Categories > Movies > Harry Potter > A Professor's Apprentice
The clock's hand pointed to one as the hustle of the previous night quietened down.
Streetlights emitted weak yellow light, filtering through the littered tarmac streets and alleys. Adding to the quiet of the early morning.
A distant swish-swishing was the only noise, coming from a single street cleaner who patrolled the local pubs and inns. But even then, the tired worker had other places be and left the now cleaner streets of the city in silence once again.
*
The silence wasn't eerie to Pierre, nor was it calming. As he lay on his sleeping bag, staring at the ink-black sky, he could only feel cold. Feeling cold not by the silence but by the fact that as the sun's rays filtered through the city, he knew he would have to leave or face a very pissed off muggle.
This muggle he didn't want to face was Mr Barnes, a devoted shop owner who hated the homeless who slept(or tried to) under his hardware store's roof. Pierre never knew why the bald man hated the homeless so much and why he considered them pests and didn't actually care for others like actual humans. Sighing, the brunette knew that he should move away from the store. As much as he wanted to sleep, he didn't want to wake up with a leather sandal in his face.
Pierre surveyed the dim-lit street. Making sure no muggles were in the area, the Frenchman shrank his sleeping bag with a quick 'Reducio', dropping the saggy, condensed material into his old rucksack. His sleeping mat was rolled up and also shrunk, fitting nicely in the brown bag as well. He hefted the bag onto his back, slowly trudging away from any hope of Mr Barnes' bald head waking him at five in the morning with a boot up the backside.
The young man walked down the deserted streets.
Woo-Woo-Woo-Woo-
Parked up tightly beside the street, a car's alarm randomly went off.
This scared the sh*t out Pierre for a brief second---But he wasn't scared...
True, the roadsides and street ways were clean but it didn't make it less nerving walking alone in the pitch black, early hours. The quiet never scared him, just what was lurking under the quiet.
Staring into a dark alleyway, heart pierced with a fear of the unknowns in the dark, Pierre would have sworn he saw a light flicker on and off, as if in a kind of dance. A small light of hope brightened his face as his eyes squinted deep into the pitch black. Then a voice erased the tiniest spark of hope he had by speaking up.
"Hey, what you looking at?" The shadowed man asked roughly, casting his flashlight over the teen, blinding him temporarily for a millisecond. The hazel eyed youth quickly turned his head back on the street he has walking and wandered forwards, looking at the ground.
'Yeah right... I hardly doubt any Professor cares about me. Not even McGonagall.' Sighing, the boy pulled up his hood as minuscule droplets formed on his (slightly)greasy hair. 'Anyway, Its been three years. Students have come and gone, McGonagall wouldn't have noticed a little french Hufflepuff disappear...' He kept on walking, thinking about the life he left behind.
*
Pierre's long legs took him all around the city until the sun's orange face rose among the blue sky. Turning corner and peering at an old antique clock hanging outside a petite coffee shop, the clocks arms read: five minuets past six. Jogging past the halal butchers and the fish and chippy, the boy entered the park. The grassy area was derelict apart from two suspicious lads who stood hands down around the little blue and red slide.
He parked himself onto a metal bench, the cool bars dug against his skinny butt as he fished his old Hogwarts notebook from a hidden pocket inside his coat. As his olive skin touched the worn pages a sudden burst of reasureance overcamr him. He worried most days that he would misplace the most precious item he owned, sure it was a roughly three-ish yer old notebook, a buch of paper glued together, but it reminded him of all the things he left behind.
Minuscule embellishments in gel pen and fine black marker showed his eye for detail, even back then. Looking the least bit menacing as the first time he drew her, Bonnie the Badger stood mift upon a roughly sketched pile of books that were obviously just drawn this week by Pip. Pip found all types of sneaky ways to add details to Bonnie and even once drew a mini comic of an adventure staring the self-proclaimed grumpy badger.She was thrilled with it. And if you flipped to the back page, the mini comic was presented there proudly, surrounded by a neon blue border and little ink embroidery.
Twig-like fingers, chapped and mildy bruised, traced lines back over his early teen notes. Most included a trail of smudged ink, for his younger self was not used to writing with a quill nor writing the English language. Its complex tendencies of grammar and punctuation tripped him up over many essays. His memories were blurred as he tried to remember his first divination class, in where he suddenly recalled his embarrassment on asking a minor question to the stern looking professor.
-"Professor McGonagall, can I talk to you for a bit?" He remembered asking, his French accent thicker due to his obvious fear of the strict looking professor McGonnagall. Hovering around his desk, his gaze shooting looks everywhere except the teacher in front of him.
"Of course, Mister Fournier, how can I help?"-
...
-"Yes, it does seem that your grammar, punctuation and spelling is off on nearly all of your homework."-
Pierre gripped the treasured notebook harder, smiling as his eyes landed on a messy, scribbled note crammed on the side of the margin that read:
'English lessons-4.30-5.30 all days except mon, sat, sun DON'T BE LATE!!'
-"It seems that you're writing as how you hear it...Professor Snape tells me that your reading needs to be looked at before the end of the week. I fear he'd go mad otherwise-"-
The young Frenchman traced the ink scribbles, remembering his time at Hogwarts...All the times he could have told the staff of his situation with the minstry...
The possible outcomes that could have grown out from a seed of truth.
...He certainly would not be here now..
But in some sense these thoughts comforted the young ex-Hogwarts student. For he would never have met such friends if he'd only stayed in the magical areas of the world. Not all muggles were as evil as the stereotype Slytherins said and neither is a squib who's just trying to get along with life like everyone else. Heck, it's not just non-magic folk who live in non magical areas, Pip was a Pureblood that lived near Saundersfoot, Wales. She stayed out of the magical world, not because she had to like Pierre but because she wanted to. Pip liked the peace and quiet, the distant thrum of magic that didn't explode your ears.
Just thinking about his friends made his head look up from it's slanted position in reminiscing and pluck his small Nokia brick phone from out of his brown bag's side zip. Jabbing the buttons precisely while taking in the view of the early mornings blue haze of sky, he flung said bag over one slender shoulder and took long strides away from the bench. Seeking privacy from the two men who still hung around the park, smoking cigarettes while pasting the used ones into the tarmac and soil.
Huffing as the block of a phone ringed, Pierre wondered if calling her was such a good idea...His doubts and mental thoughts were stopped though. For as the phone picked up on the other end a knackered voice filled the french man's ears. Most of what she said was "Why the hell are you ringing me know?" and " The spare keys are inside the letterbox."But most that was said was deffinatley "I'm trying to sleep" in more colourful words that I would rather not highlight on.
Yet as she spoke, the girl's sincerity was obviously there, for she cared for the french boy...Even if he rang her at flippin' six in the morning.
Understanding his friends ways of affection, the young brunette took the girls words as a yes to letting him stay for a while. He could do with a shower, the last he got was under a roof with a bar of soap two...five days ago.
The two men, who were previously smoking and stomping madly on the used cigarette butts, where gone. Olive coloured hands met metal bars as Pierre unlatched the park gate open, leaving it deserted behind in the ways of staying at a friends home.
"Let's just hope Pip isn't in one of her grumpy moods again" Pierre mumbled to himself as he treked down and into the main streets again, early shoppers already awake, minute trickles of them slowly filled the tarmac pathways as the early hours of the day started. Drawing in all people into the city for various reasons as the sun rose higher in the sky with every hour.
Streetlights emitted weak yellow light, filtering through the littered tarmac streets and alleys. Adding to the quiet of the early morning.
A distant swish-swishing was the only noise, coming from a single street cleaner who patrolled the local pubs and inns. But even then, the tired worker had other places be and left the now cleaner streets of the city in silence once again.
*
The silence wasn't eerie to Pierre, nor was it calming. As he lay on his sleeping bag, staring at the ink-black sky, he could only feel cold. Feeling cold not by the silence but by the fact that as the sun's rays filtered through the city, he knew he would have to leave or face a very pissed off muggle.
This muggle he didn't want to face was Mr Barnes, a devoted shop owner who hated the homeless who slept(or tried to) under his hardware store's roof. Pierre never knew why the bald man hated the homeless so much and why he considered them pests and didn't actually care for others like actual humans. Sighing, the brunette knew that he should move away from the store. As much as he wanted to sleep, he didn't want to wake up with a leather sandal in his face.
Pierre surveyed the dim-lit street. Making sure no muggles were in the area, the Frenchman shrank his sleeping bag with a quick 'Reducio', dropping the saggy, condensed material into his old rucksack. His sleeping mat was rolled up and also shrunk, fitting nicely in the brown bag as well. He hefted the bag onto his back, slowly trudging away from any hope of Mr Barnes' bald head waking him at five in the morning with a boot up the backside.
The young man walked down the deserted streets.
Woo-Woo-Woo-Woo-
Parked up tightly beside the street, a car's alarm randomly went off.
This scared the sh*t out Pierre for a brief second---But he wasn't scared...
True, the roadsides and street ways were clean but it didn't make it less nerving walking alone in the pitch black, early hours. The quiet never scared him, just what was lurking under the quiet.
Staring into a dark alleyway, heart pierced with a fear of the unknowns in the dark, Pierre would have sworn he saw a light flicker on and off, as if in a kind of dance. A small light of hope brightened his face as his eyes squinted deep into the pitch black. Then a voice erased the tiniest spark of hope he had by speaking up.
"Hey, what you looking at?" The shadowed man asked roughly, casting his flashlight over the teen, blinding him temporarily for a millisecond. The hazel eyed youth quickly turned his head back on the street he has walking and wandered forwards, looking at the ground.
'Yeah right... I hardly doubt any Professor cares about me. Not even McGonagall.' Sighing, the boy pulled up his hood as minuscule droplets formed on his (slightly)greasy hair. 'Anyway, Its been three years. Students have come and gone, McGonagall wouldn't have noticed a little french Hufflepuff disappear...' He kept on walking, thinking about the life he left behind.
*
Pierre's long legs took him all around the city until the sun's orange face rose among the blue sky. Turning corner and peering at an old antique clock hanging outside a petite coffee shop, the clocks arms read: five minuets past six. Jogging past the halal butchers and the fish and chippy, the boy entered the park. The grassy area was derelict apart from two suspicious lads who stood hands down around the little blue and red slide.
He parked himself onto a metal bench, the cool bars dug against his skinny butt as he fished his old Hogwarts notebook from a hidden pocket inside his coat. As his olive skin touched the worn pages a sudden burst of reasureance overcamr him. He worried most days that he would misplace the most precious item he owned, sure it was a roughly three-ish yer old notebook, a buch of paper glued together, but it reminded him of all the things he left behind.
Minuscule embellishments in gel pen and fine black marker showed his eye for detail, even back then. Looking the least bit menacing as the first time he drew her, Bonnie the Badger stood mift upon a roughly sketched pile of books that were obviously just drawn this week by Pip. Pip found all types of sneaky ways to add details to Bonnie and even once drew a mini comic of an adventure staring the self-proclaimed grumpy badger.She was thrilled with it. And if you flipped to the back page, the mini comic was presented there proudly, surrounded by a neon blue border and little ink embroidery.
Twig-like fingers, chapped and mildy bruised, traced lines back over his early teen notes. Most included a trail of smudged ink, for his younger self was not used to writing with a quill nor writing the English language. Its complex tendencies of grammar and punctuation tripped him up over many essays. His memories were blurred as he tried to remember his first divination class, in where he suddenly recalled his embarrassment on asking a minor question to the stern looking professor.
-"Professor McGonagall, can I talk to you for a bit?" He remembered asking, his French accent thicker due to his obvious fear of the strict looking professor McGonnagall. Hovering around his desk, his gaze shooting looks everywhere except the teacher in front of him.
"Of course, Mister Fournier, how can I help?"-
...
-"Yes, it does seem that your grammar, punctuation and spelling is off on nearly all of your homework."-
Pierre gripped the treasured notebook harder, smiling as his eyes landed on a messy, scribbled note crammed on the side of the margin that read:
'English lessons-4.30-5.30 all days except mon, sat, sun DON'T BE LATE!!'
-"It seems that you're writing as how you hear it...Professor Snape tells me that your reading needs to be looked at before the end of the week. I fear he'd go mad otherwise-"-
The young Frenchman traced the ink scribbles, remembering his time at Hogwarts...All the times he could have told the staff of his situation with the minstry...
The possible outcomes that could have grown out from a seed of truth.
...He certainly would not be here now..
But in some sense these thoughts comforted the young ex-Hogwarts student. For he would never have met such friends if he'd only stayed in the magical areas of the world. Not all muggles were as evil as the stereotype Slytherins said and neither is a squib who's just trying to get along with life like everyone else. Heck, it's not just non-magic folk who live in non magical areas, Pip was a Pureblood that lived near Saundersfoot, Wales. She stayed out of the magical world, not because she had to like Pierre but because she wanted to. Pip liked the peace and quiet, the distant thrum of magic that didn't explode your ears.
Just thinking about his friends made his head look up from it's slanted position in reminiscing and pluck his small Nokia brick phone from out of his brown bag's side zip. Jabbing the buttons precisely while taking in the view of the early mornings blue haze of sky, he flung said bag over one slender shoulder and took long strides away from the bench. Seeking privacy from the two men who still hung around the park, smoking cigarettes while pasting the used ones into the tarmac and soil.
Huffing as the block of a phone ringed, Pierre wondered if calling her was such a good idea...His doubts and mental thoughts were stopped though. For as the phone picked up on the other end a knackered voice filled the french man's ears. Most of what she said was "Why the hell are you ringing me know?" and " The spare keys are inside the letterbox."But most that was said was deffinatley "I'm trying to sleep" in more colourful words that I would rather not highlight on.
Yet as she spoke, the girl's sincerity was obviously there, for she cared for the french boy...Even if he rang her at flippin' six in the morning.
Understanding his friends ways of affection, the young brunette took the girls words as a yes to letting him stay for a while. He could do with a shower, the last he got was under a roof with a bar of soap two...five days ago.
The two men, who were previously smoking and stomping madly on the used cigarette butts, where gone. Olive coloured hands met metal bars as Pierre unlatched the park gate open, leaving it deserted behind in the ways of staying at a friends home.
"Let's just hope Pip isn't in one of her grumpy moods again" Pierre mumbled to himself as he treked down and into the main streets again, early shoppers already awake, minute trickles of them slowly filled the tarmac pathways as the early hours of the day started. Drawing in all people into the city for various reasons as the sun rose higher in the sky with every hour.
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