The darkness was absolute—overwhelming.
There was nothing there—nothing except for a lingering sense of fright, as if from a nightmare only moments dissipated, and yet he felt something unseen rushing in at him from all directions, pushing him to the point of pure terror. He could see nothing. All his senses failed him completely. There was no faint breeze or distant points of light to tell him where he was. There was no smell of stagnant humidity in the air that would indicate that he was below ground. There was no explanation at all for this silent, sightless, crushing darkness.
And suddenly there was a faint blue glow in the distance, and soft marked footsteps. Someone was coming in the darkness. Footsteps echoed upon more footsteps as the deathly blue light grew closer but not stronger—never bright enough to illuminate faces or eliminate fear. Instead, it seemed to radiate fear as the black silhouettes of several figures paused just beyond his line of sight and the faint whisper of voices came to his straining ears. He tried to turn his head toward the light and panic overtook him as he realized that his arms and legs were bound. The ropes tightened as he writhed. He was caught. Again, after so much time.
Icy horror shot through him as he searched the row of vigilant shadows for the snake-like red eyes that he knew were somewhere very near. The ropes continued to tighten, burning his skin. A sudden tugging sensation revealed to him the presence of another rope slowly tightening around his neck and a fresh wave of panic washed over him. One thought clouded his mind.
Not again!
Never again!
And he searched desperately in his memory for any spell that would free him from these cutting ropes. They seemed to glow the same blue as the disembodied light that accompanied his captors. With dismay, he realized that all his thoughts were quickly focusing only on that blue. There was a quick flash to a distant Defense Against the Dark Arts class where a short, sinister-looking witch was explaining something about Brainbinding Cloth.
“…often used in wizarding prisons to subdue tendencies to resist...”
And then it was gone. He resisted, trying to remember any spells—anything at all that could help him now, and his mind jumped instinctively to the first spell that he had ever learned.
Crucio!
He thought it as hard as he could, but of course there was no wand to be found. The rope’s glow strengthened. They twisted and tightened and burned. The spell was disappearing from his memory—being replaced by a terrible blue oblivion.
“Crucio!” he shouted desperately at no one in particular as the last memory of the last spell left him.
His curse was met with worried laughter, as if the sound of the force behind it was enough to make some forget that it was spoken without a wand. The dark figures were moving now—growing larger with each ominous step forward, blocking light and sight, and he cringed as he felt many pairs of eager hands clutching at him.
He found his voice and screamed, but it was silenced as the ropes tightened around his neck, cutting off all air as he gathered the force necessary to raise the scream to the levels of insanity that he felt inside him—cutting off all breath, and life, and memory of all things good—cutting off thought, and suddenly he was falling into the same darkness that he had awoken to only moments ago.
But this time, his senses did not fail him. This time he felt something horribly familiar--something that overtook him and invaded every thought that his panicked mind would allow. It came in a blinding painful flash, originating as always, from a lightning shaped scar. This time, it did not come from his infamous forehead, but seemed to burn directly from his heart, doubling him over even as the ropes tightened more and eliminating everything except for one horrifying moment of memory.
A bright flash of green light and a horrible high pitched laughter, and then nothing.
Harry's scar was on fire!
He clamped a clammy hand to his forehead and rolled to his side, momentarily unable to process anything more than the pain. He stayed for several moments in a fetal position, gritting his teeth and feeling the dreadfully familiar pulse flow from his forehead down through his entire body. He half expected to slip into darkness again and find himself back in the Dark Forest, surrounded by Death Eaters watching with morbid fascination as The Dark Lord and The Boy Who Lived faced off for what promised to be the final time. Such a strong, piercing pain could mean only one thing--Voldemort was still alive. His grim defeat had only been a fleeting dream, and now Harry had awoken into a world where he still faced his horrifying destiny.
But the pain began to slowly subside, and the only darkness that Harry found was the tranquil red-black caused by his own tightly closed eyes. He could not remember where he had fallen asleep, and for a moment, as the pain became no more than a dull throb, he imagined a horrible blue light and faces in the darkness. His eyes snapped open.
Warm morning sunlight greeted him, and he had to close his eyes again to allow them to adjust. He was lying in the grass behind Ron's home. It had only been a nightmare--the ropes; the darkness—even the evil green flash at the end. Now, with a fragrant breeze carrying away the morning dew around him, he felt the panic of it leaving him, and he began to wonder if the pain in his scar had been only part of the nightmare. As if in response, his scar twinged--only a flash, and then gone again. He frowned and opened his eyes again to the daylight.
What he saw caused the frown to retreat instantly. Strewn around him, all still peacefully sleeping, were nearly everyone that he had grown to love in the wizarding world. Ginny, with her fiery red hair, was smiling in her sleep next to him. Her hand was stretched toward Harry, and he had a faint memory of falling asleep hand in hand. Ron and Hermione were not far away, huddled together underneath the invisibility cloak for warmth. The half visible pair appeared to have fallen asleep in each other's arms.
Just beyond Ron and Hermione lay Bill and Fleur, floating inches above the ground on a beautiful Moroccan carpet. Bill was just beginning to stir. He smiled sleepily over at Harry, and sat up, taking care not to disturb his wife, who looked incredibly comfortable beside him. She was already showing signs of the couple's first child, due in four more months.
A heavy snore to his right caused Harry to turn. He found Neville sleeping soundly in spite of the garden gnomes who seemed to be enjoying a rather vigorous game of King of the Mountain on his rising and falling chest. Luna was fully awake and smiling guiltily toward Harry, who had the sneaking suspicion that she had been playing along with the gnomes. He stifled a laugh.
George was asleep only a few meters away with his head perched comically on Percy's shoulder. The scene would have been sarcastically angelic had it not been for George's new ear. Since losing one of his ears nearly two years ago, George had taken up a rather eclectic collection of right ears, which he randomly attached to his face using a Binding charm. This morning, George was sporting what looked to be a Goblin ear. Harry silently wished for a camera.
Satisfied that there was no immediate danger, he lay down again, closed his eyes, and tried to remember the details of the nightmare that had caused his scar to ache after so much time. He could remember cold blue ropes, and panic in the darkness, but nothing more in such a warm morning light. It was as if his mind was purposely disposing of all things that could ruin such a beautiful morning. He shook his head and concentrated harder. Had he seen Voldemort? He didn't think so. Had he seen anyone or anything that he remembered?
It had not been him. That much he remembered. The nightmare had been full of a forbidding familiarity, as if everything that was happening to him had happened before. As far as Harry could remember, he had never even seen such a place. He vaguely remembered the Cruciatus Curse as well. In the nightmare, however, it had been the first spell he had ever learned. The first spell that Harry had ever learned had been a levitation spell. It had done wonders against a troll in the girl's bathroom, but it carried nowhere near the same power as an Unforgivable Curse.
His scar pulsed again. This time, it was as if small cold fingers were poking at his forehead, and he opened his eyes. They met Ginny's beautiful brown ones. She smiled and gave a second playful poke at his scar.
"Are you awake yet?" she asked, and the simple sound of her voice made the rest of the nightmare disappear from Harry's mind. He moved quickly up to grab her and pull her playfully down into the grass, filling her red hair with dew. She gave a surprised squeak, and both of them tumbled over into Ron and Hermione.
Hermione gave a slightly scornful glance toward whatever had so abruptly awoken her. Ron rolled onto his side and mumbled something that sounded to Harry like, “’m already up,” and was promptly asleep again. Hermione pushed him with absolutely no effect.
The delightful scent of bacon and sausages wafted down to them from the Burrow, rousing those who were still sleeping. There was a startled yell as Neville realized that he was covered in garden gnomes. Everyone else began their slow trek to the open back doors of the Weasley house, Percy and George walking as far away from each other as possible, and both with half-asleep, embarrassed expressions. Ron was left behind to become the next playground for the gnomes.
From inside came the laughter of more who had stayed after last night’s celebration. A faint cry from one of the second story windows indicated that Teddy, Lupin and Tonk’s son, and Harry’s godson, was awake as well, and equally ready for breakfast. One last dull throb of pain from his scar caused a flicker of worry in his mind. He looked around him. Everyone was together, and the Burrow was wide open with nothing to worry about. The survivors of Dumbledore’s Army and the Order of the Phoenix were gathered happily in the kitchen, and he was following a beautiful girl inside to enjoy their company. There was no possibility that Voldemort could be alive on a day like today, no matter how much his scar protested. Harry put the nightmare out of his mind.
The Legacy of Four by spaniard
Story Notes:
For those who, like me, are not quite ready to stop reading. I tried to keep as close to the real stories as possible, and I was advised to include a warning that there is violence in this story. Sorry.
Chapter Notes: Third time's a charm...maybe this time, it will be accepted.