"Vandermine."

He stopped but did not turn. Instead he drew his wand in anticipation and growled. If Dumbledore wanted a fight, he was ready to give him one. Dumbledore faced him calmly, his hands at his side. He looked unconcerned by the whole situation.

"You cannot do this, Lucas. You know that you cannot escape this." Dumbledore took a step nearer and he tensed, gripping his wand tightly beneath his cloak.

"Stand down, Dumbledore. I'm not afraid to take you down too."

A crowd was gathering behind Dumbledore. Dozens of Ministry employees watched them with baited breath. Here were two of the most powerful wizards alive, facing off in what was likely to lead to a fight. No one wanted to be involved, but no one wanted to miss it.

"You are making a grave mistake, Lucas. This is not the way to find the answers you seek."

"To hell with the answers, Dumbledore! I don't care about the answers. I only want to get away from all this." He snarled and drew his wand, pointing it threateningly at the older wizard. Dumbledore smiled sadly at him, his eyes full of disappointment.

"Lucas, think, my boy. If you leave, you will break everything that you have striven for these many years. What of her? You cannot abandon her like this. She needs you."

"She's better off with the rest of her family. She doesn't need me."

"Ah, but she does. How else will she learn the truth?"

"She doesn't deserve the truth. It is better that she never knows."

Dumbledore shook his head and advanced a step.

"Are you sure of this? She is bound to find it eventually. Would it not be better for you to tell her?"

"From the pits of Azkaban?" he laughed harshly. The Ministry employees cringed at the sound. His laughter sounded like nails scratching a chalkboard. "No, that would only make things worse. But that is why you'd prefer it, wouldn't you. Always trade the bad for the worse where others are concerned, that's your method."

"I haven't the slightest clue what you are talking about," Dumbledore replied pleasantly, though a dangerous gleam appeared in his eye.

"You saved me from the Kiss, sure you did. Instead, I got ordered down to the lowest levels for life. You know what they have down there, Dumbledore. You changed my sentence from losing my soul to living in hell. What good is that!"

"As I recall, you asked for my help."

"Not like that!" He shouted, his body shook from the barely contained rage coursing through his veins. "You've never had to face a Yawfle. You've never been forced to sit there, trapped in a small room while its eyes bore through your skull, sifting through your mind like a sieve. You've never had all your sins forced before your eyes." He shuddered as the memories flooded his mind. He inhaled sharply, causing the crowd to jump back in fear.

Dumbledore sighed and took another step forward. "I know what you are feeling, Lucas. See reason, I beg you. What you are doing is against all you have stood for. What of the men and women you have trained. Think of them, Lucas. If you do this, break the justice of a system you have trained them to protect, they will have to hunt you down. You will have to fight your own students."

"They know better than to try it, old man. They know they could not bring me in."

"But they would try anyway. You have trained them well, Lucas, perhaps too well. Justice is their concern, not the powers facing them."

"Justice! There is no justice here, you know that. I have worked here long enough to realize that, Dumbledore. The Ministry is as corrupt as the rest of them. They punish criminals using the very spells and weapons that they strive to keep off the streets. The Cruciatus Curse is used more by Ministry officials than by the Death Eaters! What justice is in that?"

"Leaving now will splinter the Ministry, Lucas. You cannot do that to them, not when times are still so uncertain."

"The Ministry is a sham, it deserves to fall. The scum all deserve to die."

"Even the innocent?" Dumbledore spread his arms and indicated the gathered crowd. "Do they deserve this? What of those who take these jobs because they really believe in justice. You cannot condemn them all for the sins of a handful-"

"More that a handful, Dumbledore."

"Nevertheless, you cannot cast blame on them. It is not your position."

"Then I'll leave it to rot on its own." He turned his back on the crowd and started towards the fireplace.

"Lucas, this is your final warning." Dumbledore's normally quiet voice had a hard edge to it. "Turn back now or I will be forced to stop you."

He kept walking, ignoring the old wizard, his eyes fixed on the fireplace.

"Aguamenti!"

A jet of water shot pas this shoulder, quenching the flames of the fire ahead of him. He snarled and turned to the next one, but another jet of water put out its flames too. This happened to all of them as he turned from one to the next. Finally, one last fire stood lit, its flames dancing feebly in the still air. Dumbledore stood before it, his wand drawn and resting calmly at his side. He faced Dumbledore, drawing himself to his full height.

"Step aside, fool, or I will kill you."

"Don't make me do this," Dumbledore looked pleadingly at him, begging him to stop this madness.

"You are not going to stop me, Albus. I've had enough! Magic has destroyed my life. I'll use it if I have to, to get past you, but it's over. I'm getting away from this if I have to kill you in the process."

"You may try, Lucas, but I will not yield."

"Impedimenta!"

"Protego!"

The two spells hit with a flash that blinded everyone in the room. He was thrown off his feet by the force of the impact. He flew through the air and landed heavily against the wall. Stars exploded in his eyes as his head slammed against the mantle of a fireplace. He fell limp against the floor, letting his mind catch up with his body.

"Still go it then, have you. It figures that you kept it, after beating him." He rose unsteadily to his feet and wiped the blood from his mouth. "You're too much of a coward to let it go."

Dumbledore inclined his head in a non-answer. "His wand has proven to be… useful."

"I'll get past you anyway. I don't need magic to get to that fireplace. I don't need it for anything."

"Have you learned so little, Lucas." Dumbledore sighed again, sounding to all the world like a tired teacher lecturing a rebellious student. "You cannot escape magic. It is everywhere, it will follow you no matter what you do. Your wand is a symbol of that."

Dumbledore pointed to the thin wand in his shaking hand. He looked down at it. Dumbledore was right, his wand was a reminder of the magic that permeated his life. He stared at it for a moment before deciding what to do.

"You're right," he whispered, more to himself than anyone in particular. "It is a reminder." He straightened and strode towards Dumbledore with determined steps. Dumbledore raised his wand and aimed it at his chest.

"I am not afraid to do it again, Lucas."

"You don't need to be." He stopped before Dumbledore and held out his wand. "You said that my wand is a reminder, a symbol of the power that I wield. I want to give up that power." He raised his wand and brought it down hard on his other arm, slapping it against his arm with all the strength he could muster. A ghostly scream split the air and his arm exploded in agony. The wand shattered in a dozen pieces. Splinters of the wand flew in all directions, flaying his skin up and down his side. He rocked back and forth on his feet and stared defiantly at Dumbledore, his eyes burning with menace. His bloodied and broken arm hung limp at his side. Dumbledore stared back at him, his eyes wide in shock. For once, he was too stunned to speak.

"I am leaving, don't stop me." He brushed past Dumbledore and walked into the fireplace. Just before he left, he looked over his shoulder. Dumbledore was watching him sadly, his eyes brimming with tears.

"So be it," the wizard whispered. "If that is your choice, I will not stop you."

Dumbledore raised his hand in a salute as the flames flashed brightly and he disappeared.

Harry breathed easily as he and Ron worked on their Potions paper. It was still hard and frustrating, three pages on the properties of some Tibetan killer weed whose name he could not pronounce, but Ron kept his spirits up with his running commentary on the subject.

"Ah, yes, Tibetan killer weeds, my favorite," he mumbled as he searched the books for information. "Right nasty lot, them's is. Lovely little blighters to put in some Malfoy's sock drawer. They're kind of cute. All that curling, twisted mass of purplish vines puts a real perspective on life, it does."

He could not help but chuckle at Ron's good humor. They were both feeling better, now that they had cleared up their argument and forgiven each other. Harry reckoned that they had not worked this well together in over a year. Harry searched one book for the weed's dangerous properties while Ron looked up its magical properties. There was not much of the latter, other than the weed was sentient, but of the former there were pages of warnings about its venom and hunting habits. It worked almost like an anaconda, strangling its prey, but it delivered thousands of miniscule pokes with its venomous spikes as it ran along the body of the victim. The venom was fatal enough to stop a rhinoceros mid-charge. That weed was one ugly little bugger.

It took them several hours to finish their papers, but they managed to put them together before Percy ran them off into their dorm room. Harry and Ron stayed up late that night, telling jokes and exchanging any news that one might have heard that the other had not while they had been avoiding each other. Not much was going on in the school, apart from the climbing security because of Sirius Black's recent appearances. Everything else was normal. Malfoy was still a royal pain, Snape was smarting from the thrashing that Vandermine had given him in Potions class in front of his students, all was normal.

Harry remembered that he had to go speak to Hermione as they said good night and jumped in their beds. He promised himself that he would speak with her the next day. For now, he just wanted to enjoy the feeling of having Ron back. He fell asleep easily, letting all the pent up anger and frustration drift away.

He knew something was wrong when he gained consciousness. His shoulder hurt like it had been set on fire. Icy cold air assaulted him on all sides. His whole body felt stiff and sore. Miserable was not even close as to how he felt.

He opened his eyes to see, but all he saw was a black cloth. He was blindfolded. His nerves roared in protest as he tried to grab at the cloth. A heavy rope had been wrapped around him. He was powerless to move.

Muffled snarls alerted him that he was not alone. Something heavy crunched in the snow beside him. A body fell on top of him and he grunted. The person grunted back and rolled off to one side. There was something about that grunt that was familiar. Someone growled at them. Its voice was strained, like it was not used to speaking.

"You two… no talking, or else."

Probably one of the were-creatures, were-dog by the sound and smell of it. The creature sniffed at the air and let out a little whine. It snarled again and hurried off, letting out a sound akin to muttering as it sought a warmer area.

"That you, Frank?" he whispered once the steps of the were-creature had receded.

"Lucas! What are you doing here?" Frank Longbottom let out a relieved sigh. "How did you get caught? I thought you had gotten away."

"Yeah, I got away." He grinned despite their situation. "Made a mess of them too. There're a couple of them that won't be back anytime on this side of life."

"You should not have killed them, Lucas. It is not our place to kill, only to arrest."

"Tell them that next time. They did not give me much of a choice. I had to, to get away. Only had a second to think, so I lashed out and Bam, they were dead."

"You did not use the Unforgivable, did you? You know better than to use that."

"Don't worry, I did it the old fashioned way. Pair of silver-tipped forty-fives did the job just fine."

Frank chuckled against his better judgments. "You always showed a fondness for Muggle gear. I never understood it, never will." He inhaled sharply and groaned in pain.

"You alright, Frank?"

"Yeah, I'm fine." His voice told otherwise. "Just got scratched by some rocks."

"If you say so. I wish I had my wand, I'd fix you up right quick."

"Speaking of which," Frank's voice was serious suddenly. "What in the blazes are you doing here?"

"I'm rescuing you, didn't I tell you that already."

"No, you didn't." Frank laughed. "This is the oddest rescue attempt I've ever seen."

"Yeah, it has a few rough spots that I'm working out as I go."

"Was getting captured one of them?"

"Of course not. Had it planned all along." He laughed in his easygoing manner that always made Frank smile. "Wish they hadn't been so rough on it though. Darned inconvenient, them tying me up this hard."

"So young… you are the most impulsive, most amazing man I've ever known, Lucas."

"Thanks, Frank." He beamed underneath his blindfold. Coming from Frank, it meant a lot more than a simple compliment.

"So," Frank said after they sat quietly for a few minutes, "what now?"

"What? Oh, right. Now I bust you out of here. Where's Alice?"

Frank's voice was subdued. There was a hint of fear as he spoke. "She's in the 'audience chamber,' being interrogated by Outrider."

"That rotten old hound-scum!" he made an effort to stand up, but fell over clumsily as the ropes pulled him down. "Let me at him and I'll knock his freaking block off."

"Quiet, I hear them coming."

They heard the footsteps long before the were-creatures arrived. It was a large party, probably a dozen. They clustered around the two wizards, taunting them and jabbing at them with their claws.

"On your feet," one of them ordered. Rough hands grabbed them and lifted them up. "You's going to see the Boss."

"Oh, good," he said, speaking loud enough that they could all hear him. "I was getting bored."

Frank gasped in astonishment and he grinned. The were-creatures muttered to themselves, trying to figure out what he had meant by that. Not the most brilliant creatures. Finally, one of them decided it was an insult. He kept grinning even when the bulky, thick-boned fist crashed into the side of his head, snapping his head to the side. Starts exploded in his eyes and he fell.

The first thing he realized was that he was in pain. His head felt like he had just been knocked by a Bludger. Even with his eyes closed, he swayed back and forth, dizzy like he had just taken a blow. A pair of hands had him around his arms and was shaking him vigorously. Vaguely, he heard Ron shouting in the background.

"Harry, come off it, mate!"

"What? What happened?" Harry opened his eyes. Or, he opened one of them. His right eye burned like it was on fire and refused to open. He reached a hand for it, but Ron held it back.

"Don't touch that, Harry. That's a nasty lump you've got."

"Who hit me?" Harry sat up and shook his head. The movement sent spikes of pain blazing through his head and he groaned, clutching his head in an effort to ease the pain.

"No one hit you, Harry. You did it again."

"Did what?" he scowled and rubbed his hands together helplessly. His face was hurting more and more as he came to his senses.

"You flipped out in your sleep." Ron pointed to the post of the bed. "I woke up a moment ago and you were talking in your sleep. Kept saying 'Frank.' Who's Frank?"

Harry's insides turned cold as he remembered his dream. He looked around quietly, collecting his thoughts. Neville was sitting on the edge of the bed, watching Harry worriedly. A knot formed in his stomach.

"I'm… I'm not sure." He lied. "I don't remember."

"Are you ok then?"

"I think so. It must have been a bad dream."

"Yeah, right." Seamus poked his head around the curtain of his bed. "When Ron tried to wake you, you sat up and slammed your head into the bedpost." He slapped his hands together enthusiastically. "Thwacked your head so hard I thought you'd be unconscious by now."

Harry grimaced and laid back on the bed. His head was swimming from the pain. Right now he needed time alone, time to think about the dream. Why was he seeing them? What were they? He decided to ask Ron, but not around the others. As much as he trusted Neville now, if this dream was about his parents, it was better he not know about it until they had sorted the whole thing out clearly.

"You sure you're all right, Harry? You look horrible." Neville leaned in and examined the side of his head. "You should get that checked out. There might be splinters or you might have cracked something."

"Yeah, you're right. Could you go get Professor McGonagall? Seamus, could you get Madame Pompfrey?"

They nodded and took off. As soon as the door closed behind them, Harry turned to Ron and hushed him with an upraised hand.

"Ron, I don't think this is an accident."

Ron scoffed. "It doesn't take a genius to figure that out, Harry."

"I know, but," he leaned in closer and whispered, as if afraid that someone would overhear them. "I think I'm seeing someone's memories."

An eyebrow twitched, but that was all the response Harry got. Ron gave him a disbelieving look and shook his head.

"That's impossible, Harry. Whose memories could you be seeing?"

"Vandermine's."

Ron's eyes opened wide and he swallowed hard. He made no effort to speak though, so Harry kept talking.

"I know what you're thinking. I'm not going mad. This is not the first time this has happened. Last time I had a dream like this was when-"

"When you threw yourself on the poker." Ron's voice was hoarse with excitement. He leaned in closer, frowning as if he was thinking of an explanation.

"That's right. Each time I've had a dream, something bad happened to him, and it happens to me too."

"Well, what happened in the dreams?"

Harry leaned back, careful not to bump his head. "They are connected, the dreams. In the first one, he was looking for something. Someone, actually. He was in a huge cave. He had almost found them when he got attacked. He blocked a lot of the spells, but one got through and launched him backwards, right into a stalagmite."

"Hence the poker."

"Yeah."

"So what attacked him? Were they Death Eaters?"

"They weren't Death Eaters, or at least, I'm pretty sure they weren't. All I know was that one moment it was perfectly quiet, then a barrage of spells flew his way. I could not see his attackers because of the light. Even for me, it was blinding."

"Huh." Ron rocked back in his seat, brow furrowed in concentration. "Do you suppose it was an outlaw gang?"

"No. It had something to do with Johannes Outrider."

"Really? How do you know."

"The second dream, Ron. Tonight, when he woke he was tied up. A were-creature was guarding him."

"They were Outriders servants. He mutated other creatures, but since they were not human he could control them. Used them like soldiers."

"I know."

"What happened next?"

"Do you remember the name I was muttering?"

"Frank? Yeah, it must have been," Ron whistled and fell back in his chair. "Frank Longbottom. Neville's dad!"

Harry nodded solemnly. "They were both captured. While their guard was not nearby they talked. Vandermine was taking the whole thing lightly, joking around and all as if it were all a game."

"I heard he did that. Most of the other Aurors thought he was a nut, because he never acted seriously around them. When he was around them he was completely calm, but once the spells started flying, he was like a demon on steroids."

"Not how I would have put it, but that works." Harry shrugged experimentally. His face was still hurting, but it hurt a lot less than before. "He and Frank… Mr. Longbottom were then grabbed by a bunch of the were-creatures. Vandermine talked smack to them and one of them hit him."

"And that was why you tried the bedpost with your noggin."

"Funny, Ron. You're a riot."

"I thought it was funny." Ron sounded hurt, but he smiled when Harry snorted in disbelief.

"What does it mean though? Is it common, to see others' memories? Does it happen often, if at all?"

Ron shook his head. "It's just as common as Parseltongues." He shot Harry a joking glance and patted him on the back. "I guess that's why you've got it. You've got more uncommon abilities than I have common ones."

Harry nodded in agreement and rubbed the side of his face. "I just wish these dreams would stop. It's getting to be a real pain. Do you know how they work, seeing another's dreams?"

"No clue. You should ask Hermione about…" his voice trailed off when he saw Harry wince as her name. "You should look it up in a book. I think it has something to do with sharing very strong emotions, like hatred or love."

Further conversation was interrupted as the door swung open to reveal a very worried Madame Pompfrey and Professor McGonagall. They swooped in on Harry like mother eagles, checking his face for cuts and splinters. Harry bore it all stoically, complaining only when Madame Pompfrey drew her wand and pressed it hard along his jaw line. Searing pain rebounded in his skull and he let out a yelp of pain, but the pain subsided as soon as it arrived, leaving his skin cool and restored. Madame Pompfrey looked him over one last time and hurried out, mumbling something about and injured Slytherin. Harry fervently wished it was Draco.

He dropped back into the comfort of his pillows as the door shut behind her, feeling drained. Maybe he could get some sleep now. Potions class was going to be hard tomorrow.

"Harry Potter!"

Harry felt a jolt of electricity course through his veins and he shot straight up, eyes wide in fear as Professor McGonagall stamped her foot impatiently. He had forgotten about in her in the rush with Madame Pompfrey.

"What in the blazes made you do this? What were you thinking, young man?" She scowled and motioned for him to get out of bed.

"It was nothing," Harry muttered, staring at the floor to avoid her piercing gaze. He could feel her irritation like she was stabbing him. "Just a bad dream."

"Just a bad dream!" she shrieked, reaching levels that only a woman could. "And just what kind of dream was it that would make you slam your head into a bedpost? Is this related to the poker incident?"

Harry nodded weakly, not daring to look her in the eye. His cheeks were burning with shame.

"Well, then, I'm afraid this is over my head." She sighed and waved at his drawer. A bathrobe flew out of it and moved before Harry. He took it grudgingly and put it on. "We must put an end to these, these dreams."

She turned to Ron. He flinched under her hard gaze. "Fetch Professor Vandermine. Tell him to meet us in Professor Dumbledore's office immediately."

Ron bowed jerkily and rushed from the room. Once he had gone, Professor turned to Harry and pointed to the door. "Let's go."

Harry followed her meekly as they traversed the corridors of the school. He kept his head down, too embarrassed and confused to meet his House teacher's gaze. He knew that she was worried for him, that she wanted him to be safe, but he did not want to tell her about what he had seen. Every time he told someone about anything relating to Vandermine, something bad always happened.

They brushed past the sleepy gargoyle sentries, pausing only long enough for them to acknowledge the password. Their tired complaints on his ears, Harry proceeded up the stairs to Dumbledore's office, his heart inching closer to his throat with each step.

Vandermine and Ron were already in the room. Ron started to give Harry an encouraging look, but his smile faltered as Professor McGonagall glared at him. He settled with sneaking a thumbs up to Harry, who grinned despite the situation. As bad as this meeting was sure to be, seeing that Ron was trying to stay positive made Harry feel better.

Professor McGonagall acknowledged Vandermine with a curt nod and turned to face Professor Dumbledore.

"Professor Dumbledore, Professor Vandermine," she winced at the words. Evidently she had not been pleased with Vandermine's new position. "I though it best to alert you that young Harry has been having nightmares. Dangerous nightmares. Something needs to be done to stop them, but I do not know what."

"Oh? Your dreams are troubling?" Dumbledore sounded more curious than alarmed. He folded his hands and stared down at Harry through his spectacles. His gaze, although light and cheery, was so intense that Harry felt butterflies in his stomach when their eyes met. "I heard that a similar incident happened not very long ago. Interesting, to be sure. What say you, Harry?"

Harry swallowed to calm his nerves and nodded. "Yes, Professor Dumbledore."

Professor McGonagall stepped forward and cleared her throat. Harry held in a sigh of relief as she addressed Vandermine.

"Professor, do you have any knowledge of this sort of occurrence?"

Vandermine frowned and looked from McGonagall to Harry. His eyes unfocused thoughtfully and he shook his head.

"That depends on what his dreams consisted of." He pushed off of the wall he was leaning on and strode over to Harry. Harry shuffled his feet nervously as Vandermine circled around him.

"Been dreaming about kissing girls?" he indicated the side of Harry's face. Harry felt blood rush to his cheeks and he ducked his head under his arm, pretending to cough.

McGonagall bristled indignantly at this. "Professor Vandermine! This is a serious matter."

"And I am taking it seriously." Vandermine eyed her calmly, not batting an eye. "I'm just wondering if the dreams might be unrelated. It is possible." He turned to Harry. "Were they related, your dreams?"

Harry nodded his head, not trusting himself with words. He was sure that he was blushing.

"What were they, Harry? What were you dreaming of?"

Harry shook his head. His mind froze as Vandermine's eyes found his. Every detail of his dreams flashed vividly in his mind. What would Vandermine do if he found out?

"Professor, could it be Dark Magic?" McGonagall moved forward and placed a protective hand on Harry's shoulder. "What if this is Black's doing?"

"No." Vandermine took a step back and looked at Dumbledore. "Black would not try to get at Harry through dreams. It is impossible, to make another see your dreams. Even if it was, he would need eye contact, and Harry was sleeping also. From what I heard, Black would not have worked that way anyway."

"Are you sure?"

Vandermine smiled, looking unusually smug. "Shoot me if I'm wrong. Harry's dreams are not the work of Dark Magic."

"Then what are they? Lucas, he threw himself on a poker!"

"I'm waiting for Harry to tell me." He shifted his eyes back to Harry, who felt his stomach lurch painfully. "What did you see?"

Harry looked around at the people in the room. He cast Dumbledore a pleading glance, which did not go unnoticed by Vandermine.

"No one is going to leave until you told us what happened." His voice was firm, leaving no room for argument.

Professor McGonagall leaned closer and looked Harry in the eye. She gave him a look of mixed pity and affection. "Everything will be fine, Harry," she told him. When he nodded uncertainly she patted him on the back.

"Well, sir," Harry began, nervously chewing on his lip. "I think I've been reading your mind."