An Incomplete Potter Collection ch Collection 6
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An Interview on Tears
Introduction Ron
Good friends
HHr Introductions
Musings of a Human Horcrux
Interrupted Announcement
Magical Youths
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Story: [An Interview on Tears]
Summary: Skeeter's interview of Harry during the Triwizard takes a slightly different turn.
Genre: Honesty isn't a genre... It's like a Mystery for her? I dunno.
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"What do you feel about death, Harry? Do you ever cry for your dead parents?" Rita asked him.
Harry hadn't been pleased to be pulled inside of the virtual closet by the reporter, and he was even less pleased by her inability to register what amounted to the privacy of anyone.
Still, she seemed to be wanting an actual answer out of him on this one, and since nobody had managed to rescue him from her grip yet, he figured he might as well answer her.
"I haven't cried for a very long time, Miss Skeeter." He stated honestly.
"Ah, so brave, and yet so young." Rita smiled. It wasn't a nice smile.
"I don't think I remember how to, actually." He continued thoughtfully, as he hadn't actually considered crying for years.
Rita paused in her search for a story on the young hero, confused at that last statement.
It was one thing to not cry over his dead parents, she could spin that into a brave and noble soul who had mourned and moved on even at such an early age. It was another thing entirely to not know how to cry.
Sadness was an emotion that was considered of great importance in society, even if not necessarily appropriate to express by the upper echelons of it.
No, a complete lack of tears meant... she wasn't entirely sure what it could mean, but it was quite possible that it signified the young hero going Dark. But... from what he was saying, he hadn't cried for so long that he'd forgotten how to do so, and that meant that he must've 'turned Dark' at an age barely out of his diapers, which was a bit young for even her to vilify.
So, if she couldn't spin it as him turning Dark, why in the world had the young hero completely stopped crying at such an early age?
"I see, but how come?" She tried to dig for an explanation.
Harry's eyes were focused on something on the wall of the closet she'd pulled him into, seemingly lost in thought. "My 'bedroom' had thin walls, and my relatives disapprove of me making noise." He shrugged.
The way the boy had said 'bedroom' piqued the reporter's interest, because it sounded like there was a story there. Potentially a very interesting story.
She'd known that the boy had been living with his muggle relatives, everyone knew that, but nobody knew either name or location, most likely for the boy's safety. But... if there was a story there... a story that she could bring to light, concerning the Boy-Who-Lived and the time he spent with his muggle relatives? That made it definitely worth seeing if she couldn't extract an address and a name for the boy's relatives.
"And where do you live, Harry?" She decided to be blunt, hoping that the boy would be lost in memories for long enough that he actually answered her.
"Number 4 Privet Drive, Surrey." He answered in a slightly mechanical tone, merely reciting a fact.
It was a fact that was gold worth.
And she was going to capitalize on it completely and utterly. This story would be hers.
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Story: [Introduction Ron]
Summary: It's possible that Ron lied about the other compartments being full that time during their First Year, I'm not disputing that, I'm merely giving him a different motivation for lying than the one all those bashing-fics insist on.
Genre: Friendship, Drama
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Ron glanced into a compartment, before hastily scooting past it.
Pristine clothes, new books, hair combed and proper.
Oh, he no longer had the smudge on his nose that his mother had apparently spotted, but even if he ignored how utterly embarrassing it was to have her dote on him, he knew that he didn't look all that... presentable.
His clothes were mostly inherited from his brothers, and the few pieces that weren't had been bought secondhand. His trunk had belonged to one of his older brothers, his books had done much the same, even his wand was inherited.
The only thing new he carried with him was writing supplies, and his mother's lips always thinned disapprovingly whenever they passed that shop and she remembered that parchment couldn't be reused.
He came from a loving family, true. His mother might nag at him, his brothers might prank him, his little sister might be the darling of the family and get away with all the things he didn't, his father might have an odd fascination with muggle-things, and there was rarely a quiet moment in their house.
But they were so obviously poor.
Maybe it hadn't been like that for Bill, being the oldest of them. But by the time that the sixth son had popped into existence, all they could afford for him was leftovers.
Sure, his sister had new things bought for her, but she was a girl, and could hardly be expected to walk around in boys' clothing, no matter how precarious their financial situation might be.
He normally didn't care overly much about it. He loved his family, annoying though they might be. But seeing so many people all scattered around, dragging new stuff everywhere, as if it was normal to have new clothes, and normal to be able to buy their books without finding them secondhand.
He knew he wasn't smart, or funny, or strong, or brave, because the twins were the funny ones, and Percy was always in the right about everything he did, and Bill could lift him and Ginny at the same time and carry them around without even seeming to notice it, and he was still unable to even look at his old teddy bear – the one that had suddenly grown extra limbs when he was too young to really remember it – without shuddering.
No, he didn't have a lot of redeeming features, especially not in comparison to his brothers, he couldn't even compare in the looks department, what with his freckles covering everything.
And he didn't want to be bullied, laughed at, mocked, for being born into a family he loved so very much, but that he sometimes wondered if perhaps they wouldn't have been better off without him, another hungry mouth to feed and all that.
So, instead of entering a compartment filled to the brim with pristine clothes that had never seen use, and hair combed into neat perfection, Ron continued to wander down the train.
Somewhere, somewhere there had to be someone who didn't wear pristine clothes and had their hair combed oh so neatly. There had to be, because if he had to go around for another look when he reached the end of it, he thought that he might start crying.
And he was elven years old, and he was beginning Hogwarts, and a boy, and boys weren't supposed to cry!
Glancing into another compartment, Ron's breath caught in his throat.
His clothes didn't fit properly, his shoes looked like they'd been mended with some kind of muggle-thing, his glasses were battered, his hair was a disorganized mess, and he was fidgeting nervously as he stared out through the window.
Gulping down his own nervousness, Ron took a deep breath and pushed open the door towards the person who was just like him.
"Umm, can I sit here? The other compartments were full."
And so he met for the first time a boy who would come to be one of his closest friends.
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Story: [Good friends]
Summary: A good friend will bail you out of jail. A best friend will be in the cell next to you. Because friendship sort of does mean to never have to say "sorry".
Genre: Humor, Friendship
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Harry groaned as he shifted his position in sitting on the cold, hard, stone floor.
"To be fair." Ron commented from his own cell. "Malfoy totally had it coming."
Knowing better than to agree with his friend, simply because that would mean that he wouldn't be able to blame him for everything once Hermione showed up to bail them out, Harry wisely kept his mouth shut.
"He was smiling you know." Ron defended himself.
"Ronald, just because someone that you don't like is enjoying themselves, doesn't mean that you're allowed to try and break their nose." Hermione pointed out as she entered.
"But it was Malfoy!" Ron reminded her.
"And you should be a better person than he is." Hermione argued. "See. Harry was only arrested because he tried to help you."
Harry, wisely kept quiet and didn't mention that that wasn't entirely correct, since he knew that being honest wouldn't be a good way to avoid Hermione's wrath.
"Tried to help me?" Ron asked, sounding indignant. "Harry knocked out Goyle's teeth!"
Damn, he'd been hoping that Ron hadn't noticed that after getting hit over the head by Malfoy's wife throwing a tray at him, now he was going to be in trouble with Hermione too. Dammit, this was why he hated to visit people when Hermione wasn't there with them.
If she was there with them, she couldn't claim moral high ground, since she would've gotten involved in the fight as well.
She had a wicked left hook.
"They were probably loose anyway." Harry muttered to himself, not meeting Hermione's eyes.
Life was good when your friends were just as stupid as you were.
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Story: [HHr Introductions]
Summary: Inspired by something timunderwood9 wrote on their profile. Because regardless of his annoyance and sarcasm, Harry was never raised to be rude, and as such we should take greater care in choosing his words for him than a lot of fics do.
Genre: Friendship, a bit of Humor, and hints of future Romance?
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"You're Harry Potter?" The girl lit up. "I've read all sorts of books about you!"
Now, Harry could've said something rude about not believing everything she read in books, because quite frankly, he was fairly sure that none of those books gave any semblance to a real understanding in who he was, how he was raised, or what actually happened that night.
But that would've been rude.
He could've instead settled for stammering something and looking away and hoping that the girl didn't talk to him about what kind of impression reading those books might've given her of who he was. Because he'd had quite enough of people trying to force their own opinions of who he was onto him.
But that would've been kind of... unfair to the girl who looked so obviously happy to meet him. He should at least tell her something, right?
So he decided to go for escaping the awkwardness through sheer ridiculous audacity. He'd never tried it before, and he wasn't sure how good he'd be at it, but it couldn't be that far removed from sarcasm, and he'd been using that for ages.
"Really?" He faked surprise, which wasn't really that hard, since he honestly had been rather surprised to learn that someone wrote books about him. Quickly erasing the surprise from his face, he instead turned to the window with an exaggerated frown. "I thought for sure I'd killed off all those ruddy witnesses!"
And now the redheaded boy was gaping at him in horror, which was probably not a good thing. Had he done it wrong? Or did wizards vehemently not joke about that kind of stuff for some reason?
The girl choked back a snort of laughter at his words, but then winced and adapted a slightly apologetic expression as she realized that her conversation-opener had in fact consisted of telling him how she'd read about how he'd become an orphan, which was kind of really not a nice thing to remind someone of.
"Sorry." She apologized weakly.
Harry glanced back at her, trying not to show his relief at the knowledge that he'd at least made the joke correctly, even if wizards were apparently opposed to that kind of humor. "It's fine. I'd probably be excited too if I met someone I'd read about somewhere." He shrugged. "I'm a bit new to being on this side of things, but I'm guessing I'll either get used to it, or I'll snap and kill everyone. 'Cause that's what people do when they lose it, right?"
The girl suppressed her amused giggle all the way down into a bright smile.
Harry thought that it was a very nice smile.
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Story: [Musings of a Human Horcrux]
Summary: Dialogue concerning Dumbledore's plans. His... actually rather retarded plans.
Genre: Humor
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"So... you have a soul fragment in your scar?"
"Supposedly, yeah. Dunno how it could've gotten through the blood protections that my mother apparently left behind, or why it decided to attach to me when it would've made more sense for it to simply attach itself to my crib or something else nearby and not bother with bypassing those protections in the first place."
"But you ended up with a soul fragment in your scar."
"According to Dumbledore."
"And he decided that you needed to die in order to get rid of Voldemort's final anchor to this world?"
"Pretty much."
"And it never occurred to him to actually research a horcrux ritual, and then simply have you skip the part where you fracture your soul to put it into an object, meaning that it would've tried to use part of your fractured soul to fill an object when the only fracture in your soul is the distance between your own soul and Voldemort's soul?"
"... Well, that makes a bit more sense than walking to my own death, but wouldn't that run the risk of me putting my own soul into the object and then leaving the soul fragment behind in my body?"
"From what I read about the ritual, it should be taking the smallest piece of your soul, rather than simply 'a' piece of your soul, so it would choose Voldemort's soul fragment over your own full soul."
"You sure? Cause I'd rather not have another Voldemort running around, especially not in my own body."
"I'm sure."
"Oh, and if Dumbledore was wrong and Voldemort didn't manage to attach a fragment of his soul to me, would this ritual mean that I'm ripping out my entire soul and shoving it into an object? Because that sounds like a bad idea."
"... That's actually a possibility, but it's really either committing to the ritual or walking to your death, and if Dumbledore is right, then the ritual is the option that has the highest chance for success."
"So... basically, if he's wrong, I'm going to croak either way, so I might as well not give the bastard the satisfaction of killing me."
"If that's how you want to look at it, sure."
"Alright, sure, let's do it."
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Story: [Interrupted Announcement]
Summary: A different way of convincing everyone that Harry wants nothing to do with the Tournament. Set before the Goblet is even brought into the picture.
Genre: Humor
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"The tournament is for Seventh Years only." Dumbledore continued.
The groaning and moaning of the younger students were drowned out when suddenly Harry Potter leaped to his feet with a wide grin on his face.
"Yes! Haha! Freedom! No death-stunts for the year! Wohoo! Frickin' jackpot!" He shouted gleefully, doing a spontaneous – and somewhat peculiar – dance of joy in the middle of the Great Hall.
The Great Hall became understandably silent as everyone turned to stare at the normally shy and withdrawn boy.
"No trolls! No gauntlet of doom! No homicidal professors! No basilisks! No evil spirit-sucking diaries! No Dementors! No stupid ministry verdicts! Hahaha! Peace and quiet! Finally!" Harry continued dancing, laughing and making random exclamations about why he was so happy.
Which was why now most of the Great Hall was gaping at him.
Sure, they'd known that the Boy-Who-Lived had gone off on an adventure or two, but the reserved boy didn't like talking about them, and despite his friends being somewhat more forthcoming with information, it was usually only the bare bones that made it out into the Hogwarts' infamous rumor-mill.
The fact that it was rather obvious from the boy's enthusiasm that he'd much rather have a peaceful year like what most of his classmates did, helped stem the potential disbelief over how truthful he was about exactly what his adventures had entailed.
As for the other schools, they didn't actually know who the strange boy in the middle of Gryffindor table was, or why he was so happy at the announcement of not being able to participate – he was rather short for his age, his size being a closer match to a Second or Third Year's – but they did know that normal students didn't consider basilisks and homicidal professors as something... well, normal.
Dumbledore himself was curiously considering just how far Harry's sanity had been pushed, and beginning to consciously admit to himself what the boy had actually experienced over his relatively short time at Hogwarts.
The realization of just how often the boy had been involved in dangerous situations, certainly didn't paint the school in the favorable light in regards to 'the safest place in Wizarding Britain', that it had so often been described as over the years.
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Story: [Magical Youths]
Summary: The Wizarding World is built around old people, because when it's normal to live for over a century, being elderly comes with the territory. So what if their hold in politics and ideals was broken?
Genre: Adventure, Horror
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Harry stared at the newspaper that greeted him when he woke up after fighting Quirrell and Voldemort for the Stone.
Hermione sat across from him, looking terrified and guilty.
Ron was nowhere to be seen.
Harry could guess where he was if he was reading the newspaper correctly.
He was with his brothers and sister, trying to figure out what it meant for them that they were suddenly orphans.
Because there was only one article in the newspaper.
"Every wizard above the age of twenty was killed by a plague of unknown origin."
One week. He'd been sleeping for one week. And whilst he'd slept, the entire world he'd been so suddenly introduced to at the beginning of the year, had been turned on its head.
The muggles were apparently unaffected, meaning that the plague was somehow magical in nature. The fact that it'd targeted only magical people past a certain age was unsettlingly specific, but not something he could really figure out the reason for.
"Hermione? When did-...?" He gestured mutely towards the article, his voice wavering in fright at the possibility.
"I think... I think the Stone got smashed somehow in your struggle, Dumbledore lived long enough to get you up here, but he was delirious by the time we reached this area of the castle. He didn't make a lot of sense, called for people that are probably long-since dead, that kind of thing. But he was insistent that what was happening to him was somehow related to the Stone." Hermione rambled, gulping heavily. "It-... It must've been destroyed and somehow... released the plague, we don't know if any of the societies on the mainland managed to escape it, but signs point to 'no'. We-... We tried to stop him from coming back, but instead we-... we released a plague." She broke down in tears.
"A-Are we getting blamed?" Harry asked, not entirely sure if he wanted that question to be answered or not.
"No." Hermione hurriedly shook her head. "But Quirrell is. We obviously tried to stop him from knowingly releasing it, but failed. That's the story."
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