I like to think of this fic as something a little more original than most
HP fics out there. For a start, it isn't based directly…or even
indirectly, around the main stream HP characters. It's not a fic set in the
present, in Harry, Ron and Hermione's time at Hogwarts, neither is it set
in Sirius, James and Lilly's time there. It is set in the future, with the
next generation of little wizards and witches. A few little plot details
have been switched and changed, but nothing that you can't work out from
reading the fic, and so, onward!
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Odd, sometimes even prophetic dreams were not uncommon for the occupants of number 10 Holly square.
The small semi-detached house was occupied by a woman of about thirty-nine, and her sixteen year old daughter Hannah. They'd lived alone for as long as any of the neighbors could remember, though now and again speculation would arise as to weather there had ever been a Mr. Howard. It was presumed there must have been at one point, but it was certainly something neither Hannah nor her mother discussed, nor seemed too bothered by.
Yes, the Howard's were the epitome of typical suburban family, aside from the dreams. All in all, though, they kept the dreams to themselves, finding it prudent not to share these strange experiences with anyone else.
It was nothing out of the ordinary, that Hannah woke up one Wednesday morning in a cold sweat, panting heavily, watching the images of her latest dream fade within the recesses of her head.
She swung her feet over the edge of her bed, and inspected her visage in the mirror. Pale face, slightly frizzy black hair, brown eyes. Nothing out of the ordinary.
She dressed solemnly, still attempting to remember the finer points of her dream. For some reason, the details of her vision evaded her. This was unusual; usually Hannah remembered every dream she had as vividly as if it had been a movie playing infront of her eyes the moment she began to recount it. But not this time.
She thundered down the stairs, skidding into the kitchen where her mother sat, reading the paper and drinking coffee. She lowered the paper slightly to regard her daughter for a moment.
"Your hair needs brushing…"
Hannah made a face, laughing very slightly, and began to busy herself with the toaster. Mrs. Howard smiled inwardly, and continued with her paper.
A pleasant breakfast silence reigned.
For about three minutes.
A short sharp ring on the doorbell signified the end of any calm that might have continued in the small, brightly decorated kitchen.
"What's the time…?" Said Hannah, standing with a half eaten piece of toast in her hand, suddenly no longer laughing.
Mrs. Howard appeared to have lost her happy go lucky demeanor also. "Oh Hannah…I thought it was…the clock must be slow again…"
The clock was indeed slow. The hands showed seven thirty.
It wasn't seven thirty.
With a fleeting peck on the cheek for her mother, Hannah zoomed out of the kitchen, dropping the toast into the waste paper basket in the hall. She gathered up her school bag, and rushed into the little entrance hall, flinging open the door.
"About time too…"
Her best friend Rachael stood on the doorstep, shivering with the cold. "You realise we're going to be late, thanks to you?"
Hannah made an apologetic gesture, and shut the door quickly. "Sorry…must have overslept. The clocks are wrong again…"
"The clocks are ALWAYS wrong at your house…" observed Rachael as they set off at a speedy pace down the street.
"Not always…we get them fixed, but then a few days later they're back to permanently showing seven thirty…it's okay if its actually one in the afternoon, it's pretty obvious it's not seven thirty then…but if it's actually eight o'clock…well you can't really tell the difference."
"Why seven thirty anyway?" Questioned Rachael curiously, her eyebrows raised. "I mean, doesn't it strike you as odd that they always show that time?"
"Probably something to do with the weight in the hands…maybe they just sort of...fall there."
"Yeah, whatever…"
Having now reached the school gates, Rachael appeared less keen to talk about malfunctioning clocks. The two walked side by side into the playground, just as the bell rang.
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All through the day Hannah was not her usual bubbly self. She even spaced out slightly in Maths, which (what with being her best subject) was cause for concern, as far as Rachael could tell.
Hannah barely noticed her friends puzzled expressions and sidelong glances during class, however. She was too busy straining her mind to remember that dream. About lunch time she had come up with a few freeze-frames from the dream, but nothing coherent, sequential or even anything that made much sense.
She remembered three things. An old, unconventional sort of building. More of a castle really. In flames.
A body, still and silent on the ground.
And a piercing green light that hurt her head even to think about it.
Somehow, although she could gain nothing more of the previous nights vision, those three images would not leave her mind. They circled and circled round and round inside her head, giving her very little peace, and making her slightly cranky. Hannah disliked anything she couldn't explain. And she couldn't explain that.
Finally, after a torturous day at school, Rachael walked home with Hannah, leaving her at the end of the road that led to her house.
"Well seeya tomorrow Han…" Rachael cocked her head to one side, her copper hair blowing slightly in the wind. "And Han…"
Hannah looked up. It was the first time she'd really noted what Rachael had said all day.
"Take it easy okay? You look sort of preoccupied with something."
Hannah nodded, smiled, and waved Rachael off. Of course, her friend was right, although Rachael wasn't aware of the finer details of what plagued her. Take it easy. Ignore it. Now she thought about it, it was silly to get so worked up about a dream anyway.
She entered the house noisily, dumping her bag on the floor. Immediately she could tell something wasn't right. It was too quiet, too still…and too cold.
"Mum…?"
The word rang out around the little hallway, and was swallowed up, suffocated by the silence.
"Mum…are you home?"
She thought she heard something move in the kitchen, and crept quietly towards the door. Pressing her ear against it, she heard…nothing again.
Hannah wasn't a scaredy cat by anyone's standards, but she did not want to enter that room. Instead, she made for the front door again. It didn't matter to her where her mother was anymore, a state of panic had taken over and all that mattered to her was getting out of the house.
Just as she placed a thin pale hand on the door knob, it turned under her fingers. Gasping, she drew back against the wall, watching the knob jiggle and dance almost of its own accord, watched the door swing open.
Almost involuntarily, Hannah screamed.
The figure in the doorway screamed too, and dropped the bags it was holding. Bottles and cartons smashed and caved in. Eggs, milk and juice made a small multicolored lake on the tiled floor.
Mrs. Howard stared at Hannah, open mouthed and speechless.
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They sat on the plush lounge suite in the sitting room, both nursing cups of tea.
It was a while before either spoke.
"Mum…I'm sorry. I came home and…I got a bit spooked I guess. Your usually home when I get in from school…"
"Groceries needed to be done…" Mrs. Howard gave a watery smile "Oh Hannah, I'm sorry for frightening you, but you have to understand, there was nothing to be scared about…"
"The house sort of…felt funny."
"How did it feel funny?" The expression on Hannah's mothers face became something more than just concerned parent. Deeper, as though the house 'feeling funny' was of great importance.
Hannah immediately felt silly for even mentioning it. "Oh I don't know…just…funny. You know, it was colder than usual. And last night I-"
She stopped herself. Dreams were something that Mrs. Howard was always quite loath to discuss in the first place, and besides, Hannah knew she was silly to even think that the dream had anything to do with her freaking out this afternoon.
But Mrs. Howard refused to let it drop. "What about last night Hannah? Did something happen…?"
But Hannah rose, taking her empty cup and saucer with her. "Don't worry about it Mum, it's nothing…"
Quietly, she exited the room.
Her mothers voice trailed after her, sounding tired, sorrowful. "I'm sorry that we don't have anyone to look after us Hannah. I'm sorry we're all on our own…"
And that, thought Hannah, was the most random thing to say, given the circumstances.
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Odd, sometimes even prophetic dreams were not uncommon for the occupants of number 10 Holly square.
The small semi-detached house was occupied by a woman of about thirty-nine, and her sixteen year old daughter Hannah. They'd lived alone for as long as any of the neighbors could remember, though now and again speculation would arise as to weather there had ever been a Mr. Howard. It was presumed there must have been at one point, but it was certainly something neither Hannah nor her mother discussed, nor seemed too bothered by.
Yes, the Howard's were the epitome of typical suburban family, aside from the dreams. All in all, though, they kept the dreams to themselves, finding it prudent not to share these strange experiences with anyone else.
It was nothing out of the ordinary, that Hannah woke up one Wednesday morning in a cold sweat, panting heavily, watching the images of her latest dream fade within the recesses of her head.
She swung her feet over the edge of her bed, and inspected her visage in the mirror. Pale face, slightly frizzy black hair, brown eyes. Nothing out of the ordinary.
She dressed solemnly, still attempting to remember the finer points of her dream. For some reason, the details of her vision evaded her. This was unusual; usually Hannah remembered every dream she had as vividly as if it had been a movie playing infront of her eyes the moment she began to recount it. But not this time.
She thundered down the stairs, skidding into the kitchen where her mother sat, reading the paper and drinking coffee. She lowered the paper slightly to regard her daughter for a moment.
"Your hair needs brushing…"
Hannah made a face, laughing very slightly, and began to busy herself with the toaster. Mrs. Howard smiled inwardly, and continued with her paper.
A pleasant breakfast silence reigned.
For about three minutes.
A short sharp ring on the doorbell signified the end of any calm that might have continued in the small, brightly decorated kitchen.
"What's the time…?" Said Hannah, standing with a half eaten piece of toast in her hand, suddenly no longer laughing.
Mrs. Howard appeared to have lost her happy go lucky demeanor also. "Oh Hannah…I thought it was…the clock must be slow again…"
The clock was indeed slow. The hands showed seven thirty.
It wasn't seven thirty.
With a fleeting peck on the cheek for her mother, Hannah zoomed out of the kitchen, dropping the toast into the waste paper basket in the hall. She gathered up her school bag, and rushed into the little entrance hall, flinging open the door.
"About time too…"
Her best friend Rachael stood on the doorstep, shivering with the cold. "You realise we're going to be late, thanks to you?"
Hannah made an apologetic gesture, and shut the door quickly. "Sorry…must have overslept. The clocks are wrong again…"
"The clocks are ALWAYS wrong at your house…" observed Rachael as they set off at a speedy pace down the street.
"Not always…we get them fixed, but then a few days later they're back to permanently showing seven thirty…it's okay if its actually one in the afternoon, it's pretty obvious it's not seven thirty then…but if it's actually eight o'clock…well you can't really tell the difference."
"Why seven thirty anyway?" Questioned Rachael curiously, her eyebrows raised. "I mean, doesn't it strike you as odd that they always show that time?"
"Probably something to do with the weight in the hands…maybe they just sort of...fall there."
"Yeah, whatever…"
Having now reached the school gates, Rachael appeared less keen to talk about malfunctioning clocks. The two walked side by side into the playground, just as the bell rang.
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All through the day Hannah was not her usual bubbly self. She even spaced out slightly in Maths, which (what with being her best subject) was cause for concern, as far as Rachael could tell.
Hannah barely noticed her friends puzzled expressions and sidelong glances during class, however. She was too busy straining her mind to remember that dream. About lunch time she had come up with a few freeze-frames from the dream, but nothing coherent, sequential or even anything that made much sense.
She remembered three things. An old, unconventional sort of building. More of a castle really. In flames.
A body, still and silent on the ground.
And a piercing green light that hurt her head even to think about it.
Somehow, although she could gain nothing more of the previous nights vision, those three images would not leave her mind. They circled and circled round and round inside her head, giving her very little peace, and making her slightly cranky. Hannah disliked anything she couldn't explain. And she couldn't explain that.
Finally, after a torturous day at school, Rachael walked home with Hannah, leaving her at the end of the road that led to her house.
"Well seeya tomorrow Han…" Rachael cocked her head to one side, her copper hair blowing slightly in the wind. "And Han…"
Hannah looked up. It was the first time she'd really noted what Rachael had said all day.
"Take it easy okay? You look sort of preoccupied with something."
Hannah nodded, smiled, and waved Rachael off. Of course, her friend was right, although Rachael wasn't aware of the finer details of what plagued her. Take it easy. Ignore it. Now she thought about it, it was silly to get so worked up about a dream anyway.
She entered the house noisily, dumping her bag on the floor. Immediately she could tell something wasn't right. It was too quiet, too still…and too cold.
"Mum…?"
The word rang out around the little hallway, and was swallowed up, suffocated by the silence.
"Mum…are you home?"
She thought she heard something move in the kitchen, and crept quietly towards the door. Pressing her ear against it, she heard…nothing again.
Hannah wasn't a scaredy cat by anyone's standards, but she did not want to enter that room. Instead, she made for the front door again. It didn't matter to her where her mother was anymore, a state of panic had taken over and all that mattered to her was getting out of the house.
Just as she placed a thin pale hand on the door knob, it turned under her fingers. Gasping, she drew back against the wall, watching the knob jiggle and dance almost of its own accord, watched the door swing open.
Almost involuntarily, Hannah screamed.
The figure in the doorway screamed too, and dropped the bags it was holding. Bottles and cartons smashed and caved in. Eggs, milk and juice made a small multicolored lake on the tiled floor.
Mrs. Howard stared at Hannah, open mouthed and speechless.
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They sat on the plush lounge suite in the sitting room, both nursing cups of tea.
It was a while before either spoke.
"Mum…I'm sorry. I came home and…I got a bit spooked I guess. Your usually home when I get in from school…"
"Groceries needed to be done…" Mrs. Howard gave a watery smile "Oh Hannah, I'm sorry for frightening you, but you have to understand, there was nothing to be scared about…"
"The house sort of…felt funny."
"How did it feel funny?" The expression on Hannah's mothers face became something more than just concerned parent. Deeper, as though the house 'feeling funny' was of great importance.
Hannah immediately felt silly for even mentioning it. "Oh I don't know…just…funny. You know, it was colder than usual. And last night I-"
She stopped herself. Dreams were something that Mrs. Howard was always quite loath to discuss in the first place, and besides, Hannah knew she was silly to even think that the dream had anything to do with her freaking out this afternoon.
But Mrs. Howard refused to let it drop. "What about last night Hannah? Did something happen…?"
But Hannah rose, taking her empty cup and saucer with her. "Don't worry about it Mum, it's nothing…"
Quietly, she exited the room.
Her mothers voice trailed after her, sounding tired, sorrowful. "I'm sorry that we don't have anyone to look after us Hannah. I'm sorry we're all on our own…"
And that, thought Hannah, was the most random thing to say, given the circumstances.