– Spoilers for Harry Potter I to IV –
Sunday – Problem
Reluctantly Harry opened his eyes and allowed the morning to invade his drowsy mind. As his eyes opened, his glance fell naturally on the clock ("Time to get up") and he knew that this time he really shouldn't just lie back down and let the sleep take over. Carefully and slowly, in fact very, very slowly, Harry Potter got out of bed.
He liked his room - although there was normally something new to trip over on. The cheerful blue wallpaper was about the simplest thing in the room, and even that was mostly hidden by his collection of jumble. No matter how much they argued Harry always insisted that it was organised to him. He knew where his Quidditch magazine collection should be, where his school books should be (with the homework he most wanted to forget about carefully placed at the bottom) and even where he had put his now carefully hidden collection of action figures - it wasn't his fault that it mysteriously seemed to continue to mix itself up. Personally he had a suspicious eye on the cat. The whole mess made it a strange kind of maze to get to the other side of the room, but one that he was used to and could do easily.
In a few seconds he had made his way over to the sink where he quickly splashed some water over his face. His window was there, and half-smiling he stared down at the lawn where his mother was busy gardening. Over the summer he had spent many lazy days in that garden and he knew he would miss its peacefulness in the usual busy muddle of school life. Well, mostly the garden had been peaceful - he had only had the occasional water fight with Ron and James.
"Harry! Are you getting down here or not?"
He smiled; sometime he really would have to find out how to sabotage that sleepometer. Having his father being able to tell exactly when he was awake was something he could live without. He wondered if Fred and George would know how to do it.
It would be good to see them, and he hadn't seen Ron or James for a week or two either. Sure, he would have to put up with Malfoy and that horrible Hermione Granger girl (was there anything she didn't know?), but if he admitted it he was even beginning to miss their taunts as well. Yes, it would be good to be back at school, all things considering. After all, hadn't Cho split up with Cedric over the holidays? He smiled, Cedric had deserved what he got (Harry had still not quite got over Cedric being chosen over a Gryffindor for house champion).
Cheerily he opened his bedroom door, and then...
"CAR CRASH!" roared Hagrid, jumping up so angrily that the Dursleys scuttled back to their corner.
He was in sitting in an old wooden house, almost a hut, which would have been cold and draughty but for the blazing heat from the fireplace. He was staring at the vaguely familiar Hogwarts gamekeeper, staring at him as if what he was saying was the most important thing in the world.
"How could a car crash kill Lily an' James Potter? It's an outrage! A scandal! Harry Potter not knowin' his own story when every kid in our world knows his name!"
He staggered, gasping, and leant heavily against the wall.
What had happened?
Okay, breathe deeply, breathe deeply - nothing could hurt you here. You-Know-Who had been killed a long time ago, and the nightmares were just that - dreams with no meaning. He just had to ignore them, and get on with his life.
But he had never had a nightmare in the day before had he?
"Harry, are you alright?"
It was his mother, looking very concerned and staring up at him from the bottom of the stairs.
"Yeah," he almost whispered. "I'm fine. Really."
She nodded, and walked off. Harry wouldn't exactly have called her convinced, but was too busy with Terry to argue. Besides, she and his dad for the last few weeks had seemed to be deliberately acting as if they trusted him to be mature. Probably so they could load his siblings on him later. As it was they still wanted him to look after Sally even though she'd been at Hogwarts for three years already.
Gradually regaining his confidence he descended the stairs and made his way into the dining room where the rest of the family was gathered. Breakfast was in full swing.
Terry was being, well Terry, at the end of the table, making as much of a mess as possible, and almost as much noise. But then he had the excuse of being only two which his eight-year-old brother (similarly noisy) couldn't probably use. He was discussing something very important to him with Harry's Dad, although James Potter was only half listening.
On his right was fourteen year old Sally who was busy reading a huge book, and she seemed to be the only who wasn't actually making any noise. She looked, Harry thought to his disgust, look a younger Hermione. Sitting down, he peeked at the title of the book she was reading. Just as he expected it was one of his own old textbooks which she was using for the coming year. He scowled at his fulfilled suspicions.
This was his family, and in his more liberal moments he might even admit that he had grown quite fond of him. He let the noise wash over and in him, each wave reminding him that nightmares weren't real and how ridiculous he was being.
His mother came in one of her rounds from the kitchen. This year wasn't quite as bad as Sally's first year, but she was still stressed by the almost unending load of jobs she had to do. As she placed his breakfast down (along with a letter from Ron), he asked her, "Mum, can I help?"
She smiled. "Not now, dear. But you really need to finish your packing. I thought you were going to do that last night."
He gulped guiltily. "I was, but there was very interesting article in Quidditch Monthly and... Sorry."
She nodded, a half smile on her face. "Well just make sure you do preferably before 10 minutes after we're due to leave."
"You had lots of time to practise on your Firebolt from what I could see."
Harry glared at his sister. "You know how important this year's cup is going to be... Well you would do if you actually cared about Quidditch like any normal person." Harry reckoned that she was still jealous that he'd managed to persuade his parents to get him the expensive broom.
"Harry," warned his father from behind his newspaper.
"It's alright father," Sally said sweetly, "my brother just doesn't realise that not everything in the world revolves around catching stupid little flying things."
James Potter didn't see anything, but from his look it was obvious that he didn't quite agree. Sally continued, unabashed. You didn't live in the Potter household for 15 years without realising that the majority were quite in favour of catching stupid little flying things.
"I like Quidditch!" Ben protested.
Sally smiled patiently at Ben. She had always been very fond of the eight-year-old even when he had been in the phase where Harry couldn't stand to be in the same room with him for three minutes. "Yes, but hopefully you'll grow out of it. Maybe I'll teach you Chess or something that actually requires some..."
"There's nothing wrong with Quidditch!" protested Ben. "It's..."
Harry unconsciously gasped.
"...great. I mean it helps with..."
The tone, indentation or volume hadn't changed, but still Harry knew there was something very wrong and very different. What was happening? Was it the dreams again?"
"Alright you two," said their father, "let's just agree to disagree, alright?"
Him too, his father too. Harry was shaking now, scared of what was going on and what was happening to him. And now the others were turning around and staring at him.
His mother had walked in too. "Harry, are you alright?"
No, please not his mother. How could they all seem so... so lifeless?
"Harry?" That was Sally's voice, and he had never been so relieved as when he had heard it. There could be no doubt about that voice, and the life that filled it. As the others spoke again he realised that they were all back. Bu back to what?
"I...I'm fine," he stuttered and found with a shock that he was sweating heavily. "Can I get down for a bit?"
His mother nodded, her face still intensely worried. "Will you be alright for school?" He nodded, and made his way back to his bedroom. As his feet touched the eighth step he felt it starting again...
"Harry?" It was Ron, his familiar freckled face staring down at him. He was on the steps, but no longer of his own house. Instead they were the stairs of another place he knew – the Burrow. He turned round and below he could see the familiar kitchen with three Weasleys at the table and their mother bustling around.
"Are you okay?" Hermione? What was she doing in the Weasleys house? He stared at her – she had just come up from behind Ron. Nothing was making sense, shouldn't James be here? Yes, Ron had definitely said that James was staying with him and Harry never known the boy not to be the last to leave the table.
"What..." Harry started, and suddenly knowledge flowed through his brain. For a moment he knew, and then...
His foot reached the next step, and staring around he knew that he was back in the Potter household. He was relieved and yet almost slightly annoyed. For that last moment in the dream (it was a dream, of course it was a dream) it had almost been like everything had been normal again. Now he was just as confusing as ever.
Sighing, he went back into his room and laid down onto his bed. Right, he had to work out what was going on. He could do it logically, like he was playing chess – no, organising Quidditch tactics. He didn't know whether to smile or whether to cry over his small defiance over Sally, it seemed that pathetic.
Alright, alright he told himself. Let's get on with it. First of all, what are the dreams?
"Your mother and father are dead!"
Well, they certainly weren't good dreams. They seemed almost like prophecies, but that was impossible. For a start, if anything, he felt younger in many of them. So, scratch prophecies then (besides there was no way he'd ever be friends with the Granger girl).
Then simple nightmares. No, that was just stupid. Nightmares didn't come into the day.
Or maybe you've just gone mental?
He half smiled as he thought over what James Black would have said. If he had gone crazy of course he couldn't do much about. Just have hope that I haven't, he decided. And, besides, something in him refused to believe that he had gone mental.
Maybe someone's trying to make you go crazy?
Now that was more like Moody, his Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher. He had always been deeply suspicious of everyone and everything. But then again his suspicion had made him the first Dark Arts teacher to actually survive more than a year. Professor Quirrell had fallen in with some minor demon on a holiday, Gilderoy Lockhart had had his reputation ruined after a nasty trick by the Weasleys while Snape (or at least Harry suspected it was Snape) had somehow let it slip that their third teacher Professor Lupin was a werewolf. Moody's year had been practically mild in comparison (all Draco Malfoy's plans for revenge having got unstuck).
So someone was trying to make him go crazy – great hypothesis that was. Still, if that was really the case then he still needed a suspect and a motive. Thinking about it, those two were rather obvious. All the Quidditch teams were especially keen to win this year after the forced break due to the tournament, and if he said so himself, he was kind of an important player to the house side. To conclude then, someone was trying to sabotage his mind before a Quidditch by making him think that he had gone crazy.
Perhaps he ought to work sometime on his logic skills.
As an idea came to him he quickly ran over to a draw. He searched through it for a few seconds and then finally pulled out the Pocket Sneakoscope that Ron had given him a few years back. He stared at it hard for a few seconds, and then found that he was only more confused than ever.
It was supposed to spin and light up if there was something untrustworthy about. And if he looked at it hard and kind of squinted he could swear that it was spinning. But if he just looked at it normally it looked perfectly still and docile in his hand.
"Make your mind up," he muttered and then turned as a knock came on the door. Putting away the Sneakoscope he walked over to the door and pulled it open.
"Oh sorry. I thought Ron was in here."
It was Ron's younger sister, blushing as if she was embarrassed. He...
Shook his head and looked again. He was not in the Burrow.
"Harry; you alright?" It was Sally who was standing there, and for once she wasn't wearing a mocking grin.
He started to nod and then at the last moment changed it into a violent shake. "I don't know," he admitted. "Do you know any ways to tell if there's a spell on you?"
"What kind of a spell?" she asked.
"A give–him–horrible–nightmares–and–visions–in–the–day spell?"
She frowned. "That bad? You really should talk to Dad or..."
"No." His tone was final; somehow he knew that his father couldn't make this one better.
"I know someone who could help you..." she said.
"Who?"
*–*
"Hermione?"
Ron looked as if something he had swallowed had gone down the wrong way. James contained his feelings enough to only lift an eyebrow.
"She's the best at spells in the year..." Harry explained rather feebly.
It was a few hours later and the three best friends were sitting on their own in a compartment on the Hogwarts Express. As the train hurtled them closer to the horror of school they tried to take their minds off it by catching up with each other. Not that they wouldn't have the time to catch up when they got there - the three of them hardly ever separated.
It had always been that way, and the school had got used to it like that. Harry was the slightly famous one due to his Quidditch place, while Ron was known mostly for being related to his twin brothers. James Black had been friends with Harry since they were toddlers. It was hard not to be friends when you were named after that person's father. He was the slightly serious one, although if he was pushed he could come up with some seriously evil tricks to take on the Slytherins with.
After all, that had been their main hobby since they had got to the school. Scoring points off Draco and friends seemed the right thing to do. Normally they gave slightly better than they got although they normally got the harsher punishments. They had come very close to getting expelled on quite a few occasions.
Hermione was their other occasional target. Sure, they didn't exactly play tricks on her or even tease her, but she was well established as one of the enemy. It was quite fair play to borrow her homework, and 'research' from it though.
Ron was the one who teased her the least, and she had always seemed more prepared to help him if he ever came begging for help when Snape had been particularly horrible. Of course as soon as Harry and James had pointed this out Ron had gone into a slight sulk and acted from then on like he hated the girl.
"But this isn't like just homework," Ron protested, and not all of the emotion in his voice was put on. "If you tell her something personal like then, she might well..."
"Personal?" Malfoy had just entered the compartment. "This should be interesting."
"I thought we taught you not to interrupt us last year," recalled Harry.
"Yeah..." drawled James, fingering a wand he had pulled out of his pocket. "I seem to remember something like that as well."
"Keep dreaming Potter," sneered Malfoy. "Or do you not remember the triplet of detentions you received after your little stunt."
Harry glared at him. Snape being the deputy head (and Professor McGonagall being far too neutral) all added up to Draco having a definite advantage in the teacher's support side. And then there were also his cronies Crabbe and Goyle who kind of gave him the advantage in the muscles (if not intelligence) count.
"Still hiding behind Snape?" James's voice was scornful.
Draco smiled. "Hiding? No. Why would I need to? Besides I'm not the one who goes round like he's got a rope tied between him, Quidditch–boy and well, Weasley."
Ron glared at him. He had always sensitive about his family's financial position, and as soon as Draco had found that out he had exploited it to the full. Ron knew the sort that was coming.
"Leave us alone Malfoy," Hermione's voice was almost bored.
"Or you'll...?"
She smiled. "Try me."
Draco looked hard at her, not quite sure what she meant. Finally he backed off, muttering, "Don't say I never warned you."
Hermione was actually standing there, waiting behind Malfoy.
"Why do you go around with Weasley anyway? Its not like he can pay his share, is it?" Draco continued on, still oblivious of the girl behind him and the growing frown on her face.
"And your father got his mother got his money from such a great source, didn't he?" she interrupted, her tone icy.
Draco spun around and glared at her. He hated to be reminded of what has happened.
"How much do they charge to stay at Azkaban anyway?" her voice didn't quite pull off innocent.
"Better to have tried and failed then to be doomed to remain impure."
Draco gasped, as furious, she slapped him.
But that was not here, thought Harry, not in this reality whatever the other one was. If he wanted anything done he would have to do it himself.
"Get out." His voice was stern, very stern. He was surprised himself at how serious he could make it. Malfoy had released something horrible in him and for a moment his eyes just blazed at the blond Slytherin. Once more, no loss in the power of his voice, "Get out – now."
Something made Malfoy obey, and slowly he stepped backwards. He opened his mouth to speak, but at the sight of the slight shake of Harry's head thought better of it and retreated completely.
"Thanks," murmured Hermione, breaking the shocked silence.
"That was..." Ron wasn't sure what to add. "Why haven't you done that before?"
"I..." Harry started, not sure how to continue. What could he say? I've been having maniac visions which inspired me? As it was he wasn't sure Ron had taken him seriously when he had spoken about the dream things.
Except the more they came, the less they were feeling like dreams. The last one had been positively better than real life. Don't forget that your parents are still dead in them though, his better side protested. Yes, he shouldn't start wishing that the dreams were real, he could stand to just wonder for a while.
"I need your help," he finally finished.
Hermione stared at him. If possible she looked even more shocked than before.
*–*
The rest of the day flew by, the familiar mix of slight strangeness as one saw everyone who had returned to school and tried to fit in your mental picture of them to what they had grown to. For some reason every part of that day flowed smoothly, the train leading onto the carriages, and those into the Great Hall. The banquet was just as huge as ever (Hermione didn't even try to peddle her SPEW campaign, the subject of many jokes last year), and the teachers, even Snape, looked relatively happy.
In fact not that much had changed at all. The Slytherins were perhaps more annoying, with the exception of Draco who seemed to by trying to stay out of Harry's way. Cho was still far off, and Harry still couldn't help secretly glancing at her. Fred and George had already played a trick while Snape had already deducted five points off Harry for 'walking lazily.'
So Harry wasn't surprised when he found that Hermione too was living to form, and busy studying in the library. She glanced up suspiciously at him as he walked in. He didn't feel quite right in here himself.
"What?" she said sharply.
"I told you," he said evenly, "I need your help."
"Ask the teacher." She knew that wasn't the sort of help he wanted.
"Please. I'm sorry about before, but..."
"What before?" she asked curiously.
Harry took a deep breath. "All of it. I mean that."
Hermione didn't look convinced.
"I'm sorry that I never tried to be friendly with you, because..." He realised that he was back at the admit the maniac dreams part. "I know we could be great friends," he finished rather lamely. "Give me another chance, please?"
She laughed quietly for a few seconds. "Who would have thought it? Harry Potter, famous Quidditch player, asking for year least favourite Hermione's help."
"People don't hate you," he interrupted. "I mean, I don't hate you. Ron... You know Ron doesn't hate you."
Her expression softened. "What do you want?" Her tone was impatient.
Another deep breath, and then he began, "There's something wrong with me. I'm not sure what but I keep getting strange hallucination kind of things in the middle of the day. And before you start, no, I'm not mad. I just need you to do some spells and see if you can tell me what's wrong."
"Harry–," she started, a bit surprised, "that's not easy. Don't you think you ought to see a teacher?"
He shook his head. If he didn't think his father could help then there was no way that he would let a teacher deal with the problem.
"Please."
She still looked worried, but somehow he saw in her gaze that she was tempted to help him. Somehow he couldn't figure out why she would want to."
"Alright," she decided softly, and picked up her books and bag. "But you're going to owe me big."
He nodded. "Whatever you want."
*–*
It was two hours later, and to her credit, Hermione had tried more spells then Harry could count. He was glad a teacher had discovered them in the solitary classroom they had found (or a pupil for that matter; he did not want that rumour to live with). Unfortunately, they were still no closer to knowing what was happening. Finally, she stopped in the middle of one particularly difficult spell and asked him, "Would you do me a favour?"
"Name it," he replied slowly.
"Try to force one of these, well things. If you could actually be in the middle of one, I could, well actually do something."
He nodded; it made sense in a strange way. Yet he would rather not go into a world where his parents were dead than anything. How could he live without them? Slightly shaking he closed his eyes and concentrated.
Three minutes later he opened them. "What exactly am I supposed to do?"
She shrugged. "I don't..."
Gryffindor common room. Fire blazing, and by it a crowd of spectators at a chess match. Ron, yes it had to be Ron, playing against his sister Ginny.
"Harry?"
Hermione, coming up from behind him, and looking strangely worried. "Are you alright? You kind of stopped mid–walk there."
She reached out to touch him on his shoulder and then...
"Harry?"
No wrong world, wrong girl. He closed his eyes, and fought, fought the hardest he had since the Imperius curse in the fourth year. And conversely he felt himself slipping back into it.
"I'm... I'm..." he stopped, not sure what to do and what to say.
She reached out to touch him on the shoulder and...
Voldemort. Dursleys. Hagrid...
Her eyes stared at him in horror. "I thought it was a joke," she whispered.
Back – he had to go back.
... Diagon Alley. Station. Hogwarts. Voldemort. Summer. Hogwarts...
The last fifteen years flowed back and through him and suddenly it all made sense again. Except it didn't really, it made less sense than ever. What was this horrible place? And why did it fell so real?
"I'm going to get the nurse," Hermione decided firmly.
"Stop," his command was strong. And then he started babbling as quickly as he could, "They're not dead you know. My parents aren't dead. They're live – I've seen them. I've lived..."
"Harry!"
He had never heard her voice filled with so much concern, and even her eyes seemed softer. But then what would he know? He didn't know her. He had seen her a couple of times in class, a few minutes per day out of them. These years in his head were a fraud they must be. He wouldn't let his parents; he wouldn't let his family go.
"What's wrong?"
Now Ron had stopped his match and was walking over to him. He too was filled with horror. This wasn't Ron, this couldn't be Ron. Ron didn't have a dark wizard for a rat – Ron had a useless pet for a rat.
"Ron, where's James?" Concern, just concern in his eyes, no recognition at all. "Not my father drat it – where's James? Black James! James Black! He is real – I know it."
"What are you trying to deny?" said a voice that was somehow still in, but separate from the nightmare. "The lives of these?"
Harry spun around. "I deny that this is my life."
"Why are you so angry?" the voice spoke again. "Surely you know your own life."
And Harry knew that that was the real problem. "Who are you?" he shouted.
"I'm Ron," and Harry was brought back to Gryffindor with a bolt. The whole room was staring at him. It didn't matter though did it, said the doubt in him. This room doesn't exist.
Ron and Hermione were taking him by the arms now and leading him to the exit. Silently, the crowd parted to let him through. They practically fought to stay out of his way. Eyes looking at him with fear, eyes that he knew that were real. He had admitted it.
"If my parents die then Voldemort lives," the quiet words came on their own from his mouth. A shudder passed through the students, and if anything Ron and Hermione sped up.
"You'll be fine," Ron said shakily, and Harry had never heard such an obvious lie before.
"I'm not going to be fine," he told him. "Not here, never here."
He had admitted it, but still all he wanted to do was go back.
"Who are you?" he asked again the voice.
"I am fate."
And Harry slipped down into nothing.
*–*
"I never should have done it Harry; I'm so sorry."
As his eyes opened Harry smiled as he saw the familiar Hermione. He was no longer in their classroom and instead lying in one of the soft beds of the hospital wing. Madam Pomfrey was coming up, anxiety written all over her face.
Still, he was back. And so happily, he drifted back to sleep.
Author's Note:– I'm actually working on another big fanfic project at the moment, so this was just more of a distraction that anything else. I'll probably continue it, especially if a few people like it. Thanks for reading it in any case (and any reviews are appreciated, even one worders like "Good" or more likely, "Terrible").