Memories of the Past and Visions of the Future

Disclaimer: I own nothing to do with Harry Potter and make no profit with this. Also do not intend to cause copyright.

The rain poured down in torrents over Surrey and pounded relentlessly on the windows of Privet Drive. The storm clouds had rolled in and had yet to cease their thunderous rampage.

The outline of an adolescent boy could be seen from the upper window of number 4. In another world he is their greatest legend, rumours of his power and greatness had passed from wizard to witch for years, his story told at night to their children and had not stopped since that fateful night fifteen years ago on all hallows eve. But in this realm, the muggle world, he is just a boy, a boy from the cupboard under the stairs.

Harry lay down his quill on his desk and removed his glasses to rub his eyes. It was three in the morning and finally had completed his potions essay. Snape would be shocked, well as much as emotion as he has. Harry thought with a snort.

Ever since the end of last year he had thrown himself into his studies and his chores. Working himself to exhaustion in a vain hope to stave off the dreams, the nightmares that haunted his sleeping hours, the demons and memories that haunted him. But as hard as he could not get rid of the guilt that tore at his conscience and ate at his soul. Indeed he had not said those final words, but he was his Godson and he was the boy-who-lived and that was enough to seal his fate, his Godfathers fate.

Getting wearily to his feet, Harry slumped onto his bed not even bothering to get undressed. As his eyes began to gently slide shut he whispered gently 'Please no more dreams not tonight, just give me this'.

But before he could succumb to sleep a sound reverberated outside, a crack echoed as if someone had apparated. As he opened his eyes and sat up, suddenly he heard it again, and again, and again.

He jumped out of bed and looked out of his window and what he saw made his throat run dry and fear course through his veins.

Death Eaters, and many of them, had arrived. In their garb they looked sinister and deadly but nothing compared to the hooded being that raised his wand towards number 4, hooded and robed in black.

Lord Voldemort had arrived.