Harry waited until the footsteps of the Potion Master had faded away before he let his arms and his face relax.

Tears trickled in a steady stream down his face as his shoulders shook, face screwed up. He didn't utter a sound; charms or no he had somehow become quite adept at it. Practise, that was all.

He looked at his hand, and wiggled his fingers experimentally. There was no pain, and that nasty grinding sensation had gone.

He felt physically drained, as thought an immense apple-corer had been thrust inside him and then pulled out, taking most of his soul with it. He felt tired, as well, but the thought of more nightmares chilled him. He didn't want to know what Voldemort's reply would be. The look of surprise that twisted his features as he replied I'm waiting -

Waiting? Waiting for what?

Harry pondered this as he swung his legs out of bed, still clad in his jeans and t-shirt. His feet encountered the freezing stone of the floor, in contrast with the woollen rug under his bed, and the icy sensation was a pleasantly jolting one. He padded quietly across the floor, and checked the potion cupboard on the wall just below the clock which displayed the time of three in the morning. His finger tapped the vials he found there until he found one that didn't quite have the clear ring of the others.

He tipped a little of liquid into a glass tumbler and he was assured of what it was by its smell: the potion for dreamless sleep had a sweet, honey- like texture, smell and colour.

He carried the tumbler over to his bed and lay down, sliding underneath the covers. He swallowed the sweet, thick liquid in one gulp, and had just enough energy to place the glass onto the table next to his bed as waves of black sleep engulfed him and he drifted into a blissfully empty void.

llllllllll

When Harry woke, golden shafts of sunlight were slanting in through the gaps in the curtains. Harry sat up and rubbed his face, surprised to find someone had removed his glasses. He found them on his bedside table, and pushed them up onto his nose.

The bright beaming orange light solidified into shafts of gold with edges so sharp he felt like he could have cut himself on them. He twitched aside the curtain.

The snow gleamed like a multitude of pearls, scattered in a thick shower over the grounds. Harry, unaccustomed to the feeling growing inside him, couldn't help but smile as he was forcibly reminded of all the snowball fights he, Ron, Hermione, Fred and George had shared. The sun glinting off the pure white gave him the strangest, longing feeling inside, and he supposed he was happy. He glanced at the clock, startled to find he had enjoyed seven and a half hours of blissful, empty sleep. It was half past ten, and he felt curiously complete... as though an absence of his nightmares had given his mind a chance to sew a few patches over his tattered thinking. His mind was clearer, more concise.

He knew he wouldn't be able to use the potion again, as he had read in Divination last year that dreams were essential for the smooth running of the mind, else he would go insane, and that nightmares were a safety valve, a way of letting off steam. His nightmares would be back that night and they would be longer.

He mentally waved it off with a grin. He had this euphoric feeling, his energy was restored, and he wasn't going to waste it.

He gave his injured left hand some careful consideration before he thought about his next move. Carefully unwinding the bandages, he discovered his hand tender but fixed. He smiled. Time to catch up on something he hadn't been paying nearly enough attention to...

llllllllll

Snape stalked grumpily though the corridors, a sour expression on his face. Albus hadn't been very approving when he'd told him about absenteeing himself from the boy's bedside, but he was not in the mood to argue. The boy would no doubt be moping about somewhere feeling sorry for himself, no doubt drowning in a vat of his own self-pity -

There was a whooping noise outside, and Snape looked out of the window sharply.

A small, slight figure was speeding above the grounds on a broomstick at a ridiculous speed. Snape knew at once it was Potter.

The figure skimmed the grass blades poking above the snow then rose sharply, rising, rising, and the he did a complete turnover in mid-air. He fell a few feet, and then sped off along the length of the lake.

Snape realised he was staring, and narrowed his eyes. The boy had a flair for showing off

(no-one to impress)

and he be damned if he was going to be forced to watch it.

llllllllll

Harry landed, exhilarated on the ground, panting furiously for breath. He laid his broom on the ground and lay down next to it, chest heaving.

He was feeling a hell of a lot happier than he had in months. Sure, there was icy snow soaking up through his jumper, but right now he couldn't care. The heat from his body didn't seem to have an end, and he let the warmth melt away into the ground, until the bite of the snow soaked through.

He got up with a groan, and fondly wiped the handle and tail of his broom. Slinging it over his shoulder, he headed back towards the castle.

He found Snape waiting for him at the entrance.

"Yes, professor?" he asked icily. His rage, which had been non-existent for the past two hours, flooded him like a dragon's flame. He had the sudden urge to hurt Snape very badly.

Suppose this is how Snape must have felt when he saw me in the Pensieve, he thought detachedly, and some of the anger abated. They were quits, he supposed.

The rage faded, but the general animosity remained. He hadn't actually thrown things at Snape. Yet.

"The headmaster wishes to see you, Potter."

Harry norrowed his eyes and stalked past the still figure, broomstick carefully balanced over his shoulder. What a way to end a happy-trip.

llllllllll

Harry allowed himself the privilege of changing clothes before he headed up to see Dumbledore.

Harry thought as he headed up to Dumbledore's office; the password had not changed. He wondered if he thought too much about... well, about anything.

He really respected Dumbledore, and he knew nothing could ever change that. Asking him to stay with Snape... well, Harry couldn't say he wasn't doubtful, but Dumbledore had to have had his reasons for asking him to.

He opened the door to the circular office to find Dumbledore waiting for him, behind his desk. His fingers were steepled gravely but his eyes twinkled as they always did.

"Please sit, Harry."

Harry did so, pulling up a chair. He had a horrible feeling he knew what was coming next.

"Harry. I would like to think you could trust me."

Harry's feeling of dread grew.

"Nightmares are the body's way of coping, Harry. Silencing them will simply not help."

Harry stared, completely numb. How had Dumbledore known? Not about the nightmares, Snape would have talked till his face turned blue, but about them getting worse?

"You know as well as I do that a dreamless sleep potion is not he cure," Dumbledore continued. "But what I think is that you must talk to someone about them."

Harry felt strangely weak, as though Dumbledore was reaching inside of him and pulling shreds of his heart out in great handfuls.

"I know you will not want to talk to me, or to anyone about them. But you must, eventually, or you will not understand how much they are hurting you."

Harry slumped in the chair, and glared at a small patch of carpet to his left.

"My suggestion, Harry, is to write them down, every single one of them. That way, you're not carrying the burden of them by yourself. Should you choose to reveal them to anyone, you can, or should you wish not to, et cetera. It is possible Harry that you are carrying far too big a burden for you to manage on your own."

Harry raised his eyes mutely to Dumbledore's, to find the electric blue eyes swimming with sadness. The steepled fingers were now folded on top of each other on the desk. Dumbledore sighed and leaned back in his chair.

"Mr Weasley and Miss Granger have already been to see me several times about your concerns, Harry. I have told them each time that you will eventually solve your problems, but maybe I was expecting too much. The world has turned its attention to you as its saviour, Harry, and that would weigh hard on the strongest of shoulders. You are still but a boy."

"M'not a boy," Harry mumbled defiantly, but he couldn't resist a sheepish grin. He looked at Dumbledore again to find him smiling.

"It's good to hear you can still be yourself, Harry."

Harry smiled sheepishly at his fingers, surprised to find his old, teen irritation still buried between the layers of his depression. The thought that he could still be himself gave him a little hope.

Dumbledore's face became grave again.

"I must impress upon you the importance of this, Harry. You must at least write your nightmares down, before you can even begin to heal."

Harry stood up, taking it as his cue to leave, but he glanced at Dumbledore and was surprised to find him smiling.

"My mistake, of course you're not a child anymore. I would have thought that your Quidditch skills proved that, more than anything."