Title: Curses of your Imagination
Author: Shooting Starlight
Genre: Action/Adventure/Horror
Rating: PG
Warnings: Some violence, some mild language
Summary: During one sleepless night at the Dursley's in the summer of his fourth year, Harry suffers from terrible nightmares. Now, his worst one is brought to life, with disastrous happenings, frightening situations and tragic consequences.
Disclaimer: All characters/places etc.recognized in the Harry Potter books are under copyright of J.K Rowling.
Chapter 1 – A Haunted Sleep
The ever-stretching night had arrived another time, opening up its surroundings to the wide world and the slumber that settled upon it. The distant, but still hazy moon cast down its brightness on the streets, sending the pavements into shadow traps, created by the ordinary objects planted on the kerb.
It was late into the evening, much time after midnight, signalling to the world that this was the new age of trickery, the 31st October, and Halloween or Hallows Eve, as the people knew it. It had been one hectic night. Pranks had been carried out on the 'not-too-giving', packed with plenty of squeals. The amount of silly string, broken eggs and toilet paper on the streets was countless.
Many trick-or-treaters had already done their rounds for the night, getting back into the tradition before it left again for another year, and now lay in their beds; their costumes stained with chocolate...their tummies bulging and their smiles contented.
Only one person was not tucked up in bed. He was a skinny young boy, with brilliant green eyes behind black-rimmed glasses, rather baggy clothes and messy black hair. He walked down those deserted streets with his hands in his jeans pockets, kicking at stones and thinking deeply. His name was Harry Potter.
He didn't really seem to notice the night at all, or the time, but carried along his way as if midnight walks went out of fashion.
It was a rather chilly evening, with a slight bitter wind, which blew through tree branches with a whistle and ruffled Harry's hair as he went. He kept his eyes on the ground, concentrating on where he was going...and for this there was a thoughtful frown on his face. It was as if this path was important, and he was meant to find something at the end.
As if he had walked this path many times before...he knew the way.
There was a funny feeling in the air, and anyone who would come by would notice it. Something not friendly, or warm...for everything seemed to feel cold. And parents would hide this from their children, by bringing usual excuses.
"It's just the ghosts returning home...they won't hurt you..."
"It's not a witch...it's a tree, look...the shadows make it look like that..."
"It's nothing...! There is nothing there...for crying out loud...a kid of your age...can't even say 'Boo' to a goose...I shouldn't be having this...if you get me up again..."
"It's only the ghouls...they've come out to say hello..."
But whether they worked or no, nothing could stop them from thinking that there was something wrong about the night, even if they tried to switch their minds to something less foreboding, that feeling still lingered. This was probably the reason why the curtains were drawn shut...why the burglar alarms could be seen flashing inside doors, and even one house had bolted theirs with six or seven visible locks. It was the sense of fear that most adults hadn't felt since they were young children themselves.
Harry scuffed the pavement pensively with his trainer, still frowning, and trying to figure out where the path was taking him that he followed so carefully. He felt as if he were travelling into the centre of a maze, only that his road was already laid out before him, and it just kept going on into the shadows, far into the night...no twists or turns...one way to go.
He couldn't even remember why he was here...or where he was heading. Yet he trekked on, with a strange feeling in his stomach that he couldn't ignore.
A sudden, strong gust of wind almost blew him backwards, as if it were in the formation of another person, commanding him to turn back and not go any further. Despite the whole mystery of the night, and the uncanny loneliness all around him, he fought on, squinting past the breeze, the temperature so frostbitten his very breath could be seen on the air.
Then, as if out of a thick, black vortex...there was a light. It shimmered faintly; three or four houses away from where Harry was, flickering and dimming like a poisoned candle, green, as a cluster of emeralds...and it didn't feel safe at all. Harry didn't feel safe. His heart pounded uncontrollably and his muscles tensed, and his chest tightened with such a sense of apprehension he felt his lungs would burst with the pressure.
His eyes kept sight on it, mingling with the fear, the curiosity, and the colour. Although everything his mind threw at him was to 'stay put', 'keep out of trouble', 'and don't go'…he found his feet moving slowly, as if he were unable of their direction anymore.
Maybe I was meant to find this. Maybe this was where this path was leading me here.
His steps gradually fell into a run, his breath gasping in his throat and his temples throbbing against the sound of his trainers pounding the street. He suddenly felt desperate, as his heart raced with the wind, which still persisted to hold him back. It was as if it were saying that he wasn't meant to be here...he shouldn't be here in the first place.
He almost let out a scream, with the weight of fear holding him down. His fringe hung in his eyes and his mouth suddenly went dry, as ferocious and frightening bangs rang out, echoing and rolling down the street. Something was wrong, Harry knew.
Stopping in front of the correct house, he skidded to the driveway with a halt and looked up. Besides the swollen feeling in the pit of his stomach, which was beginning to fade, another sensation was upon him. A personal feeling of happy times, a memory of a forgotten life.
He actually felt as if he wanted to smile, gripping the gateway with one hand and staring at it as if it were an old friend, coming to answer all of his confusing questions. That sense came back now, stronger...as he realised that the house felt familiar to him. Not just from the outside – but as if there were a glow proceeding from it, bringing back an old tale...and filling a gap in his mind that no longer seemed awake.
He didn't feel lost now. In fact, he didn't even wonder why he had been walking around all by himself. Because now, he felt at home.
That was it. This house was his home. Or at least it felt like it, as he broke away from the gate, a slow ice flowing through his veins at the memory of the bangs...and the light. He suddenly felt worried, wondering why others in their homes next door hadn't heard.
Now he took cautious steps into the driveway, muttering inaudible words of encouragement under his breath. A feeling of a steel hand tightened his throat, as he stared in disbelief at the door before him.
It was open, left barely more than a crack. This brought a flood of suspicions to his mind, as he knew perfectly well that doors were tightly shut after dark, and the very thought sent an ache into his heart, so powerful he thought he may collapse.
He blinked uncertainly, wishing someone to come by and close that door, or maybe even the wind...if it decided to help him this time. Harry could feel a thumping in his chest, his mouth thick and dry, and he kept thinking to himself; I don't like it like this. Something horrible's going to happen...maybe it's happening right now. And he had been saying this to himself in his head for the last few minutes, but nothing could compare the fright he had felt already than the one he was about to experience.
"JAMES!" A shrill cry rang out from the house. Someone's voice...a woman's voice. The very sound of it drove a knife of pure horror through Harry's chest, causing him to gasp from the brutal force. His body trembled now...from the shock and the cold.
That woman...she sounded so terrified, so frightened...so wounded. She...she's hurt, she's been hurt – she's in pain! Someone's hurting her – someone's in there with her!
Not even understanding where his feet were taking him, he found himself running, his heartbeat pulsating and his breaths desperate...urgent. A lump forged in his throat as he tried to call out for the woman, to tell her that he was coming to help her...she would be all right...but his voice seemed trapped and forgotten, as his eyes landed on the shadow waiting for him in the doorway.
It lay, limp and still, not moving an inch. Harry felt his mind scream as he saw it to be the shape of a body, motionless on the floorboards as if it had shrunken into a deep sleep. Or worse...Harry was dreading that last outcome.
As he slowly made his way over, his legs again hung down as if they were stone pillars...he managed to break them as his knees took to a crouch beside the fallen figure. Please be alive...please don't be dead...please, let me be able to do something...it can't be too late...too late...
A trembling hand reached out and shook the limp form, as softly as possible and not thinking about how heavy it seemed to be. He gulped, fighting the thoughts and to speak, though it was nothing more than a whisper. "Hello?" he gasped. "Hello? C-can you hear me? Is everything...all right?"
Just as Harry feared, no answer came. He tried to think what he should do, but his mind was blank for suggestions, and his heart dropped as a rock in the river. The sound of silence was haunting, and although it appeared the worst Harry was determined to see if the person was only hurt, and nothing more. His voice was hidden...why couldn't he speak?
He had to see if there was something wrong. He took the body by the shoulders and gently turned them over, looking down into their face. Harry gasped aloud, his breathing painful.
It was a man, clearly dead, with a pale complexion of frozen marble. His head was topped with untidy black hair, and open hazel eyes, hidden behind glasses...and the purest terror was written all over his face. There was a long pause, in which the knife of viciousness struck at Harry again, and again...into his soul...until he cried out in pain and grief.
His hand fell again to the man's arm, shaking it...shaking...harder than before. Wake up...wake up – please wake up...Harry found himself praying in his head. Oh, please...His throat tightened and closed, and quick tears were forced into his eyes.
"Dad?" he croaked, choking on his words.
For to his sorrow, the very face he stared down upon...the very eyes he looked into were that of his father, James Potter. They were glassy...dull, as if the life had been sucked away, and they gazed up at Harry as if pleading for a last cry of help. The side of his face was bruised, where he had fallen hard.
"No...NO!" Harry cried, shaking his father with all his might, tears prickling the corners of his eyes. James' head lolled about from side to side. "Dad – Dad! Wake up, please! Don't just...you can't! DAD! Wake up...please, please...WAKE UP!" Harry couldn't stop the screams erupting from his throat.
Why won't he get up? He thought madly. Why?
Even in his heart, he knew it was pointless trying. His pleads weren't doing any good...yet he didn't want to give up...he wanted his father to survive. He knew that he was dead before he even knew who he was, but now...oh, how he wished he could do something! Anything...anything to bring him back...
He dropped his hands to his lap with a moan. His father's body flickered like a flame, behind Harry's tears. He swallowed his misery...his hands were trembling.
"Dad, who did this to you?" he asked, his voice cracking.
Another sharp bang answered him from inside the house. Harry turned his head, staring into the door. It wasn't over, something was still happening. His heart began to pound again.
That woman...she was screaming for my dad. She saw his death; she was there when he fell! Blind thoughts attacked his mind, what if he had been murdered? And that woman was still inside...she was in trouble – in danger too! Harry suddenly had a feeling that he didn't want her to die either...because of...oh, because of -And then suddenly, he remembered. Mum.
"No! STAY BACK! Please, STAY AWAY!" She was screaming again, choked with tears. Harry could almost picture her face, her frightened eyes...her pleading look...
He was on his feet in an instant, his legs carrying him unsteadily. He performed a clumsy leap into the hallway, hitting his shoulder sharply, but he couldn't care. He had been too late to save his father...but he would do whatever it took not to let this woman die too...not here, alone in the house...like this...
He couldn't breathe. He couldn't think. He couldn't even call out to warn that he was coming, that he was here to help. A loud crash sounded from within the next room, followed by a small whimper. Mum...my mum, no... he thought then. Without even thinking of the risks, he burst through the door, panting and flushed.
He had somehow slipped into a lurid world, or so he believed. Harry stared at the scene. A tall, dark figure stood in the corner, cloaked. In the centre of the room, shaking, was a woman. She was shaking, her hand over her heart as if to protect it. Her head snapped towards Harry, her green eyes wide and afraid.
Those eyes...they're mine. They look so much like mine...
He was right, the eyes did belong to him. The woman was his mother, Lily Potter, as he had said. Her long, red hair hung down her back, untidy about her shoulders. She began to breathe hard and fast, trying to fight away her own instructions. Her eyes leaked with tears, and they fell upon the carpet.
"Not, Harry...no..." she sobbed. Her lip was trembling.
"Mum..." Harry said, gutturally, his knees bowing under a furious weight. He could only stare at her, a person portrayed as so helpless, yet so fearless. He had never imagined anyone so beautiful in a time where death hung off the very walls.
Lily hung back, hiding into herself and away from her attacker. As far as Harry peered around the corner, all he could see was the venomous dark green of those robes, and nothing more. He heard the chuckle then, of the person who had broken into his house and killed his father. I won't let him...I won't let him – he won't kill Mum...never!
Before he could even think, he was running into the room, towards Lily, commanding his legs to move. Gritting his teeth, he braced himself.
"MUM!" he shouted. "NO! NO, MUM!"
With a stained face and quivering voice, he flung himself into his mother's arms and was wrapped tightly in her embrace, crying and burying his face in her shirt. She was crying too, her very sobs broke his heart. Don't cry, Mum...I won't let him take you away from me, he thought. I'll never let you go. He meant it.
Lily's hand strayed to her son's hair, stroking it comfortingly and hushing him. "Shh...it's all right, Harry...it's all right, I'm here..." she whispered, kissing his head.
Harry sighed under the soothing touch. He smelt the perfume on her clothes and the low thudding of her heart. This is what he had wanted...This is what I want.
"Mum," he said, the tears falling past his glasses. "Mum, I...Dad, he..." He didn't know what to say. What was he saying? She must know that his father was dead.
"I know love...I know, shh..." she whispered.
It was then that Harry realised the danger. The stranger was still standing behind them, the one who had caused all of this to happen...the one who had destroyed his father's life...and was ready to take his mother...who is it? Who is this person? Harry wondered if they even had a heart for what they were doing.
Fuming with anger, he forced himself to look around, despite his mother tugging his attention back to her.
"No, Harry...don't, look away..." Lily whispered, almost sounding strangled. Her eyes brimmed with silent tears. "Harry..."
But it was too late, now that he had seen it. His eyes travelled upwards to meet those of the robed figure...muddy green, but every so often they shone with a violent shade of red. They burned into Harry's, searching him. His face showed a furious snarl, causing the boy to gasp aloud, gripping at his mother's sleeve.
The memories washed back into Harry's head like a flood. His mouth grew dry and his heart beat faster. There was no mistaking it...it was him. Tom Riddle. Voldemort himself. Harry had seen that face before, in his nightmares, and in reality.
"You!" he cried out, in shock. Not him...not him! Harry thought madly. He's here...right now, he was here when I was out on the streets...he broke into this house, my parent's house! He wants them dead! Why, why? What have they done to deserve this?
But before he could breathe, his eyes were torn away from that hypnotic stare. Lily wrapped her arm around her son, dragging him behind her...so that she stood in front. Harry was now against the wall, and protected. There was no way that Voldemort could reach him now, without moving his mother aside.
Lily froze in place, suddenly determined. Four words came from her. "You'll never get Harry," she said.
They stung Harry with so much compassion, so much love. He didn't want her to do this...not for him. But every time he tried to move, Lily held him back, into the wall as Voldemort took a few steps closer, deepening the fear. Lily was not so fearless anymore, she was shaking...and her lips trembled.
"Not Harry, not Harry, please...not Harry!" she wept, not wanting to beg but finding she had no choice.
"Stand aside, you silly girl...stand aside, now!" Voldemort roared, the strict, commanding voice making Harry gasp again. The Dark Lord brandished his wand, advancing on Lily and showing no remorse for the courageous act she was carrying out.
Another sob burst from her throat, her voice sloped and desperate. She shook her head firmly, her beautiful face stained and lenient, whimpering softly. "Not Harry, please, no...take me, kill me instead!" she demanded bravely, her knees barely able to hold her.
Harry's heart went out to her as tears spilled down his cheeks. He couldn't bear this. She's willing to die for me...she doesn't care how much it hurts, or how much she might leave behind...or what's waiting for her...she's prepared to go! Like this!
"Mum..." he groaned, trying to pull away from her grip. "Mum, no, you can't...you can't do this, don't, Mum..."
Her hand only fell to his arm, stroking it, as if to say that everything would be fine. That if she were here, no one would hurt him. Harry, for a moment, believed it...and the very thought of Voldemort vanishing into thin air because of his mother's existence, was enough to satisfy him.
"Not Harry! Please...have mercy...have mercy..." Lily sobbed. Harry thought for a moment she would fall to her knees, but she didn't.
Voldemort took another step closer, a malicious smile forming on his face. Lily wept at the scorn in his eyes, and her own dripped with tears, rolling down her flushed cheeks. "Not Harry!" she screamed. "Not Harry! Please...I'll do anything!"
The Dark Lord's frown now became brutal and vicious. "Stand aside...stand aside girl!" he growled, looking more dangerous by the second, his red eyes glinting like hot coals. Lifting his wand higher, he advanced on the sobbing woman, covering her body with his threatening shadow...
"LEAVE HER ALONE!" Harry shouted, his mind wheeling. He struggled to pull himself free, taught, desperate cries tearing from his throat. He felt his heart freeze at his mother's next words, stopping his tracks.
"I...won't," she said, weeping. "I – I won't let you take Harry from me! Please – oh, please don't hurt him...don't hurt Harry! I – I love him...I love him!" Her arm shivered terribly upon her son's shoulder.
His expression lighting up in spite and victory, Voldemort let out a snarl and raised his wand high, aimed taught at Lily's chest. He stared at her in disgust. "You were worthless from the beginning," he said, pulling his arm back as if to strike her down.
No, please! Harry thought. Anything...do anything, not this! No!
"Avada Kedavra!" Voldemort screeched, almost in triumph. A stream jet of green light burst from his wand, hitting Lily's chest and knocking her backwards, almost into her son. She let out one last scream for her life as the curse rippled through her body, her knees failing her into a crumple on the floor, still and lifeless. She was dead.
Harry could only watch in shock, the whole scene happening in slow motion before his eyes. Finally, he found his voice. "MUUUM!" he screamed.
Choking back on a tightness in his throat, he stepped out shakily and stared at her, looking down into her beautiful, pale features, her red hair swimming about her on the carpet, and his heart felt as heavy as stone in his chest. It ached so badly that he thought he would faint from the rush of pain.
Mum...not you, not you too...no...please... Harry's thoughts were again, all in futile hope. Alone, he knew then. I'm all alone now. No...no! This can't be happening! Why tonight? Why?
Harry lifted his gaze, seeing red, and his feet took him to stand firmly in place, the hot fire in his eyes staring directly at Voldemort. In fact, his whole body felt on fire...fire of hatred for the man who he stood before. Tears dripped fluently down his cheeks as his hands clenched at his sides, his breath escaping in hard, deep pants.
"You..." he snarled in angered rage, the blood pounding at his temples. "You...killed her."
"I had to, dear boy. She wouldn't do as I asked."
"You killed her! You killed them both, even though you didn't have to," Harry pressed on, his mouth dry with fury. He felt the glaze from Voldemort's eyes turning into that hypnotic feel, enlightening Harry's anger.
Voldemort nodded slowly, enjoying the look on the boy's face. "I only came to be rid of you," he said, raising his wand to prove his point; not wanting to waste any time. He twirled it through his fingers a while, eyeing Harry up and down, a brooding smile on his lips.
"So young," he whispered.
"What?" Harry snapped back, not understanding.
"So young," Voldemort repeated, piercing Harry with a burning, cold stare. "So young...to lose so much. Even..." And it was here he froze, waiting for the right moment to finish his sentence. "...your life," he spat. A menace fell back into his face, lighting his features with a terrible malevolence.
Harry had never seen such evil. He backed up, colliding with the wall. Will I be able to make a run for it, he wondered, a break for the door? Will I be able to escape...alive?
As he stood there, wondering what to do, Voldemort's wand had already been lifted into the air by his hand, with such a speed that Harry was stunned. He stood there gaping, tears spilling, and trying not to trip over his dead mother. Oh, Mum... His heart ached.
I'm sorry I did this to you, Mum...Dad, he thought, bracing himself for the end. This is all my fault, I've done this...all of it, and I'm sorry. I'm sorry...
"Avada Kedavra!" came the awful voice, high-pitched and victorious, as the swish of the wand fell down on the air.
Harry could see the bright green of the spell behind his closed eyelids, and he could hear the spell rushing towards him. He clenched his teeth so hard they ached, lowering his head. He couldn't 't move...he only waited to join his parents in death.
Only, something a little unexpected happened.
"ARGH!" Harry screamed in pain. Instead for the monstrous spell crashing into his body; finishing his life as it were supposed to do, he felt a force give off his body. It repelled backwards from him, of a great magnitude. It almost felt as if the curse was swimming inside of him, looking for a way out.
He heard the swishing sound of the spell as it ricocheted back, followed by crashes and bangs. Then a horrified yell from Voldemort...all of it was heard in darkness. Harry heard all of this before he was blown rearward, landing on his back, his heart pounding.
He wasn't dead, but alive.
He managed to let out a winded gasp of surprise, feeling as if he had been beating all over. I don't understand, he thought. Why am I...? It was all very strange, and before he could even think about it for long, a sudden strike off pain attacked him, hitting him harder than the bullet of a gun, right upon his forehead. It felt as a hundred hammers were working away at it.
Harry writhed and groaned on the carpet, his fingers clawing at it. His throat grew sore as his breaths became harsher and more powerful.
"W-wha - " he grunted, being forced back again with another dosage of intense pain. I...can't, bear this... he thought, and in his silent terror, he felt something slowly moving down his face. A dark, thick liquid, trickling from his forehead, where he had been cut from the impact. He watched it with open green eyes, and wiped at it with his fingers.
"Ow!" he cried. The cut hurt. It hurt more than any injury Harry had ever had, and it stung so badly he felt sick. He cringed, pulling his hand away. He had to see what this cut was; what it looked like. He slowly turned about on his side, his arms, legs and body shaking, on his hands and knees, staring at the floor. He still couldn't believe he was alive.
Voldemort had made no sound. There was a musty smell in the air, too. Harry tried to ignore it as his sweat mixed with the blood, and focused on the broken pieces of mirror in front of him, beside his fallen mother. He gasped at his reflection. It was in the shape of a lightning bolt, three violent slashes.
Why has this happened? he wondered. Why only my forehead? He raised a hand to touch it, wincing at the pain, when he heard a voice echoing through his head. The same voice that he had heard all night...Voldemort. He frowned in anger.
"That will become a scar, boy...a scar...your curse..."
"My what?" Harry whispered. He would have this forever, it would never heal. Scars didn't do that. Would the pain be with him too, all his life? "No," he breathed, shaking his head slowly in disbelief.
"Yes, Harry. Your very curse...lies in the shards of that broken glass. You know what that means, don't you, when a mirror is destroyed? Seven years bad luck. For seven years you will suffer through more than you have done tonight."
Harry gulped. Worse pain than...tonight? He couldn't picture anything more horrible. "No..." he moaned again.
"Oh, but it's true. It's my revenge, boy...my revenge for doing what you did to me, what has happened to me on this night," said the voice.
Shutting his eyes tightly, trying to block out the pain and the sounds, Harry suddenly felt frightened. No, no – I don't want this! he screamed in his head. "No! You can't do that!" he cried, throat stinging.
"I can, and I will. Your curse…that scar, will remain with you for all eternity, whether this memory of tonight may leave you or not, that mark never will. It will be with you…forever."
Harry groaned, clutching his hair and blocking his ears, trying to escape into silence. "It – it won't!" he screamed, half-strangled. "YOU'RE LYING!"
Voldemort laughed a sinister, dry cackle. "Lie? Me? My dear boy, I would never lie to you. I mean what I say. Trust me. You will eventually begin to understand. We are somewhat alike now, you and I...in many ways. Though we may be confused, Harry...we are going through the same mystery, you and I..."
"NO! I DON'T BELIEVE YOU!" Harry roared, the flame of rage eating him whole. "I'LL NEVER BE LIKE YOU!" He could never imagine himself doing the same, cruel things that had happened tonight. It felt unbearable already as it was.
At this outburst, something unpredictable and so suddenly happened that it made Harry's head explode with pain. A sharp, spine-tingling hiss rang through his ears, his blood rushing cold as he backed off, covering his ears. The hissing of a snake... make it stop, make it stop... Harry pleaded, teeth gritted. He understood every word it said.
"You cannot help it, Harry...we do have similarities...we have both had a part of us destroyed tonight...which we will need to gain...there is nothing you can do about it..."
"STOP IT!" Harry shouted, falling onto his knees, and shaking his head. His heart ached with fear and anger. "Stop saying that, like it's true..." he squeaked, forlorn and dead.
And then Harry found himself slipping away into darkness, falling either backwards or forwards into terrible pain, from a bridge into a despairing pit. The insane laughing and hissing went with him.
And somewhere while this had been happening, a boy had been tucked up in bed, dreaming of this time in his sleep, and waiting to wake into the real world. This boy was skinny, with brilliant green eyes, baggy nightclothes and messy black hair.
It was Harry.