**Dream**
He was there at the Final Battle once again, a sea of raging humanity surrounded him, engulfing him, but he took no notice. Dumbledore, he had to get to Dumbledore. He could see him up head, fighting Voldemort. Why, oh why was he fighting Voldemort? That was his, Harry’s burden and no one else’s.
Just as he reached them the area exploded in a violent orange light. Harry was thrown ten feet, landing on top of Lupin. The orange light faded like a sunset, still shining strong until suddenly it slips down beneath the horizon. When the dust had settled Harry could make out the form of Dumbledore lying crumpled on the ground, Lord Voldemort was nowhere to be seen. He rushed over to Dumbledore, Lupin following close behind. As he knelt in the dust and debris surrounding Dumbledore, his headmaster’s eyes flickered open. Even in the present circumstances his eyes still twinkled.
“Why? Why did you do it? It wasn’t your fight,” Harry sobbed.
“Harry, I don’t have much time now. Voldemort is still not finished, though he is rather weakened. You must prepare yourself now, for when the time comes it shall be you who faces him, you who finally defeats him. You will know when the time for your fight has come, trust me on that.”
“Why though?”
Dumbledore sighed and gave a shrug. “It just wasn’t your time, you weren’t ready.” Harry could see that Dumbledore had no more energy for talking and so he sat in silence through Dumbledore’s final moments, till the twinkle faded and all that was left were two somber gray eyes. Harry was in shock, this man, his Headmaster, his mentor, his friend, was gone, gone. Gone. It didn’t seem possible.
Brrring! Brrring!
Harry woke with a start. He’d been having that dream again, the one in which he was forced to relive the Final Battle in every detail, from the orange flash to Dumbledore’s death. Only this time the dream had been cut short, it had not gone on to Lupin and the others sympathy and the Death Eaters defeat.
Brrring! Brrring!
Oh yeah, he thought, that’s why. He put on his glasses and looked at the clock. It read 2:08 A.M.
“Who ever this is it better be good.” He muttered to himself. He picked up the phone, “Hello.”
“Harry! Oh thank God I got you!” Harry looked at the phone, was that who he thought it was?
“Hermione, is that you?”
“Yep. I know it's really late, or maybe really early, but could you meet me at the Leaky Cauldron in, say, half an hour?”
“Hermione, its two o’clock in the morning!”
“Please, it’s really important.”
“Oh alright.”
“See you there.”
“Bye.” He hung up and flicked on the light. Rubbing his eyes, he got dressed and sat on the bed, looking around the room. His gaze fell upon his wardrobe where the package Hermione had given him lay, still wrapped. He stared at it a second, debating silently whether or not he should open it. No, he decided, no I don’t think so. He didn’t know why but the thought made him uncomfortable, like didn’t know what he’d be getting into.
While he had inherited Grimmauld Place, he had long ago decided to let Tonks, Lupin and Dobby live there in peace with out his depressing presence. He instead rented a one bedroom flat in the midst of the hustle and bustle of London. Once a week Dobby dropped in to clean and check that Harry was more or less a live. But as Ginny had said when they broke up, “He may be breathing, but he’s not living.” Harry rarely got out. In fact, not counting going to work this would be his first time out since Christmas, when he, Lupin, Tonks and all the Weasleys had gathered at Molly's and Arthur's.
He got up and went through the living room into the kitchen to make coffee. Sipping it, he looked over his fridge. It was covered in pictures of everyone, from Ron to Lupin, but right at the center was the picture of his parents and Sirius on his parents' wedding day. Sirius, Lily, James, Cedric, Dumbledore, how many more would die before Voldemort was stopped? He sighed, put the coffee mug in the sink and got his coat. Locking the door behind him, he walked the couple of blocks to the Leaky Cauldron.