The Living Dead
Disclaimer: Yes! My plan is in action again!!! There is little time left until HP is mine!!! Muahahahahaha!!
Chapter 1: The Morgue on Valley Hill
For a long time, Harry spent the long, monotonous hours in a black void, with nothing to do or think. Seconds were minutes, minutes were hours, hours were days, and days were years. There was no way to tell time, much less how long he had been there. And all that time he had no sense of self-at least not the kind we have. He had no arms, legs, torso, or head. He was like a shadow, alone and hopeless, drifting away. Everything that had mattered before had lost its interest. And Voldemort? Who cared about Voldemort? Who cared if he sabotaged the world, killed the innocent, with no one to stop him (for he did not know that Voldemort shared his same fate). He had all the time in the world, no, in the universe, to do nothing. He was beyond time, beyond worldly movement, beyond human thought. Until...
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The Valley Hill Morgue was a respectable, well kept place, considering that its only inhabitants were those who were already dead (A/N: A morgue, for those who don't know, is a place the dead go before they are buried, so this is not a graveyard.). Folks near and far came to pay their respects to their deceased relatives, friends, and any other well- known people. It was Christmas time, and the doors, hallways, and visitor rooms were decorated with holly, mistletoe (though no couples kissed under it in the presence of the dead), and good old holiday cheer. The coffins, however, seemed the only things left untouched, as they were usually removed within a week or so.
However, unknown to most people, there was a room toward the back of the morgue that scarcely anyone had visited in nearly seventeen years. The dust lay thick upon the red carpet and wallpaper as well as on the black coffin which lay on a table against the wall. In one corner was a pile of wilted roses, drooping carnations, and crumpled lilies. In another there stood a small table, where people who wished to attend the burial ceremony could write their names. The ceremony never took place.
The coffin had long ago been locked. Apparently, the owner had worried that the corpse would begin to rot and fill the place with a repulsive odor. He would've taken a shovel himself and buried the poor lad in the cemetery across the street, but the man who had paid for the body's room had left strict instructions not to remove him until further notice, and still paid his bill with regularity.
Yet now, nearly everyone-even the owner-had forgotten of the boy's existence. Everyone, that is, except a bushy-haired woman who was visiting the place for the first time in four years.
Hermione Granger walked up the steep stone steps that led up the Valley Hill Morgue in her usual, brisk walk. She approached the stained- glass doors and opened them with ease, for they were always left unlocked, even at midnight, which was her usual visiting hour.
Hermione shivered in the cold night air and pulled her cloak even tighter around her. She breathed a sigh of relief as the door shut behind her and shut off bitter winter winds. Silently, she crossed the room and made her way through the winding hallways until she came to a room at the very back. She opened the door with great difficulty, as the hinges were rusted over, and immediately went into a sudden fit of sneezes.
She screwed her eyes up in disgust as she saw the dust and grime that had gone untended to for the past four years. With a wave of her wand, though, the dust disappeared. Turning back toward the door she pointed her wand at the hinges, which then suddenly sparkled gold through the rust. She turned toward the flowers in the room and banished them, conjuring a new bouquet in their place. This was the least she could do for the boy that had given her so much...clean the room where he lay dead.
She turned at last to the coffin at the back of the room, and a tear fell to the floor. She walked over to it and tried in vain to tug it open, but noticed at long last that it was locked.
"Alohamora," she whispered, and the top sprang up to reveal a boy with jet-black hair, a narrow face, and a lightning scar.
The one in question was not very old at all. In fact, he appeared only to be seventeen. She marveled for a moment on how well-preserved he was, probably Dumbledore's doing. Dumbledore-why he wouldn't bury the boy puzzled her beyond belief. For the past seventeen years, he has just laid in a morgue, and a muggle morgue at that! Oh, why him, why Harry? She thought, and blinked back even more tears. Why Harry Potter? He had done so much good for the world. He had even vanquished Voldemort, but hadn't lived to see the world after the Dark Lord. This boy, who had given her so much, who had laid upon her a curse, yet a blessing. No, it was two blessings, but it mattered no more.
For a long time, Hermione stood there, staring at the boy she had once called her friend. At long last, it came time for her to leave. Sighing, Hermione turned to the door. She had to get back to Hogwarts before morning, to see the students off before the Christmas holidays. She had taken one step when she stopped short. She had heard a sound, the slightest of a sound. Like an arm, twitching.
Slowly, she turned back toward the boy she had once loved, only to be met by a pair of sleepy but open green eyes. She turned back toward the door. Wait, open?
She spun on her heal, this time to see him sitting up in his coffin, as though he had never been dead.
"Hello," he said to her politely, "May I ask who you are?"
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There you go, first chapter up and running!! Please don't forget to review, I love hearing from people who read my fic. It makes me feel all warm and fuzzy inside.forget I just said that. Anyway, hope you liked it! Oh, and flames welcome.
~*~Ze Czech~*~
Disclaimer: Yes! My plan is in action again!!! There is little time left until HP is mine!!! Muahahahahaha!!
Chapter 1: The Morgue on Valley Hill
For a long time, Harry spent the long, monotonous hours in a black void, with nothing to do or think. Seconds were minutes, minutes were hours, hours were days, and days were years. There was no way to tell time, much less how long he had been there. And all that time he had no sense of self-at least not the kind we have. He had no arms, legs, torso, or head. He was like a shadow, alone and hopeless, drifting away. Everything that had mattered before had lost its interest. And Voldemort? Who cared about Voldemort? Who cared if he sabotaged the world, killed the innocent, with no one to stop him (for he did not know that Voldemort shared his same fate). He had all the time in the world, no, in the universe, to do nothing. He was beyond time, beyond worldly movement, beyond human thought. Until...
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
The Valley Hill Morgue was a respectable, well kept place, considering that its only inhabitants were those who were already dead (A/N: A morgue, for those who don't know, is a place the dead go before they are buried, so this is not a graveyard.). Folks near and far came to pay their respects to their deceased relatives, friends, and any other well- known people. It was Christmas time, and the doors, hallways, and visitor rooms were decorated with holly, mistletoe (though no couples kissed under it in the presence of the dead), and good old holiday cheer. The coffins, however, seemed the only things left untouched, as they were usually removed within a week or so.
However, unknown to most people, there was a room toward the back of the morgue that scarcely anyone had visited in nearly seventeen years. The dust lay thick upon the red carpet and wallpaper as well as on the black coffin which lay on a table against the wall. In one corner was a pile of wilted roses, drooping carnations, and crumpled lilies. In another there stood a small table, where people who wished to attend the burial ceremony could write their names. The ceremony never took place.
The coffin had long ago been locked. Apparently, the owner had worried that the corpse would begin to rot and fill the place with a repulsive odor. He would've taken a shovel himself and buried the poor lad in the cemetery across the street, but the man who had paid for the body's room had left strict instructions not to remove him until further notice, and still paid his bill with regularity.
Yet now, nearly everyone-even the owner-had forgotten of the boy's existence. Everyone, that is, except a bushy-haired woman who was visiting the place for the first time in four years.
Hermione Granger walked up the steep stone steps that led up the Valley Hill Morgue in her usual, brisk walk. She approached the stained- glass doors and opened them with ease, for they were always left unlocked, even at midnight, which was her usual visiting hour.
Hermione shivered in the cold night air and pulled her cloak even tighter around her. She breathed a sigh of relief as the door shut behind her and shut off bitter winter winds. Silently, she crossed the room and made her way through the winding hallways until she came to a room at the very back. She opened the door with great difficulty, as the hinges were rusted over, and immediately went into a sudden fit of sneezes.
She screwed her eyes up in disgust as she saw the dust and grime that had gone untended to for the past four years. With a wave of her wand, though, the dust disappeared. Turning back toward the door she pointed her wand at the hinges, which then suddenly sparkled gold through the rust. She turned toward the flowers in the room and banished them, conjuring a new bouquet in their place. This was the least she could do for the boy that had given her so much...clean the room where he lay dead.
She turned at last to the coffin at the back of the room, and a tear fell to the floor. She walked over to it and tried in vain to tug it open, but noticed at long last that it was locked.
"Alohamora," she whispered, and the top sprang up to reveal a boy with jet-black hair, a narrow face, and a lightning scar.
The one in question was not very old at all. In fact, he appeared only to be seventeen. She marveled for a moment on how well-preserved he was, probably Dumbledore's doing. Dumbledore-why he wouldn't bury the boy puzzled her beyond belief. For the past seventeen years, he has just laid in a morgue, and a muggle morgue at that! Oh, why him, why Harry? She thought, and blinked back even more tears. Why Harry Potter? He had done so much good for the world. He had even vanquished Voldemort, but hadn't lived to see the world after the Dark Lord. This boy, who had given her so much, who had laid upon her a curse, yet a blessing. No, it was two blessings, but it mattered no more.
For a long time, Hermione stood there, staring at the boy she had once called her friend. At long last, it came time for her to leave. Sighing, Hermione turned to the door. She had to get back to Hogwarts before morning, to see the students off before the Christmas holidays. She had taken one step when she stopped short. She had heard a sound, the slightest of a sound. Like an arm, twitching.
Slowly, she turned back toward the boy she had once loved, only to be met by a pair of sleepy but open green eyes. She turned back toward the door. Wait, open?
She spun on her heal, this time to see him sitting up in his coffin, as though he had never been dead.
"Hello," he said to her politely, "May I ask who you are?"
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
There you go, first chapter up and running!! Please don't forget to review, I love hearing from people who read my fic. It makes me feel all warm and fuzzy inside.forget I just said that. Anyway, hope you liked it! Oh, and flames welcome.
~*~Ze Czech~*~
