Choices and Consequences

Chapter 30

Harry's next few days were a struggle. It wasn't the same as when he'd been worrying over his friends and suffering from nightmares but it was a struggle nonetheless. Initially he'd thought that it was just a few sniffles and the signs of an early cold, and when his head started to become stuffed up, it looked as though he was right, but he started to get a bit worried when the cold still hadn't gone as the Christmas holidays approached.

He went to see Madam Pomfrey, who shook her head at yet another appearance in the Hospital Wing and made disapproving noises about Quidditch practices being held in the cold and the wet. She dosed him up with Pepper-up Potion which helped for a while, but even that didn't seem to help shake off his woolly-mindedness for long. Apart from his lethargy and the 'flu symptoms he was sleeping a lot better now though. His dreams were a little quirky, but they were a thousand times better than the nightmares he'd suffered earlier in the term.

He also started to feel a little queasy, and his mental defences didn't seem to be up to scratch. John Christopher even noted that he seemed to have regressed with his Occlumency when he tested Harry just before term ended.

"Take a break from the exercises for a while, Harry," he advised after an unproductive session. "I reckon all the Christmas excitement's getting to you," he added with a chuckle.

"Sorry, John," Harry said with embarrassment on his face. "I just can't seem to concentrate properly. It's not just Occlumency."

"Well, you can still detect me when I try and delve into your thoughts, so it's not all doom and gloom. We'll start up again after the holidays.

"Hey, at least it shows you're able to have the concerns of a normal kid, instead of anguishing over that damn prophecy!"

Harry snorted at the reminder, but pushed it to the back of his mind and went off to pack his trunk for the journey back to London.

The re-sit of the Astronomy OWL took place one cold and windy night late in the term, and everything had seemed to go fairly smoothly, despite the weather. The sky was clear and the stellar map he was asked to produce seemed fairly straightforward. He had a nagging feeling that he'd forgotten some things and his persistent cold hadn't helped matters - his mind seemed to be as bunged up as his sinuses and the chill out on the exposed Astronomy tower hadn't really helped - but he felt he'd done enough to improve his grade.

Harry shrugged it off as a temporary glitch, sure he'd be back to normal once his lingering cold wore off and he was back up to full health again, but it still hadn't cleared up by the time Hogwarts broke up and they headed to Hogsmeade station to catch the Hogwarts Express back to London.

Harry, Ron, Hermione and Ginny waited on the platform together as the train drew up. Hermione was returning to spend Christmas with her parents, while Harry had been invited to stay at The Burrow.

"There's a lot of people here," Harry noted as the platform filled up with students.

The Hogwarts Express pulled into the station as he spoke, partially drowning out the start of Ron's reply.

"Well you know what it's like at Hogwarts at Christmas, Harry," Ron shouted over the noise when Harry asked him to repeat his words. "It's almost deserted. Almost everyone goes home for the holidays. Heck, there were only thirteen of us in Third Year, including the teachers - remember Trelawney's panic?"

Harry grinned and nodded, though he had to blink to clear his vision after doing so - the sudden movement made him a little dizzy.

Hermione had snorted at the mention of their erstwhile Divination Professor. Even knowing that she had been the one who had uttered the prophecy concerning Harry hadn't made any of them less sceptical.

"Hey! No Malfoy to bother us this time!" Ron exclaimed as though suddenly realising that their usual antagonist wouldn't be making an appearance. "I can't believe he kidnapped McGonagall though!"

"Hush, Ron!" Ginny warned under her breath, seeing a couple of second-year Hufflepuffs looking up in astonishment at Ron's pronouncement from just a few yards away.

"Really, Ron! You should be more discreet!" Hermione chided as they moved away from the younger students, Ron looked as though he was about to take umbrage at her reprimand, so Harry jumped in to forestall their imminent argument.

"Not now, guys," he said wearily. "I'm not feeling too good. Let's get on the train and be ready to leave."

Ginny ran a hand across his forehead to check his temperature, and made sympathetic sounds.

"C'mon then," she said, threading an arm through Harry's where he had his hand in his pocket. "Let's make a move."

They stowed their trunks securely and found a quiet compartment, and when the train started its journey southwards, Harry lay down with his head in Ginny's lap and spent the majority of the journey asleep.

It was a fairly uneventful journey, and Ginny only woke Harry when they started to get close to Kings Cross. He was amused to find that she had barely moved, and that his head was still comfortably laid on her thighs, and as he opened his eyes, he saw Ron looking at him with a strange expression on his face.

"'Sup?" he asked sleepily.

"You don't want to know," he responded, with a slightly sick look, and stood, pulling the compartment door open and stepping out into the corridor.

"Ignore him," Ginny said firmly. "He's just being stupid. Hermione's already wandered off to the loo because she could see an argument brewing."

"She has?" Harry tried to sit up, and reached out behind the headrests where he'd left his glasses.

"She has," he noted as his vision was restored, and he noted Hermione's absence.

It was dark outside, which unnerved him a little - he wasn't used to arriving back in London during the short winter days - and although the weather wasn't particularly wintry, the mist swirled around the train as he looked out the window, and he was uncomfortably reminded of the time when Dementors had stopped the train to search for Sirius.

He pushed down the uncomfortable lump that started to develop in his throat and looked down at his girlfriend.

"I'll try and sort Ron out later," he said with a groan.

The train started to slow, and he stood up, reaching out a hand to pull Ginny to her feet.

"C'mon, we'll be pulling into Kings Cross in a few minutes; let's get our trunks."

Harry wondered what Ron and Ginny had been arguing about, and gave Ron a quizzical look as they met him by the baggage truck. Ron just shook his head and sighed.

The Hogwarts Express finally ground to a halt at the edge of Platform nine and three-quarters and they alighted with their belongings.

"Dad's going to meet us on the other side of the barrier," Ginny told them as they disembarked.

"I hope he hasn't been giving Mum and Dad a hard time," Hermione worried, and they picked up speed as they headed down the platform to meet the Grangers and Mr Weasley.

As they pushed through the barrier though, they could see that Mr Weasley was staring fixedly at the arrivals board, amazed by the moving electronic figures, and hadn't even noticed the presence of Doctors Granger merely a few yards away.

Hermione hugged Ginny, then hugged Harry and kissed him on the cheek, admonishing him to stay in the warmth and get better quickly.

She said an awkward good bye to Ron, before turning to her parents, and the Granger family made their way out of the station with a promise to visit The Burrow on Boxing Day.

"Come on then kids," Mr Weasley said with a bemused smile at the interactions with Hermione. "The car's out the front."

He led them through the station, almost bumping into people on three or four occasions as electronic tickers and tannoy announcements distracted him, but eventually made it to the exit and out onto the street.

The streetlights and headlights of the occasional passing car illuminated the street, but Harry couldn't see any parked cars and wondered which direction to go.

"Uh, Mister Weasley?" Harry said tentatively. "There isn't really any parking around here; where's the car?"

"Ah yes, I'd forgotten about that," he replied. He stopped and covertly slipped his wand up his sleeve and into his hand, where Harry could just see the very tip. He casually looked around to see if they had attracted any attention, then muttered something under his breath.

Immediately, not fifteen yards from where they were standing, a familiar-looking turquoise-coloured Ford Anglia appeared by the side of the road as though out of thin air. It looked as old and slightly battered as it had when Harry had first seen it during Fred, George and Ron's rescue of him from the Dursleys' in his second year, but not really much the worse for wear for crashing into the Whomping Willow and careening around the Forbidden Forest for four years.

"You got it back!" Harry exclaimed. "How d'you manage that?"

"Won't you get into trouble at work?" Ginny asked.

Mr Weasley smiled gently at them. "No, no. No trouble at work," he reassured them. "It's properly registered and everything now, though I will admit that I expected a bit more of a fight about it. I must have looked so shamefaced when I filed the paperwork at the office.

"As far as getting it back? Well, Fred and George popped up to Hogwarts and had a word with Professor Dumbledore and Hagrid," he explained. "I understand that the four of them simply walked into the Forbidden Forest and started calling for the car, and like a dog running back to its master, it trotted up to their heels and followed them home."

"Did I ever apologise for all the trouble we caused by taking it in the first place?" Harry asked.

Mr Weasley waved away the apology. "Don't worry about it, Harry. You did what you thought was the most sensible thing, even if it was a little daft at the time." He chuckled and opened the boot to stack their trunks in it. "It still works just as well," he pointed out as the space available expanded to allow all three trunks to fit in with ease, along with Hedwig's cage.

Harry stroked her feathers and sent her off into the night sky to meet the rest of them back at The Burrow.

The Ford Anglia was just as spacious as Harry had remembered it on their previous legitimate trip in it, and there was more than enough space for the four of them. Harry didn't really pay much attention to the view as they drove through it: it was dark outside and most of the journey was along the motorway - he spent some of the time dozing on Ginny's shoulder and the rest chatting with the Weasleys about the term just ended.

A couple of hours later, Mr Weasley turned off the monotonous three-lane highway and onto the winding country lanes that led to the village of Ottery St Catchpole.

They piled out of the car as soon as it pulled up in front of The Burrow, eager to stretch their legs after the long motorway journey.

The buildings were as higgledy-piggledy as Harry remembered, and its character and uniqueness enchanted him all over again as he stared up at the brightly-lit, welcoming, entrance.

Not for the first time, he envied Ron and Ginny their home. Privet Drive had never looked as inviting as this, nor was the prospect of staying with the Dursleys anything like as enticing as living with the Weasleys. He just hoped that once he left Hogwarts and found a place of his own he would be able to make it feel as much like a home to him as The Burrow did.

"C'mon, Harry," Ron chided as he pulled his trunk out of the car boot.

Harry roused himself from his thoughts and grabbed his own trunk, following Ron and Ginny up to the porch. Ginny slowed and waited for him as they drew closer and linked her arm with his.

"It's always good to come home," she noted absently, perhaps reading Harry's mood.

They were interrupted by the sound of Mrs Weasley bustling out through the front door.

"Oh there you all are! I was starting to get worried!" she said, and hugged Ron, before pulling Ginny and Harry close to her as well. "I do wonder whether that motorway is safe for Arthur to be driving along in the dark!"

She stopped for a moment and peered out across the yard.

"Are you coming Arthur? I'll put the kettle on."

"On my way, dear," the reply came from out of the gloom. "Just putting the car away."

A fleeting look of disapproval flickered across Mrs Weasley's face, but she hustled the children into the kitchen. Harry could make out the scent of baking in the air and wondered whether Mrs Weasley had been cooking just because they were all coming home.

Again he was reminded of the contrast with the Dursleys. Aunt Petunia would never have allowed such heavenly aromas to linger in her house, if for no other reason than the scents might linger in her spotless furnishings. Unlike Aunt Petunia's pristine, spick-and-span kitchen, The Burrow was a warm, lived-in building.

"Right, put those trunks upstairs in your rooms. Harry, dear, I've put you in Percy's old room again. I'll have tea and biscuits on the table by the time you get back down," Mrs Weasley ordered them, not unkindly.

Harry sighed happily, his contentment a little weighed down by the fuzziness he was still feeling, and followed Ron and Ginny up the stairs.

Hedwig had already arrived, and had found a temporary perch on the back of an austere-looking desk chair.

Mrs Weasley had left a note for him on the desk:

Harry, please make yourself at home. Hedwig arrived earlier. Feel free to hang her cage on the hook by the window.

Harry smiled at the welcome and lifted Hedwig's cage onto the designated hook. He pulled his trunk into a position where he could easily access it, and headed back down the stairs.

When he returned to the kitchen, he found that Mrs Weasley was true to her word. Freshly baked biscuits were piled on a large plate in the middle of the large kitchen table, and she was pouring water from a steaming kettle into a large yellow teapot.

Mr Weasley was already seated at the table, his glasses off and a hand across his weary face, covering what appeared to be a wide yawn.

"Tea, Harry?" Mrs Weasley asked.

Harry accepted and stirred an extra teaspoon of sugar into his mug when she placed it in front of him.

Ron and Ginny followed down the stairs a few moments later, and soon they were all relaxing around the table with mugs of tea and enjoying Mrs Weasley's biscuits.

"Are you feeling better now?" Ginny asked him, holding his hand under the table, then immediately realising her mistake.

"What's wrong Harry, dear? Are you ill?" Mrs Weasley asked, alarmed.

He tried to fob her off with an explanation of a cold that was lingering over-long, but was subjected to Mrs Weasley's maternal fussing. It wasn't long before he was packed off to bed with a hot water bottle and an armful of extra blankets, and told to help himself if he needed anything to eat or drink during the night.

Ginny rose with him and followed him out into the hallway.

"Sorry about that, Harry. I didn't mean to set Mum onto you," she apologised, taking his hand and leaning her head against his chest. He wrapped his arms around her, holding her tight.

"It's okay. Need to sleep anyway, I think."

He pulled back and kissed her gently on the lips then turned to walk up the stairs.

"Want me to come and tuck you in?"

Harry could hear the mischief in Ginny's voice, and turned back towards her as he placed his foot on the bottom step.

"Yes. But I don't think your Mum would approve," he replied with a chuckle of his own. Unseen by Ginny, Mrs Weasley had come out of the kitchen and was stood behind her daughter.

He turned and trotted up the stairs, hearing Ginny's squeak of surprise as she turned to come face-to-face with her Mother.

"And what was that all about?" Harry heard Mrs Weasley asking as he rounded the corner and moved along the landing to his room. He sniggered to himself, fairly sure that Mrs Weasley was only pretending to give Ginny a hard time, and changed for bed, pausing for a moment or two to pet Hedwig and pull a couple of her favourite owl treats out of his trunk.

Sleep overcame him fairly quickly, and his dreams were strangely distorted and fuzzy. After running through some of his normal, everynight dreams, which featured a scantily-clad Ginny more often than not, the focus of his dreams changed.

He appeared alone in a grey, featureless landscape, the horizon a vague blur in the distance with little to distinguish the brownish-grey of the land from the murky grey of the overcast sky. Looking around him achieved little except a shift in perspective, the same rocky and muddy grey-ness spanning from left to right, and off into the distance as far as he could see. The movement of his head made him feel more than a little nauseous.

Seeing no particular destination to head for, nor any reason for his presence, he sat down on the muddy ground beneath him and waited.

How long he waited for he didn't know. It could have been moments or hours. The hazy light gave him no indication of the time of day and the bleak surroundings provided no reference for him to judge where, or even when, he was.

Slowly the scene became less and less distinct. If he could sense any tangible difference in the level of light, Harry would have assumed that the change was a result of the sun going down, but the level of illumination stayed the same, it was merely the landscape that became less focused.

He put a hand to his head, and felt, rather than saw, his vision swim as another wave of nausea assaulted him. What was this place? What was he supposed to be doing.

The fuzziness that surrounded him extended to his mind. He tried to shake the feeling away, but once again was attacked by the dizziness, and fought hard to control his stomach.

Abruptly, he awoke.

He was extremely hot, and could feel that he had thrown his covers well away from the bed. Sweat dripped from his body, and he could feel the dampness of the sheets around him as though he had been perspiring for a long time. He tried to open his eyes, but the bland roof of Percy's old room swam before them in the low light that emanated from under the bedroom door, and he immediately closed them again as another wave of dizziness overcame him.

His throat was parched, and he desperately needed both a drink and some fresh air. He tried opening his eyes again to make his way out of bed and to the window first of all, to let in some air.

The room span, and his stomach roiled as he felt it protest at the spinning vision in front of him.

'Eyes closed then,' he decided.

With his eyes tightly shut, he slowly sat up and tried to contain the feeling of the world spinning around him. He felt his way to the edge of the bed and placed his feet on the carpet. He hoped that the firm footing would at least quell a little of the nausea, and he inched sideways towards the end of the bed, closer to the window, before trying to stand up.

He wasn't sure that he was going to be able to do this. Sweat continued to form all over his forehead and chest and keeping his stomach under control took immense effort.

He stood and leaned over to the catch on the window, ignoring the feeling that he was falling in a spiral as his centre of gravity shifted suddenly. He fumbled with the catch and threw the window wide open, breathing deeply as a blast of cold air hit his body and chilled his soaked frame.

Bliss!

He revelled in the feeling for a moment, then moved on to his next concern: something to drink.

Feeling his way along the edge of the bed, he moved away from the invigorating cold of the December night and suddenly felt the nausea hit him once again. He clutched tightly at the bed frame, but couldn't control himself any further, falling to the ground.

He woke to hear a murmur of concerned voices around his bed. He couldn't make out what they were saying but the voices seemed familiar. His head burned, both with a fire he couldn't describe and with the pain of the mother of all headaches. However quiet the whispers were, he wished they would stop, since the pounding in his head emphasised his desire for peace and quiet.

He could still feel the moistness of his sheets, reminding him that he'd been sweating bucketloads and wondered who had pulled his bedclothes back around him, but that was about as coherent as his thoughts got. The only other thing he knew was that he felt awful queasy, and that opening his eyes seemed like a bad idea.

Despite his lack of cognition or movement though, someone had sensed he was awake.

"Shh!" A female voice came from somewhere up above him, and he felt the world starting to spin again as he tried to work out whom it was and where they were. He let out a rather pitiful moan.

"Drink this," he heard the voice say, and a straw was inserted between his lips, stifling any protestations he could make.

He dutifully sipped at the straw and felt a cool, sweet liquid in his mouth, which he savoured, recognised as orange juice, and swallowed.

He groaned again as the liquid slid down his throat, both burning at the tissue and soothing at the same time, and the straw dropped from between his lips.

The woman placed something cool and damp on Harry's forehead and returned the straw to his mouth, quietly encouraging him to drink more.

He didn't need to be told twice. His throat was as dry as he could ever remember, and although the astringent orange juice hurt his throat, it was such a relief to partake of the liquid. After a few moments, the straw was removed and replaced with another. As far as Harry could tell, the second liquid that he drank was plain water, which soothed his parched throat much less painfully.

He felt the cool damp cloth that had rested on his forehead removed and used to wipe down his face, then sensed the woman step away, and Harry was left alone for a moment. The open window blew a healthy breeze steadily past Harry's face, for which he was very thankful, but the next thing he knew he was asleep.

Once again, the focus of his dreams was indistinct. They seemed much more normal though, although he didn't seem to be able to interact with any of the people he met in them, as though he wasn't really there - it felt like he was trying to communicate through a thick blanket of fog, almost corporeal in texture.

Suddenly there was a bit more clarity, and Harry's subconscious realised that he was no longer in a dream of his own making, but in a vision from Voldemort's perspective.

He stood in the same room that he had seen in his previous visions, the dilapidated furniture and web-strewn effects as they had been on his last 'visit', smothering the ill-lit room with a sense of creepy foreboding. Before him cowered two men in Death Eater robes, one tall, one slightly shorter, but sharing a similar bearing.

As the spider-infested chandeliers cast their dim light across the floor in front of him and they lifted their heads to apologise to their Master, Harry caught sight of their faces and understood first of all that they were as scared as their victims - the fear in their eyes was something he'd rarely seen in the Malfoys.

"You worthless idiots!" Harry spat in sibilant tones, his words echoing off the walls around him. "Your instructions were clear: use your position within Hogwarts to spread misinformation and panic. How difficult can that be?

"Instead I hear that, not only were you caught bullying a first year, you managed to get yourself expelled without even exposing Potter or that doddering old fool Dumbledore!

"I have been lenient with you thus far, Lucius, but this is a failure beyond my mercy. I forgave your inability to restrain Bella's impulses when I sent you after the Prophecy last June, but this? No, this is too much! You have cost me a servant in a position of importance with your failure to control your son's impulses"

Harry motioned to someone standing in the shadows off to his left to approach. As she did so, he recognised Bellatrix Lestrange.

"Your son," he said, continuing to talk to Lucius Malfoy prone in front of him, "was due to take the Mark this evening, was he not?"

Both the prone figures nodded nervously.

"Then you shall join him in this evening's entertainment. Bella, bring the new recruits in," he ordered.

Lestrange scurried out of the room with a quiet cackle, as she understood the fate awaiting the two Malfoys.

"But Master," the smaller of the two implored, "it was my Father's fault-"

"-I'm aware of your Father's failings, Draco," Harry cut in before the younger Malfoy could attempt to shift the blame. "There's an old saying about the sins of the Father though, that you might do well to investigate when you have a spare moment.

"Tonight though, you join him in his punishment. You were supposed to be my eyes and ears inside Hogwarts and you robbed me of your service there, therefore you will provide me with another service. One that I shall enjoy far more than you will."

A group of youngish looking men trooped into the chamber. They all wore long robes in the Death Eater fashion, but no masks to cover their faces. Harry was a little shocked to recognise one or two of them as recent Hogwarts students, and not from Slytherin house, either, though he mentally castigated himself for stereotyping the Slytherins so.

"Silencio!" Harry cast the spell across the two Malfoys and, though they had not spoken, they were silenced anyway. "Accio wands! Incarcerous!"

Two wands flew across the short distance between Harry and his two subordinates, and they were tightly bound by ropes that appeared out of mid air. He turned his attention to the group of new recruits who waited on his command. They all sported their freshly engraved Dark Mark on their forearms, clearly in view, and eagerly awaited his instructions.

"You have two playthings," he told them. "They are yours for the evening. Kill them not. Should you do so, your own fate will be worse. Other than that, you are free to experiment. Bella will assist."

The madwoman cackled again, but spoke to Harry before the fun began.

"Your special guest awaits, Master."

"Send him in then, Bella. He attends only with important information."

Lestrange hurried out again, and Harry amused himself watching the new recruits as they strung the two Malfoys up against the wall where they could get a better shot at them.

He turned back when the entrance of the unknown man captured his attention. The man stood tall and proud, but his clothing obscured any attempt to determine his identity.

"I have interesting news, my Lord," the man said, bowing deeply. As before, his deeply cowled cloak concealed his face from Harry's eyes, but once again he felt that he should recognise the voice.

"Fracto!" he heard from the group of new recruits, and smiled happily as the curse hit Lucius Malfoy squarely in the ribs and a cracking sound echoed around the room.

"I trust it is better news than I've been hearing from my supposedly loyal servants recently," he said in response to the man's approach.

"I believe so. One of my schemes has proven successful. I have managed to insinuate a poison into the Potter boy's system that weakens his mental strength, countering his efforts at Occlumency, my Lord."

"This sounds interesting...tell me more."

"He is already feeling the effects, according to my sources. In the next twenty-four hours, I imagine you will be able to re-establish your link to his mind and control it from your end again."

"How have you managed this?" Harry demanded, and he could feel his subconscious demanding the same thing.

"Oh it was quite simple. He is most trusting of those that simply invest a little time in getting to know him. I used a blood poison that should slowly make his brain degenerate, since it reduces the effectiveness of the oxygen in the blood to fuel the brain."

"I was looking for an explanation of how you managed to achieve this, not a biochemical analysis," Harry interrupted, becoming impatient at the man's self-congratulatory wallowing in Muggle medicine.

"I'm sorry, my Lord," the man apologised, though with little hint of contrition in his voice.

"In the fullness of time, six to eight months, perhaps, he will find it difficult to recall how to walk, talk or breath, if the poison runs its natural course."

"This is most excellent news," Harry hissed with pleasure, which was doubled as he heard a particularly nasty skin shredding curse across the room being tried out by one of his new intake. "You have done well."

"Thank you, my Lord. Please let me know if you have any particular need for my skills in the near future. I am expected back at my post."

"Then you are free to go, my faithful servant. I am most pleased with you."

The man backed away, bowing low, then turned and walked confidently back out through the door.

As the man left, Harry turned his attention back to the pair of Malfoys, hanging wretchedly from the wall, their faces displaying their obvious agony.

He called a halt to the initiates' work and strode up to the two figures, looking then both in the eye in turn.

"Let this be a lesson to you Lucius, Draco. I do not suffer fools, nor failures, gladly. You will not fail me again, or this evening's fun will be a permanent state of affairs, not merely a lesson."

He turned back to Bellatrix Lestrange.

"Keep them at it for another half-hour, then send these two idiots home," he instructed.

Harry woke from his vision, his head stinging with the pain from his scar, and thudding with the dull throbbing pain of a headache. His eyes flew open, and the room spun before him once again, so he closed them quickly.

In those few moments though, he had noted the daylight outside that would have flooded the room with light had it not been for the thick curtains drawn across the window, and the presence of Madam Pomfrey a few feet from the side of his bed in an armchair from The Burrow's living room, stirring a cup of tea.

In the meantime, as he tried to concentrate enough to call out quietly to the nurse to alert her that he was awake, the dizziness overcame him, and he rolled slightly to one side and retched loudly.

He heard Madam Pomfrey gasp in alarm and rush over to him, cleaning him up and laying him back down on the bed. His stomach roiled as he felt her place a straw between his lips again, but welcomed the feeling of the cool, plain water as it soothed his throat once again.

He felt the cold compress on his forehead once again, and vaguely heard the instruction to remain still, while he could hear her bustling around again, cleaning up after him, and muttering about students who managed to fall dramatically ill during the school holidays.

"Poison." Harry croaked out as he recalled the words from his vision. "Blood poison."

"You're hallucinating, dear boy," the nurse insisted, as she felt Harry's forehead with her hand and shuddered slightly. "Try and go back to sleep and let your body flush the virus out. Or do you need to use the bathroom?"

Oddly, Harry found that he didn't need to use the facilities, and hoped he hadn't disgraced himself by emptying his bladder in the bed.

"No," he said, still trying to counter the way that his vision seemed still to spin even though his eyes were closed. "Been poisoned."

He could almost sense Madam Pomfrey's sharp and annoyed huff of disapproval at his words, but it was about the last thing he sensed for quite a while.

His dreams seemed a little more normal after that particular episode, though they were still very fuzzy and hard to grasp. The edges of his dream-consciousness were very blurred, and once again he found it difficult to understand what they were about.

He had no sense of how long he had been ill, whether it was night or day, or how badly the poison was affecting him, but it was that last thought that remained at the forefront of his mind as his dreams cycled through.

Somehow, someone at Hogwarts had managed to poison him.

He didn't know whether it had been in class, in one of his meals, or even in the potions that John had been providing him to help him sharpen his mental focus and help his Occlumency, but whoever it was, Dumbledore needed to be warned that there was a supporter of Voldemort with free access to Hogwarts.

Occasionally the dreams would come into focus, and as they did, he could see himself standing there, looking back at him as though in a mirror, but without the left and right hand sides being swapped around. The Harry he could see in his dream was pointing at his head and motioning something, but he couldn't work out what message the dream-Harry was trying to get across, and the dream would slowly dissolve into something new and more out-of-focus.

"Think!" he told himself as the dream-Harry swam out of his mind for the third time, to be replaced by yet another dream that seemed to have about as much clarity as if he were viewing it under water.

He calmed himself, refusing to give in to the panic that his inability to help himself was causing. Mentally, he reviewed the exercises he'd done to calm his mind when he'd first started to learn Occlumency from John, and as he slipped into the meditative techniques that he'd picked up.

He flitted between sleep and wakefulness, rarely sure which particular state he was experiencing, being lucid in neither situation. Occasionally he'd wake and feel a straw placed at his lips, and he would suck thirstily on it, whether the taste was the pure freshness of water, one of Madam Pomfrey's odd-tasting nutritional potions, or some of the other medicines that he was being fed.

The dream-Harry re-appeared, smiling at him and giving him the thumbs up, so whatever his message was, he had apparently successfully adopted it, and his visions had a greater clarity at times.

Eventually, instead of the dream-Harry, he heard a voice in his head - his own voice.

"Pay attention!" he heard himself saying. "Remember your Potions lessons, Harry."

He sifted back through his memories of Snape's lessons this last term, recalling the time and effort they had spent on the uses of blood in Potions, and the very strange lesson they'd had at the start of the year. He thought about all the potions he'd brewed, and finally recalled the work he'd put in to catch up with the rest of the class after he had been exhausted in the Hospital Wing.

Blood Poisons! And not only that, but blood-purging potions, too!