LAST TIME - Harry had a scary dream with Death in it and Kreacher's dead on the flo'. Bummer, Har-Bear.

CHAPTER TWO- VISITOR

Harry didn't panic. Just because he'd recently been visited by Death in a very realistic dream didn't mean it had anything to do with his house elf keeling over. Kreacher was extremely old… it could've just been old age. Nothing more… truly.

Sighing in annoyance and aggravation, Harry searched about, wondering how he was going to take care of the body other than just trying to vanish it. To be candid, Harry was not torn up over Kreacher's death. He had been merely tolerating the elf, switching between barely contained hatred at his betrayal of Sirius, and pity. Now that the elf was gone, Harry felt nothing but relief.

Then he noticed a flicker in the corner of his eye, like when you know something is there, but you quickly convince yourself it's just your imagination… because otherwise that means that something else is in the house with you. Especially considering your only live-in companion is now dead at your feet.

Harry convinced himself to ignore it and went about making his breakfast after stuffing Kreacher's body through the Floo to the Ministry of Magic. Chuckling to himself imagining the panic is would cause, Harry put on some tea. After a satisfying and calming breakfast sans Kreacher's spit and insults, Harry had to admit he was feeling a bit more cheerful.

Being the weekend, Harry didn't have to head in to Auror training. Resigned to spending a rather dreary day indoors while he hid from the press, Harry headed back up the stairs to get dressed before taking up residence in the library for a read (nap). He knew he couldn't hide from the press forever, but he figured he deserved a break from it all for at least a few more months.

Harry couldn't visit with the Weasleys because they were off visiting Charlie, and besides, Harry still couldn't stand the painful feeling of wrongness Fred's death had left in the family. Fred's absence had become a painful black hole that seemed to suck the life from a room, due to a look or flickering smile that quickly faltered and caused a ripple effect, as though as soon as one Weasley thought of Fred, they all noticed and felt it too. The silences were awkward and sad for Harry, who, despite Molly's reassurances, still felt like an outsider when faced with the magnitude of their grief.

So, he stayed in Grimmauld for now, where most days he felt he deserved the derision of the Blacks and loneliness of the house. After all, he was the cause of most everyone's deaths. If only he had surrendered sooner, been quicker, or been a bit more smart in figuring out the Horocruxes. It was all done now however, and Harry was living with it. He had to. He had chosen to live in King's Cross Station.

~o-o~

While walking through Grimmauld on his way to the library, Harry could hear a scraping slightly behind him and to the right. Like nails scraping along the wall. Naturally, as the hairs raised along the back of his neck, he hurried his pace and dared not look back until he was safely shut into the library. Harry had learnt that some things were better left alone and un-confronted. Especially when he should be alone in an ancient and very Dark townhouse.

Dismissing it as best he could, Harry directed his steps towards his favorite cushy black leather armchair just before the Dark section of the library. Grabbing a text that discussed the psychological effects of extreme Light and extreme Dark spells on the mind, Harry read for as long as he could before slowly drifting off to sleep.

~o-o~

After an excellent nap, Harry picked himself up out of the chair, casting a Tempus as he went. Noticing the time as near dinner and remembering his now distinct lack of house elf, Harry headed back out the warded door to the library and down towards the kitchens. He grumbled under his breath about having to acquire a new elf to help soon when Harry suddenly remembered his dream about Death and that strange scratching he had heard before.

Blanching, Harry staggered to a stop as he came upon what had obviously been the same spot he had heard the scratching. There, Harry observed four wobbly lines on the wall around face height, as though someone with claws had lightly scraped their fingers along the wall. Except, instead of curling as though ripped, the wallpaper seemed to have rotted away, peeling back like the rigor mortis grimace of a corpse.

As he gazed at the ruined walls with growing dread and unease, Harry felt the soft brushes of cloth against the backs of his bare arms and felt a hot puff of what smelled like putrid rotten air hit against the back of his neck.

Harry yelped, considerably spooked, and pounded up the stairs to his room. As he ran, the portraits stared wide-eyed and, for once, did not berate him as they gazed over his shoulder as he thundered past, panicking Harry even more as he now knew without a doubt that something was behind him.

Slamming the door to his room shut, Harry sagged against it and panted for breath as he had a minor melt down. Something's in the house, something I can't see, I tried to look and I couldn't see it! Why is this happening? What IS it?

Harry shuddered and calmed himself, breathing deeply as he went about putting workout clothes on. It was only around four in the afternoon, but Harry knew there was no way he was going to be leaving the room again today, so he decided to work out for a while and then maybe actually read his book.

Putting his current adrenaline high to good use, Harry lost himself in the mindless-ness of exercise and tried to dismiss the clues and similarities between the contents of his dream and the strange occurrences that had happened so far that day.

However, it was becoming more and more difficult to ignore the truth- something seemed to be following him. Something with the touch of death.

~o-o~

After a relaxing hot bath, Harry was reading in his favorite chair by the fire in his rooms when it happened.

He heard a long moaning sigh just as two hands landed heavily upon his shoulders. Naturally Harry yelped and tried to twist about in his chair to see who had snuck up behind him, angry chastisement burning on his tongue if it happened to be a familiar face.

However, the hands just gripped tighter and Harry winced at the strength of their grip.

"Harry Potter," an unfamiliar woman's voice purred out, rolling his name about in their mouth as if tasting it. "How good it is to finally meet you, in person".

Harry whipped his head from one side to the other, attempting to see the intruder, but the hands just squeezed again. They felt like small children's hands, but their grip was impossibly firm. That was when Harry knew with dawning horror that his dream had indeed been a message notifying Harry of his new, bored companion. "Death?" Harry croaked out. His voice cracking under the weight of his dread and anticipation of an answer.

"Well done Harry," a new voice simpered in a tone disgustingly similar to one Delores Umbridge. "I'm so glad that you've put that pesky denial behind you already. Did you know, I once had to haunt a mortal for two years before they spoke directly to me? Of course, they were nothing like you my dear, for one, they could not see me, so they simply went mad!" Death sighed the sigh of a broken-hearted mother in mourning and stroked icy fingers down Harry's right arm. "I am so glad you've recognized and spoken to me, Harry. That will make things so much more fun."

~o-o~

Muahahah! Sorry dearie, but I'm stopping on that cliffhanger! Don't hate me too much! 3

More coming... soonish? (awkward hand rubbing the back of the head with sheepish face)