A Darker Dream

Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter or his magical world.

Summary: Tears of the angels above weep for the young man below. Harry Potter lays in her arms while the crimson river runs. Time is ticking for him and his rescuer; will she succeed or will the 'Boy-Who-Lived' be no more?

Notes: This chapter is long overdue and for that I am terribly sorry. I have been horrible at updating anything lately, something that is uncalled for. I can't make any promises, but I hope to see more and more of the old readers forgive me and come back, as well as new readers. Please enjoy the revised second chapter of A Darker Dream. ~Selene

Warnings: Mild Violence, Scenes of a Sensitive Theme or Nature

Chapter Two

A Rescue

Thunder echoed across the deserted meadow as a lone woman ran towards the looming iron gates far before her, her coat and hair being swept by the wind. A summer storm had finally made its way to this sleepy French village, bringing the people a brief respite from the sweltering heat and her château on the hill was no exception. This woman, petite in stature, was cursing those thunderous clouds, while racing up the hill against them. With a glance, she looked down at the boy in her arms, hastening her pace further. The smell of his blood was sharp and metallic, overpowering the scent of the rain. His labored breathing was shallow, yet still managed to resonate louder than the thunder above in her sensitive ears. Half way up the hill, the stone masonry of the fence coming into clearer view, the rain began to fall on them.

"The angels cry for you, young one," the woman whispered to his moaning form. With a quick tightening of her grip upon the fragile body, mindful of his injuries, she leapt, the lithe muscles of her legs working like a well cared for spring. Her body moved in a graceful arc above the gate that shut the world from her home. Beneath her boots crunched the fine pebbled gravel as she once more began to run, seemingly to have barely landed from her jump at all.

Closer to her home she drew; to any that could possibly see through the torrential pour she'd have been nothing more than a blur, a mere illusion of the rain. The boy groaned again in her arms as she bounded up the château steps and slipped through the guardian doors to the warmth and dryness within.

"Ty!" She called out her clear voice ringing in the candle lit hall with command. "Ty, get in here!"

A whip-like sound came from the middle of the grand, marble staircase she was climbing, revealing a tan colored house elf in smartly pressed clothes, his ears flopping as he bowed. "Yes, Mistress? What has happened?"

The woman walked past her faithful servant, knowing he would follow. "He needs help," she said simply as they climbed higher into her home. "Bring the Muggle surgical kits to the guest room near my chambers; have Rosie bring towels, hot water, extra potions from my stores, an apron to cover my clothes," she listed off. She shrugged off her dripping coat as she walked, letting it land in one of the many puddles she had made throughout the corridors. "And alert the others, I'll be calling upon them as well."

The house elf known as Ty nodded after each item and bowed at last, blinking away to complete his tasks as the woman walked through the corridor, lightning illuminating the stained glass on the opposite end. She turned on her heel and entered the guest room, ignoring the sitting room in favor for the bedroom beyond. A fresh fire was growing in the iron grate, the copper oil lamps flickering with fresh life as she placed her fragile cargo upon the bed covers.

"Mistress, we have your items," said the familiar voice of Ty as trays hovered beside her, following her movements. From the corner of her eye, she saw Ty approach, standing nearby to hand her whatever item she called out.

"Thank you, Ty," she murmured binding up her hair as she gingerly laid an ear upon his chest. The weak heartbeat she heard within worried her; it was time to work and save him. Already his blood had seeped onto the quilt beneath him.

Quickly she pushed up the wine colored sleeves of her blouse and took out her wand, promptly dragging the very tip of the willow wood down his threadbare shirt so that a cut would be created. Tucking the wand behind her ear, she pulled open the cut fabric; her hands froze at what she saw. Ty too gasped at the sight there. The flesh of his torso, no doubt originally pale, was a sickening palate of purples, greens, and yellows of bruises, marred by reds and pinks of open wounds and scars. Her blue eyes, no stranger to such sights as this, scanned his body, wondering what other secrets were hidden by the rags he wore.

"Mistress?" Ty whispered, his mouth hidden behind bony hands. "Will he live?"

She looked from her house elf to the boy, the young man, there before her. Though years of training, countless wars and dozens of personal tragedies had made her no stranger to violence, abuse and death, her heart had never stopped clenching in sadness over the sights.

"Pray he does," she whispered resting her hand upon his brow to comfort the unconscious one. Death would be hovering close this ill night, but this was one she vowed he would not take.

Darkness. Bleakness. Hopelessness and despair. Pain and suffering. Harry didn't know how to feel or how to make it stop as his body screamed, begging and pleading for the torture to end. To just die. But he was alone in the darkness, no one would help.

He lay there alone, curled up from the pain trying to hide his tears from those leering at him, striking him. Cursing him.

"No good brat," Vernon snapped, so close that Harry could feel the spit covering his face. Harry tried to curl up tighter as the blows started.

"Look at you, Potter," said the hissing voice of Voldemort. "Defeated by a simple Muggle. Worthless..."

The nightmares continued for what felt as eternity; he lost track of the hours within the darkness. The taunting, the beatings, the murders...Oh, how those cut into him further than any blade had done. Cedric Diggory. Sirius Black. Albus Dumbldeore. They were gone now, each dead and he was the one responsible. He was a murderer.

The darkness surrounded him, the pain excruciating to him but becoming dull from his becoming accustomed to it.

"Harry," a voice called out, hushed and distant like the echo of a dream. He opened his eyes just a crack, weakly lifting his arm to peak out from the protective cocoon of his arms. There was nothing there in his darkness but then it was there. The blinding light breaking through the darkness.

Harry squeezed his eyes shut against it, the brightness stunning him.

"Harry," the voice called again, closer but still ethereal to his ears. "It will be alright, my little one," she whispered running a hand through his unruly hair. Slowly, Harry opened his eyes feeling at peace finally as he gazed upon the face of his mother, Lily Potter. Behind her he could make out the forms of his father, James Potter, and his godfather, Sirius Black. Had he finally died?

"You're so strong and brave," Lily softly told him, her voice comforting and soothing to his very soul. Her eyes, the twin to his own, studied his face lovingly. "We're so proud of you my boy, my baby boy, its time to wake up though," she continued, her hand gently cupping his cheek. "We love you, Harry, stay strong for us."

Harry smiled weakly, raising his hand towards her face, red hair falling loosely over her shoulder towards him as his eyes grew heavy. He struggled to keep his eyes open, to not lose sight of his loved ones, until he could no longer force his eyes open to see.

"We love you, Harry."

His eyes shot open, only to snap shut just as quick from the sunlight that filled the room. He knew he was laying on something soft and warm, far different from the kitchen floor on Privet Drive, as he slowly cracked his eyes open to view the world in a blur. With a soft groan of tenderness, he moved his stiff arms in attempt to find his glasses.

In his struggle, he could hear footsteps, loud and clicking at first then more muffled sounding. "Here," a woman said softly as her blurry figure came into view above him; Harry could only make out black hair and pale skin as he stiffened in anticipation. "Try these on," she said slipping a pair of unfamiliar frames onto his face. The distortion of his view was made even worse and Harry couldn't help but recoil, trying to shove the wire frames from his eyes. "No," she chided, pushing his hands away, "tell me when you can see."

Harry tensed as a wand appeared inches from his face, his heart pounding in his chest; his hands tightened on the soft bedspread trying to find his wand. Within seconds though, his vision started to sharpen and blur causing him to flinch.

"There," he croaked after a moment, his voice cracking from dryness as his eyesight cleared.

The dark brown wand lowered and was set aside as the woman turned to a small bedside table; Harry's hands relaxed slightly when the wand was out of his sight. He watched her pour water from a sweating glass pitcher, her cream colored sundress swaying a small breeze from the open balcony door across the room behind her. "Here, drink this slowly," she said to him, handing the cool glass over to him. She began propping up his pillows when he showed no sign of needing assistance.

Harry drank the cool liquid slowly, letting it soothe his parched and cracked throat as he looked discretely around the strange room. Warm wood seemed to glow from the sunlight pouring in through the windows and open balcony door. Unlit gas lamps, ready for the night hours, hung upon the walls, as well as simple paintings to add color to the room. What was probably a tidy guest room now showed signs of illness and waiting. A metal cart tucked into a corner, filled with towels, rolls of bandages and more potions than Harry wanted to think about. The small table beside the bed he rested on had several more vials, one he recognized as Skele-Gro, and a dinner tray that held the water pitcher and an empty soup bowl.

The woman...Harry took the chance to look at her without attention as she tidied up that same table. She was petite in stature, shapely and slender with black hair that settled around her waves in curls. Her skin was pale, reminding Harry of an ivory figurine that once sat on his Aunt's mantle. As she sat in the leather chair, obviously brought in from a different spot, Harry caught a glimpse of dark blue eyes before looking down at the empty glass.

"I'm afraid the glasses are probably not the style you're use to wearing," she said after a moment, her voice kind as she attempted to break the silence. "They were the least of my worries when I brought you here though."

Harry rubbed his thumb against the smoothness of the glass he still held. "Where exactly is here?" He asked. "Where did you find me?"

"First of all, you're currently in France and this is my home," she told him, smoothing her skirt across her lap. "The village just down the hill is Village des Cloches. As to where I found you," she paused momentarily, "I found you in Knockturn Alley, in London."

Harry stiffened at the mention of Knockturn Alley, the center for dark activities made even worse by the times they found themselves in. His grasp upon the glass in his hand tightened, as he wished to know where his wand was in case he needed to defend himself.

The woman, as though reading his thoughts, reached out and took the glass from his hand causing Harry to clench his jaw his frustration. "I was in London that day visiting some old friends of mine, and was in the districts purchasing things that I prefer to have English made," she explained, setting the glass once more on the tray. "However, how you made it to Knockturn Alley in the condition you were in, let alone without attracting the attention of something far worse than I is the better question." The woman studied him for a moment, her eyes searching his. "You had only the...clothes you were wearing and a lovely owl standing watch over you when I first found you," she told him as she rummaged through a small drawer in the bedside table. "This was found tied to your leg though, while trying to care for you." She placed Harry's wand next to his hand upon the bed with a smile.

Harry picked it up, feeling the comforting warmth spread through his body from his fingertips. He felt more at ease now that his wand was back in his hand where it belonged.

"What happened?" He asked her, leaning back against the pillows as he watched her.

The woman looked at him, her eyes connecting with his as though searching for something. "You were severely injured," she finally said after a moment, shifting in the chair to a more comfortable position. "The Gods must favor you, for I don't know how you survived for so long without them. Malnourished, fractures, the severity of your sunburn and fever were dangerous, bruises..." she listed off with a bitter tone, her expression dark. With pursed lips, she flicked something off the arm of her chair. "And not to mention the gunshot wound you had...that Muggle needs to be caged." Harry blanched at the mention of a Muggle, fearing he had said something while ill. "It wasn't to hard to figure out," she told him; Harry could still feel her eyes watching him. "A wizard would use a wand to inflict damage on his prey, not a firearm."

Harry leaned back upon the pillows, relieved he hadn't revealed something he shouldn't have. He had never revealed how bad things truly were at the Dursleys, not even to the Weasley family. "How long have I been here?" He asked her, as she adjusted the quilt that covered him.

She tilted her head, her fingers twitching slightly as she smoothed the edges down. "Four days," she answered. "Today is July 4."

Harry was quiet while he lay there. Four days. Had anyone noticed him missing? Did anyone know he was gone? No one from the Order would arrive for him until his birthday at the end of the month. Would they know then where he was at?

The woman sat upon the edge of the bed as Harry sighed wearily, drowsy after so short of a time. "I have been rude though, do forgive me," she said gently. "Might I know your name?"

Her simple question startled him for a moment, his heavy eyelids opening wide to look at her. There wasn't a hint of amusement or patronization in her features, just simple curiosity. He couldn't remember the last time someone had actually asked to know his name. Because of the scar he bore, everyone knew him as Harry Potter, The-Boy-Who-Lived before he had even had the chance to be introduced.

"Harry," he said finally, relaxing once more against the soft bed. "Harry Potter."

She smiled at him. "Well Mr. Potter-"

"Harry," he interrupted, his eyes drooping slowly as he fought to keep them open. "Just Harry...please." He had far to many unpleasant memories associated with being called 'Mr. Potter'.

She nodded, smiling once more. "Well then Harry, it's a pleasure to meet you," she told him. "My name is Selene."

Well, ladies and gentlemen, I do hope you can forgive my rudeness and tardiness but the wait is over. The revised second chapter of A Darker Dream is now finished. I do hope you enjoyed it, and please don't hesitate to get in touch with me should you have questions or comments. Reviews are a great way to do that too! I hope you enjoyed A Darker Dream Chapter Two: A Rescue. Please, leave a review.

Wednesday, October 6, 2010