ThirdEdition

Chapter 4

'"Potter!" yelled Snape, back at Grimmauld Place. "How can you just declare like that?" he asked curiously, from behind the door in Harry's room. Harry took a breath and faced the door tiredly.

"Because I'm sick of the press making up lies!" replied Harry angrily. "Aren't you just trying to ask such obvious questions? I'm not trying to earn any respect about the press, you know, and don't forget about my attitude towards my fame."

"But Potter," began Snape.

"Snape, can't we at least find a way to settle about all of this?" asked Harry. "Why can't we have a truce for a while? You're getting on my nerves and when someone does that, I'm less likely to come out of my room!"

"Don't try to exacerbate things, Potter," growled Snape.

"I'm not, you are!" snapped Harry, wanting more than anything to hex Snape into next week.

"This is so idiotic, Potter, I'll come back tonight," said Snape, his footsteps sounding and fading off in the distance. Harry sighed out of irritation; he really wanted some peace for once. Harry's thoughts went back to the final battle but he tried to stop the thoughts before anything painful was brought up. He was too late as he remembered the grotesque looks of his dead parents... chasing him for his flesh, blood and bones. None of his maelstrom of curses or hexes had worked on the dead army. Harry curled up in his bed, forcing the image out of his mind.

He knew his behavior has taken the apathetic nose dive, but really, Harry couldn't care less, he supposed he would mope around until something could finally distract him. His friends, he knew, wouldn't be able to distract him for long. He couldn't bear to imagine having such macabre topic brought up with his friends. Let alone, necromancy. Harry thought it couldn't get any worse than having your dead parents chasing you, with flaps of dead tissue hanging onto their skeleton bones...

He shook his head furiously, berating himself for allowing his thoughts to stray again. He had to get his mélanges of thoughts out of his head or he would never speak to anyone out of fear of speaking about the forbidden art. He knew he had to figure a way to reduce any papers, texts, movies, anything in the muggle world and wizarding world, of necromancy. He didn't think necromancy needed to be repeated, ever. Not even in small amount of information be left laying around. Lest someone learn about the dark branch. He supposed necromancy is something on everyone's thoughts. People generally would like to bring someone back from the dead, even if they're un-dead.

Getting his plans in order on how to start eradicating anything dealing with necromancy, he felt it was just impossible. Perhaps there was one way that would prevent anyone doing anything with conjuration of dead people. He could destroy any and all texts of how to create dead armies. Smiling in satisfaction, he thought, yes, he would do that. Oh no, he would never renounce to his friends, he would never be telling anything about the final battle. Nor would he leave any more clues than what he left to Snape.

First, he would drench any and all plans in his mind, back up plans and even more back ups of ways to erase any information on Necromancy. Again, his mind's image flashed back to his carcass that had once belonged to his parents, risen up from the ground. Harry growled, he was getting sick of the image stuck in his head. He was sorely tempted to use the Obliviation charm on himself. But he wouldn't do that, or otherwise he would not be able to destroy the text.

He knew he wasn't about to give up on his plans in eradicating the books on Necromancy. He had to find a reason in which would be irrefutable in letting Harry get what he wished. Granted, it does require a lot of power, but he wasn't about to let risk in learning the magical branch, he knew he could raise dead people from their graves.

True to Snape's word, the Potions Master returned back to his door few hours later. The professor knocked on the door impatiently, hoping this time, Harry would come out.

"Listen Potter, and listen to me good! If you don't come out right now—"

"I'm sorry sir, I didn't know you were in charge," said Harry sardonically. "If I do remember correctly, you're not my professor anymore, Snivellius."

"Potter! Show some respect!" yelled Snape.

"I'll show you respect, sir! I will go against your order if you do not start respecting me!"

"Respect? Respect, Potter? You must be mad," said Snape.

"Then we will never go anywhere, Snape," said Harry coolly. He heard a footsteps withdrawing and fading down the stairs. Harry sighed in relief, leaning against the headboard of his bed. Several minutes later, he heard the faint glimpses of bantering conversations between Ron and Hermione.

"Listen, Ron! Harry needs his privacy!" said Hermione, her voice too familiar for Harry.

"He's sulked long enough Hermione, he needs to come out! Hell, we could just go out for a firewhiskey if he wants!" argued Ron.

"NO, not firewhiskey, Ron!" exclaimed Hermione. Harry thought of having a drink or two with his friends but then he remembered the muggles. There had been stories where drunken people would tell anything under the influence of alcohol. Shaking his head, he wasn't about to drink in the company of people. No matter how desperate he was.

"Hermione's right, you know," said Harry, speaking up from behind the door.

"Harry, I tried to stop Ron from bothering you..." began Hermione.

"I understand. Ron, I'm sure we can chat sometime later, I just need to organize my thoughts first..."

"You sure have a lot of organizing then, since you've holed up in there for, what? Almost two weeks!" exclaimed Ron, but Harry heard a slap and an ow. "Hermione!"

"Ron, something must have happened during the last battle with Voldemort. Of course he would need time to think! Let it go, Ron, and he'll talk to us. He always does..." her voice faded as the pair walked off reluctantly. Harry let out his breath in a rush. He wasn't about to perform any details on Voldemort's defeat and his Death Eaters. Hell, no one even knew if there were any Death Eaters alive when Harry began to fight Voldemort.

The last thing he would ever do was doing any sort of litany on such matters, not if he could help it. They would need some good reason for why they would want to know what happened between The-Boy-Who-Lived and He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named. He reasoned someone might want to know because their parents or close family relative had been killed by his hand. Then again, his life has been ruined ever since he was born and has continued to be since. He felt he had every right to keep the battle a secret. Let rumors create themselves, he didn't care.

He would have some, and just laugh at some of the rumors of what may have transpired all those days ago. Not even the begging could ever get the secret out of him. He wished he could just disappear from the wizarding world and go into the muggle world. He knew he was being cowardly, then Harry scoffed. He was hiding in his own room for Merlin's sake!

Although he did know his friends cared for him, he would never grant their wish the knowledge of what happened. He wanted to protect whatever innocence they had left in them. Sure, they had several close calls near death, but never going as far deep as Harry had gone. For that, he was glad that their innocence remained untouched. Harry vowed he would protect them as long as he could. One of the steps would be, of course, erasing any and all texts on Necromancy, he thought grimly.

He would begin his 'journey' tomorrow on doing just that.