The Sixth Sense
A/N: Thanks for the reviews. -Enjoy!
Chapter 3
A Strange Little Visit
Harry pushed the mashed potatoes around his plate with a fork without bothering to put any in his mouth. There was a ringing in his ears from all the conversation and laughter around him, and the headache was starting again. He was used to that, though. Headaches were as normal and recurring as the nightmares.
"Harry, what's wrong? You've barely eaten a thing, dear."
He looked up through tired green eyes into the face of Mrs. Weasley. They were all seated around a large dinner table in the pub, and Harry's 'depression mood' had hit again.
"I'm not hungry," he said, forcing a smile. "I ate a snack a little while ago."
"Are you sure? You look tired," Ron's mother said, concerned.
"No, really, I'm great." His eyes met Ginny's and he looked away, turning to Ron.
"So...have you heard from Hermione recently?" he muttered.
Ron scowled immediately. "She couldn't come, as she's with Vicky," he spat.
Beside them, Fred and George snorted. "Ah, a typical love story," George said in a dramatic voice. "The best friend he's known for so long."
"And suddenly discovers his feelings for her." Fred piped in.
"While she's off with a world- famous Quidditch player."
"Oh, the pain.!"
"Oh, the mis-"
"Shut up," Ron snapped, his ears as red as his hair, while Harry couldn't help laughing in spite of himself.
"Why in hell you would think that I have a crush on that know-it-all is beyond me!" he yelled, and the whole table (which consisted of Ron's parents, Bill, Charlie, Percy, Ginny, and them) went silent and stared at him. Even a few people in the pub turned to look at them.
Fred sniggered. "Reckon you said that a little too loud, Ronniekins?"
"Yeah, man. We were just teasing- you know that," grinned George. "You guys fight way too much to like each other like that."
"Good," said Ron under his breath. "I-
Fred rolled his eyes and stuffed a huge piece of pie in his brother's mouth before he could say anything.
"Mmmph!!! Hmm thkm emm im hmph!" Ron said.
"Yeah, yeah, whatever you say," George grinned.
Ron swallowed with one huge gulp and turned to Harry. "Let's get out of here," he said, pulling at his arm.
Harry shrugged and got up behind his best friend, and was turning to go when he felt someone's gaze on him. He lifted his head only to meet Ginny's dark eyes watching him- was it with concern? And then she blushed and looked away
"Come on, mate," urged Ron. "We'll go to your room. Ours looks like a stampede crashed through it."
"Well the twins were there weren't they?" Harry grinned. They flopped down in armchairs when they reached the comfortable inn room. Harry watched the tall wizard next to him and saw he didn't look too happy.
"Cheer up," he told him, telling himself for the millionth time that he'd switch with Ron's problems any day. "Krum isn't worth being angry about."
"I don't *care* about Krum," Ron scowled. " I care that *she's* hanging with the enemy!"
Somehow Harry doubted this, but he didn't comment. Instead, he said, "He's not the enemy; Voldemort is." His eyes darkened.
Ron winced. Harry had the urge to scream 'VOLDEMORT!' at the top of his voice so the whole inn could hear, but he restrained himself.
"Look at me, talking about a silly thing like Krum while you were almost killed yesterday," Ron said suddenly. "God, I'm such a prat."
Harry forced a laugh. "Don't worry about it. The less I talk about it, the better."
"You were really lucky, you know," Ron shuddered.
*Yeah, as usual. One day I'm not going to be so lucky.*
Ron and Hermione knew by now about his narrow escape from the Death Eaters and his encounter with Lucius Malfoy, (Hermione by owl) but they knew nothing about his depression and nightmares. Ron, though, like the others, could sense it.
"Harry, pal, you look worn out."
Harry fixed his gaze on the window. He hated lying to his friends, but he knew they'd just be worried over nothing and make a big fuss about him. He didn't want that; the last thing he needed now was more attention.
"I'm fine, really." Harry had lost count of how many times he'd said that recently.
Ron shrugged. "If you say so," he yawned. "I'm turning in," he said, looking at his watch. "I'll see you tomorrow morning." He headed towards the door.
"Yeah. See you."
After Ron was gone, Harry tried to get himself engrossed in the new book he'd gotten, but found he couldn't concentrate. He sighed and shut the book with a snap.
He wanted to sleep, but he knew he wouldn't be able to. Suddenly all he could think about was Cedric, and his earlier nightmare, and the words, 'I'll see you soon, Harry.' He hadn't said that in the other nightmares. Harry shivered.
With a rush of gratefulness, he remembered the Sleeping Potion Dumbledore had given him earlier. Good; he'd use that. He tiredly took off his clothes and got into some old pajamas of his. They were the only pair he owned, well other than Dudley's outgrown ones.
He was turning to blow out the candles, when he heard a soft noise behind him- a rustle or so. His spine stiffened, and instinctively he gripped his wand he'd even put in the pocket of his pajamas.
*You're becoming more and more like Mad- Eye Moody everyday Potter- stop being so paranoid.*
But there it was again- the rustling. And then the sound of shoes shifting on the ground. A clump- was that wood?
Harry could feel himself shaking. His logic told him that there was no one there- it just didn't make sense for someone to be in his room now. But his instinct told him otherwise..
He took his wand out, braced himself, and jumped around, his right arm pointed. What he saw made his jaw drop in a silent scream.
"Please don't yell," the old man said. "I'm not here to hurt you." He lifted his palms out. "See? I can't even do magic," he said in a croaky voice. The candlelight illuminated his sad, angry, wrinkled face, and he was carrying a wooden cane.
Harry's mouth opened and shut like a goldfish. "I..I.. know you," he whispered, keeping his wand trailed on the man. "But you can't..it can't be."
Suddenly memories flooded him: an old graveyard, the tall, skeletally thin wizard with the red slit eyes, the gray images coming out of that wand..an old man.."
The room spun around him, and he felt like he was going to faint. He staggered back against the wall, not believing what he saw. His eyes were surely playing tricks on him. Yes, that was it. After all those nightmares, he had finally cracked.
"Are you all right?" the man asked.
"Go away," Harry moaned. "You're not real."
"Well you got that right."
Suddenly he stood erect, and his eyes burnt green fire. "Is this some kind of low, sick trick? Throwing it in my face, are you? What next, pretend to be my parents back from the dead?!" he snarled. Anger coursed through every vein in his body.
"No - it's not like that..you don't understand."
"Who are you?! Are you the same as that McKinnon person, in disguise? Tell me now! Or are you one of that bastard Malfoy's damn hoodlums?!"
"Keep it down!" the man hissed.
"Afraid of getting caught, are you?"
"No, afraid that people'll think you're crazy. They won't see anyone here if you call them."
Harry stared at him. "Very funny."
"Just listen to me, will you? Look, you have that wand thing- you can hurt me anytime you want to. It won't hurt you to listen. I don't know why I should explain, but I've got a feeling that you should know."
Harry considered. "Fine," he said finally. "But keep it quick."
The man nodded, then he scratched his head in thought, looking flustered. "Okay, look- it's Potter, right? Okay.. my name is Bryce. You seemed to recognize me - I don't know how- but this will make things easier." He paused. Harry looked steadily at him, his wand still out.
"I- I'm dead. I'm not a living person," Frank Bryce said.
Harry raised an eyebrow. "Muggles don't become ghosts," he said.
"Gracious Lord, you lot have ghosts too? No, I'm not a ghost."
"Okay, let me get this straight." His heart was pounding, both with anger and fear. He was sure this was some new plot Voldemort had cracked up to get him, and this really wasn't Frank Bryce. "You're saying you're a Muggle, you're dead, but you're not a ghost- and now you stand here talking to me. Do you think I'm stupid?"
"No, and it's perfectly normal that you don't believe me. But it's true." He looked tired and weary, and as though he himself had no idea why he was here, and talking to Harry, instead of lying peacefully in his grave.
"Prove it." Harry's eyes were hard.
"Can you continue hearing me out first?" he asked, sounding exasperated. Harry heard him mutter something that sounded like, "I'd take the war again over this.. at least that was normal.. tuh..lunacy.."
Harry nodded at him, wondering if all this was a dream.
"All right..now.. this is really strange," he sighed. "I'm still dead- literally, and no one can see me. And suddenly I found myself here, and for some reason.. I *knew* where I was, that I was surrounded by magic, and that you're the scar boy or something- and that lunatic creature thing who killed me - wants you dead too."
"No kidding," muttered Harry.
"I have no idea why I'm here.. why only you can see me- and when I'm dead I'm really dead..I don't feel nothin' but now it's just like I'm living again. And I hate it- you listen here boy, how would it feel to you to know that you're dead and then be teased with life for a little while, when all along you know you don't belong here- and you're gonna die again?"
"Not so good," replied Harry, his brain whizzing. Could he possibly be telling the truth? But how- it was just..too crazy..too weird..why?how?who?! That McKinnon person- he must be one of them, too, or were they all in on the trick?
"I've got to go," Bryce said somberly. "I don't know if I'll be back again.. you take care of yourself, young Potter."
"Wait- I!"
But he wasn't anywhere to be seen. He had gone, just like that.
"Shit!" He angrily threw a book against the wall. It made a loud thud and fell on the floor.
"Why me? Why me?! Aurgh!" he growled in frustration. He couldn't remember the last time he'd felt this angry, and he felt like he had the power to curse and destroy everything within ten feet of him. He was practically shaking with rage.
Everything, *everything*, had to happen to him, the Boy Who Lived. Maybe they'd back off him when he became the Boy Who Died. Probably they would. Or maybe they'd agonize him even in death, somehow.
His mind was so full with thoughts, anger, fear, and worries that he didn't sleep a wink the whole night, and he was completely exhausted when the knock came on his room's door the next morning.
A/N: Thanks for the reviews. -Enjoy!
Chapter 3
A Strange Little Visit
Harry pushed the mashed potatoes around his plate with a fork without bothering to put any in his mouth. There was a ringing in his ears from all the conversation and laughter around him, and the headache was starting again. He was used to that, though. Headaches were as normal and recurring as the nightmares.
"Harry, what's wrong? You've barely eaten a thing, dear."
He looked up through tired green eyes into the face of Mrs. Weasley. They were all seated around a large dinner table in the pub, and Harry's 'depression mood' had hit again.
"I'm not hungry," he said, forcing a smile. "I ate a snack a little while ago."
"Are you sure? You look tired," Ron's mother said, concerned.
"No, really, I'm great." His eyes met Ginny's and he looked away, turning to Ron.
"So...have you heard from Hermione recently?" he muttered.
Ron scowled immediately. "She couldn't come, as she's with Vicky," he spat.
Beside them, Fred and George snorted. "Ah, a typical love story," George said in a dramatic voice. "The best friend he's known for so long."
"And suddenly discovers his feelings for her." Fred piped in.
"While she's off with a world- famous Quidditch player."
"Oh, the pain.!"
"Oh, the mis-"
"Shut up," Ron snapped, his ears as red as his hair, while Harry couldn't help laughing in spite of himself.
"Why in hell you would think that I have a crush on that know-it-all is beyond me!" he yelled, and the whole table (which consisted of Ron's parents, Bill, Charlie, Percy, Ginny, and them) went silent and stared at him. Even a few people in the pub turned to look at them.
Fred sniggered. "Reckon you said that a little too loud, Ronniekins?"
"Yeah, man. We were just teasing- you know that," grinned George. "You guys fight way too much to like each other like that."
"Good," said Ron under his breath. "I-
Fred rolled his eyes and stuffed a huge piece of pie in his brother's mouth before he could say anything.
"Mmmph!!! Hmm thkm emm im hmph!" Ron said.
"Yeah, yeah, whatever you say," George grinned.
Ron swallowed with one huge gulp and turned to Harry. "Let's get out of here," he said, pulling at his arm.
Harry shrugged and got up behind his best friend, and was turning to go when he felt someone's gaze on him. He lifted his head only to meet Ginny's dark eyes watching him- was it with concern? And then she blushed and looked away
"Come on, mate," urged Ron. "We'll go to your room. Ours looks like a stampede crashed through it."
"Well the twins were there weren't they?" Harry grinned. They flopped down in armchairs when they reached the comfortable inn room. Harry watched the tall wizard next to him and saw he didn't look too happy.
"Cheer up," he told him, telling himself for the millionth time that he'd switch with Ron's problems any day. "Krum isn't worth being angry about."
"I don't *care* about Krum," Ron scowled. " I care that *she's* hanging with the enemy!"
Somehow Harry doubted this, but he didn't comment. Instead, he said, "He's not the enemy; Voldemort is." His eyes darkened.
Ron winced. Harry had the urge to scream 'VOLDEMORT!' at the top of his voice so the whole inn could hear, but he restrained himself.
"Look at me, talking about a silly thing like Krum while you were almost killed yesterday," Ron said suddenly. "God, I'm such a prat."
Harry forced a laugh. "Don't worry about it. The less I talk about it, the better."
"You were really lucky, you know," Ron shuddered.
*Yeah, as usual. One day I'm not going to be so lucky.*
Ron and Hermione knew by now about his narrow escape from the Death Eaters and his encounter with Lucius Malfoy, (Hermione by owl) but they knew nothing about his depression and nightmares. Ron, though, like the others, could sense it.
"Harry, pal, you look worn out."
Harry fixed his gaze on the window. He hated lying to his friends, but he knew they'd just be worried over nothing and make a big fuss about him. He didn't want that; the last thing he needed now was more attention.
"I'm fine, really." Harry had lost count of how many times he'd said that recently.
Ron shrugged. "If you say so," he yawned. "I'm turning in," he said, looking at his watch. "I'll see you tomorrow morning." He headed towards the door.
"Yeah. See you."
After Ron was gone, Harry tried to get himself engrossed in the new book he'd gotten, but found he couldn't concentrate. He sighed and shut the book with a snap.
He wanted to sleep, but he knew he wouldn't be able to. Suddenly all he could think about was Cedric, and his earlier nightmare, and the words, 'I'll see you soon, Harry.' He hadn't said that in the other nightmares. Harry shivered.
With a rush of gratefulness, he remembered the Sleeping Potion Dumbledore had given him earlier. Good; he'd use that. He tiredly took off his clothes and got into some old pajamas of his. They were the only pair he owned, well other than Dudley's outgrown ones.
He was turning to blow out the candles, when he heard a soft noise behind him- a rustle or so. His spine stiffened, and instinctively he gripped his wand he'd even put in the pocket of his pajamas.
*You're becoming more and more like Mad- Eye Moody everyday Potter- stop being so paranoid.*
But there it was again- the rustling. And then the sound of shoes shifting on the ground. A clump- was that wood?
Harry could feel himself shaking. His logic told him that there was no one there- it just didn't make sense for someone to be in his room now. But his instinct told him otherwise..
He took his wand out, braced himself, and jumped around, his right arm pointed. What he saw made his jaw drop in a silent scream.
"Please don't yell," the old man said. "I'm not here to hurt you." He lifted his palms out. "See? I can't even do magic," he said in a croaky voice. The candlelight illuminated his sad, angry, wrinkled face, and he was carrying a wooden cane.
Harry's mouth opened and shut like a goldfish. "I..I.. know you," he whispered, keeping his wand trailed on the man. "But you can't..it can't be."
Suddenly memories flooded him: an old graveyard, the tall, skeletally thin wizard with the red slit eyes, the gray images coming out of that wand..an old man.."
The room spun around him, and he felt like he was going to faint. He staggered back against the wall, not believing what he saw. His eyes were surely playing tricks on him. Yes, that was it. After all those nightmares, he had finally cracked.
"Are you all right?" the man asked.
"Go away," Harry moaned. "You're not real."
"Well you got that right."
Suddenly he stood erect, and his eyes burnt green fire. "Is this some kind of low, sick trick? Throwing it in my face, are you? What next, pretend to be my parents back from the dead?!" he snarled. Anger coursed through every vein in his body.
"No - it's not like that..you don't understand."
"Who are you?! Are you the same as that McKinnon person, in disguise? Tell me now! Or are you one of that bastard Malfoy's damn hoodlums?!"
"Keep it down!" the man hissed.
"Afraid of getting caught, are you?"
"No, afraid that people'll think you're crazy. They won't see anyone here if you call them."
Harry stared at him. "Very funny."
"Just listen to me, will you? Look, you have that wand thing- you can hurt me anytime you want to. It won't hurt you to listen. I don't know why I should explain, but I've got a feeling that you should know."
Harry considered. "Fine," he said finally. "But keep it quick."
The man nodded, then he scratched his head in thought, looking flustered. "Okay, look- it's Potter, right? Okay.. my name is Bryce. You seemed to recognize me - I don't know how- but this will make things easier." He paused. Harry looked steadily at him, his wand still out.
"I- I'm dead. I'm not a living person," Frank Bryce said.
Harry raised an eyebrow. "Muggles don't become ghosts," he said.
"Gracious Lord, you lot have ghosts too? No, I'm not a ghost."
"Okay, let me get this straight." His heart was pounding, both with anger and fear. He was sure this was some new plot Voldemort had cracked up to get him, and this really wasn't Frank Bryce. "You're saying you're a Muggle, you're dead, but you're not a ghost- and now you stand here talking to me. Do you think I'm stupid?"
"No, and it's perfectly normal that you don't believe me. But it's true." He looked tired and weary, and as though he himself had no idea why he was here, and talking to Harry, instead of lying peacefully in his grave.
"Prove it." Harry's eyes were hard.
"Can you continue hearing me out first?" he asked, sounding exasperated. Harry heard him mutter something that sounded like, "I'd take the war again over this.. at least that was normal.. tuh..lunacy.."
Harry nodded at him, wondering if all this was a dream.
"All right..now.. this is really strange," he sighed. "I'm still dead- literally, and no one can see me. And suddenly I found myself here, and for some reason.. I *knew* where I was, that I was surrounded by magic, and that you're the scar boy or something- and that lunatic creature thing who killed me - wants you dead too."
"No kidding," muttered Harry.
"I have no idea why I'm here.. why only you can see me- and when I'm dead I'm really dead..I don't feel nothin' but now it's just like I'm living again. And I hate it- you listen here boy, how would it feel to you to know that you're dead and then be teased with life for a little while, when all along you know you don't belong here- and you're gonna die again?"
"Not so good," replied Harry, his brain whizzing. Could he possibly be telling the truth? But how- it was just..too crazy..too weird..why?how?who?! That McKinnon person- he must be one of them, too, or were they all in on the trick?
"I've got to go," Bryce said somberly. "I don't know if I'll be back again.. you take care of yourself, young Potter."
"Wait- I!"
But he wasn't anywhere to be seen. He had gone, just like that.
"Shit!" He angrily threw a book against the wall. It made a loud thud and fell on the floor.
"Why me? Why me?! Aurgh!" he growled in frustration. He couldn't remember the last time he'd felt this angry, and he felt like he had the power to curse and destroy everything within ten feet of him. He was practically shaking with rage.
Everything, *everything*, had to happen to him, the Boy Who Lived. Maybe they'd back off him when he became the Boy Who Died. Probably they would. Or maybe they'd agonize him even in death, somehow.
His mind was so full with thoughts, anger, fear, and worries that he didn't sleep a wink the whole night, and he was completely exhausted when the knock came on his room's door the next morning.