Harry Potter and the Seer's Stones

Nightmares and News

The sudden burst of light burned through a teenage boy's eyelids, yanking him
abruptly from the dream world. A flood of sounds showered him and slowly carried
him to consciousness. This journey, though, was rough. Unable to comprehend the
rush of reality and memories, the boy groaned and let his eyes open, revealing a
world that wasn't entirely his own.

"UP! Get up! Breakfast won't make itself. You've got lots of work to do today.
UP!"

The sharp yells seemed to cut through the air and pierce Harry's ears. His
aunt, who had just so kindly woken him up, was now staring at him as if to say:
"What are you still doing in bed?" He groaned again as a response to the unasked
question. Aunt Petunia gave him one last angry glance before storming out of the
smallest room in number four Privet Drive. Harry's room.

He stood up sleepily, limping slightly. Harry's leg was red and a bit swollen;
Dudley's reminder that Harry shouldn't "borrow" his chocolate anymore. The
mirror on the open closet door reflected Harry. Two weeks in the Dursley
household had done a lot to change his appearance. His green eyes were now
curtains hiding pain and sorrow. His black hair was messier than ever before
from all the frustrating times of running his hands through it. His facial
features were often twisted in terror of his continuous nightmares. The only
thing that didn't change was a thin lightening-bolt shaped scar on his forehead.
But even this remainder of the Harry who lived two years ago, even this tiny
scar had so much meaning now.

The scar was always there to retell the murder of Harry's parents but now, it
meant more, so much more. It was there to justify who Harry was and why. It
proved that everything horrible had really happened. It made denial impossible.
One look at his scar made Harry slam the closet door shut in anger. He quickly
pulled on an old pair of jeans and a shirt that was about four sizes too big for
him.

When he was downstairs, Harry headed straight for the kitchen since that was
always where his work started. The three Dursleys were seated around the table
eating bacon and eggs. Aunt Petunia didn't look at Harry. Nor did anyone else.

"Make the toast." Aunt Petunia ordered. Uncle Vernon grunted his approval.
Harry did as he was told and put a plate of toast on the table. It survived
exactly three seconds before Dudley Dursley, Harry's fat blonde ugly cousin,
snatched it and ate every single piece of toast on the plate. Apparently, the
"diet" was over.

"After breakfast, get started on the gardening. Weeds everywhere. Clean it up."
Aunt Petunia screeched. Harry nodded. He didn't argue. He never argued with any
of the Dursleys anymore. He found it pointless and would much rather keep to
himself than yell about how unfair it was to treat him like a slave. Besides,
keeping to himself would give Harry more time to think. There was so much to
think about. Sirius Black, Harry's godfather, the closest thing he had to a
parent, died less than a month ago leaving a big hole in Harry's being. Finding
out that the fate of the entire wizarding world rested on his shoulders mere
minutes after he lost his godfather played a huge part in Harry's frustration.
How can everyone expect a teenager with almost no family and nobody to lean on
to save the world from the evilest, most powerful dark wizard in a century that
has hundreds more witches and wizards supporting him? It seemed impossible. Kill
or be killed, a destiny no-one deserved.

The days in the Dursleys home were passing slower than ever before with almost
no letters from Harry's best friends Ron Weasley and Hermione Granger. The few
letters that he did get were utterly useless and pointless. There were bare of
any information about Voldemort, the murdering wizard who killed Harry's parents
and thousands more people. Harry read every letter, his eyes flying across the
pieces of parchment searching for anything about the Order of the Phoenix, a
group of people united to fight Voldemort. This order was run by the headmaster
of Harry's school, Hogwarts, Albus Dumbledore, the only one Voldemort feared.
But so many feared Voldemort. How could it be fair? How can life find justice in
making one man, one monster the source of so much fear?

Life is a nightmare. Everything around was a terrible horror to Harry.
Everything, no matter how small or mundane to a normal teenager, only brought
back the past for Harry. Even if he managed to avoid or escape the memories that
hurt so much in the morning, Harry would only be haunted by them at night when he
was sleeping. If he slept, that is. Waking up sweating and screaming was enough
to scare him out of sleep. But this couldn't last for long. He knew that,
eventually, his tiredness would get the best of him. And, sure enough, after 72
hours with no sleep, Harry found himself crawling into bed fully dressed. Just
as he expected, his godfather's death played in front of him like a grotesque
movie. Suddenly, the scene would change. Harry got transported from the Ministry
of Magic, where Sirius' life was so cruelly taken from him by his own cousin
Bellatrix Lestrange, while he was fighting for Harry's life. He ended up loosing
his own. Now, Harry was revisiting the cemetery. THE cemetery. The one where he
had witnessed Voldemort come back to life, body and all. This was also where he
saw one of his schoolmates die with his very own eyes. All this when he was
fourteen. Almost one year had passed since then and Cedric Diggory's dead face
still seemed so afraid in Harry's nightmares.

Harry's eyes snapped open; his vision was blurred slightly since his glasses lay on the bedside table. He wiped sweat off his forehead as his breathing slowly returned to it's normal pace. It was no use trying to go back to sleep. Harry knew that it wouldn't happen, so, as quietly as he could, he climbed down the stairs, taking care to step over the ones that creaked. Waking any one of the Dursleys at any time was not a good idea.

Making his way to the kitchen silently was no difficult task but, just as Harry made to switch on the light, he heard a soft thud. There was a whisper. Someone near the refrigerator cursed softly. The stranger's voice wasn't very strange. Infact, it was familiar. Harry knew who he was.

"Dudley! What are you doing?" Harry said flicking the lights switch on. His cousin jumped out from behind the refrigerator door, mustard smeared across his mouth.

"None of your business." Dudley muttered returning to his food, his fat rear end popping out from behind the fridge door. Harry walked closer to where his cousin stood, hoping he could get away with a glass of water.

Two minutes later, Harry was sitting at the table sipping at a glass of water as Dudley made his way through a second sandwich that served as a "midnight snack".

"What are you looking at?" he grunted, doing an excellent impression of his father. Harry shrugged and stood up. His hand was on the doorknob when Dudley spoke again.

"I hear you screaming. Every night. Sirius! Sirius! Who's Sirius? Have you been cheating on Cedric darling?" Dudley snickered. Harry felt a surge of anger sweep through his body but ignored it. No good could come from punching Dudley - except the satisfaction of digging his fist into his cousin's stomach. But Harry opened the door and made his way to his room nevertheless, ignoring his first instinct. Just one more month...one more month...