A/N: Piano and piano accompanyment music is very conducive to writing...

Chapter 2: On Thy Feet

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'ak p...'

'Wake up...'

Where before no conscious or unconscious thoughts sat, a small flame burned. To the soul trapped within the body, it had slept long enough. It knew that this would be no easy task to wake up the mind. It had been so ready to give up on life, that only a mere phrase from a memory kept it from snuffing out the tiny flame. Slowly, like a slithering snake, the flame's warmth and energy seeped out from the chest in a form like the heart. It passed through cold torso, to head, to all the extremities and ends of the hair. It was good enough to wake up the brain, this magic. This untapped source of limitless power and strength. Enough to make waxy eyes once more gain vitality and open to reveal green pools.

Harry had not felt his death, nor even known he died. He did not feel out of place, nor did he wonder about why he wasn't looking up at the ceiling of his miserable cupboard back at Number 4 Privet Drive. All this being was aware of was that the gentlest summer breeze was playing across his face, and that several somethings were hovering over him, along with innumerable somethings sliding all over and around him. A hand clasped the ground under it, and felt the damp earth give way under his fingers. What was this feeling he had?

'Do not try to speak, young one,' came a sound of numerous voices from above him. If they were voices. It sounded like soft whispers, like the wind if it had a voice. Cold fingers reached down to gently stroke his cheek, which woke him a little more as gradually he realized these shapes above him were not like anything he'd seen. And as he sat up the writhing, slithering creatures all over his skin seemed to move faster. If he were in his right mind he would be ignoring the earlier request and asking what was going on, but then he found himself accepting it with a kind of quiet apathy towards the entire situation. It felt as though he were drifting in water, being buffeted towards these things, whatever they were, and back towards his previous state of oblivion.

'He cannot stay long like this,' said another voice more urgently and feminine than the first. A murmur of assent met her comment and the first one sighed.

'We cannot stay long as it is. Quick, we move...'

Shuffling, and a very warm, sheer cloak wrapped around him, and he was held to an icy body, breath near his ear as he stared at the swirling streaks of red, green, yellow, and blue all over the sky like a great web...

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Grave-Robbers-Target-Fallen-Boy-Who-Lived!

The Boy Who Lived, the very young man who as an infant incapacitated the Dark Lord, was laid to rest yesterday afternoon. The solemn event was attended by any and all of Harry's well-wishers that could make it, and was truly a spectacle of grief. Their sadness over this event will now be added to, by what this reporter has just learned this morning.

According to the newly-appointed headmistress McGonagall, Harry Potter's body was found exhumed and missing from its coffin this early morning by visitors of his come to put flowers on his grave. Suspicious shadows were reported all evening by staff when attending to renewing the wards on the school, and not twelve hours later this. Will the boy ever be allowed to rest? It seems not even in death shall he get that privilege.

But readers, we must ask ourselves who did this? And why? Is this merely a very cruel prank performed by one of the boy's extreme fans in order to get attention? Or is it the Deatheaters in a scheme we dare not imagine? What will be done with the body is unknown, though any researcher of necromancy can tell you of the horrible things done. We all need only look to the Inferi that You-Know-Who is using in his service. Is Mr Potter resigned to such a fate?

The Order, headed by the aforementioned professor, seem to be taking this as serious as should well be taken and are putting every effort into recovering the stolen body. Stay fixed on this story as we bring you all the latest news.

Draco stared at the column, as he had been doing for the last several minutes while his tea went cold on the table next to him. He had not expected it to get out so quickly, but then, this was about Potter, wasn't it? Finally, gray eyes moved back to the man who had handed it to him who must have been watching his reaction. To Draco, it suddenly seemed as though the heat from the fire wasn't reaching his skin. "Severus, do you know if he was taken by the Dark Lord?"

"As of now, I do not know," he said, as they sat in the small living room of Spinner's End by the fire. To Draco's eyes, the man looked almost troubled. Which, if Severus' mask looked faintly troubled, meant much more behind it. Draco didn't like that realization that something was going on that they didn't know about. Especially, now that they would be sought out by either side to be killed.

The blonde had remembered standing there, wand in hand, and being unable to kill the headmaster. He had been made to practice the curse on targets of spiders and rats, but when it came to a human Draco Malfoy had choked. And now he knew why Severus had seemed so angry up there; he hadn't wanted to kill the old man. His professor, and godfather, had hated that Albus made him put him out of the misery that had been written in his features that night. Had hated having to cover for the hidden Potter in the room so the Deatheaters would not find him.

Of course, it was also the night that he had killed the Death Eaters they had escaped with and they had gone into hiding here, and the night Draco learned Severus was no longer on either side. Severus, finally continuing his speaking, caught Draco off-guard and banished his reflection.

"The more powerful a witch or wizard is, the more difficult to revive them with any amount of their former power. And as much as I hate to admit it, Harry Potter, had he hit his maturity, would have easily been a match for Voldemort's raw power, if not his talent." The man shook his head and took a sip of tea as if trying to figure out a particularly complex potion. "I could not see the man taking the body unless there was something specific we have all missed..."

Draco knew there would probably be no more spoken on the topic and chose to retire to bed shortly after. There he laid, stretching out and curling into a ball, twisting every which way to try and get comfortable but no matter what he did, his mind wouldn't let him rest. All he could find himself thinking about was standing on the stool in Madam Malkin's, as a small, green-eyed boy walked in the shop. In the light he had thought he had seen black, downy wings, and had momentarily been shocked out of making a snide remark. But his father had said never to let your true interest be shown.

It was now, when Draco was realizing how insane his father had been, he realized that had probably been one of the biggest mistakes of his life. A fact he would only admit to himself.

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When Harry woke up again, it was not with the sluggishness of coming back from the dead. It was with the shock of the nightmare of his death, which sent him jolting up with wide eyes.

The Dursleys had left him curled up in his locked cupboard, and he was slowly eating the sandwich Dudley had managed to sneak to him while Aunt Petunia distracted Vernon before they had left. It had been a shock when he had gotten back to the Dursleys, at how Vernon had become even more horrible, even to breaking bones and using his belt, while his aunt and cousin had become relatively civil, even friendly sometimes. They had never revealed their reasoning behind it, but as Harry had laid there, looking at the dusty ceiling, he figured it had to do with the Dementors, and the near-attack on them during his sixth year that had been hushed up.

Very soon, the smell of smoke, and a crackle had stirred him from the doze he had slipped into. It was the middle of summer, and the Dursleys didn't sound like they were home, so it couldn't be the new fireplace was sending smoke back down because of a shut floo. As he moved to sit up, Harry realized how difficult the task seemed, which had his mind beginning to race. Another loud snap, and then footsteps racing down the stairs with laughter, and the slamming of a door. He was trapped.

'Harry, Harry it's alright,' said someone, and now the raven-haired boy felt the soft shift of a mattress and a cold hand on his back, rubbing it. 'Just a dream, only a dream...'

The voice was so familiar, before Harry had even thought of it, he was responding back in the same whispering tone, 'But it wasn't just a dream, Sirius... just--' His head jolted up, and green eyes met mischievous blue ones that looked pleased to see him. Especially when Harry began trying to get his voice to work again. Was Sirius really here? But Sirius had died, and he had died, but Harry wasn't so sure because of vague memories of crawly, slithering things and...

The headache-inducing thought processes were brought to a halt when he felt arms wrap around him, and the young man just sank into the comfort there. This hug certainly felt real enough. 'I know that you're probably very confused right now Harry. But don't worry, it will be sorted out shortly. And I'm sorry, for getting so arrogant I ended up leaving you behind. I will never do it again.'

Harry just nodded, before finally pulling back. 'And I'm sorry for jumping to conclusions.' He had long resolved his guilt over it and had realized it wasn't his fault exactly, but recognized what parts were. Sure, it was easier to blame it all on Snape, or any number of factors, but Harry recognized that some of it was his too.

It was then Harry finally started catching up with trying to find out where he was, and found himself in a surprisingly Muggle-looking house. Not like the Dursley house, being cramped and eerily neat and normal, but like how he had once seen from Hermione's photos of home she had in her trunk for when she got homesick. It was one more question to add to the list that was beginning to form in his mind. And Harry Potter was as much of a questioner as he had been back when he was younger.

'Sirius, not to sound rude or anything, but are we dead?' He wasn't sure if it was something a person would be offended by and it came as a momentarily relief when Sirius gave the bark of laughter that brought back happy memories.

'I'm afraid we both are improperly dead, Harry,' he said with a smile. The Gryffindor blinked, before a small voice from the door caught Harry's ears.

'Really, Sirius Black, have you ever heard of an easy transition?' the little brunette said, before stepping into the room. Harry's eyes told him she was very young, maybe five or six. Though her clothing was very old-fashioned, all done up in ribbons like her chocolate curls. He frowned slightly, though, when thinking back to what she said. Harry hadn't spent much time around other children, but he knew he certainly hadn't spoken like that when he was five.

'I believe this calls for some explanation Harry,' said Sirius, pulling out a strange-looking wand and making a small chair for the girl to sit on, 'and Elizabeth probably wouldn't muck it up as much as I would.' He grinned sheepishly.

'Too right, you would, mutt,' she muttered, straightening little wrinkles from her dress before she began to talk. She could tell Harry was sitting on edge for an explanation, and she hadn't been a Malfoy for nothing if not to draw out the suspense. 'We are, what the Wizarding World defines as improperly dead. I believe you have heard the term before?'

Harry shook his head in the negative, and wondered if it was one of those things wizards knew and never thought of explaining to the rest of the people who hadn't grown up in magical families.

'Well, really, it is a broad term accompanying those who are dead but not really dead. Like ghosts, neither on the side of living anymore, but haven't crossed over and known the mysteries that lie in death either.'

Sirius watched as Harry looked at himself, and then his two visitors. He knew they didn't look transparent. 'Are there more than just ghosts?' Harry asked. He found the whole conversation surreal, sitting here and discussing death with a little girl who made him feel like a student and his godfather whom Harry thought he had lost forever.

'Oh yes, there are several creatures. Some that wizards know for a fact are, and then other that they might not realize. Take for instance vampires, which as one knows from any Dark creatures book, need to be drained of life before receiving back the warped kind from the transformer. And then little known would be the Dark dementor.' She took in his expression at that, having heard of his run-ins from Sirius. 'Dark dementors were once tormented souls. People who underwent such cruel practises of magical experimentation long ago that it changed them into what they are today. Creatures that seek happy memories to replace their own horrible ones, and seek affection like a Kiss.'

Sirius shifted uncomfortably, Harry noticed, but then he had been under dementor watch for so long. The idea made some kind of ironic and horrific sense to his mind. 'How do you know this? Just walk up and ask one of them?'

The girl smirked, and Harry thought it was something he had seen before. 'Well, it is not nearly so simple but when you find one willing to talk about it...' She shrugged.

'Okay, then why did Sirius, or you, or me come back?'

Elizabeth looked up as Harry heard a clock chime three somewhere in the house beyond the room, and she responded, 'That is a conversation for another time. Sirius, why don't you take Harry around? I need to go before it gets too late.' With his assent, she excused herself and left with the slight click of her tiny heels.

Sirius saw the look on Harry's face, and stood up, to pat Harry's shoulder. 'Don't worry, it will get more confusing from here on out...'

'You know, if I didn't know better, I would say dying warped your brain even more than it was,' Harry said, and smiled when Sirius laughed. Perhaps he was in shock from dying, but this didn't seem so bad after all.

'Come on then!' Sirius finally said, motioning for Harry to get up. It was the first time Harry noticed Harry had at sometime been changed. Or were these what... He fingered his Quidditch robes thoughtfully as he stood. So that meant this was his real body. Harry smiled as he followed his godfather into a hallway of simple peach colours and turned right. If he... had already been through his funeral, he was glad his friends would have been this thoughtful.

He was just giving a small prayer that his friends were alright, when Sirius had led him into a room of people. All wearing the same, strangely white robes that Sirius was wearing as well that flowed like water. They were looking at him: people of all ages, including a few smaller children who looked up curiously from their game of Exploding Snap.

'Er... hi,' he said, before he found himself being welcomed.

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Hermione looked up from her pile of books when Remus Lupin came through the Grimmauld Place Floo, not even realizing she had had her wand pointed at first. But it seemed logical, even as she apologized before getting up to heat up some water for tea. Since Professor Dumbledore was gone now, the Fidelius charm was not active anymore. And now that Snape had betrayed them with that information, everyone in the house was on their guard. It had been nearly impossible talking her parents into staying here.

"Are you alright, Professor Lupin?" she asked, setting the warm beverage in front of the werewolf who collapsed into one of the chairs at the kitchen table. Hermione had seen how badly he had responded to Harry's death. The last of the true Marauders had lost everyone important to him, and to top it off had broken up with Tonks barely a week after Dumbledore's funeral. The relationship had seemed doomed from the start anyway to the prefect, though she kept this opinion to herself.

"Please, Hermione, please don't call me that," he said, with a slightly choked voice. Her eyes wandered to his face and saw the first signs of the emotional distress rising up. Harry had only been buried a week, but today was the day they had planned to take him away from the Dursleys this year. Hermione had noticed how subdued everyone had been today, and how everyone had coped. Molly had taken to cleaning the more stubborn rooms, Ginny ferreted herself away in her room, and Ron and herself had been looking up information. She was the only one still awake this late, simply because she couldn't sleep.

"I know, but it is still strange to call you Moony, or Remus," she said. The man was shaking his head, and a hand came up to cover his eyes.

"Do you know how precious Harry looked when he was first brought home?" There was almost a whine to his voice, like an animal in pain, and Hermione sat down to listen. It was about all she could do for him, since she was now beginning to feel the now-familiar swell of pain in her chest. "Only a day old, and he already had that unruly hair." A sad chuckle. "Lily was hitting Sirius over the head about already promising to teach Harry all about pranking, and Remus was looking so uncomfortable, though he tried to hide it..."

Hermione looked at the man, thinking he had finally lost it. "Remus, why don't we get you to bed; it has been a long--"

"My name isn't Remus!" he said hysterically, slamming a fist onto the table, which made Hermione jump and hope no one had woken up. Seeing the kitchen door shut, she placed a silencing charm up and turned back to the man. Something was tingling up her spine.

"What is your name then?" she asked with baited breath.

"...James."

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A/N: No hurtie the author, or else author won't be able to continue! ducks and hides