Heirs of the Past
Author: J.E.A.R.K.Potter (Erin)
Rating: PG
Disclaimer: Harry Potter is not mine, but the poem is.
Chapter Six: Lunch and poems
As Mrs. Weasley served lunch Harry's ever watchful eyes followed our every movement. It was slightly unnerving but I knew that he was still unsure of our story and us. He and Mark said little and the little that they said was in whispers. Their eyes were hollow and filled with pain beneath the emotionless mask they tried the pull over the face.
Their pain became mine as I soaked in Harry and Mark's angst. I hurt me to see that someone would hurt them on purpose. My attempts to hurt my great uncle with my mind were futile.
The quiet was broken by Hermione "so you guys know Hagrid now what do you think he is like?" Sirius, who was twitching because of the awkward silence, as he was always a loud mouth, answered immediately, "I think that he is a very nice person."
A hush came over the room again. Lunch was soon over leaving us full but no more comfortable with Mark or Harry. We returned upstairs and the future gang showed us where we were going to sleep. They soon left us to our thoughts. Sean left Jacob and me to our thoughts to adventure around his former house.
James arms wrapped around me and he rested his head on mine. Tears slowly trickled down his face, and I knew why. The grief of my son and nephew not only affected me but I saw the pain in James and Sirius eyes' as well.
"I wish that we had come back earlier, then maybe Harry would have had a better life," he choked as he said it. "I know James I know," I said as I turned around to face him. He did not look like himself of course because of the spell, but I knew that he was my James.
"I better go find Sir...Sean before he causes any trouble," James said in sorrow. He let me go any went to the door, he turn right before he exited the room and glanced back to make sure I was ok.
I strolled over to the window and cracked it open. The air flowed on my face with strange comfort, one of my hobbies surfaced. My love of poetry with its the flow and rhythm of the words. I made up a poem while sitting on the windowsill.
Wind
The wind blows at my feet. The leaves are whispering stories of old. Talking of strangers and when star-crossed lovers meet. On this day of cold.
I shut the window and tried to think of something other than Harry or Mark.
Author: J.E.A.R.K.Potter (Erin)
Rating: PG
Disclaimer: Harry Potter is not mine, but the poem is.
Chapter Six: Lunch and poems
As Mrs. Weasley served lunch Harry's ever watchful eyes followed our every movement. It was slightly unnerving but I knew that he was still unsure of our story and us. He and Mark said little and the little that they said was in whispers. Their eyes were hollow and filled with pain beneath the emotionless mask they tried the pull over the face.
Their pain became mine as I soaked in Harry and Mark's angst. I hurt me to see that someone would hurt them on purpose. My attempts to hurt my great uncle with my mind were futile.
The quiet was broken by Hermione "so you guys know Hagrid now what do you think he is like?" Sirius, who was twitching because of the awkward silence, as he was always a loud mouth, answered immediately, "I think that he is a very nice person."
A hush came over the room again. Lunch was soon over leaving us full but no more comfortable with Mark or Harry. We returned upstairs and the future gang showed us where we were going to sleep. They soon left us to our thoughts. Sean left Jacob and me to our thoughts to adventure around his former house.
James arms wrapped around me and he rested his head on mine. Tears slowly trickled down his face, and I knew why. The grief of my son and nephew not only affected me but I saw the pain in James and Sirius eyes' as well.
"I wish that we had come back earlier, then maybe Harry would have had a better life," he choked as he said it. "I know James I know," I said as I turned around to face him. He did not look like himself of course because of the spell, but I knew that he was my James.
"I better go find Sir...Sean before he causes any trouble," James said in sorrow. He let me go any went to the door, he turn right before he exited the room and glanced back to make sure I was ok.
I strolled over to the window and cracked it open. The air flowed on my face with strange comfort, one of my hobbies surfaced. My love of poetry with its the flow and rhythm of the words. I made up a poem while sitting on the windowsill.
Wind
The wind blows at my feet. The leaves are whispering stories of old. Talking of strangers and when star-crossed lovers meet. On this day of cold.
I shut the window and tried to think of something other than Harry or Mark.