Chapter 123: Mastering Apparition, Plans, and Dreams (2/2)

”I will be back in a little bit.”

Then his body was taken by the apparition magic as he very momentarily traveled through the fabric of space while his body was forced into a narrow pipe-like tunnel.

On the other side, Quinn was greeted with the hustle and bustle of the hotel lobby. He looked around to see guests passing by the lobby, bellboys doing their services, and Akseld standing in front of him.

”It seems I passed, didn't I?” said Quinn.

Aksel shook his head in reply. ”You still have to go back. He asked for a round-trip.” Then he disapparated back to Haldor's apparition classes.

The concierge behind the welcome counter looked at Aksel disapparate after barely a minute of getting here. If it was another customer, he would've talked to them, but the instructions were very clear, Quinn and Aksel could do practically anything and they wouldn't get in trouble.

”That's technically true,” said Quinn with an accepting nod but then turned to face the entrance to the hotel. It showed the street outside, and Quinn could see non-magical folk walking by and cars driving on the road.

The people outside couldn't see into the hotel. It had been charmed to show a closed and locked door. And over that, the area had been charmed with a non-magical-repellant ward, which made sure that no non-magical would even give the building the first look, forget about a second look.

According to the International Statute of Magical Secrecy, every magical building near a non-magical area was required to ward off the buildings with extra precaution. The hotel followed the code to a T. The entire building wouldn't attract the eyes of any non-magical person, theoretically cutting it off to anyone who couldn't interact with magic.

'Hmm...' wondered Quinn and stared at the view outside. 'It's the third day. Should I?'

If he included the day he went sightseeing with Aksel, it was the fourth day. And in those four days, Quinn had dragged out Aksel every day to show him more of the magical community. And Denmark had been fun, but Quinn had some other plans regarding Denmark and the magical community in Aarhus.

But after giving it a thought, he shook his head and looked away and apparated away with a final thought.

'I will start tomorrow. It will be fun.'

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Thousands of miles away, the boy called Harry Potter woke with a start.

Harry Potter lay flat on his back, breathing hard as though he had been running. He had awoken from a vivid dream with his hands pressed over his face. The old scar on Harry's forehead shaped like a bolt of lightning was burning beneath his fingers as though someone had just pressed a white-hot wire to his skin.

He sat up, one hand still on his scar, the other reaching out in the darkness for his glasses, which were on the bedside table. He put them on, and his bedroom came into clearer focus, lit by a faint, misty orange light that was filtering through the curtains from the street lamp outside the window.

Harry ran his fingers over the scar again. It was still painful.

Harry turned on the lamp beside him, scrambled out of bed and crossed the room. He opened his wardrobe and peered into the mirror on the inside of the door. A fourteen-year boy looked back at him, his bright green eyes puzzled under his untidy black hair. He examined the lightning-bolt scar of his reflection more closely. It looked normal, but it was still stinging.

Harry tried to recall what he had been dreaming about before he had awoken. It had seemed so real. There had been two people he knew and one he didn't. He concentrated hard, frowning, trying to remember...

The dim picture of a darkened room came to him. There had been a snake on a hearth rug, a small man called Peter, nicknamed Wormtail, and a cold, high voice... the voice of Lord Voldemort. Harry felt as though an ice cube had slipped down into his stomach at the very thought...

Harry concentrated on the image of Peter. He looked so different from the picture he had seen in the posters. Wormtail, as Harry had heard in the dream, was a thin man rather than the fat in the poster. No wonder no one recognized him: he looked completely different.

He closed his eyes tightly and tried to remember what Voldemort had looked like, but it was impossible. All Harry knew was that at the moment when Voldemort's chair had swung around, and he, Harry, had seen what was sitting in it. He had felt a spasm of horror, which had awoken him... or had that been the pain in his scar?

And who had the old man been? For there had definitely been an old man in his dream; Harry had watched him fall to the ground. It was all becoming confused. Harry put his face into his hands, blocking out his bedroom, trying to hold on to the picture of that dimly lit room, but it was like trying to keep water in his cupped hands; the details were now trickling away as fast as he tried to hold on to them.

Voldemort and Wormtail had been talking about someone they had killed, though Harry could not remember the name, and they had been plotting to kill someone else him! No, he could remember something. It was a woman; he could barely remember Wormtail talking about a woman and some kind of cup. But as seconds passed, that image was also sinking away.

Harry took his face out of his hands, opened his eyes, and stared around his bedroom as though expecting to see something unusual there. But instead of his usual room, there was nothing that stood out as unusual.

A large wooden trunk stood open at the foot of his bed, revealing a cauldron and assorted spellbooks. Rolls of parchment littered that part of his desk that was not taken up by the large, empty cage in which his snowy owl, Hedwig, usually perched.

On the floor beside his bed: a book lay open; Harry had been reading it before he fell asleep last night. The pictures in this book were all moving. Men in bright orange robes were zooming in and out of sight on broomsticks, throwing a red ball to one another.

Harry walked over to the book, picked it up, and watched one of the wizards score a spectacular goal by putting the ball through a fifty-foot-high hoop. Then he snapped the book shut. Even Quidditch - in Harry's opinion, the best sport in the world - couldn't distract him at the moment.

Harry went restlessly back to the bed and sat down on it, running a finger over his scar again. It wasn't the pain that bothered him; Harry was no stranger to pain and injury.

He had lost all the bones from his right arm once and had them painfully regrown in a night. The same arm had been pierced by a venomous foot-long fang not long afterward.

Only last year, Harry had fallen fifty feet from an airborne broomstick. He was used to bizarre accidents and injuries; they were unavoidable if you attended Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry and had a knack for attracting a lot of trouble.

No, the thing that bothered Harry was that the last time his scar had hurt him, it had been because Voldemort had been close by. But Voldemort couldn't be here, now... The idea of Voldemort lurking in Godric Hollow was absurd, impossible.

Harry knew a thing or two about his house. This was the house where Voldemort had come to kill him but had instead died. At least, the ground was the same; the house itself was dismantled down and built anew.

When he had met Voldemort in his first year, and Quirrell had burned on touching him. And after that night, his parents had told him that because of ancient magic that his grandmother had cast, Voldemort couldn't touch him or harm him. As long as Harry lived with his family in this house, Voldemort wouldn't harm him.

Harry shook himself mentally; he was being stupid. There was no one in the house with him except his father, mother, and Ivy, and they were plainly still asleep, their dreams untroubled and painless.

And he liked it to keep it that way. They didn't need to be worried for him. At least for now, he didn't want to wake them up and ruin their night's sleep. He went back to bed and laid back down on his bed. Harry's lamp seemed to grow dimmer as the cold gray light that precedes sunrise slowly crept into the room.

But Harry didn't notice that he had been forgetting. That the images of the dream were slipping away from his mind. He didn't know that the moment he went back to sleep, he would forget about the dream until the moment something that would trigger this specific memory.

The residents of Godric Hallow slept in peace, not knowing the turbulent year in front of them.

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A/N:

As I wrote in the poll. I experimented with my writing and for it was half-good and half-bad. The bad was that I messed up the pacing of the Denmark Ark. I wrote a little too much in decriptive text, so it's stretched out a little.

The chapters all have something fun(?) but they could've been wrapped up quicker. It will be at least this week where you will see a little too much of decriptive text, but after that I will amp it up a bit. Don't want another Aquatic Vault.

]

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Quinn West - MC - Denmark wouldn't be fun without him planning something.

Haldor - Apparition teacher - Huh, that was easy money.

Aksel - Unknown Occupation - Isn't a man of words.

Harry Potter - Boy-With-Scar - Scar and Dreams

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The link is in the synopsis!