Desperate Measures

Harry was not good at being patient. Especially when a friend was in danger and needed him. While Ron was in the hands of Death Eaters, it nearly tore him apart to be sitting in Dumbledore's office posing as a bird. It wouldn't be long though; he could feel it. Hermione would get to the bottom of this. Either The Order or himself would free Ron and it would all be ok. Well, that was the naïve thoughts he was trying to comfort himself with.

He knew that this was the real world, elite members of such a group would not bungle the inquisition, torture and murder of a young man when they had killed so many before. He could always hope though....

***

Dumbledore always had his office too bloody hot. The fire raged brightly in the grate with ferocity that didn't owe to one big log that was hosting it. The fire was sustained by magic. The heat from it often made Harry drowsy and float off into a lazy doze that was a thankful relief from having to be awake, nervous and worrying about Hermione and Ron and his guilt of doing nothing.

His thoughts were uncomplicated and pleasant as he felt his body getting heavier and caring less about the physical world he was in. He soon fell into a deep sleep and began dreaming, and re running sketchy, illogically placed thoughts.

***

After Sirius' death, he had feared sleep, for dreaming about anyone else he loved. Having his thoughts indoctrinated, manipulated by Voldemort and acting on them, was a nasty concept, beyond nasty really, it implied an evil that he couldn't comprehend. When he was younger, he had wondered if Voldemort was human - somewhere. How could such pure evil exist? Now at the age of twenty, he resigned himself to just accepting that some people just... are.

He knew in his bones that his stupidity... no, not his stupidity, his arrogant attitude that he could deal with those dreams. Snape was right. He was a little narcissist. It was he who had killed Sirius; he didn't want that to happen to anyone else. He was not going to be swayed by any dreams of Ron and no matter how gruesome it was; he would not budge until he had talked to Dumbledore.

Often, he had nagged Madam Pomfrey for a dreamless sleep potion, but she refused to give it after the first two months following from Sirius' death. She said he needed to be independent and fight for himself and not be ruled by a special liquid. Nothing got done when people were dependent on such an addictive potion, believing it sorted the pain.

No amount of potion would take away the pain really; it was just a placebo effect, help carry a lie that he was ok.

And nothing would take care of the pain if this became another tragedy as well. He didn't think he could stand losing either Ron or Hermione, Harry would rather face Voldemort unarmed and dare him to kill him on the spot. He knew that he was being melodramatic, and would cry for ages instead, gritting his teeth and getting on with his life.

***

Harry woke up half an hour later with a gasp. He wasn't sure whether to take notice of this dream. It wasn't even as if it was something disturbing that needed quick action.

His dream was a tableau, just an old stone cellar under a newer looking house. He didn't really see the house; it was just the basement that was incongruous to the house. It wasn't a magnificent sight at all, not like the views of many lands that he had seen in other dreams. It looked non-descript, boring, indistinguishable, not worthy of his attention.

But it bugged him all the same. This was one small image, yet it prompted feelings of anxiety and fear. He really didn't know what to make of it. Dumbledore was at a meeting, he had 'abandoned him', leaving him to sit on that bloody perch. Sometimes that old man didn't have a clue about what was needed. He needed his friends to be safe. He needed to go himself and find them. He needed to stop this useless, guilty feeling. There was nothing he could do, unless he wanted to get killed.

Well, he couldn't go looking for the Hogwarts headmaster. Harry was supposed to be abroad, or looking for Ron or something, and Fawkes wasn't allowed to be randomly flying around the country unless he had a delivery, and Harry didn't have Fawkes' sense of direction to where his master was dwelling. He would just have to perch and wait.

And wait.

And wait.

***

Dumbledore came bursting into his office about quarter to six, almost out of breath with exertion and excitement.

"Harry, Hermione's been taken to Voldemort."

Harry felt his stomach sink, and cold waves of dread, causing a frightening immobility. He transformed back to his human shape and leaned on Dumbledore's big desk to steady his shaking limbs. This was fear. Was he going to lose his friend?

"What?" he managed to croak weakly.

"She's alright. He spared her, so I've heard. We need to meet up with her and hear of any news she may have." Harry let out a sigh of relief. Fearing the worst, and it happening was starting to become commonplace. It was wonderful when the worst didn't happen. He could have jumped with joyous relief, but managed to contain himself instead of looking like a gawky teenage idiot. Control of one's emotions was the thing now.

"I have to tell you this before we go. I had another dream." Harry blurted out, interrupting his old headmaster, as he was about to suggest they leave right away for Tonks' cottage and summon Hermione to them. Dumbledore's face fell, and he looked grave.

"What is it Harry? Remember, we must regard it with great caution, as eager as you maybe to go and rescue your friend, it is very dangerous for you to do so."

"Yes I know that. And I have paid the price! You think I haven't thought about this?" Harry could feel his temper rising, he was going to be dangerous if provoked more.

"But you must not dwell on it, and we must not let it cloud our judgement - ever."

"I understand." Harry didn't really understand that. So, they were the side that could not feel guilt in holding emotion in them - but not express it? Dumbledore must have been more cracked than he thought. Harry chided himself for thinking bad thoughts about his overall protector and mentor. He made mistakes like the rest of them - and who said that the old man had to make sense? The whole messed up situation didn't make sense.

"Now, tell me your dream." Dumbledore was curt in that demand, as if he had heard Harry speak out aloud his less than complimentary thoughts of the older wizard.

And Harry told of the strange vision he had while Dumbledore listened, nodded at the right places, then analysed the data given, to ponder over if maybe such a dream was genuine, or even worth taking notice of. He inclined his head and said:

"I think this dream may be legitimate. I'll owl Hermione straight away, and we'll go down to Tonks. I think with what she can tell us, and what you have seen will be a great help, and we can plan our attack and free Mr Weasley."

The smile Harry gave his former headmaster was the first brilliant and truly happy smile he had done in ages. They were on their way, and it appeared both Ron and Hermione were still alive.