Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter.

A/N: This will eventually be slash, see the description. I write nothing graphic though. Harry's a bit OOC, but he has a very different way of looking at life...since he's dead. I hope you like the story!

There were very few things in Harry Potter's life that he was absolutely certain of. He had an idea that keeping a child in a cupboard when there were two empty bedrooms in a house was probably considered bad, he was a little more sure of the fact that his aunt and uncle hated his guts and lied to him frequently, he was fairly positive that his cousin Dudley would end up in prison at some point in his life, but none of those were complete certainties. Frankly, he only guessed that his name was Harry Potter since his aunt and uncle only called him Freak or Boy, but he figured that Harry might be short for something and no one had bothered to tell him. There was one absolute certainty though, he'd felt it in his bones for as long as he could remember. That certainty was that he, Harry Potter, was indeed dead.

Now, this seems a bit unreasonable, especially taking into account that Harry did in fact eat, sleep, and breathe. When he'd mentioned this belief to a teacher once, she had sat him down and talked him through all the scientific reasons why he was definitely alive. Harry had listened, nodding his dark, shaggy head the entire time, and he heard her, but he didn't believe her. He knew. He didn't know why or how, but he did know…he was dead, a corpse, much more animate than usual, but dead nonetheless.

When he mentioned this belief to his relatives, his aunt screamed at him for fifteen minutes before his uncle threw him into his cupboard and didn't let him out for a week with only tiny scraps of food. Harry went back and forth on his feelings about his cupboard. It reminded him of what a coffin must feel like: small, wooden, and dark. Some days, it seemed fitting, calming almost. Some days, it felt like he couldn't breathe, that he'd been buried six feet underground, and he'd never surface again. Other days he wondered, what if he'd been buried? What if his relatives forgot to feed him a little too long? What if Dudley hit him just a little too hard one day, or he didn't duck fast enough when Aunt Petunia swung the skillet at his head? Could someone who was dead be killed? Could a dead person die? Regardless, he learned to never speak of this certainty around his relatives again.

It's not like there was no evidence that supported him. Frankly, there was definitely evidence. Animals all seemed to know, especially dogs. They either tried to chase him or avoided him. Aunt Marge's dog, Ripper, definitely fell on the chase him side of the spectrum. Also, there was that one night. The night that the Dursleys left the house to go to a restaurant and locked him out in the back garden since he'd been the one to burn dinner, causing them to have to go out. They had gotten stuck in a horrible traffic jam and decided to stay at a hotel for the night. The temperature dropped well below freezing and snow fell from the heavens. Harry ended up curling up under a bush in the backyard, looking at the stars and the snow, and shivering until he just stopped and fell asleep. When the Dursleys arrived back at the house in the morning, Harry uncurled painfully, feeling like his blood had frozen in his joints. However, he went inside, cooked breakfast, and continued on with his day. He figured that probably wasn't normal, but what did he know, he was only nine. And ever since that night, he felt things…like whispers in his mind or the brush of a hand or a phantom hug…things he knew weren't there and hadn't been before his night spent under the snow.

So, armed with his limited evidence, Harry remained sure that he was in fact one of the dearly departed. He maintained this certainty even when other things changed in a whirlwind around him. When his Hogwarts letter came, Harry smiled. Magic was something that might explain what had happened to him. He hated that it had taken so long for him to get the letter, and that Mr. Hagrid had to come and give it to him. He wished his aunt and uncle had just told him that magic did actually exist and that his parents weren't drunks that died in a car crash, but he knew that was asking way too much from Vernon and Petunia Dursley.

Walking through Diagon Alley, Harry wondered if there were more people like him. More people who were dead but also very much alive. The goblins seemed to know…both the teller and the goblin who drove their cart to the vaults gave Harry looks. These looks were surprised, knowing, and had a bit of suspicion in them. Harry just smiled at them, hoping he looked reassuring. Mr. Hagrid didn't seem to notice, but he was so tall that Harry figured he couldn't see everything that happened as close to the ground as Harry and the goblins were.

"Harry, how 'bout I get you yer pet as a birthday gift?" Hagrid asked as they made their way through the stores, spending more money than Harry had ever seen.

"Um, Hagrid…that might not be the best idea," Harry tentatively told the giant man as he tried to look up and catch a glimpse of the man's face with his green eyes. He'd never had a birthday present before in his life, and it was almost painful to tell the man no, but it had to be done.

"Why's that, Harry?" Hagrid stopped and kneeled down to better see Harry…something no adult had ever done before for the boy.

Harry held back a happy smile. "Er, sir, animals don't really like me."

"Now, I don't believe that," Hagrid rumbled a laugh. "A right smart lad like you. I don't see why anyone wouldn't like you," he grumbled with a muttered oath that sounded like Dursley under his breath.

"Oh, no sir," Harry protested, not sure if he was about to lose his friend or not by being too much of a 'freak.' He'd lost more for less. "Since, you know…I'm dead, not many animals seem to like me. I think it scares them a bit," he explained. The big man was magical, the fact Harry was dead shouldn't be too shocking he hoped. Besides, there had to be more people like him.

Hagrid looked at him speculatively for a while, not seeming to be able to discern what Harry actually meant. "I'm sorry…yer dead?"

"Yeah, probably something to do with that curse you said hit me as a baby, but I'm definitely dead, just more breathing than zombie, you know," Harry grinned at him hopefully.

"Well, 'Arry, I don't think I've ever heard of anyone being dead an' breathing before," the large man mused, seeming to take what Harry was saying and running with it. "Reminds me of thestrals some. Now I wonder if you'd be able to see those if yer dead…we'll have to check it out when we get to the castle."

"You believe me?" Harry asked in awe of someone who seemed to be like an adult that was actually believing him.

Hagrid shrugged and patted Harry's shoulder, almost knocking him over. "Well, I don't see why you'd lie to me now would I? Specially not about something like this. Now, I might think yer not actually dead but something else might be goin' on, but that doesn't mean you don't think you are or that you actually aren't. There're more creatures out there in the world than wizards know about and magic does strange things. Who am I to say yer not dead?"

"Thank you, Mr. Hagrid," Harry beamed. "No one's ever believed me before!"

"Pssh!" Hagrid stood and waved him off. "I tol' you, no mister stuff for me. Now, we're going to go pick you out an owl for yer birthday present. Owls are creatures of the dark and friends of death, so're ravens. We'll go to the menagerie and one or t'other will want to go home with you I reckon."

"Really? You think?!" The boy almost vibrated in excitement as they stopped in at Madam Malkin's for Harry's robes first.

"I wouldn't doubt it one bit," Hagrid reassured him, sticking very close to the boy now in concern.

Hagrid took the time while Harry was getting fitted to really study the boy. He looked normal, but something had to be off for him to believe himself to be dead. He hated that the child had been left with those horrible muggles and wished to Merlin he'd protested instead of just handing the baby to Dumbledore all those years before. Growing up there had to be a big part of why the boy thought the way he did. He'd just have to watch how the animals treated the boy, and he was really interested to see if Harry could see the thestrals that pulled the carriages.

With Hagrid hovering over Harry the entire time, a blond boy also getting fitted seemed very disconcerted. He opened his mouth a few times as if to talk to Harry but ended up just looking at Hagrid in a bit of fear, confusion, and disdain. Harry on his part didn't even notice. He'd never had new clothes before, or a present, so he was almost ready to pass out in his excitement. He felt what was close to a hug around him, something that he'd felt many times in the past when he was very distressed, so he didn't know why it was happening now since he was happy. It was just another peculiarity that marked who he was, and even if it was imaginary, it was nice to feel like you were being hugged occasionally.

A snowy owl immediately decided to go home with Harry when they arrived at the menagerie. She hooted softly on Harry's shoulder where she'd immediately flown from her perch to land. "Well, you've been picked," the store owner laughed at the owl's antics. "It normally takes a bit longer to be chosen when you walk in. I feel that you two will have a very strong connection."

"I'll find you a really good name. Something regal," Harry assured his new owl that gently pecked his finger in affection.

"Right! Off fer a wand!" Hagrid exclaimed happily as they left with Harry's new owl and all her supplies. "I tol' you an owl or a raven would pick you. Yer a good lad."

"Thanks Hagrid," Harry beamed at him as they approached Ollivander's, and his owl dutifully entered her cage at the door. "Hagrid, what if a wand doesn't work for dead people?" He asked softly before they entered.

"Then you wouldn't have gotten a Hogwarts letter I reckon," Hagrid assured him, thoroughly bemused by this child. "You'll see. Ollivander will help you get a good one. Mine was just perfect, er, back when I had one that is," he added awkwardly at the end.

Harry could tell he didn't want to talk about it, so instead the boy opened the door and stepped into the dimly lit room crammed full of small, dusty boxes. A bell tinkled in the back. "Ah, someone else for Hogwarts?" An elderly man remarked as he dusted his hands on an apron while walking in from the back room. "My, my, Harry Potter," he remarked as he stared at the boy deeply.

As the staring continued, Hagrid cleared his throat awkwardly, not liking the silence, especially as Harry started looking very embarrassed. "Now, 'Arry, Mr. Ollivander will have you try the wands to see which one suits you best. He'll find you a good one, you'll see," Hagrid said, to snap the man's attention back to the present.

"Oh no, Hagrid," Ollivander shook his head. "No need. I already know what wand Mr. Potter needs. My, my, you are not what I expected."

Harry shuffled his feet in embarrassment. "Is it because I'm dead, sir?" He asked quietly.

"Yes, son, that would be it exactly," Ollivander said with a nod before leaving the room and causing Hagrid to gape after him before looking back to Harry. As much as Hagrid had said he believed Harry, he'd really only believed that Harry believed he was dead…this was…something else.

"I made this wand on a lark, not really thinking it would fit anyone," the elderly man said as he returned with a jet-black box in one hand. "I'd actually thought you might be taking my holly and phoenix feather wand today. My guess was that it would speak to your magic, but that won't do now, no, no. Try this."

Ollivander put the box on the counter and slid it over towards Harry. As he walked closer, Harry knew before even opening the box that this would be his wand, he could feel the pull of the magic. Slowly, he lifted the lid to find an almost white wand with wood so smooth it looked silky. As his fingers touched the wand, all light in the room left and the wand seemed to glow an eerie blue before lights swirled around Harry until the room was lit once more.

"Merlin!" Hagrid exclaimed in awe.

"Oh yes, that's your wand," Ollivander nodded in satisfaction. "Driftwood, eleven inches, with a core made of the hairs of a grim. A wand that is very much dead, but also very much alive."

Harry smiled broadly. "Thank you, sir. That's me exactly."

"You use that well, son," Ollivander instructed him as he wrapped up the box and took the money Hagrid held out to him. "I see you changing our world. You are change just by walking in here and breathing when the laws of nature herself say you shouldn't."

Harry and Hagrid were quiet as they walked back towards the tube station for Harry to return to the Dursleys. "Harry, you may want to be selective in who you tell about yer situation," Hagrid eventually spoke up to say. "I don' know what most people would make of it, and I worry about the way Ollivander was talking. Maybe I'll just keep this to meself and let you decide who you want to know."

Harry smiled at him and the owl the man was carrying, his first present. "Oh Hagrid, besides you and Mr. Ollivander, no one has ever believed me anyway. I'll think about it, but it's who I am. Even when people don't believe me, I think they should know. I mean, I might just drop any minute, right? I'm not supposed to be breathing. I wouldn't want them to be too surprised if I stopped someday."

Hagrid stopped in the middle of the street and stared at his young charge. "Harry, you think you'll just…well now die probably isn't the right word, but you know…stop. You live like that all the time."

Harry shrugged and tugged on Hagrid's sleeve to get him to start walking again. "I've always known I was dead Hagrid. You get used to it. I don't know what it would feel like to be alive and know I could die at any time like you lot. I'm already there, so just stopping one day is expected. I figure at least I don't have to worry about getting sick or being hit by a bus but that I'll just sit down and never get up again sometime. Frankly, I think you alive blokes have more stress than I do. I don't know how you do it."

"I don' understand you, 'Arry, but I'm very interested in figuring you out," Hagrid grinned at his new friend and ruffled his already messy hair.

Harry couldn't believe his luck in running into a wizarding family to help show him how to get onto the platform. He had a sneaking suspicion they were being loud and obvious for the sole purpose that any muggleborns and their families would know who to ask just in case they were lost. At least, that's the little nudge of understanding he got when he encountered them. Another peculiarity of being Harry. Ever since his night out in the snow, sometimes he got those random phantom hugs, and sometimes he got random nudges of information or understanding that would just come to him. It was always welcome though when it happened and dead useful too.

When the redheaded son joined him in his compartment, Harry grinned widely. He wouldn't mind his first friend being in a family that liked to help others, and Dudley was no longer anywhere near to stop him from making a friend. This boy seemed like just the person he'd pick if he could for his first friend. "I'm Ron, Ron Weasley," the redhead eventually introduced himself when he got settled.

"Harry Potter," Harry reached across to shake the boy's hand who was gaping at him.

"Really? Do you have the…scar?" He tentatively asked, eyes flicking to Harry's forehead.

"Oh, yeah," Harry lifted his fringe with a grin.

"Bloody brilliant," Ron breathed out excitedly.

"Well, I think you and your family are brilliant too, especially with helping me on the platform and your brothers helping me with my trunk," Harry said excitedly. "I think we could be friends if you want…?" He asked nervously, praying this boy would agree to be his first friend his own age. He wasn't really sure how one went about making friends, but asking seemed like a good way to start in his opinion.

"Well, yeah, course," Ron smiled back at him shyly.

"Great! Then the first thing you need to know about me is that I'm dead," Harry smiled broadly, happier than even when he'd gotten Hedwig (what he'd named his owl).

Ron stared in confusion. "Excuse me?"

Harry waved a hand dismissively. "It's not a big deal. Really doesn't affect my life much. Just think of it like I'm nearsighted or something, which I guess I am that as well. But, anyway, I had to tell you just in case I suddenly decide to stop breathing and moving one day. So, now you know! Ooo, you want some snacks?! I've never had money for snacks before. My treat!" He exclaimed as a woman pushing a trolley full of snacks appeared at the door to their compartment.

"I don't get you, mate," Ron stared for a minute longer before his lips quirked up in a smile. "I think you're going to be right fun you are though."

"I really hope so," he agreed, buying a couple of everything for them to try it all out. "I haven't really tried fun yet."

"Harry! You all righ' there?!" Hagrid called over the heads of all the students, when he tracked down the boy in the middle of the huddle of first years.

"Yeah, Hagrid. How're you?" Harry waved up at him.

"Oh good. Glad to see this lot back. The castle was too quiet," Hagrid smiled as all the little first years stared at the giant man in awe. "Hey, look over to the carriages the upper years are gettin' in. You see anything pulling them?"

"You mean the strange horses that look like skeletons? Are those the thestral things you wanted to know if I could see?" Harry asked, trying to look through his year mates to get a better look at the horses.

"You see something there?" Ron asked him with wide eyes.

"I don't see anything," the bushy-haired girl who had stopped by their compartment on the train said in frustration.

Hagrid just laughed. "Facinatin' imagine that…Right! Firs' years, into the boats," he instructed, moving back into business mode.

Harry was very glad the blond Malfoy boy hadn't talked with him at Madam Malkin's after all their interactions on the train and during waiting to be sorted. He was extremely unpleasant and reminded Harry a lot of his cousin Dudley. Plus, he insulted Harry's first friend, Ron, who didn't laugh at him when he was told about Harry's less-than-alive status. So…Malfoy went on his not-worth-his-time list. He had a fairly extensive list of things that just weren't worth his time, like trying to make the Dursleys care about him and understanding cricket. He figured that he probably had less time in this world than most people, since he was already dead and eventually the universe or whoever would figure out they'd made a mistake and take him on, so he wasn't going to spend his limited time dealing with things that didn't matter. The blond kid was now almost at the top of that list.

When he was called to try on the battered hat, Harry had another moment like outside of the wand shop…what if dead people didn't get sorted? Yeah, there were ghosts at the school, which he was extremely happy about, but they didn't look like students. He shot a tentative look up at the staff table and caught Hagrid's eye. The man gave him an encouraging nod, so Harry took a deep breath and sat on the stool in front of Professor McGonagall.

…Er…well…I'm sorry, child. In all my time at this school, I don't think I've encountered this situation before… The Hat muttered in a confused way in Harry's mind.

Does that mean you aren't going to sort me? Harry asked anxiously in his head. I can't stay since I'm dead?

Now, now, I didn't say that. The Hat assured him quickly. I'll definitely sort you, but I don't think I've ever encountered a student that was so dead and yet so alive at the same time. Or, rather, I don't think I've tried to sort any dead student before.

Oh, well, that's ok then. Just do your best. I think I'd like to end up with my friend Ron Weasley though, if that helps you make a decision anyway.

Ah, yes, Weasleys always end up in Gryffindor…yes, I think Gryffindor would work pretty well for you. You don't expect to stay mobile and around for much longer, I'd say alive but we're past that, so you really don't have any ambition besides to live to the fullest whatever time you have left and make some friends…actually yes, that is quite a lot of ambition. Slytherin might be good for you then.

Ergh! Malfoy was put in Slytherin. I really don't want to end up with him.

Yes, I see that. He would not make the time you have enjoyable. Ravenclaw won't work. While you're very bright, I doubt you will spend more than the necessary time studying since that would also take up the precious time you have left.

Right on that! Harry agreed enthusiastically.

This is all quite fascinating. If you ever figure out what happened, please come visit me and let me know. So, Gryffindor or Hufflepuff it is. You are extremely loyal, but if you want to spend your remaining time with the Weasley boy, then it must be: "GRYFFINDOR!"

Harry happily rushed over to the cheering Gryffindor table to sit beside a ghost with a large ruff around his neck. "Well, hello little lion…welcome to Gryffindor," the ghost looked at him with more than a passing interest. "I'm Sir Nicholas, and I expect to get to know you much better in the coming years."

"Brilliant! I've never met a ghost before!" Harry beamed at the transparent man.

"And I have never met…whatever you are either," Sir Nicholas assured him enthusiastically.

Based on Harry's experiences with Ollivander and with the Sorting Hat, he had figured that quite a few people would immediately recognize his not-quite-alive status. However, besides the ghosts all looking at him speculatively, it seemed that no one else noticed. His classes ran fairly regularly for classes with the professors introducing each of their subjects on the first day. His almost white wand got several looks, but no one actually questioned him about it. It seemed that asking about someone's wand was rude or something. McGonagall treated everyone equally; Flitwick subconsciously shuddered every time he walked by Harry but never commented; Quirrell seemed nervous, but he was nervous around everyone. Harry got the feeling that the man wasn't well, like he was close to death, so he tried to be extra kind to the DADA professor. It didn't help that he got a headache every time he was close to Quirrell though, he figured he might have a garlic allergy. And Snape seemed to really dislike him for some reason.

When Potions class started, Professor Snape immediately began to berate Harry and insult him. By the time the intimidating man started asking Harry questions, he'd already firmly been placed on Harry's not-worth-his-time list. "Potter! What would I get if I added powered root of asphodel to an infusion of wormwood?" The man snapped sternly at the boy.

Harry opened his mouth to say as politely as possible that he didn't know so they could all move on and start class…that was until the answer just popped into his head. "Draught of Living Death, sir," he said automatically instead.

The potion master paused and glared down at Harry from the front of the room. "All right, Potter, where would you look if I told you to find me a bezoar?"

Harry repressed a smirk at Hermione Granger who almost fell out of her seat trying to get Snape's attention to answer the question. The answer immediately came to the front of his mind once more. "A goat's stomach…or the supply cupboard, sir," he smiled innocently up at the man. Honestly, he had no clue what a bezoar was nor had he ever heard of the Draught of Living Death. He made a point to only study what he needed, and that had not been on the required curriculum for the day.

"Well, well, it seems you may have inherited a touch of your mother's talent at potions, boy," The man said with a sneer. Harry didn't think he had any other expressions, but he was very excited to hear that his mother had been good at potions. It was the only thing he knew about her now besides her name and that she apparently had green eyes. "Let's try one more. What is the difference between monkshood and wolfsbane?"

This time the answer came to him with a sneered Snivellus added on at the end. Harry figured it must be an insult to the man, but he had no clue why he'd think of that. He disregarded it since, if he used it, he'd make an enemy (the opposite of being on the not-worth-my-time list) and it wasn't that good of an insult anyway. "I believe they're the same, sir, but I could be wrong."

"Why aren't you all taking notes?!" Snape growled to the rest of the class who immediately pulled out parchment and quills to frantically start writing.

It turns out that answering Snape's questions correctly does nothing to endear yourself to the man. He was as unpleasant and snappy the rest of class as he was before Harry answered him. The worst down-side though had to be that Hermione Granger decided they must be study buddies from here on out. "Look, Hermione, I don't study over what's required; I don't need a study-partner; and I honestly don't care much about my grades," Harry finally sighed as she tried to corral him into the library for the third time.

The girl looked completely scandalized. "What do you mean you don't care about your grades?!"

"There are more important things in life than school," Harry said before seeing Ron and rushing off to save himself from the thoroughly scandalized girl.

In the coming days, Harry really did try to just ignore Malfoy and not let him and his insults get to him, but he kept bringing Ron into it, and Harry couldn't stand by and let his one friend be insulted. He would admit that saving Neville's Remembrall was unnecessary and went against his ignoring policy but flying on a broom didn't frighten him at all. It's not like he could fall off and die, and Neville seemed like a good potential second friend if he could get the boy to calm down and stop worrying so much. Life, or whatever he had, was too short to worry all the time. Quidditch though, that sounded like something he might be interested in doing, it sounded fun anyway, so he was pretty happy about being placed on the team.

So, all in all, things were going pretty smoothly. Harry visited Hagrid often, did the bare minimum in Potions, stayed as far away from Professor Flitwick as he could, and tried to be kind to Professor Quirrell while maintaining as much distance as possible from the garlic smell. The troll was an interesting bit of excitement added to the mix of the routine he had.

As Harry and Ron followed the prefect from the Great Hall, the inner voice in Harry's mind gave him a nudge: Granger. That was all it took for Harry to remember that Hermione had been seen in the bathrooms crying and she wouldn't know about the troll.

"Ron, Hermione, we have to go tell her about the troll," Harry turned to the redhead frantically. It was partially their fault she had gotten so upset to begin with. They couldn't just leave her. Besides, Harry figured he could distract the troll while the two living people ran if need be.

"Bloody hell," Ron exclaimed, but followed Harry as they ran away from the Gryffindor group.

"Leave me and run if things get bad. I'll distract the troll. Remember, I'm already dead anyway," Harry told his friend seriously as they ran towards the girls' restroom.

"I'm not just going to leave you Harry, and I'm still not completely sold on the you being dead bit," Ron growled in frustration from behind his friend.

"Whatever, just get you and Hermione out. I'll be fine," Harry rolled his eyes as they skidded to a stop when the massive mountain troll appeared just around the corner.

"I can't believe we lived through that!" Ron gasped as he, Harry, and now Hermione made their way to the tower.

"Yeah, and that Hermione stuck up for us like that," Harry grinned at their new friend.

The girl turned pink in embarrassment. "Well, not too many people would take on a troll for a person."

"True, but Harry has no self-preservation at all," Ron nodded with glare towards the green-eyed boy.

"Oh, yeah, right. Hermione," Harry turned to her seriously before pulling them both into an alcove. "So, if you're going to officially be my second-ever friend, I need to let you in on the secret," he began.

"Here goes," Ron rolled his eyes at his friend.

"Secret?" Hermione asked in confusion, but also looked fairly pleased to be welcomed into the group as a friend.

"Yeah, well, I'm dead, and if you're my friend, you should know because I might just stop moving and breathing and such one day and I don't want you to be surprised. Plus, in dangerous situations like we just experienced, you and Ron need to save yourselves and don't worry about me. I'm dead anyway, so living people get out first," Harry explained with a tentative look on his face, hoping she wouldn't scream and run or something like that.

Hermione just stared at him. Ron sighed, "He really does believe he's dead. It doesn't impact much at all though, so if you don't believe him, he's fine if you just go with it."

"You believe you're…dead," Hermione said slowly in disbelief.

"Look, you believe in magic and trolls and ghosts, I don't see how a dead person walking around is such a stretch," Harry glared at Ron. "But yeah, it doesn't impact my life much. Just don't tell people since I'm strange enough as it is, and now you know in case I start acting a lot more dead than I currently am."

Hermione nodded. "Ok, I can do that. I am going to the library to research the effects of that killing curse you were hit with as a baby though." She probably thought it had caused some mental issues.

Harry shrugged. "Eh, probably a good idea. I have a feeling it's just going to say I'm definitely dead though…so, whatever."

And that's how it went. Ron and Hermione pretty much forgot Harry's warnings and belief he was dead. He never mentioned the voices or the disembodied hugs, so they didn't have many reminders of his oddity. After her cursory glance in the library where she really only found that, yes, the killing curse killed and there wasn't a way to block it, Hermione eventually gave up looking. When you have the only person to ever survive something, there isn't much research that has been done into lingering effects.

It wasn't until someone cursed Harry's broom, trying to kill him, that the next reminder of his situation came up. Once he was back on the ground and coughed up the snitch, Madam Hooch insisted he be taken to get checked out by Madam Pomfrey. "Really, I'm fine. Nothing happened," Harry assured his teammates who escorted him to the infirmary and dropped him in an exceptionally white bed.

"And you may leave once I ascertain that," Madam Pomfrey glared at the boy she had just met. She really wished that a less dangerous sport would catch on at the school.

"See you in the common room to celebrate," the Weasley twins winked at him before the team left him to the stern witch.

With a sigh, the medi-witch raised her wand and started casting diagnostic spells at Harry. She frowned and cast them again. Then she cast them again. "Er, Madam Pomfrey…I probably should warn you that I'm dead," Harry eventually added in around the fifth time she had cast the spells and was getting more and more worried.

"What? I don't understand," she looked very confusedly at the boy. "Every single diagnostic says you are as dead as a long-interred corpse. It makes absolutely no sense. I can clearly see you alive in front of me. What do you mean that you're dead?"

Harry shrugged, not really knowing how to explain it. "I really don't know the how, just the what. I've always known that I'm dead. Since I keep eating, breathing, and walking around, it doesn't really impact much though."

The witch's lips thinned into a stern line as she processed what he was explaining. "How many people know of this?" She finally asked, sitting on the edge of the bed with Harry and looking at him kindly.

"Er, Hagrid, Mr. Ollivander figured it out, the sorting hat…oh, and I told Ron and Hermione in case I just stop acting alive one day so they wouldn't worry," he explained as the woman shook her head in stunned surprise. "Would you be able to tell if whatever magic is holding me together is going to hang around for a while or not?"

Madam Pomfrey just shook her head in the negative. "Do you happen to know when you died?"

He was sad to hear that, but he hadn't really expected her to have an answer. "Not really, my guess is that the killing curse that hit me did actually kill me though."

She nodded as if she had expected that answer. "Mr. Potter…Harry, I don't think you should tell anyone else about this," she finally said after some thought. "At least be very selective in who you tell. You see…necromancy or death magic is very looked down upon and highly illegal."

"I didn't do it!" Harry quickly protested in fear. "Besides, I was a baby at the time!"

"I know," the woman assured him and grabbed onto one of his hands to give it a quick, comforting squeeze. "But, if the ministry were to hear of you, no matter who did the magic, they would want to bring you in to study you. You may find that you spend the rest of your days in the Department of Mysteries being poked and prodded."

Harry went very pale. "No, but I probably don't have much time left. I'd like to make some more friends and have another adventure or two."

"Then let's make sure you can enjoy it, how about that?" The medi-witch smiled at him, a little sadness in her gaze. "I'll keep this between us, and if anything at all strange happens, you come directly to me. Make sure your friends know not to tell anyone about you and keep the secret to yourself from here on out."

"What about the headmaster? Should he know?" Harry asked after a moment of thought. "I've considered telling him before, because, you know, I might not be around a long time, but I never could decide."

Madam Pomfrey slowly shook her head. "No, let's hold off on that just for now. I don't see that he really needs to know, and the less people in on the secret, the safer it is for you. If anything were wrong with you, Headmaster Dumbledore would just send you to me anyway."

"That makes sense," Harry smiled at her. "Thank you, Madam Pomfrey. I really appreciate the warning."

Classes continued and Harry seemed to all a normal, if not slightly strange, student. The voices in the back of his mind really didn't help him that much. Frankly, he wished they would help him in his classes more. They seemed set on only helping him in Potions though, and the advice was usually accompanied by an insult to the professor that Harry was careful not to relay. Harry's competence in Potions did nothing to endear the acerbic professor to him, not that Harry cared since he'd firmly placed the man on his not-worth-his-time list. Harry did realize that hearing voices wasn't normal, but he was definitely not normal anyway, and as long as they were being helpful…

The voices were actually fairly quiet overall with long stretches of Harry hearing nothing. However, as soon as Harry, Ron, and Hermione set off to save the Philosopher's Stone, the voices all started yelling. It was more of a mumbled cacophony, and still quiet enough that Harry pushed the noise to the very back of his mind and focused on the mission.

Harry and Hermione paused after solving Snape's riddle. "Hermione, you go back and take care of Ron. I'll keep going," Harry reached for the potion vial to move forward.

"You don't know what you're going to find in the next room," Hermione wrung her hands in worry.

Harry just smiled at her broadly. "You forget I'm already dead. It's not like whatever is in there can actually kill me."

She just shook her head adamantly. "Harry…you aren't dead. Please, you have to believe me. You can't just run in there thinking you're invincible!"

"I'm not invincible, but if I just stop living…well that's just setting nature right…you see," Harry assured her ineffectively. "I've always felt that I could just take a step and be somewhere else, somewhere I'm supposed to be."

"No, Harry, don't…"

Harry had already downed the potion and walked through the flames before she could continue protesting. "Well, aren't you interesting?" Harry commented with a surprised raise of his eyebrow as he realized that Professor Quirrell had joined him in death and was only still moving around because of the parasite sitting on the back of his head.

"Harry Potter!" Quirrellmort spit out as he turned to stare at the boy.

"Professional curiosity, but do you feel different now?" Harry asked as he studied the confused dead man in front of him. "I mean, personally, I can tell, but can you tell that you've died?"

"What're you talking about, boy?!" Quirrell sputtered.

"Don't listen to the brat! Use him to get the stone!" The parasite ordered from the back of the professor's head.

"Right…so all this wasn't Snape…got it," Harry nodded as the DADA professor made him look into the mirror.

Harry studied the retreating form of Albus Dumbledore. It seemed the headmaster still didn't know he was dead. He was beyond surprised Madam Pomfrey kept his secret and that the headmaster hadn't checked on him himself. He's also had to side-step a potentially telling situation when the headmaster had asked about his wand with curiosity clearly on his face. Harry had just reminded him that it wasn't very polite to ask about someone's wand, but that his had worked exceptionally well for him since he got it. Headmaster Dumbledore had looked a little constipated at that answer, but Harry didn't budge, so he had to give it up. Harry liked his headmaster, but he was taking Madam Pomfrey's warning seriously. He did NOT want to spend the rest of his…life?...afterlife?...as an experiment.

"'Arry!" Hagrid boomed out happily as he passed the headmaster to enter the infirmary.

"Hagrid! You came to visit!" Harry smiled welcomingly at his friend. It warmed his dead heart that the man would think to stop by and visit him in the infirmary.

"Well…I needed to make sure you weren't more dead now didn' I?" Hagrid plopped into the chair Dumbledore had just vacated, making it groan ominously.

"Oh wonderful, I'd forgotten you knew," Madam Pomfrey bustled over with a relieved smile on her face. It seemed she was happy someone besides her was in on the secret.

"So, what's the answer?" Harry questioned in concern. "Am I more dead?"

"Well, you're definitely deceased," she tutted with a harried look. "As for more, I don't even know how to check for that."

"Should he have died?" Hagrid asked with eyes as wide as saucers in concern. He hadn't realized it had been so close even though he'd made a joke about it. "I thought it weren't that serious."

"Headmaster Dumbledore just said I'd used a bit too much magic," Harry commented questioningly.

Madam Pomfrey waved her wand over him one more time and huffed in frustration. "By the time I saw you, your magic was building back up, but I don't know how low it got. Usually, those who die from complete magic exhaustion stop breathing and moving. I don't know what it'd look like if the person stayed animate," she explained with a shrug of helplessness.

"So…I could be a bit more dead," Harry concluded as he reached for a chocolate frog on the table beside him. "Might as well enjoy this then."

"'Arry," Hagrid frowned. "You sure you're ok? I don' like that Madam Pomfrey can't help you any."

"I always did like Hagrid," a woman's voice clearly said out in Harry's mind. "I wish I had spent more time with him."

Harry's eyes widened as he almost choked on the chocolate frog. He'd never heard the voices that clearly before; normally they were more of a low mumble or nudge.

"Yeah, I feel bad about that prank we pulled with his pumpkins in third year now," a man's voice added.

"It was incredibly juvenile," the woman agreed.

"Er…Hagrid, Madam Pomfrey, could I maybe rest a bit more? I'm still kind-of tired," Harry was actually very tired, but mainly he wanted to get rid of the two so he could figure out what was going on in his head.

"Oh no, Prongslet still doesn't feel good. You think he's ok?" The man asked in concern.

"Of course, Harry. You rest all you need," Madam Pomfrey patted his hand comfortingly before shuffling Hagrid towards the door.

"Feel better!" The giant man called out behind him.

Harry waited until they cleared the room. "Ok, who are you two? Where are you? And who is Prongslet?" He hissed out quietly into the room.

"Lils, you think he heard us?" The man asked in an overly excited tone.

"Yes, James, it did sound that way," the woman huffed. "Hey, baby, can you actually hear us or are we just still mumbles?"

"Er, yeah, I can hear you. It's not as good as if you were right beside me, but you're clear," Harry explained. "So, are you the voices from the back of my head all these years?"

"Mostly," the woman, Lils, responded. "There are more here, but it's mostly just been us."

"Kay…cool. Nice to finally meet you…" Harry paused with an excited thought. "Hey, James and Lils…are you…are you Mum and Dad?!"

"Yes! Harry! I can't believe you can actually hear us…well, hear us clearly anyway!" James Potter exclaimed in Harry's mind.

"So, I guess I've finally gone crazy," Harry mumbled with an eyeroll at his life. "At least I get to talk to my parents in my insanity."

"Oh, Love, you aren't crazy," Lily Potter assured him. "You're just dead...so you have a connection to our side. From our end, you look like a ghost just standing still in the afterlife. You've grown and gotten bigger over the years, but you are just standing here with us, part here and part not."

Harry tried to process that. "Er, why can I hear you better now?"

"Madam Binns…Professor Binns's wife has a theory that you get closer to our side each time you should have died as a living person," Lily explained. "When you were nine…well, when that atrocity happened, you looked much clearer on our side and we started to notice that you actually heard us a bit. Now…well, Madam Pomfrey did say that you could have died, and you're clearer again on our side."

"Professor Binns was married?" Harry asked in surprise. Frankly, that was a little more surprising to him than what his mum had just explained. What she said made perfect sense to him…that Binns had been married, that was just odd.

"Yes, and she's very angry that he's hanging around Hogwarts still instead of moving on," Harry's dad chuckled. "I think he might be trying to avoid her. She's a bit…harsh."

"She does know her magical theory though, so I think she might be right on this one," Lily added in a disapproving tone towards her husband.

"Oh, ok…" Harry yawned tiredly. "I want to know all about you both."

"And we'll tell you everything," Lily assured him kindly. "Now, try to sleep again for a while. We have all summer to tell you stories now and hear all about you too."

"Hmm, that sounds good," Harry mumbled already falling asleep with a smile on his face. "Love you Mum and Dad."

"We love you too, Harry," James Potter said proudly as Harry drifted off.

Up Next: Second year and meeting new people...