A/N: I've skipped another three years. They're fifteen now, I hope that's not confusing.
Disclaimer: As in last chapter, I own nothing but the story.
"My Lord, may I ask what your plan is?" The man Harry had seen in another dream was kneeling before Voldemort.
"You may, Macnair,' Voldemort answered. "And you may stand."
Macnair did so.
"Thank you, My Lord. I was only wondering… How do you plan to lure the boy here?" Voldemort gave what could be considered a smirk.
"Why Macnair… the same as last year of course."
Voldemort gave a high, cold laugh, and Macnair laughed along with him. Harry felt the hair on the back of his neck stand up at the sound. It reminded him of a sound he had heard a very long time ago… perhaps it had only been a dream… But nevertheless, it chilled him to the bone. He wanted to speak, to call out for the laughter to stop, but he couldn't make a sound.
Finally the awful noise stopped and Voldemort smiled cruelly.
"The boy will be dead tomorrow," he said to Macnair. "And that is all that matters."
Harry woke abruptly. He looked around at the still-sleeping Draco and wondered whether or not to tell anyone about his dream. They had been coming more and more often, but this one seemed insignificant. Besides, Harry was fifteen now, he didn't need to go running to Draco or his caretakers with any little worry. Anyway, Ron and Pansy were only a year older than him. They couldn't do much to help him, even if he did tell them, which he wasn't going to.
Harry sat up and winced as the bed creaked. Draco mumbled at the sound and opened his eyes.
"Is it time to get up?" he asked, blinking blearily at Harry, who nodded. "Oh."
Draco heaved himself out of bed and stumbled over to the wardrobe.
"I was up late last night, studying for the potions O.W.L," he explained to Harry. "Ugh, I hate fifth year."
"Hey, you'll be fine," Harry said. "You're so good at potions. You get O's in everything. I'm the one that should be worried. I'm just scraping A's."
Draco was interrupted from his reply by a knock on the door. Pansy came in, also looking tired.
"We're going to breakfast," she said. "We'll see you guys down there, alright?" Harry nodded.
"See you," he said absently, turning to his own robes. He waited for the two to leave and then turned to Draco.
"Hey," he said hesitantly. "What do you think of – of Ginny?" Draco looked at him suspiciously.
"She's nice. Why?"
"No reason," Harry mumbled.
"Do you like her?" Draco demanded. Harry scuffed his foot.
"Well… she's really pretty…"
"Harry, she's our friend," Draco burst out. "You can't date friends! Especially when their older brother has been looking after you for eleven years!"
"I know," Harry said quickly. He looked down. "I guess I should just leave it, shouldn't I?"
"Well…" Draco seemed to be calming down. "It depends how much you like her, mate. Are you willing to risk it?" Harry shrugged.
"I don't know."
"Then don't," Draco advised. "Come on, we'll miss breakfast if we don't go now."
Harry followed his friend/brother down to the Great Hall, his thoughts still on his red-haired friend. He sat down and grabbed a piece of toast, biting into it gloomily.
"Hey Harry, hey Draco," a voice said, and Harry turned quickly, coming face to face with the object of his thoughts. "Are you going to sit with me today?" Ginny asked.
"Of course," Draco replied. "We always sit with you. Why wouldn't we?"
"Oh, of course you do," Ginny said smoothly. "Can you pass the butter?"
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After classes had finished for the day, Ron and Pansy met up with their charges coming out of the transfiguration room.
"Hey, what are you guys doing this afternoon?" Ron asked them.
"I've got so much homework," Draco answered. "I'm going to be doing that."
"Ok. Harry?" Pansy asked.
"Huh?" Harry asked, tearing his eyes away from Ginny who was walking past. Draco shook his head and pulled him away before Ron could notice what Harry was staring at.
"We'll be back soon," he called over his shoulder.
As Ron and Pansy watched them, confused, a first year came up.
"I was told to give you this," she said shyly, handing them a piece of paper.
"Thanks," Pansy said, taking it and unfolding it as the girl hurried away.
Mr Weasley and Ms Parkinson,
Please bring Harry and Draco to my office first thing tomorrow morning.
Professor Dumbledore
Ron and Pansy looked at each other. Ron shrugged.
"I guess we'll find out tomorrow, he said. "Let's go."
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At about 11.55 that night Harry awoke. He lay for a few minutes, trying to go back to sleep, but failing. At last he swung himself out of bed, intending to get a drink, but instead tripping over his shoes and falling onto the floor with a bang.
"What – what's going on?" Draco mumbled from his bed.
"Nothing, sorry," Harry whispered. "I just fell over."
"Huh? What are you doing?" Draco sounded annoyed. With a sigh Harry sat down on his bed.
"I was just going to get a drink," he explained quietly. After a few seconds of silence of he said, "I think I had one of those dreams this morning."
Draco sat up.
"Would you shut up about your dreams?" he hissed. "For God's sake, you think you're so special and wonderful, you're Harry 'Look-At-Me' Potter, and I'm sick of it. Why can't you just be normal?"
"It's not my fault," Harry replied, stunned by this outburst. "I don't want the dreams. I hate them. I wish I didn't get them."
"No you don't," Draco exploded, as quietly as he could. "They make you feel good, don't they, Potter? They set you apart from all of us normal people. You love it!"
"You know what Malfoy?' Harry said angrily. "Why don't you take a long walk of a short bridge and get screwed?"
Draco didn't reply and Harry guessed he was making rude gestures. After a while he fell back to sleep. He slept peacefully until about 6:40, when he entered again into a dream that would change the wizarding world.
Voldemort stood alone in a graveyard. He seemed to be waiting for something, and before Harry had been watching for more than thirty seconds he stiffened and looked around.
"I know you're here, Potter," he hissed, looking into the air. "I know you're watching. And look who I've got here with me."
Voldemort moved around, and gestured at the ground. There, lying in a tangled mess of broken arms and legs lay a man Harry knew only from photographs.
"Yes," Voldemort said, as though reading Harry's mind. "Yes, this is your father, James Potter. He's real. I can touch him." Voldemort put one long, white finger on James, and the man twitched away. "You see how broken he is?" Voldemort asked, still looking somewhere about him. "You can save him. You can rescue him from this place and take him home to live with you forever. How would you like that?"
Voldemort paused for a second, then, as if he could hear Harry's thoughts, went on, "All you have to do is come to me, alone, with your wand. All I want is your wand, so that I can examine it. After all, it contains a feather from the came phoenix as mine." Here Voldemort paused again, and then said, "If you agree, all your have to do is go to the corridor on the fourth level and look for the portrait of the knight on the red horse. There will be a bottle on the floor. Touch it and it will bring you here, to your father." Pausing again, Voldemort looked around. "Dumbledore's protection charms aren't strong enough for my magic," he explained.
"I'll see you soon." Smiling, Voldemort stepped back, and the dream ended.
Harry woke. Without further thought, he dressed, pocketed his wand and left to find the portkey.