AU: WOW. I am completely blown away by the support you have all shown for this story. It took me three years to get 20-some reviews for my last story, and 4 hours to get the 5 reviews I asked for for this one. I'm assuming that to be a hint to update frequently? I promise I'll try. Sorry for the delay in this chapter. I know I said I would post as soon as I got those 5 reviews, but quite frankly, I didn't imagine they would come that fast. Thank you all so much!
Ps: Kat you were right about the 'its' and 'it's' mess-ups in the last chapter. I never noticed! Hopefully I'll spot them all this time and fix them. Sorry about that: I bet that got rather annoying. Thanks for the tip.
And of course the disclaimer: Blah Blah Blah: These are not my characters. Blah Blah: It all belongs to Jo. Blah Blah: I wish I was as talented as she was. Blah Blah: I don't own Harry Potter. sob
Here we go again...
Path of Darkness
CHAPTER II: One Week
"Oh, Hermione. Where are you?" Ron muttered under his breath frantically, begging for her return. He shifted his feet nervously, glancing around the darkened room, illuminated only by fog-covered moonlight and the hazy orange glow of the street lamps outside the frosted window.
The same window in fact that had once been barred to prevent the escape of a young wizard boy. A boy that was now not so young, but still in dire need of help. Ron had saved Harry by pulling him through that window into the flying Ford Anglia, but Ron did not know if he could save Harry now. How he wished times were as simple as they once were when you were able to solve your problems using Muggle hair pins and the family car.
"Hurry, Hermione..." He whispered his plea, but it would forever be unheard, for at that moment, a more desperate, louder one was cried out.
"NO! No more, please...!" The now-common, beseeching cry was heard again for the innumerous time in the past few moments. Ron stood over Harry's bed, gripping the unconscious form by the shoulders in an attempt to jostle him awake and rid him of whatever horror ensued his repetitive dreams.
Harry wrenched away, tossing restlessly. He was muttering deliriously now. "Never!...No...Please!" Harry cried out, pleading with his invisible tormentor, face drenched in his own sweat and tears. He was gripping madly at his scar, as if it alone was the cause of his pain. "Help! Please, make it stop!...Someone! Make it go away...I'll do anything, please!...Aah!"
He was full-out screaming now. Screaming a blood-curdling, bone-chilling scream that was the result of his utter agony, and Ron could only stand there watching, only able to imagine what evil could possibly be causing this.
He tried once more to wake him up, shaking Harry just enough to bring him back to reality. "Harry, please. You have to wake up, mate. Wake up!"
"No more! Please! NOOO!" Harry screamed, bolting up straight in his bed causing Ron to jump back. He was gasping for air, frantically searching the room with wide eyes that did not seem to be his own, for some reason not seeming to be the famous emerald green. But in a moment they were back to their normal hue, obscured by tears streaming from them. Harry fought with the effort to regain control of his breathing and surroundings, and relaxed back down, head in his hands.
Everything was eerily silent in the moment that immediately following that horrifying scream. Harry sat hunched over on his bed, breathing with heavy, shuddering breaths, cradling his right arm and clutching his scar, shaking uncontrollably.
"Harry? You...you ok?" Ron ventured uncertainly, afraid of what his friend might tell him.
"Ron!" Harry's head jerked up at him, seemingly startled by the voice. "Wha-what happened?"
Before Ron could even open his mouth to respond, two figures rushed into the room; one with shabby robes and another with a thick mane of brown flowing behind her.
The shabby-robed Lupin took immediate action and rushed forward to kneel on the floor in front of where Harry sat on the bed. Hermione flicked on the light switch, bathing the room in unnatural yellow glow, then moved to stand beside Ron, looking concerned and fearful.
"Harry, what happened? Are you alright?" His voice was urgent.
"Yeah, I'm-I'm ok." He began uncertainly, squinting against the light. "It was...another dream."
"Was it like the others?"
"Yes...but..." Harry pressed his hand to the searing scar on his forehead, hoping to ebb the pain. But when he touched his forehead he felt a thick, warm liquid flowing from where his scar should be. He brought his hand down immediately and gaped at it, shocked at what he saw.
His hand was covered in blood.
He wiped his other hand across his forehead and came down with more shimmering crimson.
"Lupin! My scar!" Harry gasped in fear.
"What about it, Harry?" His voice showed his alarm.
"It's bleeding! Look at it!" He tilted his head up so Lupin could see the coursing stream better. But before Lupin even commented, Harry knew something was wrong by the confused look on his face.
"Harry...I don't see anything."
"What do you mean? How can you not see it?" Harry asked incredulously.
"There's nothing there." He said slowly, causing Harry to wipe more off his face, just to make sure he wasn't hallucinating.
"What...? Ron! Hermione! You can see it, right? Look at my hands!" He held them out to them.
"No, Harry. I-I don't see anything." Hermione said cautiously, as though she was responding to an unstable explosive.
"Ron! Please?"
"No, mate...There's nothing."
"Harry?" Remus asked tentatively.
"Lupin. You believe me, don't you?"
"Harry...there's nothing there. Your scar's fine."
"But...but how can you not...? My scar is bleeding!"
Everyone stared at him as though concerned for his mental health. And if they really couldn't see the blood, then they had every right to.
"I don't understand..."
"Maybe it's just from your dream. Your probably just imagining it..."
"I'm not imagining it! It's real! I'm bleeding! Why don't you believe me?"
"I'm not saying I don't believe you: I'm saying I don't see any blood."
"But..." Harry began, astounded and horrified at this, and whatever it could mean. But before he could contemplate exactly what was occurring, he was taken over by an unbearable pain encasing his skull in thousands of pounds of pressure. He fell back onto his bed, screaming, grasping his 'bleeding' scar, gasping in agony, eyes clenched shut.
"NOO!" He pleaded again, but once again the pain did not end with his cries. Lupin jumped forward and grabbed his shoulders to subdue him, just as Ron had done not so long before. Ron and Hermione ran forward as well, standing beside Lupin, looking pale and unsure of what to do.
"Harry! Harry, what is it?"
He rolled from side to side, ripping free of Lupin's grasp.
"NO! Please! NOO!" He was begging, praying for it to stop. For in the dark void of Harry's mind, at this moment, he could see Voldemort, standing over his fetal body in a dark, cold room.
Voldemort was torturing him. And a thousand miles away, Harry could feel the pain.
"You are mine, Harry Potter." The voice of the Dark Lord hissed in what Harry could discern through his pleads as Parseltongue. "One week."
Harry screamed and eyes snapped open to view three faces leaning over him. He was gasping for air, profusely and visibly shaken by what had just taken place. He sat back up, and felt sick, head spinning, pounding; scar throbbing and searing. He slowly slid his legs over the side of his bed and sat there hunched over, palms pressing into his streaming eye sockets, still shaking. For the next few moments, the only sounds to be heard were that of Harry's sobs and Uncle Vernon's snores from the next room over, amazingly still sleeping soundly through all of this due to the powerful silencing charm. Just a remembrance of how they all wished life could again be that simple...
After another few minutes, Hermione spoke up.
"Harry...? Are you alright?" She spoke tentatively. She moved and sat on the bed next to him, hand on his shoulder.
He cringed at her touch, for it sent an unexplainable jolt of pain through him. But he made no effort to remove it. Her hand was so warm, and he was so cold. Everything was so cold. Everything hurt.
One week. Voldemort's voice was imprinted upon him, and the chilling sound still rang in his ears, filling Harry with the utmost amount of fear. He did not want to know what would happen in one week, especially after that dream.
For an eternal moment, Harry did not answer their questions. He contemplated everything that dream could have possible meant. And he did not want to accept any of it as truth. He sat their wiping his eyes and taking deep, sobering breaths.
"No. I'm not." Harry finally spoke. He sniffed, staring down at his nail-clenched arm.
"What was that, Harry?" It was Lupin who spoke this time, referring to the recurring nightmare. He sounded more serious than he had before.
"I...I don't know." He said truthfully, this unknowingness scaring him and everyone else almost as much as what had actually happened. He still did not meet anyone's eyes.
"Harry. What just happened?" Remus pressed.
"Nothing. It was just my scar." Harry tried to blow it off, yet he knew they would never accept this as a reasonable excuse. But he could not bring himself to tell them what had really occurred. He could not tell them the events of his dream.
But mentioning his scar reminded him of what had happened before...whatever that just was. He looked at his hands: they were still shimmering scarlet. No sense reminding anyone else; they didn't believe him anyway.
Lupin looked at him warily, studying him, before he spoke. "Harry. I need to know what your dream was about. You said it was like the others, but they never caused you to do this. What was different?"
What was different? Harry sat there, wiping invisible blood off his forehead, contemplating what he could say that would summerize what was different. Maybe it was that this was a prophetic dream of his own demise; that was certainly different than the other dreams he had been having. But how do you tell someone that you were just a witness to your own death?
One week. The thought echoed in his mind again, making him shake in remembrance, and his scar gave another twinge.
"I could feel the pain..." Harry heard himself whispering, but did not at first comprehend that it was he who said it.
The three standing before him all exchanged enigmatical glances. Harry closed his eyes, torn between straining to remember everything detail of the occurrence and wanting nothing more than to forget it had all ever happened.
"What...what do you mean by 'you could feel the pain'?" Lupin asked slowly, knowing he would not like the answer he would be given.
Harry did not think he wanted to tell them anymore than that. But he knew they would not stop asking questions until the entire truth was revealed.
He sighed, and began, knowing it would eventually have to be told. "Normally, I just see flashes of things--they aren't really ever clear, I can never understand what they mean. But this time--this time they were put together. It was as if it was actually happening..."
No one spoke. It was an extremely awkward silence.
"What was happening, Harry?"
His voice was barely above a whisper when he responded. "He was...torturing me. I could feel the pain..." With that line in the correct context, it became so much darker.
Everyone's face became deathly pallid.
"Why was he torturing you?" Lupin whispered. "Was there a reason?"
One week. He swallowed hard and pushed the thought away.
"Besides that it's his life goal to inflict as much pain upon me as possible?" The sarcasm cut through the high tension in the room. Lupin even managed a ghost of what had once been a smile.
"Er, well, yes. Was there any other reason?"
Harry paused, finding the right words. He spoke slowly. "He...wanted me to...do something."
"Can you remember what it was?"
"No," Harry said, more firmly then he had meant, for it was a complete lie. He remembered all too clearly what the Dark Lord had been trying to persuade him to do, and in the end what he had accomplished. Right before Harry had been...killed. Harry couldn't bring himself to tell them what had truly happened in his dream, or why there were deep fingernail marks on his inner arm from where he himself had been gripping it in pain.
Some things are just best left unsaid. No matter how important they are.
One week.
"Harry. You haven't had a dream where Voldemort was torturing you since the night before we left Hogwarts, have you?" Ron finally spoke.
"What?"
"You know? That dream you and Ginny both had."
"Wait, Harry. You and Ginny had the same dream? On the same night?" Remus asked.
"Er, yeah. She told me about it the next day. We thought it was a coincidence." No, I wanted everyone to think it was a coincidence.
"Haven't you learned enough about the Wizarding world to know that there are no such thing as coincidences?" Lupin lightly reprimanded.
"Well, I just thought..."
"No, Harry. You knew, didn't you? You knew it was just like the others you have had before. And if Ginny had the same one, that proves it. Why wouldn't you tell someone about that?" He didn't sound accusatory–just concerned. But the words had for some reason had a deeper affect on Harry and he was left speechless.
"Harry?" It was Hermione who spoke this time, realizing that Lupin's words had put him in an awkward position. "If you and Ginny had the same dream before, do you think she could have had this one as well?"
"Er, I dunno..." Please, God, don't let her have had this one. Don't let her have seen what I saw...
"We need to find out." Lupin said simply.
"But...but it's so early in the morning. If she didn't have it, we'd be waking the whole house up for nothing." Harry protested.
"But if she did have it, then they are probably already awake. And even if Ginny was granted the night of peaceful sleep, they need to know you are having more prophetic dreams."
"What?"
"I was told by the Order to keep them fully updated. And as members of the Order of the Phoenix, Arthur and Molly need to know what's going on here."
"Nothing's going on here! I had a nightmare! It was just a bad dream caused by stress. If you want to report to the Order that I'm a little stressed out from everything that's happened, that's no news to them."
"But that was not a normal dream!" Lupin raised his voice, something he rarely did. Harry knew that he had crossed that infamous invisible line. "I don't know what it is that you don't want people knowing about this dream, Harry, but they need to know. And if you..."
Lupin's words were cut short by a loud crash downstairs. Everyone froze, alert to the most minute noise, straining to hear for the source. Another crash soon followed. There were now at least two people in the living room downstairs.
"Ginny! I told you not to come!" The muffled voice of Arthur Weasley was heard, referring to the second crashing sound.
Ginny. Ginny was here? Did she really have the same dream?
"If it wasn't for me, you wouldn't even know about any of this. And I have to give this to Harry." Even from far away, her voice sounded unnatural, and possibly...panicked? And what could she possible have to give him?
They heard Mr. Weasley sigh. "Alright, alright. No sense arguing, now: you're here anyway. Let's go find them and hope they don't mind us waking them up at this ungodly hour."
Yeah, right. I wish we were still asleep. Then none of this would have ever happened.
"We're up here, Arthur! Don't worry, we're awake." Remus shouted to them. But his eyes never left Harry, as if to enforce what he had previously been saying. Harry could only pray that Ginny did not experience what he did.
Two steps of footsteps were heard coming up the stairs and down the hall, one much faster than the other. In a matter of moments, Ginny had rushed through the doorway and, ignoring everyone else, ran and attached herself to Harry, arms wrapped tightly around his neck. In her hands she clutched an aged paper scroll.
"Harry." She sobbed into his shoulder. "I was so-so worried..."
"Ginny. We're fine. What's wrong?" He strained to say through her constricting grip.
"She, er, had a bad dream." Mr. Weasley explained as he walked in the room.
The casualness of that term could have been no more out of place.
"Ginny. Was it like the one from the train?" Harry asked slowly and warily.
"Well..." She hesitated, and sat back on the bed beside him, wiping her eyes on the sleeve of her purple night robe. She looked up at him for the first time since she entered the room, and gasped. "Harry! Your scar is bleeding!"
"What? You-you can see it?"
"Of course! How could I not? What happened?"
"I don't know. It was like that when I woke up." He then turned to Lupin "Can you see it now?"
"No, Harry. But now I'm starting to think that something is truly wrong."
"Remus, what are you talking about? What's going on here?" Mr. Weasley sounded lost.
"I think Harry and Ginny have been having the same dreams. And I also think that whatever they have been seeing in them is going to happen sometime soon."
"Sometime soon!" Ginny exclaimed, then turned to Harry. "You told me on the train it was just a coincidence. You said it wouldn't come true!"
"It won't. It's just a dream." He tried to assure her, but wasn't sure if it was he that was the one that really needed to be assured.
"No, Harry. It was real and you know it! I was there. I--I watched you die..."
Harry's heart plummeted to somewhere around his navel.
"Die!" The word was echoed through the room, everyone speaking aloud their shock and horror.
"I think you failed to mention that, Harry." Lupin said coldly.
Harry lowered his head and stared at his hands, which were still covered in the thick, red liquid.
"So, Harry. You had the same dream?" Ginny asked softly.
Harry sighed, and rested his forehead in his hands. "Yeah, Gin." He admitted, but then remembered something else. "Ginny, what do you have in your hand?"
She gave a small gasp of remembrance. "Well, when I woke up, there was a huge black bird at the window sill. I have no idea who it was from, but this was tied to it." She handed him the old parchment. "It's addressed to you."
"To me? Then why would it be delivered to you?"
"I don't know. But, what I think is, whoever sent it wanted it to be me who gave it to you."
Harry stared down at the scroll in his hand, and noticed the wax seal holding it closed had already been broken, and glanced up at Ginny.
"I, er, wanted to know what it said. Sorry."
He gave a half smile at her curiosity as unraveled it, but when he saw the words shining on the page before him, his smile instantly vanished. On the parchment that he had dropped onto his lap, two words shone up at him written in the same color as his own bloody fingerprints that he had left there beside them. Two profoundly foreshadowing words that scared him more than anything else that could have been written upon that paper.
One week.
AU: I can't really think of anything to say for this author's note, so I think I'll just leave it at this. Hope you enjoyed the chapter: the next one will explain more. This time though I am demanding a minimum of 7 new reviews/flames before I'll even consider posting again. You met my demands so well last time, I thought I'd up-the-ante. I'll try and get Chapter III up faster than I did Chapter II. Keep reading, don't give up yet. More surprises to come.
May the force be with you. Disapparates