Yes, I know... time for the nasty copyright stuff...
Blah, blah, blah... I do not own Harry Potter, names, ideas, etc... They are copyrighted by Warner Bros. and J. K. Rowling. This is a non-profit work of fanfiction.
The plot, though, is MINE! It may not be copied or reproduced in any way, shape, or form (Unless J. K. wants to use my idea!! lol), without my prior written consent.

NOTES: Yay!!! I FINALLY finished chapter 7! YAYAY!! And I've started chapter 8. I finally got up off my fat butt and DID something!!! Be proud of me! Now, go read 7 and 8 and tell me what you think by REVIEWING! *cries* I havn't gotten a single review in over two weeks!!


CHAPTER ONE
THE WINDY NIGHT


The dream was the most unrealistic of dreams, with swirling dark colors, flashes of light, and booms and angry crashes sounding like thunder. It was enough to make your heart stand still as the invisible forces pulled you into the depths of the violent whirl pool. Even though the visualization was like a storm described by words, the movements felt real. You were being dragged and pushed into the wrath of the stormy enigma...
THUD!
Harry Potter awoke to a hard knock on the head, given by his bedside table. He found himself lying on the floor next to his bed, with the comforter pulled halfway off and tossed and wrapped violently about him. Both of his hands were clinging to it tightly as if for dear life. He tried to push himself up on his elbows, but the room looked a foggy mess and he decided it was best that he lay back down until his eyes focused. It was then he realized that the room was foggy simply because he wasn't wearing his glasses.
Harry sat up, thinking himself an idiot, and reached up on the bedside table in search of his round-framed glasses. He found them, but not before clumsily knocking them to the floor... from where they landed came a cracking sound. Harry cringed at the noise, both cursing himself for being such a klutz and hoping he didn't wake his four other roommates. He managed to find them despite his fuzzy vision, and in the dim light he made out a thick crack in the left lens. Time for a repair, he thought, and raised his hand to the table again to search for his wand.
It, of course, was not there. He left it in the pocket of his robes he had worn the day before. Wrenching himself free of the comforter, he crawled on his hands and knees to his trunk at the end of his bed and grabbed at the first pile of black fabric he saw. He searched through the folds and found what he could feel was his wand. After shoving the robes back into the trunk, he pointed his wand at his glasses and whispered "repairo!" Tiny sparks emitted from the wand and the crack in the lens disappeared as if it was never there.
Finally satisfied that he could do something without making another mistake, Harry put his glasses back on as he stood and put his wand where he could find it on the table. He decided he was too awake to go back to sleep. It's too early to be up, though! he thought, what am I going to do for four or five hours? As if answering his question, a large swatting sound drew his attention quickly to the window. He realized it was a twig being hurled at it. It was the first time he noticed that there was a violent wind outside, blowing and battering against the window panes. He also noticed a soft light just barely visible on the horizon. So it wasn't as early as he thought. He guessed that it was probably around 5 o'clock.
Harry sat himself on his four-poster bed and pulled the covers back on into a heap. What was that dream about? He could hardly remember it, though there really wasn't much to remember. It was simply a tumbling mass of shadows and quick flashes of light like a storm. Very odd, indeed. Like most of his other vivid dreams, Harry guessed that it meant something. Only this one was different... Instead of living a realistic scene like riding on the back of an owl or watching Lord Voldemort plot his evil plans, it was a feeling; a vision of shapes and colors and sounds... though none really audible or visible. It was a sense... knowing things were there but not seeing or hearing them. Harry had never had any other dream like it.
Harry stood at the window sill, staring down towards the black waters of the lake, waves rising in the violent gusts of wind, blurring and tearing apart the reflection of the crescent moon. He was lost in thought, mostly about his dream.
Before too long, the very tip of the sun finally poked above the mountains in the east. At least... Harry thought it was the sun. Thick, deep gray clouds had moved in over night and were blocking the sun's rays, casting shadows over the landscape and after a few moments, over the Hogwarts castle. No light shone through the window into the room, no reflection on the lake, no light to announce the new day... which just happened to be Monday.
Harry hated Mondays. Mondays meant another long week of school which, in his past life, meant more visits from Dudley's gang: chased and dumped into garbage cans, constantly beaten on... But since Harry's first year at Hogwarts, it had all changed along with his entire perspective. Instead of being bullied around by his fellow students, it was a professor... one in particular. And his class just happened to be Harry's first for the day. After breakfast, Harry was to go straight to potions class with Professor Snape. Over the weekend, they had been assigned an essay on the uses of Asphodel. Of course, Hermione Granger had done it the very afternoon Snape announced it, and Ron Weasley had his usual session of complaining before doing a five minute job of it. Harry, however, had a rough time getting through it. He couldn't think all weekend and he spent two whole hours on the introductory paragraph. Even though he took his time, he knew Snape would still make up some kind of excuse to give him a bad grade on it.
He always did.

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