Disclaimer: As always, I own nothing. J.K. Rowling has everything, including the right to sell T-shirts.
Author's Note: Sorry for the long sabbatical, guys, but I was really depressed and had serious writer's block, not to mention problems in college. But excuses aside, I really had no right to deprive you.
Dedicated to all my loyal reviewers who have always provided me with constructive feedback for every chapter I posted. You know who you are.
"So, Mr. Potter, tell me about the nightmares again. How long have you been having them?"
The elderly psychiatrist leaned forward, biting on the arm of his gold-rimmed spectacles with an intent look on his face.
Harry looked wearily at him.
"As far back as I can remember."
Terrible memories, long suppressed, resurfaced then. Flashes of green light interspersed the anguished voices of his parents.
"You're having them again." It was a statement made with full confidence, the older man frantically scribbling in his unintelligible doctor's handwriting all over the notepad in his lap. Too drained to speak, Harry merely nodded and slumped back into his chair.
"From what you've been telling me, Harry – may I call you that? – yes, the traumatic experience of having your parents murdered by a madman has affected you deeply. It is not unusual for visions to become ingrained into your psyche – "
The rest of the doctor's words was lost in a vivid image of Cedric's murder before his eyes and Voldemort's subsequent revival, complete with his own screams.
He was bound and gagged, tied to the tombstone of Tom Riddle Senior and the cauldron bubbled before him…Wormtail was slitting his forearm open and collecting the vital blood for Voldemort's rebirth…He was on his back, screaming as Voldemort used the Cruciatus curse on him repeatedly…
For some reason, the visions had grown stronger after the Final Battle, when Voldemort was nothing more than a bad memory. The images not only troubled his sleep, but began to plague his waking hours, plunging him back into the horrors he had once experienced.
And they were taking their toll.
Harry had grown thin and pale, hardly venturing outside ever since a hallucination of the Final Battle and the shades of long-dead Death Eaters attacking him had caused him to blast an entire Muggle street into rubble. Thankfully, Hermione had been with him and she was able to prevent any casualties. He had escaped public scrutiny, thanks to his position as the hero of the war but a part of him had died that day.
Recently, he had taken to visiting a Muggle psychiatrist out of sheer desperation since magical means had no effect on him. It was a mark of how mentally exhausted he was that Harry had given his real name to Dr. Roberts.
" – and hence I would like to see you again next week, Harry, so we can further discuss the nature of this hallucinations. I think we've made good progress today."
With a dismissive wave of his pudgy hand, Dr. Roberts adjusted his spectacles and busied himself with his notepad. Harry got to his feet to leave, gripping the arm of his chair to steady himself.
"You are weak, Potter."
Harry's eyes widened as the form of Dr. Roberts and his chair smoothly transformed into the skeletal figure of Voldemort seated upon his throne. The pitiless red eyes surveyed him coolly.
"You are the shadow of the man you once were. Do you think you have won? I have survived death at your hands once before, I can do so again. Lord Voldemort will rise again, more powerful and terrible than before…"
"Shut up!" roared Harry, his wand in his hand by a reflex gesture. "You're dead!"
"You wish I was," hissed the silky voice, filling Harry with icy-cold dread in spite of himself. "I am everywhere, and I have more powers than I did before."
"You left me to die, Harry," cut in an accusing voice. "My blood is on your hands."
He spun around, white as a sheet to see Ron standing before him, blood soaking his clothes and trickling from the corner of his mouth.
The apparition stared at him, eyes filled with pure loathing.
"You don't exist!" shouted Harry, a trembling hand pointing at the two in turn. "I'm seeing things again, you're not here!"
Voldemort rose from his throne and the two figures advanced menacingly towards him. Harry fell back against the wall, his legs giving way.
"Stay back…stay back…" he murmured through dry lips, eyes bulging with fear and darting from either apparition.
"You killed me!" shouted Ron.
"I shall return!" whispered Voldemort.
"Mr. Potter!"
Harry shook himself and squinted. Dr. Roberts was standing in front of him, holding a pitcher. Water dripped onto his cheek and he realised that he had emptied its contents over his head.
In an instant, he was on his feet, gripping the doctor's lapels.
"They were here, just now, in here," said Harry desperately, shaking the doctor in an effort to convince him of the truth. "I saw them, they appeared to me, they spoke to me."
"You are seriously mentally ill, Mr. Potter!" barked Dr. Roberts, gripping Harry's wrists. "I did tell you that you are prone to having vicious outbursts, due to the violent nature of your trauma! I am dangerously close to declaring you insane and having you locked away, save that you are sane enough to realise something is wrong with you!"
Something snapped in Harry.
"I am not mad!" he bellowed, taking one step forward, fists clenched. "I'm telling you, I saw them because they appeared to me!" He began pacing the room like a caged tiger, shoulders hunched, body tensed.
Dr. Roberts pressed the intercom button on the wall and spoke into it. "This is Dr. Roberts, get security into my office now. There is an unstable patient, I repeat, an unstable patient."
Harry wheeled on him, bloodshot eyes focused in hatred. Suddenly, the room vanished, to be replaced by a dark cave. Dumbledore lay screaming in agony at his feet, as the Inferi rose out of the water, seizing him with their rotting hands and dragging him down. He staggered, trying to force his mind to clear itself.
"I will not give in to myself."
Author's Note: That has to be it, I'm going outstation tomorrow and I need my sleep. New updates coming soon!