Chapter 6

The two weeks that followed were relatively quiet in comparison. Harry, Ron, Hermione, and Ginny busied themselves with games, homework, and trips to various less-frequented parts of the castle (like the kitchens, the Hufflepuff common room, which was currently without a password, and, once, to visit Moaning Mrytle, who they hadn't seen for some years – the latter was not so much pleased at the attention but rather offended they hadn't come sooner). Harry was now sleeping soundly 4 out of 7 nights a week, and though the other 3 nights often had him wake in terror, he managed to keep from crying out, allowing Ron to sleep soundly and, also, help convince him that Harry was feeling better. Their trips down to the dining hall to eat together at the Gryffindor table were also pleasurable experiences, made all the more for Harry by the fact that Snape rarely came to the scheduled mealtimes. In fact, in those 2 weeks, Harry hadn't seen the man more than twice, and even then, only from a distance, which helped to soften the knot in his stomach.

During dinner, at the end of the second week, however, their plans of leisurely spending the whole rest of the summer together came to a crashing halt. Outside the castle walls, Voldemort was still wreaking havoc, and had attacked a muggle city outside of London, a half-wizarding city in Wales, and then, at the end of that week, they had also attacked Diagon Alley. None of the Order had been badly wounded, and the Ministry aurors had arrived in force, but many shops had been damaged, a handful of patrons sent to St. Mungos, and the Death Eaters had accomplished their purpose – instilling fear and dread in the Wizarding World. Even Harry, Ron, Hermione, and Ginny, ensconced in their castle of magic and stone, felt the effects.

Mr. and Mrs. Weasley called their son and daughter home the following day so they could spend their last weeks of summer break with their family. They left through the floo in Dumbledore's office, after a teary good-bye from Ginny and a quick but sincere hug from Ron. Dumbledore pulled Hermione aside after lunch that same day and informed her that her parents had sent word for her to return, as well, as the muggle attacks had been on the news. She hugged Harry almost frantically, assured him repeatedly that he would be missed, and urged him to keep his head down for the rest of the summer, just in case. He smiled, sent his love to her family, and bid her good-bye standing on the steps to the main entrance, watching as she boarded a thestral-drawn carriage. The weight of loneliness settled on his shoulders immediately. He felt inclined to scowl at the world, but Professor McGonagall was standing there beside him, so he affected a cheerful countenance.

"They'll be back before you know it," she said, patting him on the shoulder. He forced the flinch down and nodded, following her back into the castle. Since their little discussion, he felt the need to keep up a positive attitude around her, lest she try to force him towards 'recovery'. As she didn't know Legilimency and as Dumbledore wasn't around, usually, to call him out on it, he got away with his ruse.

The other teachers had been returning to the castle steadily throughout the past two weeks and, when he finally moseyed down to dinner that day, he noticed the entire head table appeared to be filled with chattering professors, talking about their summer's activities and planning for the coming year. The only chairs which remained empty were those of the new Defense teacher, the ex-auror, Brigit Longmire, who had yet to make an appearance, and Snape. Harry, who felt he'd rather eat in the kitchens with Dobby for company, attempted to excuse himself. The headmaster caught sight of him, however, and he beckoned him over.

"Come join us, Mr. Potter," he said amiably, as Harry approached the raised head table.

"Er…" Harry stalled. But stalling allowed time for the teachers on either side of Dumbledore to look up from their conversations. He blushed quite pink under their stares.

"I insist, my boy," Dumbledore said, and gestured at Snape's empty chair beside him. "Come sit here. Alas, Severus will not be joining us at present."

Harry opened his mouth to protest again but caught sight of McGonagall on Dumbledore's other side. Her glare clearly translated to 'sit down, Potter.' So, he did. Gingerly. Trying not to touch anything except the plate and utensils with his bare skin. The thought of sitting in the same spot Snape regularly sat was making his skin crawl, but he choked down a glass of pumpkin juice and felt better.

He listened to the conversations around him for entertainment and tried to hide a smirk when he noticed Trelawny being cut off from the table's sherry bottle by a rather irritated-looking Professor Babbling, Hermione's teacher for Ancient Runes.

Pudding came and went, and Harry intended to depart as soon as he'd finished his chocolate cake slice, but Dumbledore put a gentle hand on his arm and asked that he stay after for a word. Harry felt the bottom drop out of his stomach.

Maybe they've gone back on their word, Harry thought to himself, and, now my friends are gone, are going to try and force me to talk. Maybe…maybe they might even borrow Snape's Verituserum. Nerves he'd never experienced before, not even battling a troll at age 11 or facing down a dementor at 13, started to tremble, and he felt the breath coming short. No, he commanded, not again. He forced himself to surreptitiously take deep breaths, and thought about flying to distract himself. His heart returned nearly to normal by the time most of the staff had begun to trickle back out towards their classrooms. When Dumbledore finally turned back to him, he'd schooled his expression into one of casual interest and his face was no longer blanched.

"Will you join me in the trophy room?" He asked. Harry nodded and stood up, grateful his legs had equally steadied. He smiled briefly at McGonagall as he passed, for good measure, and followed Dumbledore into the room he'd visited after the Goblet of Fire spat out his name.

They were not alone.

"Nice to see you again, Harry," Kingsley Shacklebolt greeted, and Tonks, beside him, walked over to give him a hug. Harry, having not seen either of them since the previous year, forced down the flinch, yet again, and greeted both warmly.

"Wotcher, Harry. You look a sight better than when we saw you in the hospital wing a few weeks ago," Tonks said through a grin, hands on her hips as she looked him over. He blushed again but stood up straighter.

"Miss Tonks and Kingsley here have brought some items, Harry, which might interest you," the Headmaster said, gesturing at a small table topped with a large duffel bag. Harry frowned in contemplation and walked over. He unzipped the bag and froze.

Sitting innocently on top was his invisibility cloak.

"But – but…how?" he choked out through a tight throat. The other three drew a few steps closer and all were radiantly smiling.

"We were in charge of covering the investigation into the fire and kidnapping, Harry," Kingsley said. "We managed to dig out some items which were, incredibly, spared. There wasn't a lot, and some is damaged, but it's better than nothing, I'd wager."

Harry drew out the cloak, still flabbergasted. He'd been making do with all his new things purchased for him from Diagon Alley, and they'd been just fine, but there were some things, like his cloak, that he'd been missing terribly.

Under the cloak were two of his school robes which would likely still fit. As with all school robes, they had been spelled against fire. Beneath those, two mildly toasted schoolbooks (Charms and Transfiguration), a charred chocolate frog card (Dumbledore's from his first train ride) and, at the bottom, a handful of pictures from his album. He drew one out and watched as his mum, dad, Sirius, and Remus (he'd had Hermione magically erase Peter) waved back at him.

"The album those came in was destroyed, I'm afraid, Harry," Tonks supplied gently. "But the pictures themselves were charmed, so they survived better. Those were all the ones we could find."

He looked up into her currently purple eyes.

"Thanks Tonks," he said, unable to help the way his voice cracked.

"O' course, Harry. Anything for you."

-SSS-

That night, Harry again flicked through the pictures of his parents. He sat on his bed and watched them go through their practiced motions in the photographs, and part of him was glad to have met the real thing to compare them to. His mum looked the same age in most of these pictures and seemed to be madly in love with his father, whom she could not take her eyes off of. There were a few pictures of Harry himself, Hermione, and Ron, in there too. The oldest were from second year, taken by Colin Creevey. Harry watched himself cringe awkwardly at the photo and then again at the flash. I look so young, he thought. Still a lot of things to do for that kid. Still got to vanquish the Heir of Slytherin and slay a basilisk. Still had to go back in time and rescue his newfound god-father. Still had to watch Voldemort return.

With a sigh, he put the pictures aside on his nightstand and removed his glasses. It was quiet and he could hear the wind outside buffeting the windowpane. I'll bring Hedwig in here this week, he told himself, staring at the ceiling. It would help fill in the silence to hear her beak clicking beside him.

Just before falling asleep, he remembered the Dreamless Sleep Draught. He was down to his last few before he had to go and beg Madam Pomfrey for some more. He uncorked the bottle and swallowed the single dose contents of the tiny vial, and then plopped back on his bed, relaxing instantly. These were the best nights, he thought groggily to himself. Just a good night's rest to look forward to.

He fell asleep with the lamp still burning brightly beside his bed.

This time, when he woke up screaming, nobody came.

He sat bolt upright in his bed, his heart pounding in his chest, sweat pouring down his face.

"What in Merlin's name was that?!" He breathed to himself. The lamp was still on, thankfully having burned all night, and it cast flickering shadows throughout the room, but they were familiar shadows. He was still quivering where he sat, and a great knot had formed in his stomach again. There was a stinging in his right hand. He snatched his glasses and brought his hand up to his face. There, pressed into his palm were four crescent moon shapes, carved by his fingernails. His middle finger had gone deep enough to draw blood, though they all were red and raw. One fat droplet dribbled down his hand as he watched.

What on earth had I been dreaming about? He wondered to himself, searching his brain. But as soon as he'd woken, all memory of the dream had erased from his memory. Shakily, he got to his feet, pulled on some slippers and went to the loo to wash his hands.

Despite the many times he'd snuck out after dark in the past, tonight the empty castle just seemed spooky. Belatedly, he remembered he'd left his wand in his room. He washed his hands out quickly, chancing a glance at the fogged mirror.

"I look exhausted," he said to himself out loud. The words echoed and followed him down the hall to the Common Room and back up the stairs. Before climbing back into bed, he did something he'd never done before and slung his Dad's invisibility cloak around his shoulders, forgoing the blankets in favor of the cloak. It seemed a childish thing to do, to hide beneath a blanket so that monsters wouldn't get him, but he decided he didn't care. He turned off the light and disappeared.

He woke up late the next day, but, as he had nowhere to go or be, it didn't really matter. If anyone had come looking for him, he hadn't heard, and they certainly would have said something if they'd walked in and seen a disembodied foot hanging off the end of Harry's bed. He spent the whole day in the same fashion, keeping to himself and not rushing, despite Dumbledore's, McGonagall's, and even Hagrid's attempts to make conversation. He escaped dinner early, finished the last foot of his summer Charms assignment (which, for the record, he had actually already completed at the Dursleys, and then had to re-write because it had burned up, along with everything else), and gone to bed.

Again, just before snuggling beneath the covers, he pulled out one of the single dose Dreamless sleep vials. He stared at it, contemplating. Despite the potion, he'd definitely dreamed something, even if he couldn't remember what. His hand still hurt. He contemplated which of the two possible outcomes would be worse – to take it, possibly still dream and wake up screaming. Or to not take it, definitely still dream and wake up screaming.

He uncorked the lid and swallowed the contents, which resembled the consistency of bird poop, with much the same taste.

He grabbed an arm full of invisibility cloak, tucked it up under his chin, sighed, and then closed his eyes. Round 2, he thought to himself, just as he drifted off to sleep.

-SSS-

Harry woke up three hours later on impact with the floor. He lay there, stunned, his right hip and ribcage pulsing painfully from how he'd landed, tangled in his father's robe. In the quiet of the Gryffindor 6th year dorm room, he allowed himself to sob. It was going to be another long night.

He did not go to breakfast the next morning. He didn't feel like eating. He didn't feel like leaving Gryffindor tower at all. Instead, he grabbed his new Defense Against the Dark Arts book and started reading Chapter 2. Then 3. He almost drifted off on the couch before the fireplace, but jolted himself awake at the last second, and he returned to his book.

McGonagall came looking for him after he did not turn up for lunch either.

"Ah, there you are, Mr. Potter," she said, stepping through the portrait hole with as much grace as it would allow. She looked around approvingly when she saw that everything appeared to be in its proper place, and then turned to him. Her placid smile disappeared in an instant.

"Harry, you look dreadful," she said sharply, and he sat up, tugging at the clothes he had chosen at random that morning.

"Sorry, ma'am," he muttered, keeping his head down.

She walked over and forced his chin up to look into his eyes. He wondered if he looked as tired as he felt.

"I think, Potter, it's time for another trip to see Madam Pomfrey."

"Wha – I mean, that's not necessary, Professor," he stuttered. "I just wasn't taking my potion the last two nights is all. I'll take it tonight and I'll be fine."

She looked at him a long moment, unconvinced. Then she relented.

"Very well, Harry, as you wish," she said, and cupped his cheek with her hand a bit awkwardly. "Sometimes I think it's true what Severus – Professor Snape, that is – says about you having us wrapped around your little finger." She raised an eyebrow and Harry blushed crimson.

"No, ma'am, of course not," he returned.

She smiled at him and clapped him lightly on the shoulder. He flinched and drew a furtive frown from her, but it did not stop her from departing, though she did throw an extra concerned glance as she opened the portrait hole again.

"I expect to see you at dinner," she called as she stepped out. "Properly dressed," she added, as the door closed behind her.

Harry sunk back down onto the couch and rubbed at his face, which dropped his glasses to the floor. He didn't immediately reach to retrieve them and, instead, contemplated the now pale pink crescent moons on his palm.

He couldn't drink the Dreamless anymore, clearly. It was either expired or no longer effective for him and was making his nights worse. That, of course, left the actual nightmares, which were horrible and twice now had left him in a panic attack. A double-edged sword he was slowly plunging into his exhausted brain.

Finally, he got up and changed. He'd sleep without the Dreamless, and he'd do it in his father's cloak, but also with Hedwig that night. He'd forgotten to fetch her after the first night of mysterious nightmares, but not again. He climbed out of the portrait hole and made his way back towards the owlery, trying to fathom how he managed, for 5 straight years so far, to get by on limited sleep for the weeks when he was cramming for final exams. Ah, the glories of youth, he thought to himself dryly, and felt the bruise on his hip twinge as he plodded down the stairs.

The Owlery was empty, as per usual, except of friends of the aviary variety. He'd arrived at about 3 o'clock in the afternoon, and most of the owls were sleeping, heads tucked into wings, so he carefully made his way across to the spot just below where Hedwig was roosting.

"Come here girl," he tried coaxing, drawing the eyes of about 3 school owls, who looked at him with a mixture of curiosity and displeasure. Hedwig, however, opened one solemn eye, glanced at him, and then tucked her head back under one wing, effectively dismissing him. He huffed at her and rolled his eyes.

"Be that way, then," he muttered. Sighing, he wandered over to the large opening in the wall and sat on the edge, leaning against the stone bricks. There was the warm summer wind again, rich with scents and curious as it played with his clothes, tickling his skin. He smiled at the sun, which he saw was just about halfway down its descent trajectory in the sky. Its rays felt lovely on his face after having spent so much time indoors. He was longing for a broom ride, but he and his friends had been strictly prohibited from leaving the castle during the summer, for safety reasons. After the disaster at the Dursley's, just a few weeks past, he wasn't eager to stumble into anyone unfriendly for a long while yet and so found himself strangely willing to be compliant.

The wind and soft hooting was lulling him to sleep, he realized. He should get up and try again with Hedwig. If not, maybe one of the other owls would consent to a night in Gryffindor Tower. She'd pitch a fit later, of course, but it would be her own fault.

He allowed himself to close his eyes and he smiled lightly as the wind ruffled his hair this way and that. Within a few moments, his head hanging to his chin, he fell asleep.

He fell into a dream almost immediately.

He was back in Malfoy Manor, back in his cell. As he watched, someone hooded and masked approached, opened the gate, and stepped through, closing it behind himself. No, Harry thought. No! This wasn't a dream. It was a memory. He knew what was going to happened next.

The Death Eater knelt down beside him, grabbed him by the hair and threw him against the wall. Harry, shocked by the impact, took a second to look up, but when he did, he saw a knife gleaming in the Death Eater's gloved hand.

"No!" he shouted.

"Potter!" Someone growled nearby, and Harry fought back, unseeing again, caught in the dream. Despite Harry's flailing limbs, the person pulled Harry towards them, instead of away.

"Potter, you idiotic boy, wake up!" He growled again.

But Harry was slipping into another panic attack.

"Please, no," he sobbed, between gulping breaths that didn't seem to satisfy his straining lungs. "Please."

Then, that someone poured something between his lips. He choked on the foul liquid, ingesting some by sheer accident, and continued his fight to breathe.

The struggle lessened, and the deafening beating of his heart in his ears did too. He opened his bleary eyes.

Professor Snape was crouched before him, one hand holding Harry up against the wall where he sat, the other hand holding an empty potions vial.

"Potter? What on earth were you thinking?! You could have fallen out the window, you stupid boy," he snarled. Beneath the snarl, however, there was a note of concern as Harry found himself both unable to and unwilling to respond. His eyes fluttered shut, again, the hand on his arm squeezed a bit harder, but Harry was already falling down a dark well of unconsciousness and paid it no mind.

-SSS-

" – overdosed himself on the Dreamless Sleep Draught, I'm sure of it," Madam Pomfrey was saying.

"Look at him Albus, like a breathing corpse. You have to talk to him. Someone has to talk to him. Perhaps even a mind healer." McGonagall now.

Harry stiffened. He felt his heart pick up the pace, but he did not move, nor change his breathing tempo.

"I second Minerva's suggestions, Headmaster," Snape drolled. "If the boy does not get a full night's sleep soon, he may end up with brain damage…though, given the stunts that boy has pulled in the past, I doubt we'd notice much of a difference."

"Severus," Dumbledore chastised.

Silence.

"The mental arts are a complicated field of work," the Headmaster said finally, "and they require the willingness of both the healer and the patient to work together through the pain in order to resolve their distress. Tell me, any of you, if you believe Harry to be willing, at this time, to embark on that journey. And if so, with whom would he be safe to embark it?"

Silence again. Harry waited impatiently, eyes sealed, heart pounding.

"He's awake," Snape said, blandly.

Harry's eyes popped open to glare at the ceiling. Bloody Snape, he thought to himself. Leave it to him.

Dumbledore waved the others off and came to sit at Harry's bedside on a chair already there. Harry contemplated sitting up to greet him, but quickly dismissed the thought – no use wasting energy unnecessarily.

"How are you feeling, Harry?" Dumbledore asked.

"'m alright, sir. Mostly tired," he mumbled. Dumbledore handed him his glasses, and he put them on with leaden arms.

"I imagine so, my boy," Dumbledore said with a sad smile. "Poppy is rather curious about your sleeping habits and your intake of her prescribed potion, Harry. I confess I am too. I had hoped you would be more recovered by now." Harry grimaced.

"I keep having nightmares," he confessed quietly. Someone was scuffing their shoes just out of range of vision. He wondered if it was Pomfrey, or one of the other teachers. "I'd been taking the potion as she said to, four days on, three days off. But it stopped working all of a sudden."

"That is what happens, Mr. Potter," Madam Pomfrey said sharply, as she came into view, "when you rely on a potion so much. Your body learned, more quickly than most, that it was a pale substitute for the real thing." She nodded at Professor Dumbledore and the drew her wand on Harry. "If you'll excuse us for a moment, Albus? I'd like to run through a full set of diagnostics to see if there's been any serious damage done."

"Of course, Poppy," Dumbledore conceded, standing again. He smiled when Harry groaned at the thought of all the tests he was about to endure. He was more than familiar with them by now in his life.

"We'll speak later, Harry," he promised, solemnly. Harry was unable to meet his eyes.