A/N: Thank you SOOO much to everyone that has reviewed! I love reading what you have to say! Also, thanks for the numerous emails! Sorry it's taken so long to update- that's why I'm giving u 3 in a row. I hope it was worth the wait.As far as DD and his scar are concerned- that one goes out to anyone who noticed the same thing in the movies about the HEadmaster that I did. It's SUPER weird, isn't it? You can totally see it. So- I decided to incorporate it into my story, and spin a yarn as to why I think it's there.

Also, just fyi, the way "my" story ends is really NOT how I think JKR will end the real novels. I just used creative lisence to interpret the prophecy to make it fit for me. I have a completely different theory as to what will really happen. Anyway- thanks so much for being patient while my computer was kaputt. Now that it's back, I can start working on the "sequel to the sequel".

Here's a question for all my readers- what should the title be? Should I go with 'half blood prince' or should I make an original one? Your votes decide. Leave some comments and I'll let you know what it ends up as!

Now... enough babbling- ON WITH THE STORY!

Chapter 12: Subconscious Repercussions and Secret Revelations

As Harry snuggled deeper under the covers, he was asleep even before Ron had returned from the girls' room. His thoughts turned to the past few weeks and all their happenings. His first ever birthday party had been a success, and he knew he would think of it fondly for years to come. As he fell into slumber, his REM cycle seemed to be approaching at a rate faster than the Hogwarts Express. His unconscious mind ran through the skills it had learned in Occlumency, and hoped there would be no breach tonight. After painstakingly smoothing out any possible cracks in the mind of the Boy Who Lived, his unconscious mind seemed satisfied, and allowed Harry to drift into dreamland.

He was walking down a deserted hallway- it was dark. The torches seemed to be just dying embers instead of their normal bright and friendly flickers. An impulse struck him, and he raised his wand hand.

'OccaecoLumos,' he muttered, almost inaudibly.

Instantly, light flared at the tips of his fingers- only this light was an insipid violet instead of golden, like when he used his wand. Moving stealthily down the unrecognizable corridor, he made out a painting at the end where it forked off. Although in his mind's eye he understood that he had never seen the corridor before, he moved with a purpose, as if he had done it a million times before- and not only in his sleep.

Silently, like a ghost, he glided down the passage toward the painting. Once closer, he made a note of its soft, meticulous brushstrokes, and memorized the vision before him.

'Acclaro Arcanus Conclave,' this time, he spoke only with his mind, and the painting noiselessly rotated on its hanging, opening to a small indentation in the wall.

He stepped into the roughly hewn rock seat, and the painting revolved closed around him. Emerging on the other side, he gracefully stepped down into a glorious room containing more wonders to the imagination than those that simply met the eye. All around him stood shelves, some mounted on the walls, others hovered at the precise height of the viewer in the middle of the span, and still others seemed to defy all known laws of gravity as they remained effortlessly attached to the ceiling by some unrecognizable force.

Once again, using only his mind, he chanted, 'Fluito Clueo,' and felt himself rising off the floorboards.

Upon reaching the desired sill on the ceiling, he reached out towards the item he had come for. The single item that would be His undoing. Smiling to himself, he whispered,

'Cunctor Finite Fluito Incatatem.'

Slowly, he lowered to the floor, treasure in hand. With a wave of his hand, and a silent shout from his mind of 'Levitanto', he lifted slightly off the floor once more. An additional flick of his wrist, and "Debello" opened itself to the proper page. His face contorted as he took in the vision before him.

'This cannot be…'

"Harry? HARRY! Wake up, mate!"

A teenaged, raven-haired boy jolted out of his sleep and nearly fell out of bed at the tug his redheaded friend was giving him on his arm.

"Whassamatter!" he asked, sleepily, pulling his blankets closer around him. There seemed to be a cold breeze blowing up from underneath them.

"Harry, STOP IT! You're scaring me!" Ron cried, his voice shaking with fear.

Cursing to himself, and to Ron for waking him in the middle of the night, the black haired boy reached over to his nightstand for his glasses- only to find that he could no longer reach said table. In fact, he could no longer reach anything. Anything, that is, except the ceiling, if he stretched his arm out far enough.

CRASH.

"Ron? What's wrong? Are you all ri- HARRY!" screamed another redhead, only this time from the doorway.

"What in the name of Merlin are you DOING up there?"

Harry was beginning to get annoyed. He couldn't see, for some reason it felt like the ceiling was a lot closer than it should be, and his bum was extremely frigid now that he was starting to wake completely.

"What are you TALKING about? I can't see a thing. Can someone hand me my glasses?"

Saved, once again, by the quick thinking Muggle-born, Harry blindly reached for his glasses. With them on, he looked around, and for the first time realized why everyone was so concerned.

He was levitating four feet off of his mattress.

"Harry?" asked Hermione, in a squeak. "How on earth did you get up there?"

"I don't care HOW he got up there, 'Mione, just make him get DOWN! He's FREAKING ME OUT!" yelled Ron, at his wit's end.

Strangely enough, the only people in the room that seemed to be unconcerned about the predicament were Harry himself, and the painting of Phineas Nigellus on the wall- one of Hogwarts' previous Heads. In fact, the past Headmaster was snickering quite loudly.

"Well well, Mr. Potter. Fancy that. Your head finally has gotten enough hot air inside it to make you levitate. Hehehe. Wait 'til Professor Snape hears this- my my, will he have a hoot."

"Bugger off, will you!" cried Ginny, getting more distressed by the second as she unsuccessfully attempted to pull Harry back down.

"Better yet," added Hermione, beginning to get rather irritated herself, "why don't you scamper off and find Dumbledore? Make yourself useful."

The painting 'harrumphed,' but disappeared into the molding, presumably off to find the current Headmaster of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. The remaining habitants of the room at Number 12, Grimmauld Place, however, began to argue quite profusely. On the ceiling, Harry had a hard enough time interpreting the random outbursts, much less attempting to fit a word in edgewise.

"-How in the WORLD?"

"-Do you think Dumbledore will be able to get him down?"

"-Is that a Phoenix!"

"Hello?" came a feeble attempt from the ceiling.

"-How long has he been UP there, Ronald?"

"-How am I supposed to know? I was sleeping!"

"-Where on earth did Harry get a Phoenix?"

"Guys?" another effort from this ceiling, this time with a slight annoyance behind it.

"-Well you think you might notice if your roommate is bobbing up and down next to the ceiling wouldn't you?"

"-I can't believe it's lasting this long. You think it would have worn off by now, I mean, logically…"

"HEY!" Harry yelled. He'd had enough. "I know how to get-"

Another slam from the door being thrown into the wall, and an ear-splitting shriek from Mrs. Weasley cut him off mid-sentence.

"Of all the- WHAT IS GOING ON IN—HARRY! Oh, good gracious! How in the name of Merlin did you- Oh, God! Where is Dumbledore? How did this happen? RONALD WEASLEY- WHAT DID YOU DO TO HIM!"

"MUM! It wasn't me!"

Amidst all the commotion, none of the party noticed the swift return of a smirking Phineas to his painting on the wall. Much less did they observe the silent Apparation (and laughter) of Albus Dumbledore in the hallway just outside the open door.

"Oh don't try and pull the wool over my eyes, Ronald. This is not funny. You get him down THIS INSTANT! I can't believe you'd pull a stunt like this- not for him just locking you in that wardrobe! Honestly, Ronald, in all my years- even with Fred and George, I NEVER-"

"Um, Mrs. Weasley? Don't worry about it, I can-"

"Mum, I SWEAR, I had nothing to do with-"

"Don't you DARE lie to me, young man!"

"MUM!" cried Ginny, Ron, Harry and (surprisingly) Hermione, all in one voice.

"WHAT! Oh, um, sorry. Yes?"

"I can get down, you know," Harry replied simply, after Mrs. Weasley had ceased shrieking at the top of her lungs at her youngest son.

"How could you possibly know how to get down? You're not even of age! Even I don't know how to get you down!"

The party watched in awe, as Harry voiced an incantation none of them had ever heard before.

"Cunctor Finite Fluito Incatatem."

Slowly, but surely, the Boy Who Lived lowered to the floor and landed softly and evenly on both feet. Ginny ran to him, and embraced him, followed by bursting into tears. Pulling back, she punched him hard in the chest.

"OW!" Harry cried. "What was that for?"

"For scaring me out of my wits! Why didn't you tell us before that you knew how to get down?"

"I tried!" he cried, earnestly. "You guys weren't even paying attention because you were too concerned with the improbability of the situation to even use you heads, much less listen to me on the ceiling."

Massaging his chest, he added, meekly, "Hello, Professor Dumbledore. Sorry we woke you."