A Stolen Past by nuw255
Chapter Notes: Harry has a disturbing dream which leads to a couple of useful discoveries.
After spending the entire night on his hands and knees, scrubbing vomit and blood off of a stone floor with nothing but a toothbrush and a pail of soapy water, Harry was near the point of collapse. His knees and back ached from hunching over on the hard floor, and he had to fight to keep his eyes open. Finally, just before classes were to begin, Madam Davies arrived to unlock the door to the infirmary. Without commenting on his work, she simply glanced around at the floor to make sure he had succeeded in cleaning up the mess, and sent him to class. Breakfast was already over, and there wasn’t even time to have a quick shower or change clothes. Harry arrived in History class with the knees of his trousers soaked in soapy water, and the stench of vomit lingering in his clothes and hair.
The second day of classes seemed to go by even slower than the first, but Harry managed to get through it without earning another detention by keeping his head down and his mouth shut. It wasn’t really difficult; he had only to act as though he was trying to avoid the wrath of his Uncle Vernon. It wasn’t until after supper that he was finally able to change out of his filthy clothes and have a shower. Then, as soon as he was dressed in his pajamas, he lay down on the floor to get some sleep for the first time in almost forty hours.
According to his recent pattern, Harry began dreaming almost immediately after falling asleep. It was odd, really, as he didn’t think he had dreamed much before losing his memory. Then again, there was really no way to know for sure. On some nights - especially those when he dreamed of the girl’s smiling face - he felt like he would be glad to go on dreaming forever. Tonight was not one of those nights.
Harry opened his eyes to find himself in the middle of a very dense, very foggy forest. He looked around, trying to figure out how he had gotten there, but found he was unable to see more than a few feet in any direction.
“Hello?” he called. “Is anybody there?”
For a long moment the forest was silent, the muffled echo of his voice hanging in the air. Then he heard it: a long, gasping breath that sent terrified chills down his spine. Harry didn’t quite understand why he found the sound so frightening, nor did he understand why he suddenly found himself pointing a polished wooden stick in the direction from whence the sound had come, but something deep inside him knew that he was in danger.
He continued squinting into the murky darkness until a slight movement to his left drew his attention. A dark shape, like a tall, hooded phantom, was slowly approaching. There was no sound but the ragged breathing, not even the crunch of dead leaves or the snapping of twigs. It was as though the stranger was gliding forward, rather than walking. Harry felt his knees go weak. He had to fight, but he didn’t know how to do it with this feeling of utter despair welling up inside of him. The stick fell from his grasp as he caught his hands on his knees in an attempt to remain upright. The thing - for he knew now that it could not be human - came closer, and a ringing began in Harry’s ears. As he sank to his knees, the ringing had to compete with another sound: a woman’s voice was screaming. No, she was pleading with someone.
“Not Harry, not Harry, please not Harry!”
The ringing grew louder until the woman’s voice was drowned out completely. Harry’s eyes were closed now, but he didn’t care. The horrid black phantom would kill him, and then he would be free of this nightmare. Suddenly, the ringing in his ears stopped, the woman screamed, and he saw a brilliant flash of green light through his eyelids. Cold, high-pitched laughter filled his ears.
Harry’s eyes snapped open and he found himself lying on the floor of his dormitory with his blanket twisted around his legs. As he struggled to calm his heavy breathing, he had to wipe away the cold sweat that was beginning to sting his eyes.
It was only a dream, he repeated over and over in his mind. A dream.
After what seemed like hours, but really couldn’t have been more than about fifteen minutes, he decided to try sleeping again, but it was no use. Every time he closed his eyes he saw the figure in the black hood gliding toward him, and his ears filled with the sound of the woman’s scream. Harry had never put much stock in interpreting dreams - that was one of the few things he had in common with his uncle - and he found himself fervently hoping that dreams really were nothing more than random impulses in the brain, rather than visions of the future, as the “psychics” on television liked to suggest.
Exhausted but unable to sleep, he finally decided to go for a walk to try and clear his head. It probably wasn’t a good idea, since students (or inmates, as they sometimes called themselves) weren’t allowed to roam the corridors at night, but he had to do something to take his mind off of that creature in the black hood. As quietly as he could manage, he stood up and put on his dressing gown and a tattered old pair of Dudley’s carpet slippers, and tiptoed from the room. He started out in the direction of the bathroom, just in case anyone else was awake enough to see him leave, but as soon as he was out of sight of the dormitory he doubled back, staying in the shadows, until he was able to make his way up the stairs and out into the fresh night air.
Only a sliver of moon was out, but it was enough to illuminate the miniature prison that was St. Brutus’s. A high wall, built of smooth stone and brick, surrounded the buildings, forming a sort of courtyard, and the top of the wall was covered in broken glass, metal spikes, and dangerous-looking loops of barbed wire. The few trees within the enclosure stood well away from the wall, no doubt to ensure that it would be impossible to escape by climbing a tree and jumping over the wall. Harry breathed deeply and walked to the nearest tree, resting his hands and forehead against the smooth bark.
Suddenly, there was a great flapping sound from overhead and Harry, immediately thinking of bats, ducked, looking up and shielding his face with his arms. He needn’t have worried about bats, however, for it was immediately apparent that what he had heard was a large, white owl that had left its perch in the tree and circled down to Harry’s level. The owl beat its wings, slowing its approach, and Harry instinctively held out his left arm. The owl landed, its sudden weight nearly tipping Harry over, but it was very careful not to sink its talons into his arm through the thin fabric of the dressing gown and pajamas.
“Hey there,” Harry said in a soft, astonished voice.
The owl looked up at him, and as it stared into his eyes, he had the strange feeling that this owl knew more about him than he did.
“You’re awfully tame, aren’t you?” Harry continued as he began stroking the owl’s feathers with his right hand. “Where did you come from? Are you somebody’s pet?”
The owl hooted softly and cocked its head to the side as though surprised or confused by these questions. But then, it was just an owl; it couldn’t really understand what he was saying anyway, right?
“Harry, what’re you doing?” The urgent whisper came from behind him, and he spun around so quickly that he nearly toppled the large bird. It was Tyler.
“Couldn’t sleep,” Harry replied. “What are you doing up?”
“I saw you sneaking out and I came to talk some sense into you,” Tyler hissed. As usual, his small eyes were darting back and forth through the shadows in search of some imagined danger. “You’ll be in loads of trouble if you get caught.”
“Then we’ll just have to make sure we don’t get caught,” Harry said reasonably. “Did you see this owl?”
“Yeah,” Tyler whispered. Now that he had voiced his concerns about breaking curfew, he seemed to be in less of a hurry to get back to the dormitory. He examined the bird closely. “He’s really tame, isn’t he? What’s your name, boy?” Tyler reached out a finger to stroke the owl’s head, but it ruffled up its feathers and snapped at him with its sharp beak.
“Hey!” Tyler yelped, then immediately looked around in alarm, as though he expected his exclamation to call forth a pack of attack dogs.
Harry laughed. “Maybe it’s a she,” he said. “Is that it?” The owl nuzzled his hand affectionately. “Sorry Tyler offended you, girl,” he said in a soothing voice. “He just didn’t know any better.”
Tyler watched the exchange in amazement. “Blimey, Harry, she really seems like she can understand you, doesn’t she? That’s one smart bird. Where’d she come from?”
Harry shrugged. “She was up in the tree when I came outside. Then she just flew down and perched herself on my arm.”
“Hang on a minute,” said Tyler with barely suppressed excitement. “Maybe she was your pet before and that’s why she came to you. Only you can’t remember, obviously.”
Harry thought about the suggestion. It did seem to make sense, especially with the way he and the owl seemed to already know and understand one another. If it was true, though, she must stay at St. Brutus’s year-round, as he was quite sure that his uncle would never allow a pet owl on Privet Drive. Perhaps that was why she seemed to be waiting for him. Slowly, he began to nod.
“It makes sense,” continued Tyler. “Hey, what’re you going to call her?”
“What? Oh, I hadn’t really thought about it.” Harry looked at the owl before continuing, “I suppose you do need a name, don’t you? I wish I could just ask you your name, but something tells me that wouldn’t work too well. How about I give you a new name for now, and if I ever get my memory back, you can pick which one you like best?”
The owl nipped affectionately at Harry’s fingers in a manner that he understood very clearly to mean that she agreed.
“How about Snowy, then?” he asked. “After all, you are a snowy owl. I know it’s not very original, but I’ve never been very good at coming up with creative names.”
The owl hooted her assent, and then held out a leg toward Harry, balancing on her other foot.
“What’s she doing?” Tyler asked.
“I’m not sure,” said Harry. “Is something the matter with your foot, girl?” He examined the outstretched foot and leg, but there didn’t seem to be anything wrong.
“What’s the matter, Snowy?” Harry asked again.
Snowy gave an exasperated hoot, beat her wings in what looked suspiciously like a shrug, and flew back up to a low branch.
“We’d probably better get back,” said Tyler. Now that Snowy had left her perch on Harry’s arm, Tyler was becoming restless once again.
“I guess you’re right,” Harry admitted. As they headed back toward the building, he glanced back over his shoulder and softly called, “Goodnight, Snowy.” She hooted a reply just before they were out of hearing.
No sooner had Harry and Tyler re-entered the building and headed for the staircase, than they heard rapid footsteps ascending from the lower floor. A silent glance and a nod were all they needed to agree that the corridor to their right would be the best place to hide from a patrolling staff member. They darted down the corridor, thankful for the soft carpet slippers that helped muffle their footsteps. The loud clicking of hard-soled shoes on the stone floor turned down the dark corridor to follow them. Harry jerked Tyler by the arm, dragging him into a side passage with a door at the end. He tried the knob, but it wouldn’t turn.
“It’s locked,” he whispered, his fear of being caught evident in his voice. The footsteps were growing closer, and now they could see the beam of a flashlight cutting across the entrance to their hiding place. It was too late to run for it.
“I’ll try and pick it,” Tyler responded in a panicked whisper. He removed a wire paperclip from the hem of his pajamas and bent down to find the keyhole in the darkness. After only a second, he groaned.
“It’s no good,” Tyler whispered. “This must be the back door to an office - there’s no keyhole on this side.”
“What?” Harry had to try very hard to keep himself from shouting in frustration. As he placed his hand back on the knob, an image from one of his dreams flashed before his eyes. In the dream, he had been standing in front of a locked door, much the same way he was now. But in the dream, there had been a girl. She had whispered something that made the door open - some sort of a password or something - but what was it? Even as the insanity of a whispered password opening a locked door crossed his mind, he remembered what the girl had said. Without bothering to think any more about it, he hissed, “Alohomora!” To his utter amazement, there was a soft click, and the knob suddenly turned in his hand. He pushed the door open and dragged Tyler into the dark room beyond before closing the door again as quickly and quietly as he could.
There were apparently no windows in the room they had chosen for their hiding place, because Harry was unable to see anything other than a small sliver of light coming from under the door. The clicking footsteps turned down the narrow passageway that led to the room where he and Tyler were hiding and, with a thrill or horror, Harry realized that the door was still unlocked. Before he had time to react, however, Tyler had pushed past him and pressed the button in the center of the doorknob, securing it from the inside once again.
The footsteps stopped outside the door. Harry and Tyler held their breath as they heard the person outside jiggle the knob to verify that it was still locked. As the clicking footsteps receded, both boys let out sighs of relief. After a long moment, Tyler opened the door a crack. There was no one around. Harry followed him out of the windowless room, and was careful to press the button on the inside of the doorknob so that it would remain locked. He was about to head back to the main corridor when Tyler caught him by the arm.
“How’d you do that, Harry?” Tyler whispered.
“How’d I do what?” Harry asked.
“Don’t play dumb, mate. We both know that door was locked. Then you whispered something, and it came open. What’s going on?”
“I don’t know,” Harry said truthfully. Tyler raised a skeptical eyebrow but said nothing, so Harry continued, “Look, I had this dream, okay? I was about to be caught late at night - just like tonight - and I ended up outside a locked door. Then this girl came from behind me and whispered, ‘Alohomora,’ and the door opened. I guess I just panicked because I tried it even though I know it’s insane to think something like that could open a lock.”
“But it worked,” said Tyler. “Alohomora, was it?” Harry nodded. Tyler placed his hand on the doorknob to verify that it was still locked, and whispered, “Alohomora.” Nothing happened.
“Like I said,” Harry whispered, “it’s not as if something like that could actually work. The lock probably wasn’t thrown properly, and I just jiggled it free or something.” Even though this explanation did seem to make sense, Harry couldn’t help noticing the incredulity in his own voice, and he was sure Tyler had noticed it too.
“Try it again, then,” suggested Tyler. “Just to see if it really works, I mean.”
Hesitantly, Harry placed his hand on the doorknob. He tried to turn it, but it was still locked. After a short pause, he quietly muttered, “Alohomora.” There was a soft click, and the knob turned.
“Wicked!” whispered Tyler. “That’s magic, that is. Hey Harry, maybe you were into witchcraft before you lost you memory.”
Harry thought for a moment as he re-locked the door. “I doubt it,” he answered finally. “It just doesn’t sound like me - casting spells and riding around on broomsticks. Besides, magic’s not even real. Even all the great magicians say their tricks are just illusions, not really magic at all.”
“Suit yourself, mate,” Tyler replied as they started back down the corridor, “but I know what I just saw, and if that wasn’t real magic, I don’t know what is.”
They walked on in silence, each lost in his own thoughts, until they reached the dormitory. After a whispered goodnight, they both lay down. The images of the black-hooded demons had faded from Harry’s mind, but now he had something infinitely more real to think about. Tyler’s explanation of what had happened seemed extremely farfetched, yet what other explanation was there? For the rest of the night, Harry’s sleep was plagued with dreams that kept switching between him being chased by a heat-seeking missile while flying through the air on a broomstick, and a sallow-faced man with greasy black hair and a black robe glaring at him over a bubbling cauldron.
A/N: I realize that Harry ought to need a wand in order to do this sort of magic. Fear not: all will be explained near the end of the story. For now, just think of it as one of the reasons this is in the Mystery category.
Also, I’m going to get really sick of using the name Snowy for Hedwig, but I’m afraid I don’t have much choice until somebody tells Harry her real name.