Chapter 2 - Ten Years Later (1/2)

A boy about eleven years of age was sitting on top of a bed holding a book. His crimson eyes danced like fire as they read line after line and his lips curved downwards ever so slightly creating a small frown. His raven black hair would dance every time the oscillating fan faced his way.

All around him were books of a variety of thickness. From thick ones to thin ones, hardcover to paperback, and books with pictures to empty journals. They spilled into his bed and covered his table. Even the light from the window was almost nearly blocked due to a stack a books.

The boy had just about finished his book when a voice called his name from downstairs.

”Arthur, breakfast is ready.”

The boy took no notice of the voice and proceeded to flip through the last few pages that remained in the book. Once he had finished, the boy placed the book on his bedside table and stretched his arms.

”Arthur, your plate is getting cold.”

”Coming mom,” said Arth as he got up from his bed and walked out the door.

The house he was living in was a small but homely place. A living room, dining room, and kitchen with a master bedroom on the lower floor, two rooms, a bedroom and guest room, on the second floor. They had two bathrooms, one downstairs and one upstairs.

It seemed like a normal house at first, however, the real magic was kept in the bas.e.m.e.nt.

Arth poked his head through the kitchen door and searched for his mother. A pot of potato soup was stirring itself with a wooden spoon while a sponge was furiously washing the dishes in the sink. His mother was at the oven taking out a tray of bacon.

”Good morning Mom.”

”Good morning Arthur, did you finish your book?”

”Yes, it was quite interesting.”

His mother let out a smile before feeding him a strip of bacon. Arth excepted it without complaint.

”Mmmm, this is good.”

”There is more for you to eat at the table,” said his mother after waving her wand, causing the bacon strips to float onto a plate. ”Can you do your mother a favor and call your Father up to eat? I swear he loves working more than he loves me.”

”Kay.”

Arth closed the door and made his way down to the bas.e.m.e.nt. He knocked thrice before entering. His bas.e.m.e.nt was unnaturally large when compared with the other rooms in the house. As a matter of fact, it was unnaturally large when compared with the entire house. It was as if someone had stretched the room to be bigger than it was.

An cozy looking fireplace sat on the opposite side of the room, emerald flames flickering here and there. A bunch of maps decorated the walls of the room, with circles and arrows pointing from here and there. On the tables were newspapers of all sorts; New York Times, the Times, odd magazines, the Quibbler, and the daily prophet. At one of the tables was his father, calmly writing a letter.

His father looked up from his letter and noticed Arth. He let loose a warm smile.

”How's it going Arth? Is it time for breakfast?”

”Yep.”

”We better hurry up then before your mother gets angry then.”