A/N: Some of the myths referenced in this story include sexual assault, abuse, and other atrocities. I'll provide specific warnings as needed at the beginning of each chapter. Additionally, the gods in these myths aren't known for monogamy. I'd really appreciate no one panicking if Hermione or Draco appear to stray or if the other characters refuse to pair off neatly.

Pay attention to the time stamps because the story jumps around a bit. Dream sequences especially aren't in chronological order.

Chapter 1: Dreams and Other Distractions

11.30 am – 20 July 1998

Janus Thickey Ward, St Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries

The figure wore jeans that were slightly too long and a threadbare emerald green jumper with sleeves that were slightly too short. His narrow build, average height, and ill-fitting clothing should have made him unimposing, but to his dismay, he was recognised almost everywhere he went. Immediately after he entered the Janus Thickey Ward, a young, bright-eyed mediwitch squealed, "Harry Potter!" and rushed towards him, so eager to assist the young man that she barely avoided bowling over one of her patients and didn't avoid careening into a potions cart. Ampules shattered and phials upended. Harry winced.

A plump, elderly healer, whose lime-green robes shot through with gold and silver threads marked her as the ward administrator, pointed her wand at the spilled liquids and snapped, "Tergeo!" As the fluid siphoned off, she admonished the mediwitch for her carelessness and sent the young woman to restock the potions she had broken. The mediwitch huffed, scowled, and pouted at Harry before finally stomping off. The healer just shook her head and smiled at the—clearly mortified—saviour of the wizarding world currently stammering out apologies.

"Nonsense," she interrupted with a briskness that reminded him of Professor McGonagall. "How can I help you, Mr Potter?"

"I'm here to, uh, visit Remus Lupin. And Tonks. Nymphadora Lupin, I mean."

"Yes, of course. Andromeda told me you might drop by." She walked him to Room 412. At the door, she leaned closer and murmured, "Take as long as you need, dear. I'll make sure you have privacy." He nodded. She was about to return to her duties when she noticed that, although Harry had placed his hand on the door's handle, he had made no move to open it. Her eyes crinkled in concern.

"Mr Potter—

"Thank you for help," he interrupted, stopping whatever she'd been about to say. He managed a quick smile for her sake, but as soon as he'd opened the door enough to slip through, the smile dropped away.

The room contained two hospital beds, two small bedside cabinets, and two armchairs. There were flowers and photographs of their son on both tables but few personal effects. Remus, in the bed closest to the door, was sitting up with his hands loosely clasped in his lap. In the other bed, Tonks lay prone. Neither reacted to the door opening and closing, which didn't surprise Harry. He'd been told that Remus and Tonks didn't even react to Teddy when Andromeda brought the baby to visit.

Harry drew a shaky breath and sank into the armchair closest to Remus. He ran his hands through his hair and over his face.

"I'm sorry I haven't visited," he said when the silence became too heavy. "You look better than I thought you would." This was true. When he'd first met Remus Lupin, the man had looked shabby, haggard, and malnourished. It was jarring to see him looking younger and healthier now. In fact, neither Remus nor Tonks had any visible injuries. Dolohov's final curse had trapped them within their own minds somewhere, but they were alive and could be fed and taken on walks. Andromeda said they even moved on their own occasionally, although never with any discernible purpose.

Harry sighed. "I'm not good at talking to someone who isn't really there." He picked at a loose thread of his jumper. "Hermione says it's possible that you can hear people speaking to you, wherever you are, so I figured it was worth a shot. She's the cleverest witch of her age, right?" He fidgeted some more.

"I'm worried about her. Ron asked her if she wanted eggs or toast the other day, and she started hyperventilating." Harry smiled ironically. "McGonagall invited us all back to Hogwarts to finish our seventh year, and Hermione's not sure she wants to go. Hermione's not sure she wants to graduate. We used to think she'd be begging Dumbledore to stay on a few extra years."

In the other bed, Tonks rolled onto her side. Harry rose and walked around her bed until he could see her face. Unlike Remus, her eyes were closed. The metamorphmagus' hair was her natural light brown, and he guessed that all her facial features were also the ones she'd been born with.

"I'm sorry this happened, Tonks. It's not fair. You and Remus deserved to be happy." Harry turned away abruptly and gritted his teeth. I could have waited until it wasn't so fresh, he thought. It hasn't even been three months. Maybe Ron was right, and I'm just torturing myself.

I should go.

But…there had been a reason he wanted to talk to Remus. Harry took a deep breath and once again took the seat next to his old Defence Against the Dark Arts professor's bed. He didn't look at Remus as he began to talk.

"I should apologise, I think. I didn't come just to see you. I mean, yes, absolutely I did because if you were yourself again, you're who I would want to talk to about this, whatever this is. But you're not, and mostly I think I need to tell someone who won't think I've gone mad." Harry laughed bitterly. "And you know how everyone is always so delighted to believe I'm a nutter. Shite, even Ron thinks this is me having trouble 'letting go' of the war. Everyone has nightmares now, he says. Doesn't mean anything."

"He's wrong though. I've always had nightmares, and this is different. It feels like when I was in Voldemort's mind, like I'm dreaming someone else's dreams. But I think he's worse than Voldemort, and it's every night, and I'm so tired." Harry looked up and felt a stab of disappointment when he saw that Remus' eyes had closed while he was speaking.

"I wish you could hear me. I'm scared that there's a new dark lord coming, and I don't know what I'm supposed to do about it. I don't know who to tell. And I don't know what the point of it all was if we're still not safe," he said bitterly. After a short pause, he continued, "Tell you what though, the bloody Ministry can find a new chosen one to handle it. I'm going back to Hogwarts, and I'm really hoping to avoid walking into certain death this year."

When Harry left Remus and Tonk's room, the ward administrator bustled over to him, wringing her hands.

"Mr Potter, I'm so sorry to ask, but I think you know the young lady in Room 414. Miss Weasley? Do you think you could convince her to take a walk or get something to eat? She's been in there all morning, and I'm sure it would do her good to get some fresh air."

"Ginny's in there? Whose room is it?"

"Alice and Frank Longbottom," she said soberly. Unsurprised, Harry nodded, assured her that he would speak to Ginny, and let himself into the room. In layout, it was identical to the Lupins' room next door, but the Longbottoms had lived there for years and keepsakes and mementos covered every available surface. His gaze lingered on the brightly coloured drawings signed by a very young Neville tacked to the wall over Alice's bed, stick figures labelled Mum, Dad, and Me.

A pale and sick-looking Ginny sat curled into one of the armchairs. Like him, she wore Muggle clothes. Harry crouched in front of her. Her eyes focused on him a little slowly, and the lack of any other response reminded him eerily of Remus and Tonks.

"Hey, Ginny," he said cautiously. "I didn't know you were going to be here today too."

"I come to see them," she said, tipping her head towards the corner of the room where Alice and Frank Longbottom sat on floor cushions, apparently unaware that they had company.

"Often?"

Ginny shrugged. When he was sure that she wasn't going to respond, Harry said, "The healer said you'd been in here a while. Have you eaten?"

"No. Haven't been hungry much, I guess."

"I was about to get lunch, if you'd like to join me," Harry offered.

Ginny hesitated. She didn't want to leave, but Harry might tell Ron that she wasn't taking care of herself if she refused to go. She didn't really fancy having her whole family showering her with concern and casseroles by sundown. With a sigh, she uncurled from the chair and stood. The movement surprised Harry, who had thought it would be harder to convince her, but he rose with her and followed when she walked towards Alice and Frank. Neville's mum had begun to hum and rock back and forth with her eyes screwed shut.

"Frank, Alice. I'm going to go now, but I'll come back tomorrow," Ginny said gently and bent down to hug the frail, white-haired woman around the shoulders. Alice didn't stop humming or move her arms to return the gesture. When Ginny straightened up to leave, however, Alice seized her wrist and tried to pull her back. Ginny gasped and nearly stumbled in surprise. Alice's other hand reached out to point at the many small, colourful squares of paper that dotted the floor near her. Her humming became louder and strangely emphatic. Harry looked confused and tried to lean in for a better look, but Ginny patted Alice's hand and pulled away.

"Come on, Harry. Let's go," she said.

In the hallway again, Harry began to ask her what that had all been about, but Ginny was already at the other end of the corridor, flinging open the double doors that led to the staircase. He followed behind but kept his distance—he'd known Ginny Weasley long enough to recognise that when she ran away from something, she either needed to cry or explode. If she was crying, she didn't want him around to see. If she was looking for someone to hex, he wasn't eager to volunteer.

So, it was fortunate that the many portraits of famous old healers lining the stairwell seized the opportunity of a captive audience to provide unasked for and invariably gruesome advice. After the third portrait told Ginny that she would be dead in a week if she didn't receive treatment for a rare and ghastly ailment, she shrieked, "Make one more comment about my health, and I'll incendio the whole damned hospital!" In the sudden silence, Harry's laughter echoed around them. Ginny stopped walking and waited for Harry to catch up with her. Her lips twitched.

"I wasn't joking," she told her ex-boyfriend sternly.

Harry grinned. "I know, Gin. Best thing about you, really, is that you mean it when you threaten to set the world on fire." His grin widened when Ginny finally laughed, the spark of humour returning a little colour to her face. She resumed her descent more slowly, and he noticed with relief that some of the tension left her shoulders.

On the ground floor landing, he took the lead, stopping in front of a large painting of a rotund healer with a feathered hat. The healer glared at Ginny but bowed to Harry, who murmured, "Succorro aegros." At his words, the portrait swung off the wall, revealing a passage that led out into a narrow alley behind the hospital.

He let out a sigh of relief. As grateful as he was for magical healing, he didn't think there was anywhere he loathed more than hospitals and infirmaries. Ginny seemed to feel the same, if the way she was gulping air was any sign.

"All right, Ginny?"

She shrugged. "I've been worse. How'd you know about that exit?"

"One of the healers slipped me a note," Harry said ruefully. "After I got mobbed by the people in the waiting room."

"Maybe they thought touching you would heal whatever they'd come in for."

"Not bloody likely. If anything, history suggests hanging around me might not be the healthiest pastime."

"Ah, there's that self-pity no one asked for," Ginny said, not unkindly. "But you never know, maybe you'll get lucky and contract spattergroit from one of them. That would help with the unwanted attention."

"As ever, your support is appreciated." They smiled at each other. "Do you mind if we apparate back to Grimmauld Place for lunch? I think Kreacher was making Cornish pasties."

"Grimmauld Place and pasties, yes, but you know I can't get my apparition license until August."

"I could side-along you," Harry offered.

"Ergh, no, I hate that. I'd rather walk. It's only about 25 minutes, right? Maybe I'll work up an appetite."

Harry agreed, and they set off towards High Holborn and Southampton Row. Ginny said thoughtfully, "I wonder if the Ministry will let me take the test. The Carrows' idea of apparition training was probably a bit unorthodox."

"I'm guessing I don't want to hear about it."

"Oh, I don't know," Ginny mused. "It involved large snakes, torture, and maniacal laughter, so you might have felt right at home."

"Bloody hell, Gin. I doubt I could focus on apparition during all that, even if I could still talk to snakes."

"Can you not do that anymore?"

"It was never really my ability. I think it got destroyed along with him."

"I'm glad," Ginny said. "Ever since Voldemort's snake attacked Dad, I've hated them."

"Nagini is the main reason I won't miss it," Harry agreed, remembering the horror of the snake exiting the body of Bathilda Bagshot.

They walked in silence along the wide, busy road for a few minutes. Suddenly, Ginny said, "Do you think Neville would want his parents to know?"

Harry blinked in surprise.

He knew that Ginny had started dating Neville while he, Ron, and Hermione were searching for horcruxes. He had been hurt and angry when he saw Ginny and Neville on the Marauder's Map, too close together to be misinterpreted. Months later, as he prepared to walk to his death in the Forbidden Forest, he had felt reluctantly grateful. He had hoped that she and Neville and Hermione and Ron would take care of each other. He had even realised, in a strange moment of clarity, that she and Neville might last, while Ron and Hermione would probably go back to being friends in a matter of months. Wrong on both counts, of course, because Hermione had broken up with Ron after three weeks and Neville was dead.

Harry had only heard Ginny speak about Neville once since the battle, when he, with the memory of Ginny's screams still ringing in his ears, had gone to the Burrow after avoiding her for months and confessed that Neville's death was his fault. He had asked Neville to kill Nagini, the final horcrux. And Neville had succeeded, only to be struck down by Bellatrix Lestrange moments later.

Ginny immediately hexed Harry. While he coped with giant bat-bogeys flapping out of his nose, she calmly explained that Neville had died neither for him nor because of him. No one died for you that day, she said, and Voldemort and his Death Eaters are to blame, not you. Neville was a hero, and Bellatrix was a monster, and neither of them needed an excuse to do what heroes and monsters do. She cast the counter-hex and hugged Harry fiercely. I hate that Fred and Neville are gone, she said. That doesn't mean I wish you were dead in their places. I can be proud and angry and grateful and lonely and sad, Harry, all without blaming you for a moment.

Then why'd you hex me?!

Because you're a stupid prat. Obviously.

That had been almost a month ago, and although he couldn't agree that he wasn't to blame for Neville's death, the conversation had re-established their friendship. They had spoken frequently since then, about Hogwarts, quidditch, Kingsley's reforms at the Ministry, and Rita Skeeter's upcoming Harry Potter tell-all. But she never mentioned Neville or visiting St Mungo's to see his parents.

"They might not be able to understand," Harry ventured.

"That's what the healers say, but they're wrong. His mum always recognised him. She's waiting for him to come see her."

"How do you…oh. Oh. She gave him candy wrappers," Harry said, remembering when they'd accidentally stumbled upon Neville and his grandmother at St Mungo's and finally understanding what Alice had been trying to communicate before they left the room.

"Yes. Drooble's Blowing Gum wrappers. She's saving them. She won't let anyone throw them out." Ginny's voice cracked, but she stepped away when Harry reached towards her. "I'm fine, Harry. I just wish there was a way to tell her what happened. What if she thinks he forgot about them?"

"Gin…maybe that's better. He wouldn't want them to be sad."

"But what if they forget him?" Ginny whispered. "Harry, I can't let everyone forget. I can't stand it. I have these dreams that I'm trapped underground with no light and everyone I love has forgotten me. And there are things moving all around, wailing and tearing at me…"

She had stopped walking, and Harry saw that she'd gone ashen.

"Ginny, it makes sense that you'd have nightmares about death," Harry said awkwardly, annoyed to find himself repeating the words Ron had said to him.

"No, Harry," Ginny snapped. "This is different. It's not me in the dream. It doesn't even feel like a dream." Harry's eyes widened, and she rushed on before he could speak, "Just listen. I think that somehow, Neville is reaching out to me. He needs my help. I swear, I'm not hysterical. This isn't grief. Something is happening to me."

"I believe you," Harry interjected, momentarily stunning her. His green eyes blazed, and he reached out to grasp her by the shoulders. "Ginny, this is really important. Have you had other dreams like that? Dreams that weren't dreams." She nodded slowly. "Tell me."

"I…I was in someone else's body. Younger than me, I think. She was taken," she said slowly. "From her home. She had a garden, and the fruit that grew there could banish death. It was beautiful, but it died, when he took me. Her." Harry stared at her for a moment before gently squeezing her shoulders.

"I'm really sorry about this, Gin."

Ginny opened her mouth to ask what he could possibly be sorry about now, but before she could say a word, his grip tightened, and the world went completely dark.

12.15 pm – 20 July 1998

12 Grimmauld Place

"Harry, is that you?"

Ron turned away from his room, Cornish pasty in hand, and continued down the corridor to stand in Hermione's doorway. She looked up from where she sat cross-legged on the floor with an open book on her lap and smiled at him.

"Hullo, Ron."

"Harry's not back yet," he told her. "His grand apology tour continues."

"Don't make fun of him," she sighed. "If it helps him—

"How could it though? I mean, he's been to every funeral, hugged every orphan—

"That's an exaggeration."

"Yeah, but just barely." She glared at him, and he shrugged. "I'm worried about him, Hermione. He punishes himself all day because he couldn't save everyone, and then at night, he dreams he's a bloodthirsty dark wizard dismembering his own father. Does that sound right to you?" Hermione jerked upright and stared at him.

"He dreams what?"

"It's just guilt, Hermione. You know how he is. He feels like he's responsible for everyone who died, so he dreams that he killed them."

Despite her alarm, Hermione smiled. "That's very insightful, Ron. It sounds like something I'd say."

"Well, I've been told I'm brilliant," he joked.

"Yes." Hermione stood, still holding the book she had been reading, and brushed the dust off her clothing. "But just in case, why don't we go sit in the kitchen and you can tell me exactly what Harry said about this dream."

"Uh, sure? He said he was going to tell you about it today anyway. Dunno why you want to talk in the kitchen though."

"Because you're getting crumbs everywhere, Ronald, and the kitchen is where the plates live. Besides, I'm starved."