Chapter one: Dreams and Despair.

A gentle breeze blew on Privet Drive as evening slowly fell and save the soft rustling of the leaves on the trees, all was still and silent. The quiet street had seen many wonders in times past but its occupants had remained oblivious to any and all strange happenings that had occurred there:
A large triple-decker purple bus appearing with a bang in the dead of night. Small explosions from number 4 Privet Drive. Flying motorcycles years before.
And a small baby, left on a doorstep, a letter clutched in its tiny fist as three people mysteriously disappeared without a trace. A boy who grew with no idea of his past save the lightning shaped scar on his forehead.
How he had survived for fifteen years was a mystery Harry Potter pondered as he climbed the stairs to the smallest bedroom, exhausted from a day's work in the garden, pruning the roses and painting the fence. Life had not been kind to him, especially of late, and often Harry found himself wondering if any of it was worth the trouble.
When these thoughts appeared he chased them away almost as quickly as they'd shown up. Of course it was worth the trouble! Voldemort might have returned years ago.
"Ah! But he's back now!" A tiny voice in his head would reply. "This time you didn't stop him. If anything, you helped him! Cedric's dead and more people will follow and it's all your fault!" The taunting was enough to drive anyone mad, so it was a very withdrawn Harry that returned to the Dursleys that fateful year for the summer.
His aunt, uncle and cousin gave him a wide-berth as usual but as little as they cared to notice Harry (unless he did something wrong) even they perceived a change in him, something that frightened them far more than his magic. There was something boiling deep inside him that went much deeper than his guilt or his fear. So deep, that Harry himself barely knew it was there. His power was growing, fueled by his unspeakable hatred of Voldemort and all that he had done. A power of such magnitude that, if left untamed, could consume Harry and everything around him.
Harry Potter was no longer a little boy.
He reached his bedroom and staggered over to his bed. He could barely keep his eyes open but he dared not sleep for fear he would dream again. That was another thing. Since the fateful events of his fourth year, Harry had barely had one good night's sleep. He'd lay unconscious; muttering and twitching and occasionally crying out as visions of red eyes and flashing green lights passed through his mind. One dream especially replayed itself over and over, night after night. A terrible pain in his scar, a flash of green light and lifeless gray eyes, staring into oblivion. Cedric- dead. He welcomed consciousness, only to dread the unrelenting taunts of his guilt playing with his thoughts. If he'd done things differently, Cedric would be alive. He shouldn't have let him take the cup. He should have told him to run the moment he knew something was wrong. He should have never been born...
Everytime he closed his eyes he felt Him watching, waiting for the chance to kill him. Sometimes, Harry wished he'd just get it over with. Even death would be better than the life he was currently living. He barely ate and dreaded sleep. He'd become a mere shadow of his former self in only five weeks.
Harry sighed deeply as his eyelids began to droop. It would feel so good to sleep. So good to let go. He was so tired, so tired...
He drifted off into unknowingness. But only for a while...
The safety of the blackness around him began to swirl, making him remarkably dizzy. He was being thrown around on a dark wind of stale air, almost suffocating him, while the world around became clearer, sharp-edged but bleak. The wind stirred no tree or bush, it could not be heard, in fact the only sign of its presence was its occupation of any breathable air and the dark swirling wisps and tendrils of smoke that blew forward, carrying Harry with them. Breathing was becoming difficult and he gasped for breath as the wind flew him over a place that looked oddly familiar. His stomach turned to ice and he felt he'd be sick when he recognized it as the place where he'd battled Voldemort only 2 months before. And there... right there, that was where Cedric... Harry felt his throat tighten unbearably and he looked away. He'd half expected to see Cedric's body lying there, untouched, intact... but dead.
The wind continued to carry Harry onward at a great speed. He wondered what it was he sat on. He looked down and studied the strange substance. It was transparent, but barely, and it seemed to repel light and breeze and sound. Harry placed both of his hands on it and pushed. Nothing gave, but Harry started back as if he'd been burned. He'd felt something in there. Something evil, completely evil, something hiding a secret, one that Harry was sure meant only death and destruction. He suddenly found that he wished the wind weren't solid, so he could fall through it and get away, but to no avail. He was a prisoner on an island of blackness, flying through the air towards the unknown.
Suddenly, he was plunged into darkness. He had no sense of direction whatsoever and for all he knew, he could have been floating upside down. Then slowly, light returned, dim, but light all the same. But what it showed him, Harry would rather not have seen.
He stood in the center of a great circle of cloaked and hooded figures. They were still and made no sound as they stood, apparently awaiting someone... or something. His breath caught in his chest as he looked around at the Death Eaters, more memories than he wished for flooding back to him at that moment. He gasped for air looking around at them, wondering why they didn't pounce on him and attack. Then all of the hoods turned in the same direction, staring at something behind Harry.
His heart beating faster than he thought possible, he turned slowly. He already knew who he would see there. He dreaded it, the face that haunted him day and night. His head reeled when he saw him, Voldemort. His lips were twisted back in a grin of purest evil; his eyes held black fire. His sickly white, unnaturally long fingers curled and uncurled, into brittle but strong fists.
Harry couldn't take this, not now. He was so tired, of everything. But then the demon began to speak and Harry's thoughts were forgotten as his flesh crawled with goose bumps and his hair stood on end.
"My most "loyal" slaves." He began mockingly. "I have called you here because each and every one of you has failed me. Miserably!"
The Death Eaters cowered at their master's fury.
"How did twenty "men", if you truly believe yourselves worthy to be called so, fail to bring me the one thing I truly desire? You were all sent out on the same mission and yet you have the nerve to stand before me, your master, empty handed?! It will not be tolerated! Crucio!" He pointed his wand at the Death Eater nearest him and his screams filled the air around Harry. They were too familiar... too familiar.
Voldemort lifted his wand and the Death Eater fell to the floor crying like a child. Harry watched as he began to pace around the inside of the circle, eyeing his servants as a vulture eyes its prey. Harry knew. Voldemort was going to kill them all. He suddenly found his legs couldn't hold him and he sank to the floor holding himself tightly to keep from shivering with fear.
After he made a full circle of the group, he returned to his previous spot and looked upon them all with disgust. "I am appalled," he stated disdainfully, "that not even one of you was able to bring me Harry Potter."
Harry hugged himself even more tightly. He'd been wondering when his name would come up.
"I find you all pitiful excuses for servants! You're barely worthy of my time to kill you!" The Death Eaters started up surprised, clearly this had not been what they were expecting, a few of them cried out in surprise.
Voldemort raised his wand to finish them off, one by one. Harry shut his eyes as tightly as he could, as if that would block the glow of green light. He waited for the screams and thuds as they came crashing down, dead before they hit the floor. But none of those sounds came; only bewildered murmurs. Harry slowly opened his eyes and gasped in surprise, standing up quickly.
Voldemort was surrounded by the black wind that had carried him earlier. It spiraled around his feet and began to twist its way upward, until it covered him completely. Harry thought he could make out whispers in the dank air, coming from the wind, but he couldn't make out what was being said. And then, the most chilling sound of all, Voldemort began to laugh. But not a soft snicker, or even an evil cackle. His laughter went beyond madness. It was laughter of pure insanity and yet deep down, deadly determination. The wind disappeared, but whether it evaporated or was absorbed into Voldemort's body, Harry didn't know, and he didn't want to know. All he wanted was to get away. Go anywhere else, away from the laughter that rang in his ears, away from the madman that killed for the fun of it, that had destroyed his family, away from himself to where he could be safe.
Voldemort stopped laughing and Harry saw something glint in his eyes- victory? He then muttered something under his breath, which only Harry heard, but did not understand. "You lose, old man..."
He laughed again as he raised his wand, and before Harry could look away, began to massacre the Death Eaters that stood there. Screams rent the air and Harry was frozen in terror, looking upon the sight that lay before him. He couldn't move, he couldn't breath. And then, as suddenly as it began, it stopped. Twenty Death Eaters lay dead on the ground and Voldemort stood among their bodies, satisfaction eminent on his face.
"You lose." He muttered one last time and was gone, leaving Harry in the midst of devastation. He tried to look away, but found that he couldn't. He walked over to the nearest Death Eater and removed his mask.
And screamed. Cedric Diggory stared out at him from the black hood.

"NOOO!!!" Harry sat up straight in bed, drenched in sweat, tears on his face. He looked around his room, so straight, so tidy, so unreal. How could it be that there still existed places in the world oblivious to death and untouched by fear? He was shaking uncontrollably, trembling from head to foot. He couldn't take it anymore; he was only fifteen for heaven's sake! He couldn't handle these things. He shouldn't be expected to. Harry scrunched himself into the tightest ball he could, rocking back and forth and crying, heart rendering sobs that no one heard.
After a few minutes had passed, Harry lay back down in his bed, still shaking slightly. He wondered momentarily, how it was for other kids to awake from nightmares to find their mothers there to comfort them.
He didn't have the faintest idea.
"Mum." He whispered softly to himself as he pulled his covers tightly around him.

The boy who lived then continued to cry himself to sleep.