Death Becomes Him
Part 2
By: Twist
A/n: And part two takes a premier! Yay! This was relatively fast for me, That's good. I got four reviews for the last part, I WANT MORE!!! Like it says in
the summary: 'The good read stories, the truly divine review.' My muse said that. My muse is really not right in the head. He's cute though. ^_^ You can't say
that muses aren't guys either, 'cause mine IS!!! Hehehehehehehehehehehehe!!!! Okay, enough of my sensless rambling, on with the show!!!
Disclaimer: If you recognize it, I don't own it.
Dedicated to Bob Sagget, he left America's Funniest Home Videos too early in my opinion. If you're reading this, Bob, I still am faithful to you. Also
dedicated to Bill Nye the Science Guy, I'm sorry I can't watch your show anymore, have fun on BattleBots.
~*
The elevator ride seemed to take forever. Harry rocked back and forth on his toes, watching the numbers change attentively. They put him on the eighth
floor, for the sake of McMuffins, why did they have to put him up so high?
"Alright, now as soon as the elevator doors open you are going to walk as fast as possible toward the exit without looking suspicious," Jack was muttering
into his ear.
Three...two...one...Now was the time to run! Harry shoved his hands into his pockets and walked quickly towards the sliding doors, making sure to keep his
head down. Thankfully, no one stopped him on his way out and he made it to the London Street unnoticed. He heard Jack sigh behind him. 'Mental note to
self,' he thought, 'ask that guy why he's following me around when I get home.'
Harry looked around, just to get himself oriented. He had to move quickly, the hospital guys were sure to come looking for him any time now. Spotting a
Bus Depot, he walked casually over to it, he would hop the but to Berryshire Street and walk home from there. He tried very hard to stand casually at the
Bus Depot, but it wasn't easy, considering it was a windy day and his cloak kept blowing up to reveal his hospital gown. Finally, after what seemed to be an
eternity (it was actually only two minutes) the bus pulled up. Harry conjured some money into the palm of his hand and gave it to the bus driver. He sat in
the front, the less he had to walk on this bus, the better.
As the bus started to move his eyes began to wander about the bus, settling on a few female occupants, or a strange-looking teenager. There was a fat old
woman sitting at the back of the bus holding a small white dog, muttering into its furry head. Somewhere near the back of the bus, Jack was looking up a
younger woman's dress, Harry made no attempt to stop him. There was a shout of laughter from the seat next to Harry's; two teenage girls were looking at
the classified ads, Harry got a glance at the ad they were both pointing to.
9 Year Old Yorkshire Terrier
Free to a good home
Hateful little dog
Harry had to surpress a snort of laughter, who would put that in the paper and expect their animal to sell? Probably some daft old woman who insisted on
telling the truth and convinced that someone would buy her dog because she was honest about it.
"There are some fine-looking women back there," Jack said, seating himself next to Harry.
"Oh," Harry said coldly. "Did you decide that by looking at their legs or did you actually see their faces?" He knew that was a little nasty, but he could really
care less.
Jack didn't seem to be insulted in the least. In fact, he came back quite nicely. "Well, yes, mostly the legs, but I did check to see if the faces are desirable before checking the legs out."
"Why do you care about that stuff anyway," Harry asked, "you're dead anyway. It's not going to make a difference."
Jack shrugged. "You could look at it that way, or you could see it that I am merely using death as an excuse to become invisible and look up women's dresses. I got caught doing that once and the lady whacked me upside the head with her purse. What's really sad about that story is that she wasn't much to look at, either." Harry glared at him in disgust. 'Is this how all American wizards act?' he asked himself. Much to his horror, a voice inside his head answered: 'Pretty much, yeah. Ones in my age group, anyway.' He gaped at Jack in a mixture of horror and anger, only to have his scariest look turned down by a cocky grin.
"All who're getting off at Berryshire may leave now," the bus driver said rudely. People gave Harry strange looks as he got off. He realized that they couldn't see his dead 'friend' and probably thought he was quite insane. He exited quickly and shuffled down the rainy street to his house. "I hate you," he growled to no one in particular. He couldn't figure out how he had gotten exactly where he was at this particular moment. He traced back as far as he could in his memory and arrived at the night Voldemort had tried to kill him. Why did everything seem to go back there?
"You're a very angry person, you know," Jack commented. "Always blaming it on people other than yourself. Or Fate. She is a lovely woman though, I can see why you wouldn't blame anything on her. Very pretty. I think she needs glasses though and refuses to get any, that's why the future is so uncertain, she can't see where to put her finger."
"Oh, shut up," Harry snapped. He was in no mood to hear why everything happens the way it does. In fact, his mood had been greatly reduced since he had discovered that Voldemort had botched his death and he was going to spend an eternity without a heartbeat (I mean, honestly, wouldn't that depress you?). Voldemort was at fault for everything. For Ron and Hermione's deaths, for Dumbledore's death, for Guy Fawkes, for the stupid historians getting it all wrong and saying Christopher Columbus discovered America when he had really discovered the Caribbean…
"That's getting a little far-fetched right there. I know Voldie was an old fart, but I have seriousdoubts about him being around in 1492." The idiot standing next to Harry replied. Why couldn't he just stay out of other people's heads?
"'Old fart' is a bit much, don't you think?" A dry, cold voice asked from behind the two of them.
"Oops, sorry there. Didn't know you were there." Jack didn't seem the least bit phased. Harry had doubts about humiliation being one of his emotions. "I thought you were working, anyway."
"I get breaks too, you know," Voldemort replied. There was a click of a cigarette lighter from behind them. "S'not like you're special or anything."
Harry tried to ignore the two of them arguing the rest of the way home. When he got to his front porch he shoved his key into the keyhole and pushed the door open. He hoped Voldemort didn't show up every time he got a break, he reckoned he would go insane. The fact that it was pouring rain and they were all soaking wet didn't help. How exactly, a dead person could be soaking wet was beyond Harry, but he supposed it could happen judging by the fact Voldemort and Jack both managed to track substantial amounts of mud into his foyer. Great, the more mess to clean up, the merrier.
"Don't smoke in my house," Harry growled over his shoulder.
"Fine," Voldemort growled back, obviously enjoying himself. "I have to go back to work now anyway."
"Don't ever bother coming back, either," Harry yelled. He hated today. He really did. And worst of all, he couldn't die. He walked into his study and slammed the door behind him, for dramatic effect.
Voldemort raised an eyebrow. "I had no idea twenty-odd year old males experienced PMS, but I guess I could be wrong." He shrugged and flicked the cigarette onto the living room floor where it began a small flame for a few seconds before disappearing. He grinned nastily at Jack. "Good luck," and with that last derogative comment (it just isn't professional for a villain of his caliber to leave anywherewithout a derogative comment) he vanished in a cloud of black mist. Jack rolled his eyes and flopped down onto the mat. While sitting cross-legged on a mat is considered 'odd' by the standards of 'normal people', it is perfectly normal in my mind and therefore shall be looked upon as normal in this story.
In the study…
Harry sat down at the mahogany desk and placed his head in his hands. All this was going to take some serious thinking. First of all, he would have to leave his house; people would come straight here if they were looking for him. That meant he would have to decide what he could take with him to wherever he was going. He could load things onto hid Firebolt, of course, and his wand was an absolute necessity. What to take, though? His CD wallet, a CD player, clothes, money, and perhaps some of his ID cards. Yes, that would be it. Now all that was left was to go outside into the hall and face Jack and possibly Voldemort if the miserable old bat had hung around. He mustered up his courage and marched into the hall.
It wasn't that bad, actually. Voldemort had buggered off and Jack was slumped backwards onto the door, fast asleep. He walked casually up the stairs, unaware that Jack had opened one eye just a bit and was watching his progress up the stairs. "Knew you had to come out of there eventually," he muttered. He listened while Harry scraped the trunk about his room and cursed softly as he tried to find things that were perhaps hidden away in corners or had pieces missing to them. When the movement upstairs had stopped Jack dropped his head backwards onto the door and pretended to sleep once more. Harry tromped by him in his still muddy boots and into the garage. Jack climbed to his feet and followed Harry warily into the hall. He watched as Harry opened the door and walked out into the rain, mounted his Firebolt and flew off.
"Dang," Jack cursed. "Just like him to fly to wherever he's going. How on Earth am I going to catch up to him?" He walked through the closed door and glared up at the receding dot in the sky. It looked like Voldemort had been right; he did need luck.
*
Harry was quite enjoying the wind in his face as he flew over the English countryside. It completely baffled him why he hadn't though of this before as a form of stress relief, perhaps then he wouldn't have gone and killed himself. No! He musn't blame himself for things that weren't his fault. It was all Voldemort's fault, yes, that was it. Feeling a little better, but a touch guilty about dumping everything on Voldemort, he concentrated on where he was going to go. A different country, perhaps. That was always a good option when you're trying to get away from someone or something.
Harry was vaguely thinking of flying off to Africa, or the States, even, when a nasty thought interrupted him. What if he got hurt? It wasn't really all that bad, but since he didn't have a heartbeat or any signs of breathing, a hospital wasn't the best place for him to end up. If he got hurt and then fell unconscious...
Harry shook his head, he couldn't think of that. Not now, not here, he was too stressed out. Shoving any thoughts of injury, Jack, or Voldemort out of his mind, he tipped his broom up and flew higher, higher, into the clouds.
~*
a/n: interesting, huh? That's what kewl about pixie sticks!!!! *rambles incoherently* Okay, 'Twisted Cliche is a'comin soon, ne'er fear. So this was this chapter, please read and review!!!! =)