Chapter 1
Death of Harry Potter
Harry Potter was smiling as he waited for the stairs to come back so he could continue his way down to the Great Hall so he could eat dinner with his classmates. He had just finished his homework that was due the next week so his weekend was free. He didn't want to put off his homework until it was too late for him to finish it like Dudley had done all the time. He didn't know if they would kick him out for not doing his homework and he didn't want to find out either.
It was the end of his very first week at Hogwarts and he was the happiest that he had ever been in his entire life. There were no beatings like Uncle Vernon had given him on a daily basis back on Privet Drive. There were no screamed insults or slaps that Aunt Petunia had frequently given him back in Number Four. There was no bullying or beatings from his dorm mates or fellow school mates like Dudley and his friends had given him back at his elementary school. He didn't have to cook or clean or do any chores like back at his relative's home. He could eat, bathe, play, relax and sleep whenever he wished on a regular basis. To the eleven year old Harry Potter, this was heaven with the extreme luxury of having actual friends.
That was the one thing that Harry had thought that he would never get to experience in his entire life. He had never thought that he would ever experience the joy of having a friend, much less more than one friend. That was another reason why he had done his homework early so that if Ron, Dean, Seamus, or/and Neville wanted to do something this weekend, he could do it and not risk ruining his freshly made friendship, which was one of the very last things that he wanted to do, or get sent back to Privet Drive for another one of Uncle Vernon's beatings. He had discovered the joys of friendship and luxury and he didn't want to lose it before he really got to experience it.
Harry felt something make contact with with his back and he found himself moving forwards. The staircases had yet to realine themselves, so a sensation of falling invaded him, filling him up to the brim. He was filled so much by the sensation of falling that there was no more room for him to feel anything else. He couldn't even feel fear, for he was plummeting from the fifth floor all the way to the ground floor. Instinctually and intelligently, Harry Potter knew that he was going to die when he fell past the second floor.
Oddly enough, Harry didn't scream or even try, nor did he even think of screaming in the very least. He didn't think about how impending death, or of his relatives, or of his new found friends. He thought about none of this.
As he plummeted past the second floor, Harry smiled and closed his eyes. His school bag was torn from him and fell slower than he because it opened and air caught it, making it jerk upwards at the sudden resistance. One of his shoes was torn away, having been clumsily tied earlier.
To Harry, everything was spectacularly silent. He couldn't hear the air as it whizzed by, nor could he feel it whipping at his clothes and hair. He didn't feel his thickm, round, too large glasses that his relatives reluctantly bought for him, be torn away from the foreful wind. He didn't hear the portraits screaming in horror as they watched him fall fast. He didn't hear some of them screaming in horror as others kept their wits about them and screamed for help, scream for prefects and teachers to come save the plummeting boy, the plummeting first year.
As Harry flew past the second floor, he spread out in an eagle stule, ignoring his tie as it flew loose from his sloppily tied knot that he had tied that morning. He mouthed four silent world that went unheard by any and every thing and one as the paintings were still screaming so loudly.
The, his stunning green eyes snapped upen. His vibrant green eyes filled with excitement. Excitement at what was to come. Those excited green gems drank in the sight of the too fast approaching floor.
The screams continued on even as he quit falling.
Papers fluttered through the air, feathered quills floated down. Ink bottles shattered on the floor around him, the ink bleeding out in unusual designs as a crimson liquid did the same. Text books slapped the floor angrily and a tennis shoe landed and bounced twice before lying still amongst some black ink that was mingling with crimson liquid. A pair of glasses shattered and a tie fluttered down like the lonely piece of cloth that it was.
The screams continued on as papers and quills continued to float down from the fifth floor.
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