Chapter 1: Night Dreams
Harry Potter lay in bed, staring at a large stain on the ceiling. Moonlight, streaming through the window, filled his bedroom of number 12, Grimmauld Place. Ron slept peacefully in the bed on the other side of the room, snoring softly. Ron's dreams were not traumatized with thoughts of terror and the Dark Lord as young Harry Potter's were. He had been dreaming that night, as usual, of Lord Voldemort. These dreams were no longer a surprise to him, but terrifying nonetheless. He refused to share the feelings he felt in them with Ron and Hermione. If the dreams kept him up at night he could only imagine the reactions of Ron and Hermione if they knew exactly what happened in them. Voldemort's hideous laugh, the killings, the evil, Cedric; they would never understand what it was like to see them as clearly as Harry saw them. They knew what happened at the graveyard, as a matter of fact, all of Hogwarts knew, but they could never understand the intensity or the pain it caused emotionally. As Harry stared upon the ceiling, the face of Voldemort stared back at him and the death in Cedric's face surfaced. Quickly he leaped from bed onto his feet.
"It was only a dream, a stupid dream", Harry whispered to himself.
Something creaked behind. The door was opening and in sneaked Kreacher. Ugly, foul little git of a house elf he was too. Always trailing after Harry and Sirius, he was, keeping tabs on them, as if their presence in the House of Black tarnished the legacy. He didn't see Harry awake as he walked in, so the words he uttered didn't go unheard.
"Such a disgusting Master that Kreacher has ever had the misfortune of knowing. If Mistress was still here and saw, oh, they would be most fiercely punished. Nasty, evil halfbloods, mudbloods……….."
"Excuse me!" exclaimed Harry, loudly. At the sound of Harry's voice, Ron woke up.
"Oi, Harry, why the rude wake-up? Blimy, what's he doing in here!" after he noticed the house elf.
"Little Master must pardon Kreacher for he has had little sleep. Kreacher must clean after they who befoul his Mistress's house. Nasty blood traitors who destroy all that my mistress has worked for."
"Didn't catch that" said Harry, annoyed.
"Kreacher said nothing".
"Then get out before I call Sirius in here." Harry had had enough disturbances for the evening and wanted some peace.
"Kreacher will go, for Kreacher must do what Little Master says. Even if the little Master is one with the rest of the mudbloods and traitors……"
When Kreacher exited the room, Harry raced over and slammed the door.
"Blimy, he was creepy. What's he want?" asked Ron as Harry made his way back to bed.
Harry shook his head. "The same thing he always wants. For us to leave so he can collect all of Sirius's mother's old rubbish", he stated as he climbed back into bed. "He's just an odd sort."
"You're right. What were you doing up anyway?"
"Couldn't sleep."
"Why?"
"No reason." Harry didn't want to get into details at the time, and he especially didn't want to worry Ron who would be sure to tell Hermione and worry her as well. Then they would never leave him alone. He rolled over and stared at the wall, trying not to think about the nastier aspects of the dream. Ron stared at him for a minute before rolling over himself.
"Good night then", he said.
A few minutes past and Harry heard snoring. Ron was asleep, so Harry rolled over and looked back up the ceiling. The stain was still there, but the shape had changed. He had actually been glad of Kreacher's interruption because it had taken his thoughts away from the dream. Cedric had been in it, screaming and begging for life as Lord Voldemort laughed maniacally in the background. As Cedric's dying face swam to the front of Harry's mind, he could feel a soft tear roll down his cheek and he quickly brushed it away for fear that Ron would wake up and see it. This is too much, he thought, it has to stop sometime. Unfortunately there was no telling when. He forced himself to think of other thought, but the only ones that came to him were scenes in the graveyard. Horrible, ghastly recurrences filled his thoughts until he remembered his parents. Their ghostly figures flying from the beam in his and Voldemort's wand became clear images in the front of his mind. It was a pleasing thought. The sun began to peek over the horizon and, as it rose higher and night gave way to day, Harry fell asleep, his dreams filled with the sights and sounds of his last encounter with his parents.