The Ring of Somnus

1.Memories and dreams:

"For life and death are one, even as the river and the sea are one..." Ginny sighed but continued reading, whispering to herself the delightful verses, listening to the soft music coming out of her enchanted music box, the "Moonlight Sonata" of a Muggle composer of classical music, whose name she couldn't remember.

What was that composer's name? Beetroot? Beefeven? Oh, yes! Beetlesoven.

Even Sirius had difficulty in remembering it at first.

It was one of her more prized possessions since Remus and Sirius had given it to her as a Christmas present. Their intentions, however, at least the intentions of one certain Padfoot, were not as innocent as it might seem to others that thought of it as a simple Christmas present.

After she and Hermione had opened their presents (and when she had opened that particular present which had a small card on it printed with the words 'From Sirius and Remus', Hermione had giggled and she had exclaimed "What the hell..."), she had followed her downstairs to the boys' room, taking the music-box with her but when she had seen Sirius going down to the main floor she had decided to follow him. Ginny had found him sitting by himself near the Christmas tree, waiting for the others to come down. She had sat beside him.

At first, as they watched the fairies flying around the tree making it glow with a different colour every second, he didn't acknowledge her presence, but when she looked at him rather pointedly he had no choice but to do so.

"Happy Christmas, Ginny," he said in a cheerful voice. "Did you like you presents?"

Oh, he had been the image of innocence.

"Happy Christmas to you too, Sirius. Yes, I did like my presents. Especially this." And she raised the music box.

"What a beautiful thing," he said, still smiling. "It is a music box, isn't it?"

"Yes," she said through clenched teeth. "An enchanted music-box, to be precise. Do you perhaps have any idea what is so special about this certain enchanted music-box?"

His smile widened and gazed still innocently into her eyes.

"How could I possibly know? Enlighten me."

Ginny couldn't take his teasing attitude anymore. With cheeks red from anger she opened the box and revealed quite the scenery.

It was like what the Muggles would call a hologram, but quite more tangible. The miniature of a not yet-full moon rose gracefully out of the music box and cast its' image on the miniature of a small pond. At the banks of the pond a small wolf could be seen moving across the grass, reaching the pond and then lowering his head to drink from it.

While all of these happened the Moonlight Sonata could be heard coming out of the music box.

"So, what's wrong with it?"

"What's wrong with it? It has a bloody wolf in it. That's what's wrong with it."

"Aw! Don't you like Moony?"

"Moony?"

"Yes, I named him after the best person, well, werewolf, in the whole Wizarding world. I just thought you would like to have a pet wolf of your own."

"I know, you were just thinking of what would give me greatest pleasure, didn't you?"

"Do I sense a trace of irony in your voice?"

"Oh, drop it, Sirius," she said flustered. "I don't want to be the means through which you will get even to Moony..."

Sirius had sniggered at this.

"...I mean Remus, just because he didn't let you use the Polyjuice Potion. You do realize you are behaving childishly?"

Her words, naturally, did not have the slightest effect on him. He only let out his trademark bark-like laughter. How could have they affected him? He was a member of the Marauders when still a teen and with so many pranks they had performed on their fellow students his conscience glen must have atrophied.

Why did I ever come up with an idea like that when we were still in 12, Grimmauld Place in August? She had thought back then. Because she couldn't stand seeing Sirius so miserable any longer, that's why. He had been excited when she had first made the suggestion of using the Polyjuice Potion in order to be able to take a walk or two and not stay at the Headquarters all the time brooding.

Neither Remus nor Professor Dumbledore had agreed with this when they were told, thus making Sirius gloomier.

So Sirius, because he held a small grudge towards his best mate since childhood, for not backing him up to Dumbledore decided to behave childish and annoy him in the way he knew he would most likely react in the way he expected him to.

He carved the wooden box himself, since wood carving was one of his past-times that kept him from going insane while he was literally locked up in the house, borrowed a disk of the "Moonlight Sonata" from Ginny's father, who was widely famous for his love of Muggles and had Lupin help him to find the spell that was needed to magically fill the box with the music and another spell to make a small scenery appear, all for sweet little Ginny's sake. She loved music boxes so dearly.

Lupin, as it is to be expected, was oblivious to the fact that the scene would not include a ballerina dancing on the frozen surface of a pond, as 'someone' had initially informed him, but a miniature form of his werewolf self. Sirius had informed her it was a faithful representation of Lupin, complete with a funny white stripe he had across his tail.

"Does Remus know what you did, yet?" Ginny said with a small laugh after giving up her attempt to make Sirius behave. Well, socializing with the twins could seriously damage one's health and in the case of Sirius, worsen it even more.

"He will, he will."

"When he knows I will most certainly die from humiliation. I am sure he will think I had to do something with this."

"Don't worry, he will be the one to die such a painful death," he muttered under his breath in a voice that came out almost like a growl.

"Must he be called Moony?"

"He only answers to that name now and you will have to call him by this name, that is if you want to shut him up during full-moon nights."

"He howls?"

"He has the whole package."

"You are enjoying this, aren't you?"

"Moi? I would never be happy making somebody else miserable, except Snape, of course. Never."

That night was one of the worst in her life as Sirius and her brothers continued to tease Lupin mercilessly about the music box and the look he had on his face when he saw his miniature werewolf self for the first time. To even make things worse, Sirius constantly reminded her she now had a pet wolf of her own, whose name he had announced to be Moony. The humiliation! It wasn't enough that she was considered to be the accomplice of Sirius, in front of Remus, she just had to witness for all the remaining holidays Sirius teasing Remus (after secretly snatching the music box from her room, without asking), by opening the box and making the miniature wolf, 'Moony Jr', as he called him, howl.

But Ginny had the satisfaction of knowing she had gotten her revenge, for both Remus and herself. At least that was what she had told Hermione later, when they had returned to Hogwarts when her friend had asked her why when everybody were heading to the kitchen to have some breakfast during the last day of the holidays she and Sirius had joined them, coming down from the main floor, Ginny looking smug and Sirius unusually pale and silent.

She had finally forgiven him after a week had passed from their return to Hogwarts. She couldn't do otherwise. She thought it was enough punishment to stay locked up in a place he particularly abhorred.

"For what is to die than to stand naked in the wind and to melt in the sun?" she continued reading aloud. "And what is to cease breathing but to free breath from its restless tides, that it may rise and expand and seek God unencumbered?"

The book of Muggle poetry had been a gift from Hermione for her fourteenth birthday last October. Who would have thought possible that Hermione would give me a BOOK for my birthday? She had thought amusedly back then and because she didn't like poetry much, the book had lied neglected at the bottom of her trunk till she lent it to Luna Lovegood.

But her opinion about poetry, or better for that particular book, had changed the night after Sirius' death. The person who she was considering was one of the best in the world, as cool as her brother Bill. She hadn't yet fully accepted his death. Who had? It was all so sudden, and as far she knew Harry suffered from Surius' loss more than everyone else, except perhaps from Remus.

She still remembered that night at the Infirmary. Her ankle was fine but Madame Pomfrey had insisted that she should spend at least one night there, just as a precaution. Though she was grateful at the beginning for being able to stay close to her brother, Harry and Hermione, she finally regretted having to stay there.

It was simply because of Harry. For no particular reason the Sleeping Potion Madame Pomfrey had given to her, Ron and Hermione hadn't a very strong effect on her and she awoke when Harry came into the Infirmary behind Madame Pomfrey who immediately directed him towards the bed that was next to hers. He was also given a small vial of Sleeping Potion and a direct order to drink it and go straight to sleep.

He didn't. He just sat on the bed, still as a statue, as far as Ginny could see from his dark outline on the curtain that separated his bed from hers, not making a sound, except of a gasp now and then, as though he was drowning, as though he couldn't get enough air.

"Harry?"

"Ginny?" He had sounded so surprised when she drew back the curtain and sat on the bed beside him.

"Harry, is there anything I can do to make you feel better?" Her offer sounded ridiculous, even to her ears. What could she possibly do to ease his pain? The pain of a boy who had just lost his godfather who was a friend, a brother and a father at the same time. Nothing.

"Thanks, Ginny, but there's nothing you can do." There, he had said it himself. "I just need to be on my own. Go back to sleep."

But she didn't. She couldn't. They might not be close friends but she could feel his pain. So, without thinking it twice she had reached out and hugged him, holding him as she would have held any of her brothers or her friends that needed her, that needed to feel someone holding them, someone to comfort them in their time of grief, but were unable to admit it. Exactly like she had felt after the Chamber of Secrets in her first year and her mother, father and brothers, especially Ron, had helped her deal with the pain and guilt she felt for everything that had happened.

Harry at first did not respond at all. He just sat there, his arms stiff on his sides. But after some minutes he slowly raised his arms and wrapped them around her drawing her closer to him.

They stood like that for a long time and Ginny just didn't have the heart to pull back, though he was holding her with such a firm grip that she was sure she would have bruises on her arms and back in the morning. Perhaps his need for another human's touch and sympathy was still too much, now that it had been awakened.

"Harry?"

He did not answer. Her voice sounded again, soothing, like a mother would talk to her child after it saw a horrible nightmare and cried, not wanting to fall asleep again.

"Harry, don't be ashamed to cry if you must. Mourn for Sirius..."

Harry winced at the sound of his godfather's name being spoken.

"Harry, please, you need to let go. It will not lessen the pain but it will make you feel better, even for a little while."

She fell into silence once more. Harry's shallow breathing was the only sound to be heard in the dark Infirmary.

"He's gone."

He had spoken at last. His voice muffled as he hid his face on her neck.

"He's gone." His breathing came out ragged as he fought to breathe. "First my parents, then Cendric, now Sirius. Where does it end? How many more deaths will I have to bear on my shoulders?"

She could now feel the unmistakable moisture of tears on her neck as tears started to run from his half-closed eyes.

"I hate him," he said through clenched teeth as he fought not to scream from the wrath that welled inside of him. "I hate him and I will not stop till I see him rotting in hell. I will kill him if that is what is expected of me."

For a few moments Ginny felt slightly afraid. She had never heard Harry before so enraged and he had not told her about the Prophesy.

But he didn't go any further. He just continued mourning for Sirius, both his body and hers wracking from his silent sobs.

It was three in the morning when she finally coaxed him into taking his potion and when his eyes closed and he sank into sleep, she looked at the book on her bed's nightstand. Luna must have left it there for her.

She took it silently and went back to her bed, allowing the honey-sweet verses of the Muggle poet Gibran to help her drift into sleep.

It had been her personal bible ever since. It was what helped her relax when she couldn't sleep.

She closed the book as her eyelids started becoming extremely heavy. It always seemed to have that effect on her when she read it before she went to bed. Perhaps because everything that it was written in it were so soothing.

She let a jaw-splitting yawn escape from her lips and settling back against her pillow, she drifted into sleep.

The clock on her bedstead read 1 o' clock after midnight.

✳✳✳✳✳

Harry Potter was in his bed, though with eyes wide open, unwilling to fall asleep. He knew what terrors awaited him if he did. It was always the same dream, over and over again, seeing Sirius falling as in slow motion through the ancient archway and then disappearing behind that mysterious veil, himself trying to run as fast as he could to reach him in time and stop him from falling, the maniacal laughter of Bellatrix Lestrange echoing throughout the chamber, but it was always like his feet didn't obey him and always arrived late. Then he would wake up, whispering his godfather's name, never fully aware of the tears that streamed down his face.

That was the reason he hadn't slept for three days, even though he knew he wouldn't be able to stay awake for much longer. His eyes were bloodshot with dark circles underneath them and they were stinging from lack of sleep.

He willed himself not to fall asleep but with every second that passed by it was becoming more and more difficult to keep awake. Especially when the trees outside his window made a soft rustling sound against the wind, whispering of sleep.

12:25:His eyelids started drooping, heavy with sleep. 12:30: His eyes closed. 1 o' clock after midnight: He was fast asleep.

✳✳✳✳✳

In Somnus' arms to lie again,

to find sweet forgetfulness, Lethe,

in his kiss

on a bed of crimson-coloured poppies,

wrapped into a sheet of shadowy

eternal silence,

,where he dwells, in a dark cave in

the West.

✳✳✳✳✳

The sound of the gigantic waves hitting the rocks of the secluded beach of Taenarus was the only sound Andre Cranach, or Andy, as the friends he had made in Greece called him, could hear as he lazily walked bare-footed the short distance to the cave, where the entrance of the underworld was supposed to be, according to mythology. He had brought a few things with him in a bag, such as water, a sketchbook and a set of pencils and held a small electric lamp. Of course, he wouldn't be able to enter the cave, as it was closed by a gate made of steel, but the walk towards there was pleasant by itself and seeing the cave with his own eyes was all he needed in order to start a new painting that had come to his mind, the first he would be drawing after several months. The painting would picture the cave and a large demon-looking hound coming out of it, supposedly being the Devil, who, according to local myths, liked to roam the land of the living in that form to hunt his prey.

He was a German touring the Greek land, as many others during summertime, but not just for the mere pleasure of it, but because he was searching for something he felt he had lost.

Two years ago the then 18-year-old Andre had felt the luckiest man alive after receiving a scholarship, which enabled him to attend one of the best Fine Arts School in Berlin. Painting had been his sole passion since he was a child; especially after his parents' death in a car crush and Andre had felt ecstatic when he was given the opportunity to actually study his passion.

Anyone who had witnessed his work during those years agreed he was a very talented young man with a guaranteed successful future in painting. But at the end of the second year in his school he had begun to doubt himself. His work seemed to him too ordinary, too...uninspired. He couldn't see himself in any of his paintings anymore.

Being rebellious from nature he decided, despite the warnings of his professors, to stop attending his classes, to take a year off and travel across Europe, in an attempt to find himself and even discover his personal Muse, as he liked to joke to himself, when he visited Greece. He knew there wasn't a Muse that favoured painting, but a mortal one would do too.

Well, he was in Greece now, after spending a couple of months in France and then in Austria, and he had found his muse, not at the face of a man or a woman but at the face of the Greek land.

It was the second week he was spending in Mani, an area at the southwest of the Island of Pelops, as he liked to call it, its actual name too big for him to be pronounced in the correct way, and things were better already. A weigh gradually seemed to have been lifted from him, letting him feel a freedom he hadn't felt for a couple of years, while attending his school.

"That's it," he announced laughing to the night wind, lifting his eyes towards the heavens, then kneeling, dropping everything he carried and grabbing a handful of powdery white sand and letting it escape from his fingers again. "No more slavery in a school. I don't need them to teach ME how to paint, not anymore. Freedom is my guide."

In all his joy Andre hadn't noticed a dark cloaked figure approaching him silently from the behind.

"Stupefy," a woman's voice hissed in the darkness and before he could do anything to react a green light hit him and Andre fell unconscious on the sand with a light thud.

Voldemort sat on a rock at the entrance of the cave situated on the side of the promontory of Taenarus, reading from a small leather-bound book, waiting impatiently for his followers to take care of the Guardian. It could have been his diary but it wasn't. It was someone else's, who had died hundred of years ago.

It had belonged to Gunther Ritter. The proof could be seen in the first page where it was written: Gunther Ritter, born 9 October, 1660, ordained Schattenjâger 14 April 1678, died 24 June 1700.

'I am standing at the edge of the Tainaron,' Voldemort continued reading the last paragraphs of the journal, 'near the very entrance of Tartarus. The sundown was one of the most beautiful I have ever seen, yet as the sun went down, I couldn't but feel that my heart sunk with it, my mind always set to the dreadful journey I am about to embark on. I truly fear I will never see the light of day again. In case I do not return to tell the tale of my journey, I have placed a spell on the journal I am holding, so that if I do not return, it will safely end up at the hands of my beloved family, who might have a use for it in the distant future, though I pray it will not happen.

I am ready. To my beloved wife and son, I just want to say I love you. May God give me the strength to go through with this mission and return home safely to you. Amen.'

Voldemort closed the book, lifted his hooded head and looked with gleaming red eyes at the cloudless night sky of Greece. As Bellatrix Lestrange approached him he spotted the constellation of the Lyra.

"I have caught a Muggle, as you ordered me, my Lord," Bellatrix said solemnly, bowing in front of him.

"Bella," he said absent-minded to her as he motioned her to sit at the feet of his rock, "do you know the myth of Orpheus and Eurydice?"

"I am afraid not, my Lord," Bellatrix said, "but I would like to hear it," she continued hastily, though she despised anything that had to do with Muggles, even if it concerned mythology. She was willing to do everything within her power to please her master.

She was his most trusted follower, even more loyal than that worthless Malfoy had been, but her Lord had yet to confide in her of what was his intentions of making this journey to the Underworld. No one really knew. Bellatrix Lestrange and the remaining Death Eaters, the ones who hadn't been captured in the raid at the Ministry of Magic, just followed Voldemort's orders, never daring to question his motives. Bellatrix knew there was something that would change the unexpected turn of events, which had happened in the Ministry. Her Lord looked very pleased with himself over the month that had passed since the failed raid at the Ministry, when he should have been extremely morbid.

They had already been on the Greek shore for one hour and nothing had happened yet, except of her capturing a Muggle boy who happened to wonder alone on the beach, as their Lord Voldemort had ordered, and lulling Cerberus, the three-headed dog, which was the Guardian of the gates of Hades, to sleep, using an enchanted harp.

Perhaps he had summoned her by his side to finally share his secret plans with her.

"Very well." The hint of an amused smile appeared at his colourless lips, sensing her indifference towards the subject, yet she had agreed to listen to him. No one would ever dare to disobey his wishes. "Orpheus was the son of the god Apollo and of the nymph Calliope. His father gave him a lyre when he grew up. Orpheus played such beautiful music with his lyre that he could enchant any living or inanimate object. When his wife Eurydice died it was his song and the sound of his lyre what persuaded the rulers of Hades to return his wife to him. Alas! The poor fool, moments before they both went out into the daylight, turned to look behind him, to make sure his wife was still following him, thus disobeying the only thing Pluto had warned him not to do and so he lost his wife for a second time."

Bellatrix remained silent, not quite sure what comment to make to her Lord.

"Sad story, isn't it, Bella?"

"If you think so, my Lord."

"But it doesn't quite end this way. It rather has an ending of my liking. The poor and miserable Orpheus roamed the lands without a reason to live that is until some women followers of Bacchus found him and in their frenzy because he refused to play his lyre for them, they tore him to pieces, solving the problem he was plagued with, for he was reunited with his beloved wife in Hades. Apollo, his father, took his son's lyre and made it a constellation which would serve as an eternal remembrance of Orpheus' divine music."

"What does this story have to do with our being here, my Lord, if I may ask?"

Voldemort kept smiling. Bellatrix always had a way with words. She knew when to speak to him directly and when to stay silent, a gift Lucius never had.

"Quite a lot, Bella. You see Orpheus travelled to the Underworld to get back what he loved most in the world and I am about to do the same thing. I will grasp into my hands what I value most in this world."

"Power."

"Exactly."

"What will give you this power, my Lord?" Her brows had gone up to her hairline, as she looked up enquiringly at him.

A low chuckle escaped his lips. "Always stubborn you were, Bella, always wishing to learn anything you could, and I granted you this wish often. Not this time, however. It will remain a secret until I return."

"As you wish, my Lord. I will not bother you any further." She didn't show her disappointment.

"That's why I like you more than Lucius, Bella. He would have persisted until he got me so enraged at his disobedience that I would have to put some sense in him..."

Their conversation was disrupted us a trembling Wormtail approached them. His voice was shaky when he spoke.

"The guardian has been taken care of, my Lord."

"Your bravery keeps surprises me, Wormtail. I should have expected such a reaction coming from you, though. You had to deal with the three-headed beast only once, while I had to face one of its terrible off-springs numerous times by myself a few years ago." His voice had a trace of disgust. "I am the one who will make the journey deeper into Hades, not you, so stop shaking like a leaf."

"I am sorry, my Lord."

"Just keep yourself out of site until I decide to call you." Wormtail sighed with relief. The answer at the old question if he was a man or a mouse was obvious.

"Come, Bella. Let's not keep our beloved god waiting."

Bellatrix followed him and the other Death Eaters silently into the cave, gazing thoughtfully at the increasing numbers of stalactites hanging from the walls as they made their way deeper and deeper into the bowels of the Earth, the light of the Death Eaters' blazing torches, playing upon them. What god was her Master referring to?

"Don't trouble your mind with such things, Bellatrix," he heard Voldemort telling her, without pausing his striding. "You will find out soon enough."

She must have sensed her disquiet and gnawing curiosity. "At least, if you don't keep pestering me for answers," Voldemort said with a smirk. He wasn't expecting her to answer, so she didn't.

Suddenly, they came to a halt. They had reached the secret gate towards Hades. The passage was so narrow that only one at a time could pass. A cold, bone-chilling wind was coming out of the small opening, bringing faint whispers to their ears.

"It is the whispers of the dead," Bella heard someone from behind her muttering. She turned around and saw a rather young Death Eater named Winters looking pale at the opening, his thin lips trembling. "We saw them passing by as we were pacifying the three-headed dog."

Bellatrix gave him a dark look that made the young man even more uncomfortable.

"Stop being such a coward. Lord Voldemort doesn't like unworthy creatures of your kind in his ranks," she hissed venomously, her eyes having a dangerous glint in them.

"Calm down, Bella," the voice of Voldemort sounded from where he was standing, right outside the passage. "I know you would enjoy to torture him, but there is work to be done. You will have some fun later."

If one didn't know of the passage they would never have found it because it was guarded by an ancient magic. Thankfully they had known, thanks to Gunther's journal. Bellatrix stepped inside right after her Lord, her eyes widening as she glanced around her, taking in sights a few living mortals had even set eyes upon.

"Jennings, give us some more light".

One of the Death Eaters, a man in his mid-thirties, stepped in front of the others and raised his wand to fulfil his Lord's order.

"Lumen Solis" (Light of Sun). A golden light came out of his wand, slowly creating a glowing orb, which started climbing higher and higher, until it reached the roof of the hall, illuminating the whole cavern.

A vast hall appeared in front of their eyes, its solid, almost palpable darkness broken only by the light of their torches. At the right side of the cavernous hall lay Cerberus, the colossal, three-headed guardian of Hades, which was twice the size of her offspring Voldemort had faced several years ago, deeply asleep. A large enchanted harp played a soothing tune by itself, keeping the Guardian out of Voldemort's way.

The temperature had dropped considerably. It had been cold inside the cave, but now it was downright freezing. The female Death Eater could see her own breath forming a white cloud as it came out of her nostrils and mouth. Bellatrix wrapped her cloak tighter around her, as she started trembling from the cold.

"What is happening?" She wondered aloud. Voldemort was the one that answered to her.

"You should have expected it, Bellatrix. We are not in Taenarus anymore. We have passed into another dimension."

All the Death Eaters shuddered involuntarily and all of their whispering seized immediately.

Merlin, Voldemort thought frowning darkly at his Death Eaters' reactions. Did they expect a journey to the Underworld to be a walk in the park?

"Why am I always surrounded by such cowards?"

No one dared to answer, afraid of Voldemort's wrath, not even Bellatrix. Voldemort stood silent and unmoving for some moments, trying to suppress his rising anger. This was not the time to deal with them. Moreover, he had not the luxury to spare any more of his followers.

"Wait here," Voldemort said to them in a growl. "I will continue on my own,"

he continued turning to Bellatrix. "Make sure no one moves. I don't want them wandering into the Underworld. There are terrors here they have not even see in their darkest nightmares."

"Yes, my Lord," she answered as Voldemort started to walk away from them, taking with him only the unconscious form of the Muggle boy she had captured herself, which floated behind him. Bellatrix was hoping he would tell her to accompany him, but she did not dare oppose him. She knew he had told her to stay behind because he needed someone he could trust to watch over those imbeciles, which were Death Eaters but were not worthy of that title, according to Voldemort's most loyal and gifted supporter, Bellatrix Lestrange.

The entrance is somewhere near. I can feel the Ring attracted to its power's source. Voldemort could not suppress a shudder of excitement coursing through his body. Soon, very soon, he would have all the power he ever wanted. He would be even more powerful than he had been before he was accidentally defeated by the Potter brat.

Walking slowly and with caution he approached a portal cut in the granite wall, but it was not the entrance he was looking for. The passage led into a tunnel that led even deeper into the darkness. Judging from the whispers that had gotten louder and the faint sound of water splashing against rocks, which reached his ears, that had to be the way, which led to the banks of the river Styx, where Charon ferried the souls of the dead across the dark waters.

He opened the small book again to check a certain passage. Voldemort was speechless for the first time in decades. New pages had appeared at what he thought was the end of the journal. He hastily scanned the pages. Gunther was describing his journey to the Underworld. Voldemort would have to travel even deeper into Hades.

His angular face tightened with determination. He was Lord Voldemort Nothing would be an obstacle to his search of power. He had nothing to fear, nothing to threaten him, especially not some wretched ghosts.

Nothing did stand in his way. He had pushed aside the white masses of the waiting souls without any fear as he reached the banks and when the boat arrived again and Charon refused to take him and the Muggle boy to the other side without payment, he found some minutes of Crucio to be pretty persuasive. The small trip to the river's other shore was pretty uneventful. Charon was just grumbling in an annoying way that mortals should treat him with more respect since they would meet him again sooner or later, when they died and he might decide not to let them pass to the other side. Voldemort did not hear a single word the aged boatman had said. His entire attention was focused on the Ring he wore on his finger. The pull of the power was getting stronger and stronger.

Once on the other side, the pull had become so strong that he only had to let it lead him to the portal that led to the Realm of Somnus. He didn't have to walk any further. After some minutes into the darkness (the pull was so powerful that did not allow him to even stop for a minute to catch his breath or to light his wand so that he could see what was around him. But perhaps it was better that he couldn't see around him because he could sense some unknown creatures passing him from time to time, lightly brushing his cloak. Who knew what horrific creatures of the night one could meet into Hades?), the Ring made him stop abruptly.

He raised his wand and whispered 'Lumos'. He was standing in front of a granite wall and something was inscribed above a curving on it, which looked extremely like a bigger version of the Ring. It was the image of the sun and bore the crescent of the moon and three stars in its cycle.

Voldemort read slowly the inscription to himself: "______ ____ _ _____ ________, _ ___ ___ ____ ______________ ___ ___ ___________. ______ __ ___ ____ ________ ________." (Here is Somnus imprisoned, cursed by Zeus for eternity. Let no man disobey Zeus' will).

Voldemort chuckled mockingly to himself. Zeus' will had already been broken once by the Society of the Oneiroi and the 'Supreme God', had done nothing to punish those who had defied his will. Without wasting any more time, he pulled the Ring from the middle finger of his right arm and placed it exactly upon the curving, after consulting Gunther's journal.

The Ring started to glow violently and it begun to grow, until it fitted perfectly its curved print on the wall. The wall started to crack from the printing and it continued downwards and upwards, until a perfectly straight line, two meters high was formed. Voldemort proceeded to remove the Ring, which shrunk back to its original size and he placed it back on his hand.

The ground started to shake a bit and in front of Voldemort's eager eyes, the wall parted to reveal the entrance Realm of Somnus. Slowly and carefully, he made his way into the Realm, always in constant vigilance.

The portal sealed itself when he and the unconscious boy passed through. Voldemort remained silent, cautiously checking the grounds around him, for anything that might alarm him. Several minutes passed and still nothing happened. It was like time itself had stopped in this place and this might just have been the case. Nothing could be seen. Nothing could be heard. Every tree, every living being that might exist in this world seemed to be in deep slumber.

He took Gunther's journal out of his robes and found the part where the Schattenjâger was describing the route he took to reach the throne Somnus was bound to. "I have entered the Realm of Somnus," Gunther wrote. "There seems to be such peacefulness surrounding me. The enormous trees murmur softly as the wind-I don't know where it's coming from, but it feels so fresh and clean, like no one has breathed it before-passes caressingly through their thick-leaved branches and melodies of birds I cannot see feel it with a magic I cannot describe, as the wind with its continuous gentle breathing brings their songs to my ears. They remind me of lullabies, beautiful songs that speak of sleep."

Gunther was right; Voldemort had himself begun feeling this strange magic in the air, making his eyelids feel heavy, though not by soft sounds coming from trees or birds but by the utter silence surrounding him. The trees he could see from where he was standing seemed lifeless; not a single leaf did they have on their dull-coloured branches, a small blossom to prove they were still alive. Nothing. Voldemort felt that he and his captive were the only living beings in this world, as he couldn't even spot a bird flying in they sky.

"This must be the power that once Somnus could claim as his own. Not anymore. Now, the power belongs to whoever possesses the Ring. I am presently the one who bears the Ring, but only temporarily, as my journey's purpose is to seal this realm for as long as it is possible, as I do not deceit myself into believing its secrets will continue to remain locked away forever."

He took the route Gunther had taken until he found himself in front of a stony dais with several steps leading to its top, where the god's throne was.

Voldemort gazed at the figure that sat on the throne and his bright red eyes widened in disbelief. Was this how a god was supposed to look like? He was...old... extremely old. His long white hair cascaded down his back and his long white beard almost touched the ground. He was dressed in midnight blue robes and the parts of him that were visible, his face and his hands, were ghastly pale and wrinkled. Somnus looked like the image of his twin brother Death. No life appeared to sparkle anymore into his half-closed eyelids. He has become a living statue, Voldemort mused. Have I done this journey in vain? We'll see.

"Hear me out, Somnus, god of Sleep. I, Lord Voldemort, come as a friend." The Dark Lord's said, his voice echoing through the small clearing.

The god raised slowly his head, his eyes opening a little wider revealing pupil-less, startlingly blue, yet obviously blind, eyes, only for one moment, as his head drooped to his chest again, his eyes closing again. Even these simple moves were too much for him. He was incredibly week.

"What do you seek, mortal man?" The shadow of the immortal that once had been the glorious god of Sleep croaked with difficulty in answer. It had been centuries since he had last spoken to another human being. It was a miracle that Somnus still had some shreds of sanity left, being imprisoned into a never-ending nightmare from which he could not wake up for more than a thousand years.

The hatred is what has kept him alive all those centuries, stopping him from fading into an empty shell, just like his blank-winged children, Voldemort thought, feeling deep into the darkest regions of his soul the coiling of the anger and despair he had felt all the long years he had spent lingering between the boundaries which divide life from death, after being almost entirely defeated by Harry Potter. He had been a lowlife creature for years and he always felt disgusted when he was reminded of those dark days, when he has still been less of a ghost. Somnus' state was what triggered those unpleasant memories.

"YOU seek revenge, don't you?" He was always an expert to concealing his true sentiments from everyone around him; this moment was not an exception.

A growl came out of the god's old lips. Voldemort knew he had hit a nerve.

"There are indeed so many that have wronged you. Zeus..."

"______ ___ __ ___ ___ _____ ___ ______, _ ___, ____ _______, _____ ____ ___ ________..." (I curse you to eternity, Zeus, great king, father to all the gods and humans) His voice had become stronger while he cursed the name of the supreme god Zeus, the source of his eternal misery.

"I have learnt he was the one that bound you to your throne, strip you from all of your powers and condemned you into an eternity of sleeplessness because you helped his wife into manipulating him. But, she was not punished. Your wife Pasithea and your sons abandoned you, only being saved because she was Zeus' daughter"

A small glint had unexpectedly returned into the dull, lifeless eyes of the god. An unholy fire fueled by Voldemort's rekindling Somnus' despairs and hate towards Zeus and his treacherous wife Hera.

"___, _______ _______, _________ ____ ______, __ ________ _______ ____, _____ ________ _____, _____ ______ ___ _______ _____, ___ ________, ________ __ ___ __________ ____." (Hera, serpent's daughter, slave of the pig, who calls himself supreme god, mother of the wife that betrayed me, the poisonous snake that is called Pasithea, Tartarus should be your destiny).

"Then, there is also Gunther Ritter, the one who sealed your Realm hundreds of years ago and put an end to your loyal followers' sacrifices to you, condemning you to lose any power you had won back till then, forcing you to sink into the dark again." He paused, searching inconspicuously the face of the god, to see how his words were affecting him. The Dark Lord felt satisfied fro what he saw.

I will help you get revenge for everything they did to you."

"Don't think I am a fool." The voice of the god sounded suddenly into the clearing, stronger than it had been before, stronger than Voldemort had expected it to be. "From the moment you entered my Realm, little mortal, I could feel the power you now possess calling to me. You are my Ring's new possessor."

"I cannot deny I do." Voldemort felt pleasantly surprised. His journey was not in vain as it seemed.

"You are saying you want to help me take vengeance from anyone who has wronged me over the centuries, when you have all of my power in your grasp. What use could I have to you? For you do want my help into something, don't you? I don't think you came all the way down to Hades to help me just out of the goodness of you non-existent heart."

Again, Voldemort's eyes and face didn't show any emotion.

"You are right. I do want something in return. I will help you avenge your enemies, if you help me do the same."

"Are you planning to release me, then?" Voldemort sensed a note of mirth in the god's voice, which brought a faint smile to his lips as well.

"I am not a fool either, Giver of Sleep."

"Call me, Somnus. That title doesn't apply to me anymore."

"As I was saying, I am not a fool, either, Somnus. Unfortunately for you, Gunther Ritter warned me through his notes not to do it. If I did, who knows what would happen to the world of the mortals? As much as I dislike it, I still remain a mortal and I think you still hold a grudge against all of us. I would not mind to assist you into ridding the world of all the Muggles and the Mudbloods, but I think your hatred knows no bounds."

"Then how do you plan to assist me in any way?"

"By the next best thing to do. The one your followers once did, to ease your suffering. I will give you the soul of a human."

A look of intense hunger appeared in the god's withered face.

"Will you help me, then?"

"I will, I will." The voice of Somnus shook as he spoke.

Voldemort felt a sense of triumph in his soul, though his face remained a blank. With Somnus' help he would learn how to take advantage of his new power quicker than he would without the god's help while precious time would be lost. His enemies would be easier to be defeated if they were not prepared.

"Sweat to me then, to Lord Voldemort, to the waters of the river Styx. Swear to lent me all your knowledge concerning the Ring's power and that you will help me punish my enemies in any way, with the powers I will give to you."

"So be it," the god said, his chains rustling as he restlessly moved his limbs, trembling in anticipation. "By the waters of the river Styx, I swear to help you in any way I can."

Only then did the Dark Lord smiled widely with contentment. He turned to the flowing body of the young boy and raised his wand.

"Animus opes vestrum libera", (Soul, release your powers), he hissed and a cloud of a dark blue essence came out of the tip of his wand, moving towards the young man, surrounding him, as he started glowing silver, engulfing him into darkness. A sigh came out of the lips of the boy and then an also silvery substance came out of his mouth and nostrils. It was his soul turning into energy that was afterwards directed by Voldemort towards the god.

Slowly, the silver substance formed a thick cloud around the god, obscuring his view from Voldemort. All the energy was gradually absorbed by the body of the god and when the cloud disappeared completely, Somnus appeared again, fully regenerated. The body of the man that once was known as Andre fell lifeless on the ground.

Somnus was no longer the decrepit and frail-looking being he had been. He no longer had a beard and his hair, though they were still the same length, had a deep shimmering silver colour now. His eyes, which were no longer blind but unusually sharp and bright, had assumed the same silvery hue with the shine of a thousand stars in their silver depths. His skin remained ivory coloured but it was not wrinkled anymore, but smooth and flawless. He looked once again as the immortal god he was.

He looked straight into the red eyes of Voldemort and smiled with his soft velvety lips.

"You have made yourself a very loyal friend, Lord Voldemort."

"I am more than pleased, Giver of Sleep. This name suits you now. The amount of power I have given you is nothing compared to what I will give you in the future, if I am satisfied by your services to me."

"I am grateful for doing this much. Everyone had abandoned me. You have to understand how that feels."

A flash of astonishment passed from Voldemort's face, but only for a few moments before he succeeded into concealing it. It wasn't necessary for Somnus' had seen him.

"Don't be so surprised. I may not have much power but I always could see every living being's dreams...and nightmares.

Voldemort remained silent, looking calculatingly to the god who was still smiling.

It has begun, Somnus thought while Voldemort was still lost in his reverie, clearly caught by surprise. Once again it has begun. All I have to do now is find my true children.

✳✳✳✳✳

Ginny dreamed she was in a beautiful, verdant garden, walking down a path, which led to the centre of it.

There she saw a young child, a little girl, apparently, no more than two years old, playing in the shade of an ancient massive oak tree. She walked towards the little girl wishing to look at her more carefully and she felt a smile growing on her lips when she realized it was she as a toddler she was looking at. The little Ginny was dressed in a soft blue sleeveless cotton summer dress and her auburn hair was loosely braided into two plaits.

Her smaller version suddenly lifted her eyes and smiled shyly to her and she held out her little hand for her to take. "Hello, little one," she whispered and took her small hand in hers.

Then in a sudden flash of light her younger self was gone and she was sitting in her place under the oak tree, wearing a dress in the same colour, her hair done in the same way.

She looked up to the sky with her dream eyes, seeing heavy grey clouds beginning to gather. A sudden gale of cold wind made the leaves of the oak rustle violently and quite a large number of them fell swirling on the grassy earth.

Ginny watched them as they fell and looked down on a small pile of leaves gathered near her legs.

How odd, she thought as she noticed something glittering under the leaves that she was sure had not been there before. She took the leaves out of the way and she gasped as a golden medallion was revealed in front of her eyes.

It represented the combat between a snake and a lion fighting for dominance to the death, gripping each other, surrounded by flames.

Can it be about something that has to do with Gryffindor and Slytherin? She mused puzzled. Perplexed she reached out and took it into her hands, it felt quite heavy and she was pretty sure it was made out of solid gold.

She could sense a great power coming out of the medallion that hypnotized her, lured her, hitting her in waves, making her feel sleepy.

But the unmistakable sound of someone approaching pulled her out of her drowsy state and she lifted her eyes to look at the unexpected guest. He was a stranger, yet she felt something familiar about him.

She has been amazed when she saw a totally stranger invade her dream but not as much as the young man her mind had conjured when he sensed her presence and looked at her. He had soft light blue eyes and thick sand-coloured hair, which were slightly ruffled by the wind.

In fact, he looked pretty shocked, if the look on his widely opened eyes could be described in such a way. For a few moments that seemed like an eternity they stared mutely at each other when unexpectedly the young man kneeled beside her and grabbed both of her hands in his.

"Isolde?!" he said, not being quite able to hide the tremor in his voice from the excitement and confusion he must have been feeling. "Is this you? Is this really you? My God, it has to be. You look so much like her. How can it be possible? We thought you and Mother had died."

What are you playing at, mind? She thought, also confused. I am supposed to dream about Dean snogging me senseless and such interesting things, not weird stuff like this, a guy talking like a raving maniac.

She let out a controlled breath and said slowly:

"Who are you? Why are you calling me Isolde? My name is Virginia."

The blonde young man opened his mouth to tell her something when suddenly everything faded around her and she found herself somewhere indoors looking astonished at something she could never have thought she would be dreaming.

✳✳✳✳✳

One of the gods must have shown mercy upon Harry Potter's troubled soul that night for he dreamed of something he was not expecting, in place of the usual nightmare.

He was in the Gryffindor Common Room, sitting on an armchair beside the crackling fireplace looking thoughtfully at the fire.

"Hem, hem." He jerked his head violently up waiting to see Umbridge. Instead he was surprised to see Cho standing in front of him with her hands on her hips, a predatory look in her eyes.

"Cho, what are you doing here?" He asked carefully. "Don't you know you are not allowed to enter the...mphmphmphh!"

Cho had suddenly bounced on him and literally left him speechless as she sat on his lap and pressed forcefully her lips on his own. For a few minutes he was frozen but when Cho tried to deepen the kiss, parting his lips with her tongue he threw his head back, his breathing ragged.

"What do you think you're doing, Cho?" He hissed at her angrily.

Cho frowned slightly at his aggressive manner and said pouting:

"Don't flatter yourself, Harry Potter. Snape gave us this assignment, don't you remember?"

"Snape?" Harry echoed her words truly bewildered.

"Yes, so you'd better cooperate." She tried to kiss him again.

As he felt her lips brush slightly his he heard someone gasp from the other side of the room and forgetting that Cho was perched in his lap he abruptly got up from the chair, feeling utterly embarrassed, to be caught by one of his fellow Gryffindors in such a compromising position, only to see Ginny Weasley looking at him, with eyes and mouth wide open.

There's no need to say Cho fell on the ground with a dull thud and an "Umph".

"Errrmmm...Harry!...Well...Hi?" Ginny stuttered trying to find something to say. "I...You..." She was getting nowhere.

Harry made two steps towards her but she also took two steps, backing away from him, with cheeks strikingly pink. How uncomfortable it was for both of them!

Harry just rolled his eyes to no one, in particular, thinking to himself: Great! Who's next to appear in 'Harry Potter's Dream Show' tonight'? Umbridge, Snape?

His wish came immediately true as both he and Ginny, hearing a familiar snort turned to see Snape sitting at ease on the armchair Harry had occupied till then, holding a Martini on his left hand, sneering at both of them.

"I see, Mr. Potter, that you cannot even complete one of the most simple assignments I was willing to give you", he said in a menacing tone. "So, if you don't want 80 points to be taken from Gryffindor you'd better kiss miss Weasley, since you obviously don't wish to be kissed by miss Chang, (who had mysteriously disappeared)."

Ginny was obviously astonished by Snape's suggestion.

"The clock is ticking, Potter," he said smirking.

He strode determined towards Ginny and grabbed her from the arms. She looked at him confused, too shocked to respond to this sudden change of events.

Well, Harry couldn't let Snape take more points from Gryffindor.

"I am sorry Ginny, I have to do this." He lowered his head and crushed her lips with his own. Ginny's lips parted from the surprise and he ceased the opportunity to deepen the kiss, hoping to gain some points from Gryffindor, instead of losing them, as usual.

"Excellent technique, Potter," Snape drawled, clearly amused, "ten points to Gryffindor." Then Ginny came out of the shock and suddenly pushed Harry away and before he knew what was going on she raised her right palm rolled into a fist and punched him straight in his left eye. Hard. Really, really hard.

He hit the ground with great force and clutching his injured eye with his left hand he looked at Ginny, wincing from the pain. She looked quite livid. What had he done wrong? He truly now suspected he was a very bad kisser. First Cho started crying when they had kissed for the first (and, well, the only) time and now Ginny, when it was only for an assignment.

"You should have known," said Hermione, who had appeared in Snape's lap. "The infamous Weasley temper is stronger in the women of the family. You should have asked before you kissed her."

"Hermione", said Harry in a panicked voice, "what on earth are you doing in Snape's lap?"

"Well, do you expect me to wait all eternity for Ron to come to terms with his feelings for me?"

He hadn't any more time to think upon the subject as Ginny tapped him on the shoulder and he turned to face her.

"I am out of here," she practically yelled in his face. "This is the most stupid dream I have ever had. I am not a voyeur and I AM NOT INTO YOU ANYMORE!"

He didn't have the time to say anything in return-boy, would he have a lot to say-when she vanished into thin air and everything around him blurred.

He found himself walking near the banks of a quite shallow river. The water would barely come up to his knees if he decided to step into its' sparkling blue waters.

So, he took off his shoes and rolled up the calves of his jeans and walked straight into the river, hissing lightly as the water was extremely cool. The unpleasant feeling of coldness left him in a few seconds as he adjusted to the temperature, which felt pleasurable now against his bare legs.

He walked up the river, his feet making soft splashing sounds as he moved against the weak current, holding his trainers in his hands, while a strange calmness washed over him making him feel as tranquil as he had never been before in the years of his short life. He had never felt this simple happiness of just walking, listening to the lively chirping of the birds around him and the soothing whisper of the wind passing through the leaves of the numerous elms and other trees he could not recognize, admiring the beauty of the natural wonders that surrounded him, as new appeared in each corner of the river, as if he was not Harry Potter anymore, but a normal teenage boy without a care in the world.

"This is what heaven must look like," he said to himself in a calm voice. "It surely must be a copy of heaven itself," he added suddenly distracted, as he stopped pacing.

He had reached another corner of the river, with a summerhouse built on its' bank. A weeping willow seemed to protectively embrace its roof with her drooping branches, standing guard to the girl that sat alone in the summerhouse that was absorbed reading a book.

She was lovely indeed, in his eyes. Not that she was amazingly beautiful or something the like. Her hair were too black, her skin too pale and she looked too thin to be truly considered the beauty Fleur Delacour, for example was. No, but the way her dark hair was held back and the pale blue linen robes she wore, made her look to him like an otherworldly exotic creature, a Dryad nymph, who would disappear at once if she sensed his presence, sink again into the waters of the river that gave birth to her.

He thought all that but could not persuade his limbs to move. He seemed rooted to the spot, his eyes devouring the image of the young girl.

Oh, dear Lord, he sighed inwardly. Is this some blunt hint of your that I must begin taking some action if I don't want to remain a bachelor for ever?

Harry let out an exasperated sigh. He shouldn't have, though. The girl broke out of her reverie and raised her eyes from the book she was reading and sensed his presence. She stared at him without fear but with a look in her eyes, which betrayed she was fighting between bewilderment, amazement and interest.

"Hello!" she finally said with a small smile playing at her lips, being the first who broke the uncomfortable silence between them.

"Hello." This was all he could say as he answered back in a croaky voice. You are such an idiot, Potter. You have fought against the most terrible Dark Lord of all times successively for five years and you still cannot even summon the courage to speak up if you happen to meet a beautiful girl.

"Ehm, I'm Harry". You are doing better, Potter. What else could he say? False alarm, then, the annoying little voice inside of him continued. Shut, up! All right, all right! Just trying to help. It would be a great help if you didn't speak at all. Sheesh! Aren't we snappish today. I swear, if you say one more word...Word! Aw, why bother.

He snapped out of his internal debate when he realized the girl was still looking down to him, from her perch in the summerhouse.

"Hello, Harry. I am Beryl."

Beryl, what a beautiful name! I think I am going to be sick. I am not even going to start with you, so shut up. Don't pull your...What did I just say? Shutting up.

"Ehm, am I bothering you? 'Cause if I am I can leave, if you want me to..."he trailed off.

"No, no! Don't leave. I feel so lonely most of the time. You can come in my garden anytime you want." She appeared honest and genuinely eager to get to know him.

"Thank you, I will..."

"Thank you I will..." he muttered sleepily as he half-opened his eyes. "Beryl", he whispered in the dark of his room, as he had woken up. "Too bad it was only a dream," he murmured and tossed to his left side, throwing his tangled sheet to the floor. "Too bad...only a dream," he said again before he drifted back into sleep. He didn't dream anything else that night.

✳✳✳✳✳

Tristan Ritter woke up suddenly and sat up in his bed his heart beating madly, as he heard the tower-clock of St.George's church of the near village of Rittersburg struck two in the morning.

Had it been nothing but a dream? No, it couldn't have. It had felt so life-like to him. It could have been no other than the sister he never got the chance to meet. He was certain. The resemblance to their mother was really striking. The same auburn hair, the same soft chestnut-coloured eyes, the same cute little nose. No, it couldn't have been just a dream, a result of his intense longing to see his mother and sister, to know they were alive. No, Isolde, at least, was alive. He was sure. It was her and no other.

"I have to talk to my uncle," he muttered to himself, still half asleep, "first thing in the morning, that is." His bed was too comfortable to leave it. He dropped back onto his pillow and fell asleep once again.

Not minding that it was so late, his uncle, Gabriel Ritter, as usual, had not retired for the night yet and he was still in the Library, having a last glass of wine.

But if one entered the Library they would find him pacing back and forth worriedly, the glass of wine that was placed on the table near the fireplace and his armchair the last thing on his mind, after feeling something awkward at the pit of his stomach, a strong sense that something was wrong.

"I am getting too old for this," he muttered to himself, sitting heavily behind his mahogany desk, rubbing forcefully his greying temples. "Too old to worry constantly about the fate of the world."

His mind wandered immediately to the past, when a same dark feeling had made him return to Sclôss Ritter. The sixth sense of the Schattenjâgers, that is how it was called.

Fifteen years ago a group of Death Eaters had raided Sclôss Ritter. Not just because the Schattenjâgers had helped Muggles for centuries, no. They were looking for something, Gabriel was certain about that, as he was certain they had found it, for after his brother's funeral and his own ordination as the new Schattenjâger, he had noticed Gunther Ritter's journal and other papers were missing from the library. Till this day, he wasn't sure how they had managed to initially enter the Library, despite all the protective wards that were set around it.

He looked at the portrait that hung over the fireplace, Gunther Ritter looking at him with his piercing blue eyes, which were common to the Ritters, showing great disapproval to the weakness his descendant showed.

"I know, Gunther, I know," he said looking to the portrait of his ancestor. "It is our family's sacred duty and we cannot do otherwise." He lowered his voice as not to be heard by any of the other Schattenjâger's portraits in the library, "but we are not all as brave as you, the noble knights of the older days."

Tristan suddenly jerked from his sleep again, but hours had passed. The first pale light of day was already slowly creeping in from the large window at the other side of the room.

"My God," he said, rubbing the back of his neck with his left hand. "She was holding the Ritter Talisman!"