Much Thanks to everyone who reviewed.
Lennon Vandross: I appreciate you pointing that out, but according to my Oxford English Dictionary both the –ize and –ise endings are acceptable.
The Apprentice.
Summary: Harry gets an unusual letter on his 15th birthday
Spoilers: PS/SS, CoS, PoA, GoF
Disclaimer: I own nothing except the computer I typed this on and the mind that conceived the plot.
Rating: PG-13
Chapter Two: The Letter
It was not until the light faded almost completely from the room that he realised how long he had been reading. It was now gone eight – he wondered whether the Dursleys had eaten without him again, but decided against it, almost certain that he would have at least smelt the food and realising that Dudley would have been talking extra loud about how wonderful the meal was.
In the last school year, Dudley had been caught several times stealing from the school kitchens. Because the staff at Smeltings had by this point realised that whatever crime he committed would be ignored by his parents (Petunia's reaction to the first four infractions in the kitchens had been 'he's a growing boy, after all!') the fifth time he had been caught, they decided on a punishment without telling his parents. He was banned from contacting his parents for a month (the only times he ever did was to whine about being given detention for 'accidentally' hitting his class mates). For that month, he was made to eat at the 'special foods' table for the boys whose diets had to be monitored (those with food allergies etc.) and limited to one helping of meat and vegetables – no chips or fatty foods allowed.
The sixth time he was caught in the kitchen, his punishment was extended to a term. The seventh, he was 'volunteered' to train with the rugby team every evening for an hour and a half. Two days into this new part of his punishment he hadn't the energy to sneak into the kitchens. By the time Christmas came, he had lost two stone and was almost able to be called 'fit'. His mother thought that he was looking wonderful and actually asked that the school continue to allow him to train with the rugby squad, but insisted that meal restrictions were no longer necessary. Regardless, by the summer Dudley was decidedly thinner than before (though still classified as obese) and his mother insisted on 'putting some meat on his bones' over the summer. Thus, meals were as big as ever and Harry was usually allowed to eat, though his portions were as meagre as ever.
Harry was shocked from his wonderings when Dudley thundered up the stairs. To the utter shock and amazement of the boy-who-lived, his cousin knocked politely on the door, popped his head around and announced dinner was ready before stomping back to the kitchen. It was almost a full minute later that Harry managed to shock himself into motion and hurried after him.
Dinner that night was a surreal occasion. Aunt Petunia questioned Dudley about the apple pie she'd baked for him that morning and left to cool on the kitchen table. "... I thought we could have some for dessert, is there any left?"
Dudley's only answer had been a blush and a murmur of "it's all broken".
Dinner continued in relative silence, and for some reason that Harry couldn't fathom, he was treated like an equal. Like he was part of a family.
Once the meal was over, Harry retreated to his bedroom and his books. He could only hope that there was something in the letter that Sirius had written his aunt that had encouraged the events of dinner. Otherwise, he would have to question his relatives' sanity.
***
The numbers of the clock radio beside Harry's bed burned an eerie neon green in the darkness. It had taken nearly a full month for him to accustom himself to the glow so like and yet unlike to the most dreaded spell know to wizard kind, as a silver medallion shining as it is positioned to catch the first rays of the morning sun is like and yet unlike to the blade of a sword glittering with a deadly fury in the mournful light that precedes a bloody battle. Now, on the eve of his fifteenth birthday, he was able to watch as the numbers changed, in that painfully slowed way that happens when one watches the time passing, from 11:56 to 11:57, 58, 59...
He didn't know why he was waiting for his birthday tonight – it would only make him more tired tomorrow, when his godfather would finally come for him. But he couldn't help it. It had become tradition for him to wait through the hours until he could finally look at himself and whisper "Happy Birthday". Today he was not expecting owls. He was sure that his friends had been warned that they would see him soon. He waited anyway, hunched up under his thin duvet squinting in the darkness at the clock as it finally flipped over and read 12:00.
As Harry Potter, the Boy-Who-Lived, settled down into his mattress, comforted with the knowledge that he was now fifteen, a dark shadow flew through the sky.
It continued to fly until it crashed into said boy's bedroom window and started the almost-asleep boy from his bed. Recognising instantly the sounds of an owl, Harry flicked the lamp beside his bed on and opened the window, ushering the bird in.
The owl was not one that Harry recognised. It carried a letter held in a deep red envelope with an emerald green border which had his name inscribed on the front in an elegant script that he had never seen before. Nervously, he broke the seal and pulled out a slightly age-yellowed parchment. The first words made him drop the parchment in shock, and they stared up at him from the bedroom floor:
My Dear Son...
Lennon Vandross: I appreciate you pointing that out, but according to my Oxford English Dictionary both the –ize and –ise endings are acceptable.
The Apprentice.
Summary: Harry gets an unusual letter on his 15th birthday
Spoilers: PS/SS, CoS, PoA, GoF
Disclaimer: I own nothing except the computer I typed this on and the mind that conceived the plot.
Rating: PG-13
Chapter Two: The Letter
It was not until the light faded almost completely from the room that he realised how long he had been reading. It was now gone eight – he wondered whether the Dursleys had eaten without him again, but decided against it, almost certain that he would have at least smelt the food and realising that Dudley would have been talking extra loud about how wonderful the meal was.
In the last school year, Dudley had been caught several times stealing from the school kitchens. Because the staff at Smeltings had by this point realised that whatever crime he committed would be ignored by his parents (Petunia's reaction to the first four infractions in the kitchens had been 'he's a growing boy, after all!') the fifth time he had been caught, they decided on a punishment without telling his parents. He was banned from contacting his parents for a month (the only times he ever did was to whine about being given detention for 'accidentally' hitting his class mates). For that month, he was made to eat at the 'special foods' table for the boys whose diets had to be monitored (those with food allergies etc.) and limited to one helping of meat and vegetables – no chips or fatty foods allowed.
The sixth time he was caught in the kitchen, his punishment was extended to a term. The seventh, he was 'volunteered' to train with the rugby team every evening for an hour and a half. Two days into this new part of his punishment he hadn't the energy to sneak into the kitchens. By the time Christmas came, he had lost two stone and was almost able to be called 'fit'. His mother thought that he was looking wonderful and actually asked that the school continue to allow him to train with the rugby squad, but insisted that meal restrictions were no longer necessary. Regardless, by the summer Dudley was decidedly thinner than before (though still classified as obese) and his mother insisted on 'putting some meat on his bones' over the summer. Thus, meals were as big as ever and Harry was usually allowed to eat, though his portions were as meagre as ever.
Harry was shocked from his wonderings when Dudley thundered up the stairs. To the utter shock and amazement of the boy-who-lived, his cousin knocked politely on the door, popped his head around and announced dinner was ready before stomping back to the kitchen. It was almost a full minute later that Harry managed to shock himself into motion and hurried after him.
Dinner that night was a surreal occasion. Aunt Petunia questioned Dudley about the apple pie she'd baked for him that morning and left to cool on the kitchen table. "... I thought we could have some for dessert, is there any left?"
Dudley's only answer had been a blush and a murmur of "it's all broken".
Dinner continued in relative silence, and for some reason that Harry couldn't fathom, he was treated like an equal. Like he was part of a family.
Once the meal was over, Harry retreated to his bedroom and his books. He could only hope that there was something in the letter that Sirius had written his aunt that had encouraged the events of dinner. Otherwise, he would have to question his relatives' sanity.
***
The numbers of the clock radio beside Harry's bed burned an eerie neon green in the darkness. It had taken nearly a full month for him to accustom himself to the glow so like and yet unlike to the most dreaded spell know to wizard kind, as a silver medallion shining as it is positioned to catch the first rays of the morning sun is like and yet unlike to the blade of a sword glittering with a deadly fury in the mournful light that precedes a bloody battle. Now, on the eve of his fifteenth birthday, he was able to watch as the numbers changed, in that painfully slowed way that happens when one watches the time passing, from 11:56 to 11:57, 58, 59...
He didn't know why he was waiting for his birthday tonight – it would only make him more tired tomorrow, when his godfather would finally come for him. But he couldn't help it. It had become tradition for him to wait through the hours until he could finally look at himself and whisper "Happy Birthday". Today he was not expecting owls. He was sure that his friends had been warned that they would see him soon. He waited anyway, hunched up under his thin duvet squinting in the darkness at the clock as it finally flipped over and read 12:00.
As Harry Potter, the Boy-Who-Lived, settled down into his mattress, comforted with the knowledge that he was now fifteen, a dark shadow flew through the sky.
It continued to fly until it crashed into said boy's bedroom window and started the almost-asleep boy from his bed. Recognising instantly the sounds of an owl, Harry flicked the lamp beside his bed on and opened the window, ushering the bird in.
The owl was not one that Harry recognised. It carried a letter held in a deep red envelope with an emerald green border which had his name inscribed on the front in an elegant script that he had never seen before. Nervously, he broke the seal and pulled out a slightly age-yellowed parchment. The first words made him drop the parchment in shock, and they stared up at him from the bedroom floor:
My Dear Son...