Disclaimer: Don't own, so please don't sue.
A/N: Next chapter, should have been out sooner (as the majority of it was already written...years ago) but I'm lazy.
Everywhere he looked was endless silver mist, curling and drifting slowly around his body, cool and slightly damp on his feverish skin. Even though he didn't have any idea as to where he was, Harry did not feel scared or worried. In fact, he felt better than he ever had; the only other time he had ever felt this good was his first time on a broom. He felt free and wonderful, the space of mist almost comforting.
Not having another plan, or anything worrisome in his mind, he began to wander, hoping to find a clue as to where he was. He knew he should be feeling apprehensive and a sense of urgency, but the reason why kept slipping...
After several minutes of walking and getting nowhere, Harry sighed and stopped moving, defeated and more confused than ever. He carelessly sat on the ground, not needing to rest, but just for something different. He really didn't think too much of the simple action - until the sensation of falling through air finally registered in his mind.
Harry screamed as cool air whipped at his face, blowing his hair around, tearing at his clothes. His arms flailed about and he closed his eyes tightly when he began to feel sick. He fell further and further, glittering tendrils of silver mist flowing around him like strips of silk.
Just as he thought he couldn't take anymore and his stomach was crawling up his throat, Harry felt himself slowing down and forced open his eyes. With a soft thump, he hit the ground and lay there panting, gripping what seemed to be thick grass with his trembling fingers.
Slowly regaining his breath, Harry forced himself to sit up and wiped sweat off of his brow. Looking around, he saw he was in the middle of a large expanse of brilliantly green grass and patches of small white and purple flowers. A blue haze in the distance marked a vast mountain range.
Still breathing heavily, Harry glanced up. Swirls of silvery-gray mist roiled overhead as if caught in a powerful wind, like a storm brewing. He lowered gaze to the ground and reached over to touch one of the little pale flowers. The petals were smooth and soft, almost like skin, but the leaves were rough, like a cat's tongue.
He suddenly wished Hermione or Neville were here, one of them could probably tell him what kind of plant it was.
Behind him, Harry heard a rustle, like the swish of a cloak. Swiftly standing up, he spun around and saw a tall dark shape materializing out of thin air. It was a tall person, a man judging by the size of the shoulders, dressed in blood red robes.
Harry now felt extremely wary. What if this was a follower of Voldemort's? Last time he had just stood by and watched some one approach, it had ended with a seven-teen year old boy dead and the most feared dark wizard's return to power.
But as soon as he thought this, he realized that Voldemort probably wouldn't try and capture him in a field of petite flowers.
"Do not be alarmed, young Harry." The figure said in a deep, soothing tone. His face was the last thing to come into focus.
"Who are you?" Harry shot back, still watchful.
Even though he couldn't see the man's face, Harry could hear the smile in the stranger's voice when he replied to his question.
"I am," He said as his face wavered and sharpened. Harry could see finally see him. "Your father. No, wait! I mean I'm Godric Gryffindor. Godric Gryffindor. Damn! Why do I always say father?"
Harry: . . .
Not very different from the original chapter, but I feel a bit better about this one.
Please review.