Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, for J.K. Rowling does (but i still wish i did...he he)
A/N: Plz keep sending in reviews! i really would like ideas on forth-coming chapters!
Chapter 2: Intruder With Red Robes
In the three remaining days until Harry's return to Hogwarts, he found himself wishing yet again not to return to the Dursleys; even though he hadn't even left yet.
Dudley, who's diet had really started to work on his behalf, was causing Harry's stregnth to ebb away, for the birthday cakes, Chocolate Frogs, and cookies sent by his best friends Hermione, Ron, and Hagrid were not always a good diet after eating a slightly nonfullfilling breakfast. Harry sometimes suffered from nausia and dizziness from eating nothing but his sixteenth birthday parcels, but it did keep him from withering away.
Anger suddenly was directed toward his friends Hermione and Ron for not writing to him since his birthday. Why haven't I being told to get ready to return to the Burrow? Did they possibly forget about me? Harry thought selfishly and quickley took it back. But, he couldn't help but think that they were leaving him out yet again, like before he started his fifth year at Hogwarts, but he had Dumbledore to thank for that. He screwed his face up as if getting a wiff of something horrible as he thought about how mad and frustrated he got last summer for not being informed of anything at all. He regained his composure as her heard a knock on the door; he had, for a couple of weeks, been really anxious to here any information that he, and the rest of the red- headed Weasleys, were coming to pick him up to stay at the Burrow. Every time the door rang or that mail came, he was the first to retrieve it.
Later that night, Harry was scurrying about, looking for his supplies to return to Hogwarts, though he still had no way of getting there; searching for astray spell books, quills, parchment, etc.Harry finaly got the chance rethink his earlier accusation that maybe the Weasleys did forget about him. Even if so, he continued his persuit on looking for anything he might need and began to empty his trunk of unnecisary items such as old, wadded pieces of parchment, Fred and George's joke shop candy wrappers.
"Ahhh, damn!" Harry swore mistakibly barely below a whisper, "Ouch..." he withdrew his hand from his trunk as though he had been burned. He bit the side of his lip as he watched his crimson blood drip freely down his index finger, and was now dripping toward his wrist. He noticed that the blood was putruding from a clean, deep cut that was at least an inch in length. He would have stayed there on the floor to rumage through his trunk to see what had caused his gash, but noticed the blood was now stainning the sleeve of his shirt, which was three sizes too big; making the sleeve hang down at his elbows. He got up and made his way to the bathroom that was across the hall to clean and bandage his gash. He frowned slightly after two minutes of trying to stop the bleeding, he had to use two bandages to cover it completely.
With that, Harry headed back to his room, closing the door slowely behind him, and knelt back in front of his trunk. This time, he scanned the trunk's depths of books and etc, before thrusting his hand in search for anything that caused his injury. He moved aside his old, empty ink bottle and found a sliver of glass sticking out from under his 'Standered Book of Spells: Chapter 6' book and pulled it out carefully. He had no idea where it could have been produced from and began his search for other pieces to match the one that now layed on the floor beside him.
After a while he now had a collection of glass on the floor and was about to just give up his search when his hand grazed a silver object at the bottom. He pulled out the square base of what looked like a hand mirror; Harry knew what it was now. Sirius had given it to him the year before; it was a two-way mirror. He looked over its now dusty silver base, and then gingerly placed it on his bedside table.
Harry shortly continued his packing and paced the pieces of glass on the bedside table along with the silver base. He took off his glasses and was about to lay down when the sudden squeek of some floor boards down stairs startled his nerves so badly that he was now on his feet again. He quickly grabbed his wand, knowing very well that, even if it was in his self- defense, he wouldn't get away with another underage sorcery convinction, and headed swiftly to the closed door. Grasping the door handle in his right hand and his wand in his left, injured hand, he waited for Aunt Petunia or Uncle Vernon to sound from the other side of the door. But, it never came and Harry's heartbeat steadily started to increase as his grasp on his wand and door knob tightened. He then heard the slight click of the heel of a shoe hit the top of the stairs and he now noticed his suddenly slow, ragid breathing and his heart beating in his ears. Could Voldemort be here? Harry then shook his hed unconsiously and doubted this to the fullest extent as he thought of the situation Voldemort was in. Voldemort was trying to stay in hiding and killin him, Harry Potter, would cause alot of comotion. But, his mind flickered to the slight possibility that Voldemort could be behind his door.
Harry slowly opened the door and let the light from his lamp flood into the hall...