CHAPTER ONE: THE BLAZE
Harry awoke slowly, awareness dragging his consciousness back to the surface. His consciousness struggled mightily every inch of the way.
He'd been having a dream, one that he rather liked, one where he'd been back at Hogwarts, sitting in front of the fireplace in the Gryffindor common room, warming his hands and inhaling the rich scent of the smoke emitting from the flickering scarlet flames.
He glanced at his watch and was momentarily shocked to see it was 8 o'clock before remembering that the hands hadn't moved for nearly two years. As he drifted away from his dream with regret, he realized that the smoky odor he had relished in his dream was still hanging in the air, but in a sharper and more pungent form than before. He sat up with a jolt, tossing rumpled bed sheets flying, all traces of sleep having been erased from his mind.
He vaulted out of bed, grabbing his wand from his nightstand, and found his head shrouded in a light cloud of smoke. Hedwig, in a cage hanging high in the corner of his room, was immersed in grey fumes. She was hooting urgently in a voice growing hoarser and hoarser with every second and trying to claw her way out of her cage, clacking her beak through the bars in a futile attempt to get out. Harry dashed over and unlatched her cage. Hedwig took flight immediately and raced out the window in a ball of flying white feathers.
Harry, certain that Hedwig was now safe, ducked lower to avoid inhaling the smoke as the cloud grew and was forced downward. Harry swung out his door, leaping down the stairs three at a time, the density of the cloud increased dramatically, and Harry was soon forced to crawl along the floor, hacking and coughing, watering eyes blurring his vision and stinging painfully as the caustic smoke grew denser and denser.
He stopped for a moment to get his bearings. It was becoming difficult to recognize the layout of his own house due to the fact that the swirling cloud was denser than ever and his watering eyes were making him nearly blind. His breathing growing more and more ragged, pain growing with every breath, he detected a dull, crackling roar in the direction of the kitchen. He wormed his way towards its vicinity, having been forced by the smoke to now drag himself over the carpet, flat on the floor.
As he drew nearer to the kitchen, echoing, staccato, snaps and pops filled his ears as a torrent of noise rolled over him. He could see a brilliant, devouring inferno through the smoke and knew he had nearly reached his goal. Harry fought every inch of the way to keep going. The poisonous fumes filling his chest had nearly overcome him. He could see the leaping flames, just ahead . . .
Exhausted, he admitted defeat. His head settled down on to the carpet, nose ground into the mouse-gray carpeting. His head pounding with lack of oxygen. His thoughts grew fuzzy and he spiraled effortlessly down into a black pit in his mind.
No . . .
Suddenly, energy renewed by a reserve of energy he was certain he had exhausted, he strove upward, out of the jet-black tomb in his mind, and raised his chin, eyes burning with determination.
He continued his crawl towards the kitchen, fury at his own earlier weakness and admission to defeat fueling his undignified clamber. The insatiable flames before him were reflected tenfold in his burning eyes as his will itself battled with the heat of the fire--and emerged triumphant.
He finally reached the kitchen, raised his wand a few inches off the ground with a great effort, and bellowed triumphantly, "Exstingarius!"
A heavy torrent of fat raindrops began to fall on the violently bright flames filling the kitchen. The brilliant flames began to dim, revealing the scarred and blackened ceiling they had devastated. Familiar shapes began to emerge as the conflagration sunk lower, its power being beaten down by Harry's will; the flames dimmed through a dull orange; then a weak red; and finally the last wavering tongue of fire disappeared, leaving behind the smoldering ruins of the Dursleys' kitchen.
Harry, watching, realized he had conquered the fire, and drifted off into peace, a grey cloud overtaking his mind. A glazed look overtook his features and his head dropped to the floor. His chin smashed into a splinter of wood and he began to bleed. The motionless body it was attached to took no notice.
Harry awoke slowly, awareness dragging his consciousness back to the surface. His consciousness struggled mightily every inch of the way.
He'd been having a dream, one that he rather liked, one where he'd been back at Hogwarts, sitting in front of the fireplace in the Gryffindor common room, warming his hands and inhaling the rich scent of the smoke emitting from the flickering scarlet flames.
He glanced at his watch and was momentarily shocked to see it was 8 o'clock before remembering that the hands hadn't moved for nearly two years. As he drifted away from his dream with regret, he realized that the smoky odor he had relished in his dream was still hanging in the air, but in a sharper and more pungent form than before. He sat up with a jolt, tossing rumpled bed sheets flying, all traces of sleep having been erased from his mind.
He vaulted out of bed, grabbing his wand from his nightstand, and found his head shrouded in a light cloud of smoke. Hedwig, in a cage hanging high in the corner of his room, was immersed in grey fumes. She was hooting urgently in a voice growing hoarser and hoarser with every second and trying to claw her way out of her cage, clacking her beak through the bars in a futile attempt to get out. Harry dashed over and unlatched her cage. Hedwig took flight immediately and raced out the window in a ball of flying white feathers.
Harry, certain that Hedwig was now safe, ducked lower to avoid inhaling the smoke as the cloud grew and was forced downward. Harry swung out his door, leaping down the stairs three at a time, the density of the cloud increased dramatically, and Harry was soon forced to crawl along the floor, hacking and coughing, watering eyes blurring his vision and stinging painfully as the caustic smoke grew denser and denser.
He stopped for a moment to get his bearings. It was becoming difficult to recognize the layout of his own house due to the fact that the swirling cloud was denser than ever and his watering eyes were making him nearly blind. His breathing growing more and more ragged, pain growing with every breath, he detected a dull, crackling roar in the direction of the kitchen. He wormed his way towards its vicinity, having been forced by the smoke to now drag himself over the carpet, flat on the floor.
As he drew nearer to the kitchen, echoing, staccato, snaps and pops filled his ears as a torrent of noise rolled over him. He could see a brilliant, devouring inferno through the smoke and knew he had nearly reached his goal. Harry fought every inch of the way to keep going. The poisonous fumes filling his chest had nearly overcome him. He could see the leaping flames, just ahead . . .
Exhausted, he admitted defeat. His head settled down on to the carpet, nose ground into the mouse-gray carpeting. His head pounding with lack of oxygen. His thoughts grew fuzzy and he spiraled effortlessly down into a black pit in his mind.
No . . .
Suddenly, energy renewed by a reserve of energy he was certain he had exhausted, he strove upward, out of the jet-black tomb in his mind, and raised his chin, eyes burning with determination.
He continued his crawl towards the kitchen, fury at his own earlier weakness and admission to defeat fueling his undignified clamber. The insatiable flames before him were reflected tenfold in his burning eyes as his will itself battled with the heat of the fire--and emerged triumphant.
He finally reached the kitchen, raised his wand a few inches off the ground with a great effort, and bellowed triumphantly, "Exstingarius!"
A heavy torrent of fat raindrops began to fall on the violently bright flames filling the kitchen. The brilliant flames began to dim, revealing the scarred and blackened ceiling they had devastated. Familiar shapes began to emerge as the conflagration sunk lower, its power being beaten down by Harry's will; the flames dimmed through a dull orange; then a weak red; and finally the last wavering tongue of fire disappeared, leaving behind the smoldering ruins of the Dursleys' kitchen.
Harry, watching, realized he had conquered the fire, and drifted off into peace, a grey cloud overtaking his mind. A glazed look overtook his features and his head dropped to the floor. His chin smashed into a splinter of wood and he began to bleed. The motionless body it was attached to took no notice.