Henry Potter : the knight Five

Decade

Egypt – 8 Years Ago

A young boy, around eight years old, was sprinting through the crowded streets, clutching a small bag of gold. His golden-brown hair bounced with each step, and his wide blue eyes darted nervously around him. Behind him, an older man shouted, "Get him!" His voice was rough and desperate, but the boy kept running, weaving through the throngs of people.

The boy's name was Henry. He stopped abruptly when he found himself cornered by ten men, all large and intimidating. One of the men, tall and strong, stepped forward and growled, "Give me the gold."

Henry looked around, his nervous smile betraying his fear. "I have to save my family," he whispered.

As one of the men lunged toward him, a sudden burst of energy exploded from the boy, knocking all of them to the ground. Henry opened one eye cautiously and saw the men lying unconscious around him. "Oh..." he muttered, stunned, before taking off running again.

Whispers and screams echoed in the distance as the crowd reacted. Far away, a tall man with glowing yellow eyes and a dark, hooded cloak observed the scene with a sinister smile. He had finally found the boy from the picture. Henry Potter.

Henry hurried home, clutching the bag of stolen gold. When he arrived, he saw his foster mother, Joanne, cooking soup in their small kitchen. His three younger siblings were playing nearby.

"Henry, is that you?" Joanne called out, her voice laced with worry as she saw him covered in dirt. "Are you okay?"

"I'm fine. I was just running," Henry replied, avoiding her gaze. She glanced at the bag of food in his hand, knowing full well where it had come from.

"Did you steal again?" she asked, her tone sharp with disappointment.

"I just wanted to help," Henry said, his voice barely a whisper as he looked down in embarrassment.

Joanne sighed. "Please, don't get into trouble anymore. We've only just arrived here. Now, go wash up. Lunch will be ready soon."

Henry nodded and retreated to his room, but something gnawed at him. He felt uneasy. From his window, he could see people passing by on the street, and among them, he spotted a tall man dressed in black, staring directly at him. Fear welled up inside him.

"Joanne, we have to go. Now!" Henry rushed back to the kitchen, his voice trembling with urgency.

Joanne turned, her brow furrowing in concern. "What's wrong?"

"There's someone outside, watching me," Henry said, pointing toward the window.

Joanne went to his room and looked out, but there was no one there. "Henry, there's no one."

"There was," Henry insisted, though doubt crept into his voice. Joanne shook her head gently.

"Take a bath and then come eat. Everything will be fine," she said kindly. But Henry couldn't shake the feeling of being watched. Later that night, as he lay in bed, the unease returned. He went to the window again, and sure enough, the same tall man was standing there, gazing up at him.

"Henry!" Joanne's voice startled him. She rushed into his room, seeing the fear in his eyes.

"What's wrong?" she asked, her voice soft but insistent.

"Nothing..." Henry lied, trying to push away the fear. "I'm just nervous, that's all."

Joanne sat beside him, her hand resting on his shoulder. "What's really bothering you?"

"Are you my real mother?" Henry asked quietly. "I've had so many foster moms. My eyes are blue, yours are brown. My skin is pale, but yours is dark. I'm different from my brothers."