Waking
Where am I?
Harry struggled to open his eyes, his body willing him to go back to sleep.
No, I need to wake up.
With bull-headedness that could tear through even the Imperius Curse, Harry pushed himself up and looked around the room. He stood from the bed he was laid on. A hand on his wand and eyes watching for any sign of danger. His years of Auror training kept him alert and prepared in ways that would've had Moody crying tears of pride and joy.
Oh wow…
He was in a bedroom. A homey one, cosy, something he'd always pictured building for himself during his years in the cupboard. The room wasn't particularly large, but there was space for him to stretch his legs and pace when he got stressed, and shelves to house the keepsakes from his family and the knickknacks he'd collected over the years. The walls were a deep red, reminiscent of his dorm in Gryffindor Tower, and a fireplace that reminded him of the one in his old common room. Some books stacked above it, like Hermione had placed them there right before leaving by Floo. Then he noticed it, the window—
(Something Harry had always longed for, locked away under the stairs, and something that made him feel prisoner between the bars of Dudley's second bedroom. Because that's what it was, Dudley's, never Harry's. Harry wasn't allowed anything in that house. No, he was an intruder. The freak on their otherwise perfect household. Unwanted, unloved, detested, only useful for how well he was able to do their chores and cook their meals.)
—It was big and bright, directly beside the bed. The sunlight was pouring in from outside, and when Harry approached, it gave him a view of the most beautiful flower field Harry had ever seen. The only flower field I've ever seen. Not exactly many of those in the middle of London.
He was on the ground floor, it seemed.
Flowers of all kinds scattered amongst each other, close enough to touch. And he did. Soft. He could see butterflies fluttering, making themselves at home on the petals, bees buzzing about collecting pollen, and a large tree in the middle of a clearing with birds resting within its leaves. The house seemed to have been built in the middle of the field. It was stunning.
I swear, this place is like something out of a Ghibli movie.
Harry tore his eyes away from the picturesque view to search for a door. Once he found it, he opened it slowly, still unsure of whether or not he was alone in this house. Thankfully, the door was silent and he was able to exit quietly from the room at the end of the hallway. He kept his ears open, silently looking through the doors he passed while walking. A bathroom and a sitting room, but no one else so far… And part of Harry as relieved at that. No people meant less of a chance he'd have to fight his way out, and he didn't want to mess up this beautiful home.
He came to the other end of the hallway, it was brighter and more open. The kitchen, Harry noted. As he entered, shortly blinded by the light, he saw a figure.
“Harry Potter,” said Voldemort “about time.”
Shit.