Chapter 1: Unwanted Nightmares
"We bow to each other, Harry," said Voldemort, bending a little, but keeping his snakelike face upturned at Harry, "Come, the niceties must be observed. . . . Dumbledore would like you to show manners. . . . Bow to death, Harry. . . ."
The Death Eaters were laughing again. Voldemort's lipless mouth was smiling. Harry did not bow. He was not going to let Voldemort play with him before killing him…he was not going to give him that satisfaction.
"I said, bow." Voldemort said, raising his wand – and Harry felt his spine curve as though a huge, invisible hand were bending him, ruthlessly forward, and the Death Eaters laughed harder than ever.
"Very good," said Voldemort softly, and as he raised his wand the pressure bearing down upon Harry lifted too, "And now you face me, like a man . . . straight-backed and proud, the way your father died. . . .
"And now – we duel."
Voldemort raised his wand, and before Harry could do anything to defend himself, before he could even move, he had been hit again by the Cruciatus Curse. The pain was so intense, so all-consuming, that he no longer knew where he was. . . . White-hot knives were piercing every inch of his skin, his head was surely going to burst with pain, he was screaming more loudly than he'd ever screamed in his life –
And then it stopped. Harry rolled over and scrambled to his feet; he was shaking as uncontrollably as Wormtail had done when his hand had been cut off; he staggered slightly into the wall of watching Death Eaters, and the pushed him away, back toward Voldemort.
"A little break," said Voldemort, the slit-like nostrils dilating with excitement, "a little pause . . . That hurt, didn't it Harry? You don't want me to do that again, do you?"
Harry didn't answer. He was going to die like Cedric, those pitiless red eyes were telling hi so . . . he was going to die, and there was nothing he could do about it . . . but he wasn't going to play along. He wasn't going to obey Voldemort . . . he wasn't going to beg . . .
"I asked you whether you want me to do that again," said Voldemort, softly, "Answer me! Imperio!"
And Harry felt, for the third time in his life, the sensation that his mind had been wiped of all thought. . . . Ah, it was bliss, not to think, it was as though he were floating dreaming . . . just answer no . . . say no . . . just answer no. . . .
I will not, said a stronger voice, in the back of his head, I won't answer. . . .
Just answer no. . . .
I won't do it, I won't say it. . . .
Just answer no. . . .
"I WON'T!"
And these words burst from Harry's mouth and they echoed through the graveyard, and the dream was lifted as suddenly as though cold water had been thrown over him – back rushed the aches that the Cruciatus Curse had left all over his body – back rushed the realization of where he was and what he was facing. . . .
"You won't?" said Voldemort quietly, and the Death Eaters were not laughing now, "You won't say no? Harry, obedience is a virtue I need to teach you before you die. Perhaps, another little dose of pain?"
Voldemort raised his wand, but this time Harry was ready; with reflexes born of his Quidditch training, he flung himself onto the ground; he rolled behind the marble headstone of Voldemort's father, and he heard it crack as the curse missed him.
"We are not playing hide-and-seek, Harry," said Voldemort's soft, cold voice, drawing nearer, as the Death Eaters laughed. "You cannot hide from me. Does this mean you are tired of our duel? Does this mean that you would prefer me to finish it now, Harry? Come out, Harry . . . come out and play, then . . . it will be quick . . . it might even be painless . . . I would not know . . . I have never died . . . ."
"AHHHHHHHHHHH!" Harry Potter woke up with a start, remembering the previous year's horrific events. He looked around, seeing that he wasn't behind a gravestone, waiting for some ghostly white lunatic to kill him. He wasn't fearing for his life, looking at the dead body of one of his classmates, wondering if he would be next.
He was sitting in his bed at Number 4, Privet Drive. The nightmares that he had came every night, not letting him let go of the pain that he felt. He had never seen someone die before, and to finally see something so horribly wrong was one of the most gut-wrenching things he had ever seen.
He brought his right hand up, and rubbed his temple, trying to ease the pain in his head which formed every night after this. A ritual, to be performed every night, repeated at the exact same time. Like clockwork it was. He would always wake up at two in the morning, screaming. Five minutes later, he was rubbing his temple, and by 2:10, he was at his desk, trying to write to the one person he knew who really wanted answers from him. A person he had barely talked to before, Cho.
Every night, Harry had tried to write a letter that he thought would answer all of the questions she had, but nothing let him write it. His hands wouldn't let him move his fingers enough to write the words that he wanted to say. Soon enough, he was at his desk, with a quill in his hand and parchment on his desk.
Dear Cho,
I'm not going to start with the usual greetings of 'hello' or 'how are you doing', because I know you probably hate me. You probably think that I made up lies, and killed Cedric myself. You probably have a million questions, all revolving around his death, thinking he was murdered by me. I just wanted to tell you that I didn't do it.
I-
Harry's hand's started shaking again, as he was trying to start the sentence. His fingers went ice cold, and the quill shattered in his hand, his fingers like ice yet moving on their own. The blood had left his hands, making them look a pale white.
Harry grabbed the parchment and crumpled it up. He couldn't write any answers that had no questions to them. He threw the paper into a pile that grew larger every night. He sat at his desk, looking out at the night sky, wondering what was going on in the wizarding world at this moment.
None of his friends were any help at the moment, the letters that were being sent to him not containing any information on the outside world. He looked at the letters that he had saved, and read them over again, seeing if there was any clue that he had missed.
Dear Harry,
I know you want to know what is going on, but we can't say anything to you, I really am sorry. I know that we will see you soon, some of the people here have been talking about coming to get you and bring to our location. We've been really busy here, and we haven't had much time to write anything. Oh, I have to go now, something fell upstairs. See you soon!
Love from,
Hermione
Dear Harry,
How are you, mate? We've been really busy here, and we haven't had much time to write (As Hermione probably told you.), and I'm sorry about that. Cleaning this place is a lot of work. I know you want answers, but we've been told not to say anything about, you know what. Sorry.
Ron Weasley
Harry read the letters over and over until he got sick of reading them, for this night at least. He didn't want to sit in his bedroom at Number 4, Privet Drive and wait for someone to come and kill him, he wanted to get revenge on the man who he knew was going to destroy the lives of people who don't deserve to die because of their blood.
He went back to his bed, lying back down under the sheets, succumbing to sleep again. His mind angry with his friends, the world, and Voldemort himself, for putting him in the position he is in now.
Harry crouched behind the headstone and knew that the end had come. There was no hope . . . no help to be had. And as he heard Voldemort draw nearer still, he knew one thing only, and it was beyond fear or reason: He was not going to die here like a little child playing hide-and-seek; he was not going to die kneeling at Voldemort's feet, he was going to die upright like his father, and he was going to die trying to defend himself, even if no defense was possible . . .
Before Voldemort could stick his snakelike face around the headstone, Harry stood up . . . he gripped his wand tightly in his hand, thrust it out in front of him, and threw himself around the headstone, facing Voldemort.
Voldemort was ready. As Harry shouted, "Expelliarmus!" Voldemort cried, "Avada Kedavra!"
"GET UP!" Uncle Vernon's voice bellowed. Harry woke up, seeing that daylight was coming through the window of his bedroom. He rubbed his eyes, trying to remove the sleepiness from them.
Why can't I get out of this hellhole? Why are my friends intending to keep me locked up while they have fun at someplace else? Who knows what they're 'cleaning' in some house? I sure don't.
Harry stood up, and looked out of his window, waiting for the owl to come and deliver his copy of the Daily Prophet, so he could see if there was some hint, some clue as to what was going on. If there had been any attacks, and sort of sign that people couldn't understand.
It came seconds later, hooting as loudly as possible. Great, this'll anger Uncle Vernon. The window was already open, trying to catch a breeze that was never there anymore. The hottest summer Harry had ever seen at Privet Drive. A drought was sweeping through the area like wildfire. He let the owl take a drink of water from Hedwig's empty cage, put some money into the sack, and flew off.
He unrolled the papers and opened them to the front page. It immediately caught Harry's eye.
Storgis Burgens died
Author: Jim Harrisburg
Storgis Burgens, the mother-in-law of Minister of Magic Cornelius Fudge, died last night in her sleep. She was sound asleep in her bed when lit candle that was left unattended fell from its holder and onto the wooden floor.
But, that however may not be the case. People of the wizarding world remember Harry Potter's ridiculous accusation that He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named is back and is coming to kill us all.
Now, while we still believe his story is the most ludicrous story that we have heard in a long time, it has been said that there are several ex-Death Eaters in the same community that Mrs. Burgens lived in. We here at the Daily Prophet believe that this is a message to all members of the wizarding community that the Death Eaters are still alive and well.
Mrs. Burgens death came as a strong shock to all of us here, and I hope that you all pray for Minister Fudge and his family as they go through this troubling time. A memorial service will be held on two days from now, on Wednesday the 16th, and a private funeral will be held on Saturday the 19th.
Harry looked below the article to see the remains of a house, and people swarming over it, trying to put the flames out. The flames just kept rising, higher and higher. Harry kept staring at it, looking into the colored flames. Then something appeared in them that he thought no one else could see. The Dark Mark was floating above the flame's core, keeping the fire lit.
"BOY! GET DOWN HERE!"
Harry sighed. The mark had disappeared, "Coming, Uncle Vernon." He set the paper down on his desk and walked out of his bedroom door.