To all Harry Potter fans: I was thinking of writing this one-shot, but I want some people's opinions if they think it sounds like it would be good or not. I would write it anyways, but I would still like to know. Here's the summary:
Not even twenty years old, Regulus Black is murdered on Voldemort's orders. What did the Dark Lord tell him to do that made the younger Black want to leave the Death Eaters, and in the end, cost him his life?
Anyways, sorry for the late update.
Disclaimer- Do. Not. Own. Well...actually I own everything so far 'cept for John.
Chapter Eleven- On My Tenth Birthday
John moaned, rolling over in his bed. His head was in excruciating pain; it was throbbing ceaselessly. He rubbed his eyes wearily and made to sit up, but fell back down with a whimper. Screwing his eyes shut, he pulled the blanket and sheet over his head to block out the sun seeping through the little cracks in the blinds.
To make his morning worse, the door banged open, like a gunshot, and someone walked loudly in (and it seemed unnecessarily loud to John, too) and pulled the blinds up, letting the bright sun stream in. Dust particles were now visible in the light and John put his head under his pillow.
The blanket and sheets were yanked down off of his body all the way to the foot of the bed, the pillow was thrown across the room, and someone shook John vigorously.
"Wake up baby brother," Chris said, sounding unusually happy. "Birthday boys can't sleep in! In other words, Mum wants your ass downstairs in the kitchen now so she can stuff your face with burnt waffles."
John groaned loudly. His face in his bed, he gave a muffled reply.
Chris's face screwed up in annoyance. "What?"
"I got a headache," John repeated down an' have somethin' ta eat, alright? Then have an' aspirin or somethin'." Chris said, now sounding uncharacteristically nice. He helped John sit up, rubbing his neck for a bit.
"Little better? No? Too bad," Chris stood up, making his way across the cluttered floor to the door.
"You stink," John said, stumbling out of his bed. "Like cigarettes, 'cept worse."
"I've been smokin'," came the nonchalant reply.
Not thinking straight at the moment, and distracted by his tortuous headache, John hadn't paid the slightest attention to his brother's reply.
His eyes were still squinting by the time he had entered the kitchen. On the table was a plate of four waffles stacked together, some with black edges and some with a dark brown.
He plopped heavily into his seat. Besides his large glass of milk was one large aspirin. He popped it into his mouth, took a large gulp of milk, and almost choked and spit it out from taking too much in one mouthful.
Reaching halfway across the table and knocking the saltshaker down, John grabbed the almost empty bottle of syrup and began to pour it on his waffles. There was barely enough for two waffles, and John liked his waffles sopping wet with syrup and butter.
His mother came into the kitchen then, very pale and sick looking. Her t-shirt hung on her loose and dirty, and the knees of her light blue jeans were stained with green and brown like she had not been taking care of her clothes properly. Her hair was in a low, unkempt ponytail She gave him a small smile, walked over and smoothed back his yellow-blonde hair, kissing his forehead fondly. She had detached herself from the others ever since Irene disappeared, but on special occasions she tried to be social.
"G'day love," she murmured in a low voice, her hand still resting on his head. "How's if feel ta be ten years old now? That's a two-digit number, you know."
John felt irritated with his mother. Of course he knew ten was a two-digit number, he could count; he wasn't completely stupid.
But he could not bring himself to snap at her. After all it had been his fault. Oh, she had said that she didn't blame him, but deep down John knew that she had and it hurt all the same.
"It hurts," John said, referring to the question she had asked. She raised questioning eyebrows.
"How does it hurt to be ten?" she asked.
"I got a bloody headache that's how it hurts," he finally snapped, stabbing his fork in one of the over-cooked waffles.
She looked baffled and confused for a moment, but her expression quickly went blank. She petted his head one last time and exited the kitchen silently. John let out a quick sigh as he stuffed a rather large piece into his mouth.
"Don' go snappin' at your mother like that," said a deep voice from the doorway. John turned to face his father. "It's not her fault you have a headache."
John did not say anything, but he stabbed at his last waffle rather more viciously than necessary.
He felt his father's presence right behind him, and his heavy hands made their way to his small shoulders. John instantly tensed, ready to go into defensive at a moment's notice. His father's breath reeked of alcohol, which was not unusual in itself but it sent warning bells off in John's head.
"Happy Birthday," he growled, giving his shoulders a rather tight squeeze before walking out the screen door and into the back in to the blinding sun.
John relaxed the moment the screen door was shut. Sometimes I wish they both would just go away. Mum and Dad. They're not like they used to be. They're different, and I don't like it. John thought. I wish they would just leave me and Chris alone and we can get on with our lives without them two constantly bickering at each other.
He abruptly shot up from his seat and towards the phone, leaving the rest of his food behind on the table to get cold.
He dialed Ian's number. "Would you come over? I need someone else here besides my crazy family. An' could you have Joe, Craig, an' Steve come by too? Cause it'd be more excitin' on my birthday if there were more people. Thanks. Bye."
Joe, Craig, and Steve were three boys that John had met at the park with Ian the summer before fourth grade. They had all become good friends and had recently been hanging out by the creeks and the playgrounds together.
Joe was a short, scrawny little thing with bucked teeth but a great personality. He made the others laugh hysterically at his jokes and he had a habit of getting in trouble but could easily slip out of it by saying something remarkably witty for his age.
Craig was good looking (by ten year old standards). He was not exactly tall or short, but although he was still young, he was a bit more broad-shouldered than the others and more athletic. He was quiet, and had developed a dry, sarcastic humor from his older brother over the summer that always left the other boys confused but laughing anyways.
Steve was incredibly freckly. He was covered in them, and from far away he could be mistaken for being tan. He had brown hair, the same shade as his freckles and light, hazel eyes. He was a bit on the pudgy side, and he was loud and obnoxious around teenagers and children but sneaky around adults and could tend to be a bit of a bully to the younger kids. He was great to hang around with though.
Deciding to wait for the quartet upstairs, John skipped up the steps lightly and barged his way into Chris's room. Chris kneeled at the small table in his room, his back facing the door. He didn't seem to notice that John had entered but then he said, "What do you want?"
"I'm just waitin' for Ian to come." John said, shrugging. He walked over and around the table to sit opposite of Chris. "What're you doin'?"
"Makin' a bomb so I can set it off in your room," Chris replied viciously, but then answered. "I'm makin' smokes."
"They look funny," John said as he watched Chris finish wrapping one and stick it in his mouth, lighting it up. The flame entranced John for a moment until it just as quickly disappeared, bringing John back to the present. "It stinks worse too."
"Shut it." Chris snapped. "Go check if they're here, I heard somethin'."
John left, closing the door behind him when Chris called back and ordered him too.
"Happy Birthday," the four chorused to him as he met them in his living room downstairs. John smiled a little.
"Thanks," he said. From somewhere else in the house, screaming between a man and a woman ensued.
"Let's go outside," John said quickly, not wanting his new friends to witness or hear the fight that was ensuing between his parents.
They looked at the source of where it had come from for a moment curiously before nodding and following John out the front door.
Thanks to all who reviewed! I don't know what I'd do without you! Oh and those of you who read 'Drastic Changes' the rating has been upped to 'R' for language. It too, has been updated.
Like it? Hate it? Either way, review!