A/N: Sorry folks who were hoping otherwise, too many people have been crying out for Harry to reveal himself and I'm a sucker for trying to please everyone!
Yes, someone discovered one of my small flaws, Teddy would have had a Grandmother but thankyou for saying it doesn't matter, I only realised after reading someone else's Fan fic! Let's just say she died out of grief for losing her husband and daughter.
Now, without further ado the chapter you've all been waiting for! Oh dear, that sets high expectations doesn't it? Ooer.
Disclaimer: Yes, I am actually J.K Rowling writing a sequel to Harry Potter but I decided to try it out on Fan Fiction first. Five words: I do not think so.
Revelations, Returning and Ghosts
Harry came to, the darkness lifting like a veil being drawn back from his eyes. He was too groggy to form any coherent thoughts, his chest hurt like someone had pummelled it with a couple of bricks, he could register that at least. Slowly, he realised a growing sense of something was forming in his stomach, something was wrong, but his mind was too clouded to work out what.
His vision was blurred so he felt absent-mindedly in his pocket for his glasses, pulling them out and clearing his vision as he put them on. Even through the blurs of colour there was something familiar about this room…just as he placed his spectacles on his mind became clear and sharp with his vision.
He was in a room at the Burrow. He began scrambling up and suddenly stopped as pain shot through his chest, he bent over groaning where, he now remembered, two stunning spells had hit him. His glasses slipped down his nose-his glasses-Harry knew this only meant one thing, if he needed his glasses; the disguising spell had worn off whilst he was unconscious.
There was really only one word to sum up this situation.
"Fu-"
It was at that moment that Molly Weasley walked in and screamed.
Everyone was downstairs in either the living room or kitchen and Hermione was raging. Some things, at least, never changed. "What the hell did you think you were doing?" her face was still tear-stained from the funeral but nothing but absolute fury burned in her eyes as she rounded on Ron and Bill. "Running off in the middle of the service, chasing after a complete stranger, cornering him at the end of the alley and attacking him?! Imagine the amount of trouble-"
"Look, he was about to hit one of us with something, besides, I'll just pull a few strings at the ministry-"
"Ronald Bilius Weasley, you are not going to abuse your position of power to make up for your own stupidity!" Bill patted Ron on the back consolingly and tried to slip out the room.
"Bill! You should have stopped him!"
"It's not my fault we both stupefied him at the same time, it was an unfortunate coincidence that he got the full blast of both spells I'll admit…"
"So what did you do with him?"
"We apparated him here, it's all we could think of to do," said Ron sheepishly, "He's still unconscious at the moment, Mum's just gone upstairs to check on him."
"Merlin, is he going to be angry when he wakes up," grinned Bill who obviously thought it quite funny.
"I don't know, you saw how freaked out he was when we caught up with him. Why do you think-"
"This isn't about another conspiracy theory Ron, you need-" But Hermione was cut off by a scream coming from upstairs.
Harry had straightened up, staring frantically at Molly who was now clutching the door frame and gaping at him as if he was ghost, which, he knew, was probably what he appeared to be. He took an awkward step towards her, "Molly," he said quietly, but just then the thunder of feet could be heard growing louder as around ten people came haring into the room.
"Oh my God." Hermione was the first one to voice it. They all gawped at him, he stared back, he had no idea what he was going to do, so instead decided to give up resisting and let it happen.
"I am not going mad; you can see him too, right?" George glanced around at them for assurance.
"Harry?" Ron asked in a strained voice, clearly not believing what his eyes where telling him.
"But-you're dead," Percy said suddenly, as if he resented the fact that Harry was apparently defying the laws of reality.
Harry frantically searched his mind for something to say, but it all sounded pointless. He opened his mouth but was suddenly almost knocked off his feet. "Oh…Harry!" Hermione sobbed through the tears he could now feel soaking his robes.
Her hug was painfully familiar and comforting. He fought to maintain control when all he wanted to do was break down and cry in his friend's arms. The sight of them all had ripped fresh wounds into his scarred heart; it was all he could do not to let his face crumple in the pain it brought.
Hermione lifted her head stepped back so that Harry could see them all. Most of them were still standing in the doorway, a look of complete and utter disbelief plastered on their faces. Harry's gaze immediately flicked to Ron's face as he was at the front of the group. He was very pale and Harry could see him shaking, slowly he opened his mouth.
"NO." he said too loudly. "No, Hermione, it's a Boggart or something, or someone using polyjuice potion, it's not real." He sounded forcefully self-assured, almost pitying, as if Hermione was the one deluding herself.
"Ron, don't be ridiculous, it's-it's-this is Harry, can't you see?" But she had stumbled over his name, and she stared at Harry with doubt. "You…you are Harry, aren't you?" the question sounded ridiculous, but no one was laughing.
Harry knew he had to say something but seemed oddly unable to. Yet no one tried to interrupt as his mind slowly began to switch on and become capable of speech again.
"I'm real," he said, with pained truthfulness, the number of times he had wished he wasn't, that he was just dust on the wind.
"Liar!" Ron spat, with a venom that shocked them all, "You're not Harry-Harry's dead! Dead, and he's not coming back!" His voice shook with his body, a sense of overwhelming rage and grief making it self visible and audible.
Harry had not really expected anything like this. He should have, he knew, he was not surprised that Ron clearly hated him, but he had not foreseen his denial that he was even alive.
"What did the prophecy say?" Harry asked quietly.
"Shut up!" Ron made as if to hit him, but stopped short, as if afraid Harry was something dangerous.
"What did the prophecy say, Ron?" Harry asked a little louder, " Neither can live while the other survives. That was it, wasn't it? You know I never told anyone that but you and Hermione."
Harry could hear his voice also shaking, but did not care, he did not know even know why he was attempting to gain Ron's belief so hard either. What did it matter if they believed him or not? In fact, wasn't it better they all did think him some impostor so he could just disappear again?
But Harry knew it was too late for that. He internally cursed himself, all the pain he had tried to avoid was flooding into him. All the pain he seemed to bring others wherever he went had also returned, his attempts had been as worthless as he felt.
At Harry's proof Ron's mouth gaped, he stumbled back, the rest of the audience parting for him as he pelted down the stairs, his frenzied muttering echoing after him. Charlie, Bill and Percy, after sending burning looks of incredulity Harry's way, followed him.
The now lessened size of the group made Harry feel even more intensely uncomfortable. Hermione looked at him again and burst into tears. "How can this even be possible?" she enveloped him again in a hug that sent pain shooting through his chest, and not just because of the stupefying spells.
"But, Harry, where have you been?" Arthur Weasley seemed to be sharing everyone's still present feeling of incomprehension. Harry shifted in his position, seemingly unable to look at them. "Around the country, most places…as Lysander Reubels…"
When Harry looked up he accidentally caught sight of the one face he had been forcing himself desperately to avoid seeing. Ginny was a white as a sheet, or a ghost, Harry got the impression that she hadn't been looking at him throughout the whole interaction. She was staring at the floor, shaking in such a slight movement that you had to peer closer to catch it. Harry was vehemently reminded of some of the patients in Frank and Alice Longbottom's ward at saint Mungo's.
At this thought Harry turned away, leaning his head against the wall as the pain in his chest threatened to overwhelm him. Look what he had done, by just returning he had caused this reaction in people, hurting them just as he always did, as each day of his disappearance he had dreaded and vowed never to do again.
Ron had gone off in a fearsome rage; the vehemence of which Harry had never seen in him in all their years of friendship, is this what Harry had turned him into? Bill and Charlie and Percy couldn't even be in the same room as him and Ginny…his body was wracked with involuntary shudder at the thought of the damage he had caused, was still causing.
Suddenly he turned, decided. "I should go."
He muttered as he pushed past them, headed for the stairs. As he did so he brushed past Ginny still staring at floor, perhaps unable to see anybody else, but when his arm touched her shoulder she emitted a small gasp, as someone had pricked her with needle. For one brief, split second she looked up and caught Harry's gaze in which he saw with identical pain the swirling depth of her anguish, and then she was gone. Feet thudded from the room followed by the sound of someone vomiting violently into a toilet.
This was all the conformation Harry needed, if indeed it drove the knife deeper into his heart, he flew down the stairs, Lysander's cloak, which he still wore, swirling behind him. "What?" he heard the remaining Weasley's collective question and then followed cries, dominated by Hermione's voice.
"No, Harry, Wait!" They reached him in the kitchen where Ron and his brothers had been trying to avoid him. "What are you doing? Please-you can't go!" Hermione's tears continued to splash down her face, confusion and desperation plastered there among the other towering emotions.
"Let him, Hermione, he left us once before, why should he be worried now?" Ron's voice was shaking again, and he was glaring at Harry. Harry took a step back, disconcerted and speechless, "I-er…"
"It must have been so easy, mustn't it? Just taking off without a second thought! I'll make it easier for myself shall I? I'll leave a suicide note so no one comes bothering me, is that what you thought? You must have laughed to yourself about that,"
"Stop it." Harry's words were so quiet that only Hermione, closest to him, heard it, her eyes widened.
"Bet you thought it was great fun that we swallowed your little hoax," Ron continued spitefully, "And then you thought you'd come and have a good chuckle at us at the funeral didn't you? You-"
"STOP IT!" Harry's mind was filled with the red of Ron's hair, his familiar face, his voice, so well-known, bursting with hurt and hate. As soon as Harry shouted the words the plates by the sink smashed in a powder of ceramic, the glasses in the cupboards exploded in a rush of tinkling glass and a vase on the table shattered. Everyone jumped back, cries of shock and alarm echoing around the kitchen.
Harry felt the disgust for himself well up inside, he couldn't even control himself, pathetic. His head was bowed, his dark fringe obscuring his eyes, as he spoke quietly-yet loud enough that they could all hear. "Say what you want," he growled, "hate me, hit me, but I never once laughed."
The words had struck a chord with Harry, his dreams full of his parent's deaths and the high cruel laughter, the jeers of the Death Eaters as they circled round Cedric's dead body, laughter was something not to be taken lightly. Which was part of the reason Harry hadn't partaken in it for over four years. He turned to go, having received and caused more injuries than he thought he could take.
"Harry, please-"
The words did not come, as he had expected, from Hermione. He turned slowly, to see Molly Weasley looking at him with tear filled eyes, having not spoken since she discovered him upstairs. "Don't leave again."
"How can you ask that, Molly? When you consider that I as good as…after what I've done to your family?"
"You are my family, Harry!" she stepped forward, her voice cracking, tears spilling over, "How can you not know that? You have been just like a son to Arthur and me, we have loved you like one-"
"Mrs Weasley, I-" Harry's voice broke as he slipped back into his old manner of addressing her, for he now felt like an eleven-year-old boy again. Tears ran down his face and he looked at the floor in shame, the salt water making soft patting noise as it ran off his chin and hit the linoleum floor.
She walked forward and embraced him. He held onto her, the feeling of a mother's love bringing fresh tears as sobs wracked his body and he began to weep in earnest, his head buried in her arms.
All the years and years of pain and anguish were flooding out of him. The people he had lost, the sights and experiences, the responsibilities and expectations that had scarred the heart of one too young. The blame he laid upon himself, the self-deprecation and loathing. The knowledge that he was the only one who could've saved them all, and he had never been strong enough, never quite strong enough to carry it all. Things kept on slipping through his fingers-Dobby, Remus, Tonks, Sirius, Dumbledore, Fred, Mad-Eye, his mother and father, the results of his weakness laid out before him in a series of graves.
She held him for hours, as long as it took for him to cry himself out, being the mother he had always missed, that she had always been for him, as the others began drifting away.
A/N: I spent forever trying to get this chapter down, it was really hard to write. I hope I did justice to the ideas I had in my head.
And, finally, I think two stunning spells would have actually knocked him out for that long a time. I've been thinking about it and McGonagall gets hit by four stunning spells and she's unconscious for days, so I think he would be out for at least a couple of hours.