He was in his bed? Harry felt so completely disorientated at first, that he could hardly catch his breath. His heart was still hammering against his ribcage and he felt his face coated in a layer of sweat mingled with tears. He slowly sat up with Ron’s help. Ron was still staring at him in concern. Harry couldn’t help but stare back, shocked to find himself back in his bed.
“What the bloody hell was that all about? I spent a good five minutes trying to wake you up,” Ron said.
Harry shrugged, glad that it was only Ron that was there to witness his nightmare. Was that what it had been? Either way, Ron didn’t seem to want to push Harry as to what he had been dreaming about.
Maybe Ron just assumed that Harry was reliving the death of his Godfather as he tended to do every night during the summer so far. But Harry knew that this nightmare was different. What made it worse was just how frighteningly realistic it had seemed.
Unlike the nightmares that one normally has, that tend to slip away as soon as you try and remember what is was you were dreaming about, every detail of this dream remained etched on Harry’s consciousness.
For some reason, Harry felt unwilling or unable to discuss it with anyone. He feared that they would think he was just on a guilt trip, but they hadn’t seen the cold look in Sirius’s eyes, nor the hard edge to his voice as he had laid the blame for his death squarely at Harry’s door.
It wasn’t just that though, it was the other things that Sirius had said, about Harry haunting him since before he was born and how everything needed to come full circle. What did it mean?
Harry decided to put the thought of the nightmare out of his mind and try not to think about it. It was going to be hard enough to cope with being back in Grimmauld Place without Sirius. There was enough going on with his current nightmares as it stood without this new and disturbing angle that his subconscious seemed to be taking.
He realised that Ron was still sitting on the edge of the bed, waiting for an answer, or at the very least, confirmation that Harry was okay. Harry sat up fully, running a hand though his hair. “Sorry Ron, I’m okay now. It was just another nightmare. Sorry for waking you,” he said, by way of explanation.
“Bloody Hell Harry, are your nightmares always that severe? I don’t know how you can get any sleep. Isn’t there something you could take for dreamless sleep or something?” Ron asked.
Harry shrugged, “I don’t think taking a potion would help that much Ron, it would only be delaying the inevitable. Sorry again. Anyway, it doesn’t look like I am the only one having difficulty sleeping, you look pretty tired as well,” Harry added.
“I have the occasional bad dream but nothing on the scale you are accustomed to, “ Ron answered. “You know Harry, if you want to talk about it… it might help, you know, the nightmares and that, they might not be so bad if you talked about it,” Ron finished quietly.
Harry looked at Ron, weighing up the situation. He knew that any nightmares he might be having would be considered a minor detail to Ron in comparison to the revelation of what the prophecy contained. Harry had not yet told anyone of its contents, and the passage of time was not making the revelation any easier.
Harry sighed and shook his head. “Thanks Ron, but for now its okay. I don’t really… I can’t really talk about it yet, but thanks anyway,” Harry finished quietly, while avoiding looking directly at Ron.
Ron nodded slowly and decided to change the subject, recognising Harry’s unease. “Well, we better get up then, Mum will be calling us for breakfast any minute now,” he said.
Harry put on his glasses and checked the clock on his bedside locker.
Indeed, Ron was right, it was already 8.30am. Harry couldn’t understand it, when he had woken earlier and gone upstairs it had been 6am at the latest, where had the time gone? Then he realised what he was thinking and shook his head to clear his confusion. ‘It was all a nightmare you idiot,’ he told himself, ‘you didn’t get up earlier, and you haven’t been on the third floor.’
Harry got up and took a shower to clear his mind. As soon as he was dressed, he went downstairs to meet the others for breakfast. There was a noticeable coolness between Ron and Hermione. Harry wondered why he had not noticed it the previous night.
They were busily engaged in conversations with anyone else at the table except for each other. Harry found himself gazing around the kitchen while the Weasleys and Hermione bustled around the table, helping themselves to breakfast. He didn’t know why but he felt a distinct chill there. He wondered were the others aware of it. It was as if all the malevolent feelings that had been lessened during the frenetic cleaning and subsequent habitation of Number Twelve during the previous year had returned ten fold.
Harry looked about him at his companions. None of them seemed hugely affected with the gloomy atmosphere. At most there was less laughter and joking going on, but other than that, there wasn’t any obvious change.
Once breakfast was over “ Mrs Weasley assigned chores to everyone. There was still much work to be done on the house and Mrs Weasley seemed to be stepping the work rate up a notch to try and get rid of all traces of black magic as soon as possible. ‘Maybe she notices the darkened atmosphere here too and it is worrying her,’ Harry wondered.
He decided it was pointless to dwell on it anymore and instead went with the others to gather cleaning materials for the job ahead.
It was a habit that Harry had become accustomed to lately; delaying dwelling on uncomfortable thoughts or memories, like Sirius or Voldemort. He hadn’t even begun to grieve for his Godfather and the only time those thoughts forced their way to the surface was in his dreams and nightmares that plagued him unrelentingly that summer.
As for Voldemort, Harry didn’t have the strength emotionally to begin to build up to what was going to be the fight for his life. He found himself unable to enquire as to what the members of the Order were currently doing. Knowing as he did, that ultimately they would not be able to prevent what had been prophesised, and that he would have to face Voldemort sooner or later. No one could circumvent that from happening. All he could hope for now was as much respite as possible before that final battle.
Harry gathered what he needed and slowly made his way to the hallway. He was to be working on the Second Floor today “ finishing up the cleaning of the remaining bedroom and drawing room. As he began to ascend the Stairs, he heard a whispered voice that caused his hair to stand on end and freeze mid-step.
“It has begun. The thoughts have been planted and those at the centre will be the first petals to fade and Die.” Harry whipped around trying to discern where the disembodied voice had come from, but he was totally alone on the stairway.