Chapter Thirty-five

He was at the Dursleys.

But how could he possibly be at the Dursleys? First he was in a pitch-black nowhere, and then all of a sudden he was watching the Dursleys cuddle on the couch eating popcorn and watching the television.

The music playing on the telly was familiar to Harry—and what made everything more familiar is when Harry heard (and saw) Dudley's unmistakable laughter. Vernon and Petunia were on either side of Dudley, and a big fat bowl of popcorn was on Dudley's lap.

Then Harry saw himself. Only, this version of Harry was a lot smaller and younger. Harry tilted his head to the side as he watched himself creep out of the cupboard that Vernon had forgot to lock, and try to take a peek at the screen in front of the Dursleys. The younger version of Harry had to squint, however, since the Dursleys hadn't given him his glasses yet. They had tried to keep it off for as long as they could.

The scene blended into another, but Harry still found himself in the Dursleys home. Except this time, they were in the kitchen, and Harry was very much surprised to find that the Dursleys seemed to look right through him, like he was a ghost.

"Boy," Vernon barked to another younger version of Harry. This Harry seemed to be the same age as the last. "Since it's Dudley's birthday, Dudley should get another slice of pizza. And don't take long about it either!"

"Yes Uncle Vernon," Harry mumbled as he scraped a flimsy piece of pizza off of the pan, laying it down gently on Dudley's plate. He really had gotten the pizza ingredients wrong—but it wasn't his fault! The ingredients made no sense… And none of the Dursleys had bothered to help him.

Harry (not the younger version, but the present Harry) knew that day all too well. It was the day of Dudley's birthday, and Harry could remember himself yearning for just a bite of the delicious looking pizza, no matter how much he had messed the dough up.

"This is too small!" Dudley complained, screwing his face up at the slice of pizza. "I want a bigger piece Daddy! Like yours."

Harry watched himself look at Dudley, who was eyeing Vernon's large piece of pizza (like Vernon had personally requested for) in hunger.

"There's no more big pieces left," the younger version of Harry spoke up softly from by the stove. "There's none left."

Vernon scowled at the young boy. "You should've made more! You actually didn't think this would be sufficient enough!"

"I didn't have any time," Harry replied just as soft as ever. "I kept messing the rest up. This was the only half-good one."

"Well next time you shouldn't mess it up, should you?" Vernon said before looking at his son. "Well, uh… You can have my piece," he offered to Dudley.

"Really?" Without another word Dudley reached over and picked up the pizza, stuffing it in his mouth before taking the piece before that he had complained about and stuffed in his mouth, as well.

"Why are you doing this?" Harry yelled into the air, hoping that Quirrel could hear him. "What are you planning to—to—"

"To what?" Quirrel asked in a silky voice. "What am I planning to achieve? Nothing. I just like seeing how emotionally hurt you get by all of this. Very painful memories, aren't they, Potter? If only my Lord would let me kill you... but no, he says we must wait..."

Harry was greeted with a new scene. This time, Petunia was gushing to Dudley about how handsome and smart he was for no particular reason, and Vernon was commenting to Dudley how proud he was going to make him.

That still confused Harry. Why were Petunia and Vernon saying all these nice compliments to him for no reason at all? When Harry was only six, when this had just happened, Harry remembered being just as clueless as to why Dudley was getting all of these compliments, while he received absolutely none.

Harry put his hand to his mouth and faked a yawn. "Can I go now?" He whined, hoping to get Quirrel aggravated.

"You're putting on such a brave front," Quirrel murmured, stepping forward towards Harry. Harry turned his head to the left, away from the Dursleys, to see Quirrel stepping forward. As soon as he tried to back away, Harry remembered that his feet somehow seemed to be glued to the floor. He couldn't move.

"Why don't you just kill me and get it over with?" Harry exclaimed. "Every time you come in my dreams you threaten me with something! Why not just try to kill me?"

"Such bravery," Quirrel commented. "That must be your Gryffindor side showing. But, I cannot kill you just yet. As I had said before, much as I beg my lord to, he refuses."

"Voldemort?" Harry said out loud, completely forgetting to go by the name Snape requested him to. "Voldemort won't let you kill me? Why won't we come out and talk to me to my face, is he too scared?"

"My lord is still very weak," Quirrel said, and Harry could see his jaw working. Good, he was getting mad.

"Oh, so he's weak," Harry repeated. "That's why he won't talk to me face-to-face? He's weak." Harry laughed.

Quirrel scowled, advancing toward Harry angrily. "You'll shut your mouth, Potter."

"You're threats don't scare me," Harry said softly, his eyes narrowing at Quirrel. "Why don't you just let me go already? Keeping me here and making me watch these boring clips from my life is doing nothing. What, do you expect me to start crying?"

"I'll let you go," Quirrel said through clenched teeth, a sign that he didn't really want to let Harry go, but stay here. "After this one last clip."

Harry narrowed his eyes at Quirrel again. He was still confused as to why Voldemort didn't want Quirrel to kill him. Was there a specific reason to that? It was quite clear that Quirrel was having a hard time obeying is 'master', since every time Harry lay eyes on the man he seemed to be fighting the urge to take a knife from somewhere and drive it through Harry's stomach, just like he had before.

Harry watched warily as the scene soon changed, and instead of at the Dursleys, he was at Hogwarts. Soon, though, Harry spotted himself—his older self, with two companions: One a boy with red hair and freckles (obviously not Draco), and a girl, with bushy brown hair and brown eyes. The trio seemed to be good friends, at that.

Harry tilted his head to his side as he tried to figure out where he was, and soon it clicked. He was in the Potions classroom.

I wonder if this is the future. My future, Harry wondered as he watched intently. The older version of himself was peering into a cauldron that was in front of him, while the red-haired boy whispered something in his ear.

"Mr. Potter," Snape drawled, his eyes and voice thick with hatred and spite. "This is no time for chatting."

"Yes, sir," Harry mumbled, turning back to the Potion.

Snape gave Harry a sneer before turning around.

Harry, the younger version, could only stare at the scene in front of him. Why was Snape acting so… mean?

"This isn't right," Harry said, more to himself than to Quirrel who was watching everything in amusement. "Severus wouldn't act that way!"

"I thought you didn't know Snape?" Quirrel spat, and Harry threw a hand to his mouth. He forgot all about the 'playing dumb.' But, it didn't matter anyway, did it? Everybody already knew about the adoption.

"Snape wouldn't act that way," Harry repeated firmly. "This is some... twisted thing you made up."

"Is it?"

Harry was quiet, not making a sound. Was it? Did he really believe that this was just some stupid, twisted thing to make Harry angry at Snape?

"I know it is!" Harry finally spoke up confidently. "You're just like that. I know it is."

Harry suddenly felt like the floor gave away, and that he was falling. His falling down, and he'd never stop. He'd just keep falling…

Harry squeezed his eyes shut, hoping that this was just some horrible nightmare.

And thankfully, it was.

Harry choked back a gasp as he felt the gentle bed underneath him. His blankets were all tangled around him, but he didn't care about that. At least he was safe, back in his bed, and not falling into an endless blackness.

Slyther mumbled something incoherent from on the floor, where he had fallen off the bed at.

It was just a dream… Harry reminded himself. It had to be—maybe Quirrel hadn't actually visited Harry at all. What if Harry had just dreamt about Quirrel doing that? Even though it seemed too real to be 'just a dream'...

-

"You really should go to sleep now," Jenae Honestas said to her niece, who stayed in the couch with her arms crossed over her chest suddenly.

"You're not my mother," the girl argued. "You can't tell me what to do!"

"No, but I'm your Aunt," Jenae debated. "And you'll do as I say. Now, up!"

The girl curled her lip while glaring at her Aunt. "I stayed up longer than this. This is a toddlers bedtime!"

"Almost eleven o'clock is not a toddlers bedtime," Jenae informed the girl. "Caoimhe, if you keep arguing I swear that I'll lock you up in your room without any breakfast, lunch or supper."

"You wouldn't do that," Caoimhe said in disbelief, but turned the television off anyway. "Only Aureus did that."

"Well, your mother is… not here," Jenae said, clearing her throat. "Now up to bed. I'll be right behind you."

"I don't care if you're behind me or a million miles away," Caoimhe said with a scowl as he crossed her arms and stalked up the stairs. "This is so damn unfair!"

Jenae looked as if she had been slapped in the face. "You'll watch your language, young lady!" She shrieked. "I'm not hearing anything proper from your mouth, and I will not tolerate it!"

Caoimhe scowled as she threw herself onto the four-poster bed, while Jenae put the covers over the girl.

"Oh, my sweet Caoimhe," Jenae said with a disappointed shake of her head as he looked down at Caoimhe. "How did your mother raise you? Such language coming from a girl your age shouldn't be allowed. It's not right. But don't worry, I'll snap that out of you!"

"You'll snap me with nothing!" Caoimhe said indignantly. "I like the way I am just fine. There's nothin' wrong with it!"

"Your father should be here looking after you, not me," Jenae said.

"My father doesn't give a damn about me—Aureus said so! Just 'cause he's your brother you think he'll go all nice and say, "Oh what a poor girl I've missed out on," or somethin' like that, but you're wrong."

"Such a pessimistic attitude, Caoimhe," Jenae said disapprovingly. "And that language again!"

Shaking her head, Jenae walked out of the room, shutting the door behind her.

"Oh, blah, blah, blah," Caoimhe muttered, throwing the blankets off of her and standing up on the floor. "God, I hate this place."

A soft voice from behind her caused Caoimhe to get a sudden rash of goosebumps on her arms, and the hairs on the back of her neck stood on end as warm breathing made its way down her back.

"Caoimhe."

"My lord," Caoimhe said with wide eyes as she turned around to see Topaz Aureus standing behind her. A large bump was visible on the woman's head, and her usual perfect long, straight brown hair was tangled and knotted. Her whole clean features now looked dirty and disheveled.

"Are you surprised?" Aureus hissed. "You really thought you could get rid of me that easily?"

"You're dead!" Caoimhe squealed, but Aureus clamped a hand down on her daughters mouth.

"Shut up." Aureus waited in quiet, expecting to hear Jenae's footsteps. Thankfully, none. "Now, as I was going to say… Oh, I forget. But, as you can see I'm not dead. Who told you I was dead?"

Caoimhe bit down on Aureus's hand, causing the woman to withdraw it in pain and surprise.

"You don't touch me!" Caoimhe ordered. "You keep away, or I'll call Jenae."

Aureus said nothing, but looked at her daughter with hatred.

"How is this possible?" Caoimhe asked warily as she slowly crawled into the bed, and looked up at her mother with the utmost caution. "I killed you. Or, I thought I did—that Dumbledore said you were in a coma, and it was unlikely you'd ever—"

"Dimwitted old fool," Aureus muttered. "Has anybody told you that you talk too much, Caoimhe?"

Caoimhe scowled. "What, do you want revenge on Potter? Because, if you ask for my help, I'll certainly help out with that."

"No," Aureus mused. "Definitely not revenge on my poor, sweet Harry. He's just too innocent for revenge. No, I want to finish what I started: getting Harry back as my son."

"He was never your son in the first place," Caoimhe pointed out. "Just a prisoner."

Aureus scowled. "Shut your mouth and mind your elder, understand?"

Caoimhe muttered something, but Aureus didn't bother to listen.

"I can sense that the Dark Lord is alive. Weak, but alive. I must find him…"

Caoimhe stared at her mother. "You're in league with the Dark Lord? I didn't know that!" She paused, a smile creeping onto her face. "Cool."

"This is perfect," Aureus said to herself. "A family. The Dark Lord, Harry and I… the perfect family…"

Caoimhe looked at her mother in disgust. "And of course leave me out."

"Why, of course," Aureus said distractedly. "You have Jenae to look after you."

"Thanks," Caoimhe muttered, crossing her arms. "But I want the Dark Lord to be my father, too."

"Oh, be quiet," Aureus demanded, but then a thought struck her. "Perhaps you can be of use to me, Caoimhe. You see, I need a place to stay…"

"Go in the closet," Caoimhe instructed, turning her back to her mother as she lay down. "And shut the door when you go in. How did you get to America anyways?"

Aureus smirked as she made her way to the closet at the very end of the room. "Just go to sleep."

-

Harry couldn't seem to go to sleep after the dream he had. He was going to be sure not to tell Snape about this dream… no, he certainly wouldn't.

But the thing that still confused Harry was the clip that Quirrel showed him, the one with the older him. Was that going to really be his future, or just a could-have-been future? Harry still needed answers, but he couldn't go to anybody for them.

Harry tried to close his eyes and fall back asleep, but sleep didn't want him at that moment. Consciousness did.

He didn't know what time at night it was, but he could tell it was already late. Harry emitted a yawn, and suddenly shivered at a new feeling that overcame him: That something was wrong. Something wasn't right… Something awful had woken up from a slumber… one that had it had been destined to stay in. But it was awake now.

Harry shook it off, guessing that it was probably just lack of sleep that was making him think things that weren't right.

Although he really couldn't shake the feeling off.

-