CHAPTER 1
The room was filled with bright green light, it reflected all around and he suddenly realised that the walls themselves were mirrors. The lights cast in beams and flares, they crisscrossed one another and created shadows in the corners. Harry knew he was standing in the Room of Requirement, it appeared as it had for their DA meetings, except there was nothing here and no one here. He felt like vapour moving through the air, the closer he made it to the mirrors the more he realised that he wasn't even there, just a feeling of being. The lights began to flash at random intervals sending the room into darkness for seconds and then lighting up the mirrors. He approached the nearest wall once again and stared at the place where his body should be. The lights burned away and when they flashed on, this time he could see himself. But it wasn't Harry. The reflection held his green eyes but surrounding it was a pale thin sheeted face with nostrils that looked like a snake and light blue veins running the length of his cheeks and forehead. He opened his mouth to scream but the only noise was that of a tremendous hiss.
Harry's eyes opened, finding the midday sun blaring through the curtain-less windows, he squinted and turned over to find his glasses. He placed them over his face and ran a hand over his forehead, it was beaded with sweat. He lay still for a moment catching deep breaths and praying silently that the dreams would stop soon.
Two weeks had passed since Harry had watched Tom Riddle's lifeless body collapse in front of him. It had been a fortnight of solitude in which Harry had spent the first few days being checked by Healer's alongside Madam Pomfrey, to ensure that he had no lasting injuries. They had decided that he was malnourished, and Harry had been satisfied that nothing else seemed to be wrong with him. But that night, the strange dreams had started. Dreams that placed him into the figure of Voldemort.
Harry had wandered to the bathroom, preparing for a shower to rid himself once again of the cold sweat. He lifted his shirt over his head and glanced at his fresh scar. The line of white flesh ran jagged across his chest like the clap of lighting. It spread in tendrils away from his heart, covering his upper torso.
Harry turned away from the mirror; it was only himself and the Healers who knew about his killing curse scar, and Harry intended to keep it that way. It had frightened him upon seeing it at first, and it still devastated him now.
After his shower, he dressed and headed for the Great Hall for breakfast, but his worries kept him a close friend. A day had not gone by when Harry had not been plagued by the damage that had been done since the battle. He strived to make things right; and though everyone was helping to clear Hogwarts, the guilt and sadness still lingered. He knew they were all living in purgatory, a space between the past - the devastation, and the future - what comes next. Harry longed for the pain to end but he knew it wasn't long until they could all start to move on with their lives.
And yet, plans were already being made. Professor McGonagall, as Hogwarts Headmistress, vowed to have Hogwarts returned to normal by September in the expectation of new students. Kingsley Shacklebolt, as Minister of Magic aimed to rebuild the Ministry in a new image of strength and unity. Families all over the country were helped to put their lives back together and wizards were being employed to help and rehabilitate the injured, the lost, and the devastated.
The Weasleys had agreed to another month at Hogwarts to help rebuild until they would return to The Burrow. Hermione had also agreed, and as soon as Hogwarts was rebuilt, she would be travelling to find her parents and bring them home. Ron would be travelling with her, but who knew how long it would take.
This left Harry being the only one without any immediate plans for his future.
The Great Hall, filled with people enjoying breakfast, instantly washed away Harry's worries. The chattering of people filled his ears, and he felt a part of it. It was difficult to feel lost when sitting around the Weasleys. Hermione placed her hand on his shoulder as he sat down next to her.
'What's all this?' he asked her, noticing the vast number of open books that lay on the table around her plate of eggs.
'Well, I'm reading up on counterspells for the memory jinx I put on my parents, I want to make sure that I know everything before I try it, otherwise it could go horribly wrong.'
Harry nodded as he chewed a mouthful of scrambled eggs.
'Do you know how long it could take to find them?' he asked.
'No idea,' Hermione said sadly, 'I figured, Ron and I should start in the capital of Australia and find recent house purchases in the local councils around the area.'
Ron, sitting across the table frowned at Harry. 'When I agreed to join, I didn't think it would mean shifting through loads of paperwork.'
Hermione grinned innocently.
Harry chuckled, their conversation persisted with Hermione explaining there would be more to do than research, but Harry was focusing on Ginny's current conversation with Mrs. Weasley next to them.
'I know Luna wants to come back for the seventh year,' she was saying, 'she spoke to Professor McGonagall about it.'
'Well, at least you'll have a familiar face,' Mrs. Weasley beamed. 'Minerva says she will send letters to all students with requests either to re-sit the year they couldn't complete or to move up to the year they should be in. And she's moved all O.W.L.s and N.E.W.T.s to the end of July.'
'I'm glad I don't have to re-sit any of them,' Ginny smiled.
Harry had been contemplating coming back to Hogwarts for a while and possibly completing his seventh year, but the more he thought about it, the less appealing it seemed. He knew Hermione planned to return in September and Ron hadn't yet decided, but Harry knew he had to make the decision for himself. Then, he remembered that Kingsley Shacklebolt would be arriving today to speak with Professor McGonagall, who had informed Harry that Kingsley wished to speak to him as well.
Harry paled; the one thing he didn't wish to do was to re-hash all of the events leading up to Voldemort's death.
Harry lifted his glass of pumpkin juice to his mouth, but he jolted, and it smashed to the floor. He stood up quickly, as a few people screamed.
'Sorry,' he told them all and bent to collect the large shards of glass.
Hermione rose from the bench, pointed her wand at the glass and spilled juice, said 'tergeo,' and it vanished.
'Thanks,' Harry said, closing his right hand in a fist.
'Are you alright?' she asked, everyone was staring at him.
A horrid shock of pain had rushed through his head, a green flash had run past his vision, and he suddenly remembered the dream of the room of mirrors.
'Yeah, yeah,' he said but he knew that no one was convinced. 'My ribs still hurt slightly.'
'Are you taking your potions, Harry?' Mrs. Weasley asked.
He didn't meet her eye line, or anyone else's, as he replied, 'Yeah, they're really helping.'
Harry had lied to them all. When the Healers had been checking him for injuries for the days following the battle, he had explained some of his symptoms. Harry's hands had a perceptible tremor in them, and he would sweat without realising it. If he found himself in a room full of people, much like now, his whole body would erupt with gooseflesh and a visceral spasm would accompany a feeling of dread.
The Healers had given him potions to deal with what they declared was anxiety and a dread of being around people. Harry had been shocked to hear this at first, but he had kept himself in solitude for several days.
The potion calmed his nerves, but he still felt ashamed that he needed to gulp a potion in order to feel normal while sitting harmlessly at breakfast with familiar faces.
He had told everyone that the potions were to help heal several broken ribs that had not healed properly. This was an easy lie for Harry to tell, it was not impossible to imagine that he could have sustained such an injury during the intense battle. And no one suspected otherwise, so Harry kept the secret to himself.
'I think I need a fresh bottle,' Harry mused to them. He rose from the bench, 'I'll just visit Madam Pomfrey,' he told them.
'Harry don't forget your meeting with Kingsley,' Mrs. Weasley reminded him.
'Thanks, Mrs. Weasley,' he replied with a smile, and he said farewell to them all.
Harry wandered out of the hall and turned a corner where he leaned against the wall and caught his breath. His hands were clammy once again, and he opened the fist he had been keeping closed. A spot of blood pooled in the palm of his hands where a shard of glass had pierced him when he had picked them off the floor. With his other hand, he ran his finger over the small thin cut, but it didn't hurt, and Harry realised that he couldn't feel a sting, nor could he feel an ache from the wound. He hadn't intended to visit Madam Pomfrey but now he rather thought he should. He wiped his hand on his trousers and looked again at the wound. the fresh blood stretched across his palm and spiderwebbed across the lines and creases of his palm, but still, no pain issued from it.
He made his way to the hospital wing; his mind rang with wonderings of why his dream had affected him in the day. For all the dreams he had experienced over the previous two weeks, none of them had bled into the daytime, in fact, he had even forgotten most of them over time.
Harry wondered if the dream recurring in the day had anything to do with the recurring guilt he still felt. And yet as the days had gone by, he couldn't place or name what it was that he felt guilty for, it was slowly dissipating.
'There are strange side effects to the potion you are taking, Mr. Potter, one of them is a loss of feeling to the hands and feet,' Madam Pomfrey explained after Harry had explained his injured hand. 'I think I would advise taking less of the potion, perhaps only in the morning and no longer twice a day.'
'Is this anything to worry about?' Harry asked.
He looked to his right hand which was currently soaking in a bowl of Murtlap essence. He watched the colour of the liquid darken as his blood plumed and clouded around the bowl.
'If you notice it still within the next couple of days, let me know, and I'll see whether I can find a different potion for you.'
'Thank you,' Harry replied.
Then, the door of the hospital wing opened, and Professor McGonagall came gliding through the room.
'Potter,' she said spritely, 'the Minister is here, he mentioned why he wants to speak to you, and I decided to have him discuss it with you before our meeting,' a thin and twinkling smile lit her mouth.
'Yes, Professor,' he said with a nod of the head. He lifted his hand out of the bowl and dried it with a towel before following her out of the door.
Kingsley greeted Harry like an old friend as the latter entered the Headmistress' office. They shook hands and sat down in front of the desk. Professor McGonagall took the Headmaster's seat, her arms leaning on the desk.
'How are you?' he asked in that familiar deep calm voice.
'I'm fine, Minister, how are things at the Ministry?' Harry asked.
Harry's eyes roamed to Dumbledore's portrait, the Professor sat alert, listening intently with an approving smile on his face. It seemed as if Dumbledore knew something Harry didn't.
'So far, everything is running smoothly, but I am not naïve to believe that may change,' Kingsley quirked.
Harry smiled and Professor McGonagall grinned her appreciation of his words.
'Well, I don't wish to keep you for long, and as it happens there are a lot of subjects Professor McGonagall and I need to discuss so I will let you know exactly why I am here.'
'Alright,' Harry said interestedly, and his eyes found Dumbledore's again, who continued to smile knowingly.
'Harry, I want to invite you to join the Junior Auror training.'
'I'm sorry?' Harry asked, suddenly flummoxed. He turned to Professor McGonagall whose expression turned bright.
'Training begins in October, and you are the perfect candidate to join them. Professor McGonagall informed me of your ambition. Now, I'm aware that you have not completed your N.E.W.T.s, and I completely understand if you wish to defer for a year so that you may complete your studies.'
'But I will need my N.E.W.T.s to become an Auror?' Harry questioned.
'There is another option for you, Potter,' Professor McGonagall interjected.
Kingsley turned to her with a grin.
'You have the opportunity to complete your N.E.W.T.s in September if you wish. Over the months leading up to your exams, a few of our Professors and I will tutor you in order to prepare you for your exams.'
'I don't know what to say,' Harry admitted.
'Starting in June you will have weekly reports to complete and tutoring sessions that will take place here, all of which should prepare you in advance for your N.E.W.T.s.'
'But what if that isn't enough time?' Harry asked. He was thinking about the possibility of failing.
'It will be more than enough time, Potter, I assure you,' Professor McGonagall replied.
'Be assured, Harry,' Kingsley interjected, 'we already know that you have all the makings of an Auror. If it weren't for these essential grades, I would see you already assigned to Auror training. So, what do you say, Harry?'
'I'll take the exams in September,' Harry decided with certainty. 'Thank you, Minister.'
'Of course,' Kingsley nodded.
'And, Potter,' Professor McGonagall started, 'we have decided that you will not be required to take the Defence Against the Dark Arts exam, I'm sure I don't need to explain why,' she quipped.
Harry smiled and heard the slight muffled laughing of Dumbledore's portrait.
Feeling rather pleased that plans had been made for his future, Harry carried the hopeful feeling as he wandered towards the courtyard. He, Ron, Hermione, and Ginny were spending the day clearing the rocks and debris from the ground and repairing the holes in the structure surrounding it. The sun was beaming and there were few clouds in the sky, he found Ron reducing the size of the larger pieces of rock while Hermione and Ginny were gauging the holes in the stone pillars.
He entered the courtyard intending to tell them his news when a slow pulsing pain rang through his head. It felt like a headache, but he immediately wondered if it could be his scar, yet the pain did not feel the same as he remembered.
Then, his vision began to blur as the others noticed his arrival. But they became nothing but colourful figures dancing before his eyes. He could feel himself starting to sway and meekly registered someone saying his name. He was slowly losing consciousness. He tried to stay calm, but he crumpled to the floor as a flash of green light illuminated his vision.