He was floating. He felt as if he were at the bottom of a deep, still body of water, but did not feel the lack of air. Opening his eyes, he saw a brief flash of glittering blue, and then the world came into focus.
Harry looked at the world around him; he was in a forest that felt thousands of years old. He couldn't remember ever seeing so many trees in one place, let alone any that were this big. The canopy above filtered the bright morning sunlight that shined down to the ground, casting patched shadows that moved in the gentle wind; he inhaled deeply the scent of the woods, of green leaves and chipped bark and earth. He expected to hear the sounds of woodland creatures-birds chirping and rustling in the trees, hares running through the underbrush-but none came. It was as if this wood was for the trees alone, for they were all he could hear.
Harry turned to the right, not of his own accord. He saw a wide path that looked more like a man-made lane, lined by bone-white birches. The irrefutable force drew him down the path. As he walked, Harry noticed that the sun began shifting quickly into late afternoon, though he kept his pace. By the time he entered the clearing at the end of the path, it was moments before sunset. In the center of the enormous clearing grew a tree larger than Harry could have even imagined-an enormous, majestic oak.
The sound of slight, swift movement startled him out of his trance. So something other than trees was in this forest! Harry looked to the right of the tree's trunk and saw a man; to the left he saw a woman. The man was rather handsome with shoulder-length red hair worn in a small ponytail, and was dressed in a style Harry had only seen in pictures in his History of Magic textbook-that of wizarding folk from the late ninth century, a time before Hogwarts had even been founded! The woman, who was very pretty and had waist-length, wavy black hair, was also dressed in this fashion. They both looked about eighteen and simply stood facing each other, as though they couldn't even see Harry fifty feet away. Harry wanted to apologize for intruding, but that mysterious force prevented him from uttering a sound.
The woman opened her mouth to speak, but before she even finished drawing breath the world silenced and froze. Harry tried to blink, but found he couldn't even do that. The world began spinning in a blur of colour. He felt as though he had just gotten off of a roller coaster as he landed solidly on the ground. He felt dizzy and would have fallen over were it not for that force keeping him exactly where it wanted to.
When Harry was finally able to focus his eyes, he saw he was now in a completely different place. He was inside a wide stone tower with several pane-less windows. Out of them, he could see the cloudless night sky. The moon was a waning crescent, and the stars seemed brighter and greater in number than he had ever seen. The force controlling Harry turned his head to the left, but he couldn't see anything. Seemingly out of nowhere he suddenly heard a sigh of contentment as a man let his Invisibility Cloak drop to the floor.
This man appeared to be in his mid to late twenties, and had blonde hair about the length of Harry's. Harry couldn't directly place the era of robes the young wizard was wearing, but he reckoned it was some time in the thirteenth century. He watched the man gaze at the stars for a while longer, but then the world froze once more. Knowing what was about to happen, and knowing that trying to close his eyes wouldn't help, he simply braced himself for the eye-assaulting swirl of colours to come.
The second time had been easier than the first, Harry noted. Once again he gazed at his surroundings, and was surprised to find that he was in a beautiful country garden. All around him were fragrant, vibrant flowers, and sweet-smelling fruit trees. A stepping stone path wound through it, which he was made to walk. It led to a small, peaceful fishpond beside which a young woman sat. She looked to be around twenty-two or twenty-three, and was dressed in the style of an eighteenth century witch. She had an arm basket full of freshly cut flowers from her garden at her side, and was feeding the fish while humming softly. Harry would've liked to stay here for a bit longer, as she had a fine voice, but the world had already gone silent. Slightly disappointed, Harry went through the vortex with relative ease. When he regained his bearings this time, however, he was so shocked he wouldn't have been able to move or speak even without the force preventing such.
Harry was staring at himself. Or his past self, to be more precise, for this Harry was much smaller than the one watching. He was in Dumbledore's office, and so was the Headmaster himself. Harry could hear them speaking…
"-Transferred some of his powers to you the night he gave you that scar," said Dumbledore. "Not something he intended to do, I'm sure…"
"Voldemort put a bit of himself in me?" Past Harry asked. Harry recognized this conversation now; it was the one he and Dumbledore had had after he'd rescued Ginny Weasley from the Chamber of Secrets, back in his second year.
"It certainly seems so," Dumbledore replied.
"So I should be in Slytherin. The Sorting Hat could see Slytherin's power in me, and it-"
"Put you in Gryffindor. Listen to me, Harry. You happen to have many qualities Salazar Slytherin prized in his hand-picked students. His own very rare gift, Parseltongue - resourcefulness - determination - a certain disregard for rules. Yet the Sorting Hat placed you in Gryffindor. You know why that was. Think."
"It only put me in Gryffindor because I asked not to go in Slytherin…"
"Exactly, which makes you very different from Tom Riddle. It is our choices, Harry, that show what we truly are, far more than our abilities. If you want proof, Harry, that you belong in Gryffindor, I suggest you look more closely at this."
And as Past Harry took the sword with which he had slain the Basilisk, time froze, leaving Harry staring at his past self staring at the inscription: Godric Gryffindor.
The scene stayed emblazoned in his mind throughout the journey, until he landed and found himself back at the original scene with the man and woman. It was as if he had never been gone, as the woman began speaking.
"It's too late," she said, and Harry could hear the angry despair in her strangled voice.
"No," the man whispered chokingly, like someone denying that which he knew was true, and had known for a long time.
"It is and you know it," she spat out. "How could you just abandon me like that? You said you would come for me before I was ever in danger, but you left me!"
"I tried to come, but-"
"I don't want to hear any excuses, Dirk."
"Damn it, Ita, listen to me!" the man named Dirk said fiercely. "I know I wasn't there, but it was because of that man I was trying to save you from!"
The woman, Ita, apparently, paused while her eyes slowly widened in comprehension. "You mean - Lord Denman - he knows about you? About us?"
"So it would seem," Dirk muttered. "A group of his soldiers blocked my path, but when I attempted to find another they threw me out of the courtyard. I never even made it to the castle doors."
"Oh, Dirk," Ita whispered. Suddenly, she ran to close the distance between the two. Dirk hurried to meet her, and they reached each other in front of the massive oak. Ita began sobbing into Dirk's shoulder, and Harry began to feel very awkward.
"So…" Dirk struggled to say. "Is it true? Are you going to marry that - that -"
"His name is Lyulfe Denman, and he better not catch you saying anything like you were about to. He'd have you killed on site. Don't you dare leave me now."
"Tell me what happened."
"Well," Ita began, now that she had calmed enough to speak coherently. " Lord Denman met with my father, as you know. I wasn't allowed in the room, so I've no idea as to what was said exactly; but when they came out, Lord Denman had that horrible smirk on his face. What was ever the worse, however, was my father's face. I've never seen him so sad, so heartbroken, not since Mother died-"
Ita's voice had broken and she struggled for a moment to regain control of herself. Harry thought she seemed to feel as though she was running out of time, though to do what exactly, he had no idea. Ita continued.
"I led Father to his chamber and demanded he tell me what the matter was. He told me that Lord Denman," she spat the name out like poison, "had threatened to use his inexorable army to take over our kingdom. He said he would only leave if he could - if he could - take my father's most valuable treasure. Me."
Dirk's jaw clenched so tightly Harry could hear his teeth grinding. He drew Ita even closer as fire blazed in his honey-brown eyes.
"I had hoped you would be at the castle by that time, but you weren't. I had no choice but to accept the Lord's 'proposal' to save my father, and my people. When I accepted, he - he kissed my hand like he had been courting me for years - like only you have ever done."
A few tears escaped from her eyes and Dirk gently took the offended hand. He rubbed it tenderly before giving it a soft kiss. Suddenly it was Ita's lips he was kissing, and Harry's eyes widened of their own accord. He had flushed a deep red before he realized that the force was gone and whipped around to keep from seeing the two lovers get out of hand.
"Dirk, make me forget the foul touch of my future husband. We must make the most of our doomed time together," He heard Ita say breathlessly.
"I love you, Ita Cecania."
"I love you, Dirk Everard."
And to Harry's great relief the world froze, but more importantly, it silenced.
Like that wasn't awkward, he thought. He wondered why the force had suddenly disappeared, not that he was about to complain. He rather liked having his lucidity.
Having suspected where he was about to land, Harry wasn't surprised when he found himself back in the tower of stone. He noticed, however, that some time must have passed since his last visit, as the moon was out of sight tonight. He was also alone; but not for long, as the tower door banged open and the blond man threw his Invisibility Cloak to the floor.
He was panting and gasping for air - from his dash up to the tower? No - Harry saw tear tracks on the man's face. He wasn't panting; he was sobbing. Harry was shocked and wondered what could have happened to cause such a dramatic change in the man. He had thrown himself onto the same window he'd been at last time, but instead of gazing at the stars he had his head buried in his arms. Harry was about to walk over to him when the door banged open once again. In the doorway stood a tall man that looked to be between fifty and sixty, with a chest-length, salt-and-pepper beard that matched his hair.
"Parker," the elder man began quietly, but the younger one cut him off.
"Go away, Barnabas."
"No, Parker, I will not."
"You will. I can make you do it, you know."
"Parker Feodore, you dare to threaten your Guardian?"
Parker shot up from his place at the window. "You dare bring that up right now! You're out of line, old man. How can you think I would respect you after I find out you've lied to me about something as serious as a genuine prophecy for sixteen years?"
"I never lied to you, Parker. I simply thought that you were not yet ready to know."
"Don't you think it would have been more efficient to tell me earlier? So many innocent lives could have been saved!"
"I realize that now. I just - you're a special young man, Parker. You feel such strong emotion. This will help you in your fated battle, but it was also why I could not bear to tell you when you were younger, innocent. I cared too much for you to ever hurt you intentionally, Parker, you must know this."
Parker was silent for a moment before turning back to the window, staring at the sky. "I know," he whispered. The old man, Barnabas, looked terribly guilty as he slowly made his way to his charge; as the world froze.
No, thought Harry, not yet! He wanted to see what was going to happen; those two men reminded him of something, someone important, but he hadn't figured out what or whom yet.
Pouting slightly, he walked down the familiar stepping stone garden path to the pond. The woman was already there, wrapping her arms around the tops of her knees and resting her tear-stained face on them. It appeared that she had finished her crying already.
Harry looked around, expecting to have to get off the path to make way for a new person; but no one was coming. He looked back at the young woman and noticed that an enormous, ancient-looking book lay at her side. The woman turned her face from the pond and stared bitterly at the book for a moment before slowly unfolding herself and picking it up. Harry moved behind her to get a better look at the mysterious book; she didn't notice. As her hands explored the archaic cover, Harry read the title: The Tome of Truth.
The Tome of Truth? What could that book be about, and why was the woman so wary of it? Seeming to have heard his thoughts, she slowly opened the book - not to the beginning as one would normally do with a book, but to the last few hundred pages. The woman turned pages more quickly now, apparently searching for something. When she reached an illustrated title page at the beginning of that final section, she froze. Harry quickly looked at the page from over her shoulder to see what had startled her so, but found the picture to be more surprising than the words. Taking up three-quarters of the rather large page was an incredibly accurate and colourful depiction of the woman currently staring at it. Above the illustration were written two words in a beautiful, flowing script: Sarah Silverwood.
"It is me," the woman whispered. She must be Sarah Silverwood, then, thought Harry; Sarah continued. "You were right, Dama. But why didn't you tell me while you were still alive? You said in your letter that this would help me in the war to come, but I need you! My - my Guardian," she whispered the last word.
There was that Guardian thing again, thought Harry. And what was this Dama person right about? Again as an almost direct answer to his unspoken query, Sarah went on speaking to her late Guardian.
"Well, I will thank you for leaving me with the prophecy. At least I could hear my fate in full, hmm?" She attempted to smile ruefully, but it turned into a grimace as she choked back more tears. Her voice struggled to make its way around the lump in her throat. "I miss you already, Dama. How could you leave at a time like this? At the moment I need your guidance and training the most? On the eve of a terrible battle? The battle that will make me a murderer if luck is on my side!"
Comprehension struck like lightning in Harry's mind. Everything he was seeing - Parker, Sarah, the battles, the book - the prophecies - this had all happened before! As Harry's mouth came down in horror the world spun out of control and threw him into Dumbledore's office, on that dawning morning that he had found out the horrible truth. Sure enough, there was Very-Recent-Past Harry smashing Dumbledore's mysterious silver instruments along with the table they had rested upon. Harry didn't have to listen in to know what was being said; he remembered every word said on that dreadful day.
Harry hadn't realized he was hyperventilating until he fell to his knees, gasping for air. He was suddenly thrown back into the glittering blue, where he didn't need to breathe or think. Feeling satisfied in the stillness, he closed his eyes in dreamland and opened them in reality. They widened when all the memories of his dream came flooding back to his mind, and suddenly one thing was very clear to Harry.
He needed to find the Tome of Truth.
*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
AN: I know I said that more was going to happen in this chapter, but the dream part took a lot longer than I thought and the chapter was screaming at me to stop here. Is it a good thing or a bad thing when your chapters talk to you?
Next time: Harry gets a plan and somebody gets pissed off. Whee!
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