The Meaning of Being Saved

Chp 4. Awake from the Nightmare

Harry did not know where he was!

 Before even opening his eyes, young Harry was already aware that he was not in his stuffy little cupboard underneath the stairs. He was not wrapped up in his old baby-blanket, and he was pretty sure that if he opened his eyes and looks there wouldn’t be any spider bites anywhere on his body. He didn’t open his eyes to look though. He was too afraid. Was this was one of Uncle Vernon’s cruel tricks? Would he opened his eyes and found himself on the couch, only for the fat adult to enter, screaming that he was ruining the expensive couch with his freak body, and fling him into his cupboard as hard as he possibly could? No, it was much better to just keep his eyes closed and continue to dream until his Uncle just grew tired of waiting and yank him from the couch by the hair. It wouldn’t be any more pleasant, but any time on any of the cushioned furniture, with his body aching the way it did, was a blessing.

Unaware that he was drifting back into a dream-like state, Harry simply relaxed into the soft detergent scented pillows. Sadly for this little boy, sweet dreams would not come for him. As he feel deeper and deeper into the dream world voices began to echo in his mind.

“Lily, take Harry and go! It’s him! Go! Run! I’ll hold him off!” A man’s voice shouted faintly in his mind, and Harry felt deep down that he could almost recognize it.

 

“Harry!” The woman’s voice was much more familiar and Harry believed that it might be his own mother.

 

Rolling onto his side the 6-year-old began to whimper softly. He knew what came next, what always came next. Green light flashed constantly in his mind, remembering something he shouldn’t have been able to recall due to his young age.

“Avada Kadava.” Harry jerked in response and sat up in the guest bed of the Granger house, having soaked the sheets completely with sweat. He hated that dream, but Harry did not scream. He knew the price of screaming in the middle of the night. He also never wet the blanket in his cupboard, but Harry saw instantly that he was not in his cupboard under the stairs. Looking around with his poor vision, the little boy patted his hands on the wooden nightstand to the left of his bed, lifting his ruined glasses and set them gingerly against his face.

Shaking in fear at what sort of cruel prank this could be from his uncle, little Harry crawled from the bed and onto the floor, looking around hastily. At some point Hermione had been taken to her own room for the night, but he quickly disregarded the bushy haired girl as a dream.

The room was larger than he was used too, for a bedroom. It was larger than either of Dudley’s but smaller than his Aunt and uncles. The walls were pained a soft eggshell blue with cream-colored trim. Lace curtains covered the single window, with a chest of drawers beneath it. Limping over to the window he looked out, seeing a backyard that was not, in any way, familiar too Harry. Slowly turning he saw that on the other side of the room was what appeared to be a closet and the door that led outside. It was simple, and devoid of personal belongings but Harry found he preferred it over his Aunt’s tacky rooms. And it was already ten times better than Dudley’s small old room.

Looking down to see how much damage his uncle had succeeded in doing, Harry expected the worst. But really, the only thing that was truly wrong with him was that he was heavily bandaged in some places. No broken bones but there was a dull throbbing in his head. A headache was the least of his worries. Picking at the shirt he was wearing, he slowly wrapped his arms around himself and snuggled shyly into the material. He couldn’t recall when Dudley had given up something so nice. Bravely the boy who lived walked towards the door that lead out to the hallway and peeked out. The hallway was dark, so whoever lived in this house must have been asleep.