Shampoo147: Well, that was something. This chapter was kind of rushed, but I want to point out that I adore Dumbledore, and I cannot fully bash him.

Ayame: In other words, we reread the series and we she felt guilty.

Garfield: And didn't feel that completely bashing one character was conductive to a good plot.

Dreams

" . . . sniff . . ."

". . ."

"Ah, ah, achoo!"

Harry snapped his eyes open, the sneeze giving him a sharp jolt of pain and a slight headache. He sniffed briefly, then sneezed again.

Where was he? Oh, yes, he was in a dusty old pawnshop. The man had refused to give him his money, and the voice (older Harry? Did that happen?) had shot a stunner at the man, but the shock of such wandless magic must have overloaded his body, rendering him unconscious.

Harry shook himself slightly, groaning as he pushed himself up. Ugh, he felt greasy, dirty, and disgusting. There was a terrible taste in his mouth and there felt like there was a layer of disgusting slim coating his teeth. His hair felt greasy and he knew it looked it as well.

Ugh, he needed to get home and take a shower, now.

'Don't forget to bring your money with you as you run home.'

(Of course)

So, feeling nothing as he saw the pawnbroker lie there, immobile (was he dead?) Harry quickly picked up his money and ran out of the shop. He really couldn't bring himself to care about that man when he needed to tend to his own personal hygiene so badly.

He got a few distasteful looks, but was otherwise ignored as he ran back to the Potter Manor.

'I love being clean.'

This was all Harry could think as he basked in the steamy-hot water of his lovely, lovely shower.

'I love soap; I love shampoo; I love-'

(I get it, damn. You'd think you've never been dirty before.)

'I may have been dirty when I was born, but since then I've always made it a point to be quite clean.'

(Ah, whatever. Well, you have the money you need now, so you should be thinking about how to infiltrate Hogwarts; or the Ministry, whichever you chose first.)

'Shut up, let me enjoy getting clean.'

(No, did you just command me to do something?)

'No, I was suggesting it because you are annoying me.'

(You little bastard!)

'My parents were married at the time of my consumption.'

(I could just have let you wallow through life, without any magic whatsoever.)

'Until you started putting ideas into my head, I would've been content with that.'

(No, you wouldn't have.)

'How do you know?'

(I am you, when crap kept going at me, I thought I just wanted to settle down and be normal. But when that actually happened, I found myself getting into shitty situations because I couldn't stand the monotony. It was admittedly refreshing at first, but I got bored. So would you.)

Harry couldn't help but sigh as he turned off the shower. 'You're not going to let me just enjoy my shower, are you?'

(Nope. Now finish grooming and get back to studying and planning.)

Harry didn't know if he should doubt his sanity. If the dream, thing, was true, than there was an older version of him inside of his head. If it wasn't real, than it was a hallucination inside of his head.

Either way, he's screwed if he lets anyone know about the voice.

(Now you're getting it.)

'I hate you.'

(Once again , I am you.)

Harry sighed as he finished toweling himself dry. He could really grow to despise himself for this.

"Some dream researchers dispute both the Freudian and activation-synthesis theories, preferring instead to see dreams as part of brain maturation and cognitive development. For example, prior to age 9, children's dreams seem more like a slide show and less like an active story in which he dreamer is an actor. Dreams also overlap with waking cognition, note those who favor the cognitive theory of dreams. Dreams feature coherent speech. They draw on our concepts and knowledge. And they share some commonalities with the mind's occasional flights during waking reverie. Moreover, some dream images appear outside of REM sleep, when brainstem activation is minimal."

Harry hesitated, if that was true, did that mean that his own dreams meant nothing? That it was just a recurring series of images and sound that had matured into a drama as his brain matured?

(Possibly.)

Harry flinched.

'But it all seemed so real. Like I was really reliving the night my brother became the Boy-Who-Lived."

(You were too young. Your mind was too undeveloped for you to remember that night. People don't actually start remembering until they're about three or so.)

'I suppose not, but then why is that dream recurring?'

(It's not fully recurring, you just thought it was because it was what you remembered of your dreams. Most people forget their dreams, and you're no different. That dream is common, kind of, and you just remembered it and forgot the rest.)

'I was kind of hoping that you would say you were projecting the dream into my sleep.'

(Nope. I'll admit I tried, but I can't fully control your dreams. In your dreams, I manage to input some of what actually happened, but not all of it.)

'So Dumbledore had nothing to do with my parents forgetting me?'

(He may or he may not. If he did bewitch them, then you were out cold at the time; meaning that I sure as hell wouldn't know.)

' . . . So Dumbledore may actually be an innocent and I was just projecting a wish for someone to blame unto him?'

( . . . )

'Oh, now you have nothing to say?'

(Whether someone is innocent or not, that's your decision to make, not mine.)

'Fine.'

(Dandy, now stop using me as a distraction and start studying,)

"There is one thing dream theorists agree . . . "

'Not quite yet, smoother.'

…

'No, more arched.'

…

'Not there-'

(DAMN IT! STOP THAT!)

'! Ah, you bastard! You made me drop it!'

(I DON'T CARE! You're supposed to be plotting and you're focusing on stupid little lump of clay?)

'I was plotting. I finished and focused on my dragon; which is now ruined.'

(Oh, sorry.)

Harry sighed, very much doubting that statement. He bent over and picked up the lump of clay that had once resembled a dragon, looking at it solemnly. His poor little dragon, destroyed before given a chance at a life.

"I'll go to the library to double check my plans."

(Good idea.)

Harry decided to ignore him.

Lavender, pretty lavender.

Wasn't it red?

Maybe, maybe not.

This had a feeling of something familiar, but what?

Tense, feeling, real feelings.

Harry turned and knew that there would be a house there, with a brass four.

There was. Harry went inside and didn't linger at the cupboard, preferring to instead rush as fast as he could up the stairs, no less frightened by the stillness and 'thud' 'thud' of his shoes. No less frightened by the images of reality, with no solidity; still scared by the unnatural lighting that made everything glow.

Harry also felt lonely without his voice (His Harry?) with him.

He opened the door and there was his older Harry-version.

"Missed me?" Teddy actually did miss that forced baritone; almost as if he was trying to imitate someone with a deep voice . . .

"Who are you trying to be?" maybe he should learn to control his mouth.

Harry looked startled, the question having apparently caught him off guard.

The silence that followed was too much for Teddy, who could have dealt with it had Harry's face and posture not lost expression.

" . . . I'm sorry, you know that I don't usually think before I talk-"

"Yes, I'm quite aware, but your question caught me off-guard; that's all." Harry said, his voice still having the forced quality and his features blank. "As for whom I'm imitating, well, that's a bit difficult to answer."

"Is it?"

"No, not really."

"…"

"Well, the answer is that I'm trying to be Severus Snape."