Chapter 2 The Scar

chevvy assign flat on his back, brea issue hard as though he had been running. He had awoken from a vivid dream with his hands pressed over his shell. The old moolah on his forehead, which was shaped resembling a bolt of lightning, was burning beneath his fingers as though well-nighbody had moreover pressed a white-hot wire to his skin.He sat up, one hand still on his scar, the other hand reaching step to the fore in the darkness for his glasses, which were on the bedside table. He put them on and his chamber came into cle arer focus, lit by a faint, misty orange light that was filtering through the curtains from the street lamp exposedoor(a) the window. annoy ran his fingers over the scar again. It was still painful. He turned on the lamp beside him, scrambled out of bed, cross the mode, opened his wardrobe, and peered into the mirror on the inside of the door. A skinny boy of fourteen looked back at him, his b correct green eyes puzzled under his untidy black hair. He examined the lightning-bolt scar of his comment more closely. It looked normal, but it was still stinging. arouse tried to recall what he had been dreaming almost to begin with he had awoken. It had seemed so realThere had been two people he knew and one he didntHe concentrated hard, frowning, trying to recallThe dim picture of a darkened room came to himThere had been a snake on a hearth ruga small man called Peter, nick listd Wormtailand a cold, amply voicethe voice of Lord Voldemort. elicit felt as though an ice cube had slipped mickle into his stomach at the real thoughtHe closed his eyes tightly and tried to remember what Voldemort had looked exchangeable, but it was impossibleAll rag knew was that at the moment when Voldemorts chair had swung roughly, and he, devastate, had seen what was sitting in it, he had felt a spasm of horror, which had awoken himor had that been the pain in his scar?And who had the old man been? For in that respect had definitely been an o ld man beset had watched him fall to the ground. It was all becoming confused. enkindle 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 supply in his cupped hands the details were flat trickling away as luxuriant as he tried to hold on to themVoldemort and Wormtail had been talking closely someone they had killed, though kick up could non remember the nameand they had been plotting to kill someone elsehimHarry took his face out of his hands, opened his eyes, and stared around his bedroom as though expecting to see some liaison unique there. As it happened, there was an extraordinary number of unusual things in this room. A large wooden trunk stood open at the foot of his bed, revealing a cauldron, broomstick, black robes, and assorted spell binds. Rolls of parchment littered that part of his desk that was not taken up by the large, muster out cage in which his s at one time y 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 oddment by putting the ball through a fifty-foot-high hoop. Then he snapped the book shut. Even Quidditch in Harrys opinion, the stovepipe sport in the world couldnt distract him at the moment. He placed Flying with the Cannons on his bedside table, crossed to the window, and drew back the curtains to survey the street below.Privet Drive looked exactly as a undecomposed suburban street would be expected to look in the early hours of Saturday morning. All the curtains were closed. As farther as Harry could see through the darkness, there wasnt a living creature in sight, not rase a cat.And to date and yetHarry went restlessly back to the bed and sat imbibe on it, running a finger over his scar again. It wasnt 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 sorely regrown in a night. The same arm had been pierced by a venomous foot- coarse fang not farsighted afterward. Only last year Harry had fallen fifty feet from an airborne broomstick. He was used to anomalous 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 was bothering Harry was the last prison term his scar had blemish him, it had been because Voldemort had been close byBut Voldemort couldnt be here, nowThe idea of Voldemort lurking in Privet Drive was absurd, impossibleHarry listened closely to the silence around him. Was he half expecting to hear the creak of a stair or the swish of a cloak? And then he jum ped slightly as he heard his cousin Dudley give a tremendous grunting snore from the contiguous room.Harry shook himself mentally he was being stupid. There was no one in the hearth with him except Uncle Vernon, Aunt Petunia, and Dudley, and they were plainly still asleep, their dreams untroubled and painless.Asleep was the way Harry liked the Dursleys beat it wasnt as though they were ever any economic aid to him awake. Uncle Vernon, Aunt Petunia, and Dudley were Harrys only living relatives. They were Muggles who hated and scorn magic in any form, which meant that Harry was about as welcome in their dramatics as dry rot. They had explained away Harrys long absences at Hogwarts over the last three years by tell everyone that he went to St. Brutuss Secure Center for Incurably Criminal Boys. They knew perfectly well that, as an underage wizard, Harry wasnt allowed to use magic outside Hogwarts, but they were still apt to blame him for anything that went wrong about the house. Harry had never been able to confide in them or tell them anything about his life in the wizarding world. The very idea of going to them when they awoke, and telling them about his scar hurting him, and about his worries about Voldemort, was laughable.And yet it was because of Voldemort that Harry had come to live with the Dursleys in the first place. If it hadnt been for Voldemort, Harry would not have had the lightning scar on his forehead. If it hadnt been for Voldemort, Harry would still have had parents.Harry had been a year old the night that Voldemort the most powerful phantom wizard for a century, a wizard who had been gaining power steadily for eleven years arrived at his house and killed his father and mother. Voldemort had then turned his wand on Harry he had performed the detestation that had disposed of umteen full-grown witches and wizards in his steady rise to power and, incredibly, it had not worked. Instead of killing the small boy, the curse had rebounded upo n Voldemort. Harry had survived with nothing but a lightning-shaped cut on his forehead, and Voldemort had been reduced to something barely alive. His powers gone, his life virtually extinguished, Voldemort had fled the terror in which the secret community of witches and wizards had lived for so long had lifted, Voldemorts followers had disbanded, and Harry Potter had compose famous.It had been enough of a shock for Harry to discover, on his eleventh birthday, that he was a wizard it had been even more disconcerting to let out that everyone in the hidden wizarding world knew his name. Harry had arrived at Hogwarts to find that heads turned and whispers followed him wherever he went. But he was used to it now At the end of this summer, he would be starting his fourth year at Hogwarts, and Harry was already counting the days until he would be back at the castle again.But there was still a fortnight to go before he went back to school. He looked hopelessly around his room again, an d his eye paused on the birthday cards his two best friends had sent him at the end of July. What would they say if Harry wrote to them and told them about his scar hurting?At once, Hermione Grangers voice seemed to fill his head, shrill and panicky.Your scar hurt? Harry, thats really serious put out to professor Dumbledore nd Ill go and check Common Magical Ailments and AfflictionsMaybe theres something in there about curse scars.Yes, that would be Hermiones advice Go straight to the headmaster of Hogwarts, and in the meantime, consult a book. Harry stared out of the window at the inky blue-black sky. He doubted very much whether a book could help him now. As far as he knew, he was the only living person to have survived a curse like Voldemorts it was highly unlikely, therefore, that he would find his symptoms listed in Common Magical Ailments and Afflictions. As for ratting the headmaster, Harry had no idea where Dumbledore went during the summer holidays. He amused himself for a moment, picturing Dumbledore, with his long ash grey beard, full length wizards robes, and pointed hat, stretched out on a beach somewhere, rubbing suntan lotion onto his long crooked nose. Wherever Dumbledore was, though, Harry was sure that Hedwig would be able to find him Harrys owl had never yet failed to deliver a letter to anyone, even without an address. But what would he write?Dear Professor Dumbledore, criminal to bother you, but my scar hurt this morning. Yours sincerely, Harry Potter.Even inside his head the words sounded stupid.And so he tried to imagine his other best friend, Ron Weasleys, reaction, and in a moment, Rons red hair and long-nosed, freckled face seemed to swim before Harry, wearing a bemused expression.Your scar hurt? Butbut You-Know-Who atomic number 50t be near you now, can he? I meanyoud know, wouldnt you? Hed be trying to do you in again, wouldnt be? I dunno, Harry, maybe curse scars always twinge a bitIll ask pappaMr. Weasley was a fully qualifi ed wizard who worked in the Misuse of Muggle Artifacts Office at the Ministry of Magic, but he didnt have any particular expertise in the matter of curses, as far as Harry knew. In any case, Harry didnt like the idea of the whole Weasley family knowing that he, Harry, was getting jumpy about a few moments pain. Mrs. Weasley would fuss worse than Hermione, and Fred and George, Rons sixteen year old twin brothers, mogul compute Harry was losing his nerve. The Weasleys were Harrys favorite family in the world he was hoping that they might invite him to stay any time now (Ron had mentioned something about the Quidditch World Cup), and he somehow didnt requisite his visit punctuated with anxious inquiries about his scar.Harry kneaded his forehead with his knuckles. What he really wanted (and it felt almost shameful to admit it to himself) was someone like someone like a parent an adult wizard whose advice he could ask without feeling stupid, someone who cared about him, who had had e xperience with Dark Magic.And then the solution came to him. It was so simple, and so obvious, that he couldnt consider it had taken so long Sirius.Harry leapt up from the bed, hurried across the room, and sat down at his desk he pulled a piece of parchment toward him, loaded his eagle-feather quill with ink, wrote Dear Sirius, then paused, wondering how best to phrase his problem, still marveling at the fact that he hadnt thought of Sirius straight away. But then, perhaps it wasnt so surprising after all, he had only represent out that Sirius was his godfather two months ago.There was a simple reason for Siriuss complete absence from Harrys life until then Sirius had been in Azkaban, the terrifying wizard jail guard by creatures called dementors, sightless, soul-sucking fiends who had come to search for Sirius at Hogwarts when he had escaped. Yet Sirius had been innocent the murders for which he had been convicted had been committed by Wormtail, Voldemorts supporter, whom ne arly everybody now believed dead. Harry, Ron, and Hermione knew otherwise, however they had come face-to-face with Wormtail only the previous year, though only Professor Dumbledore had believed their story.For one glorious hour, Harry had believed that he was leaving the Dursleys at last, because Sirius had offered him a home once his name had been cleared. But the chance had been snatched away from him Wormtail had escaped before they could take him to the Ministry of Magic, and Sirius had had to flee for his life. Harry had helped him escape on the back of a hippogriff called Buckbeak, and since then, Sirius had been on the run. The home Harry might have had if Wormtail had not escaped had been relentless him all summer. It had been doubly hard to return to the Dursleys knowing that he had so nearly escaped them forever.Nevertheless, Sirius had been of some help to Harry, even if he couldnt be with him. It was due to Sirius that Harry now had all his school things in his bedroom with him. The Dursleys had never allowed this before their general wish of keeping Harry as miserable as possible, coupled with their fear of his powers, had led them to lock his school trunk in the cupboard under the stairs every summer prior to this. But their attitude had changed since they had found out that Harry had a good murderer for a godfather for Harry had conveniently forgotten to tell them that Sirius was innocent.Harry had received two earn from Sirius since he had been back at Privet Drive. Both had been delivered, not by owls (as was usual with wizards), but by large, brilliantly colored tropical birds. Hedwig had not approved of these flashy intruders she had been most reluctant to allow them to drink from her water tray before flying off again. Harry, on the other hand, had liked them they put him in mind of cover trees and white sand, and he hoped that, wherever Sirius was (Sirius never said, in case the letters were intercepted), he was enjoying himself. Som ehow, Harry found it hard to imaging dementors surviving for long in bright sunlight, perhaps that was why Sirius had gone South. Siriuss letters, which were now hidden beneath the highly useful loose floorboards under Harrys bed, sounded cheerful, and in both of them he had reminded Harry to call on him if ever Harry needed to. Well, he needed to right now, all right.Harrys lamp seemed to grow dimmer as the cold gray light that precedes sunrise slowly crept into the room. Finally, when the sun had risen, when his bedroom walls had turned gold, and when sounds of movement could be heard from Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunias room, Harry cleared his desk of crumpled pieces of parchment and read his finished letter.Dear Sirius, Thanks for your last letter. That bird was enormous it could hardly get through my window. Things are the same as usual here. Dudleys diet isnt going too well. My aunt found him smuggling doughnuts into his room yesterday. They told him theyd have to cut his pock et money if he keeps doing it, so he got really angry and chucked his PlayStation out of the window. Thats a sort of computer thing you can play games on. Bit stupid really, now he hasnt even got Mega-Mutilation Part Three to take his mind off things. Im okay, mainly because the Dursleys are terrified you might turn up and turn them all into bats if I ask you to. A weird thing happened this morning, though. My scar hurt again. Last time that happened it was because Voldemort was at Hogwarts. But I dont reckon he can be anywhere near me now, can he? Do you know if curse scars sometimes hurt years afterward? Ill send this with Hedwig when she gets back shes off hunting at the moment. Say hello to Buckbeak for me. Harry Yes, thought Harry, that looked all right. There was no point putting in the dream he didnt want it to look as though he was too worried. He folded up the parchment and laid it forth on his desk, ready for when Hedwig returned. Then he got to his feet, stretched, and o pened his wardrobe once more. Without glancing at his reflection he started to get dressed before going down to breakfast.