Shadows of the Past

Rumours had spread like wild fire through the neighbourhood when the new occupant of the old McGuire house moved in. The McGuire house was about half way down Burton Road and nobody had lived there in over seven years. It was a rather large home, one of the largest in the area, and the cause of most of the rumours was the boy who had purchased the place. He was only nineteen and many wondered how a boy that young could have stumbled across enough money to buy the small manor. Supposedly, he lived by himself, as no one was ever seen entering or exiting the house. Many of the more curious neighbours had knocked on his door on several occasions over the day, but he had hardly ever answered.

Mrs. Foster of 264 Burton had welcomed him to the neighbourhood the day he moved in. He had only introduced himself as Harry and despite all her verbal prodding, had never let a last name slip. Later that night during a dinner party at her house, Mrs. Foster informed half the other women on the street that he was a thin man with unruly black hair and glasses. "He looked dreadfully tired," she told the women, "And he had the oddest scar on his forehead. It was shaped like a lightning bolt."

"That's strange," Mrs. Sanderson from 269 Burton said. "How do you suppose a person would get a scar like that?" The women went on with their speculating, and Mrs. Foster continued.

"Everything he said was very vague, but evidently his parents left him quite a bit of money. He said, and I quote, 'I just wanted to move somewhere quiet'."

Mrs. Walker (266 Burton) snorted slightly into her glass of wine, "Well that's a first, usually boys his age only have one goal, and that's to be loud and obnoxious."

Mrs. Foster shook her head slightly. "You see that's just the thing. By looking into his eyes, you would think he was much older than he actually is," She shivered slightly, "His eyes, even though they were the most vivid shade of green, were cold and hard. I think that boy's seen something terrible."

"Well as long as I don't have to call in noise complaints to the police at 2am because he's having some obscenely loud party, I'll be happy," Mrs. Walker said.

*****

Down the street in 261 Burton, Harry had finally finished unpacking. Over the past two years, he had acquired quite a lot of possessions, but very few of them made him happy. Hermione had left everything she had owned to him and Ron. He had then inherited the rest of her stuff when Ron had died, along with quite a lot of his possessions. Lupin had continued the horrible pattern, but Harry supposed the largest shock had been when Dumbledore's will had listed him as the sole benefactor of his estate. Now as he walked through a house filled with things once owned by his friends and family, all he felt was intense loss. He didn't know what they had been thinking. The last thing he wanted was a reminder of everyone who had died. He had been running on pure rage and desire for revenge for almost six months. But now with nothing left to pursue, he felt utterly empty and deflated.

Between the books from Hermione, Lupin, and Dumbledore, Harry now had a rather large library that he was slowly dredging his way through. He had begun reading the books in a vain attempt to hold on to Hermione's memory. He also had a Dark Arts collection that rivalled the restricted section at Hogwarts, all of which were courtesy of the Black Family collection that Sirius had left him.

In the summer between his fifth and sixth year, it had been his initial desire to destroy all the books and rid #12 Grimauld Place of every dark object that resided there. First on his list had been that foul portrait of Sirius's mother, even if it had meant demolishing the entire wall. He had moved through the house with a vengeance, eradicating all the 'priceless' family heirlooms to continue Sirius's quest to cleanse the house. But Hermione had convinced him to keep the books. She had thought it'd be a good idea to study them, to better know their enemy.

It was starting to drizzle outside, and the low rumble of thunder could be heard in the distance. Harry thought it reflected his mood nicely. He had no idea what he would do now. It had been nine years since he had regularly lived in the muggle world, and even then, the Dursley's kept him in-doors most of the time. Harry considered getting a job even though he didn't need the money. Thanks to his parents, Sirius, and Dumbledore, he was probably the richest wizard in Britain, perhaps second only to Draco Malfoy. However he didn't think he could stand to stay home all the time, he would go stir crazy. If he wanted a muggle job, he would need to get a muggle education, as he didn't relish the thought of working in a supermarket or factory. There was a university not far away and he supposed he could start attending classes at the beginning of the spring term, but that was still a fortnight away.

The rain was now coming down in sheets and large forks of lightning lit up the sky. Harry looked out a window and further down the street he could see the Foster's house lit up. He had been invited to the party, but decided to decline. The last thing he wanted to do was spend the night with a bunch of stuck up, Dursley-esk, Muggles. Like Petunia, this Mrs. Foster seemed to be hell bent on spreading gossip. She had practically begged Harry for his last name and he suspected that if he hadn't been standing directly in the threshold of his front door, she would have tried to push her way into his house.

He continued to stare out the window, raindrops pelting against the pane of glass. A reflection in the bottom corner of the window momentarily caught his eye and he shifted his attention to it. "Oh Christ, not now," he swore when he realized what it was. He turned and found Ginny Weasley there, giving him a concerned look.

For the past three or four months, Harry had been receiving visits from old friends. He didn't know exactly what they where, but they certainly weren't ghosts because they seemed to have no idea that they were dead and gone. Also, unfortunately for Harry, it seemed he was the only one who could see them. They had popped up a couple times when he was with Draco or Neville, and the two boys had always given him a concerned look.

"What do you want, Ginny?" he said with a loud sigh.

Her eyes narrowed and she looked hurt. "Is something wrong, Harry?"

"No, nothing's wrong," he replied rather coldly and turned to look out the window again.

"I doubt that," she said, "You're kind of acting like a jerk."

"Yeah, well, sometimes that happens." Harry hated these encounters, and often the fastest way to end them was to be an arse so they would leave. He doubted they were anything more than his memories, shadows of the past. Yet somehow, subconsciously, he must have been bringing them to life in a way similar to how he had managed to set a boa constrictor on Dudley and blow up Aunt Marge. Harry wished he knew how to stop it. It would be a lot easier to heal if his wounds weren't continually re-opened every few days.

"Do you want to talk about it?" Ginny said, moving closer. Harry shook his head swiftly and she stopped. "Listen, stop being so stubborn! I'm just trying to help! Why won't you let me?"

"Just leave me alone Ginny," Harry said, his back still to her. His breath was starting to fog up the pane of glass in front of him and he wiped it away with his sleeve.

"Harry..."

He finally lost his patience and spun around to face her. "I said leave me alone! Go away! I don't want to talk to you!" Her eyes went wide in shock and then tears started to well up. Her mouth hung slightly ajar, and then she buried her face in her hands and started to cry. Slowly, she faded away, like smoke in the breeze, but the sound of her crying lingered in Harry's ears. He sunk to the floor and drew his knees up to his chest. Tears started to stream down his cheeks and he rested his head against the wall.

He had just been starting a relationship with Ginny when she had been killed no more than four months ago. They had been in the first stages of love, moving past their friendship into the relationship and completely infatuated with each other. She had helped him deal with Hermione and Ron's deaths and vise versa. But when she had died, it had been to much. Ginny had left a pit in his heart, and it seemed to be in no hurry to heal.