Both Ron's and Hermione's letters came as soon as the fifth year was over, as Hedwig delivered them to him. Unable to get any sleep, as he could only see the face of Sirius as he fell into the Veil over and over. He spent the night looking up at the ceiling of his room. He didn't think he could anyway.

A glance at them the following morning told him that they were sorry for Sirius, and if there was anything they could do to help, they would. Ron's letter also contained some treats, a pack of Bertie Bott's Beans and five packs of Chocolate Frogs, and to tell him if the Dursleys were mistreating him, he, along with Fred and George, would come over immediately and get him the hell out of there, a thinly veiled threat to his only relatives and an attempt to comfort him.

Hermione's letter also contained the same, apologizing for what had occurred in the Department of Mysteries, telling him that it was not his fault.

Harry knew he should be grateful, that he wanted to thank them. But all he could feel was anger and hatred, and he knew it was not their fault, but in that moment, he did not care, their words had felt like poison that seeped into him. Sirius was gone, and it fueled his burning soul, he had torn their letters up out of a harsh bitter resentment, tossing Ron's delivered treats in the trash bin. Hedwig hooted, but Harry didn't care, he wanted to scream, shout, destroy everything, and so he told Hedwig to shut up, Privet Drive trembling. She had immediately shrunk in fear of the sudden rage of her owner, before realization hit him at what he just did and apologies spewed out of his mouth in guilt towards one of his few only friends, adding on another pile of resentment to himself. He reached out, but Hedwig had shrunk back, and Harry knew that he had gone too far.

The Dursleys went out to go shopping. Uncle Vernon gave a warning to him he ignored, before his enormous figure followed Petunia and Dudley to the car. The driveway was alive with the vrooming noise of a car pulling out of the driveway, and Harry was left alone in the home.

Though his stomach shook with the pangs of hunger, Harry could hardly bring himself to eat or care to eat. His thoughts were only on the dream that he had little understanding.

The woman and the man… Chernobog…

Pushing the thoughts aside was impossible, as Harry thought about opening his books and attempting to research if the names were in any of the textbooks. Chernobog was unfamiliar to him, so were the names listed. Frost… Nova? Crownslayer?

The woman specifically he felt and knew was the perpetrator of the burning buildings of homes and various other structures around them. What she used felt like magic; it had to be, for there was no other explanation.

Doubt began to form in his head; he wondered if Ron or Hermione knew the names listed.

Hermione was… Hermione. She would endlessly plunge into books until she had fully grasped knowledge of a particular topic or subject. If she didn't understand something, it was just another book with a notebook filled with notes and theories.

Ron knew much about the magical world, more than either he or Hermione as he grew up in it, the memories of them in Hagrid's hut as he attempted to explain the meaning of Mudblood, how he and his family lived through during the built society of Pureblooded culture and class, as he coughed up slugs. A name of some place or person that he at least knew the basics of would allow them to research and understand.

As he formulated a plan on what to do, he decided to research it himself first, though the doubt of the knowledge recorded down in any of the books he had was beginning to grow. He thought of sending a letter to either, but the feeling that either of them would have no knowledge of the names weighed upon him, and his heart ached with that tremulous guilt of destroying their letters and directing that anger at them as well as Hedwig.

As he thought, looking up or researching the names proved to be fruitless. Harry had found nothing on the subjects after hours into the books. He decided not to send a letter to either Ron or Hermione. The place he saw in his dream did not feel like anything he would see in Wizarding Britain or any other parts of the wizarding world. He felt they would draw blanks as he would have.

So where could it be? Was it just a fabrication of his mind that was a result of all he had experienced? An eventuality?

He would never get to ponder it further as the growl of a car approaching the home announced the arrival of the Dursleys.

The memory was put back deep into his head, where he could only guess its meaning further.