Convincing Harry

By Abay

-Chapter-Two-

A Lie

Enjoy:)

Right after the walls that were squeezing the air out of James released him, he fell to a heap on the cement floor, scraping his elbow on it. Apparating seemed to have drained what little energy he had left out of him, letting James feeling weak and frail, but determination was the only fuel left in him that kept him going; that and the adrenalin.

Panting heavily, James rolled onto his stomach, placed the palm of his hands firmly on the ground and with all his might, pushed himself off the ground, then slowly willing his feet to move too. Finally planted on both feet, though his legs barely supported him, James staggered on, walking towards the house he was looking at through his broken and fogged up glasses, and though the house was not very far, the distance between him and his home felt thousands and miles away.

As James took one reeling step after the other, the image of the house started to materialize into a clearer image…an image that was definitely not the house he remembered, but he nevertheless kept on going, denying the fact that this house didn't look in the slightest bit like his, and not until did he reach the port did James come to a halt.

His heart thumped wildly against his chest, his breathing became fast and difficult as confusion overcame him. He could not understand any of this…How could his home disappear so suddenly from the face of the earth? It was here hours ago … He could clearly remember himself sitting snugly inside of his house … sitting with Lily… taking softly… remembering sweet memories and sharing them to one another as Harry slept cradled in his arms … then … then …

He could not recall what had happened afterwards. For the life of him he could not. It was as though someone had obliviated the rest of his memories out of his mind and the more he tried to remember, the more the throbbing pain increased in his head.

Breathing in deeper breaths now, James tried to calm himself down, think rationally, but that was easier said than done. He could not figure out why this foreign house stood where his own should have been standing, but the only sensible conclusion he could come up with was that he had disapparated to the wrong location…He was feeling fatigued after all.

Closing his eyes, James imagined his home clearly in his minds eye, focused on his destination, readying himself for the walls to bind him and close around him … but nothing happened…nothing at all. Furiously, James focused harder, muttering under his breath the same words under his breath. "Godrics' Hollow, Godrics' Hollow, Godrics' Hollow…"

Not a thing happened, not a scene of his surroundings had changed, and the house still stood stubbornly, glaring down upon as though gloating at his failure. Turning around, James searched for anyone to help him, point him towards the right direction, but the streets were deserted and uninhabited. He was all alone, lost in this forsaken place.

Deciding that all he could was send a message to a member of the Order of Phoenix was all he could momentarily, James hands, which were shivering uncontrollably, started to roam around in the inside pockets of his robes, searching for his wand so that he could summon up a Patronus, though he could not think of where he could conjure a happy memory at this moment, but the bigger problem was, he could not his find his wand anywhere.

"Oh god no…please no…"

Panic roared inside of him, waves of heat washed over him, and his heart was hammering against his chest with such force that it felt it would rip out his chest. Not only was he feeble and lost, but now he was defenseless and vulnerable too.

Feeling completely confused and helpless, James stared back at the old house, his stare unwavering, for he feared that if he batted an eye-lid, the house might turn up then diminish just for the sake of infuriating him, but no matter how much he stared, how much he silently begged it to with pleading eyes, his home never made a sudden emergence like he begged it to.

Now, his mind started to make up far-fetched notions, desperate ones…He was starting to make out the idea that his wife and son were in fact in this very house. The thought of how they had come to land in a house of somebody they were by no means acquainted to never even crossed his mind because that didn't matter. All that mattered was that they were here, safe, close by and alive. A shaky laugh escaped him as he reassured himself that his family was right here and that he was being too paranoid.

Stepping onto the porch, James walked towards the door, his legs still feeling wobbly beneath him and knocked on the door; waiting for answer….None came. Impatience swelled in him and he stared getting angry. Why the hell weren't they answering him? He now knocked more forcefully on the door and waited again … But again, no one came to answer the door. Feeling completely irritated at being ignored, James banged on the door louder, held the door knob firmly and started to shake the door, yelling, demanding for someone to open the door or he would rip it open himself.

Margaret Collate, turning eighty-two in a few weeks had never slept so peacefully like she had for a long time, but that was until she was rudely disturbed by someone banging and yelling on her front door. Did they expect an old lady like her to fly down the stairs? She could barely hobble for Christ's' sake!

Casting an eye over to the clock, which by the way its digital numbers were extra large due to her bad sight, she saw that it was one o'clock in the morning.

"Oh gracious lord, who would be visiting me at such a time?" she asked her self as she donned on a flowered robe, put on her fluffy pink slippers and grabbed her wooden cane, tottering out of her room as fast as she could when the banging started to grow more violent.

"I'm coming! I'm coming!" she called in her old weak voice as she stepped down the stairs one by one, making sure not slip and fall.

"OPEN THE DOOR!"

"Well now," she muttered to herself as she stepped down the last steps, and walked toward the door. "I said I was coming, there's no need for them to be so bad-mannered!

"Please let me in…please!" Whoever it was outside started begging in such a sad voice that Margaret urged herself to hobble faster towards the door though her doctor had reminded her so many times that she shouldn't tier herself.

"I'll be there in a moment dear!"

When Margaret reached the door, she left the security chain just in-case --Oh she'd heard about those naughty boys with their guns, stealing from all those poor people! – and opened the door a few inches, squinting so the better she could see whoever it was.

"I'm sorry dear," she said pleasantly forgetting how rudely the person had banged at her door and yelled. "But I'm not wearing my glasses and I can't tell who you are."

"Lily," the person, a man from the sounds of it, who had apparently hadn't heard what she'd said. "Harry…Where are they?"

"Who'd you say dear? I'm afraid my hearing isn't that well too—"

"My wife and son, I know they're here. I want to see them," the man said, his voice oddly strangled as though he had the flu.

"Oh no, no one's visited me today," Margaret said shaking her head, and then added thinking that it would be polite. "They're welcome anytime for a cup of tea though. I could introduce them to my daughter, Sophie, you know she's quite the dear and she's got a daughter of her own too—"

"But they have to be here," the man said pleadingly. "Please let me in I know they're here—"

"But I'm in my night gown!" she whispered embarrassedly. "I can't let you in! Why don't your family come by tomorrow for a cup of tea and we'll all get acquainted with each—"

"But I was here with them just a few hours ago!" the man croaked desperately and so sadly making her heart ache. "And now I-I've…I don't—I don't know where they are."

"Oh are you lost dear?" Margaret asked sympathetically. "Tell me who you're looking for and we'll phone the poli—"

"Lily and Harry Potter," the man said in a very hoarse voice as though he had cried until his throat had gone raw. "I can't—I don't know—"

"The Potter's did you say?" she asked slightly surprised.

"Y-Yes."

Now Margaret was a old lady whose mind did not sustain very much memory as it used to due to her old age, but their was this one memory of a story told to her by the man who had sold her this very house that she had never forgotten, and it was a very heartbreaking story at that. It was about the father that died protecting his family, the mother who had died for her son, and the son whom they never knew his fate. Margaret felt such honor towards the courage of both the father and the mother that she had made it her duty to pass on their story to as much people as she could.

"Why don't you know dear?" she asked perplexed. "The Potter's died fifteen years ago."

"Why don't you know dear?" the old irritating lady asked. "The Potter's died fifteen years ago."

That word; that horrendous, unbearable word. Died. James did not want to hear it, he did not want to believe, because it was not true…how could it be true? In utter denial, James looked at the lady between the open gap of the door and laughed shakily. "Impossible…They aren't … they can't be…"

"Oh it was such a sad story," the mad old bat continued as though she did not hear him. "They were killed right in this—"

"No…" he whispered quietly, shaking his head in rejection.

"—house. They couldn't find the murderer or the sons' body—"

"Liar!" he hissed vehemently at the old lady. "They're not dead!"

"Well how rude of you—"

James turned around, walking away from the lady as fast as he could. She was lying, he repeated to himself over and over again. She was lying. But the words she had uttered were like daggers cutting through him, shredding him into pieces, and he could not fight it; no matter what, he could not escape its wrath.

Pained gasps escaped him as he ran further and further away, but he could not go on, his feet were crumbling beneath him, and he found himself crawling, trying to get away from that old lady and her wretched lies. Shivering all over, he lied in defeat on the ground, letting the rain which had started to fall again wash over him.

"Lily…" he whispered with difficulty as he felt his lungs constrict. "Harry…please…. Please come back…please don't leave me…you can't leave me…please…"

A.N: Please, please Review and tell me what you think!