Author's Note: Ok, next chapter. It's another dream chapter, so sorry to those of you who find that annoying, but it's what comes next.

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chapter 36: VISION - ghosts of past and future

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It was dark there, that was all he knew, dark and safe. He stayed there, in the darkness. He was waiting for something. A door opened and the light flickered on, and Ron found that he was standing in what appeared to be an old dorm room. He was in the corner where it was shadowed, but he didn't feel safe anymore. A boy walked into the room and Ron had to keep himself from crying out. He looked to be a few years younger than Ron himself, probably second or third year, with freckles and red hair, clearly a Weasley, but Ron didn't recognize him. He held himself quiet in the corner. The boy appeared not to notice him but rather flopped onto one of the beds, picking a book seemingly at random from the table next to it, and began to read.

Hours seemed to pass as Ron continued to stand in the corner and the unknown Weasley slowly turned the pages of the book, but Ron couldn't be sure about time. He was still waiting for something. He could feel it crawling up his spine, prickling at the hairs at the back of his neck. It would be coming soon.

The other boy seemed to sense it as well for he eventually set his book aside and swung his legs over the edge of the bed, sitting up. He sat still has a statue, his hands folded in his lap and a patient expression on his face. Together, he and Ron formed a pair of frozen guards, still and watching for what was to come.

The other boy, when he came, neglected to knock, but rather strode into the room as if it were his own. He was older than the Weasley, probably about 18, but, despite his age, this one Ron recognized. Lucius Malfoy. He drew a silent breath and pressed himself deeper into the shadows. The prickling sensation of something coming was very strong now and he wished he couldn't feel what was going to happen next.

"It's almost new moon. Are you ready, Weasley?"

The boy Ron now knew to be his uncle, Andrew Weasley, nodded and stood. "Of course, Lucius." His voice was calm, though not resigned. Lucius twisted his lips into a strange smile. He leaned casually against the wall, but Ron could see the way he crossed his arms to keep his white hands from shaking, and that he seemed to flinch as his shoulder touched the stone. Andrew undoubtedly saw it as well but the boy said nothing, simply walked to stand patiently in front of the Slytherin.

Lucius bit his lip and looked away, the expression on his face uncertain in a way Ron was sure Lucius as an adult had completely forbidden himself. When he looked back at Andrew the hunger was in his eyes and Ron was reminded inescapably of Draco. He shuddered as he felt some unidentifiable emotion pass through him.

"Why do you accept this?" The look on Lucius's face was intense and focused and Ron knew that it would be soon. Lucius wouldn't be able to hold out much longer.

Andrew spoke almost as if he hadn't heard. "I will always protect you, Lucius."

At this Lucius's face twisted into a dark snarl, all color draining away to leave him white and terrible. "WHY do you Accept This?" he hissed, moving away from the wall and backing the younger boy up against the bed.

"Whether You will accept it or not," Andrew added to his previous words. He still appeared calm, still accepting, but his eyes shone with something so close to love that Ron wished desperately that he could look away.

"I would not have your Protection," Lucius spat, seizing the younger boy roughly by the shoulders and pushing him backwards onto the bed. Andrew didn't even make a sound as Lucius fell on top of him, a slight arc to his back his only movement as Lucius bit ferociously into his neck.

Lucius, however, was not so constrained. He snarled and growled as though he were possessed by some wild animal. His movements were rough, jerking. Not content with a single bite to get the blood flowing he ravaged the flesh of Andrew's throat and neck until it was nothing but a bloody mess, half glimpsed by Ron beneath Lucius's shuddering, twisting movements. His face was washed nose to chin in bright red.

The shadows seemed to close in around Ron as he watched. Everything focused down to the sound of breathing. Lucius' harsh pants as the violence pushed him further and further. The wet hiss from Andrew that grew fainter and fainter, ragged and broken. Ron's own breath hard in his ears. Slowly these sounds came to overwhelm everything else until the world had been reduced to writhing shadows, cruel glints of pale skin and bright blood, and the staggered chorus of the gasping, hissing, struggling of death and life.

In the end it was Ron's own breath, ragged and overloud in his ears, that made him deaf to else as he watched Lucius finally grow still, then draw himself up and away from the bed. The sight he revealed would have driven most to their knees and Ron knew not how he was still standing. The form on the bed was nearly unrecognizable for all the blood, the throat was nearly torn out. Still, the eyes stood out. They were peaceful and dark, strained with neither fear nor anger, and somehow, though in death, they managed to convey an overwhelming feeling of peace.

Ron watched as Lucius backed slowly away from the bed. A dark presence seemed to hover over him, dark wings to wrap him and dark eyes to guard him.

On the bed, Andrew's lifeless body held the stillness of the room. The boy had never even struggled, and Ron wept because he knew he would have done the same.

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I open my eyes into darkness. There are tears on my cheeks, and when I remember why I cry again. Who it is I'm crying for I can't say. Maybe it's for all of us. Maybe it's for the long line of those who went before.

when will we find release

The warm darkness of the dorm room seems to hold me. I shut my eyes and try to breathe in the safety and comfort I know is here. I can hear the others breathing, filling the room with a soft sound like the distant rumble of the sea. Neville is snoring quietly. Seamus is muttering something unintelligible. I try to find reassurance in their presences, but the breathing shifts in my mind, becomes harsh pants off-setting a gasping hiss.

his eyes were so dark, like midnight

pale hands on tense shoulders

a snarl filled with blood

I turn over onto my side, holding my pillow tight beneath my ear and straining myself to forget. Almost, I am successful. Almost, I can let go and let the blackness of sleep wash over me once more.

don't forget me

I tense as the words skitter across my mind. There's a ghost hovering at my shoulder and it won't let me forget. What can't I forget? What is it? What other Thing to go swarming through my brain until I can wish only for sleep, dreamless and neverending?

will you turn away so easily?

So close. So real. I would almost believe it weren't in my head if not for sheer Solitude I feel. There is no other presence in this room but those unconscious. I hug my pillow tighter. It smells like dust and my shampoo, the feathers poke through the case and scratch at my cheek and I want nothing more than to hold onto that, but it's not enough, and I give up, slowly sitting up and letting my legs dangle over the edge of the bed so that my toes are exposed to the cold night air.

give in.

The cold flagstones caress my feet gradually as I ease myself up from the bed to stand swaying in the dark. I feel very clear and very fuzzy at the same time. Like I'm perfectly aware of everything around me, down to the small draft of air tickling the back of my hand and the moonlight catching on the edges of the faded rugs, but like I have little or no say in anything. It feels familiar. I shrink away from the memory.

Don't.

I force my movements to be brisk and controlled as I search under the bed for my slippers and snag a thin robe off a chair. The stairs are even darker than I remember them and I find that I am almost holding my breath as I hurry quickly down to the common room. I force myself to inhale, to breathe steadily, but it takes a lot of concentration. I see the glow from the fireplace before I reach the common room itself. The coals are burning red and sullen tonight.

Where are you?

She's here. I know she's here. I can feel her breathing. I can feel her holding her breath.

"Come out of the shadows."

She smiles. I can feel that too. The firelight, when it catches in her hair, seems to darken and twist in upon itself. There is something feral in her eyes.

"Did you remember me?"

Her voice is soft and low, smooth silk gliding over flawless skin, and at her words I feel like my brain has broken into three pieces. I want to laugh, and sob, and run screaming from the room all at the same time. She smiles again, a curling at the edges of her lips, and I see something twist behind her face: old bones; teeth; honey, sweet and red as poppies.

"Don't"

I don't know what it is, but part of me is afraid, very afraid. I feel it in my bones, in the way my breath tries to catch and stutter. Part of me knows that if I were smart I would run. I've never been smart, though, and the threat seems so intangible as to be ludicrous. Still, I tremble as she steps nearer, the subversive part of my brain speaks for me again.

"stop. please. turn away from it."

The look she gives me then is cold and black, and she halts her progress towards me. Part of me wants to just take the words back, to say that I don't know what I'm talking about, but the stronger part of me holds firm. Something has been building and it needs to stop. Somehow it needs to come to an end. For a while we both just stand there, staring at each other, and I can feel the force building between us, can catch the flickers in the back of my mind that echo the darkness in her eyes. She looks remote.

turn away

The memories begin to float too close the surface, memories of something cold, of something sharp, and I am the first to look away. I watch the embers smolder lower and hear her chuckle softly. "You still love me. Don't you?" It's not a question. Her voice is dispassionate, and when I look up I see her regarding me as one might regard some particularly clever puzzle. "Just don't forget," she says, taking a step backward. She turns and I catch a gleam of something at her temple, some faded, twisted pattern along her arm. She turns, moving into the shadows, and it is gone. All I see is the faint light on her hair and the gleam of her eyes as she glances back at me.

ginny?

Before I can say anything more, she is gone. All that remains of her is a fuzzy recollection of something once there, some darker darkness hiding in the shadows, and suddenly the clarity that I had felt is gone. The red coals of the fireplace mesmerize me as I stare into their ashen glow, only pulling myself away with difficulty to wend my way back to bed. A gust of wind blows its way past the window and the memory that called me down here grows dimmer in my mind as I trudge back up the stairs to the dormitory. Soon I fall back into the comforting arms of sleep. And forget.