Harry Potter and the Graveyard of Memories
Disclaimer: None of the characters belong to me. They belong to J.K Rowling and other various artists. This fanfic is written purely for entertainment purposes.
Author Notes: This is going to be long story...I might not post regularly, but rest assured, I will not abandon this fic. However, all reviews are welcome, even if you only type "Good". Thanks.
Chapter 1
Pain.
Harry Potter was quite familiar with this word. The number of times he had felt pain were too many to count. It was like a part of him now; he was used to it.
He had faced numerous challenges, driven a flying car to school, got beaten up by the Willow Tree, faced hundreds of dementors alone, gone back in time to save Sirius Black from execution, survived the Triwizard Tournament and a dual with Lord Voldemort himself, and now he was still alive while Dumbledore was dead.
Dumbledore was dead.
The harsh reality finally struck home. First his parents, then Sirius, and now Dumbledore.
How many people had to die to save him? How many had to die to thwart one murderer? How many before the world rid itself of evil? Some questions are meant to remain unanswered, and these were some of them. Harry knew that he couldn't ask these questions; who knew what the answers could be? But that didn't stop it from hurting. And yet, Harry couldn't look back; he had to keep going forward. After all, Dumbledore wouldn't have wanted him to give up; he would have wanted Harry to remain strong.
With this thought in mind, Harry got up and put his glasses on, waiting a moment for everything to clear up.
The clock on his bedside table showed the time to be 7:00am. He realized that the Dursleys' would be waking up soon, and sure enough, he could hear the sounds of his aunt as she moved around below. He walked the length of his small room to reach the bathroom. In there, he stood in front of the mirror and inspected himself.
He had surely changed, though for better or worse, he didn't know.
He was no longer the weak skinny boy he had been six years ago. Now he was stronger; the past few years had left their mark on him. He raised a hand and brushed back some jet-black hair from his eyes, revealing a deep green color. His scar, the one that had got him all this unwanted attention, was still there, though barely visible under his unruly hair. He had certainly grown a few inches or so, and his thin body made him look taller. Not to mention the fact that the clothes he was wearing were all hand-me-down's from his cousin, Dudley. They hung loosely and limply on his body. There was something about his face that made him look older than what he already was. A sense of sadness and determination surrounded him, making him look dangerous and vulnerable at the same time.
Finally, after all these years, he felt as though he was in control of his life; he knew what his aim was, and he knew that he was going to achieve it in spite of everything.
Harry gave a deep sigh, and turned away.
He surveyed the messy room where he had spent so much of his time, doing nothing but think about the future, and his role in it. He had been thinking about the prophecy that had been made. The one on which the whole world was dependent. The one, which had the power to change everything.
Ironic, Harry thought, that he was also included in this prophecy. Six years ago, if anybody had come to him and told him that he was supposed to defeat the greatest dark wizard of the time, he would have laughed in their face and told them to go see a doctor. But times had certainly changed. Whatever the outcome be, the world could never be the same again. At least, his world had changed too much to be normal again. At the moment though, his world consisted of one mission only – to find and defeat Lord Voldemort. His mission was fueled by anger and the desire for revenge, by sadness and determination.
But before he could venture further into his thoughts, he heard a shout from below.
"Aah! Who the hell are you? And just what are you doing here?"
"Dear, not so loud! The neighbors could be listening in."
He sighed again, bent down and splashed some water on his face, wiped his glasses clean, and started heading downstairs. He wondered who it could be. Just as he put a foot on the first step, he heard his uncle should again.
"You barge in here without any warning, threaten my family, and you think I'm just going to let you go? Petunia, go call the police. Dudley, get me that gun out of that drawer there. Now!"
Gun? Uncle Vernon had a gun? Harry didn't know that…things could get dangerous if he didn't step in now. He quickened his pace and hurried down the stairs two at a time. Just as he reached the bottom, he heard a loud crash coming from the kitchen.