Chapter 1 — Awakening Nightmares
“I remember, and remembering is like an open wound.”
— Clarice Lispector,
***
”Harry…” The Dark Lord’s voice rung out, clinging to the air any carrying a heavy sense of dread. Everything was happening far too fast. Images—no memories—all blurring together.
Cedric’s hallow eyes, looking into nothing. The blood of his face fresh, and Harry could feel the guilt he had that moment boiling up within him again. The guilt he still had, after nearly 3 years. He had killed him, hadn’t he? Voldemort had casted the spell, but if Harry didn’t tell the other boy to grab hold of the cup alongside him, he would have still been alive. He was same age as Cedric had been now, and the thought of getting to be older than him cut deeper than any spell could have.
Cedric, Sirius, Dumbledore. All victims of either Voldemort, or his followers. Speaking of which…
“Avada Kedavra!” His mind shifted back to that night at the Astronomy Tower. The flash of a bright, neon blue shooting out from Snape’s wand, and then Dumbledore falling over the railing. Oh, how Harry wished he could have saved Dumbledore, could have saved all of them. The familiar feelings of rage mixed with grief filled his mind. He loathed Snape for taking away the first adult since his parents to care about him. Snape wanted the Chosen One dead, the only reason the man had spared him was because the Dark Lord wanted to finish him off by himself. Harry should have stopped Snape, should have never let the man up on the tower to begin with, but he watched in shock as the potion master killed Dumbledore. The same man who had called for him in his last moments, who had trusted him with his life. Freezing, an instinct Harry regretted each time his brain replayed this memory.
The cackling voice of Voldemort filled his head again, followed by a sharp jolt on his head.
“Harry…Potter…” A new scene replaced the headmaster’s death. Figures in dark robes, wearing sliver masks, circling around someone. Death Eaters. Groans of pain in a deep voice echoed off the dark, stone walls. His scar was burning at this point, no doubt he’d wake up with a killer headache. He found himself approaching the circle, walking slowly through the Death Eaters until he could see the person who they were torturing. “Such a shame…he was one of our best.”
The first thing he noticed was the shoulder length, onyx hair. The boy immediately froze upon seeing the familiar face, scrunched up in agony. Harry tried his best to ignore the newfound pit in his stomach as he watched his ex-professor being tortured. He hated Snape, and for all he knew, Severus Snape was still loyal to the Dark Lord, right? He told himself he wouldn’t care if the man lived or died, so why did his stomach drop at the sight? The boy’s scar felt as it was molten lava, and he found himself on his knees, gasping for air. His green eyes met a pair of desperate and glassy black ones, before feeling his chin being ripped up to meet none other’s than Voldemort’s.
”I assure you, he will die,” Was the last thing Harry heard from the dark wizard, before jolting up in his bed.
***
The door to Harry’s bedroom was wide open, and light from the hall spilled into the otherwise pitch black room. All three Dursleys stood in the doorway, scowling at him.
“What did I tell you, boy?” Vernon hissed, grasping onto the crown molding of the frame. “Keep. It. Down!” The man roared, his face reddening with anger. What time was it anyway? Harry gulped and glanced to the small digital clock on his otherwise empty wooden desk. 2:14am it glowed in bright scarlet. The green eyes fell back to the three others. Both his aunt and uncle were pissed, seething even, but Dudley had an almost concerned expression on his face. It had been a recent development, and he often saw his cousin looking at him with the same look. They hardly spoke, and there wasn’t a need to anymore. Within the next few weeks, Harry would go seeking out the horcuxes, leaving his small life here in the Muggle world behind, and endangering himself further in the Wizarding one. Nothing he wasn’t used to, of course.
The door slammed shut, and the light from the hall ceased. It was just him and his thoughts, along with the nightmare he had just bared. They were getting increasingly more common and more intensed. It wasn’t the first time his scar had begun to burn, but this one had been the worst so far. It felt so real. He could feel the cold dampness of the stone room, suffocating him. The Dark Lord’s disgusting and grey hands grabbing his face to meet his hate-filled eyes. Worst of all, the screams. He should have loved seeing Snape suffering. He had taken everything from him, hadn’t he? But even with everything, he never enjoyed seeing anyone being tortured, even if he despised them. A chill ran down his sweat-soaked spine. What would have had Snape withering like that? He had never expected the potion master to be able to express any form of discomfort, much less out right agony. Harry exhaled deeply and sunk back down into his bed. He knew he wasn’t going to get any more sleep for the night, not with his mind going thousands of miles per hour with the nightmare he just had.
He was thankful it was all in his head, and nothing more than a nightmare.
***
Harry was at the park, sitting on the swing as the sun slowly set. Enjoying his last few days of peace he had left. The sun shone, casting a golden light on the playground. The scene was calm, and Harry couldn’t remember the last time he left this level of serene just by himself. The only moments where he had a trace of peacefulness with him was when he was with Ron and Hermione, or just his friends in general. But he hadn’t heard from them for the majority of the summer, no doubt the Dursleys were keeping the letters from him as they usually did. He knew his fellow Gryffindors had received his various letter, because he saw Hedwig carrying back the replies one night. The only time he was able to sneak a few letters from his bastardized family members.
Most of the letters were discussing the plans for the next few months of their lives. Where was it save to go or not go, who they could trust or not…how they’d survive if they ever came face to face with a hoard of Death Eaters. Harry shuddered at the thought, he knew the idea shouldn’t frighten him as much as it did. He defeated Voldemort numerous times throughout the past few years alone, but there was something unsettling about how devoted one could be to a cause. To the point where they’d torture someone for hours, or even kill for a pathetic excuse of a man, who they believed to be a god.
Suddenly, the boy didn’t feel so much at peace. His chest tightened, and the air grew cold. A shudder came from him, and his scar began to grow hot. He shut his eyes tightly, and gritted his teeth. Sometimes he wish he’d paid more attention in Potions, so knew how to brew himself a pain-relief. His hand went to cover the lightning bolt, and when he peeled his eyes opened, he saw the sky was now an angry grey.
A noise came from Harry’s side, and he turned around to see a figure appariting into the park, all bruised and bloodied. The boy’s eyes widened as he made out who the person was. Snape. The man’s knees bucked and he fell to the floor, his onyx eyes going to Harry’s emerald ones.
”Get back…to the house,” Snape croaked, his voice broken and scratchy. Harry wasn’t sure what to think, much less do. The thud of the man’s body hitting the wood chip covered ground was enough to make him snap out of it, and rush to the man’s side.
He hated the potion master, that much didn’t change, nor would it.