A ficlet and me being a fool...

[apolla]

In the space of half an hour I managed to spill hot chocolate over my jeans, start to restring my guitar (something I've never done without a guitar teacher helping before) and then lose one of the smallest but most important parts of said guitar.

I don't know how, but the screw holding in the cog of the first string's tuning thing (i don't know the name, but the bit at the top that you turn to tune it) came out. I didn't notice and I can't find it anywhere. This means, in short, that my guitar is fucked until I can find a replacement. Hell, it might just be fucked. At the least, I can't play until I a: find the tiny screw in my hole of a room or b: on Monday if I get help at a little music shop there is in town. *sobs loudly*

While I'm on the computer, the TV is on in the background, and it's the Chelsea Flower Show thing. I glanced over in time to see a montage of Famous People turning up: Esther Ranzten, Lionel Blair, the Queen and... Ringo Starr! Imagine my surprise to see Richie turn up at the Chelsea Flower show- I thought George was the gardener of the Beatles. He looks well though (Ringo, not George, obviously), so that's good.

And I have another ficlet for you all! I came up with this while writing character memes for HP and the Daoimear de Dan, inspired by liss1224.

And before I forget: Big Hug to lozzy_girl.



Cupboard Conversations

Harry Potter was six years old, had green eyes, raven hair and slept in a cupboard. His aunt Petunia and uncle Vernon made him sleep in the cupboard under the stairs because he was odd. He didn't think he was especially odd, but they were grown-ups and obviously knew better than him.

Every night, Harry scrambled into his cupboard, glad for the peace and quiet that descended upon the house when his aunt, uncle and horrid cousin Dudley were asleep. Tonight, he waited until he heard all the lights go off and his uncle get into bed upstairs. He sat up.

"Hello Daddy," he whispered. "I made a model of a car at school today."

"Did you Harry? What colour was it?"

"It was red. Miss Evans said it was one of the best in the class."

"That's good to hear, Harry. I hope you're behaving at school."

"I do behave, Daddy."

"That makes you the opposite of your father then, Harry."

"Hello Mummy."

"Hello darling. Your father was dreadfully badly behaved when he was at school. I hope you're not."

Harry giggled at the idea of his dad misbehaving at school. "I'm a good boy, Mummy. Even for auntie Petunia."

"Good boy. What else have you been up to?"

"We did running yesterday. I came second."

"Second? That's wonderful, Harry!"

"And we played games in the hall and my team beat Dudley's team at most of the games and I got given a lollipop by Miss Evans but Dudley stole it away saying that he should have it and-"

"Calm down Harry, you need to breathe sometimes."

"Yes Daddy."

"Dudley stole your lollipop, did he? What flavour was it?"

"It was lemon flavoured, Daddy."

"Oh, well that's all right then. Lemon lollipops aren't very nice. I think Dudley did you a favour."

Harry laughed again. His dad was funny.

"Daddy, tell me all about the flying motorbike again."

"I think you should go to sleep, Harry."

"Mummy! Please let me hear the story!"

"Fine. But you mustn't get up late tomorrow."

"I promise, Mummy. Please, Daddy, tell me the story."

"Fine, fine. Once upon a time there was a little boy called Harry, and his godfather gave him a present."

"What was it?"

"It was a big, shiny motorbike. But it wasn't just any old motorbike, this one was very, very special. This motorbike could fly."

"Really? It could fly?"

"Yes Harry. The little boy's godfather had put a magic spell on the motorbike so that if he wanted, he could make it fly."

"And he gave it to the little boy?"

"Yes he did. He said that the little boy deserved the bike for being a good boy and for beating his mean cousin Dudley at games."

*

Petunia Dursley couldn't sleep. It was too hot, she decided. She got out of bed, not bothering to be too quiet- Vernon could sleep through an air raid. She went downstairs, remembering to at least try and be quiet for Harry's benefit. She headed into the kitchen and got herself a glass of water. She was about to head back up the stairs when she heard Harry's quiet voice.

"Mummy, Miss Evans told me that I was the best in my whole class at spelling today because I got the most marks in a spelling test. She said that I was a special little boy."

Petunia felt rather weak. Was Harry talking to himself?

"Really Mummy, you think I'm special too? Auntie Petunia just thinks I'm odd, she doesn't think I'm special at all."

Petunia felt the blood drain from her face as she heard the little boy talking. Part of her truly wished that the boy in the cupboard was really talking to his mother, but the rational, normal side of her told her that this was impossible. Lily Potter was dead, and there was nothing she could do about it and certainly nothing she could do to make things right.

"Daddy, tell me the story about the little prince who saved the world. Oh please! I'm not tired at all!"

Petunia sighed sadly, wishing that a great many things in life were different. She knew she should tell Harry off, and tell him that he was being odd or bad. She knew she should probably smack him or make him go without breakfast in the morning. She couldn't, not this time.

"Harry!" she whispered firmly, but not without kindness, "Be quiet and go to sleep!"

Without another word, she headed up the stairs, leaving a little boy in a cupboard wondering why his aunt hadn't been meaner to him.

The End.

As VampWillow once said: Questions? Comments?

Comments

Re:

[apolla.livejournal.com]

Me too- my fingers are itching. Glad you liked the ficlet, an' all.

Thanks,

Clare.