Disclaimer: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling and Neil Gaiman, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books and DC Comics, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.

A/N: Once again, thanks for taking the time to read this. This chapter was very difficult to write, because I was trying to make it longer than it should have been. It was also really hard to find a place to start and end it, but I think it came together nicely. The second chapter is in progress, but because of my new job, it's taking me longer to write. I also blame my new rp, but we won't tell them. Thanks for reading, and don't forget to check out my livejournal for corresponding chapter pictures, and field me with any questions. Now enjoy!

Dedicated as always to Seth, and to Kristin who puts up with my story talk even when we're trying on pretty dresses.

The Beginning

Dumbledore had expected them to move towards the elegant throne room they had met in last time. Dream would ascend an eternity of steps, and looking down on Dumbledore he would dictate the terms of their deal again. Contrary to his expectations, Dream made no move from the room that contained seven of the oddest pictures Dumbledore had ever seen. They stood for a moment in a stale silence before a sudden movement from Dumbledore startled Dream, and he began to speak.

"Well Albus, I believe you know why I brought you here. I am in great debt to you and it's finally time to repay it."

Dumbledore grinned anxiously in understanding, "Yes. When shall we begin then? I believe it would be best to begin right away, for Harry's sake."

Before he could continue, Dream stopped him short.

"You forget Albus, time flows differently in the world of the Endless. When we begin our communication with the young wizard it will be when both parties are clear and ready to give and receive the information. But until then, I think a meeting with my brother would be in order," and with those words, Dream finally moved, his great cloak shifting silently, until he stood in front of the framed book.

Soundlessly, he reached into the frame and pulled the book into his hands and spoke loudly, "My brother, I stand in my gallery and hold your sigil. Will you speak to me?"

"Yes Dream," came the reply, "It is time."

--- --- --- ---

Through a dark fog, Harry could see the blurred outline of an older man and hear the faint sounds of him pleading for his life.

A tall thin man now walked into his field of vision, and he knew what was going to happen. He tried to reach for the older man, but his feet seemed to have melted into the ground. Tried to cry out but his voice had dried up. The only thing he had control of was his eyes, and they soon began to slowly produce hot and painful tears. Suddenly, a bright flash of light and ---

Harry's eyes flew open and he shot up in bed. He was breathing hard, and a cold sweat decorated his forehead. Due to the dream, he was wound up like a mummy in the thin crème sheet he used for summer sleeping.

He took a deep breath into his lungs, trying to slow his racing heart, as he reached a shake hand out to the small table sitting beside his bed, and fumbled blindly for his glasses.

Finding them after a few seconds of searching, he carefully slipped them onto his face. He took a moment to completely calm himself down, before glancing around the almost barren room. As always, the few possessions he had were scattered across the floor, spell books held open to pages describing various jinxes and defense spells, and a guide book on Apparation. There were two small beds that had been conjured up by Hermione, and she occupied one, Ron the other. Harry had been teaching them the execution of the spells, while in turn Harry had been coaching them on silent casting, and Apparation, since Harry wasn't able to practise magic for three more weeks (and the Ministry was holding Apparation exams two weeks after that). He hoped to be living in Godric's Hollow by then, and tracking down the remaining Horcruxes. Though he didn't have the slightest idea of where to begin…

Harry shook off the thought and carefully unwrapped himself, sitting up out of bed, and stepped over books on his way to the door. He laughed silently at how Hermione always managed to leave a library in her wake.

He shut the door as quietly as he could behind him, before creeping downstairs. The Dursleys had oddly enough given Harry his space this summer, so this probably wasn't entirely necessary. Maybe it was the way Harry had returned that year. He had met them at the station and informed them that they would be lodging two very qualified wizards for a month, and that if they were treat to him like they had before in anyway, he would sod the Ministry's law and hex them to the edge of sanity. This seemed to work because after a few times of acting up, Hermione or Ron would summon something from across the room. After the fifth time of almost being knocked in the head by the mantle clock, Vernon had begun to just ignore the trio. Needless to say, Harry was enjoying it.

He reached the sitting room without event and made his way to the kitchen, pausing only slightly at the small door that symbolized his past imprisonment, when he was friendless and knew nothing of the magic that flowed in his veins, or the blasted prophecy that made Voldemort come for him. Now he had not only two of the best friends a person could wish for, but knew they would help him in his fight against Voldemort. It was one of the few things that let him sleep at night.

He walked into the kitchen, glad to see he was the only one in the household with the midnight (well 2 A.M. to be exact) snack idea. Another oddity of the summer. He never once heard Dudley even attempt to sneak around for snacks. At any rate, Harry was glad to be leaving this nuthouse soon enough.

Within a few minutes Harry had grabbed a glass of milk and a few of the cookies he had stashed away on a quiet night much like this one, and settled himself down at the tabled that dominated the dining room.

He fell into a quiet routine of drinking the cookies, taking a bite and then downing a sip, while trying to sort out the thoughts in his head.

Truth was, Harry was hard pressed to keep his thoughts straight. Every time he slowed down, he was haunted by the memory of Dumbledore's murder. He tried not to let it get to him. He tried his damned hardest to be as strong as people wanted him to be, but since the day of the funeral, the wall he had built up against the grief had come down. Magic was his only distraction, and he was glad to have his friends to teach while he couldn't practise.

He downed the last of the milk, and stood with a heavy sigh, walking over to the fridge for a refill. Closing the door when he was finished, he turned towards the tabled and nearly jumped out of his skin.

"Hermione!" he yelled in a whisper, his heart racing for the second time that night, "What in Merlin's beard are you doing down here?"

Hermione winced at his sharp tone, "I just," she paused, "I heard you get up, and I figured you need to talk."

"There's nothing to talk about," came Harry's masked response.

"Yes there is Harry. I know what you're going through, we all do. It's not healthy to shut it up. Not after everything that's happened."

She expected him to say something, but she was wrong.

Harry just proceeded to the table, collapsing in the chair, and turning his heavy gaze to the cookies. Hermione sat down next to him, and placed her hand cautiously over Harry's.

Harry lifted his eyes to hers in surprise at the gesture, but made no move to take his hand back. They sat in silence for a few moments, before Harry took a deep breath and lifted his head to the ceiling.

And as Hermione gripped his hand tightly, Harry finally broke down.

--- --- --- --- ---

Voldemort sat in a decorated chair set against the south wall of the Malfoy Ballroom. The room was extravagant, with high ceilings adorned with banners of the Malfoy family crest. A large picture of a snake was imbedded into the polished floors, a mosaic made of emerald and ruby. The walls were spotted with the paintings of the silver haired masters of the Manor, centuries hanging on the walls.

Without the host there, the safe house of the Death Eaters felt like a cold prison where they were unwanted and unwelcome. Sure, the house elves catered to their every whim in fright and Narcissa was a pleasant enough hostess, but without his second in command, Voldemort actually felt a little lost, which was a feeling he denied every moment of the day. It was not his place to worry. It was only his place to command, to frighten.

And to punish, which is what needed to be done right now. The young Malfoy had disobeyed his command and fled the school, bringing the Potions Master with him.

This had taken away his only thread of power inside Hogwarts, which he would have to regain somehow. Now there was no student in the castle to recruit students while they were still impressionable. It was a burning and hurtful blow to be true.

There was punishment in the air, he could smell it.

After a few moments of silent planning, he stood from his makeshift throne to pace the room. His long legs stepped over the gleaming wood and provided dull echoes throughout the room.

Suddenly the heavy mahogany doors were thrown open and a young blonde man was escorted into the room roughly.

Voldemort turned to face them. A smile snaked across his face as he hissed, "Leave us."

A chill crawled up Draco's spine as the doors slammed shut, leaving him along with the Dark Lord.

Yes, punishment was in the air.

--- --- --- --- ---

Despair walked through her realm of shadows and mists, her rats following her unsatisfied trail. On her walk, she looked through her mirrors, taking in the sights of tears and blood. Pain and pills. She sighed heavily and sank her hook into her cheek, creating a hole and a trail of blood. One of the rats crawled up her skin, leaving puncture wounds in its wake. His fur was rough but inviting as he sat of her shoulder and drank in her blood.

Finally, her journey was at an end, she stood in front of one of her more decorated mirrors. It was gold and engraved with pictures of snakes and rats and humans and sacrifices. This mirror was meant to show her those closest to the breaking point of despair. Those mortals that were thrown the furthest into her realm. Often this mirror was where she spent most of her day, staring at the people who had fallen so hard into the pit of depression that they could not get out. It held familiar faces. A man in Egypt, a woman from Memphis, two children living alone in Paris. But recently it had been showing the face of a young bespectacled British man more and more frequently. He currently sat within the frame, at a table hunched over, his hand being held by someone outside the frame. He was sobbing uncontrollably, falling deeper into Despair.

So she sat and watched an ironic smile placed on her face as she drug her hook down her cheek, watching the desperation of Harry Potter.

A/N: Thanks again for reading, and please do check out for reference. Also, in case you were wondering, the titles for each chapter are going to be a Sandman or Harry Potter title, used in any of the books, hopefully switching off between the two. The title, The Beginning, came from the Harry Potter series. Any comments would be appreciated. Thanks, Megan.