July 30, 2007
Harry Potter was packing several items into his trunk. His hair was nearly shoulder length and looked more than slightly unkempt. A slight beard had formed around Harry's face, curled and tangled from neglect.
He walked over to his desk and neatly folded a letter into a small envelope marked 'Anyone.' He paused for a moment to look at the envelope and tucked it in the pocket of his robe. Pulling out the leather bound photo book, Harry extracted a crumpled photo out of his jean pocket and taped it on the cover.
There was one more item on the table besides Harry's bed. Mrs. Weasley's clock lay face down, unturned since his voyage into the lake. He held his hand over the enchanted clock, almost unwilling to turn it around in fear of its contents.
At last, his fingers grasped the edge of the clock, its mahogany surface filled with dust. The dust fastened itself on Harry's fingers and floated idly away from the disturbance of human contact.
Harry's eyes watered, but he knew not whether it was from the dust or his own emotions. Apprehension flittered through Harry as he stood motionless, his hand grasping the edges of the clock. There was a rush in Harry's blood as he quickly turned over the clock.
He frowned as he saw that his hand was no longer moving in that constant clockwise direction. Instead, it was slowly flicking back and forth between 'Home' and 'Mortal Peril.' Harry cocked his head, his eyebrows furrowed in concentration over the change in oscillation.
The soft tick of the clock was the only noise in the room as Harry watched the hand swing back and forth like a pendulum.
"What do you make of this, James?" Harry pondered aloud.
James appeared beside him instantly, "It seems Harry that you have a choice between life and death."
"That choice was robbed from me a long time ago James. It was only the matter on whether I had the fortitude to do what is right," Harry said darkly.
"Ah, but didn't someone tell you once between choosing what is right and what is easy? Popular opinion shows that you are about to do what is easy," James said in a patronizing voice while circling around Harry.
"Tell me James," Harry said as he stared at the oscillating hand, "What's the point of doing what's right if you're the only one alive."
"Because there's always that one sliver of hope that you're not the alone Harry. Trust me, I know it's there, because after all I am your sub-"
"-conscious. I know," Harry said as James vanished from sight. Harry had grown angry with James and all of a sudden another doppelganger walked in through the door. He had the same features as Harry but his hair was slicked back and combed over, giving it a slightly greasy look. He had no spectacles and his face was in a constant sneer.
"Potter, ready to go off yourself then, are you?" the doppelganger spoke.
Harry ignored the rude but nonetheless truthful comment. The doppelganger walked towards him and patted him with fake genuineness on the back.
"I know what you're about to do is difficult Harry. Merlin knows you've gone through Hell," the doppelganger said solemnly. Harry did not see him smirking behind his back.
Harry refused to speak once again but looked out the window into the solemn forest. There was a flash of purple that caught his eye, but he refused to be baited. Today, his actions would be of his own accord.
"Oh Potter, trying to grow a pair now, aren't you? Afraid your itsy bitsy mind can't handle it anymore?" the doppelganger taunted.
Harry did not speak, but he knew the doppelganger spoke the truth. It might have been just a grain of truth but it was there nonetheless. The little hope he held onto was slowly unraveling lie an old Weasley sweater.
"Don't get sentimental now. Just finish it already," the doppelganger said before leaping out of the window in a mock suicide and giving Harry a wink as he toppled over the edge and vanished.
Harry, eerily calm, placed the clock with his other belongings in his trunk and heaved it down the staircase of the Gryffindor Common Room. Each bang of the trunk colliding with the staircase echoed tenfold in the empty domain.
The soft clatter of Harry's footsteps was followed by the trunk's squeaky wheels as they crossed the Hogwarts entrance. Harry paused for a moment to look at the Great Hall.
His head swam slightly as he heard the general uproar associated with the Feast. He could practically smell the treacle and Pumpkin Juice and the crowd fall silent as Dumbledore rose to spoke. He opened his eyes and looked until he found his usual spot with Hermione and Ron.
Harry walked over to the benches and sat down with his hands folded in front of him.
"Ron, I know I haven't always been the best of friends sometimes. Sometimes. Sometimes, I would take you for granted and expect you to be on my side. I didn't mean to be an arrogant jerk but it was just so hard sometime. No matter what, though, you've always been there. Always ready to jump in with me. Always ready to make us laugh," Harry said softly as he addressed the invisible Ron on his left.
"I just wish you were here to do this with me Ron. It hasn't been easy. I've seen things. I've read things that I don't want to know about and no one has been here to take the seriousness out of it. James can only do so much; he just ends up reflecting what I'm really thinking. It's become too much Ron. I'm sorry."
Harry turned to his right and plead, "Hermione, please understand. There are no answers! I tried! I really did! I looked through every single book I could find. I combed the library just like you would!"
Harry was near tears and his voice was cracking.
"There's nothing here Hermione. None of the books I've read mentions anything about making everyone disappear. I even looked through Dumbledore's entire library, Hermione. I didn't want to read some of the book, but I had to. There are no answers Hermione. I needed you; I needed all of you, not these stupid books. Please forgive me, Hermione."
Harry was finally silent, his hands cupped, pleading to the invisible Hermione. As always, no one responded to Harry. The halls of Hogwarts were as silent as ever in the wake of his confession.
A fire boiled inside of Harry at the lack of response and he looked up to see the figure in the purple shroud staring at him from the faculty table.
The blue eyes had long been replaced with two tiny red slits which pierced through Harry's mind. It stood there, completely unmoving, and simply staring at Harry.
Harry stuck out his chin defiantly and spoke, "It ends today."
***
Harry flew furiously to the Burrow, his trunk waving wildly behind him. He had flattened himself against the broom in an effort to decrease the surface area and increase his speed. His hair flew in a tangled mess above his head as he spotted the teetering house in the distance.
It had looked no different than when he had left it three years ago. Harry pressed his broomstick downwards in a death dive before pulling up and landing softly, his trunk toppling to the ground behind him.
He quickly wrenched the trunk from the ground and dragged it behind him in a half jog to the Burrow. He flung opened the door and did not pause to see if the Weasleys had miraculously returned. He traveled upstairs to his room and quickly placed all the items in their original places. He made sure as to put them in the exact space where he had left it.
He tucked in an item into the pocket of his robes and headed downstairs to the kitchen. He placed the clock on the mantle again and paused briefly to watch his hand oscillate back and forth between 'Home' and 'Mortal Peril.'
Without removing his eyes from the clock, he placed the envelope labeled 'Anyone' on the kitchen. It stood out like a store thumb against the wood, impossible to miss; just as Harry had wanted it.
He took the photo album and walked over to the lone bookshelf in the Weasley's house. He spotted the last Weasley photo album and placed it right besides it as a reminder of the events that had transpired in the past six years, three months, and twenty three days.
With a swish of his robes, Harry strode purposefully outside onto the hill where he had first appeared in this haunting world. The sun hung as high as ever in the peaceful azure sky.
He faced the Burrow and took the item out of his robes. In Harry's hand was a small, black pistol. He had longed learned that Muggle items still worked. Although he was unsuccessful in contacting anyone via internet (the struggle to turn on the computer had been harder), he had nonetheless attempted to fly out of England; it had the same results as flying with a broom.
Harry expertly slid out the magazine to check that there were two bullets. He slid it back in place and cocked the gun in an almost habitual manner. Harry had not confined his reading to simply Wizarding books. The underestimation of Muggles has long since plagued the Wizarding world, but Harry was not so naïve.
Harry breathed heavily, his nostrils flaring outwards as sweat fell from his head. The gun felt slippery in his sweaty palms and he felt as if he had been lit on fire. Heat flushed his face as he clicked off the safety and held the gun to his head.
He spotted the figure on the top window of the Burrow, usually resolved for the ghoul. He was no longer shrouded in purple but now in black. Harry's eyes made contact with the red slits and fury possessed him.
There was a gunshot as the bullet smashed through the window and made contact with the figure in black. The shroud rippled where the bullet had struck it near the place where the heart was supposed to be. The shot was shockingly accurate but the figure stood there as menacing as before.
Despair closed around Harry, his inability to kill the damned creature ripping him into shreds. His resolved strengthened as he set the gun barrel against his temple and closed his eyes.
Harry felt blissfully at peace for a moment as his finger closed around the trigger. He could hear the trigger squeak as it neared the powder that would ignite the bullet. The blood roared in protest in Harry's ears as he opened his eyes to take one last look of this world.
Harry watched a leaf float across his line of vision, dancing expertly in the air. His sweat felt cool against his skin; his heart was calm. He could hear his breathing become slower and slower and slowly closed his eyes, accepting his fate.
Harry heard a bang.
Darkness enveloped around Harry as he slipped away from the world.
***
Harry unexpectedly opened his eyes.
He was at the Burrow again.
For a moment, he lay in the bed of dead leaves, pondering his state of living. He did not feel as if he were dead. He sat up and noticed that a half crescent moon was shining brilliantly against the night sky.
A rush of blood flew to his head as he looked around the Burrow. He could make out the lopsided house just some feet away from him but it was too dark to see anything else. Once again, he crunched the dead leaves to stand up. As he stood, Harry paused.
Dead leaves.
He slowly knelt to the ground in amazement and swept up the golden brown leaves and wiped it against his face, embracing the smell of mortality.
Harry crunched the dead leaves slowly in his hand, grinning maniacally and gazing around the Burrow. Through the darkness, Harry could see that the grass had grown to almost knee-length and that there were pieces of Muggle machinery lying around, no doubt from Mr. Weasley.
"I'm back," Harry smiled and rushed into the kitchen. The kitchen door burst open with a bang as he looked around hopefully.
The lights were turned off and there appeared to be no one around. Not losing hope, Harry hopped up the stairs two at a time and wrenched open the door to his room, expecting Ginny to be waiting inside on her desk.
Once again, the room was dark and looked as if it had been undisturbed for quite some time.
"HELLO!" he yelled as he raced around the house, desperate to find someone. No one responded as Harry opened and closed all the doors in the Burrow.
Too bad no one's here again.
"SHUT UP," he roared, "THEY'RE HERE!"
Sure they are.
The voice was silenced as Harry flew down the steps and landed in the kitchen, gasping and clutching the stitch on his side. He pulled a chair out and collapsed, his head resting on his folded arms.
Out of the corner of his eye, he spotted the tell tale grey of the Daily Prophet and pulled it towards him. His eyes blinked as he read the date on the very top line.
July 30, 2007.
His heart raced at the implications of the publishing of the newspaper. His mind only rested on the date for a brief moment before reading the main headline and absorbing all the information. He had started grinning when he read the date but it soon fell to a brooding scowl.
HARRY POTTER STILL AT LARGE: WANTED DEAD OR ALIVE
Harry quickly spread through the article; he saw all the reference to the Dark Arts. As he continued to read, panic swept upon Harry again. He was being charged for the recent flurry of crimes rampaging around London. In-depth details and reports were being filed against him, some of which containing actual reported appearances of him.
Flipping open the pages, Harry was quickly making a checklist of the things he needed to do. The details of the crime reports were so vastly in-depth that revealing himself without taking certain precautions would certainly almost be fatal.
He stuffed the newspaper in his robes for future reading and charged upstairs again. Although he was unsure what remained in his former bedroom, he had to take a chance.
He breathed a sigh of relief when he found that his trunk was still intact within his closet and surprisingly, all of his remaining possessions were there except for the Invisibility Cloak. Quickly stuffing the other assorted items, not unlike he had done so at another time, Harry closed his trunk with a soft click and leaned back on his haunches to ponder the whereabouts of his Cloak.
For a moment, Harry thought that his wand would still be on the bedside table, but he was disappointed to find it missing. No doubt the Ministry had confiscated his wand if he was deemed 'armed and dangerous.'
His Firebolt lay against the wall and he picked it up and trudged downstairs. He sat his trunk against one of the couches and went back to the kitchen to retrieve one more time. He had not begun to cross the threshold when he heard the sound of a key fitting into a lock.
Harry watched as the doorknob slowly turned and instinct took over as Harry quickly pressed himself against an obstructing wall. He heard the door creak open and footsteps pound against the doormat, removing the dirt from the underside of the shoes.
There was a rustle indicating that the person had hung their coat and Harry quickly decided that the person was most likely male from the sound of the shoes and the jacket. There was a slight jingle and Harry watched as a balding, red head made its way to the kitchen, his back turned to Harry.
Mr. Weasley immediately started to prepare a cup of tea while he leaned against the counter, rubbing his forehead. Sighing, Mr. Weasley walked around the kitchen, paused for a moment and then returned to the teapot.
Don't show yourself.
Harry heard the voice inside his head, but he had a feeling he was not going to heed its advice. Harry waited until Mr. Weasley was making his way to the stairs when he stepped out of the shadows.
"Mr. Weasley," he said softly.
Mr. Weasley's shoulders immediately raised in tension as he slowly spun on his heel to face Harry, his teacup halfway to his mouth.
"Harry Potter," Mr. Weasley barely whispered. They stared at each other for what seemed like ages; Harry was unwilling to make the first move.
Mr. Weasley's suddenly snapped out his amazement and Harry could see the tell tale signs of anger as he stood straight and his eyes danced angrily. Harry watched as Mr. Weasley dropped the teacup and roared, "YOU!"
Shocked by the turn of events, Harry opened his mouth to plead with Mr. Weasley but out of the corner of his eye, he watched as Mr. Weasley reached for his wand. He felt the newspaper against his chest and was reminded of the current state of events.
Faster than the aging Weasley, Harry stepped forward and jabbed his hand upwards, striking Mr. Weasley's wrist. The wand fell to the ground, and Mr. Weasley howled in pain as Harry twisted his arm behind his back.
"Please, Mr. Weasley, I don't want to hurt you. You have to believe me," Harry pleaded. Mr. Weasley, however, continued to struggle, but he was unable to overcome the stronger man.
"I'm sorry, Mr. Weasley," Harry said sadly.
With a swift chop, Harry knocked Mr. Weasley unconscious. He heaved him by his armpits over to the couch and laid him down. He picked up Mr. Weasley's wand but thought against it. He did not want to provide Mr. Weasley with any more incentive to attack him again.
Take the wand you stupid boy.
"No," he muttered mutinously.
It's the only chance for our survival!
"NO," he said loudly. He tucked Mr. Weasley's wand into the older man's hand and doused the lights, not wanting to attract any attention to the Burrow until at least sunrise when Mrs. Weasley would undoubtedly find her husband with a bump on the back of his head.
Hermione's voice echoed in his head again as he prepared to Apparate. He knew that his Apparition would trigger a magical trace that would lead the Ministry to the Burrow. He wrestled with his decision to fly but decided against it. There was too much risk of someone spotting him in the sky.
The three years of Auror training were resurfacing in Harry's brain as he quickly decided the best course of action. He dragged his trunk across the backyard and into the forest behind the Burrow. He walked quickly until he heard the rushing sound water crashing against tiny rocks. He quickly dumped its contents into the river along with the trunk itself and watched as it floated down the river.
Pulling the cloak tight around him, Harry started walking and quickly did an inventory of his remaining items. The newspaper. He laughed bitterly at his plight as he trudged on, heading in a predetermined direction.
Harry needed to find people that would trust him. He needed to find people that would always trust him. He needed Hermione and Ron.
***
Reviews please!
Sorry for the long update, busy week.
His removal from the alternate world is not coincidental.
The Ministry did not confiscate his Invisibility Cloak.
The line between real and imaginary is still blurred in Harry's mind.