Xenith
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"Terror lies in the night."
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Chapter Twenty-seven
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Quidditch Practice was a cold, dreary affair. It was raining; Harry was exhausted and wanted to get a full night of restful, dreamless, sleep.
But the dreams came, the dreams always came , and when he finally collapsed into bed and closed his eyes, a brilliant flash of green light seemed to envelope him.
Flash.
Cedric---dead.
Flash.
His parents were sprawled next to Cedric.
Flash.
Lord Voldemort came out of the shadows behind them. "Harry . . ." he whispered gruesomely. "I'm coming for you, Harry . . ." flash---Flash---FLASH! Now there were more dead bodies, Bertha Jorkins, the old man, Ron and Hermione, Ginny, Cho, Fred and George.
"No!" He was screaming now but there wasn't any sound. The new bodies weren't killed by Avada Kedavra, they were tortured. Some were naked, bloody and bruised beyond recognition.
"It'll all happen eventually, Harry Potter," Flash. More bodies, now it was Colin and Dennis Creevy, Dean and Seamus, Parvati, Padma, Neville---the bodies were coming so fast now and the green so blinding that he couldn't tell them apart. "Since I can't seem to get to you I'll take everyone you love first, everyone you know. One-by-one they'll all leave." The final flash of green came and atop the pile of corpses lay Albus Dumbledore. "Everyone who protects you will be mine."
"No!" He shouted again. Harry tried desperately to lift his wand but his arm seemed attached to his side.
"And you, Harry Potter, will be all alone and I will finally have you."
Harry woke in a cold sweat, panting and wide awake; his blankets wrapped tightly around his aching body. He wrenched them off as he ran to the lavatory. Harry only made it to the tile floor before vomiting.
It seemed like ages before dry heaves ripped through him and he finally collapsed.
Harry hated the smell of vomit. It stung his eyes and nose as white hot tears began to trace their way down his cheeks. Harry was terrified. The nightmares had never made it that far. He'd never seen Dumbledore.
Fred had been on his way to the kitchens for a late night snack when he'd passed the boys toilet when he heard the sobbing coming from within. Putting off his hunger, he pushed open the door to find a boy with black hair crumpled on the ground with a pool of vomit at his head.
"Harry?" He asked tentatively.
Harry hastily wiped at his tear stained face. The last thing he wanted was for one of the boys to see him like this.
"Harry?" The boy asked again, Harry recognized the voice as either Fred's or George's (he wasn't sure which). "Harry, what's wrong?"
"Nothing," he didn't turn. "I'm fine."
"You're sick, and crying."
"No, I'm not. I'm fine."
"There's throw-up on the ground and I heard you through the door. Come-on, Harry."
"No."
Fred knelt next to him anyway and, pointing his wand at Harry's mess, muttering under his breath: "Mopstidious Vomit." Harry let Fred turn to face him. "Are you okay? What happened?"
"Sick . . . I guess. And you saw what happened."
"Then why were you crying?"
"I wasn't." Harry insisted
"You know, I may seem like an idiot sometimes, but I'm really not all that dim, Harry."
"Really, I'm fine." Harry tried to get to his feet but they no longer seemed capable of supporting his weight. Fred caught hold of Harry as they collapsed underneath him and brought him back to the cold floor. Harry shivered.
"I'm taking you to the Hospital wing, you're ill."
"I'm not ill, it's just---"
"What?"
"You wouldn't understand."
"Try me."
"No, Ron doesn't even know." He tried standing again, his feet worked this time, and left the bathroom; Fred still sitting on the floor.
Harry knew that he should go to Dumbledore but the thought of interrupting the Headmaster in the middle of the night wasn't a very appetising thought. So Harry made his way back to the boys' dormitories and onto the window ledge.
Harry stuck his head out of the window and let the rain whip at his skin. //Why tonight?// The icy downpour tore at his cheeks. He took a shaky breath, letting the ice coat the back of his throat, extinguishing the vomit taste. //Why every night?//
//It's nothing.// A hopeful voice in the back of his mind intoned.
"It's nothing," Harry repeated aloud, convincing himself.
Harry went back to his four-poster and pulled the curtains; hoping, more than anything, for the pounding in his scar to subside long enough for him to get a few hours of actual rest.
---
¸..· ´¨¨)) -:¦:-
¸.·´ ·´¨¨))
((¸¸.·´ ..·´ -:¦:- tbc -:¦:-
-:¦:- ((¸¸.·´*
---
"Terror lies in the night."
---
Chapter Twenty-seven
---
Quidditch Practice was a cold, dreary affair. It was raining; Harry was exhausted and wanted to get a full night of restful, dreamless, sleep.
But the dreams came, the dreams always came , and when he finally collapsed into bed and closed his eyes, a brilliant flash of green light seemed to envelope him.
Flash.
Cedric---dead.
Flash.
His parents were sprawled next to Cedric.
Flash.
Lord Voldemort came out of the shadows behind them. "Harry . . ." he whispered gruesomely. "I'm coming for you, Harry . . ." flash---Flash---FLASH! Now there were more dead bodies, Bertha Jorkins, the old man, Ron and Hermione, Ginny, Cho, Fred and George.
"No!" He was screaming now but there wasn't any sound. The new bodies weren't killed by Avada Kedavra, they were tortured. Some were naked, bloody and bruised beyond recognition.
"It'll all happen eventually, Harry Potter," Flash. More bodies, now it was Colin and Dennis Creevy, Dean and Seamus, Parvati, Padma, Neville---the bodies were coming so fast now and the green so blinding that he couldn't tell them apart. "Since I can't seem to get to you I'll take everyone you love first, everyone you know. One-by-one they'll all leave." The final flash of green came and atop the pile of corpses lay Albus Dumbledore. "Everyone who protects you will be mine."
"No!" He shouted again. Harry tried desperately to lift his wand but his arm seemed attached to his side.
"And you, Harry Potter, will be all alone and I will finally have you."
Harry woke in a cold sweat, panting and wide awake; his blankets wrapped tightly around his aching body. He wrenched them off as he ran to the lavatory. Harry only made it to the tile floor before vomiting.
It seemed like ages before dry heaves ripped through him and he finally collapsed.
Harry hated the smell of vomit. It stung his eyes and nose as white hot tears began to trace their way down his cheeks. Harry was terrified. The nightmares had never made it that far. He'd never seen Dumbledore.
Fred had been on his way to the kitchens for a late night snack when he'd passed the boys toilet when he heard the sobbing coming from within. Putting off his hunger, he pushed open the door to find a boy with black hair crumpled on the ground with a pool of vomit at his head.
"Harry?" He asked tentatively.
Harry hastily wiped at his tear stained face. The last thing he wanted was for one of the boys to see him like this.
"Harry?" The boy asked again, Harry recognized the voice as either Fred's or George's (he wasn't sure which). "Harry, what's wrong?"
"Nothing," he didn't turn. "I'm fine."
"You're sick, and crying."
"No, I'm not. I'm fine."
"There's throw-up on the ground and I heard you through the door. Come-on, Harry."
"No."
Fred knelt next to him anyway and, pointing his wand at Harry's mess, muttering under his breath: "Mopstidious Vomit." Harry let Fred turn to face him. "Are you okay? What happened?"
"Sick . . . I guess. And you saw what happened."
"Then why were you crying?"
"I wasn't." Harry insisted
"You know, I may seem like an idiot sometimes, but I'm really not all that dim, Harry."
"Really, I'm fine." Harry tried to get to his feet but they no longer seemed capable of supporting his weight. Fred caught hold of Harry as they collapsed underneath him and brought him back to the cold floor. Harry shivered.
"I'm taking you to the Hospital wing, you're ill."
"I'm not ill, it's just---"
"What?"
"You wouldn't understand."
"Try me."
"No, Ron doesn't even know." He tried standing again, his feet worked this time, and left the bathroom; Fred still sitting on the floor.
Harry knew that he should go to Dumbledore but the thought of interrupting the Headmaster in the middle of the night wasn't a very appetising thought. So Harry made his way back to the boys' dormitories and onto the window ledge.
Harry stuck his head out of the window and let the rain whip at his skin. //Why tonight?// The icy downpour tore at his cheeks. He took a shaky breath, letting the ice coat the back of his throat, extinguishing the vomit taste. //Why every night?//
//It's nothing.// A hopeful voice in the back of his mind intoned.
"It's nothing," Harry repeated aloud, convincing himself.
Harry went back to his four-poster and pulled the curtains; hoping, more than anything, for the pounding in his scar to subside long enough for him to get a few hours of actual rest.
---
¸..· ´¨¨)) -:¦:-
¸.·´ ·´¨¨))
((¸¸.·´ ..·´ -:¦:- tbc -:¦:-
-:¦:- ((¸¸.·´*