The Nature Of A Man
Disclaimer: The usual. The characters in this story belong to J.K. Rowling and this work represents a poor fumbling attempt at a Harry Potter story. I really wasn't sure where the story was going but it's rated PG-13 just in case. Read and review. You like it or you don't, just drop me a line at [email protected] if you want to rant or praise longer.
Harry knew he was dreaming even as the dream started to unfold. He knew it in a small part of his mind, a part that whispered ceaselessly to him … but the words would not be heeded. He was standing in the middle of a large wasteland. It seemed that mile after mile stretched out into the aching emptiness, mile after mile of empty, dead land. As if by rote, Harry stooped down, his fingers trailing through the lifeless dust that covered the vastness. Puffs of dust rose into the air at his touch and the wind carried it away. He stood up and cocked his head to listen. The wind was starting to blow, a howling that echoed through the void of this land, a crying sound that made the hair at the back of his neck rise. It sounded so … sad … so alone … Harry shuddered. It isn't real. You're dreaming, his mind whispered again to him. I know. But how do I wake up? As usual, there was no reply. Harry took a long look around him. He shrugged to himself. It seemed really pointless to stand around and do nothing … but then, it would be pointless to wander. Yet, given the choice, walking would serve as a distraction and so, he walked.
The miles passed by in a blur and Harry was unconscious of any effort expended in walking. He didn't feel tired, he didn't feel sluggish … it didn't even feel as if he was walking. It was like drifting through the empty space. His surroundings certainly didn't improve at all. Mile after mile gave way to more empty land, cracked and dry in some areas, but usually covered with the fine gray dust that was everywhere. Every once in a while, a surge of wind would lift the dust into a raging sirocco that scoured a patch of land, leaving it dry and cracked, and free from the dust. But then, the winds would shift again, and more dust would cover the area once more. It seemed an eternal cycle. Each time the land was free of the dust, a gust of the winds would blanket it once more with the dust again. Through it all, Harry walked. The dust caked him from head to toe but he felt no discomfort. He didn't feel anything at all. He just continued trudging through the dust, his feet sinking a foot deep into the grayish blanket before lifting again, trailing that same dust. He glanced up into the sky, a vast void where no stars gleamed, where the moon had long been swallowed … by something. Yet, he could see – a strange luminance filled the land, giving enough light to see without illuminating anything. This land belonged to the darkness and the night wrapped itself around it.
And, then, as he had expected – as he had known – he could see a figure standing ominously several yards away from him. It was difficult to say if the figure was male or female, young or old, human … or otherwise. Swathed in black robes and a black cloak wrapped tightly around its body, the figure seemed to be waiting for Harry. And so he did what seemed the best thing to do. He stepped forward, stopping several feet before the figure. Gleaming eyes could be seen from the hidden recesses of the hood of the cloak. They were ancient eyes, filled with a strange knowledge, a wisdom that spoke of many years. They were mirrors that reflected everything but showed nothing of its owner.
"You come at last." The voice was deep and sepulchral, a voice that Harry couldn't consider as either male or female. Yet, when thin fingers lowered the hood, it revealed the cold, handsome face of a young man, his face pale, the eyes dead and empty.
"Cedric." Harry's voice was steady and calm even though his mind boiled and seethed. As it always had. Cedric's dead, he's dead, he's dead … his mind chanted to him but he silenced it. It wasn't important anymore.
"Harry." Cedric's mouth parted as he spoke and Harry thought he saw a glimpse of fangs but Cedric's mouth was still once more. "Seasons have come and passed. Are you ready for your judgment?" His face turned to fix Harry with a steady, burning gaze.
Part of him quailed at that gaze but another part … the dream-self simply nodded. "I am."
"Very well." Cedric pulled his robes tightly around himself. "Answer this question. Be warned. Its answer will determine your fate." He regarded Harry unblinkingly and then, in a voice that seemed to echo, that roared in his mind, that blotted out all thought but that one voice, he asked a single question. "What can change the nature of a man?"
And Harry answered as he always had. "Love."
Cedric studied him silently for a moment. With a grim smile, he shook his head. "Love is a transient thing and love is a thing that exists everywhere and lives everywhere. So many claim to know it, many more claim to feel it. A thing so ephemeral and so fleeting cannot change the nature of a man." Those eyes fixed on him again. "You have failed, Harry."
"No! Another chance!" Harry shouted, taking a step back.
Cedric's robes unfurled and a strange darkness blossomed out from within him, looming over the robed figure. "You have failed, Harry. You shall be judged accordingly." It roared through the distance between the two. Harry lifted one arm to shield himself from the sight; his eyes closed and he clenched his teeth. But nothing could halt that voice nor those words. "You have failed …"
With a cry, Harry found himself awake and his bedroom in Privet Drive. He slumped back against the bed, his body shaking slightly. Again. That same dream. Why was this happening to him? To his own surprise, Harry realized that he was sobbing against his pillow which was already wet with his sweat. He rubbed his eyes, wiping away the tears, trying to compose himself. His pajamas were soaked with his sweat and he peeled them off, feeling the cool night air wafting over him with that blessed coolness. He pulled on his glasses and got out of bed. He pulled on a fresh pair of pajamas and glanced at the clock by his bedside. Four in the morning. He knew he would never get back to sleep now. Aunt Petunia would expect him up and awake by six anyway. Hedwing was asleep, her head under one wing, making soft chirruping noises of contentment. He got up and topped up her water and food. As he opened the cage door, she hooted sleepily at him and nipped his finger gently. He smiled at her and stroked her gently. Another hoot and she had her head under one wing again, sound asleep. Harry sighed and shut the cage door. And, doing something that would have caused Hermione to go goggle-eyed in surprise and Ron to rub at his eyes in disbelief, Harry pulled out his copy of Intermediate Transfiguration and began reading. It was somewhat reassuring to be back into the dry, stable world of Transfiguration even though, he mused, even Professor McGonagall would have eyed him dubiously at this moment.
He continued reading, brushing up on all his Transfiguration spells, whispering the words to a few … without his wand, of course. The decree against underage wizardry still applied to him even though he was the great Harry Potter. He smiled bitterly at that thought. The great Harry Potter indeed! The clang of a saucepan downstairs startled him out of his reverie. He glanced at the clock. Quarter past six. Evidently Aunt Petunia was up and making breakfast. He had better go down to help before she made another fuss about it. He went downstairs silently, keeping as silent as possible. Uncle Vernon had not had a happy summer holiday this time and he was insufferably testy about the smallest things. He had lost a major client and that had made his boss most unhappy which, after several punitive actions taken by his employer, had made Uncle Vernon most unhappy. As a result, even Aunt Petunia and Dudley were creeping around on tiptoe. As he reached the kitchen, Aunt Petunia frowned at him but she didn't say anything. It was something that made Harry very glad. He set the table quietly. There was a quiet stomping down the stairs and Dudley appeared. He gave Harry a frightened look and sat down at the table, sitting as far away from Harry's seat as he could. Dudley still hadn't forgotten the incident with the Ton-Tongue candy and Mr. Weasely's Floo Powder. Still, it kept Dudley on his toes and kept him away from Harry.
Aunt Petunia served Dudley first, ladling servings of oatmeal into his bowl. Dudley gave the bowl a fierce scowl. His diet was still in effect even after several tantrums and many spoiled toys. Dudley had imagined that one year of dieting would have been enough but his school nurse had been adamant, saying that the diet would continue until she said differently. Aunt Petunia gave Dudley a wavering smile, saying, "Eat up, Duddykins." She turned to Harry with a scowl, still whispering. "And, you! Wake your uncle."
"Why me?" Harry protested. "Ask Dudley."
She breathed in deeply and seemed as if she was about to explode but at that moment, a door slammed overhead and she looked up fearfully. Even Dudley had frozen in his seat. Uncle Vernon stomped down the stairs, a scowl fixed on his face. Harry hadn't seen his uncle free of the scowl for more that a month now. He was beginning to forget how a scowl-less uncle looked like actually. Uncle Vernon sat down heavily, and stared at his empty plate. Aunt Petunia quickly hurried over with a saucepan, filling it with eggs, sausages and bacon – a meal that Dudley was eyeing enviously. Uncle Vernon began tucking in with gusto and without a word. He was surlily silent these days and once he was done, he got up, got his briefcase and stomped out of the house. And then, Harry remembered. He ran after his uncle and caught up to him just as he was about to get into the car. His uncle eyed him fiercely.
"What?!" He roared. There was a clatter as Aunt Petunia dropped the cutlery.
"I'm supposed to go to my friend's place today." He gave his uncle a cool look. "I thought I'd just inform you."
With a scowl, Uncle Vernon slammed the car door and started the car. With a roar, the car was out of the driveway, on the road and then gone. Harry shrugged. Silence was a yes, he supposed. He was looking forward to be gone from this house and with people he actually belonged to, and people he actually liked. People who weren't the Dursleys.