The Boy Who Lived - Revised and updated - Chapter 2, part 1 - Audiobook

The Boy Who Lived by Louise Charlton. Chapter 2: The Sole Survivor The strangely familiar sight of Grimmauld Place's dingy basement kitchen was Harry's stop. As he stepped out of the fireplace onto the cold stone floor, he remembered the final days that they had spent here during their recent Horcrux hunt, shivering again at the memories, not just of their Horcrux horrors, but also the horrors of the recent war. The grimy, dingy room had an air of having been searched, but Kreacher had been busy tidying everything up again, waiting for his master to come home. Whether Yaxley had found anything of significance, it was impossible to tell. This somehow gave Harry a feeling of immense relief. Harry lingered only a moment in the freezing cold kitchen before progressing through the rest of the house. The musty air around him froze his warm breath, forming clouds of steam in front of him. Although it seemed like a lifetime ago, Harry could still remember the cold locket that once pressed against his chest, a sense of hopelessness stealing over him again. As he worked his way through the house the memories came flooding back: his father dropping to the floor like a stringless marionette, his mother pleading for the life of her son. Cedric Diggory murdered thoughtlessly, Sirius falling through the Veil; Dumbledore suspended, broken, in mid-air. Hedwig's life ending with a careless flash of green light, Dobby looking helplessly down at the knife in his chest, and the bodies of Fred, Lupin, Tonks and Colin Creevey lying in the Great Hall. There were many others who had died over the years by Voldemort's hand, some simply used as a means to an end, wizard and Muggle alike. So many families shattered by one man. He'd done it: Harry had finally ended Voldemort's reign of terror, but at what cost? How many had died in the process? Grief burdened his heart like a dead weight in his chest, haunting him. Harry had now tiptoed up the stairs and past a curtained Walburga Black into the Drawing Room, where Harry found himself admiring her handiwork on the Black family tree tapestry. As he looked at the numerous burn marks where various family members had been disowned over the years, Harry felt a stinging sensation form behind his eyes. Whilst he wanted to, now more than ever before, Harry knew he wasn't going to cry. The Dursleys had beaten that out of him a long time ago. He knew he was venturing into dangerous territory, but not knowing how he could possibly feel any worse, Harry scanned the names attached to the burn marks. Most of the names were regarded simply with mild curiosity, Harry wondering what they'd done to be disowned (Isla, Phineas, Marius, Cedrella and Alphard), until he hit two names in particular: Andromeda and Sirius. With a pang, Harry thought of his godfather: how he had been at odds with his pro-Pure-blood, Slytherin family, and at the age of only sixteen had run away from this very house, gaining his freedom, and disowned as a result, only to be cooped up in it once more for a whole year, being reminded every day of the loneliness he had felt as a boy. And then how he, Harry, had been stupid enough to lure Sirius away from his miserable but safe house and to his death, ultimately leaving the house that he had so despised to his godson. Alphard, of course, I remember now!, Harry remarked to himself as he remembered a conversation long ago between him and Sirius in this very room. Sirius' Uncle Alphard had been posthumously disowned for leaving money to Sirius in his will. And then, the stinging feeling in his eyes intensifying, Harry thought of Andromeda. Disowned after her marriage to Muggle-born Ted Tonks, she had now lost both her husband and her only child, left to look after an orphaned Teddy Lupin. Harry's godson. Godson to the world's worst godfather, Harry thought, gloomily. 'Master' Kreacher called out, startling Harry, who was deep in thought. 'Kreacher is glad to see you, Master Harry' he added. Harry didn't intend to be rude, but not able to face conversation, Harry stood up and made his way upstairs to Sirius' room. Here, he climbed into Sirius' old four-poster bed and closed his eyes as soon as his head hit the pillow. Although asleep, Harry was restless: his dreams were, once again, riddled with images of Voldemort, Death Eaters, snakes and bodies, yet his scar didn't even prickle. * By the time the Hogwarts' Express reached London, it was very late. The last trains had long departed the Muggle platforms, causing some confusion among the night staff at the arrival of some very interestingly dressed people. But the new arrivals didn't stay long enough for anyone to approach them: they sporadically disappeared, each with a load 'crack'. The Weasleys were no exception. Once through the barrier from Platform 9 ¾, Bill and Fleur had Apparated back to Shell Cottage, and the remaining group had paired up to Apparate to the village square of Ottery St Catchpole, George taking Ron and Hermione taking Ginny by side-along Apparition. As soon as they stepped over the threshold of The Burrow, Ron, who had been complaining of being starving repeatedly during their walk from the village, repeated this notion once more. So Mrs Weasley lead the group into the kitchen and began preparing sandwiches, summoning bread, cheese, bacon and eggs, silently commanding the kitchen utensils with ease. 'Well, I never thought I'd be on the Hogwarts' Express again, Arthur!' Mrs Weasley chimed over her shoulder whilst watching the pack of bacon drop into a frying pan. 'Yes, it brought back fond memories' Mr Weasley replied, his eyes glazing over in reminiscence. 'It's so weird: after all this time, the train hasn't changed a bit!' interjected Charlie. It was at this moment, after everyone had sat down at the table, that Hermione realised that two bodies were missing. George and Ginny must have slipped upstairs when no-one was looking, Hermione thought, and concluded that she would give them some space. In all the exuberance of nostalgia, Hermione was able to wrap up two packages of sandwiches in napkins and slip them into her beaded bag unnoticed. She then silently crept out of the kitchen and upstairs to George's room. She tentatively knocked on the door before softly calling out 'George, I brought you some sandwiches. I'll just leave them here outside the door and go. If you want to talk, you know where I am.' She thought it best not to intrude. She then went down to Ginny's room and did the same for her before returning downstairs. 'Where've you been?' Ron asked her in a whisper as she took a seat next to him at the table. 'I went to the bathroom' she said hissed back, giving him an I-dare-you-to-challenge-me look. Ron faltered, opening and closing his mouth several times, thinking of a suitable response. But Hermione cut him off, retorting 'I suppose I have to announce every time I need to use the bathroom now, do I?' causing Ron to silently seethe until Mrs Weasley sent everyone off to bed. * Hermione knocked softly on Ginny's bedroom door before opening it. In the darkness, it was hard to find Ginny but once her eyes had adjusted, she found a large lump under the duvet. She wasn't sure what she had expected to see, but this wasn't it: Ginny, so brave and resilient, had completely resigned herself. Creeping gradually towards the lump, which was steadily rising and falling with gentle breaths, Hermione slowly pulled the covers back and asked 'Ginny, are you okay?' Her face was pensive and tragically calm: tears had slid elegantly down her face, but she had not resigned to sobs. Her voice surprisingly steady, Ginny began 'What's he done to me, Hermione?' Her voice wavered a little before she finished 'I think I can give Cho Chang a run for her money.' She then gave Hermione a weak smile and allowed another single tear to leave her eye. Hermione was lost for words, resorting to putting an arm around Ginny, comforting her. After a few seconds of silence, Ginny gave Hermione a half smile and began 'Thanks for the sandwiches by the way. You have a kind heart; you always have... and that's what I've always loved about you.' Her voice was beginning to break and a new bout of tears had begun. Ginny casually shrugged, but Hermione felt a stinging at the back of her throat, blocking the words that had formed in her mind from being spoken. Giving a little cough to loosen her throat, Hermione managed 'Well, I didn't want you to starve' trying to keep her shaky voice casual. She felt like crying too, because of Ginny's kindness in the midst of her grief. But, knowing that she had to keep strong for Ginny's sake, Hermione fought back the tears threatening to overcome her. The girls then heard the loud sound of large feet shuffling up the stairs and, without knocking, Ron flung Ginny's bedroom door open and began 'Hermione, can I pick your brains a moment?' Looking up, Ron saw Hermione's exasperated expression and Ginny's piercing glare that usually meant serious hexing. A little hot around the collar, Ron continued, swallowing hard to regain moisture to his throat. 'Er, 'Mione. I've never sent a Howler before, and I asked Mum for some pointers, seeing as she's so good at them, but I got a right earful!' As Ron flushed an even deeper shade of crimson, Ginny had to clench her fists to stop herself from bursting out laughing, and even Hermione had to stifle a giggle as Ron muttered under his breath about 'rude' and 'tactless'. 'She thinks I should leave Harry alone' Ron continued more confidently 'but because you're so good at everything, I was wondering if you could help me instead?' he asked, nervously rubbing the back of his neck with his hand. 'Well, I'm not sure it's wise either, but for the sake of filling the gap in your knowledge, I'll lend you a book with the instructions. Unfortunately, I don't have one that will teach you how to knock before entering a room' Hermione sternly retorted. 'Oh,' Ron began, his face relaxing as comprehension slowly dawned on him. 'Oh right. Well, I – I'll be up in my room, then' he finished, then turned on his heel, pulled the door open and trotted out, happy to be rid of his sister's sharp, burning stare. 'He's so rude! I can't believe that man sometimes!' Hermione apologised, seething. 'Don't worry, Hermione, I'm used to it. After nearly seventeen years here, I've learnt that you don't really get any privacy at the Burrow' Ginny remarked, rather amused, before lying back down in her bed and pulling the covers over her in silence. That night she tossed and turned, wishing more than anything that the lifeless duvet wrapped tightly around her was Harry, then hating herself for it. Harry, where are you? Ginny silently called out, somehow hoping Harry would hear her. Of course, there was simply silence in response, and Ginny eventually drifted off to sleep, her head resting on a damp pillow.