Chapter 10: The Toll

AN: Rights are to JK Rowling and Warner brothers. Please write a review, feedback would go a long way to improve my work. People are reading but I don't know if they are staying or enjoying it. I don't care if you want to tell me I am the worst writer ever (if you do please tell me why and what I can improve) just tell me what you think! I still very much need a beta to help me improve on my work. Today's chapter is the second without a card as the title.

As always, I really need a beta. I make little mistakes in grammar and spelling and could use help in phrasing.

I am extremely influenced by George R. R. Martin in my writing. This next segment of the story will be very much like Bran III in A Game of Thrones, enough so I feel the need to put in this warning.

Please also read my endnote on this chapter, it will be short but important for understanding.

The Toll.

The haunting bells rang a sinister tune of ruin. Harry sat amongst a sea of red with a felled monster before him, the icy body of his classmate a lifeline to hold.

Anger.

This monster had killed Hermione, Harry should not allow it to die in such peace. What it needed was torcher, to use it in painful experiments. Before his eyes, the gargantuan beast skin peeled away and melted into the sea of blood below, revealing inside a human. Harry started to the prone figure, dragging the icy body of Hermione with him, through the knee-deep expanse, laying her against the rubble. He looked at the new body.

The human was pale and hurt, etches of red streaks raised above its boney flesh, its pitch-black hair tussled with no direction. Gripping a shoulder, he turned the boy over to reveal his face. Harry Potter looked at himself covered in blood as his eyes opened to stare back. They were not green. The red-eyed version of himself shown a feral grin as Harry released him back into the coppery ocean, splashing the life energy on himself even more.

Red-eyed Harry stood as his green counterpart scooted back, away from the monster. The grinning version raised a single hand and pointed at Harry as he contacted the dead Hermione. He stared into her brown eyes as they blinked. She lunged and gripped him, uncut nails digging into his arms as she vise-locked him in place.

Her face was sculpted from porcelain, and her hands froze his skin.

"Hermione, your alive." He stuttered, trying to step back and look over her.

"No, you killed her." Harry Potter spoke in the voice of his nightmares, the voice of his darkness, the charismatic rumble.

Harry looked at his red-eyed counter and snarled, "No I didn't, I tried to save her."

"No, you didn't, Harry." Her voice was gentle and smooth. "You tried to win, and you failed."

"That isn't true, I wanted to save you, I tried as hard as I could."

She glared with disgust, "Save me," she wore a cruel frown, "you wished to use me for your gain, typical Slytherin, come out on top no matter the hill you stand upon."

"Please, Hermione. I tried as hard as I could."

She scoffed, "If that is your best effort, I would hate to see your weakest. If you honestly tried your hardest, a prefect and Professor Flitwick would be with you and I would not have died."

"But..."

"How about that spell that saved you? Did you not think to use it earlier, to save me? Was I not pureblood enough to waste magic on? Is a mudblood meaningless to you?"

"No, Hermione, you have it wrong."

"Does she?" Harry Potter cut in, walking behind Hermione, taller than her. He wore clothes new but appeared even thinner than before. He ran his hand over her shoulders possessively. "The way I see it. You could have saved her any time. Are you trying to get in the good graces of your house by killing her? Pansy will love this; she hated the girl. She relentlessly teased her in every opportunity."

"I didn't know..."

"Yes, you did, you chose to ignore. You lived in your own world never searching for the High Priestess, you are a fool and a murderer."

"The troll needed to die; it was self-defense."

"Screw the troll, you killed me."

Harry turned to face the pair, but his wand stood there instead, releasing the familiar glow, releasing him from his torment.

Around him the death bells tolled.

The world passed as a blur. Eternity had already passed as the view of existence expanded past his peripheral. He was not alone for his journey. The poltergeist followed him. Its entire existence sang the dreaded song, the song Harry forgot. The song predicting his demise.

Potters alone again,

Coming around the bend,

Tomorrow will see at last,

The consequences of the past,

The prophetic song predicting his outcome before any attempt. It stopped in Privet Drive. Harry shivered cold and wrapped in a tight bundle of blankets. He watched Dumbledore walk away, appearing much older than before. Harry tried to call out to the professor but only a soft cry emerged, hurting his throat. Hagrid threw himself on a motorcycle that flew away, and McGonagall gripped the Headmaster and teleported, or apparated, away. Lights were on inside the house, flooding the black streets. Vernon answered the door, a hauntingly familiar weapon in his hand making Harry's shoulder erupt in pain, making him cry.

He was a new Vernon; the man was well built and healthy. His face lacked the red tinge of what Harry recalled. Petunia was the opposite as they carried Harry into the house of his youth. She was fuller and lacked her almost anemic look with swollen breasts that no longer exist. Harry knew the words they spoke, but it was too difficult to hear. Petunia cried into the comforting arms of her husband. The hushed conversation grew into an argument, and the scar on his forehead burned. Another baby answered Harry's cry as the adults increased their own volume above the two. Added to the pain was a growing hunger reminiscent of his youth and the desire to suckle. He reached through the now broken blanket for his new provider to help him; she looked him in the eye, and he reached out with his mind, to no avail, exhausting him more. Before he fell into a slumber, they deposited him in his bedroom, closing him from the world. The snow of dust caused him to close his eyes.

Dust continued to fall and turned frigid as Harry opened his eyes. It was snowing through a charred roof as Harry sat up. The sun was rising as two groups of wizards battled in the snowy yard, people ran around the pair of groups yelling in a language Harry never heard. The one side spoke in English, Americanized English, but the language all the same. They sat huddled beneath a wooden construct shooting spells from cover at an advancing group. In the center of the group a man sat holding a burning branch covered in scratched markings, mumbling in Latin with the white's overtaking his whole eye. The man had crisp blonde hair.

Harry began walking to the group as the opposition shouted in a language near the one the locals yelled in, the flashing lights of spells ending more civilians than aggressors.

Once he made it to the group Harry peered from behind the construct as a beautiful man to stage. His hair was golden and clean cut with stunning blue eyes. He was in shape and wore a thick mustache a shade darker than his head. Harry looked at his wand thrice before finally putting together why it was familiar, Dumbledore used that wand. The construct exploded and berried the group beneath the snow. Many last breaths sounded as the blonde's hazel eyes appeared, a familiar set. Cracks of apparition started as the man with Dumbledore's wand appeared in front of the group wearing a cruel smile as he deposited snow over their heads and cast an Egyptian spell that Harry knew; a blood spell of sealing. Nothing would get in or out.

Harry had no tongue.

He discovered that after trying to talk to the other two survivors, a man named Charlus and another named Cygnus. Instead, through a broken ribcage, he listened to the men, the only two survivors of their group also being the only two from England. The longer Harry watched, waving off their attempts to talk with him in the opposite's group's language, the more familiar the two seemed. Cygnus shared Harry's hair, an unkempt mess of black, though Cygnus's fell longer. His grey eyes Harry had seen before in Black. The mannerisms of the pair were eerily familiar, the stroking of Charlus's hair and the way Cygnus spoke was familiar in some untold way to Harry, running his hand through his now short hair.

Two days passed as they labored away living. They buried the bodies of their fallen allies as the air grew thinner. The three men huddled together as communal death approached when Cygnus spoke up again.

"You know Charlus, your boy would have just been born right."

This was the first muttering of children.

"Yes, and you had another recently, correct?"

"My little spitfire was born a year and a half ago."

He paused.

"You're not bad for a Potter, these last few days' I have grown to see you more like my brother than Sirius or Arcturus."

"I cannot say I disagree with you, though we Potters only ever sire one it seems."

"Let us make it official then, my daughter to your son. If we make it out of this shithole, we first thing go to the ministry office and coin it official." He looked at Charlus Potter expectantly, who broke into a smile.

"I'm in, Black."

Harry felt his body die as the universe exploded around him again.

He was hiking with his party through a dense hilled wood, searching for some newly discovered bat by his journals. Harry stood as a bystander in the shell of this person, feeling and speaking with his mouth but in no control. The expedition was largely Greek, but the team spoke and wrote in English. While walking Harry was bitten by a snake, a leopard snake, which was notated as nonvenomous by the team doctor.

Harry couldn't help but notice the snake's cruel red eyes.

It was only an hour before the sun dipped that he could no longer walk, brief moments later a burning fever took over. He lay in his hammock amongst his sleeping congregation when they appeared.

They were shadows, darkness incarnate, silent as the moon above. The group adorned long blood-red robes over pale olive skin. Harry lost the ability to cry out long ago. Each of the cannibals reached down and drew blood from Harry's friend's necks. None awoke. He watched as the bodies withered before him, the entirety of their blood sucked dry leaving a lump of skin and bone.

Then he appeared.

He wore his Turban and brandished a familiar wand. Quirrell was here to save him. He threw spell after spell, hitting and dissolving beast after beast, through an endless horde which emerged from the surrounding wood. He brandished a finely crafted shimmery sword which glittered with unnatural light, cutting through the close vampires.

Harry lost the ability to hear long ago.

The numbers overwhelmed him, his casting speed diminished greatly, his sword swings less precise.

One stumble ended his journey.

The group did not pounce on the vulnerable man laying on the floor, a man with a vine crown, paced before him in a monologue. A glitter appeared in his professors' eye as he brandished his wand, unleashing the judgment of the sun. Even under the trees the light burned bright as holy light cast its divine judgment on the godless beings below. They melted and screamed in silence, clawing at their faces and blocking the source with their useless hands.

When the sun ceased Quirrell looked dead. He lay inebriated and pale. The snake with red eyes approached him and lifted his head much like a cobra wood. The two engaged in a conversation when Harry joined the rest of his crew, but he would not get a sweet passage.

Harry was flung into the void.

The solar system was the first to leave his view, the Sun's light faded into the singularity of all other stars as he moved deeper into nothing, then music and song. Harry prevented himself from looking at the monstrous orchestra as their maddening song blew through the endless uncaring expanse of the uncaring universe. Harry watched as galaxies formed from clouds of dust to the instruction of the tuneless sound. The screeching and hissing the only discernable sounds. Before him, the gate of Yog-Sothoth appeared and opened, ripping Harry through the sudden surge of gravity as it thrust him into the body of someone new.

Harry sat in a warm hall. Chatter resonated among the walls. He sat in a well-lit room with open glass windows, letting the songs of the bird's ring, in a sea of scattered round tables. Opposite him was a large rectangular table with many elders sitting, and a giant woman in the middle. Below the table sat his many peers in light blue robes, the women with a minor shoulder piece, and the men donning hats. Harry sat amongst a few other students but had nervous jitters in his stomach.

"I can't believe you did it, Henri," a boy with brown hair and a plain face said in French, which Harry understood.

"I can't believe my best friends are dating now," a girl with light brown hair added, a smile on her face. She was beautiful.

"We aren't dating, guys, we are only going on a date," Harry heard himself argue.

"You are going on a date with Fleur Delacour, how is that not a big deal for you," the boy retorted.

"Because Matthieu, we were friends first, and I grew to care for her," Harry was wearing a frown.

"And that is why I said yes," someone gave him a hug from behind by strong slender white arms, after a moment releasing him and sitting on his right.

She was stunning. Her cheekbones sat regally upon her sharp features, a soft cheek connecting with platinum blonde hair shared by only Draco Malfoy. Her blue eyes sparkled as if jeweled under small and cute eyebrows. Her slender neck grew into her small shoulders and onto her sizeable breast where the sea of strait blonde ended. Her petite hands rested on the tabletop as she watched him eagerly.

"I remove my earlier statement, this is a huge deal for me," Harry smiled at Fleur and helped dish her meal. She play-swatted at him, huffed, a brilliant smile laden on her sweet lips. "I need to use the restroom." He excused himself.

He walked the halls on cloud nine.

When he finished his business and washed his hands, he experienced the fun they had over the years, the adventure, the studying. With closed eyes he stood there until a prickle hit his neck's back, then he started choking, opening his eyes he saw the black hair silhouette behind him and the bloody tip of a dagger below his chin.

"The veela bitch is mine."

Chocking to death was worse than a collapsed lung.

He awoke in a coughing fit in the coldest place yet, colder even then space. The floor, walls, and ceiling constructed from the same black stone and all were the same size. A storm rumbled beyond the wall as Harry sat on his bed. The source of light bled beyond the thing not made of the stone, the bars that held him. His tunic was transparent, and his pants were not any better. His hands shook. Harry stared at the wall, unable to do more. Too cold and too tired.

The light in the hall was grey.

The hours passed as his only company was the screams. Through the bars he heard them, the terrible screams. The yells promised pain and agony, some called out in innocence, but most only screamed for it to stop. Some still held spirit, most, however, only screamed. The sounds became less and less distant as he sat in anticipation.

Around the corner, the cell next to his erupted in the agonizing song as Harry peered at the locked bars. The screaming stopped.

A hooded figure floated to the door, flanked by two others of its kind. The pitch-black robe sucked the little grey light that shaped his room as well as the heat. Harry's hand continued to shake. A green skeletal hand pulled a collection of keys from within the folds of the robes. A soft chattering jingle brought no joy and used it to unlock the room. Then, the lead turned to one of its flanks and grabbed a tray containing a black liquid soup and a crusty piece of bread, proceeding to deposit it on a small table built from the wall. The hooded figure reached the top of the room, which stood two and a half meters high.

It moved in on Harry, who continued to shake. It moved closer and closer until Harry saw beneath the hood, space held more. The endless void of nothing was fuller than the monster before him, the monster could be equated to a black hole for the vast nothing it had, but even that was doing a black hole a disservice for they held event horizons, a colorful flash before the end. Once the hood overtook him, the monster screeched and backed away, the other two screeched back. All three left with his door open.

Harry could not run; he only shook his hands. Food entered and disappeared as the passing of time was noted in visits. After the first meeting he had no more direct encounters with the sucking void.

"I'm innocent. It was Wormtail, I did not do it. He was my brother. No, please, no. I need a trial, they need to know," a maniac yelled through the hall, walking with the sound of scraping chains on the cold metal ground. "I need to get to Harry. I need to be certain he is ok. He needs me, I am his last family, he needs me."

In the cell across from him, they threw in the yelling man. He was an older and more handsome Cepheus Black with haunting grey eyes.

"Shut the fuck up, Black." One of his escorts punched the man's gut as the Cepheus clone spewed on the floor, making the two escorts laugh.

"Please," the man pleaded from the floor, "My godson."

"You think you are getting anywhere near the-boy-who-lived? Sirius Black, you are crazier than they led us to understand. Once your cousin, Bellatrix, is done in court should have put her in here too? You would like that, you sick fuck, wouldn't you?"

"Bella gets a trial?" He spoke with a heartbroken tone. They answered him with another blow.

"My godson."

"You think you can see him; you are a traitor and a coward and a murderer, you will never see Harry ever again you monster."

"Please, I didn't do it."

"Save it for the judge."

"There was no judge."

"Barty was your judge."

"Barty has hated me since I pranked his 'poor precious son,' the stuck-up bastard." He was kicked again and looked at Harry who watched the scene before him.

"Harry Walters, you have me next to the sociopath, Harry Walters?" His eyes widened in fear.

"You have no leg to stand on, Black. Your body count is higher than his."

"That depends on how you count, I only count Black with one mark." The other stared with disgust, joined by the prone man. Then Black noticed the open door.

"Why is that open?"

The guards turned and looked wide-eyed at the cell.

"Shit, Deacon, go call for the grave master, I will do the hard bit." Deacon, the man who held the disgusted look a second ago, ran. The other stepped in with Harry. "You know Harry, you might think this was an accident, but I planned it." He stepped in front of Harry. "You killed my sister; you think you would live peacefully in here?"

"What happened to him?" Black moaned.

"He was accidentally kissed you fool."

Sirius pleaded his case, crying out for anyone to listen.

"Carnificare," the man hissed, doing an arduous hand motion with his wand. Harry's head bounced on the floor as he watched his body, the shaking in his hand finally stopped.

A rush of battles occurred; Harry flashed into one body after the next. Each moment lasting a second, each moment felled by the white Tom Riddle with his white wand in a deadly arc.

Harry was in a graveyard, bound to an uncomfortable statue. His scar and arm and leg burned with a different pain. The wisp of ghastly grass sat dead upon the ground as a fat man stood before a large black cauldron. His whiskers furred outward as his slender hands worked around the cauldron, preparing for casting magic. He started chanting in English, a song which Harry knew.

His book spoke of the importance of speaking in a mixture of Greek and Egyptian while chanting the song, and the preparations of the ingredients. It was the only known spell or ritual to bring a Horcrux back from death. The downsides of miscasting were immense thou, ranging from being a weaker form to awakening Azathoth, which horrified Harry more than any other idea, despite not knowing what it means.

The base brew was already done, the broth of potion was a troublesome thing in a closed setting and could sit for a week before use. Petrified Nundu breath, the unhatched egg of an Occamy dried pixie wings, the eye of a Sphinx, and the willingly given scale of a dragon to list a few ingredients in the brew.

The homunculus needed to mature, bloating to the point of death only then could the ritual succeed, for only death can pay for life, the bound girl at the base of the fire would undoubtedly be the fuel for that.

"Bone of the father, unknowingly given, you will renew your son. Flesh of the servant, willingly given, you will revive your master. Blood of the enemy, forcibly taken, you will resurrect your foe." The mouse man spoke as he deposited the last ingredients. Above, the clear sky wavered with energy. The dried grass upon the ground faded further becoming dust. Maggots drew to the surface and withered with it, tall trees faded into skinny hunches of their former selves, and birds fell to the ground. The man cried in agony at the loss of his hand, a petty cry for a petty pain. The magic in the air was palpable enough to move Harry in the arms of his captor a spinning hurricane with the cauldron as the eye.

It blew like a quasar. A shining beacon of pure energy lifted into the sky as energy drained and drained.

It appeared that Azathoth still slumbered as a nude man stood where the blinding light shown before. Tom Riddle stood before him, naked but whole. The body he wore was frail and his eyes burned the ever red. His nose was missing, holding only snake flairs. He was completely hairless. He coughed, and red staining flew from his body.

"You incompetent worm, you messed up the ritual. Robe me."

"No, m'lord, I did as you asked, I followed every instruction." The fat man rushed to throw a cloak over the nude man, stuttering during the task.

"Enough, we will speak later, we have a guest. And it is time for me, your arm Pettigrew."

"Thank you, master, I am unworthy of your generosity." The man lifted his bleeding stump.

"And you are a fool Pettigrew, I wish for your other arm." Pettigrew looked down to hide his face as he switched arms.

"I call all my followers, to me." Tom rasped pointing his wand at the fat man's arm, the s's lasting longer than normal. Foam erupted from Pettigrew's mouth as he convulsed on the ground. Every minute that passed added anger to Tom's face.

The first apparition relieved the anger, or hid it, as person after person came into the graveyard. Seeing the man before them, they dropped to their knees and waited.

"My dear followers," he scanned his audience, "It has been far too long, nearly fourteen years I clung to life in lowly forms, hiding and weak." He paused, "But fear not, I have returned, full of body and of mind and find myself questioning, how was it that in attendance only two of you assisted me."

"M'lord, if there were only a sign, a whisper of your life," the silky voice of a man interrupted him, pushing glee across the risen Tom.

"Whispers, Lucius. There have been full out screams, one of which you caused." He walked to the man and squatted before him, "As for signs, I made them as obvious as the sun, for one willing to seek such a sign, what does that make you, Malfoy." He snarled and stood pacing before the man, Malfoy wore a platinum mask upon his face, as did the rest, with one sprinkled gold.

"Although I must admit, you prospered since my fall, pushing my agenda's, gathering wealth and prestige, maneuvering power into my sect, you are a man who has stepped into his own and worthy of my inner circle." He lifted his white wand at Malfoy and drew a floating runic circle in the air, whispering in Latin, as the choreographed song continued Malfoys mask grew more and more gold until two bore it.

"As a Slytherin, I acknowledge and reward cunning and ambition," he walked from Malfoy to stand before another masked person, more feminine, "As staunch perpetrators of knowledge I implore the hunt of knowledge," he repeated the spell from before as her mask grew gold, "Loyalty of Hufflepuff I reward heavier than all, thus none here tonight will gain the honor, but upon a freedom call unlike any other, they shall see a reward," he stood before the whimpering Pettigrew. "I will reward the bravery that you have shown today, you are a true Gryffindor," he cast a new spell as a hunk of gold laying off to the side reworked itself into a hand upon Pettigrew's arm.

"Thank you, my lord." He bowed.

"Thank you, Peter," he stood in the center again, "You may have noticed that we are not alone tonight, for another is within our group of revolutionary's, Harry Potter himself has helped me return to you tonight so let's all give him a hand." Tom led the clapping as the rest joined in as the mock applause rang through the dead land. "Peter his wand." With a flick Harry fell to the ground, he tried to stand but the burning in his leg prevented the action.

Peter was upon him, helping him stand, "I am so sorry Harry, tell James I am sorry two." He looked at Harry affectionately as he gifted Harry's white wand back to him, covered in soot and gore.

"Crucio."

Pain, ultimate pain. Harry had been crushed, suffocated, and decapitated. None of his deaths came near the feeling of utter destruction he experienced now. When it lifted, he still screamed and twitched from the residual pain. Through squinting eyes, he watched Tom turn his back. Harry started a complex arm motion and whispered unknown words through a burned throat as a tangerine spell drifted Tom, people gasping notified him to dodge, though his conversation partner was not so lucky as the spell hit the masked person pulling blood from behind their mask and floating it in the air.

"You lost yourself precious time Potter, Avada Kedavra," the green light strode to end Harry when the ground heaved up to intercept the curse. "Who interferes?"

"That would be us, Tom," Dumbledore spoke from across the yard, behind the gathered men. A wizard flanked him, older than himself with a thinner version of Sirius Black from prison. Behind them stood a small army. One had a spinning fake eye.

"How?"

"Didn't you expect my tracking charm on the boy?" The elder spoke with murderous eyes.

"Run," Tom told his group as they flashed away. He turned to end Harry with another green spell, a weary look plastered on his milk-white face when a flash brought the elder and Dumbledore to him. Dumbledore and Tom sparred, an epic clash of flying curses and transforming landscapes, animals were crafted and destroyed as spells harmlessly crashed against makeshift walls and domes. The elder ran to Harry and hugged him close, the wet of his face cascading onto Harry.

"I am sorry, Harry, so sorry."

"It's ok, Nic, I love you." Harry collapsed.

Harry knelt on the cold golden floor flanked by a line of men. A glance about the room showed beautiful redwood pillars painted in gorgeous art leading to a raised level that housed an ornate jade throne with yellow cushions upon it. From the main doors, a man entered. All bowed as the regal man entered, flanked by two guards. He led the small procession to the chair. Once seated, the hall turned their gaze upon him.

He wore yellow robes with red accents and a hat half as tall as him. Slung across his lap was a Dao made from the same material as the chair, naked from a sheath. He was elder than even Nic, with a wrinkled face and long dangling mustache whiskers which draped onto the chair. His eyes were a sickening yellow. The two men who flanked him dressed in red and both had jeweled swords, though they had shields a tad larger than bucklers strapped to the off arm.

"The first point of contention for today is Li has successfully infiltrated the home of the Chief Sorcerer, I will reward her family with more than honor for this action." Harry did not know the language spoke, but he understood the words. The man clad in yellow stared at the man kneeling five persons' down on the opposite side of Harry. The unfamiliar figure rose, as did the rest of the line, and moved one spot down. From near the end of the line a new man moved to the open spot, holding his glee behind a breaking mask.

"The second point is about a strike against me, planned not attempted." He ushered in a man holding a serving platter with porcelain cups and serving decanter. The man poured the two cups with the silver liquid from within the decanter, Harry's heartbeat rushed, gripping the sword as he channeled magic into one drink. "Huan, drink with me. If you are innocent of any crime, you will only drink sweet tea."

Harry stood and walked to the man, gripping the cup with resolve. He and the tall monster before him drank. The metallic mercury burned Harry's throat, and he suffocated on the spot. As he lay dying the old man looked on Harry's dying form, finishing his cup. "Justice is so delicious."

Harry stood on a battlement overlooking a frozen field. Approaching the looming fortress was a small army. The lead was familiar, a younger man than before, yet still the one to bury him alive. He cast a few spells against the fortress walls to watch them rebuff against the old woven enchantments. Each failure only made the smile on his face grow. From the walls men and women threw spells to kill the army below, but they had shields woven of trees that rebuffed the attempts well. A muscular man made his way next to the wizard, testing the wards, and the two began a diabolical chant in a language not made for the human mouth to speak. An elder on the wall called out for all to attack them with everything they had, a mistake as many spells canceled others flying to the two and the army defended the rest well.

The chant finished as a red monster entered an open black portal, taller than both men he nodded to their command and rushed the wall. Streaks of light flashed off the horrifying creature's body as it rammed the gates of the school, breaking through the impenetrable castle and destroying the wall above leading to a collapse. Harry escaped the initial destruction but was fell by other flying debris. A tiny child crawled to Harry and curled up on Harry's side.

"Please Harriet, please don't die."

"Shush Igor," Harry's feminine voice spoke, "You shall live for the both of us," she looked down with a mother's love on the young boy she adopted, "You must join him, for his is the only way."

"I love you; Harriet don't go."

"I am sorry my sweet boy, I must."

No death was better than that one.

Harry's arm burned. From it a large tooth stuck more than half a foot out as pain overloaded the sense of his arm.

"You may have killed my pet Potter, but even now it erodes your existence." Harry plucked out the tooth and watched as the fountain of black blood pushed out in globs as the brown hair man taunted him. He stood before a pretty girl with hair as red as Weasleys' with Dumbledore's bird in a heated conversation with a creature much like the red one before argued with it, this one however was tiny and had a scorpion's tail and leathery wings.

"I will stop you; I will clear my name," Harry shouted.

"You will die boy; do you understand how basilisk venom works?" Harry responded in silence. "It eats at magic, a muggle could be bitten and never know, but the venom of a basilisk erodes and decays even the strongest magic and will never stop until it consumes its full, by my guess you just injected one soul's worth." He held his evil grin, "I am happy for you, for even a dementor's kiss only removes the soul and eats it, this will dissolve it, meaning no afterlife for you, there is nothing more for you." The man laughed in his victory as Harry reached out with weak arms and dragged himself to a prone book on the floor, sticking it with the held tooth.

"Thanks for educating me, you should have been a teacher Riddle."

The brunet screamed as his form withered into the air as the book bleed the same black blood as Harry. Harry could no longer stay up as he watched the argument continue and the redhead wake. She ran to him, shouting. He heard nothing. Harry died.

He woke in a pale room decorated with beds and painted a horrible white. Harry equipped the glasses on his night table. Tall clear windows let the natural light of day cascade into the empty room. Outside, light snow drifted down with lackadaisical movements as a calm settled over him. The bed he was on was warm to his touch and had sunk considerably under him. Moving aggravated the rash on his back.

"My lord, Ela, get the headmaster he has awoken." A thick girl rushed out of the room and into the hallway beyond as the woman who gave her the command ran to his side. "My dear boy, are you all right?"

"Of course, I am. And why am I here? Don't I have class?"

The Toll.

So, Harry will remember the troll in time but is currently repressing the memory of the event. Of his dreams, he will not remember them completely as I have done with his other dreams so far. He will get feelings and brilliant ideas later in the series from the dreams he has had but will not remember them completely. This is a normal phenomenon and why people record dream journals, the longer away from a dream you are the less you remember it.

Again, this chapter is reminiscent of Bran III from book one in A Song of Ice and Fire. I hoped you liked it.