Life After Living

Chapter Eleven

We're goin' down the road towards tiny cities made of ashes

Gonna hit you on the face gonna punch you in your glasses

~Tiny Cities Made of Ashes, Modest Mouse

Unexpectedly, Harry stalked off promptly upon reaching the grate at Number 12, Grimmauld Place. The group, along with Mrs. Weasley stared after him. Seconds later, a door slammed. Ron suddenly found that everyone was looking at him. He took a deep breath and went after his friend.

"Harry?" he asked, opening the door to their bedroom. Harry was digging around in his trunk again. He looked up when Ron entered.

Harry narrowed his eyes. "What did you do with them?"

"I threw them away. It's a horrible habit, Harry, and I'll be damned if I allow you to continue."

"How is that your choice to make?" Harry asked furiously, his voice rising.

"It tastes disgusting. Worse second-hand than first."

Harry slammed the trunk lid closed, his eyes ablaze. He sat on the bed with a huff and pulled the leather satchel towards him. He looked closer at it, noticing a name stitched into the front. Marcus Potter.

"What's really wrong, Harry?" Ron asked as Harry traced the name of his grandfather with his fingers. Harry looked up with a glare.

"Why does he wait so long to show me these things? I should have been taken to Maridunum a long time ago." Harry shook his head. "I should have never been taken away from there in the first place." He buried his face in his hands. "I should have never been born."

"Oh, for Merlin's sake, Harry." Ron sat down next to his friend. "There must have been a reason Dumbledore kept you away from Maridunum for so long. Dumbledore never does anything without reason."

"That doesn't mean he hasn't made mistakes." Harry looked up.

"He's never steered me wrong. Granted, he did make me a Prefect. That I'm still curious about." Harry sighed. "Why do you think he didn't tell you about Maridunum?"

"I don't know. Maybe he was trying to hide something from me. I know he didn't think I was ready for it all. He told me that much, and that he realized he was wrong about not telling me from the beginning."

"He said that?" Ron sat down next to Harry. "What was he not telling you?"

"The reason Voldemort wanted to kill me in the first place." Ron's eyes widened, but Harry wasn't looking. "The night the battle at the Ministry happened, he told me why."

"Why, Harry?" Ron asked after a small silence.

"I don't know if I can tell you yet." Harry looked up at him. "I can't even handle it myself."

"Do you want to try telling me?"

"No." Harry opened the bag and pulled out the photo album. He set it on the lid of the trunk. Ron watched Harry all the while, trying to judge his friend's emotions. Harry's forehead was creased and he was grinding his teeth.

"Maybe he'll let you go back soon," Ron offered. Harry sighed, again, and closed his eyes. Ron put a hand on Harry's knee.

"I don't want this. I can't do it. I'm not strong enough."

Ron reached forward and tipped Harry's chin up. "Then let me be. Let me be all the strength you need, mate."

"When did you become so strong?" Harry asked with a small voice.

Ron raised his eyebrows. "The minute you became so weak."

"I don't deserve you." Harry pulled away from Ron.

"Do you say that type of thing to intentionally make me mad?" Harry looked back surprised. "Because it works."

"I'm sorry."

"Good." Ron nodded towards the satchel. "So what's in the box?" Harry pulled out the small cedar box. He paused, his hand on the lid. "Do you want me to leave?"

"No. Stay. Please." Harry breathed in the wonderful smell of cedar as he opened the lid. The first thing that caught his eye was a brown leather-bound book. Pulling it out, he opened it to peer inside. Scrawled on the top right corner was the name of Harry's grandfather. "His journal," he told Ron.

"D'you think..." Harry looked up. "He would have been around the same age as You-Know-Who, about?"

"I wonder if they went to school together," Harry said, looking back into the box. He set the journal aside and reached back inside the box. He pulled out a small dagger housed in dark brown leather. He unsheathed it, turning it in his hand.

"Oy! Harry, that's gorgeous!"

Harry turned the dagger and caught a name in the steel. "Camlach Potter," he read. On the other side a snake had been carved into the steel.

"Who was Camlach?" Ron asked.

"I don't remember seeing a picture of him." Harry slipped the dagger back into its sheath. "We probably shouldn't tell anyone about this. They probably wouldn't let me keep it."

"Probably not," Ron nodded.

What remained in the cedar box was a crimson-colored velvet pouch. Harry pulled it out and loosened the drawstring. Tipping it over, a small gold pocket watch tumbled out onto his hand. He opened it and found that it had the correct time. "I think there's something written there," Ron said, pointing to the back.

Harry turned it over and read aloud, "When in need, Remeo thrice." Harry turned it back over, examining it further. "It must be a portkey."

"I'd wager it sends you back to Maridunum." Harry nodded. "You probably shouldn't tell anyone about that either," Ron added.

"Dumbledore still hasn't told me everything." Harry looked up, anger making his eyes glaze over. "Why does he keep secrets? Does he really think he's protecting me?"

"I wish I knew," Ron answered calmly.

Harry put the three objects back into the box and closed it. "They expect me to be a killer yet still treat me like a child." Harry stood as he spoke and placed the box in his trunk.

"What?" Harry turned back to Ron. "Who expects you to be a killer?"

"Everyone. They all expect me to destroy Voldemort." Ron managed to hide his grimace. "That's all I am to them."

"I don't expect that from you." Harry narrowed his eyes in disbelief. "I don't, Harry. It's the prophecy, isn't it? Please tell me."

Harry's shoulders seemed to slump even more so, which seemed impossible. Dumbledore's voice filled his head with words that he had tried so hard to forget. He looked away, unable to face Ron as the words left his mouth. "One of us must die at the hand of the other. We can't survive if the other lives."

"Who told you such rubbish?" Ron hissed.

"It's the prophecy," Harry answered, not meeting Ron's eyes.

"The prophecy," Ron said bitterly. His right hand settled on his left wrist over a patch of hairless and whiter skin. The gesture didn't go unnoticed by Harry and he reached for Ron's wrist.

He looked up at Ron. "I would've thought Madam Pomfrey would have healed it all."

"Subject changer." Ron turned his wrist and grasped Harry's hand. "I don't think she noticed this one. It's too late now." Ron stopped Harry before the words could slip his tongue. "Start blaming yourself and I'll thump you good and proper." Harry's eyebrows shot up at that. "This prophecy. Dumbledore knew it, didn't he? He knew all along and didn't tell you?"

Harry nodded. "He's the one who first heard it. Professor Trelawny--"

"Trelawny made the prophecy?" Ron's voice rose. "And you believe something that came from her mouth?"

"I didn't say I believed it."

"Good, because prophecies are nonsense. Especially coming from that bint."

"What if they're not?" Harry looked away again. "What if I want to kill Voldemort?"

Their conversation was interrupted as a knock sounded on the door. Harry pulled away from Ron and sat on his bed. "Yeah?" Ron asked the door.

"Can I come in?" It was Hermione.

Ron looked at Harry who nodded. "Yeah." Ron reached the door and opened it. A blur of orange shot in and bounded for Harry. Harry let out a squeak as Crookshanks landed in his lap. "Not that bloody cat!" Ron said too late.

"Oh, Ron, honestly." Hermione entered the room and sat down beside Harry. "How are you?" she asked the dark-haired boy.

"Peachy," Harry responded, petting Crookshanks lightly. The half-cat, half-kneazle purred.

"Hermione," Ron said, "You don't believe in any of that Divination codswallop do you?"

"Ron!" Harry protested.

"You know I don't believe in it, Ron." Hermione turned to Harry. "What's wrong?" When Harry didn't answer, she looked back to Ron. Ron remained silent as well.

"It's nothing, Hermione," Harry finally spoke up. Hermione gave both boys a look but let it go.

"Have you two gotten your presents for Ginny tomorrow?" She asked, sighing as she changed the subject.

Ron's eyes widened. "Is tomorrow already the eleventh?"

"Well," Hermione said, standing. "I certainly hope she's not too disappointed." She picked up Crookshanks as she stood. "When you two decide to start sharing things with me again, I think you know where to find me."

Ron and Harry stared silently after her until the door clicked closed. "Brilliantly executed, Ron. Why didn't you just tell her everything I said?"

Ron looked more hurt than Harry. "I've never hidden anything from Hermione before, Harry. Pardon me if it takes a while to get used to it. Now if you'll excuse me I have to go pilfer one of my Mum's extra gifts." With that, Ron left indignantly.

Harry stared at the door crossly for a while before picking up the photo album. He wasn't much in the mood for looking at pictures. He threw the album into the trunk along with the satchel and slammed the lid again. He liked the sound so much that he opened the lid and slammed it again. His lack of sleep the night before had caught up to him. He slid beneath the sheets of his bed and let sleep overcome him.

It was dark when he awoke to find Ron watching him sleep. He blinked a couple of times in the candlelight. "Hey," Ron said. "I'm sorry about before."

"It's not your fault," Harry said quietly. "I think I might have been a bit cranky."

"Well, you're forgiven, mate." Ron smiled.

"What time is it?" Harry asked, sitting up.

"Everyone has gone to bed." Indeed, Ron was in his pajamas. "Are you feeling any better?"

"Just more like an arse than usual." He looked at Ron sitting on the other bed. "Are we going to be okay?"

"Of course. I did get a lot of thinking done today since you were asleep." A flicker of a smile curved the corners of Ron's mouth. "I didn't even hurt myself." Harry shook his head, hiding his smile. Ron continued seriously, "It just hit me full force today how sudden it all was."

"Too sudden?"

"Honestly, yes. But I caught up today, I think. And I don't want to worry about this. I just want it to be and I don't want to question it. I made my choice and I chose you. I've always chosen you over anyone else." Ron flashed a smile again. "So let's not talk about it anymore. It gives my brain a cramp."

Harry smiled back. "Deal." Harry's stomach growled.

"Hungry?"

"I could eat."

Ron kissed Harry before they left room. "By the way, we need to think of something to get Ginny. I couldn't get anything from Mum."

"Think we have time to get something by mail?"

"Maybe. Something for Quidditch perhaps." Harry hesitated in the hall. He looked up at the attic door. "Harry?"

"Sometimes I feel like he's up there. It's the weirdest feeling. I'd swear on it, Ron."

"Mum says we can't go up there. It's where they're keeping the Dark Arts stuff from the rest of the house. Probably Mrs. Black and the family tree."

"I guess it's just wishful thinking."

Ron put an arm around Harry. "Let's get something to eat, mate."

"Yeah."