Harry told her about his past. About Voldemort, and his parent's deaths. He told her about the Sorcerer's stone, the chamber of secrets, the triwizard tournament…but, even as Gillian recognized pieces of what he said…heard things she recognized from her dreams, she knew something was missing…

"Harry?" Gillian asked, apologetically, when he had talked himself silent. He was still looking away, his shoulders shaking a little. "Harry…I don't mean to be rude. But you're not telling me something…"

Harry turned back to her, looking a little irritated. Gillian thought she may have crossed the line. So what if he wasn't telling her something? It was his story, not hers, and it wasn't as though she had any right to demand it from him…

"Er, right," said Gill. "Look, it's just that…you seemed to get really upset at things that didn't seem that big…like…um, when you mentioned that one teacher of yours…um…Lupin? And, with the Order thing…although, you had reason to be upset about all of that, I guess…it's just—

"What about the veil?"

Harry couldn't meet her eyes. He looked away and bowed his head. Gillian saw his lips move, almost imperceptibly, and an almost inaudible whisper, "Sirius…"

Gillian knew now wasn't the time to ask. She walked over to Harry, put a hand on his shoulder, a little awkwardly, and said, briskly, "Why don't we go for a walk?"

It was dark out, and Gillian and Harry lay sprawled on sections of the merry-go-round. Harry was pointing out constellations and planets in the clear, star-spattered sky, while Gillian soaked in the absurdity of her situation.

They had long since stopped discussing the serious. This was, after all, their first real meeting, and they both seemed to decide that it had started far too black. So, they had slowed down. Gillian told him a bit about growing up with Piers, which led into a detailed and lively exchange between the two of them, as they swapped anecdotes. Now, quietly looking at the sky, Gillian discovered that, for the first time in her life, she felt close to somebody.

"Harry…"

"Yes?"

"I think I've met wizards, before."

"Really?" said Harry, interestedly. "Who?"

"Well…they were both doctors. One…Dr. Clark. He knew your name. He believed me when I told him about that night with you and your cousin. And then, this woman…Dr. Tinker. I know she knew about the wizarding world. It was strange…I remember she kept…changing."

"What do you mean, changing?" Harry had sat up, looking at Gillian now.

"Well, her nose…changed. Like, shape and size. And then her hair color. And when I asked her about it, she said it was easy, but I shouldn't try. And, that…since I had noticed, she knew what she needed to know."

Harry laughed. "An metamorphmagus."

"What's that?"

"It's a wizard or witch that can change their appearance at will. Very rare. And, coincidentally, I think I know her."

"You do?"

"Well, I'm just guessing. But, since they're so rare, and she chose to go by the name Tinker…well, I know a woman named Tonks who's an metamorphmagus. She's really wonderful."

"Oh, I'd love to meet her."

"You may yet."

"You think so?"

Harry looked at her. "Yeah. I don't know why, but I have a funny feeling that you're in for a lot more than you're expecting."

Gillian smiled, but did not manage to look away before her face fell.

"What's wrong?" asked Harry.

"It's just that, you really shouldn't get my hopes up like that. I'm trying to not be let down, which is really difficult given that situation. Everything's so awesome right now…I can't imagine that it will last."

Harry didn't say anything. A long silence persisted between them.

"I'm not going to stop talking to you."

Gillian looked over at Harry. For some reason, a weight in her chest lifted. "You won't?" she asked.

"No," he said firmly. "You are the only good thing I have here, at the Dursleys'. It's something I need."

Gillian smiled at him. "I'm glad to hear it."

They laid there for another hour, before Gillian, startled, realized how late it was, and, apologizing, ran back home. It had been an unforgettable night. Not only had she spoken, at last, to Harry Potter, and received answers to many pressing questions. No. She had also made a friend and been given a promise: he would keep talking to her. She would have a connection to the magic world.

When Gillian got home, her parents had been back for nearly thirty minutes and were ready to call the police to look for her. Gill barely heard any of the yelling. She was far away, in a small bedroom strewn with newspapers of moving pictures, as an owl hooted in a small, dirty cage.