(This used to be the second half of the incredibly long chapter two… I was editing what I've written so far and decided to split it up. I hope there won't be any confusion.)

"Most times, when you dream, you don't realize it's a dream. In fact, when you do think you're dreaming, now is the time to run away. Well, it's Halloween Night, the mist is rolling through the forest of dead trees, and I can hear the woman screaming in her death throes. I know I'm dreaming. Needless to say I'm running.

"In the wrong direction.

"Hey, it's my dream. I can do what I want. I can run towards certain doom, and I can talk to myself. La-la-la. …Whoa, wait a second. You think I'm talking some invisible audience? Get real, Fen, it's just you in here. Dream, remember? …You don't believe me? One: I'm you; you don't want to start arguing with yourself. Two: stop and listen to yourself. You're speaking like a human. You know you can't speak human.

"…Oh.

"Yep. This is kinda like that time you thought you were speaking in French. Then you woke up and it was gibberish.

"But it was French gibberish.

"Do not argue with yourself, Fen. Hey, where is our younger self anyway?

"Um, left?

"No, right.

"Now you're arguing with yourself, ha!

"I really need to get a new dream.

"No argument here."

A small boy burst through the trees sobbing, and the world shifted. Fen's argument with himself disappeared from his mind; he wouldn't remember having it. He watched the child fall to his knees in the dead leaves as the screaming in the distance suddenly stopped. A little head turned up towards the lack of sound. There was so much hope in his eyes. Fen knew the thought running through his head. The screaming had stopped; didn't that mean it was all right now?

The child picked himself up and began running back the way he came. Fen's eyes flew open. "No!" And he dashed after, tackling the boy. The little one fought as Fen picked him up and clamped a hand over his mouth before he could scream for Momma. "I won't let you see," he whispered to the boy as he ran.

In the right direction. Far, far away.

Part of him knew the hypocrisy of it all. He was carrying himself, trying to run away from his own memories. How could you run from something inside your head? You couldn't.

Hands gripped him even as his younger self disappeared. He shivered as a voice whispered in his ear, "Hello, Fenrir—"

XXX

He woke up screaming. Exhaustion didn't allow him to stay awake panting, though. He only caught a few glimpses of Proserpine—or Impy or Little Imp, now that she was a House Elf again. Whatever he was supposed to call her, he only saw his fellow House Elf through a gap in his dark hair a few moments before he was dreaming again.

This time, it was a safe dream of being tortured by Draco Monster. But halfway through, things came to a grinding halt. Wait—hair? He had seen Impy through his hair? But that was impossible. It was after dawn, everyone was a House Elf again, and House Elves did not have hair!

He woke with a start, and his hands flew immediately to his head.

Hair.

He screamed. He looked down. He still looked like he was wearing clothes. The costume hadn't turned back into silk scarves. He wasn't a House Elf. He was still Tall! This wasn't possible. He had to be dreaming.

He blinked. Oh Hell. When you thought you were dreaming, you weren't. He had to run. He had to—

"Impy!" He ran to her side and started shaking her.

The House Elf woke groggily. "Wha—what is it, Dobbin?" She looked up at him. She shook her head and looked again. Her jaw dropped. She looked between his face and her gnarled hands again and again so fast her head rattled. Finally, she stuttered, "Do—Dobb…Fen!"

He looked at her helplessly. "Impy, help!"

She screamed. She hid under all those blue silk scarves and screamed. That was supposed to be his job! He rifled through the scarves and pulled her out, gripping her shoulders. "Impy," he told her, "You have to help Litt—Dobb—Fen… Oh, just help me!" Then he blinked, shocked. That was the first time he'd ordered anyone to do anything. Impy went stiff as a board and her enormous eyes widened to the size of saucers. He could see his reflection in them. He was Tall. He was Fen. She wasn't moving.

He dropped her, thinking he'd hurt her.

Dazed, she picked herself up off the floor and stared at him quietly. Well, at least it was an improvement over the screaming. So they stared at each other, him kneeling and her standing. They were eye level with each other. If Fen stood, he'd be taller than her. He had never been taller than anybody before. He didn't dare stand. He sat down on his rump, putting himself a few inches lower than her. He felt loads better then. Or, at least he was able to slow down his breathing some.

"Clothes," Winky said, looking him up and down.

Slow breathing flew out the window. "What?" he managed to squeak in between hyperventilations.

"Master Fenrir needs human clothes to wear."

He'd been afraid that was what she meant.

She bowed. "Master Fenrir stays here. Impy will bring them."

She was gone before he'd quite realized what she had said. Fenrir—his full elfin name. Not Fen. Not Little Fen. Fenrir. A full name was a sign of respect and power. Only adult House Elves were called their full names—and only on Halloween. Now it was All Santa Day…no, All Sense…oh, whatever they called the day after Halloween! Not Halloween. It was not Halloween.

She'd called him Master.

His eyes widened at that thought. He was so shocked, he fell backwards and hit his head on the flagstones. Wincing, he stared up at the Dungeon ceiling. House Elves were not called Master. Not ever. Master was a word for humans. There were human titles, and there were House Elf titles. Only one title could be used on both. Mista' was the most honorable title for a House Elf—and the lowest of the low for some scumbag human.

And Impy, his friend, only two decades older than him, had called him Master. He blinked. Oh Hell, she'd called him it twice! He turned on his side and spied a splash of green in the pile of blue silk that had been Impy's makeshift dress. The gloves. His face darkened. This was happening because of them. He was going to burn them, when he got the chance. Maybe everything would go back to normal, when they were gone.

But that was only a stupid childish hope, like when he'd thought everything was all right just because the screaming had stopped.

XXX

Impy returned, wrapped up in her usual toga of old green curtain. In her bony arms was a bundle of folded clothes. She was obviously at war with herself. Fen discovered why when he found the letters DM stitched into the shirt collar. These clothes belonged to Draco Monster. The boy had grown out of them years ago—they smelled like the attic—but they were his, and Impy was technically stealing from her master to give them to Fen. He eyed the House Elf warily, half expecting her to start bashing her brains out on the flagstones as punishment. She seemed remarkably in control. She only twitched occasionally, muttering something about 'her Lord not her Master' that he couldn't quite hear.

Except for the twitching, they were still for a long time. Then Impy nodded resolutely. "Master Fenrir must go into the human world and pretend to be human child, yes."

Fen felt his jaw go slack. Impy's brain had addled when he grabbed her. He stammered, "No, no I—"

She took his face in her knobby hands. "Must go. Lord Malfoy will kill Master Fenrir if he stays and chops him into Potions ingredients!" As Fen's eyes bulged, she shook her head. "That's why House Elves never tell about Halloweeny. If humans knew House Elves could be Tall, they'd chop us up. Master Fenrir must pretend. He must put on the clothes."

"Don't call me Master," he begged. "Call me Fen, Impy. Please?"

"Yes, Fen," she sighed, but she said Fen the same way she said Master Fenrir. He hated it. But he was scared, and he put on the clothes. Impy, wringing her hands, decided to be industrious. She stood at his back and starting picking the embroidered DM out of the shirt. As she worked, he sat and babbled.

"Fen can't pretend to be human, Impy. I can't. I don't know the first thing about being human!"

She giggled when he said that. "Ma—Fen puts on all the clothes perfectly human-like, and he says he can't pretend to be humanlike." She sighed. "When Fen first came to Malfoy Manor, he spoke human-like—still speaks human-like sometimes. It will be fine. Fine, yes." She had finished with the DM-removal and was running her hands through his hair. He realized she was crying. He was crying.

Why had this happened? It was horrible. Being Tall was supposed to be the best part of a House Elf's life. But he was Tall all alone. And he made a very small Tall person. He wanted to be a small House Elf instead, helping with the cleaning up of the Malfoys' Halloween Party.

He looked around at the Dungeon. "Let me stay here," he begged, but she shook her head. The Malfoys would find him, she stuttered. Shaking very hard, she pointed at the stairs out of the Dungeon and into the human world.

He went. He didn't get halfway up the steps before he heard her break into sobs and start bashing herself into the stone. He froze until she started to shriek in pain—and then he ran. He ran very fast, into the forest of dead trees.

XXX

So many miles away, but actually closer than you'd think, an emergency faculty meeting had been called at Hogwarts, School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. They all gathered round in the headmaster's office peering at a parchment on the desk in bewilderment. It very much resembled the school's list of new students that mysteriously arrived on the desk every July. But it was November now, and there was only one name. And what a name it was.

Fenrir Albtraum Svartálfar.

"Well, what does it mean?" Professor Lupin asked at last.

The sleep inducing voice of the deceased history professor floated down to them all. "The first and last words of the phrase, I would surmise, are old Norse. The middle, however, is decidedly German…"

At that moment, every living teacher's eyes met each other's simultaneously. There was over ten of them. To do so caused them to go severely cross-eyed and feel enormous pain. It would be nothing compared to the horror in store if they didn't stop the dead man soon. They all knew a lead-in in to a long lecture on the Goblin Wars (fought mainly on German turf) when they heard one. Unfortunately, it was impossible to stuff a sock in a ghost's mouth.

At that moment, Severus Snape was a blessing to them all.

"I could care less about the origins of the boy's name," he drawled, paused, waited, and then snapped, "Just tell me why he has only just been enrolled two months into the term!"

The history professor's words cut off beautifully, and they were back on subject.

Albus Dumbledore, the Headmaster and the only one sitting, was thoughtful for a long time. Then he declared, "I have absolutely no idea. Well, let's find him then."