Jude Porter and the Next Generation

Jude Porter was a odd child. He never had any friends. He didn't have parents; not that he could remember anyway. He spent his days by himself, wondering when his life was going to get better. He would wish, and wish, and wish, but nothing good ever came out of just wishing.

Jude lived with a man named Piers Polkiss. He never liked him really. The man only took him in because he thought he'd get more money if he had a child with him. The man didn't take care of him, he didn't feed him, and he didn't even really notice he was there most of the time.

Jude thought he was lucky. He was only two years old when he lost his parents. Apparently it was a fire that killed them and burned down his house. It explained the burn scars on the majority of his back, ending on the back of his neck. His other family members probably thought he was dead, that's why they never came to find him.

There were some things Jude couldn't explain about himself though. Like when Piers would cut his hair, leaving many bald spots, it always remained the same the next day. When Piers would appear drunkenly at his door, trying in vain to open it, it was always locked even if Jude was asleep. When Jude realized his eye sight was going south, he knew he couldn't ask Piers for glasses. Thick framed glasses appeared by his bedside the next morning for him. Fortunately, Piers didn't question it. Whenever it would pour rain or snow would cover the entire house, Jude was never cold. He was always warm. He didn't know how to explain it.

…

"Porter!" Piers called to the sleeping boy, "Oi, Porter!"

Jude sat up, rubbing his eyes, "What, Piers?" The 11 year old had spent last night trying to get Piers to go to sleep after he came home drunk. Again. For the 5th time that week. It was only Wednesday.

"I thought I said to grab the mail," Piers yelled through the shut door. "That's your one job. I would expect you to do it."

Jude rolled his eyes, grabbing his badly taped glasses and put them over his tired blue eyes. He ran a hand through his messy black hair and walked out the door. He walked past Piers, dodging his hand, and walked outside. His ratty clothes were no help against the sharp wind, but he wasn't cold.

He flipped through the papers, not very intent on reading them. He never got mail. Even the mail from school was addressed to Piers.

One of them caught his eyes. He blinked confusedly. It read, Mr. Jude G. Porter, the small bedroom under the hole in the roof. It said the address and everything.

"What've you got, Porter?" Piers grabbed the mail, putting his hand on the distracted boy's head and pushing him away, "What's this, eh? Someone finally wants to talk to you."

"Give it back," Jude commanded quietly.

Piers chuckled, ripping the letter open. As he read it, Jude could see the anger growing in his eyes. He threw the letter on the table, glaring at the boy, "What's this now, Porter? You been sending letters to this school?"

"What? No," Jude shook his head quickly. "I don't know what it is. I just got it today."

"You're a freak," He gripped the boy's hair, growling in his face, "Just like Potter and his family. Just a bunch of freaks."

Jude could feel the sting of pain from where his hair was being roughly handled. He tried not to be intimidated by the older male, "Why are you so mad? If you let me go to the school, you'll never have to see me again."

"Yeah, you'd like that wouldn't you?" Piers threw him to the floor, putting his foot on his back. "Well guess what, boy. I'm not letting you have your way."

He kicked him in the stomach. Jude wheezed, holding his stomach. He crawled painfully towards the living room in hopes to get away.

Piers grunted, flipping the boy over easily. He gripped his chin tightly, "You will not be going to that school, you hear me? I will not house a freak." He punched him in the face causing the younger male's nose to bleed over the floor. His glasses cracked under the man's hand as well.

"Leave me..." Jude felt something roar in his chest. "Alone!"

The fireplace burst to life, striking Piers in the face. While he was distracted, Jude got up, limping to the kitchen and grabbed the mail. He could hear Piers as he ran out, "PORTER! DON'T BOTHER COMING BACK!"

Jude wasn't going back even if his life depended on it. He was sure of it.

…

He didn't know how far he walked. He didn't even remember walking. He didn't remember anything other than running out of the house and never looking back. He licked his chapped lips, clutching his letter tightly.

He sat down on the cold ground, coughing roughly. The door opened to the place he was leaning against and a burly man exited. He belched before he turned to Jude, "Ay lad, what are you doing here?"

Jude gestured to his dry throat, indicating his thirst. The burly man chuckled, "You're lucky you stopped by the Leaky Cauldron. Mrs. Longbottom will give you something to drink." He helped the dark haired boy up and ushered him inside the pub.

Jude breathed deeply, taking in the warm air that soothed his throat, "Oi, Longbottom."

The blonde woman at the bar glanced up at him questioningly. When she noticed the young boy by his side looking worse for wear, she rushed to his side. She shooed the elder male away, "Come here, dear. I'll get you something to wipe off the blood."

Jude furrowed his brow, putting a hand to his nose and could feel the stickiness of his blood. He grimaced before turning to the woman again, "Mrs. Longbottom," He croaked, his eyes watering from his dry throat working against him.

She smiled, "Call me Hannah, love." She gripped his chin softly and wiped the blood away from his nose with a wet wash cloth, "What happened here?"

"Bad man," Jude coughed roughly. "Was very mad because of the letter I got."

"Who gets mad over a letter?" Hannah asked incredulously.

"Said I was like Potter," Jude swallowed, showing her his letter. "Don't think I've ever met anyone with the name Potter though."

Hannah took the letter, gazing in awe at it, "I remember getting this when I was your age." She glanced at him with a smile, "You're a wizard?"

"A what?" He asked before going into a coughing fit. He took the glass of water Hannah gave him gratefully. He took a large drink before addressing her again, "A wizard? I don't think so."

"Are your parents wizards?"

Jude shrugged, "I don't know. My parents died in a fire when I was 2 years old."

"I'm sorry to hear that," Hannah said sincerely. "My husband's parents went through something very traumatic. He had to live with his gran."

"I wish I could live with my gran," Jude mumbled. "I don't know anyone from my family. No cousins, aunts, uncles. Nothing." He gazed up at the woman, "Are you a wizard? Is that how you know about this school?"

Hannah smiled, "Yes, I am a wizard. I was the graduating class of '98. It was hard going back after the wizarding war."

"There was a war at the school?" Jude inquired in disbelief. "Wow, I didn't know that. That's a bit scary, don't you think?"

"It was," Hannah said solemnly. "We lost a lot of friends and family that day to dark wizards."

"That's completely mental," Jude shook his head. "You think I'm a wizard though?"

Hannah gestured to the letter, "Only wizards get those letters to Hogwarts. I think you'll like it. You get sorted into houses, you get to have such a great feast for breakfast, lunch, and supper, you get to play the greatest sport; quidditch. It's all very cool. Watch." She brought out her wand, tapping Jude's broken glasses, "Oculus repairo."

The glasses were brought back to tip top shape. "Wow," Jude breathed, entranced. Hannah chuckled and continued to tell him the wonders of the wizarding world and Hogwarts.