Harry Potter Comes To Your House

What if Harry Potter came to your house for dinner? Write this scene as if you were a teenager, he’s new to your school and you’re introducing him to your parents. Also, after dinner, he makes a request of you. What is it?

Post your response (500 words or fewer) in the comments below.

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72 thoughts on “Harry Potter Comes To Your House

  1. RScottTyler

    I told Harry to come inside. My father, ever the bastion of welcome, looked over his newspaper from across the living room. Didn’t say a word, just looked and then went back to reading.
    “Okay, so that’s Dad, don’t worry, looks can’t kill. I’m living proof.”
    “Mom, Harry, Harry, Mom.” I took Harry into the kitchen where Mom was finishing chopping up some carrots into our salad.
    “Nice to meet you, Harry. Did you bring your wand?” Mom asked him.
    Harry glanced at me and replied, “Um, yes ma’am.”
    Mom just returned to the salad making and said, “Ah, good then, we’re about ready to sit up. And here, put a salad at each place. The food doesn’t just float through the air to the dinner table at our house, now, does it.”
    Dad came out from under his paper to eat and decided he had to acknowledge the young warlock, as well.
    “David says they kicked you out of Hogwarts, why’d they do that?” He asked, never the subtle one.
    I just shut my eyes and slid down the chair, hoping to fall through the floor into the basement.
    “It’s more of a forced holiday, I think,” Harry replied. “Something about roof and bridge repair, as far as I can tell, isn’t it?”
    “Show me something smart then,” Dad asked.
    It was sort of downhill from there after Harry turned Dad’s wine into water and then back into wine. Unfortunately, it started as a well-seasoned chardonnay and ended as a boxed red varietal. Dad wasn’t impressed.
    After dinner Harry washed the dishes for Mom, by hand. She said she didn’t want Grandma’s fine bone china to end up as dime store plastic ware. Then we headed to the backyard and up to my treehouse.
    “Sorry about that, Harry,” I said, apologizing for my parents.
    “It’s okay. It’s nice to see how regular parents act, being, well, you know,” Harry replied.
    Orphaned. Yeah, I knew, and I was smart enough to let it go at that. However, I was bursting at the seams and couldn’t hold the rest of my questions off any longer.
    “So why Flat Lake High School, Harry?” I asked, and followed up with, “and why me, of all the kids there?”
    I mean, I liked me fine, but I wasn’t in the running for Valedictorian, wasn’t the captain of, well any team, and was kind of conspicuously unfashionable in the comfy, but ugly, orange knit shirt Mom had sewn.
    “I’ve been given a mission, David,” Harry answered, “One I’ve been told you can help me with.”
    I sat cross-legged on the floor of the tree fort, waiting for further information.
    “I have to find the Path to Enlightenment, David, and I need your help,” Harry said.
    Well I must admit, that was a bigger surprise than I expected. I sat there for a minute wondering if this path had anything to do with my jobs (four of them, currently, just to stay busy) or with the hidden gay-themed paperbacks under my mattress.
    I decided I’d just have to wait and see.

  2. MJcat

    Harry Potter Comes To Your House

    “Hi Harry,” said Ryan welcoming Harry to his new flat. “Want a drink or anything like that?” asked Ryan trying to be posh like Harry. “No, thank you” replied Harry in a charming tone looking for the sofa. Once Harry had found the light blue sofa he plopped down on it like a dog.

    All of a sudden Mr and Mrs Long (Ryan’s parents) busted into the house trying to humiliate Ryan with their dyed orange hair. Ryan’s eyes rolled. “Do you know I am from Hogworts and I do not find these things funny” said Harry regretting what his just said. Harry’s mind went blank, he thought he was in a day dream.

    “Well, let us eat now” said Harry shivering trying to change the subject. As Harry’s secret was out, that he was a wizard, he got out his wand and teleported to the table. Olive pizza was on the menu. Harry Potters favourite!

    1. ReathaThomasOakley

      Jennifer, read your story, the father’s thought process was great, I suspect the organic fertilizer kept your piece from posting.

      1. Jennifer Park

        Thanks!

        I did originally have another sentence at the end as a twist, and tried a number of other possible endings, too, but, then, decided it was best left open. Definitely not the end of the story…

  3. Jennifer Park

    (I’ve changed it to when they are adults.)

    “So, it must be quite awkward for you,” said Father. I held my breath.

    Harry didn’t see what was coming. “Sorry?”

    My father took another bite of pudding, and immediately realized his mistake. He held up a finger while he finished the bite. “Being named, you know, like the famous…”

    Harry still didn’t get it.

    Mother did. She decided to intervene. “Dear, could you pass me the…”

    “Oh! Ah. Here.” At least Father was able to read her mind. And easily lost his train of thought. His mind was a wrecking yard of old train cars still carrying their precious unfinished thoughts.

    ==========

    “This is the thing…” Harry held it out.

    I jumped back. No way. There was no way. “No way, Harry. No. Way.”

    “It’s all broken up now. It’s not a Horcrux anymore.”

    “I don’t care. I’m not letting that anywhere near me.” Just to make the point, I stepped further away from him.

    “Oh…” Harry looked quite crestfallen. Disappointed. Rejected.

    Like the way I felt when he had rejected me. “If it’s really that harmless, why don’t you just keep it? Hang it on your wall or something. You know, like a trophy. Or give it to Ron. He’s the one who…”

    “Yeah, well, he definitely doesn’t want it.”

    “Then why me?”

    Harry blushed.

    I had no idea what that meant. All I had were some wild guesses. His b&*$@ wife probably thought I was dispensable. Or harmless. Or both. Just didn’t want such a dirty thing in their house, with a baby coming. Can’t just recycle the Dark Lord’s old junk. What could she do with it? I know—give it to the slut who’s always hated her.

    Better yet, Harry thought I was dispensable. Persuadable. Bored with my menial job and wanted something “special” from the “special” guy who…

    “Honestly, because I’ve asked everyone else.”

    “What?”

    “You’re the last person I wanted to ask… and now, literally, you are the last person I’m asking.”

    I frowned. What did he mean?

    “I can’t keep it. I know… It’s just too tempting. It still…”

    My frown deepened even as I started to understand. There was a rumor that What’s-his-name had imbued it with a lot more magic before deciding to use it as a Horcrux.

    “I should not be near this thing. None of the people who know Dark Magic should be near it, and you are the last person I know who doesn’t know any Dark Magic. And…”

    “And yet you don’t want any harm to come to me.”

    Harry smiled thinly, and nodded. “I… I did like you.”

    “Bullshit.” He was telling the truth, however.

    “I mean, I liked you a lot. I’m so sorry… I wasn’t turning you down. I was just too shy…”

    I took the locket. “Bullshit.” I believed him.

    “…”

    “Is it gonna try to kill me?”

    I put it around my neck, and Harry flinched. He wasn’t sure.

  4. Turkey Girl

    “Tonia, why don’t you go answer the door?” my mom yells at me as I sit at the table ignoring the knocking. Throwing my pencil on the ground, I drag myself out of my chair and move towards the door. I already know who’s there.

    I open the door, calling them over. “Mom, Dad, I’d like you to meet Harry Potter. He’s the new kid who came to school.”

    Mom and Dad are ecstatic. They can’t wait to shake hands with him. Before I have time to react, Dad invites him to stay for dinner. I roll my eyes. “Can I finish my essay now?”

    Mom shakes her head. “You can help me make dinner for Harry. I can’t make a nice, big dinner without your help.”

    Trying not to show how bored I am, I retreat into the kitchen to help mom. Why dies everyone go crazy over this guy? Sure, he has magical powers, but isn’t that kinda cheating? I open the pantry door and start collecting the ingredients for mom’s usual grandiose steak. A smile crosses my face as my eyes catch sight of something at the back of the cabinet. Mom’s syrup of ipecac. She’s a nurse, but she’s never opened the packet. I slip it into my pocket, and go back into the closed off kitchen, pretending to be the faithful child helping mom there.

    It takes about an hour for everyone to finish eating dinner. Well, almost everyone. Harry is still picking away at his food, long after everyone else has finished. I’m still sitting in my chair near the TV stand, watching the new kid eat. That’s when he pulls his chair closer to me, leaning so close to me that I can smell his breath. He raises a finger as I back away.

    “I have a favour to ask,” he says. He starts to speak again, but suddenly stops. His face goes surprisingly pale and his hands cover his mouth. I look around to see if mom and dad are around, but their in the kitchen and can’t hear or see a thing.

    Suddenly, Harry starts gagging, practically on me, a brown stream leaking out of his mouth and pooling on the hard wood floor. I jump back and grab a handle on one of the doors on the TV stand. Accidentally, it opens. An object falls out and hits the floor. I pick it up.

    It’s a loaded Colt .45 Magnum. My birthday present from two years ago.

    A smile crosses my face. “Hey, Harry.”

    He looks up, still gagging. “Woah, wha-”

    I raise the gun, stopping him cold. “This is for humiliating me in school.” I shoot him in the stomach.

    He collapses on the floor, screaming and holding his stomach.

    “And this is for having the audacity to come here.” I shoot him in the head, right between the eyes. He stops. I reach down and take his pulse. My smile widens. Guess magic couldn’t save him this time.

  5. Beebles

    So they’ve spent, like, an hour talkin’ over dinner, yeah, and like no one’s even mentioned my amazin’ grades, yeah? It’s weird ennit. I ain’t never ‘ad no teacher back in ma house before. Tellin’ ya, well weird, man.

    It’s not like e’z no ordinary brov neeva, know what I mean. E’z like no English teacher wot we’ve nevva ‘ad before nor nuffin’. E’z like totally nervous all tha time, yeah? Like ‘e stuttas, like e’z got wind up teeth or summink. And when ‘e writes all that sh*t on the board, yeah, ‘e like does this stretchin’ thing with iz neck, right? Like e’z got a pill or summink in is throat wot e’z tryin to get ow’.

    An e’z got this stick yeah, that ‘e uses to point at yous when ‘e is askin’ a question. An it’s amazin’ yeah, ‘cos, like, no-one gets it wrong, right? We calls it ‘iz wand, yeah? An’ Sonya, she says , right, that she don’t want no teacher’s wand pointin’ at ‘er, and she says sumuvver stuff an’ its disgustin’, yeah, and then she says e’s a wand ‘imsef cos ‘e wears glasses right and all ‘er girls is laughin’, yeah, but I catches Germain’s eye an I’m like wearin’ my glasses, yeah, and she just stops and looks embarrassed, ‘cos she’s not like that and I recon’ she’s well fit, man, but I can’t never get alone wiv ‘er ‘cos she’s always round Sonya, yeah and Sonya’s always disssin’ me, ya know?

    But it’s more than ‘im wearin’ glasses, ennit? Mista Po’ah’s been through some bad sh*t, man, I tell ya. I can tell righ’. An’ it’s not just ‘iz weird scar, man. Cos I see ‘im, righ’ when we is werkin’, e’z lookin out th’ window, eyes all glazed over, yeah, lookin’ way out over th’ yard, like e’z finkin’ ‘bout somewhere else, like a poet or summink. An’ e’z rubbin’ the mark where ‘e ‘ad a weddin’ ring, I know ‘cos Mum’s the same, yeah, ya know, like ‘e ‘ad a missus and they, like, split up or some sh*t.

    That’s why e’z round our ‘ouse, ennit. Fancies our mum, dunnee? I dunno if I’m cool wi’it, ya know, cos dad, ‘e was like a creep, yeah? E’z, like, well gone, over Brixton or summink, so like, Mum’s all I got left. I see Dad in town sometime, yeah, an’ e’z drunk or stoned out, man. Like e’z an embarrassment and if I sees ‘im comin’ back, yeah, I kick his nuts, yeah?

    So I takes off to, like, give them space and to fink bout it, yeah, and then Po’ah, like, knocks on ma door and ‘e wants a favour, yeah, and ‘e says will I be in the play we’z doin in class, Much ado ‘bout something, or sh*t, an’ wants me to be that bloke Benedict, yeah? Which is cool, an ‘e wants me to stay after class tomorrow, right, and ‘e says ‘cos I gotta werk ow’ rehearsals with Beatrice ennit. An I’m just prayin’ it’s not Sonya yeah, but e’s like no, its Germain an ‘e gives me this little wink, yeah? An it’s all real weird, yeah, but cool?

    An’ then ‘e says I should come down ‘cos ‘e and Mum are gonna sweep the patio or summink.

    I mean WTF?

    1. ReathaThomasOakley

      Oh, Beebles, this is great! The story, the MC, everything, and as I read I got your MC’s voice loud and clear. Your portrait of the older Harry was very sad, hopefully he will again find some happiness. I think the play will be fantastic.

  6. Beebles

    So they’ve spent, like, an hour talkin’ over dinner, yeah, and like no one’s even mentioned my amazin’ grades, yeah? It’s weird ennit. I ain’t never ‘ad no teacher back in ma house before. Tellin’ ya, well weird, man.

    It’s not like e’z no ordinary brov neeva, know what I mean. E’z like no English teacher wot we’ve nevva ‘ad before nor nuffin’. E’z like totally nervous all tha time, yeah? Like ‘e stuttas, like e’z got wind up teeth or summink. And when ‘e writes all that sh*t on the board, yeah, ‘e like does this stretchin’ thing with iz neck, right? Like e’z got a pill or summink in is throat wot e’z tryin to get ow’.

    An e’z got this stick yeah, that ‘e uses to point at yous when ‘e is askin’ a question. An it’s amazin’ yeah, ‘cos, like, no-one gets it wrong, right? We calls it ‘iz wand, yeah? An’ Sonya, she says , right, that she don’t want no teacher’s wand pointin’ at ‘er, and she says sumuvver stuff an’ its disgustin’, yeah, and then she says e’s a wand ‘imsef cos ‘e wears glasses right and all ‘er girls is laughin’, yeah, but I catches Germain’s eye an I’m like wearin’ my glasses, yeah, and she just stops and looks embarrassed, ‘cos she’s not like that and I recon’ she’s well fit, man, but I can’t never get alone wiv ‘er ‘cos she’s always round Sonya, yeah and Sonya’s always disssin’ me, ya know?

    Bu’ it’s more than ‘im wearin’ glasses, ennit? Mista Po’ah’s been through some bad sh*t, man, I tell ya. I can tell righ’. An’ it’s not just ‘iz weird scar, man. Cos I see ‘im, righ’ when we is werkin’, e’z lookin’ out th’ window, eyes all glazed over, yeah, lookin’ way out over th’ yard, like e’z finkin’ ‘bout somewhere else, like a poet or summink. An’ e’z rubbin’ the mark where ‘e ‘ad a weddin’ ring, I know ‘cos Mum’s the same, yeah, ya know, like ‘e ‘ad a missus and they, like, split up or some sh*t.

    That’s why e’z round our ‘ouse, ennit. Fancies our mum, dunnee? I dunno if I’m cool wi’it, ya know, cos dad, ‘e was like a creep, yeah? E’z, like, well gone, over Brixton or summink, so like, Mum’s all I got left. I see Dad in town sometime, yeah, an’ e’z drunk or stoned out, man. Like e’z an embarrassment and if I sees ‘im comin’ back, yeah, I kick his nuts, yeah?

    So I takes off to, like, give them space and to fink bout it, yeah, and then Po’ah, like, knocks on ma door and ‘e wants a favour, yeah, and ‘e says will I be in the play we’z doin in class, Much ado ‘bout something, or shit, an’ wants me to be that bloke Benedict, yeah? Which is cool, an ‘e wants me to stay after class tomorrow, right, and ‘e says ‘cos I gotta werk ow’ rehearsals with Beatrice ennit. An I’m just prayin’ it’s not Sonya yeah, but e’s like no, its Germain an ‘e gives me this little wink, yeah? An it’s all real weird, yeah, but cool?

    An’ then ‘e says I should come down ‘cos ‘e and Mum are gonna sweep the patio or summink.

    I mean WTF?

  7. PenofSeshat

    A different take on the prompt, but still in the spirit of said prompt:

    “Nice scar. Were you dropped on your head when you were a child, or…what?”

    Mr. Potter forced himself to keep smiling at me. I thought his cheeks were threatening to spasm from the strain. His furrowed eyebrows bent his lightning bolt shaped scar. “You are becoming more and more charming by the minute,” He said through his teeth.

    I rocked back in my chair, away from the Auror. Not that I could go far; my little closet of an apartment only let me lean back three inches before wood met wood. I wish I could have let myself fall through the floor- no, the ten floors below me. I didn’t know much about Mr. Potter, except for that one lecture at Ilvermorny and the millions of tall tales everyone around the world told, but (and oh, it’s a big “but,”) I knew that he was the head of the Aurors in England, and I knew that meant I was in deep shit. “Oh yeah?” I said. “Well, I’ll become even more charming if you leave my house, Mr. Bolt Head.”

    My comebacks were, uh, less than stellar at the moment, but again: Head of Aurors. Two feet away from me. Secretly scared out of my wits. “So, tell me again why you, a Brit, invited yourself into my house? I haven’t done anything. In Britain, I mean. There was that one time with the levitation charm a few months back, but I did my few nights in jail for that! And that was in Chicago, not Britain.”

    “I’m not here to arrest you,” Mr. Potter sighed. Moving his glasses, he rubbed his eyes. “Miss Vulpean, I would like to discuss-”

    “Sorry, but I do have to tell you that I just can’t take the name ‘Potter’ seriously,” I chuckled. “Can I call you Harry?”

    “No. You may not.”

    “Ok. So, what do you want to know, Harry boy?” I knew I was pushing it with the first name thing, but what can I say? When under fire, my retaliation is shooting off my mouth.

    Mr. Potter bit back his insult, breathed deeply, and started again. “Miss Vulpean, you left Ilvermorny two years ago right before your fifteenth birthday, correct? Would you mind-”

    “Is your name short for ‘Harriet’? Or is that what the nurse called you when you were born and it just kind of stuck?”

    “Shut. Up. Please. Why did you leave Ilvermorny?”

    “Didn’t want to go anymore, Harry. School’s not for everyone.” When he leered over his round glasses, I knew I had been caught and held up my hands. “Ok. You clearly know my parents. My dad had had his wand revoked and he brought me home to take mine.” I shrugged. “Aaaand that’s why I am an emancipated minor. Am I in trouble for dropping out of school?”

    “No,” Mr. Potter said. “That just confirms that your father was, in fact, armed with your registered wand and not his own.”

    “Oh sweet cheezits.” I leaned forward again. “What have they done this time? Have they gone after No-Majs again? I bet they hexed cars and sent them barreling down one-way streets. Mom always wanted to do that.”

    “You’ll be happy to know they haven’t hurt any Muggles,” Mr. Potter tapped his want into his free hand. He was becoming uncomfortable. My stomach started to sink. “But, your parents managed to steal a certain device from the Ministry of Magic and we believe they have made their way back into the states and may have hidden the device at your old school.” The auror breathed a sigh of relief. “Blimey, I thought we were never going to get to the point.”

    I let that sink in for a moment. “My parents?” Mr. Potter nodded. “Stole from…your government?” He nodded again. “Going to tell me what they stole?” He shook his head. “Ok..and I am guessing you want me to, what, track them down?” He nodded.

    “Nope.” I stood from the table. “Nope, nope and more nope. Keep me out of this, keep me out of their schemes, you solve it.”

    “You’re not going to help me? Even if it means helping your old school?”

    I leaned into his face. “You’re a wizard, Harry. Wave your stupid wand and magic your problems away, you pompous wizard.”

    Mr. Potter rose from his seat, his black robes swirling around him as he towered above me. I sat down. Quickly. “I didn’t want to do this,” He said. “But it seems I need more leverage. Miss Vulpean, you are aware that you are an unregistered animagus, correct?” I nodded. Sure I was, no thanks to my mother who forced me to become one before I was fourteen to help her with her jobs. “Do you want your Congress to become aware of that?” I shook my head. “Good. So, you’ll help me?” I nodded. Who was I to refuse Harry Potter, especially Harry Potter who looked like he could send me flying through all ten floors with a flick of his wand?

    “Wonderful.” Mr. Potter seated himself again. “So, we’ll start by enrolling you back into Ilvermorny. I’m sure you’ll enjoy being able to use magic legally once again. After that, you’ll be introduced to both the American and British Aurors who will be tasked with tracking down the device in the school. You won’t be helping them track, though.”

    “Um, so what am I doing then, Mr. Potter?” I asked tentatively.

    “You will be helping us locate your parents. We believe they have hidden themselves within the school.” He grinned. “I would like you to introduce me to them.”

    I gulped. “Gosh, Mr. Potter. You’re moving things right along. Shouldn’t you at least buy me dinner first?” He glared at me. “I mean, whatever you say, sir. I’ve been meaning to get my wand back anyway.”

    (First time posting on this site, hope you all enjoy it! And yes, I am a Harry Potter fan; I shamelessly geeked out)

  8. Pete

    Harry Potter came to my house for dinner. We ate spam. We played scrabble. We tried to figure out what words would work and what words would not. It was a mystery. Harry liked to play the word sh!t—just to see if he could pull it off. Other times a word like fag–as in cig–might be flagged.

    It was hard to tell. Harry would usually win, being that he was a native English speaker. Mom baked cookies for desert, she laced them with pot. Again, just to see if she could sneak it by the mods. Sometimes she could, other times they caught her and whisked away her words.

    We were good an stoned by the time Harry took his broom and announced he had to leave. But he twirled his broom the way he did when something was on his mind.

    “I need to ask something of you?”

    “A favor?”

    “Yes. A favor. And stop repeating what I’m saying to boost your word count. Work on your brevity.”

    I waved my hand in front of my face. “Your breath could use some brevity.”

    “That doesn’t make sense.” He flung back his cape thingy. “Anyway, I need you to write a paper for me.”

    I rolled my eyes. “Why? You know what will happen. I’ll spend all my time writing a story, only to have it vanish into the filters.”

    He took my hands. “Not this time, Emrah. Please. I need you to write it.”

    “You’re such, a dork. But fine, I’ll do it.” I yanked my hand away and pointed at him, right between his beady little eyes. “I’m just going to wing it. No sense in giving my best if I don’t know it will post.”

    “But you’ll try?

    “Sure, I’ll try.”

    “Thanks.”

    “Okay, by Harry Dick.”

    He mounted his broom. It must have hurt his balls. “Are you just testing the mods again?”

    “Yep

    “Such a rebel.”

    “You know it.”

  9. Pete

    Harry Potter came to my house for dinner. We ate spam. We played scrabble. We tried to figure out what words would work and what words would not. It was a mystery. Harry liked to play the word shit—just to see if he could pull it off. Other times a word like bulletproof might be flagged.

    It was hard to tell. Harry would usually win, being that he was a native English speaker. Mom baked cookies for desert, she laced them with pot. Again, just to see if she could sneak it by the mods. Sometimes she could, other times they caught her and whisked away her words.

    We were good an stoned by the time Harry took his broom and announced he had to leave. But he twirled his broom the way he did when something was on his mind.

    “I need to ask something of you?”

    “A favor?”

    “Yes. A favor. And stop repeating what I’m saying to boost your word count. Work on your brevity.”

    I waved my hand in front of my face. “Your breath could use some brevity.”

    “That doesn’t make sense.” He flung back his cape thingy. “Anyway, I need you to write a paper for me.”

    I rolled my eyes. “Why? You know what will happen. I’ll spend all my time writing a story, only to have it vanish into the filters.”

    He took my hands. “Not this time, Emrah. Please. I need you to write it.”

    “You’re such, a dork. But fine, I’ll do it.” I yanked my hand away and pointed at him, right between his beady little eyes. “I’m just going to wing it. No sense in giving my best if I don’t know it will post.”

    “But you’ll try?

    “Sure, I’ll try.”

    “Thanks.”

    “Okay, by Harry Dick.”

    He mounted his broom. It must have hurt his balls. “Are you just testing the mods again?”

    “Yep

    “Such a rebel.”

    “You know it.”

  10. Pete

    He told me his parents had never read the books. They thought JK Rowling was top shelf cognac. But they’d seen the movies, and felt compelled, because of their unlikely surname, to call their son Harry.

    Over time the teasing had calloused his skin. I saw Harrison Potter the first day he entered Fairmont High as a senior. He was tall, reserved, almost overtly mysterious. We met in art class, when I was only starting to get over Brent Liabard.

    I watched him from across the room. I watched him in the hallways. Harrison was tall, dark, with a silent confidence about him. He was absolutely gorgeous. And he was always alone. Whenever his brown eyes found me I’d always be the first to look away. I’d blush with warmth, my ears tingling, my smile digging into my cheeks as I ducked into the bathroom.

    Art class became our time. The smell of oil paint, the soap in the deep sinks. The faintest whiff of Turpenoid sent my heart into a panic. Yeah, Brent who?

    We’d been seeing each other for a month when he arrived at the house for dinner on a shiny fall day. It was two minutes until five. The boy had flowers, a bouquet of miniature sunflowers, spray roses, daisies, mixed with fresh greens.

    This, was a first. Brent used to honk the horn from the curb, my cue to run out to the car. In a whirlwind of romance, he’d whisk me off to Russ’s house so that I could watch them play video games.

    Harrison kissed my cheek. I invited him into the kitchen where he asked Mom what he could do to help. Mom, turning to find this broad gentleman I’d brought home, the striking self-confidence in his eyes, exhaled until her shoulders fell and her smile bloomed.

    Harrison took to the cutting board, chopping up basil when Billy waltzed in. Gangly and fourteen, my brother was simultaneously awkward with both words and gestures. And he had no filter. “So, like, your name is Harry Potter?”

    I smacked the back of his head. He was about to retaliate when Harrison looked over his shoulder and smiled. “It’s quite common, actually. There are eighty-five thousand people with the last name Potter. Nearly a half a million with the name Harry.”

    Billy’s head cocked at the deluge of info. “I’ve never met anyone with the name Harry Potter, in fact—ouch! Stop it, Sydney!”

    We sat down for dinner, where it should have been weird but wasn’t. Mom set the flowers in a vase, placing it in the center of the table. I’d say she was completely smitten. My dad course, was more reserved with his affections. He began his line of dinner conversation as though we were in a black and white sitcom.

    “So Harrison, this is your first year at Fairmont?”

    Harrison, nodded, set his napkin in his lap and looked him in the eye. Truth was, I knew very little about where Harrison had been. Not on this earth, as far as I could tell.

    It was a breeze. Harrison won Billy over with sports talk and Dad with his thoughts on the stock market—managing to make securities and brokerage accounts sound romantic and thoughtful.

    After dinner, we went for a walk in the park to be alone. Harrison matched my strides, our fingers laced as I leaned into him. The sun was low in the trees and the geese were out at the pond, badgering kids and otherwise being pests. Harrison pulled me closer.

    “Sydney, there’s something I need to tell you.”

  11. Pete

    He told me his parents had never read the books. They thought JK Rowling was top shelf cognac. But they’d seen the movies, and felt compelled, because of their unlikely surname, to name their son Harry.

    Over time the teasing had calloused his skin bulletproof. By the time Harrison Potter entered Fairmont High as a senior he was tall, reserved, almost overtly mysterious. We met in art class, when I was only starting to get over Brent Liabard.

    I watched him from across the room. I watched him in the hallways. Harrison was tall, dark, with a silent confidence about him. He was absolutely gorgeous. And he was always alone. Whenever his brown eyes found me I’d always be the first to look away. I’d blush with warmth, my ears tingling, my smile digging into my cheeks as I ducked into the bathroom.

    Art class became our time. The smell of oil paint, the soap in the deep sinks. The faintest whiff of Turpenoid sent my heart into a panic. Yeah, Brent who?

    We’d been seeing each other for a month when he arrived at the house for dinner on a shiny fall day. It was two minutes until five. The boy had flowers, a bouquet of miniature sunflowers, spray roses, daisies, mixed with fresh greens.

    This, was a first. Brent used to honk the horn from the curb, my cue to run out to the car. In a whirlwind of romance, he’d whisk me off to Russ’s house so that I could watch them play video games.

    Harrison kissed my cheek. I invited him into the kitchen where he asked Mom what he could do to help. Mom, turning to find this broad gentleman I’d brought home, the striking self-confidence in his eyes, exhaled until her shoulders fell and her smile bloomed.

    Harrison took to the cutting board, chopping up basil when Billy waltzed in. Gangly and fourteen, my brother was simultaneously awkward with both words and gestures. And he had no filter. “So, like, your name is Harry Potter?”

    I smacked the back of his head. He was about to retaliate when Harrison looked over his shoulder and smiled. “It’s quite common, actually. There are eighty-five thousand people with the last name Potter. Nearly a half a million with the name Harry.”

    Billy’s head cocked at the deluge of info. “I’ve never met anyone with the name Harry Potter, in fact—ouch! Stop it, Sydney!”

    We sat down for dinner, where it should have been weird but wasn’t. Mom set the flowers in a vase, placing it in the center of the table. I’d say she was completely smitten. My dad course, was more reserved with his affections. He began his line of dinner conversation as though we were in a black and white sitcom.

    “So Harrison, this is your first year at Fairmont?”

    Harrison, nodded, set his napkin in his lap and looked him in the eye. Truth was, I knew very little about where Harrison had been. Not on this earth, as far as I could tell.

    It was a breeze. Harrison won Billy over with sports talk and Dad with his thoughts on the stock market—managing to make securities and brokerage accounts sound romantic and thoughtful.

    After dinner, we went for a walk in the park to be alone. Harrison matched my strides, our fingers laced as I leaned into him. The sun was low in the trees and the geese were out at the pond, badgering kids and otherwise being pests. Harrison pulled me closer.

    “Sydney, there’s something I need to tell you.”

    I tensed. His words were measured and his grip was crushing me. Too good to be true. Of course. But what? He certainly didn’t kiss like a boy who didn’t like girls. He kept glancing over my shoulder, holding me back when I tried to turn. I managed to take my hand from his. “What’s going on, Harrison?”

    Another look over my shoulder. His lip quivered, his breaths were cold. “I’m really sorry about this.”

    I jumped as the geese honked, fifty wings flapping in chaos. Harrison set his eyes on mine. “Why did it have to be you?”

    “What are you even talking about?” He pulled me in as I heard footsteps. Twigs snapping and branches rustling. I tried to turn away but Harrison tucked me away. His heart pounded against my ear. My voice broke.

    “Harrison, what are you doing?”

    Suddenly his face returned to mine, his eyes wide and loose. He watched the woods behind me, looked left, right, then he took my wrist. “You know what, come on. Follow me.”

    We took off as the shadows emerged. Harrison shoved me ahead and we ran deeper into the park as the sun dropped and the world went dark. He pushed me ahead, his breaths hard and ragged, in time with my own. Then they were in front of us. Behind us.

    Surrounding us.

  12. Pete

    By the time Harrison Potter entered Fairmont High as a senior he was tall, reserved, almost overtly mysterious. We met in art class, when I was only starting to get over Brent Liabard.

    I watched him from across the room. I watched him in the hallways. Harrison was tall, dark, with a silent confidence about him. He was absolutely gorgeous. And he was always alone. Whenever his brown eyes found me I’d always be the first to look away. I’d blush with warmth, my ears tingling, my smile digging into my cheeks as I ducked into the bathroom.

    Art class became our time. The smell of oil paint, the soap in the deep sinks. The faintest whiff of Turpenoid sent my heart into a panic. Yeah, Brent who?

    We’d been seeing each other for a month when he arrived at the house for dinner on a shiny fall day. It was two minutes until five. The boy had flowers, a bouquet of miniature sunflowers, spray roses, daisies, mixed with fresh greens.

    This, was a first. Brent used to honk the horn from the curb, my cue to run out to the car. In a whirlwind of romance, he’d whisk me off to Russ’s house so that I could watch them play video games.

    Harrison kissed my cheek. I invited him into the kitchen where he asked Mom what he could do to help. Mom, turning to find this broad gentleman I’d brought home, the striking self-confidence in his eyes, exhaled until her shoulders fell and her smile bloomed.

    Harrison took to the cutting board, chopping up basil when Billy waltzed in. Gangly and fourteen, my brother was simultaneously awkward with both words and gestures. And he had no filter. “So, like, your name is Harry Potter?”

    I smacked the back of his head. He was about to retaliate when Harrison looked over his shoulder and smiled. “It’s quite common, actually. There are eighty-five thousand people with the last name Potter. Nearly a half a million with the name Harry.”

    Billy’s head cocked at the deluge of info. “I’ve never met anyone with the name Harry Potter, in fact—ouch! Stop it, Sydney!”

    We sat down for dinner, where it should have been weird but wasn’t. Mom set the flowers in a vase, placing it in the center of the table. I’d say she was completely smitten. My dad course, was more reserved with his affections. He began his line of dinner conversation as though we were in a black and white sitcom.

    “So Harrison, this is your first year at Fairmont?”

    Harrison, nodded, set his napkin in his lap and looked him in the eye. Truth was, I knew very little about where Harrison had been. Not on this earth, as far as I could tell.

    It was a breeze. Harrison won Billy over with sports talk and Dad with his thoughts on the stock market—managing to make securities and brokerage accounts sound romantic and thoughtful.

    After dinner, we went for a walk in the park to be alone. Harrison matched my strides, our fingers laced as I leaned into him. The sun was low in the trees and the geese were out at the pond, badgering kids and otherwise being thugs. Harrison pulled me closer.

    “Sydney, there’s something I need to tell you.”

    I tensed. His words were measured and his grip was crushing me. Too good to be true. Of course. But what? He certainly didn’t kiss like a boy who didn’t like girls. He kept glancing over my shoulder, holding me back when I tried to turn. I managed to take my hand from his. “What’s going on, Harrison?”

    Another look over my shoulder. His lip quivered, his breaths were cold. “I’m really sorry about this.”

    I jumped as the geese honked, fifty wings flapping in chaos. Harrison set his eyes on mine. “Why did it have to be you?”

    “What are you even talking about?” He pulled me in as I heard footsteps. Twigs snapping and branches rustling. I tried to turn away but Harrison tucked me away. His heart pounded against my ear. My voice broke.

    “Harrison, what are you doing?”

    Suddenly his face returned to mine, his eyes wide and loose. He watched the woods behind me, looked left, right, then he took my wrist. “You know what, come on. Follow me.”

    We took off as the shadows emerged. Harrison shoved me ahead and we ran deeper into the park as the sun dropped and the world went dark. He pushed me ahead, his breaths hard and ragged, in time with my own. Then they were in front of us. Behind us.

    Surrounding us.

  13. ReathaThomasOakley

    An Annie story, inspired by the prompt

    “Oh, Annie, I like this dress, don’t you?”

    “What?” I’d almost forgot Acina was there, her being so quiet and all, besides, I had another mystery on my hands, one I had to solve this very day.

    “Betsy McCall’s paper-dolls this month, the dress with the bolero jacket, haven’t you been listenin’?”

    “Acina, I’ve ’bout decided I’m too old for paper-dolls.” I sure hoped she wouldn’t look in the bag under the bed where I kept my Queen Elizabeth Coronation paper-doll book. I hadn’t cut them out, just liked to look at the clothes and crowns, even though when I did I had to remember how I had to get a stinky Tonette when me and Mama went over to Aunt Helen’s house ’cause we didn’t have a television set. No body timed anything right and I had to twist my head so I could see what was goin’ on way over in England while I was standing on a chair getting rinsed at the kitchen sink. Now we had a television and I couldn’t think about Betsy McCall.

    “But, we always look at the paper-dolls, and the patterns ever month.” Acina looked all sad. “You gonna stop lookin’ at patterns, too?”

    I got Acina and me some cookies to make her feel better, and even looked at the patterns before she went home. Then I got my detective kit out, and opened my notebook. I’d almost asked Acina to help me, ’cause Marian was with her folks at their restaurant at Matanzas Inlet, but I’d had to explain too much. Besides, I didn’t know if she even watched Lassie.

    It was good I had my kit first time I saw him coming out Jimmy-on-the-corner’s backdoor. I couldn’t hardly believe my own eyes, Tommy Rettig right here in West Augustine, just like a boy from a fairy tale, visiting commoners, but I knew it was him ’cause I never missed a Lassie show. Since then I’d seen him seven times. It was all in my notebook, the day and time, what he was wearing, and where he was, mostly in Jimmy’s backyard.

    “Mama,” yesterday I’d said real careful, “does Jimmy-on-the-corner have company?”

    “Yes, I believe a cousin–”

    “From California?” I couldn’t help interrupting this time.

    “No, from Alabama.” She’d said, then gave me that look.

    “Sorry, just wonderin’.” I didn’t want to explain anything, especially since what happened right after we got our television set. Mama and Brother had laughed at me, Daddy’d said not ever dog was Rin Tin Tin. But, this time I knew I was right.

    “Annie, why don’t I call Jimmy’s mother, see if the boys want to come over tomorrow for supper, your daddy could build a fire, you could have a winnie roast.”

    “Okay.” I’d said, and started thinking what I’d ask Tommy.

    Now Daddy had the fire going and had straightened out some new coat hangers, Mama’d put hot dogs and buns and ketchup and mustard and relish on the picnic table Daddy’d built last year.

    “Hey, Annie,” Jimmy said when they came round the corner.

    “Hey, Jimmy, hey, Tommy.” I got that from Mr. And Mrs. North, they’d tricked a criminal by using his real name.

    “Where’d you get that?” Jimmy laughed. “This here’s my cousin Scooter, from Montgomery. Scooter, this is Annie.”

    “This shore looks nice,” he said and walked over to the table. I thought about Rin Tin Tin. “Jimmy, these the cookies you was tellin’ me about?” Jimmy nodded. “Annie, I already heard ’bout yore mama’s cookies.” He picked one up and took a big bite. “Think ‘fore I leave, yore mama’d write out the recipe for my mama, for a favor?”

    “Why sure, Scooter.” I said while Jimmy pushed a hot dog on his hanger. I was so glad I hadn’t told Acina.

    1. RafTriesToWrite

      It’s like I’m reading it on a book.
      It felt so serene while I was reading it from start to finish, despite the jack hammer ramming it’s way into the concrete in front of our house.
      Yet another lovely Annie story.

    2. Beebles

      Poor old Annie. That sense of childhood resilience comes across really well. So much i can relate to here. We had a ERII coronation book in our house too. Beautifully written once again, Reatha.

  14. Rene Paul

    The doorbell rang, but I didn’t want to answer it. I knew who was pushing the button.

    Why do my parents insist on inviting every new kid that moves from Privet Drive to our street to dinner? Let’s see, there was Bobby Elsey, Lauren Etheridge, and Julian Montague. The kid ringing the bell is another, he lived at 4 Privet, and now he lives on my street.

    I don’t like him. He doesn’t go to my school. Instead, he attends Hogwarts, a school so private nobody can tell you where, or even if, it exists.

    Both mother and father follow me to the door, I open it and in steps, Kid Strange, real name, Harry Potter. “Mom, Dad, meet Harry.”

    “Oh… we’ve heard so much about you, Mr. Potter,” my mother said, even though she has never met him. My dad’s opening line was equally obnoxious, “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Harry.”

    “Barf.”

    Father puts his arm around Harry’s neck and walks him into the dining room. Mother pulls out a chair and asks Harry to take a seat. Dad offers another deceitful axiom, “It’s the place of honor, Harry, best seat in the house, reserved for special visitors.”

    “Yeah, sure.” I whisper under my breath. Harry looks at me and flashes a knowing smile, he understood what I said?

    He’s so weird, look at the way he dresses: black cape, red and gold scarf – school logo etched on both – broken John Lennon spectacles with scotch tape wrapped between the lenses to hold them together. And what’s with that stupid crooked stick he carries? I should hit him on the head with it! And that scar, how did he get a lightning bolt carved into his forehead? Strange.

    “Tell us of your parents, Harry,” asked my father.

    Why do my parents grill everybody they invite to dinner with the same questions? It’s as if they’re interrogating the guests.

    “They’re both dead,” Harry replies, “I live with my aunt and uncle, Vernon and Petunia Dursley, and my cousin, Dudley.”

    “What a shame,” my mother says, “Lily and James were special people.”

    Harry said, “I wasn’t aware you knew my parents.”

    What! My parents acquainted with his? This is news. I turn my head toward my father, he’s giving my mother the evil eye. Then he said, “We read of their unfortunate death’s in the Quibbler. We’re so sorry.”

    Not much said after that exchange. We sat in silence as we ate Shepherd’s Pie, Mint Humbugs, and Yorkshire pudding. 

    “Where did you learn to cook this way, Mrs. Demort?” Harry inquired.

    “It’s an old family recipe, from my Uncle,” My father replied.

    Harry asked, “Your last name, Demort, is it an abbreviated version of another?”

    I told you this guy is weird. What a dumb boorish question to ask.

    A sudden quick chill overcame the house, then Harry said, “It’s time to end it.”

    Did you notice… even his diction is off kilter?

    The evening pall held that it was nigh on time to go, and when Harry said, “Please, Ron, walk me to the door,” I was more than happy to oblige. I looked back at my parents as we exited the house, they had a sinister bawdiness upon them as they whispered to each other.

    Once outside, Harry said, “I have a huge favorite to ask you, Ron.”

    “What is it, Harry?”

    “Don’t be mad at me for what I must do, I’ll explain later.”

    He didn’t give me a chance to respond, instead he reached into his cape and pulled out that stick. He walked back into the house and straight to my parents; an altercation broke out. I saw Harry raise the stick, its end now lit like a celebration sparkler, he drew a figure eight in the air and shouted, “Expelliarmus, Expecto Patronum, in a flash my parents turned into a heap of ashes piled on the floor. 

    I fell to my knees. What just happened? Harry came to my side and helped me back on my feet.

    “Come with me, Ron,” he said.

    “Where?”

    “To Hogwarts!”

    1. RafTriesToWrite

      I could almost hear the Minister of Magic saying “Dear Mr Potter, We have received intelligence that you performed the Patronus Charm at twenty-three minutes past nine this evening in a Muggle-inhabited area and in the presence of a Muggle. The severity of this breach of the Decree for the Reasonable Restriction of Underage Sorcery has resulted in your expulsion from Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Ministry representatives will be calling on your place of residence shortly to destroy your wand.” And so on.

      As it was said in the letter of Malfalda Hopkirk in the movie. Intriguing piece here Rene.

      1. Rene Paul

        Thanks, Raftriestowrite. I’ve only watched one Potter movie, the very first one. I had to Google everything to find out who’s who. This was a fun write.

        1. ReathaThomasOakley

          Rene, good job for not knowing a lot about Harry’s world. I’ve also not read the books and have only seen one movie, no idea which.

  15. Pete

    What if Harry Potter came to your house for dinner? Write this scene as if you were a teenager, he’s new to your school and you’re introducing him to your parents. Also, after dinner, he makes a request of you. What is it?

  16. Madhuri Karra

    I was in my room when I heard a piercing scream.

    My first thought was someone died. I raced down the stairs, trying not to trip on my trembling knees. Someone should turn the centralized air-con up. I was sweating like hell. When I reached the end of the stairs, I found my mother staring at the entrance door with her hands clasped over her mouth. Still trembling, I walked to her side. Just like that, air rushed out of my lungs. At least my mother found her voice to scream; I couldn’t even do that. I stared at the person at my doorstep in with my mouth hanging open. Maybe my eyes popped out too. Just a little.

    The person smiled.

    And I found my voice.

    ‘Aieeeeeeee!!!’ I jumped and threw myself over him.

    ‘Er…it’s nice to meet you too,’ he said. I could almost see him grinning at my outburst. Jeez, I was acting foolish.

    But honestly, Harry Potter! I stepped back and smiled, feeling the blood rush into my face. I was pretty sure my face looked like a steamed tomato. Perspiring and red.

    ‘I can’t believe you are here!’

    ‘I promised you, didn’t I?’ Harry said, taking my hand and guiding me inside the house. Obviously, we were attracting a lot of attention, and he wanted his visit to be a secret. My mother still looked like a frozen duck. The only thing that assured me she was alive was her eyes, which followed our trail.

    ‘Mum! Get real! Don’t embarrass me!’ I hissed. She gulped, still not looking at me. You might have thought her eyes got stuck on Harry.

    ‘Why is he here? What does he mean he promised you?’ She whispered in my ear. I rolled my eyes.

    ‘Stop whispering. It’s rude’ I said. She gasped as if realization struck her.

    ‘Oh, I am sorry, Harry. I forgot my manners. It is a pleasure to meet you’, she said, extending her hand. Harry shook it politely and smiled at her.

    ‘The pleasure is mine, Mrs. Wilson’, he said. My mother blushed the color of an onion. Wow! She must have been a secret admirer. All those times when she was scolding me for staying up late and reading his story. Maybe I should check her book collection someday.

    ‘Please call me Meg. Would you please be seated while I take Gizelle aside to help me in the kitchen? She won’t be a moment’, my mother said, practically dragging me along with her into the kitchen.

    ‘Tell me everything!’ She said, snapping her fingers. While I spoke, she bustled around the kitchen arranging a snack for my magical friend.

    ‘You remember Hermione Granger? She was my classmate before she went to Hogwarts. Both of us were lab partners in school. She wrote to me a couple of weeks ago, literally swearing me to secrecy, asking for my help with something. We exchanged a few letters. And then one day Harry replied saying he will come to meet me. I thought he was being polite and all, but he did mean it really!’

    When I finished, Mom stopped walking and stared at me like I was a stranger. Drama queen, I sighed to myself.

    ‘You were friends with Hermione, and you never told us?’ she demanded.

    ‘We weren’t supposed to. She was my friend and I kind of crossed my heart, you see, that I will never tell anyone’, I told her. ‘Mom I can explain these later, but I have to find out why Harry is here.’ Saying so, I rushed back to the living room and sat opposite to Harry. He smiled nervously at me.

    ‘So, tell me. your letter said you wanted to talk about something really important to me?’ I asked. Until then, he seemed quite sure of himself. But when I asked him the question, his face turned white, and he looked everywhere else avoiding my eyes.

    ‘You know we are all fighting Voldemort, right?’ He asked, finally. My breath caught. He looked up and gave a weak smile. ‘I know, I know. I shouldn’t be using that name. We need your help there.’

    I almost laughed. ‘I hope you are not kidding? What exactly can I do in a wizard fight?’ Still, I could feel my heart racing and my body hummed with anticipation. Harry sighed and stood up.

    ‘There’s no easy way to say this…’ he started. Then he looked into my eyes, his smile replaced with the rage of a warrior and said, ‘I need your blood.’

    Silence.

    I lost track of how much had passed while I tried to process that sentence. I suppressed the urge to throw up. I felt electric waves pump through every cell of my body.

    ‘Wh…Wh…what?’ I gasped. Harry looked worried. Well, he should be.

    ‘It’s not a death wish, Gizelle, if you agree. Just a little blood. We have to do some analysis on it. It won’t kill you.’ He tried to sound reassuring, but it wasn’t his blood he was talking about.

    I gulped. They were after my blood? I felt my eyes sting. It was like someone caught my throat. Oh, how much worse could this get, I cried inside?

    ‘But why?’ I managed to ask, as I tried to continue breathing.

    ‘Because it is the same blood that runs through the veins of Lord Voldemort.’

  17. RafTriesToWrite

    “Thanks for the ride” My voice croaky as I put one foot on the ground, shaking like a cold wet dog. It’s my first time riding on a broom, can you blame me?

    “No problem” He was still hovering above our lawn, waiting. I may have swallowed a bug or two during the unexpected trip.

    “You should stay for dinner” I looked at Harry with one hand already on the door knob. He went down to the ground and held his Nimbus 2000 on one hand. I could almost imagine him playing on an actual quidditch match.

    “I’m sorry, but I can’t stay that long” He walked towards me as he fixed those round glasses of his.

    “At least come inside for a cup of tea?” He asked me at school a while ago if I could help him with a favor, now here I am at my house, talking to the famous Harry Potter – the boy who lived.

    “Well, I can’t turn down a cup of tea. Sure.” We both went inside my house. I made him wait in the living room as I heat up the teapot then went back for Harry.

    “These are your parents?” He asked. I found him looking at the pictures above our fireplace. He looked at me, searching for an answer. I gave him a nod and went over to him.

    “Ah, summer of ’09.” I picked up the picture and showed it to him. “Family trip. We went swimming that day.”

    “What’s it like?” He asks quite vaguely.

    “What’s what like?” I looked at him.

    “Having parents?” He stared at the picture longer.

    “Oh, you know? They take care of you, put food on the table, give you clothes to wear. Stuff like that” I see greyness in his eyes. I think it’s time to change the topic.

    “So, what’s this favor you’ve been asking about?” I sat down on the couch, he followed my lead and sat in front of me.

    “Well you see-“ He stopped at the whistle of the tea pot. We both looked at the direction of where the sound came from.

    “Ohh, hold on” I see him nod, lips in a flat line. I went to the kitchen and made two cups of tea and went back to Harry. I gave him one cup as I sat back down on the sofa.

    “Thank you” Harry starts. “You see, Professor McGonagall made us do some research on different topics about muggle culture”

    “And?” I took a sip from the hot tea.

    “And, I’ve been tasked to research about this” Harry hands me a piece of paper.

    There’s nothing on the paper.

    “It’s blank.” I held the paper up and showed it to him.

    “Oh, hold on.” He took out his wand from his jacket and pointed at the blank paper.

    “Aparecium” Harry said. I looked at the paper that I held and black ink just started writing out itself from all directions until I can read what is says.

    Memes.

    “What’s a meme?” He asks full of enthusiasm as he looked at the paper as well. I giggled at the craziness of his homework.

    “Come on, I’ll show you” I led him upstairs to my bedroom, where we sat for hours laughing in front of a computer.

    1. writer_sk

      Raf
      It made me want to read the Harry Potter book again because I read it so long ago and can’t remember much. Your story captured that mysterious vibe and I felt it was a strong piece that followed the prompt. ” RafHasWritten”!

  18. writer_sk

    A humid breeze teased my ankles that day as dress rehearsal came to a close and across the small opening which served as my way out into the open air of the theater crossed the play’s star, Damon. Damon was one of these people who sort of knew they were good looking but had enough sense to just wear regular clothes and still treat people with respect. I thought he was a great actor.

    “It’s Jan right?” his voice was breathy and kind, different from the louder tone he used to voice the modern day Harry Potter he played in our satire, “Potter: Father, Husband, Wizard, Assassin.” The production was just absurd enough to pique the curiosity of the close-knit theater crowd here, in Stone, CT.

    “It’s Jenna-Lynn,” I smiled, “but you can call me Jan,” I ventured, turning each spotlight off with a snap then pausing on his and gently clicking the button down. I stepped towards him and for a moment our faces, mouths, arms and legs were very close. Damon stepped back.

    “Jenna-Lynn,” he said.

    “Jenna-Lynn – I like that.” so began my attraction, which had already been a mild admiration.

    Dinner would be ready in the crock pot when I arrived at the apartment I shared with my motivation-challenged musician boyfriend, David. It was a pot roast with vegetables and potatoes. I’d planned on buying some bread at the bakery on the way home since I was sure he couldn’t even muster the motivation to do so. He had been a hook-up turned relationship that was always destined to fail but I was just letting him live there because he had nowhere else to crash.

    I felt Damon walking next to me.

    “So, Jenna-Lynn, I wanted to just let you know that the director and I have added a soliloquy in which I will speak to the audience at the end of Act One, so you’ll know- for the lighting.”

    “Ok, cool.”

    “So do you like it?” he asked.

    “What?”

    “The play, do you like the play?”

    “Yea, I like your parts,” I blurted out.

    Sh*t did I just say that out loud? Your parts? I sound like a maniac.

    “It’s hard for me to hear dialogue up there but it looks like you’re doing great,” I added.

    He smiled at me.

    “You want to grab a coffee?” Damon asked.

    “Or, if you wanted to come by, I have a pot roast cooking.”

    In my mind I could see and feel myself running full speed up to the apartment, breaking up with David, shoving him and his stuff into the hall and drinking wine and eating warm bowls of pot roast with gravy with Damon.

    The red heat I felt in my neck travelled to my face.

    “Coffee!” I said.

    The booth was cold against my back and I questioned what type of person I was. The hot cups of coffee the waitress poured were barely touched as we talked. Damon became animated motioning with his hands and leaning in close to me when I talked. The warm feel of the sweater he placed around my shoulders when I shivered was a prelude to the coat he wrapped me in next to the storefront where we shared a hot chocolate well past midnight. The cheeseburger looked delicious and all thoughts of pot roast felt unromantic and gray. He kept giving me French fries. I took a couple then, as our conversation deepened, he cut off a piece of his sandwich for me. We discussed theater, film and literature. By the time we moved on to politics and music I suggested we go across the street to the wine bar. The margaritas were top shelf and we sipped them in a booth in the back as the room of people melted away. One second, I held up one finger and adjourned to the hallway to free myself from my situation.

    The text I sent David was cold and designed to get rid of him.

    “I’ve met someone, have your things out of my place and find somewhere else to stay by Saturday.”

    The bluegrass music outside the bar drew us to the courtyard and Damon led me to dance with his fingertips only slightly brushing my wrist. We swayed to the music, he no longer needing my spotlight to shine and I floated on his energy. Night became black as the full moon rose and we found ourselves holding hands and walking the streets. At my doorstep he brushed my hair off my face and kissed the back of my hand. We said goodnight, an intermission before act two of our story.

    1. RafTriesToWrite

      What an unexpected take on the prompt here sk!
      Loved the descriptions too, almost too realistic.
      I could almost see the two walking about on the street with Damon’s sweater still wrapped around Jenna-Lyn’s shoulders and David just watching from afar along with his things while making a fist with his hand.

  19. cosi van tutte

    So, this isn’t sticking to the prompt, but I couldn’t help it….

    ***

    Harry looked less than thrilled and I couldn’t blame him.

    “Ruddy fools calling me ‘The Boy Who Lived’. I haven’t been a boy in twenty years. I’ve grown up. Had kids and wot.”

    He picked up his celery stalk and chomped it down.

    I took a sip of my root beer and tried to think of something to say to pull him out of his current mood.

    He picked up another celery stalk and pointed it at me. “And don’t even get me started with the ‘Why’d you marry Ginny? You should have married ruddy Hermione’ crowd. ”

    I shrugged. I couldn’t say anything to that. I personally thought he should have wound up with Luna Lovegood, but I was in the sad minority.

    “Ginny is pretty and smart and hot and awesome and she is NOT Ron with long hair. Just so you know. Gah! I hate that one.”

    “Harry—”

    His eyeglasses glinted in the fluorescent lighting. “Harold. My name is Mr. Harold Potter.”

    “Yes. Yes. Harold. Look. Just take a deep, cleansing breath. We just have one more patient to visit and then you can go home.”

    “Good. It’s so hard to find decent fish and chips this side of the pond.”

    “Yes. I know. Okay? Are you good? You think you can rustle up that good old fashioned charm and charisma?”

    Harry chomped down his celery stalk, dusted off his hands, and stood. “All right. Let’s get this day done.”

    I patted his back, which earned me another glinting eyeglasses moment.

    “You must never touch me.”

    “Of course. What was I thinking?”

    I escorted Harry to patient room #341.

    A small girl lay all curled up under the blanket.

    “Oh. She’s sleeping.”

    “Good. I can leave.”

    “Not yet, Harry…I mean Harold. The deal was you had to meet and greet all of the patients here. ALL of them.”

    Harry sighed. “Fine. But you owe me.” He walked over to the patient’s bed.

    She rolled onto her side and opened her sad blue eyes. “Are you Death?” Her voice was so small. So much smaller than her own body.

    Harry shook his head. “No.”

    “Oh.” She seemed disappointed. “Who are you then?”

    “You don’t know me?”

    She shook her head in a slight movement.

    “Does the name Harry Potter mean anything to you?”

    She shook her head again.

    “Well, that’s appalling. How could you not know my name?”

    “Do you know my name?”

    That caught him off guard.

    “Uhhh…Patience Patiently?”

    Her mouth twitched into a faint smile. “My name is Patricia Needsmith. I’m sick. But no one visits me. Mum and Dad are too busy. And there is no one else.”

    “I can’t stay. I have to return to London.”

    Her small face betrayed her disappointment.

    Harry grabbed a random chair and dragged it over to her bed. “If you want, I can tell you a story. It’s a ruddy long story, but it is rich with characters and adventures and even some romance. Do you want to hear it?”

    Patricia nodded.

    Harry took a breath and he began.

    1. RafTriesToWrite

      Well that was nice of Harry…I mean Harold, to do that to the little girl.

      I honestly thought Harry and Luna will end up together because they look good together. I don’t care what anybody says.
      Loved the story here cosi, I do enjoy me some Harry stories.

  20. Kaboosh

    “You’re a wizard… uh… Harold?”

    “Cut! Oh come on Robbie, this is your third screw up this week. Get your act together! Okay how ’bout we break for today so you guys can actually remember your lines tomorrow.” I wish I could do that one day. To lead and direct stars for a living sounds like a dream job.

    “I’ll see you tomorrow Mr. Columbus,” Daniel Radcliffe says to the director as he walks by me.

    “Wait!” Why did I say that? “Um, Danie- I mean Harr- I mean Mr. Radcliffe, would you like to come over for dinner at my place?” WHAT AM I DOING? “My mom’s making grilled chicken and vegetables and I thought you might enjoy them. I mean, not you specifically, they’re just really good. I know you don’t know me, I just thought- Oh jeez I’m rambling I’m sorry.” I look down at my shoes, waiting for him to decline my offer.

    “Please, call me Daniel, and that sounds pretty nice,” he replies. I look up, shocked he even acknowledged me. “I don’t have a ride though. Do you mind taking me?”

    “I’ll take you two lovebirds,” Robbie Coltrane a.k.a. Rubeus Hagrid says behind us. “As long as I can eat with you guys. I don’t mean to intrude, but I haven’t eaten all day and the thought of grilled chicken is making my mouth water already.”

    “Of course! I’d love it if you came with us.” Oh god, I have to pipe it down. They probably think I’m crazy. “My address is 4 Privet Drive, it’s about fifteen minutes from here.”

    After fifteen minutes of awkward silence filled by Robbie tapping his fingers on the steering wheel, we arrive at my house. My mom purses her lips at me as we enter for not telling her I’m bringing guests, but she happily introduces herself. She quickly brings out the dinner, serving us each a chunk of chicken and a platter of veggies.

    “May I have a knife to cut the chicken up?” Daniel asks.

    “Oh, let me do it for you,” my mother replies. “I’ll be right back.”

    “So, what’s your favorite part about acting in this movie?” I ask the two actors after my mom goes to the kitchen.

    “Well, I think it’ll be fun trying to be someone so magical and inspiring to others,” Daniel starts. “I always thought it was fun to try and convince people that you’re someone you’re not.”

    “Everyone always told me that it’s a lot worse being an actor than it seems, but I’d have to disagree. You get to meet new people, see new things, and become an inspiration to those around you. It’s quite lovely.” adds Robbie

    “Oh yeah, and before I forget, I wanted to thank you for inviting me over to dinner.” He reaches in his pocket for his wallet, and with it comes the wand prop we use on stage. “Ha. I must have forgotten to put this back,” he says as he places it on the table.

    Right then, my mom comes in the room with a kitchen knife, but on her way in, she trips on her own feet. The knife goes flying out of her hand as she falls to the ground. The knife, blade-down, starts to fall down towards my mother’s back. I jump out of my seat, but there’s nothing I can do. Suddenly I see Daniel pick up the wand and flick his wrist outwards.

    “WINGARDIUM LEVIOSA!”

    The room was silent, except for the panicked breaths of my mother. Everyone but my mom was standing, staring at the blade float away from her and onto the table. It felt like an eternity before Robbie turned to Daniel.

    “Bloody ‘ell. You’re a wizard, Harry.”

  21. rlk67

    “So, dear,” said mom, trying to keep her voice steady. “Max tells us you just moved in recently, we hear.”
    Harry fidgeted with his mashed potatoes. “Yeah, um, my family needed a change. We wanted to see what life was like driving on the right side of the road.” He tried to smile. This wasn’t going so well.
    “And what life was like driving a car and not a broom?” Dad thundered. He was a bit tense tonight. Harry fidgeted more.
    I had guessed any damage control was up to me. “Dad, please. Harry doesn’t use any magic…at least, not so much.” It was true. Well, at least that’s what my new friend told me.
    “You know,” said Trish, clearing her throat, “I must call our cousins in Baltimore…”
    “OW!” Harry grabbed his head. Everyone at the table jumped. “Are you okay?” I asked nervously.
    “No, I’m…fine..thanks. Just my scar here…” Harry tried to compose himself.
    “Your scar?”, asked Trish, shaking slightly. “I thought that only hurt when you mention the name of…”
    “It was close enough.”
    “Oh, I’m so sorry…” Trish slowly rose from the table. Dad just glared.
    “No, really, I’m fine. Maam, dinner is delicious.” Harry sighed.
    “Oh, look!” Mom’s voice was like faint radio signal. “Allie’s bringing out the broccoli!”
    “OW!” Harry yelped again. We all froze.
    “S..s…sorry,” he said. “It also hurts when someone mentions that, too.”
    “AAAAhhhh!!” Mom screamed. Dad and Trish dove under table. “It’s an owl! OUt the window!”
    Luckily, I had already noticed something there. “No, mom, it’s just one of McKinley’s pigeons.” I turned to Harry. “Our neighbor raises tons of them.” Harry grinned.
    “Maybe I’ll show Harry the backyard, Mom,” I offered.
    “Good idea!” came three voices from below.
    I took Harry, who was rather pensive, to our deck. He sat in one of the chairs. One of those pigeons was pacing around.
    “Harry…my family is, well, a little touchy about..”
    “You don’t need to explain. I’ve seen it all.” Harry sighed again. We sat in silence for a moment. The pigeon still paced.
    “Max…” Harry said pleadingly. “I need a favor.” My stomach dropped.
    “Max, please. I need a place to stay.” Oh, no. “I left home because…I need to be a regular kid. I need life without this magic stuff. Max…please…”
    “Harry,” I began, “My family would be… I mean… It would be hard.”
    “Max. Professor Dumbledore is giving me one chance to find a normal, loving family. I really like you, Max. You’re a really nice guy and a great friend. Everyone else just stares at me. Please…”
    I was sweating a little. I couldn’t. “Harry…I just can’t…”
    Suddenly the pigeon flew up and spun around like crazy, landing in the form of a man! A wizard!
    Harry just stared. “Professor…”
    “Hello, Harry. And it’s nice to meet you, Max. I must thank you for being friends with Harry…at least in the short term. And thank your neighbor for his…er…hospitality.”
    I didn’t move. Harry looked saddened while holding out his hand.
    “I’m so sorry….” I went to take his hand, but there was a flash of blinding light. I was alone.
    Yelling from the kitchen. “All I said was ‘Baltimore’! I didn’t know…!”
    My friend was gone. And I was so relieved.

  22. jhowe

    My mother glares at me as she pours the beans into a colander. Steam billows but doesn’t mask her irritation.

    “I didn’t think he’d come.” I didn’t mean for it to sound like a whine.

    “You invite the most famous kid in the world to dinner without a warning, my God.” She dumps the beans in a serving bowl. “What’s he doing at your school anyway? Isn’t he supposed to be at Hogwarts?”

    “Some kind of exchange program,” I say. “What’s for dinner?”

    “You’re lucky I had some chicken legs in the freezer. Here, take these beans to the table and start entertaining your guest.” She thrusts the bowl into my hands.

    “Dinner’s almost ready, Harry.” My voice is an octave too high. “I hope you like chicken.”

    “Actually, I won’t be staying for dinner.” I cringe toward the kitchen. “I came by to ask you a favor.”

    “A favor?”

    “Yes, just a small one.” He pulls his wand from his jacket. “I need you to be me tomorrow and take my history exam. You see, I know nothing about muggle history. Too boring.”

    “But I don’t look anything like you,” I say. He chants a few words and zaps me with the wand. I wonder if this is what a Taser feels like and then I sense the transformation. My clothes hang loose on my body. My forehead starts to burn, an intense pain and I feel the jagged scar when I touch my head. Harry runs out the door as my mother comes in with a plate of fried chicken.

    “Where’s Jason?” she says.

    “It’s me, mom.” I hold my hand over my burning scar. “Harry turned me into him.” A shrouded figure appears outside the bay window and the lights go out. There’s a tremendous crash and the house fills with smoke. My mother screams and is jerked back by something I can’t see.

    And then a tall man stands over me. Or maybe not a man at all. A forked tongue waggles from his lipless mouth. His voice sounds like the wind. I can’t tell if he’s speaking or telegraphing his thoughts.

    “The fool.” His cat eyes dart around. “He thinks he could fool me with outward appearances.” He raises his arm and I float above the floor, held tight by some force.

    “Leave him alone,” my mother says, beating his back with her fists. “He’s not Harry.”

    “I know that, woman,” he says, grabbing her throat. He pushes her to the floor at the same time that I fall, twisting my ankle. And then he’s gone. The smoke begins to clear and the destruction to our house is revealed. The walls and ceilings are black with soot, the carpet smoldering in spots. Glass litters the floor and our cat, Fluffy peaks out from an overturned chair, her fur charred, one whisker smoking.

    “Who was that?” my mother says.

    “I don’t think we’re supposed to mention his name.”

    “Well, whoever he is, he owes me a new house.”

    I slowly get to my feet, my ankle throbbing. “I think we’d have better luck with the insurance company.” I limp to the table. “I think the chicken’s still good.”

    1. writer_sk

      j- just my unfamiliarity with the Potter stories prevents me from fully knowing the cat reference and the creature. For whatever reason I did not retain the plot lines . That said, great work, as Ive enjoyed your work thus far. I especially liked your super hero piece -creative idea includng Jimmy Olsen and using existing superheroes. I liked how Olsen was a villain. You can’t go wrong with superman as a backdrop

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