Disclaimer: I don't own it. I haven't even reserved Deathly Hallows yet. I am just borrowing it.
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What Dreams May Come
The new term started off the same as the terms before it. Teachers began piling on homework on the first day. The fifth years had more homework than most of the students. OWLS were five months away and counting, as Hermione was so fond of reminding Harry and Ginny.
Harry and Ginny were finding studying harder and harder in each other's company. It was so much easier to harass each other than it was to study. Harry spent many an evening in the common room playing with Ginny's hair when he should have been doing his Divination Homework. He spent many a morning with the old Divination stand-by, making it up.
Ron and Hermione seemed to be having the same trouble with studying in each other's presence, though both denied it venomously. Ever since the night of the dance they had become more flirtatious with each other. Ginny had taken on the personal quest of getting her brother to ask Hermione out. Every time the subject was approached, the subject would be quickly changed. It seemed obvious to Harry and Ginny that the two were dragging their feet.
Reports of Death Eater attacks had been increasing in numbers. At the end of January all future Hogsmeade visits were cancelled. Attacks had been inching there way toward Hogwarts. Fear was returning to the wizardry world. The Daily Prophet was filled of stories of the attacks from all over the globe. All the articles speculated the return of "He Who Must Not Be Named."
No one had ever forgotten the fear of those days, and people were turning to the Ministry of Magic for answers. It seemed impossible for the Ministry of Magic to retain their platform of non-involvement. Cornelius Fudge still bitterly denied that Voldemort had regained power. He and his supporters speculated that the attacks were the work of someone trying to gain power in the absence of Voldemort. He named Sirius Black his number one suspect and upped the manpower searching for him.
The morning after the announcement came from the Ministry, Harry sat at Breakfast in the Great Hall, poking at his breakfast. He knew that Sirius would do his best to stay away from any Ministry official, and if he was still in the United States, he would be safer, since most of the searching was centered in Europe, but he was still worried about him. There were a lot of wizards out there looking for him and Fudge was offering a reward. Harry knew greed was a powerful motivator.
The owls began flying from braving the elements of the early February morning, bringing the daily mail with them. Letters fell from the air and soft hoots filled the great hall as they did every morning. An unfamiliar tawny barn owl landed in front of Harry and held out his leg. Harry took the letter from the owl and looked at the envelope as the owl took a piece of his toast and flew off with silent wings.
The heavy parchment envelope was definitely addressed to him, "Mr. H. Potter, Hogwarts School, Scotland" was written in an unfamiliar, precise feminine hand. He had no idea who had sent him this letter. He was not expecting anything from anyone. He regarded it carefully before opening it. It looked harmless enough. Curiosity got the better of him. Slowly he tore at the purple wax seal and cautiously unfolded the letter.
Dear Harry,
Sirius asked me to contact you for him. He felt that a letter from him might jeopardize his hiding place. He wants you to know that he is aware that the ministry is stepping up their search for him and has taken precautions not to be caught. He will be unable to send you letters for the time being. He is also concerned for your safety. He begs you not to go off on your own and to stay close to Hogwarts where Dumbledore can keep an eye on you.
I have heard wonderful things about you from your godfather. I have been enjoying his company when ever it is possible. He speaks of you fondly and I do hope that I can meet you soon. I am working hard on trying to find some shred of evidence that will prove him innocent. I have thus far had no luck. I give you my word that I am trying for him.
Sincerely yours,
Pamela R. Collag
The letter was from Sirius's lawyer friend that he mentioned at Christmas. Harry felt better knowing that Sirius was safe and glad that he was taking precautions not to get caught. The letter put him to ease for the time being.
Shortly after the letter from Sirus, Harry's scar began hurting. At first it was a dull awareness that the scar was there. As the days and weeks progressed, the scar became increasingly painful.
Just as the pain in his scar seemed to peak, the dreams started again. He had not had a dream about Voldemort in a long time, all year in fact. Now they were every night.
It was almost always the same dream:
A circular room with chipped cement walls, showing the red brick behind it, was furnished with two high back arm chairs facing one rickety looking wooden chair. A single window, high in the eastern wall cast an eerie gray light on the walls, as the fading light reflected off of the rafters (the dream always took place in the late evening, when the sun was setting on the other side of the room). In the center of the room there was a giant concrete block that had large rusted metal loops at each corner. The block had been drug into the room. He could see the dragging marks across the cement floor. The rickety wooden chair had been tied to this block using a rope that was two inches thick and looked as if it had been reinforced with steel braiding. Harry had never seen such a rope. Who ever had the misfortune of ending up in that chair was not going to get away once placed in it, of that Harry could almost be sure.
Along the curve of the eastern wall there, someone at one point in time had built a fire. Ashes still littered the floor and soot climbed the wall, creating a greasy black triangle. He could smell the rancid remains of the fire. The smell of the smoke still stung his lungs. The two arm chairs, one ebony and one hunter green wing back chairs had been placed near the fire. The chairs were turned on an angle so that the occupants may feel the warmth of the fire and still see the person, most likely prisoner, in the chair.
As the dream progressed, Harry could hear the sounds of water lapping outside. He must be near a lake somewhere, as it was a gentle lapping and not the rhythmic sounds of waves. The air was dryer and much warmer in this place as well, but as the night progressed in his dream, it grew quiet cold. He would shiver and settle himself into the shadow.
Soon a popping noise would be heard, followed by voices that Harry knew too well, Voldemort and Wormtail. They were shortly joined by a man that Harry couldn't see very well. He could tell that the man was young, maybe 25 or so, had glistening black hair and had a slight Western drawl, though not anywhere near as prominent as the woman that Harry had heard over the Christmas holidays.
"Any word on her yet, My Lord" the young man asked, kneeling at Voldemort's feet as he sat in the ebony chair.
"No. My Death Eaters can get no where near the place. Dumbledore has placed powerful protection charms all around the place." Voldemort would angrily admit.
"She will come around…. You have let go of the curse?."
"You question me, my boy?" he hissed, fingering his wand, red eyes glinting maliciously.
"No, My Lord." It was not a convincing denial. He did not fear him.
The young man looked at Wormtail sitting in the other chair. Wormtail got up and took a spot on the floor allowing the other to take his place.
"I have stopped the curse. It is up to her to wake now."
"And she will. She will be at my side shortly."
"C- Can you be sure of that?" Wormtail would ask.
"I know her. She will come, even if I have to use the lovely Miss Chamberlain to get her here" the young man said with a self assured air.
"When she comes to us, she will take her rightful place at my side. Her mother was a faithful and loving servant…. Who would rather die than see me out of power. She will be rewarded for her mother's loyalties, and she will succeed where her mother failed."
"What about Snape?" Wormtail interjected.
"What about him?" Voldemort sneered. "He is of no concern to us. He will not live much longer. Besides… he is clouded by his love for the girl. His judgment is not what it should be when it comes to matters of loyalty to the girl…. This is to our advantage."
Harry noticed that the young man gripping the arm of the hunter green chair at the mention of Professor Snape's feelings towards "the girl." He began to suspect that they were speaking of Miss Slayton. He sunk back against the wall of the room, invisible to those there. He could feel the ebbing warmth from the sun baked walls against his back as he turned his thoughts back to the conversation.
"Once she is with us, we will be unstoppable, Dumbledore will fall." the young man said. Wormtail nodded in agreement.
"When she is strong enough to join us, she will first succeed where her mother failed….."
As Harry came to this point in the dream, he would suddenly find himself back in his own dorm room, the curtains of his four poster bed safely drawn around him, dripping in a cold sweat. His scar was exploding in pain.