Chapter 3 - Dreams and Nightmares
Harry's footsteps echoed through the Chamber of Secrets, reverberating against the walls like war drums on an abandoned battlefield. The damp, cold floor beneath his feet amplified the tension in his body, and each step felt like it brought him closer to a dark abyss, a place where light could not reach and shadows reigned supreme.
Around him, ancient columns decorated with carved serpents watched him in silence. Though unmoving, Harry could feel the predatory gaze of the creatures, as if each petrified snake was waiting for a command to come to life and strike.
Harry stopped for a moment as he reached the entrance to the main chamber. His heart pounded in his chest, driven by a sense of urgency that almost suffocated him. At the back, towering with threatening majesty, stood the gigantic statue of Salazar Slytherin, as if the Hogwarts founder were watching over the place with invisible, judging eyes.
But what truly caught Harry's attention was the small body lying before it.
"Ginny!" he whispered, rushing to the girl and kneeling at her side.
She was motionless, her red hair spread across the floor like frozen flames on the stone. Her lips had taken on a bluish tone, and her face looked carved from ice, deathly cold.
"Please, Ginny, it's me... wake up..." he murmured, gently touching her face. Her skin was icy. The silence around them was the only reply.
Then he heard a soft laugh, almost imperceptible, but filled with thinly veiled malice. Harry turned quickly, wand in hand, feeling every muscle in his body tense instinctively.
From the nearby shadows, an ethereal figure slowly emerged, walking like a ghost that had decided to take form. The young man with aristocratic features wore a cold smile and had a gaze as ancient and dark as the chamber itself. He was playing with Ginny's wand, casually twirling it between his fingers.
"At last, you've arrived, Harry Potter," said Tom Riddle with venomous softness. "I must admit, I was starting to get bored."
"What did you do to her?" Harry asked, his voice trembling with restrained rage.
"Me?" Riddle raised an eyebrow, feigning surprise. "Nothing. She did it all herself. It was Ginny who opened the diary, who trusted me. All I did was listen. You know, sometimes listening is enough."
Harry felt intense fury coursing through his body, bubbling like lava in his veins. "You manipulated her. Ginny would never do something like that of her own will!"
Riddle took a few slow steps toward him, staring with a look of contempt.
"Manipulate is such a strong word, Harry. Ginny was lonely, desperate for attention, for someone who understood her. I merely offered her exactly what she wanted. You know, you understand very well what it feels like to be alone, don't you?"
Harry clenched his teeth tightly, trying to control the anger growing inside him.
"The difference between us, Tom, is that I would never use someone for my own goals."
Tom tilted his head, analyzing him with a piercing gaze.
"Not yet, maybe. But in the end, Harry, we all use each other in some way. The difference is that I don't pretend to be better than I am. Whether you accept it or not, we are more alike than you think."
"You don't know me," Harry shot back, raising his wand higher, determined. "I'll never be like you."
Tom sighed theatrically, shaking his head with fake sadness.
"A shame. We could have been powerful allies. But it doesn't matter anymore. What I needed is already done, and you, Harry Potter, are just the last piece I need to remove from this board."
Before Harry could react, Tom raised Ginny's wand with a fluid and brutally quick motion.
"Avada Kedavra!"
A bright green light exploded from the tip of the wand, tearing through the darkness like lightning in a storm. The spell cut through the air violently, leaving a deadly, luminous trail. In the brief instant before he was engulfed by that lethal light, Harry felt time slow down. His heart beat one last time, stronger, as the shadows around him seemed to swallow him whole.
And then, the light consumed him entirely.
~HP~
Harry woke up with a start, as if something had abruptly pulled him from the depths of another world. His body was stiff, muscles tense as though he had fought an exhausting battle, and his heart pounded furiously against his chest. He gasped for air, like someone breaking the surface after nearly drowning. Around him, the shadows cast by the timid morning light seemed alive, moving slowly, watching him with invisible eyes.
For a moment, he remained still, staring at the ceiling while the nightmare still burned in his mind. Instinctively, his fingers found the almost invisible scar on his right arm, a reminder of the basilisk's venomous fangs. The pain had long since faded, but the memory of the venom burning in his veins remained fresh and cruel. He could clearly remember, even now, Fawkes' tears running warm over his skin, his only salvation in that moment of absolute despair.
He took a deep breath and sat up in bed, freeing himself from the tangle of sheets that bound him like invisible chains. He could still clearly see Ginny lying on the cold stone of the Chamber of Secrets, and Tom Riddle's wicked smile, a figure made of shadows and lies that, even lifeless, still haunted his dreams.
He looked at the clock beside the bed: 5:30 in the morning. Sleep was gone for good, stolen by memories. Harry stood up slowly, feeling the uncomfortable cold of the floor under his bare feet, and walked to the bathroom attached to the room. The dim light revealed the cracked mirror above the sink, and the reflection he saw was almost unrecognizable.
His eyes were sunken and tired, his face marked by an invisible weight that few teenagers would be able to carry. Harry stared at his own image, almost doubting whether that was really him.
He turned on the tap and let the cold water run between his fingers before splashing it on his face, in an almost ritualistic gesture of awakening. The shock of the icy water brought him brief relief, enough to push away the shadows still trying to cling to him.
Looking at his reflection again, Harry murmured quietly, almost as a challenge:
"My name is Harry Potter."
His voice sounded fragile, almost hesitant. He took a deep breath, determined to reinforce that certainty:
"I'm fifteen years old. I'm at the Leaky Cauldron. Tomorrow I return to Hogwarts."
Each word felt solid, an anchor thrown against the current of memories that dragged him back to a dark past.
"What happened before can't hurt me anymore."
He repeated the phrase with more confidence, remembering the words Edgar had said to him a few days earlier, at the pub counter, while wiping glasses with distracted movements. "The past is a ghost, boy. But the real fight happens in the present. Don't let what you can't change control you."
He didn't know if those words were truly real, but at that moment he chose to believe in them. The tightness in his chest slowly eased, like a storm gradually giving way to a clear sky.
When he returned to the room, the morning light was beginning to seep through the curtains, softening the outlines of the shadows. He sat on the bed again, feeling calmer, and turned his attention to the pile of books beside him. On top was the volume about magical healers. Harry picked it up, feeling a strange comfort in the rough texture of the worn cover.
The yellowed pages revealed detailed diagrams of herbs, complex potion recipes, and fascinating descriptions of healing spells. There was something in that knowledge that deeply attracted him. Perhaps he was searching for more than just information—perhaps he sought the implicit promise that some things could be fixed, even when they seemed irreparably broken.
A small smile appeared on his lips as he imagined his friends' reactions when he told them about it. Ron would probably laugh at the idea, while Hermione would likely be thrilled, bringing him another pile of books on the subject. The image, though simple, warmed him inside.
For a moment, Harry allowed himself to be carried away by the distant sounds of the waking city, the soft murmur of life returning to the streets outside. Silent footsteps, doors slowly opening, barely audible whispers formed a soothing melody. It was as if the world, indifferent to his nightmares, offered him a new chance every day.
As he ran his fingers through his messy hair, Harry allowed himself to breathe deeply, absorbing that momentary feeling of peace. The past might be heavy, might return in dreams and unwanted memories, but at that moment he chose to believe in the present.
And, perhaps for the first time, he felt capable of facing the day without fear.
The main hall of the Leaky Cauldron, even empty, seemed to whisper ancient secrets through the walls. There was something about that place Harry couldn't explain; a dense energy lingered in the air, as if centuries of stories and spells had soaked into every dark stone. A bittersweet fragrance mixed with freshly baked bread and exotic spices filled the room, leaving him strangely comforted.
Harry descended the stairs slowly, feeling each step creak under his feet as if protesting at being disturbed so early. The silence was almost palpable, allowing him to clearly hear the small sounds around him: the distant whisper of the wind at the windows, the muffled creaks from the kitchen, as though the building itself breathed softly in the morning calm.
Upon reaching the empty hall, he felt a hint of relief. Solitude, in that moment, was a rare comfort. He walked to his favorite table, near the wall, marked by scratches and carvings left by generations of previous visitors. His fingers slid absentmindedly over the rough wood, trying to push away the images of the nightmare that still haunted him. He knew those memories would not easily fade, for they had become part of him, like hidden scars beneath the skin.
The soft sound of the kitchen door opening broke the silence. Edgar appeared carrying a tray with warm bread and a steaming kettle. The old innkeeper always had a sober expression, but his gaze was welcoming, like someone who had seen far more than he showed. Upon seeing Harry, he offered a slight smile and walked over to him.
"You're up early, boy," Edgar commented, placing the tray carefully on the table before sitting across from Harry. The chair creaked softly. "Rough night?"
Harry hesitated for a few seconds. He wasn't used to speaking openly about his feelings, but Edgar never demanded explanations. Maybe that was exactly why he felt like talking.
"Nightmares," he admitted quietly, avoiding the man's gaze.
Edgar nodded slowly, understanding without needing more details. After a brief silence, he leaned over the table, intertwining his fingers.
"Everyone has ghosts, Harry," Edgar said calmly. "Some are on the surface, others buried so deep we don't even notice. But I've learned one thing in this life: talking about them, now and then, helps."
Harry hesitated, running his fingers absentmindedly along the grooves in the wood before replying.
"Sometimes I feel like my whole life was built on things I don't know," he began, voice low, almost a murmur. "I grew up knowing nothing about my parents, about who I was... until the day Hagrid showed up and said I was a wizard. But he didn't tell me everything, just the basics. It was like walking into a world where everyone knew more about me than I did."
Edgar leaned back slowly in his chair, listening attentively.
"I imagine that wasn't easy," he said at last. "Finding out who you are while the whole world already has an opinion about you."
Harry took a deep breath, nodding slowly.
"Sometimes I wonder if things could've been different... if I had known sooner, if I had been prepared for everything that came after."
Edgar smiled slightly, a gesture full of resigned wisdom.
"No one is ever fully ready, boy. Not even the most experienced. What matters is how you deal with the cards you're given, not the ones you wish you had."
Harry remained silent for a few seconds, absorbing those words before continuing:
"My first year at Hogwarts was a mix of discovery and fear. Voldemort was there, trying to come back. I had to face him, even though I was just a kid. I didn't have a choice, you know?"
Edgar nodded slowly, his gaze serious but comforting.
"Real courage isn't not feeling fear, Harry. It's moving forward even with it."
Harry looked up, feeling a small flame of strength light up inside him. Edgar seemed to understand something deep, something Harry himself was still trying to grasp.
"And the second year?" Edgar asked gently, with sincere curiosity.
Harry sighed, a faint sad smile crossing his lips.
"Another mess," he answered with an almost resigned tone. "A house-elf named Dobby, a flying car, mysterious attacks… A basilisk. And Ginny Weasley nearly dead in the Chamber of Secrets. Everyone thinking I was Slytherin's heir..."
Edgar interrupted him gently, leaning forward with firmness in his gaze.
"And you saved the girl. When no one else could've done it, you did."
Harry hesitated, surprised by the strength in Edgar's words.
"I don't know if I see it that way," he admitted quietly.
"But you should," Edgar replied confidently. "Our choices define who we are far more than the circumstances we're trapped in. And you, Harry, chose to act. That's something no one can take from you."
Harry nodded slowly, feeling Edgar's words ease the weight on his chest.
"Maybe you're right."
Edgar smiled and stood up, adjusting his apron with practical movements.
"Of course I'm right," he said with a hint of humor. "And now, enough of this heavy talk. How about a proper breakfast for a change? No onion soup today, I promise."
Harry couldn't help but give a genuine smile at that. For a moment, the weight of the past seemed to lift, leaving him lighter.
"That would be great," he replied sincerely, finally feeling ready to face the new day.
A/N:
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