75. A tearful departure
Harry's chair tilted backwards from his weight. His body actually phased through the ground. Light and magic shot by and he had to shut his eyes lest he go blind. In an attempt to escape, he tried to reach into his magic, but he felt nothing.
He had little time to panic before his body slammed into a hard ground. Pain rattled throughout his body as it felt as though his bones were crumbling to dust.
"Rise," a commanding voice demanded of him.
It sounded much like a king calling out to a particularly foolish plebian.
Something inside of Harry warned him not to disobey, not now. Pushing pass the pain, he rose to his feet and blinked away the spots in his vision. It was when it cleared that he realized that he was in a rather prestigious if not well worn office.
Sitting at the table was Morpheus. The man looked a touch healthier than Harry had last seen him, but not by much. How had he gotten here without magic? He wanted to dismiss this all as a dream.
Morpheus leaned back as though he was before an audience and the air seemed to thicken in tension.
It was little doubt that Morpheus had read him as one would a book. Harry was used to this reading of emotion and thoughts from Teleute. That gave him a sense of wonderment and intimacy, but this felt like an intrusion.
"This is my world; this state of mind is my entire domain. There is no intrusion only my birthright. You are not before me to wax ignorance. You have a role to play and you have been found to be lacking." His words were thick and measured. His every movement was like that of the greatest actor.
Harry dared not interrupt.
"My sister is foolish in her fondness of you. Pitiful Tom Riddle's hour has passed yet you have accomplished nothing. I have little patience to coddle you. The fantasy that is your life, the prophecy that is your purpose has not been fulfilled," Morpheus slammed shut a book Harry just noticed. With a wave something burst from the cover.
Wind blew as sharp as a whistle. Harry could only shield his eyes as he saw the true form of the item. It was a compass of a make he knew was fantastic.
Morpheus rose from his position, his robe like garments fluttering extensively as though blown by a mighty wind. His steps rang in Harry's ears like a regiment of armored soldiers. Morpheus' shadows fully consumed his figure and wariness filled him.
Morpheus firmly took Harry's right hand and forced it opened. "Play your role, Harry James Potter."
Harry's eyes shot wide as the compass was forced into his palm. The compass was a hot metal rod that grinded his very bones. Overwhelmed by the sheer pain, Harry cried out. His voice rippled through the room.
Morpheus was unmoved by Harry's scream. Morpheus had a countenance of an emperor bestowing an overly gracious boon to his subject. "It is done. Your path has been defined. The compass will guide you to your life's goal."
"What?" Harry choked through his agony.
"The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord approaches. Born to those who have thrice defied him, born as the seventh month dies… and the Dark Lord will mark him as his equal, but he will have power the Dark Lord knows not… and either must die at the hand of the other for neither can live while the other survives. The one with the power of vanquish the Dark Lord will be born as the seventh month dies," Morpheus recited.
Harry couldn't understand Morpheus' motives. Tom Riddle was no threat to this man before him.
Morpheus answered his thoughts, "What is magic but a single part of fantasy? And all things fantastic are my concern and under my employ. Do your duty and finish the tale of Tom Riddle."
Morpheus whipped his clothing aside and took his leave. He did not give Harry a second glance but instead waved him off as one would a slow footed child.
Harry's heart raced and he opened his eyes to find himself facing an amused Teleute. "It was just a dream," he whispered in an attempt to soothe his nerves.
With great reluctance, he opened his palm and nearly gasped at the sight. Melded into his palm was the face of a compass, the directions etched to his very flesh. Phantom pains unsteadied his hand.
The dreaming world had unquestionable power.
He knew now that he had a role to play.
