I've always wanted to do one of these. I know I have other fics to do but I couldn't help myself. So here we go. No editing, we die like men.
I own nothing. Tw: suicide mentions/suicide.
Harry had long since exhausted any energies he had despite the fact that the day had barely come to a close. He chased potatoes around his plate, half-heartedly shoving his fork around and scraping it across the metal. Hermione followed him closely, eyes flickering from his fork to his face although she didn't say anything. He still had a potions essay to write, due tomorrow, several feet of parchment long that Harry hadn't even begun to think about.
Lately he'd begun to feel tired more often. His sleep was often short lived and he dreamt things that he could barely remember. Which was unusual, given that his nightmares and dreams tended to stay in his mind. At least it wasn't visions of some great evil. That would be worse. It was hardly mid-day. Barely lunch. And already he felt as if he could collapse. His eyelids felt heavy and his body felt like it ached even though he hadn't done anything yet. He still had Charms and then History of Magic and although it hadn't bothered him much in the past, he feared that he would fall asleep in that class. Maybe he could come up with an excuse.
"It helps to actually use the fork for its intended purpose," Hermione said pointedly, gesturing to his plate with her own fork.
Ron glanced between the two, brow furrowed in worry. "You haven't eaten all week, mate. You alright?"
Harry shrugged, setting down his fork and pushing his plate away from himself. "Not hungry I guess. Mostly just tired."
Hermione frowned. "You look it."
"Thanks."
Her face flushed. "I didn't mean—."
Harry waved it off, a small smile on his face to show her that he'd been joking, and he picked himself off the bench. "I'll see you in Charms. Need to grab something from the dormitories."
He'd already turned away when they said their farewells and was exiting the doors as the headache descended around him. Other students milled around him, talking and walking toward where ever they needed to be. By the time he'd reached the Gryffindor common room he'd been stopped once or twice to talk and his headache had gotten severely worse. He barely made it into the rooms when he collapsed onto his bed holding his head, a mumbled groan escaping his lips. Maybe he wouldn't need to make an excuse for History of Magic. He had one.
He twisted around in his bed, eyes squeezed shut. He gripped his hair and sighed. Maybe he should see Madam Pomfrey. He knew she had potions he could use to ease a headache. Or maybe a spell. Something.
He twisted back on his belly and groaned into his pillow.
He must've laid there for a bit. Or maybe slept. When he sat up again the sun was setting. The room was empty. Dinner. Or at least, close to it. Harry briefly thought about heading down, but the headache had barely subsided and he didn't want to make it worse by thudding down to the grand hall and risk making the world spin.
He slipped off his bed and padded to his trunk, kneeling down and unlatching the clasps that held the top down and threw open the trunk. His hands fell immediately down to the sides. Sitting directly on top of his books and old clothes was a package wrapped in an old leather that smelled like woods. Harry blinked down at it and then sat back on his heels, looking around the room. Perhaps it was a mistake? Maybe someone had intended to put it in their own trunk and mistakenly placed it in Harry's.
But that didn't make sense. Everyone's trunk looked different and they'd lived long enough now to know they're places and beds. He peered down over the package. There was no name and so, gently, he tugged on one of the linen ribbons and the leather folded out of itself, revealing a sharp looking black bladed dagger. Harry blinked down at it. It's hilt was a shining glimmering metal with a single red jewel imbedded on the front, and the head of it, a curved round piece that fell in on itself, looked more like the head of a key.
Gingerly, he reached forward to touch it. As he drew closer, a strange humming sensation began to buzz in his ears and he pulled back, stumbling back onto the wood floor. He picked himself up and leaned back over the trunk, frowning down at it. The dagger did not seem malicious, and even the strange odd humming had not seemed like a dark magic that Harry had learned about. Still, he shut the trunk and leaned back on his heels.
What did he do?
Take it to Dumbledore? Or McGonagall? He tapped his fingers against the top of the trunk and looked out the window. Night had fallen. He had missed both Charms and History of Magic. He knew Ron and Hermione would be looking for him soon if he didn't show, but his earlier nap must not have made much of a difference. Already, it felt as he could soon sleep again. His eyes felt heavy and he found himself crawling into his bed, pushing his shoes off with his feet.
It did not take long for sleep to hold.
He wakes feeling desperate, but that's not the first thing that's different. He's lying in a room that's far too bright and white for it to be anywhere in Hogwarts. Windows loom in his vision and he halfheartedly turns his head in the direction of the sunlight when he feels the need to get up.
He does so slowly, staring around the large shelves filled with books and odd looking trinkets. In the corner there is a small cauldron bubbling softly. A radio plays music— muggle music, but it's soft and quiet and he ignores it and moves to the living room. A parlor with paper, parchment, and books scattered about it. The couches are haphazardly shoved in the corners of the living room. On the wall a TV plays the news, set to mute. And there, as he turns, he finds the dagger. It sits glimmering on the counter, black blade like the sky at night itself. He reached forward to grasp it's hilt and place it into a leather scabbard. He tossed it lightly into a rucksack and then threw it over his shoulder. With a wave of his hand, all the lights flickered off. The bubbling of the cauldron stopped and the music shut off instantly. The TV's picture faded to black and the only light came from the sunlight through dusty windows.
He left through a small wooden door that was painted white and locked it behind him. Several flights of stairs later and he was loading the rucksack with the dagger into a small old bug that, when he turned it on, churned it's engine several times before puttering along the road. He did not question that he did not know how to drive, because clearly he did and that didn't matter, and found himself driving Northeast and parking the car at a small car park on the side of a large wood.
He slowly got out and grabbed the rucksack, slinging over his shoulder and locking the car door. As he turned away with a wave of his hand, he wondered what would happen to it. And then wondered why he would need to wonder that. And then by then he was trudging into the woods and brushing leaves and sticks away from a long untaken path. Several hours and few stops later, the sun was soon setting and the birdsong had begun to retire. Still, he trudged ahead.
It was soon when he came to the edge of a lake. In the center, choked by mist, was a single island with a crumbling tower. He rested down on the side of the lake, the water lapping the shower gently as he stared out over the distance mountains. Cars passed in the distance but he paid them no mind. Slowly the sun's rays began to fade. The moon had risen and the stars were just beginning to twinkle in the night sky. He unpacked the dagger from the rucksack and discarded the object to the side. Releasing the weapon from its small scabbard he gripped it tightly in his hand.
A spoken apology in a voice that was his, but not, and suddenly he twisted the dagger on himself and plunged it into his chest. But there was no pain. Only relief. And then with one least feat of strength, he pulled it from his body and threw it into the lake. As he fell to his side, he reached forward with one hand and touched the waters of the lake.
There was no pain.
Only relief.
Harry woke with such a start and yell that Ron and Neville both lurched forward with him. Harry desperately clutched at his chest, sobs wracking his body as he tried to comprehend his own dream. Ron was at his side immediately, holding his shoulders and saying words that Harry didn't know, couldn't know, because there was a relief and pain that was sucking his chest from this world. He could not breathe. There was no air. Only hurt. Neville disappeared down the stairs and from his field of view. But Harry didn't care. What had he seen?
What had he done?
Neville appeared suddenly again and then Professor McGonagall was there, pulling him up from his bed. He wondered vaguely if he had a shirt on and then thought he must've because fabric bunched up around his sleeves and he felt incredibly hot. But then that didn't matter. The dagger!
He pointed with his free hand toward his trunk.
"Mister Weasley!" McGonagall exclaimed. "Grab his other arm!"
"No!" Harry protested, his voice finally coherent since he'd woken up. "Trunk!"
McGonagall only halted for a second before she turned Neville around and toward the trunk. "See to whatever he is babbling about! Mister Weasley, grab his other arm and help me take him to the infirmary!"
Harry lurched forward, pitching his body toward the trunk because he had to see that dagger again. He had to know if it truly was the one from his dream, but Ron gripped his shoulder and arm and pulled him up.
Harry woke the next morning to sunlight and immediately burst forth from his bed.
"No you don't!" Madam Pomfrey's voice hollered from down the row of beds. "Stay there! Not a single move!"
Harry fell back into the bed in a slump, blinking down at the worried witch headed toward his bed. She tucked the blanket back up into his chest and fluffed the pillow. He blinked groggily up at her.
"What happened?"
She frowned down at him, her normally stern face more concerned than anything else. Quickly, she rested a hand on his forehead and, apparently finding nothing, tucked it back away to her side. "No fever," she murmured, "I'll grab the professors. Dumbledore's been wanting to speak with you."
Harry barely managed to mumble that of course Dumbledore wanted to speak with him before the witch disappeared out of the infirmary. He propped himself up and glanced around the infirmary chamber. It was empty except for himself and the light streamed through the windows at such a low angle it must've still been early morning. His headache was gone and he didn't feel sleepy at all. In fact, he found himself impossibly awake. He knew that if the old witch insisted he sleep he'd lie awake until she forced him to.
Barely fifteen minutes had passed before Pomfrey returned with Dumbledore, McGonagall, and Snape. Why the greasy potions professor was there was beyond Harry, but he sat up straighter at the sight of them nonetheless. Dumbledore had his wand drawn, holding it raised as a package of wrapped leather floated through the air.
The dagger.
He made no move to get up.
"Well," Dumbledore began, "You gave us quite a scare."
Harry avoided the pointed look from Snape and nodded, swallowing nervously. "I didn't mean to."
"Don't be silly," McGonagall said, her face pinched as she frowned down at him. "Of course you didn't. What we would like to know is where you acquired that dagger Mister Potter. Mister Weasley and Miss Granger said they'd never seen it before and, in fact, hadn't seen you all of yesterday after you disappeared at lunch."
Harry's gaze finally flickered to the dagger. It floated inside the package in a swirl, looping around in the air without a care. He glanced back at the professors.
Snape's gaze was withering but Harry looked directly into the man's black eyes and sat straighter. "I'd had a headache after lunch. Really bad. I went back and, I didn't mean to, but I fell asleep. I woke up and then I… went to my trunk. And it was just there. I thought it must've been a mistake, maybe Seamus or Dean had intended to place it in their own trunk. Or maybe Neville. It looks like something his grandmother would like."
Dumbledore's frown twitched a little.
Harry continued. "But after I opened the package I reached to touch it but… I didn't. I thought it might be cursed or… or something. And then I felt incredibly tired and just had to sleep again. And then I did." He shrugged it off, glancing between all of them for some hope of belief.
Snap immediately scoffed. "A prank, is all. Probably set on by the other boys. The dagger is most likely harmless."
Harry frowned. "Ron and Neville wouldn't do that. They're my friends."
"Then the other two then," Snape snapped.
Harry's gaze matched the older mans in darkness. "They're my friends too."
A long pause and then McGonagall frowned. "This is not the time. Is that the only thing that the dagger did, Mister Potter? Make you sleepy?"
Harry hesitated a second too long because he could see they were waiting now. "No…" he said slowly. "I had a dream. And the dagger was in it."
Snape turned to Dumbledore, gesturing briefly with his wand. The dagger and package floated harmlessly over to the potions professor where it landed on the bed next to Harry. Snape leaned over it, his wand gracing over the dagger before he stood straight and turned to Harry. His face was not filled with the hateful one usually reserved for Harry, but more curiosity.
"Explain this dream to us," he said, his tone impatient.
Harry blinked down at his hands, a numbing pain beginning to bloom in his chest. "I woke up in a place I'd never been to before. A flat or… a house. I'm not sure. I woke and went into the kitchen. On the counter, there'd been the dagger resting. I put it into a rucksack and then left through the door to a car."
"A muggle home then?" Dumbledore presumed.
Harry shook his head. "No. In the corner of the bedroom there'd been a cauldron and in the parlor parchment and quills. I drove for a long time to a wood and a small car park. I got out, took the rucksack with me, and ventured into the wood. I walked for some time until I reached a lake. I don't know why I left the car sitting there and walked hours through the woods. I thought it was strange, because by the lake I could still hear the sounds of cars passing. I…" he paused, the numbing pain in his chest blooming into actual pain.
"Mister Potter? What happened?"
"I… I took the dagger and I," he choked, clutching at his chest again as he felt the dagger slide into his skin.
McGonagall's face turned to horror and then sadness, and even Snape's withering gaze softened. They both looked to Dumbledore. The man was staring at Harry with a peculiar gaze. "Professor Snape, please do my the favor of taking he dagger to my office. We'll inspect it further there."
"Before I did it," Harry whispered, causing the adults to freeze, "I said I was sorry."
"We must go now Harry. I believe you need to rest," McGonagall said, her voice soothing even as she turned away. But he could hear her worry.
"No!" he exclaimed, and then paused. "I mean. If you find anything, you'll tell me?" He looked at Dumbledore as he spoke.
The old man paused at the door, turning only briefly to look at Harry. His eyes were unreadable. "If we find anything." And then he was gone.
Harry didn't protest as Madam Pomfrey made him drink the sleeping draught. His eyes began to shut and he wondered if he would need any more sleep after these next few days.
"He can't see the future, can he? I don't believe either James or Lily had the sight?" McGonagall exclaimed, whirling on the two other professors as the door shut on the headmasters office.
"I do not know if he saw the future," Dumbledore said as he lowered himself into his chair, the dagger displayed out in front of him. He turned to Snape. "Did you detect any magic?"
"Magic, yes," the man replied. "Dark magic? No. But whatever is… enchanting the item is powerful. Old."
"Old," Dumbledore murmured. "Yes. I can feel it."
"If it wasn't the future, it can't have been the past," McGonagall said, frowning down at the dagger. "How did it end up in his trunk? Is there an intruder? Why would he… oh, I daren't even say it."
"I don't know," Dumbledore answered honestly. "Have Professor Flitwick check the wards. If an intruder has come in then we will know that way. I want this dagger tested again. For old magic that we might not know of. I fear there are greater powers that are working."
"He-who-must-not-be-named?" McGonagall whispered, eyes flashing as she turned on the two professors.
Snape frowned down at the dagger.
"He is but a man," Dumbledore answered honestly. "He is no greater power than I am."
Harry woke up the next morning feeling refreshed again. He'd woken several times the past day to eat and use the toilet, but none of those times included being woken up to friends. This time, though, he woke up to Ron, Hermione, Luna, Ginny, and Neville looming over him. Seamus and Dean were sitting a little further away but they too peered over him as if he were one of Dudley's unfortunate summer science experiments.
"Oh, get off me!" he exclaimed.
"He's fine!" Ginny exclaimed, sitting back with a grin.
"Harry we were so worried! Ron and Neville said you'd woken up screaming. Are you alright?"
Harry sat up in the bed, leaning back onto the metal frame. "Now? Yeah. I'm fine. Back then not so much. I'd just had a bad dream."
Luna looked at him strangely and leaned back to sit with Ginny on the opposite bed. Ron and Hermione both still loomed over him even as Neville sat back too.
"What about the dagger?" Neville asked.
Harry frowned.
Hermione leaned forward even closer. "It must be dark magic, Harry. How else could it have ended up in your trunk?"
Harry found himself wanting to say 'regular magic' but figured she wouldn't appreciate it. He fiddled with the covers while they all began to throw out their theories. He didn't think the knife was dark magic. Maybe it was just powerful, but when he'd reached forward it didn't seem evil or dark. It was just… there. Perhaps that was the point. Maybe if Harry had touched it he wouldn't be awake right now. Maybe he'd be dead. But he wasn't sure he could believe that. Maybe the dagger seemed evil in what it had been used for, but itself was just a dagger. A tool.
"I don't know," he answered honestly.
"Ya should've hear ya scream, 'Arry," Seamus whispered, shaking his head, "You sounded like you were in pain."
Harry almost reached up and clutched his chest but then dropped his hand back down. "I'd just had a nightmare."
"Did the dagger have words on it Harry? Or anything that might give us a clue? I doubt Dumbledore or McGonagall will tell us anything if they discover it," Ginny voiced, pulling her hair out of her face. Harry blushed deeply and averted his eyes to look over at Ron. The other Weasley was frowning deeply into the floors of the infirmary, deep in thought.
"No words. Just a red ruby and the head that looked like the top of a key," he shrugged. "I don't know. After opening it I felt really tired. And I went to sleep."
"And then woke up terrified," Ron said suddenly, his brow furrowed. "Harry you weren't even speaking English."
Harry pauses and wonders what else he would be speaking. His primary school, back before Hogwarts, had taught a bit of German but Harry had never excelled at it. He'd never really been given the chance. But he had a feeling that that wasn't what Ron was talking about. "I don't know any other languages," he answered truthfully. "What did it sound like?"
"Nothing that I'd ever heard before," Ron replied as Neville, Seamus, and Dean all nodded.
"Maybe it was just a prank. It looked fancy enough that Malfoy would own it," Ginny said, leaning back across the bed. Luna shifted over slightly. "I mean, at least from what Ron and Hermione said about it."
Dean snorted. "I doubt he'd give up anything that looked that nice just to play a prank."
"And the only thing it did was give you a bad nightmare," Neville argued, "Which isn't a really good prank."
Harry gestured lazily around him. "I am in the infirmary. And I don't know of any spell that induces nightmares."
"Neither do I," Hermione said, biting her lip, "And you're right, Dean. I doubt Malfoy would give up something that nice for the sake of a prank. We can rule that out."
"Maybe it's a present! Or a message?" Luna said. "Maybe it's not dark magic at all?"
Harry shifted a bit in his bed. "I didn't feel like dark magic really."
"Did you touch it?" Ron asked, eyes going wide.
"No," he said, shaking his head, "I didn't. But I did reach for it. It didn't feel malicious."
Hermione groaned. "That could mean anything."
"Yeah, but—."
"Alright!" Madam Pomfrey exclaimed, hurriedly rushing toward them. "Out, out! You've talked long enough! He'll be back up in a few. Get out!"
They all shuffled awkwardly out of the infirmary. Luna threw him one last happy wave, and then disappeared in a sweep of blonde hair. Harry settled down into the bed, half disappointed they were gone and half glad he would be able to think. He wondered about Luna's words. A message?
He'd killed himself with that dagger in a dream. A message. Did someone want him to die? He flopped back down on the pillow with a groan. He didn't understand why he was still here. Nothing was wrong with him, and he didn't need to sleep any longer. The past days exhaustion had disappeared along with the dagger. He wasn't tired. And thinking about this all only made him angrier.
Outside of Voldemort, who wanted him dead? Malfoy? Maybe, but unlikely. They didn't like each other one bit, but Harry didn't wish Malfoy dead. Snape? No. Harry scowled up at the ceiling. Why had he dreamt about the dagger? Why did he kill himself with it?
Harry might hate a lot of things, but he did not hate his life. Not really. He knew that if it ever came down to it, he wouldn't be able to kill himself. He wondered why in the dream he'd gone through with it. He closed his eyes. He thought about the lake and the strange crumbling tower. It had seemed familiar. Not homely, not in the way Hogwarts was, but it's very… idea had seemed familiar to him. He'd seen that tower before somewhere.
Where?
And why had he been speaking another language?
It was several hours of vague sleep and thought later that Madam Pomfrey decided he could leave the infirmary. He'd miss two days of classes and knew he'd have to play catch up. Or rather, Hermione would force him to. He had hoped that perhaps Snape would allow him to either skip the essay or at least delay it but then thought about asking and decided against it. He'd get it done later. Maybe Hermione would let him copy hers.
He trudged up to the Gryffindor dormitories. It was already night and he'd missed dinner in the great hall. At least he'd been given something small when he'd left the infirmary. But he still found his stomach rumble as he crawled through the porthole behind the fat lady. What greeted him was Ron, Hermione, and Ginny with a plate of food.
"We thought you'd be hungry!" Ginny exclaimed, handing over the food to Harry.
"Life-savers," he exclaimed, already reaching to stuff it into his face. Hermione's faced scrunched up as she watched him but she said nothing.
Harry collapsed into one of the plush chairs in front of the fire, shoveling in potatoes and meat. He didn't realize exactly how hungry he'd been. They sat and chatted about all the things he'd missed in the two days he'd been out until eventually both Hermione and Ginny bade them goodnight and disappeared up the stairs into the girls dormitories. Harry and Ron continued talking about Snape and potions and then Malfoy and then Quidditch. When Harry had finished eating, they made their way upstairs. Harry went to bed quietly and when he woke up the next morning, he had not had a single nightmare.
The next month passed relatively quietly. Summer was almost near. Spring began to take hold and forest around them sprang forward with green. Ginny had unfortunately been right. Dumbledore did not tell Harry anything and whenever he'd asked about the dagger, the headmaster managed to brush it off or turn the conversation away from the topic. McGonagall said nothing either, or for him to ask Dumbledore. Harry didn't bother asking Snape.
The exhaustion he had suffered a month earlier had subsided to brief bouts of extreme exhaustion where he could barely sit tall in the class without his eyes falling. His dreams were thankfully harmless, if not strange, but he woke up with most of them a haze in his mind. Nameless figures and strange places. Once even a dragon. He'd happily relayed that dream to Ron, who'd then spent the rest of the morning trying to figure out what type of dragon it must've been just from description.
There were two months left before the summer break when Harry found himself, along with Ron and Hermione, standing at the edge of the lake doing schoolwork. Hermione was furiously scribbling along a piece of parchment, checking over the book every few seconds. Ron was leaning back with his head on the ground and his legs splayed up a tree, tossing an apple into the air every few moments only to catch it again. Harry sat between them, staring out to the lake.
"In my nightmare," he said, "There'd been a lake."
Hermione finally glanced up from her parchment. "What nightmare?"
"The one when I'd found the dagger," he replied, scrunching his eyes as if to envision the island from the dream onto the great lake. "There'd been a lake and an island in the center with ruins."
Ron tilted his head back to look at the lake. "No offense, Harry, but why do you mention it now?"
Harry blinked. "I just thought about it. There was a lake. I think there was magic around it."
Hermione frowned. "That could be anywhere. And either way, there's a chance that it doesn't exist. What does the great lake have to do with that?"
He found himself shrugging. "I don't know. It just seemed important. Do you think it's real?"
Hermione laid down her parchment and closed her book, turning to look at him directly. He was still staring out over the lake, envisioning the ruins crumbling on the island.
"What'd you even do at the lake?" Ron grumbled as he turned himself right side up.
That caused Harry to pause. Should he tell them? He'd barely been able to admit it to the professors, hardy even himself. He still thought about it often enough. Not in any sort of angst filled way, but it would cause him pause in his day. He'd think about it. The action. The birdsong and the moon rising. The lake he'd apologized to. He shrugged again. "It's been a while," he replied honestly.
"I wouldn't worry about it," Hermione said. "It was just a nightmare."
Harry wanted to agree. But he reached down and felt the grass beneath them and thought about how real the grass by that lake had been as he'd sat on the floor of the wood, ready to pull the dagger out.
Eventually the sun began to set and they packed up their belongings. Harry motioned to them he'd follow in a moment, too tired to get up. He could feel the exhaustion building up. He just felt so tired. They left him sitting there. And Harry knew he should get up and move. He should at least get back to the castle. But he felt so tired and the sun was falling below the mountains and the sun was coming up and the moon hung in the sky like one of the great halls floating candles. Slowly, out of spite, he began to pick himself off the ground.
A whirling headache hit him suddenly, almost physically, and he fell onto the ground. He clutched at his robes, squeezing his eyes shut.
"Ow," he said, wincing and holding his head as it throbbed.
When he opened his eyes, he was at the other lake. He pulled back further from it, eyes swinging wildly around. It was nighttime. The moon as its zenith. The waves lapped lightly at the shore. And suddenly, the figure rose from the water. She wore a silvery blue gown that hung over her body like water. Her form was pale and dripped the water. But she made no sound as she rose from the water. She only stopped a meter from the shore, tilting her head to look at him.
"You are here," she said. "I do not suppose you know who I am."
Harry blinked and sat up, staring her up and down. Her hair was dark, falling over her shoulders and dripping water that made no sound as it fell into the lake. Slowly, he shook his head.
She sighed. "If only you had listened, my love. We would not be here now. But this is just a chance to see you again, however small you may be."
"I'm sorry," he finally spoke, "You must have me confused with someone else."
She was already shaking her head. "No," she replied, "I am not confused. I would know you anywhere, in any form. You are already on the path to remembering?"
He stuttered. "Re-remembering what?"
"Your past," she answered, taking a few more steps toward him, beckoning him to stand up and come.
He did not understand why he did it, or even why he trusted the strange spirit. He stepped up to just where the water ended but she shook her head, beckoning him closer. He glanced down at the water, wincing, and then stood straighter. He could handle wet shoes. And so he stepped in. Immediately, he felt refreshed. His headache subsided and he stared up at the spirit. He did not know how he knew it was a spirit, but she'd risen from the lake and her magic was strong enough that Harry could feel it. It was softer than anything he'd ever felt before.
She cupped her hands underneath his jaw. "When the time comes, trust."
He blinked up at her. "Trust?"
"Trust, my love." And then she moved down to kiss him on the forehead. The world began to fade. The moon's light disappeared behind a foggy cloud. And as Harry felt sleep take him over, he heard a final goodbye.
"Ymddiriedolaeth, fy nghariad. Mae eich amser yn dod. Cofiwch."
And while he did not know how he knew what it meant, Harry took it to heart.
To be continued...