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── IN WHICH THEY RECIEVE A LETTER
. . .
Heaving breaths filled the once quite room, the two inhabitants shooting up in their beds, each of their hands clutching at the marked skin where the scar that represented their defeat of Voldemort sat.
It was almost as if they had been running, chests moving up and down at a rapid pace. Without even having to ask the other, they knew that they had experienced the same, strange dream.
The dream, or a nightmare as their reactions proved, was so vivid; a dark room, a snake on the hearth rug, a man who they had stopped from dying mere months ago named Peter, nicknamed Wormtail, a cold, high-pitched voice that caused shivers to ripple down their spines and sinking feelings appear in their stomachs.
But whilst they saw everything else, the appearance of Voldemort was something hidden from them. They had seen him before; attached to the head of their first year Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher or in his younger form of Tom Riddle. But now, they had no idea. Just as the chair that seated the high-pitched voice turned, the pain had shot through their matching scars and they had been jolted away by the burning sensation.
Harry Potter reached for the lamp sitting on his bedside table, flicking it on with his other hand raised up to his forehead, rubbing at the scar there. Light illuminated the room, much like the dying fire had in their dream. And almost with that, some of the initial horror wore away.
"Did you..?" Across from him, his twin sister was clutching at her cheek, green eyes glowing in the warm light and confusion written across her features.
Harry nodded, reaching for the glass of water and drinking some, the cold liquid sliding down his dry throat as if he had never even done so. Swallowing harshly to try and return some of the moisture, he turned back to his sister, who still clutched her scar and was deathly pale.
It had seemed so real - yet how could it be? Voldemort was long gone, defeated by those very twins on the night of Halloween 1981.
The scratchy words of Professor Trelawney's prophecy echoed in Marlie's ears as she pushed the covers off of her lower half, wobbling to her feet. Her hand moved from her scar to cover her mouth, a rather horrible feeling rising in her stomach.
"I'm going to be sick." She murmured, Harry's eyes flashing in horror as he watched her slip out of the room. The Dursleys were fast asleep, and she needed them to stay that way, moving as quietly as she could over the hallway.
