Harry Potter and The Boy Who Had No Choice

Summer at the Burrow

Chapter One

A cold, high pitched laugh filled the room. Flashes of green flew by and the sound of shouts echoed off the walls. The usual house tables that lined the Great Hall were now broken and toppled over. An endless chasm of darkness took over the ceiling where students could usually see the starry night sky. Someone called out.

"Please," the voice rasped. "Help me."

He turned, coming face to face with a handsome, freckled face that could only belong to Fred Weasley. His red hair looked even redder matted with blood. As soon as he finished speaking, a blast of green light passed, hitting Fred squarely in the chest. His eyes went blank and his face became still as he plummeted to the ground.

"No!"

Two figures rushed by, their attention fixed on the other end of the room. One was wearing shabby, patched robes and tawny hair that had begun to gray at the roots, and the other had unmistakable bright pink hair.

"Don't!"

Remus and Tonks toppled over as more bursts of vivid green raced past. They hit the floor with a resounding thud, and a scream pierced through the chaos, bringing silence to the hall....

"Harry?"

Harry awoke with a start, moving so suddenly that he accidentally turned and fell out of his bed onto a creaky wooden floor. He let out an "oof" and pressed his hand to his forehead.

"Is it your scar?" Hermione peered at the raven-haired boy with alarm. She quickly glanced to the lightning shaped scar on his forehead as if she could see pain radiating off of him. "Is it hurting again? Did you.... did you see him?"

"What? No!" Harry exclaimed, pushing himself into a sitting position behind the crouched Hermione. He kept his hand pressed against his skull. "I just hit my head against the floor when I fell out of bed. Thanks for that, by the way," he added sarcastically.

"Sorry, it's just, you were screaming quite a bit." The crazed panic behind Hermione's eyes faded a bit, but she still looked concerned. She settled down so she was sitting next to him, their backs against the bed.

"Nightmares," he muttered, keeping his eyes on the ground. Even after everything, Harry hated to admit to Hermione that he was having night terrors. He couldn't bear to remind his friends of the devastating losses they had suffered at the Battle of Hogwarts. If Fred's face haunted Harry's dreams, he couldn't possibly imagine the horrors that Ron was going through.

Not to mention the fact that he didn't want to give either of his best friends yet another reason to coddle him. He appreciated how gentle they were being with him, but he was tired of being treated like he was made of glass and about to shatter.

"About what?" she said. Like she had to ask.

"Dementors," Harry lied vaguely. It was an awful lie, and Harry knew it, and from the way Hermione squinted at him, he could tell she knew it too. But luckily, she seemed to accept his answer for the time being and didn't press any further.

"Alright," Hermione nodded, standing up. "Anyway, breakfast is ready downstairs." She offered her hand to Harry. He took it and stood alongside her.

"Where's Ron?" Harry's eyes flitted around the room, searching for any sign of the tuffs of red hair and sprinkle of freckles that branded the Weasley family.

"In the kitchen."

Harry grabbed his glasses off the bedside table and followed Hermione downstairs. He sat down at the table next to Ron and across from Charlie, whose red hair was now falling into his face. Normally, Mrs. Wealsey would have never allowed Charlie's hair to get so long, but given everything that had happened, she had hardly noticed.