Hermione and Ron stared at their friend as they tried to process the fantastic story Harry had just told them.

“Harry… are you sure about this?” Hermione said, her pale with shock.

“Yes!” Harry cried, pacing back and forth in front of them. They were currently back in Gryffindor tower, hidden away in Ron and Harry‘s room. Everyone else was still downstairs, surveying the damage in the entrance hall. “It was just like in my dream last night! All four hourglasses were broken! But how could that happen? It was just a dream!”

“Harry, calm down, mate,” Ron pleaded. He’d never seen his friend this agitated or frightened before - not even when he’d just come back from facing Voldemort - and it was starting to scare him. “There has to be some kind of explanation for all this.”

“What kind of explanation?” Harry shouted, looking as if he was on the verge of hysterics. “How else do you explain me having a dream where I broke the House hourglasses, and then all of a sudden the next morning it actually comes true? What kind of explanation could there possibly be for that!”

“Harry, calm down!” Hermione shouted, grabbing her friend by the arms to stop his almost frantic pacing.

Harry let her stop him, but he still refused to calm down. “Then how do you explain this?” he demanded, looking at her as though her answer was the only thing that could assure him of his sanity.

“Calm down,” she once more said, meeting his frightened gaze and willing him to calm down. “Just take a deep breath and let’s try to figure this out.”

Harry did as he was directed and slowly began to regain his composure.

Seeing her friend was a little more rational now, she calmly said, “Now, tell me what happened again.”

Very slowly, Harry retold his dream, leaving nothing out. He waited in almost painful suspense to see what his friends would say.

“I don’t know what to tell you, Harry,” Ron said. “I almost know for a fact you never got out of bed last night. I would have heard you if you did…”

“But then how do you explain the hourglasses?” Harry asked, still looking overwhelmed and confused.

Ron could only shrug his shoulders. Hermione meanwhile tried to sound reassuring. “I’m sure we can figure this out,” she said. “Maybe… maybe while you were dreaming you somehow… I don’t know, unconsciously stretched out your magic and broke the hourglasses. It’s not impossible. You’ve already seen how uncontrollable and destructive unconscious magic can be if someone’s upset or in an extreme state of distress.”

“I wasn’t in an extreme state of distress!” Harry protested. “I was asleep!”

“And from all the way up in the tower?” Ron said, sounding skeptical. “I’m not as smart as you are, Hermione, but I’m pretty sure I’ve never heard of anyone getting so upset that they accidentally broke something from the other side of the castle. You’d have to be unimaginable powerful to do that, and even if the person was, if they were using unrestrained magic they probably would’ve destroyed everything in between too.”

Hermione crossed her arms in defeat and racked her brains for some other kind of explanation. “You said in your first dream no one else could see you…” she said, looking up at Harry.

“Yeah… Well, at least Mrs. Norris and Nearly Headless Nick couldn‘t…” he replied.

“Is it possible that you might have actually been there last night?” she asked.

Harry stared at her as though he thought she was going crazy. “Hermione, Ron just said he didn’t hear me leave the dormitory last night. How could I have been there?”

“Don’t you remember what happened this past summer, Harry?” she said. “Don’t you remember when your soul was separated from your body?”

Harry stared at her as if she’d just hit him upside the head with a brick. Was she actually serious? “Hermione, what are you trying to say? That my soul somehow left my body and was wandering around the school? How is that physically possible?”

“It was psychically possible five weeks ago,” she replied. “Five weeks ago your soul physically left your body and spent two days wandering around as a ghost no one else could see. Why can’t you consider that as a possibility now?”

“Because when my soul was ripped out of my body by a half-completed Killing Curse and torn into three pieces, I wasn’t sleeping in my bed dreaming about wandering around the school breaking House hourglasses! That was a completely different situation! I would have died if I hadn’t accidentally sent that Acolant Spell out to Snape.”

“Harry, your soul left your body,” Hermione said. “Its connection to you was in all senses severed except for a tiny thread. You were technically dead. Nothing like your case has ever happened before or been documented, but isn’t it possible that your soul might be able to somehow… disconnect from your body if the psychological and spiritual conditions were right? I‘ve read reports of people putting themselves into such deep traces that they have outer body experiences. And since you‘ve already had one of those, why, theoretically, couldn’t you have another?”

Harry was having trouble accepting what Hermione was trying to propose. “Are you trying to say that my soul somehow left my body last night and actually broke those hourglasses?” he said, sounding as skeptical as he looked.

“Anything’s possible…” she murmured, blushing slightly at the absurdity of her own theory.

Harry, however, paused and pondered what she said for a moment. Was it possible? Might he have actually had an outer body experience, or whatever Hermione had called it? He did remember the sensation of gliding through the halls so effortlessly - unseen by anyone else - eerily similar to those two days that past summer. But that was absurd! Completely impossible! No one’s soul just randomly got out of their body and wandered around.

But - once again - how else could he explain those broken hourglasses?

Harry was slightly uncomfortable with the idea of believing what Hermione had proposed. He didn’t want to believe that his soul could actually leave his body and go wandering around the school. He remembered how frightened he felt those two days of the summer… unsure if he’d ever be able to get back to his body. He didn’t want to have to worry about that again. Why couldn’t he ever just have a normal life?

“I really think you should tell Dumbledore about this,” Hermione’s voice suddenly cut through his thoughts.

Harry frowned and looked up at her.

“She’s right, mate,” Ron said. “Outer body experiences, broken hourglasses… I really think you should go tell Dumbledore. This is starting to get too big for us…”

Unlike every other time Hermione and Ron had suggested going to Dumbledore, Harry was starting to wonder if maybe he shouldn’t listen to them. Ron was right. This was starting to get out of control.

But… could he trust Dumbledore to believe him?

“I don’t know…” he murmured.

“Harry… You can’t keep avoiding Dumbledore like this,” Hermione said. “He might be one of the only people that can help you.”

“I know that,” Harry sighed. “But… I need to try and figure this out for myself first…”

Hermione and Ron shared exasperated looks, but knew any more effort on their part to make Harry listen would probably just be wasted.

“Have you written to Sirius yet?” Hermione asked.

Harry noticeably hesitated. “No. Not yet…”

“Harry…” Hermione had a warning tone to her voice.

“I know! I know! I will!” he yelled, throwing his hands up into the air. “I’ll write him!”

“I hope so,” she said, eyeing him skeptically. “He’ll be really worried if you don’t talk to him soon. He may be able to help you.”

“Yeah,” Harry said, glancing out the window. “He might…”

Sunday passed and Monday came and went without Harry keeping his promise to write to Sirius. The mystery of the broken hourglasses remained unsolved though Filtch loudly vowed to find out who did it. There weren’t any clues as to who might have broken them, but everyone knew Filtch secretly suspected the Weasley twins - the identical banes of his existence - and began keeping an uncomfortably close watch over them. Nevertheless, on Monday afternoon, part of the third floor corridor was mysteriously turned into a tropical swamp. 

Tuesday dawned overcast and cold, whispering the approach of an early winter. With mixed emotions, Harry found himself heading towards the dungeons with his fellow Gryffindors for Potions.

Most of the Slytherins were already there when he, Ron, and Hermione arrived. Draco Malfoy looked up at their entrance, but only gave Harry a nasty look as the three took their seats in the back of the room - forgoing his usual derogatory greeting. It was only minutes until the start of class and even Draco knew there wasn’t enough time for him to start a proper fight with his arch enemy. Harry however wasn’t about to complain. He had started coming purposely close to the start of class to avoid such confrontations.

Right on time, at the first toll of the bell, the door to the classroom flew open and the dark, wraith-like figure of Severus Snape swept to the front of the room.

“I hope for all of your sakes that you actually bothered to read last week’s reading assignment,” he said as he turned to glare at the class. Several students cringed under his gaze. “Today we will be brewing the Deflating Potion as described in chapter seven of your books.” Turning towards the empty blackboard, Snape waved his wand and a complex series of instruction appeared. “Get to work.”

Students immediately broke off into pairs and began gathering their equipment and ingredients. “I’ll go get our supplies,” Harry said to Ron. “You go get our cauldron set up.”

“Okay,” Ron nodded. Hermione, meanwhile, had gone to pair up with Neville and was already instructing him on what ingredients to get from the cupboard.

As everyone settled down and began brewing, Snape got up to make his rounds. He slowly went from table to table, checking the students’ progress thus far. As usual, he favored the Slytherins with praise and points, while he seemed to make a conscious effort to berate and belittle the Gryffindors as much as possible and take away as many points as he could.

Harry scowled as Snape came up to Crabbe and Goyle’s table and rewarded them five points for their off-color, egg-smelling potion.

“No matter what You-Know-Who might have done to him, you have to admit Snape’s still the same old snarky bastard,” Ron whispered under his breath. Harry had to admit he really didn’t have anything to disagree with Ron about.

Meanwhile, several tables away, Snape had made his way over to Neville and Hermione’s table and leaned down to examine their potion.

Harry already knew there wasn’t anything wrong with their potion (not with Hermione working on it!), but also knew Snape wasn’t going to let them go without at least saying something nasty about it. He paused in his own brewing to listen.

“Mr. Longbottom,” Snape said, eyeing the properly colored, lavender-smelling Deflating Potion as though it were a cauldron full of dragon-droppings, “can you tell me what active ingredients give this potion its light purple coloring?”

Hermione began to open her mouth to answer, but Snape cut her off. “Miss Granger, I would suggest you not to answer that unless you want three weeks worth of detention. If I remember correctly I did not ask you. I want him to answer this himself.”

Hermione slowly closed her mouth in defeat, giving Neville a look that seemed to say, I tried.

Neville, meanwhile, stared at Snape. Harry could almost see his mind freezing up.

“Well?” Snape growled.

“Um… It’s because of the… the…” Neville helplessly trailed off.

Snape glowered, staring at Neville down his long, hooked nose. “Mr. Longbottom, I find it difficult to actually comprehend the depths of your ineptitude to understand even the simplest aspect of potion making. Are you truly this stupid or do you just delight in annoying me? Honestly! It amazes me sometimes how you managed to make it even this far in Potions. If it wasn‘t for the continued help of Miss Granger, I doubt that you would have even passed your First year. I dread to think what you will score on your OWLs in June! Now if it is at all possible, pull together whatever scant knowledge you might possess of this subject and answer the question!”

Harry felt himself begin to get angry. He’d seen Snape single Neville out like this before and berate him, but something about this particular time hit a nerve with him. As Snape continued to verbally strip down the cowering boy, Harry felt something inside him snap.

A surge of magic pulsed through the air. Loud shattering pops filled the room as shelves of bottled potion ingredients around the classroom suddenly exploded. Broken glass flew everywhere. Students screamed and ducked for cover. Snape himself had to shield his face from flying glass.

As everyone slowly came out from under their desks and looked around in confusion, Harry stared in disbelief at the destruction around him. Had he just done that? The room was covered in shattered glass and foul-smelling liquid. No one had escaped the explosion unscathed. Most were just splattered with unidentifiable liquid, but several other students were bleeding from shallow cuts caused by exploding glass. Everyone was talking, loudly demanding to know what just happened.

As though in a daze, Harry slowly glanced at his Potion master.

Snape was looking directly at him. Harry felt himself cringe under the older man’s gaze. It was like Snape knew it was him…

“SILENCE!” Snape roared. Everyone in the room instantly became quiet. “Class is dismissed. All those injured, report to the Hospital Wing. Everyone else is to return to their dormitories and shower immediately. If anyone experiences any kind of ill-effect from the liquids you came in contact with, you are to report back to me as soon as any kind of problem becomes apparent. Is that understood?”

Everyone nodded and began moving towards the door.

“Mr. Potter, if you would stay behind…”

Harry froze, Snape’s voice sending an icy chill down the length of his spine. He knew!

Hermione and Ron lingered in the doorway, worriedly staring after their friend, but Harry waved them on. This wasn’t going to be good and he didn‘t want anyone else to see it…

As the last of the students disappeared out the door, Harry was left standing in the almost ominous silence of the empty Potions classroom.

Snape was currently stooped over on the other side of the room, surveying the damage of his broken potion jars. His back was to Harry, but Harry didn’t miss his almost dangerously calm voice. “Care to explain what that was all about, Potter?”

Harry inwardly cringed. “I- I don’t know what you‘re talking about, Sir…”

“Don’t think me stupid, Potter!” Snape hissed, whirling back around to glare at him. “I know perfectly well you were behind that little show just now!”

“I’m sorry! I don’t know what happened! I just-”

“Just what were you thinking? That was possibly the most shameful display of uncontrolled magic I’ve ever seen! I might have expected that from some untrained First Year, but I would have thought a Fifth Year might have been able to maintain at least some shred of control over his magic! It‘s just like what I keep telling you in Occlumency: you let your emotions get away from you! That’s why it always takes you so long to push me from your mind!”

“Well, maybe if you didn’t pick on Neville like that I wouldn’t get so mad and ‘let my emotions get away from me!’” Harry shot back. “Why do you always have to do that? It’s not his fault he doesn’t understand Potions. Why can’t you help him for once instead of treating him like he’s some kind of- of-”

“Idiot?” Snape offered.

Harry glared at him.

“Whatever you might think, Potter, there are reasons for my method of teaching.” Harry stared at Snape as though he’d just told him he was going to receive an O in Potions. “Stop looking at me like that, Potter,” Snape hissed. “I treat Mr. Longbottom so harshly because that is the only way to make him actually focus on what he’s doing. He is so hopelessly scatterbrained, the constant fear of how many points he might lose for his House is the only thing that makes him focus enough so that he doesn’t blow up half the Potion labs.”

Harry stared at Snape. He’d never considered the possibility that there might be some actual purpose behind the Potion master’s cruel treatment of the boy. He had to admit, Neville always did seem to come to Potions a little bit more focused (albeit fearful) than he did to any other class… “You still don’t need to be so mean…” Harry murmured.

Snape stared at Harry for a moment. “I’ll be sure to give your suggestion some consideration,” he snidely replied. Harry frowned at Snape’s usual sarcasm. “Nevertheless,” Snape went on, “I would suggest you learn to control that temper of yours. I would hate to see any more of my personal potion ingredients destroyed or anymore hourglasses needlessly broken…”

Harry felt his blood run cold. How did he know he broke the hourglasses? “W- what?” he stammered.

Snape gave Harry a pointed look but didn’t reply. His eyes seemed to bore into him, swallowing him into their inky depths…

There were two men holding him though he struggled frantically against them. A man was standing in front of him, holding a black stone shard in his hand. The stone was evil. He couldn’t let it touch him! The man in front of him stepped forward and grabbed a fistful of his hair, pushing his head down to expose his neck. No! He couldn’t let it touch him. He couldn’t-

Harry came back to himself with a gasp. His head swam from the violent stream of images he’d just seen. Snape was staring at him with his piercing black eyes.

“You’d better go get cleaned up, Potter,” Snape curtly said. “With all those different potions on you, I’d hate to see how they might react with one another once they seep through your clothes onto your skin.”

Harry couldn’t find the voice to reply as he turned and hurried out of the room as if Fluffy itself was chasing him. He felt Snape’s eyes follow him as he left. But he didn’t dare glance back to see.

That night Harry had another vision. He could almost feel when the shift occurred that alerted him that his dreams were no longer his own. It felt like his mind was being violently plunged into a vat of icy water…

He was once again in the dark, dilapidated mansion. Two men - both wearing masks- were in front of Him, one kneeling submissively at His feet while the other stood off to the side.

“What is taking so long?” He demanded, staring at the kneeling figure. “You have had almost a month! Why have you not yet attacked?”

The kneeling figure bowed his head lower, the edge of his hood almost brushing the ground. “Forgive me, Master. I am doing my best, but I have not yet had an opportunity to strike. Dumbledore is watching me too closely…”

“Inexcusable!” He snarled. Drawing His wand, He aimed it at the kneeling figure. “Crucio!”

The kneeling figure collapsed onto his side, spasming and screaming horribly. Finally He released the curse.

“I am warning you, servant, if you cannot find an opportunity to attack, then you’d better make one! Because if you do not, and you fail me, I will make sure that you wish you were never even born. Is that clear?”

“Yes, Master,” the kneeling figure rasped, painfully pulling himself back up onto his knees. “I beg you for forgiveness and another chance to prove myself worthy.”

“Oh, you will have another chance to prove yourself worthy, servant,” He hissed. “But this inexcusable delay of yours will not go unpunished. Lucius! Show our wayward brother what the cost of displeasing me and making me delay my plans is.”

“Of course, Master,” the other man bowed. Stepping forward, he aimed his wand at the kneeling man. “Crucio!”

The kneeling man once more fell writhing to the floor, his screams echoing into the pitiless black night…

Harry didn’t know how long his ears echoed with the tortured screams of the masked man or how long he watched him helplessly spasm across the floor, but it was with a blinding pain throbbing through his scar that he finally woke up, screaming and shaking just as violently as the man in his vision…