Disclaimer: I don't own anything that's in the HP books.

A/N: Hello all! This is my first fic, but the story is a little twisted from the HP books. I'm sorry but I had to change things, cause the end of the 6th book made me cry! Lol, yes I am a loser…I will probably continue writing this story, even if you guys don't like it, just cause I'm bored and have nothing else to do...

Anyway…

On with the show!

Chapter 1: Dreams…or not

A boy with messy jet-black hair, and bright green eyes lay sprawled on his back on a small bed in the corner of a small room. The room in which he resided contained a number of odd possessions scattered throughout the floor, and tumbling off the writing desk against the wall opposite the bed. A bird cage also stood atop the desk, and looked in desperate need of cleaning. Pieces of parchment and quill's littered the desk, and some rather strange books were on the floor beside the bed. The pictures on the covers moved, and they had disturbing titles like, Intermediate Defence against the Dark Arts, Hogwarts: A History, and 1000 Magical Herbs and Fungi. A broomstick lay against the wardrobe, and a trunk at the foot of the bed appeared to have black robes spilling out of it.

The boy was thin-medium build, of medium height, and had the stretched-out look of someone who has recently gone through a growth spurt. A breeze from the open window beside the bed ruffled the boy's fringe, revealing a thin, lightning-shaped scar.

Nichole twirled one of her long blonde curls as she stared at the unusual scar. There was something terribly unsettling about it, it was a perfect shape, and on previous occasions, she had seen the boy grasp it, as if it caused him terrible pain. She had come to the conclusion that either this scar was definitely not normal, or that the boy was slightly touched in the head.

Nichole had visited this boy many times before in her dreams, since the start of her summer vacation. The dreams were very unlike other dreams she had had. The odd thing was, she didn't feel as though she was in a dream at all, she felt awake, and could breathe, move, and talk as if she were living in this world. The only difference between this psycho dream world, and her real world, was that apparently, no one else was aware of her presence.

Nichole had approached the boy on a previous occasion, but as she drew close, he turned his head and stared right into her wide, blue eyes. She thought that for sure, he must see her, but seconds later he turned back to a book he was reading muttering something that sounded like "…vol de mort…crazy." Nichole wondered why the boy was speaking in mixed French and English phrases, but she remembered enough from her elementary school French classes, to figure that "vol de mort" translated to something like "flight of death". Nichole was at a loss to think of a reason why someone would use those two phrases together in a sentence, but she was beginning to think that this boy was just plain insane!

In previous dreams, Nichole had gotten to know the boy's family, as well as his typical morning routine. She had discovered that the boy did not live with his parents, but a horrible aunt and uncle. His aunt Petunia was always snappy, as if she had permanent PMS. She treated the dark haired boy more like a dog than anything. Nichole wondered just what the hell had crawled up her ass and died. The boy's uncle was no better. He was a large man with no neck, and a face like an enlarged plum, always purple. Nichole thought that the man should definitely go get his cholesterol checked, but then thought that perhaps he deserved to have a heart attack, then he would yell less. There was also a fat boy who lived in the house. He had blonde hair that lay flat on his head and a bottom at least three times the size of the dark-haired boy. The bitchy lady and the purple-faced man were much nicer to the fat boy, so Nichole assumed he must be their son, making him the dark-haired boy's cousin. The bitchy lady would call him ridiculous names such as Diddikins, and Dinky Duddidums, so Nichole assumed his name must be Darryll, or Dobin, or Dudley, or something of the sort. The most unnerving part about these many visits to this boy's home was that she still didn't know who he was. His despicable excuses for relations would refer to him most commonly as "Boy", "You", or "Him".

Nichole's train of thought was interrupted when the boy suddenly leapt off his bed, and strolled into the hallway. She followed him into a bathroom at the end of the upstairs hallway. The room was long, and narrow, with a countertop running almost the whole length of one long wall. There was a mirror positioned above the sink in the countertop. In the corner, at the far end of the room stood a toilet beside the window. Along the opposite wall to the countertop, stood a bath/shower. Nichole promptly hoisted herself up onto the countertop, and watched as the boy brushed his teeth. After brushing his teeth, the boy then attempted to comb his hair. He had a rather messy mop situated on the top of his head, and it stuck out in all directions. No matter how hard the boy tried to flatten it, his dark hair magically pop right back into place!

Finally the boy gave up trying to fix his hair, and straightened up as if to leave. Nichole had prepared to follow him, when the boy grabbed the hem of his t-shirt, and pulled it over his head.

Nichole stopped in her tracks.

It was probably good that no one realized her presence, as her face resembled a tomato, her eyes were as big as blimps, and her jaw had gone south. Now that she thought of it, this boy was quite attractive…

She watched as the sexy boy stripped down to his boxers, and leaned into the shower, to turn on the water. Then Nichole heard a tiny voice in her head that said,

"What are you doing? You can't watch some strange boy take a shower! What are you thinking?"

However, a much louder voice promptly screamed,

"Well, why the hell not? This is my dream, and I can watch the sexy boy take a shower if I want to!"

"Oh come on, you have realized by now that these dreams are not real dreams, but perhaps even a glimpse into someone else's life!"

"That's just stupid, how the hell could I be watching someone else's life while I'm asleep in my bed at the same time? And besides even if it was a glimpse into someone else's life, what are the chances you'll ever meet the guy in person?"

"It's sick and wrong."

"Oh for God's sake, the guy could compete with Orlando Bloom on the hotness scale for crying out loud! WHY would you pass this up?"

In the end, Nichole decided to listen to the loud voice (yeah, go figure), and sat back to watch the boy's involuntary little show. After all, she thought, this is just some stupid dream, good things are supposed to happen in dreams!

Nichole later followed the boy back into his room, where he proceeded to read one of his very odd books. She didn't catch the title, but glimpse at a page, and saw that it had something to do with the history behind Shakespeare and Macbeth. She figured he must be bored to hell doing some stupid English literature homework. God, she HATED Shakespeare, why couldn't he just have died from some disease, or poverty like half the other people that lived in the shit-hole people called London in the 16th century! It would have saved a lot of people from death of boredom in high school English classes. In her opinion his plays were just plain stupid, and a waste of her precious time.

As Nichole finished her mental rant about Shakespeare, a large snowy owl flew in through the open window. Nichole let out a shriek that only she could hear, and proceeded to huddle in a corner of the small bedroom. Nichole was deathly afraid of birds with beaks (aka ALL birds), and this one looked like it could peck her to death if she pissed it off. Much to Nichole's surprise, (and concluding her suspicions that the boy, no matter how hot, was definitely loony!) he seemed happy that a large, dangerous creature had flown through his bedroom window. She then noticed a letter attached to the owl's leg, and watched as the boy cast the envelope aside, where it fluttered to the ground beside the desk. The boy read the letter many times before giving a cry of frustration, and discarding it on the already cluttered floor.

Suddenly, Nichole realized that the envelope must have the name of the addressee! She warily crawled over to the desk, atop which the owl was perched, and knelt beside the discarded envelope. It read as follows:

Mr. Harry Potter

Number 4 Privet Drive

Little Whinging

Surrey

"Yuck," Nichole thought. "Who names their kid Harry? That's makes it sound like the kid's armpits need to be shaved every day or something!"

Nichole looked up from the letter to meet another pair of eyes: entrancing, green eyes. The boy she supposed was called Harry was staring into space, well not space, but right into her. She glanced at the watch on his wrist, which hung off the side of the bed: 11:45 a.m. Then she was drawn, yet again, to the green eyes in front of her. She thought that they appeared to have a depth, a depth she had never noticed before. As she stared deeper, she thought she could hear a whisper in the back of her mind. It was to faint to really decipher, but she heard the distinct words,

"…me…spell…yellow…"

As Nichole concentrated deeper on the green eyes, she could hear the voices growing stronger. Then she heard a strong, clear voice, it was bossy and know-it-all sounding, though she didn't know where it came from, but it felt as if she was hearing the words through someone else's ears…

The bossy voice spoke, "Are you sure that's a real spell? Well, it's not very good, is it?"

Nichole had never felt anything like this before, she could feel her mind slowly slipping away, sinking deeper into Harry's eyes, and melding into his mind. Nichole could see and hear the bossy girl now, through Harry's eyes and ears. She had bushy brown hair (hmm, even worse than mine, she thought), and large, buckteeth. Nichole realized subconsciously, that they had never really left Harry's bedroom. Yet she could see these images at the same time in the back of her own mind.

The bossy girl spoke again, and Nichole began to see the surroundings. "You two had better change into your-"

SCRATCH!

SCRATCH! SCRATCH! SCRATCH!

Nichole blinked, annoyed annoyed at the disturbance, but when she opened her eyes, the bossy girl was gone. As was Harry, and his room. Nichole found herself looking at a fat stuffed elephant beside her pillow instead. As she sat up, she looked around, wondering what the cause of the disturbance was.

SCRATCH! SCRATCH! SCRATCH!

"Argh! Damn cat ruins everything!" she muttered to herself, as she padded across the room to open her bedroom door. She let in her white kitty, Shami, who meowed a thanks, and jumped up onto Nichole's window sill. Nichole glanced at her bedside clock: 4:52 a.m. Great. She'd never be able to go back to sleep now.

Nichole followed, and stared out her window at the Saskatchewan sunrise, trying to comprehend her strange dream. How did she put such crazy ideas into her own head? Surrey... that sounded English didn't it? Yea, just my luck, she thought, the imaginary hot boy lives all across the ocean, let alone Canada.

"Maybe I should lay off the partying for a while huh Shami? I think it might be making me a bit loopy." She said to her kitty, who just ignored her completely.

She grabbed an atlas from her bookshelf, and sat down on her bed. How had it seemed so real…unless? No. It couldn't be, first of all, it was early in the morning now, while it had been near lunch time in her dream.

As she flipped through her atlas looking for a map of England, one of her past geography projects fell out. She tossed it to the ground. Eeew. Time zones, why the hell did they have to learn all of the ones in the world anyway? Stupid waste of….

Shit.

No...that would just be too freaky to be true!

Nichole madly grabbed her project off the floor and located London on the map, Surrey was just beneath. She counted back the hours to the time zone in which Saskatoon, Saskatchewan was located in.

Seven hours.

What time had Harry's watch said? It was almost noon wasn't it? About 11:45?

11:45-7 hours…

No. It was definitely not good to be doing math at ten to five in the morning.

4:45? Yes, that was right, so about 10 minutes should have past since just before I woke up, she thought.

Oh good god, she was going insane.

"Shami, I think I need a shrink" She said, as Shami meowed in agreement.

That was just too weird.

"Oh come on, you have realized by now that these dreams are not real dreams, but perhaps even a glimpse into someone else's life!"

So, maybe she should start listening to her conscience more often.

She leaned back on her headboard as a memory of a dark-haired boy filled her mind.

Well, she thought, maybe being crazy wouldn't be so bad at all…

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