Well, here it is, part four. It's a little longer then usual, but please don't get used to it. Anyway, I need to say that this is still a Writer's Block fic, written purely to help me regain my muse. Anyway, I'd like to remind people that this is rated PG-13 for mild swearing. Oh, if you want me to email you when new parts come out, please leave your email in a review.
This is an angst fic. If you don't like reading angst, please stop here.
Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter or any part of his world.
Alive
Harry mindlessly wandered through the streets of Diagon Alley. After he'd escaped through the window of the Leaky Cauldron, he'd just turned his back and walked away, mindlessly fingering the phoenix feather in his pocket. Mr. Ollivander would hopefully be able to do something with it. He didn't want to think that his wand was broken in vain.
The wand is a symbol of your past, a voice in the back of his head reminded him. He absently nodded to himself, thinking momentarily of the two other symbols of his past that had come into his life recently. Were symbols something to be forgotten? Was it right of him to simply ignore the two of them, or should he acknowledge their unwanted presence? There was that part of him, however small it was, that wanted to simply jump into their arms, be the little Harry Potter they'd abandoned sixteen years ago, go to their house, and be happy. The majority of him rejected this image favoring one of complete immaturity and hostility. If he treated them badly, then they wouldn't want him around. If he acted immature, then they wouldn't want to be associated with him. Either way would prevent further heartbreak, prevent further loss, prevent attachment.
"Mr. Potter," a raspy voice called, pulling him away from his thoughts. He looked up to see Mr. Ollivander standing outside of his shop using one long finger to beckon him towards it. He opened the door, an out-of-place bell sounding as it opened. He led Harry towards the back of the shop and held up a small bag. "I received these from your mother the other day. You snapped your own wand? Where is the feather?"
Harry pulled the feather out of his pocket and wordlessly handed it to Mr. Ollivander. The feather was slightly crinkled, yet still looked like the ones that Fawkes displayed proudly whenever Harry was in the room.
"Ahhh, this is not good. The wood is splintered, unrepairable." Mr. Ollivander said, running his long fingers along the broken holly.
"Make another one, with the feather." Harry said. Mr. Ollivander looked towards him, his fingers no longer absently stroking the broken wood.
"That cannot be done, not without hours of work and days of patience. Such a task has never been accomplished" He looked at Harry over the tips of his glasses, pushing the phoenix feather back towards him. "You'd best choose another wand."
"No," Harry said. He pushed the feather back to Mr. Ollivander. "You make me another wand. You'll be well-rewarded for your effort." Mr. Ollivander looked at him and slowly nodded.
"Come back in a week." Harry nodded and left the store. He knew of wizards who'd gone through wands almost daily, wizards whose wands had been splintered in accidents or even completely snapped. Those wizard's wands had been repaired. Why couldn't his?
He began to walk back toward the Leaky Cauldron, his thoughts once again elsewhere. There was nowhere he could go, nobody he could talk to who wouldn't remind him of everything he was trying to escape. He didn't want to have to deal with the pain anymore, but who could he turn to? Ron would want to meet his parents, then get flying lessons from James. Hermione would want to learn about the technology that had brought James and Lily back to life. She'd want to know how to mix the technological advancement with modern magical advancements to prevent death all together and create a world overpopulated by old wizards and witches who had lost their minds but not their bodies centuries ago. It was at times like this when Harry wondered why he kept himself to only Ron and Hermione, almost ignoring the three other boys and two other girls in Gryffindor.
He pulled open the door to the Leaky Cauldron. Luckily for him, Lily and James weren't there anymore. Sirius and Remus were still sitting at the same booth from earlier. Harry could feel their eyes on him as he walked into the Inn and towards the counter.
"Tom, please don't tell anybody else that I'm staying here," he whispered. The toothless man nodded, giving Harry a weak smile.
"Mr. Potter, there's a girl waiting to speak to you. She's waiting upstairs outside of your room." Harry nodded and gave Tom a reassuring look. Tom looked somewhat relieved. "I won't tell anybody else that you're here."
"Thank you," Harry walked out of the room and up the back staircase, towards his room. He had a very good idea of who was waiting for him, and if it was the red-haired woman who referred to himself as his mother, he'd leave London and move to the states.
"Harry," he heard a familiar, welcoming voice call out. Harry sighed, his relief evident in his voice. It was only Hermione. "Harry, we need to talk." Harry wordlessly opened the door to his room and let Hermione in. Her eyes swept the mess that he'd made and she could almost feel her disgust. She walked over to the bed and sat down and looked at Harry. "What's going on? You ran away from Sirius and Remus and your parents."
"They aren't my parents," Harry quickly interrupted. Hermione looked at him with sadness in her eyes. Harry looked away, "my parents died sixteen years ago."
"You ran away from them, you break your wand, you messed up your room, and then you ran away again. What's the purpose of all of this? Why are you pulling a stunt like this? Harry, you're killing them. Those people, the ones who you refuse to acknowledge died sixteen years ago to save you damn life, Harry. They deserve some attention, they deserve to be thanked. They deserve a hug." Hermione looked Harry directly in the eye. "And you're being a stupid, immature, spoiled brat to them. They don't deserve this. Don't you think that it's hard for them too? They were just unwillingly yanked from their deathbeds! They had no say in this matter and yet you ignore them and hurt them beyond belief." Hermione paused and wiped a tear away from the corner of her eye. "They don't deserve this."
"Are you finished?" Harry asked. Hermione looked at him, her emotion quickly switching from one of sadness to one of anger. "Do you think I asked for all of this? When they died, they took away my freedom. They took away my identity and left me with this." He pulled up his bangs and pointed to the lightning scar on his forehead. "If I had a choice, I would have died sixteen years ago in Godric's Hollow along with them."
"Harry, they didn't take away your freedom, they gave it back to you." Hermione said quietly. Harry looked at her, his rage beginning to boil inside of him. Hermione opened her mouth to speak, but Harry cut her off.
"Who sent you? Was it Sirius? No, this is more along the lines of Remus. Of course, you wouldn't come in here and spew lines like this on your own. You have to be prompted because all you care about is academics." Harry watched as Hermione recoiled at his words. She stood up and walked towards the door, yanking it open.
"Before I leave, Harry. I want you to know something." Her voice was low and so filled with anger that Harry had to look away from her. "I wasn't prompted to come here. I came on my own. I came because I thought that you were my friend. I came because I thought that I could help you. I thought that maybe I could change your mind and help you realize that those people that you insist on hurting are two of the most loving people on this entire shit-filled world. I hope you rot in hell. I seriously do." Hermione turned her back on Harry and slammed the door behind her leaving Harry alone with her words. Leaving Harry alone with his thoughts. Leaving Harry alone with his anger. Leaving Harry alone with his sorrow.
Thanks to Nicky, RadiantMoonWolf, and Hikahi for the reviews. I appreciated them.