What Else Can We Do?

Part 2:

The Dream Walker

Chapter 21:

'Take this kiss upon the brow!

And, in parting from you now,

Thus much let me avow —

You are not wrong, who deem

That my days have been a dream;

Yet if hope has flown away

In a night, or in a day,

In a vision, or in none,

Is it therefore the less gone?

All that we see or seem

Is but a dream within a dream.'

-'A Dream Within A Dream' by Edgar Allan Poe

2000

It has been some time since I've written.

I didn't give up, I'll have you know, but I certainly needed to buy more parchment after the mountain of crumpled pages I created those bleak days when the words refused to come, when the despair circled close enough to taste. After all that's been said and done, it hurts to admit that I still have days like that. And I cannot hide from them. All I can do is wait for it to pass. I suppose leaving that heap of paper to stare accusingly at me whenever I lingered at my desk didn't help matters either. The fact was: whenever my hand held a quill, I hesitated. How can mere words do my memories justice?

But why does that thought paralyse me now when I've put so much into this already?

Perhaps it is this: I have felt small for so long now. I remember when I first felt it – when I looked up at the night sky, the stars blazing without the moon in sight, during one of our Astronomy lessons back at Hogwarts. I thought (albeit not entirely correctly, I have since learnt): every star in this sky is a world, full of tiny beings looking up into the deep dark like I was, knowing suddenly how insignificant they really were. It stripped me bare, that thought. Right down to the bone. All that was left untouched was humility.

I don't remember being exactly scared. I would've never thought it possible before, but there is a strange relief in being brought low. And though everything you want to be is far above, out of sight and beyond reach, the light almost blinding, the despair biting, you know the only way you can go is up. You are stripped and stretched into one, all-consuming goal: upward, to the heights you remember – and perhaps even higher.

That is the only way you can climb. And knowing the bottom is what checks me every time I fear I will fall again. So I find myself thankful. Living instead of simply surviving is a daily struggle, one much harder than I thought I could bear. Achieving it fills me with pride, something I've never had trouble with feeling, or showing, as you well know, my friend. But I think you will agree that I have earned it. Both of us have.

It is the simplest of pleasures, and the sweetest, after you've known the dark depths you can go to. I'm a better man to have known both.

1996

For as long as he could remember, Draco had preferred night. It had a way of centring him, the quiet working with the dark, undecided as to whether it wanted to pull the world closer or blow it out of proportion. Night time had the feeling of the Dreaming about it, that unreality he couldn't help feeling at home with. He'd always felt like it was a gateway to something, though what that was seemed to slip through his fingers every time, like those dreams he used to forget upon waking before he learnt to hold onto them.

It was strange to think that it had been only hours. It felt like a lifetime ago. The person Draco was yesterday would've never set foot here.

Once upon a time, the Forbidden Forest had lived up to its name. It had crouched in wait on the side-lines of his childhood, shape-shifting all the while it sat still in his mind, growing fat on a nameless dread he'd done his damnedest to ignore. The very idea of it had made him feel powerless, just like those old forests did as they crept ever closer onto his family's land, their wildness a threat, an affront. My land now, he thought. But the words were distant, the rushing roar starting in his ears the only warning he had for the grief that followed.

He had to shy away from it though. It would do it if it could – swallow him whole and keep him down until he stopped kicking, but he wouldn't let it. There was simply so much else to feel. Things he'd never imagined he would, or even could. Grief took and took, strangling other emotions indiscriminately, throwing their carcasses into the pot, souring them with its flavour, slowly stirring, burning them to nothing.

Brand, Red and Light's memories were in his head now, imprinted on his heart. Their grief over the world they had lost was just another burden he had to carry. But it was a small price to pay. Draco knew the anger would come later, when what they'd done to him was all he knew and would know, but for now forgiveness was easy.

There was no question of why. They did it for Albus.

And there is no one else more deserving, he thought as he pushed a branch aside, leaves crunching underfoot, fireflies and the moon lighting the way.

Draco knew he was being watched. There was a wary edge to the silence where there hadn't been before. Just as he'd begun to think he must've been imagining things, he saw flashing eyes further out and silhouettes darting between the trees. He couldn't help wondering if the centaurs had their bows and arrows at the ready, whether they sensed the mark he bore, whether their stars told them he was changed into something unnamed. Wanting to know what would have to wait – the horcrux was a darkness in his pocket that weighed far heavier than he could've imagined. He pushed onward, eager to be rid of it, to unravel himself from its taint.

But when the wind sent the leaves rustling, unsettling shadows all round, he realised he was unafraid.

Come, come to us, their parting whisper called once more, three voices blending into one.

He knew where he had to go. The memories were full of it – a cottage peering into a small clearing, nestled across the threshold between meadow and wood. Low stone walls circled it as green-leaved vines climbed the stonework. The trees laid protective arms over the slate-tiled roof, shading a wild garden beneath. Strangely enough, it felt like home. But it was a borrowed feeling, he could tell now. He couldn't help picking at the stitching between his and their memories, like one would a scab. It held an alien sense of belonging, a warmth he couldn't instinctively accept. Only the thought of Albus waiting there made it easier to stand.

The memories were a beacon, the thread tugging him forwards. With a blood replenishing potion humming in his veins, dulling the ache in his chest where a new scar lay raw, he walked on. Night had a way of pulling him out of himself, one half present, the other waiting like a child watching for the dawn, counting down the seconds like it was Yuletide morning and his parents had yet to wake. It made him feel light, like walking was slipping through a cold stream.

Without wand light, the moon coloured everything silver, the shining luminescence making the shadows darker than they ought to be in contrast. He didn't mind, even when he started as bats fluttered overhead and an owl hooted down at him. All the spells he knew that would make this journey easier would intrude on the quiet of this night – and that would not do. It would disturb the quiet inside him too.

At the edge of the clearing, he saw it. The light through the windows was welcoming, the door being unlocked more so. Habit had him knocking before he entered the cottage, had him peek inside tentatively. He didn't know what to feel when he stepped inside the nook of an entrance hall, as his eyes followed the line of shoes and wellingtons side by side on the floor. There were raincoats and jackets on hooks, above a table with a bowl full bits and bobs, no doubt for Portkeys. A satchel and an empty wicker basket rested against the umbrella stand. The next door was ajar and he went further in, equally curious and bewildered.

He stared wonderingly at what he saw – what could only be the parlour, covered in ceiling-to-floor shelves, bursting with books. The only space left free was for the doors, windows and hearth. A ladder rested against one of the oak hanging beams, all of which looked to have seen a better part of two centuries. There was a fire going, its light cast across numerous books on the rug, some open, others bookmarked, all worn and thoroughly read. On a low table between the couch and an armchair, a forgotten cup of tea sat, scrolls and parchment bundled together at its side. Seeing all of this, a compulsion to leave gripped him. He did not belong here. He very nearly did go then, but the sight of Light sitting up and turning to stare at him from the couch knocked it out of him. There was nothing he could do but stare back.
It was odd to see her in such mundane surroundings. In the Dreaming, they were simply more . . . Perhaps the closest thing he could call gods. But to see her here, long and curly hair pulled into a ponytail, her ink black eyes wide, her skin more silver than not, dressed in simple clothes, was stranger than he could've ever imagined.

Light's expression changed, turned inward, and Draco knew she was calling the others. It made him ache deep in his chest. He'd had a glimpse of what that felt like - to have those closest to you there, a thought away. Before tonight, he would've considered it abhorrent to have others so aware of what he felt, ready at his side before he knew he needed it, but now . . . he wasn't certain. How could he? It seemed a comfort more than anything else to them - to be that much a part of something. It only served to emphasise how alone he'd been these long months, determined to hide from the world because he'd found one of its monsters.
A door creaked open and Brand - no, Harry, he reminded himself - slipped into the room, Red following close behind. Draco tried, but he couldn't quite make himself call them their real names. They were simply Brand, Red and Light to him. Anything else felt wrong.
Does the distinction really matter? he asked himself. It all ends today after all.
Brand reached out and offered his hand. Draco's eyes flickered to it and for heartbeat, he hesitated. Why was he being like this? So silent and shy all of a sudden? It made no sense . . . They'd been in his head, for Merlin's sake! No one knew him the way they did.
Not even I do anymore, he realised. He had to put some distance between him and that thought, scrambling away from the bitter truths that swarmed with it. He rallied himself as best he could, took a deep breath and stepped forward, taking the diadem and the basilisk fangs from his pockets as he went. The moment Draco handed the horcrux over, Brand hissed, his lips pulling back to reveal sharpening teeth. He turned immediately to Light, who'd risen to her feet and was ready, hands parting and clawed, holding a writhing, liquid darkness between them. It engulfed the horcrux and spun faster than the eye could see until it became a ball, no smaller than a snitch.
Light inspected it as she held it between her thumb and forefinger. 'It's contained,' she confirmed.
'And Potter?' Draco heard himself ask in a voice that sounded stronger than he really felt.

All of them turned to him at the same time. Watching them was like seeing a single soul spread across three bodies. They were in sync - their expressions, their movements . . . No discussion was needed. They simply were. It was close now. The walls were crumbling down between them, he could sense it. He couldn't help wondering what would remain.
'He's no longer a horcrux. We locked his memory of us away in the Dreaming,' Brand answered. 'It is . . . ' he paused, 'better that way.'
Draco felt the blood fall from his face. Why hadn't he done that? Why had he not thought of the consequences of Potter knowing what he'd become? If it had gotten out, what would mother think? Would she see him as father would've? Would she brand him an abomination as he'd have done? The thought pierced him, very nearly took his breath away.
I am the last, and will be the last true Malfoy, he thought, numb. No child of mine will be pure. And there is only mother and I to mourn that loss.
Red was watching him closely. 'Are you all right?' he asked.
'I . . . I will be,' Draco managed to reply and the truth of it ached. The days ahead stretched out before him suddenly, and they were long and tired, full of much he couldn't bear to think of, or feel, now.
'We have something to ask of you,' Brand began. Draco would never accuse them of fidgeting, due to how contained they'd always been, but there was certainly an uneasiness to his stance when he spoke. Draco turned to the others, almost frowning at the cautious glances they gave him, not liking the sinking dread that tagged along.
'We ask that you look after Albus,' Brand went on to say solemnly. 'The Change is coming. The Dreaming's going to take us soon. Al can't . . . As a Cambion, there's no way he can . . .' Brand looked away, to the fire. The flames reflected in his dark eyes, stark and glittering.
'He can't follow us where we're going,' Light finished. Her tone had that awful finality to it, but it was the tightly held back anger, the resignation that had gone beyond bitterness that radiated off her that made Draco shiver. 'Al can't Change like we have. He's a being of both realms. Merlin knows, we've tried to find a way to take him with us, but there's no more time.'
'Please look after him,' Red implored. 'Like we looked after you in the Dreaming . . . You're his closest friend, but with us gone . . . He'll need family. Can you be that for him, Draco?'
His mind whirled and before Draco could stop himself, he blurted out, 'But- but what about Potter? He's Al's real family, by blood, even if the connection is convoluted. Surely there's - '
Light shook her head decisively. 'We want him to grow up with a guardian who understands what he is. Who can watch over him wherever he goes, whether it's the Waking or the Dreaming. You're the only one who can do it, Draco. He trusts you, which is the most important thing of all.'
'If you do this, consider your debt to us repaid,' Brand added.
'I . . .' Draco stopped, a rush of terror riding through him, mixing with the pride, the realization of the magnitude of the honour they were giving him. He would have to be more than he was to be deserving, to be worthy of the task, but for Albus, he thought he could be. 'When it comes to Al, I'll do almost anything,' he admitted. 'I'll take care of him, I promise.'
'Take care of who?'
Draco started, turning to find Albus in the doorway between the parlour and what looked to be the kitchen. 'You,' he replied, teary with a sudden, overwhelming relief at seeing his best friend, the only familiar thing in this new, frightening world that was opening up all around him. 'You, you wonderful creature. Come here.'
Al ran up to him, laughing, and small as he was, Draco could pick him up under his arms and swing him around. He settled him on his hip, commenting blithely, 'You're heavier than expected.'
Albus grinned.

'That's been my experience in the Waking,' he retorted. He paused and looked at Draco properly, wearing an open, searching expression, the grin falling to a smile. 'You're different, but not. You're the same where it matters. I'm glad,' Albus murmured, voice thick with many things, but with relief most of all, 'I don't know what I would've done if . . .'
'Don't you worry,' Draco assured him, holding him tight. 'I'm still me, just with a bit extra. Think of it as a spot of unexpected interior redecorating.'
That got a laugh out of him. 'I hope it's to your taste.'
'Me too. Though that remains to be seen,' Draco replied playfully. As he mussed Albus' hair, he saw too late the effect of his words. He thought his skin would crawl the day he'd make Brand flinch, when Light couldn't meet his eyes and Red stared at him, lost, but the truth was he couldn't find it in himself to care. Not now, when his head and heart were too full, stretched thin and pulled out of shape. He didn't want to give too much weight to the disturbing thought that there wasn't much he recognized of himself inside. Many wizarding folk considered their magical core the equivalent of their souls, and Draco was always the first in line to dismiss such idle fancy.

Until now.
Nothing less than it being soul could explain how he felt, where even the deepest part of himself was breaking apart slowly, the cracks weeping, on their way to healing wrong. Or perhaps not wrong, but slotting into an entirely different shape.
Draco moved his head back and looked into Albus' eyes. 'But guess what? I'm close now to being as odd as you are.'
Al's whole face brightened. His expression became mischievous, but when he opened his mouth, Brand spoke before he could.
'I'm sorry . . .' He glanced at Draco, who nodded, saddened. 'But it's time. We need to go . . . so we can put an end to this, once and for all.'
It took a moment for the words to sink in, and when they did, the light left Albus. He struggled against Draco, who had to put him down. Every time Draco tried to take hold of his hand, draw him out of the unsettling quiet he'd slipped into, Albus jerked away.
'Darling, please . . .' Light started to say, reaching out to him hesitantly.
Albus gave her a single mutinous look before he darted out of the room. King jumped off the couch and followed him out, a blur of white across the wooden floor. Draco took in a shaky breath, a wave of empathy rattling up his spine, leaving him feeling almost weak. It hard not to understand the reasons why they had to do it. It was all still there in head, so damn clear and immovable. He'd glimpsed their conviction, known their fear of the consequences of doing nothing, how it drove them. For a moment, it'd all been his, and it was brilliant, but blinding.
Draco also knew what it was to lose a parent. There was nothing anyone could say to ease the hollow ache in his bones, the grief that gnawed at his insides, the consuming feeling of being adrift. Nothing but time and someone at your side all the while would dull the edges of such a loss.
And thanks to them, he and Albus would have that time.
Brand sighed, rubbing his face with a hand. 'I'll go find him,' he said wearily.

'No, it's all right. I should do it,' Draco said firmly, stopping Brand in his tracks. He set off through the darkened kitchen, following Albus' path. It was odd to see their home in silhouette, to experience it through sound and touch alone, walking on creaking floorboards and trailing hands on wooden railings as he climbed upstairs. He had so many of their memories of here. He found Albus in a dark corner, hugging his knees, chin tucked behind them, staring at nothing. He'd never seen him look so small, or so very young. King stared solemnly up at him, unblinking.
'Al . . .' Draco murmured as he crouched down in front of him. Albus' eyes flickered up to him for a moment before he hid his face in his arms. Draco put a hand on his shoulder, not knowing what to say.
' I hate . . . hate that I can't do it. I told myself I could - that I'd be with them until the end.' Albus rubbed his nose, sniffling, trying to blink back the tears. 'I promised myself. But now that you're here . . . now that they're really - ' he stopped and stared up at Draco, desolate, lost. Merlin, Draco knew that kind of lost well. 'I don't want them to go. I want more time. There wasn't enough time, you know?'
'I know,' Draco said softly as he pulled him close, wrapping his arms about him. 'I know.'
'I can't bear to look at them. They're looking at me like . . . like it's the last time.'
Draco thought of how they weren't sure of what the Change would do to them, how they were so certain it'd be like dying. How they often asked themselves if they'd even know their son afterwards. Draco could've said many things, but in the end he chose to be kind, though it broke his heart. He said, 'It is, Al.'
Albus made a strange sound low in his throat, then hid his face in Draco's robe and began to sob. Draco simply held him, close to tears himself, feeling helpless. He dearly wished he could make it all go away - clear away the anguish, the anger that had no way out, that spread and burned like acid, that raged against the unfairness of it all. But he couldn't. He just had to be that someone at Al's side through it all.
It was then he noticed Brand standing in the doorway, his face in shadow. Draco shook his head, and after a few moments of hesitation, Brand left.

Xxx

Light jumped to her feet when Draco returned. She made to move, to go up to her son, but paused when Draco spoke, sounding distant and more tired than he'd ever felt. 'I think he needs some time alone,' he said, sitting on the arm of the couch.
She looked down, worrying at her lower lip. Draco couldn't help feeling bewildered, the weird urge to laugh at the absurdity of it all. Since he was child, there was no question that they were the most powerful beings he'd ever know, but now . . . now they were like him. He knew he shouldn't think so, but it was a disappointment to find them so human.
Back then, he would have never imagined he'd someday stand in their home and see them just as anxious as he was, pacing and fretting, each in their own way. Was this how they'd spend their last night before the Dreaming took them?

No, he decided.

With it came the determination, the daring, to walk up to Light. She glanced at him sharply and before he could falter, he asked, opening his arms slightly, 'May I?'

She looked down at his gesture as if sure she'd mistaken it and then up again. She nodded slowly, uncertain but curious. He drew her into a hug, her magic rising up like static, wild and intense. It dragged a smile out of him.

Even their magic is beautiful, he thought wistfully.

For a long while, they stayed like that, holding one another. 'Thank you,' he whispered, close to her ear, before he kissed her cheek. She gave him a sad smile and a kiss on his forehead.

Draco slipped away, turning to Red, who sat on the couch closest to the hearth. Red got to his feet, attempting a stoicism quite unlike him as he offered Draco his hand. Draco glanced at it before he took it and used it to pull the man into a hug. When he pulled away, Draco clasped Red's shoulder, not finding the words, but a smile instead, one that was answered in kind.

'No matter how bad it gets, you be sure to laugh now and then, all right?' Red said, painfully earnest. 'Make Al smile for me, yeah?'

'I will,' Draco answered. 'I promise.'

Red nodded, the beginnings of tears in his eyes, clapping Draco's shoulder a number of times. 'I'll hold you to that, Malfoy.'

Draco laughed under his breath as Red gave him once last nod before going over to Light. It was then that he realised that Brand watching him. Draco turned to face him, swallowing hard.

'I was wrong about you,' Brand said all of a sudden, frown falling away. 'But Al . . . he knew. It's his gift, you know. Seeing the best in people. He saw kindness in you. How it would make you brave.' He reached out and cupped Draco's cheek with a hand, a fair bit of wonder in his eyes. 'I wish I'd taken the time to know you better. Or found it in myself to trust you more than I did. I missed out on so much by not taking your hand that day. The Harry of this time missed out too.'

Tears welled up in his eyes. 'Yeah, you both did,' Draco replied, voice breaking a little. 'But all this time, I had Albus. That made it okay.'

'He's going to need you in the days to come. Be there for him like he was for you, yeah?'

Draco could feel his hands shaking, the way a sob wanted to come out of his chest. He nodded quickly, shutting his eyes. He could feel his own grief, but it was the thought of Al's in the days to come that he couldn't take. Brand gently withdrew his hand, only to slip his arms around Draco. 'I'm sorry we asked so much of you,' he said and nothing more.

When they parted, Draco found Albus watching them from the doorway. He was holding himself, pale and trembling, the anger and sadness giving way to determination. Draco rubbed his eyes clear and said with as much strength as he could muster, 'I'll be in the garden.'

Albus shot him a thankful, teary look. He grabbed Draco's hand when he passed, squeezing it once before letting it go. Draco closed the door behind him when he went outside, finding the moon still high and the forest a stretching darkness. When he decided to sit on the stone wall, he glanced over his shoulder to look through one of the windows into the parlour. He could see them talking close together, the warm glow of the lights inside spreading across the grass, the furthest edge just out of his reach. Part of him wanted to know what was being said. But another didn't, because this was Albus' moment, the last he'd ever have with his parents like this. So he sat and waited, trying to find a way above every feeling he'd borne and weathered, to make sure they wouldn't break him just yet. There'd be time for that later when Albus didn't need him as much.

'You can come in,' Albus called, a small, huddled figure on the garden path, robes tucked closed, his arms wrapped around himself as if to ward off the cold.

'Are they gone?'

'Yeah . . . They said you'd done your goodbyes.'

Xxx

Stepping outside into the night was like their shackles had been broken.

They were across the threshold into the unknown and there was the terrifying freedom, the stomach-dropping joy that even the prospect of the Change could scarcely touch. It was everywhere – power like never before. They'd only ever known whispers of what they could achieve with it, echoes of the rush, the elation. This . . . this was what they would've dreamed of if they did like other beings, because only dreams could encompass the sheer magnitude, the magnificence. Imagining with the waking mind could never conceive it.

More and more, this world was not enough. The colours were bleeding away, the sky drained, their senses starved, their morphing magic driving them to do anything for a single plunge into the depths of the Dreaming. Why did they stay? The Dreaming clawed at them, singing a siren's call, one that was difficult not to heed. Home, home, home, it whispered. And by Merlin, it was. More than anything had been.

But there were faces that shone bright. Memories that made it easier to stand strong against the tide that wanted to suck them back in. The anchor was a child, a boy – their son. The one thing of true joy they had. Oh, there was love and sorrow so potent they could taste it attached to that thought, clamping down on those beating muscles in their chests. The abomination that could not dream would not have him. It would not have this world they'd made safe for him.

They were going to make sure of that.

Deep in the woods, they struck at the soul shards with basilisk fangs. The horcruxes rose, screaming, silencing all among the trees, raging like a cornered wild animal intent on hitting first, fast and hard. The shards shape-shifted, became more desperate with each of them that fell. A lethal dance began, their bodies conduits of magic, every move aimed to hurt, to destroy. Nothing was without purpose or effect. When the last horcrux lay burnt to a husk at their feet, they felt the Change quickening in them.

They reached out to a dreaming mind in their snare – a Death Eater that had succumbed to the Sleeping Sickness long ago – and ripped it apart to find the hiding place of the undreamer, who called itself Voldemort. They grabbed each other's hands and Apparated.

They appeared on ground far from hallowed, hissing at the taint in the air, the horrors still echoing in the halls like ghosts. They'd never dared go so far, wielding a surge of power that blistered under their hold, activating the seeds they'd planted in the minds of their enemies. All around them Death Eaters fell, ghostly roots sprouting unnaturally fast from their faces, unable to scream or move. Further in, beyond the sea of bodies disappearing under the growing roots covered in thorns, a monster sat on a throne.

A serpent rose up behind them, hissing, its fangs bared, just seconds from striking. Swords of light formed in their hands as they turned to face it, the blades manifesting with a blinding backlash and great torrents of air that shoved outwards.

As one, they cut Nagini into four, falling down to a crouch as they followed the pieces they'd made of it, stabbing them with basilisk fangs in their free hand. What was left of the serpent blackened and crumpled inwards until it was nothing but dust. An ear-rending screech erupted from the direction of the throne, heralding a storm of magic that descended on them all. Voldemort appeared with a thunderous crack in front of them, the darkest of curses leaving his mouth in a hiss.

With their minds and bodies twisting into one, a gauntlet formed around their fists, before a shield exploded into existence, deflecting Voldemort's attack. They could feel it – the Change demanded completion, making their magic crackle like lightning where they touched the ground. It would not be stalled now.

They darted forward, shedding the last of their humanity, wielding a sword made of pure magic. Just as they came within reach and began to swing, they saw their eyes reflected in its, burning like embers, the whites giving into the deepest dark. With one stroke, they sliced the monster's head off, watching as what remained crumbled to ribbons of ash.

It was the very last thing they saw before the Dreaming took them.

Xxx

There are some things you said that night we lost them, Al, that I will never forget.

'It's done,' you told me in the smallest of voices, breathless and eyes wide with too much to take. There were no more tears, just that whisper of an admission that the shaking of your heart was worse than anything you'd ever felt, or ever would. While the inevitability of it had made me numb, I realised in that moment that you'd never given up hope of a different end. It broke my heart to hear you say again and again, 'It wasn't like they didn't warn me.'

There's no right way to grieve, to react to loss. The weight of duty and war had fallen off us, only to have grief take its place. I remember being a mess, barely standing upright those days, months, years afterwards. I was a statue in a suit and tie at my father's funeral, a tap away from crumbling. The only bit of me that was flesh and blood was the hand you held through it all, Al.

I couldn't have done it without you, you know.

I've tried to put everything I've learnt into words but there's no way I can. But perhaps I don't need to. It's all there for you to learn in turn. I can't help but think of the years ahead. There's so much I want for you. But happiness isn't something given to you, but something you claim.

And I intend to claim it all. For me. For you.

It is that easy, and that hard.

End of Part 2: The Dream Walker

To be continued in Part 3: The Dream Weaver