Disclaimer: Alas, though I wish it were, most of this isn't mine. All I can claim are some OC's and what passes for a plot. Everything else is the domain of the Goddess JKR and her brotherhood of lawyers and corporate entities.
A/N: Thanks to everyone who has reviewed! You are why this keeps going… and going… and going… I'm still shocked every time I see the review count for this fic. Sniffs. Y'all ROCK!!
I had a couple of people wondering why Harry wasn't immediately pressured into revealing what happened during his kidnapping. He was sick and would you want to try to cross Jenn if she'd said to leave him be until he was feeling better?
Just a mild warning here, this chapter delves a little into the dark side of life. I have tried to balance this a bit by including more of ol' snake-face and his hallucinations, but I don't know how effective I am at creating or maintaining that balance.
Chapter Thirty: Requiem
The cold that Remus had suffered was making the rounds of both the muggle and magical worlds. Allen had a particularly bad case, and had, for the last week, been forced to stay in bed at Jenn's insistence. Friday morning, however, Allen was sick and tired of staring at the same patch of ceiling and put his foot down. Well… To rephrase that, he snuck out when Jennifer was otherwise occupied on her latest project for ArcSoft and made his way to the shop.
Allen, like his wife, was fifty-seven. He was also not nearly as active as he had been as a young man and sported a 'spare tire' that weighed a good thirty pounds around his midsection. High blood-pressure ran in his family, and he'd been told time and again by his doctor that he should be careful of what he ate, but Allen took that particular advice with several grains of salt at each meal; he assumed doctors were always harping on everyone about what they ate, at least, that was how it seemed.
And so, with a cold that had worsened into a rampant case of the flu, complete with a judgment-impairing low-grade fever, Allen returned to work. He was straining to lift a rather heavy box of parts when he completely lost his grip. His left arm was as numb and tingly as though he'd slept on it all week.
"You all right, boss?" Mike called out from where he was working on a customer's crumpled fender.
"Yeah," Allen hollered back. "Just dropped a box is all. Think I'll leave it for later. I'll be in the office if anyone needs me."
"Sure thing, boss," Mike replied and returned to the fender.
An hour and a half later, when Allen hadn't joined everyone else outside at the picnic bench behind the shop for lunch, Tim Marshfield headed inside, only to find Allen slumped over his desk, a mess of papers and pens littering both the desk and the floor. The phone had been knocked off its cradle and was beeping noisily.
Tim knew what had happened, yet didn't want to believe it. His heart-rate tripled and he rushed to Allen's side. "Boss?" When he received no response, he reached out and shook Allen's shoulder. "Allen? Come on, mate, answer me! If you've gone and done what I think, Jenn's gonna kill us both!"
Allen merely slumped a little lower in the chair before slowly sliding off.
Wondering what was taking so long, Mike followed Tim into the shop and stopped short at the doorway to the office. "Tim…?"
Tim looked up, his face unnaturally pale under his thinning brown hair. "Call an ambulance!"
I don't know how, Voldemort thought, glaring at the choir of small children singing 'Little Bunny Foo-Foo' directed by a giant purple plush thing – Voldemort wasn't sure what it was supposed to be, only that it looked like a child's drawing of a bipedal salamander – but that Potter-brat has to be behind this!
Those few Death Eaters who had witnessed their Lord's rebirth glanced uneasily at one another out of the corners of their eyes. Ever since that fateful night of three weeks prior, their Lord had been growing stranger… He often leveled hexes and curses, not at them – that would have been consistent with how he had behaved in the past – but at thin air. Lucius was not present at the current meeting. Two days earlier, he'd had the misfortune to ask what it was the Dark Lord was hexing, and had been crucioed for his trouble. He'd also been told, by that same Dark Lord, not to return until he either had a solution for the current problem – of which he didn't know the details– or had Potter's head on a platter. Needless to say, Lucius had made himself scarce.
"My Death Eaters," Voldemort tried to ignore the singing. "Today, I have – "
"Down came the good fairy and she said – "
"Foo-foo."
"Did our Lord just say 'foo-foo?'" Avery whispered to Crouch.
"I think so," Crouch replied, barely moving his lips, his expression one of utmost disbelief. "I think so."
Voldemort wondered when the children would shut up. He'd managed to figure out that they usually didn't mutate unless hit by a spell. Usually. There seemed to be some sort of random-generation to the spell that caused whatever it was that he happened to be suffering to change on its own every time he slept. He was thankful for that, at least. That preacher had been really annoying. He cleared his throat and tried again, "Today I have managed to –"
"…And the moral of the story: Hare today –"
"Goon tomorrow," Voldemort muttered, then cursed loudly and viciously. In nineteen languages, three of which were dead.
Even Bellatrix was sporting a slightly concerned and worried expression.
Harry wasn't too sure what was wrong with him; he felt anxious and edgy for seemingly no good reason. It wasn't his scar – ever since Voldemort had started consuming the potion that Professor Snape and the twins had created, Harry hadn't had a single Dark-Lord-induced vision, an unforeseen side-effect for which he was eminently grateful. He still couldn't shake the feeling that something was wrong, though.
"Harry?"
Harry snapped his attention back to Mr. Eindelberg. "Sir?"
"I was just asking you to recite Huygens' principle for the class."
Harry shook his head as though clearing water from his ears, "Ah… Yes, sir. Huygens' principle is the wave theory of light based on the idea of secondary wavelets spreading from each point as a wavefront such that the envelope of these wavelets forms the new wavefronts."
The physics instructor nodded, "Precisely. And can anyone explain how that principle would affect the experiment on page three-fifty?"
Sandra Brekman, a rather attractive girl of middle-eastern decent raised her hand to answer. "It would likely increase the chances of optical interference."
Harry lowered his head back to his notes. His anxious feeling was getting worse. There was something majorly wrong. It's not my scar… What else could it be? Is someone using magic nearby? Is that it? During the week following his recovery after his kidnapping, Tonks, Remus, Sirius, and Dumbledore had added to the wards and protections surrounding the Kellerman home. While they were working, Harry had felt a little prickle along his nerves. After talking with Remus, he'd learned that such a response was how a powerful wizard knew there was strong magic – ritual magic – being used nearby. He was also needlessly informed that he'd likely be able to tell when he'd been hit by a spell without an immediate, noticeable effect.
If that's it, though, I'd hate to know what they're doing. This feels so much worse than the wards did…
"Harry?"
Harry blinked and looked up. "Sorry, sir. What was that?"
"The bell rang for lunch five minutes ago," Mr. Eindelberg smiled at him.
Harry tried to reply in kind, but found himself grimacing instead. "Sorry, sir," he repeated, gathering his notes and textbook.
"I know you were out sick a couple of weeks ago, but are you sure you're fully recovered? You usually pay better attention than this," Mr. Eindelberg said, though not unkindly.
Harry shrugged, "I don't know what's wrong, sir… I just feel… not ill, just not quite myself, either. Sorry I wasn't paying attention."
Mr. Eindelberg scoffed, "Don't worry about it, Harry. It was mostly review. What classes do you have after lunch? Do you think you could miss them?"
Harry thought for a moment, "Probably. You think I should skive off the rest of today?"
Eindelberg grinned, "Of course not! A teacher encouraging absenteeism! Surely you jest!" Harry managed a weak smile. "But seriously, though. You're not doing yourself any good if you can't pay attention. If you want, I'll write you a pass for the rest of the day."
Harry shook his head, "Thanks, sir, but… I don't really want to have to miss any more school than I already have. I think I'll just have a lie-down in the nurse's office until lunch is over. Maybe I'll feel better after."
"If you don't, make sure Annie sends you home – like I said, you aren't doing yourself any favors if you can't pay attention."
Harry nodded and thanked his teacher once more before heading for his locker. He spun the combination and stowed his books inside. Halfway to the nurse's office, his phone buzzed silently in his pocket. He paused just outside a bathroom and answered, "Hello?"
"Harry, this is Remus. You need to come home immediately; it's an emergency."
Harry's sense of unease tripled and he paled a little. "What sort of emergency?"
There was some background noise and Harry could hear Sirius say, "Screw that, Moony. Tell him to get to somewhere alone and I'll apparate to him." Remus had just finished relaying Sirius' message when a muffled pop sounded just at Harry's elbow.
Harry jumped and very nearly dropped the phone. "I'll see you shortly, Harry," Remus said and ended the call. Harry replaced the phone in his pocket, looking expectantly at his godfather. He was obviously stressed and worried.
"What's happened?" Harry asked.
Sirius took a deep breath, "Come on, where's the office? Don't want you in trouble for leaving early…"
"It's this way," Harry motioned. "Sirius, what happened? Was it Voldemort? The Death Eaters? What?"
Sirius merely shook his head, "No, Harry. It wasn't him. It's… Hell. Allen had a heart-attack."
Harry stopped in his tracks. "What? How bad?"
Sirius closed his eyes and shook his head. "The worst."
While Sirius dealt with the office, Harry gathered his things from his locker in a trancelike state. His anxiety had completely disappeared and left him numb.
A couple of days later, Monday, May fourth, Harry was wearing a new suit, tying the tie while looking into the mirror on the back of his bedroom door. He hadn't wanted to bother with getting another suit, but he didn't feel that the navy blue one he already owned would be appropriate. He glanced at the clock on his bedside table. It was nearing noon.
Sirius was sitting on the bed, offering Harry the comfort of his presence, even if he had no idea what to say to make his godson feel better. In fact, he didn't know what to do to make himself feel better – he'd quite liked Allen; the man had had a great sense of humor and had helped him tune his motorcycle back into shape. He didn't envy Harry's position at all, and had once been in Jenn's shoes. This time, though, there wasn't a convenient rat to point his wand at; it had just been… well, Fate.
Harry looked good – if one ignored the fact that he was pale and his eyes were reddened – in the starkly black suit with matching tie and plain white shirt. No one had seen him cry; Sirius was pretty sure he was trying to be strong for Jenn's sake. Sirius didn't blame him for that. Jennifer had been in a state of near-catatonia ever since the phone call Friday morning from Tim. He'd since learned from Chad that the two of them had been together for over thirty years, and married for most of them.
Quietly breaking the silence, Sirius whispered, "Come on, Pup. It's time to go."
Harry nodded and followed his godfather down the stairs and into the waiting limousine. Sirius and Remus sat with Harry, across from Jenn and Chad. It wasn't long before they arrived at the church where Allen's funeral service was being held. As a precaution, the Order had several members providing covert security for the day. Walking into the crowded church – Allen had been a well-liked and much-appreciated member of the community of Little Whinging – Sirius could see the Tonkses, Arabella Figg, and he was pretty sure that the old man with the white ponytail in the far corner was Albus, but he couldn't be certain, as the man's back was to him. The only major surprise was that Snape was one of the Order members present. The dour man was standing in the furthest-back corner of the church watching everyone and everything with a neutral, blank expression on his face, though his eyes never stopped scanning the crowd.
After the preacher had finished his part, one by one, friends and family of Allen Kellerman stood to give their final goodbyes. When Harry was signaled for his turn, Sirius gave him a little squeeze on his shoulder. Harry nodded a little and patted his godfather's hand before climbing the short series of stairs to the dais.
Sirius had no idea what Harry was going to say; neither did Remus. In fact, neither of them had been aware that Harry had agreed to speak today. Harry cleared his throat with a little 'ahem' noise before beginning. Though he didn't speak very loudly, the acoustics of the church were quite excellent, and no one had any difficulty hearing what Harry said.
"When I was a baby, I lost my parents and was sent to live with some relatives here in Little Whinging. It was not a happy situation for either them or me. When I turned fifteen, I was given an order to find a job to help out with the bills, or else.
"I first met Allen a little over two years ago when I'd applied for a job at his shop. He surprised me when he hired me on the spot, no questions asked. He further surprised me when he gave me my first paycheck; he'd known that I was having some… issues with my guardians and had given me half my check in cash, even providing me with a safe place to keep it away from my aunt and uncle.
"Shortly afterwards, I was invited to his home for dinner and met his charming wife, Jennifer. The two of them started looking out for me whenever they could; Allen always had an extra sandwich and apple in his lunch for me. He was always available to listen to me, to what I said, to my dreams and wants… It was something I'd never had before.
"More than that, though; he and Jenn gave me something I hadn't known I needed. They gave me acceptance. At the shop I learned not only how to fix a leaking radiator and how to file paperwork, but also that not everything I did was wrong. That I could be good for something. That I wasn't the waste of space that my relatives kept telling me I was.
"After a couple of months, I began talking more with the other guys that worked with me, and found that they, too, didn't have the same expectations of me that my aunt and uncle did. I found in them three brothers I never thought I'd have. I never would have started talking to them if Allen hadn't made me realize that maybe, just maybe, my relatives were the ones who were wrong.
"This just past summer, Allen gave me something I have come to treasure more than anything else I've ever had in my life. For my birthday, he and Jenn gave me a key to their house. They gave me a home, and a chance to be rid of the Dursleys forever. A chance to truly be myself, in my own way and my own time.
"I am who I am today in no small part due to Allen. I love him like the father I lost when I was little, and know that he's with my mum and dad in whatever hereafter awaits us all." Harry looked up from where he'd been staring at a vague nothing a few feet from his face and focused upwards. "I hope I do right by you, Allen. When we eventually meet again, I want you, Mum, and Dad to be able to say that you're proud of me." Closing his eyes, he took a deep breath and quickly returned to his place next to Jenn, on the bench in front of Sirius and Remus.
Leaning close to Sirius' ear, Remus whispered, "Hell, Padfoot, I'm proud of him."
Sirius smiled a little, "Me, too, Remus. Me, too."
"I believe I'm beginning to sense a pattern here," Voldemort mused aloud to what an observer would assume was an empty room. To the Dark Lord's eyes, however, there was another entity present. The choir of children and their plush conductor had sufficiently irritated him into another AK, and what had taken their place was – by far – worse.
Voldemort took great pride in being descended of the noble Salazar Slytherin, and, insofar as he was capable of the emotion, absolutely loved being a parselmouth. However, at the moment, he wished he wasn't. There was an albino snake, Voldemort wasn't sure what species it was, singing very loudly and off-key.
"Here's to you, Mrs. Robinson, Jesus loves you more than you will know…"
"They're always loudest when I'm trying to sleep, and they get really repetitive when I'm trying to talk to someone…" Voldemort's spoken thought trailed off and he glanced from the snake to his wand and back again. "Do I dare chance it?" He shrugged; it wasn't as if it could get more annoying, could it? "Avada Kedavra!"
The blinding flash of green light faded and instead of the snake, Voldemort's eyes fell on what had to be the single largest cricket he'd ever seen. It stood nearly seven feet tall, and barely fit in his room at Malfoy Manor.
Squirrrch-creeeeek.
The 'chirp' made his skull vibrate.
Squirrrch-creeeeek.
For the first time since he was a very small boy, Voldemort wanted to cry. "I just want some bloody sleep!" Yes, the darkest wizard since Grindelwald was whining. Did he care? Not particularly.
Squirrrch-creeeeek.
Squirrrch-creeeeek.
Squirrrch-creeeeek.
"AVADA KEDAVRA!!"
Had the cricket been real, Voldemort doubted that there would have been much left of it other than a grease-spot, he'd channeled that much power into the curse. Well, a very large grease-spot.
As it turned out, Voldemort was wondering just how he could get the preacher back.
An overly made-up bottle-blonde was smiling prettily and holding her hand up so that nonexistent spotlights could sparkle and glitter off of a particularly hideous and gaudy ring while another woman, slightly older and brunette, said, "Yes folks! A genuine-imitation Austrian crystal diamond! This stunning three-karat weight of princess-cut beauty and perfection can be yours for the low, low introductory price of twenty-five pounds! Only three thousand of these gorgeous rings were ever made!"
Voldemort didn't succumb to the temptation to bang his head into the nearest wall repeatedly, though he honestly had to talk himself out of it.
On the Saturday following Allen's funeral, Harry was once again suited up and shiny. He was sitting between Tim and Jenn on a leather sofa. Mike and his wife, Bea, were likewise sitting on a smaller sofa nearby. Chad was sitting in one of the wooden chairs across the desk from the estate lawyer, one Sanjay Ramaswami. Nigel was sitting in the other wooden chair, looking decidedly uncomfortable and more than a little dislocated.
After the preliminaries, Ramaswami took up a sheaf of paperwork and began reading. Harry let the words wash over him, only a couple of things stuck in his mind long enough to make any sort of impact.
"…to my good friends, Michael Gambeson Peterson and Timothy Jacob Marshfield, I leave my automotive repair center, located at…"
I suppose that makes sense, Harry thought, Mike's got a family to support, and Tim's flat-out stated that he wouldn't want to ever work anywhere else.
"…to my brother-in-law, Chadwick Alva Thomas, I leave my silver 1966 Corvette convertible, currently in storage at Boston Municipal Long-term Warehouse Storage Facility, with the stipulation that he be more careful with her this time…"
"I'll be damned, he fixed the 'vette?" Chad whispered, his tone somewhere between shocked and angry. "If he fixed her, why the hell has he been arguing with me all this time?"
Probably because he liked arguing with you, Harry thought, a mere ghost of a smile pulling at the corners of his mouth.
Ramaswami cleared his throat and continued reading the document, not pausing to comment on Chad's questions.
"…to my good friend, Nigel Caelum Smythwick, I leave my silver and opal cufflinks and advise him to locate a sweet lady to settle down with…"
Harry mentally rolled his eyes, Not too likely on that score, Allen. Nigel's about as ready to settle down as I am to forgive the Dursleys!
"…to my surrogate son, Harold James Potter, I leave my Saint Christopher medal, which has been in my family since my great-grandfather won it in Sunday school as a child. It always brought me luck, may it do the same for you…"
Harry looked up from where he was contemplating his hands, Did he just say 'surrogate son?' He couldn't help his reaction, he missed Allen something fierce, and had to remind himself at least three times each day that the man was gone. He closed his eyes, and silent tears escaped.
Jenn finally noticed something outside her own little world, and without saying a word, wrapped an arm around his shoulders and pulled him closer to her side, resting her head on his.
10 May, 1998
Dear Harry,
Dad told me, and I hope you're not mad at either of us, and I told Hermione. About Allen, I mean. I know words don't help much, but I'm sorry for your loss. I know it isn't quite the same thing, but something happened in my second year here at Hogwarts and my little sister, Ginny, has been in Saint Mungos ever since. I know she's not… Well, that she's still alive, and so it really isn't the same thing at all, but it's still similar. The healers don't know when or if she'll ever recover.
If you ever need someone to rail at, you know where I am.
Ron
10 May, 1998
Dear Harry,
Ron's just told me about your friend. I'm sorry to hear what happened.
I can't say that I've ever had any sort of experience in things like this, but I'm still here if you want to talk.
Love,
Hermione
12 May, 1998
Dear Ron and Hermione,
I received your letters yesterday, and thanks for your support. I… I just don't know what I'm supposed to be feeling, or even if I really want to know what I'm feeling right now. I just know that I really miss him and keep expecting to come across him either here in the house or outside. Just last night, I had a question about something for him, and had even gotten up to go ask him when I remembered that he wasn't here anymore.
Does that ever go away? Do I want it to go away?
I suppose I'll probably see you soon. I still have work to do to be ready for NEWTs, and, as the last week has proven, time won't stop just for me.
Harry
Yet again, Harry was finishing up his make-up work from the time he'd missed from school. It wasn't up to his usual standard, even he knew that, but it was the best he could do, considering. He just couldn't dredge up the necessary enthusiasm to care what the US presence in Vietnam during the early sixties had to do with anything, let alone what the results of Melde's experiment were. He didn't dare pick up a paintbrush in his current mental state, either. He didn't want to know what his subconscious would come up with.
A light knock on his open bedroom door interrupted him. Looking up from his computer screen, he saw that Nigel was standing in the doorway. "Hey, Harry. Ready to go back to school?"
Harry shrugged, "Not particularly, but if I want to graduate this year, I'm going to have to, aren't I?"
Nigel thought a moment before shrugging in agreement. "What are you working on now?"
Harry shrugged, "History. What did you need?"
Nigel stepped further into the room and gazed at the forest mural, "That's not half-bad, Harry."
"So I've been told more than once."
Nigel turned and sighed, "I'm really not that great at getting folks to feel happy when they're disinclined to do so. In that case, I've got two things for you. The first is that I've contacted some old acquaintances in the US, and if you like them, they're more than willing to work for BKE."
Harry almost winced when his brain tried to go simultaneously in two separate and unrelated emotional directions; a large part of him was still deeply entrenched in his grief of losing Allen, and an equally large portion of him was gleeful at the mere mention of his embryonic business and intensely curious as to just what, or rather, who Nigel had spoken with. Something of his inner conflict must have shown on his face, as Nigel took a seat on the corner of Harry's bed and chuckled a little. "You know, Harry, just because Allen died, it doesn't mean that you have to, too."
"Huh?"
Nigel shook his head, "That didn't quite come out properly. Shall I try again?" At Harry's nod, Nigel clarified, "I know it's somewhat unorthodox for a scientist to have any sort of religious leanings – most people assume the two are mutually exclusive. In my head, though, I don't see how finding out how the existing, material world works has anything to do with spirituality. I don't see how the evolution of man, as is currently accepted by the scientific community, proves or disproves the creation-theories accepted by numerous religions. Take the Big Bang, for example. Current scientific belief states that the universe originated from a single, super-concentrated point – a singularity. The singularity. Nothing science can put forth can explain where that singularity came from, nor how long it existed before it exploded to create the universe as we know it. In my mind, why couldn't a… consciousness, for lack of a better word, have merely wished it to explode, creating all we now know? There isn't any proof against such a theory. With me so far?"
Harry nodded, but sported a slightly confused expression. "What does that have to do with what you said about me and Allen, though?"
"I'm getting there, kiddo. Just wanted to make sure you knew where I was coming from. In any case, skipping a lot of my pet theories on theology and science, I'll jump right into the current state of things. When you love someone, be it as a lover, a friend, or as a member of your family, it's my belief that you trade bits of yourselves. Not physically, mind, but spiritually. Science is no closer to explaining what a soul is than they were a thousand years ago, so anything is possible, yeah? Therefore, when someone close to you dies, I think it hurts so much because they take a little piece of you with them when they go. By that thought, though, they also leave a little piece of themselves behind." Nigel paused for a moment and ran his hands through his hair. "I know you feel like crap right now, and it's all right to feel that way. You lost a little bit of yourself when Allen died. So did I, so did Jenn. The thing is, and this is what I hope will help, you still have a bit of him with you, too. Be happy for that, even if you're still sad about the rest of him not being here."
Harry managed a weak smile, "You've really thought about all this, haven't you?"
Nigel nodded, "Yeah, I have."
"Why?"
Nigel was quiet for several minutes, and just as Harry was about to let him know that he didn't have to answer if he didn't want to, he nodded as though confirming something to himself. "Well… I know you know that I'm a wizard, Hogwarts-trained, and all." Harry nodded, and had the realization that for all he'd known the man for nearing three years, and had known of his wizardry since January, he'd never seen Nigel do any spellwork. "I don't know if you remember or not, but I was a Slytherin and finished up at Hogwarts in June of 1976. It wasn't a particularly good time to be a Slytherin, what with the Dark Lord gaining in power every day. My little brother, Kellan, was three years behind me, likewise a Slytherin. Now, we were… what's the term? First-generational purebloods? Our father was muggle-born. I'd always been something of a loaner in school, and had a reputation for doing things my own way. Kellan, though… He didn't have the courage to be anything but a follower. I loved him dearly, but he had a nasty streak in him that he just couldn't ignore.
"As you can probably surmise, he ended up getting recruited by the Death Eaters. His main assignment was to see if he could convince me to join the Dark Lord's side. I just couldn't do that, brother or no, so I took off to the US. While there, I found out that they require everyone to have a working knowledge of things like math, science, and history – and having received nothing but a magical education for the previous seven years, I was rather behind. Hence, I went back to school. I have a GED proving my knowledge of muggle-things, which, along with spectacular SAT scores, got me into MIT. By the time I was through learning there, the whole issue with the Dark Lord here in Britain had become a moot point. I returned to find that my brother is in prison and that our parents had died while I was away.
"I spent a lot of time wondering why things had happened that way, and eventually formed the opinions I just told you about." Nigel had given Harry quite a bit of food for thought, and had also managed to get Harry's mind focused on something other than his loss of the closest thing to a dad he could remember. He decided it was time to shift the subject back to his original point. "Anyway, like I said, I talked to some people I knew in the US and they're willing to come onboard BKE. Julia should be in London sometime in late June or early July, Brent, too. Those two are sort of a packaged set. Frank couldn't get away from his current commitments, but said that he'd be willing to talk to you either over the phone or email until he does get the chance to drop by."
Harry dug out his BKE notebook and a pen. "Julia and Brent what? Got a last name for Frank? And what's Frank's email? Are they wizards or muggles? What are their specialties?"
Sirius and Remus, who had been lurking in the hallway unseen by Harry, exchanged small conspiratorial smiles. Their plan to hijack Harry out of his funk seemed to have worked, at least temporarily.
"I'm seeing things," Voldemort stated, glancing over his shoulder at the giant, smiling, plush things that were following him, talking in gibberish. He'd tried to be rid of them when the purple one with the antenna had appeared two days earlier, but when he'd hit it with an AK, it had just laughed and clapped, shouting 'Again! Again!' before the yellow one appeared to join it. There were now four of the damn things, and Voldemort didn't dare hit them again.
"Pardon?" Lucius said, shaking his head a little. "Lord, I could swear that you just said that you're seeing things."
Voldemort growled low in his chest, "That would be because that is precisely what I just said!" He wondered if hexing one of his followers would cause another of the things to appear.
"My humble and most abject apologies, my Lord. What, if you don't mind my asking, are you seeing?"
Voldemort proceeded to explain about the little girl that had appeared, the preacher, the giant cricket, and all the rest. "I don't know how, but I am sure it's Potter's doing!" he ended his rant.
"My Lord, may I ask –"
"I want you to stop these blasted things from disturbing me; I haven't slept in a week!"
Lucius bowed low, "Yes, my Lord." Taking his chance that that was all the Dark Lord had wanted to discuss, Lucius made a hasty retreat from the drawing room and headed for the library. Three hours later, he was no closer to understanding how a half-trained teenager could have cursed Voldemort so completely, yet had located a word in one of the few muggle books he owned. It seemed to describe exactly what his Lord was suffering, and it wasn't a curse – at least, not in the magical sense.
The word was schizophrenia.
A/N2: And that's that. Shorter than the last few, but I felt this was a logical place to pause for now.
I also get the sense from my reviewers that y'all are hankering to see some romance… I think I'll take this moment to state that I don't believe in love at first sight and that I don't think anyone finds their 'soul-mate' at seventeen. With that said, I'll warn y'all that it's going to be quite some time before Harry even meets his future wife. Though I don't plan each chapter out in advance, I do have several pages of notes of things I want to have happen in this story, and some of these things don't happen until Harry is in his thirties. I can tell you, however, that Harry will be reaching several key dating milestones with some of the characters in cannon. However, all you specific-genre-fans, read closely: This is marked as 'general' for a reason. This story is about Harry's life, and life is rarely a single genre; moments of sheer terror are often mingled with panicky humor, romance is often littered with anguish and torment. I'm trying to make Harry's life in this story as real as possible by mingling all these elements.
To romance-fans, though, I will say this: Soon, there will be a chapter wherein Sirius meets someone. I don't know all her details, yet, but she's slowly becoming clearer to me (and to the Sirius/Remus shippers out there: Personally, I agree with you, but I've already established Remus as straight in this story. If you don't remember, refer back to chapter one.) I don't recall if I've said this before, because I know when I first started this fic that I didn't know for sure, so I'll pen it here. This story won't have explicit slash. If it's even mentioned, it will be in passing, and likely along the lines of 'so-and-so was caught snogging thus-and-such' or 'Joe dated Bob.' I like to write true-to-life, and gay relationships are a fact of life, whether or not you like it, personally. (I also include it because there are so many stories out there, both in fandom and real-book-world wherein its ignored entirely, and my two best friends are a gay man and a person who is currently preparing for a transgender switch.)
This has been the single hardest chapter I've ever had to write; I lost my own father a mere two years ago, and my grandpa died only six months after that. I hope it was effective.