Confusing thoughts
Chapter 2:
Harry bolted upright. He blinked once, then twice. With a trembling hand, he reached for his glasses which lay on the desk next to his bed.
What was that?
When he closed his eyes he could still see the lingering images from that strange dream. Though many of the details were fading to the point where he could barely picture them, a few still remained as clear as day.
Who was that woman? And that song?
Harry shuddered as he thought of it. It somehow both frightened and comforted him. How was that even possible?
He rubbed his forehead in frustration.
"Why now?" He muttered under his breath. He longed to scream out in frustration, but he did not wish to accidentally wake the Dursleys. They had already voiced their irritation from being woken up by Harry's nightmares. As if it was his fault he had had nothing but bad dreams lately.
It had been only a few weeks since the end of term and the return of Voldemort. Ever since then, his days had been haunted by the fear of hearing any strange deaths, in either the magic or muggle worlds. His nights were haunted by his dreams forcing him to repeat the horrible night. The night that Cedric had died and Voldemort had risen from the dead.
His vision was blurred with unshed tears.
He should have been quicker. He shouldn't have just stood there stupidly when they had both found themselves in that graveyard. He should have been faster in the maze. Surely if he had grabbed the cup before Cedric, then only he would have been taken to that horrible graveyard. Maybe if he hadn't been such a noble prick and just taken the cup when the Hufflepuff had offered it to him. But no, he had to argue the point with him until they agreed to both grab it.
Harry scoffed. A Hogwarts victory. The only one who was victorious that night was Voldemort.
He looked at the digital clock by his bedside. It was only 4 in the morning. He should get more sleep, but he was afraid to. What if his dreams reverted back to the graveyard which had become his regular dreamscape? Or what if he had another dream featuring that strange woman and the song, both of which caused him to feel so many confusing emotions.
He decided to get up.
Quietly, so as not to wake his relatives, he crept into the bathroom.
He splashed cold water from the bathroom sink in his face to clear his mind.
He looked into the mirror. The face which looked back at him was pale, almost gaunt. Dark circles ringed his emerald eyes. His usually messy hair now more resembled a birds nest which had been cort in a storm than a head of hair.
He remembered the woman from his dream. Her skin had been fair. Her hair had been as dark as night. He tried to remember her face, but could not quiet picture her exact features.
But one thing from his dream remained as clear as day. That haunting song.
What did that mean? And why did it make him feel so... Confused?
He thought of the lyrics.
The darkness will rise from the deep,
And carry you down into sleep...
The words should frighten him, Harry knew. It sounded like some sort of messed up lullaby. And indeed, a small part of him, probably the rational side of him, was terrified by the song. But another part of him felt... Comfit from the song? Or maybe it was just the woman who was singing it.
How could a voice which sounded so angelic produce such a dark song?
He frowned into the mirror.
While he had wished for a change from the constant reruns of Voldemorts return, this was not quite what he had had in mind. This dream was just as bad, and caused his thoughts to become even more of a jumbled mess than they already were.
The man who had caused the deaths of so many, including his parents, had risen from the dead. By some miracle he had managed to escape from the mad wizard, again, and had returned to Hogwarts, relatively in one peace.
He had thought that by warning the Ministry of his return, then they would be able to prepare for when Voldemrrt would inevitably strike in an attempt to finish what he had started almost 14 years ago.
But no, the ministry accentually plugged their fingers in their ears had screamed:
"Not listening, not listening..."
He supposed that it would be a bit hard to believe him. After all, he was only a 14 year old who had faced Voldemort, what, four times now? And the likes of Reata Sketa would have you believe he was mentally unstable. But surely they would believe Dumbledore, who most of the wizarding world seemed to worship as the second coming of Merlin or something.
He frowned as he thought of the old wizard.
Sure he had believed him when Harry had told of the happenings in the graveyard. But then he had done what he had always done with Harry at the end of every year. Shipped him right back to Hell... Errr, the Dursleys. Not that there was much of a difference, in Harry's opinion. The only thing that was keeping them tame was the threat of his escaped convict godfather. Harry still hadn't mentioned that Sirius was wrongfully imprisoned.
He sighed. Sirius hadn't been very forthcoming with information concerning the happenings of the magical world, or what they knew concerning the movements of Voldemort. None of his friends were. No doubt thanks to Dumbledore.
Harry chuckled.
Maybe he was mentally unstable. But if he was, he could definitely find the reasons for it.
First year, he and his friends went past several obstacles, ending with Ron getting nocked out cold and him facing Voldemort who had been living off of the back of one of his teacher's head for the past school year. All this, for some magical rock that could turn lead to gold and make someone immortal. What was Dumbledore's solution for any trauma that may have resulted from this event... A summer with his magic hating relatives.
Second year, he had to go down into a secret chamber to save his best friends sister from a giant snake who could kill you with one look. He ended up having to fight said snake and the memory of teenaged Voldemort, almost dying in the process.
Surely this would leave some sort of mental scaring. But no, back to the Dursleys.
Third year, he had been so, so close to escaping from his tormenters. It had been so close... Only for it to be snatched away. And if that wasn't bad enough, he had also had to face down practically an army for dementors.
Back to the Dursleys.
And this year...
Forced into a death tournament. Witnessing a fellow student be murdered and the man who had killed his parents, who had tormented him every year since he had entered the magical world, rise from the dead...
If he was mentally unstable, then it was no wonder why. Maybe he should try getting some mental help.
He chuckled at the thought of explaining all his problems to a muggle theorist. That was one way to get him into the nut house. Maybe he'd be better off there than with the Dursleys.
As he walked back to his small bedroom, he wondered if he should find out where he could find a wizard therapist. Wait, did wizards even have any form of therapy?
He thought that surely they should. But considering how mental almost all of the wizards seemed to be, Harry thought this was likely the case.
He looked out the window to see that Hedwig was returning from her night's hunt. He opened the window to let the snowy owl in.
She landed on his shoulder and nuzzled him affectionately.
Harry smiled.
"At least I have you." He said, stroke his fevered friend.
Even if his friends weren't writing to him properly, and he was stuck with the Dursleys, at least he still had Hedwig. Harry wondered if it was bad his most reliable friend at this moment was an owl.
As Hedwig flew back to her cage, Harry walked back to his bed. Maybe he should try to get more sleep.
As he laid back down and closed his eyes once more, he saw the face of that mysterious, dark woman. And he heard that strange, beautiful song.