Disclaimer: Nope, not mine. How can it be? I don't have any talent…. Well, I own the ficcy…but that's obvious since it's so horroriful, ne?

NOTE: This is my FIRST Harry Potter ficcy. Do not expect it to be good…. If you are wondering, the blood isn't out of the blue, it does have significance…. I had intended for the fic to start on a lighter note but I can't help it that I write this way. The dream idea came to me on my very long train ride. I actually wrote it in my English book…^_^;;;…. I spent a while on it but I didn't know what to add to it so it's kind of short. Well, anyway, don't forget to REVIEW!!!

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

A crack of lightning flashed through the sky, suddenly illuminating the neat rows of houses on Privet Drive. The sudden light caught the attention of a pair of dull emerald eyes before the road fell into darkness once again. Those eyes belonged to a scrawny boy with wild black hair, who was none other than Harry Potter. Harry Potter wasn't an ordinary boy, even by wizarding standards. True, he was only fourteen, going on to fifteen, but he had faced and thwarted the dark lord Voldemort three times, not counting the first time. He was the only survivor of the Avada Kedavra curse. It was only a few weeks since he had faced a resurrected Voldemort.

Harry listlessly stared out of the window, not really seeing anything. It was almost midnight but he couldn't sleep. Now that Voldemort was back, he saw more and more dreams of the dark lord. Harry wanted to forget the whole ordeal with Voldemort, even if only for a while. His memories plagued him in dreams at night and they filled his thoughts by day. He watched the storm silently, not paying attention to anything but the sound of thunder.

Hedwig hooted softly from her cage. Harry had kept her in because of the weather. He turned his head at the sound and absently stroked her snowy feathers. His eyes fell upon the clock on his desk. It was late, and Harry decided to go to sleep once again, it didn't do him any good to brood. He shut his window and walked to his beds, soundlessly slid between the thin sheets, and closed his eyes. The clock struck midnight, and the beginning of his birthday. Harry, however, was already fast asleep.

Blood. Gallons of dark crimson blood, swishing and swirling in the dead silence. The stench of death hung almost tangibly in the air. Mutilated body parts scattered throughout, half bathed in the cerise substance. Faces, mouths open, eyes wide in terror. The place, shrouded in darkness, gave off a foreboding sense of doom.

A figure sat in the middle of the blood bath, mouth open in an inaudible, maniacal laughter. The body convulsed in rhythm to the silent laughter. Blood dripped from the person's fingers, joining the pool of blood below. A warm drop slid down the pale, inhumanly slender finger, only to be caught by a thin, snakelike tongue.

Wind howled and with it, came cries of sheer horror and pain, cries of hopelessness and helplessness, and cries of utter grief and sadness ringing through; it was the only sound. But still, the figure sat, ignoring the accusing cries of the dead, mouth open in morbid glee.

A thin vein of shocking, electric blue lightning flashed through the darkness, bringing about an end to it all.

In a quiet town in Little Whinging, a young boy bolted out of bed, clutching a scar shaped very much like that fiery blue lightning bolt, albeit, it was now engraved on cold, clammy flesh instead of a dark and desolate sky. The pain gave the boy an overwhelming urge to scream. However, he bit his tongue, drawing blood. The warm metallic taste filled his mouth, trickling down his chin, onto a piece of parchment, staining his hands in the process. Parchment! Now if only a quill…. Blood, his blood, stained the paper, reminding him of his dream.

Blood. Blood staining his hands…. Blood. He didn't want to see blood. He clawed at his hands. He had seen more than enough in his dreams. His short, blunt nails tore his flesh, letting out a fresh trail of blood in its wake. Blood! More blood…. No! He needed to get rid of it. He tried to wipe it off with his hands but succeeded in tearing more flesh in his desperation. Blood. Blood stained his clothes. His old faded clothes had streaks of bright crimson. Blood was so beautiful, if one did not think of what it was…and where it came from.

Blood. So much blood…and all were his own. Yet, he failed to realize that. His numb mind left no space for pain, thus he felt nothing, at least physically. He widened his dull emerald eyes, the world before him was bathed in blood. His mind was in a state of panic now. Sheer and utter panic. Whatever rational thoughts were left told him to calm down, to think, but he took no heed. Water! Water, yes, that was what he needed. He needed to get rid of it. He brought his hands to his mouth. Blood. Crimson blood stained his hands. The red, he needed to get rid of it, but how? His bleary eyes looked around wildly. Without his glasses, it looked as if a heavy fog had settled over his eyes. Blurs of colors mixed into unrecognizable shades. The red color of blood mixed with it, forming a vermilion haze over his eyes. Threads of red spun into blues, grays, and browns. The colors swirled with the red, making him dizzy and lightheaded. Seconds later, a soft thud resounded in the room. Harry Potter had collapsed.

NOTE: See? I know it isn't that good, actually it's pretty bad but I'm working on it. Note that the more reviews I get, the more I'll write which might not be a good thing for some but anyway…. Please review, it makes it worth writing.

Second Note: What's going on is that Harry bit his tongue really hard, blood kind of fell on his hand, he went crazy when he saw blood on his hand and tried to literally tear it off…