Yo. I'm glad you all liked the first chapter. I've never really written anything like this, so it's a bit of an experiment for me as well, and the short chapters make it easier to write quickly. Just a quick thing I'd like to mention though. I've been having issues with the comp I've been using that often affects updates, so I do apologize for that, though I'm trying my best with what I can do. There are simply days when it doesn't work, and I'm sorry, but I can't do anything about that. If I had the money, sure I'd get a new one, but I don't, so we all gotta deal. Anyway, thank you to all readers so far!
Fifteen year old Harry Potter lay on his back on his very uncomfortable bed, staring up at the plain white ceiling. It was summer vacation and he was bored. Hell, he was beyond bored. And while it was true he'd never really cared for the breaks away from school because of the Dursleys, he certainly didn't want to spend these breaks locked inside a small, ugly, lemon-scented room.
Bleh.
Part of him was dead inside, he knew, because of what had happened to his godfather, and what he'd learned about the stupid prophecy. He didn't want to think about it though. Not now. And being trapped in a Muggle location while closed off from any friends certainly helped him ignore it, that was for sure.
Still, that got him thinking about Voldemort. No, not of how he'd lured Harry to the Department of Mysteries, gotten Sirius killed, or possessed him. No, nothing mundane like that. What he was thinking about was how it was Voldemort's fault he was currently locked in this bloody room with nothing to do.
What in the name of-did house-elves have their own elf god that they worshipped?-was the Order thinking!? He was a teenager! Did they really expect him to sit cooped up in this house with the Dursleys for two whole months!? They were crazy!
And that brought him back to the beginning of this whole thing. He was bored, so, to counter that, he'd sent Hedwig off with a letter for the Dark Lord. It hadn't been until his beloved owl vanished out of sight that he'd realized that this probably wasn't the smartest idea he'd ever had.
So he lay there, waiting for Hedwig to come back, hoping, practically praying Voldemort didn't kill her. His scar wasn't burning-hadn't even twinged, but he wasn't sure if that was a good thing or not. With old Voldy, it was near impossible to tell.
"Hedwig!" he exclaimed quite suddenly, as the owl gracefully flew in through the thankfully no longer barred window. He held out his arm, waiting for her to land. When she did, he examined her carefully, relieved to see that she was safe and more, had a letter clamped in her beak.
Was this his own that she had failed to deliver (an insult to her amazing skills, naturally), or had Voldemort actually written back to him? With no one else there to answer him, he took the letter with his free hand, unfolded it, and realized no, it wasn't his own. Which meant-
'Potter,
While I fail to see how this is any of my concern, how in Salazar's name is it my fault that you lack a thing to do? And, you wish for me to entertain you? Tell me, do I resemble a red-nosed clown to you?
Voldemort'
For a moment, Harry just stared. And then, slowly, a grin stretched out across his face.
That's it for now. Looking forward to reviews! Laterz!
