“So, Snape,” mocked Harry, “glad to see you out of your potions dungeon. Are you having it repainted? Maybe you’d want it to be black to match your eyes – or maybe your heart; or lack of it for that matter, I really don’t know which.”

Snape looked like he was seriously contemplating the thought of brewing Harry into the school’s supply of pumpkin juice.

Grinning broadly, Harry braced himself for the outburst of insults he was expecting to hear next.

“As intrigued as I am to hear the rest of your witty monologue, Potter,” said Snape disdainfully, “I have important Order business to tend to. Something, I’m deathly certain, the both of you have neither experience nor any knowledge of.” At that, he stalked away, nose high up in the air and slammed the door closed.

Typical, Snape’s a bit slow with the insults today; wonder if he really is having his cave repainted.

Harry snorted. Shaking his head, he sat down on the chair opposite Professor Lupin.

“By the way, Professor, I was supposed to tell you this first thing I came here so, sorry if it took long but I’m giving you Grimmauld Place,” he said, smiling broadly.

Remus’ brows furrowed as if he was waiting for a punch line.

“Professor, I’m serious.”

“No, you’re Harry,” said Remus.

“Professor Lupin,” said Harry impatiently, “I’m not kidding you. I really want to give you –”

“Harry,” Remus sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose, “you don’t need to –”

“What if I want to, Professor?” said Harry, hoping that Remus wouldn’t get too mad about what he was about to say.

“I know you wouldn’t want to disappoint me, not to mention my dad and Sirius, by not living here,” a pang of guilt was twisting Harry’s insides.

Remus frowned; he stood up and walked slowly over to the fireplace.

The whole room was charmed to just the right temperature but Harry could never hold back a slight shiver every time he stayed there for more than a few minutes. No amount of dust-free spells or self shining charms could convince anyone that this room could be anything but dark.

Harry saw Remus clutch the auburn cookie tin which held the Floo powder.

“Professor Lupin?” asked Harry, hoping his voice masked his feeling of slight trepidation. He knew that Remus wouldn’t leave him in a fit of anger; that would be so unlike him, wasn’t it?

I haven’t offended him, have I? I shouldn’t have mentioned dad and Sirius like that…

“I’m sorry, Professor, I just wanted to – I’m sorry if I’ve offended you but –”

“Harry?” Remus turned to face him, grasping a huge slab of Honeydukes chocolate.

“Where’d you get that?” asked Harry.

“The cookie tin,” said Remus, handing over half of the chocolate bar. It was still huge by his standards, as big as his palm, but he knew better than to refuse it.

“Ishernt thart weroo kipa foopadah?” managed Harry in between his chewing.

“What’s that?”

Harry gulped down the chocolate in his mouth before continuing. “Isn’t that where you keep the Floo powder?”

“No, we keep the powder in there,” said Remus, pointing at the small glass jar next to the tin. Finishing his piece, he sat down on his usual chair. “Why do you ask?”

“Nothing important, really…” Seeing the look on Remus’ face, he continued. “I just thought you were angry and wanted to leave for a bit. Not that I mind, I don’t, really,” he added hastily. He didn’t want anyone forced upon him against their will; it wasn’t their fault that Dumbledore wouldn’t trust him.

Remus stared perplexedly at Harry. “I’m not angry, Harry. Have I given you the impression that I’d leave you here over a silly matter like that?” Remus wasn’t asking Harry in a sarcastic manner, he really wanted to know if that was what Harry thought of him.

“No, of course not – I never figured you to be like that,” he said awkwardly, running his hand over his hair. He stood up and walked over to the window nearest him.

He couldn’t see much even if it was only about three in the afternoon. A thick fog surrounded all of the houses nearby. It wasn’t a great loss; the neighboring houses weren’t of interest to Harry anyway.

He lightly placed his palm on the window, observing that the cleaning charms have overlooked it. He placed both his hands on the glass, wondering if it would break if he put all his strength on it. Harry felt colder than usual; he could feel an invisible breeze coursing around his body. His eyes briskly shut, hoping that he would never have to open them again. It felt like hours had passed when Harry heard Remus speak up.

“Harry?”

“Yeah, Professor?” Harry didn’t bother opening his eyes, Remus wouldn’t see him anyway.

“Harry, you should really call me Remus, of all people,” said Remus, smiling.

“Er – to be honest – I’d really have to work on that, Professor,” Harry turned to face him, eyes wide open.

Remus laughed, shaking his head. He stood up and made to brush off some dust on his clothes.

“I’ll be upstairs, Harry,” said Remus, “Albus wanted me to finish some paperwork.”

“Sure, sir,” said Harry, as Remus turned to walk out the door.

Paperwork, really…

Finally having the privacy he wanted, Harry decided to write a few letters to Ron, Hermione and even Neville to ease his boredom.

Harry strode over to the writing desk where he found a few pieces of new parchment bought from Scribbulus Everchanging Inks in Diagon Alley. His impatience rose steadily; the desire to be able to roam around in Diagon Alley with his friends made him want to write even longer letters.

Three letters, which Harry felt was about 2 feet long each, were quickly signed and rolled up. Hedwig was probably up in Harry’s room but he didn’t feel like going up there right away.

He settled for taking a nap on the chair he previously occupied. It was still early and he knew he wouldn’t miss supper if he nodded off for a while.

A few minutes later, Harry Potter was dead to the world.

The wind’s howl made Harry’s hair stand on end. Everything was pitch-black. He couldn’t see nor hear anyone around him. He felt like he was in a world where his eyes were permanently sealed shut; the surroundings making Harry instinctively grab his wand.

It’s not here.

Thrashing against him, the wind felt like a multitude of blades flailing against his skin. His robes doing nothing to protect him, Harry knelt down to the firm earth to relieve the pain.

Gasping in pain, realization struck him as soon as his arms met the ground.

This is the place.

Slowly, inching his eyes up, he could see Voldemort’s frame in front of him; lying down rigidly. Everything was clearer now; moon light spreading out to Harry. The only movement of his robes was caused by the intense roaring of the wind.

He forced himself to crawl to the body; step by step, inch by inch. Finally, he was right next to it. The smell of blood and death ripped up Harry’s senses. It was as if all of Voldemort’s past murders were infesting the air, snatching Harry of everything, air, happiness and thought. Voldemort’s face was fully covered by his cloak now, easing Harry’s wave of nausea.

Harry willed himself to stand up; almost falling down in the process. He couldn’t bring himself to even try to kick the body. It was no use. He was dead.

He was about to sit down again when he caught sight of the bundle of blankets near Voldemort.

The body.

Harry took one step towards the blankets and tripped. His robes tangling with his cloak, the wind was whispering in his ears, mocking him.

As he was struggling to undo the knots of his clothes, his right hand made contact with the body. He withdrew his hand instantly, feeling ice-cold flesh a second ago. He sat up, catching his breath.

Inching his hands towards the edge of the blanket, he used all his strength to tear it off.

It was Harry, lying down, eyes wide open, hands and feet stuck to his sides. His scar was gone; all that was left was a gap in his head the size of his hand. Blood was trickling down his face, onto his mouth turned into a twisted smile.

Harry woke with a start. Struggling for his breath, he jumped out of his chair. Instantly, his knees gave in and he fell to floor. Cold sweat dripping all over his body, he strained to grab onto the arms of his chair.

A few minutes passed when he regained a trickle of composure. He stood up, knees wobbly but he forced himself to stand. His whole body ached with having to sleep in an awkward position and his heart throbbed due to his adrenaline rush.

It was just a dream. Just a dream. Just a dream.

He limped over to the door and called out. “Professor Lupin?”

No one answered him, and to make things worse, there weren’t any lights on to guide Harry.

I’ll strangle Remus if he’s doing this on purpose!

“Professor Lupin! Where are you?” Harry called out; he felt his way out to the landing.

He’s not here.

Remus couldn’t have left him alone, at least, not without telling him first.

You’re scared, aren’t you? mocked a little voice in his head.

“No, I’m not scared,” growled Harry. He knew he wasn’t talking to anyone but he knew he had to reassure himself.

A small thud made Harry snap his head in the direction of the stairs.

Who else could be here?

“Professor Snape,” he snarled, “I don’t care if you give me detention ‘till the day my nose hairs grow silver. Show yourself! This isn’t funny!”

Nothing greeted him; not even a slight snicker of amusement. He couldn’t hear anything except the sound of his heart beat thundering wildly and his irregular breathing. He wiped his brow with his sleeve, grabbing for his wand. He knew that he couldn’t use it but he’d rather risk getting Dumbledore angry then tumbling down the stairs into a Death Eater get-together.

“Lumos.”

Feeling slightly better, he decided to go downstairs. He walked around the length of the hall. No one was on the ground floor. All he could hear was the slight tapping noise his shoes made whenever he walked.

He felt stupid walking around with his wand out. Harry was incensed that all the time he’s been here; he didn’t even bother to ask where the light switches were.

As if the Black family would use light switches…But still, I should’ve asked Dumbledore how to turn these damn lights on!

Harry sighed loudly, turning around again.

I should check the upstairs bedroom, Remus told me he’d be there.

Harry went up to the second floor, no one was there. Not even in the succeeding floors, did Harry hear a sound other than the ones he made.

Feeling more lonely than apprehensive, Harry decided to go to the last room he didn’t check.

Opening the door to the kitchens, Harry slowly crept down, wand in hand yet barely making a sound.

As soon as he alighted from the last step, he almost ran back up in shock. There were faint shadows of people in the kitchen but he couldn’t see who they were. Heart beating erratically, he moved closer.

“Happy birthday, Harry!”

The kitchen light burst open; covering his eyes to shield himself, he backed up until he hit the door where he came through.

The strong light was blinding Harry but he could recognize a few people in between his rapid blinking.

He could see Ron and Hermione and a lot of other people but everything felt like a blur.

Squinting around, Harry felt immensely frustrated. “Why’d you all go and do that for? No one even bothered to tell me that the lot of you’ll be here!” shouted Harry, his fear being instantly replaced by intense annoyance.

“That’s why it’s called a ‘surprise’ party, Harry,” said Hermione matter-of-factly, who was in the front of the pack holding a red and gold balloon.

Harry didn’t answer her. All he could think of at the moment was to walk up to each of them and give them an all-mighty kick.

Breathing deeply to calm himself down, he looked around to see who else was in the kitchen.

All of the Weasleys, except for Charlie and of course, Percy, were there by Hermione. Mrs. Weasley was smiling brightly even though Harry looked as if he’d soon bite the heads off the lot of them; Mr. Weasley looked a bit shook up by Harry’s outburst yet he managed a small smile nonetheless. He could see Fred and George beaming at him, clearly amused. Ginny, however, was frowning at Harry; she looked as if she was irritated by what he just said. Bill was having a whispered conversation with Tonks, who was the only non-Weasley present.

“Look, I’m sorry. It’s just that,” Harry’s brows shot up, confused, “Ron, why are you hitting yourself with a balloon?”

“I’m not doing it on purpose!” said Ron, holding the balloons at arm’s length to show Harry, “it’s these blasted Bobbling Balloons that Fred and George made. They move around on their own but don’t fly away to the ceiling if you let go. It’s really cool to have one that doesn’t hit you repeatedly.” Ron glared at the twins, who were looking at him with wide-eyed innocence.

“Why don’t you let it go then?” said Harry.

“I tried, Harry. It just goes bonkers and tries to hit me harder,” said Ron, irritation spreading on his face, “it tried to strangle me when we were waiting for you to come down but everyone decided to go and laugh at me instead!” Ron glared at everyone around him, cheeks red with embarrassment.

“We’re sorry, Ron,” said Fred, his eyes held a mischievous glint.

“Yeah, Ron, we really are,” said George, shaking his head in mock regret “we forgot how dangerous a ball of air could be. How could we live with the shame?”

The room erupted in laughter; Ron glared at everyone, cheeks almost as red as his hair. Mrs. Weasley was just smiling faintly; she obviously didn’t want to laugh out loud at Ron but her pained expression made her look even more amused.

“What took you so bloody long, anyway?” said Ron, trying to hand off the balloon to Ginny, who was doing her best to ignore her brother’s incessant poking.

“I fell asleep.”

“No you weren’t, we heard you get up,” said Ron, this time he let go of the balloon entirely. The balloon wouldn’t give up though, so it settled for attacking Ron in the face.

Harry raised his left brow. He was about to ask how they heard him when Fred and George motioned to their ears and pulled on them.

“Oh – um – I got a bit nervous and decided to check the house to make sure nothing was wrong,” said Harry. He felt his cheeks go red; he shouldn’t have jumped to conclusions so easily; it made him feel spineless.

Mrs. Weasley didn’t change much since their last meeting but he could see that she was straining herself to look perfectly normal for Harry. Harry frowned inwardly. He didn’t want people to pretend that there wasn’t anything wrong when he perfectly knew that he was the only one who could end it.

“Are you alright now, Harry dear? Come over here and give me hug,” said Mrs. Weasley, oblivious to the uncomfortable look on Harry’s face.

Before Harry could walk over, she charged right up and squeezed Harry’s breath out of him. “You feel thin Harry, have you been eating at all?” Mrs. Weasley held Harry’s shoulders and looked him over. “You look like you haven’t slept in days! What have you been doing up here, Harry? I’ll have a word with Remus on your bed time – ”

“ – um, where’s Professor Lupin anyway?” said Harry, looking around, he realized that his former Defence professor was nowhere to be seen.

“Albus sent him on an errand,” said Mrs. Weasley, who didn’t stop picking at all the lint on Harry’s jumper.

“Oh okay – um – Mrs. Weasley – I’m fine, really. I pretty much get along better when I’m by myself.”

“I know that dear but –”

“Molly, Tonks accidentally stepped on the cake and she wants me to tell you that she’s really sorry but she’s a bit – er – inexperienced with baking spells.”

Mrs. Weasley put her hands on her hips, frowning slightly. “That’s the third time today. No matter where I place it, if she doesn’t shove it off, it’s stepping on it or transfiguring it into a tap-dancing porcupine,” she said irately. She walked over to Tonks who was scratching her head while carrying the remains of what looked like a simple cake with emerald green frosting.

“You alright, Harry?” Mr Weasley was asking out of plain curiosity, that much he can tell by his relaxed manner. He looked better than the way he was yesterday but the grim, tired expression was still there.

“Perfectly fine, Mr. Weasley.”

“I hope so, Harry.”

In a split-second, Harry saw the Floo blaze with life. He was surprised to see Snape stepped out of the fire, a fierce, determined gaze set on his face.

He marched on over to Harry, not a single word spoken to anyone else.

If Harry thought this was highly peculiar, none of the other people in the room seemed to think so. They were all staring at Harry, their eyes harsh and menacing.

“What’s going on?” his fear from earlier was back with intensity. He felt something terrible was going on but he couldn’t figure it out.

He looked at Snape, who was standing a few feet in front of him. “Professor?”

Snape didn’t say anything. He was just standing there, his eyes staring fixedly at Harry.

“Professor Snape, what are you doing here?” he said forcefully, he couldn’t understand anything in the least.

“To do something I should’ve done sixteen years ago,” whispered Snape, malevolence dripping in his voice.

Harry’s eyes widened, his hand reaching to grab his wand. Everything was moving as if he was watching the scene with omnioculars. Moving to jump out of the way, he was outraged to see Fred, George and Mr. Weasley grab hold of him while Ron snatched his wand away. He twisted and turned with all his might, screaming with all the intensity he could muster. They held him tighter and with that alone, he knew he couldn’t be dreaming. The pain was too real.

It was all too late. The incantation which Harry was most familiar with was forming in Snape’s mouth.

He closed his eyes and screamed even more. Hoping that the roof would fall in, anything, to make this all go away.

“Avada Kedavra!”