Only Time Will Tell
Disclaimer:
You should all know this but hey, what the heck, I don't want to be sued! I do not own Harry Potter or any other characters in the series.
Our story begins with our black haired, green-eyed, bespectacled hero, Harry Potter. Harry was currently mulling over a pattern quite like his owl, Hedwig, in a spider web clinging to one of the corners in his bedroom, which was actually Dudley Dursley's spare. (As we all should know) Dudley was Harry's pudgy, whale sized, and spoiled rotten cousin. He was the spawn of his also fat father, Vernon, and his wife, the exact opposite in structure, bony Petunia. They were only burdened by Harry because Petunia's witch sister, Lily, and her wizard husband, James, had died at the wand of the powerful dark wizard Voldemort. Harry, like his parents, had been attacked with the killing curse, but it backfired when it hit young Harry's head, and left only a scar. Many years had passed since the attack on Harry's parents and the dropping of Harry on his Muggle relative's front step, and Harry, as well as Dudley, had aged to sweet sixteen.
Now, Dudley's birthday was the next day, and Harry's aunt and uncle were going shopping for Dudley's new car. Dudley had his learners permit, true enough, but not his license, for he was too big to fit in the car with the instructor. When Harry had heard about that at dinner, he laughed until he caught a venomous glance from Vernon. Part of fact that it was hilarious to Harry was the simple fact that he, Harry, a wizard, had a license for a Muggle contraption. Wait until Ron's dad hears about this, Harry thought to himself, imagining the reaction of Arthur Weasley, a worker at the Ministry of Magic. He worked in a position at the Misuse of Muggle Artifacts Department, one of the many offices at the Ministry. Harry was snapped back to reality by a familiar tapping on his, rather, Dudley's, bedroom window. He looked up to find not Hedwig, but Pig, Ron's feathery baseball of an owl. Harry got up, lifted the latch, and let Pig flutter in. The tiny owl hit a lamp, bedpost, and Hedwig's cage before dropping folded parchment into Harry's outstretched palm. Harry started unfolding it when the thing flew over, chirping, and ricocheted off Harry's head and out the window. Harry grumbled and rubbed his head as he shut the window. He could see why Ron and Hedwig hated the feathery baseball named Pig.
"Oh speak of the devil," Harry muttered under his breath with an annoyed tone. Pig had slammed into the window-for a third time. Ignoring the feathers left clinging to his window, Harry reopened the parchment halfway when Pig collided with the window for a fourth time. This time, though, he crashed into it so hard it reopened, and he tumbled inside, skidding across the surface of a huge oak desk, again, of Dudley's. The noise was heard downstairs, by Petunia making breakfast, Vernon reading the paper, and Dudley playing video games. Terror clutched the heart of Mrs. Petunia Dursley when she heard the clatter. The first thoughts in her mind were concerning the boy. What if some psychopath was attacking him? She rushed upstairs while her husband and son cased their laughing enough to notice. They looked at each other in bewilderment and resumed their morning activities.
Petunia continued the ascent up the stairs hurriedly, not bothering to turn down the heat on the porridge she made so well, like she usually would've done. Once on the upper floor, she clutched the doorknob. But in nervousness, her bony fingers couldn't open the door. They fumbled once more, then turned the doorknob to see Harry holding something over…what was that thing? A baseball covered in feathers or perhaps fluff? And did her ears deceive her, or was Harry actually talking to it?
"Pig, you really know how to make a mess. Wait until Aunt Petunia sees what you've done! Now, fly back to Ron with my message. No detours okay? If you see Hedwig, tell her to come back soon." Pig left via the open window while Harry thought to himself. Why in the world was I talking to an owl? And Pig of all owls? Aunt Petunia scuttled away as he came towards the door and resumed making breakfast.
"What was all that clatter up there? Did the bloody owl break something?" Dudley asked hopefully. His mother gave him a stern look, something that had never before happened in the history of Dudley's life. "Dad, what's wrong with Mum? She's been acting strange lately!" Dudley demanded of his father.
"Some blooming letter last year," Vernon replied, scanning the newspaper.
Then, Dudley swore.
"What? It's just a bloody letter boy!" Vernon shouted.
"Not the bloody letter, the stupid video game! It made me lose!" Dudley yelled. He took after his father, and started turning puce. Vernon went back to reading, and upstairs, Harry laughed. Laughed until he noticed Dobby cowering in the corner.
"Dobby hopes you weren't laughing at him, Harry Potter sir," he stated simply, putting a note on the oak desk.
"No Dobby, not at all. Just Uncle Vernon and Dudley fighting, not you." Harry replied, looking at the note curiously.
"Dobby delivers from a friend," Dobby told Harry, catching his curious look. He snapped his long, thin fingers and vanished from sight. Harry collapsed on the huge bed, holding the parchment in his hands. It was wrinkled, torn, and dirty, and the script that read Harry Potter looked to be written hastily. He turned it over in his hands, stopping to examine the blue wax seal. Odd color for a parchment seal, Harry thought to himself as he lifted it carefully off the paper. It felt warm in his hands as he molded it into a ball. He was setting it aside as Aunt Petunia called him down for breakfast. The mysterious letter would have to wait.
Ending Notes:
Yes I did write myself a review because nobody else at that time would. I hope I made you all feel bad so you'll tell all of your friends to come read my crappy story! I would really like to know all your opinions, whoever reads my story… if anybody reads my story… OH NO!!! Nobody has been reading my story! Must UPDATE!!!