Harry x Hermione: It started early

Chapter 65: Illusions of the Night

Chapter 65: Illusions of the Night

Harry awoke with a start, his heart pounding in his chest as remnants of the dream lingered in his mind like wisps of smoke. The events of the previous night—the attack, the surge of magic from the baby, Voldemort's looming presence—had felt so vivid, so real. But now, as the first light of dawn filtered through the tent, Harry realized with a sinking feeling that it had all been nothing more than a dream.

Beside him, Hermione stirred, her brow furrowing in concern as she sensed his agitation. "Harry, are you okay?" she murmured, reaching out to gently squeeze his hand.

Harry forced a shaky breath, trying to shake off the lingering sense of unease. "Yeah, just a bad dream," he muttered, though the memory of the night's events still weighed heavily on his mind.

Hermione nodded sympathetically, her eyes soft with understanding. "Do you want to talk about it?"

Harry hesitated, unsure of how to put into words the jumble of emotions and images that had plagued his sleep. "It was... intense," he finally admitted, his voice barely above a whisper. "There was an attack, and Voldemort was there..."

Hermione's expression softened, her fingers tracing comforting circles on the back of Harry's hand. "It was just a dream, Harry," she reassured him gently. "We're safe here. You, me, and the baby."

But even as Hermione spoke, Harry couldn't shake the feeling of foreboding that clung to him like a shadow. The scars of his past, both physical and emotional, seemed to pulse with a sense of urgency, warning him of dangers yet to come.

As they emerged from the tent into the pale light of dawn, Harry's gaze swept over their surroundings, searching for any signs of the imagined attack. But the campsite was peaceful and still, the only sound the soft rustle of leaves in the breeze.

With a heavy heart, Harry realized that the events of his dream had been nothing more than a figment of his imagination—a twisted manifestation of his fears and anxieties. And yet, the sense of dread that had gripped him in the aftermath of the dream lingered like a shadow, casting a pall over the new day.

As they prepared to resume their journey, Harry couldn't shake the feeling that they were being watched, that unseen eyes were tracking their every move. The scars on his chest, once faded reminders of past battles, seemed to throb with a sense of impending danger.

But with Hermione and the baby by his side, Harry knew that he couldn't let his fears consume him. Together, they would face whatever challenges lay ahead, drawing strength from their bond and their unwavering determination to see their mission through to the end.

And as they set out once more into the unknown, Harry vowed to remain vigilant, to trust in his instincts, and to never underestimate the power of a dream to shape the course of reality.

As Harry and Hermione ventured deeper into the wilderness, unaware of the shadows that lurked in the dark corners of their world, Voldemort sat upon his throne of malice, his crimson eyes burning with a fierce intensity. Before him, his loyal followers gathered, their faces twisted with devotion as they awaited their master's command.

"My faithful servants," Voldemort's voice echoed through the chamber, cold and commanding. "The time has come to strike fear into the hearts of our enemies. The Boy Who Lived and his Mudblood accomplice must be eliminated once and for all."