A/N: Just like I promised, a chapter actually dedicated to an original
character from the book. Although, take my word for it, Michelle does in
deed tie into the story, somehow (not sure how yet). Anyways, I try to
type 1500 words a night, which is a little bit more than a chapter, but I'm
usually typing things in the chapters to come. Why? Because, that's just
how I work, I write the middle, then the beginning, then some more to the
climax, then I put in the ending, and then I finish the beginning. It's
really an interesting process. (I like how I ramble on and on and on)
After faking her suicide following her brother's death, Michelle took her stallion to a different continent. There, the young Miss Potter learnt to suppress the pains that her Hogwarts years caused. But then she's forced back into the world of Magic, when she has been trying to live among muggles for the past twelve years, Michelle Potter returns to England to face her past, and confess to the friends who once mourned her death, the lie that she kept from them all.
Between The Heavens, a Trial of Faith: Chapter 3, Sweet Sixteen
********************
Harry lay on his back throwing a ball up and down, partly hypnotized by the movement of the rubber sphere. His door was locked, and had been for the majority of the summer, all too much to the Dursley's delight. Ever since the less than appropriate interlude with Mad Eye, Uncle Vernon wanted absolutely nothing to do with Harry, and Harry was inclined to agree to a certain extent, he didn't want to ever look at his relatives, not if his life depended on it.
Today was his sixteenth birthday, and although his aunt and uncle always forgot about it, it had completely slipped Harry's mind as well, if it hadn't been for a storm of birthday cards and cakes making their way through his window. Last year, however, there had been an additional birthday card and cake sent to him by his Godfather. The thought nearly made Harry cry, but he couldn't quite bring himself to do it. Somehow, he thought that if Sirius or his dad knew that he felt like crying, they'd think him soft.
Hedwig landed happily on his shoulder, hooting for praise as she dropped a dead rat beside his bed. Not seeming to notice what he was doing, Harry brushed to rat to the ground, and grumbled a lapse of inhuman like noises. Insulted, Hedwig flew off, leaving Harry to be by himself.
Pig flew into Harry's room, and hooting excitedly like a child on a sugar buzz, dropped a white envelope in Harry's lap. Not wanting to break his routine of tossing the ball and catching it, Harry let it stay there. Pig nipped at his shoulder, dazed and confused. His dominant instinct knew that he wanted water, but Pig the domesticated side of Pig thought that it was more important to nip at Harry, to make sure he was all right. He was, after all Master's good friend.
"Get off me, Pig," Harry said, pushing him away with his free hand, continuing still to through the ball up and down and back up.
Somewhere between throws, Harry fell into a restless sleep, something that he had tried to avoid since the incident in the department of mysteries, for he knew what would haunt his dreams.
"No!" He screamed, his hand outstretched, trying to hold onto Sirius. They were on top of Big Ben, and Sirius was tangling by a thread, and Harry tried to hoist him back onto the clock's surface, which had somehow morphed into a large whale.
"You're weak Harry!" Sirius cried back, "you're soft, you spend all day and night crying, Harry, you're weak, you're soft, you spend all day and night crying, Harry!"
No!" Wept Harry, he was wailing by now, but his tears, usually salty and harmless were pelting down on the earth. Sirius was still dangling from atop of Big Ben, but Harry was a giant. The town's children threw stones at him, which broke the skin on his knees. Harry the giant wailed some more, and the world began to flood. He took his giant strides over towards Sirius, thrilled to know that his size could save his Godfather. Except, every step Harry took, the world got bigger around him, and every step he took, he got smaller and smaller, until he was drowning in his own giant tears.
"You're weak, you're soft, Harry Potter!" They all sang around him. Then, out of nowhere, a banshee cry could be heard. It ran up to Harry, who was now lying on his bed and shook him furiously.
Harry opened his eyes to hear the banshee cry some more.
"WHAT IS A DEAD RAT DOING ON MY FLOOR?" It wailed.
Harry, now fully aware of the situation bolted upright. The rat that Hedwig had brought back for him was lying just decimeters from Aunt Petunia's feet, and she was yelping so loudly, Harry was sure that it made the Shrieking Shack seem like a relatively dormant house, even in it's most lively years.
A rumbling beneath him gave Harry the impression that he had just experience a rather small earthquake. He was convinced of this until he realized that it was just Uncle Vernon booming up the stairs to see what all the noise was about.
"Petunia," he said loudly, loud enough to be heard over her dog like yelps.
"A rat, Vernon, he's brought a dead rat into our home!"
"Boy!" Vernon exploded, "what is this, this supposed to be funny! Is this your lot's idea of a joke? Well, you mark my words; while you're here you will bring no magic and no dead rodents with you! DO YOU UNDERSTAND?"
"Yes," Harry answered dully, looking at Aunt Petunia's horror stricken face, "yea, I do." He grumbled.
Just then Dudley waddled in. Though, since the diet that had begun during the summer between his fourth year and fifth year, Dudley had diminished significantly in size, but seemed to make up for that weight loss in temper. He demanded more than Harry could ever remember from his parents, and Petunia, so proud of him for sticking to it, showered him with presents, oblivious to the fact that Dudley was slowly gaining some weight back due to the lack of awareness of what they allowed him to eat. "Let him have some beacon," Petunia had said last Sunday, and the Sunday before that she had made him a giant cheese omelet with no less than nine eggs in it. Pop can now littered the driveway once again, and Harry, through no fault of his own, was now beginning to recognize Dudley's clothes, albeit smaller than his original clothing, was beginning to tighten around his fat belly.
"What happened?" He asked, a dry string of drool hanging from his face, "why is mom yelling?"
"Duddey!" Aunt Petunia purred, "go back to the kitchen and have a slice of the cake Aunt Marge sent for your birthday, pumpkin."
Harry could hardly hold his laughter. His aunt still treated her son like a child, when a more intelligent mother would have tossed a boy like Dudley out on the street. But she seemed to tell herself over and over, every time the police brought Dudley back from either smoking or stealing, that it was the other boys' faults. Dudley, she would say, would never act like that on his own free will. Somehow telling herself this, it seemed to help her to sleep with a guilt free conscience anyways.
"No," he said defiantly, stomping his enormous feet, "I want to see."
"No, sweetie pie, Dudley, NO!" She shrieked even louder than before, as he pushed his way past her and started fondling the dead rat.
"Vernon! DO SOMETHING!" Aunt Petunia screamed at him, trying to fight Dudley away with her frail body.
And in fact, Uncle Vernon did do something. As a result, Harry stood out his window, watching a discouraged Hedwig trying to peck her way through. Vernon had locked his window, swearing on the Holy Father, that if Harry even so much as thought of breaking the glass to let his owl inside, he would regret it until his dying day, which, coincidently, would be a lot sooner than normal if he did indeed break the glass. "It's no use," Harry said, though he knew she would not be able to understand him.
Pig was still hiding under the covers, and had been since all the commotion about the dead rat had taken place. Ron's owl was now trapped inside Harry's house with no visible way of escape. He thought bitterly at what Ron might go through, torment, wondering whether Pig was all right. Wondering if Harry was all right, for Harry had not sent either Ron, or Hermione a letter since their train departure; it was just too depressing to even think about it.
Harry turned and saw that the letter Pig had brought remained unopened. Slowly, with quivering hands, Harry picked up the letter, and read it silently to himself, but shutting his eyes so tightly that it stung. He let the tears he'd been fighting out, as he slumped back on his bed in a heap of flesh and blood.
********************
A/N: Next chapter is about Michelle, and I'll try and get it up either later tonight or tomorrow night. Thank you God Almighty for the weekend.
After faking her suicide following her brother's death, Michelle took her stallion to a different continent. There, the young Miss Potter learnt to suppress the pains that her Hogwarts years caused. But then she's forced back into the world of Magic, when she has been trying to live among muggles for the past twelve years, Michelle Potter returns to England to face her past, and confess to the friends who once mourned her death, the lie that she kept from them all.
Between The Heavens, a Trial of Faith: Chapter 3, Sweet Sixteen
********************
Harry lay on his back throwing a ball up and down, partly hypnotized by the movement of the rubber sphere. His door was locked, and had been for the majority of the summer, all too much to the Dursley's delight. Ever since the less than appropriate interlude with Mad Eye, Uncle Vernon wanted absolutely nothing to do with Harry, and Harry was inclined to agree to a certain extent, he didn't want to ever look at his relatives, not if his life depended on it.
Today was his sixteenth birthday, and although his aunt and uncle always forgot about it, it had completely slipped Harry's mind as well, if it hadn't been for a storm of birthday cards and cakes making their way through his window. Last year, however, there had been an additional birthday card and cake sent to him by his Godfather. The thought nearly made Harry cry, but he couldn't quite bring himself to do it. Somehow, he thought that if Sirius or his dad knew that he felt like crying, they'd think him soft.
Hedwig landed happily on his shoulder, hooting for praise as she dropped a dead rat beside his bed. Not seeming to notice what he was doing, Harry brushed to rat to the ground, and grumbled a lapse of inhuman like noises. Insulted, Hedwig flew off, leaving Harry to be by himself.
Pig flew into Harry's room, and hooting excitedly like a child on a sugar buzz, dropped a white envelope in Harry's lap. Not wanting to break his routine of tossing the ball and catching it, Harry let it stay there. Pig nipped at his shoulder, dazed and confused. His dominant instinct knew that he wanted water, but Pig the domesticated side of Pig thought that it was more important to nip at Harry, to make sure he was all right. He was, after all Master's good friend.
"Get off me, Pig," Harry said, pushing him away with his free hand, continuing still to through the ball up and down and back up.
Somewhere between throws, Harry fell into a restless sleep, something that he had tried to avoid since the incident in the department of mysteries, for he knew what would haunt his dreams.
"No!" He screamed, his hand outstretched, trying to hold onto Sirius. They were on top of Big Ben, and Sirius was tangling by a thread, and Harry tried to hoist him back onto the clock's surface, which had somehow morphed into a large whale.
"You're weak Harry!" Sirius cried back, "you're soft, you spend all day and night crying, Harry, you're weak, you're soft, you spend all day and night crying, Harry!"
No!" Wept Harry, he was wailing by now, but his tears, usually salty and harmless were pelting down on the earth. Sirius was still dangling from atop of Big Ben, but Harry was a giant. The town's children threw stones at him, which broke the skin on his knees. Harry the giant wailed some more, and the world began to flood. He took his giant strides over towards Sirius, thrilled to know that his size could save his Godfather. Except, every step Harry took, the world got bigger around him, and every step he took, he got smaller and smaller, until he was drowning in his own giant tears.
"You're weak, you're soft, Harry Potter!" They all sang around him. Then, out of nowhere, a banshee cry could be heard. It ran up to Harry, who was now lying on his bed and shook him furiously.
Harry opened his eyes to hear the banshee cry some more.
"WHAT IS A DEAD RAT DOING ON MY FLOOR?" It wailed.
Harry, now fully aware of the situation bolted upright. The rat that Hedwig had brought back for him was lying just decimeters from Aunt Petunia's feet, and she was yelping so loudly, Harry was sure that it made the Shrieking Shack seem like a relatively dormant house, even in it's most lively years.
A rumbling beneath him gave Harry the impression that he had just experience a rather small earthquake. He was convinced of this until he realized that it was just Uncle Vernon booming up the stairs to see what all the noise was about.
"Petunia," he said loudly, loud enough to be heard over her dog like yelps.
"A rat, Vernon, he's brought a dead rat into our home!"
"Boy!" Vernon exploded, "what is this, this supposed to be funny! Is this your lot's idea of a joke? Well, you mark my words; while you're here you will bring no magic and no dead rodents with you! DO YOU UNDERSTAND?"
"Yes," Harry answered dully, looking at Aunt Petunia's horror stricken face, "yea, I do." He grumbled.
Just then Dudley waddled in. Though, since the diet that had begun during the summer between his fourth year and fifth year, Dudley had diminished significantly in size, but seemed to make up for that weight loss in temper. He demanded more than Harry could ever remember from his parents, and Petunia, so proud of him for sticking to it, showered him with presents, oblivious to the fact that Dudley was slowly gaining some weight back due to the lack of awareness of what they allowed him to eat. "Let him have some beacon," Petunia had said last Sunday, and the Sunday before that she had made him a giant cheese omelet with no less than nine eggs in it. Pop can now littered the driveway once again, and Harry, through no fault of his own, was now beginning to recognize Dudley's clothes, albeit smaller than his original clothing, was beginning to tighten around his fat belly.
"What happened?" He asked, a dry string of drool hanging from his face, "why is mom yelling?"
"Duddey!" Aunt Petunia purred, "go back to the kitchen and have a slice of the cake Aunt Marge sent for your birthday, pumpkin."
Harry could hardly hold his laughter. His aunt still treated her son like a child, when a more intelligent mother would have tossed a boy like Dudley out on the street. But she seemed to tell herself over and over, every time the police brought Dudley back from either smoking or stealing, that it was the other boys' faults. Dudley, she would say, would never act like that on his own free will. Somehow telling herself this, it seemed to help her to sleep with a guilt free conscience anyways.
"No," he said defiantly, stomping his enormous feet, "I want to see."
"No, sweetie pie, Dudley, NO!" She shrieked even louder than before, as he pushed his way past her and started fondling the dead rat.
"Vernon! DO SOMETHING!" Aunt Petunia screamed at him, trying to fight Dudley away with her frail body.
And in fact, Uncle Vernon did do something. As a result, Harry stood out his window, watching a discouraged Hedwig trying to peck her way through. Vernon had locked his window, swearing on the Holy Father, that if Harry even so much as thought of breaking the glass to let his owl inside, he would regret it until his dying day, which, coincidently, would be a lot sooner than normal if he did indeed break the glass. "It's no use," Harry said, though he knew she would not be able to understand him.
Pig was still hiding under the covers, and had been since all the commotion about the dead rat had taken place. Ron's owl was now trapped inside Harry's house with no visible way of escape. He thought bitterly at what Ron might go through, torment, wondering whether Pig was all right. Wondering if Harry was all right, for Harry had not sent either Ron, or Hermione a letter since their train departure; it was just too depressing to even think about it.
Harry turned and saw that the letter Pig had brought remained unopened. Slowly, with quivering hands, Harry picked up the letter, and read it silently to himself, but shutting his eyes so tightly that it stung. He let the tears he'd been fighting out, as he slumped back on his bed in a heap of flesh and blood.
********************
A/N: Next chapter is about Michelle, and I'll try and get it up either later tonight or tomorrow night. Thank you God Almighty for the weekend.