The Potter Twins and the Goblet of Fire {4}

1. Burning

"And you're burning up, you're burning up" ~ Fire, PVRIS

I wake from my strange, vivid dream with a jolt and a gasp, feeling breathless and sick. I clutch my face with my hand, pressing down on my lightning bolt scar as it burns painfully as if someone pressed an open flame to my skin.

I sit up in my bed and stare aimlessly into the darkness of my room, one hand still pressed against my forehead.

"Haylee?" Harry whispers groggily, also sitting upright. I glance over at him, running my hand through my long, thick hair. "Your scar?"

"Yeah," I breathe out, screwing my face up slightly.

"Me too."

I try to remember what I was dreaming about. It was so vivid, so real...there had been two people, one that I knew, and the other I didn't...I concentrate hard, trying to remember and then it comes to me. Riddle.

The dim picture of a dark room comes to mind. There was a snake, a small man named Peter, who they called Wormtail, and a cold, high voice. The voice of Tom Riddle, or Voldemort, as he's more commonly known.

A cold feeling overcomes me at the very thought of Tom Riddle. I squeeze my eyes shut, trying to remember what Voldemort looked like. But I simply can't.

All I remember is when Voldemort's chair had swung around, and I saw what was sitting in it, I felt a sharp pain that woke me. Or was it just the pain of my scar?

"Nightmare?" Harry asks quietly, careful not to stir our relatives.

"Yeah," I whisper, looking at his vague shadow across the room. "Voldemort and Wormtail...and a strange old man. They were talking about someone they had killed..."

Harry takes a sharp intake of air. "Me too," he hisses, "I had the exact same dream."

I pull myself up from my bed, feeling a slight chill on my exposed arms. "That can't be normal," I reply, pulling my hair up into a ponytail.

I walk across our small room to the desk, where Hedwig's large, empty cage sits. Sitting open on the desk is a book Harry was reading last night. My eyes settle on the moving pictures for a moment, before I draw them away and look out the window.

The last time our scars were hurting, it meant something. Voldemort was near us. But he couldn't be near us now. The idea of Voldemort lurking in Privet Drive is absurd, impossible to imagine...

As I return to my bed, I glance at the series of birthday cards our best friends sent us at the end of July, accompanied by the card Draco had sent solely to me.

"Should we write someone?" I ask Harry, turning back to face him.

"Hermione?" he muses.

"No," she would overreact," I whisper. "She'd just tell us to go to Dumbledore..."

"Then what about Dumbledore?"

"And what would we say, hey?" I ask. "Dear Professor Dumbledore. Sorry to bother you, but our scars hurt this morning. Yours sincerely, Haylee and Harry Potter."

"Fine, not Dumbledore," Harry mumbles. "Ron or Tay? No, they would just ask their dads about it."

Ron and Tay's fathers are both fully qualified wizards who worked in the Ministry of Magic. Mr. Weasley worked in the Misuse of Muggle Artifacts Office, while Mr. Saunters was an Auror.

I don't particularly want either family to know that Harry and I are getting jumpy about our scars. Mrs. Weasley would fuss, even worse than Hermione and Fred and George would never let us live it down. And Asher and Tay would make some joke about it.

"Who then?" he asks, standing up and walking beside me.

I contemplate it for a moment, before finally coming to a solution.

"Sirius," I whisper.

"You write it, then," Harry says as we walk to our desk, "you've got nicer handwriting than me."

I sit down at the desk and pull a piece of parchment towards me, with an eagle-feather quill in hand. I can feel Harry's breath on my neck as he leans over me, proofreading everything I write.

Dear Sirius,

Thanks for your last letter, that bird was enormous, it could hardly get through our window.

Things are the same here. Dudley's diet isn't going too well. Our aunt found him smuggling doughnuts into his room yesterday. They told him they'd have to cut his pocket money if he keeps doing it, so he got really angry and threw his PlayStation out of the window. That's a sort of computer thing you can play games on. Bit stupid really.

Harry and I are okay, mainly because the Dursleys are terrified you might turn up and turn them all into bats if we ask you to.

A weird thing happened this morning, though. Our scars hurt again. Last time this happened it was because Voldemort was at Hogwarts. I don't think he could be anywhere us now, though. Do you know if curse scars sometimes hurt years afterwards?

I'll send this with Hedwig when she gets back, she's off hunting at the moment. Say hello to Buckbeak for us.

- Haylee and Harry

There's no point putting in the dream, I don't want Sirius to think that we're worried about anything. He has enough to worry about himself.

I fold up the parchment and lay it beside the desk, ready to send it with Hedwig when she returns. As the pain in my head subsides, I dress and accompany Harry downstairs. 

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Hey everybody, as you can see, we're back to Haylee's pov for the time being. For the first half of this book, I'd say, the pov is going to jump a little between Haylee's pov and third person (which will follow James' side of everything) 

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Any predictions so far? If so, please comment them :)

I'll see you all soon in chapter two