Young Master of Death

One

Hermione looked at Ron in worry; Harry had been locked up in his room at Grimmauld's place for four weeks now. No matter how hard the two tried to persuade him out of there, he refused and stayed put in his room; it was starting to get concerning.

The war had ended two months ago and ever since Harry hadn't said a word. Of course, it was also hard on Ron and Hermione but the two had been able to fight it and get out of the depressed haze they had been in, but they were worried Harry wouldn't be motivated enough to force himself out of it.

"What do we do?" Hermione asked Ron quietly at the table downstairs, drumming her fingers anxiously on the table. Ron gave her a defeated look. They had tried everything to get Harry out of his room, none of it had worked.

"I don't know, he won't listen to us no matter what we say to him; we can't even get his bloody door open." No matter how many spells they had tried on the door, it had refused to open, even Hermione had no clue as to what spell Harry had used to keep it shut.

Hermione sighed, running a hand through her hair stressfully before standing up from her chair. "I'm going to get the daily prophet." She claimed, she needed to distract herself at the moment; all the worry she had been feeling the past few weeks had been starting to build up in her chest. She needed some fresh air.

"Alright," Ron said, leaning back in his chair, putting his arm over his face.

Harry groggily opened his eyes, before closing them again, wishing to go back to sleep. He had no idea how long he had been in his room, he had been sleeping time away. He just wanted to forget everything that had happened; all the deaths, screams, fights, everything. His dreams were uneventful, thank Merlin. He kept on expecting nightmares or dreams about Voldemort to come, though neither had happened so far, which was relieving and probably the reason he was sleeping so much.

Harry was just about to go back to sleep, too tired to keep his eyes awake, before-

"This is quite pathetic to watch, especially because you're the supposed 'Master of Death'." The voice scoffed. "You sure don't look it."

Harry suddenly sat up, looking around the room in confusion, his eyes squinting around the room before he clumsily reached for his glasses, placing them over his eyes. Though he saw more clearly than before, he still couldn't see the source of the voice.

"Hello?" Harry questioned, had he finally lost his mind?

"No, I'm afraid you haven't lost your mind just yet." The voice answered.

Harry's eyes widened even more. "Can you read my thoughts?" Harry gasped out before he tried blocking all thoughts out of his mind like Snape had taught him. The voice chuckled.

"Don't even try blocking your thoughts from me, no matter how hard you try I'll always know exactly what you're thinking." The voice hissed and Harry frowned.

"Who are you anyway? If I'm not going crazy, then how come I hear a voice inside my head?" Harry pondered and the voice chuckled in response.

"So many things you don't know, there's even things you don't know about yourself. Ignorant boy." The voice replied, amused. Harry glared, even though there was technically no one, or nothing, to glare at.

"What do you mean? What don't I know? And who are you?" Harry demanded, getting slightly angry.

"You'll get answers from me when you stop acting so pathetic and sorry for your self." The voice snapped before Harry suddenly felt as though something warm had left his mind, leaving behind a certain coolness he hadn't noticed before. Harry frowned.

"Hello?" He questioned, but the mysterious, unknown voice didn't reply and Harry wondered if he had just hallucinated the conversation.

Well, he supposed the odd voice was right; he should get himself together and stop being so lazy, stop feeling sorry for himself. He had been doing nothing but sleeping the days away, and he was tired of it. He was so used to having things to do, seeing as how all his years at Hogwarts he had always had his life on the line.

Harry stood up, rubbing a hand through his hair before cringing. It was greasy and intolerably messy, messier than usual, which was saying something. He would take a shower, then he would head downstairs.

He was sure Ron and Hermione were worried about him.