A/N: Happy New Year, guys! I hope you all had a wonderful time on the 31st/1st, and that you have an amazing 2019! New Year is my favorite holiday, actually. And here is another one of my favorite chapters. I hope you enjoy it.

Disclaimer: Everything Harry Potter belongs to our queen, JK Rowling!

Otherwise, this story is a work of fiction, and any non-HP original characters, their names and adventures are purely a product of my imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental and fictitious. This story does not take place in our Muggle world as we know it, but in a world entirely its own.

Chapter Fourteen:

Into the Dark

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It was August, and the heat was unbearable. Harry wiped his brow, and then quickly flattened his hair to his face to hide his scar. It stuck. He sighed in frustration and glanced over at Ella and Robert, who were trailing along behind him.

Production was wrapping shortly for a three-week break, and the studio, taking advantage of the downtime, had sent its three young stars out into the local community on a public relations mission. Thus, on a hot and sunny Saturday in August, the three of them could be found in the small park next to an animal shelter in West London.

Harry, who was holding on to a medium-sized brown dog with floppy ears, was in the lead. Robert walked a step behind him, holding the leash of a large, fluffy dog in various shades of browns and greys. And several paces behind them was Ella, who had insisted on taking not one, but two small dogs, which were now yapping loudly while running around her in circles, tangling their leashes around her legs.

"Wait!" she called over their excited barks. "Wait one second!"

Harry and Robert stopped and their canine charges paused in their exploration of the great outdoors to glance back curiously. Ella managed to untangle the leashes and ran to catch up to them, the small dogs hurrying after her.

"These dogs are crazy!" she panted, wiping sweat off her face. "They won't calm down!"

"This may be a shocking revelation," Robert said, keeping his voice level despite his amused tone, "but it was possible to take just one."

"But they're both so cute, how could I pick just one? Good thing I didn't take the third one though, I suppose."

"They wouldn't let you take the third one," Robert said reasonably. Harry laughed.

Ella ignored him. "Did you know," she said, turning to Harry, "that walks help socialize dogs, and that socialized dogs have more chances of being adopted? We're not just giving them a few fun minutes – we're hopefully making a lasting difference in their lives." She turned back to Robert. "So, there, Rob, you could have taken two, too."

"I did know this," Harry confirmed. "But what's loads more interesting is that you sound as if you've swallowed the volunteer guidebook, which is the kind of behavior I expect only from Hermione."

He smiled wistfully as he thought of his friend, back at Hogwarts with Ron. She looked just like the girl before him, but she couldn't be more different – except possibly in this moment.

"I happen to be passionate about rescuing animals!" Ella said unapologetically, giving them both a glare that was only slightly ruined by her amused smile. Then she ran off, the two smalls dogs – Harry thought they might be Shih Tzus, or Yorkies, or some mix in between – chasing after her.

As Harry and Robert looked on, the dogs ran around her legs again and nearly tripped her. When this happened, the group of onlookers, who had been observing them from behind a metal barricade several feet away, with their cameras and cell phones raised in front of their faces, all started shooting enthusiastically.

"Ella," Robert said, reaching down to pat the fluffy dog still sitting patiently beside him as he tried not to laugh, as if the one word summed up everything.

"I think it's endearing," Harry said, grinning.

They walked back to the Clover Animal Centre, where they returned the dogs to their kennels (Ella barely containing her disappointment), and proceeded to the cat room, where Robert immediately disappeared into a pile of kittens and did not re-emerge for at least an hour.

"I reckon you were lecturing the wrong guy," Harry reasoned, watching Robert play with the small cats, while he scratched his own large tabby behind the ears. The cat let out a satisfied purr and rubbed against his legs. The photographer the studio had sent over snapped a quick photo and Harry tried his best to ignore him, as he had been all day. "Rob is clearly very passionate about kittens."

"Rob does have a thing for cats," Ella confirmed as she dragged a string along the floor. "He's wanted one for ages, actually." Several cats jumped after her with unabashed enthusiasm, eliciting another sequence of exciting photo opportunities.

By the time they were done it was late afternoon, and they were starving. The Clover Animal Centre had laid out some sandwiches and they descended on them hungrily.

It had been a very productive day, Harry decided; a day where he had done some good, and that always helped when he was feeling useless. And useless was what he was feeling most of the time lately.

It had been six months since he had seen Voldemort come back to life. And in all the time since, he had faced Voldemort only once. Worse yet, as a result of that encounter, he had spent the last three months pretending at being himself, while Daniyel had been thrown into battle multiple times. Even now, when Daniyel was on the verge of mastering a new spell that could help take down Voldemort, all Harry could do was offer meager advice while constantly waking up from the same terrifying and useless nightmare that left his body weak and exhausted and his scar burning.

He stared down at his plate of food, not really seeing it, as he remembered his latest foray into the winter woodland of his nightmares. It had been just two nights past and, as always, the dream had left him unsettled, worried, and downright terrified. He had visited the forest no less than eight times now, and he could not deny that the dreams were becoming more frequent, just as they became more confusing. At the same time, he could hardly pretend that they didn't faze him – that they didn't keep him awake night after night. But was there really anyone to whom he could admit that he was afraid to sleep? That he was afraid to see the glowing red eyes of Voldemort when he closed his own? Some days he felt as if the only reason he made it through was because of the five cups of coffee that he had taken to drinking daily, and the heavy makeup that Marlene applied to the dark bags under his eyes, without ever saying a word.

"What's the matter?" Ella cut in, interrupting his thoughts. Harry glanced up to see both of them sitting on either side of him, holding sandwiches with a side of concern.

"Nothing, I'm fine – just tired."

He bit into his own sandwich (chicken salad with cranberries) and quickly re-arranged his expression into one of pleased satisfaction. Ella and Robert spent enough time worrying about him as it was, and he had already decided that they didn't need to know about the dreams – nightmares – whatever they were. It was something he would have to work out on his own.

"This was nice, today," he added, reaching for a bottle of iced tea.

"I absolutely love it when we do things like this!" Ella agreed, abandoning her previous inquiry. "This is even better than last year, when we went to plant the trees. Don't you think, Rob?"

She glanced over at Robert, who nodded silently. He was chewing his sandwich slowly, his thoughts clearly elsewhere. "You're right, Ella," he said suddenly. He stood up abruptly and walked out of the room. Ella and Harry stared after him curiously.

Robert's intentions did not become clear until half an hour later, as they were getting ready to leave. As Harry and Ella collected their things, Robert reappeared in the room, holding on to a small orange-striped kitten. Harry recognized it from the kitten pile.

"Aww," Ella said, "you wanted to see the kitty again? I take it back – you have lots of feelings. But we're leaving now; the car's waiting outside, so put your new friend back..."

"Nope," Robert said, grinning. "This guy's coming home with me."

"What!" Ella cried, her face lighting up in a broad grin. "You're adopting him?!"

"Way to go, mate," Harry said, clapping Robert on the back.

They grabbed the rest of their things and exchanged final goodbyes and thank-yous with the staff of the Clover Animal Centre while the photographer hovered around them, snapping more photos. Then they turned toward the door and walked out into scorching heat of the afternoon, flanked by four bodyguards, who hurried them toward the waiting town car with what Harry thought was a wholly unnecessary amount of showmanship, while a crowd of fans behind more barricades waved and called their names excitedly. Ella broke rank from their tight line and wandered toward the barricade, where she managed to sign five books, three movie posters, and pose for at least two selfies before Oliver, the head of their security detail, stalked over to lead her away. He was, to Harry's immense amusement, unsuccessful, and before Harry quite knew how it had happened, he and Robert had joined Ella at the barrier, and Harry found several books, DVDs, posters, and photographs of Daniyel shoved at him rather aggressively by a sea of grinning people of various ages.

"Just go with it!" Ella whispered, grinning, as she signed her name to a photo of Daniyel, Ella, and Robert, dressed in Gryffindor robes and posing with Hogwarts castle behind them.

Harry grinned, grabbed a sharpie and a copy of Harry Potter and the Philosopher's Stone that a small dark-haired girl, who was so short that she had to stand on tip-toe to see over the barricade, was holding out hopefully, and flipped it open to the title page.

He nearly shook his head in bemusement, fully aware that had he been back home, he would have escaped such a scene as quickly as humanly possible; however, Ella and Robert had spent hours instilling in him the importance of these moments, so he uncapped the sharpie and carefully scrawled Daniyel Bluelake beneath the title in his best approximation at Daniyel's signature, which he had spent several evenings practicing. And then, because he wasn't entirely sure he had managed it perfectly, beneath that he added: Harry Potter in his own hand, as if that would make up for faking the signature she had actually wanted. Which Ella assured him it absolutely did, when they finally got into the waiting town car.

"If they only knew…" she said, grinning impishly. "They would literally die, I think."

"I don't reckon Harry would want that," Robert said, letting out a laugh.

"He's right," Harry said, nodding.

"Oh calm down, you two," she said brightly. "Trust me, Harry, if they had any idea, they'd be even happier than if Dan had signed it himself."

"She's right, you know," Robert added. His new kitten let out a soft meow and he reached down to the pet carrier beside him and slowly opened the top flap. The kitten poked his head out and looked around curiously. Robert gently scooped him up and held him to his chest.

"If it makes them happy, that's all that's important," he added, gazing down at the cat, and Harry momentarily wondered if he was still talking about the signature.

He reflected that Robert, who was now smiling down at the small orange cat – which matched his hair magnificently – was what a real hero looked like: someone who was willing to stand up and do the right thing when he didn't have to, right there in the moment, and didn't leave his burdens for his friends to carry.

When Harry got back to the Bluelake household, Binka greeted him affectionately, sniffing him with unusually painstaking interest. He reckoned she was curious about all the animals he had interacted with earlier in the day.

He greeted Daniyel's parents, contributed half an hour or so to family time so that they didn't start to think that their son was turning into a recluse, and then excused himself to his bedroom. Binka padded after him, her nails clicking softly on the hardwood floors.

Harry closed the door behind him, took out his wand and aimed it at the pillows on the bed. "Accio," he said. A pillow flew toward him. Binka watched with interest. He caught it and dropped it on the floor and pointed his wand at it again. "Depulso." Binka jumped at the pillow right as it rose into the air to fly back onto the bed, and it took her along for the ride. Harry let out a short laugh.

He had taken to practicing spells whenever he had any free time. The more time he spent here, in this safe Muggle word, the more anxious he became that when the time came to go back – to face Voldemort – he would not remember the spells; or worse yet, he would not be able to channel his magic.

He had been left to his own devices here for so long that he had taken to wondering if magic perhaps regressed if it was left neglected. He was sure that Hermione would know the answer, but she was so far away at Hogwarts; they all were, and he didn't want to call just to ask such a stupid question. He could just imagine her response anyway, if he closed his eyes. "Of course magic doesn't disappear, Harry. It's a part of you." Yes, he was sure she would respond in kind. He didn't even really need her to, considering the words were his own. And yet… and yet, his whole situation was unprecedented. Every day, Hogwarts seemed more and more like a dream, and he couldn't help but worry.

So he had been practicing his magic, lest he forget it. But even so, there was only so much he could do alone, and he didn't see much use for Summoning or Banishing charms in battle. But it wasn't as if he could practice Stunners on Binka, so basics like moving pillows around his room and studying from the few books Sirius had sent him a couple months ago were basically the extent of what he could do.

"At least your trace isn't effective over there, according to Dumbledore," Sirius had told him, when he had passed over the textbooks, "so practice away!" He had also been grinning in a way that made Harry envision the many nights that Sirius had spent roaming the castle grounds with his father, stirring up trouble and planning their next adventure.

The thought had been enough to keep Harry in a good mood for days, and he imagined their adventures often as he had sat down to study the books, in the late hours of most evenings.

That evening, after dinner, he found that he was too exhausted to study, however. He had barely slept since the last iteration of his dream – the choice sometimes a conscious one, and sometimes not. But no matter what awaited him when he closed his eyes, his body could no longer hold out and he collapsed onto the bed in exhaustion, Binka at his side, and sleep overtook him instantly.

As he ran through the cold winter forest, he knew that it was a dream, and yet he could not find a way to wake himself up. His strides fell into a familiar pattern. He knew just where to place each step, and though the iciness of the snow burned him, the pain was momentary. Fleeting.

He stalked through the snow like a ghost, leaving no tracks behind him. The sky was alight with stars, the glow of distant suns so bright that he could find his way easily. It did not take much time to come upon the towering stone wall.

He pushed forward, propelled by an invisible force, and for the first time, he found himself inside the fortress. He glided down its empty stone halls – dark passageways lit by flickering torches, with shadows threatening to overtake the small pinpricks of lights. Even the light the torches gave off was cold – the fire taking on an almost bluish tint. There was no warmth in this castle.

As he forged ahead through the darkness, passing locked door after locked door and wondering why he came upon no one on his crossing, he abruptly found himself in the courtyard he had seen from above. The darkness that had enshrouded it was here too, and he plunged into it without pausing. The darkness bit into him like ice.

He spun around, his eyes unseeing, only darkness around him, his body trembling in the sudden cold. He stepped forward – or was he stepping back? He was directionless, lost in the black.

And then he heard it: the voice of the graveyard. The voice of his nightmares.

"…bring the power of the mighty Slytherin upon this stone... and take it. Take it!"

The voice rose in a shriek that dissolved into a cold, cruel laugh, and light and wind flared up around Harry – the sudden brightness stabbing at him like a dagger; or maybe it was simply the pain in his scar. Voldemort's cruel laugh was lost in a maelstrom of noise, and Harry heard screaming all around him as pain pierced him everywhere, and his whole body seized up. He couldn't move. He could see only brightness and darkness, swimming together, and somewhere in the center of it stood Voldemort, his robes billowing about him in the gale, his arms raised to the sky.

He realized abruptly that the screams were his own: his own pain playing loudly in his ears. He felt as if he were losing himself – that if he stayed there any longer, there would be nothing left. Red and green light began to flare around the edges of his vision. With a tremendous effort of will, he forced himself to turn away. He stumbled away from Voldemort, toward the edges of the darkness. It was like trying to wade through water – the darkness weighed him down and pulled him back, the lights like shackles around his arms. The icy cold seeped into his very bones. Each step was agony.

He broke through the outer barrier of the dark abruptly and stumbled to his knees, thoughts of escape tangled in his mind. He glimpsed hooded figures all around him, dark shapes standing sentry in the night. And then he was falling, the pain overpowering him, the dream fading to black.

He opened his eyes abruptly in the familiar darkness of Daniyel's room, and for a second he couldn't move. He lay there, the dreamscape still imprinted before him; his eyes darting furiously around the room; his scar throbbing and his body frozen, and fear rose up in him like an uncoiling snake.

Sensation flooded back suddenly and the pain raked through him, pushing the vision of Voldemort from his mind. It was everywhere – every single part of him hurt, and the coldness lingered still, causing him to shiver violently. With some effort, he curled up on his side, suppressing a moan, and reached up to wipe the icy sweat from his face. When he drew back his fingers, they dripped dark in the moonlight.

Harry stared at his hand, a slight panic seizing him, and then he stumbled to his feet. His head spun, and he staggered into the wall before grabbing hold of it and using it as guide as he managed to make his way unsteadily into the bathroom. He bumped the light switch with his elbow, and the bright lights stabbed into his eyeballs, blinding him momentarily. He squeezed his eyes shut, letting them flicker back open slowly, until his pale face came into focus in the mirror.

"Bloody hell," he muttered as he stared at his reflection.

His scar was bright red, and there was a thin trickle of blood trailing from it down the bridge of his nose. The right side of his forehead was smudged red, where he had wiped it. It wasn't as bad as he had initially imagined, when he saw the blood glistening upon his fingers, but the sight was incredibly unnerving.

With shaking hands, he turned on the tap and cleaned his face with a wet paper towel. When he was done, he pressed a new towel firmly to his scar, applying pressure to stop the bleeding. He slid down slowly to the floor and leaned his head back against the bathroom wall, tilting his face up toward the ceiling. The lights were still too bright, so he closed his eyes.

As he sat there, sick and shaking, with his scar bleeding slowly beneath his hand, he realized that now was the time to call Sirius. He had been avoiding the conversation for much too long as his dreams had gotten progressively more overwhelming. He realized now, as he sat upon the cold tile floor, that perhaps he had waited too long. This, whatever this was, was really happening, and he was not prepared to deal with it. He realized, his mind oddly calm and clear, that he knew no spells that would be of use in this predicament. He wasn't sure what to do, if his scar didn't stop bleeding. He thought of calling Sirius now, of asking for help – surely Dumbledore would know what to do in this situation – but it was the middle of the night, and he didn't know if Sirius would answer. It was still worth chancing, but the projector was back on his bedside table, and he didn't have the energy to get back up just then.

He stayed there, the pain slowly fading from his limbs, trying to pull together the details of his dream. But it was no use; the memories were a confused jumble of darkness interspersed with light. A fragment of memory of Voldemort's figure in the darkness. A cold, cruel laugh. He racked his tired brain further until it brought forth a fragment of speech: "…the power of the mighty Slytherin…" There had been more – he was sure of it, but he couldn't remember the rest. Another throb of pain shot through his scar and he abandoned his efforts.

He was so tired. He wanted nothing more than to lay down his head and sleep, but cold fear kept him from stumbling to his feet and walking back into the bedroom, where Daniyel's dog waited, her brown eyes locked on him as she stood vigil in the doorway.

Harry opened his eyes, glancing at Binka, who whined softly. He noticed, as he looked around, that an indescribable weakness had fallen over him, and that his vision was darkening at the corners in a way should have concerned him, but he was in a state somewhere past concern. He wondered, in an offhand way, if perhaps Voldemort had found a way to do him in in his dreams; had inflicted a grave injury on him that transcended all the worlds between, and the protective wall of his sleeping mind, and if this, perhaps, was the end. The irony, he thought, as he gazed into Binka's eyes. Was this where his story ended? Would Binka be the last thing that he saw within this world… and when the darkness overcame him, would he be plunged into a dream, or a nightmare?

He badly didn't want that to be his truth, so he grabbed on to the vanity and struggled to his feet. He would at least make the effort to call Sirius; he would not give in to this. But as he tried to stand, his scar gave another agonizing throb, his head spun again, and he lost his grip on reality.

The next time he opened his eyes, he could have sworn that Hermione was standing over him, her bushy hair hanging down wildly over her anxious face, wand clenched tightly in hand.

A/N: A lot of stuff happening here, I know. I do hope I've piqued your curiosity on several fronts! ... and if you have questions, do ask. I'm very, very curious as to what you all may suspect about.. well, anything, really. And if whatever-it-is is not a giant spoiler, I'll be happy to tell. Haha

So that said, I want to say a huge thanks once again to all of you! Thanks for reading, liking, following, and reviewing! I spent nearly half of 2018 writing TP, and I can't quite believe that now it's 2019, and that there are actually a few people enjoying it! You're all amazing!

Also sidebar, I've been doing some beta-ing over the past few weeks for Jill Klein on her Hogwarts Mystery story. It's a wonderful story, and you guys should totally check it out! Especially if you've been playing the game. :)

Rina