Author Note: Hello all. Yes, it's me again, and yes I've redone the story. Again. You all must be quite pissed with me – I would be angry if I were you. All I ask is that you give this new version a chance – I'd say it's the best thing I've written by far. By the way, this story used to be called Eternal Night. The title now means eternal in Latin. Reviews always are and always will be welcome, but don't worry, I'm not one of those authors that won't write unless I get a certain amount of reviews.

IMPORTANT: This story was written originally before the fifth book and will stay that way, even though I may incorporate things from the other books into this story.

Prologue: Somnium(1)

Sirius Black, also known as one of the most feared men in the Wizarding World, started awake with a cry of despair. Almost immediately, strong arms wound about his waist as his lover, Remus Lupin, awoke.

"Padfoot, are you alright?" Sirius shook his head to signify that he was, in fact, not alright.

Bile rose in his throat as he remembered the hellish nightmare that disturbed his otherwise peaceful slumber. Jumping out of bed, Sirius desperately tried to quell the shaking in his body. Looking back at the bed, he saw the honey colored eyes of his lover flood with concern.

"Remus, there was- I mean, I saw... why can't I bloody remember..."

Slightly shaken by the behavior of his normally buoyant lover Remus stood up and walked over to Sirius, placing a hand on the taller man's forearm. "Padfoot," he repeated, "calm down and talk to me. Tell me what's wrong."

Remus knew exactly how to calm Sirius when he was upset, and was gratified when most of the tension seemed to leak out of Sirius' body.

Shaking his head, Sirius covered his face with his hands and sighed. "I saw Harry... he was in trouble."

"What kind of trouble," Remus asked, fearing the answer. Although it seemed that Sirius was suffering from nothing more than a bad dream, a sense of foreboding came over Remus. It was not at all impossible that Sirius had actually seen a glimpse of the future in his dream. Sirius was Harry's godfather after all, and the magical bonds connecting them were very strong.

Removing his hands from his face, the other man growled in frustration. "I don't remember! Dammit, Remus, all I remember is that Harry was in trouble. And I don't mean 'oops I got caught out in the corridors after curfew' trouble. More like the variety of trouble that only happens to a person once because they're usually dead afterwards."

It would happen tonight. Not that either of the boys knew it; it wouldn't matter even if they did. Destiny had already wrapped them in her cold and unforgiving clutches; nothing they could do would change the outcome. Life was ironic like that, deceiving you to believe that you were the master of your own fate when the choices that you claimed were your own truly weren't. One defining and unchangeable moment, just one, would change the outcome of the Final Battle... but for better or worse?

Harry shifted in his bed and the mattress groaned as if his tossing and turning caused it pain. For some reason, he couldn't go to sleep. His body was exhausted, but his mind was a different story. Thoughts streamed in and out of his consciousness, simmering below the surface... warning him of something that had yet to occur.

Harry came to is dorm a few hours ago, ready to sleep the sleep of the dead. He'd nearly fell asleep at dinner, causing him to almost suffocate in his pudding. Now hadn't that been embarrassing? Harry blushed lightly at the thought.

He didn't think Fred and George were ever going to let him forget that one, although it wasn't as bad as when Ron woke up with his foot in his mouth that summer in the Burrow. Both Bill and Charlie had been there for the week and as a result the twins bunked with Ron and Harry. As Harry remembered the sounds of Ron choking on his own foot, he had to stifle a laugh.

His slightly humorous thoughts took away the edge off his uneasy feeling that he'd been experiencing only moments ago.

Unfortunately, his mind had different ideas and he was once again dragged down into a collage of dark and depressing imagery.

Life had changed the moment Harry got to Hogwarts, but he wondered if it would have been better to remain the way he was. The entire summer Harry'd half expected Voldemort to walk down Privet Drive and take the revenge he so desperately desired by killing him. He'd been so paranoid that Harry couldn't even count the number of times that he'd whipped out his wand, millions of hexes on the tip of his tongue, to realize his 'dangerous enemy' was nothing more than the shadow of a tree swaying in a practically nonexistent breeze.

But... suddenly, because he was back with his friends, he could pretend that everything was normal though things obviously weren't. Their presence alone was enough to comfort him into believing nothing could happen to him. Ron and Hermione were able to shatter the apprehension that lay dormant in his heart. He changed from "Moody Jr." to just a normal teenage boy. Even though he knew the way he he'd been acting during vacation wasn't healthy, he wasn't sure that being overconfident wasn't either.

A boy was dead. Cedric was dead. All because of Voldemort. The first few days after Cedric's murder, Harry struggled with guilt before he realized that Voldemort killed Cedric... it wasn't his fault. Becoming depressed would have only played directly into Voldemort's hands.

For the moment, he could pretend that he was like every other boy. He could pretend that he hadn't somehow defeated a dark lord when he was one, pretend that people didn't think he was mad for saying that Voldemort was back. He could pretend that he didn't have a godfather that was currently running for his life, or that things really weren't coming undone.

Just for now.

Harry sighed and lay flat on the mattress so that he could see the top of his four-poster bed. Again it groaned.

Suddenly unease began to prickle in his stomach like needles as a thought surfaced in his mind.

Ever since his rebirth, the Dark Lord had been extra quiet, apart from a mysterious disappearing every once and a while. There was no sign that he was back and it made both him and Dumbledore seem like fools for even suggesting it. The old wizard said that because Voldemort was gathering up his army and was not yet strong enough to have the Ministry after him, he was trying to make it seem that Harry was making up the story and that Dumbledore was an incompetent fool for even believing him.

But what if Voldemort had already gathered his army and was planning to attack Hogwarts right now? He could almost see Voldemort standing outside of the gates of Hogwarts, his serpent-like features twisted into a mockery of a grin, his violently red eyes reflecting the bloodshed he would soon cause. No one would even guess… it would be the perfect attack… while everyone was sleeping. The thought made Harry bolt upward and frantically scramble for his wand that was under his pillow. He'd slept with it there ever since the Dark Lord returned, even at the Dursleys.

Harry stared at his wand for a moment then threw it on the bed in disgust. He was being a prat. Dumbledore was the only one that the Dark Lord had ever feared, and he doubted that Voldemort would face him until he was completely at the height of his powers. And he couldn't have developed his army that fast, could he? Of course not, not without drawing unwanted attention to himself.

Besides, his scar didn't hurt at all.

And yet…. something was just not quite adding up.

Realizing he wasn't going to get any sleep that night, Harry walked quietly towards his trunk. His tall figure was covered in shadows. Yes, tall. No one was more surprised than Harry to see how much he had grown over the summer. He had always been rather small for his age but now he had shot up in height and was nearly as tall as Ron at six feet.

He had attained a nice muscular figure that was lean as well as strong by going to the gym five miles away from Privet Drive. He'd also gotten a tan from walking to the gym everyday in the summer heat. His hair had been cut down to a more manageable length so that it was just messy enough to look styled.

While his glittering green eyes were hidden behind hideous glasses and his clothes were as always, gag worthy, Harry's overall change was quite staggering. He was growing up to be quite handsome; many of the girls (and quite a few guys) at Hogwarts realized.

Harry threw the cloak over himself and disappeared in the darkness.

One. Two. Three. Four. Five. Draco silently counted in his head each time he heard a drop of water fall. The flames of the fireplace crackled as it devoured logs. Every once and a while a spark would fly upwards, only to be hindered by an invisible barrier in front of the fireplace to prevent... well, fires.

Six. Seven. Eight. He wasn't really sure where the 'splat' sound was coming from but it calmed his uneasy nerves. Occupying his thoughts with something else was little comfort, but a little comfort was better than none.

Having problems going to sleep weren't exactly new to him. Having a father like Lucius Malfoy had given him plenty of nightmares and paranoia when it came to sleeping. But… something was different about tonight.

Nine. Ten. Twelve. Eleven. Draco smiled slightly as he counted. He'd always count twelve before eleven. It was sort of an inside joke that only he knew. Was a joke even considered a joke if only one person knew it? As he pondered the question momentarily, he lost count.

Cursing slightly as he stared at the fire, he started again. One. Two. Three. This really was stupid. Five. Six. Seven. Maybe when the feeling that something was not right left him he'd be able to stop. Staring at the sinister looking shadows of the Slytherin common room he sighed. Maybe not. Eight. Nine. Ten. Twelve.

Quite suddenly Draco decided to take a walk. After all, it wasn't as if he would be getting any rest tonight. He stared at his shadow for a moment, watching as it spread over the cracked stone of the dungeon floor.

He was quite proud of himself. This summer alone he had shot up three inches bring him to just over five six. To most boys his age it wasn't much of an achievement, but to someone who had been five three for four years, it was a cause for celebration.

His hair was just below the bottom of his neck and was un-gelled, as he'd recently got out of the shower. Draco's skin, pale as ever, shone like a beacon in the darkness while his eyes colored like the most violent summer storm glanced suspiciously around his surroundings one last time. His body, lithe with lean muscles, stooped down to pick up his wand.

Once more the drop of water fell. Eleven.

(1) Somnium - Dream in Latin