A little over a week into the summer holiday, Harry had another dream about the man he thought could be his Potions professor. This time they were in the park, and Might-be Snape was walking ahead of him. Harry followed, but no matter how fast he walked, the distance between them grew. Eventually he was running, but still Might-be Snape stayed ahead, always walking. He rounded a grove of bushes with ice in his veins, remembering what had happened the last time. His heart froze as he realized he'd walked right into a Death Eater meeting at Riddle Manor. Might-be Snape was kneeling in the center with his hands tied behind his back, his chin tucked against his chest so that his hair obscured his face. His white shirt was painted red. Harry rushed into the circle of leering white masks, but again as he reached the Potions Master's side, the man vanished under his finger tips and a swirling vortex of black swallowed him whole. A devilish ooze filled his mouth and nose as he tried to scream.

Harry started awake, gasping for air. A look around at the shadows of the room said that the sun wouldn't be up for another hour or more and he collapsed back onto his sweat-soaked sheets. Had he the energy to muster, he could have moved to the dry side of the large mattress, but his muscles trembled miserably, and he doubted he could even manage to sit up again. The dream had scared him, but more than that it had exhausted him. The thought of falling back to sleep terrified him, and he lay staring at the ceiling until the sun had brightened the sky and he heard the Grangers moving around downstairs. When he thought he could manage, he got up. His legs trembled threateningly at first, but by the time he'd finished dressing in his workout clothes, they'd steadied enough that he felt safe going down stairs.

The Boy Who Lived walked into the kitchen to see Hermione chattering with her mother. Violet was still cooking at the stove, and Jack was hemming and hawing as he pretended to follow the conversation while reading the Muggle newspaper. After a week of the routine, Harry went to the cupboard and got the same mug he'd used every morning previous, filling it with steaming coffee. Without even thinking about it, he cast a cooling charm on the brew and sipped at it gratefully as he sat at the table beside his friend. Hermione, who observed everything, stopped talking to her mother and turned to Harry. Her brown eyes shone with absolute concern.

"Harry, are you alright?"

Upon hearing this, Violet turned from the stove and Jack lowered his newspaper, both staring at him openly.

"I'm fine," The Wizarding Savior muttered. He sipped at his coffee, but couldn't hide the tremor of the cup as he struggled to lift it to his lips. "S'just a bad night, is all."

"You look like…well, I'd say death warmed over," Violet said, walking over to him. "Except I've seen corpses look more alive. Are you sure you're alright, dear?"

Harry nodded as the woman bent and kissed the clammy skin of his forehead. Jack watched all of this with his own, silent concern. If Harry had been more himself, he'd have been shocked to see anything but a smile on the man's face. He managed only mild interest through the exhaustion he felt to his very bones. Violet pulled away with a frown.

"You're not warm, but I still don't like the look of you," She murmured. "Maybe I should stay home today, help Hermione look after you."

Harry shook his head. "Please don't," He muttered, looking up at her dolefully. "I really am fine. It's just…I had a bad night, like I said." He looked at Hermione pleadingly, and his friend grabbed his hand on the table, turning to her mum.

"Harry has nightmares," Hermione explained softly. "He doesn't really like to talk about it, but trust me when I say he'll be fine. Harry's strong, and he's got me to lean on."

Her parents both nodded as if they understood, and after staring at their guest for another long moment, returned to their business. The silence was deafening. Harry stared at his mug with a frown. He doubted if they, even Hermione, would really understand if they knew what sort of dream had left him in such a state. He didn't entirely understand it himself. He knew enough about his own mind to know that he'd somehow convinced himself that the man in the park really was Snape, but that didn't explain the dreams. He had dreamed of death in the past, but it had always been people he cared about, or had witnessed die in Voldemort's visions. Never had he been so terrified for a man who was practically a stranger to him; a man who loathed his very existence, no less.

Hermione, bless her, quickly distracted her parents with talk of their practice while Harry brooded over his coffee. The room almost visibly brightened as her father and mother started to talk shop with their daughter. And when Violet brought four plates to the table, Harry didn't argue, forcing himself to eat even though he felt less like doing so than he ever had. He didn't miss it when the matronly woman surreptitiously watched him, and he didn't want to worry her further. Jack, true to form, went back to laughing and smiling. He, at least, seemed to trust his daughter's word when Hermione insisted Harry would be fine. Harry breathed an internal sigh of relief when his summer benefactors rose to leave for work. Violet left the room, but Jack held back to give Hermione her weekly allowance. Harry stared in confusion when he found a ten pound note being held out to him as well.

"Hermione's mentioned how much you've been helping with her chores," Jack chuckled. "Around here, we reward a job well done, and I have to say that the house has never looked nicer."

Harry frowned. "Sir, I can't-" He gasped and winced when Hermione kicked him under the table. Filled with trepidation and guilt, he took the note. "Thank you, Mr. Granger."

Hermione grinned, hugging her father goodbye, and Jack took an extra moment to ruffle Harry's hair affectionately. After his routine warning about steering clear of adventures, he left with his wife. As soon as the front door shut and they heard the car engine start, Hermione leveled Harry with a glare that frightened him. It was her 'I know' look, and he couldn't even begin to guess what she might know.

"You're dreaming about Ron, aren't you?" She demanded.

Harry actually slumped in relief. "No, Hermione, I'm not."

His friend seemed completely unconvinced. "You've got to let him go, Harry. He's bad news, and he isn't worth your time."

"He's my friend," Harry argued, forgetting for a moment that he really wasn't dreaming about the redhead.

"He was your friend, Harry," Hermione corrected sternly. "And he's an ass. He abandoned you, remember? Not the other way 'round. He doesn't deserve your sleepless nights, or for you to defend him. He lost that right when he called you that awful word and walked out on his friends."

"Ron's an idiot, Hermione, but that doesn't make him a bad person!" Harry said, taking his plate to the sink and washing it, as well as those of his friend's parents. "It doesn't matter, anyway, I wasn't dreaming about Ron."

When Hermione joined him with her own plate, he washed that as well, just for something to do with his hands. Ron was still a touchy subject for them both. Harry still held a dim hope that the other boy would come around, but Hermione didn't seem to care if he did or not. She was done with him, but Harry couldn't let himself reach that point after years of friendship.

"Then what were you dreaming about?" Hermione demanded hotly.

Harry shrugged, putting the plates and silverware in the drain board. He dried his hands on the black cotton of his jogging pants, momentarily leaving dark handprints in the fabric. He went back to the coffee pot and refilled his cup.

"I-I don't know what the dream was," He told his friend. It wasn't entirely a lie. He was clear on the content, but knew next to nothing about the context. "I just know that it scared the hell out of me, and I'd appreciate a little sympathy, instead of being harangued."

Hermione glowered for a minute before closing her eyes. She drew a deep breath in through her nose, and when she opened her eyes her anger was gone, replaced by her earlier sympathy. Harry set his mug down as his friend drew him into a gentle embrace. He rested his head on her shoulder with a deep sigh.

"I feel like I'm going crazy, 'Mione," He murmured. "Ron's the least of my problems right now, and I'm tired of fighting about him."

"I know, Harry," His friend whispered into his hair. "I'm sorry, I shouldn't have brought him up. Why don't you go lay down for a bit? I'll wake you for lunch."

Harry pulled away, shaking his head. "No. I appreciate the offer, but I really just want to go for a walk, to clear my head. Maybe when I get back we can practice our wandless magic? We haven't done that in a while."

Hermione looked unconvinced by his false joviality. She cupped his cheek and brushed her thumb over his cheekbone. "You're sure?"

Harry nodded. Going to the park and finding Snape was the one thing he was sure of. Hermione smiled gently.

"Okay, Harry, then you go ahead," She murmured.

The intelligent witch kissed his cheek, hugged him again, then moved back to the table where her father had left the newspaper. Harry smiled genuinely and walked over to place a gentle kiss on her cheek in return. Despite his misgivings about giving up on Ron before the other boy had a chance to redeem himself, he didn't understand why he'd thought himself closer to the redhead all these years. He wasn't convinced the Weasley was a lost cause, but his short time with just Hermione had taught him that she was a much better friend either way. Harry left the house, safe in the knowledge that, though they disagreed about some things, Hermione would always be there for him.