Dark Memories

Book 1 - Part 1: Memories

Harry stared blinkingly at the ceiling of the cupboard where he slept. Another bad dream had just woken him up, and like so many of the other ones he had, he now felt sick, scared, and angry.

For the longest time he had been having to deal with these nightmares in secret, and for right now, he knew it would have to stay that way, unless he wanted to be put into an asylum.

These dreams would come and go, but what was more frightening to him than the dreams themselves was how he would refer back to them in his mind...

The first one he remembered ever having was when he was four. From then on, he knew never to ask his aunt and uncle about dreams.

"Uncle Vernon? Is there any green lights that can hurt people?" he had asked, his voice laced with fear. He still had vague outlines of hooded figures running about, shooting green things from short sticks in his mind.

Vernon had glared at him, and told him there was no such thing of something that could do that and that he would be banned from television for the next week, believing he had seen something like that on a TV show. Harry then had overheard Vernon muttering to Petunia later that Harry had a dark soul, thinking about things like that.

Harry never mentioned anything like that again, even though his dreams did trouble him a great deal.

Once, he had dreamt 'he' had destroyed an entire village, but he knew it wasn't him who had really done this, but someone else, for it was as if he was seeing through someone else's eyes.

He had woken up the moment he had focused on a pane of glass, showing a reflection of a terrifying white face with red eyes. He found himself shaking, but quickly realized that he was not the only thing that was. The small amount of old, hand-me-down toys were rattling on the shelf at his feet. His toy soldiers were vibrating towards the wall.

He stifled a scream just before they stilled.

At that moment, he began to question everything. Seeing something not possible does that to people.

Sure, for a long while it had been easier to call these 'just horrible-horrible nightmares', but the more he thought about it, he knew with every fiber of his being that they were more than that – they were memories.

He then concluded all of this could be due to one of two things.

One, he was insane, and had some kind of mental disorder, which the whisperings and sideway glances his aunt and uncle gave him after the first dream told him they already thought this. And when he thought about it himself, he could be, considering he supposedly had memories not his own, and was beginning to believe that shooting things from the ends of sticks could be real.

Or two, it was real.

When he whispered those words in the total darkness that night, everything he had ever 'experienced' through these 'dreams' came to the surface.

Seeing through the eyes of a boy he had never seen before, going to a school that was unreal. Peering through red eyes whose murderous intent was fully evident in the devastation he brought to countless people in colored robes.

Though he was still unsure of which possibility was the correct one, he decided to think of the dreams as memories. It just felt right, no matter how hard he tried talking himself out of it, so he hesitantly began classifying them as such.

He had come to think of his dreams like that around a year ago, but now, after everything that had happened, his previous thoughts of insanity seemed to be gaining in likelihood.

Harry took a deep breath, trying to calm himself after the dream he had just experienced.

It was one he had had countless times before, though, it seemed to switch points of views occasionally between two people.