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Dementia Nouveau


“No! No! Not Fred! Anyone but Fred!”

Harry Potter sat bolt upright in bed, panting loudly. Sweat had soaked himself and his sheets. He had reached his hand out in terror, grabbing desperately for Fred Weasley as he dreamt his death. This had happened every night for the past two months, the only variations being the people and the actual acts of their deaths. They came in no specific pattern, but each dream was equally as horrible, especially those who he did not see die with his own eyes. Cedric Diggory, Sirius Black, Albus Dumbledore, Hedwig, Alastor Moody, Dobby, Fred, Nymphadora Tonks (Lupin, he reminded himself), Remus Lupin, and Severus Snape. Each time their deaths become more horrible. Last night he’d dreamt that Dumbledore was tortured to death by a masked Death Eater and had cried out over and over for Harry to stop him, but Harry couldn’t move in the dream. He’d had to watch as Dumbledore died, disappointed in Harry.

It always took a few moments when he woke up in the morning before Harry realized that Lord Voldemort was gone and that Ginny really was lying on the bed beside him. He turned to her quickly, just to reassure himself. Sure enough, the shock of long red hair was snuggled deep under the sheets as a soft morning summer breeze blew in from the open window. They were in Ginny’s room at the Burrow on an early August morning. Birds were chirping happily outside, although that didn’t reassure Harry at all; the birds had chirped cheerfully during Voldemort’s reign. With a sigh, he buried his nose in Ginny’s hair and threw his arms around her, trying to make himself believe that life was going to go on.


Ginny sat at the kitchen table wearily as Molly Weasley put a mug of coffee in front of her. She yawned openly, not afraid of showing her mother her feelings.

“I just don’t know what to do,” she murmured, sipping the bitter liquid gratefully. “His dreams have only gotten worse! I leave for school in a week, and I don’t want to leave him alone.”

“He won’t be alone, love,” Molly reminded her, flipping a pan of eggs over. “I’ll be here to watch him while you’re away, and Ronald will visit. Besides, George has been begging him to come for a stay, get him away from this house and his memories.”

“I just know he’ll have another spell,” Ginny whispered, her eyes welling up with the memory. “I didn’t think he was going to come back to me.”

Only a week after Lord Voldemort’s downfall, Harry had fallen into a fit of dementia that made him think that the people around him were Death Eaters coming to kill himself and his friends. He’d fought Ginny away tooth and nail and given Arthur a bloody nose, even without a wand.

“I don’t know what I’ll do if I lose him again.”

Molly put an arm around Ginny’s shoulders. Her only daughter was so young, yet she had faced hardships Molly could only imagine.

“I know dear, he is precious to all of us. The Healers said that Harry was suffering from Post Traumatic Stress syndrome. That means that he may never get over these visions, but they should get better in time. We can only pray.”

When Ginny still looked crestfallen, Molly patted her shoulder.

“Besides, he’ll be up at school every weekend to visit Hagrid and his old teachers! The Healers told us it would be good for us to get him out and about, so McGonagall has set him some odd jobs and speaking to the students. He’ll be fine, especially with the aspect of getting to visit you!”

Ginny gave a small smile, slightly consoled, and Molly kissed her on the cheek before busying herself at the stove again.


Harry sat in the notch where the trunk of a great oak met a mighty limb, staring at the green leaves swaying in the distance. He had nothing better to do than sit and think. Voldemort was gone; his life’s ambition was over. There seemed no possible need for Aurors now that the most evil wizard of the time was dead, so he had no desire to get a job. He knew this disappointed Ginny, but he couldn’t help himself. Perhaps he was having a midlife crisis at the age of eighteen. The worst of it was knowing how much of a burden he was being to the people he loved.

A shadowy figure approached through the softly swaying branches as Harry mused. He squinted, trying to discern who was coming. The unhurried gait seemed familiar, as though he’d seen it before. Realization suddenly dawned.

Sirius Black was walking though the trees.

Harry nearly fell off his limb at the sight of his laughing, grinning godfather, but somehow managed to gain control before he broke his neck. Sirius drew up near Harry’s post and beamed up at him, as though the year and a half after his death had not happened, but rather had just been a terrible dream.

“Where have you been, Harry?” Sirius asked, his voice loud and commanding like it had been in life. “Remus and Nymphadora have been looking everywhere for you! They suppose you’re not coming to dinner. Which I recommend you make plans,” he lowered his voice conspiringly. “Tonks had made tuna surprise. I’m afraid her cooking isn’t getting any better.”

“I told you before, Sirius,” Harry replied calmly, as though they had this conversation every day. “I didn’t die. Dumbledore told me I had a choice, that I could come back.”

“No son of James Potter would choose to be ghost!” Sirius laughed, the barking sound carrying. A small robin nearby flitted away in fear. “Please! Quit kidding yourself, Harry: You’re dead. Dead as me, Remus, Tonks, Fred, the whole lot!”

“I am not dead…” Harry replied, hot tears springing to his eyes. “I’m here with Ginny, Mrs. Weasley, George… Teddy.”

Sirius’s face fell dramatically at the last name.

“Listen, don’t mention that name around Remus and Tonks tonight at dinner. They’re having a rough time of it.”

“I won’t be coming to dinner with you!” Harry shouted, frightening every bird within a six mile radius. “I’m not dead! I’m alive! I’m here in the real world with Ginny!”

“Are you really, Harry?” Sirius asked knowingly. Harry froze.

“What do you mean?”

“Have you even seen Ginny lately? I mean really seen her. From my experience, you’re living in your head, thinking only about us and what you lost. You need to be grateful for what you have. Think about it: you have some much going for you! First of all, you’re alive, bravo. You haven’t descended into dreams and memories like the rest of us. Secondly, you still have many people who love you, especially Ginny. You also have Ron, Hermione, Mr. and Mrs. Weasley. George, Hagrid, Bill, and Charlie. Minerva, Neville, Luna, and most of your teachers. Thirdly, you are safe. Voldemort is gone forever, thanks to you. The entire world is safe now. I don’t see how you can be thinking about what you’ve lost when you’ve got so much to be thankful for! You’re only eighteen!”

Harry couldn’t speak. He knew in his heart the answer to Sirius’s rhetorical question, but it wasn’t that simple. Sirius would understand, he just knew it, but he also knew what was more important: the pity party ended now. He vowed to do everything in his power to make his life right again… starting with Ginny.

“Alright,” Harry smiled, the first genuine smile in months. “I’ll do it. You know this means we won’t be seeing each other much?”

Sirius laughed as his form started to fade. “Harry James Potter, may I never see you again!”