Love's Labours

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Chapter Three ~ Perchance to Dream ...

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Harry had hoped to fall into a dreamless sleep. One that would give him peace for a change. Over the past year, he began to have dreams once again, much like those he experienced during his fourth year at Hogwarts. However, unlike the last time, he didn't inform anyone about waking up in a cold sweat, his scar sending white-hot flames of fire throughout his body. The last time he had said anything, it had drawn Sirius out of hiding ... endangering his life yet again. This time, Harry didn't want to draw him out into the open. He couldn't lose his Godfather ... he was his only hope. Without Sirius ... Harry would be forced to rely on the Dursleys and that was something he could never do.

Life with the Dursleys had gone from bad to worse after Harry was the Triwizard champion. Owls came to Privet Drive, congratulating him on a spectacular performance. And of course, Harry received owls from his three best friends, as well as Sirius. While owls were quite a normal sight in the Wizarding world, they drew quite a bit of attention in the Muggle world. Uncle Vernon was not at all pleased. He forbade Harry from sending any owls of his own ... keeping him out of contact with everyone for half the summer. While Harry could deal with no contact with his friends, not being able to talk to his Godfather was horrible. His one card that he could play, that Sirius was a murderer, was losing its effect. So, Harry had many summers incommunicado ... and it nearly drove him mad.

Knowing that Sirius was alive, and if Voldemort could ever be defeated, only then would Sirius be cleared of the charges against him. That was the only thought that kept him going during those long summers. Sirius had to live through Voldemort's defeat, which was why Harry couldn't risk telling him about the scar's problems once again. He could deal with it on his own. He had before.

And, because of that, one person was dead.

Harry tossed and turned in his bed, praying for some bit of peace. A draught of a sleeping potion would do well now, but he couldn't sneak down to Madame Pomfrey as much as he'd like to. Instead, he used all of his will to force away the dreams of Voldemort's presence. He was growing nearer and more powerful. It was only a matter of time --

Finally, Harry's subconscious won, forcing him to sleep. The blackness engulfed him, and for once Harry felt as if he would slip into a dreamless sleep.

Yet Harry's sleep was not dreamless.

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It was the final match of the Quidditch season: Gryffindor vs. Slytherin. It was a rather fitting end to Harry's seventh year as Seeker. As captains, he and Malfoy were forced to shake hands. The handshake lasted as short as possible, neither one wanting to hold the other's hand for longer than a second. Over the years, the hatred between the two had escalated to heights neither had dreamed possible. Maybe that was the explanation for an even colder Snape.

With Madame Hooch's whistle, Harry's final game of Quidditch had begun. He flew about for a bit on his Firebolt, relishing in the cheers of the crowd for the last time. He had been offered a position on the Cannon's, yet he hadn't replied with a definite answer. If he survived this year, then he would give it more consideration.

Ron, on the other hand, had already accepted his position, sporting his new robes at every opportunity. Harry was happy for his friend. It was time he finally got a break. Hermione seemed happy for the both of them, yet had become slightly withdrawn over the past year. Harry couldn't understand it. They still were on speaking terms, but she stopped spending as much time with the duo lately. It pained Harry ... he missed having her around.

A bludger whisked past his ear, drawing Harry from his thoughts rather abruptly. He looked up at the sound of cackling above him. It was Malfoy holding one of the Slytherin beater's sticks. Harry narrowed his eyes at the blonde.

"Hey Potter!" he yelled with a sneer. "How about you pay attention to the game? I want you wide awake and focused on me when I steal the snitch from under your nose!" Malfoy continued to cackle as Harry narrowed his eyes.

"I wouldn't count on that Malfoy!" he yelled back, turning his attention back to the game.

Of course, the first person his eyes picked out in the stands was Hermione's. She caught his eye and waved, giving him a thumbs up sign. Harry smiled in return, tearing his gaze back to the field.

Harry's eyes darted back and forth as he perched on his Firebolt, watching for any sign of gold. Then he saw it ... hovering underneath Malfoy's broom, was the snitch. Harry almost laughed at the irony of the situation. Yet, if he rushed straight for it ... Malfoy may see it and get it before he could even get close enough. It was time for him to use one of his favorite moves: the Wronski Feint.

Plummeting towards the ground, Harry looked back at Malfoy. Sure enough, the blonde was following him, a look of murder in his eyes. Just before he reached the ground, Harry turned sharply, speeding back upwards. While Malfoy should have known the move was coming, it caught him by surprise nonetheless. Stopping just before the ground met his face, Malfoy pulled out of the dive and sped towards Harry, pulling his wand out of his robe.

Harry was unaware of Malfoy's wand as he sped towards the snitch. He had almost reached it when Malfoy yelled out from behind.

"Expelliarmus!"

It was a strange sensation, to be suddenly flying through the air without a broom. Harry quickly realized that Malfoy had thrown him off his broom. If there would have been more time, Harry probably would have laughed at the situation. Malfoy had to cheat in order to beat him.

Yet, time wasn't on his side as he plummeted quickly towards the earth. All around him gasps and screams filled the air. Harry briefly prayed Hermione wasn't among them screaming. He didn't want her to see him end like this. Only one thought ran through his mind.

He fumbled around inside his robes, grasping for his wand. Ever since the Dementors showed up at the Quidditch match four years ago, Harry always flew with his wand on him. Never before had he been so glad for its presence. He pulled out his wand and yelled out the only spell that came to mind.

"Accio Firebolt!"

Just before Harry hit the ground, he reached out, grabbing his Firebolt. He hoisted himself onto the broom and quickly pulled out of the dive, his heart pounding a mile a minute. Narrowing his eyes at his blonde haired opponent, Harry sped towards him. Harry's heart sank as he closed the gap. There was no way he was going to beat Malfoy to the snitch. The dirty cheating son of a bi --

Harry stopped as something whizzed past his ear. He stopped immediately, thinking it was a bludger. Instead, it was the snitch. Somehow, Malfoy was following, well, God only knows what. Harry kept one eye on Malfoy briefly. Yes, the blonde was still ascending. Harry didn't understand it. Malfoy wasn't blind ... he must have seen the snitch change directions.

Not really caring what Malfoy was chasing, Harry went into a spectacular dive. The crowd gasped, watching the two seekers move in opposite directions. Harry was forced to change course on a couple of occasions, due to bludgers being sent his way. At last, the snitch was in his grasp. He could do it ... he could win the Quidditch Cup for the third year running.

Until Ron's words before the tournament came back in his mind.

'I'll make a bet with you ... rather similar to the time we played Hufflepuff before the Yule Ball. Only, this is for a larger stake. If we win the Quidditch Cup, you will give up your quest for Hermione. We lose; I'll give up my quest.'

In his mind, Harry knew exactly what was going to happen if he grabbed the snitch. If he reached his hand out, he would lose Hermione ... to Ron. But, what if he didn't grab it? He was following it ... he could just pull up and go elsewhere, to let Malfoy capture it. But his pride would not let that happen. Never would he allow himself to lose to Malfoy. NEVER.

"And he's done it again! Harry captures to Golden Snitch!" The announcer's voice rang out over the Quidditch field. "Gryffindor wins the Quidditch Cup!"

Cheers erupted as Harry brought his broom to a halt. The Gryffindor players flocked to Harry's side, raising him up on his shoulders. Even with the joyous mood, sadness touched his heart. As always, he wished his parents could be there to see his victory. Granted, he knew they were watching ... but ... it just wasn't the same.

Harry's eyes fell on Hermione, and his heart sank. He knew in his hear that he had done the right thing. But why did his heart feel so heavy?

He reached a hand out to her, but felt as if he was being pulled away from her. He saw Ron go to her side ... they kissed ... and Harry's life spun out of control.

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Usually her dreams of Harry always woke Hermione up feeling happy and refreshed. This one, however, was the complete opposite. She felt cold all over ... her skin crawled on her body. She wrapped her arms around herself, in an attempt to warm herself. Unfortunately, no warmth changed the feeling she had.

Rubbing her temples, Hermione tried to dissect the dream, but no clear answer came to her still sleepy brain. As she woke up more, the chilling effects of the dream began to leave her. She no longer felt the horrid sense of foreboding. Hermione glanced at her bedside clock. 4:56 am. She still had a few hours to sleep.

She pulled the covers up around her chin and settled back into her pillows. The dream was a dream and nothing more. Dreams had no bearing on the future. The future is what you make of it. Satisfied with her analysis, Hermione closed her eyes and went back to sleep.

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Across the Gryffindor tower, Ron slowly awoke from his dream ... with a smile on his face. Hermione was his ... and his alone. He had the perfect plot to steal her away from Harry. As the effects of sleep wore off, Ron was confused. Harry had no feelings for Hermione, at least none that he had ever shared. Then, why was there such a contest between the two?

It made absolutely no sense whatsoever. Still, as Ron closed his eyes to go back to sleep, he decided not to tell Harry about the dream. His best friend was troubled enough with a reoccurring dream about Voldemort's return. Even thought Harry never mentioned a word about his dreams, Ron knew what it was. Why bother his green-eyed friend more than necessary. Besides, Harry was the only one who put any stock in dreams.

Sleep quickly overtook him once again. Yet, his last conscious thought before he slipped into the black abyss of sleep was: 'That's one dream I wouldn't mind coming true ...'

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Harry sat straight up in bed, his heart pounding. Granted, the dream was a pleasant change from the ones that normally visited him, but it still upset him nonetheless. Not only did it upset him, but it confused him as well. Since when did Ron have his sights set on Hermione? Harry shook his head, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. It made no sense. Ron was the proverbial busy bee, flitting from one woman to another to take their honey. He couldn't imagine his friend staying with one woman for more than a week. All he'd do is wind up breaking Hermione's heart. Harry balled his hands into fists just thinking about it.

He looked down in surprise at his reaction. Since when did he care that much about Hermione's feelings? He always saw her as a close friend ... one that he would always look out for. Yet, now he'd kill anyone who dared to harm her, either physically or emotionally. Why the sudden change? Or was it really so sudden?

The dream bothered him more than it should have. Looking out the window, it was still dark outside. He could at least grab a few more minutes of sleep before Ron woke him, and that is what Harry needed. A dreamless sleep.

As he rolled over in bed, a peculiar thought reached his brain. Should he divulge the dream to Ron and Hermione? If he did, he'd have to reveal something he wasn't fully prepared to reveal. Harry shook his head. No, this is something that he would have to keep to himself for a while. No one could know about this dream. Granted, Harry had become quiet lately about his dreams. They were strangely reminiscent of his fourth year. Voldemort was near ... and he was preparing his final move. Harry knew the final battle would be his and his alone. So, no sense in worrying Hermione and Ron about something they had no control over.

Harry closed his eyes, hoping the last few hours of sleep would be undisturbed. This time, his prayer was answered.