Harry Potter and the Dream Book

Chapter 17: the Boy Who Lived

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN:  THE BOY WHO LIVED

The house in front of which they now stood was where he had encountered Voldemort for the very first time in his life.  He had seen glimpses of it in dreams, over and over again, but never so clearly.  Presently, there were lights inside, and movement.  It was surreal.

“Do we have to see this again, Dumbledore?” asked James softly.

His wife was clinging to his arm.  She looked so shaken that Harry thought that she was probably unable to speak.  It pained him to see her like this, more than he could bear.  He wished that Dumbledore had not brought his parents into this memory, but the Headmaster did not slow his pace, nor did he say anything as he opened the front door and ushered them all in.  

The house reminded Harry of Number Four, Privet Drive, with the exception that it was decorated with a lot more taste and that it was a little bigger.

There were voices in the kitchen, just ahead of where they stood, and Harry recognised that it was his mother speaking.

“There, there, Petunia, dear,” she was saying.  “I’m sure it’s not that serious.”

Harry was ceased with sudden surprise.  He had never imagined that his aunt would come to his parents’ house.  Yet, true enough, there she was, sitting at the Potter’s kitchen table.  She didn’t look any different than Harry remembered.  She wore a peach-coloured dress and her hair neatly tucked behind her ears.  Presently, she was crying her eyes out and blowing her nose loudly every few seconds.

“Funny,” said James unexpectedly, which caused the four others to look at him.  “I remember exactly what I was wearing that evening.”

The fourteen-year younger James had walked into the kitchen.  He looked quite casual in a black shirt and worn out jeans.  His hair was untidy, like Harry’s, and he wore round-shaped glasses as well.

“Is Harry asleep?” asked the younger Lily, momentarily turning away from her crying sister.

“Yes,” said the young James, folding his arms over his chest.  “Say, are you ever going to stop this bailing?” he added in the direction of Lily’s sister.   

  

“Give her a break, James,” said Harry’s mother, pouring a cup of tea to Petunia.  “It’s hard enough as it is.”

“So, what was it?”  James asked, sitting opposite Harry’s aunt and taking two cookies from the plate in front of him.

“He still doesn’t want children?” Lily asked over to her sister, stroking her shoulder reassuringly.

Petunia nodded silently as more tears poured down her cheeks.

“Dursley.  What a brute,” the young Lily reacted, her hand still on her sister.

“Maybe I should have a talk with him,” said James, pulling out his wand and laying it on the table, a malicious smile on his face.

Petunia raised her head and stared at him, a sudden look of dismay on her face.

“No!” she said, horror-struck.  “It’s not that bad.  He… He’s a good man.  We’ll sort it out.”

“Well, you can stay as long as you’d like,” said Lily with a warm smile.  

Harry distinctively saw his younger father roll up his eyes.

“Fine, but I don’t want to hear any comments about how abnormal we are,” he said decisively and sounding a little aggravated.