As ever, standard disclaimers apply.
The screams and cries pounded against him, making concentration all but impossible. All about them wizards and witches were fighting and dying. All about he saw nothing but flashes of color, smoke, fog, the blooded earth, a hidden sky. All about he felt nothing. Nothing at all.
Once again the universe narrowed down to a single focus.
Voldemort.
More precisely, Voldemort and himself battling for... Well, for very different reasons, actually.
Then suddenly it is over. The wizard who rejected his humanity was vanquished. No more than ashes and char remained of him. The screaming and fighting didn't -- hadn't -- stopped immediately. And that's why Harry knew he was dreaming. Because there were no more sounds. Not a one. Nothing at all but the sound of the dark haired man dying in his arms.
Except there was Albus Dumbledore; standing and cradling something small. "His first life and it went so wrong..."
Harry woke suddenly, jackknifing abruptly. "Dumbledore."
Ginny grunted with mock ire. "Fine thing, that. Most men mutter their lovers' names, not their ex-headmaster's."
"Sorry, Ginny. Go back to sleep, love."
"Can't." The woman sat up alongside her spouse. "What was it?"
Harry sighed. "The last battle."
"Ah." Ginny wrapped her arms about her knees and hugged herself as her thoughts went back to that day. She only realized she was crying when Harry's finger gently brushed away her tears.
"I'm sorry."
"You don't have to be. Of all people, you shouldn't be." She sniffed, though, thinking of those lost.
"Nonetheless--"
"What did you dream, exactly?"
But his answer was not quite an answer. "Ginny, what do you know about reincarnation?"
Ginny turned a look of confusion on him. "What? Just the same as you, I suspect. It's the idea that when one dies, one's soul is reborn in another body."
"I dreamt of Albus and he said something about reincarnation." Harry sighed and without realizing it, folded himself into the same self hugging position as his wife's.
She, however, did notice and it was she who moved first, changing her focus from self to couple. She embraced her husband and leaned her head against his shoulder. "Reincarnation? Albus?" She asked at last.
"Ye-- No. No," Harry's voice dropped to a rough whisper, his eyes wide as a memory long buried resurfaced. "He said he would no longer reincarnate because he'd chosen to be a guide for other souls."
"Oh Harry. I know what you are thinking." She pulled back to look him in the eye.
"You do?"
"You think Octavius Lestrange is Severus Snape reincarnated."
He nodded slowly. "Yes... Yes, I think I do."
"But that's... There's no proof for reincarnation --"
"It doesn't matter, Ginny. No matter who he is or was, Octavius is a child in jeopardy. We have to rescue him. I won't let any more children suffer!"
Octavius lay wide awake in the dark. He didn't feel sleepy at all. No, he felt exhausted and worried, but that was normal. What wasn't normal was the twisting pain of disappointment. Mr Potter and that boy were father and son. How could it be possible? How could the man be so... kind and the son be so mean?
Octavius heard himself sigh and then the inner voice that sounded altogether too much like his father's voice told him not to be stupid. Of course no one was really nice and surely not to an undeserving child such as himself who couldn't even passably control his magic. No, Mr Potter was simply doing his job, asking those questions and talking softly to him meant nothing. Just as he meant nothing. Considering the history of failure among his predecessors, he was actually surprised to have made it into Hogwarts.
Not that he was doing all that well in his classes. But it wasn't all his fault! His wand didn't always do what he wanted! "My wand hates me," he unintentionally muttered the seeming non-sequitor aloud. He rolled over onto his side and stared morosely at the darkness provided by the heavy drapes of the four poster. Darkness and privacy. Thank goodness for that. If he had to share a room with these other boys at least the drapery that decorated each bed did allow a certain semblance of privacy. One could almost pretend it afforded protection as well. Maybe his new wand would make things better. Maybe then his father wouldn't hate him so much.
Saturday morning found most of the youngest children eager to play and consequently up as early as if for a day of classes. Fifth years and Seventh years tended to use the time to prepare for their OWLS and NEWTS. Everyone third year and above spent at least a little of their free time studying. Second years scoffed at their elders and simply played. First years, however, were still coping with being away from home for the first time.
Some of these youngest students had no problems with the new environment. A few were so homesick they wept almost the entire first week. Most fell somewhere in between. Octavius was glad to be away from his father, but Hogwarts was not a utopia by any means. He'd not made any friends and until yesterday had had to cope with a wand that Mr Ollivander had proclaimed unsuitable. He hoped that now he would begin to excel in his coursework. Otherwise he might not make it to his next birthday.
Early morning found the young Slytherin seated at his House table quietly dining on eggs and a half crumpet interspersed by frequent sips of pumpkin juice. The only others from his house were a pair of seventh years quietly testing each other on Charms Theory. Loud giggles caught his attention and he looked over toward the source -- the Potter twins, heads bent together in some private conspiracy. He sighed and went back to spearing scrambled eggs all but oblivious to his surroundings until a shadow fell over his plate. He jerked abruptly, flinging cold scrambled eggs over the table.
"I didn't mean to startle you Mr Lestrange." Mr Potter's voice came softly from off to his other side. "Do you mind if I sit for a moment?"
Octavius shrugged. There was, at this moment, no one else at the Slytherin table though the Gryffindor and Ravenclaw tables were becoming quite well populated. "As you wish, sir."
Potter slid gracefully in place next to the small boy. "Octavius, I'd like to talk to you about your dreams, if I might. Not here, not now," he hastened to assure before the boy could react. But perhaps later this afternoon. I've appointments with other children all morning."
"If you wish, sir."
"Please. Come to my office directly after lunch, then."
Octavius spent the morning reading and practicing using his new wand, remaining hidden in the dormitory. His dorm mates were all much to engrossed in enjoying the fading good weather by playing or studying outdoors. But when he was grudgingly invited he declined. It didn't suit him; he didn't think his father would approve; he was afraid all that would happen was that he'd do something to make everyone laugh at him. And finally, he was certain the other boy was just being polite and didn't really want him to join them.
He held the slim black wand in his palm and caressed it with gentle care, thinking how one day it might take on the polish of use. He imagined that he might be grown and this most personal of instruments would shimmer from being rubbed to a fine polish.
He sighed and practiced the motions and incantation designed to levitate a feather.
Quite to his surprise, at his command the feather floated up towards the ceiling and hung there. He felt the magic focus and flow according to his will. He sensed when a charm or spell would not work and he sensed when what he was doing was just so correct and after a while he wasn't surprised when the results were exactly as expected because suddenly he could feel it!
It wasn't him that was useless!
That afternoon, he went to Mr Potter's office in the throes of an emotion he'd never had before. Elation, though he didn't know it, of course. He only knew that his magic worked! And he was aching to proclaim it to someone who wouldn't ridicule him.
When Harry Potter opened the door, he was greeted by something no one had ever seen before. Octavius Lestrange was smiling. almost grinning. Harry quirked both eyebrows. "Well! What's this?"
"My new wand, sir. It doesn't hate me! I can control my magic!"
Harry grinned. "Brilliant! And isn't that exactly what I predicted?" He ushered the boy inside.
"Yes sir! I wish my father could see, I know he'd not ha-- he'd be ..." The boy grimaced. "Actually, I don't think he'd be very pleased, after all." He sighed and slumped into the chair across from Harry's desk.
"Why is that, Octavius?"
"It's not the wand he gave me."
"Doesn't matter. You heard Mr Ollivander. That wand was not suitable."
"I suppose the important thing is that I won't fail."
Harry nodded, watching the wheels turn in the youngster's head.
"What did you want to see me about, sir?" It was the boy who got them back on track.
"Octavius, I think... I think I might know who it is you are seeing in your dreams. If I show you some pictures, do you think you might recognize him?"
"Yes... Maybe."
Harry hesitated but then handed over a Hogwarts yearbook opened already to some chosen page. One of the pictures featured a posed picture of Slytherin First Years. "Do you see him here?"
Octavius frowned then after a moment pointed to a scowling boy half hidden behind wind blown locks he kept trying to keep hanging over his face. He looked up at the Counselor and was quite shocked to see his face twisted in a grimace that reminded him of someone in silent pain.