Tut tut, I cannot keep like this! Took me a month to get around to finish this chapter. I need to tell myself no snacks until I finish a chapter or something. Hehe, I hope y'all enjoy it despite the wait! Thank you for the reviews, I love getting them! I love writing this fic, but seeing your reviews really helps me to get the will to start writing it instead of keeping it in my head :)

Dreaming Realities

Dumbledore explained to Harry prior to arriving that he would likely be tried before the entire Wizengamot, as he had seen the Lestranges. Yet, he was entirely unprepared for the eeriness of the room. Standing in front of witches and wizards that held his future in their hands was knee buckling, and not in a good way.

Earlier, he had wondered why Dumbledore hadn't gone over what to say and what not to say . . . Harry wondered if he should have practiced his words like Mrs. Figg seemed to have done, but even if he had, just as the Headmaster had told him, he had barely been allowed more than a breath of speech so far.

"As far as I am aware," Dumbledore cut through Harry's thoughts, "there is no law yet in place that says this court's job is to punish Harry for every bit of magic he has ever performed. He has been charged with a specific offence and he has presented his defence. All he and I can do now is to await your verdict."

Dumbledore intertwined his fingertips together again and said no more.

Fudge glared at him, evidently incensed. Harry glanced sideways at Dumbledore. He truly wished Dumbledore did not insist on avoiding any sort of eye contact with Harry. Looking away from the man, he clenched his jaw and stared at his feet. His heart, which seemed to have swollen to an unnatural size, was thumping loudly under his ribs.

"Those in favour of clearing the accused of all charges?" said Madam Bones's booming voice.

Harry's head jerked upwards. There were hands in the air, many of them ... more than half. Breathing very fast, he tried to count, but before he could finish, Madam Bones had said, "And those in favour of conviction?"

Fudge raised his hand, so did half a dozen others, including the witch on his right and the heavily-moustached wizard and the frizzy-haired witch in the second row.

Fudge glanced around at them all, looking as though there was something large stuck in his throat, then lowered his own hand. He took two deep breaths and said, in a voice distorted by suppressed rage,

"Very well, very well ... cleared of all charges."

"Excellent." Said Dumbledore serenely. Harry forced himself to keep examining his shoelaces closely. His chest ached with sudden hope and though his shoulders sagged in relief, he feared they would see his joy if he looked up. Somehow, Harry had a feeling that a smile from him wouldn't leave a very good impression.

Suddenly, Harry felt weight on his shoulder. He followed the hand to Dumbledore's face. The old wizard patted his shoulder once . . . Twice . . . And a rush of comfort rolled through him and settled in his stomach. The remaining tension in his body lifted and dispersed into the air. Harry watched in confusion as Dumbledore's eyes aged before him. The man remained calm and gentle, but his expression shifted in such a way that made it appear the man had realized an age long riddle.

"I shall escort you home, Harry."

Harry sneaked a glance at the Wizengamot. Some observed them with curiosity. A few, Harry noticed, appeared to fail miserably at hiding their disdain. Perhaps, what should have horrified him, was the pity he could see in others. His natural instinct would be to raise his chin, but considering the shambles of his life—Nothing was exactly as he had thought it to be. Not his mother, not Dumbledore, and he was learning that while he had never been able to understand Snape's intentions, he understood the man even less now. No, Harry did not raise his chin. Instead, he stared into the midnight blue fabric of Dumbledore's robes.

Dumbledore loved Harry. Snape had said so with utmost disdain and Dumbledore had confirmed it.

Nothing, absolutely nothing, could replicate the way his heart seemed to burst with emotion. Harry had no control over his life. He never had. People would believe what they would and Harry would pay the price for it. But, as it was, feeling Dumbledore's presence next to him, he finally processed the truth of Snape's words. His shoulders shook once, then twice, but he did not cry. He pressed his lips together stubbornly, lifted his chin at last, and stood. Inclining his head once, he turned his teary gaze to the Wizenmagot. Some had started whispering amongst each other and some looked at Dumbledore, no one was really looking at Harry. Except maybe, the sour looking toad next to Fudge. With Dumbledore's steady hold on his shoulder, Harry held onto the courage it gave him to speak.

"Thank you," Harry's voice was so delicate, he hardly recognized it as his own, "For allowing me to return to school."

Harry didn't wait to see their reaction before quietly whispering to Dumbledore, "Thank you, sir."

Dumbledore merely squeezed his shoulder and together they walked away from the Wizenmagot.

Mr. Weasley greeted them outside the door, "How did it go?"

The man looked back and forth between Harry and Dumbledore. Harry finally allowed himself to feel joy, "Cleared!"

"Harry, that's wonderful!" Mr. Weasley shook Harry enthusiastically by the shoulders, his smile so wide Harry thought that perhaps it had actually been Mr. Weasley who had been tried.

Which, it may as well have been. The occupants of Grimmauld Place had been on edge the last couple of days. Try as they may, the atmosphere around the house held a pending doom hanging over their head. Though, that may have just been a reflection of his own nerves. Mr. Weasley spoke animatedly with Dumbledore as Harry's thoughts drifted. Would the Weasley's have taken him in if he had been expelled or would he have been forced to spend the rest of his days with the Dursley's? A shiver ran up his spine and lodged itself in his throat. He had asked Sirius if the trial turned poorly . . . He had asked Sirius if it would be alright to stay with him, but his godfather hadn't given him a straight answer.

"Perhaps, we should continue this conversation some time later, Arthur. I would like to escort Harry home." Dumbledore said pleasantly. Mr. Weasley's eyes widened minutely, "Yes, yes. I should get going. Good lord, I am just so relieved!"

Dumbledore's eyes twinkled, "Indeed. Very well, Harry. Are you ready?"

Harry bid farewell to Mr. Weasley with a promise to tell him everything at Grimmauld Place. As he and Dumbledore boarded the lift, he took note of a few things. The first was the shock on Mr. Weasley's face as the entire Wizenmagot exited the dungeon. Second, Percy Weasley passing his father by as if he were part of the wall. Third, the glare of Lucius Malfoy as he spoke to Fudge, whom adamantly avoided Harry's gaze.

"He wasn't lying."

Harry looked at Dumbledore. Blue eyes pierced his soul, "There is a reason I trust him, Harry."

Harry furrowed his brows too focused on his own spinning thoughts than the jerk of the lift, "Do you think Malfoy was behind the dem-"

"No." Dumbledore glanced at Harry briefly. Harry pressed his lips, "What about him? What does he think?"

Dumbledore's lips curved just the slightest, but his amusement was thick, "You know that already."

Harry nodded absentmindedly. Harry recalled Snape tangent thoughts on that night, those Dementors seemed keen on sucking your souls out. Had it been him who ordered them . . . That wouldn't be so . . . He would have made them an offer much more valuable to them than the souls of two boys . . . Harry turned around Dumbledore's words at the trial. If it is true that the Dementors are taking orders only from the Ministry of Magic, and it is also true that two Dementors attacked Harry and his cousin a week ago, then it follows logically that somebody at the Ministry might have ordered the attacks. Of course, these particular Dementors may have been outside of Ministry control-

"You two disagree."

"You appear shocked." Dumbledore motioned Harry off the lift. Some people nodded their head in acknowledgement as they passed.

"I am." Harry said sincerely.

Dumbledore said nothing for several moments, "I am unsure."

Harry's ears perked. Dumbledore's half-moon glasses glinted in the sun, "I cannot deny the possibility of an internal operation."

"But . . . " Harry waited. Dumbledore's gaze followed a group of pigeons waddling, "I find it upsetting."

Harry swallowed back his surprise at Dumbledore's sincerity. It was odd to hear if he was honest. Harry was almost positive the headmaster was human; yet, it felt strange to have the wizard admit he found something upsetting in a way that admitting he wished for fuzzy socks did not. As if compelled, Harry said, "My aunt once gave me a coat-hanger for my birthday."

If Dumbledore was surprised by the sudden fact, he did not show it. Instead, the man's attention to Harry seemed to intensify. Harry distantly watched as the passing muggles seemed to make a circle around them. Despite the buzzing crowd, Harry didn't find it hard to hear himself speak. Neither did Dumbledore struggle to hear him.

"That year, she actually remembered my birthday. . . But . . . you know, she never forgets Dudley's birthday . . . ever. I would imagine if she did, he throw a tantrum like the year she didn't get him enough presents."

Harry snorted softly, irony sewn into the breath, "I used to look at Dudley's mountain of toys weird. I think because I wasn't pampered the same, it was weird to me. I couldn't complain though. I could sneak the broken toys he had forgotten and play with them. But . . . Even still, I used to wish someone would come and take me away. Even when I realized no one would. And even worse, sometimes, I used to think that I could make my Aunt love me. Even when I knew . . . That I couldn't."

Harry found himself relieved to find though his heart ached, it was not with hopelessness, "I don't like to think about it too much."

Dumbledore led him out of the station. His eyes had dimmed as he whispered their mutual truth, "Avoiding it, does not make it any less real."

Harry wasn't sure exactly what had transpired between them, but Dumbledore didn't speak for a long time after that.

When they reached Grimmauld Place, before they even approached the door. Dumbledore stopped Harry, "And now?"

Harry blinked, "Now?"

Dumbledore asked him seriously, "Do you ever wish . . . For someone to come and take you away still?"

Harry blushed. He thinks that sometimes, he wished he weren't the boy who lived. Sometimes, he wished he was just a regular boy with two parents and no fame. However, these days, "Not really. I just wish I wasn't the boy who lived sometimes."

Dumbledore searches his face and suddenly says, "I wished that were the case, Harry."

Then, they were whisked inside by Mrs. Weasley. Sirius and the Weasley's excluding Percy and Mr. Weasley were waiting for them anxiously. Harry grinned unable to hide his happiness. Ron pumped his fists, "I knew it! You always get away with stuff!"

The rest faded into the background. I always get away with stuff. Was that true? Dumbledore was talking with Mrs. Weasley and Sirius in hushed tones. Harry vaguely noticed Ginny, Fred, and George doing some sort of war dance, "He got off! He got off!"

Harry asked Ron, "What's Percy's deal?"

The Weasley's all suddenly mellowed. Ginny's expression flared, "That git has a stick up his arse."

"Ginny!" Mrs. Weasley cried. Harry regretted bringing it up already. Much later, after Mrs. Weasley settled more, they all explained that Percy was indeed being a git. He too thought Harry was lying and he was currently not on speaking terms with the Weasley's. The joy of the moment vanished with the news. Nothing could ever fully go his way it seemed.

Three days later, Harry found out that Ginny's birthday had passed when he met other members of the Order of the Phoenix. Tonks, as she like to be called, wished her a happy birthday and even promised to get her tickets to some American wizarding band currently on tour. Harry found himself asking her when it had been, to which she had shrugged and said the day before his trial. As if reading the guilt on his face, she had been quick to reassure him that she had wanted to avoid celebrating because she wouldn't have enjoyed it anyway. Harry being cleared was as good a gift as any. Harry thought she was weird for that, but he promised her a gift next time they went to Hogsmaede.

Ginny hadn't blushed like she would have in the past. Ron said that she and Micheal Connor had been exchanging letters all summer. It was good. It made her nice to be around if he was honest. Though, that particular moment, stuck in his mind because she seemed to pause at the offer. Her eyes had gazed into his with an expression he didn't understand. It was soft and kind, but also somehow sad. Harry had the thought that she needed a hug.

"Potter!" Snape snarled. Harry startled.

"If you would focus, it would be greatly appreciated," Snape hissed. Harry's cheeks burned, "Sorry."

Snape scoffed, but he didn't taunt Harry as he usually would. Crossing his arms, the man looked down at Harry, "Well, did you read as I assigned you to?"

"Yes," said Harry.

Snape raised a brow obviously skeptical, "You don't appear certain, Potter."

Harry glared, "I'm not sure I understood everything. . ."

Snape sighed, "Very well, summarize what you did understand."

Nothing, Harry thought. He had read the chapters and then some, more than once . . . But he wasn't about to tell Snape that. Harry watched as Snape tapped his fingers over his arm expectantly.

Occlumency, at the core, is the practice of magical protection from external penetration into the mind.

"So, uh, Occlumency is used to protect your mind from others and um . . ." Harry paused.

Novice occlumens begin by withdrawing the mind of emotions and thought to create an absence of surface level content available for a legilimens. However, much like the goal of a legilimens is to reach into the subconscious sector of the mind, the eventual goal of an occlumens is to produce a magical barrier the empedes access into this sector.

"Well, it says to not think or feel, but I don't know how to do that."

Snape narrowed his eyes, "You are reiterating my words. Did you actually read, Potter or-"

"I did!" Harry ignored Snape's glare.

As skill increases, Occlumens are able to categorize and split memories into those they wish to be seen; that is, they are able to deceive a legilimens into believing surface memories are their sub-conscience mind. A small percentage of skilled occlumens may even create false memories to be viewed within the mind as the truth (though these memories will not hold when viewed in a pensive).

"It also says you can organize your memories and think of them so that it looks like they're in your mind, really in there, but they're not actually, because it's you that's controlling what they see . . . But . . ."

Snape looked sour, "Despite your lack of eloquence, I believe you have a general idea though somewhat erroneous."

Harry frowned, "Okay, but I still don't know what to do. That day I just thought of being so tired and then I saw you and that was that."

"For the love of-" Snape snarled, "Potter, tell me you at least attempted the exercises."

Harry was close to pulling his hairs out. He wished he and Snape were at each other's throats instead. Maybe then Dumbledore would have stayed to supervise them again. The way Snape's eye was twitching, Harry suspected the man was nearing the end of his string. Maybe, it wouldn't be such a bad thing.

"Yes, but I don't see how they're supposed to help. Closing my eyes and breathing only made me think."

Snape sneered, "And here I thought you incapable."

"Haha." Harry deadpanned. "And then, I have a few memories that I tried to remember closely, but I don't know what I'm supposed to do."

Snape pulled his wand, "Do as you did before, Potter. On three."

"Now," Harry's eyes widened, "But-"

"One."

"Sn-Professor-"

"Two."

Why did Harry bother anymore?

"Legillimens."

"Dementors?" Said Madam Bones after a moment, her thick eyebrows rising until her monocle looked in danger of falling out. "What do you mean, boy?"

"I mean there were two Dementors down that alleyway and they went for me and my cousin!"

"Ah," said Fudge again, smirking unpleasantly as he looked around at the Wizengamot, as though inviting them to share the joke. "Yes. Yes. I thought we'd be hearing something like this."

"Dementors in Little Whinging" Madam Bones said, in a tone of great surprise. "I don't understand -"

"Don't you, Amelia?" said Fudge, still smirking. "Let me explain he's been thinking it through and decided Dementors would make a very nice little cover story, very nice indeed. Muggles can't see Dementors can they, boy? Highly convenient, highly convenient . . . So it's just your word and no witnesses . . ."

Harry clenched his fists. Forcing himself to focus away from the memory, he thought of the common room, his divination homework laid out in front of him as he scrambled to fill out the sheet in front of him. Hermione was looking at the sheet disdainfully and Ron laughed occasionally at some of the answers. Slowly, the memory engulfed his mind and Harry met Snape's scowl with a smirk of his own.

"It appears you are not entirely hopeless, Potter." Snape whispered silkily. Only he, thought Harry, could make anything sound like an insult. Snape pressed his lips together.

"We shall continue." Snape drew his wand again.

For the better part of the next hour, Harry's mind was pulled inside out by Snape. As the minutes wore one, Harry found it both easier and harder to diverge Snape's attention onto memories of Harry's choice. While the ability proved to become easier, Harry suspected Snape was not trying to the full of his ability. And even so, Harry found himself tiring out with each attempt to fight Snape's invasions. Sweat lined his brow and hair clung to his face, Harry puffed a breath. As he felt himself give in, a memory surface that made his heart race.

'"Well, it was you, really, who gave me the idea, Harry," she said.

'"Did I?'" said Harry, perplexed. "How?"

"Bugging," said Hermione happily.

"But you said they didn't work -"

"Oh, not electronic bugs," said Hermione. "No, you see ... Rita Skeeter'" - Hermione's voice trembled with quiet triumph - '"is an unregistered Animagus. She can turn -"

Hermione pulled a small sealed glass jar out of her bag.

"- into a beetle"

Harry almost trembled as he pushed some invisible force to dispel the memory. When Snape and the room came back to focus, Harry was panting and so was Snape. Snape's dark eyes had surprise written over them. Harry was in for it now.

"That was . . ." Snape seemed to swallow a bug, "Excellent, Potter."

Surely, Snape should be asking about Skeeter. Harry gaped, "What?"

Snape narrowed his eyes, "You did it on purpose, did you not?"

Harry floundered. But—did he do it on purpose? He just -

"Do it again." Snape demanded as he pulled his wand.

Harry was five years old. The Dursley had gone on a trip and Mrs. Figg had him playing with her cats. There was nothing particularly interesting about the memory, just a boy playing with cats.

Harry frowned, he was so tiny. He looked away from the memory. Last time, he had instinctively pushed the memory away. Closing his eyes he felt for that invisible force again. One deep breath, two deep breathes, and he pushed - not with his hands, but in his mind. The memory seem to almost spread and thin until it was just Snape standing in it's place.

Satisfaction glinted in Snape's eyes briefly. Snape stored his wand away, "Explain to me what you did."

Harry blinked, "I'm not sure. It's like - well, like a force . . ."

"A force?" Snape raised a brow.

Harry's cheeks burned, "Yeah, like I'm pushing on something so that the memory isn't playing anymore."

Snape nodded distantly. Harry added, "It was easier to do when I was calm."

"Indeed." Snape said. "Some memories hold strong emotional triggers, that is why it is imperative to practice emotional self-control."

"So practice staying calm?" Harry asked.

Snape nodded. The man crossed his arms, "Very well, Potter. That will be all for today. I want you to read chapter five and six for our next lesson and practice clearing your mind before bed."

Harry nodded, "Yes, sir."

Snape's eyes narrowed analytically. Harry swallowed thickly and ran away.

It shouldn't have disturbed him as much as it did, but having a decent lesson with Snape was oddly terrifying. So, when Sirius and Mrs. Weasley approached him, he quickly rushed past them with the excuse of needing a shower. When he saw his friends waiting for him in his temporary room, he muttered the same excuse and rushed to the bathroom where he sat in the tub for 30 minutes before letting the water run.

In the time that he had known Snape, had been his student, Harry had never received acknowledgment for his skill. Nothing positive anyhow. Though it clearly caused Snape no pleasure to say it, the man had acknowledged Harry's achievement today. And, it made Harry's stomach churn unpleasantly. On one hand, he understood a more about occluding. He was closer to his goal now. On the other, there was a part of him that felt a certain way about Snape's acknowledgment, almost . . . He was uncertain what exactly he felt. Yet, he was certain of one thing, if he could make Snape look that miserable just by succeeding, Harry had found another motivation to practice.

When he returned to his room, he found it empty. Relief fought fatigue. Dragging his feet, he sat on the bed with his legs crossed and closed his eyes. Inhale. Exhale. Forget about everything. The trial passed. Snape is away doing what Snape's do, whatever that it. What did . . . ? No! Forget about it. Just focus on breathing. Inhale. Exhale. Harry shivered. He was tired. Really tired. His heart settled and breathing evened. It wasn't long before he shifted in a laying position and fell into deep slumber.

"Severus." Hissed Harry. He was sitting and Snape was bowing down in front of him. Pettigrew stood behind Snape with a nasty grin. Harry snarled, "You have disappointed me."

"My lord," Snape said softly, his eyes never gazed up. A sort of discomfort twisted in his stomach as the man said, "I do not understand. Please tell me what I have done and I shall rectify it."

Harry stood and approached the bent man. Narcissa Malfoy took a hesitant step forward from the back of the room, her husband pulled her back. Harry hid a smirk as he stood over the man, "Look at me, Severus."

Snape's eyes were impossibly dark. Harry gripped the man's chin, "Harry Potter, Severus."

Snape's expression remained unreadable; however, Harry noted with satisfaction, that the man closed his eyes. He shivered as Snape sighed sorrowfully, "My lord . . ."

Harry was certain he was asleep. Disturbed, he took a deep breath. These feelings, what he was seeing, it was not him. He was surrounded in a force that felt familiar and yet entirely different. When Snape invaded his mind, the force was strong, resilient, and steady. This was wild, uncontrolled, deadly. Unable to look away, Harry held his breath and cocooned himself as he watched with growing dread the scene play out.

"-told you transported Harry Potter to the Orders headquarters's." Voldemort jerked Snape's face away. "You personally esscorted Harry Potter to Dumbledore. Do you deny it, Severus?"

"No, my lord."

Voldemort flicked his wand. Snape groaned softly. Satisfaction pooled in Voldemort's stomach. Voldemort demanded, "Then, tell me. How am I to interpret this?"

Voldemort couldn't have expected an answer because his wand moved again and Snape curled over, seemingly in pain. Voldemort was amused, Harry could tell. His amusement only grew as Narcissa held onto her husband tensely.

"I was too weak, my lord." Snape hissed. Pettigrew scoffed. Voldemort glared at the rat disdainfully.

"Show me then, Severus." Unhesitatingly, Snape looked into his eyes. He, Harry, and Dudley in between them walked to Private Drive. Without crossing into the property, Snape snarled at Harry to take his muggle and meet him back outside to which Harry argued viciously before eventually relenting. Snapshots of the Harry and Snape arguing every step of the way, and even of Snape attempting to apparate, flashed in between them. Then, it settled on the memory of Dumbledore thanking Snape for returning Harry to safety.

"Potter had just managed to escape dementors and I had the misfortune cross paths with the boy." Snape huffed out of breath. "I wished to bring him to you, but the boy was uncooperative as you saw and I was not in condition after . . ."

Voldemort swung his hand. Snape fell back with a grunt. "You dare blame me!"

"NO!" Snape yelled. Voldemort lifted his wand. Snape did not beg, not exactly. But the quality of his voice was urgent, "Forgive me, my lord. I merely mean to explain my ineptitude. I believed you would be pleased that I assured Dumbledore of my supposed loyalty. Harry Potter will get his due in time as he is no match for you, my lord. Even so, I should not have taken matters into my own hands."

Voldemort was pleased, but he answered, "You should never assume, Severus. Crucio!"

Snape's back arched as his face twisted in agony. Harry felt himself slipping from the suffocating force as Snape finally began to scream.

Harry first heard his own screaming, then felt his throat scratch, and the heat of his body drenched in sweat. He was clutching his scar and blood was dripping from it. Suffocated. Air wouldn't come. Someone's hands were shaking him. His mind was fading in and out of focus. There were voices everywhere.

"Harry! Harry!" It was all so far away.

"Look at me, Harry" The words sent him spiraling to the brink of insanity.

His eyes couldn't focus on anyone. Someone cupped his face. Grey eyes. Sirius. He was saying something, but he couldn't understand. His ears were ringing. Harry shook his head. Mrs. Weasley was standing beside him, her hands reaching out to Harry. Her eyes were open wide with fear. Mr. Weasley held her shoulders and the rest of the Weasley's were there watching in several degrees of horror. Only when he met Ginny Weasley's empathetic gaze, did he become aware again.

"Get out!" Sirius snapped, his attention momentarily turned from Harry. Harry heard a distant pop in the background. Pushing Sirius' hands away from him he rushed out of bed. Several hands reached to hold him back and he pushed against them. His voice was hoarse and he stumbled through his words, "Snape . . . Dumbledore- I need . . . "

Harry would have felt horrified by the tears in his eyes if he wasn't so caught up in the sound of Snape's screams. He lied. The man protected Harry. Snape lied to Voldemort. He was protecting him. He recognized Remus and Sirius' hold on him. Snape was being tortured for helping Harry.

"LET GO!" Harry snapped, he pulled against them, "Let go of me!"

Hermione made a noise somewhere. Harry's body was trembling, "I need to- I need to speak with Dumbledore! Get Dumbledore! He- He's- Voldemort-"

It's my fault.

Arms wrapped around his tightly. Forcefully, but not unkind, it told him, "He's coming, Harry. We called him, he's on his way."

Harry slumped as if all the energy had left his body, but it hadn't. It was being contained by the person holding him tightly. The pressure soothed him and as he let his head drop on the person's shoulder, he caught the scent of flowers. The person shifted and their long red hair shielded his face as they tightened their hold. Her recognized her voice.

"Let's go wait for him."

Harry forced himself to lean away from her warmth. With a hand on his arm, she led him out of the room. Harry hardly noticed the silence. Singleminded, he followed her. Vaguely, Harry heard steps following them. Ginny squeezed his hand as they sat on the sofa before letting go. Harry shivered. As if timed, Dumbledore rushed in through the floo. Harry stood, his desperation returning with Dumbledore's arrival.

"He knows!" Harry cried.

Dumbledore's gazed steadily, "What does he know?"

Harry waved his hands, "I don't know how he found out, but he knows Snape helped. He's got him- He brought him in and he . . ."

"Harry." Dumbledore held his shoulders so tightly, it almost hurt, "Has Severus . . . Has Severus been found a traitor."

Harry shook his head, "No. Snape convinced him, but . . . Voldemort's angry . . . I-"

Dumbledore closed his eyes. Harry's voice wavered in and out, "I- He trusts him."

"Voldemort just likes . . . It's weird . . . Disturbing-" Digusting. Harry messed his hair. "I-"

He didn't know. He wasn't sure if he . . . If he could . . . Harry looked Dumbledore in the eye, "I was in Voldemort's mind."

The door slammed open. Snape stormed inside. For all intents and purposes, the man looked put together. By that, Harry meant miserable, like an unkept cactus. Dumbledore moved toward the man, his hand rose and paused mid-air.

"His collar." Said Harry.

Dumbledore pressed there and Snape hissed. Dumbledore removed his hand, "Harry witnessed your meeting."

Snape grunted, "I am aware."

"Have we been compromised." Dumbledore seemed at war with himself. Snape crossed his arms, "We must speak privately."

"Snape-" Sirius hissed.

"Black." Snape snarled.

Harry had seen Snape in agony . . . How was he so . . . Unaffected.

"Headmaster," Snape gave Harry a long appraising stare, "Potter too."

Harry perked. Mrs. Weasley jumped, "Harry is a boy-"

Dumbledore raised a hand. His blue eyes permitted no argument as Snape commanded Harry with his eyes. Sirius held his arm, "Whatever he needs to say, I think I should at least be present."

Harry tensed as Sirius stood his ground. The old wizard exchanged silent words with Snape. Before either man could deny him, Harry pulled himself from Sirius' grip. Whatever this was, Harry didn't want Sirius there. His heart twisted anxiously. Harry looked the man in the eyes, "Sirius, I want to talk to them alone."

It was as if someone had been slapped in the face. Sirius looked as if Harry had betrayed him somehow. With the full weight of his heart slamming heavily on his chest, Harry followed Snape.

"please ... please ..." Begged a woman as she hung mid-air over a dining table. Those around the table stared at the human center piece apparently transfixed.

"Silence," said a snake-like humanoid with a wand in hand. The terrorized woman fell silent as if gagged, but tears ran freely from her eyes. "Not content with corrupting and polluting the minds of wizarding children, last week Professor Burbage wrote an impassioned defence of Mudbloods in the Daily Prophet. Wizards, she says, must accept these thieves of their knowledge and magic. The dwindling of the pure-bloods is, says Professor Burbage, a most desirable circumstance ... she would have us all mate with Muggles ... or, no doubt, werewolves ..."

The anger and contempt in the hissed words wove itself around every inch of the room. Those present remained silent all while Professor Burbage revolved to face a man. Her eyes were filled with moisture as they seemed to silently plead with him for some kind of mercy. His face was impassive as he watched. His eyes unyieldingly still as she turned slowly away from him again.

"Avada Kedavra."

Rhinedd awoke abruptly. With her teeth clenched tightly and eyes spilling tears, she recognized the familiar sensation of emotion stuck in her throat and as her mind awoke, so did the vividness of her dream. Her jaw loosened just the slightest, enough to let sobs spill from her lips. Her body curled in on her as she recalled the woman's terror and she cried for her horrific death.

The door slammed open. Hands held her shoulders and pulled her up into an embrace. Rhinedd clenched her eyes close as she attempted to muffle her cries in Ainsley's shirt.

"What was it this time?" Ainsley asked as she soothingly combed through Rhinedd's hair. Rhinedd pulled her friend in a strong embrace, "He watched a woman murdered, Ainsley."

Ainsley leaned back and stared at Rhinedd intently, " . . . And then?"

"And then . . ." Rhinedd's thoughts bounced back and forth, "He did nothing. He just watched it happen!"

"So he's a bad guy?" Ainsley asked.

"He works for the bad guy. But I don't think he is a bad guy." Rhinedd told her. Ainsley frowned, "Maybe you should go see-"

"They're real! I don't know who he is, but these dreams, whatever they are . . . They happened to this man, I know it!"

"I believe you." Said Sebastian from the doorway. Ainsley groaned, "We've talked about this. Rhinedd almost died! It's natural for dreams to sometimes manifest as a result of stress and-"

"And," Sebastian said pointedly, "It's also theorized that traumatic experiences can sometimes trigger the presentation of divine gifts in certain individuals."

"It's called theory, not fact, for a reason." Ainsley added, "And it's not like she's making prophecies or seeing the future. These are memories we are talking about."

Rhinedd wiped her eyes, "I don't know that my dreams are memories, but they feel like they are."

"It could be a past life of hers." Sebastian theorized. Ainsley furrowed her brows, concern shining in her eyes, "Okay, say that's true, wouldn't she dream in the perspective of this mystery man?"

Rhinedd rubbed her forehead. Since the morning her flat had exploded, she had begun having dreams of a man's life. She didn't know his name. If she had any artistic talent, should would have still been unable to draw him. Yet, she had seen him witness heinous crimes and stand by, seemingly unaffected and yet, she had also seen him do the opposite.

"I'm sorry." She whispered. The couple paused their argument. "They're just very vivid bad dreams."

Ainsley hugged her, "No. We're sorry. I'm sorry. I just don't know how to make it better and I'm scared that these dreams might bring you trouble."

"I have somewhere to sleep and food to eat thanks to you guys." Rhinedd grinned, "Plus, 24/7 security."

Sebastian chuckled, "I am off the clock, thank you."

"Same here." Ainsley said playfully, "And I only work for celebrities with big money."

Rhinedd shook her head, "Some friends you are."