Disclaimer: all characters belong to J K Rowling and Warner brothers.
a/n alright! your wish is my command, a chapter's going to be posted every two to three days. Enjoy!
Cheating Death
By neutral
Chapter seven - cheating the dead
Harry almost stumbled in shock. "Wh-- what?"
The man looked at him sadly. "The Boy Who Lived is dead. What a shock everyone will get!" he whispered mostly to himself. He glanced at Harry timidly, "Was it… You-Know-Who?"
Harry frowned, thinking back over the past events. That made sense, actually. He was dead.
"Yes," Harry said finally.
"It seems that everyone here died because of You-Know-Who."
That caught Harry's attention. "Everyone?"
"Yes, or at least, everyone I've met. I wasn't dead for very long, maybe only a couple of weeks," the man sighed, shaking his head. "Looks like Dumbledore was right. Fudge should have listened to him."
Harry nodded distractedly. He wondered how Sirius was taking the news; he must be so thorn and so unhappy. But at least he's alive, he reminded himself firmly. He'll forget about me and move on. Although, with Sirius' personality, he wasn't sure.
"I was just going home, and I got this really strange feeling, like something evil was there, you know?" the man continued. "Then I heard this high pitched laugh, and before I turned around, I was here." He shook his head, "Strange, huh? I don't even know who did it."
"Voldermort," said Harry automatically. It wasn't exactly loud, but the man looked horrified.
"You said his name!" the man looked both shocked and impressed.
"Why not? He's not going to come if you do," Harry grumbled bitterly, a bit annoyed and upset by the whole issue. He knew it wasn't because of the man, but because of the whole place in general. When it came down to it, he missed Sirius.
"How did you die, Mr. Potter?" the man asked, looking curious and eager.
Harry hesitated, trying to decide if he should tell him the truth. Well, it wouldn't hurt, he decided. He was dead anyway; he might as well tell the truth.
"Sirius--," he began.
"Sirius Black?! I thought Voldermort killed you. What did that murderer do?"
"He didn't do anything!" Harry shot back, instantly defensive of his godfather. "Sirius is innocent! He was framed by Peter Pettigrew. Pettigrew was the one who brought Voldermort back."
The man looked stunned. He opened his mouth, eyes wide.
"Sirius is my godfather," Harry went on, daring the man to say more. The reputation Sirius lived with was completely undeserving, and Harry heard too many horror stories of him to take any more from the dead. "Voldermort captured him and tried to use him to get to me. Well, it worked."
"What if Black was just pretending, with, you know…" the man whispered, looking incredulous.
"No! I went voluntarily. Sirius would never do something like that," Harry sighed, deciding the man was hopeless. He decided he better leave out the rest of the details. "Anyway, Voldermort killed me with the killing curse."
"What? But you can block it!" the man looked horrified.
"My mum blocked it for me. I didn't do anything. All the fame went to the wrong person," Harry said softly. "I'm nothing special."
The man looked disappointed, but didn't say anything. They walked together in silence, Harry looking at the trees around him, a bit awed at what he was seeing. He was shocked heaven looked so… earthy.
The man slowed suddenly, the expression on his face sobering even more. "There is, you know…," the man glanced around, as if looking for a eavesdropper, voice lowering secretively. "another Dark Lord here."
Harry's stomach dropped. He just died by the hands of one of the worst wizards alive, only to face another one in death? Was he cursed?
Seeing the look of shock on Harry's face, the man continued a bit more eagerly. "They say he's just like You-Know-Who, the soul collector, he is. I haven't seen him yet, but I hear he's pure evil."
Harry was desperate to hear more, but a rustle in front of him made him jump. A tall man with dark brown hair and light brown eyes stepped abruptly into view, and Harry wondered if everyone here seemed to appear out of thin air or if the place was enchanted to give such an effect. The man was past his prime, but his face still bore an expression of youth. There sternness in his eyes made Harry shudder. The man looked haughty; there was a familiarity to him somehow.
"Ah, there you are," said the wizard, looking relieved. He turned to Harry by way of introductive, "That's almost our landlord; people say he's been here the longest."
"Mr. Diggle, is this a newcomer? He is young…" the man said. Harry jumped; he knew that voice.
"Are you kidding? He may be young, but he's Harry Potter!" the man looked immensely proud, the memory of the past conversation clearing from his mind.
But Harry wasn't listening. He was staring at the man intensely, gears clicking in his head. "Riddle!" he hissed.
Mr. Diggle was confused. "This isn't Riddle, his name is Thomas."
"He's Tom Riddle!" Harry shouted at him fiercely. Diggle backed away slightly in surprise, but Harry's eyes were fixed unmovingly on the man's face.
Both men looked shocked. Riddle turned to him with a lifted eyebrow, "You know me?"
"No, but I know your son," Harry growled, the anger in his voice surprising even himself.
"He's not my son," Riddle said evenly, a blank stoic expression fixing on his face.
At his words, Harry's anger flared. "No wonder he hated you. If you hadn't abandoned him, then he might never have become Voldermort!"
The old wizard gasped, looking at Riddle in shock. "You're You-Know-Who's father?"
But Harry wasn't listening. "If you hadn't been so foolish and so narrow-minded, Voldermort would never have had the reason to hate. Then all these people would still be alive! Bertha Jorkins, Cedric…," Harry's voice sank into a whisper, but his eyes were burning. "My parents would have been alive! All of this was your fault!"
Riddle looked unaffected despite the animosity the two wizards were showing him. He gazed at Harry critically, "So you're the boy who first defeated him. Harry Potter, was it?"
"I didn't defeat anyone!" Harry shouted, the events of the past day and his death all piling onto him in a moment. He was tired. He was upset. He was angry. "I never wanted any of this! I just wanted to be left alone," Harry choked, his frustration burning in his throat. It seemed so overwhelming that no amount of yelling could release it. "Do you have any idea how many lives you ruined? If it wasn't for Voldermort, Sirius would still be free! Do you have any idea how it haunts him? Do you have any idea what you've done?"
The was a ringing silence.
"If it'll make you feel better," Riddle began slowly. "I'm sorry. I should have killed him the moment the witch told me the truth."
That was too much. Harry fumed, feeling the fire inside of him flare into angry fires. He was sure Riddle would blow up like his Aunt Marge a hundred times over. Diggle trembled, looking terrified.
"You're… you're You-Know-Who's father!" he said, shaking from head to toe. "Don't come near us! Stay away from us!"
Diggle backed away, tripping over a stray branch, but didn't fall. He spun around and fled from the two with amazing agility. But Harry barely felt him go, eyes still fixed on the annoyingly calm figure in front of him.
"You… you're worse than the Dursleys!" he finally gasped out, voice trembling violently. "At least they didn't throw me out the moment they realized what I was…"
He caught himself quickly, a bit embarrassed for talking about his personal life. Harry clamped his jaw shut, backing away slowly from the figure. He watched Riddle suspiciously, fearful that he might attack without a moment's notice. When Riddle faded from sight behind the truck of a tree, Harry turned and broke into a run, not knowing where he was or where he was going.
He hated this place. He wanted to see Ron and Hermione, and tell them he was sorry. He wanted to see Sirius and make sure he was okay. Even the Dursleys didn't seem so bad anymore.
He finally slowed his pace into a walk for what seemed like hours later. He was deeply lost in the endless forest; the trees never seemed to grow thicker or thinner apart. Harry leaned against a tree, gasping for breath, closing his eyes to rest for a moment. When he opened them again, he nearly fell. Harry blinked several times in shock, staring at the space around him. The trees had disappeared, fading like the darkness before it did, and plain, whitewashed walls stood in their place. It was a room, Harry realized, looking around nervously. A small, simply furnished room that smelled like Madam Pomfrey's hospital wing, only it was smaller and more dimly lit. The only light that illuminated the walls was the streams of sunlight from the window. Judging by its color, Harry decided it was late in the afternoon.
He was sitting in a chair, facing the door. Somehow, he vanished from the forest, and appeared in the room. If this was the Land of the Dead, it should be more consistent, he thought bitterly. He stood up, looking around slowly, worried that Riddle may sneak out from the shadows again. He paused when he caught sight of the figure close him, slouched over on the bed as if the weight of the world was too much for him to bear. His robes were disheveled and loose on his body; his arm betrayed his weight completely, with the bones sharp against the skin. His hair hung in thick black strands, unbrushed and unwashed. He made no sound, and for a moment, Harry wondered if he was dead. But then the man shuddered, shifting his head slightly.
Harry gasped.
*
Ack! My old style is back stronger than ever. I've been trying for weeks to keep the descriptions short, but now…. Damn. Sorry, a lot of homework this week. Gotta run. Can't reply to anything, I promise I will next chapter!
this is really strange. Yesterday, on a long, four hour drive, I went on a roll and wrote all the way up to chapter sixteen. the only problem is, it didn't quite follow the plot that I planned out, so now the story's in the open see writing itself. Crud. Now, to keep or not to keep? humm...
a/n alright! your wish is my command, a chapter's going to be posted every two to three days. Enjoy!
Cheating Death
By neutral
Chapter seven - cheating the dead
Harry almost stumbled in shock. "Wh-- what?"
The man looked at him sadly. "The Boy Who Lived is dead. What a shock everyone will get!" he whispered mostly to himself. He glanced at Harry timidly, "Was it… You-Know-Who?"
Harry frowned, thinking back over the past events. That made sense, actually. He was dead.
"Yes," Harry said finally.
"It seems that everyone here died because of You-Know-Who."
That caught Harry's attention. "Everyone?"
"Yes, or at least, everyone I've met. I wasn't dead for very long, maybe only a couple of weeks," the man sighed, shaking his head. "Looks like Dumbledore was right. Fudge should have listened to him."
Harry nodded distractedly. He wondered how Sirius was taking the news; he must be so thorn and so unhappy. But at least he's alive, he reminded himself firmly. He'll forget about me and move on. Although, with Sirius' personality, he wasn't sure.
"I was just going home, and I got this really strange feeling, like something evil was there, you know?" the man continued. "Then I heard this high pitched laugh, and before I turned around, I was here." He shook his head, "Strange, huh? I don't even know who did it."
"Voldermort," said Harry automatically. It wasn't exactly loud, but the man looked horrified.
"You said his name!" the man looked both shocked and impressed.
"Why not? He's not going to come if you do," Harry grumbled bitterly, a bit annoyed and upset by the whole issue. He knew it wasn't because of the man, but because of the whole place in general. When it came down to it, he missed Sirius.
"How did you die, Mr. Potter?" the man asked, looking curious and eager.
Harry hesitated, trying to decide if he should tell him the truth. Well, it wouldn't hurt, he decided. He was dead anyway; he might as well tell the truth.
"Sirius--," he began.
"Sirius Black?! I thought Voldermort killed you. What did that murderer do?"
"He didn't do anything!" Harry shot back, instantly defensive of his godfather. "Sirius is innocent! He was framed by Peter Pettigrew. Pettigrew was the one who brought Voldermort back."
The man looked stunned. He opened his mouth, eyes wide.
"Sirius is my godfather," Harry went on, daring the man to say more. The reputation Sirius lived with was completely undeserving, and Harry heard too many horror stories of him to take any more from the dead. "Voldermort captured him and tried to use him to get to me. Well, it worked."
"What if Black was just pretending, with, you know…" the man whispered, looking incredulous.
"No! I went voluntarily. Sirius would never do something like that," Harry sighed, deciding the man was hopeless. He decided he better leave out the rest of the details. "Anyway, Voldermort killed me with the killing curse."
"What? But you can block it!" the man looked horrified.
"My mum blocked it for me. I didn't do anything. All the fame went to the wrong person," Harry said softly. "I'm nothing special."
The man looked disappointed, but didn't say anything. They walked together in silence, Harry looking at the trees around him, a bit awed at what he was seeing. He was shocked heaven looked so… earthy.
The man slowed suddenly, the expression on his face sobering even more. "There is, you know…," the man glanced around, as if looking for a eavesdropper, voice lowering secretively. "another Dark Lord here."
Harry's stomach dropped. He just died by the hands of one of the worst wizards alive, only to face another one in death? Was he cursed?
Seeing the look of shock on Harry's face, the man continued a bit more eagerly. "They say he's just like You-Know-Who, the soul collector, he is. I haven't seen him yet, but I hear he's pure evil."
Harry was desperate to hear more, but a rustle in front of him made him jump. A tall man with dark brown hair and light brown eyes stepped abruptly into view, and Harry wondered if everyone here seemed to appear out of thin air or if the place was enchanted to give such an effect. The man was past his prime, but his face still bore an expression of youth. There sternness in his eyes made Harry shudder. The man looked haughty; there was a familiarity to him somehow.
"Ah, there you are," said the wizard, looking relieved. He turned to Harry by way of introductive, "That's almost our landlord; people say he's been here the longest."
"Mr. Diggle, is this a newcomer? He is young…" the man said. Harry jumped; he knew that voice.
"Are you kidding? He may be young, but he's Harry Potter!" the man looked immensely proud, the memory of the past conversation clearing from his mind.
But Harry wasn't listening. He was staring at the man intensely, gears clicking in his head. "Riddle!" he hissed.
Mr. Diggle was confused. "This isn't Riddle, his name is Thomas."
"He's Tom Riddle!" Harry shouted at him fiercely. Diggle backed away slightly in surprise, but Harry's eyes were fixed unmovingly on the man's face.
Both men looked shocked. Riddle turned to him with a lifted eyebrow, "You know me?"
"No, but I know your son," Harry growled, the anger in his voice surprising even himself.
"He's not my son," Riddle said evenly, a blank stoic expression fixing on his face.
At his words, Harry's anger flared. "No wonder he hated you. If you hadn't abandoned him, then he might never have become Voldermort!"
The old wizard gasped, looking at Riddle in shock. "You're You-Know-Who's father?"
But Harry wasn't listening. "If you hadn't been so foolish and so narrow-minded, Voldermort would never have had the reason to hate. Then all these people would still be alive! Bertha Jorkins, Cedric…," Harry's voice sank into a whisper, but his eyes were burning. "My parents would have been alive! All of this was your fault!"
Riddle looked unaffected despite the animosity the two wizards were showing him. He gazed at Harry critically, "So you're the boy who first defeated him. Harry Potter, was it?"
"I didn't defeat anyone!" Harry shouted, the events of the past day and his death all piling onto him in a moment. He was tired. He was upset. He was angry. "I never wanted any of this! I just wanted to be left alone," Harry choked, his frustration burning in his throat. It seemed so overwhelming that no amount of yelling could release it. "Do you have any idea how many lives you ruined? If it wasn't for Voldermort, Sirius would still be free! Do you have any idea how it haunts him? Do you have any idea what you've done?"
The was a ringing silence.
"If it'll make you feel better," Riddle began slowly. "I'm sorry. I should have killed him the moment the witch told me the truth."
That was too much. Harry fumed, feeling the fire inside of him flare into angry fires. He was sure Riddle would blow up like his Aunt Marge a hundred times over. Diggle trembled, looking terrified.
"You're… you're You-Know-Who's father!" he said, shaking from head to toe. "Don't come near us! Stay away from us!"
Diggle backed away, tripping over a stray branch, but didn't fall. He spun around and fled from the two with amazing agility. But Harry barely felt him go, eyes still fixed on the annoyingly calm figure in front of him.
"You… you're worse than the Dursleys!" he finally gasped out, voice trembling violently. "At least they didn't throw me out the moment they realized what I was…"
He caught himself quickly, a bit embarrassed for talking about his personal life. Harry clamped his jaw shut, backing away slowly from the figure. He watched Riddle suspiciously, fearful that he might attack without a moment's notice. When Riddle faded from sight behind the truck of a tree, Harry turned and broke into a run, not knowing where he was or where he was going.
He hated this place. He wanted to see Ron and Hermione, and tell them he was sorry. He wanted to see Sirius and make sure he was okay. Even the Dursleys didn't seem so bad anymore.
He finally slowed his pace into a walk for what seemed like hours later. He was deeply lost in the endless forest; the trees never seemed to grow thicker or thinner apart. Harry leaned against a tree, gasping for breath, closing his eyes to rest for a moment. When he opened them again, he nearly fell. Harry blinked several times in shock, staring at the space around him. The trees had disappeared, fading like the darkness before it did, and plain, whitewashed walls stood in their place. It was a room, Harry realized, looking around nervously. A small, simply furnished room that smelled like Madam Pomfrey's hospital wing, only it was smaller and more dimly lit. The only light that illuminated the walls was the streams of sunlight from the window. Judging by its color, Harry decided it was late in the afternoon.
He was sitting in a chair, facing the door. Somehow, he vanished from the forest, and appeared in the room. If this was the Land of the Dead, it should be more consistent, he thought bitterly. He stood up, looking around slowly, worried that Riddle may sneak out from the shadows again. He paused when he caught sight of the figure close him, slouched over on the bed as if the weight of the world was too much for him to bear. His robes were disheveled and loose on his body; his arm betrayed his weight completely, with the bones sharp against the skin. His hair hung in thick black strands, unbrushed and unwashed. He made no sound, and for a moment, Harry wondered if he was dead. But then the man shuddered, shifting his head slightly.
Harry gasped.
*
Ack! My old style is back stronger than ever. I've been trying for weeks to keep the descriptions short, but now…. Damn. Sorry, a lot of homework this week. Gotta run. Can't reply to anything, I promise I will next chapter!
this is really strange. Yesterday, on a long, four hour drive, I went on a roll and wrote all the way up to chapter sixteen. the only problem is, it didn't quite follow the plot that I planned out, so now the story's in the open see writing itself. Crud. Now, to keep or not to keep? humm...