Miles to Go Before I Sleep

Chapter 1

The Burrow was as empty and silent as a ghost. It haunted Harry with memories of laughter, the sounds of many feet running up the stairs, great booming voices and the wailing of children. The Burrow was never meant to be so quiet. It was built to be filled with life, not chained to one lonely old man. Harry could feel that constant ache in his ancient bones creeping into the edges of his awareness as he slowly woke. Piercing light was streaming through the open window and the scent of berries hung heavy in the air. It was summertime again. Instead of warming his withered skin, the bright summer sun seemed to loom threateningly over him, seeping what little life he had left and leaving him cold and empty. He shivered beneath the thick quilt as cold chills ran through his body. He had always hated summer. As a child, summer had meant the Dursleys, and now, as an old man, it meant the one year anniversary of Ginny's death. He had been doing so well; there had even been days when he could think back on their time together without feeling that crushing sense of despair. But now as the blackness threatened to consume him he wondered at how he had done it. How could he have survived for a whole year without her? He tried to remember how he had bared it, but the memories were fuzzy like a far-off dream. He must have done it though. He was still here, wasn't he? But the pain was as sharp now as it was on the day she died and Harry couldn't bring himself to get out of bed. What was the point?

The sound of breaking china erupted through the still air, followed by low, hoarse grumbling. The voice sounded distressed and confused and with a jolt Harry was out of bed and moving as quickly as his old, stooped body would let him, snatching up his wand from the nightstand as he went. He remembered why he couldn't let himself drown in his own despair; people needed him. The mission wasn't done. There was always something to overcome. Harry found Kreacher in the kitchen, hovering around the overturned breakfast tray and broken dishes that were scattered across the floor with a look of utter bafflement. The elf focused in on him as he approached, but there was no recognition in those round, watery orbs, now glazed over with cataracts. The poor creature had no idea who he was or why he was here at the Burrow and not Grimmauld Place. "Miss Cissy is not acting like a proper young lady at all!" He suddenly blurted out.

Harry held up his hands soothingly, "Alright. I'll talk to her about it. You've done a fine job. Why don't you rest for a while?"

Kreacher squinted at him with a suspicious frown on his face, like he understood that Harry was merely trying to placate him but unable to find a way to express it. With a crack! the elf was gone, hidden away in one of the cupboards. Harry cleaned the mess with a wave of his wand and let out a deep sigh. Kreacher was getting worse. His lucid periods were becoming shorter and shorter with each passing day and Harry honestly wasn't sure how he would be able to continue to care for him. Evenwhen the elf was perfectly sound in mind, he had grown belligerent and angry, more like the creature that Harry had first met all those years ago. It was obvious that Kreacher was embarrassed by what he had become. No house elf that had ever worked for the Black family had lived as long as Kreacher- by the time they had gotten to be half his age they had long outlived their usefulness.

Years ago, when he and Ginny had decided to retire and move back into the Burrow, Kreacher told him that he wanted to die the same way his mother had and all Black family house elves- murdered and decapitated, with his head mounted on the wall next to his mum like some twisted family reunion. Harry had forbidden him to ever ask him to do such a thing again. He ordered him to move out of Grimmauld and into the Burrow the next day.

Harry levitated the day's copy of The Daily Prophet and sat down at the table, perusing the articles in an absent-minded way. He huffed out a sigh in annoyance as he read about the new Ministry ban on televisions. It had only been two years ago that the Wizarding World had tentatively started to experiment with television. Wizarding Britain could now proudly boast to having three channels, full of the most asinine programming that Harry had ever seen. Even the Muggles' attempts of remaking Doctor Who was more enjoyable than the likes ofMy Fair Hag. But it was still progress and that counted for something, he supposed. However, as with anything Muggle related, there had been the usual backlash. The Ministry had been afire withfervent debates on whether introducing television to children might make them predisposed to violence, as evidenced by the countless wars the Muggles fought against themselves. Hermione had fought back, of course, and gave a passionate speech pointing out that wizards were just as violent, but that the statistics only seemed disproportionate because Muggles outnumbered wizards at least 100 to 1. The Ministry had never been persuaded by facts before, however, and television was banned. Harry couldn't say he was surprised by this, but he had hoped that relations between wizards and Muggles would eventually improve. It seemed to him that the Wizarding World would never learn from their mistakes, leaving someone else to clean up their messes. Someone like Harry and Dumbledore and Snape.

Parents for Traditional Wizarding Values was the name of the group that had lobbied against introducing televisions into Wizarding homes. Harry rolled his eyes and crumbled up the paper, unable to read anymore of their Traditionalist spiel. The Traditionalists were like the Death Eaters in a way; oh, they never once used their words superior and inferior, but they made it known in the most diplomatic and politest terms possible that wizards and Muggles should remain separate and never shall the two meet. It was like if Percy ever became a Death Eater, that was what a Traditionalist was. Harry snorted to himself at the thought. He could just imagine Percy at a Death Eater meeting, demanding that everyone fill out the proper forms and make sure they got the proper approval from their supervisor to go on a raid.

Harry was so lost in his own thoughts that it took him a while to realize that he could hear someone speaking. He shook away the cobwebs that were clinging to his mind. It was strange. He felt so muddled and confused all of a sudden. For a moment he had forgotten what he had been about to do, but then the he heard the whispering again and it came flooding back. Harry stood up quickly from the table and looked around, but there was no one around, and yet he could hear the soft, steady stream of words. Who could it possibly be? He hadn't heard anyone knock and he wasn't expecting any visitors. His kids were all grown and living their own lives and most of the other remaining Weasleys had all packed up and moved to London. Harry kept a tight grip on his wand and cautiously followed the voice down the hall. He headed towards the parlor and as he got closer he could make out what it was saying.

"'Who are you?' said the Caterpillar," the man's voice softly stated. It was definitely a man's voice and it sounded strangely familiar to Harry.

"This was not an encouraging opening for a conversation." He continued. "Alice replied, rather shyly, 'I - I hardly know, sir, just at present - at least I know who I was when I got up this morning, but I think I must have been changed several times since then.'

'What do you mean by that?' said the Caterpillar sternly. 'Explain yourself!'

'I can't explain myself, I'm afraid, sir' said Alice, 'because I'm not myself, you see.'

'I don't see,' said the Caterpillar."

Harry peeked into the parlor and pulled back in shock, lifting his wand just in case it wasn't some morbid trick. Dudley Dursley sat on the couch, reading out loud from Alice's Adventures in Wonderland. Only that was impossible because Dudley had been dead going on for ten years now and unlike wizards, Muggles couldn't come back as ghosts. Harry opened his mouth to call out to him, but before even a whimper could leave his lips indescribable pain came crashing down on top of his head. He remembered the floor rushing up towards him and the sudden realization that he was falling before his world suddenly went black.