Harry sat straight up in his bed, cold sweat sliding down his face, along with the uncomfortable feeling of vomiting, but the dream wasn't all that disturbing, it was from the serious dizziness he had. He scanned his bedroom for something or somebody lurking in the shadows that blanketed his walls, ceiling, and floor.
Harry Potter was now at the age of sixteen, but the haunting images of the events that happened at the Department of Mysteries in the Ministry of Magic last year still lingered and made it even harder to sleep. But, nonetheless, he was still looking forward to his return to his "home", Hogwarts, even though he currently occupied in the Dursley's house, with his Aunt Petunia, Uncle Vernon, and cousin Dudley. Number four, Privet Drive was unpleasant to Harry for his Uncle Vernon hated "his kind" and Harry for that matter, his Aunt Petunia who didn't like Harry simply because he was the child of her "freak of a sister", Lily Potter, and Dudley, who was forcing everyone to go on a diet that only suited Dudley in particular. Now and again, Harry found the need to point his wand at one or all the Dursleys; this seemed like a regular routine, now, since three years ago. Since, Harry and the Dursleys all knew he was not allowed to use magic outside of school, the Dursleys had used this to their advantage. They made his life simply miserable all through summer, but it came to a abrupt stop as Tonks, a witch who was a Auror and a Metamorphmagus, Mad-Eye Moody, also a Auror who had a magic eye that gave Harry the creeps, and Mr. Weasly, Ron's dad who worked for some kind of wizard- muggle relations department at the Ministry of Magic, had a chat with the Dursleys. They were simply told that they better treat Harry with respect ,that seemed to cause all the Dursleys much difficulty, or if they heard otherwise, they'd be at their door-step. Aunt Petunia really didn't like the fact that they just might show up at Harry's accord, mostly because of what the neighbors would say. Harry appreciated this at the greatest extent.
Harry rubbed and tapped this lightning-bolt scar, that was visible on his forehead, until his fingers and knuckles were white. The cursed scar prickled and seared with pain on and off all summer, which was a daily occurrence since Voldemort, the dark wizard that murdered his parents, came back. During in which times he was in the presence of the Dursleys when the scar tinged with pain, Harry would result in telling them that it was a "migraine", to their puzzled expressions.
The pain slowly subsided and he found himself having difficulty on recalling the dark and mysterious dream he had just awoken from. He brought his hands up to his ears as if trying to block out what little sound the Dursleys made at 5:20 in the morning. The sudden flash of green light and a mangled body laying limp on the ground before him flashed in front of his droopy eyes, and his scar prickled again. His ears rang with a shrill cry of his name and Harry clinched his eyes and teeth shut and clamped down on his ears even harder as though to rip them off. When the screams stopped, Harry sat there in silence panting as more sweat beaded on his brow. He thought that the woman he saw in his dream to be Bellatrix Lestrange, the death eater who had killed his godfather, Sirius Black. But, why would he call out his name? In his dream, it looked as though he had been the one who attacked her, like in his dream that he was a snake that attacked Mr. Weasly. But the voice that called out to him didn't sound like Bellatrix, and sounded like a younger person, someone his age, but a woman.
Harry slid his hands up further atop his head and enveloped his fingers in his unruly black hair, and grabbed two handfuls of it so he could tug on both sides of his head by his hair. Who was that woman screaming his name?
"Voldemort..." the word slipped out from his lips smoothly. Where these dreams another trap that Voldemort was trying to make him believe? Harry's anger intensified as he remembered himself falling for his dreams to the Department of Mysteries to "save" his godfather. Though Harry didn't get the chance to get to know Sirius, it still made Harry depressed and miserable that once again he lost the only thing close to a parent figure to Voldemort. But, he also had Wormtail/ Peter Petigrew to blame for the thirteen years that Harry didn't know Sirius, for it was Wormtail that sent Sirius to Azkaban prison in his place.
Harry eventually gave up on guessing the woman and let go of his hair and got up from his bed shaking and dragged his feet sleepily to the bathroom across from his bedroom. The wood paneling of the hallway floor squeaked and groaned as he tried to not wake the Dursleys, though he didn't really care. He flicked the light on and frowned as he stared at the person looking back at him in the mirror.
Dudley's old shirt that hung on his form didn't look very impressive, but could see where his Quiditch practice had started to take a toll on his upper body. Though Quiditch, in Harry's opinion was the best sport in the Wizarding world if not the only one he knew, required not that much movement in his part; he did have to shift on his broom a bit to change direction which caused him to have a lot of upper body strength. He was a little hesitant to admit to himself that he did look a lot more mature and built than the lanky boy he was used to looking at in the mirror. His eyes had become a nice deeper dark green, but his jet black hair still was unruly and messy and he noticed that now, his hair stuck up in the back just as his father's had.
Snape's pensieve that he had seen last year vividly came flooding back at him, and he saw his father with Sirius, Lupin, and Wormtail in clear view as though they were right there. He remembered how...how....arrogant his father was. The way he ruffled his hair to make it look as though he had just got finished with Quiditch practice. But Harry astonishingly enough had gotten the habit of ruffling his hair when deep in thought, thus the reason he pulled his hair to keep from ruffling it. He still felt high of his father even though almost everything Snape said about his father "strutting" was pretty true.
He quickly took one last glance at himself, frowned, turned on the sink, and filled his hands with cool water to wash his face. He dried off his face and walked slowly back into his bedroom after turning off the light.
Harry Potter was now at the age of sixteen, but the haunting images of the events that happened at the Department of Mysteries in the Ministry of Magic last year still lingered and made it even harder to sleep. But, nonetheless, he was still looking forward to his return to his "home", Hogwarts, even though he currently occupied in the Dursley's house, with his Aunt Petunia, Uncle Vernon, and cousin Dudley. Number four, Privet Drive was unpleasant to Harry for his Uncle Vernon hated "his kind" and Harry for that matter, his Aunt Petunia who didn't like Harry simply because he was the child of her "freak of a sister", Lily Potter, and Dudley, who was forcing everyone to go on a diet that only suited Dudley in particular. Now and again, Harry found the need to point his wand at one or all the Dursleys; this seemed like a regular routine, now, since three years ago. Since, Harry and the Dursleys all knew he was not allowed to use magic outside of school, the Dursleys had used this to their advantage. They made his life simply miserable all through summer, but it came to a abrupt stop as Tonks, a witch who was a Auror and a Metamorphmagus, Mad-Eye Moody, also a Auror who had a magic eye that gave Harry the creeps, and Mr. Weasly, Ron's dad who worked for some kind of wizard- muggle relations department at the Ministry of Magic, had a chat with the Dursleys. They were simply told that they better treat Harry with respect ,that seemed to cause all the Dursleys much difficulty, or if they heard otherwise, they'd be at their door-step. Aunt Petunia really didn't like the fact that they just might show up at Harry's accord, mostly because of what the neighbors would say. Harry appreciated this at the greatest extent.
Harry rubbed and tapped this lightning-bolt scar, that was visible on his forehead, until his fingers and knuckles were white. The cursed scar prickled and seared with pain on and off all summer, which was a daily occurrence since Voldemort, the dark wizard that murdered his parents, came back. During in which times he was in the presence of the Dursleys when the scar tinged with pain, Harry would result in telling them that it was a "migraine", to their puzzled expressions.
The pain slowly subsided and he found himself having difficulty on recalling the dark and mysterious dream he had just awoken from. He brought his hands up to his ears as if trying to block out what little sound the Dursleys made at 5:20 in the morning. The sudden flash of green light and a mangled body laying limp on the ground before him flashed in front of his droopy eyes, and his scar prickled again. His ears rang with a shrill cry of his name and Harry clinched his eyes and teeth shut and clamped down on his ears even harder as though to rip them off. When the screams stopped, Harry sat there in silence panting as more sweat beaded on his brow. He thought that the woman he saw in his dream to be Bellatrix Lestrange, the death eater who had killed his godfather, Sirius Black. But, why would he call out his name? In his dream, it looked as though he had been the one who attacked her, like in his dream that he was a snake that attacked Mr. Weasly. But the voice that called out to him didn't sound like Bellatrix, and sounded like a younger person, someone his age, but a woman.
Harry slid his hands up further atop his head and enveloped his fingers in his unruly black hair, and grabbed two handfuls of it so he could tug on both sides of his head by his hair. Who was that woman screaming his name?
"Voldemort..." the word slipped out from his lips smoothly. Where these dreams another trap that Voldemort was trying to make him believe? Harry's anger intensified as he remembered himself falling for his dreams to the Department of Mysteries to "save" his godfather. Though Harry didn't get the chance to get to know Sirius, it still made Harry depressed and miserable that once again he lost the only thing close to a parent figure to Voldemort. But, he also had Wormtail/ Peter Petigrew to blame for the thirteen years that Harry didn't know Sirius, for it was Wormtail that sent Sirius to Azkaban prison in his place.
Harry eventually gave up on guessing the woman and let go of his hair and got up from his bed shaking and dragged his feet sleepily to the bathroom across from his bedroom. The wood paneling of the hallway floor squeaked and groaned as he tried to not wake the Dursleys, though he didn't really care. He flicked the light on and frowned as he stared at the person looking back at him in the mirror.
Dudley's old shirt that hung on his form didn't look very impressive, but could see where his Quiditch practice had started to take a toll on his upper body. Though Quiditch, in Harry's opinion was the best sport in the Wizarding world if not the only one he knew, required not that much movement in his part; he did have to shift on his broom a bit to change direction which caused him to have a lot of upper body strength. He was a little hesitant to admit to himself that he did look a lot more mature and built than the lanky boy he was used to looking at in the mirror. His eyes had become a nice deeper dark green, but his jet black hair still was unruly and messy and he noticed that now, his hair stuck up in the back just as his father's had.
Snape's pensieve that he had seen last year vividly came flooding back at him, and he saw his father with Sirius, Lupin, and Wormtail in clear view as though they were right there. He remembered how...how....arrogant his father was. The way he ruffled his hair to make it look as though he had just got finished with Quiditch practice. But Harry astonishingly enough had gotten the habit of ruffling his hair when deep in thought, thus the reason he pulled his hair to keep from ruffling it. He still felt high of his father even though almost everything Snape said about his father "strutting" was pretty true.
He quickly took one last glance at himself, frowned, turned on the sink, and filled his hands with cool water to wash his face. He dried off his face and walked slowly back into his bedroom after turning off the light.