Padfoot?
by
Padfootz-luvr
A/N: To those who have beared with me throughout the years, I thank you, and I apologize profusely. To those just joining us: Welcome! This story has been a big, fat, work-in-progress for almost three years now, and I almost abandoned it. ALMOST. Then I sat down, re-read what I had written, and, before I knew it, I made the conscious decision to correct all grammatical and punctuation errors, and to add to it a bit, give it more dimension and depth. So now here we are, reader and author, ready to embark on a new, perilous journey. This time, I primise to not abandon the wheel of the ship.
Disclaimer: :le sigh: I don't own Harry Potter or anythign else you recognize, blah, blah, blah, etc.
Chapter Four:
The Voice in the Kitchen
"I've got another confession to make:
I'm no fool..."-Best of You, Foo Fighters
After spending what seemed like an endless amount of time in the cupboard with little water or food, Harry emerged, even thinner and paler than usual, around the time the summer holidays had begun.
Harry wasn't sure if he would or would not be looking forward to the next leg of his educational 'adventure': on one hand, he wouldn't be attending the same school as Dudley; however, on the other hand, it would mean longer school days with less time to see Padfoot.
When July rolled around and Dudley went with Petunia to buy his school uniform, Harry was left with their neighbor Mrs. Figg, as usual. He brought Padfoot over to her house, expecting the usual pictures of cats and chronic smell of tuna, but was instead allowed to watch television and eat a (very old) chocolate cake.
As Harry was drifting off to sleep on the lumpy couch, he heard the sound of a door closing, and raised his head to see the room deserted. Neither Padfoot nor Mrs. Figg were anywhere to be seen, but the eleven-year-old definitely heard someone talking in the kitchen.
Harry silently padded to the kitchen door, casually leaning against it just the tiniest bit, only to find it locked. Perplexed, Harry frowned: there had never been a lock on the kitchn door before...
He crept even close to he door, careful to keep quiet, and listened at the door. Feeling rather silly, he heard Mrs. Figg talking to herself, mumbling disapprovingly about Harry's long stay in the cupboard under the Dursleys' stairs.
To Harry's astonishment, he heard another voice answer his batty old neighbor's. The new voice was a male's, not very deep, and sounded relatively young.. He couldn't make out what they were saying, but definitely heard his name a couple of times, and the word "parselmouth", whatever that meant.
Harry heard the man's voice move over by the door, and Harry ran back to the sofa for a second, not wanting to be caught eavesdropping. The man said some odd word and the door unlatched, starting to swing open, when Mrs. Figg's voice called out warningly, with a slightly panicked edge to it:
"No, Black, don't!"
The door swung closed again, and Harry heard the man curse softly. Then there was a small pop. Harry heard Mrs. Figg's reprimanding voice scolding the man about something, but Harry didn't bother to pay attention. He hurried to lay back down on the couch, closing his eyes and then he pretended to be back to sleep.
The door opened once more, and Harry heard Padfoot's soft feet on the hardwood floor, nails clicking loudly, but the small boy still feigned slumber. He felt Padfoot's cold nose rub his cheek for a second, then felt the large dog climb next to him the on the couch.
Harry heard no more of the man's voice that afternoon, but knew something was going on, and it had to do with his dog.
A/N: Thanks to ALL of my wonderful reviewers! You guys make my day! Tell me what you think! I know this one was short...but there'll be a longer one posted soon!