Shampoo147: Oh, this chapter has become my favorite.

Ayame: Not very surprising.

Shampoo147: Shut up!

Mittens: This is a far cry from what you made for the story before.

Shampoo147: I know.

Ayame: Well, then, let's shut up so they can read our story!

--
The Forgotten Child
When Harry was much younger, he had always wanted his parents to notice him. He had accepted that his parents hardly ever even so much as looked at him, but that didn't stop his childish dreams of them loving him.

This dream, however, had stopped and burned into ashes, like Charlie's teddy (1), on a remembered birthday.

"Colder than blue snow
Softer than a silky flow
Reality or illusion?
No one ever knows

Light or hateful care
True or merely fantasy
Deep or merely now?
No one ever knows

Whether it's true or false
Whether it really happens
Whether it's like golden dust
Or an ice from the far lands

No one . . . ever . . . knows"

The last line was whispered in a heartbroken tone.

In the dark corner of the room, unnoticeable unless you know what to look for, there was a small chair, with a small child occupying it. The boy was something you could easily look over, not very quaint, or flashy, like children tended to be in parties. For that's why he was here. There was a party.

The boy was, of course, Harry Potter, the forgotten child of the Potter's. Today was his brother's birthday, and that was why he was here. He wanted to see his brother, smiling true smiles, not the tissue thin fakes.

In this little corner, every year, Harry would sit, singing his little ditty over and over, always in the same heartbroken tone.

This year, however, this tradition would shatter, along with Harry's love for the outside world.

"Softer than a silky flow-"

"Excuse me?"

Harry looked up, half expecting to see someone talking to another person near his corner, never to him. So imagine his surprise when the man looked right at him and asked, "Are you Harry Potter?"

Unsure, but knowing it was impolite not to answer, Harry whispered, "Yes, yes, I am."

The man smiled and held out a small bag, no bigger than the man's fist, "Well then, Happy Birthday, Harry Potter."

Harry paused, shocked, but took the bag. A refused gift was an insult, after all.

He pulled the pretty red ribbon holding the bag closed, and saw what was inside the brown bag. It was full of chocolate favors, all muggle.

Harry looked up, still unsure, but politeness made him say, "Thank you, sir. You didn't have to do anything but wish my brother a happy birthday." For this was true.

The man frowned, and Harry caught stray emotions and thoughts.

'Really shouldn't have done this' guilt 'Will the parents get upset that I'm paying more attention to this kid than the boy-who-lived?' fear 'oh, no kid should ever think that, let alone say it!' and pity.

Harry was quick to shake off those thoughts, just in time to hear the man say, "Well, Harry. You're brother is the boy-who-lived, right?" Harry knew why he had bothered with him now, but politeness was still a priority, "Yes, sir."

"Well, I was hoping that you could introduce me to him, you know, as a favor" the man asked, shifting and regret coming off of him in bunches.

Harry looked at the man and said, in such an apathetic voice that the man jumped, "Well, sir, I love your gift, and I hold no grudge for you. But, even as the forgotten child, I don't like to be used." With this, Harry stood up with dignity, and swept out of the room, never looking back at the flabbergasted and ashamed man.

"The Forgotten Child." He whispered, knowing that the child wasn't even aware of the power in his words.

'The Forgotten Child' had stuck in the man's mind, and was always within an arms reach of thought.

That was last year, exactly a year from now, he recalled, for today he turned eight.

"Colder than blue snow
Softer than a silky flow
Reality or illusion?
No one ever knows

Light or hateful care
True or merely fantasy
Deep or merely now?
No one ever knows

Whether it's true or false
Whether it really happens
Whether it's like golden dust
Or an ice from the far lands

No one . . . ever . . . knows"

Harry tilted his head back and looked at the ceiling above his bed. Ever since then, he had lost all care, love, compassion, and moral for the outside world. With no one here to be with him, his heart only held his family. He had been planning ever since then, and he will start soon.

So soon, no mistake about that.)

Harry leaned his head forward and thought about his position, the words of his last birthday coming back to him.

He was the forgotten twin of the boy-who-lived.
He was the forgotten son of Lily and James Potter.
He was the forgotten brother of Rosy Potter.

He was the forgotten child, he thought, unmistakably apathetic.

--

Shampoo153: I am Catwoman.
Ayame: You wish.

Shampoo147: I do, in fact.

Mittens: (1) Charlie is a small girl who has pyrokinesis, taken from the story Firestarter, by Stephen King, one of Shampoo147's favorite stories. When she was a baby, she had set her teddy on fire and left it utterly charred.

Shampoo147: Please review.

HAPPY NEW YEAR!