CHAPTER THREE-
He became aware of more than the oddly comforting murmur when it stopped and the arms around him loosened. He muttered in protest but after a few moments for his brain to catch up with him, he let go. He still felt oddly detached, but he was semi-aware now. He tried to collect his scattered wits.
"Where did you find him?"
"An old Defense room. He shows signs of extreme exhaustion."
"Ah...has he said anything?"
"Nothing that made any sense after he conveyed a need to see you."
Harry blinked, finally awake enough to remember what he needed to speak to Dumbledore about. "I get visions." He licked his lips and turned his head slowly when Fawkes made a low sound. He held out a hand and the Phoenix, not quite bald, allowed him to stroke what remained of the crest. He spoke looking at the bird, instead of the two staring men.
"Not long before Voldemort does something, I get hit with what he's thinking. Gen'raly about whatever attack he's planned. Would've wrote to you, but even if I could've freed Hedwig, by the time she got here it would've been too late." He looked up, vague ideas of assuring the Headmaster forcing him to add, "I us'ly get a pretty good idea of what he's gonna do...he likes to plan out the tortures on a pers'nal basis, so we'll know who to protect first." His entire body felt leaden, even his head... Which was odd, as it still felt detached at the same time. He blinked and tried to remember the rest.
"There's somethin' else..." He swallowed, throat dry and aching and foul with clovers. "Started having new dreams last night and get 'em whenever I fall asleep now." Fawkes hummed a note again and then a tear slid from it's eye onto his hand. "S'ok, Fawkes... I'm ok, don't cry." He mumbled to the bird, even though he did feel a bit better. He yawned. "Not like the nightmares... I 'ways end up with that offal taste in my mouth..." He yawned again, blinking to keep himself awake. "Don't know what they mean. The dreams, not the nightmares." He tried to stifle the next yawn, but wasn't entirely successful.
"I...see. Setting the dreams aside for the moment, how often are you...made aware of Voldemort?"
He opened his mouth to reply and yawned again. A flash of irritation at the repeated interruptions woke him up a bit and he answered somewhat coherently. "I get a dream a night, average... if I don't get one at night, I'll get hit whenever I relax." Another yawn overtook him. Fawkes slipped out from under his hand and Harry murmured something he thought might have been English, but probably wasn't.
"Harry."
He blinked, raising his eyes from the floor. "Ye-" His voice hitched and he yawned. "Sorry. Yes, Headmaster?"
Dumbledore paused and said. "When was the last time you slept through the night?"
Harry blinked, then tried to remember...certainly not this summer. He tried to stifle another yawn but had the feeling he'd failed. Probably...before the Third Task. "Before the end of term, I think."
"The end of- idiot, why didn't you ask your family to take you to Diagon Alley for a Dreamless Sleep potion?"
Sleepy and floating on indifference, Harry shrugged off the insults. "Don't like wizards much, do they?" Yawn. "'sides, don't think the visions from Voldemort count as dreams, and I got those often enough that it wouldn't have been worth the lies I'd've had to tell to get there." He curled up a bit, drawing his legs up into the chair and wrapping his arms loosely around them. He found a hint of lemon and wolfsbane lingering on his clothes and smiled slightly. He felt a touch to the top of his head and opened eyes he hadn't realized were closed to see Dumbledore nodding to Snape. The Headmaster turned, "Would you mind if professor Snape and I talked?"
Harry shook his head and they moved to the other side of the room, voices low and indistinct. Nice. Harry felt himself drifting off to sleep.
//A mirror was propped up in front of him, and he didn't want to look in it. He hadn't wanted to have any nightmares either. It looked like neither of his wishes would be granted. The image in the mirror was blurred and oily, but fading into focus.
His reflection clarified, and Harry starred at himself. Then he felt a weight settle on his shoulders, though nothing showed in the mirror, and he turned his head carefully to see a snake of indeterminable species watching him.
"Be careful Ssspeaker. Thisss iss a dangerousss game." The snake spoke in a dry, rustling sort of voice. It reminded him of secrets being told in study hall.
He shook his head, hearing the words but taking a minute to understand them. 'I don't understand... Who are you?' He flicked his eyes to the mirror, but his reflection was still alone and now smirking arrogantly at him.
"I have not been called by the living in agesss... You may call me...Weaver."
'Weaver?'
"Yessss..." Weaver rubbed against his cheek, much as Fawkes had done earlier with his hand, before unwinding from his neck and disappearing from his shoulder to appear on the floor, near the edge of the mirror. "I musst go, Sspeaker...I will find you when you have need. When you underssstand, you will know how to find me yoursself. Fare well, Sssssspeaker."
He tried to call the snake, Weaver, back, but he couldn't move his mouth. His lips were curiously stuck together. The snake slithered into the mirror and he watched as his reflection stared at it warily before it faded. Then it looked back at him, behind him and smirked.
Harry turned slowly, like he was wading through syrup, though he'd never felt this nauseated by molasses. There was a familiar drowning, sweet smell and he finished his turn.
The walls were decorated with it, and he moaned in protest... There was a buzzing sound and the walls flooded freshly, the thick liquid flowing onto, covering a body. He scrambled forward and felt as if he were in slow motion as his movements dragged. He fell to his knees and pushed through the gold substance covering the body.
'Oh, dear...now, how did you get here? It's much too early for you to be here...'
He recognized the voice from the other dreams. 'Help me,' He managed to gasp out, before trying to clear the suffocating mix of sugar and decay.
'Now why would I do that, brother? I'm Cain to your Able...be glad I enjoy the game.'
He didn't reply, though dread curled tighter in his stomach. He couldn't breath, and he knew the person was alive... Eyes opening, impossibly, deep under the rotting, sticky substance proved him right. He could do nothing but sink his hands down, down, down and try to reach him, but he couldn't get far enough and then he lost his balance and fell into the smell. He was drowning in honey...//
"For Merlin's sake, wake up!"
Harry lurched up and away from the hand, falling when his knees buckled. He ignored the pain and fumbled with his sleeve. He had his wand out and pointed by the time his robes had settled. When he realized it was Snape, he groaned again and pulled his legs up to his chest and buried his head, fighting the urge to cry. He gulped air, the strange humor of the situation hitting him suddenly and he had to resist the urge to laugh. Hysteria wasn't on his list of things to do. He lifted his head from his knees and smiled weakly at Dumbledore before turning it on Snape. "We have to stop meeting like this." There was an odd ringing in his ears and a pressure behind his eyes. His hands felt sticky.
He became aware of more than the oddly comforting murmur when it stopped and the arms around him loosened. He muttered in protest but after a few moments for his brain to catch up with him, he let go. He still felt oddly detached, but he was semi-aware now. He tried to collect his scattered wits.
"Where did you find him?"
"An old Defense room. He shows signs of extreme exhaustion."
"Ah...has he said anything?"
"Nothing that made any sense after he conveyed a need to see you."
Harry blinked, finally awake enough to remember what he needed to speak to Dumbledore about. "I get visions." He licked his lips and turned his head slowly when Fawkes made a low sound. He held out a hand and the Phoenix, not quite bald, allowed him to stroke what remained of the crest. He spoke looking at the bird, instead of the two staring men.
"Not long before Voldemort does something, I get hit with what he's thinking. Gen'raly about whatever attack he's planned. Would've wrote to you, but even if I could've freed Hedwig, by the time she got here it would've been too late." He looked up, vague ideas of assuring the Headmaster forcing him to add, "I us'ly get a pretty good idea of what he's gonna do...he likes to plan out the tortures on a pers'nal basis, so we'll know who to protect first." His entire body felt leaden, even his head... Which was odd, as it still felt detached at the same time. He blinked and tried to remember the rest.
"There's somethin' else..." He swallowed, throat dry and aching and foul with clovers. "Started having new dreams last night and get 'em whenever I fall asleep now." Fawkes hummed a note again and then a tear slid from it's eye onto his hand. "S'ok, Fawkes... I'm ok, don't cry." He mumbled to the bird, even though he did feel a bit better. He yawned. "Not like the nightmares... I 'ways end up with that offal taste in my mouth..." He yawned again, blinking to keep himself awake. "Don't know what they mean. The dreams, not the nightmares." He tried to stifle the next yawn, but wasn't entirely successful.
"I...see. Setting the dreams aside for the moment, how often are you...made aware of Voldemort?"
He opened his mouth to reply and yawned again. A flash of irritation at the repeated interruptions woke him up a bit and he answered somewhat coherently. "I get a dream a night, average... if I don't get one at night, I'll get hit whenever I relax." Another yawn overtook him. Fawkes slipped out from under his hand and Harry murmured something he thought might have been English, but probably wasn't.
"Harry."
He blinked, raising his eyes from the floor. "Ye-" His voice hitched and he yawned. "Sorry. Yes, Headmaster?"
Dumbledore paused and said. "When was the last time you slept through the night?"
Harry blinked, then tried to remember...certainly not this summer. He tried to stifle another yawn but had the feeling he'd failed. Probably...before the Third Task. "Before the end of term, I think."
"The end of- idiot, why didn't you ask your family to take you to Diagon Alley for a Dreamless Sleep potion?"
Sleepy and floating on indifference, Harry shrugged off the insults. "Don't like wizards much, do they?" Yawn. "'sides, don't think the visions from Voldemort count as dreams, and I got those often enough that it wouldn't have been worth the lies I'd've had to tell to get there." He curled up a bit, drawing his legs up into the chair and wrapping his arms loosely around them. He found a hint of lemon and wolfsbane lingering on his clothes and smiled slightly. He felt a touch to the top of his head and opened eyes he hadn't realized were closed to see Dumbledore nodding to Snape. The Headmaster turned, "Would you mind if professor Snape and I talked?"
Harry shook his head and they moved to the other side of the room, voices low and indistinct. Nice. Harry felt himself drifting off to sleep.
//A mirror was propped up in front of him, and he didn't want to look in it. He hadn't wanted to have any nightmares either. It looked like neither of his wishes would be granted. The image in the mirror was blurred and oily, but fading into focus.
His reflection clarified, and Harry starred at himself. Then he felt a weight settle on his shoulders, though nothing showed in the mirror, and he turned his head carefully to see a snake of indeterminable species watching him.
"Be careful Ssspeaker. Thisss iss a dangerousss game." The snake spoke in a dry, rustling sort of voice. It reminded him of secrets being told in study hall.
He shook his head, hearing the words but taking a minute to understand them. 'I don't understand... Who are you?' He flicked his eyes to the mirror, but his reflection was still alone and now smirking arrogantly at him.
"I have not been called by the living in agesss... You may call me...Weaver."
'Weaver?'
"Yessss..." Weaver rubbed against his cheek, much as Fawkes had done earlier with his hand, before unwinding from his neck and disappearing from his shoulder to appear on the floor, near the edge of the mirror. "I musst go, Sspeaker...I will find you when you have need. When you underssstand, you will know how to find me yoursself. Fare well, Sssssspeaker."
He tried to call the snake, Weaver, back, but he couldn't move his mouth. His lips were curiously stuck together. The snake slithered into the mirror and he watched as his reflection stared at it warily before it faded. Then it looked back at him, behind him and smirked.
Harry turned slowly, like he was wading through syrup, though he'd never felt this nauseated by molasses. There was a familiar drowning, sweet smell and he finished his turn.
The walls were decorated with it, and he moaned in protest... There was a buzzing sound and the walls flooded freshly, the thick liquid flowing onto, covering a body. He scrambled forward and felt as if he were in slow motion as his movements dragged. He fell to his knees and pushed through the gold substance covering the body.
'Oh, dear...now, how did you get here? It's much too early for you to be here...'
He recognized the voice from the other dreams. 'Help me,' He managed to gasp out, before trying to clear the suffocating mix of sugar and decay.
'Now why would I do that, brother? I'm Cain to your Able...be glad I enjoy the game.'
He didn't reply, though dread curled tighter in his stomach. He couldn't breath, and he knew the person was alive... Eyes opening, impossibly, deep under the rotting, sticky substance proved him right. He could do nothing but sink his hands down, down, down and try to reach him, but he couldn't get far enough and then he lost his balance and fell into the smell. He was drowning in honey...//
"For Merlin's sake, wake up!"
Harry lurched up and away from the hand, falling when his knees buckled. He ignored the pain and fumbled with his sleeve. He had his wand out and pointed by the time his robes had settled. When he realized it was Snape, he groaned again and pulled his legs up to his chest and buried his head, fighting the urge to cry. He gulped air, the strange humor of the situation hitting him suddenly and he had to resist the urge to laugh. Hysteria wasn't on his list of things to do. He lifted his head from his knees and smiled weakly at Dumbledore before turning it on Snape. "We have to stop meeting like this." There was an odd ringing in his ears and a pressure behind his eyes. His hands felt sticky.