Written for the HP Horror Fest on livejournal. See my livejournal (linked on my profile page) for more details.
The first time Harry's eyes catch the hand sneaking through the small opening of the barely open door, he convinces himself that he's imagining things. The hand is like nothing that he's ever seen before. It's blurred, darkened and it looks like a shadow, but he knows that there's no way it could be. The entire floor is supposed to be empty, and he has enough dark detectors that he's positive he'd know if somebody was inside. He watches the hand for a moment, his stomach rolling before he blinks, and just like that the hand is gone.
Even though Harry convinces himself that the hand is imaginary, he leaves the office almost immediately, not letting himself think about every other shadow that he's seen. Ever since… No. He stops himself abruptly. He doesn't think about it. Whenever he sees something like that, he shoves it to the back of his mind. It's not really there. It's a sign of overwork, stress, lack of sleep. He doesn't think about the fact that this is the first time the shadow has been defined. He doesn't want to think about the slender fingers, the darkened nails, the cold and darkness that accompanied it. As he leaves his office, he doesn't turn off the lights.
Harry goes home that night and kisses his son on the forehead, then stands and watches him for a while. A chill comes over him as he sees the shadow crossing the window, leaving a light frost where it passes, and he tells himself that it's not real. James shivers from the chill, and Harry pulls his blanket up over him a little higher, his eyes avoiding the window. With a choked laugh, he thinks about what his Uncle Vernon would think, and then he goes to bed because he knows that now he's much too tired.
As time goes on, Harry learns to ignore most of the shadows that he sees. Mostly, they continue to remain undefined. It's easy to imagine that they are just normal shadows or hallucinations or anything but the darkness that they appear to be. He doesn't say a word to anybody, but just spends time with his wife, son, friends, and family, and tries not to wonder whether Hermione's hair has always been so dark or whether he's drunk or Ginny's face is blurring slightly around the edges.
It's Christmas when things change and he can no longer pretend. They're all crowded in the Burrow, which is near to bursting with family and children and laughter. Their outdoor dinner had been short and they had all come in to sip hot cocoa and open presents in front of the fire. Harry shivers, sitting so far away from the warmth of the fire he can barely feel it. The youngest children go first, and Ginny sits with James in her lap as they open the first present from Molly and Arthur. One present from the grandparents for each grandchild before it becomes a free for all. Harry is smiling, proud of James, thinking about how his son is an even finer accomplishment than defeating Voldemort and he is only a few months old.
The figure is only there until Harry blinks, but he can't pretend it hadn't been standing in front of the fire. It had blocked the flickering flame and he stands up abruptly, taking a few steps, immediately gripping his nephew's shoulders (he can't even look down to figure out which nephew) to steady the child as Harry runs into him. The black shadow appears again, a few feet away from the fire, pointing towards the front entryway, and Harry's eyes are drawn to it.
It's as cold as if he's stepped inside of a ghost as he looks again, seeing the shadow even further towards the door. His head is spinning and his stomach is churning and he is tired, he tries to tell himself, but it sounds like a pitiful excuse even to his own ears. It is right in front of him and it's completely defined. It's clearly the shape of a human. "Harry!"
Harry jerks, hearing his wife's voice nearing hysteria, her hands firm on his shoulders, and he realizes that's what made him hear her. At her touch, the shadow disappears, its extended finger lingering for only a moment before it's gone as well. "What is it?" Harry looks over, hearing Hermione's soft, concerned voice but for a moment he doesn't even recognize it.
"I just… need some air. Excuse me." The words don't sound like his own and he nearly chokes as he gets them out, giving his wife a small smile, seeing the fear on her face as he knows it looks more like a grimace.
She lets her hands drop and he sees that Molly is holding their son and everybody is staring at him. He has to get out. He stumbles on his way, thankful when he reaches the front door. He wrenches it open then takes a gulping breath of the icy air. By the time they had settled in to open presents, night had already fallen and the sky is now dark. "Who's there?" he calls, not letting his voice shake, sensing a presence even though he can't see past the lanterns on the porch.
There is no answer and if Harry couldn't feel the hair prickling on the back of his neck then he would be sighing in relief. His entire body jerks to the left as he hears a sound, but he knows before even looking that it's just the sound of an animal. He has no idea how much time passes with him just watching, listening, waiting for a sign before he hears the front door again. "You've got everybody terrified in there."
Harry looks over, seeing both Ron and Hermione standing in front of the door, and he waits for the feeling of comfort to come. The feeling that he's not alone against the world. It doesn't. He feels alone. He still feels the cold. "I just…" he can't bring himself to lie to them, but he can't tell them the truth either. He gets a flash of memory, of being a teenager and not telling them that his scar hurt. "I thought that I saw something."
"Something?" Hermione says, her voice a bit more sharp than concerned, and Harry thinks about all the possibilities of something that he could be seeing.
He shakes his head, turning to them and knowing that the smile that he gives them isn't as scary as the one he had given Ginny. "Nothing. It was just… a shadow. Nothing bad. I'm just tired. Overworked." Stressed. He doesn't say anything else though as Ron and Hermione just look at him. He doesn't think they believe him but he opens the front door before they can say anything. "Come on. We want to watch them open presents."
Perhaps it was that incident that prompts Harry to change the hour he comes home, but he will never tell his wife. He starts getting up earlier, whereas normally he would roll around in the covers for at least an hour with Ginny before leaving. Now, he gets up first thing in the morning so that he can leave the office promptly when everybody else does. He surrounds himself with people, making sure that he's not alone.
Harry still feels alone. He feels alone and cold. Ever since the shadows started coming in fuller shapes, the feeling won't go away. Whereas it had been infrequent before, something he could attribute to not being a teenager and perhaps going to too many places, now he feels simply that it won't go away. Even trying to make love to his wife isn't the same, and before they've even taken off their pajamas weeks later he presses his lips to her neck, disappointed that he has to deny her another night in a row. "Harry, what's wrong, my love?" Ginny murmurs, stroking her fingers through his hair. She only lets her disappointment show momentarily before her concern breaks through again.
"I just feel off," he whispers back, groaning softly as he resists the urge to look in the direction of the door. He feels it suddenly, making his hair stand on end, and he wants to run. He would rather face Voldemort again than look up, but it's as if he has no choice. He feels drawn to the shadows.
The shadow standing in his bedroom doorway is different than the one before. He lets out a strangled yell when he sees her, her dark hair tangled on her shoulders. He can see that she is all black, all shadow, but he can see the simple curves of her face, recognizes the dark part of her lips as they move soundlessly. "Harry?" Ginny gasps, jumping at his yell.
Harry stares at the shadow, trying to will it away, trying to make it leave. It stays, lifting up its hand and pointing in the direction of his son's room. Harry shakes his head. "No. No!" Harry gets tangled in the bed sheets as he nearly leaps out of the bed and runs towards his son, barely stopping to pick up his wand. He needs to protect him from whatever the shadows are.
He can hear Ginny following him, her nightgown swishing as she grabs her wand. When he reaches the nursery, he nearly breaks down the door trying to get through. James is asleep in his crib, sucking on his fist and Harry steps forward, pressing his hand gently to James' stomach so that he can feel James breathing. "Harry, what is it?" Ginny asks.
Harry looks back at her as she finally gets enough breath to light up her wand, and he begins to feel silly. What if it had just been the darkness? What if nothing had been there? "I think…" he falters. He finds it hard to admit it because he knows that it wasn't just the darkness. Saying the words out loud makes it so much more real.
"Harry you're scaring me. A lot. And you know I don't like to admit that," she says, forcing a laugh but he knows just how serious she is.
"I think I saw my mom," he admits, regretting it immediately when Ginny's breath catches and her face takes on a strange expression. He sighs, looking down at his son again, his thumb rubbing gently on his stomach. In the light he can imagine that it hadn't been there, but he had seen her. He would never forget his mother's face. Harry had never seen the look that had been on his mother's face before though. For the first time in all of the times that he had seen her, she had looked dead in the way that he had nightmares about. "I know how it sounds."
Ginny shakes her head, reaches out to grab his wrist, and pulls him carefully so that they leave the nursery. He lets her lead, not looking left or right. He doesn't want to see it again. She seems to be working herself up and when they reach their bedroom she turns to him, looking serious. "Harry, how could you see your mother? What's going on? You've been so…" Ginny opens and closes her mouth a few times, looking at him, obviously unable to come up with the words to describe how he's been.
Shaking his head, he reaches out, his arms slipping around her waist as he pulls her body close to his. "I'm sorry. I'm just tired." stressed, overworked. The words slide around his head but he doesn't let himself say them. He doesn't want them to sound like the flimsy excuses that he knows they are.
"Let's get some sleep then, love," she says. She looks relieved to not have to deal with it tonight but he knows that she won't let it completely go.
As she falls asleep her breathing evens out and he hears it late into the night, holding onto her tightly. He can't sleep though. Harry knows that he saw his mother. He knows it. But he tries to pretend that he was tired, and eventually exhaustion consumes him and he falls into a deep sleep.
Harry hates how he can't tell anybody. He feels alone in a way that he hasn't felt since he was a teenager. They wouldn't understand. They don't see it. They don't see the shadows all around. And suddenly they are all around. He can't go anywhere without seeing them, without feeling their darkness twist, without feeling the cold chill drive through to his very bones.
He tries to avoid them and he knows that he gets odd looks as he maneuvers, careful not to touch them. Ginny is worried, he knows, and he has a feeling that others are too, but he can't do anything about it. He doesn't want this. He just wants things to go back to normal. Harry wants to be normal again, not the one who's seeing… dead people? That's what it seems to be. The shadows are the dead, he thinks, because he saw his mother.
They haven't talked about it yet, the fact that he saw his mother, because he doesn't know what to say. He works late into the night in his own office, scared to be at the Ministry of Magic alone. He's scared to be in his own home as well, though, afraid of bringing the shadows back to Ginny and James. He wants them to go away. He feels like a child and he wants to scream and beg and plead.
James is the best thing that has ever happened to him, and he takes a few weeks of work off to spend time with his son and to go through his emotional breakdown. Ginny gives him space while still being there, and Harry marvels at how she seems to know exactly what he needs. He needs her there, but he can't talk about it.
They exist for a while, and Harry tries to ignore the shadows. They stay away from him at least. They point at times, point in what looks to be the same direction, but he doesn't know what it is. He had thought the nursery, but what could be in the nursery? And the shadow had pointed at the Burrow as well. It all confuses him.
Time passes and Harry thinks that he could get used to it. He can get used to seeing the shadows if he has to. As long as they stay away from him, but of course, they don't. They get closer, day by day as if they are slowly getting stronger. He knows that his thoughts are going crazy, that he is beginning to go slowly mad a little thinking about them. He can't make himself stop. Even when he doesn't see them, he thinks that he does.
Their fingers are always long, so long, and they all seem to blacken the room when they're in it. Harry wonders just what is going to happen. There has to be a climax, doesn't there? Something has to happen.
And one day it does. Harry is sitting in his office. Ginny is at the Burrow with their son for the night, wanting to be close by since James was ill and she wanted her mother's expertise. He doesn't want to be alone, but he must finish this paperwork because even when he takes work off he can't really since he's the head of the department. He has half a mind to go to the Burrow after his paperwork so that he won't have to sleep alone. Molly and Arthur wouldn't mind.
He senses the shadow before he sees it and when he looks up, he is amazed at how close it is. It seems to be right in his face. Harry nearly falls as he pushes his chair back, ink splotching on the parchment and a curse leaving his lips. His breath catches in his throat as he looks up at the shadow. "What?" He isn't even sure what he's asking.
The shadow seems to understand because it moves fluidly, as if it's floating a few feet away from him. Harry looks around, tempted to run. He doesn't want to be alone with the black being, but it's blocking the door and even more than not wanting to be alone, he doesn't want to go through it. The being moves again towards the door and Harry realizes that it wants him to follow it.
Harry knows that he has no choice. He knows that he can't go on like this, and so he stands up. It's as if he's been waiting for this and maybe he will finally get an explanation. His entire body is shaking as he steps around his desk. "You want me to follow you?" he asks, half ashamed of how terrified he sounds. He has seen ghosts, but these are not ghosts the same way. They are solid shadow, with half defined features as if they are humans who are shrouded in darkness.
The shadow makes no response but moves away again, and so Harry nods. He licks his lips, steeling every last ounce of courage that he has in him, reminds himself that he's a Gryffindor and sets off after the shadow. He barely stops to grab a cloak, then pulls it over his body. He's thankful for it once he sees the weather.
Rain splashes on him, seeping through his cloak and his nightclothes. It chills him to the bone, but he doesn't stop walking. In a way, he feels like he's in a dream. He feels as if it's not really him and he's watching his body move. The being leads him and every once in a while he catches sight of a shadow standing to the side, pointing in the direction in which they're walking. Harry wonders if this is the way that they have been pointing him all along.
Harry looks up, brows furrowing as he realizes abruptly that they've reached the visitor's entrance of the Ministry of Magic, and he looks around, seeing the shadows nowhere. He shivers, wondering if he's been lead out of his home in the middle of the night by nothing. He help but yell when a shadow appears in front of him, expression angry, it's long finger pointing at the entrance. "Alright, alright," he murmurs, wondering what his life has become that he's mumbling like that to a shadow.
With a glance around Harry steps forward, dialing into the phone and frowning when they ask his business. "Harry Potter and my business is my own."
Out pops a tag reading "Harry Potter on his own business" and Harry puts it on. As he descends, he wonders whether this is the best idea. What's he going to do? The last time he came barreling into the Ministry of Magic for something in his head his godfather ended up dying. He's older now, though, and he lets that thought comfort him.
A shadow is standing directly in front of him, face just as expressionless, and Harry wonders whether it was the same as the first. Everything about the shadow oozes darkness, and he feels like it casts darkness on everything around them. Harry follows the shadow as it starts its movement again. "Where are we going?" he asks, watching for anybody that's still there. He doubts it so late though.
Harry doesn't stop walking until the shadow halts, and his heart beats hard as he realizes where they are. He had closed his mind, unwilling to watch as the shadow led him places, and it had been easier than he had expected. It was like his body wanted to follow the shadow. Harry steps forward, a hand reaching out as he sees the curtain that his godfather had fallen behind. "But why? Why lead me here?"
The shadow hisses angrily, and Harry startles, looking over at it. He hadn't heard it make noise before, and it sends such a coldness up his spine that he shivers from it. "I don't understand," he says, his voice quieter this time. He needs to make the shadow understand, because he doesn't. He doesn't understand what's going on and he is scared.
"Harry." Harry looks over at the curtain, knowing immediately that the voice had come from there. He wonders who is trying to speak to him, wonders if he should recognize the voice. He doesn't. "Harry."
At the sound of his name again, Harry turns abruptly, beginning to walk away from the curtain. The shadow appears in front of him, anger emanating off it, and Harry has to take a step back. Fear shoots through him and he wonders what the shadow can do to him. The being reaches out a hand and Harry steps back. He can sense that he doesn't want the shadow to touch him.
Harry doesn't step back fast enough and he feels like the shadow is plunging its hand into his heart. He gasps, his own hand coming up, resting over the same place. The shadow is not cold like he had expected, but hot, so hot, and it burns him, but words are rushing through his mind and he understands with a jolt that sends what feels like electricity through him. Suddenly… he understands.
The knowledge makes him run and, to Harry's surprise, the shadows don't try to stop him.
Harry disappears for a week. He sends an owl to Ginny to tell her that he loves her and will be back soon and he rents a Muggle hotel room in the states, not leaving except to eat. He sits in the darkness, the curtains drawn and a sign on the door to prevent housekeeping from coming in. The shadows are all around him, pressing against him, suffocating him. They don't bother him anymore though, because he knows that they won't hurt him, not right now.
After the week is over, he goes back, ashamed, and catches Ginny as she runs at him, letting her hit him as hard as she needs to. "I'm half tempted to pull my wand on you," she hisses, caught between terror and anger and relief that he's home.
Harry feels her warmth pressing against him, but it can't penetrate the iciness that is deep inside him. He holds onto her, wishing that he could hold onto her forever, but he knows that he can't. Harry had thought a lot in the past week, and he knows what must be done. The dark shadows have backed off but he knows that they will come closer if he changes his mind. Now that he's opened his mind he feels like he knows so much more. It all makes sense.
When he's alone he thinks about when it started, more pieces coming together in his mind. He had died. Voldemort had killed him. In a deep part of himself, Harry wishes that Dumbledore had known. He would've gone on. He never would've chosen to come back, to have a wife and a son and to know what he could have and then be forced to give it up.
Harry gives himself a week. He takes more days off of work, disregarding his paperwork and secretly making sure that all of his Galleons will go to his wife and son. He settles everything that needs to be settled, knows that Ginny and James will be taken care of. And every other moment he spends with his family. They invite Ron and Hermione over for dinner nearly every evening and Ginny is cheerful, thinking that he's getting better.
He makes the effort to pretend that he is. Harry ignores the shadows, and he enjoys what he knows will be his last week alive, although he's not really alive. It's so easy for him to pretend, and when he wakes up on the morning of the seventh day he wishes that he wasn't pretending. He wishes that things could go back to normal, but they can't, and it'll be a relief.
"Death is but the next great adventure," he says softly to himself as he dresses mechanically. The darkness is threatening to engulf him and he hears what sounds like an excited muttering. They know. They know that he's coming. He leaves his wife a short note with three of the most important words on it and he goes to kiss his son again. It's nearly morning by the time he leaves, and he barely pays attention as he walks.
The walk to his death isn't as hard as it had been the first time, and he reaches the curtain in what seems like only seconds. The shadows were all along the walk and all through the Ministry, pointing him in the right direction. He reaches out his fingers, nearly touching the curtain before he hears the scream. Harry can't bring himself to be surprised when he looks up and sees his best friends and his lovely wife standing in the doorway. He can barely see them through the shadows, only notice their vivid color among the darkness of the dead. "Harry!" Ginny shrieks, sounding completely terrified as she runs towards him.
It looks as if she's trying to run through water as the shadowy figures try to stop her, but he shakes his head, whispering to them. "It's fine." One of them looks at him before they part and she stumbles, suddenly running without obstacles. "How did you find me?"
Harry opens his arms when she reaches him, but she doesn't fall into them like he expected. Instead, she hits him, hard, on the cheek. "What in the bloody hell is wrong with you?" she yells, looking over at the curtain that is still billowing. He wonders if she can hear the screams, the calls behind it. He wonders if she can hear them calling to him, saying his name. "What are you… What's going on? The Ministry knew you were here a week ago. They've been watching you, Harry. We're all worried about you."
"I'm dead," he says softly, looking up as Hermione and Ron are just close enough to hear. Hermione and Ron freeze before stepping closer, looking worried, concerned. "I'm supposed to be dead. I've been dead ever since Avada Kedavra was used on me. The shadows have come to take me. That's why I can see them. The shadows. Because I'm one of them. I'm just a shadow myself."
Ginny's face is hard as she looks up at him, her hands reaching up to grip his arms, her fingernails digging into his bare skin, but he can't feel it. He can't feel anything but the cold and the beckoning wind. He hears the shadows hissing, getting anxious. His mother stands next to him, prepared to take his hand when he goes through the curtain, and he can hear his father's voice through it. They are waiting for him. "What are you talking about? Harry… oh Merlin we've got to get you to St. Mungo's. Something's really wrong."
Resting his hands on her waist, Harry shakes his head, a sad smile on his face. For a moment, he feels all the emotions of the living, the regret that he won't live to be with her. He thinks about his son and how he wishes that he could see him grow up. Pain stabs him as he looks at the cold fury masking the fear and sadness in his wife's eyes. "Something is wrong and I have to make it right. I was supposed to die years ago. The shadows won't let me escape this time."
"Let us help you. Whatever these shadows are… I'm sure they can figure them out at St. Mungo's," Hermione says softly.
Harry lifts his head to look at her over Ginny's shoulder, his eyes gentle as he looks over his best friend's face, trying to memorize it. "You think that I'm crazy, Hermione. I'm sorry you three think that. There's nothing I can say to make it better but it's the truth. The shadows are there. Don't worry. I'm not afraid of dying."
It's the truth. He isn't afraid of dying. He supposes that after walking into a situation where he thought that death was going to happen makes this one easy. And this time he has his mother by his side as well. Maybe when he dies he'll stop feeling the cold all the time. That's what he hopes. And he knows that he is already dead anyway. He is just joining the dead this time, just joining the ones that he truly belongs with now.
"You sound crazy, Harry." This time it's Ron's face that Harry tries to memorize. Each curve of his cheek and freckle. Harry's been through so much with them. The pain comes back as does the hissing and so he pulls carefully away from Ginny.
"It's like I'm the opposite of a Horcrux. My soul is dead but my body is alive," Harry tries to explain but can see the words don't seem to help their feelings. They don't understand. They can't understand and so he can't explain it.
"Harry-"
Harry shakes his head, stepping closer to the curtain. With each step closer, he can breathe a little easier. "You don't understand. I love you, Ginny. I love all three of you and will miss you. Ginny, raise James well. I love you. I'm already dead though. I just have to join them."
As Harry steps through the curtain, he feels his mother's presence at his side, can feel all the other shadows next to him. He wonders if his father is there as well. He can see all three of them rush for him, stopping short of the curtain and he's thankful none of them accidentally step through. They still have long lives ahead of them.
Harry feels like he can breathe again even as he opens his eyes and sees the white room, what looks like King's Cross station. There is no hesitation in him as he goes through towards where the trains should be. It's time, it's beyond time, for him to go on.
The shadows are dimmer now, blurry around the edges, the way they had been in the beginning. They start to become clearer, start to become more real in a way, and Harry knows that he made the right choice. In his hand, he can feel his mother's becoming firmer. He knows that he was right. Harry doesn't care, just steps onto a train and on he goes. In the distance, he imagines that he hears Ginny's screams.