Chapter 25

He was stumbling around, rushing through a thick fog. His heart was drumming fast. His hairs were standing on end, an unknown danger was lurking about. He knew he was dreaming but his fear was very real.

He was not one to run from danger – foolish Gryffindor tendencies - he had to get to the bottom of this. He wasn't even sure how he himself looked, he couldn't even see his own hands. The fog was too thick, would be impossible to distinguish friend from foe. He kept on running blindly.

Maybe he should find a mirror. What if he unwittingly killed himself while attempting to kill the monster, invading his dreams, simply because he didn't know who he was? Did he even have a body? He couldn't touch it. He ran faster and yet he didn't seem to get anywhere, he was running in circles. He needed to find a mirror, but he also dreaded what it would show him. Looking into the mirror was vital to his survival, so this was what he would do. He pushed himself further, anxiously determined.

He kept on running, filled with dread, dread weighing him down. Maybe he didn't find it, because he didn't want to, was too afraid. Maybe, there was no mirror!

Of course, there was a mirror; it was all in his mind, after all. So, if he said there was a mirror there was mirror, it only came down to will power. He was getting annoyed with himself, around the next corner would be a mirror, period!

The mirror didn't appear around the next corner, nor around the one after that. He couldn't wake up, sleep was keeping an iron grip on him. The only way to get out of this dream inside the maze of fog and walls was to find a mirror! Finally, he decided he wouldn't care what would stare back at him from the mirror, it had to be better than this.

In the far distance he saw something glitter, it had to be the mirror! He sprinted, so it would not disappear, again. Then he stood in front of the mirror. It was almost blind.

He squinted and could make out a pair of red eyes. How could red eyes look so cold? He walked closer. He had a thin mouth, no nose – my was he ugly – that thing in the mirror was smiling at him, sardonically, evilly.

"ARRRRRRRG" he screamed, but the voice was not his own.

Suddenly he was wide awake, remaining unmoving in his bed, his mind working furiously. Did he just have a vision? Was Voldemort sending him nightmares now? Somehow he didn't think Voldemort was responsible for this one. What did it mean?"

There was a dull ache in his head. Harry groaned and carefully opened his eyes. The sunlight streaming into the large window was far too bright. His tongue seemed to have grown fur. He was thirsty. Never again would he drink! Maybe that was it – he had been drunk. The dream had been merely caused by too much wine.

Cautiously, he sat up and felt the room spinning. Merlin, he was sick.

"Izzy," he croaked and the house elf popped up.

"What can Izzy do for Harry Potter, Sir?" The elf's voice was far too shrill. Harry winced.

"Could you get me a hangover potion?" The elf nodded and popped away only to return moments later with a small vial and a large bowl of water.

Harry grabbed the potion, uncorked it and then swallowed the sickly green liquid in one go. It tasted of rotten fish and salty. Harry shuddered but then the effect of the potion began to kick in. His head felt lighter, his stomach calmed and he felt all in all less cranky.

"Thanks," he smiled gratefully at the elf.

His stomach started to gurgle and grumble shortly after. He hurriedly dressed, so he could get down to breakfast. At the breakfast table Neville was already waiting.

"Uh, you haven't been waiting for me, have you?" Harry said, feeling guilty.

"I've already eaten a little. I'll just keep you company now," Neville shrugged.

"Thanks, " Harry grinned at him. Then his eyes widened as he took in the amount and variety of food on the table. He had always considered breakfast at the Weasley's a little over the top but compared to this it was nothing. But then Mrs Weasley had no house elves to help her at all.

The thought of house elves reminded him of Dobby. He would call him later that day. Hopefully, they could set up the safe house then.

"So how has your talk with Professor Lupin been going?" Neville interrupted his musings. Of course, he had known about Harry's plans for werewolves. It did not take a lot to guess that this was what they had talked about.

"He will contact some werewolf acquaintances of his. Hopefully, I will meet them some time during the holidays."

"Oh, that's great," Neville gulped. He looked earnest but probably did not feel comfortable with the idea of meeting up with a whole group of werewolves.

Harry could not really blame him, as he felt mightily uneasy as well. He had never met a werewolf other than Remus and had therefore no idea what to expect.

"Yeah," Harry stared glumly ahead.

Everything hinged on his trust in Remus to never willingly hurt him and to know his acquaintances well enough to estimate the danger correctly. He trusted Remus, needed to trust him, the last connection to his father and Sirius.

"Yeah," Harry repeated with a sigh. Then suddenly he felt the urge to tell Neville about the other things he and Remus had talked about as well.

"We talked about darkness," Harry wondered, whether Neville could relate to that but the expression of twisted wild hate on his face upon seeing Bellatrix Lestrange in the Department of Mysteries indicated that he would indeed intimately know about darkness, one more thing he and Neville had in common.

Neville looked at him attentively, but remained silent.

"How sometimes it gets too much, too strong, how it's an ongoing battle to not let it loose. About the fear that just once it will break from all restraints." Harry continued in fragmented whispers.

"That's how I feel about Bellatrix. Sometimes the thirst for revenge gets so strong" Neville shivered, "You know I'm more afraid of myself than of her, of the way I feel, the hatred, what I might end up doing."

Harry nodded. He knew exactly what he meant. How could he have ever thought that nobody could possibly relate to what he was feeling? That notion seemed to almost border on arrogance now.

"Yeah, that's how I feel about Voldemort and about Bellatrix as well, I guess," Harry whispered.

He was not the only one who suffered, who had to fight his own inner demons. Sometimes it seemed like the battle raging in himself was the hardest of all, it never ended, never stopped and always kept him on his toes. Strangely enough he had only recently become aware of it at all.

"I guess, a werewolf could relate to that better than most," Neville said thoughtfully after a while, "Well not all of them, there are those that don't resist their urges."

"Remember Remus' bogart though?" Harry asked. Neville shook his head.

"It was the full moon, or rather what the full moon did to him."

There was so much more to say and yet they silently piled food on their plates. It felt good to talk about it, to get it off his chest. However, Harry could not bring himself to reveal more than that. Admitting those things aloud made him feel raw inside. It made him feel exposed in a way that talking about brighter equally emotionally charged topics did not.

Harry was not used to opening up that much to anyone. Happiness he could share with everyone, his sorrows and sadness he could barely disclose to his closest friends, his darker emotions he usually kept safely hidden even from himself.

Neville frowned into his tea cup, as if it could disclose the meaning of the world to him, apparently unwilling to say anything further on that topic as well.

"I'd just wish I didn't feel that way. It makes me feel dirty, like she has even taken that from me, you know," Neville finally muttered.

"It feels as if they'd already won," Harry said and Neville only continued to stare intently at his tea cup. Harry then proceeded to viciously bite into his sausage.

"Well Voldemort is one sick bastard and I guess Bellatrix follows only marginally behind that." Harry shuddered. Voldemort had killed all of his last remaining relatives at barely sixteen in one day and a year after he had split his soul for the first time, one sick bastard indeed. But to be able to do that, well he had to have been severely mentally unhinged before, he knew that. Would a person with a less difficult upbringing and less traumatic events along the road than Harry or Neville have already have learned to hate so deeply?

Was he trailing Voldemort's path even now, only much slower - was he, at all? That, Harry realized, was what he was most afraid of. Of course, he did not really think so but still..."

"Yet the thirst for revenge... it just doesn't go away," Neville shuddered. "Had I had the chance at the Ministry, what would I have done to her, how I would have liked to make her pay. I'd still do."

"I kind of got my chance at that," Harry gulped. "I got a free shot at her. Crucio"

"Good on you," Neville said fiercely, his face transformed into a gleeful mask made of hate.

"Only it didn't work. I poured all my hate, the anger... everything I had into it and yet it didn't work." Neville gazed at Harry. Never before had he seen Neville's eyes so filled with emotion, conflicting without cancelling each other out. He usually was so calm and even tempered.

"Afterwards I just felt like once again she had gotten the better of me, because I had been acting like her! I guess, if I kill Voldemort for revenge, I'll just feel empty, not better. I know I'll probably end up killing him, if he doesn't get me first. I just don't want to want to kill him."

They silently finished breakfast after that. It was extremely awkward. Harry felt vulnerable, after their morbidly themed heart to heart. Neville didn't quite meet his eyes either. There was a reason why people did not make a habit out of chatting idly about these things.

"I'll need to floo Lawyer Greengrass," Harry finally said, his voice scratchy. Neville jumped up and nearly turned the chair over in his haste.

"Er, I'll leave you to that then, give you some privacy and all. Floo powder is on the mantle. Will you find the fireplace on your own?"

"Sure, thanks Neville," Harry turned and headed for the fireplace.