November 19th, 2009
Harry hummed along to the radio as he bustled around the kitchen, looking for the ingredients needed to begin his cooking. It was Saturday morning, meaning everyone in the house was sleeping in. Everyone, that is, except for Harry and Al, the latter of whom sat at the kitchen table, drinking a glass of milk and scribbling in his coloring book.Although they were currently the only ones awake, Harry knew that it was only a matter of time before the rest of the family made their way down, which was why he was in such a hurry to cook breakfast. He caught his youngest son's eye and smiled. "You have a milk mustache, Little Man."
Al set his cup on the table before using his sleeve to wipe his mouth. "All gone?" He asked.
"Almost." Harry said. He took his thumb and wiped the side of Al's mouth. "There, all gone. And don't let your mum see you using your sleeve." He winked.
Al returned his father's smile as he picked up a green crayon. He pressed the crayon to the corner of the coloring book, where the sun was, but then he stopped and frowned. "Daddy, Jamie said you have to color things the right color. The sun is yellow, but I don't like yellow today. Today I like green."
Harry ruffled his son's already messy hair and grinned. "You can color the sun whatever color you want, bud."
"But the sun is yellow."
"It is," Harry agreed. "But that's the wonderful thing about imagination. You can choose to use your imagination however you want to. If you want to color the sun green, you go ahead and color it green. If you feel like making the sky purple or the clouds pink, then go ahead and do it. You are the artist, Al. The decision is yours."
Harry walked over to the cupboards, where he pulled out a couple of frying pans. He then grabbed the ingredients for the blueberry pancakes his children loved so much, along with the bacon, sausage, and eggs.
A small thud and a cry from his son brought Harry out of his thoughts. Turning around, he saw Al staring down at the floor, where a large puddle of milk pooled around his cup.
"I'm sorry, Daddy." He sobbed. "It was an accident."
Seeing the tears in his son's eyes brought Harry back to a time many years ago, when the same thing had happened at Privet Drive.
"I'm sorry, Aunt Tunia." Harry sniffed. "I didn't mean to."
A hard slap to the face caused the small boy to stumble back, his head hitting the side of the table.
"You stupid, careless boy." She hissed. "Can't you do anything right?"
"I'm sorry."
Petunia picked up a dirty dishrag and chucked it at Harry's face. "Clean it up. Now!"
"I'm sorry, daddy. I didn't mean to." Al sniffed, bringing Harry back to the present.
Harry turned off the stove and made his way over to the table. "I know you didn't, bud." He said softly, bending down so that he was on eye level with his son. "It was an accident. Accidents happen."
"I'll clean it up." Al said, crawling off of his chair and pulling a dishrag off of the kitchen counter.
"You missed a spot!" Petunia snapped.
"Would you like some help?" Harry asked his son, trying to clear his head of all thoughts of his aunt.
"No, I can do it. I'm big."
"Course you can." Harry grinned. He watched as his son got down on his knees and started to wipe up his mess. Before long, the dishrag was soaked, and there were still traces of milk on the floor. Seeing the discouraged look on his son's face, Harry decided to intervene. "You're doing great, bud, but it looks like a two-man job. Can I help?"
YOU ARE READING
Harry Potter- The New Prophecy
FanfictionNo spell can reawaken the dead. Albus Dumbledore himself said so. So how is it possible that witches and wizards who are supposed to be dead are showing up very much alive? And what happens when a new prophecy is discovered? One that talks about the...