He Walks in Dreams

Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, nor any of the other original characters and or places in the Potterverse, which was created by the wonderful JK Rowling. I believe that they are owned by Warner Brothers. However, the plot, new characters and or places are mine, mine, mine! And are subject to copyright by ME!


Chapter 2- Two for the Road


Harry did his level best to contain his anger as he and Ron trudged through the stinking marsh in which they’d found themselves. He didn’t think he’d ever have a pleasant night of sleep again; his dreams were a horrid mix of the memory of that bastard Snape killing Dumbledore and revenge fantasies that left blood on his hands and brought only more despair not peace in their wake. It was an unseasonably hot day for the first of September, ‘September first,’ he thought with a pang of school and all of the this he should be doing, would be doing if Voldemort hadn’t targeted him. The loss was too much for the raven-haired wizard to think straight, swallowing his anger for the thousandth time he set his mind to the task at hand.



He walked into a particularly soggy spot and sank to his knees; impatiently he pulled his wand from up his sleeve and pointed at the ground. “Amolior!” he said under his breath, so as not to attract unnecessary attention. It was generally assumed that when one is creeping around in a bog at twilight that said person is clearly up to nothing good. The very last time that Harry needed was to be hauled away to a Muggle holding cell where he’d be quite helpless if discovered by Voldemort. The sting of a mosquito broke into this thoughts and he slapped at it reflexively, only now realizing that he’d stumbled into the heart of the swarm, “Urgh! Damned things!”


His cursing was loud enough to draw a warning look from Ron who picked his way over to Harry with great care not to find himself similarly imprisoned by the nasty biting insects. “They’ll go away in a few minutes when the sunlight is all gone,” said Ron trying to fix Harry with a reassuring smile in the gathering darkness. ‘At least I think they will,’ he thought to himself, hoping that if Harry could take his mind off of them that the bites wouldn’t itch so much. Harry nodded to Ron and suggested that they press on, they had to reach the cliffs by full dark or they’d not have time to safely pass all the obstacles that Voldemort had undoubtedly set to defend the remaining Horcruxes.


Fortunately for Harry and Ron, Voldemort had no idea that the fragments of his soul were being hunted and destroyed systematically; he’d made the arrogant assumption that with Dumbledore gone the “little whelp” and his friends couldn’t possibly find the remaining three Horcruxes, let alone destroy them. Harry paused to wonder if he knew that the one bound to the locket had been taken from its hiding spot. Not that it mattered; it was just one more thing that had contributed to the death of Dumbledore. He shivered and tasted bile when the vision of the parched and desperate Headmaster flashed before his eyes, clamping his jaw on the vomit he was sure would come any moment he paused and tried to shake the thought from his mind. He couldn’t, the whole gruesome scene it seemed was painted on the back of his eyelids. There was no escape. A new emotion took hold of him at that moment, unlike any other he’d ever felt, it was nearly as intoxicating as the anger had been crippling. It was like what he felt for his friends, dead mentor and parents combined and distilled to its purest form, love.


He couldn’t even begin to understand why in this moment of intense sorrow he’d suddenly feel something so pure and inspiring, but perhaps that was the key to it all. When he’d begun think that the task laid at his feet was impossible the collective good will and love of those who cared for him, living and dead, was placed behind him to anchor him and remind him that love was more powerful than even death and despair. He smiled in spite of the enormity of what he must do and a he felt new resolve building inside of him.


Ron was desperately worried about Harry; he’d not been at all himself since he’d witnessed firsthand the death of his mentor. He couldn’t even begin to imagine the torment his best mate was going through and Harry refused to speak of it. Even things that had kept the weight of the world from Harry’s shoulders before then no longer served to draw even the most minute amount of joy from him. Harry’s loud cursing carried across the marshy ground entirely too well for Ron’s peace of mind, he crossed the distance to Harry in a dozen or so paces and gave him a look that said as plainly as if he’d spoken, “We need to be quieter.” They continued on much more cautiously and tried to increase the pace to reach their goal sooner.


They were out of the swampy mess and moving along side a packed gravel road when Ron noticed something that heartened him more than he thought possible; Harry was smiling, the expression bittersweet and joyful all at once. He wanted to ask what could have brought about such a change in the other wizard, but the moment seemed far to private to intrude upon and so he was contented to wait for Harry to tell him in his own time, or not. He supposed that the reason was not important, and at that moment it was not. Ron nearly jumped out of his skin as a bright flash of light washed over he and Harry.


Harry grabbed Ron’s arm and steadied him, “It is only a car, Ron. Purebloods!” he said rolling his eyes and smirking. “Need I remind you that your parents were magic folk too, or have you forgotten, oh wise ass?” Ron’s reply was equally playful.

“True, too true my old and rare. Clearly you have my number! But at least I’m not afraid of cars…” Ron shook his head by way of response and hoped that they would not encounter any more Muggles or their crazy inventions, as he could not handle such a scare again.


Ron was all too conscious of how their silhouettes must have stood out against the inky deep blue sky and the closer they got to the cliffs the more scarce the available cover became. He almost felt as though he was wearing a flashing target, but nothing to menace or hinder them presented itself to them. When they finally reached the cliffs Harry had to grab him by the collar of his robes to keep him from falling as he’d stepped onto a piece of unstable land at the very edge of the cliff. For the second time in ten minutes his heart leapt into his throat and he was very glad that he and Harry had somehow managed to convince Hermione and Ginny to go to school, rather than accompanying them on this potentially deadly quest.


The two young wizards prepared for the descent to the hidden cave halfway down the sheer rock-face. This would be foolhardy under even the best possible conditions, when it was light and dry. To attempt such a feat now was a suicide mission! Ron pushed the thought away with some difficulty; at least his beloved Hermione and his little sister would be spared the same untimely end. Ron thought again of how Hermione had looked the last time he’d seen her, the light in her hair made her look angelic that day. What a fool he’d been! A fool and a coward, now he’d pay any amount of money to turn back time and tell her how he felt. There was no point in dwelling on it, because he could not turn back time; he’d just have to live long enough to tell her himself. He took a deep breath as Harry handed him the rope, this would surely be a night he’d never forget.