Author's Note: Well, I didn't have any glaring errors throughout that last chapter, as it turns out, this story will not be beta'd. My beta is currently ill-- like extremely ill with no hope of getting better any time soon, and has decided to leave the Internet, or so she says. I hope she doesn't, as I enjoy talking to her regardless of whether or not she's my beta, but she says she's tired of people worrying.
Anyways, on a lighter subject, chapter two probably won't be posted for at least three days. Sorry about this, but you all will be lucky of my writing mood keeps up anyways so. When it is posted, however, look forward to the story getting more interesting. This chapter was more or less to show you a little of Harry's Muggle life, and while the next few chapters may also be like this, hopefully they'll be less so.
Wow, this was a long author's note. I really must see someone about that..
To the Reviewers: I'm incredibly surprised I've gotten so many reviews so quickly on this story.. thank you all for encouraging me. If any of you have questions, feel free to ask and I'll try answering them.. Now, I believe this is what most of you were asking for?
The Boy Who Lived Through Dying
.Chapter 1
"What are your parent's names, Harry?"
Harry smirked at the familiar question, closing his eyes against the harsh lights of the psychiatrist's room.
"I don't know," he answered bitterly.
The psychiatrist, a small, squat man with dark eyes and balding hair to match, made a clicking noise in the back of his throat in reply. Slowly, he asked, "Why?"
"I was never told."
"Never?"
"Never," sighed Harry.
The soft scratch of a pen on paper filled the room, accompanied by the constant ticking of the old Grandfather's clock in the corner. Harry propped his head up by his arms, stretching leisurely on the velvet couch. He waited in silence for Dr. Beathan to continue with the questioning, even though he knew perfectly well what the doctor was going to ask.
Finally, Dr. Beathan spoke in a calm, raspy tone, "Who didn't tell you?"
"My aunt and uncle."
"I see," said Dr. Beathan.
While Harry wasn't looking, he was almost sure if he stole a glance at the man, he would see him stroke his balding goatee in concentration. He cringed at the mental image.
"Where are they now Harry?"
"Dead," said Harry simply, holding back a yawn.
Again, the sound of pen against paper filled the room before Dr. Beathan asked, "How did they die?"
"I don't remember."
"And why do you think this is?"
"I don't know. You're the doctor, remember?" muttered Harry.
Dr. Beathan narrowed his dark eyes, looking at Harry for the first time through the entire session, "Excuse me?"
Even with Dr. Beathan's flaunted hearing problems, he was surprised his original statement had escaped his hearing in the almost deafening silence that surrounded them. In a slightly clearer, louder tone, Harry repeated, "I said, I don't know."
"I see," said Dr. Beathan, his voice clearly patronizing, "Amnesia?"
Harry opened his eyes, glaring at the man, "That's what I've been told."
Dr. Beathan grinned, his false tooth flashing in the light, "Just checking, my boy."
Harry rolled his eyes, turning back to the ceiling.
Dr. Beathan cleared his throat at the action, caressing his pen between his thumb and forefinger, and in return asked, "How did your parents die, Harry?"
Harry gritted his teeth, thinking, now comes the real fun.
"A car crash."
"Is that how you got your scar?"
Dr. Beathan had always been fascinated with the lightning-bolt shaped mark on his forehead, Harry knew. He was slightly surprised he had never been asked that question before.
"Yes."
"Did your aunt and uncle ever tell you anything about your parent's Harry, other than they died in a car crash?"
"Only that they were drunks," said Harry, trying to keep his temper in check. He knew Dr. Beathan was only asking these questions to get a rise out of him.
Besides him, Dr. Beathan grinned again, "Anything else?"
"No," muttered Harry, quickly sitting up and staring Dr. Beathan in the eye. For a moment, he looked taken aback. "No, they didn't tell me anything else. No, I don't think I've ever seen a picture of them. Yes, that makes me feel angry. No, I didn't kill my aunt and uncle, no matter how horrible I've told you they treated me!"
With each sentence he spoke, Harry's voice grew louder and angrier, "No, I don't remember how I got on the step of that church. No, I am not pretending my amnesia. Yes, I am fairly certain of this, yes I am sick and tired of these sessions, and last but not least I am sick and tired of you and your stupid questions!"
By now, he was on his feet, his fists clenched at his sides. With gritted teeth, he lowered his voice and asked, "Now are we through here?"
Dr. Beathan quickly collected himself, straightening his tie as he looked up at Harry and said, "No, not yet Harry. One more question."
Harry sighed, closing his eyes and managing to spit out, "What?"
"How does that make you feel?"
Harry stared at Dr. Beathan dumbfounded, as if he couldn't believe what the man had just said.
Slowly, he said, "What?"
"You heard me."
"I'm not answering that," he said clearly. "Now, are we through here?"
Dr. Beathan sighed, looking at the small buzzer he had set on the lone table in his room, which also happened to be the only thing separating him from Harry.
Finally he said, "I suppose."
"Great," said Harry, with feigned happiness, turning to leave.
He was almost to the door before Dr. Beathan called out-- "Just one more thing, Harry."
Harry stopped dead in his tracks.
Swallowing, he softly asked, "What disorder is it this week?"
"Avoidant, but that's besides the point," replied Dr. Beathan softly, "I was just going to remind you.. same time, same place next week."
"Of course, how could I forget," sneered Harry as he opened the door to leave.
Harry briskly stepped out into the cool hall way of the community building, securely closing the door behind him. He sighed, barely remembering to give a small nod of acknowledgment as a red-headed secretary walked past him, muttering hello. With long strides, Harry hurried from the community hall.
As he walked away he could just hear the sounds of the buzzer going off, mingled with Dr. Beathan's strangled laughter.
A strong gust of autumn air greeted Harry when he opened the door of the Community Hall. He smiled against the breeze, stepping out of the building and onto the crumbling stairway. Sticking his hands in his coat pockets, Harry hurried down the steps, being careful not to trip where the cement had gave away and slid down the stairs like a mini-landslide. It was nearly dusk, and the remaining rays of sunshine caught Harry's glasses, making them glow like beacons in the dark.
Harry grinned to himself, taking a deep breath of the cool air. He loved the night and the mysteries that accompanied it.
Staring up at the old willow tree besides the Community Hall, Harry could make out the faint glow of the moon between the branches. Taking the last two steps together, he turned to east, towards the moon and his apartment building. His gaze moved to the sidewalk below.
Hopefully his roommate Derek would be home and they could crash on the couch, watching reruns of their favorite shows and making fun of Dr. Beathan's so called knowledge of all things to do with the mind. I doubt it though, thought Harry to himself, waving to a girl across the street, he's probably out clubbing.
Bitterly, Harry added, Again. I must be the only Softmore off-campus with nothing to do on a Friday night.
Suddenly a girl's voice echoed around him, "Hey Harry!"
He looked up, dragging himself from his thoughts of self-pity and stopped in his tracks, smiling as he pictured a young brunette running down the street after him. Soon, the same girl in his mind's eye came to a skidding stop besides him, giving him her best smile.
"Need someone to walk you home, Harry? You know how dangerous this neighborhood is," said the girl, putting up her black-gloved fists and swinging them at the air.
Harry couldn't help but laugh.
"Sure, Ruth."
Ruth lowered her fists, sliding them in her jean pockets and gave him another smile, "Great."
He smiled back, continuing his walk.
Her gaze remained on his face as he turned away, staring straight ahead of them.
Teasing, she asked, "So, why out so late, Harry? Visiting Dwayney-boy again?"
He smirked, sparing her a glance, "Why do you insist on calling him that?"
Ruth grinned again, "To bother him, of course."
Harry rolled his eyes, hiding a smile, "Of course."
"So, was that why?"
Nodding, Harry's tone suddenly changed, "Yeah. Why else would I be out this late on a Friday Night?"
His bitterness was apparent in his voice.
Ruth gave him an understanding look, her voice growing serious, "Don't be so down on yourself, Harry. It's not your fault you have to go visit that psycho every Friday."
"I know.."
"At least you can derive some self satisfaction from knowing Dr. Beathan has to return to his room in his parent's basement tonight.." she said lightly, "I mean, seriously.. who in their right minds would name a kid Dwayne? They have to be screwed up!"
Harry lowered his head, giving the sidewalk a small smile.
"To true."
Without warning Ruth reached up and grabbed a hold of Harry's arm, pulling him to an abrupt stop.
Looking up, Harry asked, "What?"
In reply, she grinned suddenly, her dark eyes alight with mischief.
"Enough of this serious talk," she paused, lifting her hand from his arm and playfully punching him on the shoulder. "Race you there!"
And with that, Ruth was off, her long leather jacket billowing behind her as she raced down the street. Lifting her hand, she punched the air, yelling at the top of her lungs, "Down with the system!"
Laughing at her antics, Harry was quick to follow.