Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter or any of its characters; JK Rowling and Warner Bros do. My story is only the miniscule work of an amateur!

Edited chapter 6.

It Ends Now

Part 6: "Nightmare"

It was chaos when Dumbledore returned to Grimmauld Place; everyone was crowded around him, desperately clamoring for more information in their ignorance.

"Quiet, please," Dumbledore called out, holding out his wand as it fizzled gold sparks out the end. Everyone fell silent. An unnerving feeling was upon all; Dumbledore looked especially grim, which was never a good sign.

"I have found the cause of Harry's injuries, but I'm afraid it's worse than I originally expected," the headmaster began somberly, eyes lacking the sparkle they normally contained. "Unfortunately, the truth was not what we all originally assumed. Most of the damage inflicted on Harry was not Voldemort's doing."

"Not the Dursleys; surely not," Mrs. Weasley inquired, back from upstairs. Ron, Hermione (who was there for the rest of the summer), the twins, and Ginny had not taken the news well. All had been pushing Mrs. Weasley to be able to see Harry, but she had flatly refused in a chastising tone.

Dumbledore looked around the room sadly. All eyes were glued to him, waiting for the response. It broke his heart to say the words aloud, and see the horrified expressions of those who'd been ignorant about how horrible Harry's life had been.

"I'm afraid Molly has it correct. Harry will not be returning to the Dursleys," he replied regretfully, at last.

"Who was it, Albus? Who did it? Was it Vernon Dursley?" Lupin asked in a sickly voice. "If it was, I swear I'll..." His words trailed off into nothingness; apparently he was so disgusted he could barely speak.

"It was Harry's cousin," Dumbledore answered, a touch of anger evident in his orbs; barely readable. Lupin scowled in his own fury, unable to mask his feelings as well as the old mage.

"Where is Harry going to stay?" Mrs. Weasley asked timidly, as if trying to broach a subject. Dumbledore was quick on the uptake, omniscience kicking in once again.

"That remains to be seen, but I'm sure Harry will be able to stay at the Burrow, given proper protection," he answered kindly with a smile. Mrs. Weasley beamed, face aglow. A sudden knock on the door permeated the room, and it was opened to reveal Madam Pomfrey. She made her way in, face paler than usual.

"Ah, Poppy! How is young Harry?" Dumbledore asked immediately. His tone was brisk and full of concern.

"Better than when he arrived, Headmaster, but the boy is going to need plenty of rest," she replied, stressing the word that seemed to be an obsession of hers. "No walking around or anything else of that matter for a few days yet, I'm afraid."

"And his injuries?"

"Extensive, but not unhealable. I did the best I could, but some of the more severe lesions will take time. No strenuous activity for a week or so, my suggestion," Pomfrey said, eyes scanning the room reproachfully as if daring them to let Harry go do such things as Quidditch, or even set one foot outside. "Potter also suffered much blood loss, which I gave him some Blood Replenishing Potion for."

"What were the injuries?" McGonagall asked in an unusually hushed and strained voice, as if something were lodged within her throat.

"Three ribs snapped clean, a broken nose, various lacerations, a minor concussion, and a little Cruciatus damage to the nerves- all fixable but as I said and will repeat, Potter needs to have a few days' bedrest to regain strength."

The nurse's eyes softened. "It's a wonder he remained cogent through most of his altercation with You-Know-Who. But Harry's a strong boy; he's hanging in there and he will be okay; don't worry."

"When can... we see him?" Mrs. Weasley asked hesitantly.

"Tomorrow; Mr. Potter needs sleep right now. He's been through a lot. I will, however, permit the Headmaster in for a short time," the motherly matron said, nodding to the snow-sprinkled bearded one. Dumbledore returned the gesture, then swept out behind Pomfrey.

"Has Harry woken up yet?" he asked, following closely behind the school nurse as they ascended the staircase.

"No, Headmaster, but I assure you he should shortly... here we are. Only for a short time though!" she warned sternly, opening the door for Dumbledore. He chuckled mildly at her crossness. Madam Pomfrey shut the door gently behind him, then bustled back down the stairs.

Dumbledore moved forward toward the skinny, black-haired boy peacefully asleep in the bed. His charge was covered with a heavy blanket for warmth, and hidden though he was beneath the layers, the malnourishment still showed. Sirius' death definitely seemed to be taking its toll. Harry had dark bags under his eyes; a definite sign that lack of sleep and possibly nightmares as well were plaguing Harry's night hours.

Dumbledore sighed- so much for a mere boy of fifteen to endure! The headmaster brushed away Harry's bangs in a fatherly and loving way, revealing the lightning-bolt scar.

"So much pain, my child," Dumbledore murmured. He pulled up a chair and sat down at the boy's bedside. Then he grasped Harry's hand and gave it a slight squeeze, as if to reassure him of his presence. It was so chilled!

"Dearest Harry, wake up soon. So many people who love you more than you know are very worried for your sake. Come back to us, dear boy," the old wizard pleaded gently. How he adored Harry, even if their professor-pupil status restrained Dumbledore from showing too much favoritism. He felt so close to this child with the past so similar to his own... as if Harry was his own son! Dumbledore felt he would do anything for Harry's happiness and well-being. It pained him to think that Harry's life was even more endangered than his own, and that people wanted death brought to this boy.

Why was the world so cruel?

oOo

Darkness surrounded him, like an abyss of pure nothingness. But even through all the blackness, Harry sensed a warm presence nearby, like soft sunlight. It called to him and he could feel love emanating from its being. But, the luminesence seemed too far away to reach out to...

How he so wanted to go to it!

But something... someone... was preventing him! Why couldn't he move his feet in that direction?

'Harry, Harry!' a voice echoed, resounding through his eardrums. It wasn't a pleasant voice; Harry didn't like it... he tried to shy away from the baritone insistently calling his name.

'Who's there?' he cried out in response, looking around and seeing no one. Only that night-like scenery filled everything.

'Come to me, Harry.'

Harry's scar seared once, quick and painful.

'Augh... no!' Harry shouted back, clapping a hand to his forehead. 'Never!'

Harry knew who it was even without hearing the cold, ringing laugh that followed his refusal.

'You won't escape me now, Potter. This is my world; I control you here!'

Two merciless red eyes appeared out of the darkness, glowing in hateful intensity. Harry tried to inch away but found the rest of his body unresponsive.

'Get out of here, Voldemort!' Harry exclaimed. 'You're wrong; this is my mind!' His scar began to throb terribly in reply.

'Oh, then I suppose it's half yours and half mine, isn't it? I sense your sadness and longing, boy. You miss that mutt Godfather of yours, and your mudblood mother and treacherous father. You blame yourself for their deaths, don't you, Harry?'

The darkness was beginning to envelop Harry, swirling closer and closer around his heart, trying to push in the hate, anger, and guilt. Harry fought desperately not to give in, but it was so hard! The voice of Voldemort continued, sensing a weak point.

'They blame you too.'

Three figures materialized, wearing bloodied rags with sunken faces and eyes. James Potter, Lily Potter, and Sirius Black looked at Harry in utmost accusation.

'It's your fault,' they chanted in unison. James and Lily moved foward. It was Lily's eyes- Harry's own- that hit Harry the hardest. The blame; the hate... in his own mother's orbs... it was too much!

'So horrible, Harry... you're so horrible... It's because of you we died; you know it was your fault! We didn't have to die... Why did we have to have such a child? You disgust us!'

'If it weren't for you, the Potter name would still hold its honor!' James cried. He wrapped his skinny arm around Lily, pulling her close and distancing his son in the process. 'Lily, we should have killed him when we had the chance; aborted him when he was still in the womb... Then we'd still be alive...'

Harry shook his head, eyes wide and disbelieving even as his heart began to pitch over in sorrow and self-disgust.

'No...no...' he moaned. 'It's not true...'

Sirius moved foward next, eyes burning in an incomprehensible hatred.

'Why did you have to believe that stupid vision, Harry? I thought you were smarter than that! You have to be so noble all the time... well, it got me killed, didn't it! I'm your godfather; isn't that worth anything? Hermione's right, you have a saving-people-thing.'

Sirus gave a cruel scowl and turned his back on Harry, seemingly unable to face him for anger and shame. Harry's heart pounded and he felt as if someone had just given him a slap across the cheek. Tears welled up unbidden in his emerald eyes.

'No...' he gasped out, trying to back away but unable to. 'NO!'

He was stained; dirty- innocent blood was sprinkled upon his hands...

'I'm sorry...' he moaned as the three people faded away, all turning their backs on him. 'Forgive me...'

The tall figure of Voldemort appeared in front of Harry, who felt a sudden sense of vulnerability as he looked into his enemy's face. Voldemort smiled with cruel satisfaction, raising his wand. Harry didn't have his; he was totally unprotected. He looked away.

'Had enough yet, Potter? Ready to give up your miserable life? I will destroy you sooner or later, but for now I am content to torturing you in this place, where escape is futile. Our bond is stronger than ever, Harry... CRUCIO!'

Harry collapsed, screaming in pain. It was unbelievably real and consuming. He twitched, moaned, and cried out, falling onto the black ground below him.

'God, let it end, let it end!' Harry pleaded in his head.

But a little voice in his mind told him he deserved it...

oOo

Dumbledore rose from his chair, vanishing it with a wave of his wand and preparing to leave. He had his hand on the door handle when Harry gave a low moan from behind him. The mage turned around quickly.

"Harry...?"

Harry's face was twisted in sadness and tears were leaking out from under his lids.

"No... It's not my fault...please..." He gave another low groan and began rolling around fitfully. A few strides later and Dumbledore had come back to Harry's side.

"Harry?"

The aforementioned ebony-head had begun to gasp and breath quicker, pale and sweaty. He twitched unpleasantly as if caught in the clutches of a bad nightmare. Reacting quickly, Dumbledore began lightly shaking the boy.

"Harry, wake up! Harry!"

Harry didn't respond but cried out, clutching his forehead. Dumbledore grasped Harry's hands and pulled them away, letting out a small gasp as he did so. A small trickle of blood escaped out of the old scar, which was fresh and open as the day the old Headmaster first saw it.

How could this be?

Harry began jerking spasmodically, letting out another cry as if in pain or seeing something particularily unpleasant. Dumbledore released Harry's hand and swiftly pulled out his wand. He pointed it at the boy.

"Ennervate!"

A flash of red hit Harry, but the reviving charm had no effect whatsoever. Dumbledore was in shock; truely stumped. Had Voldemort locked Harry away in his own mind? Would the boy be unable to awaken? Fear gripped the old man's heart. Not Harry, not his precious Harry!

Suddenly, Harry let out a heart-wrenching scream. It progressed louder and louder, the boy clawing at his scar all the while, seemingly trying to make the pain stop. He twitched and jerked, then pulled his knees up to his chest in the fetal position. More blood seeped its way through the scar. Footsteps sounded loudly, then the door flew open and Madam Pomfrey, Professor McGonagall, Remus Lupin, and Molly Weasley flew into the room.

"Headmaster?" Pomfrey exclaimed, eyes wide and staring at the wailing Harry. McGonagall had her hands clamped tightly over her mouth. Dumbledore strode over to them.

"I'm afraid Harry is trapped in his dreams through Voldemort and his' connection. It's grown stronger since Voldemort's return. I've tried ennervating the boy but it's no use," Dumbledore explained, a small edge of panic betrayed in his crystalline blue eyes. There was a chance Harry could be trapped for good.

"Albus..." McGonagall said fearfully, moving forward and touching Harry's bleeding forehead. All also went to the boy's side. Dumbledore nodded at the Transfiguration teacher, as if saying he had a hunch. McGonagall and Pomfrey tried staunching the blood whilst Mrs. Weasley attempted to comfort the boy.

Dumbledore and Lupin were above Harry, swishing their wands in complicated spells to try to awaken him. For a minute or two, nothing changed, but suddenly Harry's yells began to quiet and his rolling grew less.

Then, quite suddenly, Harry's eyes flew open and he began to draw in deep breaths, as if having been underwater. He sat up, not taking in any of his surroundings. With a low moan, he moved his hand up to his forehead, then brought it down again with a gasp after noticing the red blotch upon it.

That was when he noticed five aghast people crowded around his bed, staring at him with the same turpid and frightened visages he imagined on his own countenance.

Review review review!

AngelMoon Girl