Disclaimer: J.K. owns it all

When Nightmares Are A Good Thing

Chapter 17: Bizarre Bedside Behaviors

Warmth. Security. Comfort. Weariness. Harry Potter wanted nothing more than to give in to these benign luxuries that were pressing into him with their comfortable weight, by rolling over and taking a deep breath of the refreshing air before relaxing back into the cozy layers of sleep that had been holding him so tightly. It made him feel safe and worriless, lying there in his comfortable bed with the warm glow of the morning's dazzling sunlight upon him. But, as always, something was out of place. Something had changed since he fell asleep last night.

Not bothering to open his eyes, Harry was curious. His mind trudged through the coating of exhaustion that he had been reveling in. There was something wrong with his hand. It felt almost as if it were being crushed. Of course, in his nightmares, Harry had several times lodged himself into an awkward position that cut of circulation to an unfortunate limb.

'Perhaps I've slept on my hand funny,'

But that didn't seem right. At the moment, Harry was lying on his back and had been as he had not moved so much as an eyelid since he had awoke. His hand was undoubtedly what had awoken him though.

Cursing his luck, Harry forced an eye open. The sun was filtering through the open curtain and had lit up the entire room with its yellowy rays of sunshine. The door, in front of Harry and his bed had been closed since he had last fallen asleep during the night.

Finally realizing that what ever was wrong with his hand had awoken him for good, Harry was awake enough to turn his head slightly to the left to look at his hand. It was resting on top of the maroon duvet with another intertwined with it. The other hand was gripping his own so hard that Harry wondered if he had been engaged in a game of mercy during his lie in.

Harry's green eyes traveled up the other hand's arm to find it connected to Albus Dumbledore. Harry said nothing as he quietly studied the man. He seemed truly old and out of character, Harry thought.

He was sitting in the hard wooden chair that was mate to the desk in Harry's room, which was unusual because Harry assumed that the man was capable of conjuring a much more comfortable chair to sit in while awaiting for his own return to consciousness. Dumbledore was slouched over in the seat, the back of it completely untouched as its user was sitting forward with his left elbow on his left knee supporting the head that was resting in it's hand. His right forearm was laying on the edge of Harry's bed while its hand was holding Harry's very securely.

Briefly, Harry had come to the palpable conclusion that the Headmaster had fallen asleep. But after a moment of watching the man in the chair, he was proved wrong. The left hand of Albus Dumbledore scrubbed at his face tiredly. He seemed to be lost in thought. A loud sigh was heard from Dumbledore and his grip tightened on Harry's hand.

Why was his Grandfather holding, no gripping his hand? Why didn't it bother Harry? How did he feel about his Grandfather now?

Harry found he couldn't fault him for wanting to keep the prophecy a secret. He still would have preferred to have known about it from the beginning. He bitterly thought to himself that had he known, Sirius would still be alive. Although he thought that, Harry knew that still didn't excuse him from his careless actions to rescue his Godfather. No. He should have been told about the prophecy, but he didn't blame Sirius's death on it. That had been his own fault. Perhaps he had forgiven Dumbledore for that a long time ago with out realizing it.

Yes, that would make sense. But forgiveness for the prophecy did not keep a small flicker of anger from licking at his insides when he thought about the way Dumbledore had lied to him about his "last remaining relatives". Once again Harry found himself trapped between his own mind, bickering over whether he was angry at being lied to and abandoned or sympathy with the man for having to be related to the-boy-who-lived. It was a never-ending carousal ride that Harry desperately wished would sort itself out before he became sick from the ride.

Harry suppressed a sigh as he pulled away from those thoughts and decided to try to not analyze them anymore. He would just go by what he felt, whenever he felt it.

Before Harry could decide whether or not to alert Dumbledore of his consciousness, the man sat back in his seat dejectedly. When he brought his left hand away from his features, he looked upon Harry.

A mutual silence filled the air. Dumbledore was holding his hand while sitting with Harry while he slept. Harry had awoken and had seen Dumbledore...brooding? That didn't seem to be fit, though. His Grandfather, while human, had always come across as too mature for such a thing. Not to mention, there had to be something wrong for him to behave that way. Before confusion could rise up, Harry found a soft smile cross his face. Dumbledore was brooding. Harry knew because the Headmaster had gone through almost all the motions that Harry did when mulling things over. Well, except running his fingers through his hair. But if your hair was as long and neat as Professor Dumbledore's was, it kind of made that action impossible.

The grip loosened on his hand, but Dumbledore did not let go of it. In fact, the man did not make any acknowledgment that he knew that he was holding the hand of one of his students, his only grandson no less. Instead, the wise old man drug his chair up even closer to the bed and twinkled down at Harry, who was still smiling softly, having discovered where he had picked up some of his thinking traits from.

"It is good to see you awake, my dear boy," Dumbledore said. He was smiling as well but in a saddened kind of way.

It made Harry wonder what could have happened. His first suspicion was that Voldemort had done something in the night.

'If that were true, why is he here? Wouldn't he have more pressing matters at hand than watching me sleep?'

Suddenly concerned, Harry sat up in bed quickly while reaching over the bed to find his eyeglasses on his nightstand.

"Sir, what's wrong? What's happened? Is everyone all right? Why didn't someone wake me-?"

"Shhh, Harry. There is no such problem. I am curious as to why you suspected that there was something wrong, if you don't mind," his Grandfather stated, sitting up a bit straighter.

"You-you just...you gave me that look," Harry whispered softly as he leaned backward.

"What look, Harry?"

"The one that means we have to talk about something that I'm not gonna like."

"Ah, yes. Well, I am afraid that I have become too readable because we do indeed need to discuss a few things. I know you don't want to but I fear putting them off any longer," was the reply.

Harry collapsed backward onto his pillow; relief and unused adrenaline pumping back into his heart and chest. He should have known this was coming. He had gotten off far too easily the last time. Harry said nothing to provoke or encourage the Headmaster's conversation.

After a well-measured minuet of silence, Dumbledore said, "I think we should start with Dolores Jane Umbridge. She has been completely removed from her professorship at Hogwarts and her position as Headmistress has been revoked, as you well know. After the Holiday's commenced, the Ministry was flooded with letters from angry parents reporting Dolores's behavior towards the students.

"As unfair as her actions were to almost all students, none of them were serious enough to provide proper evidence for conviction serious enough to offer any punishment. Without conviction, I fear that she will become quite a thorn in our sides. I believe you are the biggest victim of her siege. You have the means of convicting her, Harry. I cannot testify to what happened that evening in June, as I was not there. Only you, Mr. Weasley, Miss Weasley, Miss Granger, Miss Lovegood, and Mr. Longbottom could do it properly.

"I realize that this will be a bit unfair to you, but I know you will do what's right in the end. A trial is being scheduled for Dolores. The six of you will be testifying against her, if you consent to."

Harry resumed his tactic of gazing at a defined spot; in this case it was a minuscule crack above the door, on the wall opposite him. It wasn't a very interesting crack and Harry felt that he was being immature. He glanced over at Dumbledore who was studying him as if he had never seen him before.

"Professor?"

"What? Oh, I'm sorry, my boy."

"I was just going to tell you to go ahead and ask whatever questions you wanted to ask," Harry said. He didn't want to answer any of them, but knew he wouldn't get away from them this time. If he could get the Headmaster to ask straight, blunt questions he might not have to reveal more than necessary.

As if reading his mind, Dumbledore smiled.

"Of course! First off, about how many detentions did you have with Dolores?"

Harry calculated up the weeks and then the hours in his head. He gave the rather impressive number to the Headmaster who acknowledged them with a nod.

"Almost eighty hours worth."

"Well, I think you may have joined the ranks with that number. The only students to receive that many detentions from a single teacher in a single school year are James Potter, Sirius Black, and Fred and George Weasley."

Harry opened his mouth to defend himself, that he shouldn't have been given the detentions in the first place, but found himself asking, "Which professor gave them that many detentions in a single year?"

Dumbledore smiled. "I believe that would be Professor McGonagall. Though I happen to know she found some of those four's pranks quite funny. Especially Fred and George's last pranks before they left school. I an curious as to whether or not she would dole out punishment for that had they been in the position for her to be able to."

Harry's lips turned upward in a smile. The Twins had been rather hilarious right up until they sped out of Hogwarts on their broom, leaving a supercharged Peeves to pick up where they left off in their wake.

"In all the time that you spent in detention, what sort of things would she have you do?"

Harry raised an eyebrow at him as if the answer were obvious.

"Yes, I know the end result but I need to know if all your detentions were like that or if some of them were normal," Dumbledore explained kindly.

"Well, I entered the room and she told me she would not allow the 'speaking my lies'. Then she pointed out a piece of parchment and a quill. She told me to write the line "I must not tell lies" until she gave further notice. I pointed out that I would need ink but she said that the quill was special and that ink was irrelevant. The first time I wrote it, I was surprised. As I wrote, the words were traced onto the back of my writing hand. At first the words disappeared leaving my skin all red and irritated. The more lines I wrote, the deeper the etching went and the more permanent it became."

"I believe that the quill she used is called a Blood Quill. You understand what it does, making it illegal for almost a century. The use of it is punishable by law...I would assume that as your detentions progressed, the writing on your hand became scarred?"

He nodded and reached awkwardly to show Dumbledore his right hand that held the scar. The Headmaster was now holding both of his hands. His right, unlike his left, was not intertwined with the other man's but being positioned at an angle much like the one would use to admire a lady's wedding ring and such.

Fingers were tracing along the scarred letters of his flesh. It tickled in a soothing way. Dumbledore gently released his marked hand but retained his grip on the other. They had been talking for a while now and Harry had almost forgotten to be curious of the comforting effort.

"It has not been infected. You used murlap essence?" It was more of a statement, rather a question.

"Yes, Hermione insisted," Harry mumbled.

"It is good she did. Especially since you saw no cause to concern a teacher with it."

It was spoken in Dumbledore's polite voice but it had a bit of a bite in it. Harry instantly lowered his head.

"I am not angry, my boy, merely concerned that you would let someone force you to eternally deface the skin of your own body."

Harry jerked his face up to stare into the calm blue eyes that were upon him. He had made it sound as if it were Harry's fault that he had "I must not tell lies" on his hand.

Albus Dumbledore tiredly raised his own left hand to remove his half moon spectacles. He rubbed at his eyes, exposing his weakness without a second thought to Harry.

"Harry, why did you not tell me that Dolores was having you slice words into yourself so brutally?" he asked with a hint of pleading, "Did it not hurt?"

"Yes," Harry said quietly. He slowly flexed his hand in front of him, while deciding on the best way to answer the questions asked by the man holding his other hand.

He sighed and rubbed his own eyes underneath his round glasses.

"I know you are a very busy man what with Fudge, Voldemort, the school and the order. My detentions, as unfair as they were, were my own predicament. By telling you or a teacher, it would have placed you in a position that would force you to try to do something. You couldn't have done anything about it. Discussing it with her would only have made her feel that she won the war between us. I wasn't about to let her get to me. Besides I..." he trailed off, at a loss as to what to say next.

"What you mean to say is that you felt that you would be a bother by asking for help and thus would risk exposing your pain or any of your other pent up emotions. Is it not?" Dumbledore translated, "Of course, my excellent plan for that year of avoiding you probably didn't help to sway your decision, did it?"

Startled, Harry looked up into the softly shimmering blue eyes. They seemed to see right through him like Moody's magical eye.

Harry said nothing, but looked away knowing that it was no good trying to lie or deny the Headmaster whose penetrating gaze was fixed on the sixteen- year-old boy, who squirmed a little.

His hand was squeezed gently.

"There is nothing wrong with needing or asking for help, Harry. Pride is a great thing but can be a very a hindrance at times."

Harry nodded toward the other side of the room. The wood of the chair that the Headmaster was sitting in beside his bed scrapped against the wood floor for a moment. Two fingers were gently lifting Harry's chin over to face the Dumbledore. He looked into the blue eyes of a standing Albus Dumbledore who sat down onto the edge of Harry's bed. They stared at each other for a moment silently agreeing that the situation could not be changed now. What had been done had been done.

"You can always come to me, Harry," his Grandfather whispered strongly. "Now, moving on. I believe there is a rather large sack of letters that belong to you. They are currently downstairs, but someone will bring them up to you later on for you to read. They have all been briefly examined for hexes, curses, portkeys, and bubotuber puss."

That was odd. Harry asked, "Why is there a sack full of letters for me?"

"Well, I have not read any of them but I think that after the article in the Quibbler and the Daily Prophet, the wizarding world may have had another change in heart to you therefore, I believe it to be fan mail." Dumbledore said smiling at him, his eyes sparkling brightly.

"Fan Mail?"

Dumbledore nodded his head, smiling brightly. "Oh, yes. Hagrid's birthday gift to you should be there as well. I offered to deliver it to you personally but he claimed it was tradition to send it by owl."

After a few seconds he spoke again, changing the subject. "Harry, there are a few more matters at hand that we should discuss. Firstly, the reading of Sirius's will has been postponed until Poppy deems you well. I feel you it would be best to wait. After all, it would be rather hard to read it with everyone gathered in your bedroom."

Harry quickly agreed with the man. He would have liked to never read Sirius's will but it seemed inevitable.

"Also, I presume that you are aware of a strange occurrence that has to do with your appearance..."

Harry visible gulped. In a normal situation, Harry would have played dumb by claiming he knew nothing. This, however, was Albus Dumbledore. Perhaps the best way to go about it was to yet again offer no information. Usually the Headmaster already knew but would pretend he didn't.

"I believe that in order for you to completely understand this, I shall explain what has gone on after you left dinner on the night of your birthday.

"As we now know, you forced yourself to eat despite the pain your ulcer was causing you. It made you sick. When you excused yourself from the table, Alastor Moody watched you with his magical eye. I believe that he thought it possible that you could have been an imposter under the influence of polyjuice potion, as you were acting oddly and it had been an almost hour since you would have been alone to drink it. He mentioned to me after you were retrieved from Privet Drive that you appeared different but no differences were noticeable. Be Alastor," which Harry took to mean that he was once again being paranoid, "he tried to look past any glammorie charms and found that your appearance was genuine. It puzzled him. When he saw you run to the bathroom and get sick, it added to his confusion but he knew then that you were indeed yourself. This did not ease his mind, nor mine when I heard his account.

"Of course, Alastor only spoke aloud that you were in the bathroom and were physically sick. Remus immediately hurried to your side. By the time I got there you were unconscious in his arms.

"I had the foresight to send Alastor to fetch Poppy from Hogwarts. When they arrived on the scene, Remus and I had just placed you onto your bed. Poppy, of course, shooed us from the room in order to assess the damage and the extent of your injuries. When she had finished, she allowed only Remus and Molly to look after you, as Alastor and myself were having our discussion at the time, while she and Severus flooed back to Hogwarts to obtain the potions needed. A rather large batch of dreamless sleep, and the nutrient potion; Educatio were made as well as a cure for nausea and a strong stomach-sealing potion.

"You are aware that you did not take any of those until you had awoken. It wasn't till just before you then that Poppy returned with them. She explained to Remus, Minerva, Molly, and myself what exactly you were suffering from. I think you undoubtedly know the list so I will spare you. I have a suspicion that Poppy will tell them to you anyway, the next time she sees you."

At that, Dumbledore smiled at bit before continuing. "When I left the room after you had awoken, Poppy was waiting to have a private word with me. She was very concerned at how nobody had known that you were sick. If you've looked in a mirror you'll know how visible it is now. She had known that I had a private word with you the night before your birthday. Astonished, she was that I hadn't caught the shadows under your eyes or the paleness of your skin. Though, when we talked, you exhibited none of those aspects. I found it odd that while you were conscious you appeared fine but when you were sleeping your illness became apparent. It began making sense, when I put what Poppy had said together with Alastor's statement. What Poppy said next was what helped me come to figure out the answer, as disturbing as it was.

"Poppy, as you well know, has tended to your injuries many times. She has seen almost all of you, as any nurse or healer would have to in order to mend your aliments. Therefore, she noticed that you were sporting a few new scars. I am not referring to the back of your hand, but rather to your back and wrist. She did not show me, nor have I looked. Poppy was rather distressed about where the scars came from. She did nothing to them but look them over and disinfect them. I promised her I would look into them for her."

The secrets Harry had kept under lock and key were now being threatened. He had no way out. He could refuse or answer with the truth. Lying was no good at all. Quickly his brain wrapped around a plan.

"I don't want to talk about it, sir."

'Yeah, like that plan will work!'

To Harry, the plan of avoiding that particular conversation by saying he didn't want to discuss it was very much like Dudley trying to hide behind Aunt Petunia the day that he had met Hagrid.

Silence followed in abundance. A bead of sweat trickled down Harry's temple as he nervously fought the urge to jump up and run. The grip on his hand now regained it strength.

"Harry..." for the first time, Albus Dumbledore's voice held a stern hint of warning when directed at Harry.

He swallowed, hard and broke eye contact.

A sigh was heard from Dumbledore, who adapted his usual soft patient voice.

"Please, Harry. Don't try and pretend that all is well. You can confide in me. I realize that last year is not in helping my case, but I beg you to please forgive me. That was a very foolish mistake to make. I regret it very much. Whatever happened to cause those scars I can already guess at. You've been covering them up with your metamorphmagus skills that I admit, I did not suspect you had. The fact that you are hiding them proves that you do not want anyone to know about them. I insist that I know how they came to be there. I strive to make your life as safe and as enjoyable for you as possible and that someone was able to inflict those types of scars on you proves that I have failed you."

At that, Harry snapped his head up to meet his Grandfather's. For the second time, Harry watched as a crystalline tear danced down Dumbledore's cheek and weaved in and out of the silver haired maze on his chin. He hadn't really thought of it like that before. Dumbledore failed? Impossible! Harry was still alive, if a bit worse for the wear. He had been so focused on hating Privet Drive, the Dursley's, and endeavoring to avoid sympathy and pity for it at all costs that he didn't even really notice that he had been harmed in the one place that he was supposed to be safe. All he had known was that the people that Dumbledore claimed to be his only relatives and to be the only one's with the ability to keep him safe, had not treated him as well as they could. For lying about his only having Aunt Petunia, Uncle Vernon, and Dudley as relatives, he could and would not forgive. The hurt that had sprouted from knowing that his Grandparent's did not want him nor did they respect him enough to tell him that to his face, but rather lie about it, was too strong. As for the rest of 'Dumbledore's sins and failings'...

Harry nodded knowing that the other man would know that it was a sign of forgiveness though he knew not that Harry was still harboring ill thoughts for a crime that he wasn't supposed to even be aware of.

"My Uncle...he wasn't pleased that I had waken the household with one of my nightmares. He woke me up in a...very brutal way."

A second tear joined the first one in the silvery maze. The old man's grip was shockingly strong for a man of his age.

Harry refused to say anymore about it. He couldn't decide whether he was more embarrassed at having it known that he had had a nightmare that severe or that he had been whipped.

"I truly am sorry for your having to be in that position, Harry. I understand that you wish to say no more so I only ask you to grant an answer to this one last question. Has anything like this happened before?"

As if on automatic, Harry blurted out a loud, firm, "NO!" before visions of his cousin beating him up, Vernon cuffing him upside the head as he walked past in the hall, and Aunt Petunia slapping his cheek when he was six came to mind. He hadn't lied, exactly.

"Yes. Maybe. I've never been abused."

'Omission is still deceitful,' Harry thought, 'That was like something Dumbledore would do. Lies of omission are worse than outright lies. They leave the person no room to suspect treachery.'

"I guess you could say I've been struck before, but never in a series or in repetition," Harry answered; in his attempt to avoid treating Dumbledore as he had he had acted towards himself.

Dumbledore nodded his head gravely. "It seems something will have to be done about that. I-"

Harry cut him off. "Sir, you placed me there for a reason. I don't like it there but I realize how crucial it is for me to be safe. I can take another summer there. I don't think that Uncle Vernon will behave any worse." After saying that, he mumbled to himself, "...or any better."

The Headmaster said nothing but smiled at him slowly making Harry sure that he had a plan forming, despite Harry's statement, as he spoke again, "So, you have been altering your appearance, Harry? That would mean that you are consciously aware of you metamorphmagic abilities. I am sure there is a great story behind that, if you don't mind?"

Already having decided that his main priority was to protect his wandless abilities, Harry thought explaining about his being a metamorphmagi would be a way of making Dumbledore less suspicious. That is, if he didn't already know.

"Well, I was just kind of looking into the mirror and I wondered what I'd look like with my hair longer. You know, to cover up my scar. Then I realized it was longer! I thought I'd used accidental magic so I waited for an owl but when it didn't come I considered the fact that I could be a metamorphmagi. I concentrated and...it happened. I sort of experimented till I got the hang of it."

The twinkling from Dumbledore's eyes were so bright enough that Harry wondered if they were charmed to do that.

"You have an very useful gift, Harry. With a bit of practice, you could use it to your advantage. Other than hiding scars from me."

To Harry's surprise, his Grandfather was wearing a smile.

"I admit, I am curious as to what all of your looks that you changed on a daily basis."

Reluctantly, Harry answered him truthfully. "That scar, the shadows under my eyes, my paleness, and my..."

"You tweaked your appearance to make your body seem as it did before this summer?"

Harry gave him an odd, curious look.

"Poppy also said that you had gained a fair bit of muscle. That must have aided in the stripping of your body's nutrients. I believe I only have one more question. What of the scar on your wrist?"

Harry gulped. "It's not what it looks like. That's why I hid it. I just didn't want anyone to think that I was..."

"Harboring thoughts and emotions dark enough to make you attempt the taking of your own life?"

"Yes. It was an accident of my own design," Harry said looking the Headmaster straight into the eye.

Dumbledore considered Harry's answer for a moment. He then nodded his head at Harry and stood up.

"Well, I believe I have said all I needed to. Poppy gave you strict orders to stay in this bed for at least a week-"

"A WEEK!"

"-so that your body can get used to eating and sleeping properly while you heal. Remus will be up soon with your breakfast and potions. He was quite worried about you. He nearly went ill himself with concern..." Dumbledore winked at him.

"Sir? Can I ask a favor?"

"Most certainly, dear boy."

"Would you please write to your friend with the Chocolate Frog people. If you insist that I allow them to sell my card I want all the information on it correct. C-Cedric and I tied for the cup. I-It's just not right to say I won it all alone."

"Of course, Harry."

They looked at each other for a moment. Though the conversation ended on a lighter note, Harry felt slightly worried at having told his Grandfather many of the things he had. Most specifically, of Uncle Vernon's rude wake up call. His Headmaster was smiling a cheery smile that made it appear to be taking up much of the man's energy. Harry gave his hand a squeeze.

Startled, the man looked down to see that he was holding the hand of the boy. For a fleeting second, Harry thought he saw a blush, that made Harry wonder if he had only just realized that he had been holding Harry's hand for the entire conversation, creep up into the cheeks of the old man's wizened face, who squeezed his hand never-the-less back and walked to the door hastily.

When his hand was resting on the doorknob shaped like a serpent head, he spoke softly over his shoulder, "I will keep your secrets sacred, Harry. I promise."

And with that, Albus Dumbledore quietly shut the door behind him, leaving Harry with his thoughts.