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Not the ending of book seven...
Harry twisted and turned restlessly in his bed. His scar was hurting and he put up a hand to try to ease the pain, shifting against the pillows uncomfortably. He’d been having bad dreams for weeks now and he knew tonight wouldn’t be any different. Perhaps tomorrow he’d ask Mrs Weasley if she could give him something to help.
Stupid squid, anyway, he thought vengefully. Who could have guessed that Voldemort would have chosen it to be the seventh horcrux? Whenever he closed his eyes now, Harry could feel those tentacles slithering round him and pulling tighter and tighter and… Ow!
‘What the hell was that for?’ Harry yelled, reaching for his glasses and glaring at Ron.
Oh. Not Ron. Dudley.
‘Father says, if you can’t stop that silly sleeptalking, he’ll have you locked up in a mental asylum.’ The piggy eyes gleamed in twisted pleasure.
Harry looked scornfully at his cousin. ‘Well, if you don’t stop eating soon, you’ll end up locked in a freak show. You can’t even put your own socks and shoes on any more.’
‘At least I don’t talk nonsense about squid and wands and oh, oh Ginny, we can’t,’ mocked Dudley.
Harry sighed and slumped back onto his pillows. He didn’t know why he kept dreaming these things either. It had happened almost every night of the school year since his eleventh birthday and quite frankly, he was as fed up with it as the Dursleys. The school nurse that Harry had gone to see once had suggested that he write his dreams down to see if there were any patterns that might indicate underlying neuroses. When he’d shown his journal to her, she’d nodded sympathetically and said that he was obviously unhappy with his aunt and uncle and that he just wanted to be in a place where he was special and loved. And that he seemed to have a kind of saving-people complex. But she hadn’t told him how he could make the dreams go away.
So they’d gone on. Year after year, getting more and more intense. Sometimes over the summer holidays they disappeared and he’d start to hope, but by September they’d always returned. Except this last year when they never stopped at all.
‘What’s a horcrux, anyway?’
He’d forgotten that Dudley was still there. The bed creaked alarmingly and Harry had to put out a hand to stop himself from rolling off it when his cousin sat down.
‘A what?’
‘Horcrux. That’s what you were talking about. You said the stupid squid was a horcrux.’
‘Dudley, I have no idea.’ Harry yawned. ‘Now if you’d just go, perhaps we could all get back to sleep.’
‘You know what I think?’
‘You think?’
‘Ha ha. I think you’ve been reading those silly stories again. They’re not real, you know. Just because that kid’s called Harry Potter too. It’s a common name. Not like Dudley.’
‘I know they’re not real. And no, I haven’t been reading them lately.’ Not since yesterday, anyway.
‘Father’d kill you if he found them in here.’ Dudley started pretending to look for the volumes, brightly coloured in red and blue and green with pictures of wizards on the cover.
‘They’re not in here. I read them at school.’
‘But you’ve left now.’
‘So I have. And this time next week, I’ll have gone to university and this whole life will be nothing more than a bad dream.’
‘Well, you should know,’ retorted Dudley, finally leaving the room.
Harry rearranged his bed clothes and lay down to try to sleep again. He didn’t care if it was only a dream - it was a whole lot better than his real life had ever been. Especially now Voldemort was dead.
I know, I know - but wouldn't it be fun if it did turn out like this?!
Stupid squid, anyway, he thought vengefully. Who could have guessed that Voldemort would have chosen it to be the seventh horcrux? Whenever he closed his eyes now, Harry could feel those tentacles slithering round him and pulling tighter and tighter and… Ow!
‘What the hell was that for?’ Harry yelled, reaching for his glasses and glaring at Ron.
Oh. Not Ron. Dudley.
‘Father says, if you can’t stop that silly sleeptalking, he’ll have you locked up in a mental asylum.’ The piggy eyes gleamed in twisted pleasure.
Harry looked scornfully at his cousin. ‘Well, if you don’t stop eating soon, you’ll end up locked in a freak show. You can’t even put your own socks and shoes on any more.’
‘At least I don’t talk nonsense about squid and wands and oh, oh Ginny, we can’t,’ mocked Dudley.
Harry sighed and slumped back onto his pillows. He didn’t know why he kept dreaming these things either. It had happened almost every night of the school year since his eleventh birthday and quite frankly, he was as fed up with it as the Dursleys. The school nurse that Harry had gone to see once had suggested that he write his dreams down to see if there were any patterns that might indicate underlying neuroses. When he’d shown his journal to her, she’d nodded sympathetically and said that he was obviously unhappy with his aunt and uncle and that he just wanted to be in a place where he was special and loved. And that he seemed to have a kind of saving-people complex. But she hadn’t told him how he could make the dreams go away.
So they’d gone on. Year after year, getting more and more intense. Sometimes over the summer holidays they disappeared and he’d start to hope, but by September they’d always returned. Except this last year when they never stopped at all.
‘What’s a horcrux, anyway?’
He’d forgotten that Dudley was still there. The bed creaked alarmingly and Harry had to put out a hand to stop himself from rolling off it when his cousin sat down.
‘A what?’
‘Horcrux. That’s what you were talking about. You said the stupid squid was a horcrux.’
‘Dudley, I have no idea.’ Harry yawned. ‘Now if you’d just go, perhaps we could all get back to sleep.’
‘You know what I think?’
‘You think?’
‘Ha ha. I think you’ve been reading those silly stories again. They’re not real, you know. Just because that kid’s called Harry Potter too. It’s a common name. Not like Dudley.’
‘I know they’re not real. And no, I haven’t been reading them lately.’ Not since yesterday, anyway.
‘Father’d kill you if he found them in here.’ Dudley started pretending to look for the volumes, brightly coloured in red and blue and green with pictures of wizards on the cover.
‘They’re not in here. I read them at school.’
‘But you’ve left now.’
‘So I have. And this time next week, I’ll have gone to university and this whole life will be nothing more than a bad dream.’
‘Well, you should know,’ retorted Dudley, finally leaving the room.
Harry rearranged his bed clothes and lay down to try to sleep again. He didn’t care if it was only a dream - it was a whole lot better than his real life had ever been. Especially now Voldemort was dead.
I know, I know - but wouldn't it be fun if it did turn out like this?!
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