Chapter 34- Dream time(part 2).

The trio was still for some moments before Sirius finally spoke. "You cast recognition charms on the box and the door?"

Arabella nodded. "Yes. He wouldn't remember. He wasn't even eighteen months old when I placed them. Can you tell how long it's been?"

"Couple of weeks, give or take a day or two," Sirius replied with a shrug. He raked his fingers through his hair, then opened the door. Changing back into Padfoot, he followed Harry's scent to the street where it vanished.

While he was outside, Remus surreptitiously retrieved the forgotten envelope, and sniffed it. It smelled largely of cats, of course, and Padfoot, and Sirius, and Arabella since they had most recently touched it...but under everything else was the faint, tantalizing scent that Snuffles had identified as Harry's. Remus sniffed again, frowning. Harry's scent was not exactly as he remembered it, but that was to be expected. He knew from his own time at Hogwarts that peoples' scents changed subtly as they grew and matured. Now that he knew what he was looking for, and had an approximate idea where the boy had been, he could make out faint traces of Harry's scent in Arabella's house as well, and...

Remus froze. Was that Harry he had picked up at the Leaky Cauldron? He sniffed the envelope again, considering carefully. It was close. Damn close. But when would Harry have had a chance to visit the wizard pub? If his relatives were as magic-phobic as the others said, they probably wouldn't go near the place.

"What is it Remus," Mrs. Figg asked, watching him closely.

Remus turned to face her, still clearly trying to work something out. "You know that scent I picked up at the Leaky Cauldron?"

"Yes?"

"I think it was Harry."

"What about Harry?" Remus jumped at the sound of Sirius' voice. He'd been so intent on the envelope, he hadn't noticed when Black had re-entered, and closed the door behind him.

"I caught a scent I couldn't place immediately at the Leaky Cauldron when we picked up the food." Remus indicated the envelope. "I'm not 100% certain, but I think it might have been Harry."

"I suppose its too much to hope that you could determine the scent's age?"

"I'm afraid so."

"Well, we'll just let Padfoot have a go," Sirius stated, striding purposefully towards the fireplace.

"Wait, Sirius. Harry could have visited the Leaky Cauldron on his way out of town for all we know, and his name wasn't on the guest register. I looked," Arabella said, catching his arm.

"What did you learn outside?" Remus asked, neatly diverting his friend's attention.

Black frowned, glancing toward the door. "I followed the path he took down to the street, then his trail just vanishes. The route he took over here from Privet Drive was spotty, and hard to follow. The scent kept dropping out and re-appearing. How's the weather been?"

"The estate agent I spoke with mentioned that Little Whinging has gotten a lot of rain recently," Arabella supplied, surprised at the sudden shift in topic. "Evidently it interfered with her showings."

Padfoot and Moony both nodded sagely. That explained quite a bit. "Rainy weather can louse up a trail," Remus supplied kindly when Belle looked confused. "If Harry surprised by a sudden cloudburst, or hurrying for whatever reason, he could have splashed through a few puddles on his way over."

"I don't like the way his scent just stops there at the street, though," Sirius said, looking perturbed. "I should have been able to pick up traces of his scent even if he got into a car."

"That's a stretch, isn't it Paddy? Under normal circumstances, yes, but with the rain?"

"I said I should have been able to pick up traces. I didn't necessarily say I could have followed it," Sirius snapped, pacing in front of the fireplace. "It's like he vanished, or disapparated!" He stopped with a suspicious look on his face. "He can't disapparate yet, can he?"

"Not to my knowledge."

"Wait, I've got it!" Arabella exclaimed. "We were just talking about it at Hogwarts. The Knight Bus! Maybe he was coming by to say goodbye. Maybe he took the Knight Bus to Diagon Alley for a last look 'round!"

"Or maybe he didn't go with his relatives," Black said grimly. "But if that's true why hasn't he contacted anyone?" He shook his head impatiently. "It doesn't make sense!"

Mrs. Figg's living room was silent for a time, as its occupants tried to figure out what to do. Finally Remus spoke up. "Look, we don't have enough solid evidence to prove our case either way. Albus is handling the Australia scenario. Let's contact Arthur in the morning, and work the other possibility." He shrugged. "If we're right, we'll already be working on it. If we're wrong, it won't hurt anything. We can start at King's Cross. See if we can trace his movements. Check the destination logs on the Knight Bus. I mean, he's Harry Potter for crying out loud! Someone should have noticed him!"

Arabella Figg nodded her assent, then walked toward the door. "That sounds feasible, Remus. Meanwhile, I should go put those charms Albus wanted on the Dursley's old home. Wouldn't want the old place to sell, now would we?"

________

Harry hadn't really intended to nod off. He'd just wanted to lay his head down and close his eyes for a moment. Maintaining the bond was harder than he thought, and his scar was protesting his efforts by burning hatefully.

Actually, when he'd laid his head on his arms, the pressure against his brow had helped somewhat. Harry had considered trying to sooth the mark by holding his charmed glass of milk against it, but he wasn't sure he could keep a firm grip on the container.

It was an odd feeling, really. Harry had thought that falling asleep would disrupt his snooping on Wormtail and Voldemort, but that didn't turn out to be the case. The voices he'd been listening to faded into silence, but now his unconscious mind was providing images.

The same feeling of traveling he had experienced in other dreams was back. Before, he had dreamed he was riding on an enormous eagle owl, but this time he soared through the sky toward the now familiar ivy-covered house on the hill on the back of a rather enlarged version of Fawkes the Phoenix. That's where Voldemort is! Harry suddenly realized, as they circled the house. That must be his headquarters!

Yes, fledgling, that is the Serpent's Lair. We shall not be staying long, a voice that could only belong to the scarlet and gold firebird stated.

Before Harry could gather his wits to respond, Fawkes dove gracefully toward the house. Ghost-like, they slipped through a wall, and observed, hovering near the ceiling, while Voldemort and Wormtail prepared to leave. The other wizards weren't doing anything out of the ordinary, so Harry glanced around, looking for some clue as to his location. He stopped only when his quarry portkeyed away with a faint pop.

Blinking, Harry stared at the place where the pair had been. Hey! he thought irrationally. Come back! How am I supposed to spy on you if you leave like this! Grinding his insubstantial teeth in frustration, Harry shifted on Fawkes' back, while the phoenix drifted down towards the floor. This had never happened before. Very strange. Well, I guess I could poke around a bit, since I'm here...

You could, fledgling, but to what purpose? Observing the dark one is far more important at this juncture, do you not agree?

"Well, yeah, but I don't know where he's gone," Harry said shrugging helplessly. "Usually the dream takes me to where he is, and I stay there until something happens to wake me up."

I will be assisting you with the second part of your journey, fledgling, Fawkes informed the stunned wizard on his back, flapping his mighty wings, and exiting the way he'd come in.

Harry found he could do little besides cling to the firebird's back, as Fawkes wheeled and headed roughly southeast. "Erm, excuse me, but where are we going?" he finally ventured, noticing that the countryside was flashing by entirely too quickly for him to follow.

I am taking you to your next transportation source, Fawkes replied, sounding amused. And here it is.

Frowning, Harry peered down and saw what appeared to be a visible wind current, or jet stream. He didn't like the look of it. Not at all. Swallowing nervously, he ventured, "Fawkes, what exactly is that thing?"

He felt, rather than heard the phoenix' compassionate sigh. It is a portkey trail, fledgling. It will take you to your final destination.

Harry felt himself pale. "Portkey?" he croaked, unconsciously tightening his grip on the firebird.

I am sorry, but this is where we must part, fledgling.

"Wait!" Harry said, eyeing the shimmering trail beneath him mistrustfully. "There must be another way!" he shouted frantically. "Please, Fawkes! No!"

Until next time, Harry Potter, the phoenix said sadly, before disappearing in a burst of flame.

Too terrified to even shout, Harry found himself free falling as the last remains of Fawkes' conflagration spent themselves in mid air. Wake up! he ordered himself, as the portkey trail rushed up to meet him. WAKE UP!

His body was obviously intent on ignoring any such suggestion, and slept on back at the Leaky Cauldron, because sooner than he would have liked, he dropped feet first into the magic below him. At first he thought he might fall completely through it, and continue on towards the ground, but the second he touched it, he was caught by the current and swept away in a rush of color and sound. As he was dragged helplessly forward toward Who-Knows-Where, Harry clenched his teeth determinedly to stop himself from screaming or perhaps throwing up. He wasn't usually prone to motion sickness, but this rough, tumbling, head-over-heels ride was enough to test the strongest stomach. It was even worse than traveling by Floo Powder.

Dimly, he became aware that he was not alone. Occasionally, when he was facing in the right direction, and his eyes were open and not watering too badly, he could make out a figure several meters ahead of him. He was too far away to make out the identity of his mysterious companion, but judging by the billowing robes the figure was wearing, Harry was prepared to bet he was trailing after Professor Snape.

Okay, this is officially a nightmare, Harry thought, as he flailed around trying to right himself, and keep his mind off his very queasy stomach. He already knew Snape was portkeying by some roundabout route to some unknown destination. It was just Sod's Law that he, Harry, would be "invited" along for the ride.

The trip continued on in a similar fashion for several minutes, before ending with shocking suddenness. One minute, Harry was engulfed in the flowing, buffeting, maelstrom that was the portkey's wake, and the next...nothing. Harry spun around a few more times before finally coming to a stop, and cautiously opening his eyes.

With a start he realized he was floating a few meters above the ground in inky darkness. The stars and moon above his head provided a little light, but where ever he was, it was remote. The only sign of human habitation was a small, run-down cottage with a light in the window. Hopefully, that was where the party was.

Right, then, Harry thought, gathering his nerve, and preparing to walk over to the cottage. Let's see what Lord Voldemort is up to, shall we?

It took a few seconds for him to realize he was getting exactly nowhere. Evidently, when one happens to be floating, walking ceases to be an effective method of locomotion.

Harry raised an eyebrow at this new development, then shook his head impatiently. He didn't have time for this! Snape and Voldemort were probably already interrogating Pettigrew. He raised his hand, intending to rake it through his hair, but stopped, distracted, when he noticed the rather, erm, transparent condition of the limb. This had never happened before! Well, he didn't think it had at any rate.

Harry frowned as he peered through the back of his hand. He'd had the sensation of flying and traveling to Voldemort's location in the past, but this time was different. For one thing, he felt awake. It was like being in two places at once. He was aware of his current surroundings of course, but at the same time, he was cognizant of his body which was still sleeping back in London.

Harry rubbed his temples, pleased that he could still do so, and decided this was beyond weird.

It was possible, of course, that he was only dreaming, and consequently dealing with details conjured by his own twisted imagination. Relieved that there seemed to be a rational explanation, Harry latched onto that thought. He was dreaming. It was obvious, really. He'd only just seen Fawkes, and Fawkes had presented him with a portkey as well, come to think of it. As for the trail, someone-Hermione? Mr. Weasley perhaps?-had once told him about the mechanics of portkeys. The wind and flashing colors one experienced while in transit were just an effect of being pulled forward at great speed by the magical device.

The only thing the teen couldn't dismiss out of hand was the eerie feeling of being somehow away from his body. After studying the sensation for a few seconds, Harry reckoned that this was probably similar to what muggle astronauts experienced when they went on space walks. He was floating, apparently weightless, and there seemed to be something, rather like a safety line, anchoring him to his physical form.

Twisting around to look over his shoulder, Harry could just barely make out a faint, silvery link that seemed to originate in the small of his back, and extend a ways behind him before vanishing into the night.

Was this mysterious tether what was keeping him from moving? Harry wasn't sure, but he didn't think so. Actually, he couldn't shake the infuriating feeling that this was something he should recognize. Something important he should know. Was it something he'd read? Something that was mentioned in class?

Heaving a heavy sigh, Harry finally decided to worry about it later. Maybe, if he remembered when he woke up, he could look it up. Right now he had more pressing problems-like trying to figure out how he was supposed to move now that he was transparent, floating, and on some kind of weird magical leash.

Raking his hand through his messy black hair, the boy considered his predicament. If walking didn't work, perhaps...swimming? Jumping? Crawling? Harry tried them all with no success, and felt his frustration mount. The cottage seemed to mock him with its proximity. If this was occurring under normal circumstances, and he had both feet firmly on the ground, he could have crossed the short distance in seconds.

"Oh, for crying out loud!" he finally exploded. "I just want to go over there!"

So he did.

Blinking in surprise, and feeling a little disoriented, Harry found he had moved. Boy had he moved!

He was now hovering beside the cottage window, with his face very close to the panes. Distractedly, he wondered if this was what apparating felt like. One arm, with which he had been pointing at his desired destination, was now shoved through the glass. Whoa! Harry thought, bending his arm so that his hand was visible, and wriggling his fingers. He was pleased to note that there wasn't any visible damage to the window, or his skin. In fact, it reminded him of pushing through the enchanted barrier at Platform 9¾.

Only this time he was transparent and the wall was solid.

At least he could see inside now. Voldemort was sitting in an armchair, and Snape was kneeling at his feet. It took a second for the boy to spot Pettigrew. He was huddled in a corner off to the side. Trying not to be noticed, Harry thought, correctly interpreting Peter's behavior. Fleetingly, he wondered if he had ever looked that frightened and pathetic when he'd still lived with the Dursleys. At least that bad, probably worse, he decided, wrinkling his nose.

Huffing impatiently, Harry jerked his mind away from Privet Drive, and refocused on his potions professor. Snape's voice was an indistinct murmur, as was Voldemort's. His scar was still burning fiercely, but the link didn't seem to be active at the moment. Naturally. Harry grumbled sulkily, rolling his eyes. The one time he wanted the blasted thing to work...

He'd just have to get closer, then. All he had to do was figure out how he'd done it just now.

Actually, Harry realized with a start, he hadn't done anything. He'd been trying to figure out how to move...nothing he'd tried had worked...he'd been hovering like an overgrown helium balloon...until...until...

Until I lost my temper. Harry raised an eyebrow, reconsidering. No, until I concentrated on the cottage and wished to be there. Was that all there was to it? Surely not. It seemed too simple.

Well, he'd never know unless he tried. Shrugging, Harry focused on the wall, and hesitantly concentrated on moving forward. Obligingly, he began to drift through the wall, but at an annoyingly slow rate of speed. Bloody hell! Harry thought, as he watched Snape summon and transfigure some pieces of firewood. He'd seen quicker garden slugs. Come on! he thought more insistently. Faster!

Surprisingly, it worked. The minute his head was through the wall, Harry could hear their conversation once more. "Drink this," Snape said, addressing a clearly reluctant Peter Pettigrew, his words abrupt and terse. Harry rolled his eyes again. Nice, he thought with a sarcastic snort. Obviously the Hogwarts Potions Master didn't believe in wasting time with pleasantries or reassurances.

Actually, Harry realized, he wasn't really at the best vantage point. Before, when he'd had dreams, or visions, or whatever featuring Voldemort, he'd just had to take what he got. In one such dream, he'd never even seen the dark wizard at all, only heard him as he spoke. Now, he seemed to be able to move around, however haphazardly. It was weird, though. He seemed to have to be angry to move with any speed. Surely that wasn't right!

Deciding to try again, he focused on where he wanted to be, and set off. This time things went more smoothly. Instead of creeping slowly forward, or materializing with jarring suddenness at some distant location, he was drifting along at approximately his normal walking pace, in a manner reminiscent of Sir Nicholas de Minsy-Porpington, and the other ghosts at Hogwarts. So he didn't necessarily have to be angry then, just...confident. The thought to move had to be a self-assured order, not a hesitant plea.

Interesting, Harry thought, filing that bit of information away for future reference as he glided over to where he could see better, and settled in to observe.

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