Harry Potter's Coolest Aunt

The breakout

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"Dumbe.....wormtail.....no...not....leave him....NO!" Harry woke up harshly before laying flat on his back, breathing hard like he had been running. He had awoken from a vivid dream with his hands pressed over his face.

  The old scar on his forehead, which was shaped like a bolt of lightning, was burning beneath his fingers as though someone had just pressed a white-hot wire to his skin. He sat up, one hand still on his scar, the other reaching out in the darkness for the bedside lamp, which was on the bedside table. Harry ran his fingers over the scar again. It was still painful. He scrambled out of bed, crossed the room, opened his bathroom went in, and peered into the mirror on the inside of the room. A well-built boy of fourteen looked back at him wearing only his pj pants as she wiped the sweat off his body, his bright emerald green eyes puzzled under his untidy black hair. He examined the lightning-bolt scar of his reflection more closely. It looked normal, but it was still stinging.

Harry tried to recall what he had been dreaming about before he had awoken. It had seemed so real. . . . There had been two people he knew . . . . He concentrated hard, frowning, trying to remember. . . . The dim picture of a darkened room came to him. . . . There had been a snake on a hearth rug . . . a small man called Peter, nicknamed Wormtail . . . and a cold, high voice . . . the voice of Dumbledore. Harry felt as though an ice cube had slipped down into his stomach at the very thought. . . .He closed his eyes tightly and all he knew was that at the moment that he saw them free.....but how and now they had been plotting to kill someone else . . . Aishi!

Harry took his face out of his hands, opened his eyes, and stared around his bedroom as though expecting to see something unusual there. As it happened, there were an extraordinary number of remarkable things in this room. A large wooden trunk stood open at the foot of his bed, revealing a cauldron, broomstick, black robes, and assorted spellbooks. Rolls of parchment littered that part of his desk with books on his studies as lord. Gym equipment in a corner next to the bird perches for his sleeping phionex and owl—also a snake tank on the dresser table where his napping pet snake was. Well it was usual for a wizard bedroom

 On the floor beside his bed, a book lay open; Harry had been reading it before he fell asleep last
night. The pictures in this book were all moving. Men in bright orange robes were zooming in and out of sight on broomsticks, throwing a red ball at one another. Harry walked over to the book, picked it up, and watched one of the wizards score a spectacular goal by putting the ball through a fifty-foot-high hoop. Then he snapped the book shut. Even Quidditch — in Harry's opinion, the best sport in the world — couldn't distract him at the moment. He placed Flying with the Cannons on his bedside table, crossed to the window, and drew back the curtains with his wandless magic showing g the beautiful backyard of Potter Manor.

In the early hours of Saturday morning, it was still dark and the stars were shining bright above the land...simple and beautiful yet Harry went restlessly back to the bed and sat down on it, running a finger over his scar again. It wasn't the pain that bothered him; Harry was no stranger to pain and injury. He had lost all the bones from his right arm once and had them painfully regrown in a night. The same arm had been pierced by a venomous foot-long fang not long afterward. Only last year Harry had fallen fifty feet from an airborne broomstick just to catch his falling girlfriend. He was used to bizarre accidents and injuries; they were unavoidable if you attended Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry and had a knack for attracting a lot of trouble. 

No, the thing that was bothering Harry was that the last time his scar had hurt him, it had been because the danger was around....even though the Horcrux was gone it still gave a danger warning. . . . Harry listened closely to the silence around him. Was he half expecting to hear the creak of a stair or the swish of a cloak? And then he jumped slightly as he heard Hedwig give a hoot from the room.