Titan of Magic
The Dream
Harry James Potter awoke with a gasp and a start – vivid images of the cupboard under the stairs in Number Four, Privet Drive still swimming in his vision. The Leaky Cauldron was still, silent. Not unexpected at 4AM in the morning.
Breath still heaving from his sudden awakening, the last Potter fumbled for his glasses on the bedside table nearby, blinking blearily around upon reuniting them with his eyes.
Nothing.
Peace. Quiet. Tranquillity.
Well, except for his pounding heart; slowly returning to normal. But other then that, the room was indeed silent as the grave. Fine mahogany walls and furnishings, a neutrally coloured ceiling and pale strips of birch wood lined the floor. A window, cracked open to the sweeping street of Diagon Alley, was set into the wall directly next to the bed, allowing a light breeze to ruffle the room. An adjoining bathroom lay across the room - decent enough, but ageing.
Relaxing back onto the pillows, Harry took a deep breath and considered what had awoken him: the dream… the nightmare…
Blood. Broken images of the cupboard – that blasted fucking cupboard – and a suffocating sulphurous stench. And one more sight… something unspeakable to Harry; incomprehensible to him.
What does it mean? Harry thought to himself tiredly. Tonight marked the third time this particular dream had recurred. Thrice, he'd stared at the awful visage of his relatives' home. He didn't know much about what magic could do in regards to dreams, or visions… but he trusted his gut.
He'd bet every galleon in his vault that something awful was going to happen. He didn't know when, or how, but he knew it deep in his bones.
He also knew that it couldn't be allowed to come to pass. He wouldn't allow it to be.
Whereas before his thoughts about the dream were muddled and confused, now they were laser sharp. For he'd seen something new this time. Something that would motivate Harry Potter to the brink and beyond. Something that every fibre in his being would not stand to allow.
Harry James Potter rose from his bed in the pre-dawn light of The Leaky Cauldron, and noiselessly headed for the shower. His thoughts were focused, his purpose clear. It was the stance of someone prepared to move mountains to achieve their goals. And move mountains he would, if he had to. For there was no chance that he would let what he had seen in his dream become reality.
In the seconds before the door to the bathroom shut, it almost seemed as if the room beyond darkened, playing out that last scene of his nightmare again…
In a flash - the cupboard – broken, splintered, covered in blood… both dry and wet. The smell of sulphur. And worst of all, in that cupboard… two bodies. Both in horrific condition, mutilated beyond belief. But their faces remained untouched, clearly recognisable to those viewing the gruesome sight.
Hermione Granger and Ronald Weasley.
The door snapped shut, echoing quietly with the newfound strength of Harry's resolve. He would not let that dream happen. Again, a mantra - in time with his thudding heart: He would not let that dream happen. One, two, three, four.
I will not let that happen.
I will not.
Hey folks. If you're reading this, thanks for giving it a shot. :) I'm trying my hand at writing a competently magical Harry, without all the shenanigans that cause him to lose what makes him a Gryffindor. Personally, I think that working to stop a terrible vision of his closest friends tortured demise is a perfect way to make that happen... Friendship and potential loss is a very powerful motivator. And yes, this story will be quite dark, if it all pans out how I think it will.
If you're interested in seeing more, review, favourite and follow so I know. :) The more feedback, the greater my desire to get more work out there for you all. Thanks!
-A Dark Noon