A/N: I forgot to mention that all characters are the property of J.K.
Rowling. I own nothing.
For the next three days, Harry debated with himself on whether or not to tell Ron and Hermione about what he had dreamt. Normally, his dreams left him feeling uneasy, but nothing as strong as what he had felt after his dream about Riddle at the top of the staircase.
"They've been with you through everything," he reasoned with himself. "Why not tell them this?" But the answer was plain: their fear would strike anger in his heart. He couldn't help but forget the time during his fifth year when he discovered that the dreams he had been having then were just images Voldemort had put in his mind. When his friends heard that he might be possessed by Voldemort, they had instinctively set themselves apart from him, of which he couldn't blame them. Why frighten them even more?
Much to Hermione's disappointment, Harry neglected to talk to Dumbledore Monday morning. By Wednesday afternoon, she was in a right state, fit to be tied. "You promised," she hissed at him during their Transfiguration lesson. It was most unlike Hermione to talk during a class, so Harry figured it must be important on her mind.
"I will tell him," he muttered back, keeping his eyes on Professor McGonagall while he spoke. "Just not now."
Hermione rolled her eyes, refusing to argue anymore. Ron smiled briefly at Harry, showing his support of his friend, but Harry thought he saw a flicker of support for Hermione, too.
Harry awoke the following morning with the feeling of dread in the pit of his stomach. He had another rough night's sleep and was tired to begin with, yet all through his classes, he couldn't help but feel an uneasy feeling that made him think something big was going to change.
Hermione pestered Harry and Ron all through the evening about their exams. "You have to study and do well!" she insisted. "If not, you'll never get a good job."
"Who cares?" Ron muttered under his breath while pouring over his Transfiguration text once more. His eyes had become glassy and he looked exhausted. Despite his own feelings of fatigue, Harry felt sorry for his friend. Hermione wouldn't leave them alone, parading about behind them at the library table like a guard, protecting the knowledge they let into their brains. After two hours of studying, Harry felt he had had enough. He stood up and marched out of the library, ignoring Hermione's calls.
He went straight to his dorm where he threw his books on the floor and fell face first onto his bed. With his face pressed into his pillow, he struggled to breathe, but enjoyed the tightening sensation that was growing in his chest. "Maybe you are crazy," he muttered to himself. "Maybe everyone's right. You should just give up now."
So many thoughts raced through his mind. Voldemort was on the loose and worse than ever and it seemed that the only thing the entire castle was worried about was exams. He knew that Voldemort had been back for three years now and by that time, people were starting to, not relax, but deal with the fact. Yet Harry couldn't shake it from his mind that there was something lurking in the shadows that threatened to blow them all apart.
The weekend arrived quickly and Harry found himself sitting at the breakfast table, still sleepy, while Hermione chanted, "You must study. Getting good grades is important, especially during our last year here."
"You would think we would know that by now, eh?" Ron asked, raising his eyebrows. "I mean, Harry and I have also been here for seven years."
Hermione just shrugged. "I know that. I just think that sometimes you guys need a brief reminder of why you're here."
A great smile spread across Ron's face. "So one day soon I can grab my broom, kick off and leave this place for good, just like Fred and George!" He elbowed Harry in the side. "You're with me, aren't you, mate?"
Harry nodded. "Yeah."
Hermione shook her head disapprovingly. "You are so dense," was all she said.
A large owl swooped overhead and dropped a letter in front of Harry, snapping him out of his daydream. "What's this?" he asked, picking it up and opening the envelope quickly. He didn't recognize the tiny scrawl at first, but noticed the bottom of the note was signed, "Remus Lupin".
Hermione and Ron gathered closer to Harry and they read the note together. "Harry, all hell has broken loose here. I can't say much, but I will be at the school this afternoon to fill you in on the rest. I'm sure Dumbledore will be telling you soon, if he hasn't told you already."
"Told us what?" Ron questioned aloud to no one in particular. "What's he going to tell us?" He looked at Hermione expectantly.
"Don't ask me!" she cried indignantly. "I'm not a mind-reader."
"Something to do with Voldemort, no doubt," Harry said in a tired voice. He was so sick of hearing about the hell that Voldemort caused; enough was enough. "I'm going back upstairs to lie down for awhile."
"But don't you want to hear what Dumbledore is supposed to tell us?" Hermione asked, holding up the letter, which Harry had cast aside when he stood up. "He could be telling us any minute."
Harry shook his head wearily. "I'm sure, if it's such big news, someone will tell me." And with that, he left the Great Hall, nearly in tears because of the frustration that burned inside him. He wanted so desperately to care what was happening and what was going on around him, yet he couldn't bring himself to care all that much. It just seemed that there was no hope for him, so why bother with possibilities?
For the next three days, Harry debated with himself on whether or not to tell Ron and Hermione about what he had dreamt. Normally, his dreams left him feeling uneasy, but nothing as strong as what he had felt after his dream about Riddle at the top of the staircase.
"They've been with you through everything," he reasoned with himself. "Why not tell them this?" But the answer was plain: their fear would strike anger in his heart. He couldn't help but forget the time during his fifth year when he discovered that the dreams he had been having then were just images Voldemort had put in his mind. When his friends heard that he might be possessed by Voldemort, they had instinctively set themselves apart from him, of which he couldn't blame them. Why frighten them even more?
Much to Hermione's disappointment, Harry neglected to talk to Dumbledore Monday morning. By Wednesday afternoon, she was in a right state, fit to be tied. "You promised," she hissed at him during their Transfiguration lesson. It was most unlike Hermione to talk during a class, so Harry figured it must be important on her mind.
"I will tell him," he muttered back, keeping his eyes on Professor McGonagall while he spoke. "Just not now."
Hermione rolled her eyes, refusing to argue anymore. Ron smiled briefly at Harry, showing his support of his friend, but Harry thought he saw a flicker of support for Hermione, too.
Harry awoke the following morning with the feeling of dread in the pit of his stomach. He had another rough night's sleep and was tired to begin with, yet all through his classes, he couldn't help but feel an uneasy feeling that made him think something big was going to change.
Hermione pestered Harry and Ron all through the evening about their exams. "You have to study and do well!" she insisted. "If not, you'll never get a good job."
"Who cares?" Ron muttered under his breath while pouring over his Transfiguration text once more. His eyes had become glassy and he looked exhausted. Despite his own feelings of fatigue, Harry felt sorry for his friend. Hermione wouldn't leave them alone, parading about behind them at the library table like a guard, protecting the knowledge they let into their brains. After two hours of studying, Harry felt he had had enough. He stood up and marched out of the library, ignoring Hermione's calls.
He went straight to his dorm where he threw his books on the floor and fell face first onto his bed. With his face pressed into his pillow, he struggled to breathe, but enjoyed the tightening sensation that was growing in his chest. "Maybe you are crazy," he muttered to himself. "Maybe everyone's right. You should just give up now."
So many thoughts raced through his mind. Voldemort was on the loose and worse than ever and it seemed that the only thing the entire castle was worried about was exams. He knew that Voldemort had been back for three years now and by that time, people were starting to, not relax, but deal with the fact. Yet Harry couldn't shake it from his mind that there was something lurking in the shadows that threatened to blow them all apart.
The weekend arrived quickly and Harry found himself sitting at the breakfast table, still sleepy, while Hermione chanted, "You must study. Getting good grades is important, especially during our last year here."
"You would think we would know that by now, eh?" Ron asked, raising his eyebrows. "I mean, Harry and I have also been here for seven years."
Hermione just shrugged. "I know that. I just think that sometimes you guys need a brief reminder of why you're here."
A great smile spread across Ron's face. "So one day soon I can grab my broom, kick off and leave this place for good, just like Fred and George!" He elbowed Harry in the side. "You're with me, aren't you, mate?"
Harry nodded. "Yeah."
Hermione shook her head disapprovingly. "You are so dense," was all she said.
A large owl swooped overhead and dropped a letter in front of Harry, snapping him out of his daydream. "What's this?" he asked, picking it up and opening the envelope quickly. He didn't recognize the tiny scrawl at first, but noticed the bottom of the note was signed, "Remus Lupin".
Hermione and Ron gathered closer to Harry and they read the note together. "Harry, all hell has broken loose here. I can't say much, but I will be at the school this afternoon to fill you in on the rest. I'm sure Dumbledore will be telling you soon, if he hasn't told you already."
"Told us what?" Ron questioned aloud to no one in particular. "What's he going to tell us?" He looked at Hermione expectantly.
"Don't ask me!" she cried indignantly. "I'm not a mind-reader."
"Something to do with Voldemort, no doubt," Harry said in a tired voice. He was so sick of hearing about the hell that Voldemort caused; enough was enough. "I'm going back upstairs to lie down for awhile."
"But don't you want to hear what Dumbledore is supposed to tell us?" Hermione asked, holding up the letter, which Harry had cast aside when he stood up. "He could be telling us any minute."
Harry shook his head wearily. "I'm sure, if it's such big news, someone will tell me." And with that, he left the Great Hall, nearly in tears because of the frustration that burned inside him. He wanted so desperately to care what was happening and what was going on around him, yet he couldn't bring himself to care all that much. It just seemed that there was no hope for him, so why bother with possibilities?