Harry Potter and Death's Mystery

Chapter 22

The wind battered against Harry's exposed skin, stinging slightly as it hit the scars that littered his extremities. The trees whistled softly around him, engulfing him in the sweet sound of a lullaby. He looked around, trying to access where he was. He deduced the only place that looked like his location was the Forbidden Forest, but he did not dwell on the fact that he shouldn't be there. He started to move forward, though it felt like someone, or something was pushing at his back. "Harry Potter," a voice whispered maliciously, the sound echoing through the wind. Harry went to ask who was there, but his lips felt as though they were glued tight. So, he did all he could do, surge ahead. He turned right at the nearest fork in the path, not contemplating why. His legs were working on their own. "Harry Potter," the same voice called again, and still Harry's lips were sealed. He continued his trek until his legs gave out, and he collapsed as if on command, his knees buckling, and his eyes shutting as he fell onto his ground. The pain was immense, but he was unable to call out, unable to scream though his larynx so desperately wanted to. He rubbed his forehead, the slight bump of his lightning bolt shaped scar touching his I must not tell lies scar on the back of his hand. He took a deep breath, and positioned himself so he was sitting on his calves and opened his eyes. Yet again, he tried to scream, but his larynx was not functioning properly. He didn't remember seeing anyone when he had arrived, but now the ground around him was littered with corpses. Fresh corpses of people he knew all too well. Closest to him was Myrtle, her hair matted with water, and her lips were tinted blue, her glasses in her limp hand. And the corpses went on like that, little Colin just had he had been the night of Battle of Hogwarts, looking small in death, Lavender covered head to toe in maul marks, each bleeding even more profusely than the last. Regulus, like Myrtle, drenched in water, seaweed tangling itself around his hands and in his hair, and a bony claw wrapped around his ankle. Marlene McKinnon, Dorcas Meadowes, Florean Fortescue, people he didn't even know the names of surrounded him, some looking fast asleep, some with the smallest amount of blood trickling from the corners of their mouths, and some in such gorey manners that Harry had to physically stop himself from vomiting. The hardest to look at, even more so than the people with their guts scattering the ground beside him, was the people he knew best. Fred curled in a ball, his red hair in all directions, a piece of shrapnel embedded in his shoulder. His godfather lying peacefully, though his eyes were open, and every ounce of life was drained from his grey eyes. Tonks's hair a mousy brown, drained from any colours she would've added, and Remus's scars even more prominent against his pale skin. James Potter, glasses askew, a large bruise just below his hairline, his lips slightly parted. And Lily Evans, sprawled across the grass with a small stag-shaped teddy in her hand. Around him voices started to call, not like the soft whisper of his name he had heard before, but screams of pain and suffering. And accusation. "You let us die again," the voices chanted in unison, before a few more screams of agony. "I was a ghost, but now I'm gone for good," whined a voice eerily similar to Myrtle's. "You messed everything up. You're no godson of mine," spat out Sirius's voice. He then heard a loud scream followed by a synchronous "GO BACK AND LIVE WITH PETUNIA!" from his parents' voice. He finally found his own voice, but was only able to whisper, "No," before the scene in front of him disintegrated.

Harry woke up in a cold sweat, his sheets and blanket were damped, and his pillow was covered in tears. He sat up and tossed his blanket as far across the room as possible, before attempting to search for his glasses and a tissue on his end table. He put his glasses on gingerly, blinking a few times to adjust his vision, before blowing his nose and making sure there were no trails of tears flowing down his face. He got up quickly, and left his room, padding quietly down the hallway. As he passed his parents room, he cracked their door just a smidge, in order to see if they were there, and when he saw them lying peacefully in bed, he sighed a deep sigh he didn't know he was holding, and shut the door quietly. He continued in silence down the hall to the bathroom, where he wet his face to clear his mind of the horrors. He dried his face as best he could, before setting course up the stairs in Grimmauld Place, to Sirius's room. Harry cracked the door open, and to his surprise, Sirius was sitting at his desk with a set of headphones on, chewing some gum thoughtfully.