Saturday, Feb. 1st, 2003

.~:Chapter One - The Dream:~.

   Harry sat quietly in his bed, his head propped up by a pillow. His usually untidy hair was even worst off then usual and his lighten blot shaped scar was in plain view on his forehead. There seemed to be not one shred of life in his dull emerald eyes. They had used to be full of laughter and innocent. But there was nothing in those green depths anymore, or if there was, it was buried so deep that no one could see it.

   He sat quite still, staring straight ahead at the wall. He was unable to fall asleep just like so many nights since he left Hogwarts. Not that he was surprised at that. After everything that had happened during his last few weeks at school, he would be surprised if he got any sleep tonight.

   His mind kept playing over the events that had taken pace after he had touched the Tri-Wizard cup. The images of what had happened wouldn't leave him, no matter how hard he tried to rid himself of them. Voldemort's return...Wormtail cradling his arm.... Cedric.... dead...the Death Eaters.... his Parents.

   He closed his eyes for a moment to try and block out the memories. But that didn't work. They just came back harder and faster. Unwillingly his thoughts turned back to Voldemort's Rebirth. He shook his head. 'No! Please no!' He thought to himself. But it was no use. They thoughts kept coming…

.~:Flash Back:~.

   'Bone of the father, unknowingly given, you will renew your son!' Harry watched as a fine trickle of dust rose into the air at Wormtail's command, and fell softly into the cauldron.

   'Flesh – of the servant – w-willingly given – you will – revive – your master.' He stretched his right hand out in front of him and Harry realized what Wormtail was about to do a second before it happened… He heard a sickening splash as something was dropped into the cauldron.

   'B-blood of the enemy … forcibly taken … you will … resurrect your foe.' Wormtail staggered back to the cauldron with Harry's blood. He poured it inside. The liquid within turned, instantly, a blinding white.

   The cauldron was simmering, sending its diamond sparks in all directions, so blindingly bright that it turned all else to velvety blackness. Nothing happened…

   Let it have drowned; Harry thought, let it have gone wrong…

  And then, suddenly, the sparks emanating from the cauldron were extinguished and a white mist filled the air. …It's drowned … please… please let it be dead.

   But then, through the mist in front of him, he saw, with an icy surge of terror, the dark outline of a man, tall and skeletally thin, rising slowly from the cauldron.

   Lord Voldemort had risen again.

   "No!" Harry told himself firmly, finally able to break away from the memories. His breathing came in sharp unsteady gasps. He didn't want these memories any more. They wouldn't leave him. Why did they have to be real?

    Harry wished he could forget it all. Remembering what happened was just too hard on him and it showed. He hadn't slept well since then and he hardly ate anything. Not that he would have been eating much even if he had wanted too. Aunt Petuina barely gave him anything to eat anymore, not like she had before, be she had least given him enough to live off of. Not now though. All that had changed, but Uncle Vernon and his Aunt Petuina didn't care one bit.

     They were in a worst mood then usual when he came back from Hogwarts. Dumbledore had sent them a letter, informing them of the events that had taken pace that year. He told them all about the Tri-Wizard Tournament and about the death of one of Harry's fellow classmate and Tri-Wizard Champion, Cedric Diggory. They had been informed of his injuries and didn't care in the slightest. They just used all of this to torture him even more.

   They would blame him from the death of Cedric, though they didn't know the whole story and hadn't even met the boy, but that didn't matter. They would tell him that it was his fault that this Voldemort had come back and that everyone would be better of if he was dead. This had all pushed Harry to the edge.

   Harry had come very close to committing suicide many times that summer. He just couldn't handle everything. He felt like he was being blocked in a very small box with no way out. He could still remember the first time he had tried to kill himself.

   He had been vomiting in the washroom late one night because he was ill and the beatings from his Uncle hadn't helped at all. H had just been sitting on the floor in front of the toilet gasping for air when he noticed that Aunt Petuina had left her razor by the bath tuba. He had grabbed it in his shaky hand, examining it, and wondered how it would feel to have the blade slide through his wrist and then watch the blood flow to the ground.

   He had then taken the blade in his hand and brought it closer to his wrist. He had shut his eyes and prepared himself to slide the blade when a strangle feeling had run through him. He hadn't know where it had come from, only that it had been comforting and was sort of trying to tell him that this was wrong. That this wasn't the way to deal with his problems. It had felt like something warm and happy, like love? From what he didn't know, but that was what he had felt. He had felt someone's love for him.

  From that time on every time he tries to kill himself that feeling would come back. It would somehow bring back the happy memories that he had instead of the painful ones. Like when Gryffindor had won the house cup or won the Quiddicth cup in his third year. Al the happy times that he had had with Ron and Hermione. Memories of Sirius, his Godfather, and thoughts of Professor Lupin's Defense classes would come to him. They were the only thoughts that kept him sane.

  But, of course, the teasing and memories weren't his only problems this summer. His Uncle was the worst part. Now Uncle Vernon had always lost his temper with him, but he had never hurt him since he began school at Hogwarts. But his Uncle's drill company had been suffering lately and Vernon seemed to blame the whole thing on him.

  He had come home one night, feeling tired and anger because of his company and had found Harry just inside the door dusting some of the furniture. Well, as soon as Vernon set his eyes on Harry, he had started yelling and screaming and had dropped his suitcase to chase him. That when the beatings started. Everyday His Uncle found some reason to beat him senseless and it seemed that they were getting worst. He know wasn't sure if his Uncle had broken his ribs or not from the kicks and he had thrown up a few times because of the blows to his stomach. Some nights Harry would wake up to just start coughing up blood.

   Harry wished that he could have used magic to stop his Uncle, but because of the law he wasn't allowed to. He would be expelled from Hogwarts and that was something that he didn't want to happen. Hogwarts was his home and he'd rather die then not go back there. So he remained silent and did nothing.

    Now his back ached all the time and his wounds from the Tournament still hadn't healed. He wished he could tell someone, but Uncle Vernon had threatened Harry that if he told anyone, he wouldn't be alive long enough for anyone to do anything about it. 

   "Sirius." Harry whispered to no one in his dark room. He wished his Godfather were there. He wanted so much to tell him about how the Dursleys' treated him. Even though he knew how Sirius would react. But unfortunately he couldn't. He couldn't tell anyone.

   His thought's then turned to what everyone was sent by Dumbledore to do. He knew that Sirius was out gather up a group of people. They 'old crowd' as Dumbledore had called them, but for what purpose, he didn't know. They were probably needed to help defeat Voldemort.

   What puzzled him the most was what Snape was sent out to do. He can't have rejoined the Death Eaters. Voldemort already knew he had betrayed them and had said he had to be killed. So what was it?

   All these questions began to give Harry a headache. He wanted to try and rid his mind of these thoughts, but knew that was impossible. No matter what he thought about, his mind would always return back to the same thing. Voldemort. It seemed as though every misfortune in his life could come down to Voldemort, or himself. But he couldn't escape the memories. Even Quiddicth, in Harry's opinion the best sport in the world, couldn't distract him.

   Harry sighed and stared around his room. You would have thought that he would have saw what was in every normal fourteen-year-old boys room. But to Harry Potter, the word normal didn't exist. His room was filled with very unusual things. First, his eyes wondered to his wooden trunk, which lay wide open at the foot of his bed. He could see his cauldron, his cherished Firebolt, his black school robes and an assortment of spell books. It had everything that you'd normally find in a wizard trunk.

   His eyes wondered around the rest of his room. Rolls of parchment littered his desk and he watched his snowy whit owl, Hedwig, sleep soundly in her cage on the dresser, with her head tucked under her wing. But even though his room had very unusual things in it, it was still too bare and nit to be a normal fourteen year old boys bedroom, even for a wizard.

   Harry leaned forward a bit and noticed that his Transfiguration book lay open on the floor. He must have dropped it earlier while doing his homework without even realizing it.

   As Harry started to get out of bed to pick up the spell book, he heard something. Soft at first then it began to steadily get louder. As it got louder, so did the sense of foreboding. He realized that it sounded like someone screaming out in pain.

   That's when Harry felt it. The sharp pain in his scar that told him that Voldemort was either around or was feeling murderous. Harry didn't know which as he clutched his scar and struggled with all his might not to make a sound or he'd wake up the Dursleys.

   Suddenly, Harry's window burst open and he jumped out of bed at once. 'Oh, no! Not again, please!'  Harry thought to himself, panicking. He quickly looked around for his wand or anything that would be useful in a fight. But He found nothing. His wand was buried somewhere in his trunk and he had no time to get it out. Then, suddenly, a cloaked figure entered his room causing his scar to explode with pain ten times worst then before.

   Harry knew at once who it was. "Voldemort." And as the word let his lips, Voldemort looked at him. His red eyes seemed to burn into Harry's mind and his snake like features twisted into an evil smile. The scenery around them changed and Harry found he was no longer in his bedroom, but in the middle of a dark forest.

   Death Eaters who were chanting under their breath surrounded Harry. He couldn't make out what they were saying, but he knew whatever they were saying couldn't be good.

   Voldemort was still looking at him and once Harry made eye contact with him, Voldemort smiled. "Nice of you to join us, Potter."

   Harry's scar was hurting like mad and was causing his eyes to water, but he ignored it regardless or how much it hurt. He had more pressing matters. That's when he heard the scream again.

   Harry whipped his head around to see a man dressed in blue robes lying on the ground twitching and screaming in pain. Harry knew what Voldemort was doing to him having felt it many times before himself. Voldemort had him under the Cruciatus curse.

   Voldemort lifted the curse and stared evilly at the man. The man struggled to his feet and Harry could see that there was a golden emblem in the shape of a Phoenix on the front of his robes. The man stared at Voldemort, then turned and noticed Harry. Panic struck his face when he saw him.

   Voldemort smiled. "Are you willing to talk now?"

   The man looked at Voldemort then back at Harry. Harry didn't understand what was going on at all. What did Voldemort want to know? Did this poor man know that he was about to die? And why had he seem so scared when he had saw Harry? Was afraid of him because he read Rita Skeeter's articles on him? Was that it? Harry didn't know, but he had a feeling he was going to find out.

   The man looked back at Voldemort and made up his mind. "You won't get any information out of me, Voldemort. I'd rather die then tell you anything!" The man looked weak, tried, and hurt. Harry was taken aback a bit. He had never heard anyone say Voldemort's name beside himself, Dumbledore, Sirius and Remus. Even Wormtail had been to scare to say it. But what hurt the most was that the man looked like he was hurt and needed rest. Harry could tell that Voldemort had been torturing for a long time now.

   Voldemort's eyes filled with rage. He was sick of playing games. He had been hoping that by bring Potter here he would have been able to persuaded the man to give him so information. Every Order member would do anything to protect a child and Harry Potter wasn't just an ordinary child. So for the last time he shouted, "Who's the one the Order protects?!"

   The man stood stubbornly, knowing that his life was at an end. The panic Harry had seen earlier was gone and no emotion could be seen on his face. The man took in a breath and said calmly, "Go to Hell, Voldemort."

   Voldemort flared with anger. "Right after you! Avada Kedavra!!" The green light shot out of his wand and impacted the poor man.

   Harry heard nothing more then a scream as he shot up right in bed drenched with sweat. His scar burned sharply on his forehead and he was breathing as though he had just run a mile. He could still feel the after effects of the Cruciatus curse running through his body, but there wasn't much he could do about that.

    Harry pushed some hair out of his face and began to do something that he would never have done in public. He cried. He was tired of fighting Voldemort and of watching people suffer and die in his dreams and can't do anything to help them. He just wished he could have a normal life without Voldemort and all the pain that came with him. He wished he could have … a family.

   Harry shook his head to clear his thoughts. His family was dead and there was nothing he could do about that now. But then where did it come from? Harry was feeling the same love flow through him again like every time he was upset or his Uncle was beating him. It was comforting and seemed to give him strength. Harry aced to know where it came from, but he knew for some reason that he might never find out.

   Sighing, he pulled back the covers, got out of bed and ran to the window. Everything seemed normal as could be as he looked out as Privet Drive. Nothing unusual could be seen at all and to Harry's relief, no Voldemort. The only thing he could hear was the soft breeze outside and the loud snores from Dudley next door.

   Harry sank into the chair by his desk still out of breath. His scar didn't hurt as much as it had before, but it still burned dully on his forehead. Then Harry's thought's traveled back to his dream.

   It had seemed so weird. At first he had thought it was real because Voldemort had seen him and talked to him and it had all started in his room. Then he remembered the Death Eaters. They had been chanting around him in a circle. Maybe Voldemort had found away to get to he using his dreams. Maybe what the Death Eaters had been chanting had been some sort of spell to bring his unconscious mind to Voldemort and make him visible. God, Harry hoped not. It was bad enough he had to watch people die and be tortured in his dreams. He really didn't want to start having midnight talks with Voldemort.

   Harry then did the only thing he could think of. He pulled out a blank piece of parchment after clearing an area on his desk and started to write a letter to Sirius telling him what had happened.

   By the time he finished the letter, it was 6:30 and the sun was starting to rise. Harry picked the letter up in his hands and quickly read over it.

Dear Sirius,

   You told me to tell you if my scar ever hurt again, so that's what I'm doing. I had this dream where I was sitting in bed thinking when me window burst open and Voldemort came in. I was then transported to a forest where Death Eaters had surrounding me. They seemed to be chanting some sort of spell under their breath though I have no idea what it was.

   Voldemort was talking to some man in blue robes that had a golden Phoenix emblem. He asked him 'Who's the one the Order protects?' whatever that means, and when he refused to answer, Voldemort killed him.

   That's when I woke up and my scar was hurting bad. The funny thing is that everyone there could see me, and Voldemort spoke to me saying 'nice of you to join us, Potter'. That's never happened before. I think Voldemort may have found away to get to me through some spell or something. As far as I know, he can't hurt me but I really don't want to have to test that theory. Please help, Sirius. I'm not sure what I should do.

 

                                                                                 Harry

   Harry knew the letter made it sound like he was scared, but in truth, he was. He felt like rewriting it, but he didn't have time. If the Dursleys' got up and found him sending letters, he'd be dead and frankly he'd like to push today's beating until much later, thank you very much.

   So with that he folded the letter and sealed it. Harry then slowly got up and head over to Hedwig as quietly as possible. He pocked her softly, trying to wake her up. "Hedwig. Hedwig, wake up. I need you to deliver a letter for me."

   Hedwig fluttered her wings in annoyance. She didn't like waking up this early. She looked at Harry with her big amber eyes in annoyance, but once she saw the look on his face, she realized that this was important.

   Harry tied the letter to her leg and said, "I need you to take this to Sirius as quickly as you can. It's important." Once Harry finished, Hedwig nipped his finger affectionately then took flight.

   Harry watched her slowly disappear into the sky and hoped that she got to Sirius soon. Then he turned and walked over to his closet and started to get dressed. He figured he could then try to get some more of his homework done before Breakfast and the long day of chores.

   He sighed. "At least it may keep my mind off things." And with that, he sat at his desk and began to take out his work. He had to write a two feet long essay on Human Animagus. He knew that if he didn't do it know. He would probably never get it done. He couldn't risk being caught doing his homework during the day and his night would be page with nightmares. Not to mention that he didn't know how bad Uncle Vernon would hurt him today. H didn't have a doubt that his Uncle would hurt him. It happened everyday and he would only ever get away from it if he went back to Hogwarts, Sirius got free and could come and get him, or if Dumbledore allowed him to go to the Weasleys for the rest of the summer. All of which weren't happing any time soon.

  He sighed and opened his textbook. He needed to try and get his mind off of things, though he knew it was hopeless. Silently, he stared out the window into the dark night sky and prayed that help came soon cause he didn't know how much longer it would be before Voldemort or something else came and killed him. He closed his eyes. 'Please Sirius, Help!'