Disclaimer: all characters belong to J K Rowling and Warner brothers.
a/n see bottom.
Gia - *grin* I'm not telling… I have a rather bad habit about changing my mind in the middle of a story and going back to reedit a chapter. I've been trying to write three chapters at a time, and posting at five day intervals, so I won't suddenly decide to change the entire plot and have to repost the last two chapters. It's quite a pain. Of course now I'll be flamed for hiding the next two chapters, eep *hides*
Tilly & MercS - eh? I was trying not to leave this chapter as a cliff hanger too, oops. I was trying to bring the first part of the story to a smooth close. Uh… *hides behind Tilly* I can't forget Biology, I almost got a C! *cries*
Kelzery - the title does ruin it a bit, doesn't it? The ghost of Harry? Well, uh… that's...
Evie - yay! I'm a good sort of evil, *schemes nicely* Uh… I'm not telling what happened to Harry. That gets explained in chapter… seven, I think.
Midnight Dragon - here it is. Enjoy!
Nicky - Wow, I'm mean and evil *malicious grin* but I'm glad you liked the story!
Heaven - yeah, Sirius always gets the short end of the stick! It's really unfair.
Vmr - thanks! I hope the quality of the chapters don't start declining. Hopefully, my muse stays with me.
Starlight - I'm not telling *grin*
Kimmy - wow, thanks! I can't tell you what happened to Harry, that'll ruin the plot. Suspense is the best… unless you're the victim. Then that really sucks, but…. Well… uhhh…
Gaby - I took your advice! Originally, I didn't include any of that, but it's a very good idea. Tell me what you think!
!!!!!!!!!!!!! - well, Sirius is still alive though…
Abbsiegail - sorry! Well, because Harry is nice and doesn't want Sirius to die?
D. Shimare - thank you for your encouragement!
Lady Foxfire - I'm not telling *grin*
Stardust - yeah, with Harry dead, a lot of other factors have to come into play, Voldermort's uprising and everything. Wait, are there any stories that have Harry killed?
Allocin - I can't feed the donkey yet! Need to dangle the carrot a bit longer.. *cackle*
Alexia - nope, Voldermort is still alive. This isn't quite the last battle yet, although I don't think I'll address Voldermort's death in this story. Or maybe… humm… I donnuo.
This chapter's dedicated to Gaby, who suggested writing the reactions of the Weasleys, Hermione, and the Dursleys in the first place. Thank you!
Cheating Death
By neutral
Chapter five - cheating the living
Overnight, the entire wizarding world was in uproar.
Peter Pettigrew ran in front of the Ministry of Magic, dark cloak in tow, screaming on the top of his lungs that the Dark Lord was back, and Harry Potter was dead. He had helped, and watched him kill. What's more, Harry Potter had died trying to save Sirius Black, the alleged murderer of his parents. He blurted out the truth of the secret keepers, the night of the third task, and waved his dark mark to the gaping crowds, and then burst into tears, begging for forgiveness. Even Fudge could no longer cover the suspicions and rumors running rampant.
At first, people were in denial. If Harry Potter had died, where was the proof? Where was his body? Where was Voldermort?
But when Peter Pettigrew confirmed his story under Veritaserum and Dumbledore admitted to Harry's death, a few began to have doubts.
The Dark Lord of back.
The Boy Who Lived was dead.
Dead trying to save Sirius Black!
The boy was insane, many said. His past finally caught up with him.
No, others argued, Peter Pettigrew was guilty! Sirius Black was innocent all along, and Harry Potter knew.
Why didn't he just block the killing curse like he did before? Some asked. Why couldn't he save us again? He was the savior! He was the one who could defeat You Know Who!
But he's just a boy, others said. He lived because his mother died willingly. So maybe Sirius Black would become our next survivor.
Not very likely, others decided.
And then, every wrong that had been held against Harry when he was alive were instantly retracted. He was a parselmouth because Voldermort cursed him. He really had visions and dreams of his arch enemy; that was why he acted so oddly that year. He was just a child, burdened by the hopes of many, faced with impossible expectations. He was really a wonderful, special boy!
But he was dead.
Instantly, Remus' house was flooded by letters of denial, shock, and demand for the truth. They stacked on the side of the coffee table, ignored. Remus, after Dumbledore's departure, left for his room upstairs immediately. He shuddered when he passed the living room, with Harry still lying in the chair, eyes closed and face calm. He tried hard not to look at the body of his best friend's son, but once in a while, he could catch himself staring at the strands of messy hair that peaked over the side of the chair, or the glasses folded neatly on the coffee table.
One morning, Remus woke up to find Harry's body gone and Sirius missing from the transfigured bed. He was caught in the fear that Sirius, at a moment's desperation, left the house with his godson's body, but his fear soon turned into worry when he found Sirius in the guestroom at the bottom floor, leaning against the bed frame and looking unseeingly at nothing in particular, with Harry slumped in his lap with the mockery of a child. Once in a while, he would run his hands through Harry's hair, still in the worn and oversized clothing. He was oblivious to the news around him; more likely, he just didn't care.
Remus left the room quickly, not knowing what to say, but even more afraid of speaking at all.
Molly Weasley pushed some strands of red hair that escaped the bun out of her eyes as she set the table, a bit flustered at having overslept that morning. The task of raising and maintaining a household of five men and one girl was draining, especially since she ended up with most of the work.
"Morning dear," she mumbled as she caught sight of her husband making his way downstairs. She levitated the cup of coffee and the morning paper towards him, keeping one eye on the pot.
"Mmm…," Arthur nodded distractedly, cup in one hand and tie in the other. He left the paper on the table, and as he was buttoning his robes, unfolded it with his elbow.
The cup crashed to the floor. Arthur sat up, grasping the paper with both hands, eyes wide. Molly looked at him with concern.
"What is it? Is it You-Know-Who again?" she asked carefully, her wand still pointing to the stove. It wasn't all a surprise; even though Voldermort had been keeping a fairly low profile, the Weasleys had been expecting an attack for several weeks now.
Arthur didn't respond, but all the color had left his face. "Molly," he finally gasped out. "It's Harry."
That instantly caught her attention. "What? What's wrong with Harry?" she asked worriedly.
Arthur took a deep breath, dropping paper and taking unsteady steps towards the stairs. "Ron! Get down here."
But Molly wasn't paying attention. A flashing picture caught her eye. She glanced sharply at it, jaw dropping when she saw the picture of Peter Pettigrew bursting into tears, hiding his face in his black robes, the dark mark visible on his wrist.
The Boy Who Lived is Dead!
Killed by the Dark Lord while trying to save Sirius Black
The pot of boiling water chattered to the floor.
"No," she whispered, hand covering her mouth in shock.
"Mum, what's wrong?" Ron asked, taking in the picture of his parents, both pale and shaking, with unease. Something terrible had happened, and it concerned him.
Fred and George followed closely behind, disturbed by the sound of broken cups and spilled pots. Soon, the entire household was gathered in the tiny dinning room, and Arthur and Molly were still speechless.
Finally, Arthur pulled out the chair and sat in it shakily. He held out the paper with one hand and covered his face with the other. The twins looked at each other quizzically, before George took it from his father and handed it to Ron. Ron accepted it, looking at his parents uncomfortably.
Instantly, his eyes widened. "What, that's impossible!" he whispered, trembling violently. "They're lying. They don't know what they're talking about!"
"What is it?" Percy looked worried and irritated by the roundabout messages his family was speaking with.
Ron wasn't listening. "It must be Rita Skeeter again. Hermione must have let her go and she's trying to retaliate," he flung the paper back at his father angrily. "Well, it's a terrible joke! I don't think it's funny at all. We should write to them and complain." Ron's eyes were narrowed with a burning anger that would have disturbed even Mafloy. His face was flushed, and he swayed on his feet.
Percy paled at Ron's reaction, and picked up the paper hurriedly. He stopped at the headlines, and was silent for a whole minute before saying, "Harry's dead?"
The twins cried out in shock and disbelief, while Ginny burst into tears. Ron ripped the paper out of his brother's hands and ripped it in half angrily.
"That's not true. I just wrote to him two days ago and he said he was fine! He said he was bored… he said he wished he could stay with us," Ron's voice lowered to a strained whisper, and there was a suspicious brightness in his eyes. "He said he missed Mum's cooking, and he can't wait to see us at Diagon Alley."
Ginny's choked sobs finally became loud wailing at that statement, and Molly covered her face with her hands. Arthur shook his head, willing himself to remain calm in front of his son.
"I'm writing to Harry right now. I'm going to tell him about this stupid article that Rita Skeeter wrote!"
"Ron, let's write to Dumbledore and ask him," he said softly.
But that was the wrong thing to say. Ron's face suddenly flushed again, and he glared at his father with unsuppressed anger. "It was Dumbledore's fault! He didn't let Harry come home with us. If Harry was here, then this would never have happened!"
"Ron," Arthur said warningly.
"I'm writing to Harry right now…" Ron whispered, sounding slightly desperate.
He looked unsteady on his feet as he backed slowly towards the stairs. Fred reached out to place a reassuring hand on his youngest brother, looking a bit dazed at the news, but Ron knocked it away angrily.
"Don't touch me!" he yelled, "Harry can't die, he's not suppose to die. They're lying!" Ron rubbed his eyes hard, and fled up the stairs.
The room was silent.
Hermione spilled her drink all over her eyes when she ran her eyes over the front page of the Daily Prophet. She didn't even notice her parents when they jumped up to rescue the table cloth, or when they called her name. Her eyes were only locked on the headlines of the article.
The Boy Who Lived is Dead…
Harry is dead…
"No!" she gasped, pulling the paper closer despite the plates she knocked aside. "This isn't possible!"
Harry was dead. Her best friend of four years was dead. The boy she remembered, looking nervous and determined before each quittich game, looking bored and irritated after each Divination lesson, and pale and haunted at the end of fourth year, was dead? How was that possible? She just received a letter from him yesterday reassuring her that everything was alright, and he wasn't having any dreams.
But Harry wasn't the type to confess his fears, Hermione realized with a sinking heart. He could have known Sirius was missing for weeks or suspected it, and not tell anyone. But he would tell his best friends, wouldn't he?
With a sinking heart, she recalled that Harry never seemed to mention Sirius in any of his letters. He said his scar wasn't hurting, but Harry often lies about things like that just so he couldn't worry anyone. And to run after Sirius, with foolish and stubborn thoughts of rescuing him seemed exactly like something Harry would do.
Hermione's dropped the paper, covering her face with her hands, not even bothering to hold back sobs. Harry was dead. He was dead! Distantly, she could feel a comforting hand on her shoulder.
"Hermione, sweetie, what's wrong?" her mother asked gently.
She shook her head, words choked back by sobs. How could they understand? They didn't even know about Voldermort…
Her parents seemed to silently understand. They asked no more questions, and her mother folded her into a reassuring hug, smoothing her hair gently.
"Shush, I'm sure whatever happened, it'll be alright soon."
"No!" Hermione tore herself away, dimly aware of her parents recoiling in surprise. She had never yelled like that before. "It'll never be alright! What'll we do? What'll Ron and I do?"
It was her fault! She should have noticed it sooner. Maybe if she told Dumbledore about her suspicions, Harry would still be alive. Her fault…
Sobbing, she pushed herself away from the table, her chair clattering to the floor. She wasn't even aware of herself stumbling up the stairs and slamming shut her bedroom door. Sinking to the bed, she buried her face in her pillow, muffling the cries that racked her body and tore at her throat.
He was dead!
The words seemed to taunt her mind. She shook her head, trying to hide from the truth that plagued her. No, that's not true, she wanted to say, but it seemed more and more unconvincing every minute. Finally, Hermione lay limply on her bed, tired and weary from her tears. A tap drew her from her numb cocoon, but when she caught sight of the glass at her nightstand, she felt a consuming anger burn.
"Look what you've done!" she yelled, glaring at the brown beetle with venom. "You made the whole world think Harry's crazy when you knew that wasn't true! You did it all for your own benefit. Everyone thinks he's insane. You turned everyone against him! And when Harry really needed help, no one was there all because of you! Harry's dead, and it's all your fault!!"
Even as the words left her mouth, Hermione knew it was not true. But she couldn't help it. The news was too much to bear; she had to take it out on someone.
"Did you have any idea how miserable you made him last year? Now Harry's dead, he's dead! Are you happy? You want to go and write another big lie about how he was Voldermort's servant? You think it's funny to ruin other's lives don't you?" Hermione continued, tears streaking her face. She couldn't stop; she was too angry.
Rita Skeeter was looking positively frightened then, backing as far away as possible and flapping flimsy wings against the glass.
"Forget about our agreement! I'm not going to let you go at all. I don't trust you to fix anything! You can forget about eating too, I'm going to add you to my beetle collection!"
Hermione grabbed the jar and shoved it in the deepest recess of her closest, hands trembling with unsuppressed emotion, wanting nothing more than to make the reporter as miserable and unhappy as she. She hated her. She hated them. She wanted revenge.
Vernon Dursley slammed his coffee mug down in irritation.
"Damn those salesmen. Dudley, go open the door," he complained, not looking up from his paper.
His whale of a son glared rebelliously, fingering his Smeltings stick, but said nothing. Ever since Harry's disappearances, he had been forced run on these small tasks, and he wasn't happy. Secretly, he was planning to give that freak a good twack when he returned.
Vernon finally looked up from his newspaper when a loud squeal echoed through the room and a chunky boy ran into the kitchen faster than scientifically possible for something his size. He crawled under the table with much difficulty and covered his backside. He didn't even need to speak for Vernon and Petunia to realize what's wrong.
A sallow, yellow faced man with a long back robe and the boniest fingers he's ever seen stalked into the room, looking sour. His hair was in thick black strands, holding so much grease that he was sure it would be dripping soon. Vernon stood up, shielding his wife and son as best as possible, holding his fork in a position he hoped looked intimidating.
"If you're here looking for the boy, he isn't here. He ran off a couple of days ago; if he caused any trouble, it's none of our business," he growled, narrowing his eyes at the eagle-faced man.
The man looked at him with an unreadable expression. Vernon shuddered, feeling as if he was trying to slice him in pieces with his eyes. When he spoke, his voice was smooth but full of annoyance.
"I know Potter isn't here," the man sighed, looking a bit weary. "He died three days ago. I didn't want to be the one to break the news, but everyone else is busy."
It took several minutes for the news to sink in. Vernon frowned, wondering if this was some sort of joke, but his wife gasped.
"He's dead?" she whispered slowly, looking a bit dazed. Her tone bore a strange mix of regret and hope.
The yellow-faced man sighed in exasperation. "I don't want to say it again. Here's the paper, if you want to know more."
He flung a roll of normal looking newspaper, and instead of swatting it away like the plague, Vernon dumbly caught it. The man was serious, he realized. The boy really did die. For a moment, he felt excessively happy he finally got rid of the abnormal boy and wouldn't have to deal with the freak again. But then, there was a strange bubble of guilt. The boy didn't cause much trouble, now that he thought about it. He did strange things once in a while, but he never demanded anything. He always stayed pretty much out of his way.
"How… how did he die?" asked a squeaking voice. Vernon blinked in surprise when he noticed that it was his son speaking. His curiosity overrode his fear of wizards, and he seemed almost worried. The news of his cousin dying reminded him of his own mortality, and that was unnerving to say the least.
The man snorted, a bitter grin coming to his face. "Potter's a stubborn fool. His godfather got into trouble and he traded himself to save him. Died the same way his mother did," a brief look of pain seeped into his eyes, but they quickly hardened again. "You should have watched him, knowing how much trouble that boy gets himself into."
The shock of the news quickly became defensiveness when Vernon realized the stranger was accusing them. "Well how were we suppose to know?" he hissed. "The boy never talks."
"Well I hardly wonder why. Do you ever call Harry by his name?" the man snapped, looking sour and angry again.
"He's just a freak," Dudley mumbled, a bit braver after his first question, but all of that evaporated when Snape turned a furious glare his way.
"I see why he wanted to get out of here so badly," he whispered, looking bitterly amused. "I understand now." He turned to the Dursleys with his most intimidating glare. "Listen, Potter was a very important person. His death made a lot of people very unhappy, especially his murderer of a godfather and his werewolf uncle. They might come after you, and I assure you, the only reason they never skinned all of you alive was because Harry would have been upset."
The Dursleys visibly paled at that statement, and Dudley gave a frightened yelp.
Petunia shook her head, looking a bit shaken. "We've never wanted him to die."
"Potter obviously thought otherwise," Snape snapped, looking more irritated than ever. He didn't trust himself not to hex one of them to take out some of his anger. Sighing, he rolled his eyes. "Forget it. I'm here to pick up his stuff; where's his room?"
Snape glared at the pitiful excuse for a room irritably, taking in the clock, held together with scotch tape, and the various broken muggle devices that lay scattered across the room. So this was Potter's room. On normal occasions, he would have been disgusted, finding a few snide remarks on Harry's cleaning habits, but now he wasn't surprised at all. With the bewildered but strangely satisfied expressions of the Dursleys (the horse woman was the only one who looked remotely upset), he was starting to regret giving the boy such a hard time.
The potions professor sighed, sinking into the undersized bed and running his hand through his hair wearily. The past three days were a nightmare, with Dumbledore's office flooded with mail and Fudge threatening to imprison him for Death Eater activities. It was obvious he was trying to use him as a scapegoat to rescue his scampy reputation, but that pathetic minister was doing more harm than good.
And Harry was dead. That was still hard to believe.
He hardly wondered when he started calling Potter, Harry. He barely noticed the change. It hardly seemed important anymore. And sitting here, in Harry's old room, he could feel the memories returning again. That intent stare Harry gave him that morning at the graveyard, when he told Snape he wouldn't leave because if would cost him his life. That look of anger and desperation when the dark cloaks surrounded him, and Harry realized he was hopelessly outnumbered and death was inevitable. That sense of determination when he rushed towards Black, without hesitation, not even wincing from the broken bones he must have jostled.
Snape rubbed his eyes angrily, wondering when he'll ever be free from that reoccurring nightmare. He was starting to dread sleep; every night, he would see a flash of green, and the limp form of the boy slump over Sirius, looking calm and peaceful for the first time in his life. Or he would hear him scream out in pain and disbelief when his own godfather snapped his arm. Snape shuddered. With all the dreams he was going through, he couldn't even imagine what it was for Black. To lose the only person he had left to his own foolishness…
The potion's master stood up quickly, growling low in his throat. He was going soft, he thought as paced the room. Soon, he was going to be sympathizing with the werewolf.
Snape sighed again, catching sight of a worn quill lying by the bedside, and crumpled sheets of parchment on the tattered desk. Hesitantly, he reached for one, spreading it out slowly over his knee. The tiny scrawl was obviously Harry's, and from the smudges on the letter and the uneven sentences, it was written in darkness.
Hermione,
Do you know if Voldermort is causing any trouble lately? I have this strange feeling
The rest of the letter cut off abruptly, as if Harry was embarrassed for admitting a weakness. Snape scowled; just like a Potter. But even as that thought surfaced, Snape began to have doubts. Harry was very different from James. He remembered the stoic, neutral expression of his when Snape had threatened him with the truth potion last year. Harry had been calm despite all those attacks, almost indifferent, but he could see the fire burning in his eyes. How much self control did it take, for him not to cry out in protest? If it had been James, he would have been at his throat within minutes, but Harry was silent and enduring. Snape rubbed his eyes; what wouldn't he give to have Harry alive again. A distant part of his mind cried out in horror at that thought. It would make everything a lot easier, he snapped at it angrily.
Another sheet of paper was entangled in that, and Snape drew it out carefully and spread it against the bed.
Ron,
Snuffles isn't writing. Do you think something could be wrong? Dudley is being a prat. I think he's bitter about the ton tongue toffee incident
Snape raised his eyebrow at that.
And he's been trying to hit me with that stick of his. He's too fat to actually reach very far.
Snape paused, remembering the cry of pain when he gripped Harry's shoulder. He thought he had been acting then, but it fell into place. He scowled when he recalled the long, angry looking stick that resided in his cousin's chunky hand. That whale tried to hit Harry with that? And his aunt and uncle let him? But it would be a miracle if they actually didn't, Snape realized with a sinking heart. Those pathetic muggles saw Harry with something just short of the plague.
'Finally got that freak off our hands,' Vernon was mumbling when he showed him to his door. It took all of Snape's self control not to hit him with an unforgivable right then and there.
Angrily, he snatched another crumpled sheet of parchment from the floor, lying close to the bag acting as a makeshift trash can.
Snuffles,
I had a strange dream. I can't remember it, but it left a strange feeling. My scar doesn't hurt though…
It was never completed. Snape sighed, desperately wondering why Harry never contacted Dumbledore. It could have saved his life. He didn't have to die like that!
He should have stopped him, Snape thought furiously. He should have grabbed Harry and just ran, mindless of all the Death Eaters surrounding them. Who cares about his spy status. Who cares what Harry would have said. At least he would still be alive!
*
This is a slow chapter, sorry. It's more of an interlude than anything. Ack! Cheesiness attack! Very, very, very cheesy. Oozing cheese. Urg! Help!
I'm sorry, Hermione's characterization wasn't that great. I wrote it on my laptop in some Chinese restaurant with a waitress breathing down my neck.
I couldn't decide whether I wanted the Dursleys happy or sad, so they were sort of both. It made it worse, didn't it.
Snape sounds too nice. Way too nice, but you have to admit, Snape isn't that bad. He just has some issues, sort of. Yeah.
I hit a slight block. I have part of the story planned, and wrote all the way up to chapter nine before I realized I don't like the direction it's going and got a whole new idea which I absolutely adore but too lazy to write.
Originally, I planned to have Harry discover a secret that would umm... be sort of important later on. Unfortunately, that sort of left Sirius out of the story and crashed the entire high strung, rather tense atmosphere of the plot and make it all slowly crawly. But it's all the way up to chapter nine (still only half way done though, grr)! What a waste of time and brain cells… Would you want to read it anyway? I'll post it separately, but it probably won't be finished.
The one I really, really want to use keeps Sirius in the running (the story description completely gave it away. Crud. Gotta change it) Personally, I like that one a lot better, especially since it keeps Sirius and Harry as the focus and settles some touchy issues, but changing gears in the middle of the story is still a pain. *sigh*
Review! Constructive criticism is great, I'd like to know how I'm writing.
a/n see bottom.
Gia - *grin* I'm not telling… I have a rather bad habit about changing my mind in the middle of a story and going back to reedit a chapter. I've been trying to write three chapters at a time, and posting at five day intervals, so I won't suddenly decide to change the entire plot and have to repost the last two chapters. It's quite a pain. Of course now I'll be flamed for hiding the next two chapters, eep *hides*
Tilly & MercS - eh? I was trying not to leave this chapter as a cliff hanger too, oops. I was trying to bring the first part of the story to a smooth close. Uh… *hides behind Tilly* I can't forget Biology, I almost got a C! *cries*
Kelzery - the title does ruin it a bit, doesn't it? The ghost of Harry? Well, uh… that's...
Evie - yay! I'm a good sort of evil, *schemes nicely* Uh… I'm not telling what happened to Harry. That gets explained in chapter… seven, I think.
Midnight Dragon - here it is. Enjoy!
Nicky - Wow, I'm mean and evil *malicious grin* but I'm glad you liked the story!
Heaven - yeah, Sirius always gets the short end of the stick! It's really unfair.
Vmr - thanks! I hope the quality of the chapters don't start declining. Hopefully, my muse stays with me.
Starlight - I'm not telling *grin*
Kimmy - wow, thanks! I can't tell you what happened to Harry, that'll ruin the plot. Suspense is the best… unless you're the victim. Then that really sucks, but…. Well… uhhh…
Gaby - I took your advice! Originally, I didn't include any of that, but it's a very good idea. Tell me what you think!
!!!!!!!!!!!!! - well, Sirius is still alive though…
Abbsiegail - sorry! Well, because Harry is nice and doesn't want Sirius to die?
D. Shimare - thank you for your encouragement!
Lady Foxfire - I'm not telling *grin*
Stardust - yeah, with Harry dead, a lot of other factors have to come into play, Voldermort's uprising and everything. Wait, are there any stories that have Harry killed?
Allocin - I can't feed the donkey yet! Need to dangle the carrot a bit longer.. *cackle*
Alexia - nope, Voldermort is still alive. This isn't quite the last battle yet, although I don't think I'll address Voldermort's death in this story. Or maybe… humm… I donnuo.
This chapter's dedicated to Gaby, who suggested writing the reactions of the Weasleys, Hermione, and the Dursleys in the first place. Thank you!
Cheating Death
By neutral
Chapter five - cheating the living
Overnight, the entire wizarding world was in uproar.
Peter Pettigrew ran in front of the Ministry of Magic, dark cloak in tow, screaming on the top of his lungs that the Dark Lord was back, and Harry Potter was dead. He had helped, and watched him kill. What's more, Harry Potter had died trying to save Sirius Black, the alleged murderer of his parents. He blurted out the truth of the secret keepers, the night of the third task, and waved his dark mark to the gaping crowds, and then burst into tears, begging for forgiveness. Even Fudge could no longer cover the suspicions and rumors running rampant.
At first, people were in denial. If Harry Potter had died, where was the proof? Where was his body? Where was Voldermort?
But when Peter Pettigrew confirmed his story under Veritaserum and Dumbledore admitted to Harry's death, a few began to have doubts.
The Dark Lord of back.
The Boy Who Lived was dead.
Dead trying to save Sirius Black!
The boy was insane, many said. His past finally caught up with him.
No, others argued, Peter Pettigrew was guilty! Sirius Black was innocent all along, and Harry Potter knew.
Why didn't he just block the killing curse like he did before? Some asked. Why couldn't he save us again? He was the savior! He was the one who could defeat You Know Who!
But he's just a boy, others said. He lived because his mother died willingly. So maybe Sirius Black would become our next survivor.
Not very likely, others decided.
And then, every wrong that had been held against Harry when he was alive were instantly retracted. He was a parselmouth because Voldermort cursed him. He really had visions and dreams of his arch enemy; that was why he acted so oddly that year. He was just a child, burdened by the hopes of many, faced with impossible expectations. He was really a wonderful, special boy!
But he was dead.
Instantly, Remus' house was flooded by letters of denial, shock, and demand for the truth. They stacked on the side of the coffee table, ignored. Remus, after Dumbledore's departure, left for his room upstairs immediately. He shuddered when he passed the living room, with Harry still lying in the chair, eyes closed and face calm. He tried hard not to look at the body of his best friend's son, but once in a while, he could catch himself staring at the strands of messy hair that peaked over the side of the chair, or the glasses folded neatly on the coffee table.
One morning, Remus woke up to find Harry's body gone and Sirius missing from the transfigured bed. He was caught in the fear that Sirius, at a moment's desperation, left the house with his godson's body, but his fear soon turned into worry when he found Sirius in the guestroom at the bottom floor, leaning against the bed frame and looking unseeingly at nothing in particular, with Harry slumped in his lap with the mockery of a child. Once in a while, he would run his hands through Harry's hair, still in the worn and oversized clothing. He was oblivious to the news around him; more likely, he just didn't care.
Remus left the room quickly, not knowing what to say, but even more afraid of speaking at all.
Molly Weasley pushed some strands of red hair that escaped the bun out of her eyes as she set the table, a bit flustered at having overslept that morning. The task of raising and maintaining a household of five men and one girl was draining, especially since she ended up with most of the work.
"Morning dear," she mumbled as she caught sight of her husband making his way downstairs. She levitated the cup of coffee and the morning paper towards him, keeping one eye on the pot.
"Mmm…," Arthur nodded distractedly, cup in one hand and tie in the other. He left the paper on the table, and as he was buttoning his robes, unfolded it with his elbow.
The cup crashed to the floor. Arthur sat up, grasping the paper with both hands, eyes wide. Molly looked at him with concern.
"What is it? Is it You-Know-Who again?" she asked carefully, her wand still pointing to the stove. It wasn't all a surprise; even though Voldermort had been keeping a fairly low profile, the Weasleys had been expecting an attack for several weeks now.
Arthur didn't respond, but all the color had left his face. "Molly," he finally gasped out. "It's Harry."
That instantly caught her attention. "What? What's wrong with Harry?" she asked worriedly.
Arthur took a deep breath, dropping paper and taking unsteady steps towards the stairs. "Ron! Get down here."
But Molly wasn't paying attention. A flashing picture caught her eye. She glanced sharply at it, jaw dropping when she saw the picture of Peter Pettigrew bursting into tears, hiding his face in his black robes, the dark mark visible on his wrist.
Killed by the Dark Lord while trying to save Sirius Black
The pot of boiling water chattered to the floor.
"No," she whispered, hand covering her mouth in shock.
"Mum, what's wrong?" Ron asked, taking in the picture of his parents, both pale and shaking, with unease. Something terrible had happened, and it concerned him.
Fred and George followed closely behind, disturbed by the sound of broken cups and spilled pots. Soon, the entire household was gathered in the tiny dinning room, and Arthur and Molly were still speechless.
Finally, Arthur pulled out the chair and sat in it shakily. He held out the paper with one hand and covered his face with the other. The twins looked at each other quizzically, before George took it from his father and handed it to Ron. Ron accepted it, looking at his parents uncomfortably.
Instantly, his eyes widened. "What, that's impossible!" he whispered, trembling violently. "They're lying. They don't know what they're talking about!"
"What is it?" Percy looked worried and irritated by the roundabout messages his family was speaking with.
Ron wasn't listening. "It must be Rita Skeeter again. Hermione must have let her go and she's trying to retaliate," he flung the paper back at his father angrily. "Well, it's a terrible joke! I don't think it's funny at all. We should write to them and complain." Ron's eyes were narrowed with a burning anger that would have disturbed even Mafloy. His face was flushed, and he swayed on his feet.
Percy paled at Ron's reaction, and picked up the paper hurriedly. He stopped at the headlines, and was silent for a whole minute before saying, "Harry's dead?"
The twins cried out in shock and disbelief, while Ginny burst into tears. Ron ripped the paper out of his brother's hands and ripped it in half angrily.
"That's not true. I just wrote to him two days ago and he said he was fine! He said he was bored… he said he wished he could stay with us," Ron's voice lowered to a strained whisper, and there was a suspicious brightness in his eyes. "He said he missed Mum's cooking, and he can't wait to see us at Diagon Alley."
Ginny's choked sobs finally became loud wailing at that statement, and Molly covered her face with her hands. Arthur shook his head, willing himself to remain calm in front of his son.
"I'm writing to Harry right now. I'm going to tell him about this stupid article that Rita Skeeter wrote!"
"Ron, let's write to Dumbledore and ask him," he said softly.
But that was the wrong thing to say. Ron's face suddenly flushed again, and he glared at his father with unsuppressed anger. "It was Dumbledore's fault! He didn't let Harry come home with us. If Harry was here, then this would never have happened!"
"Ron," Arthur said warningly.
"I'm writing to Harry right now…" Ron whispered, sounding slightly desperate.
He looked unsteady on his feet as he backed slowly towards the stairs. Fred reached out to place a reassuring hand on his youngest brother, looking a bit dazed at the news, but Ron knocked it away angrily.
"Don't touch me!" he yelled, "Harry can't die, he's not suppose to die. They're lying!" Ron rubbed his eyes hard, and fled up the stairs.
The room was silent.
Hermione spilled her drink all over her eyes when she ran her eyes over the front page of the Daily Prophet. She didn't even notice her parents when they jumped up to rescue the table cloth, or when they called her name. Her eyes were only locked on the headlines of the article.
The Boy Who Lived is Dead…
Harry is dead…
"No!" she gasped, pulling the paper closer despite the plates she knocked aside. "This isn't possible!"
Harry was dead. Her best friend of four years was dead. The boy she remembered, looking nervous and determined before each quittich game, looking bored and irritated after each Divination lesson, and pale and haunted at the end of fourth year, was dead? How was that possible? She just received a letter from him yesterday reassuring her that everything was alright, and he wasn't having any dreams.
But Harry wasn't the type to confess his fears, Hermione realized with a sinking heart. He could have known Sirius was missing for weeks or suspected it, and not tell anyone. But he would tell his best friends, wouldn't he?
With a sinking heart, she recalled that Harry never seemed to mention Sirius in any of his letters. He said his scar wasn't hurting, but Harry often lies about things like that just so he couldn't worry anyone. And to run after Sirius, with foolish and stubborn thoughts of rescuing him seemed exactly like something Harry would do.
Hermione's dropped the paper, covering her face with her hands, not even bothering to hold back sobs. Harry was dead. He was dead! Distantly, she could feel a comforting hand on her shoulder.
"Hermione, sweetie, what's wrong?" her mother asked gently.
She shook her head, words choked back by sobs. How could they understand? They didn't even know about Voldermort…
Her parents seemed to silently understand. They asked no more questions, and her mother folded her into a reassuring hug, smoothing her hair gently.
"Shush, I'm sure whatever happened, it'll be alright soon."
"No!" Hermione tore herself away, dimly aware of her parents recoiling in surprise. She had never yelled like that before. "It'll never be alright! What'll we do? What'll Ron and I do?"
It was her fault! She should have noticed it sooner. Maybe if she told Dumbledore about her suspicions, Harry would still be alive. Her fault…
Sobbing, she pushed herself away from the table, her chair clattering to the floor. She wasn't even aware of herself stumbling up the stairs and slamming shut her bedroom door. Sinking to the bed, she buried her face in her pillow, muffling the cries that racked her body and tore at her throat.
He was dead!
The words seemed to taunt her mind. She shook her head, trying to hide from the truth that plagued her. No, that's not true, she wanted to say, but it seemed more and more unconvincing every minute. Finally, Hermione lay limply on her bed, tired and weary from her tears. A tap drew her from her numb cocoon, but when she caught sight of the glass at her nightstand, she felt a consuming anger burn.
"Look what you've done!" she yelled, glaring at the brown beetle with venom. "You made the whole world think Harry's crazy when you knew that wasn't true! You did it all for your own benefit. Everyone thinks he's insane. You turned everyone against him! And when Harry really needed help, no one was there all because of you! Harry's dead, and it's all your fault!!"
Even as the words left her mouth, Hermione knew it was not true. But she couldn't help it. The news was too much to bear; she had to take it out on someone.
"Did you have any idea how miserable you made him last year? Now Harry's dead, he's dead! Are you happy? You want to go and write another big lie about how he was Voldermort's servant? You think it's funny to ruin other's lives don't you?" Hermione continued, tears streaking her face. She couldn't stop; she was too angry.
Rita Skeeter was looking positively frightened then, backing as far away as possible and flapping flimsy wings against the glass.
"Forget about our agreement! I'm not going to let you go at all. I don't trust you to fix anything! You can forget about eating too, I'm going to add you to my beetle collection!"
Hermione grabbed the jar and shoved it in the deepest recess of her closest, hands trembling with unsuppressed emotion, wanting nothing more than to make the reporter as miserable and unhappy as she. She hated her. She hated them. She wanted revenge.
Vernon Dursley slammed his coffee mug down in irritation.
"Damn those salesmen. Dudley, go open the door," he complained, not looking up from his paper.
His whale of a son glared rebelliously, fingering his Smeltings stick, but said nothing. Ever since Harry's disappearances, he had been forced run on these small tasks, and he wasn't happy. Secretly, he was planning to give that freak a good twack when he returned.
Vernon finally looked up from his newspaper when a loud squeal echoed through the room and a chunky boy ran into the kitchen faster than scientifically possible for something his size. He crawled under the table with much difficulty and covered his backside. He didn't even need to speak for Vernon and Petunia to realize what's wrong.
A sallow, yellow faced man with a long back robe and the boniest fingers he's ever seen stalked into the room, looking sour. His hair was in thick black strands, holding so much grease that he was sure it would be dripping soon. Vernon stood up, shielding his wife and son as best as possible, holding his fork in a position he hoped looked intimidating.
"If you're here looking for the boy, he isn't here. He ran off a couple of days ago; if he caused any trouble, it's none of our business," he growled, narrowing his eyes at the eagle-faced man.
The man looked at him with an unreadable expression. Vernon shuddered, feeling as if he was trying to slice him in pieces with his eyes. When he spoke, his voice was smooth but full of annoyance.
"I know Potter isn't here," the man sighed, looking a bit weary. "He died three days ago. I didn't want to be the one to break the news, but everyone else is busy."
It took several minutes for the news to sink in. Vernon frowned, wondering if this was some sort of joke, but his wife gasped.
"He's dead?" she whispered slowly, looking a bit dazed. Her tone bore a strange mix of regret and hope.
The yellow-faced man sighed in exasperation. "I don't want to say it again. Here's the paper, if you want to know more."
He flung a roll of normal looking newspaper, and instead of swatting it away like the plague, Vernon dumbly caught it. The man was serious, he realized. The boy really did die. For a moment, he felt excessively happy he finally got rid of the abnormal boy and wouldn't have to deal with the freak again. But then, there was a strange bubble of guilt. The boy didn't cause much trouble, now that he thought about it. He did strange things once in a while, but he never demanded anything. He always stayed pretty much out of his way.
"How… how did he die?" asked a squeaking voice. Vernon blinked in surprise when he noticed that it was his son speaking. His curiosity overrode his fear of wizards, and he seemed almost worried. The news of his cousin dying reminded him of his own mortality, and that was unnerving to say the least.
The man snorted, a bitter grin coming to his face. "Potter's a stubborn fool. His godfather got into trouble and he traded himself to save him. Died the same way his mother did," a brief look of pain seeped into his eyes, but they quickly hardened again. "You should have watched him, knowing how much trouble that boy gets himself into."
The shock of the news quickly became defensiveness when Vernon realized the stranger was accusing them. "Well how were we suppose to know?" he hissed. "The boy never talks."
"Well I hardly wonder why. Do you ever call Harry by his name?" the man snapped, looking sour and angry again.
"He's just a freak," Dudley mumbled, a bit braver after his first question, but all of that evaporated when Snape turned a furious glare his way.
"I see why he wanted to get out of here so badly," he whispered, looking bitterly amused. "I understand now." He turned to the Dursleys with his most intimidating glare. "Listen, Potter was a very important person. His death made a lot of people very unhappy, especially his murderer of a godfather and his werewolf uncle. They might come after you, and I assure you, the only reason they never skinned all of you alive was because Harry would have been upset."
The Dursleys visibly paled at that statement, and Dudley gave a frightened yelp.
Petunia shook her head, looking a bit shaken. "We've never wanted him to die."
"Potter obviously thought otherwise," Snape snapped, looking more irritated than ever. He didn't trust himself not to hex one of them to take out some of his anger. Sighing, he rolled his eyes. "Forget it. I'm here to pick up his stuff; where's his room?"
Snape glared at the pitiful excuse for a room irritably, taking in the clock, held together with scotch tape, and the various broken muggle devices that lay scattered across the room. So this was Potter's room. On normal occasions, he would have been disgusted, finding a few snide remarks on Harry's cleaning habits, but now he wasn't surprised at all. With the bewildered but strangely satisfied expressions of the Dursleys (the horse woman was the only one who looked remotely upset), he was starting to regret giving the boy such a hard time.
The potions professor sighed, sinking into the undersized bed and running his hand through his hair wearily. The past three days were a nightmare, with Dumbledore's office flooded with mail and Fudge threatening to imprison him for Death Eater activities. It was obvious he was trying to use him as a scapegoat to rescue his scampy reputation, but that pathetic minister was doing more harm than good.
And Harry was dead. That was still hard to believe.
He hardly wondered when he started calling Potter, Harry. He barely noticed the change. It hardly seemed important anymore. And sitting here, in Harry's old room, he could feel the memories returning again. That intent stare Harry gave him that morning at the graveyard, when he told Snape he wouldn't leave because if would cost him his life. That look of anger and desperation when the dark cloaks surrounded him, and Harry realized he was hopelessly outnumbered and death was inevitable. That sense of determination when he rushed towards Black, without hesitation, not even wincing from the broken bones he must have jostled.
Snape rubbed his eyes angrily, wondering when he'll ever be free from that reoccurring nightmare. He was starting to dread sleep; every night, he would see a flash of green, and the limp form of the boy slump over Sirius, looking calm and peaceful for the first time in his life. Or he would hear him scream out in pain and disbelief when his own godfather snapped his arm. Snape shuddered. With all the dreams he was going through, he couldn't even imagine what it was for Black. To lose the only person he had left to his own foolishness…
The potion's master stood up quickly, growling low in his throat. He was going soft, he thought as paced the room. Soon, he was going to be sympathizing with the werewolf.
Snape sighed again, catching sight of a worn quill lying by the bedside, and crumpled sheets of parchment on the tattered desk. Hesitantly, he reached for one, spreading it out slowly over his knee. The tiny scrawl was obviously Harry's, and from the smudges on the letter and the uneven sentences, it was written in darkness.
Hermione,
Do you know if Voldermort is causing any trouble lately? I have this strange feeling
The rest of the letter cut off abruptly, as if Harry was embarrassed for admitting a weakness. Snape scowled; just like a Potter. But even as that thought surfaced, Snape began to have doubts. Harry was very different from James. He remembered the stoic, neutral expression of his when Snape had threatened him with the truth potion last year. Harry had been calm despite all those attacks, almost indifferent, but he could see the fire burning in his eyes. How much self control did it take, for him not to cry out in protest? If it had been James, he would have been at his throat within minutes, but Harry was silent and enduring. Snape rubbed his eyes; what wouldn't he give to have Harry alive again. A distant part of his mind cried out in horror at that thought. It would make everything a lot easier, he snapped at it angrily.
Another sheet of paper was entangled in that, and Snape drew it out carefully and spread it against the bed.
Ron,
Snuffles isn't writing. Do you think something could be wrong? Dudley is being a prat. I think he's bitter about the ton tongue toffee incident
Snape raised his eyebrow at that.
And he's been trying to hit me with that stick of his. He's too fat to actually reach very far.
Snape paused, remembering the cry of pain when he gripped Harry's shoulder. He thought he had been acting then, but it fell into place. He scowled when he recalled the long, angry looking stick that resided in his cousin's chunky hand. That whale tried to hit Harry with that? And his aunt and uncle let him? But it would be a miracle if they actually didn't, Snape realized with a sinking heart. Those pathetic muggles saw Harry with something just short of the plague.
'Finally got that freak off our hands,' Vernon was mumbling when he showed him to his door. It took all of Snape's self control not to hit him with an unforgivable right then and there.
Angrily, he snatched another crumpled sheet of parchment from the floor, lying close to the bag acting as a makeshift trash can.
Snuffles,
I had a strange dream. I can't remember it, but it left a strange feeling. My scar doesn't hurt though…
It was never completed. Snape sighed, desperately wondering why Harry never contacted Dumbledore. It could have saved his life. He didn't have to die like that!
He should have stopped him, Snape thought furiously. He should have grabbed Harry and just ran, mindless of all the Death Eaters surrounding them. Who cares about his spy status. Who cares what Harry would have said. At least he would still be alive!
*
This is a slow chapter, sorry. It's more of an interlude than anything. Ack! Cheesiness attack! Very, very, very cheesy. Oozing cheese. Urg! Help!
I'm sorry, Hermione's characterization wasn't that great. I wrote it on my laptop in some Chinese restaurant with a waitress breathing down my neck.
I couldn't decide whether I wanted the Dursleys happy or sad, so they were sort of both. It made it worse, didn't it.
Snape sounds too nice. Way too nice, but you have to admit, Snape isn't that bad. He just has some issues, sort of. Yeah.
I hit a slight block. I have part of the story planned, and wrote all the way up to chapter nine before I realized I don't like the direction it's going and got a whole new idea which I absolutely adore but too lazy to write.
Originally, I planned to have Harry discover a secret that would umm... be sort of important later on. Unfortunately, that sort of left Sirius out of the story and crashed the entire high strung, rather tense atmosphere of the plot and make it all slowly crawly. But it's all the way up to chapter nine (still only half way done though, grr)! What a waste of time and brain cells… Would you want to read it anyway? I'll post it separately, but it probably won't be finished.
The one I really, really want to use keeps Sirius in the running (the story description completely gave it away. Crud. Gotta change it) Personally, I like that one a lot better, especially since it keeps Sirius and Harry as the focus and settles some touchy issues, but changing gears in the middle of the story is still a pain. *sigh*
Review! Constructive criticism is great, I'd like to know how I'm writing.