Ron's voice really wasn't very loud, but to Harry right now, it exploded in his ears like thunder, shaking him so hard his mind went hazy.
He clutched his ears in pain and buried his head deep between his knees.
Ron, standing at the doorway, clearly hadn't realized any of this. He walked toward Harry while continuing to complain, "I really regret becoming a prefect, seriously, I'm not bragging. You have no idea how busy we are! All morning we've been decorating the castle, and that bloody Peeves keeps messing everything up! I hang a ribbon, and he grabs the other end trying to strangle me!"
"And the younger students staying over the holidays, those little ones are way too naughty. I swear we were never that rowdy in first year."
"Oh! And I have to patrol the corridors with Filch, just because that dung-for-brains thinks fights will break out more during the holidays!"
"Bloody hell! Uh… Harry, what's wrong?"
"I… I'm fine, same old thing." Harry hadn't even heard what Ron said at the end. Curled up, he waved weakly. "You go on and eat. I think I should go lie down for a bit."
"Want me to help you back to the dorm?"
"No, no need."
Ron looked at him worriedly. After a long pause, he said, "Then at least rest here for a while. I'll eat as fast as I can and bring you something back. I'll also stop by the hospital wing for some Calming Draught from Madam Pomfrey, might help you a bit."
Harry didn't answer. Ron sighed and left the Gryffindor common room.
As he went, Harry could still hear him griping about Hermione being too obsessed with the D.A., leaving him to do most of the prefect work alone.
Clack!
The passage closed.
The common room went quiet again.
Only the fire in the hearth kept crackling pleasantly.
Harry struggled off the soft chair, lay down on the carpet, and inched his forehead closer to the fire to warm it.
It wasn't comfortable, stay too long and he'd scorch his forehead or even singe his hair.
But compared to the agony pounding inside his skull, the external sting was actually a distraction, something to pull his focus away.
Like this.
Under the heat of the flames, that soul-tearing pain finally began to ease, bit by bit.
Harry slowly relaxed.
Then the dream came for him again… It was a strange, bizarre dream.
Harry dreamed he was back in the Room of Requirement during a D.A. meeting.
One moment he was hanging Christmas balloons shaped like Dobby's head, that thing Hermione kept nagging him to take care of.
The next, he was practicing Disarming Charms with someone.
Everything felt wonderful, because the person helping him hang balloons, the one practicing spells with him… was Cho Chang.
Cho was always that beautiful.
In the dream it felt like she was surrounded by sparkling dust, her gentle smile glowing, her long silky black hair shimmering and floating…
Cho dodged his Disarming Charm again, nimbly.
Her hair swayed as she moved, and a lovely scent drifted toward him.
Harry breathed it in without thinking, enchanted, but before he could enjoy it, a strong hand grabbed his collar.
Cedric.
He was yelling something angrily.
Harry could faintly hear a woman crying in the background.
From the sound… it seemed like Cho.
Panicked, Harry tried to explain, but in the next instant Cedric vanished, replaced by Link.
Link just looked at him from afar, expressionless, but his eyes were icy with disdain, as if accusing him of doing something filthy.
Harry felt awful.
He ran desperately, wanting to catch up to Link, to tell him this wasn't what it looked like.
But no matter how he ran, the distance between them never changed.
The dream shifted…
He was suddenly taller, stronger, walking slowly down a stone corridor.
The light was dim, yet he could see bright colors shining from objects around him… strange, vivid hues… He turned his head… and saw a wide, open hall… dozens of shadows darting around, dueling… flashes of multicolored light shooting between them…
Harry took a deep breath… tasting the smells in the air…
Burnt flesh. A foul stink. Several familiar but indistinguishable scents. And… the smell of death…
A longing rose inside him.
He wanted—craved—to rush into the battle… to taste blood…
Driven by the impulse, he sped up.
The distance shrank, closer and closer…
Then, suddenly, Harry froze.
Because among the silhouettes fighting, he saw one he knew extremely well…
It was… Sirius…
Harry stared hard to be certain.
This time he finally saw.
It wasn't just Sirius.
There was Hagrid, Lupin, Moody…
Whoosh!
A cold breeze swept over Harry's head.
He tried to lower his gaze, but before he could move, his arm lifted on its own.
A pale, claw-like hand filled his vision.
Harry couldn't believe it. He was sure, it wasn't his hand.
But he didn't have time to think.
Because that hand held a wand, and the wand tip was aimed straight at Sirius and the others.
"Avada Kedavra!"
BOOM!
Sickly green light swallowed Harry's sight.
Agony exploded in his scar, like his head would rip open, "Harry! Harry!"
He opened his eyes, drenched in cold sweat. The sheets were twisted around him like a tight suit. His forehead felt like a pair of red-hot tongs had been driven into it.
"Harry!"
Ron stood by the bed, shouting anxiously, looking terrified.
There were more figures at the foot of the bed, but Harry couldn't see who, they blurred as he clutched his head and retched over the edge of the mattress.
"Go get Madam Pomfrey and Professor McGonagall!" Hermione's frantic voice rang out. "Oh my god! He's so sick! Harry! Harry! Hang on!"
His vision stayed fuzzy from pain, but the dream, what he'd seen, was too important.
Gasping, Harry pushed himself upright, fighting down the nausea.
"Sirius… Sirius…" Harry panted. "They… they're in trouble!"
"What?"
Ron clearly didn't understand. He blinked, baffled.
Harry pressed on, "They're being ambushed. It's really bad!"
"Hey! Harry," Hermione leaned in, trying to soothe him. "You… you were only dreaming…"
"No!" Harry shouted, wild-eyed. "Not a dream, not a normal dream, I was there, I saw it, Voldemort did it, he used the Killing Curse, the same one he used on my parents..."
He kept trying to speak, but footsteps thundered from outside.
Moments later, a glass vial was pushed to his lips.
His throat burned like fire, and he instinctively turned away, but the person pinched his nose hard and forced the potion down.
A cool sensation spread through his mouth, tinged with a strange taste.
Then it flowed down his throat, into his blood, spreading through his whole body.
The sudden cold quenched the pain, clearing his vision. Harry couldn't help letting out a shaky sigh of relief.
Only then did he realize he was no longer on the common room carpet, he was in a hospital wing bed.
Madam Pomfrey hovered over him, prying open his eyelids with a stern face, an empty vial in hand.
Behind her stood Professor McGonagall in a tartan dressing gown.
"He should be fine. Just very weak. Keep him on light food for now."
Madam Pomfrey released his eyelids.
Before she even finished speaking, Ron and Hermione threw themselves onto Harry.
Ron choked out, "Harry! You've been asleep for three days! We were scared to death!"
Harry jolted in shock. He glanced at the bright sunlight outside… then started trying to push Ron and Hermione away.
He hadn't forgotten the crucial thing from his dream.
But he was far too weak, and they were hugging far too hard, thankfully, Professor McGonagall stepped in.
She grabbed Ron by the ear, hauled him upright, pulled Hermione away, then said seriously to Harry, "Potter, how do you feel now?"
"Professor McGonagall, Sirius… I saw him…" Harry weakly grabbed her sleeve. "They were ambushed by Death Eaters, and Voldemort used the Killing Curse, someone died!"
Everyone at the foot of the bed gasped.
McGonagall shot them a glare, then asked sharply, "What exactly did you see?"
"I don't know… I was asleep, and then suddenly I was there…"
"You mean you dreamed it?"
"Yes, no!" Harry said irritably. "I mean, it was a dream, but I'm certain it was real. It felt too real!"
Through her crooked glasses, McGonagall stared at him as if seeing something terrifying. Harry had the odd sense she was staring straight at his scar.
"I'm not lying! I'm not crazy!" Harry yelled. "I'm telling you, I saw it with my own eyes!"
"I believe you, Potter," McGonagall said crisply. "Get dressed, we're going to see the Headmaster."
She worked fast. After having Madam Pomfrey give Harry more restorative potions, she shooed aside Neville, Dean, Seamus, and the others, then had Ron and Hermione support Harry as they went straight out of the ward.
A few minutes later, they stood before the entrance to Dumbledore's office.
"Fizzing Whizbee."
McGonagall said it expressionlessly.
The stone gargoyle sprang aside; the wall split open, revealing a rising spiral staircase.
They climbed with difficulty, and after pushing through a gleaming oak door, Dumbledore finally appeared before them.
He sat quietly in the high-back chair behind his desk, sunlight streaming through the tall windows behind him, illuminating the documents spread before him.
He wore that familiar purple robe embroidered with gold. His long white beard was tied into a neat bundle with a golden cord. He looked sharp, alert, his piercing blue eyes fixed on McGonagall.
"Professor Dumbledore, Potter has awakened, but he says he…" McGonagall paused to choose her words. "He appears to have experienced a very lengthy prophetic dream."
Dumbledore shifted his gaze to Harry.
The pressure made Harry's heart hammer.
He clenched his fists to stop them trembling and stammered through a full recounting of everything he saw in the dream.
When he finished, the words seemed to echo in the air, absurd, almost ridiculous.
Harry could practically hear the portraits whispering on the walls, sneering at him.
Even Fawkes, who had been preening his feathers, stopped and stared straight at him.
It made Harry furious.
He glared back at Dumbledore in retaliation, but McGonagall's scolding quickly forced him to drop his head resentfully.
After a long silence, Dumbledore sighed and said to Harry, "How did you see it?"
"Uh… I don't know," Harry said angrily, lifting his head. "In my head..."
"You misunderstand," Dumbledore interrupted. "I mean, from what perspective did you see it? Were you standing beside Black and the others? Or did you see it from above?"
Harry's whole body stiffened.
He stared stupidly at Dumbledore, then finally gritted his teeth, "I was the one casting the Killing Curse at Sirius. I saw through his eyes. I didn't see his face, but I'm sure, it was Voldemort!"
The office went dead silent.
The portraits said nothing. Ron and Hermione had gone pale.
Harry stared anxiously at Dumbledore.
He hated that no one believed him. But at the same time, he desperately wanted Dumbledore to tell him this was all just a dream, because that would mean Sirius and the others were safe.
But after a long wait, Dumbledore spoke with visible pain, "I'm very sorry, Harry. I do not know why you had such a dream, but it was real. Just yesterday, Moody and the others were ambushed by Death Eaters, and by Voldemort."
"T-then…" Harry cut in, "Sirius, Lupin, they're okay, right?"
Dumbledore fell silent again.
He looked at Harry quietly, the pain on his face growing deeper and deeper.