Chapter 17

Disclaimer: I own nothing. Harry Potter belongs to J.K. Rowling. Blah blah blah. should just put a blanket disclaimer on the site for all the idiots that could possibly believe we actually own these stories or make any kind of a profit.

Harry stood alone in the blackened ruins. Ash floated in the air, drifted around him like little dust motes. The sky was dark and full of stars. When he moved, ashen objects gave way under him, breaking down underfoot. He knew if he reached out a hand to what remained of the wall, it would collapse in a similar way. Everything he touched turned to ash.

Behind him, the fiery snake slithered, it's forked tongue flickering and spitting sparks. It was large, much larger than him when it coiled itself upright, and its eyes were black with red pupils in its flaming skull. He didn't know its name, for when he asked, it never replied.

'Sssseee how fragile they are,' the snake hissed, 'thessse pathetic mugglessss and their ussslessss flesssh. You feared them for no reassssson. You could have annihilated them with a blink. You burnt them in your sssleep Harry. Burnt them like the maggots they are. SSSSS.' The snake made a sound, as if laughing.

Harry made his way into the living room of what used to be the Durlsey house. Nothing remained except ash and blackened, half collapsed walls. The fire had been so intense he had destroyed everything. His too big clothes were streaked with ash from where he had awakened in the ruins, buried under the remains.

Harry looked left and right, but could see nothing but blackness around him. The neighbours didn't exist here. Just like the police. In reality, they had arrived only moments after Harry had woken, to find him standing in the middle of the ruins, expressionless.

'Burn Harry. Buuuuurn. Destroy everything. Tear it down.'

'Why?' Harry whispered.

'Becausssse you were made for iiiiit. Itssss what you're good at. Dessstruction issss your calling.'

'What if I don't want to?'

The snake made the laughing sound again. 'You can't fight it Harry Potter. You will burn the world down. It iss your desssstiny.'

Harry clenched his hands into tight fists. His eyes closed, he saw nothing but fire, flickering prettily. The flame was beautiful, but deadly. He knew he would wake soon. Wake to find nothing but ash.

Harry, no! It wasn't a voice. It had no sound. It was a feeling. A feeling that resonated inside him. He gasped and woke up shuddering. His blanket was on fire. He kicked it off, grabbed his wand and quickly put it out. Then he collapsed back against his headboard and cried. His heart beat thunderously in his chest. He had nearly done it again. Nearly burnt down another "home". What was wrong with him?

Except this time it was different. He hadn't slept through it. He had been woken by something, giving him a chance to stop the fire before it spread. It was the not-words. The feeling.

Was it?


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