Harry Potter and the Heir to Power
Epilouge
Disclaimer: I own nothing… well all right, maybe the plot, but the rest is all JK Rowling's
A/N: I'd like to thank the lone reviewer who gave me the lone review I have received, so here it is… 'thanks'. (heehee- that sounds kinda' strange, huh?)
The wind blew through the moon-lit grass that grew five feet tall, causing a short, balding man with beady eyes and a rat-like face to shiver in the cold. The cold, however, could have disappeared completely, and become replaced with the heat of hell, and the man would still be shivering. No, he was not shivering from the cold- he was shaking uncontrollably from fear. Fear of what stood behind him, fear of the pain he knew was coming, fear of the very fact that if he went on living, he would be forced to live in complete control of the 'man' that stood behind him. He knew, however, that before he could escape from this man, he would either have to suffer pain that was unrivaled by anything, have his soul sucked out from his very being, or both. He chose to work as the equivalent of a slave, and accept the pain to come, instead of have something worse than a slow, painful death engulf him.
"You stupid little…", came the voice from behind the slave, as the owner of the voice proceeded to step forward, and shove the man over his foot.
"I do not believe that we will ever get a chance to do what we could have, and the fault lies in a little mistake that I should have taken care of earlier", the 'man' seemed to feel no remorse towards kicking the man on the ground before him as he emphasized the word mistake.
"Do you happen to know what the mistake was?", again the savage kick with the emphasis. He paused as he heard the man on the ground whimper, and a slightly foul, satisfied smile that could have very well turn the world into a barren wasteland of ashes crept across his face. The Slave was too afraid. Too afraid of the evil red eyes that glinted maliciously from above the slit-like nostrils that could easily be compared to those of a snake.
"YOU.", The single word rang through the night, bouncing through the surrounding scenery.
"Enough games. Now the fun begins. My fun.", the hooded figure that had been speaking bent into his clothing and produced a long, thin piece of wood. He pointed it towards the Slave and laughed a high, cold laugh that petrified the Slave before him, and appeared to be relishing the moment as if he was about to become the richest man alive.
"Crucio", came the muttered word from the 'man' that was holding the stick. The screams of the Slave reverberated through the world, which curiously began to fade. In its place was the image of a handsome, generous looking fifteen year old boy surrounded by darkness. He looked around and smiled at something.
"No hard feelings then?", came his voice. Another voice entered as the boy glanced behind him, a look of surprise and shock on his face.
"Avada Kedavra", The boy was suddenly lying on his back in a lightly grassed area, wearing the same look as before, except without any sign of life in it. No real emotions could be seen behind his lifeless mask. It was too much. It was far too much. And he was far too young.
May Cedric Diggory rest in peace
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He awoke, shivering from the cold sweat that covered his street-lamp-lit body. He let out a small moan, followed by a light sob, then he turned on his side and began to shake uncontrollably, his tears coming forth with such ferociousness that it would scare a lion. The bed trembled slightly as he shook, but made no noise, for which he would have been grateful, had he not been so buried within his own pains. In fact, he was feeling great pain from a lighting bolt shaped scar on his forehead , but he didn't seem to care. The only thing he appeared to care about at the moment was the image of the dead teenager.
'It's all my fault', he thought 'I should have stopped him from being killed. I should have stepped in front of the curse and stopped him from dying. Maybe I should end it all… then everyone I love wouldn't have to suffer. It's not worth it.'
'But it is worth it', came another stronger voice, one that sounded more logical and reasonable than the first. 'Its not your fault, and Cedric wouldn't have wanted you to worry about it. There was nothing you could do to stop it. And, suicide is only the easy way out… remember what Dumbledore said- "what's right isn't always what's easy".'
With that thought in his head, Harry began to recall the moments when people had shown that they loved him. He remembered his first year, when his best friend, Hermione Granger, had solved the Potions barrier to the sorcerer's stone, and how she had told him to be careful, out of love more than anything else. He remembered in his third year, how Sirius, his godfather, had convinced him that he was innocent of the crime he had been convicted for, and had had to live under circumstances that would make any man go insane, and had stayed sane for his sake. He remembered that last year, he would have been standing solo against his entire school had it not been for Hermione, who had believed what everyone thought a lie without a single hesitation. He remembered above all, however, that his other best friend, Ron Weasley, had been, not just a friend, but a brother as well, and had shown him his family, whom had accepted him like one of their own. They were almost like the family he had never had.
He suddenly thought furiously to himself that he would never have thought about suicide, had it not been for the man that everyone who was focused on the side of Light despised. Voldemort.
The man ripped friendships apart and families would find relatives dead, or worse, joining this horrible evil. Voldemort had been terrorizing everyone, wreaking havoc in the world, and had been after a lone goal. He was thwarted, however, by a baby of about one, who had rebounded his attack, and had gotten away with nothing more than a lighting shaped scar. Harry Potter had sent Voldemort into a state of being incredibly close to death, but he had survived as a mere spirit, entering the bodies of any animals he came across. Last year, when the Cedric had been killed, Voldemort had regained his body, with the forced help of Harry Potter.
After Voldemort had regained his body, he had dueled with Harry, something that nobody had ever survived from. Harry, however, had somehow escaped from the Dark Lord's grasp, and returned to his school with the horrible memory of the dead teenager that he had brought back as a last favor to the boy. He had landed amidst screams and cries, a confusing scene of terror where everyone was running about, trying to find out what had happened, many in tears.
The truth about Lord Voldemort was that he was a Dark Wizard, and Harry himself had been, for four years, attending Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Because of this, his aunt and uncle despised him and his parents, whom were both witches and wizards, and they despised the fact that they had been forced to take care of Harry just after he his parents had been killed. They detested the fact that they were related to such a 'freak'.
Harry got up, and went to look out the window, rubbing his red eyes. It was the day after he had arrived at number four, Privet Drive, and he had already been forced to do more chores than his fat cousin Dudley had ever done in his life. This thought gave Harry an idea.
He sprang over to his desk and grabbed a roll of parchment and a quill, beginning to write a note to the headmaster at his school.
Dear Professor Dumbledore,
He paused for a moment to suck on the end of his quill and ponder how to put his request into formal words.
I would greatly appreciate it if I could receive my list containing all the items I must buy for the next school year as soon as possible. I would like to go to Diagon Alley sooner than usual and buy all of my books so that I may study hard for the following year.
He wondered if he should put in the note about the pain in his scar and the dream, but realized that it was of no use to anyone, so he concluded the letter.
Thank you,
Harry Potter
He folded the parchment into a letter, wrote professor Dumbledore on the front of it, and prodded Hedwig, his owl, awake. She let out a light hoot at being awakened and opened one eye. When she saw that Harry was holding a letter, she stuck out her right leg and allowed him to tie the letter to it.
"Bring it to professor Dumbledor, and be careful on the way, all right?"
She nibbled his ear in response and took off through the window. Harry watched her go until he could no longer see her, than he glanced at the clock to find that it was three in the morning. He flopped back down onto the bed, and tried to sleep, but found that he couldn't. Instead, he thought up a plan that he would take into action if his letter was answered in the affirmative.
He would catch a bus to London, and enter into Diagon Alley. He would find all the things on the list, but buy some extra spell books that contained curses and useful spells. He would then return to Privet Drive, in Surrey, and study hard and focus on his studies during the night, and do all the manual labor during the day, starting the morning off with stretches and exercise. He was going to need to become as strong as he could if he was going to live up to the name he was given in youth and defeat the evil that gave it to him. 'The-boy-who-lived' was going to either kill Voldemort, or become 'The-boy-who-once-lived-but-then-died-trying'.
Finally, Harry was able to fall asleep with a smile of determination on his face.
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Harry Potter awoke three hours later and looked around his room, hoping to see the snowy white owl he had sent off much earlier that morning, knowing that she wasn't going to have returned so soon. He decided that he would begin to put his plan into action, and he began to stretch.
Sitting down on the hard, wooden ground, Harry stretched both legs in front of him and pushed his hands forwards, trying to touch his toes. He was disappointed as he found that he could barely get to his ankles without feeling a sharp pain bounce around in his legs. He pushed for what felt like an eternity, but was only about two minutes, when he bent forwards onto his hands and toes, and did ten pushups, on his knuckles. He stopped for about ten seconds, then did ten more, and so on until he reached one hundred.
He jumped up, feeling a slight pain in his arms, and stealthily crept out the door. He jumped down the stairs, landing lightly at the bottom, and walked silently to the kitchen, quickly glancing about him to make sure he was alone. He crept over to the fridge, and opened it, surveying its contents and trying to find something he could sneak upstairs to his room so that he would not die of starvation when his Aunt Petunia tried to enforce the diet for Dudley onto the entire household.
The sound of a door creaking open drifted down the stairs. Harry swiftly grabbed a small tomato and hid it in his pocket, stepping noiselessly to the front door. A few steps could be heard hitting the stairs, and a long-necked lady with a bony face entered the living room, heading towards the kitchen.
Harry swore under his breath and grabbed the brass door handle, turning it slowly so as not to a make a noise, and trying at the same time to keep out of sight of his aunt. The door clicked softly, and he pulled it open, slowly, leaving the house and staying unnoticed the whole time- his aunt had been bustling about the kitchen, trying to get breakfast ready(an asparagus each, along with a piece of carrot and two small slices of tomato).
The sun was just rising above the rooftops of the identical houses, splashing the road in a sort of golden color. Harry looked up and down the street, and decided that he would go jogging through it, and find out what Surry was like, never having actually been let outside of the house much, unless it was to do all the gardening. He set off to explore, jogging lightly and trying to keep his breathing constant while he examined all the intersections that he passed, memorizing the path he was taking. He jogged for about an hour before he found himself in front of his old baby sitters house. He stopped for a moment, looked up at it, and wiped his sweaty brow. His thoughts began to drift to Mrs. Figg, and how boring she had been, then to his best friends, then to Cho Chang, his school crush, then to Cedric Diggory. Tears began to well up in his eyes.
'No.', He thought 'it's not my fault. Crying won't bring him, or my parents, back. The only thing I can do for all of them now, is to insure that it doesn't happen to anyone else.'
With that thought, he headed back to Number Four, Privet Drive. On arrival, he was met by his Uncle Vernon.
"Where were you, boy? You think that your Aunt Petunia can do all of the house-work by herself, now do you? Well, I'll show you!"
And with that, he proceeded to punch Harry, hard.
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A/N: so, was it good, or was it bad? Does it deserve flames, or does it deserve praise? Will you review, or will I stop writing? Should I make the story go one direction, or should I make it go the other? Tell me because I don't have any idea where I'm going to take it….
Thanks again to Two Black Poodles for the review I got when this chapter was but a wee paragraph… I think you should all take her(his) example and review.
Please?
Oh yes, and now for something kinda' different-
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