In My Mind

That last chapter went back in time a bit(a lot) to Harry's first year, I'll do that a lot,
so forgive me if I forget to warn you again. This chapter tells the beginning of the
story of RedLinn, Harry's surrogate 'father.' And yes, every post for this story will
be this story.

Thank you so much for the reviews!

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Harry Potter was only six years old, and he was afraid. Uncle Vernon had given him
a poof on his cheek again(and on his tummy and on his chest), and an old, crusty
man with a big long beard was lowly patronizing him with a superior voice that
Harry knew his Uncle Vernon wouldn't like.

Harry had told the man about his poofs and that they hurt, but the man wouldn't
listen. Who would, anyway?

Harry betted that it didn't even matter. Lots of kids got poofs from their Uncles,
right?

He had also the man about the space in his tummy. Could he possibly tell Harry's
Aunt Petunia(who Harry would sometimes still call Mummy, but would always
get lots of poofs from Dudley if he did) to fill it up?

The man had smiled. Smiled, and said that Harry was beautiful just the way he
was, and that he should eat dinner more.

Where, he'd asked. His uncle, who had been standing behind him, almost
gave him a new poof for asking that.

Now the man with the crusty old beard was leaving, and as soon as he was out
of sight, Harry's Uncle Vernon pushed little Harry out the front door, down the steps,
and onto the lawn.

Dudley wanted crackers, of course, "Stupid boy!", and Harry "Don't you dare!" could
not have "ANY!" on the way home, because they were all for Dudley "Duddy-kins."

Uncle Vernon wanted change and a reciept, and no, Harry could not walk with
Aunt Petunia. The world did not revolve around freaks like Harry.

So, Harry set off in the direction of the store, three blocks to the left and downhill.

And he tumbled, headfirst. He broke his precious glasses and none of the perfect
people of Privet Drive, in their perfect houses, bothered to come out of their warm,
perfect, normal beds to check on such an abnormal boy that was out so late.

Harry passed out with a big bump on his head, his last thoughts being that he
hoped that this poof would make him sleep forever, that way he would never have
to face the wrath of Uncle Vernon's poofs.

He would never get Dudley's crackers by morning.

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Without her breasts, RedLinn had the body to make straight women salivate in
places other than their mouths. With them, she had the body to have any lesbian or
risk-taking male drooling on the steeled points of her work boots.

She loves her wife and life partner, Cryeth, because she would rather die than do so.

At the moment, however, RedLinn was trying to decide if it would be consitered
abuse to glue her wife's mouth shut.

Probably.

Don't get her wrong, RedLinn loves when Cryeth's pregnant, but why the hell would
anyone want bloody crackers in the middle of a hot and disgustingly humid August
night?

Owning her own mechanic shop, RedLinn comes home tired, sweaty, late, and
aggrivated five days a week, and even later and more aggrivated for one(Sunday's
buisness day). So, on Friday nights, the nights before her day off, all RedLinn asks for
a good night's sleep, time with the kids, and some good, not-morning-quickie-rushed,
love'in from Cryeth.

Not to run out in her work clothes to buy her wife bloody crackers five bloody minutes
after she got bloody home from a bloody long day at her stupid, bloody shop.

It was eight twelve, about ten minutes from when she gotten home, and about
five minutes earlier was when Cryeth had pushed her out of the house, onto the cold
lawn, thrown her Harley's keys back at her, and had yelled at her to get crackers.

"I need a holiday," RedLinn muttered. "And a smoke." Cryeth had made her quit
six months ago when they had picked out the biological father for their fifth child.

She was almost at the store when she saw something up ahead in the road. Maybe
it was a rather large... cat who had forgotten to fall on it's paws?

RedLinn chuckled and drove ahead, even if it was probably a discarded pile of clothes,
and she had always been a very curious person, anyway.

Besides, she needed more time to cool down her nerves before she returned home. There
was no way that she could be home in the twenty minutes Cryeth had alloted her without
gluing a certain black-haired pregnant woman's mouth shut(Cryeth, people).

RedLinn stopped several meters from the pile. She had never been that talented at
the act, so she had just wanted to make sure that she wouldn't run straight into the object.

That... RedLinn noticed with further expection, was crying.

RedLinn had just found hers and Cryeth's seventh child, Harry Potter, who was crying in
his sleep, dreaming of real monsters and belts and a tall, redheaded father who was
protecting him, and a real mum who would stroke his hair and let him grow it out long
and pretty like Uncle Vernon never would.

He never, ever expected that it would actually happen.

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This extention will be continued in the next chapter, or, at least one of future chapters.
I'm a time skipper!

Please review!