Disclaimer: All characters/places etc.recognized in the Harry Potter books are under copyright of J.K Rowling. Only the character Torac Demonio belongs to me, though half of the name rights go to Crystal Charmer.


Chapter 2 – Dreams & Dark Times

"No!"

A bolt cry exploded from Harry's mouth, breaking the pensive silence. He violently turned and tossed in his bed, his eyes pinched together, red and sore. He struggled under the covers, moaning and trying to grab onto something, anything to stop him falling into a horrendous darkness. Terrible pictures and voices troubled the corners of his mind.

No, Mum – Dad! Leave them alone...leave them alone! You'll hurt them, you'll kill them!

Harry felt a strange sensation, as if he had just dropped from the sky and landed hard on the ground, a tickling in his stomach – which always woke him. His eyes opened suddenly.

It took a while for him to adapt to the situation, as he glanced about with his limbs going numb and his head spinning slowly. The room was beginning to fall into focus...distorted colours appearing and shadows creeping in from corners.

He was awake, back into the real world and rid of nightmares. He felt nauseous, wanting to be sick but not wanting to leave the bedroom. He hit his head against the pillow, and sighed, his body drenched in a cold sweat. Not again, he thought, butting his fist against the bed, and forcing down the urge to be ill. I hate this. It's getting ridiculous...just ridiculous.

Every night had been the same now for a while, ever since the end of his fourth year at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Nightmare after nightmare – each one more dreadful than the last. Lately he had come to realise that he was forbidden to speak of them from his uncle Vernon and aunt Petunia, ever since he brought up his dream of a giant man, with a bristly dark beard and beetle-black eyes. They would usually go very tight-lipped and strange, telling him not to mention things he didn't understand.

Then there was the flying motorbike, and...well...

Harry brushed his hair out of his eyes with a shaky hand, perspiration on his forehead. He could still hear the laughter of Voldemort ringing through his ears, the same laughter that had haunted him in the Triwizard Tournament. Last year had been the hardest yet.

He rubbed his eyes as he sat up, his mother's screams getting fainter and fainter.

Please – oh, please don't hurt him...don't hurt Harry! I – I love him...I love him!

The door opened.

Harry snapped in the direction of it with a gasp, feeling someone's eyes on him. He gulped, squinting into the dark. A tension grew in his veins, stiff and rigid. He was just about to speak, when someone else decided to go first.

"W-what's going on?" The voice sounded sleepy, and shaky as if they were trembling.

Harry recognised it immediately. "Dudley?" he croaked out, relief flooding into the pit of his stomach. There was a soft silence, which was only disturbed by the click of the door being shut, and Dudley stepping into the room. This left Harry feeling rather confused.

What's he coming in for? he thought, angrily. What could he possibly want in the middle of the night? Groaning, he fumbled about blindly for his glasses, which lay on his bedside dresser. "What are you doing?" he asked, whispering, as he slipped them down over his eyes. His vision became clearer now, but the darkness didn't help much.

Dudley's voice was unusually quiet. "I-I came to see what all the noise was," he said. There was something in the way that he spoke, as if he were smiling.

"What are you on about?" Harry frowned. Noise? It had been peaceful all night.

His cousin looked him right in the eye, now suspicious. "The noise – you know, it was really loud. I heard it from my room." He pointed a chubby finger at the door, towards the hallway, where his other room was. "It woke me up," he carried on. "Really loud, it was. Don't tell me you couldn't hear it."

Harry didn't respond. A deep, sick feeling was beginning to come back into his throat. He could imagine already where this was going to lead – it was the horrible sensation that they were talking about him... he remembered shouting when he woke up.

He glanced down into his lap and frowned. "Go back to bed, Dudley."

"It was coming from in here, I know it was," Dudley continued, mumbling but with a hint of superiority hidden in his voice. It was as if he were only just beginning to understand the meaning behind all of his questions. "There was shouting." He shot a smirk towards Harry.

"I didn't hear anything," Harry shrugged.

"You're lying."

Harry just stared straight ahead into his cousin's eyes, trying not to lose his temper. Ever since the disastrous end to his previous year, and the disturbing ignorance he was getting from Dumbledore this summer, his patience had begun to run short.

Dudley, however, was not ready to give up when he had started to torment. "You're only saying that because...because you were the one doing it," he pressed on, his voice dropping to the tone of his newfound 'bully' status. "What were you yelling about anyway?"

If it wasn't so dark, Harry could swear that Dudley was snickering to himself as he waited for a response, shifting from one foot to another. He was no doubt, only staying to make matters worse, and for once Harry couldn't think of anything that would make him go away. He knows I can't use magic against him, he thought. Damn.

He rolled his eyes, falling back onto the pillows with a moan. "Go away, Dudley."

"I might know why you were yelling!" Dudley said, a little loud. "I might know!"

"How d'you know it's me? It could've been anything!" Harry argued back, not being able to keep his mouth shut. Heat was growing in his voice and making it swell. "Someone outside...someone on the streets, maybe..."

"You're missing people, you're miserable! I hear you all the time, talking and shouting and making noise, having your stupid old nightmares, crying - "

"I said, go back to - "

"Oh," Dudley moaned, pretending to bubble and quake at the knees, his chins cramped and bundled at the collar of his pyjamas. His voice went to a strange squeaking sound, as if imitating a frightened child. "Oh, no – help me...Mum, Dad...please don't go, please don't leave me, help me, someone – I'm scared..."

"Shut up!" Harry almost screamed, sitting up tight now in bed, eyes ablaze. "Go away!"

The sound of a creak coming from the hallway caught both of their attention. Harry, his ears now keen and listening but burning with a white-hot rage, picked it up and quickly flung himself back down into bed again, knocking a book off. He tried to grab it but missed and it hit the floor with a hard thud.

Dudley whimpered from his corner of the room. "Oh, it's Dad – this is all your fault!" he quickly said, the tone of his voice changing as he pointed at his cousin. "Just because you're one of those...freaks doesn't mean that you're safe this summer! You can't use magic, remember?" The rest came out in a whisper, almost a hiss. "I'll come with all my gang and we're going to get you, we'll beat you up – we'll kill you..."

And then he was gone. The room fell into silence and Harry just lay there with the covers over his head. He paused; waiting to hear his uncle's booming voice demanding what Dudley was doing out of bed, but nothing came. That thought made Harry snigger a little. The coward would have probably wet himself, he thought.

His cousin had taken on a miraculous change over this summer. It seemed as if his school had transformed him into this low-down tyrant who found nothing better than to terrorize people, and Harry was being dragged along in the fire-line. Especially now I have no defence, he thought to himself.

He waited until all was quiet, before getting up again. The book that had fallen to the floor was one of his schoolbooks, Modern Magical History that he was using to study for his History of Magic assignment over the holiday. Professor Binns, the ghost teacher, had asked for them to look up as much information on a historical figure in the wizarding world, wanting at least three feet of parchment on his desk the first week back.

Landing on an open page, Harry pulled it up to his face, his eyes now suited to the dark. He stared in surprise; he had never read this part before. He would have overlooked it; only there was a certain name in the person's description that caught his interest.

"Voldemort," Harry whispered, his eyes tracing over the words in front of him.

The passage read:

Torac Demonio (1940 - )

A wizard rarely regarded in our society today. Born in London, England, Demonio attended Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry but mysteriously left after two years to which reason no one knows. Poorly skilled in magic though being the only son of two Pureblood wizards, he left to join companions studying dragon breeding in Europe. His last recorded appearance was in 1962, following a fierce accident in a burning building, notably leaving him brutally scarred for life. It has been rumoured that this attack was meant for a purpose to kill, under the conspiracy and order of Voldemort. However, no deaths occurred.

Demonio is now in hiding but has been supposed to be seen in Bermuda and other regions of South America. The Ministry of Magic are on for his search, and the result for his capture and arrest has not yet been confirmed. (See also Dark Lord, page 77)

Harry re-read it again before shutting the book. He felt a little confused, but all the same interested. This was new to him, and word of Voldemort was what he had been waiting for all summer. He was almost halfway through the holidays, and still nothing.

At least it's something, he thought bitterly, before tossing the book to the end of his bed and removing his glasses. Then he let himself fall back into the pillows, allowing sleep to take him away into a far-off, distant land.

-xXx-

"Harry! Harry! Oh, for goodness sake!" Clap.

Harry awoke with a jump, his head bouncing up out of his arms. His eyes were drooping, his neck ached in one spot and his head felt drowsy. "W-wha – I mean, who? What's wrong?" he asked, the blurry form of his friend Hermione Granger forming steadily into focus.

A giggle rose from around the room from the few students that were there. Professor Binns slowly turned away from the blackboard and stared tediously in Harry's direction.

"Mr. Potter," he said in his droning voice. "Must you choose now to take a nap in your History of Magic lesson? I know that research on the Goblin Rebellion can repeat itself sometimes, but - "

Harry shook his head, blocking out the dizzy feeling in his temples. "No, sir, I'm sorry," he mumbled, rubbing his eyes. "I was only...I mean, I was just - " In his state he cut himself off by nearly knocking his copy of A History of Magic to the floor. As he grit his teeth he heard another round of snickering begin.

"Quiet, please." Professor Binns rolled his eyes as he looked in Harry's direction. "Please pull yourself together, Mr. Potter. Turn to page two hundred and thirty six, if you haven't already done so – though I wouldn't hold my breath," he added, turning around again with a yawn.

Harry sighed and slumped back in his seat. His friend, Ron Weasley, sat beside him with his head cupped in his palm, bored stiff. He shot a glazed stare towards his partner, sighing.

"Makes you wonder why we ever came back," he said gloomily. "I mean, it's only for two weeks but, come on – couldn't we learn something in Defence Against the Dark Arts or something? Instead of being stuck with blooming History of Magic." He cast a low frown to the row beside them, where Hermione sat. "How did you talk us into this, again?"

Hermione sighed, turning her attention to her work. "I told you before the summer," she said. "Since Professor Moody left, there's been a rumour that Defence Against the Dark Arts lessons aren't going to go so well next year. Lots of the teachers have been worrying about it – and to tell you the truth, we all should be too." She tried to avoid Harry's eyes as she spoke.

He knew why. Now that Voldemort had been sighted, Dark Arts lessons were becoming increasingly important for the students. Parents had complained to Dumbledore, afraid for their children's sake. Finally the Headmaster had decided to do something about it.

He had offered students to come back to Hogwarts for another two weeks, under their own choosing. More of a summer school, as the weeks went into the holidays. They were offered a quick insight into the lessons for next year, making sure they were prepared. Harry was only glad to go back.

Now he leant forward on his elbows, trying to ignore the bickering on each side of him. Sitting in between Ron and Hermione was a task all on it's own.

"That's all well and good, Hermione," said Ron. "But have you seen what else they've put on our timetables? I mean, Herbology...I suppose I could see that working – but Potions?" He scoffed; the idea of extra time with the Potions Master was unthinkable. "Bet Snape's loving all of this. Why do they constantly choose to torture us?"

"Well, I think it's a great idea," Hermione said defensively, as the bell suddenly rang. She gathered up her books from her desk as Professor Binns reminded them:

"Now don't forget to hand in your assignments on the way out please. No hurry..."

Hermione at once fished into her schoolbag for her parchment, neatly inscribed with her name. She turned about to discuss the subject of her chosen person. "So, do you want to ask me who I based my facts on?" she pressed eagerly, seeing their aghast expressions.

Harry held up his hands. "As long as it's not Professor Lockhart," he said, smirking at the tinted blush forming on Hermione's cheeks. Ron coughed, hiding a laugh.

"No," she mumbled, frowning a little. "I don't see why it's so funny. If you really want to know, mine is about - "

"Sorry, Hermione, but lunch calls," Ron interrupted briskly, making his way past. Harry could only offer his other friend a feeble shrug as she marched off after him, fuming.

-xXx-

The Great Hall didn't seem so full, according to Harry. Only a few handfuls of students from each house were present, making the ambience of the room much quieter than usual. He tucked himself into his lunch, listening to the chatter going on either side of him, feeling that he had never left for the holidays at all.

"Urgh, I hate it when it's like this," said Ginny Weasley, glancing at two Ravenclaw girls sitting behind her, whispering. "Everyone's so nervous."

Harry could see from where he was sitting that she was right. A group of students sat in a corner, were using their lunchtime to practise a spell they had just learnt. One kept constantly looking over his shoulder.

All of the tension made Harry shudder, and he tried not to look anyone in the eye if he could help it. He also couldn't shake away the feeling that everyone was watching him. He raised his voice to Ron, mainly trying to distract himself.

"Ron, I don't think he's here today, either," he laughed, as Ron was busily craning his head around the room. For these few days he had been praying for Draco Malfoy not to show, much to the annoyance of others.

Harry however, was rather surprised. Malfoy was one of the first people he had expected to see back, especially after the whole ordeal with his father last year. But...maybe that's the reason for his absence too, he thought, his memory returning to that night in the cemetery. Perhaps the Malfoys were trying to avoid attention in a way. After all, Harry knew Lucius' little secret, even if no one chose to believe it.

"You know, I'm beginning to think he's not going to show up at all," Ron smiled, turning around again and plunging his fork into his mashed potatoes. "Best part, that is. Pure bliss."

Everyone laughed as gravy trickled down the side of his mouth. As he wiped it away, his ears turning pink, a loud crash sounded from the other end of the hall. The students attempting their spell just caused someone's soup bowl to levitate before smashing it against the floor. An instant uproar began.

"What charm are they planning to use?" Ginny giggled. "I don't exactly see Wingardium Leviosa defeating the Dark Lord, if you ask me."

"Oh, it's the new thing now," joked Katie Bell. "Haven't you heard?"

And that sent the whole table into fits of laughter again.

Harry couldn't even remember the last time he felt this happy. And thinking that, made it all the more frightening. It felt wrong, in a way. He was supposed to be coming back and learning new, advanced spells that would help him against Voldemort and his power...things should be feeling bleaker. He even considered himself feeling just as anxious as the Hufflepuff boy spawning through his books on the table in front.

He cast a fleeting glimpse to his left, where Hermione sat, a pensive look in her eyes. She glanced up, and saw him, and they exchanged glances.

And it was when they got up and left for the next class, that he realised he wasn't the only one feeling afraid.