Harrry Rotter: chapter sixA children's story

I wrote this story, this skit, for a bit of fun, that's all, but so many of you emailed me. saying

how much you liked it, i just HAD to publish it. Happy reading. from the crazy-mad writer.

Arrrgh!!!

Chapter Six

Are you Coming?

A week later to the very day, in the morning, early, before it was even light, Box heard a tapping

sound on his bedroom door.

“Who’s there?” he whispered, fumbling for his glasses, to see what time it was.

“It’s me, Harry.”

“What do you want?”

“I want to talk with you.”

Can’t it wait until I get up?”

No.”

“Why not?”

Silence.

“I said, why not?”

“Let me in.”

By now Box knew only too well that when his cousin, Harry, had something on her mind she

persisted until she got what she wanted. In this case it was an ear. So climbing out of warm bed,

he unbolted the door and let her in. Then jumping back into it, and pulling the covers up high, he

asked, “Well, what’s so important that it couldn’t wait until later?”

Remaining uncharacteristically quiet, Harry searched for words, the words she wanted to use.

Finding them, she said, “I am leaving.”

“Leaving? When?”

“Today. And I wanted to ask…if you might consider coming along with me?”

“Me? Why? Where are you going?”

“Back to Hagswords…”

“Hagswords!” he said, stunned by this revelation. “I thought you had escaped from there? I never

thought for one instant that you’d ever want to return.”

Again searching for words, enough to tell him what she was doing but not so many as to divulge

her plan, Harry said, “It’s only a matter of time until the school authorities find me… If I take the

initiative, if I leave before that happens, I am in with a chance to find it...”

“To find what?”

“Something that I left, back there…”

“And you must go back for it?”

“Yes.”

“It’s that important to you?”

“Yes.”

What is it?”

“I can’t tell you.”

“Can you give me even some idea of what it is?”

“No.”

There was another silence, much longer than the previous one. The sound of Mr. and Mrs.

Privet’s snoring in the other room could be plainly heard.

Although Box knew only too well what his cousin was like, that her own agenda always took

precedence over everything else, that she was most certainly hiding a great deal more than she

was telling him, he had actually grown used to her in a peculiar sort of way. So because of this,

and also because he wanted to see what the new electro-magical wand was really capable of

doing, he agreed, saying, “All right, I will come along. But I am not going to do anything that’s

illegal – is that clear?”

Smiling, Harry nodded. She was happy; for the first time in her life she was happy to be with

someone, even a tall, whimpishly thin Muddle such as Box.

“Can’t we say goodbye?” Box asked, as he stepped through his bedroom window, onto the

trelliswork supporting the white flowering rambling rose.

“No. I’ve already told you that,” Harry whispered. “The less your parents know the safer they will

be. Now hurry up, I’ve a bad felling…”

Stopping halfway down the trelliswork, pricking a finger on a thorn, and then sucking it, Box

whispered, “A bad feeling? What sort of a bad feeling?”

“I can’t explain,” she said, following him down. “It’s something that I learned to do, during my

time at Hagswords.” She laughed a little sardonically, before continuing; “At least I learned

something useful while I was there.” Then looking down to him, she said, “Go on, what’s the hold-

up?”

Box resumed his descent down the trelliswork, but then he stopped again.

“What’s the problem now?” Harry asked him impatiently.

Saying nothing, nothing at all, Box pointed with trembling fingers to the eastern sky.

CARPETS! High in the sky, and approaching fast, were two objects that looked incredibly like

flying carpets!

“Drats,” Harry hissed. “They’ve found me!”

Jumping down the last few feet of trelliswork, Harry and Box dived for cover; Harry beneath the

huge, spreading leaves of a Gunnera plant, and Box under the less exotic but equally large leaves

of a Rhubarb plant (his father insisted on growing rhubarb in the flower beds, saying it was a much

underrated flowing plant, whose majestic white flowers had no place amongst the drab

vegetables). From their places of concealment, the two cousins watched as the flying carpets, with

their occupants sitting cross-legged upon them, passed overhead.

“They didn’t stop,” Box whispered to Harry.

Creeping over, hiding under the same Rhubarb leaves as her cousin, Harry said, “That means they

haven’t quite yet worked out where I am. I might still be in with a chance. Then looking kindly at

her cousin, she said, “You go back inside, it’s me they’re after – go!”

“Oh no you don’t!” Box insisted. “We’re in this together."

“But they might come back at any moment!”

“It doesn’t matter,” he insisted. “Now tell me this, is there anything at all that we might do to get

away from them?”

Undoing the fasteners on her shoulder bag, Harry opened it and began searching through its

contents.

Box watched her intently, and said, “Can’t we use the new wand?”

“No, that will just attract more attention,” Harry said as she continued searching through her bag.

“Ah, I have it,” she said triumphantly.

“How did you get that into your bag?” Box asked, puzzled by how she had managed to get such a

bulky article in or indeed out from her bag.

Ignoring the question, Harry began untying the brown coloured string holding the article together.

It was only after she had done this, and unfolded it upon the ground did Box realise what it

actually was. It was a carpet, an old carpet, and almost threadbare in places, but of exquisite

design.

Box was flabbergasted. “Is that…is that really? – No, it can’t be,” he said yet desperately hoping

that it really and truly was a genuine honest to goodness flying carpet.

Harry smiled.

“You mean it?”

She nodded.

“It is, really a flying carpet – I was right!” Box exclaimed.

The carpet, now completely unfolded, was safely concealed beneath the canopy of rhubarb

leaves. It smelt of mustiness.

“Let’s get going,” Box urged her.

Harry made no reply; she waited, silently watching the sky. Their departure had to be planned to

the split-second, to avoid any chance of being seen by the men on their magical carpets up above.

Plans don’t always according to – plan, and this was unfortunately such an instance. Before they

had a chance to act, to make good their escape, the two flying carpets returned and began circling

overhead.

“They’re on to us,” Harry whispered.

“You must have really pissed them off, back at that school of yours, if they’d do all this just to get

you back there,” said Box.

Harry ignored this remark.

While one of the carpets, with a bearded cross looking individual sitting upon it, remained circling

overhead, as a lookout, the other one, with two even more cross looking and bearded occupants

sitting on it, came to a smooth landing beneath the shelter of the large horse chestnut tree. Walking

away from the carpet, just leaving it there under the tree, the two men, dressed in long

multicoloured robes, made their way across the short distance to the house.

Tapping Harry on the shoulder, Box asked, “What are they doing?”

Harry said nothing; she just kept on watching.

“Where are they going?” Box asked, but fearing that he already knew.

“Inside,” Harry replied.

“Inside? You mean to mum and dad?”

“I’m afraid so.”

“But what do they want with them?” Box asked, almost crying with fear.

“They’re the only ones in there, that’s why.”

“But they don’t know anything!”

“Shush,” they might hear you.”

Inside, Mr. and Mrs. Privet were still sound asleep, blissfully unaware of the strange goings on in

their garden. However, when one of the men kicked in their back door, their troubles began with a

start.

“Did you hear something, Laurel?” said Mrs. Privet, sitting up in bed, her ears cocked.

“No, go back to sleep,” he mumbled.

Mrs. Privet lay back in her warm bed, trusting in her husband’s reassuring words.

Clump, clump, clump; Mrs. Privet heard the sound of heavy footsteps downstairs, tramping across

her polished floorboards, knocking things over, breaking things, in their search for the troublesome

girl Harry.

Prodding her husband, she said, “Laurel, there is someone downstairs, I am sure of it!”

“I already told you,” he mumbled, “there’s no one down there. Now go to sleep.” And with those

words Mr Privet fell asleep once again.

There was another clump, a much louder one this time, like the sound a television set would make

if tossed into the corner of a room. Prodding her husband again and much harder this time, Mrs.

Privet insisted that there was someone below.

“It’s probably Harry, getting up early, to make another one of her radios,” Mr Privet mumbled

sleepily.

“LAUREL, GET UP!” his wife hissed, hoping that the house invaders might hear, and thus go.

He got up. Mr. Privet finally got out from his bed and, after putting on his dressing gown and

slippers he sleepily opened the bedroom door. He jumped back in fright! A bearded cross-

looking man in long robes, staring in at him, was wielding a small stick in a most threatening

manner.

“I say, that’s not cricket,” said Mr. Privet, eying the small stick with some suspicion.

Despite the stick being so small, the man continued to wave it in a most threateningly manner.

Then pushing Mr. Privet into the bedroom with it, he watched blankly as he fell clumsily onto the

bed – and his wife.

“My,” said Mrs. Privet, her eyes opening with excitement, “and it’s not even Sunday.”

“Stop that, woman,” he scolded. “We have a problem.”

Opening her eyes, Mrs. Privet saw the man standing over her, and she screamed with fright.

“They’ve got mum and dad,” Box yelled. “I’ve got to go up and help them!”

The flying carpet, which had been circling overhead, suddenly changed course and began

DESCENDING.

“Now see what you’ve done,” Harry hissed.

“What I’ve done? How did you work that out?”

There were no more screams heard from the Privet’s household, Mrs. Privet and her husband,

having been tied up and gagged by the bearded men, were in no position to do anything.

Having had a bad experience with a wand many years earlier, Mr. Privet now hated them. He was

convinced they were detrimental to one’s health. Staring despairingly at the two men, he would

have kicked himself if he had been able, having failed miserably to recognise the stick for what it

really was – a magical wand, albeit a very one.

While keeping an eye fixed firmly on the flying carpet that was still descending, Harry said,

“We’ve only got a minute, at best. We must leave NOW.” She began dragging the carpet from

under the rhubarb, across to a clear bit of lawn.

“We can’t just leave them,” said Box, fretting for his parents. “We must be able to do something.”

“Well,” Harry mused, mulling it over. “I suppose we could use my new wand…considering we’re

now leaving.” She watched as the carpet continued to lose height.

“Use it then, USE IT,” Box pleaded.

“All right, but get on the carpet, like me,” she said, sitting cross-legged upon the frayed article.

It was a struggle for Box, having such long legs, but in the end he managed to sit behind his

troublesome cousin.

“Now what?” he asked, listening for any signs of life from his home. There were still none.

“Just a few words should do it,” Harry whispered.

“Say them, SAY THEM!”

Producing her newfangled electro magical wand, Harry waved it from left to right and then left

again, and she said; “Loosen up the cords that tie, free those souls from binds so tight.”

“Is that it? No flames or floods or pestilence, just a few words?” Box asked, brutally disappointed

with the performance.

“It’s best that way,” she said. Then with another wave of her wand, she said, “Up, up and away.”

With those few words having been said, the threadbare old carpel began trembling, shaking and

quivering before speeding off at a terrific rate of knots heading straight for the smashed in back

door of the house.

“What are you doing?” Box yelled.

“Hold on,” she shouted, “it’s been a while since I used one of these...”

“A while? How long is a while?”

“Like – never?” she coyly admitted.

The man descending on his carpet, spotting the commotion, set off after them in hot pursuit.

Bursting in through the doorway, the magical carpet, with Harry and Box sitting cross-legged atop,

shot through the kitchen at breakneck speed, then down the hallway as equally fast before

smashing through the front door and out into the garden. The old wooden door was shattered to

pieces, with splinters flying about everywhere.

Seeing the man on his carpet, fast approaching them, Box yelled, “Go in, go back in!”

Steering the carpet like crazy, Harry guided it back into the house. It whizzed through to the

debris-strewn sitting room giving them the ride of their lives, as the pursuing carpet with its

bearded and angry rider followed in hot pursuit.

Speeding out from the sitting room Harry turned her carpet a sharp right, into the front room, the

room where Mrs Privet’s beloved hand-painted fine bone china resided.

In a blaze of anger, the bearded man who was now wielding a sword, followed closely behind

steering his carpet into the small room.

As each carpet vied for supremacy, turning round and round upon themselves, they did as much

damage, if not more, than the two bearded men had perpetrated in the rest of the house. With

growing dexterity Harry guided their carpet safely out from the room, just as the other one collided

with the cabinet containing Mrs Privet’s precious china, smashing it to pieces, and knocking the

man out in the process. Without a second, Harry steered her carpet up the stairs so fast the two

cousins almost slid off in fright.

On reaching the landing, the magical carpet smashed through the door of the bedroom, sending

splinters of wood in all directions, then colliding head-on with the two men lurking inside it

knocked them out – cold.

Seeing his father still alive, freeing himself from his binds and spitting out his gag, Box yelled, “Dad,

are you all right?”

Giggling,” his father replied, “Hmm, another one of Harry’s radios blowing up, if I’m not

mistaking. Yes, yes, those radios can be dangerous things, hee, hee.”

Turning to Harry, Box asked, “What’s wrong with him?”

“Shock, seen it before – in Hagswords…”

Turning to his wife, helping to free her hands, Mr. Privet said, “Come on, dear, I think the vicar’s

coming to tea this evening, and you promised to make him some of your special scones, hee, hee.”

His wife, however, said nothing; she just sat on the floor, her eyes glazed over, listening to strange

voices inside her head, telling her that everything was going to be all right, but only if she kept on

listening to them…

Harry Potter? No, silly, it's Harry ROTTER

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© Gerrard T Wilson 2008