DEAD
The eggs frying in the pan sizzled with more life than Harry could summon. Why was that? Why did the baron seem happier than he was? Harry prodded the egg with the edge of the spatula breaking the yoke. He watched as the yellow bleed out and started to fry itself onto the bacon. That's right, it bleed. It bleed the yoke out.
"Boy!"
Harry's head snapped up to see his uncle standing in the door way, in his usual purple sweats. His face was already as red as a tomato so early in the morning, which generally was a bad sign for the day.
"Yes uncle Vernon?"
Even to his ears his voice sounded monotone. Dead. As if he was the one bleeding yoke all over the bacon.
"You better not do anything to this house while we're away boy! "He spit, pointing at Harry and other suspicious inanimate objects about the room.
"I won't, uncle Vernon." Harry said while turning the stove off and throwing the food into the garbage.
Vernon had won a tropical cruise with his company that lasted for three weeks, sailing around the Caribbean. They were leaving that afternoon and Aunt Petunia had convinced Uncle Vernon to allow Harry to stay and watch the house, so they wouldn't have to pay anyone to come and check on it.
After the final battle Harry remembered standing there covered in dirt and blood and breathing like he had just run three marathons, feeling this horrible abyss come to life inside him, centered on this one question.
What am I supposed to do now?
He was sent back to the Dursley's, for lack of any where else to go. The Black Manor had burned to the ground in one of Voldomort's attempts at killing Harry, the Burrow had finally given up hope and collapsed, thankfully while everyone was throwing a victory party in Hogwarts, and Harry refused to stay in the school.
Of course Uncle Vernon wasn't happy about the arrangements, he had been positive the boy had died sometime during the school year and was finally rid of him. But seeing as how their wallets seemed to be fearfully light because of Dudley's 111 birthday presents the past month, any money they could save they would.
Uncle Vernon sent one last accusing glare Harry's way and waddled his way back upstairs.
There had been a slight fight between Harry and Vernon as the latter locked Harry's wand in the shed in the backyard. Uncle Vernon had ended up punching Harry in the nose to get Harry off him so he could run away. It was a funny sight, really, from an omnipotent point of view. But Harry was unable to find it humorous as he watched his only weapon get locked away while holding a bleeding nose.
After making a new breakfast for them, and helping Dudley pack all of his toys away in three suitcases, he finally was able to stand in the doorway and watch as Uncle Vernon mouthed the words ' if you do anything your DEAD' through the window while they drove off.
The first week went by slowly. Harry slept a lot and watched quiet a bit of TV. He read almost all of Aunt Petunia's romance novels that she had tried to hide in a laundry basket in her and Vernon's closet. He weeded the garden twice in three days and spent hours trying to figured out away to knock down the shed.
Week two was not much different than week one, except Harry had become a little more desperate towards finding something to occupy his time.
He tried to learn sign language from one of Dudley's preschooler books. He read the potions textbook fives times in two days. He discovered Aunt Petunia's label maker in the linen closet and made a label for everything in the house. He gave up on the shed by then.
It was during one of those late niters as he read the potions textbook that Harry fell asleep on the couch.
He woke up to the sound of "Coronation Street" reruns, and the sight of a guy dressed in black leaning over him.
Seeing Harry awake the guy grinned and straightened.
"Well, I dunno if I should be glad or sad about seeing you awake, kid." He said in a rather odd accent. It wasn't British, but it did sound quiet like it.
Harry blinked and looked around. The clock on the VCR said 2:56am. He sat up and the book fell out of his lap and hit the floor with a muffled thump.
"Who are you?" seemed to be the best question at the moment.
The man was holding a lamp from the Dursley's bedroom, examining it.
"Why does the lamp have a label on it stating that it's a lamp?" he asked, quiet curious.
Herry withheld the need to blush and looked away.
The man tilted the lamp down and snickered, "look 'ere, the light bulbs been labeled too! Same as the shade!"
Harry growled, "I was bored."
"Look here! A desk!" mocking voices said behind harry. He looked around to see two other men dressed in black walking around the house with bags over their shoulders.
"Why!" the other announced dramatically, "however do you know for certain it is a desk?!"
"Because my good man! Look there! It's labeled!!!"
Harry huffed, "why are you here?"
The obvious ring leader glanced around, his eyes lighting on the empty cabinet shelves and the empty spaces on the wall where photos used to hang. Now that he noticed it, Harry mused, the whole hose had been cleared out except the couch and TV.
"I have to say kid, it's pretty obvious."
Harry blinked, "You're robbing me?"
The man tossed his head in the twos direction, "they've been at that joke for a good half hour now, it seems you've labeled everything 'ere but the things in the second bedroom."
Why wasn't he panicking? Why wasn't his heart pounding away in fear and horror at what was going on around him? Why was there no emotion?
"alotta weird things in that room too eh?" the guy said, putting the lamp down and picking up Harry potions book.
"An owl, candy I've never seen before, moving pictures and stuff. Textbooks on magic…"
He flipped through a few pages.
"So…. Where is your wand, kid?"
Harry stood up and took the book from the man; he clasped it to his chest.
"I don't have a wand, people can't do magic, don't be stupid. I just like studying Wicca, it's fascinating."
He guy grunted and looked around.
"All set boss, everything's in the van." A goon said from the door way.
The guy grunted again and pulled a gun from the back of his pants.
Harry tensed instantly. His wand was in the shed. Oh Merlin it was still locked in the bloody shed. He had no portkey, no aparation location. Everyone had assumed the danger had passed. Everyone had though Harry had killed it.
"You see kid," the guy fiddled with it in his hands, not looking anywhere but at Harry's eyes.
"We got a problem. You've seem our faces, heard our voices."
He leveled the gun at Harry's head.
"So you got to die."
Harry dived for behind the couch but not in time and the man shot him in the shoulder. He collapsed groaning. The man walked around and stood over him, watching as Harry tried to crawl away, gripping his bleeding arm.
He kicked Harry in the gut, forcing him to roll onto his back.
Once again he was looking in to the barrel of a gun.
"Sorry kid."
It's odd, getting shot in the head. You hear the explosion, and you feel the first penetration into your skull. But after that it's this nothingness.
And Harry had this distinct image of the yoke bleeding out of the egg and frying into the bacon.