We do not own Harry Potter. All rights go to their respective owners. WE only own OCs.
Writing Credits: Sharad the hedgehog, Uzumaki Ricky, monsterhuntergod-Ratholas Mk1, and Traines on Fanfiction.Net.
Chapter 1: Crypt of Those Chosen
The rough carved walls of the crypt held and hid the pale moonlight in equal measure. Its rough undulations in contrast to the perfectly cut steps. Many in the school viewed it as some mental test, to ponder paradoxes and contradictions often found in the mystical arts. Several layers of steps went down to a unified floor, almost creating a cage with the great craggy pillars between the stairways. In its center stood a large, shimmering mirror. Why… why was this familiar?
Slowly, the boy walked down the steps, ever further into the darkness of the crypt. The surrounding shadows of the dimly lit crypt made his hair stand on end. Making him question what could be lurking in the dark. This was… so familiar…
It was then that a man came into view. An all too familiar one in wizard robes with a purple turban wrapped around his head. But it couldn't be. He was… dead…
"Y… You…? But… but you're…" The boy asked in sheer disbelief.
"Dead? Indeed, I am Mr. Potter. By your hands." The man's voice answered.
"You were trying to kill me! I had no choice!" The young, black-haired, green-eyed boy snapped back.
"Because you couldn't handle the truth. You never could handle the truth, boy! All you have ever done is run from reality and hide in a delusional fantasy propped up by those that claim to protect you!" The man roared, as the darkness peeled back to fully show his identity. Quirrell.
"You would've handed the stone to Voldemort, Quirrell! Used it to bring him back! I did what I had to!" The Potter boy replied, trying to defend his actions.
"Yet you know that isn't enough. That will not stop him. He is inevitable. You, The Boy Who Lived, should know that of all people." Quirrel said, slowly beginning to walk towards him. Eyes locked on him.
"He speaks the truth, Harry…!" A raspy, hissing voice said from within the crypt.
Harry looked around in a panic, terror striking his heart. It couldn't be. He couldn't be here too…!
"The death of Quirrell… the injuries your friends suffered… you are to blame. You know it. Had you left well enough alone… had you not stuck your nose in where it did not belong… none of this would have happened. But you had to play the hero… didn't you, Harry…?" The voice rasped, letting out a hissing chuckle.
"N-No! That's not…!" Harry tried to say, his mind running a kilometer a minute.
"You know it to be true, Potter! Even if your mind cannot accept it… your heart does…!" The hissing voice snapped.
Gripping his wand firmly in his hand, he shakily raises it up at the hissing voice. "Then I can accept you out of my mind!" Harry roared.
The voice and Quirrell both chuckled. "Do you really believe it to be so simple, Potter?" Quirrell asked, flying through the air.
Soon the boy's wand began to light up at the tip. "Let's find out." Harry coldly said, readying himself to utter an incantation.
However, before he could utter a single word, Quirrell grasped him by the throat, pinning him to the stone steps. Gasping for breath, Harry dropped his wand. Just like the stone had before it, it lay just out of reach. He grasped for it, trying to get to it. But he couldn't reach. Couldn't breathe. He had to…
No… not again. He couldn't do that again. Killing Quirrell once had been bad enough. He couldn't do it again. But, if he didn't, Quirrell and Voldemort would kill him…
Seeing no other choice, Harry grabbed Quirrell's hand that was on his throat. Quirrell screamed in pain, as if his hand had been lit ablaze by a fire spell. Pulling back and away from Harry, he looked down at his hand to see it turning to ash and crumbling.
"You would do this to me again, Potter!? You would kill me twice with this strange magic!?" Quirrell wailed in a combination of agony and fury.
"Fool! Kill him!" Voldemort's voice hissed.
Leaping, Quirrell flew at Harry again in an attempt to finish him. On pure instinct, Harry threw his hands up in defense. The hands contacted the false professor's face as he screamed in agony. As if his face were being burned by the flames of hell themselves.
As Quirrell's body turned to ash, a spectral, smoke-like form burst from it, reducing it to pieces. The form passed through Harry's body as he screamed in panic. It was then that Harry Potter's eyes flew open, finding himself in a room shrouded in darkness.
Panting heavily, he gripped his covers in a vain attempt at stability. His mind swimming, his body was cloaked in a cold sweat. It… it felt real. He swore it was real. If he were still at Hogwarts, he could think it was some trick or ancient curse he stumbled upon. But here… back at the Dursley's… what was that? All of this internal thought was interrupted when he noticed his younger cousin standing there… staring at him. Causing him to jump in sudden surprise.
"Damien, what are you doing!?" Harry snapped in exasperated shock.
"I was watching you sleep. I read, when someone is having a nightmare, you don't wake them." Damien explained to his cousin. "I wanted to show you something bloody brilliant."
Letting out a heavy sigh. "Yeah, sure. Go ahead." Harry said with an air of dismissiveness. However, he was still caught up in whatever the bloody hell just happened.
"Watch, watch, watch!" Damien said as he started getting excited, hopping up and down which caused the desk lamp to flicker with every hop.
"Damien, what is so bloody fascinating about a faulty lamp bulb?" Harry asked in exasperation.
"No, no, no! Just wa-" Damien began to try to explain before, suddenly, a humanoid boar came charging into the room with a miniature boar and a cranky old lady.
"I swear on the queen, what is the bloody racket going on in here?" Came the sound of a familiar, very annoyed male voice.
"Did Pissy Potter have a nightmare or something? Or is Damien being a prat again?" A younger male voice asked.
"Dudley. Keep it down. It's too late." The male voice groaned.
"Yeah. Besides, says the guy who wet the bed until primary school." Damien said with the smuggest of smirks that which would make his late uncle proud on his face.
"Damien! You said you wouldn't tell anyone!" The other boy, Dudley, snapped at his younger brother.
"Fingers were crossed." Damien shrugged in his retort.
"Right, let's all be men and not keep your mother awake any longer. What's bloody going on here, and what is the racket?" The man asked with an annoyed, tired tone.
"I had a nightmare, like Dudley thought, Uncle Vernon. Then I woke up to see Damien staring at me, wanting to show me something." Harry explained.
"Damien, what did I tell you about knocking?" Vernon asked in a hint of exasperation to his son.
"To do it when I enter Dudley's room?" Damien answered.
"You always knock on someone's door for a response first. It's polite. We aren't cavemen." Vernon explained.
"Have you seen the way Dudley eats, dad?" The youngest Dursley retorted.
"Right. Let's all get back to bed. We can deal with whatever Harry's nightmare was in the morning." The woman said finally.
"Right, Aunt Petunia…." Harry sighed, running a hand over his face, past his scar on his forehead.
"I didn't do nothing wrong though…" Damien grumbled as he walked out of the room.
"Damien, Dudley. Back to bed." Petunia told the two Dursley boys.
As half of the Dursley's walked out and Harry attempted to settle himself in, he noticed his Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia still standing in the doorway.
"Just try to get some sleep. You're not going to solve your problems without it, boy." Vernon said before heading back to bed.
Harry nodded and turned to look at his aunt. Who, to his surprise, almost looked… concerned. Even worried.
"Are you… alright, Harry?" Petunia asked him.
Harry was a bit unnerved. She was… worried? About him? That wasn't normal. "Um… yes. At least… I think so…" He replied, unsure of what to say to her at this point.
"Harry… I'm sorry for everything that happened to you here…" His Aunt answered, her voice and lips quivering a bit.
"It's… alright, Aunt Petunia. I may have lost a mother that night… but you lost a sister…" Harry replied, feeling a bit awkward but trying to be nice.
"Harry, we both lost someone that night. But you lost two people. Try to get some sleep, and don't hesitate to call me if you need anything." Aunt Petunia said warmly.
Harry was a bit concerned now but gave a smile and a nod. "I will. Let's both try and get some sleep." He replied.
With a nod, Aunt Petunia quietly closed the door. Harry laid back on the bed with a sigh. Sleep at this point seemed like a very distant concept. Nearby, however, in the master bedroom, a different conversation was forming between Vernon and Petunia.
"No, Petunia. That is out of the question for the boy. Do I look like I'm made of money?" Vernon groaned, fussing as he tried to get himself ready to sleep again.
"But Vernon, Harry's nightmares have been getting worse since he got back from that bloody magic school. He needs therapy. Or at least someone to talk to." Petunia insisted.
"Petunia, I'm going to tell you the same advice my father gave me, and his father before him beyond back through the Dursley family line. A man should be able to work through his own problems in his own way on his own time. Besides, if he's so bloody rich off in his damn world, he can get magic therapy there. I don't see why it's always got to be on my pretty penny." Vernon explained, somehow rousing a hurricane of breath to perform such a speech.
Petunia sighed. "Alright. But we should still let Harry talk to us if he feels he needs to." She insisted.
"Well, he's your sister's boy. You can handle that. I've gotta get up for work tomorrow." Vernon answered with a roll of his eyes and went back to sleep.
To Be Continued...