Adult-FanFiction.org : Harry Potter

Waiting	By : SpiralBreeze Category: Harry Potter > General > General Views: 6664 -:- Recommendations : 1 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter, nor do I make any money from this.

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Thanks for my 1 review and over 400 hits. I hope people enjoy this. Thanks for reading.

A different corner this evening, he always varied his location, he didn’t trust himself to wait on the same street. He placed his bag down by his feet and looked up and down the block. He always chose the quieter streets, really alley ways if you got right down to it.

But that’s where Harry Potter belonged now, forgotten in some dingy alley way, too scared to raise his wand in the air to signal the Knight Bus. Did he really deserve to go back to that world? At one time, being a wizard brought him happiness, that brave new Gryffindor world, magic... simply... magic.

He almost smiled, remembering the letter, Diagon Alley, the castle. Nostalgia. He refused to remember people, or a certain nocturnal bird of prey. No, just smells, places, things and tastes. His trunk, packed with ill fitting clothes, broken quills, bits of parchment. Sometimes he couldn’t remember if it had all really happened. These events and objects seemed another life time ago, muddled together in some sort of thick brain soup.

He brought his left hand up to trace the scar on his forehead, perhaps he had walked away with this from some fight, or had a nasty spill as a small child. Bizarre that it was lightning shaped. Harry almost felt an ounce of determination and his fingers almost grabbed his wand, but that feeling had quickly disappeared, leaving that dull ache, that ever present since that day, feeling of “I have to do something!” That quickly became “What am I going to do?”, which turned back into the dull ache, that hummed, and nagged, and at times almost festered, oozing, spilling over, seeping out of his skin, trickling onto the pavement, where he could see it. Disgusting it was... smelled bad too. His eyes stared down at it, it reminded him too much of the blood. He shook his head. He did not want to think of the blood. Too much of that stuff if you asked him. He’d seen enough for a thousand life times.

He tapped the fingers of his right hand on the wand in his jeans pocket, the same jeans he wore yesterday. One of only two pairs he now owned. “Now when was the last time I washed these?” He startled himself by the gruffness in his own voice. He hardly ever used it anymore. The ever changing roommates in the hostel always swore he spoke in his sleep. Moaned they said, crying, calling out names, odd names they were too, dumpling something or other. A Swedish hipster asked if it was the name of a cheap Chinese place. Harry shrugged and the hipster continued. “Dude, just as long as all those moans weren’t you spanking the monkey.” Harry punched him, and threw him into the wall, shaking him, hysterically screaming. He stopped hitting when he saw the blood. No... not more blood. Falling to his knees he buried his face in his hands, sobbing uncontrollably...

No... Harry didn’t want to remember that either.

He tapped his foot impatiently, waiting. For what? He had yet to raise his wand. He could do it. Right now. Raise his wand, and in a second the triple decker bus would be there. But then he would have to give his name, and he didn’t want to do that, no, and even if he gave an alias, well, they’d see right through that wouldn’t they? Stupid scar. But the point was, he could do it. He could raise the wand above his head, arm out, whenever he wanted and just to prove the point, he pulled it loose from his pocket, and quickly pushed it back in. Even so, he could do it.

He huffed, and walked a few steps forward, as if to look down the street. Craning his neck he looked to his right, just in case, then to his left, you never do know?

The sun had completely set now. He should do it now. Hail the bus down right now. No turning back. Ride right back to that oh so tempting world of magic and... speeches, memorials, pats on the back, “thank you Harry!”, “No!... magic. He shook his head as he spoke the word out loud. “Magic, magic... magic.” He whispered confirming to himself his only real concrete reason for going back... magic.

He kicked his bag, he had lived without magic for his first 11 years. He could live the rest of his life without it. Get a job. Work. Keep his mind off all of that. He could snap his wand right now. Right now, pull it out, and break it under his boots! Why was he wearing boots in the summer? He could pull out his wand and transfigure them into flip flops. Those would be nice and cool in this hot air. He could. He could, with just a wave of his wand, wordlessly too. He could. But he wouldn’t. He had to wait for the Knight Bus, but... he could.

He expected to hear it any second. No it wasn’t coming, his wand was still in his pocket. He should put it away, it’s not like he had used it since that day. Out of sight, out of mind. Harry laughed out loud at that, most of his life had been just like that, “out of sight, out of mind”. He wondered briefly if he was on anyone’s mind right at that very moment. No, he swore he would not think of people. “Not them.” He breathed.

He made to fix his glasses, but realized they were already pushed all the way up. So he made to adjust his hair, smoothing it behind his ears. Then he moved his hands down to maybe remove his wand. He toyed with it, rolling it between his fingertips, pulling it out, then sliding it back down. A breeze was picking up, and Harry yawned, “time for bed!” He thought almost enthusiastically. He quickly picked up the rucksack and briskly walked back to the hostel. He needed his sleep if he was going to be well rested in order to travel tomorrow. Yes, another day to rest, and wait.

To be continued...
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