Over the next few days Harry did just what Snape suggested he do: Look for things that were out of the ordinary. He found it more and more difficult to pay attention however, as he was still having trouble sleeping. The dreams had continued unchanged, though Harry tried nothing to prevent them now. So every night he awoke at odd intervals, now hearing that last phrase that Snape had uttered from behind the doorway.

“How can I save him this time?”

This sentence haunted Harry. For the thing that bothered him the most was just what Snape was trying to save him from. And there was no way of asking without admitting what he had overheard.

So Harry watched, and waited, knowing that something would come along to help him see. And sure enough, three days after his meeting with Snape, he noticed it. Dean Thomas and Seamus Finnigan were nowhere to be seen, and he couldn’t remember them being at Hogwarts at all so far. He walked in a stupor past the empty armchairs by the fire over to a table where Ron sat.

"Hey Ron, where are Dean and Seamus?" he voiced his concern to his friend.

"Who?" asked Ron as he hastily scribbled the conclusion of his essay.

"Dean and Seamus. You know, they share our dormitory."

"Oh yeah. Dunno what you’re going on about, they’ve been here all along mate," Ron said calmly.

"No they haven’t!" Harry retorted, alarmed.

"Don’t be daft, they’re right over there," replied Ron, waving his quill lazily in the direction of the fireplace.

"I just came that way, they’re no-" he fell silent. The chairs were occupied now … with Dean, and Seamus.

"Wait, where are you going?" Ron called after Harry as he rushed to the portrait hole.

"I forgot my essay in the library," Harry lied, stepping out into the corridor and making his way to the office of Severus Snape.

***

"Professor Snape!" Harry said frantically, hammering on the door.

"What is it Potter," Snape said a little irritably as he poked his long nose out of the doorway.

"Well, I was doing what you said to do, and I noticed something. Something big," the teenager gasped back. Snape raised his eyebrows and ushered him in.

"Well, what is it?" inquired the professor once they were seated.

Harry began, telling Snape of his realization and of Ron’s reaction. The more he said the stranger it seemed. Snape listened well, nodding his head occasionally and asking Harry further questions. When Harry finished, Snape sat there, thinking. It was a long time before Harry broke the silence.

"Am I hallucinating sir?" he asked uncertainly.

"No. But things are not what they seem Potter. You’d better get back to your dormitory," he said. "Let me know of any other revelations."

"Yes sir," Harry said, trying to ignore the fact that Snape was still keeping quiet.

As soon as he was out of sight he took his anger out on a stone wall, which resulted in his foot feeling quite painful. For a moment Harry actually thought he saw the stone wall flicker slightly where his foot hit, almost as though it were a telly with bad reception. But he shook his head, and muttered angrily about seeing things.

And he says I’m not hallucinating … Harry thought, trudging down the corridors.

***

The days went by and turned to weeks, sometimes bringing another revelation within them. And as time progressed Harry realised that Ginny too was missing, but just as with Seamus and Dean she conveniently appeared out of nowhere, others denying the fact that she had ever been missing. Harry was still having those dreams, every time waking up in a cold sweat in a dormitory that seemed so dark compared to the place with the bright light he’d been in. The only thing besides the missing people and dreams to catch Harry’s attention was the fact that sometimes corridors appeared to go on forever or even end in mist, but the end of the corridor was always within sight when he took a second glance. Harry attributed this to his bad vision, but one day, in passing, mentioned it to Snape. Who had informed him to look closer the next time, and perhaps he might see more. Harry hadn’t much clue as to what his professor meant, but did not complain. He did not want to ruin the almost friendly relationship he and Snape now had. He had not been insulted by Snape in a very long time, and had begun to trust him even. To a point. However, there came a day, not long before the Christmas holidays that brought about the start of a new perspective for each of them.

"Ouch …" Harry murmured groggily, massaging his left side, which had suddenly become painful.

He blinked sleepily, trying to figure out where he was. His eyes fell upon the moon, rising above the forbidden forest in the dead of night. The lake shimmered before him, a path of moonlight dancing across it. This was not his dormitory.

Harry backed away, unsure of how he got down by the lake. He shivered in the December air, for he was in his pyjamas and wearing no shoes. Behind him, tracks in the frost indicated his steps. But Harry didn’t know how he had gotten there. He did not give it too much thought though, for the pain in his side was terrible.

Harry stumbled up to the castle, taking one more glance at the lake. A light mist danced about the waters, but it was gone with the blink of an eye. Just like in the corridors. Still, the only thing that occupied Harry was the growing fuzz in his head and the sharp throb in his left side; added to it was the ache of his right ankle and arm. He let his feet drag him down a familiar route, barely aware that it was not the way to the hospital wing as he had intended to travel. With ragged breath he descended down staircases, not paying attention to what he was doing as the sound of his bare feet slapping against the dungeon floor rang through his ears. Harry’s eyes were watering and he was fighting back sobs by the time he reached Snape’s office. He knocked, praying that Snape was in there, or that he could hear him somehow. He slumped up against the door clutching his side, having trouble keeping his aching ankle on the floor. Luckily for him, his prayer was answered.

"Who on earth-" Snape growled grouchily, looking rather deranged with his mussed up hair and worn dressing gown. His eyes widened in surprise when Harry slid toward him as he opened the door. "Potter!"

He caught Harry quickly, who had gone quite grey and was looking like he was going to pass out.

"Are you hurt, are you sick?" Snape questioned Harry, all traces of anger and annoyance gone as he supported the boy’s weight.

"My s-side, ankle … head fuzzy," Harry mumbled weakly, dazed and wondering what was happening to him.

"Come with me Harry," said Professor Snape softly, helping the hurt boy through a secret door in his office, which revealed a cozy sitting room. He got Harry to lie down on a worn sofa that sat before the fire.

"’M I gonna be ok sir?" Harry asked as he was covered with a soft blanket.

"Yes, but the pain might take a while to go away," Snape said, sounding tired.

The pain consumed Harry. Eventually however, his ankle throbbed less, and the hurt in his arm went away. And Snape sat next to him until he fell asleep.

***

Harry awoke the next day, a little bit confused to find himself back in his dormitory. He wondered how he got there, and if the previous night had been a dream. But the way Snape watched over him in class that day he knew it had to have been real.

For majority of the day, besides a little stiffness, all trace of the pain was gone. However, during lunch break, Harry was talking with Ron by the beech tree when the pain suddenly returned. And though it was not near as severe as the previous night, Harry had a feeling that it should not be ignored, so he went to see Madam Pomfrey.

"Hello Mr. Potter, what can I do for you?" Madam Pomfrey said, beckoning Harry into the nearly empty hospital wing.

"Well, last night I was having this really sharp pain in my left side. It went away for a while, but it came back just a few minutes ago," he winced slightly, rubbing his side. "I was wondering if you could tell me why."

"Is it just your side, or are other areas affected?"

"My arm and my ankle. And my head felt all fuzzy last night, it’s sort of feeling that way now too."

"Hmm, have you had any mishaps as of late?" she questioned.

"Not that I can think of," Harry told her, wracking his brains.

"Well then, let me do a few charms. We’ll most certainly find the problem," Madam Pomfrey said, getting Harry to lay down on a bed while she waved her wand about in complicated patterns; it took quite some time, and the completion of each charm left a deeper frown on Madam Pomfrey’s face.

"Is it bad?" Harry asked cautiously when she finished.

"No, on the contrary Mr. Potter, you are a perfectly healthy sixteen year old boy," she replied, sounding rather confused.

"What?"

"That would be my opinion as well."

"But then how come it feels like I broke something?"

Madam Pomfrey fingered her wand thoughtfully before speaking: "Well … I have a theory. But it’s really just a vague idea. As I recall, you have broken a rib before, have you not?"

"Yeah, bludger … hurt really bad. Why?"

She fell silent for a few minutes.

"The only thing I can think of, which isn’t likely, is that you are experiencing something similar to phantom pain. That is when a person has a limb amputated, and they still feel the missing limb. Maybe your brain is somehow recalling the pain from previous wounds. Though that would be very unlikely, if not impossible..." Madam Pomfrey pondered. "I did every diagnosis charm I know. I could get a specialist from St. Mungos …"

"But how could the phantom pain thing explain my ankle and arm?" Harry blurted.

Madam Pomfrey stared at him.

"Oh, right," he blushed, suddenly remembering how he had hurt his leg during the Triwizard Tournament and his arm from a bludger back in second year.

"Well Mr. Potter, how about I write you a note so you go back to your dormitory and rest? I’ll let you know if I figure something out." Madam Pomfrey said.

"Thank you," Harry said, thinking that the last thing he needed was more time for nightmares. "But I think I’d rather go to class."

"If that is your wish," she said. "However, if it gets worse let me know."

Harry nodded and left, pondering this new information.

***

"Your condition isn’t something that can be detected by a medi-witch," Snape replied shortly when Harry told him of Madam Pomfrey’s confusion during an evening visit to his office.

"But what is my condition?" Harry said rather angrily.

"I cannot say, you must find that out for yourself," Snape told Harry for what seemed the thousandth time.

"But sir!"

"You will understand eventually."

Harry left soon after, growling and cursing his professor. He couldn’t quite bring himself to hate Snape now however. It was hard to forget the previous night, when Snape had looked after him and talked him through the pain. He was almost at the end of the corridor when he heard her calling out his name.

"Ginny?" Harry asked uncertainly, looking around for the owner of the voice. There was no response.

He stood there, looking around the desolate corridor, silent but for her voice calling his name. It echoed through the dungeons, and somehow in Harry’s head at the same time. How hauntingly it rang through his ears, stirring up a strange sort of longing that he could not explain. It was sort of a combination of feelings; he so badly wanted to leave the place he was and find the source of the voice, but at the same time he wished to stay. It confused him beyond belief, and so, forgetting his previous anger, Harry turned on his heel and ran to Snape’s door, hoping for an answer.

"Sir, can you hear her?" Harry asked breathlessly as his professor stuck his nose out the door, one eyebrow raised, as was his custom.

"No, hear who?" Snape drawled.

"Ginny, she keeps … calling my name," Harry asked, realising just how odd his statement was. "But she doesn’t sound, well, a whole lot like Ginny. She sounds, sad and … lost almost. Why?"

"Because that isn’t the Ginny Weasley you know right now Harry," sighed Snape. "You’re hearing her from very far away. It would be best for you to go to sleep."

"Far away sir? What do you mean," Harry inquired softly. Snape just shook his head, that look of pity on his face again.

And that was when Harry became afraid.