Chapter 16 - Sometimes life is the back side of a hurricane.
December 21-22, 2005

It's only a dream. It isn't real. This isn't actually happening.

The litany echoed over and over again in Gareth's head, but it didn't change what he was seeing, what he felt. He was back in the lower levels of Hogwarts, Christmas Eve, 1997. His wand trembled in his hand as he stared at the approaching Death Eater. Off in the distance he could hear crashing and explosions, and the red wolf beside him whined. Oh, why just once could Deirdre not be here in this dream? Gareth swallowed, his heart thudding in his ears. How many times now had this scene been replayed, this showdown between him and his father?

"I was certain you weren't my son," the voice hissed. "You could have been anyone's the way your mother behaved. Donating you to the Dark Lord's cause seemed the best way to get rid of you." The voice from behind the Death Eater's mask repeated the words Gareth had heard ad nauseam in his dreams since that night. Then the hood was flung back from the cloak and the mask dissolved away, revealing the man who had sired him, the older, cruel version of himself. The Death Eater flung a spell and the wall behind him exploded. Gareth lunged to push Deirdre out of the way, feeling a piece of debris hit his head.

Here the dream shifted, as it sometimes did. It rarely played out as it had in reality, where he'd lost consciousness and Joshua and Daisy had shown up and the four of them managed to subdue his father. No, the dream like to skip to the part where Gareth, in a fit of rage, had beaten the man so badly he was found dead later from his injuries, and then it often switched to a completely fictitious scenario where Deirdre died, or Joshua, or one of his sisters, sometimes by his hand, sometimes just because he was unable to save them.

This time it was Deirdre. He looked down to see her lying on the ground, no longer in her wolf form, blood pouring from a wound on her head, shading her normally vibrant hair a deeper, wet, red. His head pounded as it had when he'd been injured that night, and his heart was racing as he covered the wound with his hands, trying to stop the blood now seeping through his fingers. She opened her eyes and tried to speak, but they were no longer her eyes. Dark brown eyes stared from her face, and the blood pouring over her hair was now black. He scrambled back from the body that had become Valentina, as she rose and grasped at him, her nails extended like claws.

It's only a dream. But the words were useless. He felt the burn as her nails raked his face, her strident voice screaming obscenities at him in Spanish. Gareth grabbed for her wrists, holding her away from him. The witch writhed and twisted in his grasp, trying to wrench herself free. He lost his balance and fell, feeling the jarring impact of the stone floor under his knees, Valentina still pinned beneath him. If he could just find his wand, had it fallen nearby? Gareth looked around frantically, as the witch struggled, any moment now she'd break free—

"Gareth, it's only a dream."

He glanced down at the voice, and it was Deirdre looking back at him, her face full of pity.

"Gareth, I need you to let me sit up so we can talk."

Her voice was calm. But he'd been taken by surprise so many times, faces he thought he knew and could trust morphing into someone or something else, turning on him and trying to kill him. He gripped her wrists more tightly, glancing around to try and locate his wand or decide if he needed to transform.

"Gareth, I promise I'm not going to hurt you. It's really me. Professor Snape knew a spell to send me into your dream to help."

"I can't trust you," he snapped. "You could change into something else. And any test I make up to see if it's really you would just end the way I want it to, because you're only in my head!"

Her face was calm, though there were those tell-tale pink blotches on her cheeks. She stopped struggling and took a deep breath, which only made him more wary, and Gareth watched her carefully, alert for any ripple of her skin or fading of her features that would mean the dream was about to change again.

"I kept one of your blue jumpers," she said in a soft voice, "when you first moved away. I like that you keep your hair a bit long. I loved watching you play at that bar the other night, but I miss hearing you sing those old songs wearing Sirius' fedora."

Gareth frowned. That…that sounded real. He didn't remember anything about a blue jumper, though it could be buried somewhere deep, something he didn't know that he knew. He did know she liked his hair. Was it trite to say she liked hearing him play? Surely anyone would say that? "Why did you fall in love with me?" he asked, hearing his own voice as weak and tremulous. He knew what would come next. He'd asked her a thousand times in a thousand different variations of his dreams. She'd smile shyly and say he rescued her from that mortifying dance at Bill and Flour's wedding, had swept in and made her feel like a princess at the ball. And then the dream version of her would change into something hideous or begin weeping and railing at him for not being the sort of man they all needed him to be.

This Deirdre made a frustrated sort of sound. "Oh, a hundred reasons. You slept in the hallway so the kids would know you were nearby if they had nightmares. When Alec died you let me fall apart, even though you lost Oscar the same night. When you found out I liked waffles better than pancakes you always made waffles. You taught all the kids to do chores without magic so none of them felt left out." A single tear traced its way down her cheek, dripping to the floor beneath them. "You would take the kids out to train and bring back wildflowers for me that you'd picked with them. And you took me dancing and treated me better than any bloke had before. And it just sort of…happened."

Gareth stared at her, a sliver of hope making its way to his soul. Maybe it was true. Maybe she really could be here through some sort of spell. Cautiously, he released her wrists and backed away, scrambling to his feet. She sat up slowly. "Why did that work? What did you think I was going to say?" she asked, rubbing at her wrists.

"Bill and Fleur's wedding," he breathed out, feeling another absurd shot of hope. She was easier to read in his dreams, he always knew what she was thinking because he was really the one thinking it. But now he couldn't begin to guess what she was going to say, how she was feeling behind that stoic expression.

She stared at him for a moment and the blush, which had faded, stained her cheeks again, so suddenly bright she looked as if she'd been slapped. "We'd only just met," she said sharply. "All Isabel had shared about you was that you were the bossy, know-it-all older brother. So if you think it was love at first sight and I'd been swept off my feet by Prince Charming, you're mad. Arrogant git," she added under her breath.

He almost laughed in relief. That sounded absolutely real. She pushed a few wisps of hair back from her face, her braided hair looking rather bedraggled after their struggle. But Gareth didn't think she'd ever been more beautiful, his fierce Celtic warrior coming to stand with him against his enemies. Wait…She was really here?! This wasn't a safe place to be! What had Remus been thinking to let her try this?!

"You shouldn't be here," he said, standing up and beginning to pace the small room. "I don't know what's going to happen. It's not safe."

She glanced around and let out a sigh. "You can't see them, can you?" she asked, her voice sad.

"See who?" he asked, his gaze darting around the room, alert for any changes or intruders. The scene suddenly shifted to the living room of the house they'd stayed in near the end of the war, a tiny magically enlarged shed on a farm owned by some Muggles.

Deirdre looked around the room, then stood up and moved to sit in an old squashy sort of armchair. "We'll that's cosier at least."

He pulled up the matching chair close to her. "Why did Remus let you come? What have they found out?"

She grabbed his hand, her face all of sudden open and tender. "You are fine," she said, emphasizing each word. "Your brain function was normal, and there are no leftover potions causing this." She hesitated, then said, "They think Valentina hexed you with an enemy."

A pounding sounded from the front door, as though a giant were demanding entrance. Deirdre startled and Gareth suddenly found his wand in his hand. He jumped to his feet, gripping it tightly, ready to defend them from whatever might come through the door.

Deirdre slowly stood and came towards him. "Gareth," she said firmly, looking up at him, "you can't defeat this thing on your own. Me showing up has confused it, and it's sort of testing things, trying to decide what to do next."

"How can you know that?" he asked, studying her face.

She took a breath and rubbed at her forehead. "This must be how Daisy feels all the time," she muttered. "Look, Gareth, there are warriors here to help you. You just can't see them. I think…I think you don't want to see them, so you've sort of…made yourself blind. But they're here and they want to help."

Anger rose in him. "Then why didn't they want to help before?" he snapped. "When my parents gave me to a werewolf, or I was trapped in the Malfoy's basement, or out of my mind on potions and being completely deceived by that witch?! Why didn't they help then?!"

"Ask them," she said, her eyes flashing. She turned away from him and curled up once more in the armchair. "I don't know what's going to happen next or how exactly we're supposed to fight this thing. And there's a chance if it goes badly that Professor Snape won't be able to pull me out of your head. So maybe you can set your pride aside for one bloody minute, ask them, and then actually listen to what they have to say."

Gareth stared at her, her profile stiff and cold, as she kept her head decidedly facing away from him. "What do you mean there's a chance they can't pull you out?" he whispered, his stomach twisting. "Why did you come if it's so dangerous?"

"Because you shouldn't be here all on your own," she muttered softly. "If it were me or your brother or one of your sisters, you would do the same thing."

He began to pace once more, trying to evaluate their options and not panic. She'd come to help, risked getting trapped here forever… It was…well, he couldn't really spend time right now thinking about why she'd done it, why he hoped she'd done it. The real issue was that if he was never able to effectively fight or get out of his dreams on his own, how in the world would both of them manage to escape?

There was another pounding at the door, making the whole house shake. "Then I guess we'll try it the hard way," Deirdre sighed, getting up from the chair. She stood there for a moment and then frowned, her face confused and then worried. "I can't…I can't transform," she said, her hands clenching into fists at her sides. She turned towards the opposite side of the room. "Why can't I transform?"

Gareth followed her gaze to what seemed to him the empty couch against the far wall, a painting of a serene landscape hanging above it. They must be over there, the warriors she insisted could help. Anger churned through him again. First they abandon him and now they stop Deirdre from being able to use the only defenses she had?! "Why don't you do something for once?" he snapped. "If it's a waste of time dealing with me, then at least help her! Show yourselves if you're so powerful!"

In an instant the room was flooded with light. Gareth was momentarily blinded, closing his eyes against the harshness. He blinked a few times and the light scattered into multiple orbs that shifted, forming themselves into several wolves. A large golden orb at the center stretched and bent, taking the shape of a man. "All right, squaddie?" he said in a solemn tone.

Gareth was struck dumb. The phrase seemed familiar, and yet he couldn't place it. He clenched his wand tightly, stepping closer to Deirdre. "Who are you?" he asked, his voice a bit strangled.

The man smiled. "I'm a friend of your sister's, and yours, if you'll let me be. We met a long time ago, though you have forgotten."

Beside him, Deirdre let out a gasp. "You…Harry said he met you in the train station…or at least he said it looked like a train station…but he was sort of dead or something at the time…he…you…" Her voice trailed off and and Gareth felt her grab his free hand, squeezing it tightly. "Have you come to fight that thing for us?" she whispered.

"Ah, well, that depends," the man said in a warm voice. "What do you say, squaddie?"

"I…I don't understand," Gareth said, shaking his head. "If you can fight it, why didn't you come at the beginning? Why have so many terrible things happened to me? Where were you then?"

The man grew somber. "You made it very clear you didn't want help.'

Annoyance stirred. So this guy was turning things back on him? Gareth frowned. "Well, yeah, lately. But before…when we were kids…why didn't you help then?"

"Why do you think I didn't?" he asked, tilting his head slightly.

The man studied Gareth with an intensity that made him want to duck his head, but he met the gaze full on. "We were abandoned by our families, purposely infected with a terrible disease, abused, neglected…where were you then?" His voice had grown louder with each word, heart pounding with anger, making his head throb.

"Would you really like to see?" the man asked, and though Gareth wondered if there were a sarcastic intention behind the words, the tone seemed simply curious.

"How?" he replied, and then winced, hearing an eagerness in his voice that he wished wasn't there.

"I can restore your memories of that time," the man replied, stepping forward and stretching out his hand.

Gareth took a step away. "How do I know what you're going to show me is the truth?"

The man smiled. "Ah, yes, that is a valid question. I admit, it will take an act of faith on your part. You can believe, or not."

The room shifted again, the warm farmhouse living room replaced with the cold stone walls of a dark basement. Gareth sucked in a breath, feeling his hands start to shake. He gripped his wand more tightly. What on earth was going to happen now? He didn't want Deirdre seeing that part of his life, he didn't want to remember it, the constant hunger pangs, the grimy sensation all over his skin, the smell. Sweat broke out on his forehead, his body.

"Gareth," Deirdre whispered, coming up beside him and taking his hand, threading her fingers with his, "I think you can trust him. I can't explain it now without sounding crazy, but—"

She didn't get a chance to finish the sentence. The thick plank door at the far end of the room burst off its hinges and flew past them. A billowing dark cloud began pouring into the room, a humming and hissing noise accompanying it. The cloud wrapped itself around Deirdre, pulling her away from him, and she vanished into the darkness. When he turned to look for the golden man, he too was gone. The oily blackness of the cloud surrounded Gareth like a thick blanket, suffocating and pressing at him. It was getting hard to breathe, and he could no longer see any part of the room through the cloud.

He fired off spell after spell at it, the bursts creating the illusion of hazy fireworks through the fog. "Ventus tria!" he screamed, his wand lunging forward in his grip from the strength of the spell. A violent wind poured out, finally dissipating the wall of swirling black in front of him, and he ran towards where the doorway should have been, forcing a wind tunnel around him through the clouds. But it hardly seemed to matter. Beyond the black that constantly tumbled and reformed around him there was no doorway, no wall. He'd grown up next to a forest for Pete's sake. He knew how futile it was to run aimlessly, how much more lost you became the harder you tried to find your way home. But he couldn't stop. Head and heart pounding, lungs aching, he ran, first one way and then another, and found nothing. He was lost, trapped and all alone in the darkness of his own mind.