Harry slowly opened his eyes and stared up at the canopy of his bed with a small frown, confused by the dream he had just had. For once, it wasn’t a nightmare about the Dursleys or Sirius. Instead, it was fuzzy and already retreating from his mind, but there had been a young woman he didn’t recognize. She had just stood there, watching him but not speaking. It had been so strange. He didn’t recognize her, but a part of him felt like he knew her. Despite the oddity, he had to admit he was glad for the break from the nightmares.

He sat up and swung his legs over the side of the bed, resting his feet on the floor. He rubbed his eyes to wake up and slipped on his glasses. He sat there for a time with his elbows on his knees and his chin on his clasped hands while he gazed at the closed drapes around Ron’s bed.

He was thrilled to be back at Hogwarts, he always was and it had been a rough summer, but things also felt different in the castle that year. The wizarding world had changed as it came to realize the reality that Voldemort was back, and it seemed that anxiety was seeping into the school. It was tense and dim, and everyone seemed angry. School had only been back for two months and the house rivalries were worse than ever. It seemed like there was a fight happening every other day. He felt like it was more than just war tensions and house rivalries. He felt like something else was happening in the castle.

Something was changing.

“Breakfast time?”

Harry looked up at Ron with a smile. His friend was awake—at least partially—and had pulled back his curtains. His hair was a disaster and he was yawning loudly while rubbing his eyes vigorously.

“Yeah, breakfast time,” Harry said, getting to his feet. “Up. Get dressed.” He swatted Ron’s leg as he walked to the end of his bed. He opened his trunk and pulled out a clean uniform. He changed quickly, keeping his back away from Ron’s sight, messily tying his tie and pulling on his robes.

Once Ron had managed to drag himself out of bed and got dressed, the two of them left Gryffindor Tower to head to breakfast. They entered a nearly full but nearly silent Great Hall. The silence was, unfortunately, common that year. No one spoke between tables and everyone really only whispered. It was like everyone was afraid of being overheard, as though everyone had secrets. The air was heavy in the Great Hall, heavy with fear, anger, hatred, confusion…secrets. The castle had its secrets, but this was different. It was more than just a secret passageway or chamber; these secrets could change everything, he could feel it.

He and Ron slid into Gryffindor table across from Hermione. As he scooped food onto his plate, he gazed around the Hall, the decorations reminding him that day was Halloween. Like every Halloween, he took a moment to remember the parents he never knew and reinforce his hatred of and desire for revenge against Voldemort. Sufficiently filled with his sustaining anger, his eyes drifted up to the staff table. Even the professors were silent like the rest of the Hall. All of their faces were hard and drawn as they stared at their plates or out at the students.

He had never seen the professors so serious, not even during the petrifications in second year or the hunt for Sirius Black in third.

It was different now. Something was wrong, and the castle and its residents were changing as a result. He sighed and was about to zone back into Ron and Hermione’s quiet conversation when his eyes met those of the Potions professor, Severus Snape. The man’s eyes were hard and dark as they always were, devoid of all emotion. As they gazed at each other, Harry felt anger fill him, the same anger he always felt towards Snape. The hatred between them had never been stronger, and he couldn’t understand how Dumbledore seemed to trust the man so much.

There was a tiny jolt in his head and he frowned, wondering what it was. When it didn’t happen again, he turned away from Snape, assuming the pull had to do with his scar and Voldemort. He shook his head and turned back to his breakfast just as an owl flew overhead, dropping a letter beside his plate. Confused about who would be writing him, he tore open the envelope.

Dear Harry, 

Please come to my office tonight after dinner. There are things we must discuss. 

Professor Dumbledore 

“What is it?” Hermione asked.

“Dumbledore,” Harry said, folding the letter back up. “He wants me to go to his office tonight.”

“What for?” Ron asked.

Harry shrugged, shoving the letter in his bag and returning to his breakfast. “He just said there’s things to talk about.”

They all finished eating and headed to Transfiguration. They were quiet as they walked, passing students that halted conversations and stared at them.

They took their seats in the classroom and took out their materials. It was only a few minutes later that McGonagall began to lecture and they began to take notes. Harry did his best to focus and keep up, but his mind kept wandering back to his dream. He wanted to remember the dream, the woman. He stared absently up at the board where McGonagall was working through an example of the day’s theory, but he wasn’t seeing or hearing any of it.

Even though he couldn’t remember anything about the dream or the woman in it, he could still feel it. She felt…familiar…and sad.

“Harry?”

He blinked, the voice yanking him out of his thoughts. He turned to Hermione who was looking at him with mild concern.

“Class is over,” she said. “Are you alright?”

Harry blinked again as he looked around. Everyone else was gone. When had that happened?

“Fine. I’m fine,” Harry said. He quickly gathered his things into his bag and followed Ron and Hermione from the room.

“Are you sure you’re okay, mate?” Ron asked after he had to pull Harry down a corridor to ensure he was going the correct way. “You seem distracted.”

“Yeah, I…I’m just thinking about a dream I had,” Harry said.

“Was it You-Know-Who?” Hermione asked, obviously very concerned now.

“No, not one of those dreams.” Harry shook his head. “I actually can’t remember the dream, but there was a woman.”

“Do you know who she is?” Hermione asked.

“No, I don’t think so. I can’t even remember anything about her. I think she felt familiar, but I don’t actually know,” Harry said.

“Are you sure it’s not connected to You-Know-Who?” Hermione said and, looking at her, he knew she was thinking about his vision of Sirius last year that he had been so sure was real and not implanted by Voldemort. He felt a sting at the reminder of Sirius and the implication that he couldn’t tell what was Voldemort and what wasn’t, no matter how true. This time, though, he knew.

“I’m sure,” he said. “This is not Voldemort. It’s something else, I just don’t know who or what.”

“We’ll talk about this more later,” Hermione said as they entered the Potions classroom.

Harry just nodded as he sat. The new professor, Slughorn, walked up to the front, and he did his best to push the dream aside and focus on the lesson.

Harry stepped off the stairs as the giant stone griffin finished turning and knocked on the door. He tapped his foot as he waited for admission, nervous. While he had seen Dumbledore briefly this summer, he hadn’t spent any significant amount of time with the headmaster nor had he been in the office since Sirius’ death when he screamed and smashed things. In the little time they were together in the summer convincing Slughorn to return to Hogwarts, they hadn’t spoken about the aftermath of Sirius’ death.

“Come in.”

He slowly opened the door and stepped into the office. It looked the same as it always had except for a few small, empty spots on the desk. The items he had smashed used to fill those spots. He wondered why Dumbledore didn’t repair what he had broken.

“Ah, Harry, I’m glad you could join me this evening,” Dumbledore said with a smile as he looked up from paperwork on his desk. He gestured to the chairs in front of his desk. “Please, have a seat, my boy.”

Harry sat, tense and uncomfortable.

Dumbledore clasped his hands together and gazed at Harry. “I suppose you are curious why I’ve asked you to come.”

“Yes, sir,” Harry said.

“Last year, I made the mistake of believing keeping my distance from you would protect you and stall conflict with Voldemort,” Dumbledore said. “Clearly I was wrong, given all that happened.”

Harry’s eyes dropped at yet another vague reference to the Ministry, the possession, and the death of his godfather. The pain and sadness of it all always hit so hard, making his heart ache in a way he hadn’t felt since he was a kid realizing he would never be saved from the Dursleys. It was an ache full of loss and loneliness.

“As such, I am resolving to try a more open method,” Dumbledore said, and Harry looked back up at him. “Meaning, there is a lot I must tell you.”

Harry sat up straighter, invested. He was sick of being left in the dark. He was finally being offered information.

“I have spent this last year attempting to trace Voldemort’s past and learn the things he has done. I hoped to discover how to defeat him.”

Harry leaned forward, intrigued. Dumbledore also leaned forward, like he was sharing a secret.

“I believe I may be close to discovering the secret,” Dumbledore said. “I would like you to continue the search with me.”

Harry’s eyes widened. “Really? How?”

“I have memories that I have acquired from individuals Voldemort has crossed paths with. These will tell us about Voldemort and reveal how to destroy him.”

“You want me to watch them with you?”

Dumbledore nodded. “Indeed. I now believe you should know about Voldemort given your connection and his fixation on you.”

“Thank you, sir,” Harry said, thrilled to be included but he also couldn’t help but think he should have been told more about Voldemort when he entered the wizarding world. It should never have been Dumbledore’s decision to keep it all from him.

“We will begin our journey in a couple weeks,” Dumbledore said. “I will send an owl when I wish to meet.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Very good. Have a good night, my boy.”

Harry nodded and left the office. His mind was racing. He was finally going to learn about Voldemort. He could learn what caused Voldemort to become what he was, what happened that Halloween, why Voldemort wanted him dead, what the truth was behind their strange connection. He could learn why his parents had to die and he had to be left to face his horrid life alone. Maybe, somehow, learning about Voldemort could also explain what was happening in the castle. Maybe they were somehow connected.

He halted in his trek to Gryffindor Tower when he heard shouting and scuffling. He rounded the corner to find a few students engaged in a fist fight. Insults were spewing from all of them. He wished this was a rare sight, but not that year. He hurried over and forced his way in, breaking the students apart. It was a mix of Gryffindors and Hufflepuffs. He recognized all of them and frowned, having never known any of them to be violent or troublemakers in any way.

“Go to hell, Potter,” one of the Hufflepuffs spat. His frown deepened as they all glared at him and shoved his shoulder as they passed by. He watched them go and sighed, wishing he knew what was causing the castle and everyone in it to change.

He rubbed his forehead and continued on his way to the Tower. He found Ron and Hermione sitting by the fire in the common room, talking quietly. They both looked up when they heard him approaching, and watched as he sat in one of the empty chairs with them. They sat in silence for a moment, Harry staring in the fire while Ron and Hermione stared at him.

“So?” Ron said eventually and Harry looked at them.

“Dumbledore’s been trying to find a way to defeat Voldemort. He’s got memories that he wants to show me,” Harry explained.

“Well, that’s good, isn’t it?” Hermione said. “You’ll finally get some insight.”

Harry nodded.

“Did you say anything about your dream?” Hermione asked.

“Why would I?”

Hermione shrugged. “Maybe Professor Dumbledore could help or at least tell you if it’s connected to You-Know-Who.”

Harry shook his head. “I doubt it. Besides, I barely remember anything about it. I’m sure it was nothing. Just a normal dream.”

He gazed back into the fire. Even as he said it, he didn’t believe it. He couldn’t remember the dream, but he knew it wasn’t a normal dream. He also knew it wasn’t related to Voldemort, but he couldn’t explain exactly what it was. It felt important though and he was hoping he’d have the dream again. He wanted to remember it and understand it. It meant something and he wanted to know.