Harry Potter, adopted son of Percy Jackson

:: Chapter 33 :: The Prophecy

A hand moved outwards to meet with a much tinier one, paler and slightly wrinkled. The tiny fingers barely wrapping around the pointer finger with a gurgle. The baby so young and so very tiny. A smile pulled at taunt lips as red met hazel brown eyes.

The man-more Corporal then the dreaming one of him watched as he-as a past self of him picked the child up and out of the crib in the large room and held them close. Happy baby gurgles issuing from the lips as will as bubbles of saliva.

He was confused and that was the weirdest thing. He should have remembered this seeing as this was definitely a memory-it had to be. Otherwise why would he be having a dream like this? If he had a child with someone. He should have remembered...but why couldn't he? He doesn't remember doing anything with any female to make a small being. So why was a he dreaming of a younger him, holding a black haired and hazel eyed pale baby?

Waking with a gasp, Tom held the silk sheets to his bare chest as the dream fled his mind with questions trailing behind. Nagini wrapping herself around his trembling form with a hiss of worry. His eyes met hers and blinked as he realized he was indeed awake. But a headache was blossoming and he wasn't sure if it would get worse before it got better.

His feet swung from the bed of silks and met cold stone floor. His mind picking up that it was the same if not closely similar to what he saw in the dream. He then remembered a castle of his, one he had forgot he had. But felt it would be to dangerous to use as a base while he was staying in the shadows-or...he felt he should avoid it and that causes suspicion. Quickly he showered and ate before informing the Malfoys that he would be back when he was back. They only nodded and didn't speak a word.

His apparition still needed some work but he found him self in the castle mansion. He had named it-what had he named it? It's been either so long or something has tampered with his mind. And this concerned him more then the dream had.

Walking around he found the place dusty and unused, yet there was a sense it was well lived in and loved. Especially a sitting room when he came across it, books were piled on a coffee table still opened. A drink with mildew clinging to it and causing a much stronger scent of mold. The couches had throw blankets and pillows arranged as if they were to comfort someone laying down. The fireplace broken and unlit.

Tom could imagine it lit and giving a homey feel to the somewhat clustered clean room. He could faintly remember-faintly the presence of someone and himself feeling the warmth of a strong fire. The gurgling of a baby reaching his ears in a tickling fashion. His chest grew tight. Anxiety he deduced-spread from his chest to his fingertips.

He exited the room and found himself in a bedroom. The bed broken and the sheets poured onto the floor to collect the dust. Why could he hear screams from here that weren't his or anyone he knows? Or maybe he's never heard anyone scream in horror quite like that. He couldn't even remember the night he killed the Potters. Even though he felt-or thought he did at least....

Blinking he found himself in front of a door, opening it his breath caught in his throat as he looked into the adjoined room to see the same nursery from his dream just that morning. The room was a mess. The walls had become darkly stained in spikey explosions of spells that marked the walls. Pictures fallen and broken. Dresser toppled over. Clothes scattered.

Chest tightening as his eyes laid open what looked like a cradle, surrounded by a curtain. He walked forward with fear-anxiety beating in his chest-his hands shaking ever slightly. The word-the name of a child scripted on the footboard facing him. Hardleear. He moved his lips to the sounding of the name-he felt his lips wanting to form another sound that just wouldn't come. When he was closer he looked in and found nothing. And for some reason this broke his heart-a familiar feeling of something deeper hidden in his memory.