Introduction to Chaos
He wasn't smart, nor was he handsome. He was neither tall nor built. He was special in no easily seen way. Right now, he was staring at a lake. His reflection mocked him, and the tears on his reflection looked odd upon the liquid surface. He wasn't even strong in any way. More tears slid down his face. He was a stupid boy. That was all, and he knew it. It was because he had made a mistake, and his godfather was killed. His fingers slipped from his cheeks and touched the surface of the water, no deeper. As he moved forward, one of his messy bangs slid away from his face, showing the one special thing about him.
As he saw the lightning bolt scar's reflection, another tear fell in to the lake. This had a large affect on the lake, and ripples went farther and farther away, the ripples slowly thinning out, but it didn't matter. The scar was the reason for this whole mess to begin with. It ached now, and he rubbed absently with the palm of his hand. The figure's name was Harry Potter.
Time took a snapshot of this moment. He looked liked an angel who had fallen from grace. His messy black hair wasn't long, but wisps fell on his pallid face. His face was a dusky color, a light gold, but it lacked the burning color of life. His face was tilted downwards, his scar making him an enigma. His lips were opened slightly, and one could imagine a long scream pouring from his slightly opened lips. A tear was marking his face, and his body was arched above the pool. His fingers were above the surface of the liquid. Time unfroze.
Harry Potter woke up from an odd dream. He, like most people, could not remember his dreams vividly. He could only remember sadness ghostly tapping his shoulders. Harry yawned, stretching. He pushed away a few stray wisps of hair to feel something wet on his face. "What?" thought Harry, as he traced the cold liquid up his face. "Tears." He muttered as he realized.
This fifteen-year-old was dealing with Sirius' death in an odd way. He looked as his life before Sirius' death as a distant memory. Yes, he acknowledged it, but it was as if a different person had been at the ministry. A more trusting, innocent, yet foolhardy boy had come, while a sad, bitter man had left Dumbledore's office. This man knew he had to start conditioning himself for the upcoming battles. Yet, the man liked to be in nihility. It made him feel better, or that's what he always told himself.
So, this is the scene that the first act starts off in. Harry Potter is cooking the Dursleys' breakfast as usual, wearing dank clothes and slightly crooked glasses. Dudley is coming down the stairs, yawning, and sitting his large bottom down on a special chair that his parents bought especially for him to fit his bottom. Now, the action starts with a knock on the door. "Harry! Answer it!" Dudley said, almost whining. "Fine, but Dudley, you really need to start doing things for yourself. What if I died right now! How will you know the correct way to open the door without letting a burglar in!" "It's too early for this." "I'll get it, okay?"
Harry muttered under his breath as he stared through the peephole. A black guy with corn rowed hair was there, a basketball in hand. Harry winced. The guy had muscles, and seemed the athletic sort, the exact sort Harry wasn't. Sure, he played quidditch, but it was only because he loved to fly. Harry gulped. He didn't want to answer the door. The doorbell went off again, and Harry sighed, opening the door. "Are you Harry Potter?"
Harry heard a crack. Mundungus Fletcher was visible; he took out his wand and obliviated the guy and led him to another place. "Sorry there," muttered Mundungus. "Why did you do that?" "Harry, didn't you read the letters? You're not supposed to go outside?" "I'm not." "Please don't be difficult." Mundungus whined. Then his eyes widened. "Oh, I'm so sorry Harry! I mean, for a second there, I forgot about Sirius' dea—. Oh no! I didn't mean to say that! Harry! I meant," Harry cut Mundungus off by now. He was already angry about the obliviate, and now Mundungus completely botched up the conversation. "Don't ever do that again! Don't do that! That guy could've been my friend, and you obliviated him! You should be sentenced for that. There was no point of doing that! I really can't believe you! Are you drunk again?" Harry growled, as he shut the door on Fletcher's face and walked away to see the Dursleys'. "Boy." Vernon began, "Explain."
Harry fidgeted. There was no way he was going to get out of this one. He scratched his left hand's thumb as he thought about what to say. "Well...erm, a lot of wizards are patrolling this house and," Harry noticed Vernon's face becoming purple, "So you'll never have to worry about burglars again?" Harry shakily laughed. A lot of yelling went on that day, only to have Harry to lock himself in his room. Then Harry started a fire.