He woke up in his bed. He wore his pajamas and the sun streamed in through the windows. He looked around. The rest of the boys were still sleeping. He touched his hand to his cheek, the cool feeling from the spirit's hand still lingering on his skin. He threw the covers off and quickly changed. A Saturday. That meant no school. Quickly, he threw on his robe and hurried down the stairs, passing by Lavender and another Gryffindor girl who waved to him as he passed.

He felt bad about ignoring them but hurried through the porthole nonetheless. It took almost no time to get to the headmasters office where he was stopped by the Griffin to give the password.

He felt himself freeze. "Um, Fizzing Whizzbees?"

The Griffin yawned. "Nope."

Harry tapped his thigh in thought. "Pumpkin Pasty?"

"Mmm. Fine," the Griffin sighed, leaping to the side to reveal the stairs.

Harry pushed past him, trotting up the stairs two at a time to get to the door. It was locked, as it usually was, and Harry knocked quite firmly when he heard a click and a light "come in!"

He opened the door to find not only Dumbledore, but McGonagall and Snape as well. Clearly they'd been discussing something but had stopped and turned at his knock. He gulped and walked forward.

"I'm sorry to bother you, Professors," he said slowly, "But I had another strange dream."

Dumbledore sat forward, interested. "Did you see the dagger again?"

Harry stepped forward lightly, his eyes focused on the man in front of him. "No," he replied honestly, "I was down at the lake with Hermione and Ron and they left and I felt that I had to sleep again, so I… I did. When I woke up I was at the strange other lake. But that was the dream. And I was myself."

He did not know why he must emphasize that he was himself in the dream. "I spoke to someone," he explained.

Dumbledore gestured for him to come closer, peering over him through his spectacles. He waved his wand through the air, a chair appearing in between but slightly behind the two other professors. Harry slowly sat down, his hands gripping the edges of the seat so that his knuckles were stark white.

"You spoke with someone? Did they give you a name? Did you know them?"

Harry blinked in thought, furrowing his brow and glancing away at the questions. She hadn't given him a name and in fact hadn't even bother to introduce herself. She'd acted as if she'd known Harry but at the same time saw someone else. He didn't know what he could do with that. He shook his head slowly. "I didn't know them but it felt as if I did. I trusted her."

Dumbledore sat back surprised. He glanced over at Snape and McGonagall. "If you'll leave us, I believe we have much to discuss."

"Albus—."

"Not now," Dumbledore answered with the raise of his hand. "We'll finish out discussion later."

The two other professors glanced only briefly at Harry before they took their leave. McGonagall disappeared only with a stern last look at the two of them, as if they were scheming something without her, and then shut the door. Harry turned back to Dumbledore but did not feel relieved. Being suddenly alone only made him more nervous and he desperately wished someone was there. Even Malfoy would do if it meant he wouldn't have to admit this strangeness alone.

"A her, you say?" the headmaster asked.

Harry nodded slowly. "Yes, she came from the lake. She asked if I knew who she was and when I didn't she was sad."

Dumbledore leaned back and set his spectacles down on the desk. "Describe to me this lake, Harry."

Harry bit his lip and then opened his mouth. "It sits in a wood. It… you can hear cars passing by but you have to get to it through a long path from the car park. The beach is grass and then it becomes small pebbles. There are mountains in the distance… and… and in the center an island. The moon rises directly behind it."

"I see," Dumbledore said. "What did this woman tell you?"

"She said that I was already on the path to remember and to trust," Harry said. "She seemed to know me. She didn't call me my name, but she did know me. She…" Harry's face flushed slightly as he thought about it. "She called me my love."

Dumbledore's eyebrows shot up in a way that seemed familiar to Harry but he couldn't place where he'd seen the movement. "She call you her love?"

Harry's face grew impossibly hotter. "Er, yes, sir."

Dumbledore laced his fingers together and leaned forward. "I see. Perhaps this was not so much a dream to do with the dagger than a fantasy, Mister Potter."

"No!" Harry exclaimed, "It was not—! It wasn't that! She… it was at the lake! And the way she spoke it wasn't! It wasn't like that! She said I was remembering my past!"

At this, Dumbledore's knowing grin fell off his face and a frown replaced it. "Your past? Have you forgotten it?"

Harry shook his head. "Not at all, sir. It's just that… I don't know. It must mean something. Perhaps something to do with my family? My father?"

Dumbledore did not move from his spot. Several fleeting moments passed where he did not move and then he suddenly rose from his chair and walked out to the balcony, the doors swinging open softly as he neared them. Harry waited barely a heartbeat before he followed suit. The sun had rose quickly, golden light laying over the mountains.

"Do you know what these mountains were once called, Harry?"

Harry looked out around them. "No, professor."

"Neither do I," the headmaster replied, "I imagine that once long ago they were called something, that they had names but were long forgotten to history. Sometimes, things are left to the past. I find that it is easier to let go than to hold on. That we must forge our own destinies."

"I don't see how that has anything to do with the mountains," he said, then paused. "Or my dream."

Dumbledore laid a knowing hand on Harry's shoulder. "Often times, the past is left forgotten where it is. The names of these mountains do not change the fact that these mountains exist here and now. The future is a haze at best and the present is where we are to make decisions. Do you question where you came from Harry?"

Harry frowned to himself. The rolling mountains became bluer as they faded and the white caps glinted in the sunlight. He'd never really thought about his grandparents all that much, especially knowing that they had died long before he'd been born anyway. He knew wealth had been reached by some hair product and aside from their names, he knew nothing. He'd never even asked about his grandparents on his mother's side. Petunia barely spoke to him as it were and he doubted that she would have freely given him any information that he would have asked for.

"No," he answered finally, "I don't think I do."

"Then I believe you have nothing to worry about," Dumbledore replied. "Now, you should be getting off to breakfast. It is, as the muggles say, the best meal of the day."

"Most important," Harry corrected immediately and then flushed when he realized he'd corrected Dumbledore.

The elderly man tapped his finger against his chin. "I would have thought the best. Ah. Well. Now I know. Hurry along. I've much to do."

As Harry left the headmasters office he thought he might be disagreeing with the professor. He'd had dreams before. Visions of other places where he felt the floorboards and the chilly winds. They'd been real. And like those visions, those dreams, Harry had felt the soft grass below him. He'd heard the lapping water along the shore, gently hitting his legs. The water had felt cool, but not cold, and the wood had softly shifted around him in a breeze that came off the mountains. It was real. This was not a dream.

And if it were, there would be no reason for Dumbledore to dissuade him from investigating it or wondering it. There would be no reason for mountains metaphors or analogies. He would only have to say "But Harry, it is a dream. You mustn't worry. I dreamt last night about receiving a pair of socks who asked me to look to the future."

And so Harry showed up at the Great Hall and sat briefly next to Ron and Hermione before he stuffed whatever food he grabbed into his mouth. Barely ten minutes later, he mumbled something about school work and with his mouth still half full of whatever meat he'd put on his toast, he hurriedly rushed from breakfast. He ignored their bewildered looks and continued on toward the library. There were several Ravenclaws decidedly not studying, but in fact talking amongst themselves. They stared at Harry curiously but ignored him as he walked toward the librarian.

She peered down at him oddly but waited for him to speak.

"Do… ah… do you have any books about lakes?"

"Lakes?" she asked.

"Magic lakes," Harry corrected lamely.

"Magic lakes," she muttered, looking around herself. She stalked toward a section of the library and peered up at the shelves before quickly moving through the rows of books. Harry followed behind her as fast as he could before she abruptly stopped and Harry almost collided into her. "Here," she said, reaching forward as several books floated from the shelves to her awaiting arms. They were thick, musty old things that looked like they'd been in the library since before the school was a school. She dumped them unceremoniously into his arms.

"Bring them back in three weeks. Or, if you're not taking them out of the library, put them back." And then she was gone.

Harry sat the books down on a table and tapped the end of his with his fingers. He hadn't brought any parchment or quills to write with and he knew that he'd have to take some sort of notes. He wouldn't be able to retain any of the information he read and he needed to be able to go back through this stuff later. Pointing his wand out beside him as discreetly as possible, he whispered, "Accio parchment."

Several long minutes later and suddenly the whipping of parchment paper slapped into the back of his head. He reached back and grabbed it before it fell to the floor and found he'd rolled his quills inside his parchment. Laying it all out before him and gently opening the old book.

It had nothing but descriptions of magical creatures and where they resided, but none of them depicted a girl rising from a lake. No haunted lakes. He turned to the next one. Magical Lakes of the World and their Properties. This held more information about the type of water that Harry briefly thought sounded like chemistry, so he set that aside for Hermione. The others were either explaining how to get to these lakes or discussing creatures that lived in them.

None of them particularly mentioned anything about islands in lakes or silver tinted woman who called people "my love." There were still several thick books to go and Harry knew he'd been here for several hours. He sat back into the chair and groaned. His notes were half scrawled hopes of somethings before he discovered that the book he'd been reading truly had no information. He picked up a small black one that had leaves within the cover. In gold lettering there were the words in small print with sharp lines.

Harry peered down at it, attempting to decipher the words. Magical Lore in the Lakes of Ancient Albion.

Harry did not know what Albion was, or where it was, but he cracked open the spin nonetheless. There was a publishing date and company, along with a table of contents that had listed all the lakes that were to be discussing in the books. The first was a small lake in Wales.

It discussed it's magical history. A brief mention on centaurs and some old Roman Wizards before he moved to another one. There were long descriptions of the lakes including the various names and incarnations. He moved down the list. Some histories were longer than others and any mention of an island or even ruins spurred Harry to write it in his notes.

Unlike the others, one of the lakes had a small drawing in ink next to its name. Next to it were several names; Ynys Afallach, Ynys Afallon, Insula Avallonis, and finally, Avalon. The small drawing was the view from which Harry had stood. But the island was not in ruins. It's tower stood tall and among it was a large stone castle that rose forward like the towers of Hogwarts. Beneath it was an inscription, "Isle of the Blessed." Harry turned toward the reading.

Avalon is the anglicized word of the medieval Welsh word "Annwn". It is here where the Sidhe (Twyleth Teg) reside, fairies that held their courts in the Otherworld. It is a large lake unplottable by muggles and even most wizard folk alike. Powerful magic is required to get to the island which housed the Priests and Priestesses of the Old Religion.

Here the Old Religion was powerful. They controlled the Veil and protected those who wished to do the world harm. In the island is the single Rowan Tree that sits atop a hill that overlooks the castle. From the shores of the lake, there is a boat where one must pay a fine of a single gold coin to take them to the island

Following the Great Purge spearheaded by King Uther Pendragon, the Old Religion and the High Priests and Priestesses began their decline. The Isle of Blessed, even in all its splendor, fell to ruin. Now, the isle and the lake of Avalon, the entrance to the Otherworld, are guarded by the Lady of the Lake. It was she who guarded the sword Kaledvoulc'h (Caliburn or Excalibur) and who guided the Warlock Merlin to free Camelot of the rule of Morgana Pendragon and Morgause.

The origin of the Lady of the Lake is unknown, although original writings by Merlin himself suggests that she was once a Druid who'd died in Camelot. The Warlock wrote that he had "known her personally" and that she "was beautiful in both life and death, that she would forever live on guarding the Gates of Avalon." Whether or not she is a spirit or not remains to be seen, although it is suggests that the Lady of the Lake "lives" in both life and death, that she is neither and both.

There is a term in muggle science called "Hydrostatic Equilibrium" and it is this force that simultaneously keeps the sun from imploding on itself. The pressure of the gas is balanced by the force of the gravity acting upon it. In theory, the Lady of the Lake is like this. She guards both the door to the Otherworld, the Gates of Avalon, but also dwells within the realm of the living. She is both living and dead.

Harry sat back in his chair and glanced at his two pieces of parchment paper. He scrawled down "Otherworld", "Isle of the Blessed", "Lady of the Lake", and "Gates of Avalon." The book's mythology was different than what Harry had known, Morgan le Fey as Morgana Pendragon, and Merlin as a Warlock instead of a wizard. He briefly thought about consulting Hermione about it, or even Ron, but then worried about what they might think. And where in the world this author got his hands on Merlin's own books and texts was beyond Harry. He flipped the book over and looked at the author.

Myrddin M. Wyllt.

Slowly, he gathered up his things and put back all the other books, even the ones he hadn't read. He grabbed the book by Wyllt and his notes and quills and left the library without looking at Madam Pierce. He shuffled through the halls rather awkwardly, attempting to keep his head up despite the fact that he'd been gone for several hours in the library studying, which was more Ravenclaw-esque or, at least, Hermione-ish. Though, Harry rarely saw Luna in the direction of the library.

He shuffled through the Gryffindor porthole and up the stairs to the boys dormitories. It was empty except for a sleeping Neville. Harry snuck around him, leaving the book and the notes on his trunk and then hurriedly rushing down the stairs to run into Ron.

"Hey!" the read-head exclaimed, stepping down a step. "Quidditch?"

"Yes!" Harry said too quickly, but then covered it up with a grin. "Sorry. Yes. When?"

Ron blinked at him. "Soon? The pitch is open with the season done. I asked McGonagall if we could go down."

Harry gawked at Ron, surprised. "She said yes?"

Ron shrugged with all the nonchalantness he could offer. "Yeah. You coming? Ginny's already down there."

Harry tried not to flush at the thought but quickly turned on his heel and headed up the stairs. Ron seemed to know not to ask about Harry's quickness to escape breakfast from the morning and spearheaded the conversation with as much information about the whole day as he could muster. They spent the afternoon at the Quidditch Pitch. When Harry came back he was sweaty and tired. He fell asleep as soon as he hit the bed.

To be continued...