The Knights Of Walpurgis

Chapter Sixteen: True Dreams

Harry sank, exhausted, into his bed. By the time he'd thought to look at his watch, he'd been running very late and he and Susan had run nearly all the way back to Hogwarts. He'd left her at the top of the stairs that went down to the Hufflepuff common room and been on the verge of sprinting off before turning around and giving her a swift kiss goodbye that had left her beaming and him glowing with a sort of pleased embarrassment.

He'd dashed into the Room of Requirement and had his legs swept from under him by Marchbanks' first jinx of the day, but had been able to use his momentum to turn fire himself into a forward roll that ended with him springing upright and firing a barrage of hexes back in the elderly examiner's direction.

That had set the tone for the rest of the lesson, where Marchbanks seemed to be trying to make up for lost time with her rapid fire wand work. The two of them had fired strings of hexes at one another, and Harry had even managed to wrap his tongue around a multi-syllabled curse that he'd heard Marchbanks use in previous lessons. He had the satisfaction of seeing her eyes widen as the glowing golden spell erupted from his wand, and she was forced to alter her posture of stooped nonchalance to drop into a defensive stance in order that the powerful curse didn't knock her over when it hammered into her Shield spell.

She responded by firing a homing Stunner that had tracked Harry through his routine of dives and rolls before slamming into his chest.

The next thing he remembered was Marchbanks holding out her walking stick for him to grab hold of and haul himself upright.

"You're learning, then," she said.

"I think so," he said, loudly. Marchbanks had a tendency to use more powerful spells when he forgot to speak loudly enough for her to hear.

"Right. Suppose I might start showing you some real magic, see if you can handle that."

"Okay. Er, Madam Marchbanks, what was that spell I just used?"

"You don't know?" she asked.

"No."

She muttered something that was probably rather rude under her breath, and glared at him. He stared back, holding her gaze. He knew that she respected people who stood up to her, or, at least, she had shown him more respect since he first stood up to her.

"It's a Burning Hex," she said. "It'll strip skin from bones with enough power and intent behind it. You probably couldn't manage much more than a mild sunburn, boy."

"You mean I don't have enough power?"

"Power's not your problem. Got plenty of that, now you're growing up. Intent's what you need."

Harry nodded. Bellatrix Lestrange had told him the same thing.

"We're not playing, Potter," Marchbanks said. "You're here to learn how to fight Voldemort, who certainly won't be playing."

"He does," Harry said, suddenly feeling very tired. "That's exactly what he does. He could kill me as soon as look at me, but he's always played with me, taunting me, trying to make me give up."

"But you never did."

He shrugged.

"Well, you show some promise, but you still have a lot of learning to do. Now, try and hurt me."

Unfortunately, Harry hadn't been able to do that. Marchbanks had looked disappointed and when she left, she turned right instead of left outside the door. Harry had a feeling that she was reporting to Dumbledore.

He had wanted to go straight to bed then. It was eight o'clock and he was feeling tired and in desperate need of a chance to lie down somewhere dark and warm and sort through his thoughts.

I've gone from seeing Ron's scars to kissing Susan to having a very old woman tell me that I had to try and hurt her. Maybe I should tell Malfoy all this so that he'd have something real to report.

Instead, he'd staggered into the Gryffindor common room and dropped his bag beside Ron's chair. He dropped onto the sofa, closed his eyes, counted to five and held out his hand just as Hermione passed over his Potions textbook. Ginny, on the other side of the sofa, laughed.

"How was everyone's day?" Harry asked, forcing his eyes open.

"Okay," Ginny said. "Seamus is good fun to spend a day with, and I think I'm going to set him up with one of my friends. He passed my tests," she said, eyes twinkling.

"Right. I'm sure he'll be pleased," Harry said. "What tests?"

"Conduct, quality of jokes, paying attention, that sort of thing," she said.

"Oh. Er, how do I score?"

Ginny frowned. "Oh. You know, I've never looked at you that way. How does Susan think you score?"

Suddenly everyone seemed to be looking at Harry. His mouth flopped open and shut a few times, and then Ron took pity on him.

"How do I score, then?" he asked. Ginny hesitated before answering.

"Well, you're doing much better this year," she said, before turning back to her work. Ron grinned, and Harry decided he'd never ask exactly how well Ron was doing. If he'd ever wondered what damning with faint praise was like, Ginny had just given a master class.

"What about you two?" he asked. "How was your day?"

"Fine," Hermione said.

"Yeah, good," Ron said.

He looked from one to the other, and then shrugged. He didn't want to know too many of the details, and those that he was curious about, he was sure he'd hear soon enough.

"Potions," he sighed. "Right, then..."

*

Harry lay in bed and stared at the canopy above him. Ron's snores reverberated around the room as they always did, nearly drowning out Neville's much quieter snores. Neither of his friends had said anything about how their dates had gone, and Harry had decided not to ask.

Probably not as well as mine, he decided, smiling silently in the darkness. I don't think I'll tell Remus too much about today, but I suppose that I should let him know that I know for certain that I fancy Susan.

His eyes drifted closed, and he fell asleep anticipating pleasant dreams.

*

Harry stood atop a tall hill, the highest point as far as the eye could see. A rolling landscape surrounded him in all directions, and a rich, dark, pre-dawn sky spread out above his head from horizon to horizon.

He felt confused, as though someone was speaking just outside his hearing, moving just outside his range of vision. Distantly, he thought, there was the clash of metal on metal, but it was hard to be sure.

He knew where he was, he realised with a jolt. But he didn't know how he had got there, or how he would get back.

He looked around, curious for any hint of what had brought him to the place, but everywhere was empty. Something in the distance caught his eye, and he turned to face it more directly. It existed at the very limit of his vision, and he felt frustrated as it seemingly taunted him. With a deep sigh, he decided to make his way in that direction, and looked about him for a path down the steep hillside.

"You should wait," came a voice from behind him. He looked around and saw a very pretty blonde woman standing there.

"I'm going to look," Harry said. "I can't wait around here."

There was a pause, and then the blonde woman nodded.

"She's right," she said. "Whatever that is, we'll be at our strongest with the four of us here."

"I'm strong enough as it is," Harry said. "He's not coming. You know that. No one has heard from him in nearly a month. For all we know, he's dead."

"Don't say that," the blonde woman said, looking upset at the idea.

"I'm sorry, but it's probably true," Harry said. "We shouldn't lie to ourselves. He's gone, and that's that."

There was another long pause. The blonde woman seemed to be listening to something, but Harry couldn't decide what.

Harry turned and looked back across the valley, straining his eyes to make out any sort of detail.

"You should say something to them," the blonde woman said. She laid a hand on his arm and pulled him gently towards the other side of the hill. "They've come here on your word. You should tell them why, Godric."

*

Harry's eyes snapped open. He lay silent and still, listening to the sounds of his room-mates snoring.

That was... odd. Where was that woman the other times I dreamed about this?

He looked at his watch. Just enough light crept under the door to the staircase to allow him to make out that it was just after one in the morning. He let out a disappointed sigh. He had wanted a decent night's sleep before tackling the rest of his homework the next day.

And before I see Susan again, he thought, shivering as his bare feet touched the cold stone floor. No chance of sleeping now. I know what Hermione would say, so I'd better do it without getting into another argument.

I wonder if Dumbledore sleeps in his office?

*

Dumbledore, he informed Harry, did not sleep in his office, but was summoned by a loud bell whenever someone tried to gain access from the corridor below.

"Now, this is not a time at which we normally meet, Harry. May I assume that you have had another interesting dream?"

Harry nodded, and stifled a yawn.

"Ah, yes, it is rather late. I must confess, I have not yet been to bed. A most fascinating documentary on the art of eldritch lace making on the WWN detained me, but I digress. Were you dreaming of this empty landscape again?"

"Yes, except this time, it wasn't empty," Harry said. He described the dream, the woman, and the disjointed feeling whenever he looked toward the horizon.

"Mmm, interesting," Dumbledore said, stroking his moustache with his long fingers. "Harry, would you like a drink?"

"Yes, I... What?"

"A drink. I am particularly fond of brandy at times like this. Of course, you are a little young to start drinking, but I think that the general idea is sound. Fawkes?"

Dumbledore's phoenix raised its head at the sound of its name. He fixed Harry with a steady gaze and trilled quietly. Harry shivered as the familiar sound traveled down his spine and filled his stomach with warmth.

"Sir, how did you end up with Fawkes?"

"A very long story, Harry," Dumbledore said. "Another time?" He held up his arm and Fawkes spread his wings and glided across the room to land on it. "Now, if you will take one of Fawkes' tailfeathers?"

"Where are we going, sir?"

Dumbledore smiled. "I'm taking you to a pub, Harry."

And with that, they vanished from the room.

*

Harry had seen Dumbledore disappear from his office using Fawkes before. He hadn't given much thought to how the Headmaster had managed this, and he certainly hadn't imagined what he was now experiencing.

They seemed to be standing still, their feet on solid ground, Fawkes perched calmly on Dumbledore's arm as they both clutched at his tail.

Harry looked around him in amazement, entranced by the swirling colours that spun around them. It was almost as though they were riding the inside of a rainbow, but Harry knew that this didn't even begin to do justice to what he was seeing. The other thing that amazed him was how silent it was. If Harry was any judge, they seemed to be traveling through the air - their clothes were being pulled at by an otherwise unfelt wind - but there was no sound. Harry didn't feel cold, either, despite only wearing his school robe over his pyjamas.

"Enjoying the ride, Harry?" Dumbledore said, his voice as calm as it ever was.

"Yes!" Harry said.

"Good. We are nearly there. You may feel a slight pull to one side when we reappear, but it shouldn't be too bad. We haven't traveled very far."

"How f--"

Suddenly they were back on solid, visible ground. Harry had no trouble recognizing where they were, as he'd been there only a few hours earlier.

"We're in Hogsmeade?"

"Indeed. The only pub around here that opens after hours. The licensing authorities have learned that it is best to let some things go unnoticed," Dumbledore said gravely. Fawkes chirped quietly as he settled on the Headmaster's shoulder.

Harry and Dumbledore turned around. Harry wasn't particularly surprised at what he saw.

"The Hog's Head."

"Indeed. Now Harry, what's your poison?"

Dumbledore grinned in a surprisingly mischievous way as he pushed the door open and led the way into the disreputable pub which still, Harry noticed as he walked through the doorway, smelled of goats.

"Headmas-- Harry!"

"Hagrid," Dumbledore had stopped just inside the door and was peering seriously down his long nose at Hagrid, who was holding a huge tankard and sitting with a merry-looking witch in a colourful print dress with a knitted shawl pulled around her shoulders and large hoop earrings hanging from her ears. A single candle stood on the table between the two, illuminating not much more than the table and the two people sitting at it. The rest of the room was in darkness, but Harry had the feeling that there was someone else sitting in the gloom.

"Hagrid, I am sure that I'm not seeing a member of my staff drinking in a pub after hours, am I?" Dumbledore asked.

"Er, no sir," Hagrid muttered, stealing glances at his giant tankard as though wondering whether it would be worth trying to hide it.

"Good, good. I'll see you at breakfast tomorrow, then."

"Yeah, tomorrow, absolutely," Hagrid said, standing up and nearly overturning the table in the process. "Er." He looked around the pub, drained the tankard in an almost absent-minded way - this took some time as it had appeared to be almost full - nodded to the witch and Dumbledore and walked as nonchalantly as possible past the Headmaster. He paused in front of Harry.

"Er, all right there, Harry?"

"Hi Hagrid," Harry replied, doing his best not to grin.

"Er, right then." And with that, Hagrid banged out of the pub as fast as his legs could carry him.

"Albus," a deep voice said from the gloom at the rear of the pub. "Every time you come here, you scare off my best customers."

"Hagrid would not enjoy his breakfast tomorrow with a hangover," Dumbledore said. "It does me good to see Hagrid eating his fill. It reminds me to enjoy my food as much as he does, for one thing."

"You know that I do a perfectly good anti-hangover potion."

"And I know that Hagrid is rarely sober enough to remember to ask for one after an evening in here."

"Perhaps if you let him have that distillery he wants behind his hut, he wouldn't be in here so often."

"That distillery would foster inter-house relationships, it is true, but only because so many of my students would end up drunk from it. No, I suppose its best if Hagrid comes in here for a nightcap."

"Or seventeen."

"Or seventeen," Dumbledore agreed, seriously.

The landlord of the Hogs Head stepped into the light. He was very tall, with white hair and a long beard, and now that Harry saw the two men facing one another, he wondered why he hadn't noticed before how much they looked like one another.

"Albus," the landlord said fondly, extending his hand to Dumbledore.

"Aberforth," Dumbledore replied, extending his hand to the man who Harry now also had to think of as Dumbledore.

"Your brother?" he asked, somewhat weakly.

"Ah, how rude of me," Dumbledore said. He released the other man's hand, and turned around.

"Harry, I'd like you to meet my brother, Albus."

"Yes, sir," Harry said. "I remember. Pleased to meet you, sir," he said.

"Aberforth will do," the other man said. "Sir is for when you're in here drinking with your friends. Either that or Brian."

"Brian?"

"Our great-great-grandfather," Dumbledore said. "A Muggle, and a wonderful story-teller. One of my middle names, as well. Aberforth likes to use it as an alias. He thinks that people will think he's me even more often than they already do."

"Well, it works," Aberforth said. "And you get at least half of the repercussions for the things that I do. Not," he added quickly, "that I've been doing anything for the last several months. I've been quiet, kept to myself, and been looking after our guest." He smiled warmly at Harry, although Harry thought that he was trying to avoid his brother's stern gaze. "Now, what brings you here?"

"I thought that Harry might want to speak with our guest," Dumbledore said. Harry turned and, for the first time, looked at the old witch. He had quite forgotten that she was in the room with them. She had an easy, friendly smile and very dark eyes, almost black. When she smiled, which she did a lot, her face became a mass of deep lines that suggested a long life, and one which she had mostly enjoyed.

"It's okay," she said, smiling wickedly at him. "Most people do, especially around these two."

"I... You can read my mind?"

"No," she said, winking at him. "But I'm a Seer. I knew what you were going to say, so I saved you the bother of saying it."

"You're a Seer?" Harry asked. He sat down in Hagrid's old seat and stared at the old woman. "Like Professor Trelawney?"

"Albus," the woman said, giving the Headmaster a piercing look. "Do you mean to tell me that you still employ that worthless excuse for a fortune teller?"

"Professor Trelawney is a valued friend," Dumbledore said, settling himself into a seat. "And a firm ally, at that. Should I evict her from her home simply because she is not yet in possession of the same skills that you are? It took you more than a century to hone your skills, and Sybil is not yet fifty."

"Hmmmph," the woman said. "Has she made a second prophecy yet? Or is she still stuck on one?"

"Indeed," Dumbledore said. "Sybil predicted the return of Voldemort with astonishing accuracy. You yourself could not have bettered it."

"Hmmmph," the woman said again. "Well, be that as it may. But we are here, and this is now."

"Wise words," Dumbledore said, nodding.

"Oh, if you two are going to start that, I'm off to bed," Aberforth said. "There was a programme I wanted to catch on the WWN anyway."

"If you mean the one on eldritch lace making, you've missed it," Dumbledore said.

"What? I've been looking forward to that all week," Aberforth sighed. "Typical."

"I wanted you to stay, anyway," Dumbledore said. "There's no-one better I know for helping untangle a person's mind."

"True enough," Aberforth said, still sounding a bit glum. "One of my many gifts. Whose mind?"

"Harry's."

"What?" Harry said. "My mind's not tangled."

"Rose, please tell Harry about the dream you have been having," Dumbledore said.

"Very well. I find myself standing in a valley, with a hill on either side. To one side, the hill is empty. To the other, there is something on top, but I can't see what. It is as though it has been placed under a powerful Disillusionment Charm. On top of the empty hill I can hear voices, people arguing, I think."

Harry gaped at her.

"Now, Harry, does that sound familiar?"

"That's my dream, isn't it?" he said.

"It seems so. I wondered if it might be so, but until tonight I did not think it was worth the two of you meeting. However, Rose here sent me a letter immediately before you appeared, as until tonight, she has not heard those voices."

"You've been watching my dreams?" Harry asked. He blushed brightly. He didn't always dream about the hilltop.

"No, I don't think so," Rose said, suddenly serious. "I think that I may have been causing it, though. We've been sharing it, but I can't see you, and you can't see me."

"How come you can hear the voices, then?"

"Seer," she shrugged. "It's handy in all sorts of ways. When I was young, and just starting, I used to look a second into the future."

"Was that useful?"

"Yes, because I could look anywhere a second in the future. The boys' Prefects' bathroom, for example."

Aberforth laughed uproariously, and Rose giggled in a way that suggested she was much younger than she clearly was. While Harry had often found himself thinking how old Dumbledore was, he had trouble thinking of Rose as over a hundred years old. Her clear voice and infectious laugh made her seem closer to Harry's own age. She could have almost been a friend of Tonks.

"Anyway, shall we get on, Albus?" Aberforth asked, wiping his eyes with a grubby looking handkerchief. "I'm sure that it's past Harry's bedtime."

"Yes. First, Harry, may I ask you a question? I'm afraid that it may be rather personal?"

"Er, well, okay," Harry said.

"Have you touched anyone today, who you hadn't previously touched? Perhaps a handshake, or..." Dumbledore tailed off, and Harry was astonished to realise that the old wizard looked highly embarrassed.

"Yes," Harry replied.

"May I ask who?"

"Susan Bones," Harry said. He stared at the tabletop and waited for the next question.

"Who is she, Albus?" Rose asked. Harry let out a deep breath in relief.

"A Hufflepuff in Harry's year, Rose. She's Amelia Bones' niece."

"Ah. Yes, that would fit."

"Perhaps. Was Susan the only one, Harry?"

Harry nodded.

"Very well. Harry, what appears to be happening is that you are having a shared dream. Other people may have it as well, and they will share a common link."

"What link?" Harry said. He raised his hand to his scar. He'd almost forgotten about it recently. It had barely twinged since he'd begun to get the hang of Occlumency."

"A blood link, in this case. Harry, do you remember me telling you, at the end of your second year, that only a true Gryffindor could have pulled Godric Gryffindor's sword from the Sorting Hat?"

"Yes."

"I was not speaking metaphorically."

Harry sat there as it sank in.

"You think that I'm the Heir of Gryffindor?"

"So it would appear."

"What does this have to do with my dream?"

"The scene that yourself and Rose described was familiar to me, from my own History of Magic lessons, many years ago. I did a little research, and awaited further developments."

"And?"

"Harry, the scene that you saw played out tonight was an exchange between Helga Hufflepuff and Godric Gryffindor. If I am right, then Salazar Slytherin and Rowena Ravenclaw would also appear, if you slept long enough."

"What does that have to do with touching Susan?" Harry asked.

"It appears that Miss Bones may be the Heir of Hufflepuff," Dumbledore said. "I suspect that she is probably not having the same dreams, however. You and Rose have a certain sensitivity to these things that I do not believe she possesses. Harry, I would like you to touch Rose, a handshake will suffice, and therefore she will see you and Helga should you both have the dream again."

Harry and Rose shook hands. Harry noticed that the skin on her hands, which was the same deep brown as the rest of her, was much more rough and callused than his own.

"I've worked hard all my life, Mr. Potter," she said quietly. "No regrets, though," she added, almost as an afterthought.

"Not even turning me down?" Aberforth asked.

"Especially not that," Rose said, her face becoming mass of lines again as she laughed loudly. Aberforth joined in, hooting long and loud, and eventually pulling a huge handkerchief from inside his robe to wipe his face on.

"Oh dear," he sighed, at last. "We would have had fun, Rose."

"We would have killed one another, Aberforth," Rose said, fondly.

"That's what I said," he replied, with a grin.

"But we wouldn't be here, now," she said, her face becoming serious. "And this is where we're needed."

"You're right there, I suppose," Aberforth said, sobering. "All right then, lad, let's have a look inside that noggin of yours."

Harry turned to face him, and nodded.

"Do you want me to drop my shields?"

"Do you have shields up?" Aberforth said, with surprise evident on his face. "I hadn't noticed. Still, I suppose you should lower them, if it makes you feel better."

Harry blinked in surprise, and looked at Dumbledore, who had been watching this in silence.

"My brother is an outrageous liar, Harry," he said. "Still, he is the best Legilimens I know, better than myself or Professor Snape, anyway. He will be able to divine if there is anything further we can learn from your dream."

"Right," Harry said, looking uncertainly at Aberforth, who stood up and made his way back into the gloom at the back of the pub. He remembered Mad Eye Moody saying that the wizard was odd, and if Moody thought so, then Aberforth Dumbledore probably bordered on certifiable.

Still, what choice do I have? Well, I could say no, but after last year... It has to be better to learn about these things right from the start.

"Do you have any idea where the dream comes from?"

"Me, I'm afraid," Rose said, smiling apologetically. "It seems that I started having the dream around the same time you did, and when I become unsettled, I tend to broadcast that. People with the right minds can pick up on it, and as you, or rather your ancestor, is a part of this dream, you take part in it."

"Right," Harry said, uncertainly. He tried to take all of this in, but decided to settle for trying to remember as much as possible and then seeing if Hermione would be able to explain it to him later.

"Good idea," Rose said absently.

"What?"

"Oh," Rose looked up, and blushed faintly. "I just... Drat. I'm sorry, Harry. You were broadcasting very strongly there. About a girl?"

"Hermione," Harry said, shivering. He wasn't entirely sure that he liked being in a room with so many people who could read his mind.

"Ah," Dumbledore nodded. "You think that Miss Granger will be able to help you understand what you have heard tonight?"

"I hope so, sir," Harry said. "I don't think that I can do it myself."

"Smart lad," Aberforth said, coming out of the gloom once more. Harry gaped at him. The tall wizard had a large metal contraption attached to his head, all gleaming copper, shining mirrors and strange claws hanging from extendable arms which seemed to be reaching out towards Harry of their own volition.

"Aberforth," Dumbledore said, with a warning tone.

"Albus, it works, as you would know if you ever tried it."

"It works too well," Dumbledore said, sighing. "Alastor was a well-adjusted man before you decided to test that device on him. Dredging the depths of an Auror's subconscious and making him remember the things that he's done his best to forget is rarely sensible."

"I've made great improvements since then," Aberforth said, sounding rather hurt. "And Moody was supposed to be your strongest fighter. How was I to know that he'd have so many suppressed memories? It's not healthy, locking all those things away. He was just waiting to erupt."

The two brothers continued bickering. Harry looked on with mounting trepidation, staring at Aberforth's device with a feeling he remembered from his encounters with Dementors. He didn't particularly want to remember some of his worst memories. Taking a deep breath, he felt a warm hand close on his own.

"You'll be fine," Rose said, smiling cheerfully at him. "These two can't help but go at it. Aberforth would have been a great help to the Order the first time around, but he was far too proud to join any organisation led by his younger brother unless he was at least on an equal footing as him."

"Is that thing going to work?" Harry said, pointing at the contraption on Aberforth's head.

"Oh, probably, if Aberforth says it will. He's an absolute genius with anything mechanical. It's spells that he can't manage, generally. It's a shame, really. If the two of them could only work together properly, instead of bickering all the time..."

The argument between the two brothers seemed to be winding down, and Rose cleared her throat in a meaningful way. Aberforth released his grip on Dumbledore's beard, and Dumbledore withdrew his hand from his wand. They smoothed down their robes without quite looking each other in the eyes and turned to face Harry and Rose.

"Right, let's be off then," Aberforth said. "If you two push, I'll steer."

He sat down in front of Harry and placed his hands on Harry's head.

"Now, just think of the dream, or about Helga Hufflepuff, or anything like that. That'll give me a link I can use, and then we can see if there's anything you can't see."

Harry swallowed nervously and, as Dumbledore and Rose settled in on either side of him, he thought about the hilltop of which he'd been dreaming for nearly six months.

"Ah. Contact," Aberforth said quietly. On top of the contraption, a small propeller began to spin. Harry blinked-

-and found himself on top of the hilltop again, but this time he was stood with Aberforth, Dumbledore and Rose, all of whom looked extremely interested in their surroundings.

"So that's Helga Hufflepuff, eh?" Aberforth said. "The statues don't do her justice, I must say."

Rose swatted him on the arm, and they began a whispered argument. Dumbledore came up and stood beside Harry.

"Your grandfather, it appears. Many times over, of course," he said quietly.

Harry stared at Godric Gryffindor in amazement. The portraits and statues that lined the corridors of Hogwarts really did not do the Hogwarts founder justice. From his portrayal in stone, oils and water colours, Harry had expected a giant of a man, with a barrel chest and a long mane of straw coloured hair. A bushy beard should have obscured most of his face from view, but intelligent, friendly eyes should have gleamed tellingly. Gryffindor, the artists had told everyone who viewed their work, was someone to be trusted. Powerful, strong and wise.

"It's Mr. Weasley," Harry said, at last. He stared at the wizard, who was dressed in rather tatty robes of red. He was tall, but not overly so. He certainly was nothing like as tall as Dumbledore. He had red hair that was thinning and beginning to go grey at the temples. A rather worried expression sat upon his features, and seemed rather comfortable there. He twirled his wand nervously between his fingers, and Helga Hufflepuff was standing, it seemed to Harry, tactfully out of the way of the occasional burst of sparks that it sent out. Gryffindor was peering in a short-sighted manner across the valley and at the shimmering blur on the opposing hilltop. Although he didn't look exactly like Arthur Weasley, there were sufficient similarities that Harry felt rather strange looking at him.

"Do you see them?"

Rose had joined Dumbledore and Harry. Aberforth appeared to be sulking, and was trying to kick at a large stone, but was having no success as his boot passed through it each time.

Harry followed the gaze of Rose and Dumbledore and felt his jaw drop open.

Massed at the foot of the hill, on the opposite side from where Harry always looked in his dream, was a huge number of witches and wizards. Harry thought of the tens of thousands who had gathered for the World Cup just before his fourth year, and decided that there were probably even more here.

"What..." he said, his throat dry. He swallowed and tried again. "What are they all doing here?"

Dumbledore looked at him with a guarded expression. "You are not taking History of Magic this year, are you, Harry?"

"No."

"A pity. I had suspected, but seeing it here... Harry, this is the final battle. This is the last time that the four houses of Hogwarts fought side by side."

Harry blinked-

-and was once more in the Hog's Head, surrounded by Dumbledore, Aberforth and Rose. Aberforth stood up and, with a curt nod to Harry, stalked off into the gloom once more. Rose sighed.

"Burnt offerings for me at breakfast tomorrow," she said.

"Harry?" Dumbledore said.

"The final battle?" Harry said. "What final battle?"

"In the year 1002 by our current calendar, Salazar Slytherin, Helga Hufflepuff, Rowena Ravenclaw and Godric Gryffindor led an army of approximately 120,000 witches and wizards from throughout Europe into combat with an equally large enemy force comprised of mercenaries, giants and various undead creatures. The death toll, as you can imagine, was horrific. Following the battle, Slytherin left Hogwarts, never to return. No-one knows what happened on that day, as all records have been lost or destroyed. All anyone knows is that Gryffindor was seriously injured, and never truly recovered from the loss of his best friend. Oh, they had been arguing for some time, but when it mattered, they stood together. Following this battle, Slytherin left. There has been some suggestion that he was appalled by the carnage of the battle, and devoted the rest of his life to peaceful works, but we have no definite proof."

"It... doesn't sound likely," Harry said. "If he didn't like people dying, then he'd have done something about the basilisk in the Chamber of Secrets." He shivered as he remembered fighting the giant snake, with Tom Riddle mocking him and Ginny's life hanging in the balance. The wizard responsible for that monster being loose in a school wouldn't have batted an eyelid at the death caused in a war, would he?

"Harry, never underestimate the effect that war can have on a person," Dumbledore said. "You will find that out for yourself one day, I fear. But you are probably not incorrect in what you say. If Slytherin were as good as his followers throughout history might have had us believe, then the basilisk would have been removed from Hogwarts. It is a mystery, and not one likely to be solved. Anyway, it is time for us to return to our beds, Harry. Rosie, you will wish Aberforth a good night for us?"

"Of course," the witch said. "Will we see you again soon?"

"I shall be in and out as usual," Dumbledore said.

"Harry?" Rose asked.

"I'll come in here the next time we have a Hogsmeade weekend," he said.

"Good. It does me good to have young people around, especially as my own are grown and scattered to the four corners of the globe. Perhaps I can read her fortune for her."

"Who?"

"Your young lady, this Susan Bones. If she takes my hand, I may learn more from her that way."

Harry frowned. "I don't think you should trick her like that."

"No offence intended," Rose said. "Will you tell her about tonight, then?"

"I..." Harry hesitated. Susan didn't know a lot about what he had done in previous years, and even less about what he was doing this year. He decided to put off the decision until he'd had a decent night's sleep. "I'll think about it."

"It may be important," Rose said. "I think we need to find the heir of Rowena Ravenclaw as well. As for Slytherin's heir..."

"Voldemort," Harry said, with a yawn. "But I've already touched him," he added, remembering the cold sensation as Voldemort's finger brushed against his cheek, and the pain that it had brought on.

"Yes, but it appears that Salazar Slytherin has not yet appeared in the dream," Dumbledore said. "We assume that he Voldemort is also having the dream, but he may not be. Is anyone else? We don't know that, either. Even after all this time, certain areas of a Seer's powers are not understood. How does Rose see into the past, when she is meant to see into the future? Why does she broadcast to the people involved in the dream, and are they receiving? We at least know that you can see the dream, and so we assume that Voldemort can as well. Can the heirs of Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw? That we do not know. No-one has come to Madam Pomfrey and complained of strange dreams, but perhaps that person is not at Hogwarts. They may be in the Ministry. They may be in Azkaban. Perhaps there is more than one heir. Yourself and Tom Riddle are orphans, after all, the last of your lines. We do not know enough. We do not even know exactly what it is that we do not know."

Dumbledore looked inexpressibly weary, and Harry felt badly for the elderly wizard, upon whose shoulders so many people's hopes rested. He wished that he knew what to say to Dumbledore, but even as he thought it, he thought how ridiculous it sounded that he might know something to say to help such a powerful wizard.

Dumbledore smiled down at him. "Thank you, Harry. It may be time to raise your shields once more. Knowing that you wish to help me, however, is very pleasant."

They bid Rose a final farewell, and stepped out of the pub. Gripping Fawkes' tailfeathers once more, they were transported back to Dumbledore's office.

*

Harry dropped back into bed, too tired to even look at his watch and find out what time it was. He was asleep in moments.

When he awoke, the sun was streaming through the windows of the dormitory. He blinked at the bright light and scrabbled blindly for his glasses before getting up. He was grateful that it was Sunday, for when he looked at his watch it was after ten in the morning. He managed to dress and make his way downstairs, where Ron, Neville and Hermione were sat together, working on a Transfiguration essay for Professor McGonagall.

"Good morning," Hermione said brightly. "Did you sleep well?"

"Sort of," Harry said, dropping into a seat beside her.

"We brought you some breakfast," Ron said, producing a covered dish which, to Harry's delight, held a plateful of bacon, scrambled eggs and toast.

"Thanks," he said, suddenly realizing how hungry he was.

"So, where'd you go last night, Harry?" Neville asked. "I heard you moving around after one."

Hermione and Ron grinned knowingly at Harry, who paused in the middle of swallowing.

"Meeting up with Susan, were you?" Ron asked, nudging him with his elbow.

"Ron, don't tease him," Hermione said, although her eyes twinkled as she looked at Harry.

"No, actually," Harry said, after swallowing. "I had to see Dumbledore."

"Oh."

"Do you want me to go?" Neville said, already gathering his work together.

Harry looked at him for a second, before realizing what he was saying.

"No, it's alright," he said. "But could you find Ginny? I'd like her to hear this as well."

In the end, Ginny was dragged downstairs by one of her classmates, and evidently had decided to sleep in even longer than Harry that morning. She had pulled a jumper over an outsize nightdress, and her hair was messy and almost wind blown. Harry couldn't help but smile as she sat down next to him, yawning as she took a piece of toast from his plate.

"Late night?" he asked, sympathetically.

"Yeah, why are you so tired?" Ron asked, suspiciously.

Ginny glared at her brother. "Shut up, Ron," she said.

"I didn't say anything," Ron protested. "Hermione, did I say anything?"

"No, but shut up anyway," Hermione said, with a smile. "Harry has something that he wants to tell us, remember?"

Ron fell silent, but continued to shoot suspicious glances at Ginny.

"I had to see Dumbledore last night," Harry said. "I had another weird dream." He explained for Neville's benefit what the dream had involved. As he described the new part of the dream, where Helga Hufflepuff had spoken to him, Hermione frowned. Then he talked about the meeting with Rose the Seer and Aberforth Dumbledore.

"Weird," Ron said. "You mean that bloke's really Dumbledore's brother?" he said, looking worried. "He doesn't do anything weird to the butterbeer, does he?"

"Not that I know of," Harry said, as Hermione rolled her eyes.

"I think that Harry's dream is more important, Ron," she said.

"I know," he fired back. "But you remember what Dumbledore said about his brother, right? 'Inappropriate charms with a goat'!"

The two fell into a whispered, but obviously heated bout of bickering. Harry and Neville exchanged a long-suffering glance, while Ginny just yawned.

"If you two are just going to sit here and flirt," she said after a minute, "then I'm going to go back to bed."

Ron and Hermione, who had been leaning steadily closer to one another as they argued, sat up with identical guilty expressions on their faces.

"Flirt?" Ron said, his voice sounding somewhat strangled.

"Don't be silly, Ginny," Hermione squeaked. She cleared her throat, looking even more embarrassed.

"Right then," Ginny said briskly. "Go on, Harry."

Harry grinned, and explained to the others about how the three adults had viewed Harry's dream, allowing him to see Godric Gryffindor for the first time. When he mentioned the giant army that had gathered at the foot of the hill, Hermione's eyes glazed over, and she ducked under the table. The others heard her rummaging in her bag, and eventually she sat back up with a huge, dusty book in her arms.

"This is all about the final battle," she said. She set it on the table with a thump, and began to page through it quickly. "It describes how Slytherin arrived at the battle in the nick of time, with an army that turned the tide." She fell silent, before continuing in a voice not much louder than a whisper: "Of the two hundred thousand humans who fought in the battle, nearly sixty thousand died."

"Sixty thousand?" Harry asked. Hermione nodded.

"You don't think..." Ron began, before swallowing with some difficulty. "You know. That you're, well, supposed to stop that, do you?"

"He can't," Hermione said. "You can't change things when you go back in time. It's one of the rules."

Neville and Ginny looked at Hermione curiously, but she fell silent.

"Besides, it's only a dream," Harry said. "How can I change anything in a dream? When I'm there, I don't even feel like I'm in control. It's just like I'm watching with Gryffindor's eyes."

"So, you're not seeing this thing to change it," Ginny said. "Maybe there's something you can learn from it?"

"Like what?"

She shrugged. "It sounds like you need to meet up with Rowena Ravenclaw, or hear more of what Helga Hufflepuff has to say, or even..."

Ginny's voice tailed off, as though she couldn't bring herself to say the name of the fourth founder. Harry knew why she was struggling with the name. Voldemort was the last remaining heir of Slytherin, and the thought of touching the dark wizard again was enough to make him feel ill. Ginny, whose mind had been invaded by the ghost of a young Voldemort in her first year, evidently felt much the same way.

"How am I supposed to find Ravenclaw's heir?" Harry asked, putting Voldemort from his mind for the time being. "There's over two hundred people in Ravenclaw, and that's assuming that one of them is the heir. There may not even be one any more."

"Then you'll just have to try and find out more from Helga Hufflepuff," Hermione said. "At least for now."

"But the only way she appeared was because I..." Harry tailed off, remembering the offhand way he'd mentioned 'touching' Susan, and how Dumbledore and Rose thought that that had been the trigger.

"Yes," Hermione said, nodding solemnly. "You're going to have to spend more time with Susan."

It was a mark of how sour Harry's expression became that no-one made any jokes about the situation he'd found himself in.

To be continued...