FF: Harry's Dream of the Turban

[dicentra63 <dicentra@xmission.com>]

No: HPFGUIDX 48675

Upon rereading the first book again, something jumped out at me.  The
dream that Harry has right after the Sorting is interesting.  (It's at
the end of "The Sorting Hat.")  He dreams that Quirrell's turban is on
his head, and it's telling him to transfer back into Slytherin because
it's his "destiny."

Was that Harry's mind messing with him, or was there another factor
involved?  I've dreamed up this little ficlet to demonstrate who might
have been behind that dream and why.


**********


"It's a good thing I don't need to breathe," he thought viciously. 
"The fool wraps this thing tightly enough to crush his skull, and he's
not terribly particular about keeping it washed, either."

It occurred to him that these little "oversights" might be
intentional, and he vowed revenge at the nearest opportunity.

But first, the work at hand.  He heard the creaking of the doors above
the din of the students' chatter, heard the shuffling of nervous feet,
the scrape of wood on the floor.

Then the room went completely silent for a few moments before...

"Oh, you may not think I'm pretty
But don't judge on what you see
I'll eat myself if you can find
A smarter hat than me...."

He mentally cringed at the singing.  Why the dratted thing had to go
through this miserable ritual every year was beyond all reason.  It
made it that much harder to concentrate on what was happening beyond
the teachers' table.  He would have preferred, of course, to *see*
what was happening, but he had long since learned to comprehend what
was happening without relying on his senses.  

He relaxed slightly and let his mind drift over the tops of the
students' heads.  Oh yes, there they were: his followers' pathetic
spawn.  

"Erstwhile followers," he thought bitterly. "But soon enough I'll be
dealing with *that*." 

There was a Malfoy, a Crabbe, a Goyle, a Nott...  Surely, they'd
welcome the opportunity to acquire more power than their fathers had.
 And perhaps, they'd even be the instruments by which he avenged
himself of their sires' disloyalty.

He smirked inwardly at the thought of creating a covert following here
at Hogwarts, right under Dumbledore's nose, but then something caught
his attention.  Something unexpected.  Something *wonderful*.

It was a Parselmouth.

As the singing finished and the Sorting began, he focused all his
attention on one student, one very frightened first-year who obviously
did not realize that his destiny was about to unfold on this very stage.

"A Parselmouth," he gloated.  He thought of how useful this boy would
be to him.  He could finally open the Chamber again and continue
Salazar Slytherin's noble work.  He could train up this boy to be
every bit as powerful as he, and together they'd finish what he'd
started some two decades ago.  The hat would of course place him in
House Slytherin, where he'd be trained up by a Dark Wizard.  And then
he'd be his...

"Potter, Harry," McGonagall called out.

There was a murmur from the students.  

"*Potter*, did she say?"

"*The* Harry Potter?"

And before he knew it, the Parselmouth approached the chair and sat
down.  

He cursed so furiously that his host began to twitch.

"Calm down, you imbecile," he hissed through the cloth.  "You'll give
us away." His host spasmed once more before forcing himself to stop
twitching.  He then turned his attention back to the student on the
stool.  

What a vile irony this was.  "His" Parselmouth was none other than
Harry Potter, the mewling brat who had reduced him to a mere shadow
ten years ago.  He had long vowed to destroy young Potter the first
time he got the chance--destroy him so thoroughly and so definitively
that it would never again be said that Lord Voldemort had been
defeated by a *child,* and the son of a Mudblood at that.

But then, there was more than one way to destroy Harry Potter, he
mused.  Harry Potter, son of Muggle-lovers and symbol of the defeat of
Dark Magic, standing at Lord Voldemort's side as his most loyal and
powerful follower.  Now *that* would dishearten even Dumbledore. 
Maybe his plans could still go forward. 

"Say Slytherin, you filthy rag. Say Slytherin and get on with it," he
thought furiously.  But the hat remained silent.  And from the
Parselmouth, he sensed something quite unexpected.  The Parselmouth
was resisting.  

"That can't be," he thought. "No one questions the Sorting Hat."  But
the little brat continued to resist the hat, until finally it shouted
"GRYFFINDOR," the hall erupted in cheers, and he sensed his prized
protégé sit down with Muggle-lovers and Mudbloods.

"He'll live to regret this," he thought, "but he won't live long."  As
the Sorting ended and the feast began, he mulled over his plans for
this rebellious young Parselmouth.  

"Perhaps it's still not too late to persuade him to reconsider," he
thought, as his host prattled away with his neighbor, his head turning
away from the students so that Voldemort was facing them.  He felt the
attention of young Potter fix on the back of the turban.  

"Curse you," he thought, wishing he had a wand.  A good Imperius curse
would be just the thing.  Or a Cruciatus.  Instead, he sent a burning
thought toward the lad--"Never resist me again"--that found its mark:
the scar he'd left behind on Potter's forehead.

Later that night, as his host slept on his side, snoring fitfully, he
let his mind wander through the castle to Gryffindor tower.  He found
the Parselmouth asleep, and he began to whisper into his mind: "Go
back to Slytherin; it is your destiny."

But even sleeping the Parselmouth insisted on resisting.  Even in his
dreams he rebelled against Lord Voldemort.

"Very well," he thought.  "If you will not bend, I have no choice but
to follow my original plan.  I will destroy you, Harry Potter, no
matter the cost.  Even if I have to die to kill you, I will do it. 
Because as long as you exist in this world, Lord Voldemort will not
rest." 

*************

IIRC, Voldemort never tries to persuade Harry to join him (except in
TMTMNBN)--he's just hell-bent on killing him.  But that dream seems to
me to be an attempt by someone to influence him.  And since Voldemort
was at the Sorting, maybe he did it.

--Dicentra, with apologies to JKR