Harry felt like death, then he remembered that the basis of that feeling was that he probably was dead.
His head, well his scar, felt as if someone was enjoying scratching it out with a hair pin and the pounding in the head which accompanied it was far from comfortable.
What a whiz, the afterlife wasn't meant to hurt. It was meant to be angelic choirs and reunions with those who you had loved and lost. Feeling like Pavarotti was sitting on your chest was definitely not in the holiday brochure.
Wherever he was, be it heaven, hell or anywhere in between their must be someone there, lost friends and family, St Paul, the devil, anything. Death as a nothingness with pain was far too medieval for Harry's liking, there had to be something else. There just had to be.
It damn hurt opening his eyes, and the light hurt the very back of them but he refused to shut them. He wanted to see wherever he was.
His vision was dire, he couldn't see much at all. Just different shades of grey all blurred together. It was easing but in doing so at such a fatigued pace it was also painfully and slowly building up the suspense.
He'd failed again though, and he didn't like that particular thought. Maybe Harry was in hell, maybe he was finally being made to pay for how many lives he screwed up by just breathing. They could now get on with their lives; he was no longer dragging Ron and Hermione along for the ride. Dudley would finally get his second bedroom back. Granted Professor Trelawny would no longer have her favourite dead man anymore, but she might not look like as much of a fraud these days now Harry had finally kicked the bucket. On the whole the world would be better without Harry in it.
That headache was something else though, like a killer hangover. Harry hadn't even had a hangover yet. The Dursley's wouldn't give him drink and for the time being the wizarding world and school were interlinked. Only Seamus had ever succeeded in smuggling in anything with a volume greater than butterbeer…although Harry wouldn't put money against the twins having eclipsed his efforts of 2 bottles of firewhiskey.
Ironic, here he was in pain and not knowing what the hell was going on and he was thinking about what the twins had and had not gotten away with during their years. It amazing how muddled your brain can get at times, or maybe he was in that sweet denial where he wasn't admitting the fact he had just been hit with a killing curse.
Harry found his vision was clearing; maybe death wasn't nothingness after all. Although it didn't alter the fact he still hurt, a lot.
Then he realised as the blurs cleared what was going on. He wasn't dead, he couldn't be. Not if that red hair belonged to his best friend.
He instinctively straightened his glasses on his face, he saw Hermione stare at him shell shocked and it occurred to him this is why he should be grateful to still have a pulse. Because he had the best friends in the world if they felt about him like he did them (and Harry hoped with all his might they did) he couldn't die on them, that would be just plain selfish.
"Didn't think I'd give up that easily?" Harry said, suddenly feeling 20 times better than 30 seconds ago.
"You gave us a scare though" Ron offered, slight chuckle in his voice although it was tinged with wariness, like he shouldn't be seeing the plain and clear act which was in front of him. A grin was also spreading across his face too, one which Harry felt his muscles mirroring as if it was a highly contagious form of muscle spasm.
Then it hit Harry as if he was being hit by another killing curse (maybe that was fast becoming his speciality). It might not have worked but HE would still be there. Lord Voldemort was probably less than 10 metres away from him. The reunion would have to wait for the time being.
His eyes felt like after the second task in the lake, with so much water in them he had to strain to focus and every movement ground and scratched is if his eyes needed lubricating. Then he saw it. The shadow. It wasn't a man, it wasn't even a thing, and less than the deformed child Voldemort was at the beginning of fourth year.
He'd made the same mistake twice. History repeats, it was a well known fact that if Hitler had bothered reading about Russia we'd all be speaking German. And here it was in just as much clarity and possibly similar consequences. Harry couldn't help but wonder if Avada Kedevra felt so painful the first time around.
Harry became instinctively away of Ron and Hermione next to him, they had fought together so many times he didn't need to look to see they saw it too. Harry fumbled behind him and picked up the wand he must have dropped by his side, he was being less than discrete but Voldemort was fleeing. He was going to get away. Harry couldn't let that happen. Not again, not after Pettigrew.
He grabbed the wand and pointed it at Voldemort saying the first curse which came into his head.
"Stupefy"
He didn't know why he picked that one, the killing curse would probably be more appropriate but unforgivables were, well, unforgivable. He wasn't going to play by Voldemort's rules and that was the best he could think up at such short notice.
It was like deja-vu though. He's been in a dark room before with Ron and Hermione facing a dark figure. And just as that time in the Shrieking Shack when Harry yelled his curse of choice with as much passion as he could get behind it his wasn't the only voice which resonated through the dungeons.
Ron and Hermione had been there too.
The three red jets were emitted in perfect synchrony, the curse was in stereo. They moved towards the shadow and hit it together. The red spread throughout, like small varicose veins penetrating the shadow. They spread and continued to multiply and if the thing was still Voldemort it would be screaming, it did appear to be writhing in pain.
Harry could feel Hermione almost fall into him but he couldn't take his eyes off the sight. He knew that no one else in the room probably could either.
Then it exploded, no shrapnel or metal filled the room but a pulse could be felt. A pulse as if you were going around a particularly violent rollercoaster. The shadow disintegrated. Just as Harry felt it tingle through him, Hermione grabbed his wrist. She felt it too. Like every single nerve and muscle had been invigorated. Like running from the sauna and jumping in the freezing plunge pool.
It was official; defeating Dark Lords was an invigorating experience. All the pain went and Harry felt like he was buzzing, so much energy he had.
And the golden trio stood there absolutely transfixed at the site where very recently a powerful dark wizard had stood. Harry felt the grin spread across his face. He knew what had just happened. But he didn't want to admit it, just in case it would jinx the whole moment. As if saying it out loud would be Voldemort's cue to burst in the room, even though the bastard was dead he didn't want to tempt fate.
"So, is that it?" Ron finally offered.
No one replied.
Have a little interlude. I base the marauders on my prefect team from high school. These were their entries into my leaver's book. Jamie James, Paul Peter, Alex Sirius, Rob Remus (All have the same first letter apart from Kingy, and no matter how hard I try Alexander King can never sound like Sirius Black). Hope it gives you a little insight into the lives of the marauders and what they are like in my story.
Dearest Kim, On reflection you weren't as annoying as some of the people in our year, so when I rule the world I might not even have you killed (not straight away anyway). I hope you will be merry and jolly and etc, etc. Blah, blah, blah, blah, blah, blah – No seriously, I hope the treatment works. If you are an old woman and reading this you will probably see my face everyday on bank notes anyway. See you either soon, or never, Jamie Ellis 11C
To my girlfriend Kim, As everyone in the world has assumed you and I are an "item" I will keep this short and very sweet. The past five, I would say, have been the best in my life so far, it has been a delight spending most of them with you – either at school, in the city of Manchester, the cinema or most memorably on the phone (£60!!!). Jamie is incorrect, he will not rule the world. I will, the most famous architect in the history of mankind. I will most likely have my own home improvement channel on BBCD, where as you will have a 30min cooking programme on channel 5. It is getting close to the end, the final bell is looming and unfortunately (I can't spell) we are going to different colleges (which has absolutely no bearing on either of our higher education). I'm sure, even though we will go to different establishments, we will keep in contact courtesy of BT. I wish you the best of luck with your exams (You won't need it) and with your long lived future. Let's hope both of us find the right man. With lots and lots of love xxPaulxx
Hey Kim!! What are you doing now? Contrary to what Jamie and Paul say they will not rule the world. I WILL!!! REMEMBER!!! You will be my slave!! You will be my slave!! You will be my slave!! Yes I have written this standing up, so it does look a bit strange. "Forever united by the text message" Alex
To Kim, By the time you can remember who I was or who wrote this I'll be 250million miles away on Mars, which might be for the best. Good luck in the future, whatever insanE (sic) career you chose. All the best, Rob (head muff).
I am sorry about cliffies…they mainly come when I think "Oh shit, where do I take it from here". I am not deliberately being evil. I am just being lazy. Hope this one isn't too bad for you. Read and review please :)
