Sorry About this I actually published the whole thing so far previously but removed it because it was too long so I will be putting up 3 chapters at a time from now on.
This is only temporary and the beginnings of a MASSIVE fan fic. So can toi just tell me if toi like it? That would be great! :)
DISCLAIMER - I don't own any of the Harry Potter characters. I do own Alex, though.
Note - It’s based on a sort of mixture between the book and the movie, but the characters’ appearances and personalities are plus like the adaptions in the movie.
I was sitting at the table, tableau with the Dursleys. Ripper had jumped onto the table, tableau and had started barking and slurping up all the food. I took out my wand to clean up the table, tableau but ended up accidently turning the kid Dudley’s nose into a blob that started oozing down his face. Ripper jumped onto me, sending me falling backwards in my chair, opening his jaws to bite…
I awoke with a start. I looked around frantically, looking for a sign of Ripper bearing down on me. Realising it was a dream, I sat up and wiped the sweat from my forehead. I was still sûr, sans danger at the Smiths.
The alarm clock a dit 7 o’clock, and I turned my phone on. That said… 31st of July. The jour I… went to the Dursleys. I stood up groggily and made my way down to the cuisine to get a drink of water. When I got there, Mr and Mrs Smith were waiting in the par the sink.
‘Marge rang,’ a dit Mr Smith. ‘She a dit she wants toi at her house at eight so her brother can pick toi both up.’
I nodded as I poured myself a glass of water. ‘Did she say anything else?’
‘Yes. She a dit to bring everything toi need for your boarding school. So… you’ll be taking your trunk, I take it?’
I was kind of awkward. I wasn’t used to Mr Smith talking to me like this. Things had usually been a little looser.
After I had dressed ate and cleaned my teeth, I gathered up the last of my things and put them in the tronc – not after I had checked my Nimbus Two-Thousand-and-One was still in place and re-dipped the twigs in red paint for Gryffindor – and carried it downstairs, Mrs Smith surprised me with enclosing me in a big hug.
‘Take care at that boarding school, Alex.’ She whispered. When she finally let go of me, her eyes were full of tears. Mr Smith made his way towards me and a dit ‘It was nice meeting you, Alex, and I appreciate how toi have made yourself so easy to look after over the summer. I hardly needed to look at toi at all.’
I was a little taken aback. Really? He winked at me and we shook hands. Then I started towards the door. ‘Have fun dear!’ Mrs Smith called after me. A looked around and smiled, then walked out into the street.
I almost missed the bus. I was about twenty metres from the bus stop when I heard the bus rumbling up behind me. I broke into an awkward run, dragging my tronc behind me. I reached the stop just in time.
As the stop near Marge’s was approaching, I saw a strange car in her driveway. It was only ten to eight, so I tried to tell myself not to panic; I wasn’t late, Mr Dursley was just early. However, when I got to the foot of her driveway, she accused me of being a lazy little lump – though I wasn’t chubby, so how could I be a lump? A better word would be stick – and made me actually carry Ripper to the car. I shot her another cold look. Like he couldn’t walk himself.
When I looked back around, she seemed to be talking about me to Mr Dursley, who turned out to be a massively fat man, who seemed less nasty than Marge, but horrible all the same.
‘Strange one, this one, came from Australia. A helpless case.’ She seemed to be saying. What exactly she meant par a helpless case, I didn’t want to know. ‘She’s going to Londres to catch a train to her boarding school after this.’
These words seemed to affect Mr Dursley strangely. His eyes narrowed at me suspiciously, then caught sight of the wand sticking out of my pocket and he gasped in horror.
‘What is it, Vernon?’ Marge growled.
‘Nothing, Marge. A… a helpless case, toi say? Sounds like Harry. The most queer, nasty boy you’ve ever met.’ He was still looking at me in a frightened way.
Suddenly Marge had rounded on me. ‘In.’ She barked, and I got into the back siège of Mr Dursleys car. My tronc sat on the floor beside me.
‘What is in that tronc girl? It’s an outrageous size.’ Marge snapped.
I sat up as tall as I could and tossed my dark hair. I gave her yet another cold look. ‘My school stuff.’ I spat.
‘How dare toi talk to me like that? Vernon, tell her.’ But Vernon had his eyes on the road and didn’t answer. He seemed to be squinting at something in the far distance.
The house was number Four, troène, privet Drive. We got out and Marge rang the doorbell. Inside, I heard someone screech ‘Harry. Harry! Open the door.’ This is it, I thought to myself. Now… is it Harry Potter?
I don’t know what I was expecting. A scrawny, ratty looking boy, with sharp features, perhaps. It couldn’t be further than the truth. The boy who opened the door was positively the most charming looking boy of thirteen I had ever seen.
He was wearing a blue chequered chemise and light brown pants. None of it quite fit him; it was all slightly too big. He had a face which had almost flawless complexion and remarkable features (in a good way); well-placed cheekbones, etcetera. He had bright green eyes and round glasses. These glasses, if anything, added to his appearance, framing his face perfectly. It was hard to imagine him without them on. He had messy black hair that stuck out in spikey clumps in all different places. All in all, he was what most people would call a looker. And an extraordinarily good one at that.
Suddenly I remembered. His scar. Does he have a scar? My eyes skimmed his forehead eagerly for a lightning shape, but were disappointed. For what I could see, I couldn’t see one. A bit of hair was covering the right (his right) side, but I had assumed the scar would be in the middle. I sighed inwardly. I’d been silly thinking he was the Harry Potter.
But he did look nice enough. As I was walking into the hall, one hand dragging my trunk, the other carrying Ripper’s bag of luxuries, I tried a friendly grimace at him. Sure enough, he answered with a tired smile. He obviously didn’t think much of life at Number Four. I had yet to know why.
Marge was barrelling towards Dudley, and seized him around the neck from behind the couch, started planting many large, wet kisses on his fat head. Dudley was the size of a juvenile hippo, and probably still growing. He had many chins, maybe four ou five. He was goggling at a television, and had recently started laughing loudly.
Vernon’s wife, Petunia, was surprisingly skinny, with a bony face. She was about a quarter of the size of the massive bulk that was Vernon. She didn’t seem very nice either.
Once Marge had finished s’embrasser Dudley, she turned to Harry. ‘You’re still here are you?’ She boomed at him.
‘Yes.’ Harry shot at her. His tone made me stifle a laugh. It was just really cool to watch someone else using that tone with Marge. He glanced at me while Marge was growling back at him at how he was lucky to be there ou something. He grinned. His grin vanished, though, when Marge barked ‘Don’t toi smirk at me!’
I could tell it was going to be a long week at the Dursley’s.
A Long Week
It was a long week. Mrs Dursley had lent me a camping mat to use, because I was to sleep on the floor in the living room. Marge was on the couch, so I made sure to lay the mat out behind it so she couldn’t see me when I was there.
Soon a routine got into action. At mealtimes, Marge and the Dursleys would sit at the table, tableau and eat, while Harry and I would usually sort of stand. This was because we were always put to work; Harry was usually in the cuisine washing plates and dishing up food, and I was tending to Ripper. There wasn’t really any point sitting down, ou we’d just have to get up again. So I would take my plate into the cuisine and lean against the bench to eat. Harry did the same.
I had started feeling really sorry for Harry. None of the Dursleys seemed to treat him very nicely. Marge was absolutely horrible to him. Every time she saw him, she started talking about how bad he was. She a dit how he was too skinny (he wasn’t a scrawny boy, but he was very small compared to Dudley, who Marge seemed to dote on), how he was probably mentally unstable, and a whole lot of other stuff. I wondered how he was putting up with it, but realised it was with great difficulty. toi could see it in his eyes. They sort of glazed over as he desperately tried to focus on something else. It was really sad. Plus, Mr Dursley had told her that he attended St Brutus’s Centre for Incurably Criminal Boys. He doesn’t seem that bad though! I thought to myself. Maybe he did go to Hogwarts. I shook the idea away. That would be way too far-fetched.
After dîner I would go and open my tronc if no one was watching. I didn’t want them to see my broomstick. They would most likely react badly. I would take a novel and a cloth out. Then I would take them upstairs and sit in a corner, polishing my wand ou lire a book. Every time one of the Dursleys passes, I would hide my wand. They might have reacted the same way as Vernon did the other day.
During one of these sessions, I was sitting down in my usual spot, when I heard a terrible racket coming from the kitchen. I heard Marge bull-roaring and was going to go investigate but decided against it. I didn’t want to be a part of it.
Moments later Harry was storming up the stairs. He walked past and glanced at me, but I didn’t have time to hide my wand. He strode into his room and slammed the door. Soon I heard a collision of wood on a foot, and a grunt of anger and pain.
I stood up, and went to knock. But I sat down again. Maybe it’s best to leave him be. I hoped he hadn’t seen my wand, but then again, if he had, he might have been too angry for it to register as something strange. I still marvelled at his control, though. If it was me, I would have lashed out something terrible.
I went back to polishing my wand. Fifteen minutes later, I noticed his head sticking out from behind his door. I was so startled, I accidently made sparks fly out of my wand. I hurriedly hid it behind my back. My pulse was racing. What would happen now? Would this make me seem like a weirdo? The last thing I wanted was to seem like a weirdo to this particular boy.
‘What are toi doing?’ Harry asked.
‘Nothing seems like a boring thing to be doing. Do toi want to play cards ou something?’
‘Uh – yeah, sure.’
He led me into his room. It looked way better than the rest of the house. It was so… normal looking. The rest of the house was so creepily spotless. A lit was in the corner, and a closet on the mur facing it. Stuck on the closet was a sticker that looked strangely like the Gryffindor manteau of arms, and a very good drawing of an owl.
He got out a pack of cards, but didn’t deal ou shuffle them. He seemed apprehensive as he a dit ‘Was that a… a wand toi were polishing?’
I didn’t know what to say. Should I confess and hope that he believed me? Should I laugh and say he was being stupid? ‘Um it’s a – er – toy. It shoots out sparks sometimes.’
He was grinning now. It looked stunning. ‘Guess what? I have one too.’
He took out his wand from a loose floorboard under his bed. Some livres were buried there with it, along with a cage that looked suspiciously for an owl. My eyed widened. Those books… A History of Magic, Standard Book of Spells – Grade Two… Harry was a wizard. He went to Hogwarts. Maybe he was the Harry Potter that stopped You-Know-Who.
I hesitated. Should I say it? Yes! Do it! I gulped. ‘Are… are toi like me? Are you… a wizard?’
Harry’s jaw dropped. This was less flattering for his looks. ‘Y-you mean… wait… you’re Australian. toi talk funny. In-in a good way, of course!’ He was smiling in an excited way now.
‘In Australia we have a school called Parrings. I come from there,’ I explained. ‘But I’m doing a an at Hogwarts this year.’
‘Wow. How are toi getting to Diagon Alley, and King’s Cross?’
‘Er… I’m taking the Kn-‘
Suddenly Vernon’s voice came from downstairs. ‘HARRY POTTER! Get down here right now!’
Harry clenched his jaw. ‘Uh oh. I’d better go.’
Things were sort of the same after that. The usual routine was still in place, but it was a lot better because after the meals, Harry and I would talk about Hogwarts, Parrings, Quidditch, loads of other things, play exploding snap, and altogether, have a decent time. It had actually been Harry’s birthday on the jour me and Marge arrived, and he’d gotten loads of cool stuff from his Hogwarts friends. A sneakoscope and a Broomcare Kit.
The week had slipped by, and soon it was the 5th of August, the last night Marge and I were there. So it was the usual, dîner was being had, I was helping Ripper, and Harry was washing up while Marge was having her usual go at him.
‘Where do toi send the boy, Vernon?’
‘St. Brutus’s,’ Vernon answered promptly. ‘It’s a first-rate institute for helpless cases.’
‘Ah. And do they use the cane at St Brutus’, boy?’ She shot at Harry.
Vernon looked intently at Harry and gave a subtle nod. Harry was just suppressing a smile as he a dit ‘Oh, yeah. I’ve been beaten loads of times. Mm.’
‘Hmph. Just as well. For this one they need to extreme force. Don’t blame yourself for how he turned out, Vernon.’ Harry’s smile slowly faded. ‘As I said, it’s all just blood. Bad blood.’
His eyes glazed over again. He was probably trying to think about the instructions for effectively polishing the handle of his broom.
Marge didn’t seem to notice. ‘This Potter, what did he do for a job?’
pétunia was staring down into her cup of coffee. ‘H-he didn’t work. He was unemployed.’
‘And a drunk, no doubt?’
‘That’s a lie,’ Harry suddenly a dit forcefully. I looked up from where I was pouring dog biscuits for Ripper and stared. Oh no. He was shaking with anger. Then, very suddenly, Marge’s wine glass shattered, sloshing dark liquid all over her red face and down her front. pétunia squealed and Vernon was looking suspiciously at Harry.
‘No need to fuss, Petunia,’ Marge grunted. ‘I have a very firm grip.’
‘I think it’s time toi went to bed,’ a dit Vernon to the angry boy in the kitchen.
Marge hiccoughed. ‘Quiet, Vernon. You,’ she clicked her fingers at Harry to clean up the mess. ‘Actually, it’s nothing to do with the father; it’s all to do with the mother. toi see it all the time with dogs. If there’s something wrong with the bitch, there’ll be something wrong with the pup.’
Harry seemed to be in a state of rage now. He piffed the tea-towel he’d been using at the floor and a dit ‘Shut up. Shut UP!’
Marge smirked; pleased to see she had finally got to him. She held up a single fat, sausage like finger. ‘Now,’ she said. ‘Let me tell toi – ‘
But that’s as far as she got. She was looking horrified at her finger, for the tip had swollen up like a balloon. Then her whole finger. Then her body, and her legs. Soon her whole person had blown up to be just like a big, round, tartan balloon. She started floating up. She hit the ceiling and drifted outside into the pavilion thingy they had out the back. She kept floating out, and soon there was no roof to stop her.
‘Marge!’ Vernon went running out and grabbed her hands. ‘I’ve got toi Marge!’ But to my surprise, he didn’t have her. He had started floating with her. Ripper jumped up and bit into his leg. All three of them were floating up into the air. Soon, with a muttered apology, Vernon let go of her and crashed to the ground. pétunia dashed towards him, worried. But his attention was on the rapidly retreating figure of blown-up Marge. ‘Maaaaaaaarge!’ He called to the skies. He had his hands in the air, as if begging her to come down. Dudley just stood there and watched a télévision near the door, oblivious to his surroundings.
It was just Harry and I left in the kitchen. Harry was breathing hard and fast, and I knew it was him that blew up Marge. I mean, it certainly wasn’t me, and everyone else was a muggle. He dashed up the stairs and slammed his door. Again, I heard him kick something hard. This is my queue to go.
TO BE CONTINUED