The Unexpected Task [H.P.]

Chapter 1 - The Dream

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There he stood in the dank hall of the crumbling, desolate house with that flickering lantern- peering into that dim room lit by a cold green light, he was cold- his bad knee had woken him- he had seen the light on in the old house and come out to scare away the pestering village kids- but there were no children here. He had heard a whisper of the man's cold, high voice from the hall and followed it, blindly, dumbly, numbly, and there he stood, frozen, his foot brushed by the tail of the great snake. Another voice- his heart hammering- he didn't know what was happening- who is Harry Potter? More voices- hushed, worried- the chair turned- he was screaming- he never heard what the thing in the chair had said before a flash of green light blinded him- and the old man lay dead on the withered, dusty floor-

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      I woke up from the dream at half past 12. The glowing numbers of the alarm clock next to my bed blinked at me through the dark of my new bedroom, illuminated only by the moon hanging in a crescent above the trees. My chest heaving- I reached up to push my hair off my sweaty forehead, failing to control my labored breathing. I had already dreamed this before, nearly a week ago, but for some reason, the image of that dark, damp room returned to me almost every night.

I lay in the darkness, trying to grasp the details of the dream once again, but it slipped through my fingers like water. It had seemed so real... I remember that there had been two people, one had a strange name... the other... some title... I concentrated hard, rubbing my eyes, trying to remember.

The dim picture of a darkened room and withered wooden floors came back to me, I would always remember that.... There had been a great snake that had slithered past where I stood... two voices, one scared, one high, cold as ever, solid ice down my spine... Who had those men been? There had definitely been an old man, I watched as he fell to the floor before I awoke with a spasm of terror- but their voices and details had yet again already become blurred- details fell away faster than I could catch them. They had been plotting something.. The two men... but what? There had been a name I recognized... but whose was it?

I took my face out of my hands, accepting defeat once more as I swung my legs off the soft bed and pushed my way through the unopened trunks still scattered around my new bedroom. There was no use in unpacking, I thought, as I won't be spending much more time here in Ottery St. Catchpole. I ran my hand along the wall of the stairway as I made my way through my new home, still fascinated by where I was.

It was warm in the house, summer breezes lifted the curtains on the open windows and filled the house with the smell of dewy grass. It was so distinctly like home that if I closed my eyes, I could imagine standing in my old kitchen in Salem, hands on the countertops as the wind drifted through our windows, bringing with it the smell of freshly turned soil, flower petals, and summer rain. But when I open my eyes, I'm still here.

After a minute of searching the unfamiliar kitchen for a cup, I filled a glass of water and shifted my new school books off the table, my eyes landing on the day's copy of The Daily Prophet, the Wizarding newspaper here, reading the two-week old headline for the hundredth time with renewed disbelief.

SCENES OF TERROR AT THE QUIDDITCH WORLD CUP

Centered below the headline was a large picture of what looked to be like a desolate campground with hazy, cloudy skull hanging in the sky above it- something I had only read about. I skimmed the article once again, scanning my eyes over the now familiar words my father had read out loud before he and my mother rushed into a different room to discuss what had happened- "Ministry blunders... culprits not apprehended...lax security...Dark wizards running unchecked...national disgrace...."

It was almost too much to imagine- and suddenly, I was glad not to have had the chance to go to the Cup. Elliot would have loved it, I thought, with a lump forming suddenly in my throat. I set the paper down again and fiddled with the bound edge of a brand-new textbook beside me, my stomach twisting with anticipation for what was to come the next day.

Almost a month ago, on August 1st, I turned 14. I had been out riding my dingy old bike around the perimeter of our farm, trying to enjoy the last few hours of sunlight in my favorite Sunflower Crop before dinner. My father had just been sent the confirmation that his transfer had been accepted- we were moving to England. 

Hours had passed before I returned, and when my feet hit the soft earth outside the faded farmhouse, I called out to my mother. She opened the door to our porch and held out a yellowed letter towards me as I scampered up the stairs. I took the letter in my hands, faded parchment sealed with a red wax stamp. I flipped the letter around and examined the address, my mouth falling open in shock. It had been addressed to me- more specifically, me about an hour ago-

Emorie Barnes

Sunflower Field, #6

28 Sayre Lane,

Salem, Massachusetts

I opened the letter and examined the first few lines with knotted eyebrows. My mother stood before me, rocking on her heels, twisting her hands together. I turned away, leaning on the ivy-covered railing, continuing to read.

'Dear Ms. Barnes,

We recently received your letter of application and are pleased to inform you that you have been accepted as a Fourth-Year student to Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Please find enclosed a list of all necessary books and equipment.

Term begins on 1 September and as a new student, you will be expected to arrive at Hogsmeade Station at 6:00pm. We will await your owl by no later than 5 August.

Yours Sincerely,

Minerva McGonagall

Deputy Headmistress'

I turned to my mother and handed her the letter without a word. She read, her hazel eyes flying across the words. Before she had finished reading, she turned into the house. Ten minutes later, both my parents exited the house, smiling. My response accepting my place was sent by the next morning, nestled in the beak of my parents owl, Cinnamon. And a week later, I was in England, thousands of miles from my family home. Stepping from one life into the next. 

When the glass of water before me was completely empty, I returned it to the sink, taking one last look out into the warm, green countryside. Over a hill, I could make out the top of a misshapen tower-like home, where a puff of chimney smoke swirled around the trees. One of the windows at the very top of the house was dimly lit- and I wondered what whoever lived there was thinking about.

I turned and dragged my sleepy feet back down the narrow hallway, and towards my bedroom once again. My eyes drooped as I softly opened the door to my room, and I made the now routine steps around the trunks.

As I snuggled back into the soft blankets, I thought about the dream that woke me up in the first place. The dark shack, the cold that bore through my bones. The narrow hallway, the smell. The creaking boards beneath my feet. The door to the room at the end of the hallway, half open, lit by a green fireplace. The voice, the chilling voice, then the squeaking of the other one. The voices, the light, then nothing.

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HI! I decided that I'm putting TUT on hiatus temporarily to work on the foundation chapters, going through and reworking/editing. I felt it was a little underdeveloped, and I wanted to introduce some themes early on :) I hope you enjoy the reworkings, and if you're joining me now, thank you for reading! I really do appreciate it.

Take care, y'all. xoxo,

Victoria