Life After Living

Chapter One

Memories consume

Like opening the wound

I'm picking me apart again

You all assume

I'm safe here in my room

~ Breaking the Habit, Linkin Park

Nothing much mattered to him anymore. He listened to the sound of the wind against the closed drapes of number four, Privet Drive. Tears had reigned the first weeks back in the Dursley household. Silently, they had come in the night when the only sounds were that of Dudley's snores from the next room.

Unopened letters littered the floor around Hedwig's cage. Had he cared to look, he would have noticed the handwriting of Ron Weasley, of Hermione Granger, of Albus Dumbledore. None of them mattered. The only handwriting he wanted to see would never come. Sirius Black's handwriting would never grace parchment again.

There was a soft hoot outside the window and a white owl's head peeked through the curtains. "Put it with the others," Harry Potter mumbled. Hedwig obeyed and then eyed her master curiously. Absentmindedly, Harry flung a piece of chocolate frog towards the owl. Had he been looking, he would have seen the almost incredulous look his owl had given him. Without even sniffing the chocolate Hedwig retreated from the room, flying through the window.

Harry Potter you should be ashamed. The thought trickled into his mind with the unpleasant sound of Hermione's nagging voice. Ignoring Hedwig like that. To his misfortune, most of Harry's thoughts seemed to have the voice of one of his best friends. It was quite annoying really. With a growl, he flipped over onto his stomach, burying his face in the scratchy down pillow.

In his dreams he walked alone through the halls of Hogwarts. If he listened closely enough he could hear their voices, but if he followed them he just found himself down another empty hallway. "It's your fault he's gone," a voice whispered in his ear. "They both died because of you." Anger rippled through his body. He never turned to see whose voice whispered in his ear. He knew very well whom the deep, scratchy voice belonged to. "I'll never let you forget."

~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~

The summer was unbelievably hot and sticky. All the heat from inside the house seemed to migrate into Harry's room. He didn't care. The smell was almost nauseating, but things like that didn't matter to him. The usual knock on the door came. Aunt Petunia's head poked inside. "I brought you lunch," she tried to say as indignantly as possible. Her voice had wavered, though. As much as she had always despised her sister's son, his attitude that summer was giving her heart a slight itch. Harry knew. He found it rather entertaining.

With no movement or sound from Harry, Aunt Petunia lay a tray down on Harry's dresser. She left the room quietly. Whether she was scared of what would happen if she didn't make sure Harry was taken care of or whether she was genuinely concerned, Harry did not know or care. Without fail, though, Aunt Petunia delivered breakfast, lunch, and dinner to Harry's room. It had taken a week and a half of Harry not coming down for meals for her to finally make an attempt to feed him. And without fail, when she came back to deliver another meal, the one before was barely touched.

Harry finally determined that she was probably scared of what would happen to her if she let Harry continue to melt away in his room. Harry hardly ever felt like eating much, though. He ate merely to make the gnawing feeling in his stomach go away. He didn't care about much anymore. The fact that he hadn't seen Uncle Vernon or Dudley since the beginning of the summer would have normally made him glad, but he felt nothing at all.

Hedwig lighted on the windowsill that night. She bore no letter, but stared at her master inquisitively. The knock on the door came as expected that night, but the voice that spoke was not his Aunt's. Hedwig let out a soft hoot. He didn't flinch even though he was startled.

"Harry," Alastor Moody spoke quietly. "Harry," he said again when he got no response. He moved to stand over the bed. Harry continued to stare up at the ceiling. Out of the corner of his eye he saw another figure enter the room. He knew it was Remus Lupin. He figured there were more, too. "We're here to take you to Grimmauld Place, Harry."

It was the last place he wanted to go. "Harry," Lupin spoke.

"No," was all that Harry said. He rolled over facing away from them.

"You don't have a choice," Moody answered.

"Then you'll have to carry me," Harry snapped.

"That I can arrange." And with a mumbled incantation, Harry slipped into unconsciousness.

~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~

"He never opened any of his letters."

"Shush! Ginny, you'll wake him."

"He's already been asleep for ten hours," Ginny Weasley hissed at her brother, Ron.

Harry listened to them squabble for a long time before he opened his eyes. He found himself staring at a familiar ceiling. He was in the room that he had shared with Ron Weasley the year before. He was at 12 Grimmauld Place. He was not happy.

"He can't sleep forever," Ginny was saying.

"If it'll make him feel better soon, I say let him," Ron answered. There was a shuffle of feet and a click as the door shut. Harry was alone. He sat up slowly. His eyes snapped to the door as it opened again. Ron entered. "Oh!" he said as he spotted Harry. "Good morning."

"Right," Harry mumbled. He looked away.

"I thought you'd at least be happy about today," Ron stated.

"And why is that?"

Ron looked at him puzzled. "Do you even know what day it is?" Harry looked back at him. He didn't, as a matter of fact. "Harry, it's your birthday."