He awoke with a start, bright green eyes snapping open to stare at the ceiling of his room. After a moment his hand groped blindly for his glasses which laid on the night stand next to his bed. He found them and placed them on his face, blinking a few times to clear his vision. After a few more moments of staring at the chipping paint on his ceiling he sat up, throwing his sheets aside.
He shivered when his bare feet touched the wooden floor. For August it was awfully cool. He began to pace quietly, so as not to disturb his sleeping relatives. His mind quickly began to process the dream he had just had.
While he seemed like a normal young man, except perhaps slightly underfed, fifteen year old Harry Potter was far from ordinary. Not because he was a wizard, nor indeed was it due to the fact that when Harry was one he had defeated the greatest dark wizard of all time.
No, the thing that made Harry extraordinary was that he was not afraid, despite the dream he had just had. Far from it, Harry was curious.
This was not an ordinary dream and Harry knew it. Twice he had seen the dark wizard Voldemort in his dreams and he had come to the conclusion that these were not simply dreams, but visions of real happenings. This dream had been the same as those; there was a dreamlike quality to it but it was too vivid, too real to have been imagined. What had gotten him out of bed and pacing the room though was the fact that this time he wasn't simply an observer. He had been the victim.
Harry had met Voldemort four times in his life, most recently had been at the end of the last school term. He had not only been a witness but had unwillingly played a key part in Voldemort's resurrection. Surprisingly enough, despite the fact that the most evil of all wizards considered Harry to be his greatest enemy, he was not afraid of Voldemort or of what he could do to him. He was, however, mortally afraid of what Voldemort might do to those he cared for if ever given the chance. Cedric's unmoving face would haunt him forever.
Harry found himself pushing his unruly raven hair out of his eyes and gently running his finger over the lightening shaped scar on his forehead. The scar, a souvenir from Voldemorts first attempt on his life, had begun to burn. This too was nothing unusual to Harry. This summer he had found that his scar had begun to burn more frequently. It made him wish dearly that his aunt and uncle did not force him to remain out of touch with the wizarding world, for he knew his burning scar was a warning of Voldemort's activity. Things were happening and he was completely ignorant as to what they were.
He glanced out the window, looking for any sign of his owl. He didn't know what hope she would bring, for he suspected that his friends that he remained in contact with were not telling him the extent of what was happening. He was not angry at them, they were trying to protect him. Harry smiled ironically. They probably thought he would try and stop Voldemort himself if he knew the all of what was going on. He shook his head knowing that he probably would.
He was struck with an urge to write a letter, although he didn't know what he would write or who he would send it too.
Sirius seemed the obvious choice, as his godfather would naturally want to know if something was amiss. But ever since Harry had ended up facing Voldemort again after the Triwizard Tournament Sirius was easily worried about him. Harry suspected that if he so much as told his godfather that he had the sniffles, Sirius would break down his door, a goblet of pepperup potion in hand. Somehow Harry thought telling him he had a dream that Voldemort attacked his summer dwelling of Number 4 Privet Drive would cause more harm than good.
Before he could consider anything else his head suddenly exploded in pain, causing him to fall to his knees. As soon as the blinding pain was replaced with a dull burning, Harry scrambled to his feet. Shouts from the hallway alerted him that something was wrong and he quickly exited his bedroom to see his large uncle shielding Aunt Petunia from a tall figure robed in black, it's face hidden from view.
For a moment Harry feared it was a dementor, one of those hideous soul sucking creatures, but the figure walked rather than the defining near float of a dementor. Harry realized that the person was a masked death eater, one of Voldemort's minions. No one had turned on the lights, and the death eater hadn't seen Harry yet, but the man pulled his wand from inside his robes. Uncle Vernon, seeing this, made his big mistake.
"Oh, no!" he cried, his large face turning purple in anger as it so often did when he yelled at Harry. "I will not have you freaks destroying my house!"
The death eater, who had until that point been ignoring them both, turned and Harry could hear the laughter in his voice as he spoke low and deadly. "Crucio."
It was then that Harry's obese cousin Dudley exited his bedroom looking around in sleepy confusion. "Dad!" he cried when he saw his father writhing and crying out in pain on the floor. He ran to him, but Petunia held her son back, crying hysterically for the death eater to stop.
Harry looked on, helpless. His wand was locked in the cupboard under the stairs as were any other magical items that may have been of use to him.
As he watched he knew how this would end. He knew he would try to run past the death eater to get downstairs and get his wand. He also knew that he would make it past the first one but the three behind him, who Harry couldn't see yet, would block the way. Harry knew that with a flick of a wand he would be sent flying into the wall, where he would semiconsciously be forced to watch all of the Dursley's be tortured and killed. Then he knew that Voldemort himself would enter the house and come for him. He knew because he had just dreamt it.
He should try to escape. Forget his wand or any suicidal idea of saving the Dursleys. But really, where would he go? The only way out of the house would be his window, which was a two story drop. There was no escaping. Besides visions weren't always right.
He looked out the window in his room, vaguely wondering where Hedwig was, all the while hearing his uncle's screams. The full moon was the only thing he saw through the glass window.
Turning back to the death eaters as they laughed at Vernon he knew, despite his vision, he had to try and help.
He ran towards the stairs.
A/N: Well, this is my first Harry Potter fic and I hope it'll be enjoyable. I don't know how many chapters it will be, nor do I know exactly what will happen. I can tell you that the next chapter will be focused around Sirius. Please review, and let me know if you feel this is worth continuing.
He shivered when his bare feet touched the wooden floor. For August it was awfully cool. He began to pace quietly, so as not to disturb his sleeping relatives. His mind quickly began to process the dream he had just had.
While he seemed like a normal young man, except perhaps slightly underfed, fifteen year old Harry Potter was far from ordinary. Not because he was a wizard, nor indeed was it due to the fact that when Harry was one he had defeated the greatest dark wizard of all time.
No, the thing that made Harry extraordinary was that he was not afraid, despite the dream he had just had. Far from it, Harry was curious.
This was not an ordinary dream and Harry knew it. Twice he had seen the dark wizard Voldemort in his dreams and he had come to the conclusion that these were not simply dreams, but visions of real happenings. This dream had been the same as those; there was a dreamlike quality to it but it was too vivid, too real to have been imagined. What had gotten him out of bed and pacing the room though was the fact that this time he wasn't simply an observer. He had been the victim.
Harry had met Voldemort four times in his life, most recently had been at the end of the last school term. He had not only been a witness but had unwillingly played a key part in Voldemort's resurrection. Surprisingly enough, despite the fact that the most evil of all wizards considered Harry to be his greatest enemy, he was not afraid of Voldemort or of what he could do to him. He was, however, mortally afraid of what Voldemort might do to those he cared for if ever given the chance. Cedric's unmoving face would haunt him forever.
Harry found himself pushing his unruly raven hair out of his eyes and gently running his finger over the lightening shaped scar on his forehead. The scar, a souvenir from Voldemorts first attempt on his life, had begun to burn. This too was nothing unusual to Harry. This summer he had found that his scar had begun to burn more frequently. It made him wish dearly that his aunt and uncle did not force him to remain out of touch with the wizarding world, for he knew his burning scar was a warning of Voldemort's activity. Things were happening and he was completely ignorant as to what they were.
He glanced out the window, looking for any sign of his owl. He didn't know what hope she would bring, for he suspected that his friends that he remained in contact with were not telling him the extent of what was happening. He was not angry at them, they were trying to protect him. Harry smiled ironically. They probably thought he would try and stop Voldemort himself if he knew the all of what was going on. He shook his head knowing that he probably would.
He was struck with an urge to write a letter, although he didn't know what he would write or who he would send it too.
Sirius seemed the obvious choice, as his godfather would naturally want to know if something was amiss. But ever since Harry had ended up facing Voldemort again after the Triwizard Tournament Sirius was easily worried about him. Harry suspected that if he so much as told his godfather that he had the sniffles, Sirius would break down his door, a goblet of pepperup potion in hand. Somehow Harry thought telling him he had a dream that Voldemort attacked his summer dwelling of Number 4 Privet Drive would cause more harm than good.
Before he could consider anything else his head suddenly exploded in pain, causing him to fall to his knees. As soon as the blinding pain was replaced with a dull burning, Harry scrambled to his feet. Shouts from the hallway alerted him that something was wrong and he quickly exited his bedroom to see his large uncle shielding Aunt Petunia from a tall figure robed in black, it's face hidden from view.
For a moment Harry feared it was a dementor, one of those hideous soul sucking creatures, but the figure walked rather than the defining near float of a dementor. Harry realized that the person was a masked death eater, one of Voldemort's minions. No one had turned on the lights, and the death eater hadn't seen Harry yet, but the man pulled his wand from inside his robes. Uncle Vernon, seeing this, made his big mistake.
"Oh, no!" he cried, his large face turning purple in anger as it so often did when he yelled at Harry. "I will not have you freaks destroying my house!"
The death eater, who had until that point been ignoring them both, turned and Harry could hear the laughter in his voice as he spoke low and deadly. "Crucio."
It was then that Harry's obese cousin Dudley exited his bedroom looking around in sleepy confusion. "Dad!" he cried when he saw his father writhing and crying out in pain on the floor. He ran to him, but Petunia held her son back, crying hysterically for the death eater to stop.
Harry looked on, helpless. His wand was locked in the cupboard under the stairs as were any other magical items that may have been of use to him.
As he watched he knew how this would end. He knew he would try to run past the death eater to get downstairs and get his wand. He also knew that he would make it past the first one but the three behind him, who Harry couldn't see yet, would block the way. Harry knew that with a flick of a wand he would be sent flying into the wall, where he would semiconsciously be forced to watch all of the Dursley's be tortured and killed. Then he knew that Voldemort himself would enter the house and come for him. He knew because he had just dreamt it.
He should try to escape. Forget his wand or any suicidal idea of saving the Dursleys. But really, where would he go? The only way out of the house would be his window, which was a two story drop. There was no escaping. Besides visions weren't always right.
He looked out the window in his room, vaguely wondering where Hedwig was, all the while hearing his uncle's screams. The full moon was the only thing he saw through the glass window.
Turning back to the death eaters as they laughed at Vernon he knew, despite his vision, he had to try and help.
He ran towards the stairs.
A/N: Well, this is my first Harry Potter fic and I hope it'll be enjoyable. I don't know how many chapters it will be, nor do I know exactly what will happen. I can tell you that the next chapter will be focused around Sirius. Please review, and let me know if you feel this is worth continuing.