1 Harry Potter and the Circle of Fire
Harry Potter lay awake, flat on his back, breathing hard. He wiped cold sweat off his forehead, feeling the throbbing inside his very mind grow and grow. He felt the frantic beating of his heart. He shook his head violently to rid it of the images that had lodged themselves there, as if a white-hot iron had been thrust inside his mind, branding them there for eternity. The blurred images shifted and blended together in his mind, but did not vanish. Images of his worst fears, wrenched at his mind, his soul. Trying to calm down, he reasoned with himself. It had only been a dream. Why should he pay attention to the blurred happenings inside his mind? As he lay, breathing slowing now, he heard the rain and wind lashing at his bedroom window. The tempestuous weather was a mirror of Harry's emotions, the turmoil inside him, the feelings the dream had evoked in corners of his brain he didn't know existed. He shook his head. Why was he so wound up about a dream? He had long ago given up on believing dreams. He settled down, attempting sleep, but found it impossible due to the lashing rain and howling wind, and the images still swimming around in the depths of his mind. Pulling himself up into a sitting position, he flicked on the lamp. If he couldn't sleep, he may as well read, or try to get some of his homework done. He chose the latter, because in the day he barely had time to breathe, let alone complete his homework. His Aunt Petunia, Uncle Vernon, and his cousin Dudley were the most unpleasant people Harry knew, unless you counted Voldemort, the Dementors or even the Potions master, Professor Snape of Harry's school; Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.
When morning finally came, slicing its pink and gold fingers through the black shadows of night, Harry got straight up, glancing around his bedroom, suddenly flooded with sunlight. He had not forgotten the incidents of the previous night, and didn't intend to. Even as he moved, blinking blearily in the morning light, his confused brain was turning the details over, though hard as he tried, he could not remember all of the details. They floated aimlessly around in Harry's troubled mind like dark spectres, confusing and almost frightening him. He shook his head, his brain still subconsciously linking all the details of the dream together. Even as Harry ate breakfast, washed up, mowed the lawn, cleaned the house, his mind was at work.
Harry Potter lay awake, flat on his back, breathing hard. He wiped cold sweat off his forehead, feeling the throbbing inside his very mind grow and grow. He felt the frantic beating of his heart. He shook his head violently to rid it of the images that had lodged themselves there, as if a white-hot iron had been thrust inside his mind, branding them there for eternity. The blurred images shifted and blended together in his mind, but did not vanish. Images of his worst fears, wrenched at his mind, his soul. Trying to calm down, he reasoned with himself. It had only been a dream. Why should he pay attention to the blurred happenings inside his mind? As he lay, breathing slowing now, he heard the rain and wind lashing at his bedroom window. The tempestuous weather was a mirror of Harry's emotions, the turmoil inside him, the feelings the dream had evoked in corners of his brain he didn't know existed. He shook his head. Why was he so wound up about a dream? He had long ago given up on believing dreams. He settled down, attempting sleep, but found it impossible due to the lashing rain and howling wind, and the images still swimming around in the depths of his mind. Pulling himself up into a sitting position, he flicked on the lamp. If he couldn't sleep, he may as well read, or try to get some of his homework done. He chose the latter, because in the day he barely had time to breathe, let alone complete his homework. His Aunt Petunia, Uncle Vernon, and his cousin Dudley were the most unpleasant people Harry knew, unless you counted Voldemort, the Dementors or even the Potions master, Professor Snape of Harry's school; Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.
When morning finally came, slicing its pink and gold fingers through the black shadows of night, Harry got straight up, glancing around his bedroom, suddenly flooded with sunlight. He had not forgotten the incidents of the previous night, and didn't intend to. Even as he moved, blinking blearily in the morning light, his confused brain was turning the details over, though hard as he tried, he could not remember all of the details. They floated aimlessly around in Harry's troubled mind like dark spectres, confusing and almost frightening him. He shook his head, his brain still subconsciously linking all the details of the dream together. Even as Harry ate breakfast, washed up, mowed the lawn, cleaned the house, his mind was at work.