Potter of Potter's
Harry Potter. 14 years old going onto 15. Due to start his 5th year at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry and he was tired. Not just tired but tired. The nightmares from the disastrous Third Task of the Triwizard Tournament that had occurred the previous year played back like an endless loop every time he closed his eyes. The resultant nightmares alongside the stress that accumulates every year that he spends in his relatives home ensured that he barely got 2 or 3 hours of sleep each night.
It had been two weeks already and he had heard nothing from his so called friends who had not sent so much as 'are you ok?'. He had received mail from them but for all the information that he wanted to know it had as much use as kindling in that regard.
'We're fine and happy and together and everything is dandy.' That was what Harry had gotten from the letters, albeit not in those exact words, but his feelings remained the same. Bitter and angry that he was being kept away from everything, like nothing had ever changed. His emerald green eyes dulled with hurt but that could have been the punch to his stomach from his cousin as he tried to help one of the younger children who were being terrorised by him and his gang.
Harry had finished his chores early and merely told his aunt that he was going to be out and that he would be back later. Jaded to his relatives presence, he took no notice at the slightly concerned look his aunt had sent him, not that he would have recognised it on her face anyway. Concern was something he had never and probably would not receive in that household.
Harry wandered around Little Whinging in the afternoon heat, with no water and no shade and was starting to feel slightly dizzy. Of course, with his pain tolerance from the 10 years of bullying and 3 further years of crazy adventures at school, Harry's slightly was unbearable to anyone else.
He finally collapsed outside a recently opened store that sold ceramics. This store was remarkably different to its usual counterparts in that it didn't sell the usual plain white ceramics but rather it etched symbols and painted pictures and sold them as decorative pieces at moderate prices.
The owner, a honey gold haired lady, with a bright smile saw him collapse and rushed out from behind her counter where she had been taking a break from one of her latest pieces.
"Are you alright? What am I talking about, you just collapsed of course you aren't alright..."
The lady rambled on even while going through the motions of checking if he was alright. Steady pulse, shallow breathing and a high fever were some of the things that she found but she relaxed since she was reasonably sure that he wasn't dying and looked around to see if anyone was around.
Seeing that the street was empty due to the heavy shine of the sun, the lady stood up and whispered something before picking up Harry by his shoulders and dragging him bodily into the store where she dumped him onto a couch that she kept for customers who wanted to purchase something before going back to resume her work.
Harry woke up with a groan as he came to on an unfamiliar couch in a place that he didn't recognise. He looked around and saw racks and cupboards and tables all covered in plates and vases and things he had no idea about. As his eyes panned the room and came to a sight that took his breath away.
The lady was sitting there, back to him, as she was spinning some clay into a vase with the sun shining on her at an angle, lighting up her hair and making it shine. Her voice was humming a tune that he didn't recognise but it didn't detract the beauty from the scene. He slowly made his way over to her, coming in at an angle to take in everything that she was doing.
He was breathless when he stopped, a meter or so away from the lady and her table, eyes captivated by the beauty at the table. When she looked up and saw his gaze, her face blushed slightly and she eased up the pressure on the pedal, slowing the wheel and ensuring that she didn't mess up and ruin the piece that she was working on.
Assuming that the gaze in Harry's eyes were for her, her own eyes travelled down and like what she saw even as she scolded herself. He was lean and muscled in a similar way, all from use and not from bodybuilding. His face was sharp but with the slightest of curves. Bright viridian eyes shone in the light and seemed to sparkle like gemstones. Messy black hair that looked barely tamed yet attractive.
"Like what you see?" She asked as she put on what she figured was a cheeky smile in an attempt to flirt.
"Yes..." Harry breathed out, his eyes still focused on the lady and more importantly, the wheel. He had never felt like this before. The curves. The shine. The very figure that stared back at him, as if taunting him to lay his hands on her.
"Is that so?" The lady's voice took on a deeper and more predatory tone as she slowly moved closer to him, moving her hips from side to side as she approached him.
Harry made a vague noise that seemed to justify her actions to her as she entered his personal space.
"Would you like to see more?" She breathed into his ear, making him shudder for a reason that was entirely different to what she thought.
"YES!" He blurted out, excited at the possibility to see her in her natural form. He followed her into her workroom when she took him by the hand and froze when he looked around. What he was staring at made him feel as if he had been missing out on something his entire life.
His gaze panned the newly entered room with a ferocity that could have been mistaken for the dragon that he had flown against last year. Shelves and shelves of finished and partly finished pieces surrounded the room. They seemed to gaze into his very soul and begged him to look at them. Vases of all shapes and sizes, in different shades of primary colours. Plates with creatures that seemed to stare back and wait for him to make a mistake before they pounce. Pots that practically begged for dirt and soil to be dumped inside it. A semi-naked woman who seemed to be finally catching on to what was actually happening and sporting a full body blush.
Harry was so entranced by the art that stood before him that he didn't notice the woman getting redressed and stuttering about how she wasn't a bad person and that she didn't want to go to gaol for seducing a minor. He didn't pay any attention to the woman until she shook him almost violently, practically screaming about what she could do to make sure that he wouldn't report her.
"Can you teach me?" He finally requested, very quietly, almost as if he was afraid of getting laughed at.
"Is that all? Are you sure?" She replied quickly, seeing this as a very successful deal as she had been thinking about teaching classes anyway and figured this could be a trial run.
"Yes!" Harry replied firmly. He was going to take these lessons very seriously and he was going to live up to his name. He was going to be the Potter of Potters.