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Sixteen Years | ||||
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Category: Alternate Universe Characters:Harry/Ginny Genres: Action/Adventure, Romance Warnings: Death, Mild Language, Violence Rating: G Reviews: 12 Summary: Sixteen years later marks the beginning of the end in the reign of Voldemort's terror. Harry Potter, after being banished to the muggle world for sixteen years, is dragged back into the world of magic, and forced to fight, but in his own, unique style. DifferentBWL, H/G, TwinPotters Hitcount: Story Total: 3126 Disclaimer: Harry Potter Publishing Rights © J.K.R. Note the opinions in this story are my own and in no way represent the owners of this site. This story subject to copyright law under transformative use. No compensation is made for this work. Author's Notes: This isn't my first fan fiction, but it's my first Harry Potter one, so wish me luck on this journey, and let's all pray it doesn't end up either too cliche, or just too damn boring :) |
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August 11th Sixteen years. Ryan Potter looked up at the cloudy sky, and was reminded of a fateful day that occurred exactly sixteen years ago. It was the kind of enveloping night that suggested that strange and mysterious things would soon be happening across the wizarding world. Last time Ryan Potter had successfully, albeit unknowingly, defeated the greatest dark lord of the time, Lord Voldemort. Ryan was pondering what event could possibly happen this time that could hold a candle to such a significant event, and discovering that he couldn’t think of any, tore his gaze off of the midnight gray, expansive sky. He idly ran his fingers across the scar on his forehead. His finger fell, rose, and then continuing to fall as he traced the lightning bolt insignia. The lightning bolt was a souvenir from Voldemort, the only mark on Ryan’s body that suggested he had ever been involved in a confrontation with the dark lord. Ryan sighed heavily as he ran his fingers through his already messy, black hair, a habit he had unknowingly picked up from his father. His sparkling green eyes were hidden beneath wire framed glasses, and was seemingly the only characteristic that he had inherited from his mother. Ryan was wondering what was happening in the shadows of the wizarding world. He had access to the Daily Prophet, so the gossip was easily obtained, but Ryan wasn’t interested in gossip, he wanted to know about Voldemort. Two years ago Voldemort had risen from the dead, and after trapping Ryan through an elaborate Tri-Wizard tournament trap, used Ryan’s blood as an essential potion ingredient in order to make the already formidable dark lord even more powerful. However, since that day there had been no hide or hair of Voldemort. The greatest Dark Lord of this time had simply vanished. Ryan withdrew his holly and phoenix feather wand, the brother wand to Voldemort’s, and sent a hissing bludgeoning hex at a nearby apple tree. The hex slammed into a solitary apple, causing a giant explosion of fruit juice, but thankfully saving the wonderfully aged tree from destruction. Ryan stood there blinking furiously as drops of apple juice settled in his unkempt hair. He tried shaking his head, which did little to relieve the moisture, so he continued on to a simple drying charm. Although dry, his hair retained the sticky feeling of the sweet juice, which continued to dampen Ryan’s mood. Why couldn’t the bloody dark lord just show up, so everyone would know Ryan wasn’t an attention-seeking liar! The more Ryan thought about it, the more he realized that this was the crux of the matter, and the source of his constant irritation. The bloody Daily Prophet continued to spew rubbish about Ryan, proclaiming that he had made up a cock and bull story to gain even more publicity. As if Ryan cared about publicity, he just wanted to help protect people from Voldemort. At least Dumbledore was still on Ryan’s side. Ryan knew that as long as he had Dumbledore’s support, he would persevere. The slamming of a wooden door interrupted Ryan’s musing, and he instinctively rolled into a crouch, his holly wand back in his hand, his wrist tense, ready to flick out a cutting spell at a moments notice. It was a false alarm of course, as Ryan immediately recognized the owner of the pounding footsteps as they neared him. “Ryan, grab your broom. Dumbledore flooed, there’s a disturbance going on east of London, and he wants us there as back up.” Ryan scampered back into a standing position and cast a silent accio charm for his broom, which came rushing towards him. He slid onto the firebolt, and kicked off the ground with a powerful push, only moments after his father, James Potter, launched off on a firebolt of his own. It had been sixteen years. Perhaps now would finally be the day that Voldemort made his reappearance. ________________ Six teen years. James Potter glanced behind to check on his only son. Ryan hadn’t always been the Potter’s only son, but he was now. Sixteen years ago James and Lily had been forced to make a difficult decision, and even to this day, James was unsure whether they had made the right one, but the married couple had no choice but to live with the cards they had left. If that meant keeping Ryan safe at the cost of his own life, then so be it. James turned his attention back to the sky in front of him as Ryan overtook him in a burst of acceleration. The boy was a natural flier, perhaps even better than James, who was a prodigy in his own right. Ryan could sense air currents as if it was his secret, sixth sense, and was constantly weaving around in the sky, barrelling into the air sockets that would rocket him forwards. James had once tried to follow his son, but found that the feat was near impossible. So instead James relied upon his perfected flying stance that enabled him to squeeze the maximum acceleration out of his broom, and slowly caught up to his son. The two of them were speeding towards Bristol, planning to intercept a target that was travelling south from Gloucester. James had been rather curious as to why Dumbledore had specified to follow the highway, as broomsticks were not restricted to the muggle paved roads, but James knew from experience not to doubt Albus’s orders. Therefore, father and son were flying over the highway at speeds reaching 200 kilometres per hour, searching for, as Albus had put it, “a rather conspicuous and noticeable individual.” The lack of information had not dissuaded James for a moment. He owed Dumbledore not just his life, but also the life of his wife and son, and was more than happy to repay his debt through these blind orders. Sixteen years ago when Voldemort had broken through the Fidelius charm on the Potter’s residence, Dumbledore had come to their aid immediately, and not a moment too late. Fawkes had not only just flamed in with Dumbledore, but also flamed into the way of a sickly green spell that a petrified James had been unable to dodge. Fawkes had been just fine, and was reborn hours later, but the same could not be said for the Potter’s home. The culminating battle between Dumbledore and Voldemort had resulted in the destruction of nearly the whole house. Lily and Potter fled the house, and while their backs were turned, Voldemort had launched another green, avada kedavra spell at the couple. Lily saw the spell, and screamed, before passing out. What happened next, no one, other than Voldemort and Dumbledore witnessed. The baby in Lily’s arms had shone with a golden light, which grew until it enveloped both him and his unconscious mother. The golden light absorbed, and then reflected the mottled green curse back at its caster, and Voldemort’s soul was severed painfully from his body. The ear-splitting, high pitched, sheer screaming of absolute pain was enough to distract James, and to turn around. James had never seen what had occurred, he had been too focused on running with the baby body of his second son in his arms. “Hey dad, can you hear that?” Ryan shouted at his dad, his voice amplified by his wand at his throat so he could be heard over the buffeting and howling winds. “Hear what?” James shouted back, but as soon as the words left his mouth he could hear the rumbling. Being six hundred meters above the ground, James was forced to look directly down to see the highway. He cast a magnification spell on his glasses to better see the highway, and what he saw took his breath away. “Where the bloody hell did that come from?” James said out loud. It had been sixteen years since he had last seen what was causing this particular rumbling, thunder like noise. ________________ Sixteen years. That was how long Hagrid had been living in his homely, wooden log cabin. He still remembered hammering in the last floorboard, when he had received an urgent message from Dumbledore to travel to the Potter’s residence. Dumbledore had flamed away with Fawkes before Hagrid could respond, and tell Dumbledore, the great man that he is, that he didn’t know where the Potter’s lived. No one did. And then Hagrid had stumbled out of his house in shock when the Godric’s Hollow address came to his mind, and he realized what had happened. Hagrid may be half giant, and that may make him a tad slower than the average human, but he was also half human, and smart enough to realize the significance of remembering the date. The Potter’s had been compromised. James and Lily were in danger. Unfortunately for Hagrid, he had no way of travelling to Godric’s Hollow. He couldn’t apparate, and his small cabin had only just been built, and had no floo access yet. Not knowing what else to do, Hagrid had begun sprinting towards Hogsmead, where he knew he’d be able to ask for help. Hogsmead was a long distance away, and a normal human would take twenty minutes walking there, but Hagrid was a sprinting half giant, and he made it there in a record time of four minutes. The first person Hagrid spotted upon entering Hogsmead had been Sirius, and what luck that had been, or so Hagrid had thought. He angrily took a large gulp of his home brewed Giant’s Rum, most famous for causing raging headaches to humans. At over 65% alcohol concentration, it was a lethal drink for most humans, but not crossbreeds like Hagrid. He finished a quarter of the bottle before putting down the bottle and falling back into his sturdy, wooden, steel supported armchair. How had Hagrid been to know that Sirius was the traitor that almost cost James and Lily their lives? If Hagrid had known, he would have torn that Black scum limb by limb, while he was still alive, breathing and screaming. Hagrid focused on his breathing as the raging giant blood in his body began to awaken. It would do no good to destroy his home now, especially with the cloudy sky that was threatening to rain this night. Black had lent Sirius his motorcycle. It was a beautiful piece of technology. The large, metallic black alloys and powerful pistons had awed Hagrid, and had readily borrowed the bike from Sirius. Of course, Hagrid had been rather confused as to why Sirius was giving him his beloved bike. The thing was more Sirius’s most important possession. The genius of a man, he was still a genius, even if he was a traitor, had spent years perfecting the charms and permanent transfigurations on the muggle contraption. All of this effort, work and love, and the suddenly Sirius gets up and gives it to Hagrid. Hagrid growled at himself, and reached for his rum again. If only he had known. He should’ve known, but he hadn’t. He could’ve broken Black’s neck right there and then, but he hadn’t. When Hagrid had arrived on the scene he was wondrously relieved to discover everyone alive. Lily looked exhausted, and James was covered in blood, but they were alive, along with their twins. They were all alive. Hagrid was one of the few, and perhaps possibly the only, people to have been able to say they knew both of the Potter twins. Everyone knew Ryan of course, he was the most talked about wizard in today’s world. There was always a page reserved for him in the daily prophet. Admittedly, it wasn’t a page full of positive words about the Potter child, but it was still about him. No, what made Hagrid special was that he knew the other twin. Knew him rather well in fact. It had all started when the Ryan Potter look alike had wandered into Hagrid’s self built log cabin. He had been in a terrible state. Scratches covered his arms and legs, his lips were parched from dehydration, and as he stood within Hagrid’s small abode, he had collapsed to the ground in a fever. In moments Hagrid had realized the identity of the boy. It was the Potter child that Dumbledore had chosen to abandon. His reasons were unknown and shady, and it had been the first time in Hagrid’s long lifetime of servitude to Dumbledore that he had ever disagreed with one of the great man’s decisions. It had been sixteen years since that day, and today was the second day in Hagrid’s lifetime that he had disagreed with Dumbledore’s decision. Dumbledore had been furious when he discovered Hagrid’s allegiance with the unpopular Potter twin. Hagrid’s giant blood meant that Dumbledore’s legilimancy was unusable on him, something that had never bothered the two before, as they had never had to keep secrets from one another. But Dumbledore had flamed over half an hour ago, demanding to know just how exactly Hagrid knew the unknown Potter Twin. It seems that the kid had been spotted using an object that had last belonged to Hagrid. Hagrid chuckled to himself, vibrating the very timber of his home, as he downed another inch of Giant’s Rum. He hoped the Potter kid was enjoying his gift. ________________ Sixteen years. That’s how long it had been since Ryan Potter’s twin had been banished from the wizarding world, per say Dumbledore’s orders. It had been a necessary act, the aging wizard told himself sixteen years, and the still aging wizard still believed that. Ryan Potter must be alone, so that Dumbledore could have him crafted into the perfect weapon against Voldemort, and so the prophecy could be fulfilled. Dumbledore was adamant that this was to be a victory for the light, but for that to happen, Ryan Potter’s twin must not exist. James and Lily understood this. It had taken some persuasion, but they knew the importance of Ryan. The married couple also knew that they were in Dumbledore’s debt for saving their lives, and ultimately knew they had no choice. They had willingly handed the unmarked twin over to the old wizard, who promptly left the house, only to be confronted by Hagrid, who had the gall to ask whether Albus was doing the right thing. Albus had forgiven Hagrid for his outburst however, as he understood that it was only the dim, giant side of Hagrid speaking. Albus had deposited the crying baby at an orphanage in the outskirts of Nottingham, far away from London, and far, far away from Hogwarts. Albus’ next step had been to wipe the twins name from the Hogwarts register. Unfortunately, the only way to do this had been to go to the Department of Mysteries, and destroy all evidence of the twins birth, effectively making it that the twin never existed. By the end of the night, Ryan Potter was an only child, and the only people that knew of his existence were Voldemort, James and Lily, Hagrid and himself. It had been perfectly executed. For sixteen years, no one ever suspected that Ryan Potter may have once not been an only child. However, Albus’ carefully concocted plan was falling apart around him. The twin had been discovered. That wasn’t the horrifying part. The horrifying part was that the twin had been discovered with a magical object. The boy should not have had access to magic in any shape or form. No wands, no enchanted objects, no nothing. As a loud rumbling shook the highway that Dumbledore stood upon, defiantly standing in the middle of the road, daring any incoming vehicles to dare hit him, the wizened wizard withdrew his long, willowy wand. The old man’s expression was warring between shock and anger. What in Merlin’s name was the boy doing on Sirius Black’s old, flying motorcycle? ________________ Sixte en years. Black menacing cuts of cloth fluttered around pale skin as Voldemort flew through the curiously fitting cloudy sky. The dark lord felt alive and powerful. Finally, after sixteen years of surviving as a roaming soul, and regaining his magical power, he was back in the world of the living, and he was happy. The dark lord cackled in ecstatic pleasure as he swooped towards the expansive highway, leaving behind a burning village. Sickly, consuming green flames burnt even the concrete foundations of houses, and the acrid, purple smoke that billowed from the fire was a deadly toxin that would render over fifteen hundred pitiful muggles exterminated by morning. As easy as squashing an ant nest, Voldemort thought as he chuckled to himself. As his billowing body neared the highway, the sound of wailing sirens mixed with powerful rumbling reached the dark lords enhanced ears. The buffeting winds around him rapidly grew stronger and he was launched towards the scene of interest. The scene was the most amusing thing Voldemort had seen in the past sixteen years. A man, who was obviously magical, as Voldemort could tell by his magical signature, was driving a muggle motorcycle, while being chased by four, muggle cars that the dark lord knew were referred to as “The Police”. When he had learnt of them, he had heard them compared to the Aurors, and the dark lord held no respect for those deluded fools. Voldemort wished that he knew the identity of the man on the motorbike, but the rider’s dark tinted helmet prevented Voldemort from seeing his physical features. The rider wore a black leather, tinted with dark, metallic green striped across the shoulders that fit snugly around his body as he leant forward onto the bike. The midnight rider was travelling incredibly fast, and the police cars were having difficulty maintaining that kind of speed. Voldemort enhanced hearing could pick up the muggle engines whining as they struggling with their immense physical workload. Voldemort knew that even a simpleton of a wizard would be able to fire off a few basic hexes and destroy the police cars, but for some reason, the midnight rider was refusing to attack the muggles, and instead seemed intent on escape. “How foolish,” Voldemort whispered to himself, but his voice was lost in the howling winds. “How weak.” Voldemort toyed with the idea of letting the police cars chase down the midnight rider, but finally decided on simply killing them all now. He’d start with the muggles, then after discovering the man’s identity, show him just how weak he truly was. With a flick of his hand, a thirteen inch maple wand snapped into the dark lords hand. Another flick later and a powerful severing charm left the tip of the weapon and launched itself at the lagging police car. The spell sliced open the hood, and cleanly decimated the pumping engine. The car exploded in a beautiful splash of fire, destruction and death. Voldemort began laughing manically. He felt powerful. He felt good. The midnight rider took his eyes off the road, and turned his tinted helmet covered head behind him, taking in the explosion, before glancing up at the sky, directly at where Voldemort now flew, his robes billowing out and blending in with the dark sky. Voldemort cast several piercing spells at the remaining muggle cars. One driver was pierced in the head, and smashed into a second car, which was hit with a piercing spell a moment later, resulting in a group fireball. The final car had its two front wheels punctured, and when the driver lost control and smashed into the concrete barrier at 150 kmh, the muggles died instantly. The midnight rider’s motorcycle suddenly began spewing great bursts of fire, and moments later was accelerating away from Voldemort at a now unimaginably ridiculous speed. The smoking remains of fire smelled just like dragon fire, and Voldemort was impressed. Someone had managed to find a way to contain dragon fire, and release it as an explosive fuel. Voldemort grinned at the thrill of the chase, and began expending more magical energy on the buffeting winds around him to speed himself up. Seconds later he was once again travelling with the motorcycle, but the wind pressure against the dark lord was too strong for him to raise his wand and cast a spell. Besides, the dark lord was doubtful of his ability to aim at such a fast moving target. Voldemort could smell that a bank of water, obviously the sea, was approaching a few kilometres ahead, and that the highway was slowly curving to accommodate the ocean. Voldemort was still trying to think of a way to stop the increasingly irritating midnight rider when he felt an incredibly powerful surge of magic a kilometre ahead. At the speed he was travelling, that was only a few seconds away, and so Voldemort was easily able to watch the colossus stone wall rise from the ground, blocking the entirety of the highway, with a single, gray haired, bearded wizard resting upon the magical, stone barrier. Voldemort hissed and licked his lips in pleasure. It was Dumbledore, and the old muggle loving fool was all alone. It had been sixteen years since his last duel with his nemesis, and the dark lord had a score to settle. All thoughts of the midnight rider and his identity vanished from Voldemort’s mind as he engaged the Headmaster of Hogwarts in a vicious, magical duel. ________________ Sixteen years. Sturdy boots gripped the carbon fibre frame of the powerful motorcycle. The tangy and intoxicating smell of spent dragon breath crept its smoky tendrils into the riders helmet, who simply twitched his nose in response. The magical motorcycle was throbbing against the riders body as he leant near horizontally upon the bike. At over 300 kph, the bike was currently travelling faster than any muggle motorcycle ever had, however, the rider wasn’t scared, nervous, or even worried. Harry Potter grinned in excitement while his adrenaline fuelled and drugged body was shivering in anticipation. It had been sixteen years since the magical world had tried to contact him, and although a crazed, flying dark lord launching deadly spells at his fellow muggles was hardly a fitting welcome after all that time, it was still contact. Confirming that the cloth backpack was still resting snugly on around his shoulders, Harry leant into the motorbike, causing it to bank to the right, and he rocketed around the curve, the swelling ocean now to his left. Harry was wondering just how he could lose the flying wizard on his trail when a castle like wall suddenly loomed in front of him. The only thing worse than the forbidding castle wall was the man upon it, Albus Dumbledore, the man who had banished Harry Potter to the muggle world. The only thing worse than meeting Dumbledore would have been for Harry Potter to meet his parents and twin. Harry Potter closed his vivid, emerald green eyes momentarily as he spotted two familiar looking wizards on broomsticks to his left, flying above the ocean. When his eyes opened back up, and he was marginally closer to the two figures, Harry realized why the two fliers looked so familiar. They looked like what Harry saw in a mirror. They were undoubtedly and unquestionably James and Ryan Potter. Out of all the individuals gathered at this location, Harry personally felt that he most preferred the flying snake like dark lord who had been trying to murder him. Realizing that there was a stone wall rapidly approaching, a dark lord on his trail from behind, and his traitorous family members in the sky, Harry had only option. Without any further hesitation he leant sharply to the left, towards the ocean. Before slamming into the metal banister, Harry pressed a button on the motorcycle dashboard, and with a faint stuttering, signifying the last of the dragon’s breath being used up, the motorcycle was launched upwards, with Harry upon it, over the ocean. The bike was on a trajectory towards James Potter, who was staring at the bike in shock. Perhaps memories of Sirius were circling throughout his fathers mind, but Harry paid that little attention. Instead, as the bike rocketed towards the man on the broomstick, Harry let go of the handlebars with one hand, and clenched his fingers into a fist. His father tried to avoid the incoming bike, and was successful in dodging the large lump of metal, but not the solid fist that collided with him in the forehead. James Potter was knocked unconscious immediately, and fell; arms and legs sprawled outwards, as he plummeted towards the ocean. Ryan swooped down to catch his father before the dark, menacing ocean could engulf him. Ryan then turned around to look for the flying motorcycle. He had heard the stories from his father about Sirius’s amazing flying muggle contraption, and was excitedly looking in the sky for it. But it wasn’t flying. It was falling, plummeting almost, into the deep, dark ocean, taking Harry along with it. Harry and the bike slammed into the swelling ocean, and proceeded to vanish out of sight from everyone above water. What no one above knew was that Sirius’s old bike had quite a few more enhancements upon it than no one, except for Harry, knew about. One of these was the underwater mode. The bike didn’t transform or change at all. The wheels kept spinning and revolving thousands of times a minute, and somehow, the energy was magically converted into thrust, which rocketed the motorcycle forward throughout the water. It now acted very similarly to how Harry assumed flying in outer space with a jetpack would be like. Another feature of the underwater mode was the consistent recasting of a drying charm upon the rider. Although Harry could feel the water around him, it was a weird sensation of being constantly drenched, except discovering that your clothes are in fact. It was an incredibly disorientating feeling to get used to, especially the first time Harry had tested out this feature. Harry glanced at his dashboard and noted the amount of seaweed essence remaining. The underwater mode ran on liquid seaweed, instead of the regular petroleum for land. Right now Harry’s tank was half full, enabling him about fourty-five minutes of underwater travel. Harry released a large, pent up breath, and began to wonder where exactly it was he would end up. Hopefully no one would be able to follow him in his underwater transport, and once he surfaced, he would be home free. Once again Harry checked that the cloth backpack was still on his shoulders. It would be disastrous if he lost it. Too much had already been lost tonight in that small town that would now be nothing but a ghost town. The backpack was secure, but Harry didn’t dare open it underwater, as he didn’t know what the consequences would be, or how the bikes charms would react, so Harry simply left well enough alone. Harry’s mind continued to wander back to the wizards he had seen tonight however. It had been sixteen years without any contact from anyone in the wizarding world, barring Hagrid, and now suddenly there were wizards lining up to cast spells at him. It had been a long sixteen years, but Harry was back in the wizarding world, and he was already starting to regret his involvement. ________________ Sixt een years. Ginny Weasley sat beneath the gaping English Oak tree, and was watching the cloudy, ominous sky through the gaps of the vein-ridden pristine leaves. They whispered undecipherable secrets in the soft wind as the green tips rustled upon one another. She gazed up at the sky and begun to hum a song. Her voice was clear and unwavering, beautifully complimenting the stillness of the night, and if one wanted to, they would be able to discern the words to her tune. Happy birthday to me, Happy birthday to me… Her beautiful voice faded away, and she was left with a melancholic sadness. Today was Ginny’s sixteenth birthday, and despite being surrounded by her loving family, she felt empty. She knew she was just being childish, and she even felt rather childish, but she had wanted Ryan Potter to be with her. Of course, that was unimaginable. She was certain Ron would scoff at her, and tell her to lay off his friend. The twins would tease her mercilessly, and her mum would just give her a look of pity, the kind that you give to someone when you don’t have any words to console them on their loss. For sixteen years Ginny had loved Ryan Potter. Her earliest memories were those of the stories about the Boy-who-lived that her parents would tell her at night. It was just a little girl’s infatuation at the time, but it was more than that now. When Ryan had saved Ginny from the basilisk in her first year of Hogwarts, she had fallen in love with him all over again. This time it was more of an infatuation on a fairy tale though. This time it was a teenage crush, and not just any crush, but a crush on the man who had quite literally saved her life, and with a sword no less. If that wasn’t her knight in shining armour, then Ginny didn’t know what was. Ginny had been ready to throw off her shy, stammering attitude, and finally act like a normal girl around Ryan, but he had never given her the chance. Ginny didn’t blame him for that, he had his best friends Ron and Hermione, and he’d just defeated the memory shade of Lord Voldemort. Ryan had more on his mind, and closer friends to talk to afterwards, Ginny understood, but that didn’t mean that she had to like it. The only time she had said anything to Ryan after the chamber incident, was at platform nine and three quarters as he said his final goodbye’s to everyone. And all Ginny could do was stammer, blush and mumble a single word. Thankyou. She didn’t even know if he had heard her. He hadn’t seemed to acknowledge her, as he had simply turned around and ran over to his parents. Ginny picked at the grass on the ground, tearing up the green blades with her fingernails. Since then Ginny had barely talked to Ryan. She had joined Ryan’s DA lessons last year, hoping she would have more chances to speak with him, but she never did. Ryan was always busy with something, or in trouble, or surrounded by friends. That was something else Ginny didn’t have much of, friendship. Although no one blamed her for the Chamber of Secrets incident, especially after Dumbledore’s compelling speech, people were nervous to talk to Ginny. They seemed scared that if they said the wrong thing, she might flip out again, and set a basilisk loose, or something else equally ridiculous. Ginny could count the number of her friends on one hand. Hermione had always been there for her, kind like the older sister Ginny never had. Luna talked to Ginny, but that was probably only because she was as lonely as Ginny was. Neville let her sit next to him when she wanted to do homework, and the two found solace in their silence. Lastly, Dean Thomas talked to her quite often, but she wasn’t too sure how she felt about that. She knew it was just a teenage boy thing, but he seemed a bit too interested in her body than herself. None of these “friends” had shown up to Ginny’s birthday party, not that she had expected them to. The more she thought about it, the more Ginny realized that they were more acquaintances than actual friends. The thought only worsened Ginny’s already miserable mood, and she once again brought her gaze up to the forlorn, gray sky. “I wish,” she said softly, hoping that some sort of angel or god was listening intently, “that I had friends. I wish that the nightmares would stop.” “I wish that Potter and I could fall in love with each other.” Ginny had not been expecting much, perhaps a shooting star, or a firework exploding off in the distance. What she had not been expecting was for a gigantic, roaring motorcycle to come crashing into the ground. It had been sixteen years, and although this may not have been her shooting star, perhaps it was a sign that she’d finally fall in love, and be loved by Potter. ________________ This isn't my first fan fiction, but it's my first Harry Potter one, so wish me luck on this journey, and let's all pray it doesn't end up either too cliche, or just too damn boring :) Thanks for reading the first chapter either way, and please tell me what you think. Cheers -Council |
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