Harry Potter and the Will to Live

Chapter One: Return to #12 Grimmauld Place

Number 4 Privet Drive was currently under siege. Normally, when Harry thought of the word 'siege', he thought of armies and soldiers and people fighting or attacking one another. If the thousands of buckets of water falling from the sky every other millisecond could be considered soldiers, then the entire community of Surrey was definitely under siege.

A small teenage boy with the awkward appearance of a haunted soul, just on the verge of manhood, could be seen out of the second floor window. He sat, clad only in a pair of jeans, at his scarred mahogany desk with a quill of red ink in his hand and an envelope in his other. He was, surprisingly, writing not to his two best friends or the Weasleys but to Cho Chang.

The letter in his left hand was neatly creased and written on in bright blue ink. It hurt Harry's abused, tired eyes to read it, but he did. Cho was a good distraction from Sirius and Voldemort and the Wizarding World at large, so he decided to grace her with a letter. He was still peeved at her for defending Marietta, the girl who had snitched on the Defense Against the Dark Arts group Harry, Hermione, and Ron had created when the Defense professor, assigned by the Ministry itself, had refused to show them the practicalities that they'd need to know, both in theory and practice, for their O. W. L.'s. Harry admitted he'd done better than he'd expected to. In fact, he'd been shocked speechless when he realized he had seven O. W. L.'s; enough to have him in the five core N. E. W. T. classes he'd need to get into Auror training.

Hermione, on the other hand, had gotten into the record books for one of the highest score in the entire history of Hogwarts. She'd been awarded a certificate and a gold plate to hang up on her walls. She hadn't, however, managed to beat James Potter, Sirius Black, Lily Evans, or, much to Harry's disgust, the other five wizards, including Tom Riddle. He hadn't told them his scores, although he had a good inkling someone had already slid it open and had read it before sending it off to him. The Weasleys, he was learning fast, seemed to be able to read his mind a lot more lately. Probably with advice from Remus Lupin, who Harry had told, discreetly of coarse, that he didn't want anyone to read them.

Although it peeved him a little because it was behind his back, Harry wasn't that upset over it. Actually, Harry didn't really care much about anything anymore. He stayed in his room, keeping to his letters and books (usually the volumes Sirius and Lupin had given him last year for Christmas), and pretty much ignored everything and anything outside of his walls. The Dursleys were too scared of having a group of suspicious looking wizards and witches coming inside to check up on his well being to make him do anything he didn't want to do. Although he did most of the chores they meagerly 'asked' him to do, it was only because his mind hurt so much and he got so paranoid that he was scared it was either kill himself and get it over with, or scream, so he stuck to busy work, which hadn't, up until now, worked too well.

But he figured Cho was a good enough distraction, considering it exhausted him just to hold a conversation with the woman for a few minutes. Maybe it would help him sleep better, though he seriously doubted it.

He sighed, then pressed his quill down and began writing.

Cho,

My summer has been okay. Boring and annoying, considering I have to waste it around with my evil Muggle relatives. Really, they are evil. I hope your having a good one, or at least a better one than me. Have you read that article in the last Sunday Prophet? It was completely and totally about a new contest. One where a person seventeen or younger has to write a story about today's events and possibly the future, with Voldemort in it and everything. Odd, isn't it, that they're making it out to be a game, don't you think?

Anyway, I can't talk much; I have to do chores.

H. P.

He sighed, then leaned back. Nope, he mused, that wasn't much of a distraction. It was hopeless. Absolutely hopeless not to think of Sirius, about what he might have been doing right now. Maybe he'd be cleaning or writing a letter to Harry. Either way, he believed it was his fault that Sirius wasn't doing anything.

Harry leaned his head back against the hard rim of the chair, stared out into the dark, pounding rain. In the distance he could vaguely see the sun with its burst of red, purple, and pink dropping below the edge of the horizon. Harry wondered if he'd fade like that when he died. If he did succeed in conquering Voldemort, which he was determined to do for his parents and Sirius, would he be like the sun, shining bright for a while, then becoming dimmer and dimmer until it faded out of existence? Would he be forgotten, or worshipped for his sacrifice if he failed and died in the attempt? He wondered if the Weasleys would still be supporting him and trying to comfort him if he failed again.

Not for the first time Harry felt his shoulders drop and his headache as he made it blank and clear. Occlumecy was all he had when Voldemort tried to penetrate into his mind. Whatever Voldemort was planning for Harry's new demise, it must involve something of his location or something, because whenever he looked outside into the world, that sharp, painful prick in the middle of his mind sent shivers throughout his body and ice through his veins.

So he closed his eyes and tried to sleep. It didn't happen. He stayed in that position, keeping uncomfortable so if he did actually get a little sleep, he'd wake up instantly because he was in an awkward position.

Miserably, he gave up and sat straighter, propping his feet up onto the bare, open windowsill. Rain was splattering on the wooden floor, but he didn't care. For once he was using Tonks and Moody as a tool to get what he wanted, and didn't feel a bit guilty. If he was going to be plagued by sleep deprivation, then so be it he could do what he wanted during it.

The sun was completely gone when Harry next opened his eyes. There was no moon as far as he could see, no stars. Just darkness and the light drops of rain that he could somehow distinguish from the rest. He'd been doing that a lot lately, he realized. Staring into space, thinking of nothing but the darkness his life seemed to attract, thinking of this and that or if this would happen or the opposite of that. Sometimes his thoughts separated in so many directions that Harry confused himself. So he didn't even try to write it down to send to his friends, not even as a distraction for himself.

Harry contented himself with going over the prophecy again in his mind, repeating it until it engraved itself on his eyelids. It worried him, as soon as he gave the time to think of it. When Dumbledore had told him about it, explained to him the meaning of it, he had been too caught up with Sirius' death to listen and make up his own opinions. Even that day by the pond, he hadn't considered it through and through, hadn't sulked about it hours on end, thinking and plotting and trying to find a way to make yourself live through whatever it was that was hidden in the murky depths of Hell he called his future.

Maybe if Sirius were alive he'd have more hope. Maybe, if he hadn't led his godfather to his death, he'd still be blissfully unaware of the invisible mark placed on his soul.

Similar thoughts carried through his mind that night. Even the highest level of exhaustion he'd been riding on for days wasn't enough to have him sleeping, even resting fitfully. He didn't bother to get into bed because he knew at least sitting by the window he got to stare at something that moved instead of cracks in the paint or his calendar, dreading the days that he had not too long ago treasured. Hogwarts was still his home, the place he'd like to be for comfort, but he resented it now. It represented everything he'd put himself and his friends through. The memories of Sirius were just so great, so painful he wasn't sure he'd survive going there again.

The sharp tug-of-war in his head gave him a throbbing headache. He wanted to go back to Hogwarts, yet he didn't. He didn't want to go to Grimmauld Place, yet he wanted so desperately to pretend that Sirius would walk into the kitchen, grumbling again, as if nothing had ever happened. Tears stung his eyes, the unfairness of it made him sick, and his exhaustion seemed to prevent him from getting a single second of rest.

He was sitting like that when his Aunt knocked on the door, then barged in before Harry could reply. Harry opened his eyes and looked at her upside down. His body seemed to be too tired to want to move, so he improvised.

"If you want your breakfast, get downstairs now, young man," she said crisply. "I expect you to clean the kitchen today, since I did it for you yesterday."

"Not hungry," Harry said flatly, then closed his eyes again. "And make Dudley clean them."

"Potter," she scolded, her voice going higher with frustration, "you will do your part for this household-"

"I'm currently doing as much as Dudley does in a year, Aunt Petunia. And I really don't care what you say," he told her before she could speak. "If you try and make me I'll just send Hedwig out..."

"Now, there's no need for that," she said hurriedly. "I'll do them myself then." She slammed the door behind her, making Harry furrow his brows in annoyance. Just when he got comfortable with the silence and his own self-pity, she had to come and make him feel even worse. But he stayed in that chair. He hadn't been lying when he'd said he was doing as much as Dudley ever did. If she had a problem with that, then she could make the tub of lard she called an intelligent son do the dishes.

He closed his eyes and shuddered as pain erupted in his head. His body tensed in reaction, then slowly, over the amount of about five minutes, relaxed. The tension, however, took much longer to fade away from his muscles. Clenching his wand (nowadays he never let it out of his sight), he rolled his head and met his eyes on the mirror on the back of his closet.

The teenage boy, the one with bruises around his eyes, whose hair was growing at a quick speed to fall into those same, bruised orbs, stared back at him with a wisdom he knew nobody should have, and the wariness of an old man born into the harshness of war.

* * * * * *

Dear Harry Potter,

Dumbledore has approved that you may go to visit the Weasleys. An Order member, who, needless to say, you are to listen to at all times, will be picking you up. Please be ready around 6 o'clock Sunday evening. You will be taking a Portkey from Magnolia Crescent to the Weasleys.

Headmistress Minerva McGonagall

The short letter arrived nearly a half-hour before 6 o'clock on Sunday. Harry cursed the Headmistress for not giving him more of a forewarning than thirty minutes, but he stood. Slowly, of coarse, since he found out that if he stood up quick enough the Earth spinned on its axis. He wondered if something went wrong as he packed. Really, wouldn't McGonagall have usually given him at least a day's warning? he asked himself as he threw books and cloths and smashed them into his chest. Then he dashed out of his room and stopped at the top of the stairs.

"Someone's coming to pick me up!" he shouted. "I don't know who and I just got notified, so it's not my fault!" Then, before either of his relatives could blow a casket in front of him, he sprinted back into his room and cleaned out his dresser. By the time he slammed the top of his chest down and finished folding his wand into the waist of his jeans securely, the doorbell was ringing and he could hear Lupin's voice.

"Evening, Petunia," he said to her politely.

Harry exited his room in time to see her and Vernon both flush purple in pained silence.

"I trust you've had a good summer so far, Harry?"

He kept his head down because he knew he looked horrible. However much he hated the Dursleys, he didn't want them to be blamed for not taking good enough care of him.

"Yea," he lied quietly.

"What about Hedwig?" he asked gently.

Harry shrugged. "I sent her along a few days ago. She hasn't come back yet."

"All right, then." Lupin grabbed Harry's trunk and murmured a spell over it to make it lighter. Then, signaling to him, he led the way out of Number 4 Privet Drive and into the sunlight.

"You've lost weight," Lupin observed after several moments of silence. "And you look like you just came out of a black pit."

Harry looked up, forgetting himself. Lupin stopped abruptly and grabbed Harry's chin.

"Bloody hell," he muttered seriously, "you look ready to pass out right here."

"I'm fine," Harry lied. Truth be told he'd rather curl up on a ball on the sidewalk and sleep. As he couldn't see that happening, he wanted to get to Grimmauld Place as soon as they could so he could go sit down. He felt overheated and sick, but didn't want to admit it.

"Are you feeling okay?" Lupin looked so concerned and flustered that Harry began to feel guilty. Again.

"I'm fine, Lup-"

"Remus," he corrected unconsciously.

"But I would like to get there-" The world spinned. Remus reached out a hand to steady him. Harry hit his knees, his descent slowed down by his companion.

"Easy, there. You still with me?"

"Yea," Harry choked out, his left hand clutching his scar. "Yea, just give me a minute."

As it always did, the seizure took about five minutes and than another for him to recover all feeling his body again. He felt something being pressed into his hand, then Remus' arm wrapping itself around his skinny shoulders. Harry's vision had blurred, and his knees felt like jelly; so when they landed Harry heard rather than saw the kitchen of Grimmauld Place and its occupants gasping.

"Remus, what's wrong? Were you attacked?"

"No, no, Harry just collapsed. Maybe you should call Madam Pomfrey, Molly?"

Harry gripped Remus' wrist, met his eyes. "I'm fine," he said firmly. The attack was over. He had control again. Could Voldemort have picked a worse time? "Really," he insisted. "I'd know, wouldn't I?"

"Was it your scar?" George Weasley, one of Ron's twin brothers asked worriedly.

"Yea, but it wasn't bad. He's just messing with me."

"That wasn't bad?" Kingsley Shacklebolt asked slowly. "Then I'd hate to see when he's trying to hurt you, not just mess you up."

"I'm fine," he repeated.

"I'd feel better if you saw the matron-"
"What is she going to do?" he said angrily. "Diagnose me insane? It just happens, its normal, there's nothing she can do."

Remus looked at Molly, then to Charlie and the twins. Fred, George, and Charlie shrugged in unison, unsure of what to do.

"Fine," he said reluctantly," but you have to promise to tell me if it happens again."

"Promise," Harry said instantly. Yea, right, sure.

"He's serious, Harry," Mrs. Weasley said, her face creasing with worry. "In fact, why don't you go lie down and send Ron and the girls down here?"

"But I'm fi-"

"Harry Potter!"

"I'm going, I'm going," he said, ducking out of the room, glaring at her.

"God, Mum," Fred said with a whoosh of breath, "scare him to death, why don't you?"

Harry wiped his forehead with his shirt before opening the door. He was sweating.

"Harry!"

Hermione jumped on him as soon as he opened the door. He took a step back to keep his balance, then hugged her back. It felt good to be hugged, for some reason. Especially by someone who smelled so fresh and clean when you felt grimy and dirty. She kissed his cheek, then stood back to assess him.

"Oh, Harry." She hugged him again, this time squeezing even tighter and pressing her face against his chest. "It'll get better. You have to believe that."

He glanced at Ron and Ginny, who were staring at him avidly. They looked abruptly away.

"Come on, I don't look that bad, do I?" Harry asked self-consciously.

Hermione pulled him to his bed and pushed him down. "You are going to sleep right now and not wake up until you look like your living again."

Harry groaned as Ginny joined Hermione in pushing him down.

"Fine! I'm lying down!" Harry shouted.

"More like pouting," Ron said, holding back a laugh at his face.

"Ronald and Virginia Weasley, get down here now and let him sleep!" Mrs. Weasley shrieked.

Harry wanted to call them back. Maybe if he had someone by him when (or if) he fell asleep, he'd feel safer, less vulnerable. Then he could get some rest. Harry didn't though. He couldn't express such a weakness, especially right now. For one thing Ron would laugh and the girls would all drown him in pity. He curled up, clutching his wand to his chest and pinching his eyes closed against the hot rush of tears.

"Harry? I brought you some Dreamless Sleep Potion...Harry?"

"Just leave it on the table."

"What are you doing under the covers?" Ginny sat down and tugged at them. When they didn't budge, the smile was wiped off her face. She set the dark green goblet down on the bedside table and got a good grip. When Harry thought he was safe, she yanked them away. She saw the trails before Harry could swipe them away.

"Go away, Ginny..." he said slowly. "Please...just go away."

"Why?" She actually had the nerve to look puzzled.

"Just go," he repeated, but louder this time.

"Are you ashamed to cry in front of me?"

"I'm not crying," he said furiously. "Ginny, please..."

She got comfortable by folding her legs Indian style and settling in opposite of him.

"What's wrong?" she asked, ignoring how he cursed her under his breath.

"Nothing. Go away."

"Is it Sirius?" she asked quietly. "Or what?"

"What," Harry chose, making her kick him in exasperation. "I don't want to talk about it, Ginny. Really, not right now. I'm tired and-"

"Feeling broke on the inside?" she suggested carefully.

"Sure, whatever, doesn't matter. Just go."

"Would you mind if I stayed?" she asked slyly.

Harry narrowed his eyes at her suspiciously. "Why?"

"I don't want to go down stairs," she said earnestly. "Fred and George read one of the letters that Dean sent me."

She pushed her hair back, but Harry saw the look in her eyes. "Did you break up?"

"He says we're too different," she said, shrugging. "That we can't possibly have a relationship when we're all so different. Do you want to know why I'm really pissed though?" She continued before he could answer. "Bill, Charlie, and the twins all wrote him letters about me. About me. Bloody hell, Harry, I'm fifteen, not six. They treat me as if I'm some little girl who doesn't know what's she's doing. They don't even notice me, whether I'm there or not, or if I'm pale or flushed. I'm just the same old Ginny."

Ah, so that must be what's got her all bristled up, Harry mused. He knew that Ron and Ginny were probably the most insecure in the Weasley family, considering that Ron was the youngest and the last boy while Ginny was the baby and the only girl. No matter what either of them did, it had already been done before, probably even twice. So it didn't surprise him that much to hear her express the unfairness of it. Actually, he was surprised only because Ginny had talked to him about it before Ron.

"You're not the same old Ginny," Harry assured her. "Seriously. You grew your hair out, your eyes darkened, you, uh," he gestured at her body, flushing dark pink. "Your they're little sister, Virginia, nothing you can do about that. They consider you family, which is probably why they don't really confide in you. Maybe they don't want you to change."

"Oh," she snorted, although she had laughed loudly when he'd flushed. "That's nice. 'Stay the same, Ginny. That way we can always make sure you don't mess your life up.' I can just imagine them saying that. I really, sincerely can."

"Guess what?" Harry said, hiding a smile.

"What?" Ginny said curiously, eyeing him.

"I can too."

She stood. "You're not helping!" But she was smiling and laughing when she shut the door, which made Harry smile before taking his Dreamless Sleep Potion. When his eyes closed, Harry praised God for the unbearable relief. Finally, he could drop into nothingness and forget all about his problems. In this world, even though it had no rain or a colorful sunset, there was absolutely, blissfully nothing. No fear for the future, no fear for his family and friends. No pain. He didn't have to remember Sirius. In fact, Harry would later swear that he'd seen Sirius, smiling and laughing, surrounded by his mother and father.

In this world, everything was just perfect. Because it was nothingness, and a lot at that.

* * * * * *

Harry woke up dressed in the same clothes, with two extra blankets piled on top of the single one he'd had before. He'd expected to feel refreshed, maybe rejuvenated, but he only felt odd and...broken on the inside. That was the odd feeling he hadn't been able to distinguish. He felt broken on the inside, as if everything was either empty or completely cracked and worthless. He went to the bathroom across the hall and cleaned up. His hair, he noticed incredulously, was getting so long it reached his ears in the back and was beginning to curl. He stared at himself for a minute, wondering if he should keep it or ask Mrs. Weasley to cut it off.

When he went to school, people would stare and talk anyways, so why not let it grow and give them something to talk about between classes? He smiled, then winced when his mind was poked again. He positioned his wand into the waistband of his jeans and headed downstairs.

Only Remus, Tonks, and Mrs. Weasley were in the kitchen. They all watched him apprehensively for a moment, then continued their meal and conversation.

"Are you hungry, dear?" Mrs. Weasley asked cheerfully. Harry saw her smile falter a little.

"Not really. I'll just-" She shoved a plate filled with eggs and toast into his hands. He sat down. "I'll just have this."

Remus and Tonks laughed. Harry still felt a little tension in it, but when he gave them an odd look they both started to talk about shields again.

"They don't reflect counterjinxes," Remus insisted.

"They do, too, Rem. I'm telling you. Try one."

"No. They don't. You have no clue what you're talking about."

Tonks looked mortally wounded. "Excuse me, but I got excellent marks in Shielding and Casting, thank you very much."

"I'm old school," Remus said with a small laugh. "I learned about shields back when it was new and stronger and fresh."

Harry leaned back. His stomach protested greatly at the large amount of food he had yet to eat. Then he noticed that Mrs. Weasley was cooking something that looked like lunch. Tonks and Remus were still debating about shields, passing the subject around like a tennis ball. Harry rolled the rest of his eggs into the piece of bread, aimed for the garbage can. It made a 'thunk', but nobody seemed to notice. He looked at the two pieces of bread left and the tiny amount of eggs. He took his chances at sneaking out of the kitchen, heading towards the girls' room on the floor above his own. He knocked, then opened the door and shut it behind him.

"You're up!" Ginny said, delighted.

Ron and Hermione looked up from the newspaper, pale.

"Do you want to play chess?" she asked quickly.

"Sure," Harry said with a smile. "But not until I read that paper."

He took a seat and looked over Hermione's shoulder. Then snatched it away and gaped at his picture. It wasn't a newspaper, but a magazine. With his picture plastered on it.

"Harry Potter Surprises Wizarding World With Excellent O. W. L. Scores!" he read aloud. "How the hell did they get my grades?" he asked Hermione, looking up, scandalized.

She shook her head frantically. "I don't know, Harry. I really don't. Mr. Weasley went in early to talk to Fudge-"

"Dad's never looked so furious," Ginny put in proudly.

"Yea," Ron said, opening the magazine to the page where Harry looked out at them. Then he handed it back to him to look at. "He'll find out what happened."

"I'm sure its illegal," Hermione said softly. "It would be just disgraceful if it wasn't."

"It is illegal." Ginny arranged the pieces of chess expertly. "It's breaking the privacy code. That's why Dad was so furious. I heard Charlie talking about Dumbledore giving penalties. That's what the Chief of the Wizengamot can do," she explained at Harry's and, surprising, Hermione's puzzled face. "He can make people pay the offended person money by giving penalties if he thinks something was unfairly done to a person. I wonder if he's really going to do that."

"But the letter it spoke off is anonymous." Harry scanned the two-page article, snarling at it. There was no name at all, or the name of the journalist. "He can blame an innocent person when they publish a story that was sent in."

"At least you did awesome on you O. W. L.'s Harry." This from Ginny. Hermione nodded.

"It could have been a lot worse," the latter said, closing it up and tossing it on the empty seat in the couch.

Harry was quiet when they started to talk about Dumbledore. He wasn't sure how he felt about the Headmaster. He didn't blame him, or couldn't tell if he did. Even though Dumbledore had admitted it was mostly his fault Sirius was dead; Harry still couldn't see it. But this year was going to be different. He wasn't going to let Dumbledore keep anything that involved him or Voldemort secret. Another innocent wasn't going to die because Harry wasn't informed.

"Harry?"

His head snapped up.

"Are you okay?" Ron asked.

He'd gone into one of his fits again. Harry nodded, then rubbed his hands because they had started to tingle.

"You guys?" he said suddenly, talking over something Ron said.

They turned to him, curious as to why. Harry was pretty sure they thought he was going to talk to him about what was bothering him, but he didn't think he was ready for that, wasn't sure he'd ever be.

"I-" He cleared his voice, tried again. "I think Voldemort's trying to get into my mind."

There was silence. Harry shifted, uneasy with all their eyes solely on his. He wasn't used to having all the attention placed on him yet. Especially since the D. A. hadn't been in secession for months.

"What do you mean?" Ron asked uncertainly.

"It feels like he's trying to get into my head," he explained quietly. "Sometimes its bad, like a seizure that doesn't end for a few minutes, and sometimes it just gets all cold or really, really hot. Others it just feels like something's prodding my mind."

Hermione looked didn't look too surprised. "Remus told us what happened, how you collapsed yesterday."

"Are you blacking out yet?" Ginny swiveled around in her chair to get a better view of Harry.

He didn't like how she said 'yet', but he shrugged. "I don't know. I can't tell. Sometimes it just feels like...like I'm broken inside, or empty. Sometimes I don't know where I am."

Ginny paled dramatically at the term she'd used the night before. She shot Ron and Hermione a quick look, then gave Harry the same, panicked look, as if she was stuck in a black pit and needed help out.

"You need to get to Dumbledore," Hermione said, unaware of Ginny's distress. "That sounds as if it could get bad, real bad."

Harry stood. "I'm going to tell Mrs. Weasley..."

* * * * * *