UC: Dream #1
Thursday, 2 January 2014 21:55![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
thaeusOriginally posted at http://fdsf.livejournal.com/280353.html
Harry dreamed.
At first Dumbledore was there, congratulating him for beating the evil Lord Voldemort, then warning him that he was still out there, hiding in the Forbidden Forest. Harry was eleven. A house elf bandaged his wounds, and together they ate sundaes in the dusty Diagon Alley summer. He bought two more for Ron and Hermione, but they were around the corner.
Ginny ran up to him in Quidditch gear, scowled, and ran away. But he wanted her to go away, to be safe. Once she, too, disappeared around the corner, Harry fought down a wave of guilt. He'd make things okay.
It was winter. There was no snow around, but Harry could feel the chill seeping through his robes and into his body. But that's not why his wand-hand shook; somewhere among the graves was Voldemort, and he'd just killed Cedric.
"Harry," said a voice behind him, one he instantly remembered. But it was impossible.
"Cedric! You're alive!" said Harry.
And there was the lanky teen he'd remembered, taller, cooler than Harry could ever hope to be, except... he was looking Cedric eye to eye for the first time. And he remembered that Cedric was seventeen when he died, while Harry was now eighteen. And he realized that this must be a dream.
"Not exactly," said Cedric. "I died. You were there. I'd like to thank you for bringing my body back to my parents, Harry. You don't know how much it meant to them. As it was, my mum cried every night for a week ... sorry, you didn't need to know that, just... you did good, Harry. Thanks."
"I just did what anyone would have, I wasn't trying to..."
"Don't dismiss your actions, Harry. But that's not why I'm here. Actually, why are we here, specifically? This isn't a place I was looking forward to visiting."
"I was dreaming about Voldemort."
"Eh? Why? He's dead and gone."
"How do _you_ know that?"
"It's... complicated. I'm not alive, but I still exist in the living world. I'm part of your memories, Harry, you and everyone at Hogwarts, my family. My soul's passed on, but the emptiness of the spot it left created an echo, I guess. I don't really understand it, but it's the reason why I'm here and talking to you.
"Actually, forget that. There's three immediate reasons I'm here and talking to you. The first is that I was your first real experience with death. You were too young when your parents died, but you saw the very moment my heart stopped beating. I know that people died recently, and losing them is much more painful than something that happened two years ago, but it doesn't matter. I'm your point of comparison.
"Secondly, you died; in the forest, at the hands of Voldemort and his Death Eaters. That Avada Kedavra killed you, and it was only your sacrifice, and your mother's sacrifice, that allowed you to come back. You've passed beyond and returned; ordinarily, only mediums and necromancers can talk to the dead. But I can talk to you.
"Most importantly, I'm here to warn you. I'm not sure you're aware of the consequences of what you did -- no, not killing Voldemort. Don't get testy, Harry. No, you rejected the Elder Wand. Worse yet, you used it to repair your old wand. I don't blame you for being fond of it, but I can't fathom what bone-headed notion led you to give up the Elder Wand. But regardless of the lapse in logic, rejecting the wand has undone its power. It's..."
Cedric looked thoughtful, then asked, "Tell me, did you take your NEWT in Charms? No? This would be a lot simpler if you did. Anyway... there's a finite amount of magic in the world, no, that's not true, but it's easiest to look at it that way, so let's pretend there's a finite amount of magic. Muggles have hardly any, we have loads. Wands can focus it, amplify it; words can direct it; it bubbles inside potions, pounds inside hypogriffs, and cats, despite what many people think, have hardly any at all. The Elder Wand, like the Philosopher Stone, requires a vast amount of power just to be. And Harry... there's no other way to put it... you killed it. Much of its power and legend is because everyone wanted it, and you said no.
"So, Potter, this one is for all the OWLs: What happens to magic in the wand now?"
"It ... spreads out into the world?"
"Exceeds Expectations, boy. We'll make a wizard out of you yet." Cedric flashed a cocky grin, and Harry remembered how angry he was that it was Cedric who took Cho Chang to the dance, and not him.
"It doesn't spread out evenly. It'll go to the things that have the potential for greater magic. The effects will be noticeable and widespread. You're going to--"
"Wait," said Harry, cutting Cedric off. "Why talk to me? I fought Voldemort; that was my mission, and I'm done. I'm done. It's not my responsibility to save the world."
"You have a point there, I admit. Tell you what... we'll talk later, alright? You have places you need to be, after all."
Right then Harry heard the jingling of the alarm clock Hermione had magicked together the other day; twenty floating mismatched bells tethered to a shoe rack hopped from one side of the bed to the other, alerting him that dawn wouldn't be long in coming.
Harry groaned. He was not looking forward to flying in an airplane.
* * *
Not the greatest, I'm more than willing to admit (and certainly in need of great proofreading justice). But I think I got on a roll there for a bit. This was one of the first scenes that popped in my head, maybe (with luck) I'll manage to weave it into an actual story.
Harry dreamed.
At first Dumbledore was there, congratulating him for beating the evil Lord Voldemort, then warning him that he was still out there, hiding in the Forbidden Forest. Harry was eleven. A house elf bandaged his wounds, and together they ate sundaes in the dusty Diagon Alley summer. He bought two more for Ron and Hermione, but they were around the corner.
Ginny ran up to him in Quidditch gear, scowled, and ran away. But he wanted her to go away, to be safe. Once she, too, disappeared around the corner, Harry fought down a wave of guilt. He'd make things okay.
It was winter. There was no snow around, but Harry could feel the chill seeping through his robes and into his body. But that's not why his wand-hand shook; somewhere among the graves was Voldemort, and he'd just killed Cedric.
"Harry," said a voice behind him, one he instantly remembered. But it was impossible.
"Cedric! You're alive!" said Harry.
And there was the lanky teen he'd remembered, taller, cooler than Harry could ever hope to be, except... he was looking Cedric eye to eye for the first time. And he remembered that Cedric was seventeen when he died, while Harry was now eighteen. And he realized that this must be a dream.
"Not exactly," said Cedric. "I died. You were there. I'd like to thank you for bringing my body back to my parents, Harry. You don't know how much it meant to them. As it was, my mum cried every night for a week ... sorry, you didn't need to know that, just... you did good, Harry. Thanks."
"I just did what anyone would have, I wasn't trying to..."
"Don't dismiss your actions, Harry. But that's not why I'm here. Actually, why are we here, specifically? This isn't a place I was looking forward to visiting."
"I was dreaming about Voldemort."
"Eh? Why? He's dead and gone."
"How do _you_ know that?"
"It's... complicated. I'm not alive, but I still exist in the living world. I'm part of your memories, Harry, you and everyone at Hogwarts, my family. My soul's passed on, but the emptiness of the spot it left created an echo, I guess. I don't really understand it, but it's the reason why I'm here and talking to you.
"Actually, forget that. There's three immediate reasons I'm here and talking to you. The first is that I was your first real experience with death. You were too young when your parents died, but you saw the very moment my heart stopped beating. I know that people died recently, and losing them is much more painful than something that happened two years ago, but it doesn't matter. I'm your point of comparison.
"Secondly, you died; in the forest, at the hands of Voldemort and his Death Eaters. That Avada Kedavra killed you, and it was only your sacrifice, and your mother's sacrifice, that allowed you to come back. You've passed beyond and returned; ordinarily, only mediums and necromancers can talk to the dead. But I can talk to you.
"Most importantly, I'm here to warn you. I'm not sure you're aware of the consequences of what you did -- no, not killing Voldemort. Don't get testy, Harry. No, you rejected the Elder Wand. Worse yet, you used it to repair your old wand. I don't blame you for being fond of it, but I can't fathom what bone-headed notion led you to give up the Elder Wand. But regardless of the lapse in logic, rejecting the wand has undone its power. It's..."
Cedric looked thoughtful, then asked, "Tell me, did you take your NEWT in Charms? No? This would be a lot simpler if you did. Anyway... there's a finite amount of magic in the world, no, that's not true, but it's easiest to look at it that way, so let's pretend there's a finite amount of magic. Muggles have hardly any, we have loads. Wands can focus it, amplify it; words can direct it; it bubbles inside potions, pounds inside hypogriffs, and cats, despite what many people think, have hardly any at all. The Elder Wand, like the Philosopher Stone, requires a vast amount of power just to be. And Harry... there's no other way to put it... you killed it. Much of its power and legend is because everyone wanted it, and you said no.
"So, Potter, this one is for all the OWLs: What happens to magic in the wand now?"
"It ... spreads out into the world?"
"Exceeds Expectations, boy. We'll make a wizard out of you yet." Cedric flashed a cocky grin, and Harry remembered how angry he was that it was Cedric who took Cho Chang to the dance, and not him.
"It doesn't spread out evenly. It'll go to the things that have the potential for greater magic. The effects will be noticeable and widespread. You're going to--"
"Wait," said Harry, cutting Cedric off. "Why talk to me? I fought Voldemort; that was my mission, and I'm done. I'm done. It's not my responsibility to save the world."
"You have a point there, I admit. Tell you what... we'll talk later, alright? You have places you need to be, after all."
Right then Harry heard the jingling of the alarm clock Hermione had magicked together the other day; twenty floating mismatched bells tethered to a shoe rack hopped from one side of the bed to the other, alerting him that dawn wouldn't be long in coming.
Harry groaned. He was not looking forward to flying in an airplane.
* * *
Not the greatest, I'm more than willing to admit (and certainly in need of great proofreading justice). But I think I got on a roll there for a bit. This was one of the first scenes that popped in my head, maybe (with luck) I'll manage to weave it into an actual story.
