Hi everyone! I'm back. Just in time for Harry Potter 3. Are you excited? I am!! I simply cannot wait to see the movie. My excitement is barely in check, and I have to wait for a few more days. A very happy Memorial Day goes out to the American fans. As I'm Canadian, I don't celebrate Memorial Day, but even so, Happy Memorial Day. Hope you are all enjoying your day off and are, er, memorializing, if there's such an activity (or word).

Anyway, I'm back with my fourth chapter. I hope you all enjoy it. It came out a few days later than anticipated, but that's my fault, due to laziness. It's a wee bit shorter than the previous and upcoming chapters, but nevertheless, it's important to the story.

Thank you very much to Ramy, peachie1st, Jesika-Jesika and Jen, who reviewed chapter three. I'm glad you are enjoying it!!

Disclaimers: I am not J.K. Rowling (though I pretend to be), or Warner Brothers or anyone else who owns Harry Potter. I'm not Lifehouse, either, whose song is the chapter song this round. I wish I owned it, because it's an awesome song, but I don't. I don't own anything, really.

On with the story! Please read and review! Thanks!!!

CHAPTER FOUR: TRYING

Well let me be the first to say I don't have a clue/don't have all the answers/ain't gonna pretend like I do/just trying/to find my way/trying/to find my way the best that I know how

Lifehouse

"You will join me, Harry Potter," Voldemort hissed.

"Never!" Harry shouted out. He needed to make a run for it—but when?

"Together, we could have a power greater than time has ever known. All you have to do is give me the Philosopher's Stone."

"No," Harry said determinedly.

"Don't be foolish, boy," Voldemort warned with more malice than usual in his voice. "Hand it over to me before it's too late, or you'll face the same fate as your parents did."

Harry said nothing. He did not even dare to blink.

"You have made your choice, then. You'll be seeing your Mudblood mother any moment now." Voldemort raised his wand. "AVADA KEDAVRA!"

"NO!" Harry shouted.

A soft thud suddenly woke Harry up. He blinked quickly several times and realized what had happened. He had had another dream, and the thud was him falling out bed.

Feeling slightly ashamed for not being able to stay in bed while sleeping, Harry got up from the floor. As he stood over his mattress, the pain hit him.

Out of nowhere, his scar began to burn. Harry dropped to his knees, his hands pressed up against his scar as tightly as possible. It felt as though his scar was on fire, and the heat was beginning to expand to the rest of his head. He yelled out in pain.

"Harry? Harry, what's going on? Are you alright?" he heard Hermione ask from outside his door.

He tried to reply, but another surge of pain spread across his scar. He yelled through his pain again.

The door swung open. Hermione came running in, still wearing her nightgown. "Harry! What's the matter?"

The pain finally began to subside. "My scar's hurting," he managed through gritted teeth.

"Was it another dream?"

"Yes."

Hermione started wringing her hands. "What should I do? Do you want me to get someone?" she asked, distressed.

"No. Don't. It's—it's getting better."

Hermione fretted about anxiously for a few more minutes, until Harry released his hands from his head. His scar was throbbing dully.

"Are you okay now?" she asked.

"Yeah, it doesn't hurt anymore." Harry got up from the floor, put on his glasses and sat back down on the bed. "It was like my last dream. I was in my first year, in the dungeon, trying to escape from Voldemort with the Philosopher's Stone. He was trying to convince me to give me the stone so that we could have some sort of power together, but I refused. When he knew I wasn't going to give him the stone, he killed me."

They were both quiet for a moment. Then, "I think you should tell Dumbledore about the dream, Harry."

Harry sighed. He didn't want to involve the Headmaster, but it seemed like he had no choice. If he didn't tell him, Hermione would. Besides, it was something Dumbledore ought to know. "You're right. I'll tell him during my spare."

"Good. Are you sure you're alright?"

"Yeah, I'm sure. Don't worry so much."

"I'll try."

Draco Malfoy watched across the dining hall that morning. He watched her sit down beside that Potter, across from Weasley. He watched as she buttered some toast and drank a goblet of juice.

With a swaggering smile, he recalled the previous day. It had been such a great opportunity. Too perfect, really.

When he had told her that he didn't care, he had been lying. He most certainly did care.

A lot.

Harry grudgingly waited outside Dumbledore's office later that morning. He was usually back in his bed by now, but his promise to talk to the Headmaster had forced him to stand outside his office, feeling foolish.

When he had requested to meet with the Headmaster just after breakfast, he was told to wait outside his office at 10:30. Well, it was now 10:40, and no one was in sight. Harry promised himself he'd wait for ten more minutes before he gave up. He was determined to get this out of the way as quickly as possible.

Not even five minutes later, Dumbledore came striding around the corner. "Harry," he greeted warmly. "I apologize for making you wait past our appointment, but there was a matter with Peeves I had to deal with."

"It's alright," Harry said, anxious to get started. "Professor, I wanted to tell you about—"

This was as far as he got. Dumbledore raised his right hand as a way of silencing him. Then, after muttering the password, the door swung open.

The two walked up the spiral staircase and into Dumbledore's grand office. Dumbledore sat behind his desk, folded his long fingers neatly and watched, waiting, for Harry to continue.

"I asked to meet with you because of…well, because of these dreams I've been having," Harry began, feeling slightly embarrassed. "Last night, and a few nights ago, I've dreamt that I was in my first year, with the Philosopher's Stone, and Voldemort's trying to convince me to join his side. And in both dreams, he's used the killing curse."

Dumbledore leaned back in thought. "I see," he said, more to himself than to Harry. "Most interesting. Tell me, Harry, are these dreams true to your experience in first year?"

"More or less."

"But no new information has been revealed."

"Right."

"And in these dreams, Voldemort kills you?"

Harry paused. He was about to say yes, when another thought struck him. "Actually, Professor, he's never really killed me. I always wake up right after he says the incantation."

"Interesting," Dumbledore murmured.

"What do you think it means? The dreams."

"I'm afraid I do not know, Harry. And, unfortunately, since these dreams seem to be recollections of the past, there is little we can do about them, if anything."

Harry frowned. He'd been hoping Dumbledore would come up with a great explanation for them.

"I suggest, Harry, that you pay close attention to your dreams from now on. Try and keep track of any information that could be classified as helpful in our battle against Voldemort." He gave Harry a small smile.

Harry stood up. "I just thought you should know…just in case…"

"I'm glad you told me. If you have more dreams like that, please do not hesitate to come tell me. Your dreams may prove to be invaluable sometime."

"Thanks, Professor." Harry let himself out of the office, feeling downcast. Dumbledore had not offered neither explanation nor solution about the dreams, and he would now spend several minutes each morning trying to remember every detail about each dream he had.

As he walked off to his next class, Harry's scar began to throb dully. Should I have told Dumbledore that my scar hurt this morning? he wondered, running his fingers across it.

No, he reasoned,it probably only hurt because the dream was so realistic, he told himself. Or something like that. Anyway, even if that's not the case, Dumbledore wouldn't have been able to explain it, either.

It was against every fiber of Hermione's being to not ask Harry how he was feeling. She was very concerned about him, but she was painfully aware of the fact that her inquiries would push Harry farther away from her than he already was.

"So, have you decided to tell me, Granger?" hissed a voice her in ear. She jumped a foot and turned around.

"Malfoy!" she gasped, putting her hand over her heart, which was beating quickly. "You startled me."

"Didn't mean to," he said. "Off to the library, are you?"

"Yes," she answered tersely. "I am."

"That's what I thought, so I'm offering you the chance at the pleasure of my company."

Hermione rolled her eyes. "Some pleasure that would be," she said dryly. "Look, Malfoy. I don't know what got into me yesterday, but I might have been delusional to even think about telling you my personal problems."

"That's what you say now, Granger."

"Yes, I'm saying it now, and I'll say it always. Now, do you mind? I've got to go to the library."

She set off, very much aware of the fact that he was following her. She tried to ignore him, but as she reached to open the door to the library, she turned around.

"What are you doing?" she snapped.

"Going to the library," Malfoy said with a shrug. "Believe it or not, you're not the only person at this school who uses it."

Hermione didn't have a response to this. Instead, she turned around and went inside, and in hopes that he would lose her, Hermione quickly walked away from Malfoy.

She found Harry and Ron, whom she'd arranged to meet there in the first place. She took her usual place—beside Harry, across from Ron—and prepared to push Malfoy from her mind.

No such luck. "Thought you'd got away from me, didn't you?" came his whispered drawl a minute later. He sat down beside Ron.

"What's he doing here?" snarled Ron.

Hermione could feel Harry's eyes on her. "He followed me," she said, talking to the table.

"Did you ask him to come?" Harry asked, his voice strange.

"No, I invited myself," Malfoy explained, opening his books. "Of course, that was before I knew you two would be here."

"Well, you're not welcome, so shove off," Ron said.

Malfoy ignored Ron. He simply began to make notes for his Advanced Potions class. He wrote carelessly, paying no attention to the glares from Harry and Ron.

"Hermione, what's going on?" Harry whispered into her ear.

"I told you, he followed me here," she replied.

"Oh, but you wanted me to," Malfoy said, not looking up from his notes.

"She didn't."

"I think she did, Potter."

"Why would she want you to? She hates you. We all do," Ron said, not keeping his voice down.

"You're wrong, Weasley. Granger doesn't hate me. On the contrary, she likes me. Isn't that right, Granger?" He finally looked up from his books to give her that trademark smirk.

"Hermione?" Harry looked at her questioningly. He was trying to find out if what Malfoy said was true.

She didn't know. She didn't have an answer for either of them. Instead, she slid off her chair and ran out of the library.

Don't worry, my friends, this will all make sense in the ending. I'm trying (hehe sorry, didn't actually mean to do that, honest!) to have a story in which stuff that's a tish bit unclear at the time will make more sense when it's done and is read again. In the meantime, I hope you liked it. Chapter 5 is coming soon. Please review!! Thanks!