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Friday, October 18, 1996

The Patil twins were handed over to the Aurors by Moody following the dramatic D.A. gathering. There they were questioned and, when it was revealed they were not yet marked and had not yet committed any crime, the Aurors were forced to release them. Naturally, with the revelation of their true allegiances they did not return to the school, but things were gloomy at Hogwarts for sometime thereafter.

Everyone had difficulty comprehending that the pair had been dark all along. Lavender was of course hit particularly hard; she and Parvati had been inseparable since first year. It was disconcerting to see the way the formerly ditzy and cheerful witch was now so grim, not to mention determined when it came to her D.A. efforts.

Of course, the Patil controversy was not the only source of gloom within Hogwarts walls. Time continued to pass and tensions were ever on the rise as war escalated in the outside world. Attacks occurred almost daily and the death toll steadily mounted. Students lived in dread of receiving a black letter, the colour a sign of a notification of death.

For Harry, the mood was overwhelming. People were dying and all he could think was that it was his job to defeat Voldemort and end this war, and he hadn't done it yet. His guilt was heavy and he felt useless. He was constantly asking Dumbledore to let him go out on Order missions, to no avail. The elderly wizard was adamant that he wasn't to risk himself unnecessarily.

The need to do something however was nothing to the pressure put on him by his fellow students. More and more it seemed as though they were all looking to him for answers, and more importantly, to make everything better. But he didn't know how.

None could deny that he'd coped remarkably well under the circumstances, especially for an emotional teenage boy. It was a miracle he hadn't gone insane from the expectations. The pressure just kept building and building however, and so none could truly hold it against him that he finally cracked, especially given the form that the final straw came in.

It was a Friday evening in mid October and the school was sitting down to dinner. As an owl winged its way into the hall, everyone held their breath. Mail arriving outside the usual morning delivery could only mean one thing. Sure enough, clutched in the bird's talons was a black letter. Breaths were held as the bird swooped overhead, and two thirds of the school relaxed as the bird focussed in on the Gryffindor table. Finally, with a descending dive, the bird landed on the table before a little blonde first year girl. Pale faced, she reached out and untied the letter with shaky hands, read it once over, and then started to sob loudly.

A group of nearby seventh year girls tried to comfort the child to little effect. Up at the head table McGonagall had seen the events and quickly made her way toward her distraught student.

"Come Miss Lane," she said softly, reaching the girl's side. "Walk with me."

The girl stumbled from her seat, steadied by her head of house's hand on her shoulder, which steered her toward the doors of the Great Hall. As she walked she hiccupped and wept, clinging to Professor McGonagall's robes. They were halfway to the doors when it happened. The girl looked up as they walked past Harry and his friends and stumbled to a halt.

"Miss Lane?" McGonagall asked, but the student's attention was elsewhere.

Before anyone could do anything, the girl threw herself at Harry.

"Why didn't you save them?" she yelled, grabbing at his shirt and trying to shake him."Mummy and daddy are gone. Why didn't you save them?"

McGonagall hushed the girl, pulling her away until she collapsed, keening in grief. When she could not be moved she picked the young one up, settled her on her hip, and strode from the room.

In his seat, Harry sat staring at the retreating figures. The image of the tiny little first year girl, wide blue eyes filled with tears, begging him to explain, tore at him. The hall remained silent, waiting on his reaction.

"Harry?" Hermione tentatively reached for him.

The moment she touched him he jerked away, and the emotions he we was holding back flooded him. He gasped, eyes wide, looking about wildly.

"I he stuttered, avoiding his friends gazes. "I have to go."

Then, before they could object, he jumped to his feet and fled the hall. He ran and ran and ran, not sure where he was going. When he finally came back to himself he could tell by the dust on the stone floor that he was in one of the long unused sections of the castle. Reaching out to the nearest door, he turned the handle and stumbled into an abandoned classroom.

It was two hours later when he was finally found. Bill entered the room to find him curled tightly into a ball, tucked under a desk in the far corner. Tears had been streaming silently down his face for some time but his expression was blank as he stared ahead at a wall. The eldest Weasley son took one look at him and the next thing Harry knew, the redhead had dropped to his hands and knees and crawled under the desk with him, pulling Harry into his lap so that they would both fit. Then, as he tucked the dark haired boy's head beneath his chin, Harry let out a stifled sob.

"It's okay Harry," he murmured soothingly, running one hand through his hair as the other rubbed his back. "Just let it out."

At Bill's words Harry finally broke down completely. And all the while, Bill just held him close and rocked him gently, letting him cry himself out. Sometime later his tears tapered off till he was slumped red eyed and wearily against the older wizard's chest. He seemed lighter somehow, and felt like he might drift right off to sleep.

"Bill?" He asked, voice stuffy and congested. "How'd you find me?"

"I asked Dumbledore. He asked the portraits which way you went."

"How'd you know to look?"

"When you didn't turn up for our lesson I wondered where you were. I asked the headmaster and he explained what happened."

"Sorry. For missing the lesson, I mean."

"Don't worry. It's fine," he said, threading his fingers through Harry's hair in a way that made the boy sigh and his eyes drift shut. "I know we're blokes and we're not supposed to talk about these things, but I think that's rubbish. So why don't you tell me how you're feeling. Might help."

Harry remained silent for a long moment. Did he really want to open up and spew his feelings out like that? He really wasn't the sort to confide in someone about such things. He didn't want to seem weak or needy (a consequence of his upbringing with the Dursleys no doubt), but... well, it wasn't like he hadn't already let down his barriers around Bill. Merlin, he'd just cried himself out in the man's arms, in his lap. He blushed a little as he realised the situation, but didn't move.

"She asked me why didn't I save them," he whispered finally. "Her family, that is. And I just felt... I dunno, that maybe she's right to ask."

"How do you figure that?"

"Well they died because of the Death Eaters. And the Death Eaters are out killing people because of Voldemort. And Voldemort's still around because of me. Because I haven't defeated him yet. People are dying because I haven't done my job."

"Your job? Harry, defeating him that's not your job," he objected.

The younger wizard hesitated. Dumbledore hadn't exactly forbidden him from telling anyone, but Harry realised the knowledge wasn't meant for the general public.

"Can you keep a secret?" he finally asked in a whisper.

A grip on his chin forced his face upwards and blue eyes stared consideringly into his own green orbs. He made an effort to put all seriousness into his expression and finally Bill nodded.

"Yes, I can," he said simply and Harry swallowed before taking a breath.

"The prophecy from the Department of Mysteries that the Order was guarding? It went like this: The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord approaches ...," he began to recite, "Born to those who have thrice defied him, born as the seventh month dies ... And the Dark Lord will mark him as his equal, but he will have power the Dark Lord knows not ... And either must die at the hand of the other for neither can live while the other survives ... The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord will be born as the seventh month dies."

Bill just stared at him, then brushed fingertips over his lightning bolt scar, causing him to shiver.

"'Mark him as his equal'," he muttered, then "Your birthday is the last day of July...'as the seventh month dies'." He took a deep breath before releasing it."I'm guessing your parents 'defied' You-Know-Who three times?"

Harry nodded silently.

"Merlin Harry," he swore, "that's a fucking mountain of a task."

Harry snorted at the unexpected profanity.

"Yeah," he agreed, "pretty much."

"Well no wonder you lost it for a bit there. I'd have been tearing my hair out by now."

"I just want to get out there and do something. How am I supposed to defeat Voldemort from behind Hogwarts walls?"

"Harry," he said seriously, "I don't think you're ready." Then, as the boy looked set to object, he said, "No, just listen. The prophecy, it talks about a'power the Dark Lord knows not', right?" he asked and Harry nodded."Well have you figured out what it is yet?"

"Well, Dumbledore says it's love or something." He wrinkled his nose. "But I don't know. I can't exactly hug him to death."

"So that's a no then. Well what happens if you go and face him, and because you've not figured out this power, you lose. That leaves everyone else pretty screwed, doesn't it?" he pointed out calmly. "Really, your responsibility right now isn't to defeat him, it's to figure out how. And I take it the training is your way of trying to do so?"

Harry bit his lip and nodded. He hated to admit it but Bill was right. His responsibility right now should be to 'figure out how'. He latched onto that. He wasn't ready to face Voldemort yet, but he was preparing. That counted for something right?

"Come on Harry," Bill nudged. "It's getting beyond cramped under this desk. Besides it's late. You should probably be heading up to Gryffindor tower by now."

He climbed out of the redhead's lap and crawled out from under the desk, the other wizard following. As then they stood there facing one another. Harry shifted awkwardly on his feet, fiddling with the sleeve of his robes. Bill just stood silently, waiting for him to say whatever it was he wanted to say.

"Thank you," he finally blurted out. "For coming to find me and- well just everything. Thanks."

Then he made and abortive move to hug Bill, before realising what he was about to do and holding back. The redhead caught the movement however and swept forward, pulling him into a firm embrace.

"Anytime Harry," he said, smiling warmly as they separated. "Now get on back to your dorm."

..ooOOoo..

Thursday, October 31, 1996

That night started a tradition of sorts for the pair. Every evening before training, they would meet up in that same classroom and sit together on the floor (though they had abandoned the cover of the desk as it really was too cramped). While there, they would talk about everything and nothing, and Bill would convince Harry to open up and share his fears and pains so that he could try to sooth them away with understanding and insightful logic. Eventually, he would even share things about himself in return. It was a very healing time for the boy hero who really was not a boy any longer so much as a young man and the two grew even closer.

It was also strange time; Ron and Hermione had been his best friends for so long, that it took him by surprise to find how much closer a friendship could be. But the fact of the matter was that with Bill things were so much more comfortable. He felt at ease opening himself up to the older wizard in a way that he never had with the first two friends. He found himself sharing things that he'd previously kept bottled inside because he didn't want to deal with Hermione's well meaning but discomforting prying or Ron's awkwardness and tactless moments.

That is not to say that all was well with the boy-who-lived's heart and mind. No, indeed not, for the nightmare visions of Voldemort's nefarious activities had yet to stop. There had been a calm after the Battle of the Department of Mysteries. But that was because, Dumbledore explained, Voldemort had been weakened by his possession of Harry and thus out of commission for a time. Soon enough though, they started again. They never gave him any crucial information; Voldemort was wise enough to employ Occlumency unless he actually wanted Harry to see what he was up to. And those visions he did share were all the same; attacks and tortures and death and misery. It was enough to make anyone despair, and he often woke crying from the nightmares.

Harry tried his best to ignore the dreams, but things reached a head on the night of October thirty-first. He felt uneasy all throughout the day, as one waiting for the knife to fall. After all, he had rarely had an uneventful Halloween in the wizarding world. When he was one, Voldemort attacked and his parents died; when he was eleven, a troll was let into the school and he, Hermione and Ron almost died; at twelve Ginny, possessed by diary Riddle, perpetrated her first Basilisk attack on Filch's cat; in third year, Sirius gave them all a good scare by attacking the portrait of the Fat Lady; and at fourteen, Harry's name was drawn from the Goblet of fire. Only last year had it been a quiet day, if you could consider any day under Umbridge's reign quiet, but he knew better than to hope that his bad luck wouldn't resume this year.

And so, as morning turned toward afternoon turned toward evening, he only became more and more tense. Finally it was time to head to bed. Harry slipped under the covers of his four poster feeling conflicted. His instincts told him something bad had still to occur, whilst logic told him the day was over, and he had made it through unscathed. He eventually drifted off to a restless sleep.

Three hours later Harry woke the entire dorm with his screaming and crying and thrashing about. Ron raced to his bedside.

"Harry! Wake up!" he yelled, shaking him urgently.

Harry jerked to wakefulness with a stifled scream and stared blearily at his four roommates who were crowded around his bed looking very worried indeed.

"Merlin Harry," Seamus whispered. "What the hell was that? Another one of your vision thingies?"

He nodded dumbly. The fact that he got dreams from Voldemort was open knowledge amongst these boys(it was a bit hard to keep his nightmares secret when they shared a room) but they didn't spread it around. Still, it was rare that they got as bad as they had tonight.

"Harry?" Neville asked in concern as he remained silent. "Will you be okay? Should we fetch a teacher or someone?"

He shook his head,"No, no point now. It's all done. Voldemort" they flinched, "was just sending me today's highlights. 'S Halloween, you know. He decided to throw a party for the anniversary of my parents' deaths." He rubbed his hands over his face and his voice was muffled through his palms. "I don't thank him for it. Wasn't my sort of party. Too much blood and screaming."

The others paled at his words and shifted awkwardly, unsure what to do.

"Harry Ron started but he interrupted.

"Go to bed guys. There's nothing we can do. I'll talk to Dumbledore in the morning."

..ooOOoo..

Friday, November 1, 1996

"Harry, what brings you to my office today?" Dumbledore greeted him cheerfully as he entered the room. "Lemon drop?"

"Hello headmaster. And no, thank you," he greeted the man and declined the sweet as he took a seat. "I'm afraid it's not good news. Voldemort sent me a vision last night."

"Oh?" the aged wizards gaze sharpened. "Anything we can turn to our advantage?"

"No," Harry said faintly, closing his eyes tightly as memories of his terrible dreams flooded his mind.

"Harry?" Dumbledore rose from his chair and rounded his desk, laying a hand on the boy's shoulder. "Are you not well?"

"The- the visions Voldemort sent me..."

And then he went on to explain just what they had been about, giving only enough detail so that the headmaster could understand how terrible it had been. Unlike last night, he was now dry eyed at what he had seen. Instead of feeling sad and hopeless he just felt terribly angry. How could Voldemort be such a monster? He clenched his fists tightly where they rested by his sides.

Dumbledore was grim and bleak as he listened, his compassionate gaze conveying that he understood and Harry need not be more specific. He took the seat beside Harry and folded his hands in his lap, looking very old.

"I feel a failure, that I cannot think of a solution to this my boy. There is no advantage in you sharing this connection with Voldemort; not now that he knows of it and guards against it. And to be perfectly honest," he shook his head, "I don't believe I could ask you to maintain it even if there were advantage to be had. It is a terrible burden upon you, especially when you are already carrying such a heavy load."

"It's alright headmaster. You tried, getting Snape to teach me Occlumency and all," he said but winced at the memory of the painful lessons. "It's my fault. I didn't practice. Maybe I should try it again?"

But Dumbledore shook his head. "No, I think not. I have spoken to Severus about your lessons with him and even considering your less than enthusiastic efforts, you should have made some progress. We can only conclude that you are naturally unsuited to the art. It happens sometimes and in such cases further teaching could do more harm then good."

"Then there's nothing that can be done?" Harry asked desperately and the older wizard sighed, before looking thoughtful.

"I can only think Harry, to ask others for suggestions and advice. I may have accumulated much knowledge in my many years, but I readily confess I do not know everything. With your permission I would like to share the situation with your four trainers. Would that be alright?"

"Sure. Anything."

"Very good. Perhaps they will have some insights that could help."

..ooOOoo..

Wednesday, November 6, 1996

"Good evening Mr Potter," he was greeted as he entered the Room Of Requirement.

"Good evening Healer Vance," he replied in kind.

The room was set up like an infirmary, all bright and white, with a hospital bed in one corner and medicinal potions and texts on shelves all about the room. In another corner there was set up a potions workstation, and near the door there was a sitting area. Vance gestured him to one of the stiff armchairs there and he took a seat.

"I have something off topic to explain to you, before we get to training today," she said in her usual formal tones.

"Ma'am?"

"Headmaster Dumbledore has spoken to us about your visions," she explained, "and after some consideration, I have a possible solution."

Harry's eyes went wide and he straightened in his seat. A possible solution? A possible end to these terrible nightmares?

"What is it?" he asked eagerly.

"Have you ever heard of dream-catchers, Mr Potter?"

"It sounds familiar, but I'm not sure," he said, frowning.

"I first read about them in Medimagic Journal. It was a small article, in the mental heath chapters, and it spoke of a Native American magical device made traditionally of sinew strands woven in a web about a small rounded frame of willow. Hanging from the frame are various feathers and beads." She shook her head with pursed lips. "It all sounds very woolly and questionable, and I don't confess to any knowledge of just how it functions, but these devices can quite literally 'capture' dark dreams. Originally they were hung over the beds of children to protect them from bad dreams, but the journal article wrote that some healers had adapted them for use in cases with witches and wizards who had gone through a traumatic event. Dream-catchers were used to keep the nightmares at bay."

"And you think this will keep away my Voldemort visions?" he asked, fascinated and hopeful.

"I cannot say for certain, but I believe it's worth trying. I've asked a colleague of mine in America to acquire one for me," she said, before standing from her chair abruptly. "Now, I believe we were to work on brewing the Blood-Replenishing Potion."

..ooOOoo..

It was a week before the dream-catcher made its way into Harry's hands, and in the meantime his dreams had continued, albeit none so horrific as those on Halloween. At first sight of the device he thought that it didn't seem very magical. All the same though, he set it up, hanging from his bed canopy so that it dangled above his head, and then drifted off to sleep.

When he awoke the next morning his attention had been drawn to a silvery light. Looking up in shock he'd discovered that the web of strings were coated with a silvery substance. It was just as Healer Vance had told him nightmare memories clung to the net, waiting to be removed.

There were two ways of doing this. The first, disposing of the dream, was to shake the dream-catcher so that the silvery matter came loose and dissipated in the air. The second method was to use your wand to draw it in strands from the web, like the silvery filaments of memory Harry had seen Dumbledore pull from his temple. These could then be either preserved in a vial or put into a Pensieve for viewing.

Of course, since he needed to be sure it was a Voldemort vision that was captured, and not a regular nightmare, he had teased the dream memories into a vial and promptly made his way to the headmaster's office. There Dumbledore had him deposit the strands into his Pensieve which he tapped to project the contents in the air above.

As both stared at the vision of a family of Muggles murdered in outer London, their reactions were split between sadness and anger at the needless deaths, and happiness and relief that Harry would no longer have to experience the emotionally and physically painful visions from Voldemort firsthand.