The Shadows of His Past

A/N

: This contains many references to the fourth book, please read that first! Thanks...
Disclaimer: Anything that you have read in the Harry Potter books that you have not read anywhere else, does not belong to me. I'm borrowing them.

A Night Prowler

by Fiona-chan and Sabrina Clarke

"...It is the beginning, Wormtail...and soon someone's life will end. I, Lord Voldemort, guided by the power of Salazar Slytherin, have returned!" Veiled people surrounded Lord Voldemort in front of a dilapidated house, the Riddle House. The figures were enveloped in the greedy fingers of a dense fog. "There is, but one thing standing in my way," he spat his voice dripping with contempt, "Harry Potter, that meddlesome fool!"

"But not for long-" snickered Lucius Malfoy to Macnair. Voldemort whirled around livid, his robes billowing in the feeble wind.

"Silence! Remember, Harry Potter has much luck in dealing with us." interrupted Voldemort to the cowering Death Eater, "Fool," he muttered, "Perhaps, I will allow you to be reckoned with..."

"Never again, my lord-"

"Nagini!" Voldemort hissed in Parseltounge, beckoning a huge serpent from the greasy shadows that entombed their meeting place.

At his call, emerged an enormous snake that he patted fondly on the head. Malfoy stepped back in fear as the snake faced its ugly, triangular head in his direction; his forked tongue flicking out and smelling the tangible dread surrounding his master. Voldemort stared pointedly at the snake and then to Malfoy with vermilion eyes- that revealed no soul- only cultivated hatred.

"But, Master, remember our plan? How can they can be trusted to finish what you have started?" protested Avery, stepping forward boldly. As those same eyes gave him a glare that dissolved any resolve he had, he shivered. Or was that a feeble wind?

Voldemort laughed, that high-pitched mirthless laugh, "My followers, I will finish what I have begun." He raised his arms- his pallid face contrasting oddly with the dark sky. His hands were glowing; eerily illuminated by the light of the sunset, hovering on the horizon in the distant west- like an open wound. The hooded figures surrounding him all raised their wands simultaneously and sent out a skull with a serpent coming out of its mouth, the Dark Mark; a symbol of death. The death of Harry Potter.

"But how can we be assured of their loyalty?" questioned Avery, nervously.

"Harry Potter will die and so will all that oppose me!" he said, his red eyes narrowing into slits of delight, reflecting the glittering symbol shining overhead, "And one of Dumbledore's very own will bring him right into my hands!" Voldemort turned to Avery spitting venomously," I tire of your curiosity Avery..." He wagged a finger in his direction, "Do not test the limits of Lord Voldemort's patience... Crucio!" The abandoned graveyard echoed dismally with screams of Avery's torment. Once more Voldemort laughed. After a moments hesitant pause, he was joined in by the Death Eaters, surrounding him, staring at their helpless comrade contorting himself in pain. Laughing because Harry Potter was as good as dead and as soon as they got rid of him, they would rule the world.

In their greediness and lust for power, they did not see the figure hiding in the shadows nor did the sleeping villagers of Little Hangleton hear the shrieks of Avery as the blood-red gash slowly healed into the black night sky. As the last remnants of light shifted to behind the horizon, with faint pops, the Death Eaters disapparated, leaving Avery convulsing- alone on the ground.

****

However, someone did. In a small suburban house at number 4 Privet Drive in Little Whinging a boy awoke with a start, his head a chaotic mess of the Death Eater's laughing and Avery's tormented screams. He pressed his hand to his forehead trying to remember what happened, but the details were quickly trickling away. What a strange dream, he thought. He shook his head and looked at the clock- 12:01. He laughed with surprise; he'd been 15 for a whole minute. His gaze fell upon the mirror and he stared at his shadowed fat face, the moonlight reflecting oddly on his dirty-blonde hair. The boy's name was Dudley Dursley. It went without saying that he did not normally have dreams and was a little alarmed at the peculiarity of it.

He whipped around. He thought he had seen more then just his face in that mirror. Perhaps I was just imagining it, he thought, scratching his head stupidly. He shook his head again. Peering anxiously into the darkness, two yellow eyes gleamed in the night. Dudley sighed with relief and closed his eyes, laying back and making the bed groan under his weight, "It was probably just a raccoon or something," he mumbled to himself. Or was it?

Next door, another person lay awake, shivering from the night's coldness. His name was Harry Potter, and something was rustling the neatly trimmed shrubbery outside his window. The moonlight reflected oddly on the shiny surface of his Hogwarts trunk neatly packed and ready for September first. Harry slowly stretched out his arm, groping blindly for his glasses, trying to stay silent. The rustling grew louder and with a jolt of surprise he spied two amber eyes staring at him-

"MU-UM! MUUU-UUM! There's something outside my window!" and with a slamming of doors, Harry heard the dulled thudding of slippered feet as they rushed into Dudley's room. Harry jumped out of bed, pocketed his wand, and began to exit his room as well, but he paused. Someone or something was once more rustling the leaves. He froze as the rustling grew even louder.

"Hello, Harry, I haven't seen you for a while." exclaimed a strangely familiar voice outside his window.

"Ms-Ms. F-Figg?" he breathed, shocked.

"May I come in?" asked the old lady, transforming quickly into a cat and hopping through the window and onto Harry's bed. She contentedly groomed her bottlebrush tail and straightened herself, reappearing an old lady with gray hair and eyes.

"Well, Harry, I'm sorry to disturb you, at this late hour-" she looked at the red numbers on the digital clock beside Harry's bed, "Hmm 12:09, later then I thought...but the matter is really quite urgent. Please hold unto this...'" she said to Harry, tossing him a pennywhistle, "And we will be on our way." He curiously stared at it and suddenly felt a pull behind his navel. The whistle was a Portkey.

Harry lost his balance as he suddenly felt the cold ground beneath his bare toes. Groggily, he got up and spat out the gravel in his mouth. He looked up; blinking up at the harsh morning sunshine- the place was unfamiliar.

"Harry! Come on!" called Mrs. Figg abruptly, leading him to a small dingy pub, which was overhung with a crudely constructed sign that read, "the Phoenix Fire Alehouse: home of Ogden's Old Firewhiskey" with a scarlet and gold bird painted beneath it. "Stop ogling at the doorway!" She snapped, pushing him impatiently to the thick oaken door in front of the dirty pub.

"Mars was bright tonight. Lucky, for dark nights are always unpleasant." said a voice behind the door after Mrs. Figg had knocked loudly several times.

"Yes, especially for strangers who travel." whispered Mrs. Figg in response into the door.

"The clouds are heavy." spoke the person behind the door.

"Yes, a storm is approaching," responded Mrs. Figg lazily. The eyes disappeared and Harry heard a clink of a key being inserted clumsily into its lock.

A masked person who said familiarly, "Arabella," addressing Mrs. Figg, greeted them, "You've brought the boy? Excellent." Harry shivered. Inside he saw a dusty room crawling with cockroaches, but that wasn't what unnerved him. There were forty or so hooded figures, like those in Dudley's dream, staring at a man peering into a stone basin and stirring a silver liquid impatiently with his wand. It was a Pensieve. The shrouded figures stood back, in awe of the person in the center, radiating awesome power. This scene gave Harry a feeling of utmost terror.

Harry felt trapped. He looked back at Mrs. Figg, were they supposed to be here? His mind whirled in confusion. She was smiling and standing satisfied in front of the door. Harry's way out was blocked and he was surrounded by the mysterious figures. Slowly, the man in the center turned around. Harry, suddenly, felt a blinding burning in his scar, feeling as though a red-hot branding iron was being pressed to his forehead. Screwing his eyes up in agony, he collapsed on all fours, breathing heavily. The pain was unbearable. Slowly his breathing grew more and more ragged as heard as though from a badly tuned radio, the yells of Muggle families screaming as Lord Voldemort tortured and killed them. It was the same fate that awaited Harry. He screamed aloud with torment. Tears blurred his vision and soon everything became oppressing darkness that enveloped him like a death shroud.

****

Harry awoke to find himself on the dirty floor, in his pajamas, twitching uncontrollably.

"You all right there, Potter?" said a cold voice Harry definitely wasn't happy to hear. It was the voice of Severus Snape.