he'd forgotten this one and thusly approached. The snake remained where it was. Dudley taped on the glass. The snake stayed. Dudley yelled at the snake. It didn't blink. Dudley threw a tantrum and called his father over who then went through the exact same steps. All without reaction. Deciding the snake was dead, they left.
'I wish I could play dead that well.' Harry said in admiration of the snake who then winked. The boy wasn't sure snakes could wink, but alas, he couldn't be sure as he'd been trying to cut back his viewing of the Crocodile Hunter. 'I'm sorry they bothered you. Usually they find tormenting me enough.' He went on sympathetically. The two proceeded to have a brief, though satisfying discussion what it's like to live in a small, cramped prison and how do you get those greasy fingerprints off the glass? Within minutes, the two had found they were kindred spirits and decided to run away with each other. They were just debating how when the problem solved itself.
Dudley, finished bothering the iguana, had returned to find the boa constrictor perfectly not dead. He ran over as fast as his round body and tiny legs would carry him to try and get in one last wrap on the glass.
The escape plans were made so very much easier when, inexplicably, the glass was gone.
'Run, my friend! Run free!' Shouted Harry to the boa constrictor. Had the fact he was talking to a snake not been reason enough for the Dursleys' to be reassured of his insanity, that fact he'd told a snake to run would have. This statement was so startling in fact, Dudley fell over, through the hole where the glass had been, and into the pit. 'I'll meet up with you later at "the place"!' Harry told the snake who paused to give its kindred spirit one last look.
Needless to say, things from that point on hadn't gone well. Harry hadn't been able to meet up with the boa constrictor, and he was sent to the cupboard the second they got back to number 4 Privet Drive. He was let out a few hours later to be yelled at, then thrown back in. Despite the few flaws, it was perhaps the best day of Harry's life up to that point. Which is why, you can see, he'd always dreamed of someone coming to take him away.
'I'll meet up with you later,' Harry repeated wistfully hours later, staring up at the stairs in his cupboard. 'At "the place".'
«.:^:.:^:.: Author's Notes .:^:.:^:.:»
Okay, I'm sorry it took me so long to get this second chapter written. I've been busy with school, and easily distracted by drawing, books and hockey (on tv, I can't play). And on top of that, I've been having trouble logging into Fanfiction.com lately. But I'd have been this long anyway, so don't blame it.
Also, my time has gone to another Harry Potter related project, http://www.cah.hostrocket.com/ "A Canadian at Hogwarts." It's a comic written and drawn back and forth between me and Awkward. At first, it was joke, so the drawing quality gets progressively better as you go on.
«.:^:.:^:.: Disclaimer! .:^:.:^:.:»
I do not own Harry Potter, any of the characters, creatures, or concepts, although I have a copy of every book and DVD to date. As such, I'm granted only the right to view them, not to write about them- but they're just so good I can't resist.
The point is, they aren't mine, which you've probably realized by now.
«.:^:.:^:.: Chapter Two .:^:.:^:.:»
About ten years later, nothing much had changed at number 4 Privet Drive. The Dursleys were still undoubtably boring, as was their house, yard, car, clothing, meals, shampoo, fabric softener... the list could go on. The only thing that had seemed to change in the decade was the age and weight of their incredibly fat son. Oh, and that they'd acquired the services of a house-elf.
It was an odd, short and skinny creature who seemed to own no clothing of it's own. It did most of the cooking and cleaning, and in return lived in the cupboard under the stairs. It's name was Harry, though they called it a number of other things. On this particular morning, it was neglecting its duties of 24/7 servitude to sleep.
'Get up!!!' Screeched Petunia Dursley, pounding on the door with as much force as an 80 lb woman could.
Startled out of his wits, Harry sat bolt up-right, only to fall back into bed after cracking his head on the underside of a stair. Rubbing his forehead, he smiled with the small hope of gaining another lightening-bolt shaped scar. Checking a small mirror that hung on one of the stairs across from him, he frowned. 'Will I ever sport a matching set?' He wondered.
'Up, up up!' His aunt yelled again, slamming a fist on the door one last time before going to check on a meal she had remarkably began to cook on her own. Staring glumly into the mirror at his singly-scarred forehead, Harry tried to cheer himself up by remembering his dream. He'd been on a flying motorbike, and was sure he'd had that dream before. No, now he was thinking of the one with the flying monkeys on tricycles.
'Are you up yet?!' Demanded his aunt Petunia again from the other side of the door. 'You have to make Duddy an extra special meal this morning, it's his birthday so everything has to be perfect!' It seemed the woman had already begun the meal as already, the boy could smell it burning as he dug under his little, cupboard-shaped bed until he found some clothing, still mourning his non-existent second scar. The outfit was the size of a tent and covered in cobwebs and dust. Thus, all his clothing was grey, or soon became so. Noticing a large dust-bunny stuck to his pants, he plucked it off and set it on the floor.
'Run free little rabbit!' Harry cried and the dust floated back under the bed in the breeze he created with his breath. 'Run free! At least one of us can.' With that, he changed, pried himself out of the cupboard and went to salvage breakfast.
Dudley, his extremely wide cousin, was counting his birthday presents as best he could, which wasn't well as he had failed math countless times, pardon the pun. 'There are only 63!' He shouted, when finally he'd finished. 'That's less than last year! That's-' He seemed to be trying to do the math in his head, but quickly gave up. 'Far less!' His face was going bright red and he began to wail. This caused all the dogs in the neighbourhood to bark, as they mistook him for an emergency vehicle.
'Calm down Duddy,' Aunt Petunia insisted, seeing the beginnings of either a tantrum or a fine for disturbing the peace. 'It's not less than last year, everyone know 63 is four more than 89!' It was a cruel trick to play with his head like that, and Harry noted she was likely part to blame for his failing math, but it did work in calming him down.
'Oh, okay.' He nodded and ripped open all 63 presents in under 20 minutes flat. By this time, Harry had finished cooking a twelve-course breakfast, and actually managed to eat something before Dudley and his father, Harry's Uncle Vernon, polished off everything on the table. And these two, Harry noted, were probably part to blame for his being so short and thin, even for a ten year old. He wore broken glasses that were taped together from all the times he'd fell on his face after tripping on his extra baggy clothes. The glasses framed his eyes which were bright green. It was a pity, too, as Harry- for no apparent reason- hated the colour green and all it stood for. His hair was dark and always a mess no matter how often he washed, brushed, cut, gelled or tied bows in it. Harry had been deep in contemplation of which bow to use today, when he realized the Dursleys were once again talking about him like he wasn't there.
'A broken leg is no reason not to take him!' Uncle Vernon protested, looking at the boy as if he was something that had been sent down the garbage disposal and somehow came back up. 'They just have tea and look at photos, don't they?!' And sadly enough, they did. Harry could recall one particularly long afternoon where she had shown him pictures of ever cat she'd ever owned, and her mother's before her, and her mother's before her. He could rhyme them all off like a poem. Peter, Augustus, Alonso or James... Someone should really write a poem about that, he thought.
'It seems she keeps the albums under her couch and can't reach them with the broken leg.' Aunt Petunia explained. The pair thought of all the people they knew they could pass him off onto while Harry daydreamed about going on Dudley's birthday visit to the zoo. Such a deep, and vivid daydream in fact, he actually believed he was there.
'Hello Mr. Penguin,' Said Harry, waving to a piece of toast and smiling broadly. Being burnt and buttered as it was, on an island of white plate, it did sort of, if you squinted, look a litt- who are we kidding? It was toast. 'Maybe I could sneak you home, and you could be my friend.' The toast did not wave back.
'What's he doing now?!' Demanded a flushed Uncle Vernon while Dudley loudly proclaimed him to be a nutter before punching him. This brought the scrawny boy back to reality and he blinked a few times, seeing the toast now for what it was, but still sad it could never be.
'Now we have to take him with us!' Aunt Petunia snapped, and so they did. Dudley had, of course, protested but that was quickly put to an end when Harry shouted 'Don't leave yet! We haven't seen the lions!' on there way out the door, pointing first to the shrubs, then finally to a rather hairy neighbor. It clearly wouldn't be safe for their reputation to leave him unattended. Harry's mind, speeding along as it was, had thought the drive there had been the drive back. Perhaps that was why he'd felt it safe to say what he did next.
'I had a dream about a motorbike.' Said the boy, foolishly for although his mind was still ahead, he clearly could not predict the outcome of the discussion. 'Not really about the bike. It was about my parents, but then they were killed by an evil, magical, wizard overlord who then tried to kill me but failed, leaving this scar on my head, and then this giant man came a dug me out and then we got on the flying motorbike and he left me here.'
Uncle Vernon's already red face reddened until it wasn't so much red anymore as a nice burgundy shade. He slammed on the breaks, avoiding a collision himself but causing a multi-car pileup behind. Turning around in his seat, he made sure he was but a few inches away from Harry's face before yelling. 'MOTORBIKES DO NOT FLY!'
Harry, dreams once again dashed, nodded and looked out the window. A motorbike promptly flew past, but the boy said nothing.
The trip to the zoo was, for the most part, enjoyable for Harry though a living hell for the Dursleys who tried to look like every other happy family out for the day. Which isn't saying much. The day passed without event until they went to visit the reptiles. Harry, loathing the colour green as he did, decided to stay near the boa constrictor as it was the least green of the lot.
When Dudley had finished tormenting all the other snakes, he realized he'd forgotten this one and thusly approached. The snake remained where it was. Dudley taped on the glass. The snake stayed. Dudley yelled at the snake. It didn't blink. Dudley threw a tantrum and called his father over who then went through the exact same steps. All without reaction. Deciding the snake was dead, they left.
'I wish I could play dead that well.' Harry said in admiration of the snake who then winked. The boy wasn't sure snakes could wink, but alas, he couldn't be sure as he'd been trying to cut back his viewing of the Crocodile Hunter. 'I'm sorry they bothered you. Usually they find tormenting me enough.' He went on sympathetically. The two proceeded to have a brief, though satisfying discussion what it's like to live in a small, cramped prison and how do you get those greasy fingerprints off the glass? Within minutes, the two had found they were kindred spirits and decided to run away with each other. They were just debating how when the problem solved itself.
Dudley, finished bothering the iguana, had returned to find the boa constrictor perfectly not dead. He ran over as fast as his round body and tiny legs would carry him to try and get in one last wrap on the glass.
The escape plans were made so very much easier when, inexplicably, the glass was gone.
'Run, my friend! Run free!' Shouted Harry to the boa constrictor. Had the fact he was talking to a snake not been reason enough for the Dursleys' to be reassured of his insanity, that fact he'd told a snake to run would have. This statement was so startling in fact, Dudley fell over, through the hole where the glass had been, and into the pit. 'I'll meet up with you later at "the place"!' Harry told the snake who paused to give its kindred spirit one last look.
Needless to say, things from that point on hadn't gone well. Harry hadn't been able to meet up with the boa constrictor, and he was sent to the cupboard the second they got back to number 4 Privet Drive. He was let out a few hours later to be yelled at, then thrown back in. Despite the few flaws, it was perhaps the best day of Harry's life up to that point. Which is why, you can see, he'd always dreamed of someone coming to take him away.
'I'll meet up with you later,' Harry repeated wistfully hours later, staring up at the stairs in his cupboard. 'At "the place".'
«.:^:.:^:.: Author's Notes .:^:.:^:.:»
Okay, I'm sorry it took me so long to get this second chapter written. I've been busy with school, and easily distracted by drawing, books and hockey (on tv, I can't play). And on top of that, I've been having trouble logging into Fanfiction.com lately. But I'd have been this long anyway, so don't blame it.
Also, my time has gone to another Harry Potter related project, http://www.cah.hostrocket.com/ "A Canadian at Hogwarts." It's a comic written and drawn back and forth between me and Awkward. At first, it was joke, so the drawing quality gets progressively better as you go on.
«.:^:.:^:.: Disclaimer! .:^:.:^:.:»
I do not own Harry Potter, any of the characters, creatures, or concepts, although I have a copy of every book and DVD to date. As such, I'm granted only the right to view them, not to write about them- but they're just so good I can't resist.
The point is, they aren't mine, which you've probably realized by now.