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Chapter 3 : In Dreams
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The kitchen of Number Twelve was packed to the brim with his friends and family. Ron, Hermione and Ginny were there, and Luna and Neville were there too. The rest of the Weasley clan filled the table near him, and several members of the Order of the Phoenix, including Dumbledore, Tonks, Remus, Moody, and Kingsley, were seated father down. Even more members, some he did not know, but recognized, were standing at the far end of the room.
It was nighttime, he could tell. The house was hauntingly quiet, aside from a distant, high-pitched ringing noise that it seemed only he could hear.
Harry looked at everyone in the kitchen. They were all staring at him, smiling, yet they said and did nothing. What were they all staring at, Harry thought?
Harry sat at the end of the long kitchen table, watching them all in return. They only continued to stare at him, smiling pointlessly. He could feel his temper rising. What did they want from him? Why didn’t they say anything?
“Harry….” Ginny suddenly spoke, her grin fading ever so slightly. She said nothing else.
Harry turned and scowled at her. The sweetness of her voice as she said his name suddenly made his stomach churn, as if he were going to be sick.
“Everything’s going to be just fine, Harry.” It was Dumbledore who had spoken next. Upon hearing the old man’s voice, something in Harry seemed to snap.
He jumped to his feet, kicking his chair back as he did so, feeling more and more rage rise to the surface. He was disgusted. They simply stared and stared at him, doing nothing. What was the purpose of that? What good were they? He hated them. He especially hated Dumbledore, the stupid old man. What did he know. He surely did not know more magic than himself. He, Harry, was more powerful than them all, and he would prove it. He drew his wand.
“Harry? Why?” This was a new voice. The person to which this voice belonged, Harry had not remembered being at the table. But even before he looked down towards the end of the long room, he knew his godfather would be standing there. Sirius watched him, his eyes sad, caring. But Harry didn’t care. He hated them. He hated all of them. They were of no use to him. He raised his wand, shouting a spell he did not remember knowing.
Moody, being the most well trained Auror in the room, had summoned a shield charm. The fiery-red spell Harry had cast bounced off of the shield and into the ceiling, causing chunks of plaster and a cloud of dust to be released into the air.
Suddenly as if Harry had suddenly turned into some vile creature, everyone in the room jumped up and drew their wands as well, and immediately pointed them at Harry. He could see looks of anger and disgust on every one of their faces as they stared at him, but, much more prominent than that, was slight hint of fear in each and every one of their eyes.
Harry did not care. He knew they were no match for him. He raised his wand again, and this time, he performed incredible magic. A power suddenly radiated out from him, although he had uttered no spell. The wave of energy knocked almost every occupant of the room off of their feet, and in the same instant, five simultaneous jets of red light flew from his wand, hitting the five people closest to him. Ron, Hermione, Ginny, and Mr and Mrs Weasley all fell to the ground, unmoving. He smiled as he watched them fall. Mad-Eye Moody, Kingsley and Tonks all sent spells towards him, yet he flicked his want lazily, blocking their spells as if merely swatting away some annoying flies. They would pay for their disrespect. Before the Aurors’ three spells had even had time to bounce back into the opposite wall, Harry had struck again. A brilliant flash of silver light erupted from his want, again without a sound from him, and took out not only the Aurors, but more members of the Weasley family and the Order of the Phoenix. They tried to defend themselves against him, but Harry’s power was too great. His spells shattered any shields they tried to conjure. They could not beat him.
Dumbledore was one of the last people still standing. Harry could see the old man tiring, as the pair dueled back and forth. He could no deny the old fool knew a great deal of magic, but he, Harry, was better. They dueled fiercely, sending spells endlessly back and forth, Harry blocking every one with ease.
But finally, the old man had not been quick enough. Harry waved his wand in a wide arch over his head, and a golden whip-like blast of light struck Dumbledore in the chest. Harry grinned sickeningly as he watched the fool fall to the ground.
And then, there was only one person left standing. Sirius stood at the end of the table, staring at Harry, heartbrokenly. He had never once raised his wand.
Harry laughed at the fool. This would be too easy.
The high pitched ringing had been escalating all the time. It was now all he could hear, and the volume of it threatened to make his ear drums burst. But he ignored it. He had a job to do.
Time slowed down as Harry raised his want and said the words.
The blast of green light rushed toward the man standing opposite him. The man who’s eyes had never once left Harry’s face, pleading with him wordlessly.
He did not defend himself as the light connected with his chest, and he fell to the ground, dead.
Harry sad bolt upright in his bed in Gryffindor Tower, a scream emanating from his lips. His scar was on fire with a pain so intense that he was sure that his skull had been split in two. His heart pounded with the memory of the dream, at the sick satisfaction he had gotten from watching his friends fall. He could almost sense a hint of that pleasure as it still faded from his mind.
In just a moment, the pain had receded to a tolerable level, and he collapsed back into his bed, eyes wide in horror.
What on earth had just happened to him, he thought? Why on earth would he have such a detestable dream, where he murdered his friends….and enjoyed it?
Harry suddenly remembered where he was and pulled his bed’s curtains back, checking the room. All his roommates were gone. It had to have been sometime in the afternoon. There was a chair by his bed. Someone had been sitting with him up until recently, but he wondered who, and why?
And then, the flood of memories from the previous night came rushing back to him, and he thought he might retch as he remembered.
His godfather, Sirius, was really dead -- Bellatrix had killed him.
He was the subject of the prophecy that he had been tricked into fetching from the Department of Mysteries, and he was destined to either murder, or be murdered, by Voldemort. His emotions threatened to take him over as he lay back down into his bed.
He could feel tears welling up in his eyes at the thought that Sirius was actually gone, and the weight of the world that was on his shoulders. He covered his face in his hands, and wept silently.
He stayed like that for several minutes, before realizing that he had not been alone at the Ministry last night. His friends had come with him, and gotten hurt.
He jumped out of bed, realizing he was still wearing his clothes from last night. They were bloodstained from the various cuts and gashes he had received. He quickly went to change into a clean pair of robes. He couldn’t help but notice that his hands were trembling as he did so. He was still quite shaken up by his dream. Then, just as he had experienced last night, a bone-tingling chill ran up his spine, and he twitched his neck in spite of himself. And for just a moment, he imagined the scene from his dream, dozens of fallen bodies surrounding him and a sick happiness crept into his thoughts.
Harry threw the thought from his mind, disgusted with himself. He shook his head and took off out of the dormitory. He descended the stairs into the common room, thankful that there were only a few third or fourth years in the corner. He suspected now that everyone knew about Voldemort’s return.
He exited the portrait hole and set off at a run towards the Hospital Wing, desperate to see his friends. He passed few people in the corridors, and each and every one of them stared at him as they passed, in a sort of reverie. Perhaps they now realized that he had not, after all, been crazy. None of them spoke to him as he ran by, and he was glad of it.
When he was nearly there, something slowed him down. The ringing was back - the same ringing he had heard in his dream and the night before as he was leaving Dumbledore’s office. It was a buzzing sound, a high-pitched squeal that got increasingly louder with every moment. He continued on again, approaching the doors to the hospital wing, his annoyance at the sound multiplying by the second.
He pushed open the heavy doors, and immediately saw all of his friends who had accompanied him to London the night before.
Ron was sitting straight up in his bed, staring at the figure sleeping next to him. Hermione lay there, looking peaceful, with a large bandage wrapped around her chest. Ron as well had many bandages around his arms, covering the places where Harry knew the tentacles of many brains had left painful-looking welts. Ginny was in the bed furthest away, her ankle in a cast. Neville and Luna were on the other side of the room. Neville’s nose had been repaired, and he and Luna seemed to be engaged in a game of exploding snap.
However when Harry entered, they all turned to look at him.
“Harry, mate…” Ron trailed off, quickly looking back at Hermione. Harry crossed over to them and settled himself by Hermione’s bed, his hands continuing to twitch in annoyance of the ringing in his ears.
“Is she okay?” Harry asked, looking down at his friend. She was pale and had many cuts and bruises, just like the rest of them, but she looked as if she were resting peacefully.
“Madame Pomfrey said she would be better in a few days. She just needs rest and time for the internal damage to heal.” Ron said quietly. Ginny had limped over from her bed to sit next to Ron.
“Where did you go last night, Harry?” Ginny asked, slightly scared of what Harry’s answer would be. “You ran off so quickly, after….” she could not bring herself to mention Sirius’ death.
Harry thought back to the night before, to his confrontation with Bellatrix, and then his run-in with Voldemort himself. Could he really bring himself to recall the previous night’s events?
But he did. He described how he had chased after Bellatrix. With some trepidation, he told them how he had, in his anger, tried and failed to perform the Cruciatus Curse on her.
“Harry!” Neville said, surprised. Harry couldn’t bring himself to meet Neville’s eyes, but plunged forward again into his story. He told them about how Voldemort had then appeared in the middle of the Atrium, how he had been completely defenseless, and how Dumbledore had come to his aid.
The four of them listened in awe as Harry then described the battle that took place between Voldemort and their headmaster. Harry had been amazed, yet terrified as he had watched the battle, as the atrium had been destroyed around him. He knew that if Dumbledore had not shown up, Harry might have never made it out of there.
But as Harry neared the end of this story, he hesitated to tell them of how the battle had ended -- of what had happened after Voldemort had disapparated from Dumbledore’s watery prison. He paused. The ringing in his ears continued, and his fingers twitched.
“Then what happened, Harry?” Ginny whispered.
Harry cringed as he recalled the feeling of being possessed by Voldemort. Of the absolute loss of power and movement as Voldemort took complete control over him. He had been trying to get Dumbledore to kill him. Harry squeezed his eyes closed as the ringing reached an unbearable pitch.
Harry's voice caught in his throat, “He….he just appeared back in the middle of the room….” he lied, rubbing his ears, hoping the deafening sound would stop. “He was there just long enough for Fudge to see him…..then he left….”
“So the git finally knows he’s back….” Ron said as Harry finished his story.
“Harry, are you alright?” Luna asked. Harry could barely hear her. The high pitched noise was as loud as ever, and he had grabbed his ears in desperation. The familiar rage was once again building in his mind.
“I just….” He stumbled over his words. “…I can’t hear….”
And just before he felt consciousness slip from his mind, a fierce rage erupted from the depths of his soul. An invisible wave of power emanated from him, causing everything in the room to tremble, and he collapsed into the floor.
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