July 29, early morning before sunrise
A circle of dark figures surround him, and he stands at the center, tall and proud. One by one, the dark figures prostrate themselves on the ground, kissing the hems of his robes, swearing allegiance because they know they will die painfully if they don’t. Harry watches them, both amused and satisfied. He turns and sits on a throne, where sunlight streams down past marble columns and red and gold banners. People kneel before him, asking for things, and as he talks, a snake slithers around him, encircling his shoulder and neck. And it begins to squeeze, tighter and tighter. Harry awakes, fighting for breath and gasping his fears.