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Awakening To the Dream	By : ChimaeraChan Category: Harry Potter > Slash - Male/Male > Harry/Draco Views: 45316 -:- Recommendations : 2 -:- Currently Reading : 2
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, nor any of the characters from the books or movies. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
- 1-CH1
- 2-CH2
- 3-CH3
- 4-CH4
- 5-CH5
- 6-CH6
- 7-CH7
- 8-Ch8
- 9-Ch9
- 10-Ch10
- 11-CH11
- 12-CH12
- 13-CH13
- 14-CH14
- 15-CH15
- 16-CH16
- 17-CH17
- 18-CH18
- 19-Ch19
- 20-CH20
- 21-CH21
- 22-Ch22
- 23-CH23
- 24-CH24
- 25-CH25
- 26-CH26
- 27-CH27
- 28-CH28
- 29-CH29
- 30-CH30
- 31-CH31
- 32-CH32
- 33-CH33
- 34-CH34
- 35-CH35
- 36-CH36
- 37-CH37
- 38-CH38
- 39-CH39
- 40-CH40
- 41-Ch41
- 42-Ch42
- 43-Ch43
- 44-Ch44
- 45-Ch45
- 46-Ch46
- 47-Ch47
- 48-Ch48
- 49-Ch49
- 50-Ch50 *End Part 1*
- 51-Ch51
- 52-Ch52
- 53-Ch53
- 54-Ch54
- 55-Ch55
- 56-CH56
- 57-CH57
- 58-CH58
- 59-CH59
- 60-CH60
- 61-CH61
- 62-CH62
- 63-CH63
- 64-CH64
- 65-CH65
- 66-CH66
- 67-CH67 *New 6/6/2015*
- 68-CH68
- 69-CH69
- 50
- 51
- 52
Hey everyone! Hope you had a nice, relaxing summer with fun and mayhem! I spent mine drawing, and getting happy (this is not a euphemism for drug use, just so we’re clear O_o,) so yay! I promised I’d post in time for school, and I read a friend’s journal that was mentioning how much homework they had, and omg, school has already started for some people already! If I remember correctly, I never started school until after Labor Day… but it’s been a few years that I’ve had to worry about that. *ducks tomatoes XD* Sos, here’s a new chapter! The next couple of chapters we’ll be exploring Harry’s summer at the Dursleys (for those who thought their summer vacation was bad ^^; ) and a look into the lives of the other Candidates.
But first, a quick reply to all the comments you were kind enough to send me. ^^ I wanted to wait out for a nice round 300 comments, but you lazy bums refused to give me two more. ;_; Oh well.
Jitkajalor: Glad you like Neville and Blaise, they became their own little cute story. ^^ Lol, and glad you think the high emotions are good, and not just horrible over dramatization! XD
Sanzha: Don’t worry, Draco’s powers won’t be crippled for much longer. He regains them around the end of part two. ^^ Oh dear, I hope you won’t find my Ron/Hermione/Dumbledore too overbearing, because they’ll be showing up more now that they’re all back at Hogwarts. ^^;;;; I have a hard time deciding what to do with them, because although they’re important people to Harry, the story is sort of steering things away. I’m always afraid if my OC’s get too much attention people will lose interest.
Aeizone: HEHEHEHEE… My first official flame. ^________^ What to say… what to say… Wells, first off, it’s my fic, and if I want Harry to be a god, and Draco groveling, and broken at his feet, than yeah, that’s how it’s going to go. But if you read it, you would see that that isn’t the case at all. If Draco had had things easy for him, he would have been a snotty, self-centric little rich boy that liked pulling the legs off frogs. It’s pain and conflict that forge us; we’re either broken by it, or become better, stronger people, something the cannon Draco never had a chance to try and become (before book 6 anyways.) Snotty Draco isn’t strong enough to be a supporting character, so we had to toughen him up a bit first.
As for confusion, the story is not done, hun, and it will become less confusing as you read along. I was one of those dorks that had a very high reading comprehension in school, so for those that can’t keep up, it’s going to be confusing, like in the chapter you seem to think I messed up. o_______o Reread the chapter; Draco’s angry because Harry got through the wards and broke into the house, not because he’s surprised Harry is in the vicinity at all.
Violet: Sorry, I’m evil. Always a penchant for the dramatic. XD Sorry to confuse, I hope once I’m done and editing it will fix that all up… although a little suspense never hurt anyone. ^^
Mya Malfoy: Oh Nooes, fic withdrawal! Quick, 5cc’s of Potterverse lovin’, stat!
Anon: Thanks hun, sorry I took so long. ^^;
Tac: Ah, one of the non-lazy ones that actually looked for the fic after AFF temporarily died! *gives you a cookie* Wai, your comment made me soo happy, I’m glad you came to love the characters as much as I do. Eh, I’m sure professionals don’t ramble like I do >_> but I love you for saying that! <3
DarkDragonFemale: Heh, mums the word, hun. Thank you for paying attention! I added you to the mailing list, which you’ll obviously see. ^^
Evalhanne: Thanks, I kinda get annoyed with the whole five seconds to fall in love and then they’re shagging fics… PWP’s do have their purpose though. >D
Dea Puella: “I’m Dying!”
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“Oh, sorry Har, there was something shiny we had to stare at for a while… Whoops, he’s dead.” >_> “I’m not cleaning this up.” “…Hey, let’s go shag instead.” “…Yeah, okay.”
Kat: Uh, updates are sort of random at this point, only because life is slowly taking over writing time. But I do update! And will continue to until the story is finished! XD
Santana: Thank you, hun. *hugs* What a nice thing to say.
Answers: *dodges away* Sorry, evil cliffie. Yeah, Draco is my fav too… which is probably bad >_> since the others are my OC’s XD

Disclaimer: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.

Awakening To the Dream

CH51
It was quiet. Not the peaceful quiet that he had rapidly grown to anticipate. No, this quiet was the stuff of nightmares. This was the tense silence, the one where the voices hushed because they knew He was coming. Closing his eyes to the tense silence, Harry pretended to sleep, not that it ever made a difference
His cupboard door was shoved open, Vernon’s massive form already heaving from unresolved anger. “Wake up, Freak!” Vernon growled, fisting Harry’s ratty t-shirt and pulling him up before he had a chance to do it himself.
That was his new name. Freak. Sometimes it was Fucking Freak if Vernon was particularly angry, but not this time. Aunt Petunia must be about, because Vernon made a point never to cuss in front of the woman. Funny how you could beat the snot out of a child, and yet still have standards like that, odd remnants of the man Vernon used to be. Before the freak nephew was dumped on his doorstep.
Vernon didn’t let go of his shirt, but fisted it tighter so the extra fabric could not be an escape for the slight boy. “How many times do I have to tell you to wax the car before you actually do it? Two days! Two whole days and you haven’t even touched it!”
Yesterday Vernon hadn’t had any car wax. He had brought it home that night after work, but Harry had been so busy doing the yard work, and helping with dinner, and cleaning up after, that it was pitch black before he even had a moment to think, never mind remember about the car.
“I didn’t know—” Harry tried to stop once the words slipped, but it was too late. Vernon grabbed his arm and he had no way to escape the backhand to his face.
“Don’t talk back, you ungrateful freak! You know damn well what your chores are, and I won’t hear any more lip from you. We slave everyday just to help feed and clothe you, and you can’t even get a simple chore done…!” Vernon began to shake him. He did this when Aunt Petunia was around because she flinched whenever she heard the sound of fist hitting flesh. This way she couldn’t hear the way Harry’s teeth rattled, couldn’t see how his neck snapped back and forth dangerously, his hands clawing weakly at the offending arms for some sort of support.
“What do you have to say for yourself?! Do you expect me to go into work tomorrow with my car looking like that? Well? Answer me, you freak! What am I supposed to do now?!”
“I’m s-s-sorry,” Harry said, because that was all he could say. Anything else; logic, pleading, denial, rebellion, silence, anything else would get him twice as much as apologizing, and apologizing got him plenty as it was.
“You. Are. Not. Sorry! Do not lie to me, boy! I know what sort of monster you are! I know what horrors you’ll commit with those other freaks! Do not lie to me!” Vernon shook him so hard Harry was sure his neck was going to come right off.
His arm broke instead.
*******
Darel awoke with a start, a fear-choked sob dying on her lips. “My god… what the fuck? What the fuck was that?” She pulled herself shakily, quickly from bed, not knowing her leg was broken or that she had a charm that could call for assistance with a simple flick of her wand. She ended up on the floor, her leg twisted painfully from trying to put weight on it. “Cal…” Her voice couldn’t seem to rise beyond a whisper, the nightmare having stolen more than her peaceful sleep. “Cal? Ma? Please…” But no one came.
She stared blankly at the floor, her cheek resting against the rough carpet as she forced herself to calm down. What was it? What had happened? She was in her room, her sanctuary where nothing could ever harm her since she was a child, yet fear and hopelessness clung to her like a foul sludge that no cleansing could wash free. Despair. What could it have been?
Soft feet padded up the stairway outside her room, and for a frantic, frozen moment she was lost, death glaring at her through eyes that were not her own. Voldemort… how did she know his face?
“Wakie Dare, I br’awt you sum—Darel!” Whatever Aletta had brought ended up in a mess on the floor as the five year old went cascading down the stairs for help. “Momma! Samuel! Huw’ie up!”
Who was the big man with the mustache, and why had he been hurting her? …But… it hadn’t been her, had it? She knew it couldn’t have been a dream. It was too real to be a dream, too painfully, heart-wrenchingly real. And she had heard thoughts, thoughts not her own. A vision? Why was she seeing these things? Was she supposed to stop it from happening? Did someone somewhere need help?
“Darel, what is it? What is it, little lion?” Darel shook her head, tears falling the moment her mother knelt and pulled her close. She wasn’t alone; she wasn’t locked away with only bodiless voices to comfort, and hard faces to hurt her. That wasn’t her.
“Sam, Cal!” Mona Gira called for her oldest sons and together they lifted Darel back into bed and settled her leg back into order.
“Mom, why is she…?” Sam stared in bewilderment at the tears on his sister’s face. In his fifteen years he’d never seen such a sight, and it made his stomach twist in worry.
“She just hurt her bad leg while falling out of bed, Samuel. Why don’t you keep and eye on Aletta? Calvino can watch over Darel while she sleeps.”
“No Ma…” Darel protested feebly as her mother pulled out her wand.
“You need to rest, little one.”
“N-No, not sleep… shit…” Mona frowned down at her daughter as the girl fell into a deep slumber. “Do you mind, Cal?” She turned to her eldest son, carefully pushing Darel’s fringe from her face. “You can bring your books in.”
“It’s no problem, Mom.” Cal readily pulled up a chair and sat to make sure his sister slept well. “At least this time we can be there for her.”
*******
Harry returned to Privet Drive with a headache and the burn of tears stinging in the back of his throat. He had pretended Sirius was alive, that he would come and save him if the Dursleys started trouble, and now all he could do was wish it were true. He had dragged his trunk up to his room as quickly as possible, not wanting to engage Vernon’s ire any more than the Order and their threats had done that day. It was funny to see Vernon, walrus faced and blustering, yelling at Aunt Petunia and Dudley because he was too afraid to yell at Harry. He had always been the main release for Vernon’s anger. It was a nice change, one Harry would have liked to have seen more of if given the chance.
But right now he wanted to crawl into bed and not think about Sirius, or the prophecy, or Bellatrix, or how Voldemort was getting ready to destroy all muggle life on the planet. Most of all, he didn’t want to think about how his friends may be permanently injured from their fight in the Ministry, or that he was stuck at Privet Drive for another long dull summer without anyone to keep him company… keep him from thinking about the nightmares of Sirius, and Cedric, the giant basilisks, and the dark evil slithering through the Forbidden Forest. Sirius’ death had brought all his old memories back and they were having a time of it messing up his subconscious. And it was his own fault because he had failed.
He shouldn’t have hoped. Third year should have taught him enough that Sirius was not a reliable guardian, that the man was not capable of caring for him because he could barely care for himself while running for his life. The same way Remus couldn’t because of his lycanthropy. There had always been an excuse, good ones, but it only hurt because he couldn’t help but wonder if that was all they were. Excuses, because he wasn’t wanted. He had no place in their lives beyond being the last remnant of James Potter. But that year he had finally thought different, that Sirius would have honestly jumped at the chance, and Grimmauld Place was there and safe, they could have spent the whole summer together… and now he was gone forever.
It wasn’t fair. What had Sirius had… two years of freedom? Even then he had been in hiding, unable to go to a damn store, or restaurant, or even touch his own money. And before? Before Azkaban, and the years of torment, with the man knowing that his final remaining friend thought he was a spy and a traitor, along with the rest of the wizarding world? What had Sirius had beyond the horrible family life he had grown up into? Seven years of Hogwarts plus a handful after that, which had been centered in fear as Voldemort rose in power. What kind of life was that? Where was the justice? All it would have taken was a trial, just a spot of veritaserum and Sirius would have been found innocent of all charges and freed…
And then Sirius could have found the Dursleys and taken Harry far away, where they could have lived happily, the Order hunting down Peter and putting him in the cage he so rightfully deserved. And without his servant, Voldemort may never have regained his power again. And life would have been good… and happy… and Sirius would still be alive… and not dead because of Harry’s many mistakes…
“Boy! Help Petunia with the dinner!” Vernon barked from outside his door, startling Harry from his thoughts.
“Be right there.” Harry grumbled. Pushing himself up from where he had been lying on his bed, he sat on the edge. Was life ever fair really, or was that just a childish dream? He fumbled blindly for his glasses while toeing his sneakers on, and wondered idly if he could convince Vernon that treating him like a house elf was one of the things the Order frowned down upon.
“Boy!”
“Oi, I’m coming—!” Harry blinked as the door was suddenly thrown open, Vernon smashing into the frame as he stalked his bulk in. “I just need to put my shoes—hey, what the hell?!” He just stared in shock, Vernon having abruptly smacked him across the face.
“Listen here, you freak! You will get down those stairs now, and help your Aunt with dinner!
He just stared. Half of his face was stinging and slowly going numb. “…You hit me. You just can’t hit me.” Harry stood, eyes crackling with anger.
“I damn well can, and will! Now are you getting down those stairs, or are we going to have a problem here?” Vernon growled, looming his weight intimidatingly. Harry noticed his hands were twitching, as if the man was just looking for an excuse to throttle him, and he imagined that was the whole point, because Vernon wouldn’t be standing there otherwise.
“…I think we’re going to have a problem then.” Harry said slowly, meeting Vernon’s glare without flinching. He was turning sixteen in a few months, and had already taken on more than his fair share of bullies, including Voldemort, Bellatrix Lestrange, and that ugly frog face, Umbridge. If Vernon thought a measly slap was going to cowl him into some little slave boy, he had another thing coming.
“You ungrateful piece of—!” Harry saw the fist coming and quickly ducked away, darting under Vernon’s wailing arms and whirling on the man. The fact that Vernon would have actually punched him was more alarming than he wanted to admit. “What the hell is your problem?! Let me get my shoes on, and I’ll go downstairs. What’s the bloody big deal?!”
“Don’t talk back to me, you damn freak!” Vernon roared, swinging his fist out while turning, and catching Harry a hard knock on the shoulder. Before Harry had time to recover, Vernon was twisting his arm and dragging him down the stairs.
“Vernon, what’s going on…?” Petunia stopped when she caught sight of Harry’s swollen face as he struggled against her husband’s hold. “…What’s happened? Has he broken something?” She asked hesitantly, not liking the manic look in Vernon’s eyes.
“I didn’t do anything!” Harry yelled, wincing as his arm was pulled and he was smashed up against the wall, his glasses cutting into his face. “Fuck! Let go!”
“Shut your mouth, boy.” Vernon growled in his ear, ignoring Petunia. “If you can’t do as you’re told, then you aren’t getting those privileges that you never rightly earned in the first place. Oh, Those People think you should be cozied and coddled, but I know better. A freak like you needs discipline or you’ll just run wild, doing strangeness—evilness. You will do as your Aunt says, and you will do it when you are told, or so help me, I’ll beat you within an inch of your life!”
“Yeah, you try that!” Harry snarled back, kicking his leg and stomping on Vernon’s foot. Vernon howled, and Harry ducked, wiggling his way free from the lumbering man.
“Vernon, no!” Petunia screamed, but it was too late, and Harry found himself bowled over, lights flashing before his eyes, and head throbbing from where he had smacked it against the corner of the wall. Dazed, he weakly struggled when he was lifted up and thrown into dust and darkness, the sound of a familiar, long lost latch locking him into the cupboard under the stairs.
From far away he heard Aunt Petunia’s voice, demanding to know what had gotten into Vernon. Harry held his head gingerly, wincing as he searched for any breaks or wounds. Blood was matting his hair, sticky and warm; he hoped that was the worst of it. Painful as it was, at least now he wouldn’t have to stay the summer. It wasn’t like the Order would make him stay after that. They were probably already on their way.
“…He’s staying there the night and that’s final! Dudley, get away from there! You’re not to talk with him!”
“Vernon, stop this. What has the boy done?!”
“He’s disrespectful, Petunia, and that’s enough. No, he’s not to eat tonight… Dudley! Get away from there!”
Harry blinked back the odd spots of color that were replacing the darkness of the cupboard and waited patiently, knowing the Order would be there any minute to free him.
But minutes passed, turning to hours as Harry heard the family go about their business, more subdued, and yet familiar in the order; dinner, clean up, television in the living room, and then off to bed. Harry kept expecting a loud knock on the front door announcing the arrival of the Order, but it never came.
He would be lying if he said he had not grown used to having his mind as his only company. As a child he had become quite content with the games and fantasies he had made up in his mind as he waited to be unlocked from the cupboard, or when he was left out, alone while the other children played. It had never been much of a hardship back then. But recently he had not liked what he had found in his mind, and he did not look forward to spending a night left to his thoughts instead of the simple distractions that came with light. So he tried to sleep, but it was difficult with the pain. Eventually he began to count the bruises, feeling for his heartbeat, and the unhappy throbs injured parts of his body gave as he sat there silent, and unmoving.
His head was pretty messed up, the blood still moist even after the family had retired to bed. It had to have been a few hours. The cupboard bare, he had been forced to take off his shirt, and wad it up to press on the bleeding wound to help stop the bleeding. He’d likely need stitches if the Order didn’t show up soon. Where the hell were they, anyways? Maybe Ms. Figg hadn’t heard the yelling, although he was pretty sure the whole damn neighborhood had heard and would be gossiping at that very moment. Maybe they needed some sort of note or something? Tomorrow morning he’d have to send Hedwig off with a letter…
Shit, but this sucked! What was Vernon’s problem anyways? The man was an ass, but he had never been one for physical violence— a smack here and there, but not this sort of thing. Maybe the family was having problems while he had been at school. Aunt Petunia had seemed particularly strained looking that day… but with Vernon being the way he was, plus the Order’s threats, it probably had a lot to do with that.
Petunia had stood up for him, and that surprised him. And the fact that it surprised him really bothered him. Most families stood up for each other all the time; it was what families did. But the Dursleys had never been what he considered real family material. He had never felt like he belonged there, and the Dursleys had always been quick to point out that he didn’t. He belonged with his parents, and if he had to die to join them the Dursleys couldn’t be bothered.
Harry shook away the thought, his anger only increasing his headache. He should practice his Occlumency. After Sirius had… had fallen… he had promised himself that he would master his mental defenses. No more mistakes, not when the people around him were put at risk. He would practice until the Order came to pick him up tomorrow, and then after getting settled in his new home he would start a schedule of practice, and finish that book Snape had given him on the craft.
Actually, he could use the current time to see if he could heal the wound on his head. He had read a very interesting chapter on physical and spiritual maladies, and the ability to heal and, or, block them off from affecting the rest of the body. It was just concentration and manipulation of one’s innate magic without the use of a wand. It should work, as long as he could feel and control the magic flowing through him. It was a lot like Transfigurations except the magic never left his body… It was too bad he was lousy at Transfigurations. Eh, but once the Order arrived he could show them how much he had improved… Actually… maybe he wouldn’t even tell them about the wounds.
He looked off in the darkness, touching his head tentatively. A wizard being knocked around by some stupid bully muggle; it was pathetic really. …Next time he’s hex him, under-aged restrictions on magic, or not.
*******
The scrape of the lock being opened woke him up suddenly. Harry blinked pointlessly through the darkness, only a thin stream of light from the cracks around the door letting him know it was day again. Bright light blinded him as the door was open, and a cool breath of air was let in from where the thick man was silhouetted in the doorway.
“You’re to help Petunia with the breakfast, clean up, and then you’re to take care of the lawn. IF you do a proper job, then we’ll see if you’ll be eating today.”
Harry just stared in disbelief, not sure whether to laugh or yell. He settled for keeping his cool, and meeting Vernon’s overly controlled tone. “Really, are you trying to get yourself killed? Is this some game where you figure the only end is death? Because you really can’t think that you’re going to get away with this. Dumbledore will have your head; the wizarding world doesn’t like it when you mess with their own. Their prisons are more brutal than torture camps.”
Vernon grunted and narrowed his eyes, his face gaining color as he tried to keep control of the situation. “You will help your Aunt with the—”
“No.” Harry interrupted, crouching low on the ground. “I’m not doing a damn thing you tell me. I don’t want to be here, just as much as you don’t want me here, but neither of us has much of a choice in it. Believe me, I have begged to be able to go elsewhere.”
“Petunia says you have to stay, boy. Those freaks say you have to stay. I say if you’re staying in my house, you’re doing what you’re told!” Vernon slammed his fist into the doorframe but made no other move to attack Harry.
Harry watched with alert eyes, taking a thorough assessment of his own condition and what it would take to get past the man and to Ms. Figg’s house. “Listen Vernon, I’m not your little slave. When I help Aunt Petunia it’s because I want to, not because you have some stupid power over me…” He was pretty sure he’d be able to make it; he’d had the night to recover even if sleep hadn’t come for quite a while. A few stiff muscles and cramped limbs weren’t going to stop him. “Now, you might as well stop this foolish idea that you can somehow make me do what you want.” He’d swatted flies bigger than Vernon, trolls bigger than the man. The whole thing was rather ridiculous when he thought about it.
“You stupid freak, do you really think you’re getting a free ride—!” Vernon made to step into the cramped cupboard and that’s when Harry made his move, striking at the man’s supporting leg, and pushing him back. Vernon fell while trying to catch his legs, but Harry’s dizzy spell saved him when it caused him to sway to the side and onto Vernon’s fingers. He tripped and scrambled away, barreling headlong towards the front door.
“Hey Mom, you got something from the ‘Good Realtors Asso—oof!” Dudley dropped the mail he had been holding, ready to push Harry from where he had crashed into him. Except his eyes were staring in shock behind the brunette, as his father stepped up and grabbed Harry by the collar, and threw the boy down the hall where Harry crumpled on the flight of stairs.
“Fucking… get off me!” Harry hissed between gritted teeth, Vernon’s knee pressed painfully into his back as the man placed his immense weight into the hold.
But Vernon didn’t let go, instead pulling Harry’s head back by his hair. “Where the hell do you think you’re going, boy! This house not good enough for you? The house I worked and slaved to get, not good enough for a little stuck up freak like yourself?! How dare you come into this house, force us to clothe, and feed, and deal with your strangeness, and then you be so ungrateful as to want to run out! You stupid, little—” Beneath Vernon’s yells were the sounds as he hit the boy, each punch harder as each sentence grew louder.
“Dad! Dad, stop it, you’re going to kill him!” Dudley stood uselessly beside as Harry’s face was repeatedly smashed into the stairs. Wringing his hands, he wished his father would stop acting so frightening. He couldn’t understand why his mother didn’t come, but Petunia was too busy staring blankly at the table to help anyone. “Please Dad… stop it.”
And amazingly, Vernon did. He turned away from the mess he was making of Harry and looked at his son, his eyes and odd mix of confusion and anger. “…Go to your room, Dudley.”
“Dad, no—” “Now!” Dudley jumped back, Vernon standing and grabbing Harry by the back of his head and pushing the boy around the corner and back into the closet.
*******
The Gira household was a buzz of activity now that everyone was home. All the children old enough to attend had been pulled from their respective schools and brought home to make sure their older sister was all right. St. Mungo’s had found nothing but her splintered knee and broken femur, but her parents knew better. Ever since Darel had been cleared to return home she’d been plagued with nightmares, things that a simple fall from a roof would not cause in their strong-minded daughter. They hoped, with the sudden return of her adoring younger siblings, whatever troubles Darel was facing would dissipate.
“Calvino dear, how is she looking?” Mona Gira, mother of five, and all around refined lady, grabbed her eldest son by the ear before the boy could escape off to whatever it was he was up to instead of answering her question.
“Ma, she’s fine! You have to stop babying her like this.” Cal grumbled, rubbing his ear. Honestly, eighteen and still being bullied by his mother, no wonder Darel always laughed at him.
“Don’t you give me that. I know very well something is wrong with her, and Darel certainly doesn’t confide in me like she does you boys. Now help me set the table, and don’t expect to leave until I know what’s going on in that hard head of hers.”
“Aw, come on…” Cal protested, even as he scooped up the plates piled to the side of the table and began putting them in their proper places. “She’s a Candidate; you can’t expect she’s not going to run into some rough spots. I imagine it’s a bit maddening for her… Gods, I was practically losing my mind when that seer said it was one of us; I’m the right age after all. Poor Darel caught it bad with her delayed exritus.”
That wasn’t exactly right though. He knew Darel had wanted to be a Candidate, not because she gave a rat’s ass about the whole Heir thing, but because if she were a Candidate than her brothers and sister wouldn’t be. Darel was a survivor, she had always been one, and they knew that she had the greatest chance of winning out of the family.
Cal was the first to admit that he and Samuel were absolute geeks, and had no skill in the fighting department. Their youngest brother Angelo was on a whole different scale of genius, already attending the muggle university at nine while waiting to be old enough for his magic schooling. And little Aletta was… well… Aletta was five, and the spitting image of their mother. They were all grateful that she was far too young for such things, for she was the sort to try and hug a bad person in hopes of reforming them, than anything that had to do with strategy. Smarts were useful and all for a Candidate, and Darel had her fair share, but brawn was better, especially when your life was on the line everyday.
No, it was luck in a way that Darel, the only one in the family with a penchant towards combat, had been given the honor. Their father was a softie, big and brawny, but more suited for his lab coat, and Mom was fit, but cared more for dissecting the makings of magic than playing protector. It was a wonder really where Darel had gotten it from, since their parents really were more brains than anything… But maybe that’s what being a Candidate was all about. If all that iffy mythology Samuel had researched were true, than Darel would have been destined before she was even born. Through magic, her body would have already had the genetic coding to enable her to be a suitable Candidate when her exritus rolled around. If he looked at it that way, it explained a lot, including Darel’s beauty, power, perseverance, and just plain old ass-whooping strength. All the things that frightened off any eligible boy in the area from dating his sister had been intended to create a ruler, a world ruler, and not just any ordinary girl.
“Calvino, there is something bothering her, and I know that she has told you.” Not one to be distracted, Mona gave her son a warning look from where she was stirring a pot. “You know how she gets when I ask her— she thinks I’ll only worry— but I would feel a lot better if I knew what was going on. It’s bad enough that she’s off falling off buildings and disappearing for days on end, but now she’s going to be facing something where she could very likely die. I need to know if I’m losing my little girl.”
Oh hell, the guilt trip. Cal focused blankly on the silverware and did his best to fight the natural instinct to blurt everything out at his mother’s words. Mona put the spoon down, walking over so she could look her son in the eye. “Please, Calvino. Has the trial been set? Is she leaving to fight already?”
Cal sighed, knowing he had lost again. “No… it’s nothing like that. She’s just tired… and really pensive. She keeps talking about dreams and visions, and…” Cal stopped, tapping the table idly while he went over Darel’s odd request. “She wants me to find someone. She thinks there’s someone reaching out to her while she sleeps, someone who’s being hurt and is tied with Voldemort somehow. Sam’s talking her through the whole dream symbolism thing, but for the life of me I can’t see what they’re on about.” He met his mother’s eyes, knowing she knew as much about those sorts of things as he did. He shared his mother’s fascination with magic’s influence on the physical world. The mind, fate, visions; all those things were in a completely different class that he just couldn’t get his head around.
“…Perhaps it’s time for Dante to speak with her.” Mona said thoughtfully.
“Dad? No offense mom, but he’s muggleborn, and self taught at that. What would he know about dreams and visions?”
Mona smiled cryptically. “Never you mind what your father knows. Finish up those glasses there, and then I need you to pull Angelo away from his experiment out back, and get him cleaned up. I will not have my table covered in mud like at lunch time.” She shooed Cal to work, evading all questions and returning to the stove and cheerfully bubbling pot. Dante would have to speak with Darel, and soon if their daughter was already feeling the affects of her bond with the Heir. The great Fae Inar dwelled in his bloodline after all.
*******
Dinner was cozy but hectic, and Darel had made it very clear that she would only put up with so much fussing before she started breaking things. Her father had carried her down, much to her chagrin, but even three days after being released from St. Mungo’s, her leg was tender and needed to be kept off of. To be honest, having her brothers back home was a joy, even if the majority of their conversations were just as dull as her parents. She had missed her brothers and the bright enthusiasm and energy they brought with them wherever they went. And it didn’t hurt to have a few extra bodies to divert attention from herself, and her own problems for a change. Aletta and her parents had spent the whole of last month pestering her on her progress as a Fae Wizard and Candidate.
“No, clerical, as in religious. I’m telling you, those muggles have gazillions of them and somehow they seem to be at the root of all their wars.”
“Don’t be daft. It’s not the ideology of the religion itself, but the bloody idiots that force it on others, and the muggles in the midst of battle that call on their faith to see them through. You can’t just generalize like that, Angelo, as if religion itself causes wars. It’s the people’s fault for being so bloody ignorant.”
“Ignorant or not, I won’t hear foul language at my dinner table.” Mona chided Samuel, who immediately blushed scarlet, having grown used to meals with his boisterous peers while away at school.
“Sorry, Momma,” He said, scowling behind his hand at Cal, who was silently mocking him across the table. “Did you find what you wanted at Madame Tortoise’s today?”
“Oh, Ma!” Darel wailed, realizing immediately what her mother was up to.
Mona shook her head. “I’m afraid I never got a chance to go and look.” She gave Darel a hard look. “Grumble all you like, young lady, but you need new dress robes, especially since you’re a Candidate now.”
Darel did grumble, but very softly because she wasn’t in the mood to start a row. She was ravenous, and would eat first before pointing out that the whole Candidate business was a pain, and maybe if the Heir didn’t like her from the start, she could somehow be disqualified and exempted from the whole trial of death thing. …Not that she was planning on losing.
That whole out of body experience where she had met the other Candidates had opened her eyes right off that she had weaknesses, a very obvious one being her inability to travel within the astral plane as easily as the other two could. Ealdian had talent in that area, and apparently both had some sort of discipline in meditation, which everyone knew could help raise spiritual and magical power. If she had to fight, then she needed to start training in those fields; walking in with a handicap when if could be avoided was just plain stupidity.
“Your mother tells me you’ve been having odd dreams.”
Darel snapped her eyes up, her father’s quiet voice breaking through the loud dinner chatter as if he had shouted. She suddenly found all eyes on her, her family concerned, with Cal looking particularly apologetic. She promised herself she’d smack him later when her parents weren’t around. “It’s nothing dad… just weirdness…” She shrugged, hoping he would drop the issue.
“Weirdness? Now I’m really intrigued.” Darel gave a longsuffering sigh and buried her head in her hands. “Come on now, Darel. It’s best just to get it out in the open. You really didn’t expect us to let Cal go out looking for strange muggles that may, or may not be in distress?”
“Daaaddd…” Darel groaned. She really should have stayed at St. Mungo’s for the week, like the attendants had suggested. “First off, he’s not a muggle, he’s a wizard. Secondly, it’s not dreams, so much as I’m living very horrible moments through his eyes, so that I could swear they were actually happening to me. Thirdly, I’m obviously out of my mind from some sort of posttraumatic stress disorder, or something, and this is a completely pointless conversation.” Her glare went unnoticed as Dante Gira carefully placed his silverware on the table and stood, leaving the room.
He returned a moment later with a thick tome wrapped tightly in linen, and smelling of cedar and leather. He placed it before Darel, carefully unwrapping the ancient book to reveal the crest of Gryffindor embossed in fine gold on the cover. Dante took a slow breath and smiled weakly at his daughter’s shocked face. “I was waiting for the right time… to be honest, I think I was holding back with the hope that the time would never come. But long ago I was told that I would know, because my firstborn would speak with the Soul of the Ancient Night, and be changed.”
Darel looked at the book with trepidation, almost afraid to touch it. “…Dad?”
He placed the book carefully in her hands and straightened. “You have changed, Darel, and I must fulfill my promised duty. To delay any longer could only get you killed. Read this, and understand. You will know what is more prudent, Inar having given you the skills to succeed. As for your dreams…” He turned her face up to meet his eyes, hoping to calm her sudden tremor. “Candidates share a great bond with the Heir, and sometimes this bond allows them to see what the Heir sees, or has seen. It is very likely that is what is occurring when you fall asleep. You said you spoke with him briefly before you passed out, correct?”
Darel nodded, fists clenching as what her father was suggesting sunk in. “You think… you think those horrible things happened to him? That he was beaten, and starved… hated? …He’s the Heir! How could— who would— why?!”
Dante placed supporting hands on her shoulders. “Why does anyone hurt another? The Heir is born mortal like the rest of us, and sometimes he is not born into ideal circumstances… just like many humans out there. It is the way of the world unfortunately.”
Darel shook her head dully, not wanting to believe that the boy who was to save the world had been brutalized and tormented. It was bad enough when she had thought it was just any boy, but to have it be Him, the one who had sounded so strong and tired all at the same time, who had offered her support when she was in pain. And when she had known death was there, hovering above, he had promised it would be all right, that there was more than the petty fears swirling in her head at that moment. It wasn’t right… it wasn’t fair. The boy seemed so, well, human in her dreams, angry, defiant… broken. It just defied all logic to think he was the same… that he was the Heir.
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Awakening To the Dream