Harry Potter and the Heir of Gryffindor
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter or anything you may recognize. If I did, Coca-Cola would not exist, and I would rule the world.
A/N: Hello everyone! I posted this story like 2 days ago, I know, but this chapter has been half finished for a while, so you can read it before Christmas! Next chapter (for both stories) will be next year, (probably the 2nd…) because, well, it's Christmas!
(P.S. - Revised, re-vamped and ready to review! Warning, people! There's a minor, well, suggestive scene . . . not too bad . . .)
THANKYOU GPOTTER!
To the Burrow
Saturday, the 16th of July, was drawing to a close. The sun was setting on the flawlessly cut lawns of 4 Privet Drive, reflecting dully off of the closed windows and lighting on the drawn curtains. A light fog hovered harmlessly over the street.
Shut up in his room, Harry Potter was hastily throwing the last of his belongings together. Once in a while, he would make a half-hearted attempt at tidying up the mess that had bred in the month that he had spent in his own private prison.
With nothing more to pack, his mind was given the opportunity to wander through the past year's events. He felt a familiar stab in his heart as the realization dawned yet again that Dumbledore was gone. The old man had been his mentor, as well as his friend. He was supposed to see the end of the thrice-damned Tom Riddle! Tom Riddle, the Half-Blood. Tom Riddle, the Orphan. Tom Riddle, the Murderer. Lord Voldemort, the Sadistic Bastard.
Harry straightened up from putting the last of his old schoolbooks into an old trunk. Oh, the things he would give to ki - Well, he didn't have to give anything. It was his job to kill Voldemort.
He pushed the dark thoughts aside impatiently, and instead concentrated on the fact he was about to set off for his best friend, Ron Weasley's house.
"You finished yet, Harry?" called his horse-faced Aunt Petunia. The address startled him for a moment, causing his brow to furrow. Since when has she called me 'Harry'? But he brushed it off and simply left his room. He looked back before shutting the door - this room held a lot of memories, yes. Perhaps not good ones, but memories nonetheless. Sighing, he shut the door for the final time and made his way toward the stairs.
He trudged down the stairs, trunk in tow, and made his way into the Dursley's surgically clean kitchen. His aunt was standing in her apron and washing gloves, dutifully scrubbing the countertop. Dudley, the fat sod also known as Harry's cousin, was sitting at the table, watching cartoons and chomping on an energy bar (Aunt Petunia had given in to those). Uncle Vernon had been relaxing on the couch in the lounge room, but quickly came into the kitchen when Harry entered.
"Okay," said Harry, checking one last time to make sure that the straps on his trunk were secure. "I'm ready."
Something entirely strange and rather alarming happened after Harry uttered those words. His aunt burst into tears. Harry, his Uncle Vernon and cousin Dudley (who actually tore his eyes from the television to witness the scene), all stared at her, shocked out of words to say. She ran over to Harry and drew him into a very unexpected hug. It was a strange sight, to say the least. Not only was his Aunt Petunia hugging him, but he had grown throughout the year, and was now a good head above her.
"Just . . . promise . . . to get him!" she wailed, in between sobs. Harry was startled. His aunt had never shown any emotion, except for perhaps extreme irritation, towards him. Yet now, here she was, sobbing in his arms. He patted her on the back comfortingly.
"Umm . . . yeah, okay, Aunt Petunia, I will . . . " Harry assured her uncertainly. It didn't seem his aunt like was going to stop crying any time soon, mumbling incomprehensibly.
Through all the noise Petunia was making, the three men still were able to hear a knock on the door. Harry smirked. He had conveniently forgot to tell his uncle that he would be getting picked up today.
"Who in the bloody hell would be calling at this time of night?" his uncle grumbled, heaving himself off his chair. He stomped off down the hall, pulling his turquoise dressing gown even tighter around his bulging stomach. Before he could reach the door, an impatient knock sounded again.
"Yes, yes, I'm coming!" his uncle called. "Hold your ruddy horses!" Uncle Vernon finally swung open the door, and froze at the sight before him. Standing on his doorstep was a family of five redheads, all male except the one who appeared to be the youngest. They were dressed in Muggle clothing of course, all except the one older, balding man. He looked to be in his early 50's, and was wearing a deep purple robe, a matching pointed wizard's hat clutched in his hands. Vernon growled. "You!"
Mr.Weasley looked up. "Oh, how do you do, Mr. Dursley? Perhaps you remember me, my name is Art- "
"I know damn well who you are! You're that freak," Vernon spat, "that blew up my lounge room! Not to mention my son's toun - what are you smirking at, boy?" Vernon turned his attention to Fred, who was leaning against his twin and smiling with a wistful expression on his face.
"Classic," was the only reply he got from the redhead. This seemed to be the last straw for Harry's uncle, for he started yelling obscenities that even the late, great, Dumbledore could not blame on going temporarily deaf. He stomped back into the house and into the kitchen, dragged his nephew by the collar back through the hall, threw him out the door and slammed it.
A baffled Harry Potter sat on the front step. After only a second, he stood, brushed himself off, and knocked. Vernon stuck his beefy face out the door.
"What the bloody hell do you want now?" he snapped. In the background he could hear the faint wails of Aunt Petunia.
"I need my trunk, you know. There's all sorts of magical objects in there that might explode at any moment," replied Harry very seriously, seemingly unaware of the throbbing purple vein above his uncle's eye.
Harry's statement seemed to do the trick, for his uncle paled noticeably and scurried (if you could call an extremely fat man running down the hall scurrying) inside to retrieve the trunk.
Uncle Vernon returned to the door to find the group huddled around a battered tin can. The young redheaded girl was squashed between the two identical ones. She did not seem overly happy about it, and looked relived when he threw the trunk (and Hedwig's cage) at their feet.
"Now leave, and don't ever darken my doorstep again, freaks!"
Harry gave his uncle a sarcastic salute, and was glad to immediately feel the customary tug behind his navel...
Harry's first night at the Burrow flew by in a swirl of Mrs. Weasley's hugs and treacle fudge. Before long, however, he found himself falling asleep on a familiar cot on the floor of Ron's room (the twins were staying the night thanks to Mrs. Weasley's incessant pestering).
Too soon for Harry's liking, morning came, accompanied by the smell of fresh bacon and eggs floating up the staircase. Ron was having a hard time deciding which he would rather have, sleep or food, but his stomach won and he was soon rolling down the stairs in search of the source of the mouth-watering scent.
Harry soon followed after him, and plopped down at his customary seat, yawning. Ginny sat across from him at the table, munching on her toast and reading the Daily Prophet. She caught his eye for just a moment and smiled before going back to her reading. Or so he thought.
Actually, her eyes were glued to a single spot on the page. She had more important matters on her hands. Such as trying to get the Boy-Who-Lived-To-Break-Her-Heart to fall in love with her again.
Harry almost choked on his cereal when he felt a gentle but firm pressure on his upper thigh. Discretely looking down, he saw a small freckled foot rubbing along the inside of his thigh. Light blue painted toes rubbed up against his fly briefly and he looked across the table to see Ginny smirking down at her newspaper.
She moved her foot away from his groin when her goal was accomplished. Ginny grinned inwardly as he adjusted himself uncomfortably and looked over at her. She winked, causing a scarlet flush to spread from the boy's neck to his face rapidly.
Trying to find something to take his mind off the randy redhead, Harry turned his attention instead to Molly and Ron's argument over the length of the youngest Weasley boy's hair.
"Mum, really . . . it's fine! I like it this long!" Ron whined pleadingly, guarding his shoulder-length locks from his mother's wand with his broad hands.
Molly was in the middle of serving up piles of breakfast for the twins, who ambled down the stairs in the middle of the row, but still pressed on. "Oh, Ron, dear, please just let me cut it an inch! You're starting to look like Bill! You'llbe wanting an earring next, I suppose?" She went off on this tangent about Bill for several minuets, until the man in question's voice was heard calling out from the fireplace.
"Mum!" Bill's head shouted. "Mum, Fleur will be around in a few minutes, she's just getting the samples rea . . . is that bacon?" Since the Battle of Hogwarts, as the scene of Dumbledore's death had come to be known, Bill often experienced a craving for meat, especially if it was under-cooked. Mrs. Weasley grabbed a few pieces of the sizzling meat with a pair of tongs, and passed it through the flames into Bill's waiting mouth. "Funks," he said right before his head disappeared with a pop.
"Ooh, Mum! Does this mean she'll have the dresses ready?" Ginny squealed, dropping the forgotten paper and bouncing off her chair. "I do hope she didn't decide on the pink, but if Gabrielle wanted pink . . . " she trailed off, her expression darkening at the thought of the petite blonde.
"Dresses?" asked Harry, still looking at the redhead, muttering darkly under her breath.
"For the wedding, dear. It's set for next week — you did get your invitation, didn't you?" Mrs. Weasley looked scandalized at the prospect of an error concerning the invitations. She had been planning this wedding for months.
"Oh, yes. Yes, of course, uh . . . must have lost track of the date . . . " But losing track of dates was the furthest thing from Harry Potter's mind. The thought that plagued him first and foremost was — What in the bloody hell am I going to wear!
A/N: Okay, some of the characters are a bit OOC, but it doesn't matter that much, it's fan fiction after all! And I know Harry has a sarcastic bone somewhere
(P. S. I hope the bits I added were okay. I just realised I hadn't put much conversation in my story, so I hope it's all cool . . . And that part wasn't too naughty, was it? I didn't think it was that bad . . . I hope you all like an adventurous Ginny!)
As SlayerKitty00 (my first ever reviewer! whoot) pointed out, yes the H/G break-up was peaceful, but it was a funeral, people! Okay, maybe not, but I would be mighty peeved if the great Harry Potter went all noble on my hiney. (Thanks, SlayerKitty00!)
THANKYOU TOOOOOOOOOOO:
SlayerKitty00 – my first ever reviewer! Thankyou so much for your positive feedback!
Aspirer – my second reviewer! Okay, so I got 2 reviews, I just needed to post this chappie!
And . . . My Asha-ma-lee! For being the first one to read all my chapters and send them back! You could say she's my Beta!
Merry Christmas and Happy New Year! Selamat Hari Natal! (Indonesian, yes it is the language we have to learn at school, its so confusing!)
R&R
Luv Maddie xxx