𝗷𝗮𝗻𝗲, harry potter

˗ˋ 57

CHAPTER FIFTY SEVEN
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-: fourth year :-

── IN WHICH THE NIGHT
TERRORS PLAGUE HIM

. . .

Harry's scar was hurting. In fact - Harry was aching all over. But why? The last thing he remembered was falling asleep in the library of the Adley Manor, walls covered in an amber glow, rain beating against the window panes as a sudden summer storm took ahold of the skies about Little Whinging.

He had woken briefly when the first crash of thunder has rattled through the glass, but he was only conscious just about long enough to see the next bolt of lightening that would resemble his scar so, before drifting back into unconsciousness.

Only for the next time he awoke, it wasn't in the Adley Manor. At least it seemed like he wasn't, he was still facing a window shrouded in the blanket of night - but seeing the grime covering the panes, the rotting curtains and floorboards, and even coming to realise he was sat on a moulding armchair, a familiar, empty fireplace and hearth rug in front of him.

Harry's eyes widened as he pushed himself up into standing position once more, slowly turning in a circle as he took in the dim sight of the Riddle Manor drawing room, a place which he hadn't had the displeasure of envisioning since the previous summer. In fact, it must be just weeks until the anniversary of the first nightmare that began the torment of Voldemort's impending return.

But it wasn't the same now. Before, he had been observing the room instead of actually being inside - Pettigrew, Voldemort and someone else he know knew to be Barty Crouch jr. were discussing Bertha Jorkins and how they were plotting to kill him. Now, the room was empty, but as he approached the window and wiped the condensation away, he could see lights in the small graveyard several fields away.

And then he bolted from the room, his legs somehow knowing where to take him as he raced down the staircase, into the massive kitchen were the tilees were cold beneath his feet. That seemed to be nothing like the path he ran down as soon as he managed to get the gigantic, wooden door open. 

It was slippy, dew-covered grass and mud causing him to lose his balance and only delay his approach to the scene. it was terrifying, and everything in him was telling him to stop. But he kept going, approaching the small circle of light, which was edged by people in black cloaks, all centered around a statue Harry was afraid to admit he knew all too well. 

Eventually, he reached it, crouching behind a gravestone, peering out behind the mossy marble. He could see Voldemort, Wormtail cowering behind him. The Dark Lord was slowly approaching someone, and as Harry redirected his gaze, it landed on a scrap of fabric. Like the blanket used on the beach earlier that day, it was coloured in yellow and black. 

"Cedric." Harry muttered, almost desperately as he tried to find a way for him to get over. If Voldemort was walking, then he might already be dead - but that meant the evil wizard was approaching where Pettigrew had trapped him. That couldn't be right. He was there - he was hiding. 

When he peered around the corner again, his heart dropped. The shining Death Eater masks were turned towards the sole gravestone he was hidden behind, and the bottom of the dark robes Voldemort was wearing was the same. 

He was coming for him. He had nowhere to run, nowhere to hide, and he just stared in fear. How could he survive, how could he manage to get out of this one? Harry didn't have his wand, he was dressed in his pyjamas - and he could hear Nagini now, slithering towards him. 

Harry didn't know why, but he had to take another look, heart thudding in his chest as he peered around again. Voldemort's wand was raised, a flash of green light filled his vision and-

It was a dream.

 He shot upwards, eyes wide as a hand groped around for his glasses, barely even taking in the blurred environment around him, the long ginger hair and face peering over to him, coming in to focus with a worried expression.

"Harry?" Jane's voice was the first thing he heard, and she was the first thing he saw after waking. He was panting, his hands clutching at his t-shirt and trying to pull it from his neck like it was strangling him, beads of sweat melting into his hairline, breath rapid. "Harry - it's okay, you're awake."

Instinctively, he struggled when he felt arms around his shoulders. He needed to break free, he was trapped, strangled by the Angel of Death statue's scythe. But eventually, something told him to give up the fight and he slumped into her arms, head resting on her shoulder as he took great, hiccuping breaths to try and regain the steady pattern. 

"It's okay." Jane repeated, the hand that landed on the back of his head smoothing over the short, messy hair. "It's okay. You're awake, it wasn't real. This is real, you're here, with me, alive and okay." 

Harry let out a sigh, limbs pliant as he let Jane lift his head, meeting her eyes through a blear of horror-induced tears. The pads of her thumb swiped beneath the rims of his glasses, wiping them away before her hand swept his fringe away, gently wiping away the sweat with the sleeve of her jumper. 

"It's okay." Jane repeated. "You're here with me. It's okay."

She didn't want to ask who Cedric was. 

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a/n
i completely forgot
to add this last chapter
but tysm for 200k reads
thats insane <33