Blizzard

BLIZZARD

Clouds whizzed past Harry with great speed. The white fluffs Harry went through caused his body to become damp but Harry didn´t seem to care as he had much fun bursting through them. He had never ridden on the broom this high before and he found it exciting, the wind pushing his hair and robes back, the pounding of his heart. He wanted to let out a cry of joy; seeing no one around, he did so.

He went soaring up only to go back down again, which made his stomach fall. He did that a couple of times, then decided to fly straight ahead without any stunts. He wanted to get to the cabin where Hermione was staying by noon. He hadn´t seen Hermione in over a year, and wanting a break from his travels, decided to go and visit her and her parents for Christmas in the log cabin they rented in the mountains. They thought it would be the perfect place to spend Christmas, in the snowy mountains.

Harry was a little late. He had told Hermione that he would be there by the 22^nd. But there had been a lot of delays in his trip from Italy to France. When he finally got to France, he decided to fly to Scotland on his broom rather than taking the train. He could get there much quicker by flying, although he had to make sure Muggles didn´t see him.

He was almost to the log cabin; it would only take him a couple of hours if he didn´t play around. Hermione was going to be very angry with him for arriving on Christmas Eve. He just hoped she would understand that it wasn´t his fault that the train had been delayed. It was Christmas Holiday, so it made a lot of sense for the train to be delayed. Really, they should have expected it.

After Harry graduated from Hogwarts, he had taken the time to travel. He didn´t want to start working right away. He still had plenty of money his parents left him in the bank. He had been traveling for over a year, seeing the different sites, learning about different cultures and meeting new people. He didn´t have a worry in the world.

The war was over. It had been over for more than a year by the time he had left Hogwarts. The Death Eaters where either dead, missing, or had pleaded innocence at trial. Many of them wouldn´t have a chance escaping from prison. The Ministry was cautious this time around, not wanting any Death Eaters loose. The Ministry asked about Voldemort, and the Death Eaters insisted he was dead. They would not say how he died even if the Ministry demanded to know.

During most of the trials, they had sent the Aurors to look for Voldemort´s body. Even to that day they were still looking. Though no one had found his body, the Ministry had eventually decided to believe the Death Eaters and told the world Voldemort was dead.

The wizarding world didn´t seem to care how Voldemort had died, for no one questioned it. They were just glad he was gone.

And so was Harry who no longer had to worry about Voldemort and his lackeys.

Harry´s mind blank before he hit the ground.

Harry closed his eyes, wanting to keep it in his mind.

Harry was flying through the snowy landscape trying to find the cabin where Hermione and her parents are spending their vacation. Mountains surrounded him and Harry had to be careful not to crash onto the side of one. The sky above was clear and gray, a sign that the storm from last night had moved on, but the evidence still lay below him. Snow, tons of snow, lay on the rocky ground. Harry hadn't seen a house for miles, he feared that the snow had buried them, along with the people inside.

He could remember Hermione talking to him in Italy. She had called him on the telephone, which was weird. She said she wanted to hear his voice, and that she and Ron missed him. She wanted to see me, and thought Christmas was the perfect time. Harry remembered her describing about how beautiful the log cabin would be. She described it being at the foot of the mountains, on the west side.

Harry is now in front of the mountains. He turned west and started to head toward the very edge of the range. His heart began to race; he could feel a roar inside his ears.

I'm almost there. He could feel a cold sweat run down his face. Almost there.

Harry was now in the area where the cabin should be. He began to look around. His nervousness started to rise inside his chest, making it hard for him to breathe. Harry trained his sharp eyes on the ground, looking for any sign of a cabin sticking out from the snow.

Harry stopped. There. In front of him, he could see brown on the ground. It stood out against the horrible white background. He raced down to the ground. Harry hovered, inspecting the brown object sticking out of the snow. It looked to be the top of a chimney.

This was it. This had to be the cabin where Hermione was staying. Harry looked around making sure he was in the spot where the cabin should be. He was.

Harry grabbed the end of his thin cloak and tore off a long piece from it. He tore the piece in two, then tied each section around his hands like gloves. He hovered just beside the chimney and began to dig through the snow. The cold bit into his hands despite the thin cloth, but he ignored it. He needed to find out if Hermione was safe.

Harry began to slip off the broom. He folded his legs tightly around the broom, to keep from slipping, and continued digging. Harry's breath became ragged and he could feel ice on his cheek.

"Please, Hermione be all right. Be all right Hermione," he whispered. He kept on digging. Digging past the chimney, past the roof; he stopped when he came upon a window. He wiped the window, trying to get rid of the frost. After much of the frost was gone, he looked inside. He could see a small bed in the corner with a nightstand beside it. It looked like someone was occupying the bed.

Harry opened the door and flew in. He jumped off the broom, his eyes training on the lump in the bed. He carefully made his way to the bedside. He laid his hand upon the lump. Even through the blankets, he could feel the cold radiating from the lump and onto his hand. Trembling, he pulled the blankets off.

"No. No," he choked, "please don't let it be..."

From somewhere in the background, a tune could be heard. The sound of a piano. Sad and mournful, the tune matched this moment. In front of Harry was a frozen figure. It lay on its front, bald. This person's hair must have frozen, then fallen off. Harry felt icy tears run down his face. Who could this be? He put his hands on the shoulders, and then rolled the person on its back. In front of him laid Hermione. Her face was pale and her lips were the color of indigo.

The mournful tune began to pick up speed. The notes became more edgy and sharp. Harry felt his stomach cave in. Bile began to rise in his throat and out of his mouth. He vomited on the wooden floor. It felt like his heart had been stabbed a hundred times. His eyes began to burn.

"Hermione," he moaned, "no...If only you got out." No! No! It can't be! Hermione is supposed to be smart. She should have made it out of the cabin. Why did she stay in? No. It isn't Hermione's fault. It is my fault. I should have been here sooner.

"Yes," he whispered. "It's my fault." He rolled into a small ball, shivering. "It's all my fault," he kept repeating. The song slowed down again.

Then, it ended.

Harry's eyes snapped open. He shivered, feeling the cold air against his skin. He felt groggy. What happened? Hermione! Harry sat up, looking around. It was very dark; the only thing he made out is a couch in the room. But there was never a couch in the room. What happened to the bed? Harry choked. The bed Hermione was in?

Harry's eyes widened. Wait a minute. He remembered being in the blizzard. Then he remembered being in a warm room, like this one. A man had rescued him. Harry felt tremendous relief wash through him. It was all a dream. Hermione may still be alive! Harry laughed to himself, feeling a smile grace his face. Hermione is still alive. She was safe.

But he had to make sure. He needed to find her. Then a piano started to play; it sounded very familiar. It was a slow, sad song that made his heart wrench. It reminded him of the dream. What if he did find Hermione dead? Harry shook his head. No, Hermione is still alive. I know it. I need to find her.

The piano's melody became louder, the notes faster. It felt like the music was calling him. The mournful tune made his ears ring. The music was so strong. He felt the sensation that his mind had been wiped of all thought. Harry felt himself rise to his feet.

The room was very dark. The fire that had burned in the fireplace was now gone. But Harry didn't need his eyes. All he had to do was follow the music and his heart. It seemed like the music had taken over his mind and was telling him what to do. All he cared about is finding out who was making the music.

His feet carried him to a dark hallway. He stopped to listen carefully to the music that had come to a softer tune. It made it hard to hear from this location. He stood there, listening. The soft tune seemed to speak to him, seemed to comfort him. Then it picked up again. It seemed to be on a happier note. Harry smiled and started down the hallway.

He felt very giddy and optimistic. There wasn´t a care in the world. Hermione will be all right. I will be all right. Everyone will be all right. There is no need to worry. He felt very light, like he was floating on air. The hallway ended and Harry found himself in a large circular room. The only light was the moonlight shining through the tall windows.

Harry floated towards the middle of the room where a large dark piano stood. Sitting beside the piano, playing, was a man in shadow. The only thing visible was his hands pressing on the keys. Harry floated next to the piano, watching the man's hands move rapidly over the keys. The music became faster but still held a happy tone. Harry wanted to dance and sing.

No! The music is controlling you, a voice screamed inside his head. Fight it! Who knows what it can do to you! You need to find Hermione! Harry blinked, confused. What's going on?

The music started to take over his mind again and he felt his body become light. Harry was getting ready to sing when the music stopped. He felt something leave from him and it left him dizzy and confused.

Harry looked around, taking in his surroundings. "How did I get here?"

"By the music." someone whispered. Harry looked toward the shadow sitting at the piano. He stared at it for a moment then slowly shook his head.

"Are you the same man who rescued me?" Harry asked.

"Rescue? That is a very interesting way to put it. Yes, I am the same man who rescued you, Harry." Harry looked startled.

"How did you know my name?" he whispered. Does this man know me? Do I know him? He seems familiar, but who is he?

The man laughed, a high laugh that didn't seem to suit him. It made the hairs on Harry's neck stand on end. "Harry Potter, you are famous. You should not be surprised if someone recognizes you on looks alone. That is a very silly question to ask anyone." Harry knew the man was smiling.

Get out of here!  Get away from this man! Harry began to walk backwards keeping his eyes on the shadow.

"Where are you going?" the shadow asked in a stern tone. Harry stopped.

"I´m leaving." he said, "I need to get to my friend, to make sure she is alright." He started to walk again. "Thank you for your help." A sound of a stool sliding against the floor, then the man stood up from the piano.

"I wouldn´t go back out there, if I were you," the man said, a hint of amusement in his soft voice. Harry froze. "The storm is still raging on beyond these walls. This house is very protective of its inhabitants; you cannot hear the storm at all. I suggest you wait the storm out so you won´t end up frozen."

Harry shook his head. "I´m sorry, but I need to see my friend. I´m afraid that she might be stuck in the storm."

"I´m pretty sure your friend is all right," the man said, "If your friend has any common sense then she would be safe." The man sat down on the stool and moved it toward the piano. "You should also be concerned about your safety. Running around in a blizzard would be a very stupid thing to do. I would think your friend would be horrified if she found out that you are willing to risk your life for hers."

"That´s what friends do," Harry whispered, feeling anger rise in his chest." They are willing to protect each other in a crisis."

"But you don´t know if your friend is in trouble," the man replied. "Think about what you are doing. You are willing to risk your life by going into a blizzard to try and find a friend that is staying in a cabin. How will you be able to find the cabin in this storm? It is dark, cold, windy, and who knows what else. You will be committing suicide out there. If your friend stayed inside a warm place, then she will be fine," he said slowly, with a stern voice. It sounded like he was lecturing a little child.

Harry´s hands, unconsciously, balled into fists. He knew the man was right. It would be stupid to go out into the storm. But his dream - his dreams always had an uncanny ability to be somewhat true. What if Hermione was in danger? Something can always come unexpected. Harry walked out of the room and into the dark hallway.

He stopped, staring down the hallway. It´s very dark. Why are there no lights or candles?

Then it happened. The music started to play again. It was calling him. Against his will, his legs started to move him back into the circular room. His mind was in a whirl. A part of his mind told him to fight, while the other said to let the music take him. The music became louder and his mind quieted down. He was now next to the piano again, swaying to the upbeat tune.

The music started to change. Now it sounded like a soft lullaby. Harry stopped his swaying. It sounded very familiar. He remembered hearing a lullaby just like this one. A pretty, soft voice was singing it. The voice sounded very sad, like something terrible had happened or was going to happen. He could feel arms around him, laying him down. A sad smile, some tears running down her pretty face.

It was his mother. Her voice sounded very familiar now. She used to sing this lullaby to him every night. But she always had a smile on her face. Here, she looked very sad. What had happened to make her feel so much pain? He wanted to comfort her. To tell her everything would be fine.

The music stopped. Harry felt his mind clear, but he wasn´t happy with it. He wanted to see more of his mother. Harry felt something wet against his cheek. He raised his hand to lightly touch his cheek. He wiped the wetness away.

He could feel intense eyes boring into him. Did he see...? But he couldn´t, it´s so dark in here. Harry looked at the black piano. He shivered. "That piano is cursed," he whispered softly.

"Why do you say it´s cursed?" the shadow asked, his eyes still focused on Harry. Those eyes had been focused on him before this night. It felt so familiar.

"It makes me do things against my will. It reminds me too much of the Imperius Curse," Harry replied with a shudder. He could remember all too well about the unpleasantness of the Curse.

"Harry Potter," the man hissed, "look at me." The tone left no argument. Harry looked at what he thought should be the man´s face. He could feel those eyes burn into his own. Harry thought he saw a red gleam come from the dark eyes.

"The music does not make you do things against your will. If you are a wizard the music can go into your heart and soul and your body and mind will react to it" he whispered. "Only a wizard can make such music, and it takes a lot of talent. The piano isn´t responsible for your actions. You are the one who is responsible," he hissed. "A wizard who is gifted with this talent can use any instrument and have the same effect."

Harry stared at the man, wondering how music could do this to him. He had never heard such a thing. Many wizards played music and it never affected him. He told the man this.

"This is completely different. Those wizards play the instruments like Muggles. They don´t use magic. If they did," the man said with a chuckle, "who knows what would happen."

"You are not affected?" Harry asked.

"I have more control after years of practice," the man replied. "But sometimes I still have trouble controlling myself."

"Who are you? You act like you know me, but I don´t recognize you." Harry asked, a sense of urgency in his voice.

"And I´m surprised that you don´t, Harry," the man said. "Of all people, I thought you would be the one who could recognize me anytime. I was quite disappointed that you had no idea who I am. But I find it amusing as well."

"Who are you?" Harry asked in a whisper. All of a sudden, brightness filled the room. Harry winced, covering his eyes. When he was sure he could stand the light, he uncovered his eyes and looked around. Candles lined the walls. Harry couldn´t believe that only candles cast this bright light. Harry looked at the piano, then at the man.

The man held a wand in his long fingers. Harry looked at the face. Harry stared. He couldn´t believe it. How could it be possible? How is he here?

Black hair.

Green eyes.

Pale face.

"Tom Riddle," Harry whispered. Riddle smiled; his green eyes sparkled.

"The one and only, Harry Potter," Riddle said with a laugh.