Extraterrestrial Attraction

The Master Of Death

It had started seven years after the war. Harry didn't know why he bothered to remember, but every now and then, the memories would come back. 

Like ghosts 

6 years earlier:

Harry watched his friends rejoice with their families, standing in the background, staring at them like he was watching it on a movie screen.

He watched everyone cry for the people whom they had lost, and he stood back, not having any more tears to shed. He watched everyone celebrate the life they could now live, but he only sat and watched, not even raising his glass when Hermione purposed a toast just for him. Everybody else raised their glasses, all of them looking at him with joy and gratitude. He could see it, their gratitude, their reverence. 

It made him.......sick.

He didn't visit his family. He no longer had any family to visit. He didn't cry for the people that he had lost. He had not enough tears to shed for them all.

Sirius fell through a veil, a ticket to the other side. His godfather would never come back to him, never prank Remus or the Weasley family again. Between his own fortune and his godfather's, he could have probably bought out the Ministry. The greedy bastards would have taken all they could get. 

Remus laid still, holding hands with his best friend, and the mother of his child. He left his child in the care of his mother-in-law, a renegade with Black Magic still running through her veins. He had cried for these people many times already, but he no longer had tears to shed or have grief to brave. 

The thoughts rolled through his head like a roaring tidal wave, constantly crashing against the shores of his consciousness that barely held back any emotions that came with them. 

The days went by. Everyone was moving on, coping with the guilt of murder by having children and staying faithful to their spouses. The heavy burden that was put upon them when that green light left their wand and hit their enemy never seemed to penetrate through the false sense of love, peace, and harmony that everyone had trapped themselves in. 

Harry knew better. He watched as the life he knew crumbled into tiny pieces. The Earth Mother, once so vibrant and full of life, was dying. At first, he could barely feel it. It was a small, distant hum in the back of his mind. The subdued stench of decay clung faintly to the trees and grass surrounding Potter Manor, and it mixed with the smell of sulfur coming from the muggle factory not too far away from his home. The stench made him retch every time he stepped outside, and the animals around his manor continued to die out in places that Harry couldn't help but find whenever he did leave his big, empty house. 

For years, he could feel the decay and death get worse. After the war, Harry had become accustomed to being around death, having experienced it himself. However, he could practically feel the death of his mother planet, and he knew that there was nothing that he could do to stop it. 

Eventually, he could no longer feel Gaia's energy through his shoes. He had taken to walking everywhere barefoot, when he left that is, ignoring all of the weird looks no matter where he was, whether it be in the Muggle town a few miles away, or Diagon Ally. 

The trees around his home withered. Their once prosperous, green-leaved branches only held shriveled husks of beauty. The menial, every-season task of raking leaves was no longer needed because alas, there were no longer any more leaves to rake. 

Harry watched helplessly as his home died, feeling like it had taken his own life, his passion, with it. 

The Mother was dying. Maybe Voldemort was right. Muggles are a blight on life, a disease that spread through every belief, every hate-filled child that was given life.