Chapter Twenty Four
Hermione was dreaming again, and she knew it. It felt the same as it always had. But- something was different. It wasn't the same place.
She looked around, taking in her surroundings for the first time. It was outside, this time. In a forest, with the sun just beginning to poke through the treetops. She turned and looked around wildly. Why was she here? What was the significance of this?
A sound from behind her made her spin around. Behind her was a rise in the landscape, and the forest stopped at the bottom of a small hill, and just coming over the rise was-
Harry and Ginny.
Harry Potter and Virginia Weasley rounded the top of the hill, Harry holding Ginny's arm and shoulder, leading her along. The bottom of Ginny's shirt was torn, and the fabric tied around her eyes. She stayed close behind Harry, letting him lead her along.
As the sun cast a bright ray across Ginny's face, she stopped and held Harry back. She stood still and just let the sun kiss her face. Then she opened her mouth and started to sing.
"High in the sky
Through the clouds and rain
Every familiar field seems like an old friend.
When every hand that you shake
Is like a warm embrace
Could only be one sweet place
Home and the Heartland."
Hermione watched, aghast, as Ginny grabbed Harry's hand and began running down the hill. He was laughing, and cried out, "Wait, Gin, you'll trip on something!" But she just kept running and singing.
"Sing out your songs and
Bring out your stories and rhymes.
Weave from your dreams the mystical dances that lead us to
Bind in heart and mind."
They ran past her, and she spun to watch them go. Harry was ahead, now, pulling Ginny along, holding her up so that she wouldn't fall. Ginny's voice was slightly halting from running, and every now and then she would stop and laugh, but she kept singing.
"As we circle the world
With our wandering airs
Gathering here and there, leaving behind our share
Like the leaves in the wind
They are blown along
Melodies rising from
Home and the Heartland."
And as they faded from view, Hermione just caught the last strains of the song.
"Sing out your songs…"
The scene changed just then, so fast it made her head spin. Hermione looked around again. Where was she now? It looked like just a room. A very plain, beige, absolutely-no-decorations-allowed room, but a room. She frowned. What was this?
She turned around. And almost fell over. Ron was lying n a bed behind her. He was either asleep or dead, because he wasn't moving. She took a couple of deep breaths to get her bearings straight, the moved closer to get a better look.
He wasn't wearing a shirt, but he was still wearing the same white pants she had seen him in last. Was he breathing? She tried to see, but she wasn't close enough, and couldn't get any closer.
He moved. He kind of sighed and turned over. Hermione jumped slightly. She hadn't expected that. Well, she thought. At least now we know for sure he's not dead. Not yet, anyway. He did nothing more, so she just stood there watching him.
It was some time later when she started to notice herself being pulled back into sleep. Normally she would have protested, but today she simply hadn't the energy. The image before her faded, and she found herself back in her bed at school, slightly trapped in the covers.
"Oh, God," Hermione moaned. She detangled herself from the sheets, then rolled over to get a look at her clock. It was three-thirty in the morning. What was the date? She poked around in the dark for her calendar. December nineteenth. Ron would have been dead for three days, now. Three days since the Ministry began the search for Harry and Ginny. No results yet, of course. They hadn't looked where Lavender had told them to, yet.
But the dream,
Hermione thought suddenly. Are they still at the castle? She stared at the wall. Oh, probably. It's not like my dreams are written-in-stone truth, after all. What are the chances of them getting out of a place like that, anyway?What about Ron?
her brain demanded. Did that mean nothing to you? Don't you feel any hope or anything?Wishful thinking,
she retorted. No one says that one was true.She wished the voice in her head was a mosquito, as opposed to her conscience. Then she could have smacked her ear and made it go away. But instead, all she could do was lie there in bed and argue with herself, hoping that the voice would shut up soon and let her get some rest.
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