Disclaimer: I own none of the characters and Harry Potter belongs to J K
Rowling.
This is the first chapter and I had it all planned out. So please read and
review!
Dreams. All Harry Potter had been able to think about for the past two weeks were his horrible nightmares filled with shrieks of terror and screams of pleading innocent people dying at the hands of the one person that he feared most. Harry sat bolt upright in his bed, awoken from one particularly horrible dream and stared around his room. He almost felt like getting up and checking the dark corners to check that nobody was lurking there, but that would have been stupid. There was no one going to attack him whilst he was in Privet Drive. Dumbledore seemed to think so anyway, and Dumbledore's opinion was always good enough for Harry. Harry hadn't spoken of his dreams to his two best friends Hermione Granger and Ron Weasely. He could imagine their reactions right where he sat now and what could they really do about them anyway? Neither of them could stop Lord Voldemort from existing and that was why Harry had nightmares. He could see them now. Hermione would doubtlessly suggest some spell or potion to put an end to his nightmares and Ron would probably become worried and act differently, just as they had both done when everyone believed Sirius Black was responsible for the deaths of Harry's parents, James and Lilley Potter and Peter Pettigrew. Of course, Sirius had not committed the crimes he was on the run for right now and there had been no need for Ron and Hermione's anxious apprehension; but that was beside the point. There was no point in worrying them, he thought. And besides, if he was going to be a baby and tell somebody, the only person he could think of that would know what to do was Dumbledore. Harry settled down into his pillows and shut his eyes tight trying to think of when Gryffindor had won the Quidditch Tournament thanks to him. It certainly was a happy thought. But then something happened that made him jump out of his skin. Silhouetted in his doorway was a figure, standing ridged. Harry's stomach did a flip-flop and he felt cold sweat on his forehead. "What are you doing?" said the voice. It belonged to Uncle Vernon. Harry, surprised and shocked that he would ever feel relief at hearing Uncle Vernon's voice, sighed deeply. "You were making strange noises," he continued to ask groggily and stupidly. "Was I? I'm sorry, bad dream," Harry said truthfully and lay back down again trying to get to sleep. But Uncle Vernon had not gone. "You've been having a lot of those lately," he said suspiciously. "Something we should know?" Harry sat up. "It doesn't involve you," he said hotly, "or Aunt Petunia or Dudley. So there's nothing for you to worry about. Now can I go to sleep please?" Uncle Vernon was feeling threatened by the fifteen-year-old wizard that was his nephew and left the room muttering, "Right them." Despite the dream he had had beforehand, Harry managed to get some sleep and was not again revisited by Voldemort in his sleep but instead by a group of green Irish speaking carrots that sung whenever he said 'pixies'. If Harry had known who was standing (or rather crouching) outside his window, his dream would have been very different. It was Peter Pettigrew.
Dreams. All Harry Potter had been able to think about for the past two weeks were his horrible nightmares filled with shrieks of terror and screams of pleading innocent people dying at the hands of the one person that he feared most. Harry sat bolt upright in his bed, awoken from one particularly horrible dream and stared around his room. He almost felt like getting up and checking the dark corners to check that nobody was lurking there, but that would have been stupid. There was no one going to attack him whilst he was in Privet Drive. Dumbledore seemed to think so anyway, and Dumbledore's opinion was always good enough for Harry. Harry hadn't spoken of his dreams to his two best friends Hermione Granger and Ron Weasely. He could imagine their reactions right where he sat now and what could they really do about them anyway? Neither of them could stop Lord Voldemort from existing and that was why Harry had nightmares. He could see them now. Hermione would doubtlessly suggest some spell or potion to put an end to his nightmares and Ron would probably become worried and act differently, just as they had both done when everyone believed Sirius Black was responsible for the deaths of Harry's parents, James and Lilley Potter and Peter Pettigrew. Of course, Sirius had not committed the crimes he was on the run for right now and there had been no need for Ron and Hermione's anxious apprehension; but that was beside the point. There was no point in worrying them, he thought. And besides, if he was going to be a baby and tell somebody, the only person he could think of that would know what to do was Dumbledore. Harry settled down into his pillows and shut his eyes tight trying to think of when Gryffindor had won the Quidditch Tournament thanks to him. It certainly was a happy thought. But then something happened that made him jump out of his skin. Silhouetted in his doorway was a figure, standing ridged. Harry's stomach did a flip-flop and he felt cold sweat on his forehead. "What are you doing?" said the voice. It belonged to Uncle Vernon. Harry, surprised and shocked that he would ever feel relief at hearing Uncle Vernon's voice, sighed deeply. "You were making strange noises," he continued to ask groggily and stupidly. "Was I? I'm sorry, bad dream," Harry said truthfully and lay back down again trying to get to sleep. But Uncle Vernon had not gone. "You've been having a lot of those lately," he said suspiciously. "Something we should know?" Harry sat up. "It doesn't involve you," he said hotly, "or Aunt Petunia or Dudley. So there's nothing for you to worry about. Now can I go to sleep please?" Uncle Vernon was feeling threatened by the fifteen-year-old wizard that was his nephew and left the room muttering, "Right them." Despite the dream he had had beforehand, Harry managed to get some sleep and was not again revisited by Voldemort in his sleep but instead by a group of green Irish speaking carrots that sung whenever he said 'pixies'. If Harry had known who was standing (or rather crouching) outside his window, his dream would have been very different. It was Peter Pettigrew.