Harry woke up from a nightmare. Lately, they had become more frequent. In his dreams, he saw images of unfamiliar places and people, and after some of them, his scar would throb painfully. One of these dreams ended with the death of a Muggle security guard who was guarding the mansion. He had just entered one of the rooms, suspecting that cunning children had sneaked into the mansion and overheard a conversation between adult men, one of whom he had never seen before. Harry vividly saw in his dream how a massive armchair was turned towards the Muggle. Every time he tried to remember if he had seen anything in the depths of the chair, a searing pain would tear through his scar. But it wasn't this that scared Harry the most. What scared him the most was that his scar had never hurt before. Or...
Harry remembered how three years ago he had locked eyes with Professor Snape. Back then, he had felt a similar sensation in his scar. But the pain he felt now couldn't be compared to that.
Pondering on what to do, Harry wrote a letter to his godfather. Sirius Black was the closest and dearest person to him on the entire planet, his only relative. He would definitely read the letter and give him some advice. Harry wrote the letter to his godfather with hope, even anticipating not just an explanation from Sirius about why his scar might be hurting, no. He wrote the letter, expecting to receive at least a couple of lines that would warm him and help him overcome his fear.
Thinking back to his school friends, Harry thought that Hermione, being the smart one, would advise him to write to Dumbledore while she searched through reference books. But as soon as he tried to imagine such a letter, Harry instantly abandoned the idea. How could such a letter look, and how would the wise headmaster perceive it? "Hello, Professor Dumbledore, my scar is hurting?" No, writing to Sirius was the best option. There was no need to trouble Professor Dumbledore, as he already had plenty of concerns with his students without scar pains.
After sending the letter to Sirius with a tropical bird, which he had been sending instead of owls lately, Harry lay on the bed for a moment. Sleep evaded him, so he got up and slowly started preparing for breakfast.
On this day, after a modest breakfast consisting of the despised "rabbit food" by Uncle Vernon, but calmly accepted by Harry, who had received four birthday cakes from his friends the day before, the unimaginable happened: a postman rang the doorbell of the Dursleys' house.
Uncle Vernon, upon examining the matter raised by the postman, became nearly furious. Knowing his temper, Harry could clearly feel the thin ice he had just stepped on, looking at the envelope covered in postage stamps except for one square inch with the meticulously written address of the Dursleys, and upon learning the contents of the letter, Harry could vividly sense the delicate situation he was in. Fearing to unintentionally spoil Uncle's mood, Harry carefully chose his words in the conversation. However, this lasted only until the moment when Uncle Vernon, without holding back, insulted Mrs. Weasley as a "fatso". Softly hinting that he was about to write a letter to Sirius, Harry subdued his passionate uncle and even obtained his consent to attend the Quidditch World Cup. If only he could foresee the events that would unfold after that!
On the fateful evening of the following day, Harry was waiting with the Dursleys for the Weasley family in the living room. The appointment was scheduled for five in the evening, but it was already past six, and the Weasleys were still nowhere to be seen. Harry had already grown concerned for his friends when the unexpected happened. The Weasleys did not arrive by car; instead, they cleverly parked underneath the electric fireplace in the Dursleys' living room.
"Flue Powder," Harry thought.
"BOOM!" the chimney exclaimed, before the Weasleys emerged from it, skillfully waving a cord. Harry looked at them with infinite happiness. For him, there was no chaos in the living room or the Dursleys' gloomy faces. He simply cherished the moment. It was only when it was time to leave, when Mr. Weasley lit a fire in the ruined fireplace and bid goodbye to Harry, that Harry realized something was wrong. Seeing Dudley fall victim to gluttony, Harry understood that something was amiss.
Four red-haired boys and an unfamiliar girl sat around the desolate wooden table. As they emerged from the fireplace, Harry adjusted his glasses to get a better look at the girl, and he saw it. She was dressed in black and purple, her hair whiter than snow, and when her amber eyes met his gaze, Harry felt as if he were witnessing a sinister figure, resembling a woman of death in black armor, walking through blood-soaked fields where crosses and tombstones grew instead of flowers.