As he had so many times before, he woke up to his own anguished yell. He clutched his forehead and lay there, listening to his own strangled breathing.

He had only slept a few hours at most. The rest of the boys in the dorm slept on, including Ron. He wondered what they were dreaming about.

Some of the Hell Spawn –er, Death Eaters –had been having a party. Their parties were more like torture –for him anyway. He felt the contents of his stomach roiling around. He couldn't stand to watch, but he did, because he hadn't a choice.

Voldemort, however, seemed to find it entertaining.

He wasn't going to get any more sleep tonight. He rolled off the bed was thankful for the silencing charm as he hit the floor with a thud. He lay in his awkward position for a moment, yawning. Apparently, he was really quite tired.

He grabbed a parchment and a quill form under his bed, where he left them in case this happened. He wrote a brief note to Dumbledore, with the small bit of useful information he had learned from… that vision.

A group of researchers had been kidnapped by Voldemort. Faced with torture, they were working for him. Hence the need to rescue them.

Harry didn't even bother with his cloak as he wearily moved through the corridors to Dumbledore's office. When he reached the Gargoyle, he slipped the paper into it's mouth.

The paper would end up on the Headmaster's desk, and he would see it in the morning. Harry had convinced him to do this so that he could get information from his visions to the man quickly but without having to wake him up. After a three night marathon of visions the Headmaster agreed.

The gargoyle jumped out of the way and Dumbledore appeared behind it, still wearing his earlier clothes. Harry blinked sleepily at him.

"How'd you know I was here?"

A gray eyebrow arched upwards, "You've been standing there for a while."

"Oh." He yawned.

Dumbledore looked at the sleepy teenager. "Come in; I'm not getting any sleep either."

He followed Dumbledore past the portrait of Merlin and into the room, heading immediately to the warm of the fire. While Dumbledore summoned tea Harry noticed a book lying on the coffee table. "What's that?"

"A book of prophecies." At the look on Harry's face he continued, "I know, most of the time we can't figure out what they mean until it's happened, but I never give up hope."

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Harry was standing above the enchantments over the great hall. Time passed swiftly while he stood, watching, unseen. So many people came and left, their children, their grandchildren.

He wanted to be down there with them, but he was looked in his cupboard. So he watched, listening to Dudley whine shrilly about something upstairs.

Now his parents and their friends were in the great hall, being sorted.

Something made him look up and saw himself, just watching him. It occurred to him that he was dreaming, and he said, "Weird."

"Indeed."

"Why am I dreaming of myself?"

"That's a good question. No doubt you will find out soon enough."

He felt a connection to the man and was briefly flooded with images, thoughts. The scene around him dissolved as he was overwhelmed. He looked in confusion a the man.

"You need to work on controlling that –but you will. In any case, it is time for me to wake up."

Then he was gone, and Harry found himself playing Quidditch with all his family and friends, even the Dursleys. He didn't think it odd that they were there, even though they couldn't fly, nor that Hermione was there though she hated flying; He was dreaming

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Harry woke up early the next morning with a start, his scar burning, and a frown of confusion on his face.

His mind turned to other matters when he realized that he wasn't in his dorm. A slight feeling of panic for a moment –then he realized that he was on a couch. Last night drifted back to him. He and the headmaster had talked awhile before, apparently, he fell asleep.

He rubbed sleep out of his eyes and stood up.

He looked around but saw no sign of the Headmaster, so he let himself out, walking down the corridor in wrinkled robes and hair sticking out in every possible direction.

As he left the Gargoyle behind he remembered the reason he was confused when he woke up earlier. He did vaguely remember dreaming something strange. Himself. He could swear that he had the impression of himself, but it was more than himself –there was more to him. Like he was –older.

"Strange."

He didn't really bother thinking too much about it though, as he realized he would miss breakfast unless he got moving. He'd be missing breakfast if he didn't eat it later –they had Quidditch practice afterwards. Ron had given into the pleading of the team and scheduled practices on the weekends for later.

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Alrighty, I'll show you what the older Harry is up to in the next chapter.