Harry has a nightmare. Set close after the end of HBP.
The muggy late-June air was laden with that special variety of stillness that only occurs after midnight. Outside his window, the neighbourhood was silent. No dogs would dare bark at night in this estate...
On the other side of a thin wall, the Dursleys snuffled and snorted as always. When no bellows of 'Boy!' resulted, Harry relaxed with a quiet sigh.
Sliding his legs off the edge of the bed, he leant down to retrieve his wayward glasses. The flick of a switch turned on an extremely dull lamp. The Dursleys might think they were slighting him again by only buying him bulbs half as bright, but it came in useful for times like this. He put the notebook and pencil back on the table; luckily, it hadn't been one of those dreams. This time.
Not that it mattered, anymore. By now Harry had plenty of images to create his own nightmares...
A shaking, blackened hand, reaching out to his... A glimpse from behind a veil, as her laughter cackled on... A graveyard full of madmen, and a strangely bloodless corpse...
'Why didn't you save us, Harry? You should have saved us...'
He shuddered, hard.
Harry had a feeling that those ghosts wouldn't be leaving his nightmares for a long, long time. It was almost reassuring, in a twisted way.