Harry Potter and the Dark Future

Chapter 1: All Alone

'' Both of us ''.

'' What? '' said Cedric.

'' We'll take it at the same time. ''

'' You're on '' Cedric said, his face split into a grin.

He and Cedric both grabbed a handle. Harry felt a jerk somewhere behind his navel. His feet left the ground. They landed in a dark graveyard.

'' Kill the spare. ''

A green light, grey, empty eyes, a huge marble headstone marked '' Tom Riddle '', a scaly baby-like thing of a dark, raw reddish black colour being dropped into a gigantic cauldron, the surface of the cauldron water alight with sparks. A small, wheezing man cutting his arm with a silver dagger that shone in the starlight, the cauldron water turning into steam, and then two gleaming red eyes shining out at him through the vapour. Lord Voldemort.

Harry raised his wand but before he could even do anything else a luminous green light that lit up the night sky was flying towards him. It hit him square in the chest, and he felt the most pain he had ever felt in his life, like his body was being ripped apart, limb by limb. He screamed and screamed until he was thrown back into reality, screaming into his pillow in Privet Drive, and then he passed out.

***********

Harry awoke to the sound of loud voices shouting outside in the street, making a great deal of noise. Instinctively he rushed to the window, fearing an attack by Voldemort. He breathed a sigh of relief as he realised it was just the dustbin men, shouting to each other and throwing the rubbish bags in to their lorry noisily. He glanced at the clock. 5:58. The sun was just starting to peek its way above the rooftops of Privet Drive.

Harry opened his window for a breath of fresh air. This summer his Uncle had allowed him to have his window open for Hedwig to deliver letters, as long as Harry promised not to send her out in broad daylight. He breathed in the cold, morning air and felt instantly refreshed. He thought back to his dream. He couldn't remember much of it now, just two pairs of eyes: one pair empty, the other pair a livid, gleaming red. He watched the dustbin men turn a corner, and decided to go out for a walk to think. He silently got dressed in his baggy, baggy Jeans and a black T-shirt, crept down the stairs like a mouse, and stealthily opened the front door, leaving it on the latch for his return.

As he walked out of the door and down the street, snatches of his dream came back to him: Wormtail cutting his own hand off, the marble headstone, the hooded masked figures, and a bright green light. He hadn't seen the need to inform Dumbledore of the dream, as his scar hadn't even tinged and he knew the dream wasn't showing him what Voldemort was doing, as it had already happened.

Harry turned off the street, hopped a fence and set off into the fields. He felt that he needed to be away from everything at the moment, to think things over. He settled at the top of a hill, overlooking Privet Drive. He searched for number 4 and found it easily.

As he looked at his house, Harry reflected on his life there. From the age of 1 he had lived there with his Aunt, Uncle and cousin Dudley. They had always deprived him of all the essentials a child needed: Happiness, protection, acceptance, but most important of all, love. How many times had he sat in his cupboard as a young child, praying for his Aunt and Uncle to accept him, to love him. How many times had he dreamt about his Mother and Father, and wished they would save him from this place, and take him away to live with them. How many times had the cold reality bared itself and told Harry that they were dead, and weren't coming back.

Harry sighed, and looked away from Privet Drive and towards the endless stretching fields. He longed to just run through them, away from everything, never looking back. But he couldn't, he reminded himself bitterly. He couldn't just run away from his fears, his friends, his whole life. He couldn't just leave Ron and Hermione and all his friends either. He had responsibilities, and as much as he hated believing it, he had started to believe that it was his destiny to defeat Voldemort. He knew his and Voldemort's encounters with each other were all building up to one final battle, the last showdown, where one of them would finally fall.

As he thought of Voldemort, Harry felt pure hate rising in him, burning hate. He only felt one thing for him now, no fear, no bitterness, no anger, just hate. Pure, venomous hate for Voldemort coursed through Harry's veins now, and he was powerless to stop it. At that moment, he made himself a promise: He would kill Voldemort, Kill Voldemort for the things he had done to him, and to those he loved. Not just defeat Voldemort, not just banish him, Harry would kill Voldemort. Slowly. Painfully.

Harry pulled himself out of his thoughts and lowered his head, shaking. How had Voldemort done this to him? He had harmed him mentally as well as physically.

Why? Harry thought bitterly to himself. Why me? Why do I have to be the Boy Who Lived? Why can't I just have a normal life? Why does everyone I love have to be in danger, just because they love me? It's not fair.

He thought about everyone who cared about him: Sirius, Ron, Hermione, Fred, George, Ginny, Percy, Bill, Charlie, Mrs. Weasley, Mr. Weasley, Professor Dumbledore( who is capable of looking after himself when it comes to Voldemort, Harry reminded himself), his Gryffindor classmates, maybe even the professors, were all in danger because they cared about Harry, loved him, or were simply close to him. His stomach churned as he realised that it was all his fault that they were in danger. He was the Boy Who Lived, and always would be. He had helped Voldemort rise again, and that guilt was ever in Harry's mind. He, Harry, had arisen the most feared dark wizard for a century, arisen him for another reign of terror, and Harry was his number 1 enemy, even after he had arisen him again. How ironic, Harry grimly said to himself. Voldemort was after him, and would always be after him, until one of them was destroyed. And until then everyone he cared about was in constant danger from him.

Harry shivered from his thoughts. It was all his fault. All his fault.............

It started to rain. Harry sat in the rain, all alone.......

All alone with his thoughts, all alone with his guilt.