Published at 27th of May 2024 12:11 am

Chapter 142: House on Fire

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1 September 1993, Black Manor

He was in a forest, with trees spanning endlessly all around him. He couldn't see much since it was dark, with his surroundings only illuminated by the full moon shining in the sky. It was quiet, with only the faint sounds of ruffling leaves and crickets making him believe that he wasn't deaf.

The twisted branches of the ancient trees seemed to reach out for him, their long, skeletal fingers casting eerie shadows on the forest floor. The moonlight painted an ethereal glow on the leaves, turning them silver, and the faint, rhythmic chirping of the crickets created an otherworldly serenade.

Yet, there was something missing, something unnatural. He couldn't feel the wind on his face. The cold air that should refresh him was completely missing. Now that he was thinking about it, he wasn't even breathing.

How was that possible? How was he even alive?

A loud scream broke the veil of silence and broke whatever train of thought he had. Without a second's thought, he rushed towards the source of the noise, ignoring the fact that he was going far faster than any normal human should. He even ignored that he wasn't even running, he was gliding.

The forest seemed to part before him as he glided effortlessly through the twisted trees, his heart pounding in his chest. He couldn't explain it, but a strange urgency consumed him, driving him forward as if he were propelled by some unseen force. The distant cries grew louder, more agonized, and he knew he had to reach the source of the commotion, regardless of the surreal circumstances surrounding him.

He was obviously going to the border of the forest since the trees were getting smaller as he went on. It was probably near some kind of civilization since the light seemed to grow the closer, he got. However, when he finally exited the forest, the sight in front of him caused him to freeze.

The lights weren't signs of civilization. No, it was fire. People were screaming, running away from the growing inferno that was consuming it. It didn't take long to figure out what he was seeing. Hogsmeade was burning.

The beloved village lay in ruins.

The quaint cottages were engulfed in flames, their wooden beams crackling and splintering as they succumbed to the inferno. Smoke billowed into the night sky, mingling with the full moon's silvery glow, creating a surreal, apocalyptic backdrop.

The village square was completely decimated. The Three Broomsticks Inn, usually a warm and inviting haven, was a charred husk. Honeydukes' sweet shop, the very essence of childhood wonder, had been reduced to a blackened, smouldering ruin.

Amidst the chaos, figures moved, silhouetted against the raging fire. Panicked villagers were fleeing in all directions, their faces etched with terror. Some tried to douse the flames with feeble streams of water conjured from their wands, while others desperately attempted to rescue trapped loved ones from the burning structures.

"This isn't real," he told himself. And it was true. It wasn't. The world was wispy, muffled. He couldn't feel the heat, he couldn't feel the rise of adrenalin, the blood pumping in his veins.

The figure responsible for the attack turned, and Harry was shocked to see a man with white hair, giving him an amused smile. But it was the man's eyes that drew his attention and sent a shiver down his spine. The man's eyes were like twin pools of absolute blackness, devoid of any colour or discernible iris. There was no white, no pupils, just an endless void that seemed to absorb all light.

The figure tilted his head amusingly and said, "Is it?"

Before he could say anything, a giant wave of black fire came out of nowhere and engulfed everything, even him. The last thing he heard was the faint noise of a wolf howling.

And just like that, Harry woke up with a gasp and looked around.

He was met with his room in Black Manor, making him sigh in relief and lie down on his bed once more.

He really hated those dreams. He had been having them ever since his thirteenth birthday, when his crest was unlocked. He was already starting to forget about what he had seen. It was a side effect of prophetic visions. They tended to fade away and no memory tricks could change that.

In just a handful of seconds, his vision started to fade away, leaving only a few impressions, like the terror he felt, and the fact that it was Hogsmeade was on fire.

It didn't have to mean anything. It might be a vision of a very distant future, it might have been a vision of the past, it might just be a remote possibility that wormed its way into his dreams. It didn't even have to be a real fire or even an attack. Not all visions were literal images of the future. That was the curse of seers; interpreting the visions was far more challenging than receiving them.

It was very possible that this was literally nothing. But why didn't that reassure him? Why was he still feeling the terror that he felt in this particular vision…

He had no idea. He had no one that could help him, and it's not like his crest helped in any way.

Speaking of his crest, Harry didn't really have time to explore it, with Arcturus choosing this time to train him on what it meant to be in charge of the Black family until his second-born, that is.

It was pretty interesting. Not as interesting as learning magic, but Harry was always a bit curious about history, and believe it or not, the Black Family was involved in a lot of events for thousands of years.

The lessons were a mixture of the history of the Black family, their assets, and their investment, with a couple of curses that were perfected over centuries but were often shared with close friends and family. They had barely scratched the surface, but after an entire summer of studying politics and economics under the demanding taskmaster that was Arcturus, Harry wanted to go back to Hogwarts and continue exploring his magic, especially his crests.

His magic circles were now a lot easier to cast when he tried, and they were more varied. He didn't have time to study them during the summer, but his next year probably wouldn't have a cursed Diary setting a Basilisk on the student body. At least, Harry hoped it wouldn't.

His dreams seemed to get darker, and scarier the more his summer vacation came close to its end. It wasn't a good omen, but there was still something refreshingly original about this school year. Harry didn't know what was coming and that was exhilarating. It was like a weight was lifted from his shoulders.

In his first two years in Hogwarts, there was always this narrative, of what was supposed to happen in the background. Quirrell going after Flamel's stone, the Chamber of Secrets being opened. Harry felt responsible, in a way, for those events, because he knew that they were happening.

It was foolish, sacrificing, and idiotic. The world wasn't a story, he accepted that long ago. But a wise man once said that with great power came great responsibility, and his knowledge of the stories was a very powerful power. A small part of him felt a duty to use it in a beneficial way. Well, a bigger part of him just wanted to survive considering that there was supposed to be a Basilisk and a possessed in his first years.

Thankfully, the choice to act was finally taken from his hands. He didn't have to worry about being responsible, because that's where the real world was starting to diverge from the stories.

According to his past life, Sirius Black was supposed to escape and try to kill Pettigrew. Well, Sirius was dead, and while a few high-level Death Eaters were missing, the ministry didn't end up putting the dementors in Hogwarts.

Everything was already fucked, to begin with, and that meant that Harry didn't know what was coming, and that fact shouldn't have been as comforting to him as much as it was.

Death Eaters might come after Longbottom, or they might not. It was entirely Dumbledore's responsibility to save his precious prophecy child, not Harry's. And still, with the prophecy not being fulfilled yet, the boy was still under fate's protection which meant that he was going to be fine until Voldemort inevitably came back.

The only thing that dampened his mood was his prophetic dreams. They were worrying, but they were just that, dreams of a possible future, not unescapable outlines in a story. In an odd way, not knowing what was going to happen made life that much brighter, that much more real.

Harry didn't know if he was going to be attacked by a possessed professor, or if he was going to live in a place that literally had a weapon of mass destruction inside, but at least he knew that it was out of his hands.

Honestly, he was tempted to ask Arcturus to send him to Beauxbattons or Durmstrung, maybe even Ilvermorny, because he was afraid that he didn't know what was going to happen. Tom Riddle had proven the past years that the world was very different from the ones from the stories, and Jörmungandr's existence was further proof of that.

He had found no sign that the World Serpent had ever existed in the Hogwarts Library, even in the Forbidden Section. Outside of a few books on Norse Mythology, there was very little about it.

And if it existed, then why wouldn't other mythological beasts? Leaving Hogwarts wouldn't have made him any safer just because he didn't know the narrative anymore. However, Harry realized that he wouldn't even know what was going to happen outside of Hogwarts and that outside the castle, he wasn't guaranteed that he wouldn't be attacked or pulled into another game because of some stranger.

He would need to keep his skills sharp in case he had to face something like that again.

And when Harry looked at it objectively, he realized that he would rather stay in the castle. he saw no point being separated from his friends, or even losing access to the Hogwarts library. Since he could sneak into the forbidden section, it was far more useful to him than it was for most other students.

Those dreams had to have meant something, and Harry would lie if he didn't admit to being curious. Perhaps the coming school year would be peaceful, perhaps this was all just a nightmare. Alas, he knew deep down that something was coming. It was a warning and he needed to be ready. For what, he didn't know yet.

Thankfully, there was a silver lining. Harry could transfer schools if he thought he was in too much danger. He had a legal guardian now, and that gave him a lot more options than he had before. There was no need to move to another country just because of a dream, because of a mere possibility.

Shaking his head, he made his way down to the dining room, where his breakfast was already served. Arcturus, as always, didn't say anything, choosing to continue reading his issue of the Daily Prophet.

Shrugging, Harry started eating. It was probably the last time he was going to have breakfast in this place for months. The older man spoke up first, "So, this is it, huh?"

"I guess. It's been nice…"

And it was true. This summer of 1993 had been rich in surprises both good and bad, but it was over. It was the first day in September and that meant that it was time to go back to school.

It was weird having a guardian. Having someone who tried to actively help him, and train him, was something he never experienced in both lifetimes. It was always just him, alone, having to fight for every scrap he could have had. He had to be manipulative all the time, and now that he had a real home, a place where he wouldn't have needed to lie to stay there, it was just different. But in a good way.

Arcturus was far more empathetic than Harry thought he would be. He understood where Harry was coming from and let things proceed at a pace the younger boy was more comfortable in, "And your trunk?"

"Made it last night. I don't like to leave things to the last seconds and make mistakes."

"Good, why don't you go get it, while I freshen up and get ready? Let's meet near the front door in a couple of minutes."

Harry nodded and went back to his room to get his trunk. By the time he came back, he saw that the older man was sitting near the front door, still reading his newspaper.

The Black Patriarch put the paper down, got up and motioned Harry to follow him. Yeah, Arcturus was a man of few words. He didn't talk unless he was really invested in the conversation. Harry did as he was told and walked out of the manor, to the garden.

"Have you ever side-along apparated before?" the older man asked while he offered his hand.

"No," Harry responded, "But it looked uncomfortable."

"Technically it's not dangerous as long as your passenger is more than eleven years old. Before that, any accidental magic during the apparition might kill everyone involved. But you're right, it is very uncomfortable at the start, but you'll need to get used to it since it's our best mode of transport."

The last Potter nodded hesitantly and grabbed the man's arm very tightly. The Black Patriarch had a slight smile on his face, "Good. Now remember not to let go. Grab on as tightly as you can."

Without saying anything else, Harry felt Arcturus' arm twist away from him and redouble his grip. The next thing he knew, everything went black; he was being pressed very hard from all directions; he could not breathe, there were iron bands tightening around his chest; his eyeballs were being forced back into his head; his eardrums were being pushed deeper into his skull.

His Arcane Hearing was going haywire. There was a similarity to the spacial expansion charms that he taught himself the previous year but were far more chaotic and far more complex. How do average wizards even master something like this? It was just so complicated.

And just like that everything came back to normal, and the stifling feeling was gone. Harry gulped a great lungful of air and opened his eyes. The full experience was as if he had been forced into a very tight rubber tube without dying. There had to be some kind of human transfiguration involved. But then, how can people who have never gotten past their OWLS in transfiguration do it?

It didn't make sense.

He couldn't even think of anything because he had the urge to throw up. Damn, that motion sickness was coming back after the actual trip.

Harry restrained himself and glared at his smirking guardian, "We are never going to do that ever again."

The man snorted, "If I had a Knut every time someone told me that on their first try at apparition… They all end up using it. The first time is always the worst. It's why we always tend to let our children experience many times it before they can learn it. By the time they get used to the feeling, they aren't afraid when they try it by themselves. Now, let's get out of here. You're almost late."

It turned out that the Black Patriarch had brought them in an empty dark alley near King's Cross station. As always, they went to the platform of the Hogwarts Express. Both he and Arcturus said their goodbyes, hoping to look for his friends again.

Thankfully, it didn't take long to find them. The fifth compartment he saw held the familiar blonde hair of Daphne. He hadn't had time to talk to any of his friends in person since every parent is scared shitless to let their children out of their sight ever since the Azkaban mess.

They had sent letters to one another, but it just wasn't the same. He was excited to see his friend again. Harry slowly walked there, with his trunk in his hand and opened the door with a grin on his face, "So, did you miss me?"

AN:

Just to clarify things, Harry is not ignoring the vision. He feels relieved that he doesn't know about the future anymore since it was too messed up and too different since he always felt responsible since he knew more than the others about the situation. This is technically a new era of his life where he'll have to completely rely on his intelligence and his choices.

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