Disclaimer: J.K. Rowling owns it all

When Nightmares Are A Good Thing

Chapter 2: Getting Organized

There was a loud noise emitted from the room below Harry's bedroom. He assumed that Uncle Vernon had just left for work. He was silently thankful for that. Uncle Vernon didn't care much for his nightmares- often he would scream in his sleep- and was slowly losing his grip, even though the Order's threat hung in the air like a putrid smell.

It had been a while since he hadslept without a nightmare, save the dream that he had just woken up from. Harry hadn't quite classified that one yet. Glancing at his clock he saw that it was nine in the morning.

Harry thought to himself while lying back down on his bed. It was breakfast time, butdidnot feel inclinedto eat lately. He just didn't seem to have an appetite anymore. His stomach churned at the thought. In all actuality, it had been four days since his last real meal. Harry could almost hear the fussing Molly Weasley would give him if she knew.

With that thought, Harry stretched and walked over to his desk. He reached in the rickety drawer and pulled out a sheet of parchment. He looked over what was written on it.

Dear All, I am fine. Hope you all are best!

Harry

The very first thing Harry had done upon returning to his bedroom for the holidays, was write about thirty letters to the order stating that he was fine. There was hardly any chance that Harry would have anything different to say every three days.

With a closer look at the letter, Harry decided that it was too similar to the last letter he sent. He picked up his quill and carefully added a postscript to the end that stated:

P.S. Please tell Ron that Dudley actually gained weight on that diet of his! His physician was NOT happy! Nor were my Aunt and Uncle, they went to extreme measures while he was away at school this year.

"Hedwig, I have a job for you. Take this to you-know-where and give to either Professor Lupin or Mrs. Weasley, please?" Harry persuaded. He assumed that they would be the most worried about him, next to Ron and Hermione that is.

Hedwig gave a hoot of approval as he attached the letter to her leg. He opened the window for her, and watched as she flew out. That letter should buy him two and a half more days before he had to send another. Harry sighed. He hadn't really wanted to add that post script but felt that it would be worse trying to deal with the lot of them if he didn't start adding a bit more personal information into his letters.

After Hedwig had gone, Harry turned his attention back to the dream he had just awoken from. It had been a very odd experience indeed.

He plopped down in the chair by his tattered old 'desk.' The photo album that Hagrid had given him in his first year was lying on his desk open to the page of his parents wedding. Sirius was smiling up at him from the page. Harry instantly felt his gloom returning at the sight. As he surveyed the picture for what had to be the millionth time that week, Harry hastily shut the album.

Harry thought it wasn't fair that Sirius was gone leaving Harry in pure anguish. If it weren't for the stupid prophesy, Sirius would still be here! But no, that wasn't right. It was his fault. HE had been the one to try and be the hero. HE was the one Sirius had come to save. He led his Godfather into danger. If only he had been strong enough to take charge of the situation by himself. Voldemort was his complexity, not Dumbledore's, not Snape's, Sirius', his parent's, or the Order's. It was his, Harry Potter's. He had to be the one to salvage what was left of the world. He still didn't like it, though. If given a choice, Harry would have chosen to grow up a normal boy, and have a normal life with parents and the other people that loved him.

Shaking his head, Harry banged his it on the desk. The truth of the matter was, he wasn't normal. He had no parents, and the people that 'loved' him were in jeopardy because of him. His life would always be broken, and he would always feel this pain as strongly as he felt it now. Why force someone, who had a full life and was happy, to try and do the job that was appointed to him? That would only spread more pain among the world. No. That would not do. Harry would just have to step up and accept his job. He would be the selfish brat he was (according to Professor Snape) and take all the unpleasantness from the world for himself. That would ensure that nobody else would have to go through what he himself had been through. Voldemort had to be dealt with.

Harry would do anything and everything he had to do to fulfill his destiny. He would sacrifice what little of his life he had left, for the people of the world, as well as the handful of people that he cared about. Ron, Hermione, Gryffindors, Hufflepuffs, Ravenclaws, and Slytherins, the D.A., his professors, Hagrid, the Order, the entire family of Weasleys, Albus Dumbledore, Remus Lupin, Sirius, his parents... There were so many that he wanted to protect! Harry silently vowed to do whatever he could to ensure that none of them had to feel like he had in his short life span. And so Harry Potter sat there in his Aunt and Uncle's house, wearing ragged clothes and feeling more pain then he knew humanly possible, swearing to himself to prepare for war with Voldemort.

As he started racking his brain for ideas on where to start, he realized that it would be harder then he realized. Harry didn't even know half the spells that Voldemort did. He was lacking experience and practice at that, but there was nothing he could do about it until school started up again. He did still have his schoolbooks from all five school years, but he needed something stronger to defeat the world's most evil wizard. Voldemort may be a twisted and warped, but he was also very smart and talented.

Out the corner of his eye, Harry saw a middle-aged woman jogging down the street. He watched as she made her way down the street until he couldn't see her anymore.

That was it! Harry needed to exercise! That way if he got in another bind with death eaters and none of them had their wands, he would be stronger! Being stronger must have its other advantages to. The cruciatious curse was bound to do more damage to a scrawny boy than someone who was strong, wouldn't it?

Harry scanned his brain to try and remember some sort of an exercise that would help. The only thing he could remember from primary school was sit-ups and push-ups. Maybe he could find a bar to do chin-ups as well. He could also start running like the middle-aged woman, but those would only help him get in shape. He needed to add muscle, not just tone it.

'Weights! But where can I find weights for me to lift?'

Dudley was the answer to that question. Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon really had taken drastic measures while Harry and Dudley had been away at school. His personal trainer and physician had made sure that Dudley had a weight bench at home with him to train with over the summer. Uncle Vernon's reasoning had been that exercise was for pansies and how could they expect Dudders to become healthy if he wasn't properly fed? He would faint from malnutrition if he had to survive on grapefruit halves again. Weights were a more manly way of losing weight the excess poundage.

Uncle Vernon had placed the machines in the shed with a padlock so that Dudley could train in privacy, without being bothered by anyone, namely Harry. Of course, Dudley went into the shed once a day and came back all "sweaty" from his "workout" but Harry happened to know he hadn't even touched the weights all summer. The "sweat" was merely from the heat. He was pretty sure Dudley only subjected to his parents wishes of locking himself in the shed to 'workout' because it gave him an alibi to smoke his cigarettes. Harry had seen the smoke that was oozing in between the roof of the shed from the window in his bedroom. Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia sure were blatantly stupid when it came to their son.

Harry thought about offering him a trade for the use of the shed, but had nothing that Dudley would want. He could bribe Dudley to allow him to use his equipment in the shed without anyone knowing, but what would Dudley want? The answer to that was simple; cigarettes. Harry had seen he and his friends smoking near the park last summer on countless occasions. How would Harry get a hold of them?

In a sudden inspiration, Harry grabbed a new parchment and jotted a quick letter:

Gred and Forge,

How are you? I am well, and hope you are to. How goes Weasley's Wizarding Wheezes? I expect some results, you two!

The real reason I write to you is that I am in need of your services. Firstly, I would like you to take half the money I have enclosed in this letter and exchange it for muggle money. Secondly, I need you to go to a muggle convenient store and purchase something for Dudley. I think about four or five packs of cigarettes should do. Once they are purchased, please perform a safety charm on them (they are quite a heath hazard in the muggle world without the charms). I would hate for my ...gifts to be of any harm to his health. Whatever you can manage will be appreciated for the "Trades" I intend to make with him.

Also, with the half of wizarding money that I have sent, I would like for you to see if you can learn what books I will need for sixth year, if you can. Don't arise suspicion. I don't want anyone to know that I am actually buying books ahead of time. Also, if you find any other useful books that I might benefit from, buy them as well. I am interested in occlumency, defense against the dark arts, any good hexes and curses (that AREN'T dark arts), healing, dueling, and possibly animagi.

Anyway, please purchase them and send the cigarettes and books THE MUGGLE WAY to my aunt's and uncle's. I don't want to burden your mother with the chore of having to do my bidding again this year, seeing as I can't go to Diagon alley myself.

You may have to put a charm on some of the items so that their real identities aren't revealed; the Dursley's won't be fond of them. You could probably use your own names on the return address, but I wouldn't put a truthful address on it. I am sure that they will open the box before they let me have it, but no jokes please! Whatever you make them appear as, make sure it's something harmless and please make sure they turn themselves back. I can't do magic, remember?

You can keep what is not spent of the wizarding money. Consider it payment for the trouble you'll have to go through to obtain the items I have asked for. If there isn't enough, would you be kind enough to lend me until I can get to my vault to repay you? Please keep this a secret between us. You know as well as I do what your mother's reaction would be to your taking care of me rather than allowing her! You guys are a lifesaver.

Thanks!

Harry

Folding the letter with all the galleons he had left, he placed it and the letter inside an envelope and laid it down to wait for Hedwig's return from that morning's delivery. He had solved more than one of his problems in that one little letter. Well, maybe not solved, more like make a dent in them.

Harry decided to start on what exercise he could do without Dudley's equipment.

He stood up and shoved a pile of dirty clothes that lay in a heap on the floor by his bed. He grabbed his pillow and threw it down where the pile had been seconds before. Harry laid down on the wooden floor, with his head on the pillow and his feet together. He started his sit-ups. It wasn't until he got to 30 that his stomach began to ache.

'You can't wimp out! If you do, Voldemort will have no trouble breaking you and then you'll let the world down!'

Harry continued, grimacing through the pain in his abdomen. He forced himself to reach 50 before allowing himself a short break. When he had caught his breath, he started up again. It seemed to take forever to reach 50 this time because he had to allow himself two breaks in-between this time. When he finally reached his 100th sit-up, he stood up slowly because he had grown quite dizzy.

A glance at the clock told him that it had only been about 10 minuets since he started his exercise. Harry silently decided to give ten minuets every morning and every evening to do 100 sit-ups; no exceptions. In fact, after his first week he would start increasing his numbers. He could feel what stomach muscles he had used twitching while the interior tingled strangely.

Harry gave a loud sigh as he dropped to the floor again to do push ups. At his 20th he realized it was his arms that were hurting in this exercise, but he forced himself to reach his goal, stopping only when he had to.

If he did 100 sit-ups and push-ups every morning and every evening he would certainly be in better shape, judging by the amount of pain his upper body was in at the moment.

Harry wasn't sure how he would go about jogging. There were Order members surrounding the house day and night; Harry was sure of it.

'Except for when there is an Order meeting, and possibly when they change shifts.'

Harry was a little uneasy about disobeying the Order. They hadn't actually given him orders NOT to go outside but he knew that going for a jog might cause mayhem. Everyone would question his motives and call him paranoid. Harry didn't really like the idea of the entire order nosing around to learn what he was 'up to' this summer. Harry nodded his head in agreement with himself to put off running until he was back at Hogwarts. The quitditch pitch would do nicely. Perhaps he could even lift weights in the room of requirements.

He looked around his as if he could spot something else to exercise with, but found nothing. Harry got up and walked quietly to the bathroom. He stared at the shower curtain for a moment. After shutting the door behind him, Harry walked over to the shower.

He reached up and gripped the pole lightly. He gave a test tug. It appeared to be sturdy. The tiles around the wall seemed to be solid. Very carefully, Harry wrapped his other hand around the bar. Taking a deep breath while praying that it was strong enough to support his weight, Harry pulled himself up so that he could rest his chin on the bar. He let himself down quickly. The muscles in his arms were seizing up from his previous conditioning.

'Okay, maybe I should wait a few while before I start with this one,'

Harry crept back to his room. It was slightly past noon now and Dudley was watching T.V. while Aunt Petunia was probably cleaning the kitchen and spying out the window.

The first thing Harry noticed, upon his survey of his messy bedroom, was the pile of books that were stacked against the wall. Harry walked over and picked out all the books from his first year. There were eight in all. He carefully stacked them on his nightstand. If he planned to learn anything this summer, he'd need a good solid review first. He would read through all the first-year books today, second-year tomorrow, and then the third-year... At that pace, he would be finished with all five years before the end of the week. Of course, he would remember to do his exercises in the mornings and evenings. He had very little homework this year, due to one thing or another. The upcoming sixth years usually caught a lucky break because, until the students received their O.W.L.'S, they couldn't be certain which student would be returning to what classes. Throw in all the chaos that usually finds Harry every year at Hogwarts in June and...

Harry climbed onto his bed and sat with his back leaning against the headboard, softened by the pillow he was using as a buffer. The book on top was The Dark Forces: A Guide To Self-Protection by Quentin Trimble. Harry opened the book and focused on absorbing the information in the book. It was surprisingly easier to read the second time through, and the contents seemed so simple! It took no less than an hour for Harry to move on his next book.

By the time Harry had read all the books on his reading list for the day, he was stiff backed and had a sharp pain in his neck. He pushed his books aside and stood up to stretch, but stopped quickly. His stomach muscles were protesting fiercely. Harry sighed in exasperation with his pathetic body. He would still have to do his exercises no matter what his limbs were telling him. He carefully dropped to the floor and commenced his workout. This time he had wanted to stop to rest sooner than he had that morning.

'Stop bellyaching, Potter! You've got deatheaters to defeat! I'll bet THEY can do all 100 without needing a break!'

Harry bit his bottom lip and worked through the pain. He was sweating a great deal at the end of it all, but was pleased with himself, none-the- less. He promised himself that he would work on his stamina.

Dreading sleep, Harry sat down at his desk, his thoughts lingering on the dream he had had last night. Was that that the kind of thing he should tell someone? Harry found that he didn't want to share it with anyone, let alone Dumbledore, but knew first hand what had formatted from the last weird dream/vision he had. Then again, this one was different. It wasn't sent from Voldemort. Harry didn't know how he knew, but he did. Yes. This was something he would keep to himself, but he needed to write it down to be sure that he could recall all the events within it at a later date.

Harry got up and walked over to his trunk. He rummaged around in the quickly darkening room, trying to find what he was looking for when a something sharp spliced the skin on his right wrist open. Harry recoiled his hand, to see blood gushing from it freely. His eyes widened as he grabbed one of his hand-me-down shirts to wrap his wrist in. Closing his eyes, he put as much pressure as he could on the bundle that was absorbing the crimson color like a dry sponge. He hastily threw one of his old oxford school shirts over the previous shirt.

Harry watched as part of school uniform was tinged with his blood. He took a deep breath, knowing that the extra pressure he was about to add would cause more pain; he placed his arm between his knees and squeezed them together. Shockingly, Harry felt very little other the protest of his already-over-worked muscles. Dizziness fell upon him as the blood loss took its toll. Not for the first time, Harry was thankful for his high tolerance for pain.

When the bleeding seemed to slow, Harry cautiously staggered to the bathroom to bandage it. Normally, Harry wouldn't be allowed to use the things in the bathroom, other than the taps, bath, and facility. He knew Uncle Vernon remembered Moody's threat, but didn't feel secure enough to do anything to risk it. Even if the Headmaster himself were with him, he still would walk on eggshells. Many years of Privet Drive had taught him things about his 'family.'

Harry returned to his room with his arm heavily wrapped in gauze, and his two bloodstained shirts, dripping with water from the bath he gave them in the sink. Harry sighed as he dropped them in the bottom of his wardrobe. He cautiously peeked into his trunk, curious to see what he had cut himself on. A shiny object lodged in the wood on the sidewall caught his attention. On closer inspection, it turned out to be Sirius' mirror. He had smashed it in his trunk the night before leaving Hogwarts.

Harry shook his head to rid the thoughts of his fallen Godfather from his mind. He didn't want to think about that.

Once again, the teenage boy began to shift the contents of his trunk around, although this time he thoughtfully took heed in his actions.

"Aha!" Harry whispered out loud.

In his hands, Harry Potter held the five by seven homework planner that Hermione had given him for Christmas. He closed the lid on his trunk and walked back to the seat at his desk. It was rather hard to write down the events and details of his dream with his wrist bound so tightly but Harry managed it. The charms that were placed on the planner to make it spout useless sayings, had thankfully worn off to a dull whisper. He couldn't help but smile at the use his best friends gift was finally being put to.

He leaned back in his chair. It was ten thirty. The Dursley's footsteps could be heard in the hall on their way to bed. Harry took a deep breath as he stared at the white gauze around his wrist. If the cut had been any deeper he could easily have died. Finite incantatem, Harry! The world would be doomed and he wouldn't have even been able to say goodbye to his friends.

Harry sat up straight as he reached in a desk drawer for some fresh pieces of parchment. By the light of his lamp, Harry stayed up for four more hours writing goodbye letters to anyone and everyone that was special to him. By two thirty he had a written a formal group goodbye to anyone and everyone who wanted to read it. His individual goodbyes were for Ron and each individual Weasley, Hermione, Remus Lupin, Albus Dumbledore, Minerva McGonagall, Tonks, Dobby, Luna Lovegood and Neville Longbottom.

With further thought, Harry spent another hour writing a quick goodbye to anyone who might miss him dearly, or could have unresolved business with him. Those bunches of letters were written to Professor Snape, the Dursley's, Draco Malfoy, Cho Chang, and the Creevey brothers. Also a group letter was written to the Gryffindor house, the quidditch team, the D.A. and the Order, and Hogwarts as a whole.

By the time he had finished with all of that, it was nearly four in the morning. Harry's eyes and body were itching for sleep, but Harry would not allow it. He had no desire for dreams of Sirius, nightmares of past events (more like murders, Harry thought glumly), or visions of Voldemort. So he briefly stood and stretched before settling down to write a final testament of what to do with all of his possessions. When he had finished, he shoved all the letters in the drawer in his desk that was now empty from the lack of blank parchment. So at four thirty, Harry gave in and laid down to rest after stacking his books in the corner of his room and removing his shirt and glasses. Harry's last thoughts before he slipped into the blackness of sleep were hopes to have a peaceful dream.