A Stolen Past

Magic

Not mine.

After spending the entire night on his hands and knees, scrubbing vomit and blood off of a stone floor with nothing but a toothbrush and a pail of soapy water, Harry was near the point of collapse. His knees and back ached from hunching over on the hard floor, and he had to fight to keep his eyes open. Finally, just before classes were to begin, Madam Davies arrived to unlock the door to the infirmary. Without commenting on his work, she simply glanced around at the floor to make sure he had succeeded in cleaning up the mess, and sent him to class. Breakfast was already over, and there wasn't even time to have a quick shower or change clothes. Harry arrived in History class with the knees of his trousers soaked in soapy water, and the stench of vomit lingering in his clothes and hair.

The second day of classes seemed to go by even slower than the first, but Harry managed to get through it without earning another detention by keeping his head down and his mouth shut. It wasn't really difficult; he had only to act as though he was trying to avoid the wrath of his Uncle Vernon. It wasn't until after supper that he was finally able to change out of his filthy clothes and have a shower. Then, as soon as he was dressed in his pajamas, he lay down on the floor to get some sleep for the first time in almost forty hours.

According to his recent pattern, Harry began dreaming almost immediately after falling asleep. It was odd, really, as he didn't think he had dreamed much before losing his memory. Then again, there was really no way to know for sure. On some nights - especially those when he dreamed of the girl's smiling face - he felt like he would be glad to go on dreaming forever. Tonight was not one of those nights.

Harry opened his eyes to find himself in the middle of a very dense, very foggy forest. He looked around, trying to figure out how he had gotten there, but found he was unable to see more than a few feet in any direction.

"Hello?" he called. "Is anybody there?"

For a long moment the forest was silent, the muffled echo of his voice hanging in the air. Then he heard it: a long, gasping breath that sent terrified chills down his spine. Harry didn't quite understand why he found the sound so frightening, nor did he understand why he suddenly found himself pointing a polished wooden stick in the direction from whence the sound had come, but something deep inside him knew that he was in danger.

He continued squinting into the murky darkness until a slight movement to his left drew his attention. A dark shape, like a tall, hooded phantom, was slowly approaching. There was no sound but the ragged breathing, not even the crunch of dead leaves or the snapping of twigs. It was as though the stranger was gliding forward, rather than walking. Harry felt his knees go weak. He had to fight, but he didn't know how to do it with this feeling of utter despair welling up inside of him. The stick fell from his grasp as he caught his hands on his knees in an attempt to remain upright. The thing - for he knew now that it could not be human - came closer, and a ringing began in Harry's ears. As he sank to his knees, the ringing had to compete with another sound: a woman's voice was screaming. No, she was pleading with someone.

"Not Harry, not Harry, please not Harry!"

The ringing grew louder until the woman's voice was drowned out completely. Harry's eyes were closed now, but he didn't care. The horrid black phantom would kill him, and then he would be free of this nightmare. Suddenly, the ringing in his ears stopped, the woman screamed, and he saw a brilliant flash of green light through his eyelids. Cold, high-pitched laughter filled his ears.

Harry's eyes snapped open and he found himself lying on the floor of his dormitory with his blanket twisted around his legs. As he struggled to calm his heavy breathing, he had to wipe away the cold sweat that was beginning to sting his eyes.