My writer's block came back, and this caused me not to update this story for an entire year (wow…). Anyway, I haven't completely given up on writing fan fiction; I just took a break and wrote original fiction for awhile.  I am planning on writing one more part to this story which should be posted within a month. This part is written in a very different style than the first five were. There isn't as much swearing and there is a lot more description than angst. I think that this part is much more mature than the ones that I posted before and because of this, there might be some editing going on later.

Anyway, Disclaimer. I do no own Harry Potter or any of the characters. They are all owned by J.K. Rowling. I own Mihir Popovsky and that is it.

Alive

Russia. The one place he hadn't expected his life to take him and the one place he now wanted to be. Nobody knew him here. Of course, they'd all heard his story, but Voldemort simply hadn't affected the nation as much as he had terrorized Great Britain. He wouldn't have to hide from the public and he wouldn't have to worry about a newspaper reporting about his every movement. He'd be slightly free of expectations, but he wouldn't be free of his memories.

They'd still be there. Every corner he turned and direction he faced he could still see them. They're faces haunted him. He couldn't get away. There was nothing he could do to escape them...except to run.

They'd done so much to him. They'd died. They'd left him alone in a world where being alone wasn't a position that anybody wanted to be in. Because of them, his childhood has been wasted. Voldemort had hunted him like a predator hunted prey. He hadn't been able to be a normal child. There wasn't anyway for them to change that, nor was there any way for him to change the anger that he felt at them each time he even thought of their names. However, they weren't at fault in this situation either. Nobody has asked them if they wanted to return. They had been randomly chosen and his consent hadn't been asked. They had all been taken advantage of. But they hadn't needed to have attack him and force him to listen to Lily's tears and James's threats. There wasn't any reason he shouldn't continue to be mad at them.

Two days after his unfortunate mishap with Lily and James, he arrived in the small wizarding village in Russia. Nobody knew who he was. The innkeeper silently handed him the keys to a room and had grabbed the other end of his trunk. His eyes had quickly dashed across the fringe of bangs along Harry's head and then looked away just as fast. It felt good to be recognized without words. Finally, somebody who did not judge him at all, somebody who just left him alone and didn't think twice about it.

When his trunk had been deposited in his room, Harry set out once again, however, this time venturing further into the cold. Ollivander hadn't told him where he might find Mihir Popovsky, just that his wand feather had been sent to the unknown wizard. Harry wandered down the snowy streets of the village and looked into various shops, a silent hope that he would find the man in one of them, but he knew that it wasn't going to happen. All of the shops looked so inviting, brightly lit and warm and places that a wizard that hadn't been seen in years would definitely not be. The snow had begun to pierce his toes as he pushed his way into a mildly seedy looking pub and sat down at the bar.

"Firewhiskey," he requested. The bartender didn't look up nor did he question Harry's age as he passed the drink across the counter. Harry took a long sip from the cup, and then coughed as the liquid burned his throat.

"First drink?" a man asked him. Harry quickly shook his head and took an even longer sip, causing his throat to feel as if it had been set on fire.

"Let me give you a tip, Mr. Potter," Harry looked up in alarm. The pub was completely empty except for the two of them and the bartender had stepped into the back room. "Yes, I know you are Mr. Potter."

"How do you know who I am?" Harry asked. If this was another trick played by Sirius and Remus to get him to come back to England, then he was going to throw up. He wasn't going to go back and face the dead.

"The trick is, Mr. Potter, to drink the firewhiskey slowly so it does not burn the throat. Then when you wake up the next morning with the hangover, your throat will not be as harmed as it would have been if you had gulped the entire beverage." The man looked towards the window, never meeting Harry's eyes.

"Who the hell are you?" Harry asked. He stood up quickly from his stool and accidentally knocked the glass from counter. Shards flew all over the counter and landed at the man's feet.

The man took out a wand and almost carelessly waved it. "Reparo." The fragments flew together and quickly formed a new glass. "Not as good as before. Now you are missing the drink. However, you will not injure yourself on the pieces when you choose to leave, as I am guessing you will soon want to."

Harry looked towards the man once again. The anger that had been boiling inside of him began to force its way up his throat. He was going to explode any second. The man looked at him and took a swing from his own glass. "I'll ask you again. Who are you? Did James and Lily Potter put you up to this? Or was it some sort of joke of your own doing. Let's go harass Harry Potter today, he's feeling vulnerable and the two people he thought he would never see have sprung themselves at him from nowhere and he's scared and angry about it. He's scared and the famous boy-who-lived is never scared of anything. And he's angry because he had finally learned to live with it and now everything has to change again. You can't spring something like this. Death is forever. Nobody should be able to cheat death, no matter how famous their son is." He looked at the man. A second later, the man put his wand on the counter, and turned back to his drink.

"I am not a joke. I had heard the rumors that your parents had returned, but had not believed them up until now. I am sad for you, Mr. Potter. I am sad that you can not see the opportunity in what has been presented to you. It is not a curse, Mr. Potter, to get a second chance to know those who you have felt abandoned you. It is a blessing, but you cannot see why." He stood up and pushed the wand closer to Harry. "Your wand presented me with a great challenge, Mr. Potter. Please do not be as foolhardy as to break it again. Good day to you." There was a crack, and the man Disapparated. Harry looked at the place where he had been moments before, torn between the wand that was now in his hand and the memory of what had been said to him.

Nobody should have to deal with what he had to deal with. He had gone through to many things in his life and it wasn't fair for them to spring more on him. However, neither he nor James and Lily had gone about any of this in a mature fashion. There wasn't any way to maturely handle this. It just wasn't possible.

Harry stood up and walked out of the pub, his wand tucked neatly in his pocket. The snow continued to bite at his toes, but it didn't bother him anymore. He knew what he had to do. And it wasn't escape.