A/N: I am touched by the response this story has received so far; it has been greater than I could have dared imagine: So thank you for supporting me. It has been a long time since my words have been in demand. And it feels good. I'm not as pleased with this chapter as the last, but I hope you are.

Phantasmatic

Chapter Two

Happy Birthday

The next week was the most blissful time of Harry's life to that point. Though the Dursleys treated him no better now than before, however horrible they might have been, he had someone in his head, someone all his, someone no one, not even the Dursleys and their ways, could take from him. He had love in his head and love in his heart, and there wasn't a thing they could do to bring him down.

When their bond – as they had taken to calling it – had first been established, they had found themselves able to communicate only when they spoke. And so for the first three days after their 'bond' had been established, they were able to communicate with each other in bed, either at night or in the morning, and else sparsely.

Of however little significance the Dursleys were during this week of Harry's life, he could see no upside to their knowing he had a ten year old girl in his head; and if her family knew she was talking to Harry Potter from hundreds of miles away, Ginny was confident that the Weasleys would have her committed.

On the third night since their bonding, however, they discovered something that would be tremendously useful when they went to Hogwarts in just more than a month's time: If they tried, they could communicate without speaking aloud. It took a degree of concentration, a greater amount, at least, than did vocal conversation, but being able to communicate at any time, undetectably, allowed constant contact, the kind of closeness both longed for.

After discovering their ability to speak nonverbally, they spent nearly every waking moment conversing. In many ways, even without risk of his death being imminent, the days that followed the establishment of the bond were the most intense days of his life.

He had never imagined – except, perhaps, in the quietest of quiet moments, in bed on long nights, looking up at the ceiling and imagining the starlit sky – he might feel the way he did, or, what's more, that someone would feel the way Ginny did for him.

The intensity of what she felt for him and he for her could take his knees out if he let it. This was magic; more than any thing taught at Hogwarts or elsewhere, what he and Ginny shared was magical. It was intense, it was real, and it was theirs and theirs alone. Ginny and what they shared were the most important things in the world to him, and they would be for the rest of their lives.

XXX-XX-XXXX

Happy Birthday, Harry! Ginny said in his head, one week since the bond's formation. Ginny had insisted that they stay up until midnight, so she could be the first to wish him a happy birthday. He hadn't had the heart to tell her so far that she would have no competition in the Dursleys.

Thanks, Ginny, he beamed. You're the second person to wish me a happy birthday.

He felt her horror. But! I can't be – it's minutes after midnight! And there's no one else in your room!

Harry grinned glumly. I don't mean today.

The Dursleys were a topic they typically avoided; one facet of their connection was that they had a limited ability to feel each other's feelings – and Ginny felt Harry's reluctance every time his relatives came up in conversation, so usually backed off rather than force a delicate thing.

Though I suppose you might not be the second. There's Hagrid and there's you, and that's all I remember, but my parents might've said it when I was a baby.

Ginny was silent. And Harry felt a feeling he didn't recognize seeping across their connection.

Ginny? Silence. Ginny?

And then he heard it: A sob. She was crying.

Ginny – what's wrong? Can you hear me? Ginny?

He heard her sniffle. They've never even told you 'Happy Birthday?' she asked. You're their… their nephew! You're all your aunt has left of her sister, and… and they never said a thing? Her body was sob-wracked, and if she'd had to rely on speech, there wasn't a chance she'd have choked that out. They don't…. Don't they love you?

No, Ginny. Harry swallowed. They don't. It was amazing that they'd lasted seven days without bringing the Dursleys up for more than a few seconds. But now he had to explain. They don't like me, and they… they don't love me, Ginny. Not at all. He swallowed again. They're not… good people, Ginny. And that's part of… of why I'm so glad I've got you… because now there's… there is someone who… who loves me. And I've… I can't… I can't remember having that, before you.

Oh, Harry! he heard her cry aloud. How can they – how can they not love you? He felt frustration across the bond. And I can't even hug you!

I wish you could, he said, though he privately suspected she needed the hug more than he did. I wish… he blushed, and wasn't sure whether it was in embarrassment or shame that he did, I wish you could be here, or that I could be there and that… that I could hold you right about now…. He swallowed, reddening further. I think… I think that would be…. That's what I want for my… my birthday. To be with… with you.

He loved her, and only her, and she was the only one who loved him. He wanted only to be with her and nothing more, and it hurt him in ways he couldn't articulate that, now that he had her, he could not be near to her. A future him had cast a spell potent enough to send back thoughts and memories decades into the past, but he had been unable, or unwilling, to send now-twelve year old Harry to her. Loving from a distance was something he found difficult, at times almost unbearable. He loved her, but they had to be apart.

You're all I want, he said, and I know how that sounds and I… I don't care. And I know... I know that it's…. I love you. And that's all I guess I want to say…. I – I love you and I wish I were with you, to hold… to hold you into sleep. And I don't care about the Dursleys, and part of him meant it. I don't care what they've… they've done, and they'd done much, because as long as I have you, they… he thought he might drown in the sickly-sweet cheesiness of his own thoughts. As long as I have you, that's all I need. You're all I need. I… I love you. And if I have you, I don't care about… about things as small as the Dursleys. They can't… they can't hurt me, if I've got you.

Her tears went on. I love you, she said. And you'll always… have me. For as long as you want me, I'm yours. I could – I could never leave. I mean, you… you came back for me. You – you sent your memories and your… and your feelings back. Because… because being without me hurt you too much… or it will… or…. She smiled through tears and she wiped at her nose. I'm not making any bloody sense.

Harry smiled and hoped she felt it. It's okay, Ginny. I understand. I do. Blinking blearily, he was suddenly exhausted, and she was too. Let's go to bed. We've been up since six.

Okay, Harry.

I love you.

I love you too.

Goodnight.

Goodnight, Harry.

XXX-XX-XXXX

On the morning of July 31st, Ginny Weasley awoke to the dawning of golden light upon her. Good morning, a voice breathed in her awakening world, her eyes not yet even open.

Good morning, love, she returned groggily. She didn't notice Harry's smile at the pet name, one she hadn't used with him before – at least, not in this life. And happy birthday again, she added, and he was still smiling. With a great yawn, she kicked off her sheets and threw open her curtains, letting the rays of golden light illuminate and engulf her room.

How'd you sleep? Harry asked as she gathered her things for a shower.

All right, but not long enough, she smiled.

Guilt-struck, Harry sputtered an apology. I didn't mean to wake you! he insisted.

She laughed. You didn't – you were the best part of waking up, actually.

If there was one thing she might have said to banish all guilt and ill-feeling, that was it.

How did you sleep? she asked as she stepped out of her room, clothes underarm.

My aunt woke me up at five-thirty – apparently Uncle Vernon is having a business partner over for dinner. Aunt Petunia wants me to help get the house ready.

But it's your birthday! Ginny protested, sounding scandalized, even so early in the morning. Can't she let you sleep in today, of all days? she asked, more to herself than him, as she stepped into the unoccupied bathroom that she and her brothers shared.

She sensed his shrug. It's all right, really. I probably wouldn't have slept much longer anyway. It's going to be a long day, though – I'm to clean every room in the house before the Masons arrive at 5:30.

What time is it now? Blinking as she began to shower, Ginny realized she hadn't checked a clock that morning.

A little after nine. I'm almost done with the dining room – then all that's left is the kitchen and the bathroom. Oh – and there's the outside, too….

You let me sleep 'til nine? she asked as she stepped into the falling water.

She sensed Harry discomfort. Well, he said, I've kept you up late every night for a week – and we usually wake up pretty early….

You didn't keep me up, Harry, Ginny insisted. If I'd wanted to go to sleep earlier, I would have.

What about night before last? You were yawning for hours before we went to bed.

Harry, she said again, more slowly now, if I'd wanted to go to sleep, I would have. I like talking with you, even if that means I'm a little tired sometimes.

He accepted that. She could be trusted to make her own choices. But that didn't mean Harry wasn't going to try to make sure she slept more. Hogwarts could be demanding enough without sleep deprivation. He remembered one week in particular, studying for his OWLs when…. Well, now he couldn't remember.

I don't know why I sent back memories to myself if I was just going to forget them all, he complained a moment later. It's a bit useless.

We haven't forgotten everything, she reminded. There's us – we remember us. How we feel, at least. And you… you remember how I died. And that Dumbledore dies in either your sixth or seventh year. And that… that… he comes back. He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named.

But I can't remember how! Harry exclaimed, frustrated. He's going to come back, and it's useless if I can't remember how he does it. I mean – if I knew, if I knew he was going to make the Philosopher's Stone out of old Potions texts to bring himself back, then I could just have all the books burnt.

Ginny half-saw an image of a towering inferno of burning books. …Harry? Did that actually… happen?

She sensed his pallor. Yeah. But I was… I was kidding. I – wow. I didn't remember it until just now. Why would someone burn so many books? Maybe he really does come back using Potions textbooks!

Ginny laughed at him. No.

Yeah, you're probably right… he agreed with a grin. But why would someone set so many books on fire? And why couldn't I send myself back fuller memories? I must have known I'd forget – couldn't I have stopped that? I… I kill Voldemort. I can send thoughts and memories through time! But I can't make them memorable?

Maybe it's impossible. Maybe the memories are meant to fade, Ginny offered. You sent them back to us, and you probably knew they'd fade. Maybe they have to.

She felt Harry sigh. Still. How am I supposed to 'Save them' if I don't know how?

I don't know.

Harry sighed again. I'm worthless in the—

Sorry, Aunt Petunia, Ginny heard him say to his aunt across the bond.

What happened?

She doesn't think I'm working hard enough.

Oh. I'm sorry, Harry, she said genuinely. She didn't want him to get into trouble with his relatives because she was distracting him. Do you want me to… to leave you alone, for a little while? So you can clean?

No! Harry said, a bit more emphatically than he'd meant to. He sent her a smile. Sorry – I just – no. Cleaning's bad enough without you gone.

Washing her hair, Ginny smiled. Then I won't leave.

XXX-XX-XXXX

That evening, at around five o'clock, half an hour before the Masons were to arrive, Harry, in the midst of a conversation with his, climbed the stairs and entered the smallest bedroom.

THEY KEPT YOU IN A CUPBOARD? Ginny shouted across the bond, the Weasley temper alive and well in her love for him.

It wasn't… it wasn't that bad, love, he said lightly, hoping his use of the name might calm her. She was helping her mother in the kitchen, and it wouldn't do for the Weasley matriarch to notice her only daughter was half an inch from murdering a family of Muggles. It was cozy, really….

Because it was a cupboard, Harry!

I know, but… it really wasn't that awful – you have to understand, I didn't really realize that wasn't normal until I was older, so—

That, apparently, did not soothe her. That's because the Dursleys are cruel, and they're abusive and – if I ever – ever – meet them, I… they'd throw me in Azkaban for the things I'd do to them. They…. I love you! How dare they… treat you like a slave! House you in a cupboard! How dare they do that to the boy I love? I… I hate them, Harry.

I know, love. I do too. And one day, I'll leave, and we can live together. And I'll never have to see the Dursleys again. One day, when I've… when I've seen to Voldemort, we'll run away together. Like we would have before, in the future, if… if Draco Malfoy had never been born.

We, Ginny said.

What?

When we have seen to Voldemort. You can't do it alone. And I won't let you. Once we're old enough… I'm never going to leave your side. I don't… I wish you were here now. And once I've got you… I'll never let go.

Harry swallowed. I won't… I won't want you to. Part of him was already terrified. She wanted to come with him, when it was time to fight Voldemort. But…. That battle had cost them her life once already. What would he do, now, without her? What would he do without her, now that he has her? She was… she was everything.

But an impish creature, introducing itself in a squeaky voice as Dobby the House-Elf, derailed that train of thought.

XXX-XX-XXXX

Albus Dumbledore was a very powerful man. The British Minister for Magic relied on his counsel, he was the head of the oldest institution in Wizarding Britain, and he had displayed feats of nearly unrivaled magical ability, knowledge, and power. He had had a hand in writing dozens of the most important laws in Wizarding Britain, had taught the best and brightest – and worst and dimmest – that the country had to offer.

At twenty-three, he had, nearly alone, uncovered and thwarted a plot to overthrow the legitimate and democratically elected government of Wizarding Britain. At thirty-one, he founded an organization which spearheaded the French revolutionary movement, culminating in the overthrow of the illegal French government two years later. At fifty-two, he became professor of Transfiguration at Hogwarts. Twelve years later, he defeated in battle one who wielded a weapon hailed unbeatable. Nearly four tenths of a century later, he was, and remained, the sole fear of the most powerful wizard on earth.

But the time was coming, and he knew it well, when that title would be passed on. Upon his desk were reports he had commissioned secretly, submitted to him by such varying figures as the head of British Aurors, a young Unspeakable at the Ministry of Magic's Department of Mysteries, the American President for Magic, a modest but well-placed British innkeeper, a Spanish vagrant, and a particularly well-connected French witch living in Eastern Europe.

These reports, submitted as commissioned, covered variant tendrils of a common thread: Harry Potter and the Dark Lord Voldemort. Something had happened, something neither his instruments upon his desk nor his instruments in the field could adequately explain.

Harry Potter had experienced an exponential growth in magical power seven days earlier. There had been the equivalent of a magical explosion at his home in the early hours of the 24th of July, and Albus Dumbledore, for all he was hailed to be, knew nothing of why he would experience such a growth, or why it would manifest itself in the form of a magical explosion.

One week from the day he now found before him, Albus Dumbledore had been awoken in the early morning to a sound which struck a fear like ice into his heart. An alarm, set up to alert him of the failing of the Privet Drive wards, had rung clear. For a moment, and only a moment, the wards that protected Harry Potter at home had fallen.

As soon, however, as he had made it to his desk to take emergency action to protect Harry Potter, the wards reactivated at full-strength. He had immediately gone to the Dursley home to inspect the wards in person, and he found that not only had the wards reactivated themselves, but they now were more powerful than they had been before.

Something had changed. The nature of what was happening had changed. It appeared that Harry's explosion, as best Dumbledore could describe it, had blown away the wards in one instant, only to reconstruct them the next.

Perhaps more worrying than the wards and Mr. Potter's magical explosion, however, was that Lord Voldemort, having just recently returned to the relative safety of the Albanian forests, was said to be in Berlin at this very moment, on his way back to Britain.

Reading the reports before him, Dumbledore suspected that Lord Voldemort was privy to the same information as he himself was; he suspected that the Dark Lord knew of the fallen and revived wards, that he too had detected Harry's unexpected magical growth, though how was a distressing consideration.

Albus Dumbledore, aided by his reports from spies and informants throughout the world, believed the most powerful Dark wizard in history was on his way back to Britain. And, Dumbledore feared, back for Harry Potter.

A/N: Thoughts?