*~*Could it Be?*~*
*~*Prologue--The Dream*~*
*~*by Pira*~*
Disclaimer: I do not own any of the HP characters or the HP settings or anything like that. The only things I own are Gamadri Elanion, Almalia Ferinthrup, Henedra, and Sinisine Alvar. So don't sue me, please! I got no $$$!
It was a cold, rainy night on number four, Privett Drive. Harry Potter was tossing and turning in his bed, unable to sleep because of the pitter-patter of rain on the windows. He suddenly sat up abruptly. He began to think of Henedra, a Muggle girl who had just moved into the Dursleys' neighborhood, and the girl he liked. She was one of extremely few Muggles, or maybe the only one, who was kind to Harry. Even the ones at his old school had mistreated him because of Dudley. Then he lay back down to think about his love some more.
She was beautiful. Her chestnut brown hair fell in waves to the middle of her back, and framed her oval face and pointed chin. Freckles were scattered lightly throughout her smooth, pale skin, and her hands always rested beside her slim figure and accented curves. Sixteen, she was. Just like Harry himself.
Thinking of her made him finally fall asleep, where he drifted into a strange, yet not uncommonly so, dream. In it, a beautiful young woman who looked about Harry's age was sitting in a chair facing a horrid figure.
It was Lord Voldemort, the Dark Wizard, and his body, recreated in Harry's fourth year at Hogwarts, had become more powerful and more realistic. Hate had given him grey hairs among the black he once had, and he had developed pupils in the midst of the glowing redness of his eyes. His hands, once a chalky white, were now given the color of a caucasian man; the color was stolen from his victims.
The girl sitting opposite him reminded Harry strongly of Henedra. Her hair was blonde, and fell to her hips, where it curled ever so slightly at the ends. She, too, had a slim figure and pale skin, but her nose was pointy, and her chin was beautifully rounded. Harry thought she must have been Voldemort's creation, for she looked too perfect to actually be real.
Lord Voldemort was pacing the floor of what seemed to be a small cottage. His hands were toying with each other nervously, and his chest was moving up and down quickly, as if he were breathless. "Gamadri," he said in an icy, chilling voice. "If I have taught you anything it is to not let me down."
"I know, Master," she replied, her voice small and mouse-like. "I won't let you down. I know exactly what you want, and I intend to get it for you."
"What do I want?" he said, raising his voice and adding greed into the tone.
"You want the boy, Master. Harry Potter."
"That is correct, milady. And do you know what will happen if you fail?"
"You will take away my gift, Master."
Voldemort looked at the pale girl in front of him. "I gave you beauty beyond anyone else in the universe, for this sole purpose. You will go to Hogwarts and seduce him. Then I will use you to bring him to me. Do not ask how," he said, seeing her open her mouth. "I have my ways. Now go, and do not fail lest you want to pay the price."
"Yes, Master," the girl he called Gamadri replied, bowing. Then he waved his hand, and she disappeared.