By: Sailoranime
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter. Happy? Ok, fine. I don't own any of the characters or anything either.
Author's Notes: Oh, lord, someone shoot me. I'm writing this because I think I'm out of Denial, and I'm trying to prove it. I don't... I mean... Well, I have no real idea where this story is headed. Or rather, where it will stop. It might be a one-shot, or I might continue it... I don't really know.
Summary: Harry begins having dreams, opportunities arise. Will he take them? When Voldemort offers him a chance to get his parents and Sirius back, Harry has a hard time deciding. Should he do the right thing, that which is expected of him, or will he do what would make him happiest...?
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Quote from the book:
"Am I to understand," said Phineas Nigellus slowly from Harry's left, "that my great-great-grandson -- the last of the Blacks -- is dead?"
"Yes, Phineas,"
"I don't believe it," said Phineas brusquely.
Harry turned his head in time to see Phineas marching out of his portrait and knew that he had gone to visit his other painting in Grimmauld place. He would walk, perhaps, from portrait to portrait, calling for Sirius through the house...
-Phineas hears of Sirius's death. Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix, page 826
Author's Note: You see? Everyone loved Sirius! This just struck me as very cool, because it shows at least one person in his family cared.
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Harry Potter tossed and turned. It was past midnight, and sleep would still not come. He wasn't quite sure if he wanted it to. He'd been having dreams. Bad dreams. Dumbledore had told him to keep practicing Occlumency, but Harry did not see the point. Every night he saw the same thing.
Every night he had the same dream. He had a strong feeling that voldemort was trying to communicate with him. He'd be standing there at the riddle house, and Voldemort would be sitting on the old chair. He'd turn it around slowly, and reveal himself to Harry. His horrible red eyes study him, and his lip curled upward in a grin. Before he could say anything, though, he would wake up, his scar burning.
He had not had more than 3 hours of sleep a night for over a week. He hardly ate either. It seemed his life had become nothing but a wait. He was always waiting for something. Days became blurred together, so that he hardly knew what he had done the week before, or if he had bathed the day before. Sirius's death had affected him too much. No one dared say it, but everyone knew it. Sometimes the members of the Order would drop by to 'see how he was doing'. They'd look him over, fake smiles plastered on their faces, and ask if he was excited about going back to school or to Grimmauld place. Everytime they saw him, the worried look in their eyes increased, and it seemed that they just might burst and tell him to start taking care of himself.
He only liked when Lupin came by. He seemed to be the only one who had the courage to approach the subject of Sirius. He was, after all, the only person who had suffered as much, if not more, than Harry. Lupin would talk to him about Sirius's exploits as a boy, and then they would go out to eat and talk about it some more. Having Lupin basically shove down enormous amounts of food down his throat was worth the couple of hours he had of peace. He always felt better afterwards, and did not mind eating everything Lupin asked him to eat just to hear him talk.
Harry sometimes felt like he and Lupin were consoling each other. He liked to think that talking about Sirius helped Lupin feel better, also. He would sometimes stop right in the middle of a story, completely forgetting Harry was there, and just smile fondly to himself as he remembered things that had happened years before. Lupin only came by about twice a week, though. Harry had the idea that if it hadn't been for Lupin's visits, he would have died of malnutrition.
The dreams, however, had started before those visit. They'd started almost right after school had ended, when Harry had reached his lowest. It was with great surprise that Harry began feeling his eyes close slowly. The fact that sleep had come much earlier than usual registered somewhere in his mind before he drifted off completely.
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Harry walked towards the end of the familiar corridor. The door was ajar, so Harry pushed it open completely, knowing exactly what to expect. The old chair was in the middle of the room, in front of the fireplace. It slowly began rising, and all four legs left the ground. As slowly as it had risen, it began turning, allowing Harry to see him. Voldemort sat there, studying him with the horrible red eyes. Harry realized that while sleep had come earlier, it was also going to end earlier.
The chair, positioned to that Voldemort was now facing Harry, was slowly lowered by Voldemort with his wand. He sat, there, his expression unreadable. Harry growled softly, knowing what was coming. He wished it wouldn't stop, so that he could finally hear what Voldemort was trying to tell him. Voldemort's lip curled upwards in a cynical and amused smirk at the low growl Harry had emitted.
"Eager to hear what I have to say, Potter?" his voice was cold and amused. Harry's eye widened slightly.
" I have powers that you cannot even imagine," he began, ignoring Harry's confused look at the change of subject, "I can do things that that fool Dumbledore can't."
Harry would have objected to the slight at Dumbledore, but a part of him secretely agreed. Harry prefered to think that it was Voldemort controlling his thoughts again. But more importantly, he also felt what Voldemort was going to say was important
"I must admit that the little incident at the Department of Mysteries was a setback. I do think I know what the prophecy was about now. I believed you would be able to kill me, so I tried to kill you. Obviously, that failed. I expect that the only thing in that prophecy was the reason I couldn't kill you. The reason, as we both know, is that your mother died to protect you. But her blood now runs in my veins too. So I can touch you now, as I've already proved. I no longer seek to kill you, but do not forget that I can. Never forget that."
Harry stood there, unsure of what he was supposed to do. He wondered if he should tell Dumbledore, but a part of him seemed to be crying out for him to forget about Dumbledore and listen. Voldemort was watching his mental struggle with amusement bordering on impatience.
"Well, Potter. I tire of your company, so I will make this quick. I have killed the three people you've loved most in the world. Your parents, whom you don't remember, and your godfather, who you'd only had for two years. Love. The cause of ruin of so many people. I don't bother with emotions like that, Potter. Neither should you. It makes you weak, and I expect that the latest death is the reason for your pitiful appearance. You know, Potter, you never appreciated Black as much as you should have. You finally found someone who loved you more than anything in the world, and you didn't stop to consider that you should have showed him just how much you cared... Did you ever tell him, Potter? Did you ever show it? No... you didn't. And I wager that's part of the reason you feel so guilty. Ah, yes. You humans and your emotions.
"You know, Potter, that I have the power to bring them back? All of them. Your mother, your father, and Black. I'd modify their memories, of course, so they would never know any of this happened. Your godfather would never have gone to Azkaban, and your parents would have memories of raising you. You and your family could go live in your own little corner of the world, and I would leave you alone when I took over the rest of the world. You could take your friends with you. The werewolf and the mudblood. Wouldn't that make you happy? None of them would know anything. Only you would know the truth. Tempting, isn't it?"
Harry looked at him, his mind racing.
This is a once in a lifetime opportunity, Harry Potter. You have my word, a wizard's oath, that I will arrange it all. A nice little house full of love." The last word he uttered as if it was poison. "Let me prove to you my power. Do you remember my loyal servant, Lucius? He died in Azkaban, as I'm sure you've heard." He smirked at Harry's nod. He'd read about Malfoy's death, there'd been a article on it. The Daily Prophet had interviewed Draco Malfoy, who'd sworn he had no knowledge of his father's activities. He'd sworn to be on the side of good, and assured the public that his mother was also on their side. Voldemort sent a beam of blue light towards the door. It went right through it, and seconds later, Lucius Malfoy opened the door and walked in.
"You called, my... Potter!" Malfoy's eyes widened and he whipped out his wand. " Do you want me to finish him, my lord?"
Voldemort looked at Malfoy warningly. "You cannot harm the boy, Lucius. Only I can harm him in his dreams."
"...in his...?"
"Go, Lucius, before I lose patience!" Malfoy walked out without another word, but glared at Harry. Voldemort raised his wand.
"Crucio." Hary expected to feel pain, but instead he heard Malfoy fall down and scream for a second before Voldemort lifted the curse. Malfoy stood up again and hurried out of the room.
"You see, Potter. He feels pain. He is very real. So, Potter? What do you think?"
Harry looked at him and began walking away, wishing desperately to wake up. He knew what he wanted to pick, but this couldn't be real...
"You can't wake up until you choose, Potter. After all, your choice determines what you wake up to."
"This can't be... no... I'm going to wake up..."
"Don't be foolish, Potter. This is more than you could ever want. Happiness. It's what all you humans want! Watch all your friends die slowly as I win this war, or do the smart thing and save yourself! Choose, Potter!" Voldemort was sitting on the edge of his chair, leaning towards Harry and clutching the sides of the chair, his face furious and coaxing at the same time.
Harry looked up and took a step forward. "Alright. I've chosen." his voice trembled slightly, but there was a hint of some unphathomable emotion in his face. Voldemort smiled. "Well, Potter, what did you choose?"
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Harry woke up, his dream slowly coming back to him. His breath caught in his throat. Had he made the right choice?
The light was streaming into the room through his open curtains. He dug his face into his pillow and tried to go back to bed, but sleep wouldn't come. He'd finally gotten a full night's sleep. He flinched as someone swung his door open noisily.
"Hey, you up yet, Harry?" Harry looked up at his handsome godfather standing at the foot of his bed. His Azkaban look was gone, and he looked like an older version of the Sirius he'd seen in the pensieve, and his long hair was still there. Harry felt like jumping with happiness, but instead, he grinned like a maniac.
"Am now." He jumped off the bed as fast as lightning and gave Sirius a tight hug. Sirius returned it hesitantly at first, but then whole-heartedly.
"I was only gone a week, Harry. Didn't know you'd miss me that much."
" Yeah, neither did I." Harry answered breathlessly. Sirius looked at him oddly, but didn't comment.
"Well, come on. We were supposed to leave half an hour ago-"
"Harry," a woman's voice called, "Are you up? Your father's waiting for you!"
"Hurry up, Harry. Get dressed." Sirius patted Harry on the head and walked out, closing the door behind him. He was sure, at least for the time being, that he'd made the right choice. He grinned as he heard Sirius's voice.
"I think there's something wrong with Harry today, Moony. You should have seen the way he was acting..."
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AN: Okay, now for explanations. I know Harry choosing himself over everyone else is selfish, but that's what I was trying to show. Kinda, anyway. Harry was given this future because someone predicted it, not because he chose it. This is kinda the best way I could find to show that. If the story was to be continued, what would happen would be that Harry would go back to Hogwarts with Lily, James, Sirius, and Remus. It's kinda complicated, but it would end up with everythig as it is, except wth Harry having a family and being happy. Okay, now you may flame.