Disclaimer: No J.K. Rowling etc etc.
Claimer: I do own this idea. . . and the name-less girl with no appearance and no personality. . . hm. Strange.
Setting: Seventh year, boys dormitories. Italics are memories.
Love
"Potter. Potter. Meet your destiny. Come to me. Come to me. . ."
Harry woke with a start.
"That was him," he said out loud, though he knew none of the boys who shared his dorm could hear him. He sighed, and stood up from his bed. He walked over to the window; the shadow of that girl was there again. He wished he could find out who it was.
She always sat there, that same patch on the grass. Always with a book in her hand. Harry looked at the large clock outside. He'd been woken up at midnight again, and as usual, she was there. Like she was haunting him. But every time he ran to the courtyard, tried to find out who she was. . . she was already gone.
"Harry?" came a muffled voice from behind him. Harry turned to face Ron. "What you looking at?" Harry turned back to the window. The girl was gone again.
"Nothing Ron. Just couldn't sleep," Harry replied.
"You heard him again, didn't you? The Dark Lord?" Harry nodded to his best friend, wishing he hadn't told Ron of the dreams, of the voices. "Why don't you tell Dumbledore?"
"I can't. I won't. It's fine Ron. Just a nightmare."
"It doesn't seem like a nightmare. It wakes you up every night. A nightmare wouldn't cause you to shout like that. . ." At once Ron wished he hadn't said anything.
"Shout. . . what?"
"I'm sorry Harry. Seamus, Dean, Neville and I have had been having some kind of sleeping spell. Professor Dumbledore thinks we should leave you but we have a spell so we can go to sleep ourselves."
"Why didn't you tell me?" Harry was more upset than anything.
"Because we knew you'd react like this."
"But I'm not. . .I'm not reacting anything." Harry turned and stared out of the window.
"It's not like we mind Harry. I mean, all four of us have been happy to have this potion. . . and. . . it just means that we can sleep. It's only right that we don't wake you up. I mean, these dreams could be important or. . ."
"Voldemort trying to contact me?" Ron sighed.
"I'm sorry Harry. Talk to 'Mione. She'll understand better than me at any rate." Ron smiled briefly and then wondered back to his bed. Harry looked around the dorm, and then walked to his own bed. He pulled the drapes surrounding the bed, and sat in the darkness, just thinking of last year.
Just thinking. It wasn't like he could do anything else anyway. . . not anymore.
-
"Harry, I really need to go okay? Sorry. . . I'll talk to you later. . . go and see Dumbledore or something." Hermione gave him a smile of pity, and then turned towards the library. She wasn't his friend, she was so much more than that. Harry wished that he could tell her one day.
Harry could hear her crying as she turned the corner, but he couldn't comfort her. He didn't know how to. All he wanted to do was hug her and tell her everything would be fine. But he knew that would be a lie.
-
Hermione was usually so helpful. . . so caring, so ready to help you. But. . . things had really changed after the death of her father. She hadn't been the same since. Harry didn't want to force his own problems upon her.
"Go and talk to 'Mione," Ron had said. About what? Harry pondered. Did he really have anything to say to her anymore?The group of three was so close, and it was almost inevitable, that this year, their seventh year, was about to be the hardest of their lives to come. Dumbledore had hinted that this year would be the final time Harry would cross paths with Dark Lord.
-
"Harry. . . this year will be tough. You have your exams, and you're so sure that Gryffindor will win the House Cup. . . I wish you continual success," the headmaster had told him.
"Thank you sir," Harry replied.
"But there are other forces, other. . . things which could hold you back. One way or another something will change for better for worse. Lives will be lost. . . I . . I must go Harry."
-
No one had ever told Harry that they had faith in him. No one ever mentioned that this would lead up to the Final Battle, the final showdown between good and evil. No one had told him the truth. And not being told that, would lead to his downfall.
But another thought crossed his mind. He had no idea who that girl was. . . but she was there. Whether she was real or not, Harry knew she had faith in him. And that thought alone was enough to pull him through.
He would live to see the next year. He knew it. Because there was always something nice, plain and sweet which crossed his mind occasionally.
He felt it every time he saw Hermione, every time he thought of his parents.
Love. And that alone was a force strong enough to keep him alive.
