errorYou must be logged in to review this story.
Catching Fireflies
folder
Harry Potter › General
Rating:
Adult ++
Chapters:
4
Views:
3,692
Reviews:
38
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Category:
Harry Potter › General
Rating:
Adult ++
Chapters:
4
Views:
3,692
Reviews:
38
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Disclaimer:
I do not own Harry Potter, nor any of the characters from the books or movies. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.
Unexpected Visitors
Author:E-mail: rustyrazorblades@sbcglobal.net
Rating: NC:17 in later chapters
Summary: After his parents\' demise, Draco is forced to spend the summer with Harry at Number 4 Privet Drive in order to stay alive. What does Harry think about this?
Disclaimer: All of the characters in this story are not mine. They belong to J.K. Rowling, and I am just borrowing them for my own perverse pleasure. If you choose to sue me, you will be very disappointed in the end, for I barely enough money to buy a 20 ounce of Sprite at the corner store.
---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Prologue
Glancing at the white face of the clock, which is resting against the window sill, I rinse off the very last plate underneath the luke-warm water current. I can hear the television in the living room, and I can tell that Uncle Vernon is already seated in front of it, awaiting the evening news. Just below the noise coming from the TV, I hear Aunt Petunia\'s sugar-coated, somewhat strained voice. She is talking on the phone with a neighbor that she particularly dislikes; but because of the fact that she is so keen on seeming \"nice and normal\" to everyone in the community, she doesn\'t want to hang up. Dudley is still out with his friends, and I suspect that they are out bullying the few unlucky kids who haven\'t been picked up from the park yet. Because Dudley had called earlier saying that he was going to eat supper at his friend\'s house, there was a considerably less amount of dishes than there would have been, and that makes my life so much easier for the time being.
I carefully slide the plate onto the drying rack, right between a matching plate and cup. As I wring my hands, a loud, impatient knocking sounds from the other side of the door in the living room. Dismissing the noise completely, I reach over and grab a hand-towel. It is Petunia\'s favorite, and she deliberately told me not to use it. I know she will be mad when she finds the towel soggy with use, but I can\'t muster enough feeling to actually care.
Even as I begin to dry my hands, the knocking is followed by a hesitant press of the high-pitched bell. However, the visitor outside must have thought the single time isn\'t enough, so after a split second, a rapid \"ding... ding, ding-ding-dingdingdingdingDING\" rings out throughout the house.
Laughing at the ridiculousness of the situation, I realize that the commotion was something a Wizard would do, particularly one who knew nothing whatsoever about Muggles. After all, there are no doorbells in the Wizard world. That thought immediately spins into another, this time about my two best friends. Usually they try to pick me up, since they know I seriously dislike my \"family\", and I will spend the entire summer in the Burrow. But, for some undisclosed reason, they were unable to do so this year. The letters Hermione and Ron sent me never hold any information about why they couldn\'t come to pick me up in the beginning of summer, but plenty about the fun they are having with Hermione\'s Muggle parents in Crete. Strangely enough, the letters seemed impersonal, if that makes any sense. The words written on the parchment always holds a certain quality that lacks true feeling...
Or perhaps I am simply being stupid. Most likely, yes.
Keeping close attention, I continue to dry my hands, even though they are now no longer wet. I hear Vernon cussing horribly under her breath, then the sound of his heavy, hurried footsteps. The man obviously doesn\'t want any of the neighbors to hear the racket. However, I am positive that after the first few seconds of the annoying doorbell all of the nosy neighbors were already poised with their eyes out the windows. The neoundound comes from the door slamming into the wall, hard, from the force it was opened, and a furious \"What ever you are selling, I don\'t want it!\"
Hands now thoroughly dry, I toss the pretty white-and-sunflower-print hand-towel carelessly onto the ceramic counter.
\"BOY! BOY, WHERE THE HELL ARE YOU?! GET YOUR SKINNY ARSE OVER HERE, RIGHT NOW!\", because my first thought was that a Muggle-- meaning, a person who cannot perform magic-- had come to visit me. The idea, however, was absurd; no only did all of the people in the neighborhood think I was at a boot camp for juvinile delinquents, but I absolutely know that Uncle Vernon would never yell at me with such rage if a \"normal\" person (as he so likes to put it) came over.
Cautiously, I walked over, my old, worn out sneakers making no noise as I crossed the carpet. My clothes, all hand-me-downs from my morbidly obese cousin, were obviously many sizes too big-- my pant legs had to be folded up several times, there was a rope tied through the belt hoops to keep the faded jeans at my slim waist, the bottom hem of the dank-gray shirt reached my knees, and the sleeves (even though it was a T-shirt) reached past the bend of my arms-- and I couldn\'t help to feel self-conscious as Uncle Vernon loomed over me, his large frame blocking the entire door so that I couldn\'t see who was at the other side.
\"What are these freaks doing here?!\" he whispered harshly through his clenched teeth, practically shaking from the fury he was apparently feeling at the moment. Spittle landed on my face and, feeling disgusted, I wipe off the spit. \"I don\'t know what you\'re talking about,\" I replied harshly, my body tense, for I felt that there was no reason whatsoever for him to be angry with me. It didn\'t matter that I was painfully curious of who the \"freaks\" were (the fact that Vernon used that word confused me a bit, because he reserves that word for \"my kind\") Oddly, as I noticed his beady, watery eyes were gouging out quite a bit, I wondered if they were going to pop out, as Alastor Moony\'s magical eye often did. Though the thought itself was quite disturbing- and very, very sick- I found myself amused by it. Hmm... weird.
\"Don\'t you lie to me, Boy! How else can you explain them?\" At the very last word, Uncle Vernon had moved to the side, allowing me to see who my mystery visitoere.ere.
For a split second, I swear to Merlin my heart had stopped, as I stared in horror at none other than Professor Snape and Draco Malfoy.
---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Author\'s Note: So, what do you think? This is only the prologue, and a pathetically short one at that, but I just wanted to post it to see what others\' opinions on the idea of the fanfic are I am still working a lot of things out about how I actually want this story it go, though, but oh well. Either way, please review so that I know someone\'s actually reading this and wants me to continue.
Rating: NC:17 in later chapters
Summary: After his parents\' demise, Draco is forced to spend the summer with Harry at Number 4 Privet Drive in order to stay alive. What does Harry think about this?
Disclaimer: All of the characters in this story are not mine. They belong to J.K. Rowling, and I am just borrowing them for my own perverse pleasure. If you choose to sue me, you will be very disappointed in the end, for I barely enough money to buy a 20 ounce of Sprite at the corner store.
---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Prologue
Glancing at the white face of the clock, which is resting against the window sill, I rinse off the very last plate underneath the luke-warm water current. I can hear the television in the living room, and I can tell that Uncle Vernon is already seated in front of it, awaiting the evening news. Just below the noise coming from the TV, I hear Aunt Petunia\'s sugar-coated, somewhat strained voice. She is talking on the phone with a neighbor that she particularly dislikes; but because of the fact that she is so keen on seeming \"nice and normal\" to everyone in the community, she doesn\'t want to hang up. Dudley is still out with his friends, and I suspect that they are out bullying the few unlucky kids who haven\'t been picked up from the park yet. Because Dudley had called earlier saying that he was going to eat supper at his friend\'s house, there was a considerably less amount of dishes than there would have been, and that makes my life so much easier for the time being.
I carefully slide the plate onto the drying rack, right between a matching plate and cup. As I wring my hands, a loud, impatient knocking sounds from the other side of the door in the living room. Dismissing the noise completely, I reach over and grab a hand-towel. It is Petunia\'s favorite, and she deliberately told me not to use it. I know she will be mad when she finds the towel soggy with use, but I can\'t muster enough feeling to actually care.
Even as I begin to dry my hands, the knocking is followed by a hesitant press of the high-pitched bell. However, the visitor outside must have thought the single time isn\'t enough, so after a split second, a rapid \"ding... ding, ding-ding-dingdingdingdingDING\" rings out throughout the house.
Laughing at the ridiculousness of the situation, I realize that the commotion was something a Wizard would do, particularly one who knew nothing whatsoever about Muggles. After all, there are no doorbells in the Wizard world. That thought immediately spins into another, this time about my two best friends. Usually they try to pick me up, since they know I seriously dislike my \"family\", and I will spend the entire summer in the Burrow. But, for some undisclosed reason, they were unable to do so this year. The letters Hermione and Ron sent me never hold any information about why they couldn\'t come to pick me up in the beginning of summer, but plenty about the fun they are having with Hermione\'s Muggle parents in Crete. Strangely enough, the letters seemed impersonal, if that makes any sense. The words written on the parchment always holds a certain quality that lacks true feeling...
Or perhaps I am simply being stupid. Most likely, yes.
Keeping close attention, I continue to dry my hands, even though they are now no longer wet. I hear Vernon cussing horribly under her breath, then the sound of his heavy, hurried footsteps. The man obviously doesn\'t want any of the neighbors to hear the racket. However, I am positive that after the first few seconds of the annoying doorbell all of the nosy neighbors were already poised with their eyes out the windows. The neoundound comes from the door slamming into the wall, hard, from the force it was opened, and a furious \"What ever you are selling, I don\'t want it!\"
Hands now thoroughly dry, I toss the pretty white-and-sunflower-print hand-towel carelessly onto the ceramic counter.
\"BOY! BOY, WHERE THE HELL ARE YOU?! GET YOUR SKINNY ARSE OVER HERE, RIGHT NOW!\", because my first thought was that a Muggle-- meaning, a person who cannot perform magic-- had come to visit me. The idea, however, was absurd; no only did all of the people in the neighborhood think I was at a boot camp for juvinile delinquents, but I absolutely know that Uncle Vernon would never yell at me with such rage if a \"normal\" person (as he so likes to put it) came over.
Cautiously, I walked over, my old, worn out sneakers making no noise as I crossed the carpet. My clothes, all hand-me-downs from my morbidly obese cousin, were obviously many sizes too big-- my pant legs had to be folded up several times, there was a rope tied through the belt hoops to keep the faded jeans at my slim waist, the bottom hem of the dank-gray shirt reached my knees, and the sleeves (even though it was a T-shirt) reached past the bend of my arms-- and I couldn\'t help to feel self-conscious as Uncle Vernon loomed over me, his large frame blocking the entire door so that I couldn\'t see who was at the other side.
\"What are these freaks doing here?!\" he whispered harshly through his clenched teeth, practically shaking from the fury he was apparently feeling at the moment. Spittle landed on my face and, feeling disgusted, I wipe off the spit. \"I don\'t know what you\'re talking about,\" I replied harshly, my body tense, for I felt that there was no reason whatsoever for him to be angry with me. It didn\'t matter that I was painfully curious of who the \"freaks\" were (the fact that Vernon used that word confused me a bit, because he reserves that word for \"my kind\") Oddly, as I noticed his beady, watery eyes were gouging out quite a bit, I wondered if they were going to pop out, as Alastor Moony\'s magical eye often did. Though the thought itself was quite disturbing- and very, very sick- I found myself amused by it. Hmm... weird.
\"Don\'t you lie to me, Boy! How else can you explain them?\" At the very last word, Uncle Vernon had moved to the side, allowing me to see who my mystery visitoere.ere.
For a split second, I swear to Merlin my heart had stopped, as I stared in horror at none other than Professor Snape and Draco Malfoy.
---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Author\'s Note: So, what do you think? This is only the prologue, and a pathetically short one at that, but I just wanted to post it to see what others\' opinions on the idea of the fanfic are I am still working a lot of things out about how I actually want this story it go, though, but oh well. Either way, please review so that I know someone\'s actually reading this and wants me to continue.